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Kaisla Tellervo

"Acrid.. iron.. warm.. thirsty..."

0 · 398 views · located in Baekoth

a character in “Revolution of the Heretical”, as played by MyEyesAreBlack


"Everyone.. sick trees.. rotten pulp inside. Cut them down!"


A slender thing, all dark and dreary. Her countenance disheveled and grim, like a portent of wicked things long hidden just itching to make themselves known again. Yet there is a subtlety to her, this odd little threat. She's not quite a daemon, certainly not a moppet. She needs not her wit and guile to take those who can not truly see by surprise. Nevertheless, she is not necessarily easily recognizable as a witch by most. Going on her looks alone, there is little to suggest that she is nothing more than a simple commoner. So perhaps she isn't wholly as children might believe or have been told- as obvious at the stereotypical wart that she lacks on her nose- no, she's quite worse. It may be because underneath the grime, rags and swampy dregs there rests a girl not much unlike any other. She is homely, neither an astounding beauty by any means nor unattractive. The thick, ratty sable thing of cloth she calls a dress is just as.. unusual as the rest of her: near enough to make her familiar, but off only so far as the point that engenders unease.

Her fingers are long and thin- proportionate to her size- good for delicate tasks and affording her a sort of elegance amidst the improperness of her presentation. Her hands never ball into fists, always hanging open. She does not cross her arms, leaving them- at any point not in use- limp at her sides. You would think she shambles like a zombie, with how little her body speaks. Her eyes are never narrowed, not even when the sun is bright or anger burns in her chest and scrapes madly at her throat. When she is overcome by rage you will know it first by how her eyes widen, opening even further and granting her the air of a madwoman caught up in a psychotic episode.

She walks like a snake might slither: fluid and quick, even when she's paced her steps. Odd, as she seems so rigid in her carriage, yet there is an unmistakable grace and poise in her trod. She is without shoes, her soles bare and calloused from abuse. Her movements are quiet and careful, as she has practiced to make little noise as she glides across the ground. However, when she hunts she becomes an alligator. Patient, still and silent as the dead of night she waits and watches, cold and attentive. Solid as a statue 'til swiftly she springs, unleashing her assault with staggering suddenness and unrepentant fervor.

I suppose it could best be said that nothing about her is ever emphatic, but rather persistently muted. At least until her calm is shattered, then the feral animal becomes far more than just a hint.

Hair: Long and black as pitch; dirty, unkempt and hanging where it falls in tangled strands and thick knots. Looks as though it's never seen the attention of a brush or comb. Or even really a bath, for that matter, almost like a mop that's seen plenty of use but never been washed.
Eyes: A dull, sulfuric yellow. They seem to devour light rather than reflect it, having no sheen to their surfaces to speak of.
Build: Very thin, almost to the point of looking unhealthy- not gaunt. One might easily classify her as frail.
Skin Tone: Pale, but not deathly so. She obviously has not seen a generous share of sunlight in her time, but she hardly stands out because of her pallor - no, she has other things to help with that.
Height: 5'6''
Weight: 110 lbs
Voice: Low as a whisper, soft like down, and with a scratching as subtle as a rat digging through a wooden panel in the bitter watches of the night. Never loud, ever dark.
Handed: Left
Body Markings: Nothing standout.
Scar Tissue: There are a few small scars worn into into her skin from being repeatedly cut. One straight across her right palm, and all of her fingertips bear signs of pricking. The backs of her wrists are marred by narrow strips of red, as if the flesh had been burned. If placed together, the lines appear to marry perfectly. There are vicious scars across her back, the wounds appearing badly healed, though they were likely much worse, once.
Unique Body Features: Her yellowed eyes.

Kaisla Orvokki Tellervo




Visual Age

Factual Age


Sexual Orientation

Mage Ranking
  • Azanthiel, the Gifted: For as long as she has been alive, Kaisla has felt like her body was not entirely hers to own. There was an ever-present force that crawled through her bones, empowered her muscles, and warmed her blood. It whispered to her, pleaded to be unleashed. Though she now seeks to tap into this awful strength's depths, she is somewhat fearful. For her magic does not feel entirely under her control. It is almost as if.. it wants to be used; to be freed.



"Ha-ave you ever listened? To blood? Whispers.. trickles of thoughts.. fears.. we feel. No sweeter insight.. into the hearts of the dead."

