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Author Topic: Alusair Sigurd  (Read 2213 times)

Description: Blood Female. Played by phinn.

Offline Alusair Sigurd

  • Character Account: Inactive
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      phinneas

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Alusair Sigurd
« on: Feb 15, 15, 08:00:33 PM »
The Basics

Character Name: Alusair Sigurd
Nicknames: Scion
Age:  710 (Born 516 BP)
Race: Long-lived (1/2 Eyrien, 1/2 Dhemlanese)
Caste: None.
Birth Territory: Dhemlan, Kaeleer
Home Territory: Dea al Mon

Birthright Jewel: None.
Offering Jewel:  None.

Role:
Faction:

Appearance


Play By: Shannyn Sossamon
Distinguishing Features: In Dea al Mon, there is little about Scion's physical appearance that isn't unique. She is half Dhemlanese and half Eyrien, lending her a coloring that is far swarthier than her countrymen. She was born without wings, but her Eyrien heritage is sometimes visible in a faintly predatory edge that is actually rather familiar to the sometimes-feral Dea al Mon.

Personality



Personality:
Scion is a vibrant, bright-eyed woman who wears confidence like a mantle. She is one of those people whose stare and attention can be a little intense, but she's learned over the years to temper it with bright, wide smiles that seem for all observation to be warm and friendly. She is so practiced at it, in fact, that she is almost always wearing some degree of a smile. She is quick to laugh and quick to playfully tease, which only add to a natural charm which is already formidable. There is something animalistic about Scion at her core, though she's so practiced by now at putting people at ease that most chalk it up to merely an exaggerated vibrancy about her.

Work has always been important to Scion, both the academic and the more physical sort. She is not content unless she is bettering herself, either with physical training or by learning some new subject. Most of her socialization in Dea al Mon is geared towards this end; she does not enjoy the race in general, but she must spend time among them now and again in order to maintain her father's sterling reputation. That being so, she makes strategic acquaintances with people from whom she can learn new things in topics which interest her. She is less comfortable in courtly fashion than she is in more casual gear, but it is the stuffiness of the court atmosphere which is truly discomforting to her.

Much as Scion looks down upon the Dea al Mon, she takes lovers from among their numbers simply out of necessity. They are invariably strong men who are not intimidated by Scion's aggressive nature or the way she pursues strength for herself. She likes a good helping of danger with her liaisons, and many of them have begun with her all but picking a fight with some snarly Warlord Prince.

Likes:
  • Sharp objects. Scion likes blades. She likes the polish and shine of them, the elegance of them, the way they can be so beautiful and still so very deadly. Even when she doesn't have Akil'Hazon on her back, she's still usually carrying at least three blades hidden in her clothes, more because she just likes them than because of any sort of fear of attack.
  • Taking risks. She likes pushing herself. In particular, she likes taking aim at a task that she can't accomplish and then training and pushing herself until she surmounts it. Knowing the kind of impressive results the proper incentive can inspire, she's more daring than most about what she'll try to accomplish without a safety net. She likes the rush of adrenaline that real fear inspires, but these days it takes pretty unusual circumstances to summon that rush.
  • Inspiring fear. It doesn't happen often, because Scion is devoted to living peacefully among the Dea al Mon, as her father wishes. But make no mistake, Scion is not Dea al Mon. She is Something Else entirely, and sometimes that comes through via knives in her smile or fire in her eyes. Those who perceive it are often unnerved by it, and though Scion would never go so far as to blatantly frighten someone in such a way that would damage her father's reputation, she secretly loves those moments.
Dislikes:
  • The Dea al Mon. They are, for the most part, haughty little busy-bodies with a misplaced sense of pride. Scion has never forgotten how it felt to be looked down on because of her differences. She now considers those differences to be advantages, but for the sake of her father's reputation she has to pretend to be humbly honored by the acceptance of the Dea al Mon.
  • Indolence. Scion was born with a raging work ethic. Though she does understand the need for relaxation and breaks and does indulge in them, there is a difference in maintaining a healthy work/rest balance and just being lazy. She is never without some sort of project for each her mental and physical growth.
  • Healers. This may be a projection of her dislike for needing a healer in the first place, or merely a result of a bias picked up in her younger years, when she trained in the Red Cloaks alongside a pair of particularly delicate Healers. Whatever the cause, Scion perceives Healers in general to be weak-willed, simpering, miserable wretches who depend too heavily on the protection of others. She hides this, of course, as she relies on their Craft to keep her pain managed well enough for her to function comfortably.

