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Beatrix Grey; The First Fury
Topic Started: Jun 10 2014, 09:19 PM (136 Views)
Beatrix Grey
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The Fury of Sparta
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Name: Beatrix Grey (formerly Berenike of Sparta)
Gender: Female
Nature: Fanatic
Demeanor: Paladin
Age at Embrace: 24
Date of Embrace: ~430-400 BC
Years since Embrace: ~1600
Place of Birth: MIGHTY SPARTA
Religion: Noddist




Clan/Bloodline: Salubri, Warrior Caste
Disciplines: Valeren, Fortitude, Auspex, ??? , ???
Road: Via Vindicta, from the Via Caeli




Merits: Patagia (7), Retractable Wings (2), Debt of Gratitude: (2), Sleep Unseen (2), Iron Will (5)
Flaws: Face of the Beast (2), Vengeful: The Tremere (2), Restricted Diet (2), Soul Eater (4), Permanent Wound: Stabbed in the Lower Back (3), Enemy: The Tremere (5)




Appearance: Beatrix is a golden-haired and statuesque woman, descended from the proud people of Macedon that eventually became the Ancient Greeks of legend. Blue-eyed and fair-skinned, she blends in with the people of England fairly well, fortunate that she was tall for her day at about 1.7m. Beneath the ragged clothes of a pauper, she's absolutely ripped, and wound tight: Fast as a cat and tougher than tempered steel.

The Salubri is most at home clad in bronze and carrying shield and spear, or a sword, and seems to have absolutely no concept of modern femininity. It is her belief that, having never submitted to the whims of others in life, she sure as hell won't be starting now that she's older than most countries.

Her walk is confident, but also rushed, as though wary of pursuit. She projects confidence and great awareness of self, but it's unconsciously mingled with heartache. This is often masked either by joviality or intense rage, but the grief for her lost clan is an aura she cannot shake. Beatrix's voice is deep and rich, the weight of ages carried in its words.

Personality: Brutish and lowborn both come to mind with Beatrix. She isn't simple, nor foul, but lacks etiquette and finesse expected of any and all Cainites with a political bent. Straightforward in her dealings, and almost comically easy to deceive, she has the subtlety of a hammer and often reacts to bad news by using one on the messenger.

There's a latent regality to the woman, though. It's not refined like the nobility of Estheim, or your average Prince and Primogen, but once she held a position of mortal power, and another of incalculable Cainite respect. This sometimes makes an appearance in times of need, or when its bearer is uniquely motivated to use it.

Unfortunately, surviving for so long instills no small measure of ego, and coupled with her raw attributes being almost at the pinnacle of human potential on nearly every front, hubris has taken root deep within her hollow soul.

History: The women of Sparta were strong. How strong? Enough that it utterly baffled the "learned" Athenians, and everyone else in Greece. Why let the girls play alongside the boys, in the nude? Why feed them better than their brothers? Why let them participate in the Olympics? Own land? Handle the money? Why leave them out for the elements alongside the boys to ensure they're tough enough to survive? Why train them to fight?

The answer, as far as the fuzzy reports from every historian of the period except Sparta's --suspiciously mum on the subject-- can tell us, is simple: They'll birth stronger sons, and daughters that will birth even stronger.

For Berenike, daughter of a general and heir to an entire isle, this simply wasn't enough. She wanted to wield the spear and hold the shield, to fight beside her cousins and nephews and uncles in the greatest army Europe would see for thousands of years.

But this was not her place.

Fuck that noise.

She tried everything she could: Shaving her head, running away from home, binding herself to conceal her sex, bribing trainers, even a physic that a traveler swore would provide the plumbing required to pursue her dream. All it gave her was a rash, and the rest ended in whippings. However, seeing her determination, and reaching the age to take his leave of the regular army and lead a quiet life on the land both provided for his service and inherited from his family, Berenike's father finally relented.

It was not the true training of a Spartan, that took more than one participant. However, it was closer than almost any woman would get to a proper soldier's training for the time, and it wasn't just a soldier's training: Even a sub-par Spartan is still enough to break the a Persian Immortal, Celtic berzerker, or samurai.

Berenike showed her gratitude through commitment, taking her licks without complaint or need for mercy, and learning to be what she was born to become. The girl became a woman, and the woman was a warrior. All she lacked was a venue to test her prowess.

