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Serei "Sev" Vaelt

A sightless assassin, quiet and withdrawn.

0 · 306 views · located in Cre' Est

a character in “Assassin's Pledge: War of Attrition”, as played by Kaede021

Description

Birth Name: Serei Vaelt
Character Alias: "Sev"

Appearance: Image

A thin, well proportioned girl, Sev is picturesquely beautiful, though she herself can't admire it. With striking blue eyes, a lovely face, luscious hair, and a petite nose, she would attract many men--if she met many. She prefers to wear little to no clothing, masking what she has to for societies sake, and has dotted her body with a number of intricate tattoos, all designed by her. She Tends to wear thin, brown leather and a plethora of belts, in which she keeps various things.
Home Nation: Shaharan
Current Location/Residence: Traveling
Age: 22
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 125 Lbs.
Hair Color: Blonde
Eye Color: Light Blue (Blind)
Complexion: Fair
! Body Type: Sev is very thin, and very agile. With a light, dexterous body, she maneuvers with nigh unparalleled speed and grace.
Blood Type: O+
! Fighting Style: Sev's style, as her victims would attest--were they alive--is that of a distinctive bird-like grace; weaving and soft, but calculated and deadly. Incorporating acrobatics into her less-than-conventional sword skills, her attacks are a myriad of feints and dodges, similar to a dance, that elegantly tears through her opponents defenses. What's truly entrancing though is that she does all of this without the use of sight, using her other overly keen senses in placing and predicting enemy attacks.

Adaptability Ratio**: 9/10
!! Personality: Quiet and withdrawn, Sev prefers nature's hum to city noise and action to words. Her people skills are fairly rudimentary and she is put off by the shuffling and murmurs of crowds. Rather, she enjoys the music of old stairs, the crackle of ice, and the smell of dust; all of which remind her of her child hood spent with her grandfather in the small mountain town in which she was born. However, her emotions have been deadened by her training, and so she acts as only a shade of what she once was.
Quirks: Sev's body is a tapestry for various tattoo's even though she lacks the sight to appreciate them. To her, they represent the perpetual presence of art, even when there is no one to see it, much like an assassin in the shadows.
! Likes: The sound of water, the feeling of grass between her toes, the cold kiss of rain, painting.
! Dislikes: Clothes, Fire, Books.
!! Special Talents/Skills: Despite her handicap, Sev is an accomplished painter, often crafting beautiful scrolls that she keeps in her humble home. Her style is a mystery, as she does all of her work in secret, preferring the welcome embrace of ambiguity in comparison to the hectic notoriety of the art world.
Weapon/s of Choice: Sev utilizes two weapons: Her Claw-Blade and her short sword. Naturally ambidextrous, she wields her Claws in her right hand and her sword in her left, birthing an unlikely harmony that allows her to fight in a unique, iconoclastic style that few to none could replicate.
Weapon/s of Last Resort: Her appearance of innocence. It's difficult for many to believe that a small blind girl could be an experienced killer, which she often plays to her advantage.
! Weapons you avoid: Anything that would require both hands; they're too slow and clumsy.
!! Weapon/Training History (If applicable): Though she practiced the basics with her grandfather, a sword-master, as a child, most of her skills stem from her uncanny senses and ability to visualize past the point of normal sight. As of the start her assassin career and training, her abilities have expanded and honed from pure instinct to meditated skill, though she still uses both in tandem.

Biography: Those born without sight are granted a cruel fate in Shaharan, the harsh region to the northeast of Cre' Est. Often dismissed as worthless, even cursed, those who suffer from blindness are often left in the high mountains or burning hot desert at a young age, in hopes of a quick, painless death by predators. Serei was left at the tender age of 4 when, out of necessity, her parents left her to wander in the hills, unable to care for the sightless child. After several days of fumbling over rocks, torn and battered, she was happened upon by an old sword-master, whom took pity on the poor, starving blind child and prepared to cut her down. He was dumbstruck when he saw that the little girl had sidestepped his attack, diving behind a nearby rock for cover, tearing streaming from her dead eyes. Seeing potential in the child, he decided to take her to his home and raise her as his own.