To say Kaisla is mad is to entirely misinterpret her mind. Yes, it is a webwork of twisted thoughts and labyrinthine passages of dark corridors where the floors are slick with blood and iron fills the air. Her speech is off kilter and unsettling when she does not mind who hears her, or more importantly what she has to talk of. Her words are often broken by short pauses, each morsel of words carefully weighed and considered before being allowed to leave, yet they hardly sound as from a natural mind. Yes, that is a better way of saying it. Mad? Goodness, no! Abnormal? Yes, absolutely. Her perception is unaffected, it is merely the state of her faculties that are warped. Sometimes it can be gathered she intends to upset her audience, enjoying their horror, at others it appears entirely inadvertent. Of course, she never shows any form of remorse about upsetting someone. The disjointed way she acts may cause feelings of anxiety in certain individuals, who sometimes feel they are not speaking to a being that is truly human but only a mockery or aberration - even without a glamour.

She feels no compassion, no sense of honor or loyalty. Concepts like bravery, cowardice, mercy and respect are empty, serving purely as means to achieve her ends. If it will sustain her life, then she will act. If it will empower her, then she will act. This is all that matters to her when the chips are down: survival and gain. She judges all things by their value, not their moral merit. The length she will go to accomplish these goals are great, and make no mistake: People will be hurt along the way, and many will surely die. She is wicked, predatory and opportunistic with all the savagery of an apex predator, but with the cunning and wit of a human. Creeds and promises have their purposes, and once those are spent they will be cast off- the same goes for people. Allies are dispensable as soon as their services are no longer required.

The blood she sheds along this path is not what drives her, but it certainly makes it more entertaining. She very much derives pleasure from the pain inflicted on others, but bodily harm can only go so far and loses its sweetness after a time. Mental anguish is another flavor, and she has found its piquancy to be all the more satisfying and prolonged. Those who know her, and this is a hard thing to do, have expressed surprise at just how well she can hide the two forms of behavior. One moment she will seem mostly harmless, and the other she is digging out a man's throat with her fingers and gathering the blood for later use. There are also, on occasion, moments where she truly does give the impression of losing her mind. She will shrink into herself and begin murmuring incoherently, eyes either fixed or wandering aimlessly. They typically pass as soon as they arrive, and she shows no signs of remembering- or at least caring about- them.

Is Kaisla, daughter of Tellervo, a monster? Without the slightest doubt.

  • Something under the skin: Those who have encountered Kaisla and survived report that she feels unnatural. The way she looks around, the manner in which she speaks and behaves, all make her appear freakish and disquieting. How she only moves her arms to use them, or the way her eyes grow big with anger. Some have described it "as if there's another.. thing inside her, and it doesn't know altogether how to act a proper human."
  • Discordance: Whether of her own design or not, she slips into and out of personas as time goes by. Some are obviously to fill a need, but others it seems truly random. In the span of a single confrontation she can go from eerie and contained to frightful and gibbering, then launching into a violent fury before finally settling back into a calm again. How broken is she, some have asked? Or.. is she really even all that cracked at all?
  • Insomniac: Rest is the very last thing on Kaisla's itinerary. She loathes the idea of laying down, closing her eyes and giving herself away to the muddled oblivion of sleep. She is restless, and scorns the thought of not working for hours on end. As well, while asleep she is even more vulnerable to attack. Thus, she will not submit to slumber 'til she feels she is secure, or when she can no longer remain awake of her own volition.
Moral Alignment
  • Neutral Evil: No one and nothing matters more to Kaisla than herself. She will lie, cheat, steal, murder, torture; anything that can be done to keep her alive and make her more powerful, she will grasp it firmly and without compunction.
"Nature is.. defined. Patterned. The strong.. eat the weak. The stronger eat the strong. I.. devour."

