Lucina Blakeward

Lucina Blakeward,

this is gospel for the fallen ones

There is very little, if nothing, that can be found of how Lucina Blakeward might once have been like in life. As the years passed her by any semblance of memory for that Lucina has since been forgotten. In fact little much remains for her that could even be called "human" in the first place. What might have once been a love for her fellow humanity has cooled to a tempered interest in the dealings of the living world. Ever watching, she has witnessed horrors and tragedies alike as she's walked the earth. Moments of sorrow and suffering always seem to draw her ever closer. Lucina has no idea as to why this is. Had her life held such similar tragedies that she would be drawn to witness others'? Was she simply there to see the events unfold and give testament to its occurrence? Whatever the case might be, Lucina has stood vigil over many a heartbroken and remorseful moment.  Only, unlike the Gods and Spirits who might share her plane of existence, she has no interest in interfering with the lives of mortals. Her time in the realm of the living has come to a close as far as she is concerned. It's one of the many reasons she chooses not to move on. Who else would want to observe as she does?

In life Lucina might've cut quite the impressive figure. Standing at a grand 6'2", she towers over most other humans by almost a head in some cases. With fine, nearly unblemished milky white skin, she can often resemble a porcelain doll. It gives her a fragile look; as if she were fine china that could shatter at the smallest impact. Long flaxen hair flows down from her back most commonly in a low pony-tail, with a few strands in the front coming free to frame her face. As far as anyone's concerned, she has never taken it out of that style. In life, she might have had hazel eyes light enough to be the color of amber. In life, she might've had a vibrant hue of living to her.

In death, it is as though all color on her has since faded away. As if the sun has bleached her very soul. Now what remains of those possible amber eyes has turned to a dull silver. To the point where it's hard to tell if they had even been hazel at all to begin with. Now deceased, she is trapped in the clothes she had worn the day she passed. A darkened long coat closes in around her torso and ends at her shins. The coat is tattered and torn, but bares the signs that it was once well crafted. Intricate embroidery near the front matches the embroidery of the dark shirt she wears beneath. Settled beneath her high collar lies a simple brooch with white cloth in ruffled layers hanging from it. In the brooch lies a vibrant green stone; the only color on her that hasn't appeared to fade with time. Hanging off the back of her coat lies a black tattered cloak. Under all of that she wears dark leather pants combined with dark boots. To top it all off, on her head she wears a black triangular hat with a single white feather protruding from it. Attached to her side sits sheathed a long thin blade. Rarely does she ever draw it, seeing as it would have little effect on anything she might face. It does however bring a sense of comfort with it that she can't quite explain.




Lucina only wears that which she had worn upon the day of her death. It is a unique style, as she has yet to have found others in the modern mortal world who wear anything close to what she has.

Parents
Mother: ? Blakeward (Presumed deceased)
Father: ? Blakeward (Presumed deceased)

Siblings
Brother/Sister: ? Blakeward (Presumed to have none, or all are deceased)

Extended Family
Meh: ? (Presumed to have none, or all are deceased)


Year ?

It was an impressive sight in a strange sense. Like a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Intricate patterns laced up and down the walls. Almost instinctively I knew they were not only a sign of taste, but of wealth. How, I do not know. My memory was fading by the day it seemed, yet I still got these distinct... Feelings.

The room itself was dressed in reds and golds, the colors rich and warm to go with the dark wood for the furniture. It was as beautifully furnished as it was painted. None so beautiful, however, as the figure kneeling on the floor. I step up to her, this woman in red. She does not hear my approach, for my steps make no sound. I've long since found that others cannot see nor hear me. It was unnerving at first but now... I'm growing used to being stared through. If I had more pride I might've been offended. But now? Now I didn't care that the woman hadn't even turned her head to look at me. Instead I observe the dress she wears. A gorgeous piece of cloth the color of fine wine. Sleeveless and long, it was simple yet elegant. The material looked heavy, or at least that's what I guessed. Simply another flit of thought that comes to me unbidden. I try to touch, yet I forget myself. My hand goes right through her and she shudders. Just another thing I needed to learn, I suppose.

I kneel to bring myself to her level. It's hard to see her height given her position on the floor, but she looks to be far taller than most. Perhaps even close enough to my height. Her face is blocked by a curtain of blonde locks, and I do not repeat to vain attempt to touch and remove the obscuring hair. I don't need to see her face to know it's twisted with sorrow. I don't even need to see her to know she's sobbing. The noise of her cries, as much as she clearly tries to muffle them, rings clearly in the silence. Those bare shoulders of hers shake with each painful intake and outtake of breath. There's nothing I can do. Nothing but kneel and wait. Something about this scene draws me closer and binds me to the spot. I almost feel... Fuller. As though I'm supposed to witness this. As if the very image is feeding me some sick sort of energy.

