Post by Jezerette Al-Sonara on Jul 11, 2011 0:52:58 GMT -5
Jezerette Al-Sonara
"You can't stop me. Nothing can."
"You can't stop me. Nothing can."
NICKNAMES[/color]: // Doctor Sonara, Bearer of the Heart, Black-Heart Jez,
AGE[/color]: // 184 (appears in her late twenties-early thirties)
DATE OF BIRTH[/color]: // June 15th
GENDER[/color]: // Female
ALIGNMENT[/color]: // Lawful Evil
OCCUPATION[/color]: // Senior Researcher for the Department of Spiritual Invocation, Spiritual Surgery Division, Ex-Housewife, Ex-Oberaufseherin
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"Reporting for duty, sir~"
The other Auschwitz Angel of Death (Wings not included)
HEIGHT[/color]: // 6' 1''
WEIGHT[/color]: // 173 lbs.
EYE COLOR[/color]: // Usually Red, black with white pupils after severe damage.
HAIR COLOR[/color]: // White
PIERCINGS[/color]: // None
TATTOOS[/color]: // None
DISTINGUISHING FEATURES[/color]: // When she's been gravely injured or still recovering from full reconstitution, her skin can crack like dry mud, and her eyes go weird. She also stumbles a lot and has difficulty balancing.
Otherwise, she is notable for her snow-white hair and red eyes. She is very tall for a woman, and to prana sensitive observers, her "aura" seems to have an extremely subtle pulsating rhythm.
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- The Facade
- Over the years, Jezerette has perfected the art of manipulation and duplicity. Cultivating multiple identities across numerous countries. Although they have different names they tend to have a common personality.
She is charismatic, and amiable. Strict yet affable, she knows how to get someone on her side with ease. Be it through words, seduction, extortion, or even naked threats.
She is well liked, be it by French locals, German officers, or Clock Tower students. She has more than once earned the nickname "Black-Heart Jez", although the circumstances of earning this nickname were wildly different. Students at the Clock Tower use it facetiously. The prisoners she oversaw during World War II, less so.
- Over the years, Jezerette has perfected the art of manipulation and duplicity. Cultivating multiple identities across numerous countries. Although they have different names they tend to have a common personality.
- The Woman
- Jezerette is in reality cold and calculating. She is utterly obsessed with her goal, whatever it may be, and will strike down anyone who she views as competition without pity or remorse.
However, after decades of exposure, she has gained a sadistic and sociopathic streak. Relishing the chance to hunt down others for sustenance.
She is humorless, seemingly emotionless and speaks in a flat monotone. The most emotion she will show is aggravation or mild satisfaction.
- Jezerette is in reality cold and calculating. She is utterly obsessed with her goal, whatever it may be, and will strike down anyone who she views as competition without pity or remorse.
- The Demon
- Although she tries to keep in control, the heart is slowly destroying her mind and soul. When she's been deprived for a significant span of time she begins to lose herself to mad blood lust. When in these states she will attack anyone who she sees as "Good prey", loners at night, the homeless, although she enjoys the blood of mages more than any other. She will attack with great ferocity and speed, then take care to use ichor to plug up any wounds she makes to save as much blood as she can before dragging the body back to wherever she's living.
She prefers to bring in her target alive in order to keep them "fresh" if she can. And during these times she is taunting and cruel, playing mind games and torturing the victim until she's satisfied or thirst overwhelms her.
- Although she tries to keep in control, the heart is slowly destroying her mind and soul. When she's been deprived for a significant span of time she begins to lose herself to mad blood lust. When in these states she will attack anyone who she sees as "Good prey", loners at night, the homeless, although she enjoys the blood of mages more than any other. She will attack with great ferocity and speed, then take care to use ichor to plug up any wounds she makes to save as much blood as she can before dragging the body back to wherever she's living.
- The Heart
- The dark center of Jezette, and the source of her psychosis, her power, and her life. The mystic code passed down the Al-Sonara line. More than just an artifact, it contains the improperly and incompletely bound souls of each previous bearer of the heart. Each one overwriting the one before it, yet allowing the remaining malevolence and insanity to exacerbate their own.
It is a device never meant to be carried by a moral soul. The very act of receiving it requires monstrous measures to be taken to ensure survival alone. Once successfully implanted, it bestows incredible power at the cost of moral and mental degradation.
- The dark center of Jezette, and the source of her psychosis, her power, and her life. The mystic code passed down the Al-Sonara line. More than just an artifact, it contains the improperly and incompletely bound souls of each previous bearer of the heart. Each one overwriting the one before it, yet allowing the remaining malevolence and insanity to exacerbate their own.
