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Oren Kovalenko

Biology, Bitchiness.

0 · 185 views · located in The Wasteland

a character in “The Age of Gifted”, as played by VitaminHeart



Full Name: Oren Dariya Kovalenko


Age: 28

Gender: Female



-Enhanced Mental Capacity

Loyalty: Erubesco - Alchemist

Description: Oren stands at about 5'7, an angular-looking woman with blue-black hair, grey eyes and the pallid skin of one who rarely, if ever makes the journey outside.

Oren tends to be seen in her white lab coat with the Erubesco insignia printed on the upper sleeve, and the Alchemist insignia on the chest, replacing it with a dark blue duster when she ventures outside...which, admittedly, is not all that often. She often wears black fingerless gloves when outside of lab work, and prefers sturdy boots to anything prettier. Oren is usually seen wearing black eyeliner, and a look of general humourless disdain.

Personality: A lot of people who know Oren have compared her to a robot. Except she is a robot programmed to hate you. The researcher is antisocial, unempathetic, and has very little sense of humour. She holds everyone, including herself, to unreachable standards and is quick to express her contempt for people due to their inability to meet them. She either has no sense of tact, or has chosen never to express it, as she has no issues with insulting others.

Oren is a workaholic, to the point that people have grown to question whether she ever actually sleeps. Any hour people call into the research levels Dr Kovalenko seems to be there, drinking coffee or looking discontented or dissecting something, sometimes all three at once. She is extremely dedicated to her work, and her work is very good. Oren seems to be in possession of an amazing degree of intelligence, and puts it to good use.

Skills: Oren is incredibly intelligent, possesses an eidetic memory and can recall near anything in enormous detail. She can also calculate complex sums in her head, and is able to speak a number of languages. Whilst now generally reserved for research work, she originally covered work as a Knight and is well-trained in using firearms. She nearly always has a gun on hand and can draw more quickly than most people can formulate a hostile thought.

Weaknesses: -Oren hates physical contact and tends to panic when she is grabbed.
-Built for speed, this making her comparatively fragile.
-Fears and obsessions and general control-freakery make it easy to get under her skin.

Brief History:

Born the illegitimate daughter of a Chancellor in one of Erubesco's European Cities, Chancellor Kovalenko was determined that his indiscretion was to become a credit to him. As a result Oren was pushed to achieve throughout her childhood. Academics, athletic ability, skills. She learned to be very adept at many things. Everything except her ability to deal with people.

Oren got tangled up with Erubesco's Commander Green a few years into her career, and eventually was given the post of Alchemist by the COmmander. Since then she has worked on numerous projects for the enigmatic silver-haired Commander. She has not been entirely happy about it.

Recently, Oren was asked to take on an assistant in the form of convict Larke Sterling. Oren grudgingly tolerated the man's presence, but gained enough cynical concern for the man that she agreed with her Commander to take up a mission supposedly intended for him otherwise, recovering Green's daughter Hel from The Wanderers.

This, fortunately for Hel, but very unfortunately for Oren, did not go well.

(Anything else you think everyone needs to know about your character.)

So begins...

Oren Kovalenko's Story


Characters Present

Character Portrait: Kora Norrevinter Character Portrait: Oren Kovalenko
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Eyes and whispers. All around the place. Even if you could keep your eyes closed to block out the deranged sights that littered this place, you would never be able to escape the voices.

Pierrot's pocket dimension was truly the work of madness.

But Oren Kovalenko was an Erubescan, she stared madness in the face every day without blinking.

As a result, what might have driven a wastelander entirely out of their wits, had instead just resulted in a sleepless and uncomfortable night for the speedster, now a captive of The Wanderers.

The woman had no definite ideas about what it was that these terrorists planned to do with her in the long run, but she didn't really see herself getting out of it alive. Not now she'd lost her running ability, the one thing that kept her kind safe of the battlefield.

The group's medic, some apparent deserter, had patched her ruined legs up sufficiently that she had not bled to death overnight. There were bandages wrapped around the knife wound in her thigh, and taped around the almost surgical gashes across the tendons on the back of her legs. Pinkish stains had begun to seep through the dressing. These wounds would not kill her, but they were painful, and, far more pressing, they prevented her from standing, let alone running away.

Hands tied behind her back, Oren had opted not to risk the indignity of some graceless sprawl on the ground, even for the sake of comfort. The woman instead kneeled on the floor of the bizarre place, despite the pain it was causing her, and waited the return of one of her captors. In any honesty she had no idea how much time had passed...or even whether it passed the same in this wretched place. Maybe time shot by here and she'd have long expired and crumbled to dust before that damned man came back again.

Probably wishful thinking though.
Eventually, you always had to answer for your crimes, and Oren suspected that today would be the day when her misspent past was finally going to catch up with her.


The sun rose over the Erubescan citadel, the voice sounded out over the speakers, and in a small room somewhere in the Knights' accommodation, Knight Kora Norrevinter awoke to a hangover and the news that one of the people she used to regularly wipe the floor with in boot camp was now a Chancellor.

And having a ball thrown in his honour.

And here she was, even after having nearly thrown her life away in the now resigned to the rank of Knight, waiting to be sent off too the front lines, and blowing the rest of her wages on the strongest alcohol she could get her hands on.

And to add insult to injury she hadn't even managed to get drunk on it.
Gift-accelerated metabolic processes were the worst sometimes.
Though at least it meant her headache would probably be over in half an hour.... not that she really had anywhere to be.

By the Viceroy's order she had a few more days to wait before she was being shipped out to settle her affairs, but most of them had been settled. She'd gotten rid of most of the things already. Either given away, thrown into a charity bank, or discarded to the incinerator bins. The only thing that remained still in limbo were her family's sword...and her little aesir and vanir idols, sat in a box by the door. Whilst she did not see much reason in calling upon those old, half-remembered gods now, she still held enough reverence towards the little wooden figures that she could not bring herself to condemn them to burning... even though she could not think of anyone to pass them onto.

She supposed the time was also supposed to be for bidding fairwell to friends or relatives or the like. However Kora had spent most of the last few days hiding away from the general population of the base. Wishing to avoid another public dressing-down by an Acolyte, Kora had remained in her room when she didn't have specific tasks to do, only slinking out from time to time to acquire what she needed before retreating back. It had rather taken its toll on her, if nothing else because she'd never managed to summon the courage to visit any healers after her disgrace.

As such, the Knight's body was marked by the messy patches of bandages over partially-healed wounds, and her face was scarred along one side and stained dark purple with bruising. Her ginger hair was rather in need of a wash, and she'd not changed her clothes in a couple of days, partly because she'd ended up giving away most of what she'd got, and she did't really want to expose herself to public derision over the long period it would take to wash any clothes, though mostly because she just didn't see much point. It was not as if she needed to make a good impression on anyone. That ship had long sailed.

Kora lifted her face up off the pillow and pulled her six and a half foot form into a sitting position on the edge of the bed, grimacing a little as the sudden movement tugged at the now old bullet wound in her midriff.

It was less that the woman didn't have anyone she cared about, more that she'd made few attempts to reach out to them lately.
Mostly out of guilt.

Lulu, for one. Kora had been so consumed in her desire for revenge that she'd put her work before helping one of her oldest friends when she needed it, and that made her feel sufficiently ashamed that she'd not dared go and talk to the woman.

Then there was Skip.
She was going to miss Skip.
In fact, maybe he'd like her old statues? Hopefully he'd take at least decent care of them if no-one else would.

Maybe she would go and track down the little glowstick and hand those over that morning.
Maybe. Though not right now, she thought, as she flopped back down onto the mattress.