  • Survival & Gain: Two very animal instincts empowered by human guile and desire. Kaisla wants nothing more than to grow stronger and keep ahold of her life, everything else is of secondary concern.
  • Dying: It's not death itself that frightens Kaisla. She carries no fear for the world that rests just beyond the distorted reflection mirrored in life's river. No, it is the act of dying itself that worries her. Once her bonds to this world have been severed, then all she has ever worked for will have been to naught. Put simply: she will have failed.
  • Sleep: The very notion of surrendering control over her thoughts and body to a deep, empty well for a time worries her. She can not busy herself when asleep, and so things are not being done- as there is always work needs doing. Furthermore, she is open to attack while resting. True, she could very well detect a presence by scent, but what if she was too far into her subconscious to wake easily, or at all? As such, it is not a thing she takes lightly.
  • Unshackled Magic: As strange as it may sound, Kaisla fears her own magical potential. Not because of what it could do, she yearns to utilize every available ounce of her strength some day. What makes her skin crawl is the niggling thought that her powers have a mind of their own, longing to be free and do as they will. Perhaps even usurping Kaisla's own self control.
  • True Power: Kaisla's ultimate aim is to realize not only her full magical potential, but to claim a seat of her own ruling over others; to swallow as many as she can under her sway.
  • Power: Anything and everything that might make her stronger, be it blood, books, artifacts, whatever. Also anything wielding great power, itself, will earn some respect.
  • Control: Over others, herself and her magic.
  • Violence: Creating misery excites her, whether the agony is of the body or the mind.
  • Rowan Wood
  • Silver
  • Salt
  • Iron
  • Running Water
  • Sleep
  • Death
  • Magic: Kaisla's magic affords her many an advantage, and has aided her well thus far. She still has much to learn, but is formidable, regardless.
  • Patience: She has learned never to rush into anything, lest she come to ruin for her eagerness.
  • Ruthlessness: Matters many others quibble over- like guilt, mercy and scruples- are little more than tools to Kaisla.
  • Solitude: With no coven or clan at her side, she has not the benefit of any allies to aid her.
  • Youth: She may have been forced to grow up fast, but Kaisla is still young an inexperienced in regards to many things.
  • Haughty: Deep down, she thinks quite a lot of herself and it shows through in the worst ways- namely: Perhaps she thinks too much of her own abilities on occasion.
  • Soft: While her speed and strength are enhanced, the fact remains that Kaisla wears no armor of any sort.
Is your character literate? In what languages?
  • Common: She holds basic comprehension of reading and writing in the common tongue, but does not make much use of it in general.
  • Arcane: Essential to her being a witch, it is often necessary to pour over tomes or other catalogues of magical knowledge for rituals, incantations, concoctions and more.



"Did thew aid the beast whose skin you wear? Now it keeps yours, owner stripped bare."

Occasionally she might wear a hood or a wide-brimmed hat, should she get her hands on one or the other and see some reason to use it. As for now, and usually, her head is bare save for her hair, which is how she prefers it.

A ratty old shawl lay wound loosely about her throat, draped over her shoulder and hanging low to cover her chest. It is much worn, like everything else she wears.

She wears a black tunic, reaching down to just below her hips, with short sleeves. It's old and fraying, stained by mud, blood and various other things. Holes pock the fabric, made by time, the swamp and moths. A rope crosses her chest, acting as a strap for an old sackcloth bag laid against her left thigh.

Nothing here but the other end of the rope holding up her bag.

Both arms are partially hidden under soft manchettes of black cotton, bound by thin cords to hold them steady.

Right Hand

Left Hand

Right Accessory

Left Accessory

A length of rope as a makeshift belt, secured at the front in a thick knot with the excess hanging down past the hem of her tunic.

An old black skirt hangs down far enough to just cover her knees. The hem is frayed, and overall it looks downright ancient. Tied 'round her right thigh a bronze dagger sits in a wooden, leather-wrapped sheath.




"Crows, maggots, fire and rot: destroyers of the mortal lot. Feed on flesh, lest it waste away, but not before the blood I drain."

Rating System
[Perfect] - [Excellent] - [Good] - [Above Average] - [Average] - [Below Average] - [Poor] - [Very Poor]

Hand-to-Hand Combat: [Average] Having only received moderate training in physical combat- not something inherent to mages- Kaisla is by no means proficient, and only knows the basics. Her augmented speed and strength do help to some degree, especially against opponents caught unawares.

Melee Combat: [Below Average] As opposed to unarmed fighting, her general experience with weaponry is distinctly lesser. She can swing a sword, axe, or.. anything she can feasibly lift, the issue lies in her total lack of skill in armed combat.

