Spearfang, Valeska

Description: Summer-sky to Green Hearth Witch | kayndred

Valeska Spearfang

    Summer-sky to Green
  • hearthwitch
  • Played By:

    hunter
    Glacia Kaeleer
    9 Posts    0 marks
Spearfang, Valeska
« on: May 26, 2019, 09:51:20 PM »
Valeska


The Basics


Full Name: Valeska Spearfang
Age: 130
Gender/Pronouns: She/hers

Ethnicity: Moidyn Varrey
Birthplace: Glacia
Current Location: Glacia
Profession: Assasin/hunter, carrier of big teeth

Caste: Hearth witch
Birthright Jewel: Summer-sky (CUT 29)
Offering Jewel: Green (CUT 87)

Face Claim: Angela Analok


The Body


Height: 5'6
Body Type: Compact, muscular
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Dark brown

Appearance:
Short but strong. On two feet, Val is lean, no extra fat to spare for a life split between the hunger of her jewel and the demands of the shift. Dark eyed, dark haired, a mouth more fit to looks of mild distaste than smiles. Pretty, in a way. Scars speckle her arms and legs; teeth, spears, Craft. Her own healing skill just enough to keep infection out, not enough to remove the marks from her skin. Not that she'd do it, if she could.

Warm is her preferred style of dress. Layers of furs and fabrics keep her running at optimal temperature to hunt and work in the cold. Often seen with a spear or knife in hand, whittling knife handles and sharpening arrow heads. She favors colors that allow her to blend into the snow, greys and off whites that work as much toward warming her as making her an effective hunter.

As a seal Val is big, dark grey across the top, pale belly speckled below. Teeth like knives in her mouth, body sleek and fit. Made to flit through the water, to take fish and human hands as quick as light.


The Mind


Craft Strengths: 15pts + 5 Craft Bundle +3 Swift Shifter point pack x2
Swift Shifter
Passing Through Objects
Aural Shields
Boundary Alarms
Weapon Empowerment
Scent Cleansing
Craft Weaknesses: Cushioning Spells, Binding Spells, Spell Weaving

Personality:

Like her home, Valeska's waters run deep. Still and cold on the surface, but with monsters lurking in the dark below. She feels deeply, strongly, but almost always in a place locked away from sight. Often placid, distant, seemingly aloof, Val operates primarily in a state of detachment. Viewing the activities of those around her, and even her own participation, through a semi-transparent glass. She enjoys mundane things peripherally, likes to be a type of comfortable that might not make sense to others, finds some little stability in mending and building and working.

But it's physical activity that sparks her, brings out the real light in her eyes. Hunting, tracking, sparring - when Val gets to use her body her mind is at ease. Her second skin is her calling, her weapons her joy. If she's not moving, she's sleeping or eating in preparation for it. There are some days where she lays in her second skin on land and watches the sun rise and fall around her, lets snow gild her in white and hide her further on the ice, but they are unplanned. Less fancy than mental necessity, her mind weighing down her body.

Val is dangerous. Fires burn in her that consume, that make her single minded, narrow focused. Anger, vengeance, a blood-hunger not normally associated with her caste or her gender. Solitary, no longer naturally inclined to be among people, hers or otherwise. She's rough, sharp, and although she can work to curb it there are often times she does not.


The Backstory


Family:
  • Anjij | Mother | Tiger Eye to Summer-sky witch (missing, presumed dead)
  • Tulok | Father | Summer-sky to Green Warlord (deceased)
  • Ivanhoe | Brother | Yellow to Summer-sky Warlord (deceased)
  • Yoana | Sister | Rose to Purple Dusk Healer (deceased)
  • Name | Step-Father | Jewel to Jewel Cast (missing, presumed dead)
  • Name | Sibling | White to Yellow Caste (missing, presumed dead)

History:

CW for Graphic Depictions of Character Death

Born to the water, to the cold salt, to a foot on the beach and a foot in the surface. A tiny fisherman's village, mother and father sturdy boat-hands. Siblings, too, bundles of tiny fists in fur swaddles, strapped around their mother and father's chests while they work.

That is Valeska's oldest memory. More sensations than a solid picture: cold salt air, sea bird noise in the distance, the scent of her mother around her. Rocking, slowly, side to side, the scent of fish hanging heavily over it all.

Her childhood is warm, if hard. The ice around her shapes her as much as her family. She learns to walk over ice flows, over snow. Hunting, what few land animals brave the biting coast, and fishing. First as others in the village do, with their rods weighted down to reach far into the icy water and attempt bigger fish, and with a handspear anchored to her wrist. She learns snares and stitching and the little things that become the big things that keep a person alive in the snow.

Val knows, in theory, that there are others like her family. Others in the village who can step into the water and reemerge without feet and with teeth as long as her hand. But she doesn't really know who they are until her father dies. Lost, in his other form, to one of the hryngur. It's only when the crowd to mourn him numbers larger than their family that she sees the others, faces she doesn't know.