Though cautious towards her would-be-killer, she grew to care for him as he trained her in various sword skills and conventional skills such as artistry and arithmetic. He was again surprised to find that she had a preternatural, surprising knack for painting, and an above average aptitude for learning. Knowing that she would never marry well, he decided it best to guide her in what she was apt in, rather than in the social graces and etiquette that would be befitting a young, marriage worthy woman. He also kept her from doing much manual labor, as he felt that it would only act as a deterrent and hindrance in her upbringing. It was an idyllic life, and she was happy.

However, though she enjoyed her education and had grown to love her grandfather, all good things have to come to an end. At the tender age of 16, her grandfather passed away in his sleep, leaving Serei alone once again. For months she stayed in her grandfathers home, following a strict routine and making sure she could support herself, and when it came time to repossess the home, she, out of fear, locked the doors and grabbed her grandfather's blade. The men, treating her as a joke, broke down the doors, laughing cruelly as they began to take her things and watch her fumble about, the home quickly becoming unfamiliar. Tipped over the edge, Serei snapped and slaughtered the men, cutting though them like ribbons, leaving their blood splattered on the walls.

Days after the murders, local officials arrived at her home and stole her away in the dead of night, ready to try and prosecute the young killer. She offered no resistance as they took her to the local lord, who sentenced her to death, which she could only accept. However, as un-luck would have it, a Cre' Est adviser to the court offered a different option, in which he would take her back to the capital and have her trained in warfare. Unwilling to jeopardize their relations with Cre' Est, they obliged and she was whisked away, the prologue to her life as an assassin.

She only possesses vague memories of those years of assassin training, but no longer cares much for them. The calm, happy girl who loved her grandfather had died, and so a killer was born. Forgetting her name and forgoing her identity, she emerged as 7, or Sev. Now a skillful assassin, she can wade through the world of sight without problem, using her training and natural skills as her surrogate eyes. After being released from the secret government sect in which she was "born", she prepares to do the bidding of her organization, Nine, and hunt whoever stands in their way, no matter the cost.


Pic credit goes to tekkoontan on deviant art, a seemingly wonderfully talented individual.

So begins...

Serei "Sev" Vaelt's Story

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-Titerus Mountains, Shaharan-

The pass was frigid; the cold air and flakes hugging her warm, bundled figure, vainly attempting to steal her carefully preserved heat.

...not that the icy siege was particularily strange or even unwelcome, especially at this time of year; the dead of winter, temporal mecca for snow and rain. She enjoyed the cold, moreso than the heat at least, as it was all she had really knew, and one of very few things she enjoyed. It was truly for the sake of timeliness that she wore her furs rather than travel in her normal attire, as "lewd" as it apparently was...whatever that meant.  She preferred what was comfortable and flexible, leaving aesthetics to the "discerning" eyes of others. She supposed that those who didn't know her might call her an exhibionist, but she couldn't help it.

She was blind, after all. 

But being blind didn't mean that she was blind to everyday fact. A cold body moves slower, that much was evident, and so with slight regret she forcibly trudged onwards, the furs protecting her frame from the elements that gnawed at her flesh. 

"You alright back there?"

The familiar voice was also warm, though she had to admit that her contempt was much more selective. Many of her coherts operated alone when they could, social inepitudes as common as murder among killers, but Tighe was an anomaly of sorts. Casting aside the archetypical "lone wolf" personality, Eight or "Tighe", as he pestered, worked with her on nearly every assignment, serving as her guide throughout her missions, many of the nuances of travel being impossible for those who didn't possess sight.  He was her keeper, in an odd sort of way, and she could only be grateful for it.

"I'm fine."

She wasn't much for words, at least not in the typical, verbal sense. Having not been big on books for obvious reasons, she didn't often exercise her eloquence, preferring to let actions speak for her. Tighe, though was a much different story; a gentlemen of perfected grace, able to navigate through the maze of the social trivialities in a fashion similar to his captaining of the mountain pass they were currently trudging through. 

