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ruleandruinrpg · 8 years ago

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CONGRATULATIONS, EMILY!

You have been accepted for the role of NEYSA RAI. Admin Bree: Stunning, every word. Emily, you wowed me from start to finish—there’s really no other way to put it. It’s not often that an applicant seems to understand a character even more intimately than the person who created that character, but this is one of those rare instances; I may have written her story, but you brought it to life. This application was absolutely beautiful from start to finish, and I feel honored to see what you do with our heartrender with a heart of gold. You have 24 HOURS to send in your account. Also, remember to look at the CHECKLIST. Welcome to Ravka!

OUT OF CHARACTER

ALIAS: Emily

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her

AGE: Twenty-one

TIMEZONE & ACTIVITY LEVEL: GMT. On a scale from 1-10, I’d put my activity at a fair 6/7. I will be looking for a job/working (hopefully) which will occupy quite a bit of my time, but when I’m not working I’ll probably be online since I moved back home and it’s dull as hell and there really isn’t anything to do other than replies! Also – just to let you know that I’m away from the 19th-25th so I won’t be on at all then!

CURRENT/PAST ACCOUNTS: You can find samples of my writing here, here and here.

IN CHARACTER

DESIRED CHARACTER: Neysa Pollux Rai

NEYSA: The name Neysa is a Greek baby name. In Greek the meaning of the name Neysa is: Pure. Pure, like the first flurry of mountain snows. Pure, like sunlight as winter turns to spring. Pure, like the hearts and minds of her people, the Suli who had been wild in the best way possible. Pure, a meaning that time has tarnished, that she drifts from with every soul claimed by her hands, in every moment that she becomes a temporary God, given the power to snatch life away. ‘Pure’, she whispers, staring down at bodies with twisted hearts, ‘that is a cruel joke. It belongs to a girl from a lifetime ago’. It’s a strange thing, to associate your name, the one true constant in life, with a stream of memories, with a family who fade day by day, with who you could have been rather than who you are. But Neysa, for all she clings to her name and the connection with the past it provides, fears that all the purity inside of her was drained the day she was captured by slavers and that in turn, her name became little more than an empty shell. Yet, despite that, her name is incredibly important to the way she conceives herself. Neysa is a reminder of the girl without chains, the girl who ran wild and who knew what happiness meant. Neysa connects her to the parents and people lost to time, drifting in an unknown place on the continent. Neysa was something earned – something she won in conquering her own personal war. Stripped away after she was sold as a slave, crudely referred to as bloodletter instead, Neysa did not claim full ownership of her name until well out to sea, shouting it loudly into the wind. She had thought her shackles were gone then - and she was wrong - but at least the Second Army allowed her to keep her name. And yet, hope prevails. It is both her biggest fear and her biggest dream that one day her name will mean what it once did – tender, carefree, pure.

POLLUX: Roman form of Greek Πολυδευκης (Polydeukes) meaning “very sweet”, from Greek πολυς (polys) “much” and δευκης (deukes) “sweet”. In mythology he was the twin brother of Castor and a son of Zeus. The constellation Gemini, which represents the two brothers, contains a star by this name. Given their close connection with nature, the stars and the moon, it is natural among the Suli people, to bequeath a child with a name that draws from those fundamental elements. Although not a formalised or legal name, Pollux has always been a term of endearment among Neysa’s band of people, whispered in the moments before she fell asleep, or the first time she learned to trace the stars with the tip of her finger. Pollux marks Neysa as one of a pair, bestowing upon her an eternal and unbreakable connection to her brother. An unconventional choice – given its traditional use as a male name and its origins under a pair of twin brothers in the legend – the pieces fell into place the moment Neysa’s parents unexpectedly gave birth to two children, coddling both close in their arms under the summer sky, with nothing but the stars and the moon watching them. It was then that their father found Gemini, the twinned constellation and knew it was right to bless his children with two of its stars – Castor and Pollux.

Note: Obviously I don’t want to god-mod anything on behalf of the Aarvas applicant/player, but when I was considering potential middle-names, it was the idea of twin-meaning middle names that stuck out most to me and it was this pair of twins who fit Aarvas and Neysa the best. Therefore, I felt compelled to include it within my application. Hope that’s okay!