It presented itself when the whole of Greece erupted in war. She fought like a hellion, side-by-side with the free people of her homeland. Not citizens, not full soldiers, but brothers-in-arms that didn't care what was between her legs when she was saving their skins.

Saving was, of course, the problem: So confident in her prowess, so sure in her skill, she did not expect the subtle knife when it arrived. Walking through the remains of a battlefield alongside a friend, armor discarded for wounds to be cleaned and skin allowed to breathe, a man half-dead found the strength to lift a spear. She knocked his target out of the way, only to receive the blow herself in the small of her back, carving a neat gouge in her spine.

Death came swiftly, the last rays of sunlight dropping below the horizon alongside the humors of her mortal form. But lo, this would not be the true death for Berenike: Gabriel, one day thought to be the left hand of God, rose from a light torpor amid the gore of the Peloponesians. Drawn to the smell of fresh death and newly spilled blood, he came upon the dead Berenike, and the man whom she had saved.

Typically, of course, the embrace brings the end rushing forth, not delay it, but the Salubri are good at breaking expectations. In that brief window, her soul slipping away to the other side, Gabriel brought another into the Healers' holy fold. A new shield to hold back the dark.

The blade that killed her made its mark, though. Forever cursed to wake dying, her personal stigmata would follow the newborn Cainite throughout time.

This was to say nothing of the Beast. It exploded from her waking undead form, great black wings and the visage of the monster that lurks in the hearts of men. Later, while learning Valeren, she and Gabriel learned that this extreme vampiric state also extended to her third eye, which existed perpendicular to her normal eyes instead of parallel, opening horizontally on her forehead.

The transition was a hard one, eve after Gabriel convinced her she hadn't become an Erinyes and wouldn't become a cyclops. It took her a long time --decades-- to fully come to terms with what she was. Gabriel's patience was saintly. He tended his childe until, at long last, she bid her humanity a fond adieu.

That was when she was finally ready to meet Samiel, and begin her journey down the path he had carved for his disciples.

When her third eye opened, and she began to understand the Path of Retribution, she was given the honor of being presented to him. It is a moment she treasures, and she holds his visage in her mind's eye every time she plunges her spear through a Usurper's heart, and takes off his head.

Beside sire and grandsire, she fought for centuries. But for every Baali she felled, two more seemed to appear. The Salubri and Assamites are valiant warriors, utterly lethal, but numbers were not on their side. Sometime in the 4th century, the hellish onslaught of her immortal foes overcame the shieldmaiden, and, devoid of vitae, she fell to the long sleep.

In the year 1031, someone finally found her desiccated corpse, still clutching ancient tools of war long turned to dust, the leather of her wings forming a twisted burial shroud. This naive mortal explorer collected her remains in an iron coffin, and bore her to his home in Italy, where she was quickly discovered by a visiting escort of Cappadocians.

Being a considerate sort, and not wanting to impose a bond of the blood on an unwilling, they took time to research who this torpor'd creature was, eventually zeroing in on her Salubri heritage (the ocular cavity in her forehead helped).

From there, the necromancers ferried her to France, where it had been said a few of the Unicorns were briefly congregating. Fortunately, this was the case, and the get of Saulot revivified their sister, waking her in nights completely foreign. The shared language of the Second City taught to all Salubri allowed for communication, and the Elder spent the better part of a century with her cousins, acclimating to the new world.

They followed the Normans north, to Albion, and the growing Cainite strongholds situated there. It was their belief that, perhaps, it might be time for a Salubri to take a throne and build a citadel for their small clan to call home. A Third City.

Then, in 1133, the Usurpers cemented their namesake, and Saulot's blacklisted clan-turned-bloodline scattered to wherever they could find safe harbor. For Berenike, now calling herself Beatrix to better blend with the English, safe harbor was best achieved by removing the threatening element.

For years she tried to eradicate the Tremere from the British Isles, but to no avail. In 1200, with so many of the the newly-christened Soul Thief Methuselahs falling to wizard fangs, she finally went to ground. Estheim's Prince, a Malkavian, was the grandchilde of a friend from her (relative) youth. She pulled that string as hard as she could, and found safety from the Chantry lurking outside of the city's great walls.

Someday soon, she plans to burn that profane hall to its foundations.

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Edited by Baculum, Sep 17 2014, 03:07 AM.
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