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| Artavardiya; Banu Haqim | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 12 2014, 09:00 PM (235 Views) | |
| Artavardiya | Jun 12 2014, 09:00 PM Post #1 |
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Thinks she's better than you
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![]() Name: ‘Artavardiya’ – Makameh Dariushdokht Gender: Female Nature: Judge Demeanor: Soldier Age at Embrace: 19 Date of Embrace: 26th July 1196 Years since Embrace: 34 Place of Birth: Yazd, Persia Religion: Zoroastrian Clan: Assamite Warrior Disciplines: Auspex, Celerity, Obfuscate, Quietus Road: Path of Blood [Via Sanguinis] Merits: Scarred, Unbondable, Arcane, Face the Flames Flaws: Vengeful [Bondmate], Thirst of Caine Appearance: Makameh’s thin but wiry form stands at 5’5”, her true face speaking of headstrong determination; with those judging dark eyes and black hair, bound into a several braids at nape of her neck, complementing her skin of dark bronze; so dark for a Cainite that it is a rather obvious hint to her Clan. Added to that are black markings that cover the side of her neck and reaching down beyond her collarbone, simple-seeming tattoos of unknown meaning for outsiders, but telling to adherents of the Via Sanguinis; and even more, ritual scarification of her lips, on her left cheek, and most elaborately on her right forearm – inflicted after her Embrace. There is a youthful, wrathful quality about her, thinly veiled in a controlled expression and her lips pressed together ever-so-slightly; she is always vigilant, always watching with her piercing stare – a look of silent intensity that easily feels uncomfortable. Her movements belie the impression of youth, telling a story of immortal grace and predatory speed. Having little mind for showiness – unless dressed for a specific occasion – she wears simple and unadorned white robes. Yet, outside of her haven or other private circumstances, she most often uses Mask of a Thousand Faces to take on a form rather reminiscent of her true appearance, but with dirty blonde hair, pale skin, and gray eyes. This is also the form she takes while on the hunt; only then, she wears light armor, black and brown fabric; and when she plans to kill, a mask of white porcelain. Even so, most disguise means little to her – for she is shrouded in mystery, easily forgotten and rarely remembered, impossible to find and quickly overlooked. Personality: Having taken the name of an ancient Persian general whose name meant “doer of justice”, the young Assamite seeks nothing less than to become a Paragon of her Path, seeing herself first as Da’i, then Silsila. Where others might think her cursed, she knows she is blessed, chosen – preordained as a Sentinel and warden of Haqim’s Law: exclusively subsiding on the blood of Cainites, she will never prey on mortals, not even in the clutches of her beast; and immune to the bonds of blood, she will never be swayed from her true purpose. So, she is poised to become the perfect hunter, or perish. Her youthful arrogance is paired with a great desire to prove herself, and still, she knows that her hunger must be tempered with justice, that discipline is her first virtue, and that her beast must be chained. It is a difficult Road to walk for someone who is still so young to the night, and under that controlled surface, the loneliness and endless hunger make it hard to hold back sometimes… History: Makameh was an unremarkable child – or at least, so it seemed. As soon as she stopped crying for food and attention, and could walk on her own feet, her favorite past-time was to escape everyone’s attention. It gave her a certain freedom to be so overlooked, and so she indulged in past-times that were less becoming of the daughter of a well-respected family, a pillar of the local Zoroastrian community; she played with the boys, took interest in arms and warfare, spoke to everyone that would answer the deluge of questions always falling from her lips, she chased animals through the gardens and climbed up trees and hiked on the mountains, listened to bird-songs and poets, stole grapes from the merchants and grew ever-bolder with age, exploring ancient tombs and underground tunnels. The daughter of an ancient land and parents very aware of their traditions, nonetheless always being lenient to their daughter in face of her immense enthusiasm, her curious and positive spirit, Makameh grew up very peacefully, knowing little hardship but the hardship she herself sought out – testing herself. While the Zoroastrians had been in an unfavorable position since the Islamic Conquest, hundreds of years of co-existence and the wise guidance and counsel of men like her own father kept the peace; still, Makameh had to learn early to value the tight-knit community she herself was part of, because exiting it more often than not meant to invite trouble, both for oneself and others. And indeed, a more troublesome time in her life began when she became a woman, and was to marry; while she was not entirely opposed to the prospect, she had known her older husband to-be since she was small, and he was – in her mind – one of those few that carried evil in their heart and poisoned those around them; she could not marry someone like that, a bad man, who let Angra Mainyu into his heart. Yet, nobody else shared her assessment, not even her own father, whom she pleaded with to