RAI: The lone remaining tie to her parents and the life they had shared – whittled down from thousands, eroded by time – her surname is the only thing that tethers her to the memory of them, of who they were, the lessons they imparted and the gifts that they gave them. It is through that name – and through the blood that runs through their children’s veins – that they remain in the present, instead of becoming a neglected ghost that only comes out to haunt. For as long as all four share that name, they continue to be bound to one and other, albeit faintly. It isn’t much. But to someone who has lived with nearly nothing at all, it is the true embodiment of hope. She can remember being four years old, learning to read on her mother’s knee, watching her trace those three letters in the dirt. ‘This is who we are. This is who we always will be’. At five, veins illuminated with traces of impossibility and magic, the term Grisha imposed upon her, she had run to her mother, afraid this meant they weren’t a Rai anymore. ‘I saw what happened in the other village – they took the children away – and their names didn’t matter. I want mine to matter’. Cupping her cheeks, her mother had smiled. ‘I will never let them have you. We will always be together. And we will always be a family’. Now, the memory feels bittersweet, darkened by irony. And whilst their parents failed to protect them forever (now, they protect one and other, Neysa clinging to her brother as the last soul who truly knows her) they do remain a family. A dreamer might wish for all four to come back together, but staring at her reflection in the mirror, Neysa wonders if her parents would even recognise their children. Perhaps it is better to be a family – but one that lives worlds apart. After all, her parent’s hearts are the only ones she refuses to break.

REBE: Although not a given name, it was once as common as Neysa, whispered by her people as she closed her eyes to sleep, tossed across the campfire as they cooked, a mark of respect as they stowed away their precious jewels, protecting them from the forces that sought to steal them away. Unique to her and her people, Neysa has nearly forgotten the name now, for it is nothing but a memory. And those, as we know, are unreliable.No one has called her Rebe for quite some time. Not in reality, anyway. But the world inside of her head that comes to life each night? That’s a different matter. In both nightmares and dreams, she hears the word repeated over and over, sometimes by teary Aunts and Uncles (among the Suli, they were all one extended family) who beg her to return to them, other times by the same people, whose faces become twisted with anger as they deny her the privilege of such a name. ‘Rebe? Saint? Blessed miracle? How were we so wrong? All you are is a monster.’ Those nights, as she wakes up covered in sweat, she believes them, disgusted with who she has become. The girl who earned the title of Rebe, who wore it as a badge of pride, would scarcely recognise the woman she has grown up to be – recoiling in fear of the deeds she doesn’t bother to protest anymore. Sometimes, she wonders, had they never been captured by slavers, had they found their way back home…would she still hold a claim to that title? Or like all good and precious things, would time have eroded it?

WHAT DREW YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?

Ah, Neysa – my sorrowful swallow, my fallen dreamer, my heartrender with a golden soul. It’s impossible not to adore her, to feel for her and to want to explore her. With roleplays, my biggest struggle is usually indecisiveness. There are hundreds of compelling characters, each with their distinct tale to tell, split across the personality spectrum. But with RAR, I found it remarkably easy to settle upon my first choice – because she just spoke to me immediately. Usually, I try and wait right up until the last biography is released, not wanting to be drawn into an application only to abandon it halfway through. But as soon as Neysa was released – somewhere near the beginning – I knew that was it, that I had found the one. I began her application immediately and never looked back.

Having engulfed the trilogy as soon as this roleplay was announced (I think I read all three books over three days, abandoning my essays to do so), I knew I definitely wanted to portray a Grisha. Nothing against humans – but I found the dynamics within the orders, the possibility of writing out abilities and the politics of their position the most compelling stories. In the books, it wasn’t the characters I loved so much as the world they operated within – and my favourite thing about RAR is the characters you’ve inserted into the environment. So, I won’t lie, when looking at teasers and biographies, I mainly focused on the Grisha. Being Grisha is so fundamental to Neysa, to her experiences, to how she experiences the world – and to how she sees the world. Her abilities have defined who she is thus far – they are the reason she was stolen away from her parents, the reason she was sold into slavery, the reason why she has become a soldier. And, more specifically, Neysa’s status as a heartrender is central to everything she is. It is her ability to manipulate tissue and flesh that spurs the world to make a weapon out of her, the reason why she is forced to murder – and why she has always been so afraid. You can’t understand Neysa without understanding that. And so, given that her abilities are so vital to Neysa, they take a place at the forefront of her story, plot progression and development. Given that’s what excited me so much about this roleplay in the first place, it’s a compelling factor as to why I was so drawn towards her.

