█████ ████████

Overview

Personality

Outwardly, █████ typically presents herself with a level of reserved seriousness. _{(Inconsistent with earlier accounts in the Resistance.)} Thoughtful and introspective, she listens as much as she talks.She’s compassionate to people who are hurt or in need, and is able to extend empathy to those who have harmed others but strive to be better. However, she is openly hostile to those who willfully perpetuate suffering, unless she has good cause to not be. _{(Curious. Some records suggest she is avoidant.)}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, █████ helped the better-known Sarik Surasch _{(Her father?)} recruit potential fighters, informants, agitators, and saboteurs. They managed a network that ferried information to Resistance cells and even abroad.

A life-long revolutionary

█████ 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, █████ 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 █████'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

Sometimes █████ is mistaken for others. Each name was an alias used during the war to remain unknown to the Empire. _{(One possible alias is Saria Avara, a loyal Imperial civilian who traveled with her merchant father, Rijad—could be Sarik. Could it be that Nevrra Surasch is another?)}

Description

_{(This is as as much as research has pulled up so far:)}She stands under average height for a hrothgar, but with an athletic enough build and sand-brown fur. The faint smile she wears doesn’t always touch her grey eyes, but while her gaze may be penetrating, it is warm—and determined.Her outfit, no matter what she dons, is worn immaculately. It’s well fit, well adjusted, and kept in place. Perfectly. Always. She favors greens, either deep or in a color that echos the Bozjan Resistance. Her armor, too, is from the Resistance. It is well-maintained and fully restored.At her back is a light-weight, elegant gunblade in the Bozjan style. While simple in design, it was unmistakably put together by a master of their craft. Etched upon it in Old Bozjan cursive reads, "Sword of Surasch: the Errant Blade made for the hand that chose to rescue."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, her name is easy to find, if one looks. She’s listed as a Bozjan citizen with an address in Martrvje. She has another, shared with her partner, in Ishgard. A frequent visitor to both, she helps where she can in the former and works under contract with an adventuring company in the latter.

Stories

_{(Still haven't been able to access these records. Do they hold answers?)}

• 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, █████ grapples with how severed she is from her past, and how little was in it.
_{Content warning: Childhood neglect, colonialism, imperialism.}

• Acceptance

█████'s life changed greatly since the war. Though it has taken her time, she arrives in Martrvje for a second try at a hard talk.
_{Content warning: Child abuse, neglect, family drama, bigotry.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.

Real-world politics

I'm trans, a lesbian, and openly subscribe to anarchist political theory and philosophy. I hold strong views against fascism, authoritarianism, imperialism, colonialism, capitalism, racism, misogyny, queer-bigotry, "natural" hierarchies, generative AI, and genocide. ACAB, Free Palestine, Trans Rights, and all. I won't interact with players who differ on these. FFXIV isn't where I go to debate, and I'm not even fun to troll. I'll just shrug and block you.

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.“Kreja,” she said, uneasily. “Kreja Alesja.”“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,” Kreja 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—” Kreja 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 the Empire took.” 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. “Kreja Alesa 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