In hiding, her mother explains, braiding her hair in the morning. The people who can't do what we do, what you'll be able to do? They get scared of us. They hunt us. So to be safe, to stay alive, we keep it secret. Our village is small, and the people know us. They look the other way as long as we help them in the hard winters, and they don't talk about us being different.

It's this knowledge that weighs on her when she sinks below the waves for her Birthright, dropping like a stone. Down, down, down, reaching deeper until her lungs burn, eyes searching for something. An anomaly in the rocks, a glitter. Something shiny.

Blue. A slice of sky, a rare color in her life, calling to her. Summer-sky, bright and strong. She pulls it up, thrusts it from the water ahead of her toward her mother. Their color, shared, and a stepping stone to move her forward. She would keep them safe.

Years pass. Hearthwitch, versatile and adaptable, and hunter, quick with the handspear and later, in her second skin, quick beneath the water too.

Her virgin night comes, and some of those same people appear again, other girls, other parents. It's more people than she's used to, a crowd of new smells and faces. She almost wants to reject their gifts, uncomfortable with the crowd. But she takes some, lets them follow tradition, lets them fight. Takes the one who seems the most gentle but the least likely to form an attachment in her arms and lets him spear her. It's different, and Val regards the experience with fondness if not any particular eagerness to repeat.

The next decade marks tragedy after tragedy for Valeska, brother and sister lost to her. Yoana, sweet and warm, lost to landen fishing boats, killed for her pelt and her bones. Val rages, screams long into the night and stalks the boats that smell of her sister's blood for months, gnawing on the idea of attacking them, curbing herself only to track them again and again and again.

She loses track of time, and in the process, loses more.

Her brother, accomplished hunter and shifter both, moving across the ice. Maybe the light caught him wrong, shone too brightly across the sleek, clean ice. Maybe they were too quiet, Craft on their paws to lighten them, make them soundless. Maybe he had taunted them, stolen their kill in a game he thought he could win. So many maybes.

What she knows, what she finds, is this:

Trails running from the packed snow inland across the ice, spiderweb cracks where inexperienced hunters pressed too hard. Some places there's nothing but the shape of her brother's wrapped boots, and she can almost hear the pounding of his feet on the snow.

Lost, for long stretches, tracks picking up in spurts and stumbles.

And then blood, teeth to leg, and a ruckus in the snow. A fall, scrambling backward, a gouge in the ice from a blast of craft. Running, again, blood dark on the ground.

She finds him caught in ice yards from where it's thin enough to pass through, to drop into the waters and change, to escape. Caught, from the waist up, spine bent backward at an unnatural angle. Down an arm. The soft parts of his face and stomach torn away, brown against the white-blue of the ice. Short, blunt claw marks in the ice around him.

There are no tears when she crouches and takes his face between her palms, ignoring mangled cheeks, missing eyes. She presses her forehead against his bloodied brow and breathes in the cool death of him, the stayed rot. Blanks her mind against what must lie below. There can be no tears, although inside the rage boils hot enough to melt.

For several long, numb hours Valeska sits at the side of her brother's corpse and stares out at the retreating tracks, the trails of blood. Anger burns hot inside her until it doesn't, until it solidifies into a root of glacial ice in her core.

She takes him home, what she can reach of him. Brings him wrapped in furs back to their mother, already drowning in grief over Yoana, and they morn.

And the ice never goes away.

Val sinks into hunting, into tracking, into locking herself away. Years pass, and the space between her and her mother grows quiet and still, heavy with their loss. Where Valeska seeks the quiet of the water, the depths where light gives way to silence, her mother sought the arms of their people, outside of their little village. Too many memories linger, too many specters walk their paths, and although neither of them can pass into the Twisted Kingdom, neither have to to know the psychic mess that snares them.

When she dives for her Offering it's with a Priestess she barely knows in attendance. She stalks across the ice to a place now smooth and colorless, naked in the dark. An open circle of freezing water has been cut, edges kept crisp with Craft. She sinks, first to hands and knees and then on her stomach, thin skin traded for thick layers of muscle and fat.

She forgoes the circle, and drops through the ice into the water below.

When she rises, hours and hours later, the Green between her teeth proceeds all else.

Where she brings home a jewel, her mother presents a man. A mate.

He's good, kind. Respects Valeska's silence, her distance, her mother's haunted eyes and tender heart. Loves her in a way that softens the edges of Val's general chill and warms their home. He's helpful, too, when her mother's night terrors turn into day wanderings, and the treks out across the snow with visions of some unseen thing before her eyes.

Val knows what she sees, and hates that she does. But he follows her mother out, every time, and always brings her back. Tends her. Cooks what Val hunts and trades with the Blood and Landen of the village.

And then a child on the way. A baby. A shock of lightning in the cold, snowy landscape of of Val's life. A baby.

Beautiful, soft, sweet. Things Val remembers with shocks and starts, and there is laughter again, their house no longer a mausoleum of memory. The cloud cover shifts in her mind, like a breath of spring thaw.

