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Topics - Vengeance Elessar

Pages: 1
Dea al Mon / Does The Lion Inside Of You Sleep?
« on: Jan 04, 19, 01:44:05 PM »
Her courier duties were complete and Vengeance was on her way back to Glory Glade to continue her duties as warrior and guard. She did not rush back to that forest, however. She, instead, took a leisurely pace upon her horse through the woodland paths back to her destination, taking those hours and days to reflect.

Since the attack upon the Black Castle, it seemed as though Vengeance did little more than that – reflect.

Her cousin, Tempest, had led them to Glory Glade, to route the Brood incursion there, but there had hardly been a whisper of the monsters since their squad had arrived. Restless, Vengeance found herself doubling down on practicing, testing out new techniques and keeping her skills sharp. But practice only went so far in smoothing away that itch for battle, that craving for blood. And while the sex with Sparrow satiated her on some levels, there were other facets of Vengeance that were left wanting.

It was nearing sunset. Vengeance knew that Celarith was not far ahead on the path and decided to stay the night there. As she approached the perimeter of the city, she hailed the Red Cloak and Ebon Guard protectors, seen and unseen, introducing herself with a simple, “Vengeance Elessar, of the Omega Company, traveling through to Glory Glade and seeking shelter for the night.” She did not miss a few of the surprised looks of recognition. Vengeance had a carved a bloody reputation for herself and, even without her warpaint on, she still held herself like the force of nature that she was.

Her mount was handed over to another’s care and she was shown simple quarters within the barracks for her night’s stay. After instructions regarding routine and where to find sustenance, Vengeance took a moment to mostly disarm herself, deciding to rely on others for more of her safety that night in favor of indulging herself in the hospitality of the Court there. Perhaps she would share stories and gather news from the Red Cloaks stationed here. Something to occupy her restless mind.

She was unstrapping her wrist guards when a knock sounded on her doorframe. She turned to see a younger witch, her scarlet cloak shiny and untested, looking at her expectantly. “You are requested,” the witch said. “By Prince Ancalima. He wishes to welcome you.”

Vengeance returned to her armaments but replied, “I will attend to him shortly.” She heard the whispering footfalls of the recruit leaving. A few moments later, Vengeance began making her way towards the Court estate. After a brief inquiry, she was directed towards his location.

She knew very little about Prince Ancalima, aside from his ranking in the Court. But one other tidbit she knew was that his daughter was Virtuosa, a fierce Queen that Vengeance longed to meet, perhaps even test in battle. How did that work, a Queen fighting? The glory of it, Vengeance could only imagine. Queens, being the heart of Blood society, never joined combat, but they were the fiercest of the fighters because they had the most to lose. This duality had to be beautiful and terrible to behold. Unfortunately, Queens were not allowed to unleash that aspect of themselves.

Vengeance made note to ask Prince Ancalima how he felt about that.

Dea al Mon / I'm Only In It For The Give And Take
« on: Dec 03, 18, 01:58:39 PM »
The forest was not entirely silent as Vengeance passed underneath the canopy, the clopping of her horse’s hooves muffled by the underbrush, but it was not vibrantly awash with noise and activity. Partially, it was because Vengeance was there and she knew that. But she often wondered if the diminished noise was because of other...predators...about.

The Brood had shown to the Dea al Mon that they could infiltrate the borders of even the most defended of grounds, the Black Castle, so what stopped them from passing unsuspected through the rest of the trails through the forests?

Vengeance did not worry. She itched for battle. One of her swords lay across the saddle, at ease but ready, while the other was still vanished. The weeks spent in Glory Glade had passed without incident and Vengeance had begun to wonder if the Brood were amassing elsewhere in preparations for another attack. Restless to do something besides patrol the vibrant woods around Glory Glade, she had volunteered to deliver these missives to the Black Castle, glad to be on the road, idly hunting, but doing something different.

Peace just did not sit well with the warrior witch.