    Fears:
  • Life after her father. For the first time, Nemesis is beginning to show his age. If he perishes of old age then he still has many years left to him, but not nearly so many as Scion has. Someday she will be without him, and this thought is more frequently on her mind now than it ever has been before. Her entire existence to this point has been centered on him; he is her cornerstone and her greatest aspiration in one, and she secretly fears the day when he'll leave her behind.
  • Balmung. Having had experience with Akil'Hazon, Scion thought herself well-suited to reach for Balmung's aid when Soledad nearly killed Nemesis. Scion was, however, quite unprepared for the sheer degree of power wielded by the ancient spirit, and the terrible darkness which enveloped it. The experience scarred her in a sense, and though she does not have nightmares every night any longer, they do still occasionally come.
  • Rakal's future. Scion cares deeply for Rakal in a number of ways, and all of them wish that he could be released of every chain that binds him. As much as Scion loves her father and respects his work, it nonetheless saddens her that Rakal's life isn't his own. It's impossible to know at this point what the young Warlord Prince's future looks like, but having had a brush with Balmung herself, Scion quietly fears the fate of the young man destined to contain him.
General Strengths:
  • Fighting. Scion has trained almost constantly since reaching adulthood 685 years ago. It is both a means to release a natural font of aggression within her, and a way for her to feel useful despite being limited to basic Craft. She has trained in a number of styles, though she's been limited to what instructors she could find in Dea al Mon. She has developed a particular affinity for swords and knives.
  • Teaching. A more recent endeavor, Scion only ever attempted to train someone else when Rakal became old enough to begin learning (which, according to Scion was not long after he was old enough to walk). She was surprised to find how much she enjoyed watching another progress through the stages of learning, and her enjoyment of the process makes her passionate about it. Her natural inclination towards observation helps her understand people and the mistakes they make better than most, and allows her to correct them strategically. She is not necessarily a kind or gentle tutor, but she is very effective.
General Weaknesses:
  • Blind Spot. Scion's father can do no wrong. Period. She has a severe case of hero-worship, one that has been compounding for nearly a millennium now. Her love of her father is so blinding that even when something seems to her to be amiss, she will assume it is an error in her own perception before she will consider that her father might be in the wrong. She is rabidly loyal.

  • Not exactly Dr. Doolittle. Animals and Scion typically do not get along. There is something about the woman, some aspect of her bearing that puts animals ill at ease. For someone who cannot ride the Winds on her own, it is particularly annoying that her very presence upsets horses.
Life Story

Family:
Mother: Unknown, deceased.
Father: Taulamous Montecristo / Nemesis Sigurd, Blood Opal to Broken Sapphire Prince, b. 4,137 BP.
Siblings:
Taxet Montecristo (Blood Opal to Red Black Widow Prince) Born 3387 BP.
Delnatta Montecristo (Summer Sky to Opal Priestess)* Born 3112 BP. Deceased at Purge.
Asinata Montecristo (Rose to Purple Dusk Queen)* Born 3001 BP. Deceased at Purge
Filligan Sigurd (Yellow to Rose Prince) ½ Dea al Mon. Born 100 PP
Vision Sigurd (Rose to Summer Sky Queen) ½ Dea al Mon. Born 83 PP
Apex Sigurd (Summer Sky to Opal Warlord Prince) ½ Dea al Mon. Born 123 PP
Rakal Sigurd (Birthright Blood Opal Warlord Prince)* ½ Dea al Mon. Born 169 PP.

History:
Born with the ego of the Dhemlanese and the aggressiveness of the Eyriens in her veins, there was never really a chance that Alusair would be anything other than an over-achiever. By the time she was old enough to form lasting memories, her father was the only constant in her life. She therefore turned her desire for approval and conflict towards finding ways to please him. Alusair was a clever child even at a young age, and her propensity for observation and calculation won her the interest of her father while her half-siblings were still figuring out how to play with their dolls. Alusair has always been inquisitive and experimental, and her father's approval has nurtured an inherent willingness in her to use those around her as test subjects for the sake of answering the questions which plague her. Of course in her youth these experiments were harmless; she'd arrange for a favored toy to be lost so that she could observe how quickly the mourning owner of said toy would move on and bestow favor upon another, for instance. As each question was answered, Alusair stored the information away and let it percolate, until all the little bits and pieces eventually built an uncannily effective assessment of the nature of people in general. Well--the nature of people who were her siblings, at least. As the only half-Eyrien among them she'd been destined to be a little bit set apart from them from the beginning. Her preference to watch and learn only aggravated that divide. When her world was uprooted because her father had to flee Dhemlan before her Birthright ceremony, Alusair was initially shocked with grief over the loss of all of her siblings at once. She'd never been particularly close to them, but they were nonetheless the only family she'd had besides her father. This grief was assuaged in part by the knowledge that her father hadn't been able to bear leaving her behind, even when difficult choices meant the others were left. She'd always felt like she was special somehow, moreso than the others. Her father's actions confirmed that, and she responded by devoting herself even more fully to becoming who and what he wanted her to be.
 
