Nevrra Surasch

Overview

Personality

Outwardly, Nevrra typically presents herself with a level of reserved seriousness. Thoughtful and introspective, she listens as much as she talks.She’s compassionate toward people who are hurt or in need, but does not extend grace or concern to anyone who turns a blind eye to the suffering of others. To those, in her view, who perpetuate suffering, she’s openly hostile unless she has very good cause to not be.While she lives under no formal code, she adamantly refuses to cross her own moral boundaries, even to her own detriment.

Hooks

A Resistance recruiter and informant

During her time with the Bozjan Resistance, Nevrra helped her better-known father, Sarik Suasch, recruit potential fighters, informants, agitators, and saboteurs. They managed a network that ferried information to Resistance cells and even abroad.

A life-long revolutionary

Nevrra is always interested in talking to others who have fought against oppression, cultural hegemony, and imperialism—and she is always open to hearing about battles still being fought. Conversely, she has no patience for imperialists and their ilk.

A mediator and willing to support

With her father, Nevrra helped small resistance groups form and learn to be effective, even among revolutionaries with competing ideologies and deep traumas. She became good at mediation, de-escalation, and emotional support; skills she offers where she can.

An open ear always on offer

Life can be brutal for many, and Nevrra's seen that first hand. A lot. While a good mediator, she struggles with casual conversation. But she does like talking with others and learning about their lives. She always has an ear for hurt people, and will do what she can to help.

A life lived as others

Rarely, Nevrra is mistaken for others. Most common is Saria Avara, a loyal civilian who traveled with her merchant father, Rijad. Each name was an alias used during the war, made necessary due to how often Sarik and herself operated in settlements.

Description

She stands just over average height for a hrothgar, with an athletic enough build and sand-brown fur. The faint smile she wears doesn’t touch her green eyes. Instead, they hold at once a gaze both penetrating and hollow. But not dead. A small spark of light still clings within them, on the knife’s edge between oblivion and passion.Her outfit, no matter what she dons, is worn immaculately. It’s well fit, well adjusted, and kept in place. Perfectly. Always. Yet, nothing she wears remotely deserves the attention: old green jackets, basic shirts, black slacks that look nicer than they are, and tall, well-loved boots.At her back is what looks like a makeshift gunblade in the Bozjan style. However, whoever made it was both well-versed in the art of their construction, and well-accustomed to working with whatever was on hand. Hers marries an old rifle and a heavy blade.Few records of her existed during the Garlean Empire’s reign. No certified birth, no registration, no recorded name change, no aliases that can be traced back to anyone provably alive. But she comes up, here and there, in the old records.Sometimes it's a name.

Nevrra Surasch, known member of a rebel cell in Kralja. Confirmed killed by operative ███████████████.Wanted for treason against the Empire: ██████████, ███████████, Nevrra Surasch, and ███████████.

Sometimes it's the ghost of an silhouette.

Known murderer and criminal, Sarik Surasch seen near Zetina's Grace. Accompanied by unknown hrothgar girl.Shipment lost. Three Legionnaires slain. Seven ██████████ taken. Perpetrators include Sarik Surasch and an unknown hrothgar woman, brown fur.

But across the provinces, her signature once signed the bottom of letters ere they were turned to ash. They ferried information, relayed plans, and conveyed a spark of hope. With the war over and the Empire fallen, they’re no longer sent; the network fallen into disuse.Now her name is easy to find, if one looks. She’s listed as a Bozjan citizen. There’s an address in Martrvje with her name. Across the star, a hrothgar woman with a gunblade has taken adventuring contracts in her name. Sometimes they go smoothly and people in need are helped. Sometimes they go poorly, and people in need are not harmed.Yet, she’s never content. The war is behind her. With it, her purpose. She’s a fine fighter. It isn't her strength. She scrapes by as an adventurer. It isn’t her passion.

Stories

• Agency

Shortly after her fifteenth nameday, a young hrothgar girl is marched toward a castrum outside of Martrvje in Bozja.
_{Content warning: Colonialism/imperialism, bigotry, violence, violence with a minor.}

• Surrogate

As the war for Bozja's liberation ends, Nevrra grapples with how severed she is from her past, and what little she'd given up.
_{Content warning: Childhood neglect, colonialism, imperialism.Like my writing? Find my original fiction at Thirrik.com.}

OOC

I'm an internet lioness, a writer and editor of dull things by trade, and a writer and editor of (hopefully) fun things otherwise. I've roleplayed since the early 2000s in forums, chats, TTRPGs, MU*s, and MMOs. I started FFXIV in early 2017, but earnestly in 2018.

Server

Mateus, Crystal Data Center. I don't mind visiting others.

Availability

If my RP tag is on, I'm IC. If not, feel free to ask if I'm available.

Roleplay style

I'm largely a paragraph roleplayer, but my posts vary in length. Sometimes what I want to convey takes up to a few paragraphs, sometimes it takes a single word of dialogue.

