Character(s) Zaya's Many Muses

[Zayachik]

Hello all,

My name is Zaya and I am quite new to the whole coding thing (I didn't have the privilege to live on forum sites and/or MySpace). However, that doesn't mean that I will not be sharing my characters as soon as I figure that out! But, for now, I will be posting my chars, with or without their epic, cool profiles that I will totally be putting in those cute code thingies over time. But, for now, I hunker down and get creative with my own set of skills.

Reach out, of course, if you have questions or would like to work with any of these specific characters!

Thanks!

Zaya

 

[Zayachik]

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☠︎︎ ⋆ℨ𝔢𝔭𝔥𝔶𝔯𝔞 𝔎𝔬𝔯𝔞𝔩𝔦𝔰



ㅤ ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄ㅤ

ㅤ ׅ🎙𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖊



Art by: Alienship

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Zephyra Claennis Koralis
89 years old (chronologically), 37 (physically)
Half-elf
Wizard, school of necromancy
'The Overseer'

In her early years, she was born the last daughter of over twenty-seven siblings. Their mothers had all been gone to time, gone to sickness, gone to death, leaving them with their father who had outlived fourteen of his children, and some grandchildren already. See, her father had a taste for the flesh of those that couldn't possibly live to the years that he could; no, he couldn't have that. Zephyra had grown accustomed to being the aunt of her great-great grandnieces and nephews, much older than she.
Most of the family took to business, the sciences, the arts and business; but not Zephrya. Zephyra took after her father in the studies of magic.

Just as her father had practiced, his father before him had a natural ability for it. A sorcerer, born to a deep bloodline of sorcerers before him in a cult borne of heritage from one other the God of the Dead, Myrkul. Their cult spanned millennia, but the call for the modern day was harkened by paladins that dared to destroy ages of traditions that were oh, so precious.

Over her younger days, she decided that she was to become just like her father, an archaeologist. See, there aren't many fields that necromancers could work in (at least ethically), so becoming an archaeologist to talk to and learn about the dead? Now that was something she could look forward to! And so, the only thing left to do was to attend the same alma mater as her father, Neverwinter Academy. Though, her father's abuse would change her tune as she grew older. The physical abuse drove her to detest him, but the guilt of him being the only parent she had drove her mad. And so, her sights had been set elsewhere; control.

Zephyra soon came to be one of the most highly revered in her craft, being notable for not only her prowess but her stark intellect. Those that came to know her, knew her as vicious and unkind. She was competitive without the edge of jest that one may seek. The woman was on a mad hunt, needing control. As that was all she ever wanted in life, that sense of control over everything. Everything in her life had slipped through her fingers, one item at a time, before she ever had the mind to reach out. She would not make that mistake again.

Her grasping at straws, what little threads she could reach for, had lead her to the Necronomicon. With each page, she became hungrier, a thirst for more had overcome her with each page. She did not know this language, but it was as if she'd known it her whole life. And with each moment she spent, in complete awe of what she heard through the whispers of the book, did she hear the voices of those before her. The cult. Her ancestry. Her purpose.

Her calling.

The sense of belonging she so craved, family ties she's never understood or felt until right then. She knew what she had to do, and how. The Cult of Tomorrow had been revived by its one true heir, and she would not apologize for it; for Zephyra finally had control.

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Bonus:

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[Zayachik]

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̸̱͂ ̸͆̿͞ ̄̿̄͞ ̿̅͞ ̿̅͞ ̄̚ Katia Dimitriev


ㅤ ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄ㅤ

ㅤ ׅ🎙𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖊

Art by: Alienship

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/----- / /(/)‾‾‾ ██/‾‾ {/‾ " " (-___}
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Katia Dimitriev
29 Years
Liberty City, Broker District
Russian-American
Insurance 'Broker'
'Prima Royale'

Born in Moscow during the reign of the USSR, Katia had lived a relatively privileged life during her small time in her home country. Both of her parents were officers in the Red Army, her father having served in Afghanistan to aide in effort for Soviet control to be maintained. After he'd come back home, her father had become disillusioned by war and the true nature of the country he loved so dearly. That country had died long ago, and her father woke up.