As she approached the Black Castle, she felt the familiarity of a homecoming. She did not sheathe her blade but she felt more relaxed. She would dwell a few days here while letters were written to return with her, catch up on the news from around the Territory, but, most importantly, brush up on her sparring skills with new partners. Sparrow, her lover, could be fierce, as were most of the fighters in Glory Glade, but Vengeance never turned down a chance to trade blows with someone new.

After delivering the bundle of letters to the Steward’s office, Vengeance found a light meal and a place to bed down for the night. But since it was only afternoon, she had plenty of hours before sleep, so she roamed towards the familiar sparring grounds where the Red Cloaks and Ebon Guard often trained.

But the woman she found in the ring was neither.

She was one of the Untamed, the uncultured Blood that came from across the borders, who thought they understood the Dea al Mon. But she moved with a feral grace and sharp skill that came with years of training. Vengeance had seen such grace from another Untamed on the castle grounds, the one called Vanguard. Perhaps he had trained with this woman.

The Green witch waited, watching, until the woman had finished the latest string of practice movements and stopped. “You move well,” Vengeance said as a compliment. Her smile then turned feral, challenging. “But do you know how to fight with those moves?” she asked.

Dea al Mon / Our Lives Are Made In These Small Hours
« on: Jul 02, 18, 11:38:10 AM »

Glory Glade had a beauty unlike anything Vengeance had seen in the rest of Dea al Mon.

The locals attributed it to the Queen who could sing trees into being. And as Vengeance walked through the forests to gain familiarity with them, she believed it. There was a peace here that defied reality -- she could easily forget that the Brood lingered closer here than ever -- but her disciplined mind kept her paranoia sharp.

But that did not mean that Vengeance did not ever let her guard down.

They were bunked in small, private quarters, as soldiers ought to be, but the quarters given them were still spacious and accommodating. At least, by Vengeance’s standards. She was certain that her cousin Tempest would have preferred something more spartan. The first two nights passed without cause for worry but by the third night, Vengeance itched for companionship and something more.

She left her armor behind but her blades she carried on her person, vanished, as always. Though divested of her warrior attire, Vengeance still moved with purpose, until she reached the door to Sparrow’s room, where her uncertainty began to show.

There was something here in Glory Glade that both called to her soothingly and chafed at her incessantly. She could not decided which. And she decided that if she had to be trapped in this maddening limbo, she would do so in the presence of her lover, allowing her to see this vulnerable side.

She knocked, softly, and let the sharp tang of her Green rest against Sparrow’s mind so that the Healer knew who was there without a word. The low witchlight in the hall would make her look more lost than she felt when Sparrow opened the door to a Vengeance with her hair unbound and her ruby red cloak left behind. Vulnerable, yes, that was a good word, yet in those dark eyes Sparrow would see her warrior-lover still fierce and ready to fight.

“It is too quiet tonight,” Vengeance murmured to Sparrow, whom she hoped would understand that peace did not sit easily with the Green witch. “I cannot sleep.”

Dea al Mon / It's Dangerous To Go Alone
« on: Nov 10, 17, 03:04:00 PM »
Vengeance stepped from the shower, wrapped the towel around her trim form, and made her way back to her quarters to finish with her morning routine. It had been some days since her incident with Vanguard and the healing was complete -- Vengeance was cleared for duty once again and eagerly sought the first patrol. But as she did every morning before either sparring or going on patrol, she took fifteen minutes to meditate in her quarters.

After spreading the towel on the hard floor, Vengeance tucked her hair back, crossed her legs as she sat, and rested her hands lightly on her knees. She aligned her spine straight, imagining it a tree reaching resolutely towards the sky, before closing her eyes to begin. The air in her quarters cooled her damp skin, reminding her of the cool autumn breezes that tickled the gaps in her armor when she was outside. Drawn by that slow stirring of air, Vengeance descended slowly to depths of her Green, imagining the forest limned in that same verdant hue.

The silence around her became the stillness of that mental forest. There came no thoughts, no words. Vengeance walked softly, her bare feet buried in the loamy earth, delicate fronds caressing her thighs as she passed. That was all she ever did during these meditations -- walk the land that she fought so hard to save. Its beauty, even imagined, reminded her of her charge, her duty, why she had chosen her name, why she carried her blades. She did not imagine animals or other sentient inhabitants of the woodlands -- just forest with its endless Green.

Her fingers brushed the roughened bark of trees as she walked. Her hair flirted with the breeze that flowed over her bare shoulders and down her back. She walked until she felt completely at peace and then she paused, slowly turning to take in the forest around her. Her forest. Her land. One day, her fight would end and she would return to this. She would become the very forest she had died to protect.

Vengeance opened her eyes, knowing, without a doubt, her purpose.

With limber grace, Vengeance rose from her position and went to retrieve her clothes. With deliberate slowness, she armored herself -- pants, jerkin, weapon belt, armguards, boots -- and finally fastened her blood red and tattered cloak to her shoulderguards. Since this was patrol and not battle, Vengeance did not smear on her fearsome style of warpaint. She felt a bit naked without it still.

She saddled a horse -- a gray gelding -- and went out to meet her patrol partner for that day. It would feel good to be back at work and, as Vengeance prepared to set out, she felt her senses sharpening, extending. She had just led her horse out beyond the stables when she stopped, seeing her cousin Tempest nearing, with an unexpected companion at her side.

Dea al Mon / Make It Bleed
« on: May 15, 17, 08:00:29 PM »
The Black Castle was still recovering from its attack by the fearsome Brood, a process that would take a lengthy amount of time in order to heal the wounds received both physically and emotionally. The city of Nieste was hyper vigilant, with Red Cloaks and Ebon Guard patrolling in tandem, with scouts scouring the forests for another advancing onslaught, with commanders deep in discussion long into the night about what to do.

For Vengeance, the answer was simple: prepare. Though her muscles still growled with a bit of soreness, she strode out into the sparring ring that the Red Cloaks claimed as one of their own for practice, staff in hand. Her morning meditation had provided her plenty of focus, honing her hatred into something nearly as sharp as her blades. Eventually, she would get her chance to repay the Brood for every death and more. She considered herself blessed by Mother Night to have escaped death and offered that opportunity.

The staff was not her preferred weapon but it sufficed for today’s exercise, which was a series of dance-like moves designed to increase her flexibility and warm up sleep-stiffened muscles. Around her, others of the Red Cloaks practiced, either together or alone like she. The mood was tense, with whispers heated by emotions. Those who reeked of fear Vengeance discarded from her mind. Unworthy. But those whose manner matched her own, those were the ones she considered her sisters and brothers in arms, for they would be the ones calling down destruction when the Brood so foolishly returned.

Just thinking about that day brought a fire to Vengeance’s form. If Tempest had not held her back the other day, another dozen Brood would have met their doom by her blade. Vengeance cared not for the danger of being separated from her squadron in the midst of a few dozen Brood. She cared for the deaths of the Brood! Did no one else feel that conviction with such heat as she?

The answer to that question, Vengeance found so far, was no. And that lent additional fire to her form, as she internally railed against finding no equal or better to aid her quest so far. The destruction of the Brood, the eradication of the Waste -- was that too much to ask?

Dea al Mon / Vengeance Elessar
« on: Sep 26, 16, 07:55:27 PM »
The Basics
Character Name: Vengeance Elessar
Age and Birth Year: 34 (born 160 AP)
Race: medium lived
Caste: witch
Birth Territory: Kassel, Dea al Mon
Home Territory: Dea al Mon

Birthright Jewel: uncut Summer Sky
Offering Jewel: uncut Green

Role: Shieldwoman
Faction: Holy Matrons

Play By: Alycia Debnam-Carey
Distinguishing Features:


Some might say that Vengeance is cold or detached. She carries herself with an air of stoicism and callousness, striding purposefully to every destination like she is on a mission. She may not be in charge of others, but she is in charge of her life. Her interactions with others tend to be clipped, and don’t be surprised if she angers someone with a dry or cynical response. She’s willing to listen to other people's’ ideas, provided that they are good ones, but don’t expect her to follow along. She’s the type of person that can be depended upon in a fight but also the type of person to drop supposed allies in an instant because their goals no longer match hers.

Truthfully though, Vengeance is a passionate woman, but one who reveals it in unexpected ways. She loves battle -- the thrill of fighting, the sweet tang of blood. She embodies and embraces the ruthless side that witches have during these moments, letting it sing in her Blood. When she chooses a lover, that lover will lack nothing in the bedroom, and will have a stalwart champion until they part ways.

That passion is also revealed if someone crosses Vengeance. Question her methods and be prepared to step into the ring to fight. She’s the type of woman to rise to the challenge, not run from it, but be advised: if Vengeance is caught showing weakness, she will vehemently deny it. If she is not fighting or training, she is most likely calculating the next course of attack or watching others in the room for potential alliances or enemies, depending on her goals. Vengeance can be a handful to those in authority, but she is a brilliant and inspiring fighter, which makes her a great asset in the battlefield.

  • 1 - Fighting. For Vengeance, this is the height of life. She spends hours training, sparring, checking her armor and weapons, etc. In her opinion, it isn’t a good fight until blood is drawn.
  • 2 - Meditating. While a passionate fighter, Vengeance understands that if you want to win, you must fight with your heart AND your head. She meditates in the morning, clearly envisioning her path before her, which helps to center her for the battles to come.
  • 3 - Baths. As feral and wild as Vengeance can be, she does enjoy evenings where she is left alone to soak in a warm bath. Candles, bubbles, and a glass of wine, please, and that’ll make her content.
  • 1 - Her moontime. Three days of not being able to use her Jewels and being vulnerable? It puts Vengeance into a near rage. She will often suppress her moontime and gladly take the pain the second one brings, just so that she isn’t as vulnerable.
  • 2 - Menial chores. Generally, anything that involves cleaning irks Vengeance. Laundry, dusting, etc. Her room is far from being a mess but that’s honestly because she doesn’t keep much in it to begin with. She’s pretty bad about cleaning her armor, preferring to keep it bloodstained as a happy reminder of vanquished foes.
  • 3 - Dresses. Not talking about practical ones a woman can fight in. Vengeance can’t stand ballroom gowns or styles like that. If she has to wear a dress to any function (who brings Vengeance to a social function?!), it’s complete with thigh high boots and plenty of leather.
  • 1 - The Waste. Vengeance already rides the line of being called Brood and her antisocial, feral ways give the rumor mill plenty to go on some day. But she fears becoming the thing she kills, and fears succumbing to the thing that killed her father. If she falls to the Waste, who will protect her sisters?
  • 2 - Losing her sisters. Vengeance adores her little sisters and goes to great lengths to see them cared for. She’d rather lose a limb than lose one of her sisters.
  • 3 - Closed spaces. There’s no room to fight in small rooms or tight crowds. If anything can bring Vengeance to the state of near panic, it’s places like this.
Craft Strengths:
  • 1 - Finishing the kill. Vengeance LOVES this. Back to the Darkness, you fiend! She gets such pleasure with that final kiss of death coming from her hand.
  • 2 - Defensive Shielding. Vengeance is great at keeping her shields flexible and rotating. She may double shield one area at first and then quickly shift the power of that shield to another area, depending on an incoming strike.
Craft Weaknesses:
  • 1 - Battlefield Triage/Healing. This is something of a conundrum as to why Vengeance is bad at it. Part of her welcomes the pain and the blood but her logical side knows that blood loss and injuries can impede her in victory. She is at a crossroads about this use of Craft and her own inability to come to a resolution is what drags her down.
  • 2 - Sensing Spells. Vengeance is just generally weak in this area and it bothers her. She will not admit this weakness either because she thinks other will use it against her. Vengeance has learned to counter this with better Defensive Shielding but it still bothers her.
Life Story

Mother: Ivy Elessar, Purple Dusk witch (deceased at age 39)
Father: Mace Elessar, Opal Warlord (deceased at age 57)
Siblings: sisters Spring, Yellow to Rose Healer (age 31, born 163 AP); Summer, Rose to Opal witch (age 28, born 166 AP); Winter, Tiger Eye to Summer Sky Black Widow (age 24, born 170 AP); brother Glaive (deceased at age 2)
Cousins: Tempest and Willow Elessar

Vengeance was the firstborn daughter, named Autumn at birth because it was her mother’s favorite season. This suited young Autumn perfectly, since she grew to love the changing leaves and the warm colors that came with fall. To this day, her favorite colors are still reds and ambers, which stand out in bright contrast to the rest of the earth tones she wears. 

Autumn grew up in the Bremen District of Kassel, in an idyllic sort of family life until her teenage years. She learned to hunt and defend herself, but also to read and analyze things. Her cadre of sisters provided companionship, all of them named for the seasons of the year. By the time Autumn was twelve, a brother had joined their family band. Autumn looked forward to teaching him all that she knew about hunting and fighting, since her sisters were more interested in traditionally feminine things.

Alas, that was not to be. During a Brood attack, Autumn’s mother and her little brother were killed. The remaining family fled north. Autumn’s father relied on her heavily, since his grief over losing wife and son was apparent. That grief would eventually drive him mad, weaken him, and make him susceptible to the Waste some years later. But for the time before that, Autumn learned how to be a leader. 

She did not forget what had happened to her mother and brother. And that festering memory forged something terrible within Autumn: a need for revenge.

It did not take much discussion with her father to allow her to take additional fighting lessons. Her father had stopped caring about the world, while Autumn cared far too much about it. If she could not bring her mother and brother back, she would die defending what family remained. And send as many of the Brood back to the Darkness.

All of this passion drove Autumn into becoming the woman she is today. She went into her Offering with one purpose: to return as a warrior ready for battle. She did just that, emerging from the Sanctuary with blood streaked across her face, clutching her new Jewel tightly, and declaring a new name for herself: Vengeance.

At first, her extended family thought this was a phase. Her father said nothing, and it was his lack of words that forced the rest of the community to accept Vengeance’s new stance in life. Vengeance joined the Red Cloaks and became known as the fighter who painted her face before battle, creating a fearsome visage and a ruthless reputation as a melee fighter whose twin blades were the last thing an enemy saw.

It came as no surprise to Vengeance that her father succumbed to the Waste a few years later. She had grown used to him retreating from the rest of humanity, so when she caught him leaving the house late one night, she let him go with the warning: if she ever saw him in the forest after this point, she would kill him to protect the others. He understood.

From then on, Vengeance was the protector of her family and her community. She was the first to sign up for counterstrikes or to defend an area against Brood incursions. She did not shy from any of her duties, but many people around her whispered that she had grown heartless. She ignored them. What heartbeat that remained hers was now locked within passion of battle and in protecting her sisters from the Brood.

Show Us What You've Got
Character in Play:
“Mother Night!” her opponent yelled as he scrambled away. Her left sword, a blade a little over two feet long, had struck the ground, point down, right near his groin, missing it by mere inches. Luckily, he was Shielded, but the strike still knocked him off balance and served to severely rattle his confidence in winning this match.

Vengeance grinned malevolently.

“Are you trying to cut off my balls?” he snapped, though there was a worried, plaintive whine to his voice that she heard. He was scared. Good. She had unsettled him enough. Without answering his question, Vengeance launched into another series of strikes, only half of them successfully parried, The other half found their target, except that Vengeance turned her blade at the last moment to smack her opponent with the broad side of it, rather than the skewering point. He’d have bruises to remember her by in the morning.

“I yield! I yield!” he cried, stumbling back, trying to protect his battered torso. “Mother Night, Vengeance, we’re just practicing!”