Content flags

This character touches on topics of imperialism, colonialism, war, trauma, dissociation, and child abuse. These themes are explored through the lens of healing and moving forward. I limit how visible these are in public scenes, but these do affect her. Communication is important and I try to flag when they're centered. I will also move them out of the spotlight if needed for the comfort of others.

Romance

Nevrra, while poly, is not actively looking to expand her relationship. It isn't impossible, but would need to grow organically.

Adult themes

These are limited to players who are 18+. They need to be story and character driven. Consent and mutual understanding is required.

Lore

I prefer close lore adherence. Things that fit known lore and the setting's themes are perfectly fine.

Agency

The noon-light of the sun was choked out by the thick, grey clouds overhead. They hung like the dark-steeled head of an executioner’s axe; waiting, threatening, promising. They drained the world of color and left it as dim as dusk. In the distance, they blended into the metallic battlements of the castrum. Its towers loomed imposingly on the horizon. For any who walked along the already rain-soaked road that lead to it, it was another promise, another threat. And it was her destination.Ahead, Tertius pyr Oscius walked with his helmeted head held high. Even in contrast to the sky, his armor was abyssal. “Walk with pride.” His tone distorted encouragement into command, like the helmet distorted his voice. “This is a glorious day for you.”Footfalls sent ripples through the shallow puddles along the straight slab of road. It cut across the land from Martrvje. Ahead was only the Decurion, while behind her marched one of his soldiers. Her fingers curled near the hilt strapped to her side. Her stomach twisted and churned. Her chest ached. Her face was blank, her eyes locked ahead. Each step was in time with his and with the legionnaire who marched beside her.“You have been chosen for greater purpose,” the Decurion continued. “Today, you will prove true loyalty. Prove that you can rise above the filth in your blood. Prove that you can be made into a civilized servant of our grand Empire—unlike the other savages of this land.”Her fingers tightened. Her nose flared with a breath and she held her chin up higher. The strap of her helmet felt so tight. It had never dug into the fur so badly before. Yet, now, it felt as if it might cut into her flesh.“After you remove the barbaric traitor’s head, you will claim your own salvation.” His pace was steady. Each step was machine-perfect. “Then, a few years hence with your training complete, you will stand proud. Stand as a beacon of what even a savage can become if they but submit to just and rightful rule.”She swallowed. Another breath left her. She steadied herself and quieted the tension building within her. It was hard, but acceptance began to win out. She’d never taken a life before, but this day had been long coming, even if she hadn’t realized it before now. Yet, surely it had been. This was part of her trials, even if unmentioned before. This was what she had to do. This is what she needed to do.A sharp shriek shattered the machine-step of the march. It cut off into a gargle as the legionaire next to her slumped to the road. A gleaming blade, painted in the scarlet of lifesblood, pulled free from his chest in a smooth motion. Tension gave way to terror. She started to turn. Then, she was in freefall. A shoulder had slammed into her body and her helmeted head met concrete.Her mind rang and her vision blurred. There were shapes nearby. She could make out the abyssal form of Tertius pyr Oscius, but upon him was a tall, hulking figure. The Decurion’s blade was drawn but batted aside. The attacker’s own weapon struck at the Garlean in a shower of aetheric fire.Her hands were clutching at her ears as the blast rang out. Her eyes squeezed tightly. But then her training kicked in. Repetition. Practice. It made instinct that which was not. Her hands pressed against the road and she staggered to her feet. Her fingers curled again, but this time around the hilt at her side. She wrenched the blade free.The Decurion had stumbled backward. The side of his helmet had been obliterated. His one visible eye—save for the garlean one in his forehead—was wild. His sidearm was up, and boomed as both barrels fired. The shots impacted into a shimmering aetheric shield, before the attacker closed the distance and cut him down.“Stop,” she screamed out. “Drop your weapon and surrender!” One ear flicked and then turned toward her. The hulking form stood straighter as his eyes followed it. He was a hrothgar. In his hand was a long blade fashioned with a trigger mechanism. It was akin to the weapon the Centurion who oversaw her training program was armed with. But it was not the same. She knew exactly what it was.The hrothgar let out a long sigh after regarding her. “I thought you were a miqo’te. A conscript,” he said. His voice was like fine gravel. “Not a child...”“Drop your weapon,” she said, her voice as cold as winter chill. She held the tip of her blade toward him; just like she’d been trained to.His own weapon lowered, but not fully. He kept it before him, and he shifted into a defensive posture. “Child, you have only three choices,” he said to her. His voice was even, calm. “Only three. I am sorry.”“I said—”“You may attack me,” he said, cutting her off. “I will do my best to leave you alive. I do not wish to harm you.”Her fingers gripped tighter at the hilt of her weapon. Her eyes stared hard at him even as she could feel every strand of fur on her body bristling with a mixture of terror and determination.“You can drop your weapon,” he continued. “We will both go our separate ways. I came to stop an unjust execution, not to kill a child.”The tip of her weapon began to waiver as her hands shook. Her legs felt suddenly so unsteady. She needed to strike. She shouldn’t let him speak.His eyes focused on her blade, then back to her again. “You do not want to attack me,” he said, gently despite the gravel. “I can see that. There is still life in you; something they have not yet taken away.”She fought to keep the weapon steady.“The third choice,” he said to her. “Lower your weapon. Come with me. Leave this behind before it claims you and your soul both. You still have that chance, child.”She did not. She kept the weapon raised. She kept the tip pointed at him as best she could. His face was unrecognizable through her blurred vision. Something caught in her throat.“Please, child. Lower the sword,” he said again, gently, but urgently. “I cannot make this choice for you. Only you can.”The tip of the blade scraped over the surface of the road. Her grip on it loosened, and it nearly fell from her hand. Wearily, the other hrothgar approached her. She could feel his fingers at her own. Then, the weight of the blade was gone. There was a hand at her shoulder. He’d lowered down onto a knee before her. She blinked. Her vision cleared as her cheeks wettened. She stared back into his amber eyes as they regarded her.“What is your name?” he asked.“Vikra,” she said, uneasily. “Vikra Arilin.”“You are in their youth training program?”“Yes.”The hand at her shoulder squeezed gently. “Why were you with them here?”“We were heading to the castrum,” Vikra answered. Her voice was quiet.“To watch the execution?”“To...” she started, but trailed off. He gave her a moment to collect herself, even if only a little. “To perform it. They wanted me to do it.”Her mind swam in the depths of confusion. She was leaning against him—someone who had cut down two loyal soldiers of the Empire. His arms were around her in a gentle, comforting embrace. When had she last been held like that? Had she ever been? But it only lasted for a moment before he released her. “Do you have family here?”“Yes. In the city,” she answered weakly. “My parents...”For a moment, he was quiet. Then, the pale furred hrothgar gave a single nod and pushed himself to his feet. “Give me your coat and helmet,” he said, but without the force of the Decurion’s orders. “You will need to have died here. This will hurt them, but it will also save them.”“Died here...?”“Only in appearance,” he assured her. “And you will need to leave your name behind.”“I—” Vikra started, but she was too dazed to say anything further.A quiet rumble came from the larger hrothgar’s chest. He patted at her shoulder. “The coat and helmet,” he said. “Come. We have little time and there is much to do.”