The second – and main – factor that drew me in was her story. It’s a tale of being free and being bound, of fighting for freedom, of the difference between living and being alive. There is a definitive sadness and tragedy to Neysa that is apparent throughout her biography, echoed throughout every piece of her life. Like an angel, she has tumbled from the heavens, haunted by those she has left behind. Primary among this is herself – or at least, the girl she once was, so full of hope and happiness. That girl slips away day by day – and it becomes harder to clutch onto the mere memory of her. I really want to explore every nook and cranny of this – how she copes with past and present, how she struggles with her status in the Second Army and the nature they seek to impose upon her. They seek to make a soldier out of a pacifist, a monster out of a saint. In the grey, you will find Neysa. At the core of her is an identity crisis. There’s a gap between who she used to be and who she is becoming. It’s the difference between Grisha and human, good and evil, power and personality, girl and weapon. All of these struggles are bound up inside of her – for she is the living embodiment of them all. Currently undergoing something of an identity crisis, Neysa is torn in two polarising directions, fearful of becoming one over the other, of losing who she is in a bid to survive. Survival is certainly a key theme radiating throughout Neysa’s biography. She is Ravka’s phoenix – rising from the ashes. She may not look the way her childhood self imagined she might – but breathing is the most important thing. She can worry about appearances later, when the war is over – should she survive it without murdering herself in the process. An incredibly strong and resilient character – who has managed to resist the overpowering urge to give in. It’s this, pulsing like a heart, that makes me fall in love with her.

Overall, it’s Neysa herself – her story, her potential, her direction – rather than her dynamics or position in the roleplay that has drawn me towards her. I’ve fallen head over heels for her as a character – and I hope I’m lucky enough to develop and take her further within the roleplay.

WHAT FUTURE PLOT IDEAS DID YOU HAVE IN MIND?

BREAK THE CHAINS: Essentially, everything below can be grouped under this larger heading and under what I believe is Neysa’s larger arc. Central to her story is her struggles with freedom, servitude and being bound – both literally and metaphorically. Despite escaping slavery, she continues to be chained up, hitched to the army and the King’s wishes, forced to commit atrocities in their name. This, in turn, is changing her, restricting her and denying her from the life she deserves to live, separating her from the life she envisioned for herself and the person she used to – and wants – to be. Over the course of this roleplay, I would like to see Neysa break out from that shell, to find a way to reconcile her reality with her hopes and work within the system. Essentially, I want to see this girl happy. I think it will take a long time to get there – and will involve some fundamental changes and interesting dynamics, but ultimately, that is my end goal with her.

MAN-MADE MONSTER: Fundamental to understanding Neysa is answering one question – Am I a girl or am I a weapon? Years ago, that answer would have been an easy one – a girl, who feared becoming a weapon. Now, when Neysa stares at her reflection, she sees traces of the very thing she once feared, hands that have turned into guns, fingers into knives. Each day, she loses more of who she used to – and who she wants to be – and with every fallen soul, every kill at her hands, she finds herself becoming more who she doesn’t want to be. Even now, she doesn’t want to be that person. She is strong enough not to fall off the edge completely, tough enough to keep her humanity and wits about her. She refuses to give in to what war wants her to be – and it drains her. But this question goes far beyond simply how she acts of perceives the world – it cuts across who she is. Neysa’s identity is constructed by this question, of being a girl or a monster. Currently unable to reconcile the pair, she fights to keep the two apart, believing them to be separate, polarising, identities. This plot arc essentially questions that assumption. It is possible to both be a monster and a girl – and Neysa is hurting herself by refusing to let the two reconcile, tearing herself apart to retain a semblance of the past. She doesn’t realise that it is impossible for her to be free in the same way once again – and that no matter what happens – her experiences have changed her beyond belief. But more than that, she shouldn’t look back – but forward. In helping to reconcile these two halves, I’d love to test the bounds of Neysa. I’d love her to commit an atrocity she doesn’t feel she can come back from, to see her – much like Valerian – turn towards the darkness as a coping mechanism. However, for me, this would be temporary – and in the end, I’d love for Neysa to find a way back to herself, to string together who she wants to be and who she has been forced to become. I feel that until she does, until she realises it is possible to save yourself from abandoning your heart for steel, she can’t be at peace. She needs to fall so that she can rise.

BATTLE-WEARY WOMAN: Given that the fear of becoming a weapon is such a central part to Neysa and her struggles with her identity, both as a Grisha and a person, war is bound to be a central part to her story too. For it is in war when she is forced to snatch lives, where she watches bodies fall to the ground, hatred of the evil she must look like reflected in their eyes. In order to fully explore Neysa, it is necessary to see her outside of the Little Palace, to see her march into battle, obey the orders of her commanders and pretend as if using her power doesn’t strengthen her (or cause a rush of adrenaline to throb through her body). Here, I would definitely like to explore how Neysa interacts on a battle-field, whether she secretly enjoys it, how she feels directly after a battle and explore her relationships with her fellow soldiers – all of whom will have different attitudes towards war. Neysa would like to claim to be a peacemaker, to run far far away from battle and all its crimes, but that’s impossible. War has become her constant – and in a sense, she is wrong to deny it. As long as she exists, she will be at war – for nothing and no one will release her from her servitude. She has to learn to balance the demands of war and of her ability with her conceptions of who she is, to find a way to be happy and find freedom within these constraints. Having always been a little wary of her ability (oh how she would have loved to be anything but a murderer) I would really like to see her finally come to terms with it, to embrace it as part of who she is. In this transformation, she has to address one key question – is it possible to be a murderer and someone who isn’t a monster? I would argue yes – but at the moment, Neysa would say no.