Her father heard tell of a network, and followed down the rabbit hole to get out of the USSR with his wife and child. Sure, he would owe an indefinite debt to them, but what was fighting in a different army to him if he believed in what they stood for?

During her time in Moscow, Katia had already been in the midst of learning her only trade; ballet. That is all Katia had known ever since she began to walk, ever since she could begin to hear, Stravinsky had sung to her, Tchaikovsky called with his siren songs and Prokofiev reeled her ever closer. Every string, every broadcast, every poster she'd seen on the streets. She was born to perform, whether she knew it or not.

Upon their illegal immigration to the United States, arriving on a boat from Stockholm to Liberty City, did she continue her studies whilst her father worked under one Mikhail Faustin. Working in the bratva was not an easy decision, one even Katia's mother despised him for, but Alecksei had a debt to repay, and he was not keen on going back on his word. It was when Katia's apartment was first raided, and her eyes were still puffy from crying and the tear gas the FIB had thrown inside, that she learned her first lesson. As Katia cried, looking down at the pavement in her (now) dirtied pink tights, she heard her aunt scold her "Do not cry, as there is never a reason to. Be strong, so that you never show the world just how weak you are."

Katia trained, and trained, and trained; sometimes she'd sleep at the studio to avoid her parents and their incessant infighting, and to be able to dance until she got everything right. It did not matter if she was tired, it did not matter that she was hungry, it did not matter, because she did not matter as a person. She mattered as a vessel. Katia's depersonalization is what got her through it all, her pain did not matter, because she did not matter.

After years, and years of training, she'd finally gotten the offer she'd been hoping and dreaming of. Love Media Ballet Company. All those years, and her work had begun to pay off at only seventeen years old. Her work would continue to excel, her father would continue to pay her way as much as he possibly could. The former farm boy turned soldier wanted for his daughter what he couldn't have; being an artist. It was never any wonder to him, the day she was named the prima ballerina to her company, and it was in complete awe when she made her debut as prima by playing the role as The Sacrifice in The Rite of Spring.

After dedicating her entire life to ballet, disregarding basic education for it to be her lifeblood, she soon came to be a prima ballerina royale, anointed by the people of Liberty City. She was loved. She was cherished. She was respected. Every night, when she would bow to the people, every part of her had to contain how enamored she had been with the world. Katia had it all, with her father to support her.

Until, that was, Nico Bellic had come to town.

The opening night of Sleeping Beauty, the intermission before entering Act 2, and all the audience could hear was a shrill scream of shock and grief. Katia's father had been shot dead that same evening.

And in that moment of weakness, nobody had seen her the same again. In her grief, she was unable to dance. This was the straw that broke the camel's back, this was the point of no return for her. Katia Dimitriev, the unbreakable force that she is, had finally broken.

It took her many different jobs to get her back on track, it took her many tries to get her license in order to sell insurance, it took her many tries to get that sale.

And now her effort was repaid by a gun to her head by a mafioso, telling her that the man that she sold insurance to had infact stolen the car she insured; that day she assumed a debt, a vig, and a duty. She was theirs now, and she would not underperform.

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[Zayachik]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚ Primrose DeLuca


ㅤ ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄ㅤ

ㅤ ׅ🎙𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖊


Art by ryanscribbles
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚
Primrose DeLuca
24-28 Depending on plot
Sci-fi scenarios and wherever I decide to place her for that time being

Primrose is a joke character that I wrote for shits and giggles for specifically comedy bits with my friends. Occasionally, I will write her in the most terrible scenarios possible and have her survive. The joke, for the most part, is that she is a 60's darling from a Star Trek-esque world who is placed in a horrible, grungy sci-fi in the likeness of Alien or Deep Space.

Additionally, sometimes I write her as a mafia wife, as per my jokes about the Sopranos.

 

[Zayachik]

𓄀𝑳𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝑩𝒊𝒓𝒅

ㅤ ׅ 𝄂𝄚𝅦𝄚𝄞𝅄ㅤ
ㅤ ׅ🎙𝖛𝖔𝖎𝖈𝖊



Face Claim: Sharon Stone in The Quick and The Dead

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

Lady Bird
19 to 34 Years
"Ick Ben Daitch"
Worth, previously known as Fort Worth
Companion to Courier in Fallout: New Vegas
'The Cattleman'

WIP
Additional Refs to be used: