"Grimalkin o' yor. But a part o' the garland."Name: Lynnwell Tourmaline
Nickname: Lyngurium Lie (Name left in any records), The Undying,
Age: 18 (Physical age), 360+ (Mental age)
Sex: Female
Grade: None anymore. Hostile to St Laurels.
Hair colour: Pink
Eye colour: Yellow
Clothing: Black sweatshirt with collar, wide red 70's pants, leotard, neatly attached roman styled sandals. Broché with a silhouette of Saint Laurel.
Personality:Lynnwell speaks often in an olden tongue of ages past, but she is adept in speaking normally aswell if necessary. She just doesn't find the modern tongue as beautiful or refined, perhaps it is a result of nostalgia of better days.
In a regular conversation Lynnwell appears to be relaxed, but once engaged in battle or if someone angers her she will quickly display a completely different persona. In battle she is prone to make short taunts to try unbalance her opponents, and is relentless in her attacks and pressure. She commends bravery, determination and things which she considers in spirit with a warrior. On the other hand she abhors the use of magical ranged attacks and things which attempt to restrict or control the battlefield. She also dislikes cowards and those who slanders Saint Laurel. Her relationship to the saint is one of reverance, hate, love and sorrow all pushed into one. From her point of view, the only one who bears the right to badmouth the name of Saint Laurel is she alone.
"Ye scullions o' Laurel, lost in wassail..."Biography:A warrior's true home is upon the fields of battle, a hero which lives long enough may someday find themselves become the villain. Such is the case with Lynnwell "The Undying". Back in an age when Laurel, the saint, fought in the Last Great War of Rhea. This was before the arena dispute resolution system came into being, which Rhea has upheld even to the current day.
To fight alongside such a legend on the battlefield against a common enemy was something which Lynnwell enjoyed. To Laurel, she may have just been an ally. But to her, Laurel was something far more. A soulmate. Someone who shared the same soul. That of a warrior. At least this was what she perceived at the time. But time was going to change things, as there were no more enemy to fight on the battlefields and Laurel becoming more of a figurehead and spending his time betting and rolling dice to his newly instated tournaments. Lynnwell realized that the Laurel she once knew was no more, the warrior soul he had donned, where were it now? Hers was still burning, and the more idle she were the more the anger stirred within her until she couldn't hold it back no more.
The fighting in the arenas brought her no joy or satisfaction, they were all empty victories which wouldn't change the world or her legacy one bit. She thus formed a group of chosen to make a coup against the Rhean leadership, seeking to plunge the nation into war again so she could once more battle as a true warrior and possibly rekindle Laurel's soul. But this was stopped by the timely arrival of the saint and his students. Lynnwell's allies were captured or slain, whereof she was chased to the roof of the Rhean administrative building, where she and Laurel had their fight. One which would see the legendary saint striking down his former ally.
To most mortals this would have been the end, the final chapter of their book. But to Lynnwell, the undying. This was just the beginning of her long existance and she would have many more clashes with the saint and his disciples until time itself would claim the saint and she was left alone. Her godly given gift of reincarnation had both been a blessing and a curse, as she soon realized she would eventually end up alone with everyone else she knew dying or ending up hating her for what she was trying to do. When Laurel was no longer around, Lynnwell's cause changed. From having attempted to rekindle the flames of war and return Rhea to it's past, she has currently abandoned that way in favor of searching for strong opponents, specifically those of the school of St Laurels.
Perhaps if she was able to reincarnate, what was to say the saint couldn't have aswell? The search for his reincarnation, his spiritual successor was now in motion. No official great record exists about Lynnwell's past other than her apparent connection to Saint Laurel. Much knowledge of her origin was lost in the great heist and blaze of the grand library some twohundred and twenty years ago. While it is commonly believed that Lyngurium Lie, as she is known by the remaining texts, stole something from the grand library or perhaps something from Laurel himself. There had been frantic searches for the lost knowledge by scholars and heroes alike, who tried to discover just what she robbed Rhea of.