LIKES[/color]: //
-Traveling
-Fencing
-Horseback Riding
-Hunting (animals & People)
-Lazy afternoons in the German countryside
-Reading
-Herman Melville
-Edgar Allen Poe
-Surgery
DISLIKES[/color]: //
-The Heart
-Her Family
-Most people
-personal injury
-Television
-Boredom
STRENGTHS[/color]: //
The Heart of Darkness has imbued Jezerette with incredible power. She has excellent offensive skills and, while her defense may be lacking, she has an incredible tolerance for pain and, due to the heart's intervention, cannot truly die (the first three times)
She has a charismatic personality and a ruthless and sadistic nature, never letting mercy or compassion stand in the way of her goals.
WEAKNESSES[/color]: //
Jezerette is not the ideal picture of mental health. Sociopathy, mild multiple-identity disorders, and enough symptoms of other mental illnesses to fill the DRM, and Jez is only getting worse.
This can lead to lapses in judgement, ranging from mild to truly egregious, especially if she hasn't been feeding regularly.
Her magical skills, while potent, are far from what other magi can do offensively, having only one spell built for pure offense, and that has to deal with an extremely limited range and power.
2/5 of her spells are devoted to keeping her alive, their benefits merely side-effects.
She has a tendency to underestimate her opponent, and is decidedly reckless in combat.
When recovering from sever injuries she is very much a cripple, easy to defeat. And her blood requirements can be used against her easily, the need to feed being easy to exploit.
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MY FAMILY LINE[/color]: //
The Al-Sonara line is approaching 850 years in age. It was fairly unnotable beyond skill in surgery and understanding in anatomy.
However, approximately 700 years ago, Alastor Al-Sonara engaged in a friendly duel with a German magus by the name of Anton Jazheil. When their match ended in a draw, both too drained to continue, the two, usually good if somewhat vitriolic friends, got into an argument. Alastor argued that modification of the self was the only way to stem the tide of thinning magical prowess in the blood. Anton countered that even the best modifications could be bested by men, and was therefore only a dead-end path, one which men could not follow to reach Akasha.
The two parted, although they remained in contact. As Alasator began to experiment on the alteration of human organs, he discovered a new "element" as he called it. By putting human blood through a complicated, prana-charged "filter" of his own design, he could turn it into what he called "ichor", a vile black sludge that, while seemingly immutable, contained a great deal of potential. It took years of investigation before Alastor discovered that a filter, implanted in the heart, could be used to align the ichor to the user's prana, allowing its incredible properties to be used to their fullest.
Without further ado, Alastor implanted the filter in his own heart, a process the details of which have been lost to memory. The operation was a success, and Alastor had full command of the ichor he produced. However, he lacked the foresight to realize that the human body needs blood, and would have died of semi-natural causes had not Anton Jazheil, learning of his rival's power, come and challenged him once more to a duel, this time to the death.
The two magi clashed on a hill outside the Al-Sonara grounds and, after nearly seven hours of constant combat, they both fell dead from their wounds, the victor never certain.
However, the surviving members of the Al-Sonara line, including his son, who had inherited the crest, saw potential in the heart, and retrieved it from Alastor's corpse to be preserved.
The work continued over the centuries. Every generation adding something to this heart. First its function, created by Alastor's research. His grandson found a way to tie the crest to the heart, making it an artifact that could be continually, if violently, passed down the line. Finally, 400 years ago, Hadric Al-Sonara tied his own soul to the heart in a botched attempt at Third Magic. Every head of the family has followed in his footsteps, convinced that they could do it better.
Contact with the Jazheil has also continued over the centuries. And once every fifty years, the heads of both families meet on the hill of their ancestors, and clash to see whose philosophy wins out, and who has taken the lead. This also aids the Al-Sonara in ensuring the heart gets passed on.
The process of preparing a head of the Al-Sonara for the implantation of the heart takes numerous years and requires frequent exposure to the heart as well as a number of experimental surgeries.
Jezerette is an odd case, having killed the former family head herself, denying the ancient tradition. This caused a minor rift between the two families, with the Jazheil believing that this had been done on purpose, and that their potential heir had been conned out of what they saw as a rite of ascendancy. The Al-Sonara attempted to explain the situation without revealing too much of the horrific process, and offered to have the Jazheil imprison Jezerette, until she was fit to face them. They agreed, but the situation did not go as planned.
The Jazheil and Al-Sonara have attempted to assassinate her eight times. Each time was met with failure, they have now run out of magi competent enough to pose a threat. The line of Al-Sonara is considered ended by the survivors. The Jazheil, though still adamant about succeeding some day, are biding their time, waiting for a more successful candidate.
To the outside, the Al-Sonara are nothing more than a quiet family of spiritual surgeons, deft and talented at their trade. Their specialty is fire.
MY HISTORY[/color]: //
You wish to know who I am? Take a seat.
My name is Melinda Hayworth.
Unsatisfied?
My name is Oberaufseherin Jezerette Leinengen.
Still nothing? Persistant, aren't we?
My name is Jezerette Al-Sonara.
Will that do? I have more.
Very well.
I was born in Somerset, in the year 1843.
Until I was sixteen years old I was raised as a normal girl. Not entirely normal, I lived in a seaside castle, raised by my two uncles.
My mother died in childbirth. I did not know my Father.