find her a better match; still, it was much too late for that, and the situation seemed to become inescapable. Her thoughts circling around on how to delay the inevitable, she finally came up with a plan: there had to be some way she could prove that her husband-to-be was rotten, and so she began to investigate his character and reputation; she arrived at a more differentiated picture than she had before, realizing that perhaps she was unfair to judge this man so harshly – yet, in the end, she found something that her father could not dismiss once she confronted him with it. The city of Yazd had for a long time been a sanctuary for the Zoroastrian faith, and there they were safer from the condescending treatment they experienced by the ruling Muslims; but even there, the reasons to convert became ever-more apparent, and so, the man she was to marry had already planned to convert to Islam, together with her, after the marriage – this she learned from a local Mullah who did not realize who she was or the significance of this revelation, instead urging her, too, to consider conversion. Makameh’s father, appalled by what he could only feel was attempted betrayal, called off the wedding and was overjoyed at the craftiness of his young daughter, that had – in his mind – saved her from being ripped away from his family, his whole community; from being given to someone who would sacrifice tradition for cold, rational considerations of wealth and power. There were some who understood this as an open display of defiance in face of Islam, but even as her family’s station protected it from further fallout, the ordeal evoked attention of a different kind; there was an undead watcher in the night of Yazd, an ancestor thought long-dead – but now one of the old Zoroastrian Assamite Warriors. Contrary to many of his more hot-blooded, younger brethren, his approach seemed more akin to that of the Viziers; analytical and scholarly, while still adhering to the harshness of the Path of Blood. He knew that if he left Makameh alone for too long, she soon would lose the fire that made her independent, and she would find her ‘proper place’; and so, after focusing more of his attention on her, he finally determined her truly worthy and embraced her. She lamented to be so snatched away from her family, but her Sire’s experience offered both some closure to her family as well as introducing her gently into the night; and that he was not only her ancestor and shared her blood and faith, but also echoed many sentiments she herself had in his speech and actions, quickly led Makameh to come to love and respect Meherak, Prince of Yazd. Even more, he seemed to not mind her being female at all, treating her like any master would treat their pupil; and so, her training began, with a great harshness that would temper her mind and body for the trials ahead. Within the Warrior caste, which by an overwhelming majority was of the Islamic faith – and so was their Caliph – Makameh was an outsider because of her sex and her faith; many male Assamites were skeptical of recruiting women as warriors, which led to their Embrace being that much more rare and necessitating great potential – which, in turn, led to most female Assamite warriors easily being much more capable than their male peers. For now, in the care of her Sire, the Neonate was somewhat sheltered from these internal differences of her caste; and as the years passed, the nights in which she lamented what she had lost grew scarcer, and she adjusted more to the new laws by which she would lead her unlife. The greatest trial she had to face was the mixed blessing that the blood had bestowed upon her – Prince Meherak was ancient, and while not having fallen to the Baali’s curse, he had long ago succumbed to the Thirst of Caine; and this was the curse she inherited, even if she was taught that by not needing to feed on mortal blood, she never needed to prey on them, in adherence with Haqim’s Law. But Meherak’s blood also contained a blessing that would lessen the burden on her, in that she was as free of the danger of fallen into the blood oath as he was. After he deemed her ready, Makameh’s Sire gave her the new title she proudly bore as a Child of Haqim, to set her apart from the mortal days she had left behind, and sent her to Alamut, six years after her Embrace. There, she presented herself to the Eldest, spilled her vitae into the Heartblood and learned more of Haqim and her birthright as his distant childe. She was magically bound to others, as she had already earlier entered a sorcerous covenant with her own Sire; she had contact with the rest of her own caste, realizing that some divisions of mortal life are not erased by the Embrace, and had to prove herself in many ways to her peers. She also spoke to both Viziers and Sorcerers, learning more of their own ways and how they served Haqim, gaining a greater understanding of the role that she had to play. It was perhaps the same traits that made her an outsider among the Warriors that also pushed her to utmost refinement and ambition, and made her more aware of the old lore and traditions of the Assamites; less invested in the Crusades, not subject to the Blood Curse of the Baali, her conversations with the Elders made her believe that perhaps, she could become a recall to the warrior-judges of old. And then, finally, Artavardiya was granted the chance to prove herself, even if she longed to