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Messages - Vitian

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Ancravi / Matters of State
« on: March 15, 2021, 03:08:40 PM »
Since the issue with the Winds, the concerns of Vitian's people had become very focused. Travel had not been available for most, but it had still been present, a possibility. Those who could afford the expenditure of Craft could take a chance with it.

Now, with the likelihood of all travel hamstrung to physical alone, Vitian found the state of things more concerning. The Winds had not been her practice, but there had been limited trade to be found for those who could access them. Beyond that, Vitian was trying, despite her habits of self reliance, to lean more heavily onto her circle. She was good with the land, knew its shifts and aches as well as her own, most days, but her gifts couldn't provide the full picture of her District.

It was practical to cede to the knowledge of people who studied what she didn't. It was what the whole court system was for, after all, even if her triangle made more than enough fun of her for having it in the first place. None of them had ever imagined her sitting with any kind of power.

And look where you lot ended up, she'd reply, done with they drama and their ribbing. Boys, honestly.

But a court meant easy access to those who's perceptions and skills were far different from her own, and Vitian was learning to reach out and ask. It was a whole process.

Which was how she found herself outside the work quarters of her Seer, trying to respect boundaries instead of barging in and demanding an audience. She could, she knew. she was district Queen. But that was 'pushy' and 'overbearing' and 'rude' - the memory of her triangle's teasing dogged her steps - and Vitian would prefer to rule with respect and civility.

Even if court often seemed like over-complicated nonsense. Sometimes, she imagined life had been easier on the run.

"Seer Neltharian," she called, rapping on the entrance before settling back on her heels. She was not in the mood for sitting and she was not one to fidget. She'd prefer to pace, maybe, but it seemed, again, rude. "Are you in? I've come seeking advisement." That was - well. One of her boys would have teased her, but none of them were about. Small mercies.


Ancravi / Matters of Perception
« on: January 20, 2021, 12:53:33 AM »
Sparring was one of the activities Vitian best found herself in. It had taken some work, in the beginning, to convince her growing crowd - what would later get sorted into the rings of court - to set her caste aside as much as her gender. It helped that there were still enough male bodies from her youth whose opinions of her had grown with her, seen her fledgling training attempts, and could no more treat her as some kind of lady than cut off one of their own wings. She was still separate to them, in an undefinable and unchangeable way, but she'd take that sense of disconnect if it meant they treated her as they always treated her. Like a rough sibling. Like a male.

As much as they were able, at least. The best known of her entourage were still handing her ass to her as often as not in practice, where it might not have been so frequent if she had been a boy.

Men were not so often required to manage their courts as Queens were, if all the whispering and gossip were to be believed. The Stewards had managed differently, whatever that meant. She'd already had to bare her teeth and toe her temper when her triangle got testy, which seemed to be happening more and more the longer she kept her position. Men were so fussy.

Vitian had no such issues. Fussing was for people with the time for it, or who's job made it necessary. Stewarding, Escorting, these positions didn't require the level of obnoxious that her age mates seemed to deem necessary.

Which was why, clean after her most recent spear practice, Vitian escorted herself to the offices of her healer, who had been assigned a position that required fussing and who wouldn't do it unduly. Probably.

It really was going to depend on how she took the quickly blossoming bruises and scuffed forearms from an ill-executed guard. But Healer fussing was different. Vitian couldn't look like her men were abusing her, because no one would believe she bullied them into training her. Which meant she couldn't go walking around with a swollen cheek and scabby arms. People would get ideas, and cause a ruckus, and then she'd be left with even more fussing.

"Healer Bastian?" she called, rapping on the entry as she did so. She'd be more than happy to find some hapless apprentice that would cower beneath her stare and keep their silence without her having to lay on any kind of threat. Apprentices were easy to push around. "Are you in?"

Askavi / Vitian
« on: October 16, 2020, 04:08:57 PM »

The Basics

Full Name: Vitian
Age: 282 as of AW103
Gender/Pronouns: She/Hers

Ethnicity: Eyrien
Birthplace: Askavi
Current Location: Askavi
Profession: District Ruler - North Ancravi

Caste: Queen
Birthright Jewel: Summer-Sky (UNCUT 24)
Offering Jewel: Opal (UNCUT 11)

Face Claim: Medalion Rahimi

The Body

Height: 5'6"
Body Type: Lean
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Orange gold

Most of a life spent in travel has kept Vitian narrow. Rationing on top of almost daily exercise meant that what she was able to put on was mostly stringy muscle, and as a result its only within the last decade or so that she's started to lean into a healthy weight. Her relatively small stature doesn't help matters, and she relies heavily on her wings to increase her physical presence.