I was also supposedly a magus, but this never much interested me, nor was I ever taught any magecraft by my uncles. I spent my childhood riding horses, practicing fencing, and reading. I was particularly fond of Poe and Melville. Excellent authors, both of them. I cried the day they told me Poe had died, I was only a little girl after all. And when Moby Dick was published I read it a full three times through. I still own a first edition copy. Worth a small fortune now, I'm sure.
Then my life ended. In a way. Without warning, my Uncles pulled me from school, denied me my horses, my swords and my books, and locked me in the dungeon beneath the castle.
There was something down there waiting for me.
It was many things. It was a monster. It was evil. It had no mercy, no compassion, only hatred and wrath.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
It was a heart.
A heart carried in a vessel. Something that had once been a man.
For five years I was tortured. When I could no longer bear the pain, I was removed from the dungeon and healed in a small hospital wing of the castle.
Again and again, they sent me down. Again and again I could do nothing but cry out in agony and pray for death.
Limbs severed, bones broken, organs punctured and torn to pieces. No matter how serious my injury they would drag back my broken and crippled form and fix me up. Again and again and again and again and again. And always there was that horrible beating noise. I could hear it in the walls, in the sky, in the earth. Always with me...
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
I knew what had to be done. Before my mind was lost to madness. The heart, that horrible beating heart, must die.
I feigned injury greater than what I had, and they foolishly allowed me to recover. I stole myself from the room and retrieved my rapier.
I walked into the dungeon to face my tormentor. He charged at me, and I separated him from his head. He did not stop. Neither did I.
"TO THE LAST I GRAPPLE WITH THEE!"
I would not call it a duel by any stretch. The monster could create lances of blood to impale me from any point on his body. It was like fighting seven men at once, and my skills had long since dulled.
My clothes, my limbs, my face, all were cut to pieces, but I did not care, I did not even notice. The heart must die.
"FROM HELL'S HEART I STAB AT THEE!"
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
It was still alive. Madness, anger, and hatred overcame me. All the wasted days, all the years that could never be returned. The nights, the days, the laughter and the love. I would take vengeance for all of it. Every. Last. Moment.
"FOR HATE'S SAKE I SPIT MY LAST BREATH AT THEE!!"
With the devil's strength behind me, I ran the monster through, the sword burying itself in his sternum. Not about to stop I twisted the blade with all my might, when suddenly the sword snapped cleanly in half, the blade still standing, lodged tightly in his now blood-soaked chest.
Without a moment's hesitation, I abandoned the half I held and grabbed the blade with both hands and bent as hard as I could, attempting to rip him open so that the evil in his chest lay exposed.
In a last attempt at defiance, a lance of hardened black blood severed my left arm at the shoulder.
That did not stop me. Nothing would.
With a great tearing and cracking I tore his rib cage in twain.
Without a momenr's hesitation I plunged my hand into his chest and, with a heave of strenght impossible to all but those who have nothing to lose, tore the heart from his body and threw it to the ground. On my knees, I grabbed my discarded sword by the handle and drove the broken edge into the heart again and again.
"DIE!DIE!DIE!DIE!DIE!DIE!DIE!!!"
When they found me, I was unconscious, the heart had stopped beating, and the broken sword was still clutched in my hand, dyed red and black with blood and ichor.
I awoke in the hospital wing several days later, my arm reattached and fully functional. All was well, the silence was deafening with the absence of the heart. I was sure I had won.
Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump. Ba-dump.
It was louder. Louder than it had ever been before, as if coming from everywhere. As if coming from within. I tore off my hospital and looked at the ugly scar stitched across my chest.
That was the day I died.
They tried to convince me it was for the greater good, that amazing things could be done with the heart. My Uncle Fenrich, for Edward had died a few years previously...
...invited me to dinner when it was decided I was "stable". Stable apparently meant dead three months and no longer slaughtering hospital wards between extended bouts of screaming.
He talked endlessly, a glass of red wine in his hand, about Akasha, the purpose of meaning, the Jazheil family, seven hundred years of organized murder, and a thousand other attempts to justify the existence of something as evil as the heart.
I stared at him, not speaking a word, just staring. My eyes were red now from their previously shining blue, my blonde hair becoming so pale that it was white. His eyes kept shifting, staring at anything but mine, but I did not shift my gaze, I did not even blink.
When he finished, I impaled him through the forehead without a word, a lance of ichor creating a perfectly round hole through his skull and the chair behind him. I didn't want his blood, I let it flow out and mix with the spilled wine on his shirt as I busied myself emptying the castle of any other living thing.
Afterwards, when I finally had my solitude...
I began to do research. I practiced minor magecraft but did not have much of a talent for it. As the days passed on, I began to hate the place more and more, all the pain and the suffering was too much for me to bear forever. I planned to leave the castle forever, but then came the knock on the door. It was a man who identified himself as Habius Jazheil, asking for Fenrich Al-Sonara. I told him he was indisposed, but offered to keep him company while he waited, claiming myself to be a maid.
