View attachment 245542Name: Cleolind Bárány.
Also known by; "Cleolind the Mongrel," or "Foulblood Cleolind."
Age: 166.
Gender: Female.
Birthplace: Somewhere in rural Lescatia.
Current Residence: The Border City, Lescatia.
Faction: Vampire Nobility.
Appearance: When one pictures "vampiric nobility" in their head, the image that comes to mind is a graceful, ethereally beautiful being.
That is not Cleolind.
Her skin is pallid, and clammy to the touch. Bright blue veins stand out starkly against translucent skin, joined by livid red ritual scars carved into her flesh. Her brown hair is lank and greasy, hanging down to her knees in an unkempt curtain. Her eyes lack any white within the sclera, instead brimming with a foul, blood red colour. Her eyes, naturally amber, reflect any light that touch them, lending her the countenance of a stalking predator rather than a graceful socialite. This is further accentuated by her teeth, filed to points and notched with serrations. Cleolind lacks the fangs that most vampires are blessed with, the result of a malignant bloodline. Similarly, her fingers end in long, razor-sharp nails as hard as steel. Her palms are riddled with scars, the aftermath of Cleolind pressing said nails into them.
Cleolind moves with the ease and fluidity of a stalking cat. She is an experienced killer, and her very presence exudes that fact. Each movement is measured and considered, no matter how small. She has mastered the economy of motion and intent, and honed herself into the perfect tool of violence.
She does not fool herself, or anyone, into thinking she is something she is not. Cleolind does not bother with fancy clothes, or makeup, or any trifling thing of that nature. Cleolind is almost always seen in ragged cloth trousers and an open linen shirt that leaves her torso bare, and she refuses to change for anyone.
Personality: Cleolind has fully embraced her nature, and possesses no reservations in regards to what she does, and what she is. To her, paltry trifles such as morality, or the inner debate of right versus wrong, are for mortals, and mortals alone. In Cleolind's eyes, if a vampire is to survive, they must shed these trappings of mortality-- and that is precisely what she did.
She is a woman without remorse. She is no longer human, and the people to which she once belonged are now no better than food, or things of leisure. She does not view herself as "superior," not in the traditional sense. A wolf does not hold itself to be better than the foal it stalks-- it simply knows that it is stronger. It does not hold any malice in its heart for the foal, for how could it hate something weaker than itself?
Cleolind is not popular amongst her peers. Her mangy appearance, her lack of decorum, and her vampiric lineage are all things that other members of the nobility hold against her. She, frankly, could not care less for their opinion. They can rankle at her presence all they like, snark her and demean her to their liking. At the end of the night, she places no value in their words. Cleolind almost pities them-- they delude themselves, with their titles and pomp. She does not delude herself like they do. She acknowledges the predator she has become.
She is the unabashed wolf amongst those dressed as sheep.
Biography: Born in a village without a name, Cleolind Bárány was the daughter of shepherds. She was the youngest and sickliest of thirteen children. The thirteenth daughter, the unlucky daughter. This nameless village, with its ragged, starving people, was not long for this world. On the thirteenth year of the thirteenth daughter's life, death came for the village. A party of vampires, eager for blood and sport, fell upon it in the dead of night. Those who were not killed, either falling at the blades of the nobility or drained of their blood by overeager feeders, were captured as slaves.
Cleolind was one such capture.
One might think that the vampires took pity on the sickly thing-- until one realizes that, however much they proclaim it, vampires are without pity. That is the truth Cleolind came to know. She was made serf to a noblewoman by the name of Niv Kadlec. She was not a kind mistress, but Cleolind, who had known only scorn and contempt, could scarcely bring herself to care. Even when Niv carved ritual runes into her flesh, using Cleolind's body as the canvas upon which her foul magicks were wrought, she could not bring herself to care.
These nobles, Niv included, had won the scorn of The Prince for their actions that night. It began as sanctions, and admonishments. But when they continued as they had, disobeying his rulings, death came for them as it had for Cleolind's village.
Yet, when The Prince came to exact his blood-price, he was too late for Niv.
He found her where he knew he would, within her manor within his Border City. He found her in the common area, then again in the dining room, and once more in the pavilion. Indeed he found her-- a leg here, an arm there, a trail of blood snaking all the way to her balcony. It was there that The Prince and Cleolind first met, the pallid, sickly thing a newly turned Vampire. She met him with a maw wet with gore, sharpened teeth slick with meat and gristle. Her first meal was her own sire, and Cleolind began her un-life with the taste of her own kind on her tongue. Tantalizing, invigorating, and terribly forbidden.
Perhaps her ought to have struck her down then and there for such a crime-- but something, unknown to all save the Prince, and perhaps Cleolind herself, stayed his hand. The two of them shared words, the specifics of that exchange once again known only to them, before they mutually departed the manor, going their separate ways.
Ever since, Cleolind had stalked the periphery of the Border City. Seen by many as a blight upon vampirekind, on account of her malformed fangs and wretched appearance. From time to time, The Prince needs someone killed in a way that sends a particular sort of message. Sometimes, he needs someone with no qualms over the consumption of other vampires-- and when those rare times come to pass, Cleolind occasionally finds a missive in whatever place she currently dwells within.
It is a good arrangement.
Skills & Abilities:
- Unarmed Combat.
- Cleolind fights like a cornered animal. She is savage and swift, fighting fast and unfairly. Others make bride themselves on their swordsmanship, or their skill with a bow, but Cleolind prefers the gush of blood over her tongue, and the parting of flesh beneath her claws.
- Blood Magick.
- The runes of complex Blood Magick are carved into her very flesh. Burning her own blood, or the blood she has consumed, as fuel, Cleolind utilizes these magicks to enhance her body even further beyond the vampiric norm.
- Stealth.
- A century and a half is a long time, and when one has been transformed into a predator, they must learn to stalk. Cleolind had turned stealth into an artform. When she is perceived, it is because she wishes to be. Her prey is, more often than not, not only mortal but immortal, and as such she has honed her skills to evade even preternatural senses.
- Locksmithing.
- Being able to get into places she isn't supposed to be is an important skill. Cleolind learned early on the importance of this skill, and she has spent considerable time honing her craft.
Interesting Tidbits;
- Cleolind has a particular affinity, and fondness, for the taste of other vampires. Her arrangement with The Prince serves her appetites well.
- She is surprisingly well-versed in court etiquette-- she just actively chooses to ignore it.
I was worried about her, but it seems you're more or less aware of how she'd be taken by most other vamps. She'd be interesting to say the least, but she'd be held on such a short damn leash the Prince might as well be holding her by the neck himself.
Konrad would despise her in all sorts of ways, Antrus would actually respect her but look down on her, Matriarch too. I assume she gives no shits either way.
I'll allow her, but she's been alive in the Prince's domain for a while. She'd know that his iron grip isn't to be fucked around with, and no doubt a couple of her scars came from him personally teaching her humility. He'd also respect Konrad's authority and thus would forbid her from openly defying Konrad in his own city. That's just too much. Konrad being who he is would despise her but wouldn't go on to kill her since the Prince took her in, but lotta bad blood.
He'd never assign her to Anira cuz, again, he likes her as much as the sun. She represents everything he tries not to be, after all.
More than likely she'll be at the Prince's side when the Matriarch delivers Iva to him. The Prince would be smart enough to pull her out of the Border City at such a stressful time and the man's got plans for her already. Again, the prince won't have all that good an opinion of her either, fair warning
That cool?
Name: Cleolind Bárány.
