OssumBunz
Rabbit of Caerbannog
Name: Seneca di Contritio
Age: 400
Race: Demvir (Machina)
Vigor: 1500
Latens: 0
Persona: For one who does not personally know Seneca di Conritio, the Demvir woman may come across as quiet, strict and rigid when it comes to jobs. If the need be she will spend time making sure that her colleagues keep on track as to not delay a shipment or job with tomfoolery, but that is not to say that she is cold or distant in any way. She is willing to sacrifice her own happiness for the happiness of others and has on more than one occasion.
Those close to her know that there is more to her than a no nonsense attitude; beneath her professional aura is a kind and even loving soul that relishes the company of a great tight knit crew. She displays a softer, more relaxed side of herself with those she considers good friends, capable of having a good time with those around her.
Time has taught Seneca a resigned acceptance of her past mistakes and their consequences. She accepts responsibility for her actions herself, rather than place blame or burden on another, and despite the emotional difficulties in facing her mistakes, she learned to school herself and her emotions as personal struggles, brushing off the concern of others and bearing grief or physical pain with ‘a stiff upper lip’.
Physical Stature: “Sunlight broke through the clouds, throwing shadows long against the ground for only a few moments. Just long enough to dance along the polished steel faceplate. Its design echoing the helms of ancient warriors; only a slit for glowing yellow eyes to perceive the world through. The gap met another between both lit oculi, running down the center of the Demvir’s face exposing the darkness beneath the being’s mask like features. Two thin sharpened points sat atop the crown of the head, curving back ever so slightly.
Female in shape and stance, the automaton’s angle’s were sleek and streamlined; the surface of her limbs nearly smooth to the touch if one dared to do so. Not a piece stood out of place, not a gear to be seen through the joints of her tall, bare legs. Embroidered blue fabric hid most of her form from the knees up, the cloak being somewhat of an eye catcher in its own right.”
Biography: No one can say for sure what the year was when Seneca awoke for the first time, how far underground the people of Araevis had traveled before golden circles of light first peered into the world around them. Even Seneca herself failed to keep track of years spent during her “learning period” or blank state, instead allowing the decades to blur together like a smeared painting. The land was still in its first century, memory of the cataclysm still fresh in the minds of the eldest generation of biological people and wounds still fresh in the landscape.
The world was a confusing place for the people of Araevis, the Demvir in particular, who had no answers for their existence. Like so many others of her kind, Seneca took the word of the fleshy beings that had discovered her, becoming a tool to tirelessly slave away at whatever chore she was given. While not happy, she wasn’t particularly upset by her life for several decades, not until others began to show their disdain towards the treatment of the Demvir.
Years of revolution were well fought and equality in the eyes of the law had been earned, but distrust and emotionally pain remained. Seneca found herself taking odd jobs from those that would hire her for odd jobs, even if the coin wasn’t particularly good.
As the decades trudged on ever changing, many laws were passed, rewritten, or abolished altogether. Prohibitions came and passed, a new only always taking the place of an old one and with them the rise of smugglers not only for the transport of prohibited goods, but for questionable items as a whole. It was during this time in history that Seneca found a new calling for herself.
Having joined countless smuggling crews in the past, the game is old hat to a long lived Demvir such as Seneca. The most recent crew she was a part of was lead by a young twenty something Laicar by the name of Crispin de Brueria. His free spirit, and positive outlook on life drew the automaton to the young man. The two of them shared a relationship for years, but Seneca couldn’t help but feel that such a love was unfair to the bright eyed leader and pushed him away. The two of them were able to salvage a friendship from the ashes of their relationship and eventually Crispin settled down with a sweet Laicar girl with eyes as deep as the oceans.
Decades have passed and the group has long since disbanded, a few of the men and women are but only memories now, lost to various fates but their names still spoken today. Crispin, now in his sixties and with grandchildren at his feet, runs a tavern in Aridus, just beyond the Sea of Occidens.
Unlike those in her past Seneca remains the same as she always has, untouched by time and on the move once more, searching for the next chapter in her centuries long life within the ancient city of Terminus.
Character Skills
Art of Ingeniarius(The Engineer)
Way of Pistolii (The Duelist)
Way of Polybolii (The Gunner)
Way of Cannonis (The Bomber)
Sample Chapter:
A warm pink hue had settled itself into the desert landscape, draping large gold buttes in a magnificent glowing blanket of light. Shadows stretched out tall and thin across the scenery, deeper in their shade than at any other time of day. Wildlife scurried out onto the surfaces of sun heated rocks to catch the last moments of the sun’s rays before it would eventually slipped behind purple mesas in the distance.