The seconds tick by and I keep the woman company, although she doesn't know it. I stay by her side as her body is jerked and jostled subtly by her grief. The seconds extend into minutes before there is a shift. Blonde tresses fall away to reveal a face with sharp features. A spark of electricity goes through me for a moment as she stares directly at me. Only a missing heartbeat later do I realize she isn't looking at me but past me. She's staring into a mirror, staring at herself. I study her features in the meantime. There's something about her face that calls to me. Something almost familiar about that sharp jaw or those set lips. What catches my attention most of all are her eyes. Nearly luminescent green orbs stare through me in a blaze of anger and grief. The color is not unlike the gem in my brooch in fact. An instinct pulls my gaze down to stare at her neck as I touch the gem by my own. There sitting above the wine is a colored stone of amber. Again it's familiar, yet my mind won't tell me why. Movement by the woman quells any attempts to recall. She approaches the mirror now, and I can't help but follow her. As she stands there gazing and messily rubbing away evidence of her sorrow, I can't fail to notice something now. It doesn't matter that I can't see my own reflection, for a matching face with green eyes is staring right back at me.

Year 2585

The night could provide him no comfort now. With a glance I can see the moon shining through the foliage. Despite the forest's best efforts, she still manages to reach down and illuminate the boy huddled beneath the branches. I call him a boy, yet he is not so quite young. No, rather he's on the cusp of manhood. That is, if he can make it. Even I had heard the Hunter closing in. It made a still young body tense and brown eyes flick about in absolute fear. Cat ears swiveled back and forth through the tuft of messy brown hair on his head. He was practically bleeding panic out of every pore. I could see it in his eyes; the rising tide of terror.

I watched on. His fate might as well be as good as sealed. The crackling of the branches was getting louder and louder. Earth churning under foot of a determined predator. A pitiful, terrified whimper managed to escape the boy's lips before he fled ever further. Yet the night could offer him no more energy, and he had spent most trying to get this far. His steps become stumbles. His panting becomes ragged gasps. His body was tired and finally would go no further. Slumping against the trunk of a tree, the boy stops and I beside him. I don't know what compels me to stay by his side. Perhaps the same thing that's compelled me all the other times before. A necessity to feed off these emotions? A grim fascination with how I knew this would all end? For the first time in a long time, I wonder about my own death. Had I shared a similar fate like this boy here? Had I been purposefully hunted down and killed? My memories, already foggy and muddled from the start, were now vacant and empty. Whatever life I had had was gone now, and even the knowledge of its end was lost to me.

In that span of harsh breath, the Hunter had closed the distance. I see first the appearance of the predator. Meanwhile their eyes go straight to their prey. Summoning his last bit of strength, the boy tries lashing out with whatever magic he has. The wind whipped and howled like a banshee provoked, buffeting the hunter like thrown fists. The amount of fight left in his was impressive. He gave everything he ever could have. It was not enough though. Not this time. I watch as his form slumped to the ground and the Hunter comes forward to claim his spoils. I can see now he's grinning, feeding off the thrill of the hunt like I fed off the boy's despair. For the first time in a long time, I feel a flash of anger. Frustration at the boy's death. Annoyance at the Hunter's glee. Distaste for what his Goddess approves of, and even rewards. Yet even so, I do nothing to interfere. It isn't my place anymore. Even if I dislike what I see, I've seen it happen before. An endless scene I've gone through time and time again, but with different actors. I am there to bear witness, and so I do. The Hunter leaves after cutting away his prizes. I stand there and stare. In a passing breath I almost wish for the boy to rise in soul from his body. Become a ghost and join me. The wish passes quickly though, as does the time. I take one last look up at the shining moon. She's nearly full, and I can feel her watching too. My only constant companion, observing much like I do. I give her the softest of nods before looking back at the boy. So close, and yet so far.

- Melee I (Starter): Can accomplish fundamental and basic feats with melee weapons. (Examples: Knife, Sword, Sai, Hammer, Axe, Whip, Lance, Chainsaw, etc)

- Poltergeist I: The ability to move a single item within a limited and humble proportion, such as a piece of chalk, a paper, a small paperback book, a shoe, etc. If unsure please ask a member of the site's team.

- Dream Vision: This ability allows a person to peer into the dreams of a living mortal while they sleep. Similar to watching a movie. This is triggered by physical contact. You may speak to the mortal in this state, but you will not be visible, or be able to manipulate anything within the dream.



- n/a




Melee II: You are now better able to dual wield if you wish to. You are more likely to better a melee level I.

[b]BLOODBORNE, Lady Maria[/b] as [i]Lucina Blakeward[/i]