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Lethe Invidia
Images: Img 1 | Img 2 | Img 3 | Img 4
Font: Viner Hand ITC
Lethe
Invidia
That’s
my name you know. Lethe Invidia. You may have met me before or maybe you just
thought you met me. You see, I’ve
recently awoken from a coma. Yes, one of
those “you’re practically gone forever” comas except you’re not. Gone forever, that is. You still wake up at the end. At least I did. It had been one to two thousand years since I
was last conscious and when I woke up, my mother still treated me like I was a child. She had smiled at me as if I was still just a
hundred years, patted my cheek and told me it was time for ballet class. How the hell was it time for ballet class? I just woke up, rather unexpectedly no less. There was no way she could have had time to
register me for ballet class of all things.
Sebastian
had looked decidedly uncomfortable when I’d looked at him. An uncomfortable Sebastian means there are
secrets afoot but I had no time to inquire before I was shuffled off to my room
to change for ballet class. Maybe it was
their intention to sweep me up so quickly in the pace of their lies that I
wouldn’t have time to protest, but even though I’d been unconscious to this
world, didn’t mean I’d been vegetative.
I looked outside of the window and, surprise, blue eyes the same color
of mine looked back at me. She had my
hair color cut in the style I preferred before I’d died and her face and body
structure looked remarkably similar. I
might have thought I was looking in a mirror except horror clouded her eyes
while apathy marked mine. One of the butlers
was tugging her away through a side door as if trying to bundle her away: Out
of sight. Out of mind.
My
mother, Eleanor, has always been crazy, in the fucking insane way of crazy, not
a cute version. She used to try to
control me like a pet doll rather than as a child. To her, I was nothing more than a plaything
expected to love her. Always supposed to
love her. Like an endless wishing well gushing
out adoration for my mother. Her mother,
my maternal grandmother, died when my mother was still young. Died in the she’s never woken up way and she
seems most content to continue sleeping eternity away. I don’t think my mother’s ever gotten over
it. She was so worthless even her mother
couldn’t be bothered to stay around. Her
father, my maternal grandfather, definitely didn’t care for her. She was essentially locked away out of sight,
constantly being sent to learn this or that before finally being married off in
a convenience arrangement. To atone for
some family member’s transgression, she was given up as a peace offering. Except, father didn’t want mother
either. After only five years of
marriage, my father divorced my mother and she was left all alone with riches
aplenty but no personal connections except for me. And so I was unwillingly tasked with being
the provider of all of her love.
Maybe
I should have turned out like Eleanor.
Maybe I am like Eleanor. After
all, I too wasn’t worthy enough for my father to stick around? Except no, my father likes me well enough, he
just can’t stand the “cold fish” that is my mother. We meet up occasionally on the sly, my father
and I. Eleanor can’t stand the mention
of my father; it’s another reminder of how unloved she is.
So
even though she’s essentially the reason I was unconscious for so long, my
mother, who loved me [i]oh so very
much[/i], decided she couldn’t live without her unending source of love and
picked up some random girl off the streets to replace me. I’d get pissed at
this random bitch for having the nerve to pretend to be me but I know who’s
really at fault. Foolish, Eleanor. So desperate for love that you’d try to make
a replacement me after killing me. And
not just one replacement: multiple replacements. My room doesn’t feel like my own
anymore. When I was physically unresponsive
to this world, my mind worked fine. My
magic crept out from this flesh cage and wandered the world at large, seeing
both the greatest joys and the most depraved atrocities. My empathy grew as did my magic. And now that I’ve returned, this house I grew
up in no longer feels like mine. The
books I love to read hold other girls’ dreams.
My favorite locket holds another’s sorrows. My room is not mine; it’s been invaded by
countless echoes of all the girls who have come through as “Lethe.”
Their
imprints are strongest on my beloved swords.
Originally my mother had thought the idea of my learning swordsmanship “quaint.” “What a quaint idea!” she had laughed at my
request and allowed it, believing I would look ‘adorable’ with the contrast of
tiny me wielding such a harsh thing like a sword. That’s probably why the sword she had custom made
for me looks more like a decorative piece of ironwork than a proper sword. Luckily for me, my mother in her normal vain
ways decided that she didn’t want me potentially marring the sword and had
practice swords made.