He talked about how I (Jezerette, as he was too thick to figure out I was lying) was going to be given up to the Jazheil, and held prisoner until he was old enough to grapple me. I told him that I would fetch Fenrich for him if it was such an important master. I left and retrieved Fenrich's now fairly well-decayed corpse, then returned to the room and threw it at him before tearing him to pieces.
Now I knew I was being hunted. I retrieved my broken sword, a few books, as much money as I could find, and a trunk to hold it all in, and left the castle, hoping never to return.
I soon arrived, as all vagrants do, in London. By then the year was 1886, and I was looking for a new place to call home. I booked passage across the channel to France, just trying to get as far away from home as I could. I arrived in a small village in the French Province of Champagne after nearly a year of wandering. I required scarce little rest, food, or water. Only blood from the occasional vagrant to keep me going.
When I arrived in the village, I found a young man resting under a tree, reading a book. I asked him if I could have a place to stay. He asked what I had to offer him. I did not really need the bed, but my human memories of soft beds were too tempting to deny. I gave my name as Melinda Hayworth, and, noticing his book, and I offered my first edition of Moby Dick, a treasure of mine I was loathe to part with.
He was taken by the book and said he could not take such a treasure from an obviously poor girl. He offered me a room in his home if he would be allowed only to read it, though his English wasn't very good.
I spent the next few weeks with him, and he grew fond of me. I'd like to say I grew fond of him. But the evil thing in my chest could not feel love. I stayed with him, showed the affection I knew he deserved. After several years, I became part of the village, accepted by the people, and eventually I married him. We were happy, well he was. Blessed as he was with "an ageless angel". He refused to see the demon in me. Feeding became a problem, I knew and respected the people in town, murdering them would have been troublesome. I began stealing it from in in his sleep. Just enough to keep me sane. He may have caught me, but if he did, he never asked. My greatest regrets were that I could not bear him a child, and I could never love him as he loved me.
Then came the Great War.
Our town was almost on the German Border, directly in the path of the Kaiser's troops. When they stormed our village, razing it to the ground, I knew what would happen. Knew almost as if the heart had drawn them there. They broke down the door, killed my husband, unarmed and nonthreatening, and then turned on me. I lay huddled in a corner, helpless and alone; until I remembered...I am never alone. I...the heart, killed them all. 27 men, dead in the mud. I stole one of their rifles and prepared for the coming siege.
This wasn't revenge anymore. I buried my husband, I will remember him, but he is dead. I will not mourn. I cannot mourn. Now it was survival. I practiced with the rifle, the sword, and the magecraft given to me by the heart. I became the scourge of wanderers and passing soldiers, regardless of their origins and allegiances. My swarms allowed me to track a lone man through the fiercest climate, where any human hunter would have abandoned the chase. People began to travel miles out of the way simply to avoid the ruined town where the demon dwelt. The Angel of Death who could not be killed.
Eventually word came that the war had ended. I felt something close to disappointment at the lack of an abundant food supply. Murder on this scale would be impractical to get away with in times of peace. So with little ceremony I left the town, passing the unmarked graves of my husband and former friends without a second glance.
I emigrated to Germany and began to build an identity. It was easy to do back then. A few forged documents and you could get away with anything. Within a few years I was known in Berlin as Jezerette Leinengen, a nurse in one of the most prestigious hospitals in Berlin. The depression mattered little to me, having no family to support and requiring far less food than a normal woman. I had access to plentiful food from the mortuary, few people would notice a clean, bloodless slash across the femoral artery, or if the dead got a little paler. Blood is still warm for up to a day after death after all.
Even better than my new occupation, was the feeling of unease and anticipation in the air. War was coming, I watched the new National Socialist Worker's Party began to seize control. I remember slow afternoons reading Mein Kampf, unmoved by the words, but recognizing the conflagration they would create. The war to end all wars was coming, and I would be well-placed, and the Angel of Death was ready to walk the killing fields once more.
I never thought of being a soldier. I couldn't pass for male no matter how hard I tried, the position would have been ideal, but I believed it beyond my reach. Until I saw a flyer for the Helferin Corps, female volunteers for the Schutzstaffel, in the year 1941. Though I would not be a full member of the SS, I would have some degree of respect and, more importantly, closer access to the war. After basic training, I was told my occupation, marksmanship, and tireless and relentless nature lent itself well to guarding prison camps. In 1942, I was sent to my first assignment, and the place I would stay throughout the war: Auschwitz.
I walked impassively through the various cells holding those who broke the numerous and variable rooms. Noting with no emotion the style, method, and efficiency of each regimen of torture or delayed execution. Occasionally I asked to be allowed access to the prisoners, to study the effects on their bodies. I snuck them a mouthful of bread on occasion, trying to explain through their sputtering thanks that I was doing it so they'd live longer for study.