In the past when cornered, the elusive villain has chosen to embrace death rather than revealing 'The secret'. The only other person which may have known anything about it was Laurel and since his passing, there has just been speculation. While many believes Lyngurium Lie is now ancient history and long dead, having last been slain some onehundred and thirty years ago by a band of new heroes from St Laurel's school.
"My my, scaramouch art ye? Thou art truly a poltroon."Core: Nine Lives (Reincarnation)
Has past lives which she can remember, everything she's done, experienced and learnt. This in turn allows her to know far more than she should at her physical age. Such as the shortest but effective way to get a strong body in the least amount of time possible and how to stay disciplined. Her gift, aside from allowing her to reincarnate, has given her traits from felines in that she has retractable claws for nails, fangs, heightened senses and a prehensile tail. Alongside a pair of fluffy cat ears.
Increased mental and physical attributes from feline body and knowledge over several lifetimes of battling.
First power: Feline Finesse (Speed, agility, reflexes, climbing, acrobatics, claws, prehensile tail)
To Lynnwell speed is not only the ultimate defense, but also the ultimate offense. A thing which is a deciding factor in victory or loss. To be quick of body and of mind is crucial to any great warrior who desire to stand victorious. But balance and being able to manuever well is not to be discarded neither, for without balance a warrior would be uneven and unreliable, and a warrior which cannot manuever is useless. But immense speed isn't all that she has been bestowed with, climbing, running on walls and other forms of acrobatics come with it aswell.
Second power: Feline Fervor (Fiery blazing soul)
Lynnwell is driven by a fierce passion for battle, with such a fierce warrior's heart and soul, she is immune to tamperings of her fiery soul, which has permitted her to reincarnate despite attempts to seal her soul. This fiery heart and soul may also manifest itself in battle, where she coats herself in heat giving her the ability to fly short distances as if she was propelled by jet engines. The heat can also be directed to her hands to coat them in fire for awhile, or to momentarily turn herself into a fireball. The heat itself seems to radiate out from her, but ignores her own body, clothing and soul. It also seems to not engulf oxygen unless she turns the heat into fire. The fire effects are generally very short, ranging from three seconds to fifteen seconds.
Third power: Feline Ferocity (Strength, toughness, willpower, movement restriction breaking)
To break the chains that bind, to never relent, to never submit. These are things which course through Lynnwell's veins. To pin her down with physical, mental or magical restriction effects is usually met with fierce retaliation. Her strength, speed and resiliance overall is enhanced with the ferocity of a lion protecting it's spawn and that also helps her in breaking free.
"Rhea hast been built uppon a weake foundation forsooth, the buildinge raised in ye imagery, thee vaine saint o' yor. Thine feigne smile, it becommeth ye not. The stone o' ryche, hidith for thine envy, thine feigne vertues shulde not helpe ye. Cyning of none. Thine andsaca o' yor, hast cometh anew. Hither. Sharpen thine bill wight, beorn o' beorht. Come forthe, beadurinc sawol. Laurel... thou arleas deaofol. So sayeth I, thine soothsayer. wlanc Laurel, dyre faeger lufu. Mine mind hast wizened, olde feond. My expergefactor o' yor. Wightkinde grubble for rawgabbit. Brabble onwards all thee wish.
Few are the snollygosters, plentiful art the ultracrepidarians. Dance with thine demise, ye contumelious wights. I shalt tear thee asunder. Weep thine brine, I shalt not let thee besmirch the woruld, meager bantling. Try wade across the ceald brim if ye can. Thou shalt be thwarted, come forth quench my thirst, cockalorum. Offrian thou sawol, gnornian thine beadurinc beorht. Apostols o' Laurel... mere bridewell."Relationships:Saint Laurel: "I detest thee, I miss thee. Mine olde feond o' lufu. Bare thine smirk anew for me, deaofol o' beorht."
Shal-Akkun: "Ye olde skald o' the sand, thine family slain alas in vain. Shalt thine song o' lamentation bring war anew? Vengeance demands thee act lest thou shalt wither by thine illness. Thou art naught but a mooncalf."
Caelum Ripper: "Dirk o' Deaofols. Ye still crave mine sawol? Come forthe, test thine might anew! I shalt tear thine pride asunder... thee and thine bearers."
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