From
what Sebastian has told me, and from the imprints I pick up from my swords, it
appears every Lethe was forced to learn swordsmanship, even though it’s the
main cause of Eleanor and my disagreement which led to my death. At least my mother knew me well enough to
know that any facsimile of me couldn’t be a proper copy without my love for the
blade. Every fake Lethe trained with
these swords. Every fake Lethe bled and
cried and struggled on these swords.
Each had their own. For
Sebastian, it had been a symbolic gesture.
Even though each girl was forced to pretend to be me, at least they
could maybe start afresh. After all, it’s
not as if my mom particularly cared that “my” swordsmanship improved. All she wanted was the image of little me
gracefully dancing through a kata. How
cute.
This
is one thing I am thankful about though.
Each imposter Lethe had to work with the practice sword so much just to mimic
my prior competence that they’ve left a strong imprint of themselves on these
swords. Each sword has its own ‘character’
now. Two of my swords can turn into
water: I guess that’s the fifth and tenth Lethe’s. Sebastian says they were both water
elementals. One of them always strikes
true for blood: I suppose this is the vampire Lethe. (Although why my mother used a vampire as a
replacement I still don’t understand. We
aren’t even the same species.) Each one
of my ten practice swords has a different attribute to them now. Two water, one fire, two wind, one earth, the
one that strikes true for blood, one of lightning, one that likes to confuse
opponents with mirages, and one that breaks no flesh yet always causes
pain. (I confess, I’m particularly interested
what personality [b]that[/b]Lethe
must have had to leave such a thought behind.
Of course, I’ve added another two swords to my repertoire now. One is my original elegant blade, coated in
my telepathy so it never breaks; the other is dark black. I crafted it form my mother’s magic. Now she’s the one who sleeps in the catacombs
while I roam free. I think Sebastian is appalled
but I have little care for his opinion.
Once ago, long ago, before my forced rest, I cared for the lycan’s
opinion. Now, it means nothing to
me. Willing or not, he helped keep me
suppressed in ‘death.’ I have no
sympathy for him, or any of the staff here, anymore.
No,
all I’m interested in now is my revenge.
I
used to have the same black hair of my mother’s, before my confinement. But my time “dead” has changed me, both
mentally and physically. My hair is now
some color between metallic blond and white.
I keep it short; not only is it less of a liability in battle, but I know
it would irk my mother and I confess that brings me glee. Long bangs fall into my face and threaten to
obscure my eyes. The rest of my hair
falls unevenly to my shoulders. My
preferred outfit is all white, perhaps a joke of sorts for I wouldn’t describe
myself as innocent. My shirt has two
bows on the straps in front; the collar is scooped low to just hint at the top
of my chest. The waistline is slanted,
higher on the left than the right. My
skirt’s hem is likewise slanted but in the opposite direction: it’s shortest on
the right and longest, the back brushing my upper calf, on the left. White shorts underneath the skirt and then
white boots to half my calf complete my ensemble. I wear no jewelry, neither necklace nor
earrings nor bracelets. My twelve swords
are all the metal I need.
Telekinesis: Lethe can control both her swords and herself
with her telekinesis.
Summoning:
Lethe is able to summon her swords from another dimension. This also allows her to let her swords “jump”
through space because she’s summoning them from different locations. Lethe is allowed to move through this other
dimension as well, but only for short distances.
Empathy: Lethe has the ability to read strong emotions. She can get a vague sense of what other
immortals are feeling and if an item or location has a strong, emotional memory
attached to it, she can understand the emotion and what evoked it. This allows her to channel the abilities of
the previous Lethe’s through her swords.
(Each sword was given to a different “Lethe” and holds their memories.)
Other:
Lether has 12 swords. Ten represent each
fake Lethe her mother made. One of them
is her own. The last one is black and was
made from her mother’s magic after Lethe killed Eleanor.
Watch
Dead Fantasy for the inspiration of Lethe Invidia. Her abilities mimic those in the video,
except for the gun part. All image
credits also go to Monty Oum/Squarenix.