This was Aridus at the end of its day, a small section of it at least. The land remained largely untouched by Araevis’ inhabitants. It was not that this area was officially protected, anything was fair game if it fell into the wrong...or perhaps right hands. The reason this area stood as it did was because this natural gem remained a secret from most of the world. Most of those that had managed to stumble upon the great find had chosen not to spread knowledge of its existence without consideration of the consequences, making sure only to build out a modest life with those of a like mind.
Machinery didn’t clutter, or block the natural beauty of the land. The mountains remained unscared by mining equipment both great and small. One might have never even been able to tell that people lived out in an area so apparently desolate at all at a first glance, but with a closer look on could see tell tale signs.
Nestled up against a rocky mountain, barely visible against the ground which it stood on, was a small town consisting entirely of adobe buildings. Thirty or so sand color structures stood alone in the dusk of the day, silent, but calling out none the less with large black eyes for windows and tall mouths for entrances.
Slowly, almost as if searching, a hand glided along to surface of one of the primitive buildings as sunlight played off the mechanical digits, exaggerating the already warm copper undertones of the steel. Fingertips, false by many standards, made out of polished metal instead of flesh and bone, but still capable of feeling even the smallest flaws of the gritty wall it passed over.The same gleaming hands had helped shape the buildings long ago when those around them had been enthusiastic and young. Time had passed however, and life moved much slower around the Demvir to whom the hand belonged.
The town had existed for nearly forty years now, withstanding storms and seen people come and go, sometimes silently and other times with a roar unlike any other. Carts pulled by basilisks were full of earthen pottery painted with vibrant markings rolled down the single unmarked road, loaded up for tomorrows journey. Artisan crafts were the pride of the small community and its largest source of exa, those who created the beautiful works of art went out of their ways to see it off to a larger city.
With a few hurried steps down a small flight of stone stairs, the tall Demvir had ducked into a tavern. The establishments atmosphere was almost electric, always a popular place towards the end of the day. It went without saying that more than a few tall tales had been born in this exact place.
Tapping a metallic hand on the railing of the stairs, the automaton swept the rather cramped room with illuminated gold eyes for a particular face.
“Well if it isn’t Seneca!” His booming voice reached her ears, what little counted as ears, before she had found the man. Lower apertures that served as eyelids raised up in an expression of joy at the sight of her old Laicar friend.
An old man now, Crispin Brueria stood a bit shorter now than he did in Seneca’s memory despite the fact that she saw him nearly everyday, just as she had for almost forty five years now. The elderly tavern keeper was a far cry from the spry twenty five year old airship captain she had met all those years ago. His once muscular form softened by age, dirty blond hair greyed with the ever ticking time.
Time had changed him over the years, changed everyone around her in this tiny community. Never before had time been so apparent to the machinae as it had been while she lived with in this small town full of faces that she had grown accustomed to seeing.
“As it always is at this time of day, Crispin.” The Demvir’s voice was feminine, confident, and smooth with a tinny quality behind it. A short crackle followed the sentence produced by the synthesized voice.
Pushing her way through the crowded bar, Seneca made her way over to the back corner table of the establishment. Gears whirred and clicked as the automaton took a seat on an old wooden chair across from the old Laicar. “I see you’ve been as busy as always, I’d think you would get tired of doing the same thing daily.” There was a light heartedness behind her words, teasing her friend a bit.
“Oh come on, how could I possibly get tired of tossing out sloppy drunks at the end of the night.” A coy smile formed on Crispin’s face and he raised his glass of translucent brown liquid to his lips, surely alcohol. Taking a swig, the old airship captain lowered the glass again, keeping it cradled in his fingers. “It’s the only excitement I see around here. That and the monsoons.”
With another swig the glass was emptied and placed down on the table’s rough wooden surface. The machinae’s yellow eyes stared at it for a moment, a droning “hmm…” emanating from her as she thought about what the Laicar had just said. “That’s part of the reason I come to you this evening, since you bring it up.” Metal thumbs clanking lightly as they tapped together between entwined fingers.
“I feel it’s time I leave Vallis Pictis to explore my options elsewhere. We have both discussed my place here and agreed this was temporary in the past.” Seneca was quick to the point, there had been no lead up to the conversation, no break in the monotony of her daily visits.
Crispin looked puzzle, mayhaps even a bit shocked by the suddenness of the news. Pouring a bit more of the brown liquid into his glass, he leaned back in his seat. “Well, Sen,” He began as he swirled the drink around in its glass, “I can’t say I do recall the exact conversation we had about that, but I take you word for it. When do you reckon you’ll be heading out?”