THE OTHER HALF: Neysa came into the world as half of a pair and by god – they will be leaving together too. Circumstances, whether it be their close-knit community at childhood or their forced enslavement and then recruitment into the second army, have kept them close, strengthening the bonds between them. For a long time, they have been the only one she can depend upon, the one she would die to protect, the one she would tear her own heart out to save. Now, however, with their life in the Little Palace and separate roles in the army, their lives are beginning to converge. They are no longer alone – and she’s afraid it’s going to rip them apart at the seams. Despite the love they have for each other, she’s beginning to wonder if she cannot understand Aarvas – and is deathly afraid that one day, he will be a puzzle she cannot unravel. His turn towards religion as a coping mechanism – and its imposition upon her – is something that is causing immense conflict between the pair, threatening to become a sticking point. Neysa denounces it – they embrace it – and for the life of her, she cannot understand why – which is where so much turmoil comes from. At this point, it appears their futures might be diverging – and she cannot, will not, cope with that. As well as the growing turmoil between the pair, I’d love to see Neysa’s protective instincts called upon. Her brother is the only one she will willingly kill for. Her brother is the only one she can ever truly fight for – and despite being the younger one, it is she who is most vocal about defending them. But how do you defend your brother from himself? As well as that, I think it would be really interesting for them to try and find their people/parents – and see how that changes/shifts the dynamics and where they perceive their futures.

LIGHT IN THE DARK: Given the lives she and Aarvas have led, Neysa has met relatively few Grisha compared to those taken from their families and inducted into the lifestyle at an early age. But the Grisha she has met have all been the same – a little twisted, consumed by sorrows or anger, hardly recognisable as a person at all. But Stasya forces her to question those assumptions. Stasya shows her than an alternate path is possible – that you can remain a harbinger of peace and kindness, all the while being a soldier. Stasya shows Neysa a path that she herself would like to tread – and I believe that their relationship will be fundamental to helping Neysa find a peace in herself, as well as giving her the companionship and support that she craves and needs. The moment they met was like a fresh breath of air for Neysa, or the first rays of sun after a long winter has passed. It brought her back to life. Having felt so isolated and alone after joining the second army, a new face among strangers, an oddity among those who have grown up together and a flower among thorns, Stasya was a welcome solace – someone who was brought into Neysa’s life for a purpose. And Neysa knows this. Amongst the violence and chaos, Stasya is a welcome respite, an anchor of sorts, someone she can run to when the day has been too hard or she feels too dark to be sane. They peer into each other’s souls – and don’t run from what they find. Between these two, I’d like to deepen and explore the dynamic between the pair, to watch it transform with time. I truly believe that Stasya is exactly the sort of person that Neysa needs in her life, perhaps the only one who can see her honestly and refuse to run away. They slot together perfectly, both similar and different in many complex ways. But, at the end of the day, their souls are made of the same materials – and that is what counts. I truly believe that Stasya has the potential to become someone truly special within Neysa’s life – possibly permanently – and that their connection will help bring peace to Neysa – and maybe even happiness.

EVER-CREEPING SHADOWS: He is her cautionary tale, a flashing warning, a sign that tells her to run in the opposite direction – and to run fast. He represents the darkest aspects of war, what happens when a battle goes and turns a man into a monster. Looking at him, she can see the parallels between the pair – for they have both fought and they have both lost. They began in the same place – but she will be damned if they end up side by side. It is parallel, the effect that he has on her, strengthening her resolve not to become like him, whilst tempting her to do something she doesn’t want to do exactly at the same time. He appears to want to make her like him, to go beyond redemption, to see the darkness as a single comfort, like an old friend. From the beginning, he has been cutting and cruel, exposing her weaknesses and digging in wherever he might find one. So far, she’s managed to evade his desires, to shake him off and bat him away, but he’s growing ever more persistent – and she feels herself beginning to be tempted, to just give him the destruction that he craves. There is a voice, whispering at the back of her mind, that just says – do it. For me, the dynamic between Valerian and Neysa is one of the most compelling ones – and definitely one I’m excited to explore. I just think that the connection between the pair of them is so rich – because they truly represent two sides of the same coin, two people who look more alike than Neysa would ever want them to. And yet, despite that, she isn’t his saviour – wise enough not to drown along with him. What that does is place their relationship in between kindred souls and enemies. Where Stasya is connected to one part of her (the hopeful girl with the smile like a breeze), Valerian is connected to the other part (the weapon, all molten steel). I also think it would be interesting to see what would happen if Neysa did lose control, if she squeezed her fists a little hard, if she made him bleed. I truly think an event like that would send her over the edge a little, force her to question everything – including their likeness.