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Justice. Honor. Blood. (Character)
[b]..Justice..[/b]
[i]the administering of deserved punishment or reward.[/i]
The westernmost kingdom of the known world is Sabaku. Its capital city stands to the northeast of
the desert. The capital is widely
considered by most denizens of the other five kingdoms as the last bastion of
civilization; the rest of the Sabaku Kingdom, all the area west of the capital,
is considered a lawless, heathen area.
However, the desert isn’t all the same. Some parts are inhospitable even to the
sturdiest desert dwellers. The northern
part of the desert is occupied by nomads who wander the desert, occasionally
trading with the villages of Sabaku proper.
There are even rumors of a massive bone yard. Most denizens of Sabaku consider these rumors
a tall tale: everyone are immortals, how could there be [i]bones[/i] lying
around?
The tribes of the Southern Desert know the truth. There is such a bone yard, though few
remember how such a thing came about.
Their lots in life are some of the hardest: the Southern Desert is one
of the more inhospitable parts of the desert.
There are scarce resources and too many people fighting for them. Most tribes eke out a meager living off the
earth. In such a desolate lifestyle, the
people came to value utility more than material possessions. Foraging skills.
Healing skills. Combat skills. These
were prized more than a pretty dress or a bauble. From this worship of skills came inevitable
concepts: Honor, Glory, Revenge, and many others in a similar vein. Some concepts
were universal and some were tribe specific.
The Majere tribe's most important concept was Justice. They were a tribe of vampires who had
wandered into the regions back when trees still dominated the land. This land used to be a forest similar to
Jakuu's and they had reveled in the eternal night. In this land of darkness, they had reigned
supreme with their natural affinity to the night. But then the phoenixes had come. The phoenixes of clan Rosenkreuz had come to
the Majere’s land and burned away the forest.
It was too [i]gloomy[/i] the phoenixes had claimed with an airy wave of
their bejeweled hand. Why one prince of
the phoenix clan had started a city far to the east of here named Kanzem. Here would be a good place for a second city,
once all of the gloom and doom of the trees were gone. Neither the forest keeper nor the Majere tribes
were impressed. A war broke out between
the colonial phoenixes and the native denizens.
For all of the phoenixes’ burning, the forest keepers would nurture back
the trees, encouraging the saplings to grow larger, stronger, faster. Fed up with the lack of progress, the Tatakori
clan imported a tribe of pet dragons into the region and burned the entire area
to the ground. For thirteen days, the forests
burned until even the ashes were destroyed and all that was left was a
blackened wasteland. Gathering the
remnants of their forces, Majere and the remaining tribes tapped into forbidden
magicks and attacked. The bone yard is
all that remains of that great battle, somehow preserved through the long
forgotten magicks the natives had summoned.
Some forgot that once upon a time, the Southern Desert used to be a
densely packed forest. Some forgot that
the phoenixes had pranced in and condemned the immortals living here to a
barren land of nothing. The Majere tribe
did not. For the land that used to be
and their lost glory, the Majere tribe will extract justice from Tribe Tatakori.
[b]..Honor..[/b]
[i]honesty, fairness, or integrity in one’s beliefs and actions[/i]
To Tribe Tatakori, Honor was the most important quality an immortal
could have. In a land where too many
possessions can lead to death, what else can be used to judge a person than
honor? Sieghart Tatakori was an orphan
raised within Tribe Tatakori. When he
was still a toddler, his parents had come to the Southern Desert for a research
project and had been accidentally killed when they were mistaken for spies from
an enemy tribe. To regain his honor for
this mistake, the warrior who had killed his parents adopted Sieghart as his
own. And though his adopted father Nagi
would always pledge he would have given up anything to go back in time and stop
himself from killing Sieghart’s parents, there was no doubt that this
accidental acquisition benefitted Tribe Tatakori for Sieghart turned out to be
a draken attuned to water and in the desert, what was more treasured than
water? Raised by one of the Tribe’s
better warriors, Sieghart inevitable turned out quite skilled as well. Between his ability to produce water and his
ability with the sword, it was no surprise that Sieghart turned out to be one
of Tribe Tatakori’s most admirable members.
Raised entirely without a feminine presence in his life, Sieghart soon
found his best policy with women was avoidance.