Later, she will think that she should have known better. That false springs lead to harsh freezes, scarring. She should have been prepared, after it all.

One night, clear and clean and perfect, after a day of unremarkable normality, Valeska wakes to find her mother gone. Babe and husband asleep, home undisturbed.

Stay here, keep safe, she tells him, shaking him awake. I will find her. I'll bring her home.

Then she too slips out into the night. Tracks her mother's scent across the ice, the pebbled coast, until it slides into the water. She vanished her clothes, changes her skin, and follows.

The ocean takes her, moves her, sends her out. At some point she knows it's a fools errand. The scent of her mother long past the point of diluted, the sea a void around her.

She keeps going, the last shreds of the child within her drowning as she travels.

Her mother is gone.

This time, when she does cry, her tears are lost in the water.

The trek back home passes in a blur, cold, storming, wet. She passes as much of it on foot as she does in the water, numb to the cold.

When she steps back into the village, she thinks she's in a dream.

It's quiet, still. All she can smell is the snow, freshly fallen, the night air. Salt from her own skin. She walks through empty tents and untouched paths, checking every door. Traces of scents almost smothered in the cold. There's no wind, no cooking fires, no children or fishermen.

She's alone.

And she's alone for a long, long time, in her ghost village, before the sea calls her down and away.

She wanders, lets herself fall into all the temptations that had haunted her in the past. A plague in the water to landen hunters after seal pelts, a menace to any wolves spotted on land. Trading her catches with migrating village bands, always covered from head to foot except for her eyes.

Until the Priestess Queen comes up her coast, band of seals with her. Haggard, worn, chased from waters that smell different than the cold-dark of Val's ocean. Looking for landfall, looking for a home. She tries to dissuade her from her choice, even offers up her own skeletal village, despite being scavenged by travelers and lost to the snow, but the Priestess Queen refuses.

Takes up a skirt of land Val knows belongs to wolves.

And if the glacial root inside her burns bright and cold with the knowledge, well, she need not tell all her secrets. It's enough for them, that she knows the seas and how to keep from freezing. Better still she keeps them safe from the dangers that haunt the depths and the snow drifts too.


The Writer


Player Name: Kayndred, Kay
Player Pronouns: She/her/hers
Timezone: -8 PST
Contact: site PM, discord

Inactivity Instructions:
Archive preferred, writing out, lastly death.

Roleplay Sample:
See Michael Villiers

The Darkness

  • Staff
  • Red to Black

  • 0 Posts    9999789268 marks
Re: Valeska
« Reply #1 on: May 26, 2019, 10:01:15 PM »
The Darkness has granted you...
Summer-sky
Cut 29
to
Green
Cut 87

rerolled from rose to purple dusk


As requested, FIVE family rolls:
1: Tiger Eye to Summer-sky
2: Summer-sky to Green
3: Yellow to Summer-sky
4: Rose to Purple Dusk
5: White to Yellow
 What’s better than one shiny? Why, three shinies, of course!	   How nice! This item allows you to re-roll the Jewels on one character sheet for free.   How nice! This item allows you to re-roll the Jewels on one character sheet for free.   How nice! This item allows you to re-roll the Jewels on one character sheet for free.   How nice! This item allows you to re-roll the Jewels on one character sheet for free.   A fancy certificate awarded to those noble writers who finish what they start. Redeem it to get a bonus of 10% more marks for a completed thread.   A fancy certificate awarded to those noble writers who finish what they start. Redeem it to get a bonus of 20% more marks for a completed thread.   A fancy certificate awarded to those noble writers who finish what they start. Redeem it to get a bonus of 20% more marks for a completed thread.   What’s better than one shiny? Why, three shinies, of course!	   What’s better than one shiny? Why, three shinies, of course!	   Wow, it's really heavy!  

The Darkness

  • Staff
  • Red to Black

  • 0 Posts    9999789268 marks
Re: Spearfang, Valeska
« Reply #2 on: May 29, 2019, 09:01:12 AM »
Approved
 What’s better than one shiny? Why, three shinies, of course!	   How nice! This item allows you to re-roll the Jewels on one character sheet for free.   How nice! This item allows you to re-roll the Jewels on one character sheet for free.   How nice! This item allows you to re-roll the Jewels on one character sheet for free.   How nice! This item allows you to re-roll the Jewels on one character sheet for free.   A fancy certificate awarded to those noble writers who finish what they start. Redeem it to get a bonus of 10% more marks for a completed thread.   A fancy certificate awarded to those noble writers who finish what they start. Redeem it to get a bonus of 20% more marks for a completed thread.   A fancy certificate awarded to those noble writers who finish what they start. Redeem it to get a bonus of 20% more marks for a completed thread.   What’s better than one shiny? Why, three shinies, of course!	   What’s better than one shiny? Why, three shinies, of course!	   Wow, it's really heavy!  
 

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