I watched the new arrivals be divided and those unfit for labor sent to the gas chambers. I hated those chambers, Zyklon-B ruined good blood. All those wasted resources. Not that I didn't have plenty elsewhere. The amount of blood I could have gorged myself on was monumental. If there was any human left in me, it was too curled in utter revulsion and disgust by my setting to resist the urge within me. The evil in my heart felt at home surrounded by death and decay.
...but something was off.
Something in me twisted and writhed, like a pen of eels locked in my gut. I ignored it, focusing on my research. The human body and its limits were fascinating, and so unique. No two people had the same breaking point, no two people die quite the same. Despite this playground of pain, the wrongness in me would not go away. What could I do? Consult a doctor? Laughable. There was nothing physically wrong with me.
It all came to a head late one night, when I was on watch in one of the towers around the perimeter. It was an easy job, a good way to pass the nights if I didn't have a late-running experiment.
Suddenly, in the corner of my eye I saw movement. Someone was making a run for it. Even at this distance I could see the ragged clothing and the level of emaciation present. It was an escapee. Without a thought I leveled my rifle. Thirty years behind the trigger had honed my skills to incredible levels, this shot was easy...but...I would not fire. The feeling in my stomach bared it's ugly head again, now stronger than ever.
This is wrong.
There was no helping the man. Even as he ran I could see he was on his last legs. He would never make it to the next town, and the other guards would have my head if he escaped on my watch.
I fired. The man fell.
I picked up the spent casing, still lightly smoking, and stared at it. I stared at it for the rest of the night, and carried it in my pocket all next day. I postponed my experiments and took patrol duty that day, walking around my test subjects and future sustenance.
They're people, you were one too once...
I became sickened as my senses, as if having been dead all this time, opened to the compound around me. The incessant grown of the sick and dying, who by now outnumbered the healthy a hundred to one. The sight of men emaciated beyond the point of life, yet moving nonetheless. The smell of the smoke curling from the stacks of the crematorium, never ceasing in their morbid toil, and the slight tinge of bile on my own tongue as I viewed, as if for the first time, the place I had called home. I retreated to my room and vomited a stream of blood. Horror paralyzed me as I realized what I had done. This blood was not mine, had never been mine. It belonged to a man, a man who might have had a home, a family, happy days with wife and children. Decades stolen by my own blood lust, and the factory of evil that had suited me so well.
I couldn't take it. I called in sick and spent the next few days suffering between bouts of vomiting and fitful sleep. They sent a doctor to check on me. By then I had made up my mind. With a blade of ichor through the skull I ended him without a sound. I looked at his face and my only thought was the wish that it had been Mengele who had been sent.
I walked, calmly out the door. The doorman asked where I was going, and I told him I had business and had been summoned to Berlin. He took my word for it. I drove for three miles then promptly stopped and set out on foot. Nothing but my clothes, a rifle, and the heart in my chest to burden me.
I had a new view of the world now. This world and the people in it were scum. Unworthy of even life itself. The depravity of man knew no limits, and I, one of the worst of them all, would be the one to gladly escort them all to the gates of hell. I could not do it without power, and I knew where power dwelt. In the minds of Magi, in the libraries of my uncles, gathering dust hundreds of miles away. I returned to my home in Berlin, bought new, unassuming clothing, packed my sparse belongings, pausing only to take a brief glance at my now very well-worn copy of Moby Dick.
I had always felt like Ishmael, the unassuming observer, called into events beyond their control or understanding. But now I truly understood my role in the story. I was Ahab, the mad captain on a mission from a God only he believed in, a moral path only I could understand. All of mankind had become my white whale, focused most auspiciously on the abomination keeping me alive. Not the source, but a product of human evil. I must got to the root of the problem, Akasha, the source of it all, the source of all evil. And then, destroy it.
I knew the war was ending as I wandered Germany. There were hushed talk of invasion, and of the Soviets moving in from the East while the British and French pushed from the West. I used this to my advantage, hiding amongst the streams of liberated refugees, none any the wiser that their greatest foe walked among them unmolested. Once on the road, I was recognized by a German officer. He made threats, told me he would have my head. I let him talk, watching the fear in his eyes. When he finished, I shot him in the head with a concealed pistol, then shot his driver and another soldier in the vehicle.
I didn't stop at Nazis, Nazis had committed the most recent deeds, but if they could sink to this level of inhumanity, then so could anyone else. The problem wasn't the Nazis, the problem was human nature. A disease I intended to eradicate.
With little difficulty I slipped into England and returned to Somerset, to the old castle, now in disrepair. I planned, I studied. I had medical aptitude and magical finesse well suited to Spiritual Surgery, the profession of my predecessors. With some minor forgery and a few well-placed calls, in 1982 I made contact with the Clock Tower, claiming to be in my twenties and the great-granddaughter of myself. They bought it, and soon I was a researcher there, jumping through their hoops and playing their games.
