Synful_Blood
05-07-07, 04:12 AM
Name: Syneare Nydel
Age: 124
Race: Elf/Darkelf hybrid
Hair Color: "Black like my soul with white streaks like a false hope."
Eye Color: "Red like my tainted blood."
Height: 5'6", 5'3" when slouched (perpetually)
Weight: *Shrugs* whatever she happens to weigh. It fluctuates
Occupation: "I have one goal in this accursed life, and one goal alone...to destroy as many of them as possible, and be destroyed by them."
Personality: Being half Elf and half Drow, and having grown up in Raiaera, Syneare learned hatred early in life -- she learned to hate Drow and she learned what hate feels like. She is very bitter about being "tainted" by Drow blood, and possibly hates Drow more than the average Elf does. She does not believe that there is any room in her heart for love or happiness, since she is consumed by her bitterness, anger, and hatred.
Appearance: Syneare's hair is mostly black, with white streaks layering their way in sometimes. Her eyes are blood red, and her skin is a light, bluish gray.
"While living, I look like a corpse."
Her corpse-like appearance is enhanced by two factors: she is continually gaunt, sometimes skeletally so, and she has myriad long scars along her arms.
History: Under the best of circumstances, Drow and Elves do not Get Along.
As such, living near the border of either country is a dangerous prospect in times of potential violence.
124 years ago, there was a change in the Aleran military for the express purpose of creating a war with Raiaera. Three years later, a small band of "mercenaries" descended upon a small Raiaeran village, burning and pillaging, killing its men and children and raping the women before leaving them for dead. The time for war was not ripe, though, so when Raiaera demanded recompense for the actions of the mercenaries, Alerar "punished" the band, and so the fragile peace was maintained.
A year and a day after the destruction of her village, a young Elven maiden who had been a victim of an Aleran soldier's "affections" gave birth to a little girl.
A half-drow child in Raiaera is a liability for the Elven parent. Syn and her mother were met everywhere with scorn, hatred, and suspicion.
And so Syneare learned to hate all Drow...and with them, herself. She learned to hate the tainted blood that ran through her body and showed in her skin.
She wanted, more than anything, to get rid of that tainted blood.
When she was eighty, she picked up a knife and started cutting her arms...little slashes designed to let the blood flow out. She wanted it out, all of it, the damnable taint that made her not an Elf, and therefore not a person.
She found that she liked it. The pain on her skin was a relief from the constant sting of hatred surrounding her and boiling in her, and the warmth of the tainted blood running down her arms made her feel alive for the first time.
She made a habit of cutting herself, even daring to do so in the presence of her mother...who understandably wished to just be rid of the burden her daughter represented. She wore her scars proudly, as if to tell her Elven onlookers that THIS was what their hatred had formed. What her hatred had formed.
Years passed, and though she continued cutting, she never died of it. The blood always clotted too fast, even when she tried slicing right through the veins.
Eventually, her hatred unleashed itself into her blood, and one day as she opened new wounds along her arms, the blood lifted, curling around in coils of hate and shame.
That was when she was one hundred.
At one hundred, Syneare left her mother's village and ventured into Alerar. She hated the Drow as much as any Elf, but she wanted to see if it was founded in fact.
What she found disgusted her. How dare these creatures, with their bastardization of magic and technology, consider themselves superior to the Elves? How dare they?
She wandered Alerar for some time, purchasing a cloak to hide her face and heritage, and began grasping the language, since the Drow and Elven tongues have a common base.
After about a year of skulking about the accursed nation, Syn was sitting in a putrid alley, letting herself bleed, when an armed Drow came upon her.
"Fre'sla, Darthirii," he commanded, brandishing his dagger at her. Stand, Elf.
She did so, the blood curling around her arm as her hatred rose. This DARED to accost her?
She watched, detached, as he came closer and closer, holding his dagger out. Finally, she grinned, speaking to him in his own language.
"Ka dos ph' aluin mir nindel keeshe ulu uns'aa, ele xun dos naut kl'ae ol?" If you're going to brandish that dagger at me, why don't you use it?
Her audacity was met with a slap to the face, and her bloody right arm raised, hatred and anger surging and singing through her blood as the little tendrils shot forward and wrapped around her attacker's neck like so many little ropes.
When the blood fell, so did the Drow, and while she felt weak and sick...she also felt empowered and triumphant. She took his dagger and went on her way.
Since then, she's traveled through Alerar, killing what Drow she can. Recently, however, it has become too dangerous for her to remain in the Drow lands, so she has left Alerar to try her hand at hunting down Drow that are overseas.
Skills:
Heightened Senses
Being of Elven blood, Syn has hearing and eye sight the equivalent of 1.5x that of a normal human.