WOULD YOU BE WILLING TO HAVE YOUR CHARACTER DIE?: Having seen first-hand in Diverona how character deaths tie into overarching plots and play a significant role in stakes and development of the roleplay and other characters, I’d definitely say yes. However, if possible, I’d like to be given some warning about what’s going to happen and when it’ll happen to give me some time to wrap up threads/prepare and probably apply for a different character! In terms of potential circumstances around Neysa’s death, I would definitely say that Aarvas could play a large factor. Simply put, he is the only person in this world that she would lay down her life for – not necessarily a self-sacrificing person otherwise. But he is the exception – and that could be such an interesting dynamic to watch play out. Otherwise, I could definitely see war/battle playing a large potential factor in her death. There’s such a tragedy to Neysa, what she’s endured and who she has become as a consequence – and having her die would truly cement that arc.

IN DEPTH

IN CHARACTER PARA SAMPLE(S):

Memory is a fickle mistress, a cunning witch to which homage must be paid. But where she was once kind, she is now cruel, taking pleasure in torturing her host. She dangles freedom in front Neysa’s eyes, a bitter aftertaste of how sweet it once felt. Remembering pales in comparison to experiencing – but beggars can’t be choosers – and Neysa will always pick ghosts over demons. One will break your heart, the other will break your soul. Perhaps the most unfortunate must suffer through both, leaving behind only a hollow, empty, being, a shell where life once bloomed. No. Her rebellion is a piercing protest echoing throughout her skull, strong in the face of adversity and tragedy in equal halves. She did not break her chains to find herself bound by ropes, she did not sail across the true sea to find she had left her true self a million lifetimes away, long ago. They need your permission to make you a monster. There is a choice to be had. Even now, she can detect the sharp irony behind her words. For there are no decisions to be made. Not since she was a little girl, dancing barefoot in the grass, ducking behind wagon wheels anxiously folding herself into invisibility, has she been blessed with such luxuries. They tore that from her the moment she and her twin were gagged and bound. Now, she’s been playing catch up ever since.

Brown eyes open and the world begins to flood in. On her left, lies the First Army infantry, guns raised, eyes bloodthirsty. To her right, the Grisha, greedily licking their lips, anxious to begin the advance. She belongs to neither side. She forsook her humanity, the last of it, the moment bones cracked and hearts bled at the mere twitch of her hand. But she can’t truly claim to be one of her own either – with their acceptance of war and vengeance. The middle-path is the one lesser trodden – and she walks it alone. But there’s an end in sight – left or right? Inhaling heavily, she ignores the ash heavy in the air, erasing flickering fire and overwhelming destruction and the laughter of Valerian from her mind. Instead, she turns her eyes skyward. Even among the grey, there are patches of blue and a sun, as cold as it may appear. Her eyes trace the outlines of forests, trees she might have once climbed, racing Aarvas to the top. Catch me if you can! She would have shouted, the vast canopy beckoning her into its clutches. High above the world, the band across her chest would have loosened. No soldiers can find me here. There is no one to take me away. I am safe. A child’s mind will believe such things, even in the face of impending doom. But it was easy – it was all so easy when you sleep coiled with your brother, shielded by your parents, protected by your entire people, seen as someone to be revered. Once, she had been worshipped. Now, the girl who had been taught to roam and run and smile was lost. Somewhere out there lies the life she left behind – cold fresh glacial rivers, meadows with golden flowers, clear skies where the stars shine. Somewhere, there are her people, pulling wagons as their age-old tradition demands. Her father will read dreams and her mother will dance. Perhaps, by now, her people have found someone else to call Rebe. For surely, she is not deserving. Normality continues, even when she is a world away. Somewhere, there is peace to be found.

But it sure as hell isn’t here.