Ranged Combat: [Very Poor] Kaisla has never picked up a bow, or used any sort of ranged physical weapon in general. Sure, she has the strength, just not the know-how.

Magic Combat: [Excellent] Her true speciality, and where she excels, is when she's wielding her magic in any capacity. She is a fearsome sight to behold, and a highly dangerous enemy in any case where her spells can be woven and set upon those that assail her. With Dread warping her into something decidedly awful and all manner of harmful sorceries at hand, engaging Kaisla when she is aware could be particularly inimical to one's health.

Mounted Combat: [Very Poor] She would deign to ride a horse on most occasions, least of all into a fight!

Racial Abilities
  • Adaptability: [Above Average] While not the most flexible (metaphorically) girl around, she can bend to fit a number of positions or conform to several masks when the need arises. If it can prolong her life, or possible extend her power, then she will not argue much when assuming certain roles.
  • Cunning: [Good] Her violent tendencies notwithstanding, Kaisla is not one prone to entering into battles lightly. In fact, it is not remotely her aim. She skirts conflict, relying on her intelligence and soft steps. A fight, for her, is a last resort in most any situation.
  • Ambition: [Perfect] If there is anything that can be said about Kaisla, it is surely that she is enormously ambitious. She has set her high goal, and seeks the means to secure it without hesitation.
Natural Talent
  • Survival: Not anything out of the ordinary for Kaisla, though perhaps how she goes about it is. Rather than traps and tools to hunt, forage and generally keep alive in the wild she relies on her magic to secure what she needs.
  • Witch: In spite of the weaknesses inherent with who she is, she gains a substantial amount of boons from her supposedly wretched existence that continue to aid her to this day.
Class Skills
  • Blood Magic: [Excellent] The single most important resource to Kaisla- both for fueling her own abilities, and any rituals- is the fresh blood of a victim. The more precious or magically inclined the source, the more potent the ichor.
  • Familiar: [Good] She has, on occasion, employed animals to serve certain needs or provide boosts to her powers. She is not as practiced in this art, and thus uses it sparingly and cautiously when she does.
  • Alchemist: [Good] Kaisla is well versed in brewing potives for various uses, she knows the uses of many ingredients and how to best assess the worth of those she is unfamiliar with.
  • Witch's Repertoire: [Good] The assorted powers common to most witches: Glamour/Dread, long-sniffing, scrying and wights. Basic spells that come with the territory, if you will.
  • Parliament: [Good] A primarily defensive spell, Kaisla conjures a parliament of spectral rooks around her. They fold like shadows toward their summoner, swell and burst into a raucous storm in all directions to divert attackers who have come too near. Only truly damaging against unarmored enemies, but scarcely lethal even then.
  • Stranglethorns: [Good] A dense tangle of thorny vines rises up from the soil, ensnaring foes and binding them tightly. Best as a distraction against heavily armored enemies, capable of inflicting harm against lighter or unarmored enemies.



”Never shall I be encumbered. Neither by article nor compatriot. Should either way me down, then lay still, they will, upon the ground.”

  • Bag: A simple old sackcloth pack suspended by a rope, a dirty off-white in color.
  • Alchemical Implements: Lightweight brass pan, wooden mortar and pestle, assorted ingredients, and various pouches, flasks and bottles for use in- or to store the end result of- alchemy.
She has nothing of sentimental value, and even if there was some possible keepsake it would not hold any emotional meaning.


Weapon Name: N/A
Weapon Type: Dagger
Material: Bronze
Length: 1'5''
Weight: 2.5 lbs
Weapon Description/Info:
A simple bronze dagger with a wooden, leather-bound hilt. The blade is sharp, but well worn from use.



”What worth.. see ye in my life? If I speak.. you may wish I hadn't.”

Group Affiliation
Hietala Witch Clan

Marital Status
Markedly single, and neither looking nor expecting to receive a spouse- or even so much as a lover- at any time in the near future.