I Rid Myself of My Taint, Feel My Hatred and Fall Into Darkness
This is her skill to manipulate her blood. When a wound is opened on her skin, she can lash it out at an opponent at a range of up to a foot and a half, in the form of ropes the equivalent strength of hemp ropes. Since blood is fluid, if her opponent can break past her range, the blood will fall to the ground.
At a max, she can manipulate 2 oz. of blood at the moment, and the rest will drip to the ground. If she loses contact with the blood (i.e., it clots before she's done with her victim), she loses control over it and the blood falls to the ground.
She cannot re-absorb her blood at present, so the max amount of blood she can lose per day is 4 oz (0.5 pints, ~0.25L). Since she neglects to take proper care of herself, and frequently loses blood outside of combat, after she loses that much blood she will pass out.
The Pain in My Body is Nothing Compared to the Pain in My Damnèd Soul
Syn cuts herself, and has for forty years now. As such, she has a heightened resistance to the pain caused by cuts, especially along her arms.
The Blood is the Life, and the Body Won't Let too Much of it Go
While it doesn't border on anything near regeneration, Syn has an abnormally quick healing rate. Her blood tends to clot quickly, preventing her cutting tendency from killing her. Scabs tend to form fully over her wounds within a matter of hours, and in a week's time from a wound being inflicted, all that remains is a scar.
I Wound You Like You Made Me Be Wounded
Rudimentary dagger skill. She can stab someone from behind if she comes upon them while asleep, but that's the extent of this skill.
Equipment:
Hooded, sleeveless jacket
Sleeveless to let her cut herself easily, hooded to hide her face. Cannot be sold.
My Only Friend
Her razor blade (steel), used for cutting herself. She keeps it clean and clear of rust, which is probably the only reason she hasn't gotten tetanus yet.
Steel Dagger
Taken from that poor fellow in the back alley...used for cutting food (when she bothers to eat), or stabbing targets (see last skill)
Character Sidenotes:
Targets
Syn sees Drow as the cause of her suffering, and will therefore go out of her way to kill them, if she possibly can.
Weakness
Syn bleeds almost every day. This leads to an overall anemia and fatigue, as well as a general sense of apathy, unless she's on the hunt.
Languages
Syn is fluent in Elvish and demi-fluent in Drow, but doesn't speak a word of Tradespeak
Age: 124
Race: Elf/Darkelf hybrid
Hair Color: "Black like my soul with white streaks like a false hope."
Eye Color: "Red like my tainted blood."
Height: 5'6", 5'3" when slouched (perpetually)
Weight: *Shrugs* whatever she happens to weigh. It fluctuates
Occupation: "I have one goal in this accursed life, and one goal alone...to destroy as many of them as possible, and be destroyed by them."
Personality: Being half Elf and half Drow, and having grown up in Raiaera, Syneare learned hatred early in life -- she learned to hate Drow and she learned what hate feels like. She is very bitter about being "tainted" by Drow blood, and possibly hates Drow more than the average Elf does. She does not believe that there is any room in her heart for love or happiness, since she is consumed by her bitterness, anger, and hatred.
Appearance: Syneare's hair is mostly black, with white streaks layering their way in sometimes. Her eyes are blood red, and her skin is a light, bluish gray.
"While living, I look like a corpse."
Her corpse-like appearance is enhanced by two factors: she is continually gaunt, sometimes skeletally so, and she has myriad long scars along her arms.
History: Under the best of circumstances, Drow and Elves do not Get Along.
As such, living near the border of either country is a dangerous prospect in times of potential violence.
124 years ago, there was a change in the Aleran military for the express purpose of creating a war with Raiaera. Three years later, a small band of "mercenaries" descended upon a small Raiaeran village, burning and pillaging, killing its men and children and raping the women before leaving them for dead. The time for war was not ripe, though, so when Raiaera demanded recompense for the actions of the mercenaries, Alerar "punished" the band, and so the fragile peace was maintained.
A year and a day after the destruction of her village, a young Elven maiden who had been a victim of an Aleran soldier's "affections" gave birth to a little girl.
A half-drow child in Raiaera is a liability for the Elven parent. Syn and her mother were met everywhere with scorn, hatred, and suspicion.
And so Syneare learned to hate all Drow...and with them, herself. She learned to hate the tainted blood that ran through her body and showed in her skin.
She wanted, more than anything, to get rid of that tainted blood.
When she was eighty, she picked up a knife and started cutting her arms...little slashes designed to let the blood flow out. She wanted it out, all of it, the damnable taint that made her not an Elf, and therefore not a person.