"Well, that's lovely to hear!" he joked, his voice echoing slightly "I would've thought you were dead, how quiet you were."

"No such luck."

She joked a little with him, knowing that he must be bored out of his mind. It was a long trek after all, and though they were nearing the end, they still had to traverse the last, dangerous portion of the mountain before they arrived in the village where her target was. It was a long shelf of the bitter-cold mountain, and the bane of many who were unprepared. In fact, few actually went this way, more likely to sacrifice time in order to take the safer, roundabout route, unwilling to risk their lives for the sake of punctuality. 

But assassins lacked such leisure.

The path became narrower as the village below came into sight...or so said Tighe. She could only trust him with such information; she had no other choice. She believed him, sure, but only in the way that an assassin could. Good speakers made for good liars, though she doubted that he'd lie about something so simplistic as that. 

"Want to hear a story?" He asked, his bright voice piercing the air around her like a bird's cry atop it's perch. 

"Not really."

He let out a laugh and then gripped her hand "Careful there, it's narrow." 

"I'll be fine. I can sense where the ledge is."

"I don't doubt it, but nonetheless..." his voice trailed off as he laughed again, his hot hand gripping a little tighter. "Are you sure though?"

"About the story? Yes."

"Let me just tell it to you, if only for my sake, ok?" 

She knew that he wouldn't let up, and so she didn't reply, waiting for him to start. And surely enough...

"Back awhile ago, there was a a bunch of baby birdies, hawks to be exact, that lived in their nest with their mother." He paused for a second, as if to let it sink in, and then continued. "They were all very healthy birds, happy and ready to fly...all except for one."

The wind picked up as he pulled her to him quickly, seemingly protecting her, though she didn't need it. 

"I'm fine, let go."

She tried to push away but he was steadfast. He continued, despite he efforts to push him away. "That little birdy couldn't fly, and quickly became trouble for all the rest. She got more food because she couldn't feed herself, and made her siblings look after her." 

She tried to push away again, her blood flowing quickly as worrt coursed through her veins. Despite being strong, he was stronger, and intention began to seep in through her pores, carried through the stories miasma. 

"..and so one day..." he began cheerfully "...they all decided something." She reached for her blade, the worry, like a venom, reaching her heart. 

But it was too late. 

"They decided that it would be easier if she was gone."

She felt him release her as she fell backwards, no ground behind her to land on.

"...and so she fell from
the nest."

She grasped wildly at where she thought the edge was, but the ice proved it's treachery, and why no one took this pass. She could only hear his voice, over everything else.

"...and they all lived happily."

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-10 Days Earlier-

"--his head on a platter! The damned miser!"

The room grew quieter as Two's voice descended into a whisper, his menacing tone hanging in the air like smog. She couldn't see him, but she could smell him; sweat oozing from his pores like vinegar from a broken barrel. It wasn't pleasant, especially for someone with senses like hers.

"I don't care--" He began, his voice trembling "--what it takes! Find the bastard and KILL HIM!"

Who "He" was, she didn't know, despite being as stricken as the other members convened in the small room. He had the presence of a psychopath, though that fact hardly surprised her; He was one. "Wrench his guts out and strangle him with 'em!" His words were hardly coherent anymore, devolving into a slur of mumblings and threats. "Kill...Damn...gonna get it...for sure..." His eyes were wild and burning. How he managed to kill anyone without getting arrested for misconduct along the way was beyond her.

"HE'S DEAD!--" He yelled, interrupting her thoughts "--GOT IT!?" He shot an angry obscenity at no-one in particular and then left, his heavy cloak trailing in his wake. "--DAMNED BASTARD!" His scream spawned from the hall, leaving the assassins remaining in an awkward, restless silence.