Relocating to Dea al Mon, a strange land full of strange people, was daunting. More daunting was the fact that when she went to the Dea al Mon Priestesses for her Birthright Ceremony, she somehow came away empty-handed. Alusair was crushed; it was her first real taste of utter defeat concerning something she truly wanted. More people came away from their Birthright Ceremonies as jewel-less Blood than as jeweled Blood, true, but Alusair had been certain that she was meant to be something special, something fit to help her father achieve great things. Taulamous was a comfort, assuring Alusair that it was not a jewel but the mind of the person behind the jewel which mattered. He challenged her to not let herself be defined by any jewel or lack thereof.
 
Alusair took on that challenge with her usual tenacity, and began to focus on educating herself. Even as a young girl she was rarely hampered by the normal social distractions; for many years she was seen as an oddity and an outsider because of her origin. Though Alusair followed her father's example in being polite and congenial, she never forgot that snobbish reluctance she encountered when initially seeking acceptance among her Dea al Mon peers. The older she got and the more accustomed her peers became to having her around, the less obvious this divide was, but on Alusair's part it never really abated. In addition to the normal education to which youths in Dea al Mon were subjected, Alusair also plied herself to learning and understanding the work her father did. She found purpose in being his perfect student, to the point that her hopes and dreams were merely echoes of what she perceived his to be. With his assurances that they were working towards a long-term goal that those around them couldn't properly appreciate, Alusair never flinched in accomplishing whatever her father set her towards.
 
Despite how confident Alusair grew to seem while she learned, how content with her station and the passage of her days, it was impossible for the woman to ignore the possibility that a successful Offering ritual might win her a Jewel at last. As the years ticked by and she grew closer to the age of Offering she tried to ignore it, tried to rest in the comforting words her father had spoken to her after her failed Birthright. There was something in her which would not let her ignore it completely, though. It was a challenge, and she couldn't just pretend like it wasn't. When she came of age she went to an altar without pomp or preamble and made her Offering to the Darkness.
 
It wasn't until she emerged from the ceremony, once again empty-handed, that she understood just how certain she'd quietly been that she'd receive a Jewel. She was once again crushed, though this time the trauma was a much more subtle affair. She told no one of what she saw as her failure, and acted to most as though it'd never occurred to her to want a Jewel at all. Certainly her father knew better, but Alusair never brought the matter to him. She assumed he would tell her the same thing he'd told her when she'd been eight, and she knew how little he loved to repeat himself. Heartbroken as she was, she didn't linger long in self-pity. She couldn’t. She owed her father more than that, she told herself. She might be forever jewel-less, but she would not be useless.
 
Alusair submitted to the normal five years of service in the Red Cloaks as a gesture of respect for the ways of the Dea al Mon despite not truly feeling like one of them. It was nearly by chance, then, that she discovered the thrill of fighting. Once she got a taste of it, though, it became a passion of hers. She came alive when sparring, whether with blade or fists or staff. The physical contest between two people made for a place where her lack of a Jewel did not limit her among some of her stronger peers. Her success and failures depended not on Craft, but on her wit, strength, agility, strategy, and learned skill.
 
And if there was anything Alusair knew how to do well, it was learn.
 
Her education in warfare was also where she discovered how addictive the rush of adrenaline could be. It began with her merely wanting to push herself to be better; she'd choose much stronger or more skilled people with whom to spar. She took innumerable beatings as a result, but every match taught her something, nonetheless. The more she trained the better she got at reading and anticipating her opponents. She took to weapons training with a nearly rabid fervor, unable to quite put her finger on what about the art pleased her so much. She developed a special fondness for bladed weapons. By the time her father began speaking of the need for a way to test the progression of their understanding of mystical prisons, Alusair was competent enough to be of aid in disabling the Priestesses guarding the prison of an old spirit named Akil'Hazon. Taulamous saw to it that the event ended with Akil'Hazon bound into a sword and himself and Alusair praised among the Dea al Mon for their help in containing the threat that they'd secretly unleashed. Alusair had never felt more alive than during that conflict, standing at her father's side and facing down an ancient force. It required a precise blend of cunning, strategy, physical prowess and spell-weaving to defeat Akil-Hazon. Witnessing all of those elements come together to pull and lock the spirit into her sword under the threat of such great peril was exhilarating. When the Queen they'd "saved" made them honorary Dea al Mon as thanks, Alusair changed her name to Scion. She could think of no higher goal for herself than to be known as the blood of Taulamous, who now called himself Nemesis Sigurd.
 
