"To survive the darkness poisoning her soul, she strangled the stars for their light."
Name: Scheherazade Ahamkara
Country Affiliation: Balbadd
Race: Fanalis
Tier: D-Tier
Class: Warrior
Age + Birthdate: 27 | July 22
Gender: Hermaphrodite
Sexuality: Homosexual
Oh tortured soul, a heart once pure of gold ; Sorrow and grief have tarnished a once pure hope with the intoxicating bite of poisoned hate. Lethargic, the enigmatic presence bleeds through, corrupting, tearing asunder the perfected veil of purity and allowing the burning gire to seep within stalwart grace. It claws, digs to fester and bury deep under the skin, glissading skeletal fingers through malign carcass to permeate and destroy the innocence lost in cruel rapture. Though radiant and scorching upon first approach, malignant and vexing in a glance, there is still an unwavering kindness about her soul. Though she may try to be harsh, to be a thorough monstrosity for the simple sake of survival, she is unable, incapable within her programming to destroy so freely, to act so harshly to those who she seeks to bestow mercy even in her self imposed path to destroy herself. The noose around her neck as the shame of her existence devours her insides and leaves her hollowed within.
The fearful souls...those with no weapons to wield she would so willingly become a martyr for, a sacrificial lamb to be lead to slaughter to save but a single face, a solitary name and save from the hardships in which she herself once faced. Loss was something that never truly heals, an instigating pain that is never satiated by the passing ripples of time as so many assure. Comforting lies are not sweetly fallen from her cherub lips, only bitter truths of the melodious affliction that slowly eats away at the spirit and weakens the body, the mind into numb paralysis. It is like a neuron-toxic, a deadly bite administered to her heaving breast from the moment she lay eyes upon the fresh corpses who still wreaked of singed hair and flesh. Slowly, surely, she shuts down, the dim flicker within her gaze dulling, dying with each passing day. A raging fire nothing more but smoldering embers.
No confidence, no self-preservation lingers within her, though her masquerade hides well what lay 'neath the surface where she furiously struggled to simply stay afloat. Sleep eludes her, staying just a single step, tauntingly out of her desperate grasp some nights. It leaves her thoughts raw, each one like raking nails over open flesh to claw at the nerves hidden just out of sight. Her mind is cruel, a sick repetition of that traumatic night playing without mercy in each dream she dares to seek. No longer does she yearn for the escape of reality, no longer does she wish to open her eyes to a new day, another wretched moment within this existence. A once pure and holy thing was stripped bare, ravaged ruthlessly by those that would see her dead; her hope. The loyal optimism had been torn from her youthful frame, a far more devastating occurrence than that which marred her flesh. Her body had mended, healed and all that remained upon it was the thin, ropy scar. Childish wonder and bemusement, however, had been slain in cold blood, a murder most foul.
Her enslavement had robbed her of her child-hood, leaving no time for other lessons to be learned within life, and while she portrays a serious demeanor to those whom require it without thought, it does without saying that others may see a different front. An act, a facade of stoic disinterest and coldness is always erect, sorrows, vexations hidden masterfully behind the porcelain of her mask as she interacts with the very few souls who may have the fortune or misfortune or coming into contact with the woman. She is no stranger to the children, to the women as she helps in every sense possible from numerous chores to simply playing and occupying those of younger nature. It is often wondered by many how a woman so cruel...so wrathful and destructive can display such unwavering kindness and charity...how a bird once flapping furiously to take flight has had its wings clipped...
Sweet red lioness...just how far will you fall?
Likes: Scheherazade is...essentially an extremely simple and straight forward woman when it comes to what she enjoys and what she hates. Spending so much time as a slave the small things she finds enjoyment in tend to be rather limited, one of which is the safety and happiness of her young twins in which she goes to many lengths to protect and look after. Before bringing life into the world she did not inherently 'like' anything but after becoming a mother a certain light flickered in her eyes. She now sings to her babies and finds enjoyment in it. Additionally, she is rather fond of women of all shapes and sizes due to her admiration for the female form. Shay also loves to eat and can sometimes devour several times her own weight if hungry enough.