  • Hietala Witch Clan: An extensive array of intermarried families all leading back to the Hietala bloodline that forged it. Its base is deep within Darkwood, nestled in a putrid saltwater swamp.
  • Imppo Tellervo: Father. A humble, hard working sort of man. He was a loving father, in the best way a man born into a matriarchal clan of sinister witches can be.
  • Villemo Tellervo (née Malinen): Mother. A hard, but ultimately caring woman. She showed little outward affection for her daughter in the way of word, preferring to rear the girl to be strong and resilient.
  • Smiling Eekku: Erika Hietala, current matriarch of the extensive Hietala Clan. Kaisla never bothered to dig through her family line to discover in just what manner Eekku was related to her. A menacing, powerful witch in the prime of her years. Cunning, vicious and terribly strong. Kaisla both hates and admires her deeply.
Social Rank
Kaisla is little more than a wandering peasant. She has little money and no bearing to her name- which, she is fortunate, is one of the lesser known satellites of her clan.

In an aim to blend, Kaisla has peddled remedies, poultices and the like in villages and smaller towns for sums of coin. Better to not make too much of a fuss along the way, and so she hides her hunt for blood well enough when she can.


If you asked Kaisla her origins, she might respond- if in a fitting mood- that it was from the murk and mire deep within Darkwood that she crawled up from. A product not of flesh and genetic derivation, but rather the world itself; and from a most dark, horrid ground was it that she clambered out of...

The Running

Kaisla was conceived at the height of a ceremony during the Winter Sabbat, her mother and father selected by the clan's greatest scryer to produce a child. It was successful in ways they could not even hope to fathom. Her first memories could only be depicted as the addlepated nightmares of one who had ingested a particularly powerful fungus. Not even images, at first, but pure sensation. Her consciousness fired into feelings that became colors of all shades and hues, and those into.. something else. They swarmed, surrounded and enveloped her. She felt consumed, and was horrified by this. It was obvious from early on that she was no average girl. Every test concluded that she was Azanthiel, but she showed no signs of outward magical capability. This perplexed her clan, and they struggled to figure out what was awry. Kaisla took to the life of a witch with unnatural grace. She seemed a prodigy of sorts. The arcane tongue came easily to her, incantations and spells fit into place and made sense immediately. Magic just.. fit. It was all so seamlessly applicable and simple to digest. Yet, she would cast no spell nor make any invocations. She shied away when approached on the subject, unwilling to speak of it.

The truth? Kaisla feared her magic. She could almost feel it.. clawing at her soul, whispering in her head like the trickle of cold water in a creek. Scant things that drove terror down into the fabric of her psyche. She could not- would not- give this force a medium. She was afraid for herself. She resisted however possible at every turn, shirking every temptation and each opportunity. The denial did not help her perturbation, and she swore that on each occasion her resolve waned a portion more.

The clan matriarch, whom they called "Smiling Eekku", finally had enough of what she claimed were the antics of a child. When she was eleven, and without her parents' consent, Eekku and her coven spirited Kaisla off. Gagged, kicking and crying in vain for them to let her be, she was tied down to a flat stone far from their village. Branches of ancient trees bowed out above like arms (though she could not tell whether they wished to comfort or contain her) the hanging moss as sleeves off their sylvan robes. Eyes wide and pleading, tear-streaked cheeks, she wept as they began to chant and circle 'round. That was when she felt a burning, deep down in the essence of her being. It grew hotter and hotter and hotter 'til it was a raging conflagration just beneath her skin. She raised up off the rock, ankles and wrists kept in place as a scream flew up her throat, and-

Then... Everything went.. cold...

The Beginning

In an instant, without hesitation or contemplation, Kaisla fell back to the platform on which she'd been bound. Her eyes slid in their sockets, alighting on each of the women in turn. They settled with an eerie finality on Eekku herself. The horror was gone. She seemed utterly at ease. The elder witches were shaken from their stupor when the ropes frayed into dust, and Kaisla got to her feet unhindered. It had been a success! They returned to the village, and though her parents were furious they could do nothing; Eekku and her coven were much too powerful for her mother and hers. In the end, their daughter had not suffered harm, anyway. It was apparent to all, though, that she had changed. Her usual demeanor had been supplanted by something indifferent and anomalous, and then there were the mood swings. Moments of desultory dementia and panicked mania. They were short, but came and went with such an alarming rate, and she always brushed them off as inconsequential.

In the end, everything was going as Eekku wanted. She fought to control this girl, reinforcing her dominance over the clan. Kaisla was a valuable ally, she knew, but a forbidding enemy. She became especially motivated as she was resisted at every turn, resulting in harsh punishments carried out to "sway" the girl's mind. This again backfired, but not in an obvious manner. It taught Kaisla to take a more careful approach, to appear as a pawn when really she was a hunter. At the very least, Eekku told herself, the Tellervo daughter was as eager to practice magic now as she was to learn it!