“The Brood will not ‘just practice’ with you during battle,” Vengeance snarled back in a low, husky tone. Even without her war paint, she was a fearsome sight, with her intense gaze, her predatory pose, and those long blades eager to shed blood. She was dressed in her usual armor, an amalgamation of browns and black hardened leather, with a crimson cloak cascading from her pauldrons like a waterfall of blood.

Her opponent grunted and set aside his weapon. Vengeance straightened coolly, and then slid her blades into their sheathes across her back. She watched him stagger and offered no assistance. He would make it fine to the infirmary, where he would most likely grouse and grumble over her treatment of him. But this particular recruit to the Ebon Guard was weak, which was probably why he had been pitted against her, to further bruise his proud male ego. He would learn or he would die. That was the way Vengeance saw it.

She felt more than she heard Tempest approaching. She did not look over her shoulder so much as slightly tilt her head towards her cousin, who was also a Red Cloak. “Another victory, I see,” Tempest said calmly. Without looking over her shoulder, Vengeance could easily imagine what her cousin looked like: standing tall with her own crimson cloak spilling down her back, the very image of a warrior Priestess, as the first Holy Matron must have been. Though cousins, they were as different in looks as day and night, with Tempest’s pale tan and white leathers a sunlit contrast to Vengeance’s darkness.

“He will be kicked out of the Guard soon enough,” Vengeance replied. Her gaze returned to the retreating back of her opponent. “He is weak.”

“He is,” Tempest quietly agreed. Where Vengeance made it a declaration, Tempest said it with a contemplative tone, which made Vengeance think that her cousin was looking for an excuse to justify that weakness. It was something that curled Vengeance’s lip. It was true that Tempest was a good fighter in her own right, and because of that Vengeance did not insult her cousin for being a bit more merciful than she would have been. But that still didn’t mean she had to like it. The Brood were not merciful. Tempest understood that but Tempest had her own weaknesses, ones that Vengeance did not share except for one.

Both of them were afraid of losing their sisters.

It was an unspoken thing between them and yet the driving force of why they were Red Cloaks. They approached the problem of this differently. Tempest preferred to stay back, with her bow nocked and aimed, pinning enemies to the ground with her arrows. Vengeance preferred to jump into the fray, letting her blades carve new, bloody tattoos all over her opponents. Tempest was quiet, the silent strike you didn’t see coming. Vengeance howled her fury. Perhaps Vengeance should have taken Tempest’s name instead.

No, Vengeance suited her. She was made for it. She embraced it.

“Regardless,” Tempest said, interrupting Vengeance’s feral thoughts. “We need every fighter we can muster against the Brood. You know that.”

Now, Vengeance did turn her head to look over her shoulder. “Not if they will be little more than sheep bleating. The Guard and the Cloaks are warriors, Tempest, not children waving swords about in play.”

Tempest looked towards the forest. “We were all children once,” she said softly, most likely thinking of a time when they were more innocent and carefree. “And the Children of the Wood, we remain.”

“Save your poetry,” Vengeance said as she turned to stride past Tempest with a hard look. “The day I made my Offering, I ceased being a child. You were there that day. You remember.” And with that, she walked on, her crimson cloak billowing. Tempest watched her quietly for a moment, calmly remembering that fateful day.

Autumn, as she had been called then, emerged from the Sanctuary at dusk, when the sky was crimson and amber. She had come forward like an animal wounded, her teeth bared in a feral snarl, her wrist bleeding so that she could smear her own blood across her face in gruesome warpaint. The gathered family had gasped, some rushing forward to help her. She held them at bay with a bloody hand.

“I am no longer Autumn,” she declared, like a Queen announcing her will. “Autumn is dead. From now on, you will call me Vengeance.” She tilted her chin defiantly, challenging the world. Tempest had remembered looking over at Autumn’s father and noted how worn and old he looked. If there was anyone who could turn Autumn aside from her choice, it was him. But he said nothing. He didn’t even seem to care that she had gotten a new Jewel. He was a husk of a man, and Autumn embodied the fire of a witch and had embraced the death inherent of her namesake season.

On that day, Autumn had died and Vengeance had been born. And no one dared correct her.

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