The next few moments were hesitant ones, no one daring to leave, few tempting to breathe. He was a peculiar man to be around, and even more so when he was angry, much to the other killers chagrin. Finally, after a minute or so of the torpor, Three stood and left slowly, with the rest following in halted succession. Quickly it became her turn, and so she followed the quiet steps Six out the door, only to have a hand lightly grasp her shoulder. His voice was melodic, sing songish, and social.

"Are you alright?" Tighe asked calmly, giving a slight squeeze of comfort. She didn't feel particularly perturbed by the rantings, but she was glad that anyone was willing to acknowledge his craziness, if even indirectly. It was taboo to speak ill of those within the 3, especially when concerning a potential assignment. A pride thing, she supposed. "I'm fine." She replied quietly, her voice but a whisper.

"Are you sure? Things can get a bit...heated sometimes, you know? I can understand why it might be difficult." He paused momentarily, and then continued. "Well, you should be fine." He said happily, reassurances flowing. "You have enough natural talent, you're sure to move past such things eventually You‘re a Prime after all. "

She gave him a slight tilt of her head and then left, her silent stride carrying her far away from the small room. She was indeed an elite among elites, if only for her uncanny, nigh-unparalleled precognition; an apparently rare trait for the visually impaired, but she didn’t feel so special. The sounds and smells of the world revealed much more than she supposed eyes could ever manage. It wasn’t that strange, was it?

Was she that strange?

-4 Days Earlier-

The room went quiet as Four entered the room…not that it was especially loud in the first place. Ignoring Tighe’s constant banter with anyone who would respond (Like many did), few of the assassins preferred social trivialities; it wasn’t in their nature. Taking advantage of the usual silence, he cleared his throat and leaned against the wall with a slight thud.

“Our next target is a special one. Personal, I might say.”

His voice was calm, as normal, but slightly off. It almost sounded…angry?

"His name is Evan Raske, though most of us know him better as "Seven""

She was quiet as she listened to Four's casual debriefing, his low voice carrying words of relative surprise. She had never brought up the previous member that had filled her spot. Considering the dark, murderous mumbles that echoed through the room, she was glad that she hadn't inquired.

“He is a stain: a bad memory and one we must erase.”

His voice shifted, the tempered fury morphing into something new and passionate.

"--and we can think of no-one better to “erase” Seven than--" She knew what he'd say next, if only for the fact that she knew the workings of a killers mind intimately. "--Seven."

How oddly fitting and pleasurably ironic.

"An assassin who erases the vestiges of failure and shame, yet personally dawns an era of success and terror. I can only wait for your return with pleasure, Prime.

She gave a slight affirmative and stood up, her sightless eyes focused forward, looking towards the future. She supposed that Eigh-Tighe was coming as well.

“I’ll meet you outside; we leave tonight.”

He let out a slight chuckle, concealing something else. Was it her imagination, or did it sound different from his usual, amiable laugh.

“’Course Sev.”

-Present Day-

If this was death, than she was probably in Hell.

She had known pain all too well throughout her life, emotional and physical, but it couldn’t even hope to measure up to the agony she was in now. Her head throbbed and her eyes burned; her muscles ached and her insides felt torn. She was an absolute physical wreck, but none of this quite bothered; it was something else.

It was unbelievably hot.

She rolled over carefully, fighting through the pain in her body, pushing off the mountain of blankets that engulfed her. With much misery, she let them slide to the floor slowly, her lungs weakly gasping for breath, praying for respite. Every breath she took was warm and disgusting, inspiring more worry than her body’s weakened state. She could of thrown up, but she felt that she didn’t have much to expel.

“I see you’re awake.”

In an instant she was on her feet, her body faced defensively towards the direction of the voice. Was she stupid? She was in an unfamiliar environment with no memory as to how she got there and no weapon to fill in for the lack of awareness. The voice sounded male, though she couldn’t place it. How did he get in without making noise? Or rather, how did he remain in the room long enough without making a peep?

“…you seem to be OK.” He said warily, though he didn’t sound worried. “What’s your name?”

Anger coursed through her, possessing her senses.