Theirs was a nasty little cabal, each as depraved and inhuman as the last. I, of course, was no exception. I could not leave my hunger nor my fascination with the limits of the human body behind me in Germany. I continued my experiments. There is no such thing as an innocent. To be human is a sin in and of itself. I received fresh test subjects for my more objectionable and secret experiments through the more depraved of the Clock Tower's Staff. Friedrich Alastro-Emeria was a frequent donor of the dying. I let him have his dreams of Akasha, let him live in blissful ignorance of my true goals, and my true nature.
Recently, in my research through the notes of previous surgeons, both in and outside of the Tower, I came across the scribblings from a now-deceased Church Operative. His twisted philosophy apparent in his writings, for those clever enough to know where to look, but what intrigued me was what I learned late in the journal, and through my own research of his demise. The Holy Grail War, a direct root to Akasha, and the means for its destruction. I learned of a new one being started, and prepared myself for the coming task. I was far from the most magically powerful magus. But here the heart would be my guide, the heart, carried in secret all these years.
Indeed, none alive know of what I am. My students, in an ironic twist, nicknamed me "Black Heart Jez", a nickname they never speak of in my presence. From what I understand, it's a bit of a historical in-joke. Apparently there had been a female guard in Auschwitz whom the inmates referred to in whispers as Black Heart Jez for her cold and ruthless nature.
Funny how history works some time~
MY GOALS[/color]: //
Destroy the evils of this world and be rid of the heart.
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The Heart of Darkness - Always with her.
See spell for details.
Medical Supplies - A fairly extensive set of antidotes, toxins, anesthetics, paralytics, scalpels, gauze, and a wide variety of other tools that a doctor could have access to.
Rapiers- Jezerette is an accomplished fencer, one of the most skilled in the clock tower, due to her having trained for nearly two centuries.
In place of modern dueling Sabres, Jezerette carries what used to be twin rapiers, one of which is broken off about a foot down the blade. This sword she carries as a memento as the closest she got to ever destroying the heart, and the last thing in her hand while she was still "human".
Karabiner 98k
Jezerette's rifle she used during her time in the SS. Disassembled and hidden on her journey back to England. It has been custom modified with a number of improvements. The stock is made of a lightweight but extremely sturdy plastic compound with an internal chamber in which she carries two small vials, one of ichor, the other a mild paralytic that needs to be injected intravenously. As well as a collapsible syringe and spare ammunition. The stock maintains balance with a complex but efficient system of weights and counterweights.
The gun is also equipped with a modern telescopic hunting sight, although she has not made any other modifications to keep its purpose as a soldier's weapon as opposed to a hunting weapon.
Her comforable range is between 1-600m. Anything between 601-1000m is much more difficult and liable to miss.
RANK[/color]: // Grand
ELEMENT[/color]: // Though born with the Al-Sonara family element of fire, the Heart has altered her magecraft in a manner similar to becoming an origin, giving her control of Ichor but at the cost of her fire magecraft.
EXPERTISE[/color]: //
Anatomical Genius - Jezerette is a master of the human body and soul. Nearly a century of experimentation on human subjects has given her unparalleled knowledge of its workings and systems. She is technically an M.D. having received training and her license in Germany, but she is far beyond any normal doctor in terms of sheer knowledge, particularly involving the human cardiovascular system. Though physical knowledge of the body is of little use in Spiritual Surgery, her experience has given her tools any doctor needs, steady hands, unshakable focus, and an iron constitution. Combined with her experimentation and testing on the Heart of Darkness, which has given her knowledge of the workings and interactions between souls and mystic objects suitable for her brand of Spiritual Surgery.
Fencing- A fencer of no mean skill, with more than a century of training (albeit training alone until recently) She frequently faces off against students, hers or otherwise, in the Clock Tower, she particularly seeks duels against Renard Aestling who has (unbeknownst to her) had training against a homunculus of similar skill, and is therefore one of the few people who can challenge her.
Marksmanship- Jezerette is an extremely skilled rifle shot, having trained since a young age and gotten plenty of practical skill during both World Wars. However, these skills have degraded over the years, as she has had little opportune time to practice due to working in the Clock Tower where such hobbies would have been frowned upon. See her rifle for her effective range.
MAGIC CIRCUITS[/color]: // 12 circuits of 20 prana each for 240pr total. Mystic code would add and additional 140pr, but that prana is cycled continuously to allow the heart to function.
SPELLS[/color]: //
Heart of Darkness
Rank: A (Mystic Code)
Cost: - (see effects)
Range: - (Held internally)
Effect:
An ancient mystic code, made by Alastor Al-Sonara from the remains of his own heart. It's origin has become irrelevant due to the long years of use and modifications.
It is a third larger than a normal human heart and pitch black. It has a fifth chamber added where conversion takes place, and lets off a low hum that can be heard alongside its beating. It is virtually indestructible, immune to heat, cold, or direct force. The things capable of destroying the heart include: A direct blow from a phantasmal weapon of great power, a mystic code older than the heart built to destroy objects of similar properties, or an exorcism by an agent of the church.
The family crest is inscribed onto the heart itself, and is passed to whomever bears the heart. Circuits are added to the crest by family heads when it is in-between bearers. The crest is what powers the heart, working at a state of equilibrium between expenditure and natural regeneration of prana.