She found that she liked it. The pain on her skin was a relief from the constant sting of hatred surrounding her and boiling in her, and the warmth of the tainted blood running down her arms made her feel alive for the first time.
She made a habit of cutting herself, even daring to do so in the presence of her mother...who understandably wished to just be rid of the burden her daughter represented. She wore her scars proudly, as if to tell her Elven onlookers that THIS was what their hatred had formed. What her hatred had formed.
Years passed, and though she continued cutting, she never died of it. The blood always clotted too fast, even when she tried slicing right through the veins.
Eventually, her hatred unleashed itself into her blood, and one day as she opened new wounds along her arms, the blood lifted, curling around in coils of hate and shame.
That was when she was one hundred.
At one hundred, Syneare left her mother's village and ventured into Alerar. She hated the Drow as much as any Elf, but she wanted to see if it was founded in fact.
What she found disgusted her. How dare these creatures, with their bastardization of magic and technology, consider themselves superior to the Elves? How dare they?
She wandered Alerar for some time, purchasing a cloak to hide her face and heritage, and began grasping the language, since the Drow and Elven tongues have a common base.
After about a year of skulking about the accursed nation, Syn was sitting in a putrid alley, letting herself bleed, when an armed Drow came upon her.
"Fre'sla, Darthirii," he commanded, brandishing his dagger at her. Stand, Elf.
She did so, the blood curling around her arm as her hatred rose. This DARED to accost her?
She watched, detached, as he came closer and closer, holding his dagger out. Finally, she grinned, speaking to him in his own language.
"Ka dos ph' aluin mir nindel keeshe ulu uns'aa, ele xun dos naut kl'ae ol?" If you're going to brandish that dagger at me, why don't you use it?
Her audacity was met with a slap to the face, and her bloody right arm raised, hatred and anger surging and singing through her blood as the little tendrils shot forward and wrapped around her attacker's neck like so many little ropes.
When the blood fell, so did the Drow, and while she felt weak and sick...she also felt empowered and triumphant. She took his dagger and went on her way.
Since then, she's traveled through Alerar, killing what Drow she can. Recently, however, it has become too dangerous for her to remain in the Drow lands, so she has left Alerar to try her hand at hunting down Drow that are overseas.
Skills:
Heightened Senses
Being of Elven blood, Syn has hearing and eye sight the equivalent of 1.5x that of a normal human.
I Rid Myself of My Taint, Feel My Hatred and Fall Into Darkness
This is her skill to manipulate her blood. When a wound is opened on her skin, she can lash it out at an opponent at a range of up to a foot and a half, in the form of ropes the equivalent strength of hemp ropes. Since blood is fluid, if her opponent can break past her range, the blood will fall to the ground.
At a max, she can manipulate 2 oz. of blood at the moment, and the rest will drip to the ground. If she loses contact with the blood (i.e., it clots before she's done with her victim), she loses control over it and the blood falls to the ground.
She cannot re-absorb her blood at present, so the max amount of blood she can lose per day is 4 oz (0.5 pints, ~0.25L). Since she neglects to take proper care of herself, and frequently loses blood outside of combat, after she loses that much blood she will pass out.
The Pain in My Body is Nothing Compared to the Pain in My Damnèd Soul
Syn cuts herself, and has for forty years now. As such, she has a heightened resistance to the pain caused by cuts, especially along her arms.
The Blood is the Life, and the Body Won't Let too Much of it Go
While it doesn't border on anything near regeneration, Syn has an abnormally quick healing rate. Her blood tends to clot quickly, preventing her cutting tendency from killing her. Scabs tend to form fully over her wounds within a matter of hours, and in a week's time from a wound being inflicted, all that remains is a scar.
I Wound You Like You Made Me Be Wounded
Rudimentary dagger skill. She can stab someone from behind if she comes upon them while asleep, but that's the extent of this skill.
Equipment:
Hooded, sleeveless jacket
Sleeveless to let her cut herself easily, hooded to hide her face. Cannot be sold.
My Only Friend
Her razor blade (steel), used for cutting herself. She keeps it clean and clear of rust, which is probably the only reason she hasn't gotten tetanus yet.
Steel Dagger
Taken from that poor fellow in the back alley...used for cutting food (when she bothers to eat), or stabbing targets (see last skill)
Character Sidenotes:
Targets
Syn sees Drow as the cause of her suffering, and will therefore go out of her way to kill them, if she possibly can.
Weakness
Syn bleeds almost every day. This leads to an overall anemia and fatigue, as well as a general sense of apathy, unless she's on the hunt.
Languages
Syn is fluent in Elvish and demi-fluent in Drow, but doesn't speak a word of Tradespeak