The battle beckons – and somehow, she finds herself among its ranks. The girl tucked up inside the wagon (who lies inside of her, somewhere, hiding) blinks in shock and horror, begging her to leave – to run. The girl who became the woman, who buried her past deep inside of her chest, knows better than that. She knows her only choice is to face up, to twist when they tell her to and try and forget the faces screaming in horror. Later, they will plague her dreams. But at least she will still be alive. Ready to live another day. The horn sounds and creatures find themselves ready to pounce. Instinct forces her to raise her hands, to narrow her focus, ready to march towards chaos. When did my body betray my mind? But even Ares himself cannot stop her heart. To her far-right, Neysa meets her brother’s eyes, familiar, home etched across them. Even in chaos, even in despair – she has always been able to find a light inside of them, a whisper that says you are not alone. Be safe. She urges, a thought that needs no verbal manifest. They have marched into war time and time before, at each other’s side – and apart. Some conflicts don’t have two distinct sides. Some are just us against the world. Once, the only wars she had ever fought were upon their behalf – a fist raised in protection, a sharp voice ready to tear a figure to shreds. ‘Leave them alone’. Anger is ugly, but for them, she would become Medusa herself. They will find each other after the battle, soothe each other’s aches. Aarvas will press their lips to a cross – and she will pretend not to wince. Fight, the way we always have – and one day, we might be free. Do not fall, death cannot claim us, not today.

After all, she is beginning to become death.

The cry goes up – and forward they march, their enemy, the Shu, in their sights. The cage her family desperately (with all their wit and cunning) tried to protect her from bursts open. But this bird cannot fly free. Instead, she is anchored towards the earth, forced to march forward. The songbird is becoming a raven – and she is powerless to stop the transformation. A soldier, an enemy marked by his colours, comes towards her, sword raised. He can see his condemnation in his eyes, the vulgar hatred in which he charges. He despises me. Perhaps he is right to. They call Grisha abominations, a demon plague upon the earth. Given what she is about to do, she can hardly deny that charge. I do not do this willingly. But would that even matter? And, more importantly, is it even true? For as much as every atom of her body screams that this is wrong, immoral and a betrayal, there is another that collides, that whispers how strong she will feel and that perhaps, in the end, this was inevitable anyway. Neysa is the figure trapped in the space in-between, tearing herself to shreds. A black cuffed kefta (appropriate, she always thought, for their sentencing) arm raises and her fist closes. He hesitates in his stride, choking. Inside, his heart begins to crumble, its circulation cut off. In a minute he will be dead, a light snuffed out in this world. We shall see each other again – in the dead of night, when you return to remind me of my sins. She does not wish this fate upon him – but swings the sword anyway. When does a survivor become traitor? She wonders, searching for answers deep within herself. (She’s afraid of what the shadows might whisper back). It is perhaps a question she does not want answered. She hesitates, wondering if she should speak, but brushes the notion aside. There would be too many words, not enough time.

He lies motionless at her feet, the life snuffed out from inside of him. But she can’t hesitate for long, nor can she force herself to remember every intimate detail as a penance for her sins. For every soldier that charges forward, there is another to take his place. The line is long – and it is a fate without ending. “Screw you bloodletter.” A voice to her right carries the hiss of an otkazat’sya, his eyes filled with a mixture of hatred and fear. You should be afraid, she thinks, hanging her head in a sort of grief. I, too, am afraid of what I might become. What I have become. But the name sparks something else inside of her – a dark sadness twisting at her own heart. That was what the masters called her, the moment they stripped her of Neysa, her identity as the spirited free child who could run as fast as the wind. They replaced it instead with a commodity, a weapon to be bought and traded, a lethal gun taken intimately into their homes. It was a name she thought she had left behind, long ago, as a ship cut through the waves and she entangled her arms with that of her twins, praying that they were finally safe. You are nothing but a possession – the slavers had whispered. She never believed them. But here and now, facing down a green-boy still wet behind the ears, she begins to. Her fists clench and she chokes the air from his lungs. He drops to his knees – and then collapses, nothing more than a memory in someone’s mind.

In his steel, discarded in mud, she catches her reflection. A face, dirtied by combat, twisted in anger and sorrow. It wears the mask of a girl, but underneath, something ugly begins to emerge. She’s afraid that one day, it will be in reverse – and that the monster will replace the girl. Looking down, she begins to wonder, am I even human anymore? Was I ever human in the first place? Or are the lines so finely cut? She can feel her bones cracking, changing, morphing into monstrosities. Where she once had wings, a falcon to roam the skies, she now has the claws of a wolf – good for only one thing. The hunted has become the hunter – and given time, even prey can become the very thing that was stalking it long into the night. “I didn’t want this.” Neysa whispers, her words heard only by the wind. But it doesn’t matter. It never mattered. Destiny has a tendency to cut you to shreds, then watch as you are forced to rebuild the pieces. Nothing ever looks the same. But she never expected it to look this brutal. It’s a betrayal. And truly, is there one any stronger than stabbing oneself in the back?

There is no time to ponder. There is no time to think. There is only what you can and what you must do. Unnervingly steady, she steps across his fallen body into the heat of battle. The girl inside shrinks – and the monster flexes itself muscles. Once, she would have asked who they were. Now, she’s wiser than that. It’s me. It is I. We are one and the same, sharing this body. But there isn’t room for us both.