return to the side of her Sire, she knew that her return would be that much more triumphant if she had proven herself against their enemies; and so, she left Alamut with a small band, another adherent of the Path of Blood having taking her under his wing, and journeyed towards the Holy Land. The sprawling cities there held many wonders for her, and even if her own, ancient faith did not compel her to see this land with Abrahamic eyes, the sheer amount of people, the art and architecture would not leave her unimpressed. But most time she did not spend in Jerusalem or the Crusader-held Antioch, nor the accursed city of Tyre that hid great evils, but in the Assamite stronghold of Damascus, city of steel and silk; there she watched the pilgrims, mortal as well as Cainite. It was only elsewhere that she had to use the damascene steel and armor, even if some battles left a bitter taste in her mouth for seeming more about possessiveness and Islamic fervor – as also displayed by her new, temporary mentor – than simply adherence to the Laws and the Path. Still, she fought – even if there was a nagging voice at the back of her head that her greatest motivator to punish the unworthy was the thirst for their blood; and more often than not, she felt her mind preoccupied more with the aftermath of victory than the fight itself. It was in this time that she received the first of her ritual scars, marking both her progression on the Path as well as her success in battle. She had known the taste of Cainite vitae for a long time, but even that did not prepare her for the sensation of drinking her enemy’s soul – returning the blood to Haqim – but then she knew why more than anything else, she was urged to self-control and discipline, that strength of will was her greatest virtue; because how easily could a Sentinel become a monster, a bloodthirsty savage, if the prize was so great. And indeed, there was a darkness she sensed in many other Warriors; a taint not simply explained by the Baali’s curse. After many years, Artavardiya returned to Yazd and her Sire, who now greeted her as an equal, seeing the signs of victory displayed even on her body; but her apprenticeship was not over, and at the feet of the master, she learned much more – especially after she had experienced the truth of combat, of Final Death and Amaranth, there were many further lessons for her. She herself found it curious that her Sire, subject of the Thirst of Caine like her, having been told much of his exploits by others within Alamut, seemed among the most self-controlled and deliberate of the Warrior caste. Within Yazd, he made sure she was tutored also by Viziers and Sorcerers, to broaden her view; but Artavardiya grew restless soon, and it was obvious she was still too young, with too much fire in her, to spend countless years in quiet contemplation. He sent her away again, back to Damascus, to the sorcerer Al-Ashrad; who, after engaging the youngling in conversation and learning about her inclinations, told her of a certain sickness that afflicted the north of the Holy Roman Empire, and of the Order of the Pious Knights of the Black Shroud, a secret order of Assamites building up an European presence. She felt honored to be chosen to go there, even if it cut her off from Alamut and most of her Clan, which would doubtlessly make it even more difficult to feed – although she saw the suspicion in the others, for her own thirst was sometimes hard to differentiate from the fierce bloodlust that so many Warriors had been affected by. Together with two others, the Neonate travelled to her destination and became part of the Black Shroud, keeping to the shadows and helping to spread their influence, again learning from her peers hand-picked by Al-Ashrad. For a time, she was content with this existence, even if sometimes her fervor and extravagant appetites caused problems for the Knights of the Shroud, when she took it on herself to not ignore some of the more depraved Cainites that entered the Shroud’s area of operations. It was after her hunting down and killing a particularly maladjusted Malkavian that she found herself accused of having enjoyed this ‘judgment’ too much, and that she would cause too much Cainite scrutiny on the Black Shroud, when something broke into her nightly existence – a vision as sudden as it was violent, the death of the Vizier she had come to Europe with, who had been away on a secretive assignment in the City of Estheim, laying beyond the sea, on the shores of Albion. Artavardiya had never experienced the death of another Assamite so directly, so personally, as in this vision of death, and it evoked a deep-seated anger within her; she told the other ‘Knights’ that they would be rid of her for now, and that they should send a message to Alamut that she would take it on herself to avenge her fallen brother. Together with the sorcerer Alim al-Azhar, who had experienced the same death-vision and who would be her brother in vengeance, she boarded a ship to Estheim, where they picked up the trail of the death of Hamid Ibn Nasir. Even as Alim urged her to caution, Artavardiya responded that she would fulfill her duty here as in any other city, and the Cainites of Estheim would learn that justice had entered their night, and would prey upon the unworthy among them. Spoiler: click to toggle
Edited by Artavardiya, Jun 15 2014, 08:55 PM.
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