“From what I have heard from the mouths of merchants, Terminus is promising and has experienced a boom as of late. I plan to leave at dawn on basilisk, there’s no reason I should wait around for a cart.” The Demvir felt a bit anxious, or what she figured being anxious felt like as she watched her old friend’s face; her internal gears turning rapidly inside her steel chassis.
The Laicar let out a sigh, “Not even gonna leave with a group, eh?” His hand reached into his worn tan jacket before pulling out a firearm and placing it on the table. “Then take this, traveling alone is bad enough, but going unarmed is suicide.”
With a few whirs and clicks of gears and various machinery, Seneca picked up the revolver, its weight satisfying in her steel grip. This gun was a quality weapon, she knew that, and one of a kind. It had been Crispin’s since before she met him, and now the look of bewilderment was returned, yellow Demvir eyes staring back into brown Laicar ones.
A chuckle came from the ex corsair, “Oh dont look at me like that, Sen. Do you really think I’d just let you waltz out of here without something to remember me by? Besides, a gun as brilliant as that deserves to be fired every once and a while.”
It truly was a brilliant gun, the stock carved out of red shaded wood and polished to sheen. A dark metal made up the barrel, rusted on a few spots from age but still beautiful. A few ornate metal pieces were bracketed along the stocks fore end, below that the loading lever was engraved with the title, “Decimator IV.”
Discordantly, a few gears clicked within the Demvir; a sigh on her part as she slid the revolver beneath her cloak. In another chorus of whirs the machinery stood from her seat, “Crispin, I’m going to duck out for now. It appears that a few of the guys have arrived for drinks as usual,”she said with a tinny voice while motioning towards the door. The subject change was abrupt and a bit odd feeling, but this whole situation felt that way.
“I’ll stop by in the morning before I set off, maybe we can discuss things a bit more then.” Seneca continued as she adjusted her cloak at the shoulders, then pushed her now empty chair in with a steel foot.
“I’ll be up...I’ll tell the fellas you said hi.” The old Laicar replied with a wave.
“Thanks, Crispin.” And with that she had taken her leave, the sound of the old group getting together reached her ears just as she ducked out the short door.
1556
Age: 400
Race: Demvir (Machina)
Vigor: 1500
Latens: 0
Persona: For one who does not personally know Seneca di Conritio, the Demvir woman may come across as quiet, strict and rigid when it comes to jobs. If the need be she will spend time making sure that her colleagues keep on track as to not delay a shipment or job with tomfoolery, but that is not to say that she is cold or distant in any way. She is willing to sacrifice her own happiness for the happiness of others and has on more than one occasion.
Those close to her know that there is more to her than a no nonsense attitude; beneath her professional aura is a kind and even loving soul that relishes the company of a great tight knit crew. She displays a softer, more relaxed side of herself with those she considers good friends, capable of having a good time with those around her.
Time has taught Seneca a resigned acceptance of her past mistakes and their consequences. She accepts responsibility for her actions herself, rather than place blame or burden on another, and despite the emotional difficulties in facing her mistakes, she learned to school herself and her emotions as personal struggles, brushing off the concern of others and bearing grief or physical pain with ‘a stiff upper lip’.
Physical Stature: “Sunlight broke through the clouds, throwing shadows long against the ground for only a few moments. Just long enough to dance along the polished steel faceplate. Its design echoing the helms of ancient warriors; only a slit for glowing yellow eyes to perceive the world through. The gap met another between both lit oculi, running down the center of the Demvir’s face exposing the darkness beneath the being’s mask like features. Two thin sharpened points sat atop the crown of the head, curving back ever so slightly.
Female in shape and stance, the automaton’s angle’s were sleek and streamlined; the surface of her limbs nearly smooth to the touch if one dared to do so. Not a piece stood out of place, not a gear to be seen through the joints of her tall, bare legs. Embroidered blue fabric hid most of her form from the knees up, the cloak being somewhat of an eye catcher in its own right.”
Biography: No one can say for sure what the year was when Seneca awoke for the first time, how far underground the people of Araevis had traveled before golden circles of light first peered into the world around them. Even Seneca herself failed to keep track of years spent during her “learning period” or blank state, instead allowing the decades to blur together like a smeared painting. The land was still in its first century, memory of the cataclysm still fresh in the minds of the eldest generation of biological people and wounds still fresh in the landscape.