“Eloquence on the
battlefield does not translate to eloquence with women,” he would often demur when his fellow
phoenixes invited him to revel in alcohol and the female flesh (1). But for such a popular warrior, it was
inevitable he would be forced into such revels and to partake in sex.
[i]‘For all his skill with steel, he was pretty bad with his own
sword.’ Hakyou noted idly, looking down apathetically at the sleeping draken
next to her. He had stamina but no
finesse and it had been a lot of work on her part to pretend to enjoy it. But that was okay. Her hand moved to cover her naked stomach,
resting there as vicious glee blossomed on her face. Oh yes, that was definitely okay because what
was most important was the sperm within her.
The elders had sent her to infiltrate Tribe Tatakori to become pregnant
and gain leverage. They had probably
been hoping for someone related to one of Tribe Tatakori’s elders but they’d
probably be just as happy with Sieghart’s child.
The thought of who the father was turned her expression hateful. Sieghart Tatakori. He had killed her brother three hundred years
ago. She had never forgiven him
since. And now she had just bedded him
and allowed him to desecrate her body.
Now she had to carry a child that was half her brother’s killer.
Hakyou turned her head away to stare at the burlap tent wall before
she attacked Sieghart in her fury. She
would have the last laugh. She could
already feel the sperm and egg within her combining into one. She would bear his child and tie Sieghart to
Tribe Majere. With this one child, she
would relegate Sieghart into ignominy, deprive Tribe Tatakori of one of their
strongest warriors, and force Tribe Tatakori to become subservient to Tribe
Majere. Yes, it was okay. Sieghart would have to marry her to maintain
his honor for impregnating her. As the
mother, she had ultimate authority over the child but Sieghart would have to
defend her and the child as any honorable father. Finally, Tribe Tatakori would be loathe to
give up their only water wielder but couldn’t force her to their whims as she
would have all of Tribe Majere and Sieghart backing her.
With that gleeful thought, Hakyou leaned down to press an almost
loving kiss to her bed mate’s temple.
Yes, everything was [b]more[/b] than okay.[/i]
Everything turned out exactly as Hakyou had envisioned. The Tatakori elders had [b]not[/b] been happy
that Sieghart had ended up impregnating a woman from the hated Majere clan but
a child was a child. Honor demanded they
accept the child as one of their own and so an uneasy agreement settled between
the two tribes.
And so Hakumei Rosenkreuz was born into a world loathed by all.
[b]..Blood..[/b]
Hakumei grew up to the sound of silence, punctuated occasionally by screams
of noise. She was the only member of
Tribe Rosenkreuz, the familial name of her father’s dead parents. It was a compromise between the two tribes
who both claimed her as a ward but hated the sight of her. Tribe Majere would see the taint of Tribe
Tatakori and their sins on her. Tribe
Tatakori would see the dishonor of being one upped by Tribe Majere in her. Her parents both loved her in their own way,
which really wasn’t much. Mother would
see her dead uncle in her. Father saw
the shame of bringing dishonor to the tribe that adopted him. Only her grandparents showed her constant
affection.
Was it not karmic destiny that the son Nagi adopted after accidentally
murdering Sieghart’s parents would have an accidental child with an enemy tribe
Nagi often wondered? Despite Nagi’s
actions, Sieghart had never blamed Nagi for the death of his parents. How could Nagi hate a child who had done
nothing but been born into this world to a conniving mother? Hakumei’s maternal grandmother also saw innocence
in her only granddaughter and would often shower the little girl in stories and
little gifts. There two were the only
reason Hakumei learned the meaning of love.
Both instilled their own tribes’ teachings into the young immortal. Swordplay from her grandfather. Poise and presence from her grandmother. Physical conditioning from her
grandfather. Judgment from her
grandmother. Emotional control from her
grandfather. Elemental control from her grandmother. And Justice. And Honor.
Though the conflicts between Tribe Majere and Tribe Tatakori simmered
down, there were other warring factions within the Southern Desert. Tribe Iskhand had suddenly become stronger
than they used to be. Unlike the other
tribes which were mostly race based, Tribe Iskhand was an amalgamation of
various races. Rumors stated they were a
band of mercenaries who had been banished here for an unknown reason. Originally, they had stayed mostly to themselves
but recently they had started venturing out and attacking other tribes. In addition to the customary raiding, Iskhand
broke custom by taking captives, never to be heard or seen of again. Hearsay claimed that the captives were all
drained of blood, either to fuel Iskhand’s vampires or for whatever magic that
had suddenly empowered the tribe. It
could be said the second was the truer statement, as Nagi, Hakyou, and Hakumei
unfortunately found out. These captured
immortals weren’t being used as fuel for dark arts. They were being sold off to Sabaku Capital as
pets. The inflow of gold kept Tribe
Iskhand dominant while the influx of exotic pets kept the nobles happy. These heathen pets became quite the rage in
Sabaku. They were [i]so[/i] much sturdier
than other pets.
The gladiator pens became quite filled with the captives from the
Southern Desert. Almost every tribe was
represented in the arenas, though Hakumei and her fellow captives were the
first to represent Tribes Majere, Tatakori, and Rosenkreuz. Though Hakumei had always been skilled for a
girl, such a commendation meant little in the ruthless world of the pits. There was no pity for females or the young or
the elderly: it was a world defined entirely in terms of strength. Hakumei was almost lucky; though old, Nagi
was still a strong warrior. In the
beginning, it was only his protection that kept her and Hakyou safe. But not everyone was happy at the fortune of
these new pets. These detractors took
advantage of Nagi’s obvious weakness in Hakumei and tarnished his honor. To regain it, her grandfather committed
suicide and so the tenets were etched into Hakumei’s soul: Justice. Honor. Blood.
Blood was not thicker than water but it was still a chain that
bound. It was father’s blood within her
that had kept him chained to mother. It
was blood that had tempered her mother when she got [i]oh so[/i] hungry. It was blood that was spilled within the
cages of the gladiator pits. Blood ran
through her veins and kept her alive.
Blood spilled on the ground when she lost. Blood surrounded her in this new life. Blood was the true currency of penance. What was gold or promises compared to blood? Only blood could earn back honor. Only blood was adequate compensation in
justice. Only the liquid that nourished
all immortals was adequate to absolve the sins Hakumei held.
Tribe Majere venerated Justice.
Tribe Tatakori revered Honor.
In this cruel world, Tribe Rosenkreuz would define itself with Blood.
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(1) Quotation shamelessly stolen from Tally Mark’s [u]Frivolous
Sentimalities[/u] (http://www.fanfiction.net/s/4463099/1/Frivolous-Sentimentalities).
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Misfits Character.
Background Concept (NOT MINE. Credit to Flamira): In the year 2054, everything is peaceful. Society is stable, well-fed, and content overall. There are no wars, weapons, violence, or crime. There are established classes throughout the society and everyone is happy where they are. The government watches over everything, censoring what they think may disrupt the people. They keep everyone happy and working. It is, to any newcomer, a perfect world.
Below this very world, in the massive underground tunnels and shelters, lies the lower class people. They are rebels and rioters, driven here so that the world would not have to deal with them. What keeps them in the darkness down below, no one knows but them. They guard themselves, forming "tribes" and electing their own leaders. In a way, they have made their own world.
Inside the government, there is another story as well. Experiments take place as scientists work to create a more-perfect human. They play with genes and twist DNA of several creatures together. Most of their experiments go mad, become disfigured and broken, or die. The surviving experiments, however, are closely guarded and very much hidden from the public.
These successful experiments are shifters. Taken when they were just newborns, they have developed the ability to shift into various animals and have gained keener senses and primal instincts. Inside the labs where they were created, they are treated like their animal counterparts. Cages, bland meals, and white lab coats are all these shifters have ever known.
Name: Alcina
Age: 14
Animal: Mouse
Image: Concept Art
Bio: [spoiler]She's cold.
That's normal. She's usually cold
and even though she huddles closer to her little sister and littler brothers,
she's still cold. Her siblings are
lucky. They have hair all over them to
keep warm. She's weird. She only has hair on her head and even then,
it's not very long. She wishes she had
more hair so she could stay warmer but every time it starts to creep past her
shoulders, someone comes and cuts it off.
She's not sure what to think of the someones. They're big.
A lot bigger than even her and she's a lot bigger than her siblings so
whenever the someones come, her siblings all go running away. They're lucky. The someones only ever come for her. Their paws burn when they touch her and even
though she squirms away, they can still lift her and put her down on a cold
ground. Sometimes she ends up hopping in
place because the cold ground burns her paws but then a someones' paw pushes
down on her shoulder and forces her to stand still.
It's a weird quirk of these someones: they stand on their back paws
and they make her stand on hers too. All
of her family walk around on all four paws but whenever she's with these
someones, she must stand on her back paws as they walk her down a long hall of
white walls to that room.
All she knows about this room is there are always a lot of someones
and bright lights and surfaces even colder than the ground she's forced to walk
on. They make her lie on the cold
surface on her pack, paws strapped down as they keep pinching her. Sometimes it hurts more and she cries;
sometimes it hurts less and she can keep her sniffling to a minimum. Crying just makes it harder to breathe in
this room so she tries not to cry and just keeps waiting until she can go back
home to her little siblings who will burrow around her and remind her she's not
alone.
One day a new someone with a yummy scent comes to her home. This someone stands on the other side of the
silver criss crosses that keep Alcina from leaving, looking at her. Suddenly, the new someone screams.
"Mice! What are--why are there all those mice around her?!"
She doesn't know what that new someone with the yummy scent screamed,
but when she comes back home, her siblings are all gone. Her house is completely empty except for
her. She curls in a ball and cries. When she wakes up, her house is bigger, much
much bigger, and she's warm. She squeaks
in happiness and runs around on her four paws: she's warm!
There's a large commotion when the someones come again. This time, they don't reach for her. Instead, there's a lot of noise and coming
and going and she doesn't know what's going on except she's warm and she has so
much space to run around in! If only her
siblings would come back, she'd be very, very happy.
She wakes up to a loud sound of surprise. Her body hurts; it feels like it's stretching
and stretching and when it finally stops, she's hurt and she's cold. Her house has shrunk back to its normal size. Lots of someones come into her house and pull
her out even though this isn't normal and back past the long walls she walks on
her back paws into that room where they poke and prod and pinch and she doesn't
even know what's going on or why. She's
cold again; her family is still gone; and she hurts.
This time when she goes home, a someone stays again and starts talking
to her. That someone points to her and
says "Alcina" before pointing to itself and saying
"Dad." As time passes, Alcina
learns that her name is Alcina and she's a special human. Her "dad" is a normal human and he teaches
her many things like how to read and how to write and the conept of time. She learns that the someones are other normal
humans too and that her siblings are not her siblings: they're just mice. Alcina is a special human because she can
become a mouse (which is the singular version of "mice") and run
around as a mouse, but she's actually a human and as such, should help other
humans like her dad. Alcina learns many
things but she always wonders why all the other humans are so big compared to
her. It would take two of her standing
atop each other and only then might she reach the height most of the other
humans are. Maybe it's because she's a
special human that she's so small?
But no, that can't be because one day when she's leaving that room, she
sees another human who is only a bit taller than her instead of so very
large. Again, there's a large commotion
and she is forced to walk away very very fast (would this be what dad calls
running?). Even though it's clear the
normal humans don't want her to, Alcina looks back one more time and she can't
get rid of the image of a small human like her with bright green* eyes or the
shivver that runs down her back.[/spoiler]
Personality: Like the animal she shifts into, Alcina has a very timid
personality. She's easily intimidated
and finds it easier to just go along with the flow. She also has a tendency to "latch"
onto someone and follow that person's lead.
However, she can be very resourceful and when angered, can be a
tenacious opponent (of questionable threat).
After transforming to/from her mouse form, Alcina tends to be a bit
clumsier than normal. She tends to hoard
resources and is particularly fond of food and staying warm. However, Alcina rarely cries.
Description: Alcina is
4'9" in height and weighs a paltry 90 pounds (57 cm, 40.8 kg). She has light brown hair, cut short to her
shoulders, and long bangs that reach her eyelids. Her eyes are brown in color, but she's
normally looking down so it's hard to identify the exact shade of brown. She
has pale skin with a hint of peach color in it.
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