At thirteen years of age, Kaisla encountered her first real rival. A girl named Päivä, who envied the attention garnered by Kaisla's latent capacity for magic, and attempted to outdo her. She succeeded, proving her superior skill at harnessing familiars. Kaisla's reaction to this was.. humble. She congratulated the girl, softly praised her ability, and then- over a period of five months- earned her trust, perhaps even her friendship. Päivä endowed her with secrets of the art, innate talents that she had nurtured. Then, during an outing to gather wild moss in the swamp, Kaisla turned on her. Her own aptitude outmatched the other witch's, who was quickly quelled. Päivä stared up at the dark-haired girl, realizing in a surreal moment that she had been played the fool for showing Kaisla up. She had given the girl the knowledge that had allowed her to be defeated, and that was the last thought that passed through her mind just as the dagger came down and carved out her heart. When they were discovered, the girl's blood was still fresh on Kaisla's lips and chin- wet and glistening.

The murder sent ripples through the clan, but Eekku- and Kaisla's family- stood in the path of Päivä's ilk. These sorts of incidents were to be expected, and the young witch had the good fortune of many strong allies at her side. However, that was not enough. Unsure of her position regarding the girl's loyalties, Eekku decided that she would at least be moderately punished to demonstrate who held the reins. Kaisla, even as strong as she was, knew she could not match the older witch's sorcery in a competition. So, she submitted. She was flogged before the present clan, her wounds salted- an even more painful and punishing tactic for a witch- and then she was released. Though it was relatively meager, it helped cool the fire. All the same, it did not stop people from fearing her. Stories and rumors spread through the village, talk that she would turn on all of them, eventually. In the passing days, Eekku believed it more and more, herself, and began to question letting this girl live.

The Becoming

She entered into a coven with five other witches three years later. They quickly learned who commanded their assemblage, and none dared question Kaisla's authority amidst their own number. Yet, a coven was piecemeal compared to the clan, and inside she had never liked Eekku, but she had not hated her until the woman tied her to a stone and forced her arcane awakening. Despite all it had done for her, a desire burned with striking intensity to bring the witch to her knees, feast on her heart and imbibe her blood. That was still second to the concept of ruling the Hietala Clan. Even that, she mused, would only be the first step. The stronger she became, the more power she wanted overall. What she had was not enough, and she knew, she felt, that there was more out there- more within herself.

Ultimately this drive- this impulse- became more than she could bear; more than the village or the swamp that she knew so intimately could hope to satisfy. She needed to breathe, she needed to grow! She had only ventured out on occasion when they taught her and other younger witches how to hunt different game. Namely: Humans. She had never been far, though, nor did she know very much at all about the world beyond Darkwood and the villages bordering just close enough to make easy prey. The ultimatum- remain, or risk- hung over her for days. When the decision came, it was a sudden realization.

Early one morning Kaisla set out to busy herself, and as she looked out at the village, the canopy, the rotten undergrowth and festering natural sore of the mire, her doubts turned to smoke. With nary a fare-thee-well she set off into the unknown, only a small parcel's worth of belongings on hand. Kaisla was not the first to leave, nor would she be the last. She also planned, one day, to return, but only when she believed herself powerful enough to kill Eekku.

The lesson of patience she had learned when young came in handy on the outside. She was observant and careful, not gathering attention by being too loud or too quiet. Travelers often attracted attention, she discovered, so she tried to blend. It was not the easiest, what with her innate.. oddities, but she managed- even if a glamour had to be thrown up for it to succeed, sometimes. Her tactic developed into haunting a settlement, slipping in if she saw something of worth, and then leaving as soon as she had all that was required. She even struck up mutually beneficial arrangements with certain individuals here and there, all the while keeping things clandestine. Typically. In one instance she entered into a deal with a rural magnate, tactfully removing other persons of opulence who barred their way in return for money and knowledge. Ruthless, she found, does not always entail mindless violence. The rewards, and experience, have thus far been plenty, but are nowhere remotely near what her ambition necessitates.

So begins...

Kaisla Tellervo's Story