The world was a confusing place for the people of Araevis, the Demvir in particular, who had no answers for their existence. Like so many others of her kind, Seneca took the word of the fleshy beings that had discovered her, becoming a tool to tirelessly slave away at whatever chore she was given. While not happy, she wasn’t particularly upset by her life for several decades, not until others began to show their disdain towards the treatment of the Demvir.
Years of revolution were well fought and equality in the eyes of the law had been earned, but distrust and emotionally pain remained. Seneca found herself taking odd jobs from those that would hire her for odd jobs, even if the coin wasn’t particularly good.
As the decades trudged on ever changing, many laws were passed, rewritten, or abolished altogether. Prohibitions came and passed, a new only always taking the place of an old one and with them the rise of smugglers not only for the transport of prohibited goods, but for questionable items as a whole. It was during this time in history that Seneca found a new calling for herself.
Having joined countless smuggling crews in the past, the game is old hat to a long lived Demvir such as Seneca. The most recent crew she was a part of was lead by a young twenty something Laicar by the name of Crispin de Brueria. His free spirit, and positive outlook on life drew the automaton to the young man. The two of them shared a relationship for years, but Seneca couldn’t help but feel that such a love was unfair to the bright eyed leader and pushed him away. The two of them were able to salvage a friendship from the ashes of their relationship and eventually Crispin settled down with a sweet Laicar girl with eyes as deep as the oceans.
Decades have passed and the group has long since disbanded, a few of the men and women are but only memories now, lost to various fates but their names still spoken today. Crispin, now in his sixties and with grandchildren at his feet, runs a tavern in Aridus, just beyond the Sea of Occidens.
Unlike those in her past Seneca remains the same as she always has, untouched by time and on the move once more, searching for the next chapter in her centuries long life within the ancient city of Terminus.
Character Skills
Art of Ingeniarius(The Engineer)
Way of Pistolii (The Duelist)
Way of Polybolii (The Gunner)
Way of Cannonis (The Bomber)
Sample Chapter:
A warm pink hue had settled itself into the desert landscape, draping large gold buttes in a magnificent glowing blanket of light. Shadows stretched out tall and thin across the scenery, deeper in their shade than at any other time of day. Wildlife scurried out onto the surfaces of sun heated rocks to catch the last moments of the sun’s rays before it would eventually slipped behind purple mesas in the distance.
This was Aridus at the end of its day, a small section of it at least. The land remained largely untouched by Araevis’ inhabitants. It was not that this area was officially protected, anything was fair game if it fell into the wrong...or perhaps right hands. The reason this area stood as it did was because this natural gem remained a secret from most of the world. Most of those that had managed to stumble upon the great find had chosen not to spread knowledge of its existence without consideration of the consequences, making sure only to build out a modest life with those of a like mind.
Machinery didn’t clutter, or block the natural beauty of the land. The mountains remained unscared by mining equipment both great and small. One might have never even been able to tell that people lived out in an area so apparently desolate at all at a first glance, but with a closer look on could see tell tale signs.
Nestled up against a rocky mountain, barely visible against the ground which it stood on, was a small town consisting entirely of adobe buildings. Thirty or so sand color structures stood alone in the dusk of the day, silent, but calling out none the less with large black eyes for windows and tall mouths for entrances.
Slowly, almost as if searching, a hand glided along to surface of one of the primitive buildings as sunlight played off the mechanical digits, exaggerating the already warm copper undertones of the steel. Fingertips, false by many standards, made out of polished metal instead of flesh and bone, but still capable of feeling even the smallest flaws of the gritty wall it passed over.The same gleaming hands had helped shape the buildings long ago when those around them had been enthusiastic and young. Time had passed however, and life moved much slower around the Demvir to whom the hand belonged.
The town had existed for nearly forty years now, withstanding storms and seen people come and go, sometimes silently and other times with a roar unlike any other. Carts pulled by basilisks were full of earthen pottery painted with vibrant markings rolled down the single unmarked road, loaded up for tomorrows journey. Artisan crafts were the pride of the small community and its largest source of exa, those who created the beautiful works of art went out of their ways to see it off to a larger city.
With a few hurried steps down a small flight of stone stairs, the tall Demvir had ducked into a tavern. The establishments atmosphere was almost electric, always a popular place towards the end of the day. It went without saying that more than a few tall tales had been born in this exact place.
Tapping a metallic hand on the railing of the stairs, the automaton swept the rather cramped room with illuminated gold eyes for a particular face.