Scion had never before been exposed to such a font of power as what now rested within the sword that'd been entrusted to her care. Disciplined as she thought herself, the furious spirit bound into the weapon still managed to nearly bring about her ruin by goading her into relying on it's power in combat when her own skill was insufficient. Easily seduced by such power and strength as she might've been, Scion was also still the proud and discerning woman she'd always been. Once she realized how heavily she had come to reply upon Akil'Hazon's strength instead of her own, she forced herself to reconsider the used of the sword. Ultimately, Scion locked it away and returned to her training, determined to refine her skill rather than learn to rely on a crutch such as Akil'Hazon's power. Generations passed while Scion trained, ever challenging herself with bigger and more difficult feats. When she finally took up Akil'Hazon again, it was as a person well-removed from the over-eager youth who'd last gripped that hilt. The power of the spirit within the blade was all but ignored, only lingering as an ever-ready resource should a situation require it. Scion gradually allowed herself to learn to use some of that power at will, but she never again made the mistake of letting it serve in place of genuine training and skill.
 
The Purge changed much in Dea al Mon, as it did everywhere else. Scion, quick-witted as ever, managed to understand that the people around her who fought to resist the storm were decimated, while the ones who gave into chaos or weakness seemed unharmed. By the time she found her father in his laboratory, there wasn't time to explain to him what she'd deduced. She incapacitated him, then sat guarding over him while the rest of the household - and much of the Dea al Mon throughout the land - perished. It wasn't that she didn't care for the rest of Nemesis' little family, but her concern for them was nothing at all compared to her drive to see to her father's safety. The loss of her siblings (again) was unfortunate, but not world-ending as the loss of her father would have been. They were, after all, half Dea al Mon.
 
The Purge, for all the destruction it wrought, also created an opportunity for the two intrepid Sigurds. Scion assisted her father in decimating the teachings left behind by the felled Priestesshood. Without the records of their wisdom and teachings, new Priestesses grew up unschooled in the arts of their caste. This meant far less interference with and awareness of the work Nemesis wished to do with Balmung. Believing the ancient spirit's freedom was the only way to prevent her father from being touched by the Waste, Scion worked with Nemesis to catalogue the wards and spells holding Balmung trapped. And when Nemesis left Dea al Mon to recruit materials for his experiments, Scion leapt at the chance to join him. When the interference of another Dhemlanese woman threatened to overwhelm Nemesis and kill him, Scion did as Balmung instructed and freed a portion of his essence to combat the woman. The act saved Nemesis' life, but it took a great effort to rebind even that small fraction of Balmung's power again to keep it from killing everyone present. In the end, both the interloper (called Soledad) and Nemesis had broken Offerings and Scion was badly injured, but the Sigurds were able to escape with their lives.
 
After returning to Dea al Mon, it took time for Scion to heal. Initially, nightmares inspired by Balmung and the near-loss of her father almost drove her mad. In addition, one of Soledad's attacks had severely damaged Scion's nervous system, causing near-constant pain with every movement despite her injuries having healed. She was pained when awake and haunted when asleep, and even Scion's stalwart determination to rise to the challenge before her was nearly not enough. She pushed through, though, refusing to abandon the work her father placed before her. Even at her most pained she could still sit and do research. It took years of regular therapy with healers before the pain truly began to abate and her old routines became bearable again. To this day Scion maintains regular appointments with a healer to continue the healing, though the pain is by now a mere shadow of what it used to be. It is no longer a constant vexation; so long as she maintains her therapy with a healer, the pain remains limited to periodic episodes. Though she would not pass up the chance to exact revenge upon the Black Widow who sentenced her to such enduring pain, part of Scion is appreciative of it. It forced her to learn how to function in spite of the pain, and she considers herself stronger now because of it.

