Izabella De Windia, aka Iselsis
Some live their entire lives in the gentle warmth of the sun, they live their lives happily and obliviously to what else lies within the spectrum of whites, blacks and greys. Others live in the shadow, despicable men, women and beasts alike, preying on those who would never know their existance until they were robbed of theirs.
However some live in the space between. Where white meets black; a thin line of grey. They move through daylight but never feel the gentle caress as reassuring for they know what else is lurking in the shadows. They move through the darkness and consort with the foul beings that would make the world their oyster: but they never become like them.
These very few people - those who live faded existances between the lines of good and evil - guard the thin line between the monsters and their prey. Always vigilant, always ready, always unthanked and unseen.
"I know what you must be thinking: that's the oddest damn fire aspect I've ever seen. That, or you've twigged on by now that I'm really not a fire aspect at all, but some odd form of demoness. You may even have twigged on to the fact that I'm not really right."
It was night and the room was barely lit by the waning moon outside, covered by wisps of clouds. Inside the deserted room that once had belonged to a murderer who had been killed in his sleep one day the moon casted odd silhouettes, while the walls and floors seemed to slowly twist and writhe. Of course, the former Windian's excellent eyesight was never fooled by such optical illusions, created by fear, darkness, and the presence of spirits.
"You know, I wasn't always this way...", she continued, pulling the scarf away from her face to hang limply over her chest, and tipping her wide brimmed hat up to reveal her face entirely, "I was normal once, kind of. I'm sure by now you wished I'd stayed normal but unfortunately for both of us that's not the case."
She pulled out a cigarette and a match, striking it against the wall to light the cigarette and taking a few self contented puffs, before staring at the flickering flame slowly approaching her red fingers. The light of the little flame illuminated her face, too pretty for someone so dour, her pointed pierced ears, the pinkish white short cropped hair, small stubby horns on her forehead, and icey blue eyes.
She flicked the match down and crushed it out under her heavy boot before continuing, "You see, everyone with public power is always in danger. I'm not sure if my parents realized this and the others were simply too shrewd for them, or if they were oblivious to the point of it costing their life. Things were pretty normal, you see, until my sister decided to murder my parents.", hollow thuds caused by heavy boots as she moved across the room to stare out the window, taking another draw of her cigarette, "She wasn't right, I don't think it was her fault. Does it matter though? She's probably dead and I'm where I am, you have to face the reality of those kinds of things eventually. Stewing about the past will only make you want to leap off a tall building...", she paused then and suddenly giggled, "Not that that would do an air aspect much good, eh?", she grinned.
"So our parents were dead, we were all shipped off to stay with several families. Sort of like foster parents, I suppose. We were too valuable to just be put in some rundown orphanage obviously. Things were almost back to normal after a while too.", she turned to sit in the windowsill, one legged propped up, the other on the ground, staring outside, "It's funny really, when I look outside. That world - out there - it wasn't meant for you. Ironically I'm nothing like you but it's not meant for me either."
Another puff of the cigarette, "Anyway, I wasn't that useful or talented in and of myself. I know, I know, you wouldn't be able to tell after what just happened. Back then though I really wasn't like this, but we've been over that already. You see they wanted to use this machine that gives you some sort of instant power - it transforms you. Something went wrong in my case though - a freak accident they say, I don't believe them - and I came out looking like this."
"You of all people can empathize that living a very public life when you're like us isn't really possible. They gave me a rundown place to stay, out of the way. Out of sight, out of mind I suppose. I started making trips to the libraries trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Bought some other obscure tomes, things like that. Eventually when I was old enough I exalted, not a big deal for me personally: I already had a lot of power thanks to my transformation.", she paused to drop the cigarette butt and crushed the lit tip under her boot, snuffing out the speck of true light that seemed almost unnatural in this scene, "My 'benefactors', as they like to call themselves however were interested. They started training me, figuring my experience in the occult would make me prime material to be one who dwells in the minimal amount of grey between white and black."
"Sometimes I feel it inside of me... changing me. It's frightening to know that one day something will happen, but I don't know what. I pray that I can stop it before that happens, or that I can cure myself."
She sighed wearily as she got up from the sill, heavy boots thudding on the crooked floorboards as she approached the bound spirit. Shackles of her essence had been keeping the only semi-opaque spirit, a sickly green representation of its former, murderous self bound near the fireplace that hadn't seen fire or warmth in years. "And so, here we are. I'm sure if there was any semblance of sentience left in you you would be cursing who did this to me as much as I do. The difference between you and me though...", she speeched at the bound spirit while loading one of the plasma bullets into the chamber of one of her red jade and copper six-shot plasma repeaters, then pointing its muzzle at the murderous spirit's head, "is that you're the lucky one. You're already dead, you don't feel hurt, pain, fear, anxiety. You're here, but you don't exist. Your pain is over and only the murderous angry part that once was but a component of your whole exists."
The resounding bang as the shot went off - echoing off the delapitated walls of the room - was only half as unsettling as the stifled, tormented wail as the spirit dissipated when it suffered its second death. A brief flash of sickly green light and sparks, and then it was over. She put away the repeater under her heavy coat, and put her scarf back up over her face, her hat once again pulled low.
As she walked away from the site of another succesful exorcism... "Those already dead don't feel their anger slowly eating away at them. They're the lucky ones..."
Various bits and bytes
Thousand Prayer Ward
Cost: 7 motes, 1 willpower Duration: One day Type: Simple Min. Ability: 5 Min Essence: 3 Prereqs: Spirit-Chaining Strike
Having access to a wealth of lore and occult information Izabella de Windia has over time perfected her own creation, a charm based on several partly translated ancient scriptures, to cleanse an area and ward it against beings employing the necrotic energies of the underworld. Drawing on the power of scriptures and prayer the exalt using this charm manifests prayer strips which fly outwards and afix themselves to any piece of scenery nearby that's solid enough to hold a piece of paper. There are a number of prayer strips equal to the exalt's essence x 25.
Any dead, deathlords, abyssals, or similarly underworld-stricken creatures inside the ward take a penalty to any dice action equal to the exalt's essence. This ward extends to one physical location chosen upon activation with a maximum radius of the exalt's permanent essence times 5 in yards. Any underworld creature caught within the ward upon activation can only leave it by succeeding on a roll of willpower+essence versus the exalt's occult score. Similarly any such creature caught outside the ward must succeed at the same roll to enter the warded area.
The ward can theoretically be broken by physically removing all prayer strips.
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