“Well if it isn’t Seneca!” His booming voice reached her ears, what little counted as ears, before she had found the man. Lower apertures that served as eyelids raised up in an expression of joy at the sight of her old Laicar friend.
An old man now, Crispin Brueria stood a bit shorter now than he did in Seneca’s memory despite the fact that she saw him nearly everyday, just as she had for almost forty five years now. The elderly tavern keeper was a far cry from the spry twenty five year old airship captain she had met all those years ago. His once muscular form softened by age, dirty blond hair greyed with the ever ticking time.
Time had changed him over the years, changed everyone around her in this tiny community. Never before had time been so apparent to the machinae as it had been while she lived with in this small town full of faces that she had grown accustomed to seeing.
“As it always is at this time of day, Crispin.” The Demvir’s voice was feminine, confident, and smooth with a tinny quality behind it. A short crackle followed the sentence produced by the synthesized voice.
Pushing her way through the crowded bar, Seneca made her way over to the back corner table of the establishment. Gears whirred and clicked as the automaton took a seat on an old wooden chair across from the old Laicar. “I see you’ve been as busy as always, I’d think you would get tired of doing the same thing daily.” There was a light heartedness behind her words, teasing her friend a bit.
“Oh come on, how could I possibly get tired of tossing out sloppy drunks at the end of the night.” A coy smile formed on Crispin’s face and he raised his glass of translucent brown liquid to his lips, surely alcohol. Taking a swig, the old airship captain lowered the glass again, keeping it cradled in his fingers. “It’s the only excitement I see around here. That and the monsoons.”
With another swig the glass was emptied and placed down on the table’s rough wooden surface. The machinae’s yellow eyes stared at it for a moment, a droning “hmm…” emanating from her as she thought about what the Laicar had just said. “That’s part of the reason I come to you this evening, since you bring it up.” Metal thumbs clanking lightly as they tapped together between entwined fingers.
“I feel it’s time I leave Vallis Pictis to explore my options elsewhere. We have both discussed my place here and agreed this was temporary in the past.” Seneca was quick to the point, there had been no lead up to the conversation, no break in the monotony of her daily visits.
Crispin looked puzzle, mayhaps even a bit shocked by the suddenness of the news. Pouring a bit more of the brown liquid into his glass, he leaned back in his seat. “Well, Sen,” He began as he swirled the drink around in its glass, “I can’t say I do recall the exact conversation we had about that, but I take you word for it. When do you reckon you’ll be heading out?”
“From what I have heard from the mouths of merchants, Terminus is promising and has experienced a boom as of late. I plan to leave at dawn on basilisk, there’s no reason I should wait around for a cart.” The Demvir felt a bit anxious, or what she figured being anxious felt like as she watched her old friend’s face; her internal gears turning rapidly inside her steel chassis.
The Laicar let out a sigh, “Not even gonna leave with a group, eh?” His hand reached into his worn tan jacket before pulling out a firearm and placing it on the table. “Then take this, traveling alone is bad enough, but going unarmed is suicide.”
With a few whirs and clicks of gears and various machinery, Seneca picked up the revolver, its weight satisfying in her steel grip. This gun was a quality weapon, she knew that, and one of a kind. It had been Crispin’s since before she met him, and now the look of bewilderment was returned, yellow Demvir eyes staring back into brown Laicar ones.
A chuckle came from the ex corsair, “Oh dont look at me like that, Sen. Do you really think I’d just let you waltz out of here without something to remember me by? Besides, a gun as brilliant as that deserves to be fired every once and a while.”
It truly was a brilliant gun, the stock carved out of red shaded wood and polished to sheen. A dark metal made up the barrel, rusted on a few spots from age but still beautiful. A few ornate metal pieces were bracketed along the stocks fore end, below that the loading lever was engraved with the title, “Decimator IV.”
Discordantly, a few gears clicked within the Demvir; a sigh on her part as she slid the revolver beneath her cloak. In another chorus of whirs the machinery stood from her seat, “Crispin, I’m going to duck out for now. It appears that a few of the guys have arrived for drinks as usual,”she said with a tinny voice while motioning towards the door. The subject change was abrupt and a bit odd feeling, but this whole situation felt that way.
“I’ll stop by in the morning before I set off, maybe we can discuss things a bit more then.” Seneca continued as she adjusted her cloak at the shoulders, then pushed her now empty chair in with a steel foot.
“I’ll be up...I’ll tell the fellas you said hi.” The old Laicar replied with a wave.
“Thanks, Crispin.” And with that she had taken her leave, the sound of the old group getting together reached her ears just as she ducked out the short door.
1556
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