Dislikes: Over the years Scheherazade has grown a type of paranoia around men given the clients she is often met with. She is less likely to trust males due to the suffering she has endured and shares a great amount of disdain for cruel men or women she comes across. Slavers or slave 'Masters' being the type of people she absolutely despises from the darkest pit of her heart. Shay hates the idea of being owned and being unable to shape her own future and because of this she is often bitter and can't stand seeing those with freedom squander it by being lazy or ungrateful for what they have.
Aspirations: As a slave the only thing Shay truly desires is the opportunity to live peacefully with her young twins in a world where shackles and chains cannot dictate their lives. She does not dream or fantasize of being king, amassing great wealth or power or even love. These are things she has given up on long ago and after becoming a mother her priorities have changed drastically. She has but one real goal and that goal is to attain freedom for herself and her babies and flee the nation that keeps her caged like some kind of animal. To see her children lead full and happy lives without having to endure the torment she has.
Phobias/Fears: The loss of her children is the greatest fear she dare fathoms. Being a slave to a rather cruel master her children are constantly at risk of being sold for profit and pried away from her arms. Because of this they are almost always within reaching distance of her aside from when she is working. Additionally, the cracking of whips and the galloping of horses make her extremely anxious and rather paranoid due to the tragedies that befell her by men on horseback when her clan was invaded and as a result will almost never ride on horseback. Preferring to just stay on foot and walk wherever she needs to go, Shay also grows rather nervous when in the presence of other slave masters or traders in the fear of being sold off or traded.
Beautiful, ghoulish seamstress; She wafts in the gossamer threads of wordless allure, whilst stitching each meticulous furrow of a masque which divinely enshrouds the tempestuous belly of the beast. When one merely roves her tranquil surface, they need not fret; she is refined, fragrant, soft, and exquisite like the petals of the lotus. Maternal, doting, a wholesomely willing counsel, but impenetrable as the rare golden jade. Lain are the bedding of demons in the portion of her soul that remains unhinged in the darkness of decaying yin, and both hungry, and cunning is their discipline.
A rich slather of bejeweled silks, oft dark plum and rich scarlet, the colors of maturity, of passion. Eyes caustic, galvanized in vibrant gold with sultry lashes. Soft, full lips and a face sculpted by the divines themselves, A river scorched by the sun flowing from her temple and draping down her back. Her hinds sculpted of ravishing stone, thick, icy thighs and alluring hips. Mantled in sin, a banquet of succulent pulp; A surplus of toxic red tide. Malignant stare bespeaks gold reverence, demands the eyes of others to gaze upon each writhing mound of sumptuous plasm which roves across a tender, hallowed scaffolding.
Wisps of blood embellished in a flurry of silk strands, grasping, entangling languid paramour with the silent begging, the whispers of longing, moans of deceit. More, more, more! Elusive beast, Monster of avid affections, the immaculate tongues of angels doth traverse, wander over perfected flesh and flawless gaze. Honeyed, dewy under the gaze of watchful, observant eye spying havoc upon little light. She bleeds, immortality; she sings, hymns of the divine. She, an idol of righteous purity and martyrdom, a solitary flaw.
She will be watched, observed, many times deemed a pivotal object of obsession. And yet she moves effortlessly through each plane of her reality, her intrinsic temptations only offering their caress the truest, most palpable appraisal.
Face-Claim: Personal Art
Hair Color: Blood Red
Eye Color: Burning Gold
Height: 248.92 cm
Weight: 115.212 Kilo
Rukh Alignment: Black
Special Features: Possessing a great deal of tattoos and jewelry along her body Shay in some regards is considered a rather exotic woman. However, due to the magical experiments done to her growing up Scheherazade has been mutated with volcanic, reptilian eyes, scale-like blemishes across her arms, legs, and face and a large pair of horns adorning her skull. Because of this her value as a slave has dwindled significantly in the eyes of most and thus is currently used as a private dancer and prostitute because of her shapely body.
I was born, a fleeting glimpse of happiness, and of untold, bitter sorry left unquenchable to my father's pure and noble heart. My mother perished beneath the stars that night, a beautiful nova in her own right, I am always told. She was a virtuous maiden, a heavy heart and mind resting upon her judged both a gift and a curse, a flaw and perfection in the same breath. Our father raised us, small children, remaining connection with the woman he had loved so endearingly, so tenderly that she was unsure of how such a thing was possible.