Acceptance

For having once been her home, the manor bore little familiarity to Nevrra. While one among many in that wealthy Martrvje neighborhood, it had stood resplendent with its stone columns and brilliant white finish. That, now, had dulled, much like the golden accents that currently looked more like brass. The stonework was still impeccable, but cracks and chips were obvious here and there. A few looked like bullet impacts.Yet, every other building in the neighborhood had weathered the passage of time, revolution, and reformation with no greater dignity. Thus, in comparison, the manor was impressive. Unlike a few, its hedges were still neatly trimmed and the fountain before its door recently cleaned. It did not suggest the same level of wealth that it once did, but it was clear that the legacy it represented hadn't yet died despite the fledgling Bozjan government's ongoing efforts.Tell them you live—and everything they did to you.Nevrra had written that several moons ago, when prompted to provide an item for a "bucket list." She'd regretted it immediately. With what felt like ironclad certainty in the moment, she'd known she would never go through with it. This was not even the first time she'd returned to this place following the war.Would you like to tell them? Would you like company for it?Beau Dawnstrider, whose offer had spurred Nevrra to come, stood a short distance behind her. Next to the white-haired adventurer was Nevrra's beloved partner, the white-furred Thejah Revache.Over those following moons, so much had changed. While she'd shared few details, Nevrra had confessed to her life before the Bozjan Resistance. She'd told Beau, she'd told Thejah, and she'd even confided in it to a room full of Garleans and former conscripts who sought new, better ways forward—a room she'd come to realized she belonged in.As Dawnstrider had once said, hurt will wait for you, and it will remember that you neglected it—and that it wishes to be known... and healed.She could not change her past. She could not undo the hurt that had been done. No matter how hard she tried, she could not simply walk away from the life she'd lived and leave it unacknowledged for the rest of time. She had already tried that; already walked away from this place and pretended she was someone else.The door creaked open a few moments after she'd knocked. Her breath caught. Instead of one of the residing queen's other followers, there stood a tall hrothgar man with brown fur much like her own. "May I help... you...?" he began, but trailed off as he regarded her with his brow knit.It took two attempts to speak before she could. The twisting in her stomach never ceased. "Y-Yes. I am hoping to speak with... with Matej Alesja and your queen.""What is this regarding?""Your lost daughter," she replied, and too quickly. Her surprise that he was even around this time was too great for her to obscure that she'd recognized him. "I... I delivered some news to Lesja after the war's end. I've more to share that I failed to in the moment."The man before her regarded her again. His brow was still furrowed and his head had canted to the side. However, he gave a nod, adjusted his fine red jacket, and then closed the door after bidding she wait a few moments."You're back." Lesja’s green eyes looked Nevrra over once she arrived at the door with Matej. Her voice was flat and she lacked even the faint spark of recognition that Matej had. "Why?"After a hard swallow, Nevrra cleared her throat to explain. "When I came by last, just after the Garlean retreat, I told you what happened to your daughter—""Yes," Lesja cut in sharply. "You needlessly hurt us.""I told you that she was still—" Nevrra started, but stopped herself. Her eyes closed. Her lungs filled. She held the breath for a long moment and then slowly let it out.Lesja did not wait. "If you are merely going to waste our time, then leave.""I have more that I—""My daughter is dead either way," Lesja replied, as cold as a Garlean winter. "I would have preferred to have not known she was so self-absorbed and thankless that she would decline to inform us that she hadn't died as a child."The tip of Nevrra's tail flicked, and it took every ounce of her willpower to not let the growl rise up from her chest. "Do you know why she was on the road to the castrum?""It was related to her schooling," Matej answered, and Lesja added nothing further."That it was," Nevrra replied, tone carefully kept neutral. "That training, it seems, called for her to execute a traitor."It gave them both pause, but Lesja flicked her hand in a dismissive gesture to the side. "Ridiculous," she said with a low growl. "The Empire was overbearing and should have left Bozja's proper leaders manage things. However, they would not have—""They routinely beat the children." Now, it was Nevrra who cut in, and no less sharply. "Every day, someone was beaten. Every day, they were encouraged to sabotage each other so that someone else would be beaten. Every day, they were reminded that they were savages who had to prove themselves, who had to push themselves to their very limits. Every day. All for the glory of the Empire, and that would still never be enough to satisfy what was demanded of them.""And you have some proof—"She again did not let Lesja finish. "Your daughter was saved by a brilliant man who proved to be more of a father to her than you ever were, Matej," she said, pointedly toward the man. "Someone who was with her day in, day out. Who taught her how to be a person. A good person. He was a better parent to your daughter than both of you combined and by malms beyond."Lesja's lips curled back until her fangs showed. The hrothgar queen's tail lashed behind her as she began to lean forward. "How fucking dare you come to my home and—""I told you that your daughter died in the final push because I was disgusted by you and your utter indifference to the fact that she was still alive." Then, the venom left her voice, even if the steel of resolve hadn't. She held her head high. "That she kept you, and all who follow you, safe by not telling you. And that she was, and is, standing in front of you."While Lesja remained silent, she leaned back. Her fur still bristled, but her tail stilled and she beheld the woman before her in stark confusion. Matej's earlier spark grew into full recognition. His ears lifted. "Kreja...?""Kreja Lesjasch," she confirmed. "For you, Lesja, are no more a queen to me than you were a mother."She did not wait for a response. She merely turned on a heel, having finally done what she had set out to do, and walked back to Beau and Thejah. With her arm wrapped around the small of the latter's back, Kreja Lesjasch left the manor's grounds. She left behind the two others in their stunned bewilderment, having reclaimed what she'd lost during her last visit.

• Back