“Me? Who the hell are you?!? Where the hell am I?! What the hell happened?!?”
His reply was calm. Calmer than it should have been. “Well…” He started slowly, as if he were composing his thoughts. “You fell from the cliff, I’ll start with that.” He guffawed, obviously amused. “Tough girl, you are.”

Her patience was wearing thin, which he promptly noticed.

“Easy now…you’re in Rockwood, a small town up north…And my name?”

Her eyes widened as the utterance left his lips.

“--It’s Evan, Evan Raske.”

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Ironically, irony couldn't begin to describe the situation she was now in.

"--Evan Raske."

They say that it's harder to surprise the blind, and often they wouldn't be wrong. When you can't see what's ahead physically, the world becomes clearer mentally. Sev couldn't count the number of times she had been truly surprised on one hand, (though granted, she couldn't SEE her hands) but she was certainly surprised now, for whatever that was worth.

"You..." He started, the soft sound of steps following his voice as he approached her "...look like you've seen a ghost."

The next few seconds were some of the longest in her life. Tracing his voice to a position roughly three feet away, she swung a high kick towards what would be his face, the reach being approximately just enough to make contact with his temple. Surely enough, her kick landed hard as her foot made contact with soft flesh.

Soft?

In the next instant she felt what she thought was the persons head grasp her foot and twist, sending her straight to the ground. Retaliating instantly, she let herself fall, hitting the floor with her hand and using it as a balance, sending off another powerful kick, this time aimed at his legs. Hitting the bone hard, she swept him, his grip loosening as she pushed herself away with her hands, quickly regaining her posture. Was this all?

But she noticed something peculiar; the room was completely silent. Could he be knocked out? From a leg shot? As she pondered, her train of thought was interrupted, the smashing pain of a strike to her kidney phasing them out. She let out a cry.

"What the hell--" Before she could finish her sentence, she was alerted to the swish of a kick similar to her first. Ducking awkwardly, she let out another cry as the pain in her side increased tenfold and she fell back, grasping the edge of the bed to prevent her fall. She heard a slight chuckle.

"Hardly the worst I've seen, considering my skill and your...disability." he let out a hearty laugh and then continued casually " I really must ask before I kill you, but who are you?" confidence echoed in his voice, despite the unknown. He was an assassin for sure, only assassins could be so confident in their abilities. "Did they send you?" He asked with assurance. "Took them long enough; I've been ruffling their feathers for years." He took a slight step forward, an inquisitive tone overcoming the calm of earlier. "But I guess it doesn't matter too much. I should be happy right? I can be happy now, right?" The intuitiveness was stained with a hint of madness, not so uncommon for those of her trade. HE laughed again, this time a wicked undertone hanging afterwords. " So how 'bout it girl? What's your name?"

She didn't answer, but whispered quietly to herself, her eyes fixated on the floor, glaring at nothing.

"What was that?" He asked, taking a step closer, his eyes widening.

"Yo-" She coughed "--umm"

"What?" He repeated, drawing his face in close.

She smiled slyly. "You're--" The smile widened, her lips forming the words with slight exaggeration "--assuming." Supposed amusement assuredly morphed into horror as she drove her knee into the mans bony face, grabbing his neck with her hand and squeezing in a fluid, simultaneous movement. The image of his eyes bulging popped into her head as she drove her fist into his nose, a sprinkle of blood glazing her cheek and glancing her lip. She licked it.

"You're assuming." She drove her fist into his face yet again, a squishy plop sounded as her knuckle made contact with his eye socket. "You're assuming--" Another hard punch, the contact vibrating "--You're cocky--" She brought her fist down on top of his head, the crackling of her hand audible as the bones jolted. "--You're arrogant and conceited and contemptuous!" She let him fall back, the man weakly letting out a grunt as he made contact with the floor, the smell of blood now a torrent to her senses. It was gross, really. "But that's not all, don't ya know?" She pushed herself to her feet, driving her foot into the mans abdomen as he groaned. "Do you really? Do you really want to know?" The smile shifted, a look of disgust taking it's place.

"You're..."

Her voice fell to a whisper.

"...Dead."