Necia Shatteredflame
| Necia Shatteredflame | |||||||
| Female Fire Genasi | |||||||
| Player: MistakesWereMade | |||||||
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| General Information | ||||||||||
| Full Name: | Necia | |||||||||
| Nicknames: | ||||||||||
| Age: | 27 | |||||||||
| Deity: | Unknown | |||||||||
| Alignment: |
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| Occupation: | Battle Mage | |||||||||
| Faction/Rank: | Unknown | |||||||||
| Place of Birth: | Unknown | |||||||||
| Physical Attributes | ||||||||||
| Height: | 5"9" | |||||||||
| Weight: | About 160 lbs | |||||||||
| Eyes: | Fiery Orange and Red | |||||||||
| Hair: | Shifts between Red and Orange | |||||||||
| Complexion: | Light red tinge | |||||||||
| Physical Build: | Muscular | |||||||||
| Physical Features: | ||||||||||
| Skills | ||||||||||
| Equipment and Items | ||||||||||
Appearance
WIP
Personality
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Accomplishments
WIP
Known goals
WIP
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas
WIP
Background
Spoiler Alert!
Necia Shatteredflame started her life in a not so odd set of circumstances. The earliest thing she can remember is the hidden crypt compound of an Orcus cult. Of course, there were times before this, but they are fuzzy and indistinct. She has no parents, as far as she is concerned, and there really is no difference if they're alive or not.
Not that any of that matters, by this point, either. She has grown up among cultists, running errands, cleaning the crypt, sweeping out the rotting carcasses too old to use. Even necromancers must eat now and again. Her and the other young either bought or stolen were pressed into service for such tasks. They were taught of Orcus and little else. All around them was the constant bustle of priests, mages, and others intent on perfecting their arts into power. There was treachery, malice, and more than enough misery to be spread among anyone there. Often an acolyte or older mage might be found dead in the mornings, and it was Necia's duty to prepare them for similar use as everything else in the crypt.
Not many children survived the long years underground. It paled her flesh, though her eyes and hair kept the fire her parentage had put there. Necia lived, even if that particular word is an understatement. There were few younger children, a few older, none her own age. One of the older girls, Letitia, had decided that Necia was a threat. Her muscles and quick wit (And very little patience which let either of them loose) stood as a challenge. The older girl targeted Necia, tormenting her for year after year.
The slights were not particularly deadly, though plenty were dangerous enough. Necia would be tripped on her way down stairs. Powders and the stinking embaling fluids were often left in her bed and clothing. Her soap would be swapped with a dessicated hand, unsuspectingly reaching her head before she could throw it away in disgust. The older acolytes were out of reach - they were taught more advanced magic, and there were more of them. Necia could not fight them, even as she was being taught spells. She caught on quickly, but years of practice can often overcome a sharp mind.
So the rage built over time. All the little insults. Letitia flinging every little mistake into the open, where everyone could laugh and deride her. Perhaps she was trying to set Necia to the path some acolytes chose, the cowards' way out of the cult they were pressed into. Necia did not know, nor care why it was being done. Much like the fire of her kind, the anger and seething hatred grew over the years from embers to a barely-repressed blaze.
As Necia grew stronger, the day of her ascending into the cult properly came closer and closer. There was a proper altar to Orcus set up in their crypt. It was a horrific monstrosity, created of the corpses of many. Not simply the dozens of skulls that made up the centerpiece, but seemingly hundreds of femurs that made up the flooring for a small circle around it. Necia had been a part of the ceremonies for many of the older acolytes. They were only allowed to go through the ritual with the vetting of one of their teachers. Many did not meet approval while young, Necia was skilled enough to be chosen earlier than most.
This, of course, irritated her nemesis far more than anything she had done previously. The pranks, the tricks, and the insults all grew more intense. Rare was the week where Necia did not have several bruises, cuts, or some other uncomfortable malady. One day she was even assaulted in the early hours of the morning, Letitia and several of her friends thought that broken fingers might negate Necia's chances to go through her rites. That was when the plan formed.
Necia was patient as her hands healed, helped along in very minor ways by the priests. They, more than the others, likely could see what she was capable of. Or at least, the hint of potential behind the flames of her eyes. Or the smouldering anger there. They say you can see planned murder in someone's eyes. Maybe it was true.
The acolyte waited until the day before her ceremony to strike. The days before a ceremony are full of smaller rituals, preparing the sacrifice for Orcus. This particular one was a captured villager from a town nearby. The man was slowly tortured for days. Left to starve, beaten. He was not told what he was there for, why he was taken, nor when he would die. There was misery abound, as with most of the sacrifices.
The plan was that he would be sacrificed in the total darkness of their tomb, surrounded by the Undead Prince's minions. But that was not Necia's plan. During that day before he was to be murdered, she snuck the man out of the tomb. As soon as he was gone, she waited. Once most of the acolytes were asleep, she struck. A Silence spell was not difficult for her. Nor was it for Necia to rip a corner off of a bedpost and club her long-time enemy. She carried the other woman into the pitch-black chamber with the altar.
Of course, they had several hours together before morning. Necia was sure to make them count - Her tormentor deserved that much, at the very least. She turned out to be a very good candidate for the ritual. Not the most intelligent of creatures, by Necia's standards, but definitely feeling plenty of misery by the time she departed. She left the older acolyte tied on the altar. At least until she was called back in by the priests, and finished the grisly deed which all Thralls of Orcus must. More of a pleasure, for Necia, ending her own years of torment. It gave her a sense of power, finally standing over her enemy.
And as we all know, power is addictive. She stayed, a time, to learn more of her craft. The priests and mages of Orcus know quite a lot about necromancy. But Necia had little talent for their arts. The defenses against them, strengthening her own body, that was her passion. The power to make herself stronger, faster, protected from other spells: That is what drove her on to learning more and more.
She had to leave, eventually. There is only so much to learn in a dark, dingy crypt. Only so much power to be gained from corpses, so many secrets to learn from the dead. And so Necia has set out, seeking more power. More strength. That fire of her temper, her rage, it's never gone out. It may have abated for the time being with the death of Letitia, but it is more than likely to show itself again.