The true function of the heart is the conversion of human blood into a mana-rich substance referred to as ichor. When in its natural state, ichor is pitch black and has the consistency of tar. However, it is a highly mutable substance that can, through magical manipulation, vary in density from that of water, to that of iron. As well as changing in color and texture.
Ichor is essentially prana-charged blood, converting the inherently mana-rich nature of blood and attuning it to the bearer's own prana and giving them control down to the molecular structure, allowing swift alterations in density.
The ichor must not be allowed to build up in the bloodstream, and must be bled out once a day. The heart produces approximately 1 pint of ichor per day. The ichor can be stored in any usual container and is ph neutral, however, it will "spoil" in four days' time, leaving it useless.
As bleeding ichor would eventually dry the body out, Jezerette must consume at least one pint of blood per day. If she goes three days without consuming any, the heart will cease to function and Jezerette will be severely weakened, both physically and mentally, and unable to manipulate ichor until she makes up the loss.
She brought forty liters of blood with her to Lucca (which, if carefully preserved, will last for up to thirty days) but the longer it is stored, the less it satisfies her more violent tendencies.
The Al-Sonara family uses the heart as a vessel for the soul of its chosen bearer, however, due to a lack of the third magic, the process is not quite complete, though still impressive, and leaves an incomplete transfer, as well as remnants of previous souls, further degrading the sanity of the bearer. In Jezerette's case, this manifests as a minor case of multiple personality disorder, bouts of sadistic blood lust when "Hungry", and degradation of her memories and soul.
Anatomica Schematia
Rank: A (Built into the Heart of Darkness)
Cost: - 1-300pr (see effects)
Range: - (Held internally)
Effect:
When the heart is passed on to a new bearer. It creates and stores all the information and design of the body in the family crest, over-writing the previous one and essentially creating a "Back-up Blueprint" of the bearer's body. This allows it to fuse applied ichor into a wound or imperfection in the body.
This is actually an extremely old and complicated enchantment, passed down the Al-Sonara line for generations. It takes more than year to properly perform, as a numerous "blue-prints" of the body must be analyzed, copied, then layered together in a composite image of the body, so any irregularities upon implantation (like a missing arm) will be canceled out.
Theoretically speaking, this enchantment is a constant and low-upkeep version of Volumen Ichorum. It costs so much less in terms of prana because the ichor is formed along a pre-built "plan" rather than consciously altered by the bearer.
The body's layout, systems, organs, and processes at the time of implantation are completely and perfectly replicated down to a cellular level, with the exception of normal blood clotting. It is perfectly controlled, preventing cancers and tumors, and as her DNA is perfectly replicated with each cell, the Hayflick limit is essentially unlimited, preventing biological aging (although the rotting of her soul will eventually claim her existence)
This ability works to keep the body at a permanent state of equilibrium. Any imperfection or foreign agent, such as injuries or toxins (barring certain chemicals to which the body is immune, such as contaminants in the air she breathes) within the body is repaired. Over her lifetime, her entire body save for her bloodstream has been replaced with ichor, turning her body into what is essentially an ichor puppet. However, Jez's blood cannot properly coagulate, so she needs ichor to seal wounds, which they can do with impressive speed at the cost of prana. Wounds require additional prana, anywhere from 1-100 based on the severity, and application of additional outside Ichor. Jezerette is effectively immune to mundane poisons or disease, this also renders her sterile.
For comparison, a small cut would be 1 prana and heal almost instantly. A large gash half a foot long would cost 10 prana to seal over five minutes, and would take a day to heal. A missing limb would require a full 100 prana and three days to regrow, during which she must hide the black and misshapen proto-limb in a sling and bandages.
If decapitated, Jezerette is considered "dead", with nothing of her alive except her soul. Without its connection to the brain, the soul will begin to disperse, and the Heart has 6 hours to be completely immersed in at least 10 liters of blood, enough to begin to reform her mind. Afterwards she should be transferred to the full 75 liters.
If she isn't, the results aren't pretty. (imagine a semi-formed nervous, circulatory, and skeletal system.)
When a limb or section of the body is removed, the limb in question is reduced to ichor, which, if quickly retrieved and not just left laying on the floor, could produce a small (30% of whole) amount of viable ichor.
Any organ or traditional blood transplant will be instantly and violently rejected, making blood loss a serious problem. Her body has been modified to consume the blood the heart requires orally before activation of the enchantment.
This is taken to its extreme when Jezerette is obliterated, usually by incineration, save for the heart. If the heart is submerged in a 75 liters of blood (enough to fill a bathtub) the body will, over the course of 72 hours, regenerate. This takes a full 300 prana, and leaves Jezerette crippled and feeble for several days afterwards. If she does not have sufficient prana, the heart shuts down ichor production and uses the crest to supply the requisite amount. Production is down for five days, during which she can not regenerate wounds and is in a state of constant weakness. She also becomes a hemophiliac, unable to even clot minor cuts without ichor.