Meanwhile, the work Scion did with her father began to change. Though the pair still concerned themselves with learning and understanding the ways of the prisons wrought by Priestesses long dead, Nemesis was now concerned with finding a suitable heir to help control Balmung once the spirit was released. Scion helped as much as she could, unfazed by the methods her father employed to reach his goals. After all, there was a much bigger picture involved than any of the short-lived people around them could appreciate. Though Nemesis' attempts were fraught with failure at first, one of the more recent candidates has shown an exciting amount of promise. A young Warlord Prince which Nemesis named Rakal seems so far to be everything for which the Sigurds were hoping. Scion adopted the boy early on as a sort of ward, and eventually began training him. Now a strong young man on the verge of adulthood, Rakal is an endless source of quiet pride for Scion, one she guards quite fiercely. 

Show Us What You've Got

Character in Play:
Alusair had not gone to sleep. That made it especially unsettling for her when she seemed to suddenly wake up. Awareness descended upon her in a wave of details. The smell of raw wood and fresh sap. The warmth of the midday sun soaking into her dark hair. The sound of the warm summer breeze shuffling the treetops high overhead, and the soft susserance of leaves rustling closer to the ground. The eerie, unnatural absence of any other sounds. It was the sight before her that set her most ill at ease, though. She stood in the center of a roughly-hewn circle, and for ten yards in every direction there was nothing left standing taller than the trampled grass underfoot. Beyond that radius, the forest looked mostly untouched, thick with tall pines and scrubby underbrush.

Alusair recalled coming out here. She'd heard rumors of trees possessed by maddened spirits, strange conglomerate monsters that lurked in the Wood. She had come to see if the stories were true and if they were, to test her skill against them. She'd found them; there was no other explanation for the strangely anthropomorphic arrangement of several uprooted pines that were now crushed and split to pieces within the boundaries of her strange circle. Alusair did not remember fighting them. Flashes of images returned to her as she studied her surroundings, though. A horrible roar, so loud and constant. The screech of the spirits inside the trees. The lash of those mobilized branches and boughs. Alusair looked down at herself; yes, she remembered being whipped by those branches during the fight, and the raw red lines across her arms and side glared at her angrily in proof.   

It wasn't until then that she remembered the sword at all. She still had a death grip on its hilt, and she lifted it now to inspect the sap and bark that was still stuck to it. The light of day flashed across the shining surface of its blade, and for just an instant, Alusair could've sworn she'd seen a face beside her own reflected there. A breeze raced through the air around her, and she could feel the purring strength of the spirit bound into the sword. It was… not content, per se, because it wanted more. But it had enjoyed whatever had happed in this glen, that much was quite clear.

YOU WERE WEAK! I AM STRONG.

"Apparently so," Alusair murmured, with a clinically thoughtful air. She took one last, long look at the destruction around her, then turned to move back towards home. She would wait to clean it before resheathing the blade, but once sheathed it would remain that way, she decided. She'd no sooner made the decision than she sensed Akil'hazon's fury kick into a tempest within the confines of his prison.

"Strong as you may be, my friend, I'll be no one's puppet," she murmured, while the spirit impotently raged. "I hope you enjoyed your afternoon; it'll be your last adventure for a while."

Petitions (if any): 
Why did this character became inactive?
The Great Burnout of 2014. Really, a bunch of players bounced and my plots all fell apart.

What will you do to prevent this character from becoming inactive again?
Play her. As long as there are people around to play with, I don't have trouble keeping my Cs active.

What are your plans for this character?
Havoc in Dea al Mon. Nicole's got some juicy stuff cookin', and I'm planning on working Scion into them to play up how much she likes to screw with the DaM. She doesn't really like them, but they don't know that. It gives her a fun position from which to manipulate their egos.

Number of previous Reactivations:
None, I think?

Changes Made to Application for Reactivation Process (if any) :
None.

Player Name:phinneas









Offline phinneas

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Re: Alusair Sigurd
« Reply #1 on: Feb 15, 15, 08:01:06 PM »
Ready for Review, please.
phinneas@bloodrites.net  •  Discord: phinn#0798  •  Writer Tracker


Offline Dash

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Re: Alusair Sigurd
« Reply #2 on: Feb 17, 15, 08:10:37 PM »
Email: Dash@Bloodrites.net   Discord: Dash#6159

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Offline Dash

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Re: Alusair Sigurd
« Reply #3 on: Dec 04, 18, 08:11:52 PM »
Per 2018 Thanksgiving Shop Adoptable Dark Ally Roll:

Weighed by Mother Night...

You've risen from the Darkness twice blessed with an uncut Purple Dusk Birthright Jewel, and were gifted with a cut Green Jewel at your Offering.

&

Congratulations!
Email: Dash@Bloodrites.net   Discord: Dash#6159

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