• Back

Surrogate

“I’m going to keep it.”“Keep what?” As ever, Sarik’s voice was gentle despite the gravel in his every word. His back was to the wall of the two-storied building’s exterior. It still stood, despite the soot that blackened the its stone and a collapsed section at its front. But what was broken could be always fixed; of that, Sarik was adamant.“My name,” Nevrra said while her body twisted to lean against the wall next to him.“Your reunion went well, then?” Nevrra could hear his hope.Her eyes closed and her head tilted back against the cool stone. Quietly, bitterly, she chuckled. “No. No it did not.”Then, there was the weight of his hand was at her shoulder. That, too, was gentle. “What happened?”“My father wasn’t even there,” Nevrra said, her voice hollow. “Appropriate. My mother was. She didn’t recognize me—““But she was relieved to know you’re alive?”“She doesn’t know.”While he had no vocal response, Sarik’s grip at her shoulder tightened. However, Nevrra resisted the urge to lean into it or turn into an embrace. “I told her that her daughter didn’t die. She was offended that her daughter let ever think otherwise. She demanded to know where she was.”“And you…?”“I told her that her daughter died in the final push, and that I had come to let her know. Then, I left.”“Then, when you say you are going to keep your name—““Mine, yes. Not the one they gave me.” Nevrra let out a slow, calming breath. It wasn’t enough. Behind her, her tail still lashed; each time it did, it thumped audibly against the stonework. “Vikra Arilin died a long time ago. I haven’t been her since you found me, and helped me become someone better.”She didn’t turn into an embrace, but Sarik did. The Gunbreaker’s arms pulled her in, and he held her tight and close. “I am so sorry,” he murmured to her. “That she could be so callous…”“Fuck them,” Nevrra spat. Her clawed fingers curled at Sarik’s thick coat. “They ignored me; discarded me to the Garleans. They didn’t save me and take me in. They didn’t give me agency in my life. They never taught me how to stand up for myself and my fellow Bozjans. They didn’t care about me. They didn’t raise me. You did.”Sarik’s hands went to her shoulders and he carefully nudged Nevrra back. “I dragged you into revolution and bitter war.”“And you never wanted me to fight in it.”“I… did not,” he admitted. “I just wanted to keep you as safe.”Despite bleary eyes and the depth of her pain, Nevrra smiled. “I know. And you’ve done more for me than anyone. You still do,” she assured him. “Is your offer still good?”It took a moment, but eventually Sarik Surasch nodded. “It is. It’ll take great effort to make it livable, but the upstairs is yours if you want it,” he confirmed. “I have some ideas to make it work.”“Then we’d best get to work.”

• Back