CHARACTER HEADCANONS:

THE ORDER OF THE LIVING AND THE DEAD: Corporalki, heartrender, healer – these were all foreign words to Neysa’s ears as she matured. To her, there was only the power that flowed from her fingertips, which defied definition and classification. There was only what she could achieve – stealing a man’s vitality, twisting an enemies organs, patching up a wound – and only what she was afraid to do, which, namely, was all of it. Kept hidden, made ignorant by her lack of education away from the Little Palace, Neysa never learnt the divisions within the corpoalki, or that once upon a time, she might have chosen mender over murderer – to heal instead of slay. It was her first captor who sold her as a bloodletter, for a firearmsold better (she would only learn the official name from a fellow grisha captive later, who filled in the missing blanks that word of mouth had failed to provide). It was he who sentenced Neysa to a lifetime of savage murder. From that moment on, her natural inclination towards manipulation of internal organs for purposes of conflict was amplified – and she ceased to be, or even have the potential to be, anything else. In the years that have followed, with her fingertips growing ever more stained, her heart weary at the cost of war, she’s developed an envious attitude towards the healers, those with gifts that mirror her own, but are called up to repair the atrocities of war, not create more chaos. She perceives them to be the lucky ones, those spared from darkness. Neysa longs to trace her footsteps back, to fight for the right to rebuild the human body instead of destroy it. It’s not healthy, to dwell on what could have been – but she can’t help herself all the same.

THE WAKING DEAD: It is at the height of the witching hour that Neysa pays the price for her sins. Weary limbs, savaged by war might call for the bliss of sleep, but even the furthest crevices of her mind knows that rest has its own toll to pay. For it is when she is at her most vulnerable, when her guard is down, that the demons rooted in her soul come out to torment her. Black orbs become her victims, death carved out across their faces. This is your fault – they scream, unforgiving in their terror. And then, a little softer – why did you do this to me? If she’s lucky, she will wake up then – covered in a layer of cold sweat, fingers reaching for the comfort of an individual who is two rooms away. Most of the time, she isn’t so fortunate. Most of the time, she’s swarmed, nails scratching at her skin, torn in a thousand directions, pulled apart – stitch by stitch. They gag and bind her – hands secured in chains. You deserve this, they hiss, dragging her to the man she once calledMaster. Monsters must have their cages. She screams for forgiveness, she begs for their mercy – but there is none to be had. It is only then, on the cusp of desperation, that she wakes up – heart panicked, breaking from her chest. Night by night, her torment continues, Neysa too ashamed, too proud and too scared to ask for aid. Deep down, she wonders if these nightmares are her penance for all her sins, the agony she must bear in repayment for her deeds. Perhaps they are – and perhaps she should endure them. With time have come coping mechanisms. Now, Neysa sleeps closest to the door, pads out into seclusion most nights, only to sneak in before dawn roll-call.

WATER-DANCER: You wouldn’t think it, to lay your eyes upon the girl with imposed stiffness, more mechanics than flesh, whose smile seems too heavy to fly, but once, Neysa was a dancer. She didn’t dance in the same way that human courtiers might, with stiff backs and strict choreography, with pink ruffled tutus and point slippers. No, when Neysa danced, she took nature as her partner – the elements of earth flowing through her bones. Being a member of the Suli meant induction into the life of a carnival, of entertainment instead of agriculture, a talent rather than a trade. Some turned to innocent tricks, others to tea leaves that could trace the future. Her father walked among dreams, making meaning from their chaos – and inducted his daughter in the same traditions. But even whilst under his tuition, from the moment she could walk, Neysa found herself pulled towards the example of her mother – in learning to dance. Afraid of the power that pulsed beneath the surface, she strayed away from the supernatural – towards simplistic beauty. If there was a choice to be made between conscription in the second army or light-padded footsteps for an eternity, then there was truly no choice to be made. Dancing was the only time she ever felt truly free, in tandem with her mother, in a union with the steady drum beats. After her capture, she stopped dancing. Her captors did not deserve that pleasure. And truly, how could you dance if you were not free? It would have felt false. It would have been a lie. And Neysa had been raised to be honest. Even now, although her hands are technically unchained and her footsteps are free, she cannot bring herself to embrace that part of her life, those memories that continue to haunt her, or the ghost of her mother at her side. One day, perhaps, she will dance again – but that day is not today.

