Micali Alsara

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Jul 17, 2014
Micali Alsara.jpg
User name: Dojat

Character Name: Micali Alsara

Age: 31

Race: Laicar (Terran)

If Spurii, Select Bloodlines:

Racial Trait:
Laicar - Adrenaline Rush (Enhanced Run Speed)


Cold and distant, Micali is both elusive and intimidating. She seems the kind of woman that detaches herself emotionally, but should conflict arise, she's all in. She has a softer spot for those she's known longer, but generally prefers as little affection as possible. She can become erratic, seemingly random topics setting her off. Being a contract killer, she's also able to compartmentalize her profession from her ethics. She's a driven woman, finding an objective and working towards it, regardless of what - or who - may stand in her way.

Physical Appearance:

With shoulder blade-length brown hair and shifting brown eyes, Micali stands at 5'8 and roughly 155lbs. A large colony of scars are visible along what parts of her skin are visible aside from her face. These scars are mirrored by presumably dozens more beneath her clothing. She walks with purpose, every step seeming to be toward something. To a stranger she may seem paranoid, constantly checking over her shoulders. There's an air of mystery to her, something in her demeanor that begs the question of "why do you behave in the ways that you do?"

The Laicar wears baggy tunics, lightweight enough for an escape, should it be necessary, but sturdy enough to mean she won't freeze or die too easily, most of her body covered. Beneath is a tank top of varying dark colours. She has a hooded dark grey cloak and a matching set of scarf and gloves. Her hair is tied tight in a braid, loose behind her neck or over her shoulders, and has a spread of bangs steadfast upon her forehead. She's rarely seen without Cora, her longbow, which is carved with small whispers only its owner knows the truth of.


Micali Alsara never knew her parents. She was born in a small city, Lucrus, due east of Terminus. Her parents must have made the wrong enemies because she was only 4 or 5 when they were killed by hired arms. Those hired arms took her in, and raised her as they saw fit. She grew to learn that these particular killers were part of the Insidiis, a covert branch of The Impraevitas, sent to deal with more underhanded affairs than the typical mercenary work of the larger group. The Insidiis bred killers, thieves, and worse. Micali was raised to kill, going through rigorous training as a child. She wasn't deprived of love entirely, though, as the branch did allow her to socialize with other children and didn't force her too hard into work. A time came when she was given the choice to leave, but given that the life was all she knew, she chose to stay.

Around the age of 18, Micali started to do work. She was fed targets through Insidiis operatives, handed a sniper rifle, and taken with tutors to kill. She never dealt with clients, was merely the muscle in operations, be it murder or heist or otherwise. The Insidiis had one code: Never harm a child. To do so is unethical beyond recompense. While adults had their own affairs that were settled in blood, there was never a time that harming a child would be permitted within the Insidiis branch. A few corpses later, Micali was allowed to work alone. She fought to prove herself, quickly rising through the ranks, and earning respect from the leaders of the organization. Her body count was in nearing a couple dozen, years later, when she was given a specific target. A group of politicians who had done wrong by the poor. Little did she know, this was a contest. Finding and killing one of the targets was as easy as any other, tracking him and shooting him dead from afar, but to her surprise, Micali found the rest already dead in different ways, scorched, bones cracked, throats slit, a whole variety. Until the last.

The final politician was running for his life when Micali watched him die, two figures slowing their approach as he fell. She decided to approach, knowing this was no mere coincidence. She wasn't the only. Slowly, four others also emerged to introduce themselves. From a young age, some even at birth, they had all been raised by specific people within the Insidiis to kill, all in grooming to create a team with the potential to take out world leaders. They were dubbed the Seven Devils, all as deadly as the next and former in their own specialized ways. Seven years later, when Micali was 28, the group disbanded after a mysterious incident involving a fire in the headquarters of the Insidiis branch. Micali was left scarred in every way imaginable, the night itself being pushed to the furthest back of her mind. Now, three years later, she works to leave it all behind, doing freelance work in the city where it all started.

Skill 1: Way of Perspicax (Sniper - Long Range Precision)
Skill 2: Discipline of Battuentis (Fencer - Light Melee Combat)
Skill 3: Discipline of Pugilis (Brawler - Unarmed Melee Combat)
Skill 4: Art of Terriculum (Gunsmith - Firearms and Entrenchments)

Sample Chapter:

It was late Sobrius, and the air had begun to get a chill to it, breath crept from mouths in a white mist. She counted a dozen breaths below her in the square. The slums were less than ideal - poverty doesn’t breed proper architecture - but this square was one of the few locations in the slums that was considered beautiful. Given how cold the day was, she wasn’t surprised that there was a lack of people around. A small stand set up in the corner of the square peddled crafted jewelry. Small twinkles of dirty brown glass occasionally shone in her face as the stand owner lifted various necklaces to the pair of women that perused. Six children and three adults were closer to the fountain, the children played some sport that Micali couldn’t recognize and the adults cheered them on.

The fountain in the center of the square was made up of eroded stone and water which was just a little too brown to be drinkable. She stood from her hiding spot, a balcony extended around a wooden flight of stairs. It was a library before it was shut down about a year back, and it provided enough sight and privacy for her to finish the job, as the cold kept most of the occupants inside. She raised Cora, arrow already knocked, and aimed for a few seconds before she released the tensed bowstring. It found its mark, and the two adults that remained had scattered while the people at the stand all huddled behind it. The six children dropped to the ground, and braced themselves for the encounter to end.

There was a custom in the slums of Lucrus, that most crime is common but the harm of a child was inexcusable. Micali had never faltered in her adherence.

She crouched, then, pulled the harness off her bag, and strapped Cora in before it was slung back over her shoulder. She rose, and was relieved when she noticed that the square was as she’d left it not twenty seconds earlier. By the time she’d fully descended the stairs and turned back towards the body, he was near his end. The breaths he took as she walked up were short, and slowed as she kneeled above him.

By the time she fished the forest green origami flower out of her leather hip bag, his palm was pliant beneath her. After she wrapped his thick digits around the paper flora, she rose and left the square behind her, which now only held nine breaths.

The walk through the slums was as predictable as ever. It was quiet, which fit for the temperature, though there was the faint hum of cold in the air. The corpse she left behind in that square would not haunt her; she was merely the tool used to kill. Remove her, and the intent was still there, just without the efficiency. The female Enlil that hired her would be pleased that it went so smoothly. She tried to do this as little as possible. In the last three years she’d been in Lucrus, she’d killed eight people. Four Laicar, one Enlil, one Demvir, and two Velen, now. The money could typically hold her over for a few months at a time, since she didn’t have to worry about housing.

Now that she’d made it a few blocks away from the square, the streets turned into alleys, and the truth of the slums became more apparent. The buildings became ramshackle huts that were made from rusted metal and leaned on rocks and trees. With little privacy, it wasn’t hard to see the people huddled together inside, some had fires that barely burned, though most were just families that used body heat to survive the especially cold evening.

The people outside had most of her pity. Loners with no family to provide heat, no shelter, poor excuses for clothes. A woman nursed one child while the other leaned into her available side, and she had a cold sweat. Micali reached into a pocket in her hip bag and dropped several coins while she walked past. Before the woman had a chance to respond, Micali was gone. The worst parts of the slums were behind her eventually, and she recognized the beginning of the mercantile district. The dirt that fought her footfalls was eventually replaced for cold, hard stone. Light emanated from nearby lampposts, the sun passing the crest of its setting. She was glad to be closer to home.

There was a tavern that was in the heart of Lucrus, named Dom’s. It was close to the slums but within the aforementioned mercantile district, so the patrons varied from those with only enough to pay for a warm drink, to those who collected taxes on the surrounding buildings. Dom was the essential Lucrusian working man, and he and Micali went way back. He accepted anyone into his bar with open arms, and genuinely cared for both his employees and customers. She’d been staying with him for about two and a half years.

Dom’s came into view after a few more blocks of the slowly darkening evening, and a few patrons spilled out as she approached. The heat was welcome when she opened the door and entered, a jolly “Mick!” came from the portly olive green Enlil she called friend. “Pull up a stool, we don’t close for a few minutes.”


Writing Week is 245

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