Due to the incomplete nature of the soul transfer, Jezerette becomes more unstable after each "resurrection", and she has a maximum of either three total resurrections or 90 years of life before her soul completely rots away, and her body along with it. This will leave the heart functional, but dormant. Unable to act without a soul guiding it.
Jezerette is unaware of how much time or how many resurrections she has left.
The Swarm (Ichor)
Rank: B
Cost: - 5pr (see effects)
Range: - 300
Effect:
Creation of an insectoid familiar made completely of ichor. The familiar is extremely basic, capable of little complex thought beyond "feed" "Bite" and "return". They are about 3 inches long, black in color, winged, and armed with a set of pincers, a proboscis, and an expandable sack to carry drained blood. A single familiar, being simple in nature and made from a naturally mana-rich substance, takes only 5 prana to create, and 1 to maintain per hour. However, they can survive on human blood, and can drain the blood of victims to either supply themselves with enough "fuel" for 10 hours, or bring it back to Jezerette. The proboscis is virtually painless, and while noticeable to any active person, only the lightest of sleepers would notice if they were stung while asleep.
They don't have eyes, but can "see" the human cardiovascular system through a series of sensors above their pincers. Allowing them to locate the best possible blood source. Jezerette can see like this when viewing through their "eyes" like a standard familiar.
Their bite is very painful, slightly more potent than a nasty hornet sting, and the pincers, rather than pinching the skin, will literally stab through the skin, then expand slightly on the inside, making removal excruciatingly painful.
Volumen Ichorum (Ichor)
Rank: C
Cost: - 5pr per minute of use
Range: - 0-20
Effect: Manipulation of the shape and density of Ichor. This is primarily used as a weapon, turning ichor into bladed weapons.
The ichor that makes up her flesh cannot be manipulated, as it is maintained by Anatomica Schematia, however, the ichor in her bloodstream and stored in vials can be manipulated, and her preferred method is a spear-like thrust from the wrist directly into a target's forehead, killing them instantly. Unfortunately, this method has the following drawbacks. The ichor can only be thrust from the body with lethal force for a range of 1.5 feet, after that it becomes incapable of piercing bone. She compensates by manipulating it into a whip-like tendril, replacing the piercing motion with slicing. This derives its power from centrifugal force and, while still unable to pierce bone, can do significant damage at a range of 7 feet. The relative sharpness of the Ichor is that of a steel blade, capable of cutting through anything short of metal.
Wounds created with Volumen Ichorum in Jez's body do need to be treated by the Anatomica Schematia, increasing the relative cost, although the wounds are usually minor, being clean holes in the skin.
Spiritual Surgery(Spirit)
Rank: E-B
Cost: 20 Pr initial costs; additional 50 Pr for low-level effect, 150 Pr for intermediate effect
Range: - Close enough to make skin contact
Effect:
The ability to heal abnormalities and perform modifications to the soul rather than the body. Similar sorcery traits have appeared among magus of other bloodline and even among the ranks of the Church; however the Jezerettes masters of physical and spiritual alteration, all stemming from the heart. The Spiritual Surgery process itself is risky, as the soul itself have a built in mechanism to resist attempts of alteration from the outside. That’s why the process requires intense concentration for the part of the performer and relaxation for the part of the patient. Any interruption from outside factors such as distractions, combat, and the like risk the spiritual surgery to become incomplete or even cause side effects to surface.
Spiritual Surgery’s effect is as varied as modern medicine, with variation depending on the amount of prana spent to power the spell. In practice, the surgeon has to spend an initial 20 prana cost in order to stabilize the soul for further effect. The second part involves a second prana spending to fix or alter effects on the soul, such as curses and mystic eye effects. Low effect only cures or transfer effects with a rank of E-D, while intermediate effect cures rank C-B and advanced effect for A-rank curses. However, being almost completely self-trained and specializing in spiritual objects as organs, Jezerette is unable to perform advanced surgery that does not involve Spiritual Organs.
Because of the intense concentration required to perform the surgery, the surgery itself is best performed on a clear room without any sort of distraction, like an actual medical operation room. Skilled practitioners like Jezerette can drown a variety of minor distractions so the operation can be carried in more unfavorable environments. Skilled practitioners can also perform surgery on their own body, such as transferring effects from another body to the surgeon’s own body. Of course, transferring effects between two bodies are also possible, such as the transfer of command spells between a defeated Master to a new Master. Some effect transfer vary in cost, Command Seal transfer for example requires as much prana as an intermediate effect.
PLAYER'S NAME[/color]: //Revworks
FACE CLAIM[/color]: //Original (not done by me because art work is piling up), Avi is of Suigintou (Rozen Maiden)
OTHER CHARACTERS[/color]: // W1: Aashiq Nassar, Imhotep, Alvitta Aestling. W2: Aeneas, Sakurako Tenketsu, Huld, Sargon
MISC. INFORMATION[/color]: //
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