Despite my birthing, I was raised a normal child, running, racing the wind and challenging the grave dunes outside of our immaculate hole within the bosom of the earth. Deep within the mountains of which our small clan dwelled, we carved ourselves anew in destiny. Blithe, untarnished faerie tale met an abrupt, horrifying ending. The smoggy trails of acrid smoke stroked the skies, the scent of burning, of death crept within my nostrils, burning my lungs until I spat it out in fervid acrimony and disgruntled dismissal.
Our elders they stole from us, the women they reaped from us, and the children they buried within the hovel, shadows of their deepest nightmares. Their piercing screams rend me from the insides out, twisting gluttonous innards into a squirming mess of putrid snakes that claw their ways out with malignant torment.
In the blink of an eye, the flutter of sultry lashes, we are a dying people.
There is no returning to the blissful peace we had known.
War. War was upon us.
The trees are alight, and my people are dying. All around me, I hear them, screams, malignant remnants of past occurrences that refuse to leave my mind unhindered. The memories burn, and yet I cannot stop them from running my mind in unstoppable trek over and over again. I can still almost taste the smoke of the fires, I can feel the heat, the warmth of my blood as it drips across my pale skin.
My back burns, but my whimpers, my cries of pain, have long since been silenced by the numbing slash of realization, of anguished knowing. Without even the slightest of news, the sorrowed looks of those who came to retrieve me spelled to my already grieving heart all that I need know. 'How- how many? How many are gone?' My voice caught within my throat, trapped bird wings helplessly beating against the cage of my ribs to escape past my lips in fluttering, fluctuating volume.
They look between them again, only silence is my answer. They bring me to the covered bodies, bestowed by rosaries of grandeur where already shamans and priestesses are giving out funeral wrights to those departed to the great afterlife. Among them, I recognize their frames, the broken, mangled corpses seared by fire and the glistening raze of tempestuous titania steel. Blood and burns. Pain and fear. They warped them, they perverted them. They were destroyed.
And I was alone.
They would never come back to me.
The Ahamkara were no more and i had fled my homeland as far as my legs would carry me. And with everything i had once known reaped before my very eyes i knew not where to go. Though needless to say, as a small child witnessing the darkness in the world for the first time i was soon acquainted with a cruel bitter man with humans in chains. A Slaver...and i, without a clan and without anyone to protect me was added to the collection of servants under his ownership. I was branded, auctioned, and sold as property not soon after. Forced to withstand torment for the rest of my days and endure inhumane magical experiments by my Masters whom used and abused me.
To this very day i continue this wretched existence...
But dear audience...you and i...both know how this ends, don't we?
- RP Sample:
- The world is nothing but chaos. Madness gives in to hate and despair daily. True kindness is nothing but a cover story for weakness, and the weak had no worth in the harsh cruel world. Than again if only the strong survived, what about the weaker ones of the survivors? What of the cowards who fled from a fight only to save their hides? The shameful and the foolish? Mortals where mortals after all, the proud where careless, and the cowards were morons who thought running from a problem would keep them from ever having to face them.
They never faced her...And in the end she could not entirely blame them, when met with a force greater than ones own the only logical conclusion was to retreat back into ones own shell. Telling themselves lies, fantasies of being something more than what they were. But here...in this place, with these things a man could be whatever they wanted.
Heavy noise that sounded like the beating of wicker drums, cheering screams, smoky air laden with the metallic aroma of fresh booze, it was just...loud. And the red haired woman could barely suffer it as she ran her fingers through her thick mane hair and growled lowly to herself. This was wrong...something about this did not feel right. The simple fact she wasn't doing anything was killing her. Waiting for work was...terribly mundane and Shay did not take kindly to idly standing by as her freedom slipped ever further from her reach.
She could feel eyes slashing into her chocolate flesh like heated daggers, melting away whatever veil of purity she might of still had...vibrant golden eyes would flick and wander over the crowd of men as the drumming became heavier and gained more of a rhythm.
With with a single motion the Fanalis would sway her hips ever so steadily, her shoulders loosening as her alluring gaze flared intensely as her body was put on display for the amusement of those around her.
Business as usual it seemed...
Last edited by Scheherazade Ahamkara on 21/03/18, 10:49 pm; edited 2 times in total