TIGHTENED CHAINS: There is perhaps no greater tragedy than losing oneself. It’s an affliction that Neysa knows well – but one that predates her induction into the Second Army. She can trace its origins – all the way back to the day she and Aarvas were captured, two children quickly forced to see the world as adults do – and to adjust accordingly. To go from freedom to servitude, happiness to sorrow, hope to loss – it’s a trial that weighs heavily upon anyone’s shoulders, let alone those so young. From the very beginning, the first time Neysa felt the spark of power and knew she was different, she has been afraid of what she was – and slavery taught her that her judgement was justified. The things they made her do were unspeakable, the tales of her treatment dying on her lips each time she tries to express them, a grief that cannot be spoken. Sold to the leader of a local gang, his eyes wide with greed, she was forced to wear the mask of a demon. Under her master, her abilities were exploited to their fullest potential – becoming little more than a living gun in the name of greed. But the worst of it came the day her master’s son – her future owner - lay still on the ground – and she, in combination with a squaller in their service, was forced to resurrect him, to give back life to her oppressor. Out of all the memories – out of insults and jeers, out of spit thrown in her direction, out of years of oppression - that is the one that haunts her most, in knowing that even death wouldn’t be enough to free her. And whilst she always obeyed their orders, it was never enough to stop the crack of a whip on her back – or worse, Aarvas’s – ribbons of red streaking their skin. She had arrived in Ketterdam with her head held high, determined to embody iron, but when she left, she felt little more than porcelain. Having seen the worst of the world, how as a Grisha, home was rarely found, she did what she swore she would never do – and enrolled in the service of the Second Army, believing that it couldn’t be any worse than what she had already endured, that perhaps a small slice of freedom could be found. She was wrong. Years might have passed, but Neysa still feels like the small girl surrendered like cattle at an auction, something to be owned. Her hands might be unbound, but there is little freedom to be found – and the scars of slavery do not fade so easily. It’s a bitter pill to swallow – but this is not medicine that was designed to heal.

BLASPHEMOUS SAINT: There was once a young girl who turned her cheek towards the stars and whispered their prayers. That same girl had believed that you could find the saints in the stars and that as they twinkled, they were watching down on you. She had implored upon the saints to protect her family, to shield a pair of twins from being found and that the song she sang would never bring the downfall of another. Keep us safe, that is all I ask. Saint-like in herself, Neysa had believed reverently in her words, acutely aware of the religious society she had been born within. That girl had her devotion shattered the moment she was stolen away, when she became something to be owned. Hope, however, is a tricky bastard. In the early days of her captivity, Neysa had continued to invoke the power of the saints, to beg them for an escape, a way for freedom. The saints had abandoned that girl – and thus, in return, she abandoned religion. By the time the girl became a woman grown, Neysa had learnt that Saints were little more than folk stories – both works of fiction. She would never place her faith in them again. Thus, whilst one half turned away from religion, swore herself off it and declared it to be false, the other half turned towards it, embracing the benevolent power of the saints as an anchor. Neysa can only shake her head at Aarvas and their sheer blindness. She tried placing her faith in saints once before – and was rewarded with only one gift. That she herself had to be the pinnacle of change. That only she could save herself. And that there was no point praying – for no one was listening.

UNREFINED POTENTIAL: For many, power is a subjective thing, defying definition. And yet, the one thing that everyone can agree upon, is that it radiates and courses through Neysa’s veins. Despite a lack of formal education and instruction, despite Neysa only having the vaguest idea of what thissness and thatness was, there was something untapped inside of her – potential waiting to be drawn out. It is for that reason that the Second Army sent her straight to the small palace, instead of keeping her among the ranks, down on the frontline. They wanted her stronger, well-formed, lethal. And, despite their obvious intentions, Neysa has never been more grateful for anything in her life, seeking the temporary respite and peace that Os Atla would provide. Away from the stench and mark of death, Neysa hopes to find an understanding – happily delving into books and language classes, fingers tracing the knowledge that always escaped her within its pages. Fluent in Suli and Kerch, she’s added Shu and Fjerdan to her list, finding a temporary respite in those classes, where it’s easy to simply imagine yourself at an ordinary school. The one thing she despises about the Little Palace’s education doctrine is that it is moulding her into a soldier. Strategy is at the forefront of everything they do – and in that aspect, war is never far away. They intend to shape her beyond her mould, to tear her away from the child she once was. More than anything else, she dreads the combat classes. Her abilities already mark her as a weapon, but now they intend to force her to fight with her fists too. A peacemaker at the corner of her soul, she was not born for combat. Her heart is never in her performance – and she often finds herself as the weakest of the pack, a shadow compared to those bloodthirsty Grisha who wish for nothing more than the pounding of flesh. And yet, each day she returns, hoping that she will revile the prospect the same way she did before – praying that they will never impose permanent change upon her psyche.

EXTRAS:

Mockblog: X

Personality Analysis: X

ANYTHING ELSE? My favourite book is The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood. Also, I just wanted to add that Neysa is my first choice and Katya is my second!

#accepted: neysa #raraccepted

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