Moderately concerning dietary habits aside, Vitian is pretty. Strong brows, soft mouth, good jaw. Her temperament is surprising, although it probably shouldn't be, considering the arch caste her face naturally falls into. Her grace, what little there is, is easily betrayed - her hands are too rough, her step too heavy, to disguise her history. Vitian doesn't believe in lies or subterfugue, and it's evident in all parts of her. Her clothing is simple, of sturdier make now that there are better materials but kissing cousins to what she grew up in. She never complicates her hair, or her person, with ornamentation; her jewels are set in plain rings, and perhaps her greatest concession to preference is that she favors her Summer-sky for her left hand and her Opal for her right.

The Mind

Craft Strengths: 15pts
Reading the Land
Queen's Gift
Physical Enhancement
Craft Weaknesses:

The first several layers of Vitian are rough, callous, carved from the stone that builds Askavi's mountains. She has a temper she's worked hard to tame enough to use, first instinct typically to cut before she can be cut herself, either with words or weapons. Vitian fights: she's fought for the recognition she could scrape out of her father, for her position as District Ruler, for affection. She's landed at an unusual cross-section of history, where being a ruler is to be a center of tumult and to be a Queen is to invite challenge.

Vitian relishes both. Her caste has only ever done her the favor of having her enemies underestimate her, but there was never a time for hiding behind it. She is direct, the fastest route being the straightest one, even if it's through others. She has a learned capacity for caring, but it's often difficult for her to empathize - she is jaded, equally as prepared to be snubbed as to disregard the reasoning behind it. People do what they do, and Vitian has to deal with the consequences, not the rationale.

Family and connection are a hard won thing for her, and she hesitates to believe anyone who too easily marks themselves her friend: they must not be genuine in some way, or they have very low standards. She doesn't make any assumptions about her good standing in the eyes of others, assuming, instead, that they view her in some kind of negative light. Those who have proven themselves otherwise may still find her speculative of their intention, but less frequently. The people she views as closest are the ones she returns to after absences of any length, acting like nothing has changed. Any desires she has for personal closeness with another are analyzed strictly in the dark, alone, and only inasmuch as she can understand what weakness she may find in herself so that it can't be used against her.

The Backstory

  • Jacivar | Father | Summer-sky to Purple Dusk Warlord (presumed deceased)
  • Cyrian | Mother | Yellow to Rose Caste (deceased)
  • Prian | Almost Wife | Yellow Descent witch (presumed deceased)

Vitian was meant to be a son.

This she knows because she has been told, time and again. Vitian's birth brings Cyrian's death, leaving Jacivar, no longer young but not old enough to parent alone, as the sole provider for a babe he couldn't claim to want. Vitian had been meant to be a son, and Jacivar chooses to ignore all the parts of her that are not. She's passed from nursing mother to nursing mother until she's old enough not to be. In Jacivar's tent, Vitian whiles away the hours until curiosity and indignation grow too strong. She is very much her father’s daughter, for all his disinterest, and perhaps that, too, is an issue. Not enough of Cyrian lives in her for him to love.

Vitian grows fangs.

Not the kind that count, the kind that poison, or see to dreams. Vitian grows metal fangs, shadowing her male age mates. Jacivar's blindness means there is no direct retribution for playing at war, mirroring their lessons with clumsy hands, but that isn't true for the other men of their camp. Time and again she is dragged before her father, hissing, spitting, scuffed and bloody. Caught your brat again, Jacivar, the other men say, mocking. Vitian is always regarded with varying degrees of amusement and derision, and sometimes her roughing up isn't self-inflicted. Some bet on when she will finally be sent away, knowing that even if she doesn't end up with dark jewels, her temper could be enough to see her broken, Queen or not.

This is a shadowed future she doesn't understand, despite the shadow women who tend the camp. She doesn't know what separates her from them, only that she is different. Their Craft doesn't feel as hers does, as that of her father and the other men. It turns her from them, straightforward in her distaste in the way only children can be. Her logic is simple: her father pays attention to the boys and men, and not to the women, not where she can see. She wants her fathers attention. Clearly, she has to do what the boys do for him to see her. And no matter how many times she's dropped at her father's feet, how many times he banishes her to their tent with bloody teeth and no food, Vitian returns to steel. 

Vitian descends for her birthright with fledgling calluses.

Her Summer-sky is hot in her hands, uncut and rough enough to catch skin. The talk around her, the looks, they change on her return. She's one of very few gifted a jewel that has never seen the hands of Blood, and now there is no question as to her caste: the temper she wields and the teeth she bares belong to a Queen, one who, late to take her first jewel at eighteen, has had years to sharpen her will with the young men.

There is no Coven for her to be sent to: the camp they are part of is too small, already at risk with her presence and the young daughters of several of the men. Where before her Birthright she shadowed her male peers she now practices beside them, if only in flight. She's narrow, and small, and her wings are those of their sky predator ancestors, built for fast dives and quick turns. Now, at least, she has a better vantage of learning what the men learn with their practice swords, their hunting knives. What her women tutors don't see can't be interrupted, and she has long since stopped hiding her activities within their tent. Jacivar doesn't ask after her training, in anything, and Vitian has stopped trying to tell him.

Vitian meets Prian in the fall.

Fifty-two and wild with it, she's accepted by fringe members of the male youth, and is often found in their company. Still caught between her caste and her desire for acceptance, she splits her time between her female tutors and her handful of male associates, and it's with them that she encounters the other girl for the first time.

There isn't much they're able to do to observe the traditions of Venalaus, snaking their way through the mountains in an effort to outpace Witch's hunting parties, but they do what they can. They are joined by another small camp, no more than ten, and it's one of the first times Vitian can remember meeting youth outside her own band.

Prian is Blood, and only barely, Craft so weak she might as well be Landen. They find themselves together as girl outcasts, Vitian for her inability to bend as many of the men expect her to, Prian for lack of Craft, something she's taunted about ruthlessly by other girls in her band. Worse, she confides, is that she wasn't born wingless - true flight would always be beyond her, without Craft assistance.

They find themselves together frequently, in a three-day gathering that turns into a tenday, and then a month, when a mixed hunting party fails to return.

Vitian descends for her Offering with Prian, ninety and eighty-seven respectively.

She rejoices at Prian's Yellow, and takes it upon herself to teach the other girl to fly. Vitian has again shaken her home-camp, and bares her teeth with pride when she presents her uncut Opal in her fist. She's no true warrior or Queen, but her age mates have taken to listening when she speaks. She knows her way around sword and knife and bow, not as well as any man but well enough, and it's a man in comradery who she asks to request her Virgin Night from her father. No doubt Jacivar recognizes her meddling, but he still waits outside their tent for the deed to be done.

It's Prian's bed she falls into after, adjusting to the change within herself, confused over her findings. Feelings that are easily dashed with understanding when her clumsy attempts at kissing the other woman light her up in a way the night with her male friend had not. That is the difference, the confirmation. She finds in Prian the warmth and softness and acceptance that aches her heart, and she loses herself to the other woman's smile, her laugh, her eyes.

They are together for decades. Vitian takes no other lovers, and it is she who waits besides the girl's brother - younger, father and elder brother taken by Witch - when Prian goes through her own Virgin Night. They are inseparable, and it is only with Prian's gentle insistence that Vitian learns to refine any part of her Queen's Craft. Whispers about them are diminished by time, by stress, by the weight of Witch's shadow on their backs as they work to keep just ahead of her, just that much closer to freedom.

They're together, and then they're not.

Witch's death rocks not only the people, but the land as well. Traveling through the mountains when her last act of vengeance sweeps through Askavi, it is only Vitian and a handful of their band that escape the cave in, both her father and her lover separated by feet of fallen stone.

Vitian mourns.

Adrift, she follows the remnants of her camp blindly as they descend. South, into Askavi's fertile basin, a people in ruins around them. Stragglers, fractions of camps and war bands, all trickle toward what was a hearty city only weeks before. It surprises no one when tempers clash, lifestyles and beliefs struggling to merge in the wake of what should be triumph.

Victory is bitter. Victory tastes like cave dust in her throat.

It is, perhaps, only the exact right circumstances that land Vitian in a position of power. She is a Queen, one of several washed into Ancravi, but unlike her caste-sisters she comes with a retinue who already hold some respect for her. The remains of her own band are mostly young, strong males, peers who've seen her grow and a few who have lent her their knowledge when she was struggling alone with their practices. Her bladed temper harkens more to a warrior than others, and she attracts those who cannot stomach the floundering of her competition. Her own aching heart drives her to stake out land in the Northern edge of Ancravi, against the mountains feet, dreaming of finding Prian.

Years pass. Vitian defends her location with her temper, with her blades, with her craft. Her borders expand to District's borders. The basin peak is hers, defended by the remnants of her family, bolstered by those who find her more tolerable than others. She tries to handle people fairly, always with Prian's even tempered voice at her shoulder, trying to create a balance for what is best. Often her heart turns to the mountains, and over the years she has gone back in search of the woman she lost, but eventually that, too, has dulled. Hope blossoms within, but she knows better than to feed it too fully.

Another Queen's shadow attempts to stretch across Askavi, younger, darker, looking for unification. Vitian holds her place, and waits.

The Writer

Player Name: Kay, Kayndred
Player Pronouns: she/hers
Timezone: -8 GMT
Contact: PM, Discord

Inactivity Instructions:

Roleplay Sample:
See Michael Villiers

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