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Nefertiri Way Lyn

Never aging any older than seventeen, this dead beauty could very well be the last thing you ever see.

0 · 138 views · located in The Infinite Void

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Tyliana

Description

Age: Appears 17.
Gender: Very Much Female.
Hair: Smooth, sleek tresses of black, silken threads frame her face, reaching down to about a foot and a half down past her shoulders.
Eyes: Silver as the full moon's reflection on the surface of a stagnant lake.
Skin: Pale, smooth complexion, with no noticeable flaws, though it is very cold to the touch. Then again, she is a dead woman.
Clothing: Normally a black turtle-neck, long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black, cotton pants. She wears sole-less, silk shoes, and a pair of black leather gloves. Silence means everything.

Other remarkable features:
Because of the unnatural reason she'd attempted suicide in the first place, she was granted the title of Dark Angel. This means, of course, that sprouting from her back are two, giant, black-feathered wings.

Personality

Scream if this hurts, chica.


Nefertiri has never been one to avoid pain to those who deserve it, but on the inside? She really is a very caring person, though she hides it well. After her husband made her reap her own father's soul, she has hidden most of her true emotions away, replacing them with the mask of an emotionless shell. She'll separate her mind from her job, and, more often than not, still get her work done. Then again, when murder is your job, it rarely takes much thought.

Equipment

Nefertiri always has enough knives, but a few of them are named.

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Raziel is made of a strong, tempered steel and was blessed by the Water Nymph, Celodine. He's most effective when dealing with machines.

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Named for the man Nefertiri was nearly forced to marry, Necronis is a black opal blade cursed by Damien. He is most effective when dealing with anyone that deems their self a holy man.

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Samhain, named for the cat of her childhood, is a blade can split into claws, each etched with a different venom. What a cruel way to die.

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Last, but certainly not least, is the acid etched, Dragon-forged whip-blade, Majaroth. Cursed and forged by the Dragon God himself, this blade can tear the throat out of nearly any Nefertiri would encounter. Until then, however, it does make a very stylish belt.

History

On January 1st, 1099 B.C., the Queen of a small kingdom called Alderon gave birth to her first daughter. The first twelve years passed as they would for any child.
The date is 1087 B.C. Nefertiri, only a child, has finally begun to understand that...


The world is not enough.

Alone, the twelve year old princess made her way to the very top of the astronomy tower, as she had been informed to do by her master, her God. "Master...?" It was strange. Even as she spoke, it seemed, even to her, that she was a different person. No longer did her voice quiver when she knew who was coming. No longer did her hands shake when she felt the air grow colder around her. Non... Now, she was finally in control of her destiny... Or.. So she thought.

"Nefertiri," the deep, dark voice spoke with such familiarity that, had her mother or father been at the top of the tower with her, they'd have possibly died of shock. No, the voice was more than familiar. It was.. It was caring. The kind of voice one would expect to have with a secret lover. "Nefertiri, go back and join your birthday party. I will be with you soon. That, I promise."

But it is such a perfect place to start, my love.

"Princess," the voice had called, three years later. Only now would Nefertiri finally see the body that belonged with the voice. Sleek, black hair, accompanied by piercing, ebony eyes, into which one could swim forever in the depths, and pale, smooth, ivory skin stretched over a lean, but toned frame. To the princess, he was beautiful. But, then again, he was a god. Why would a god choose to be anything but?

"M-my Lord?" Nefertiri slid down off of her mattress, addressing the figure that stood before her. Tonight was her fifteenth birthday, and she was avoiding the party like the plague.

"Why, Princess, do you not celebrate with the rest of the kingdom?"

"What is there to celebrate? It is only another day, wasted by celebrating the life of a woman who, at times, wishes she were never born." She looked to her god, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. Princesses, she was taught, did not cry. Especially in front of the Gods.

"All of us, my brothers, sisters, and I, have come to attend your celebration, for this is the last year before you are wedded. One year and six months from this night, you shall take the hand of he your father and mother have chosen for you." Damien's voice was so.. Matter of fact, and yet emotion, she knew, was hidden within its depths. An emotion he was not supposed to have, as she was not of his own realm.

"And if I wish not to marry Necrona Pirance?" Defiantly, she took a few steps toward him, her chin held high. "If I have fallen in love with a man all would deem greater than another prince?"

"Then I suppose," he muttered, "that both of us will have to find a way to bridge that gap. After all... The world really is not enough."

"No.. But it certainly is the perfect place to start." And that was the start.

And, if you're strong enough...

Everything had been set. One year of preparation, a year of sneaking around with very little suspicion, and she would finally get her chance tonight. She'd just received her gifts, the celebration was finally coming to a close. She turned to her father, pecked him on the cheek, and whispered quietly that she had to retire early, then headed up to her room, the opal dagger Damien had given her held firmly in her hand.

In her room, she changed into something she wouldn't worry about staining--- after all, blood does stain--- and headed out to the balcony, where he was already waiting. "You know you don't have to do this, don't you? You could marry the Prince."

"Yes, Damien, I do." He nodded slightly, watching as she thrust the blade into her stomach. But instead of falling to her knees as one committing suicide should have, she fell straight forward. The Black God raised a brow, then quickly moved back to the party, leaving his soon-to-be-bride's corpse on the balcony with an arrow sticking out from her back. Nefertiri Way Lyn was murdered.

Together we can take the world apart, my love.

A century later, now known as the Dark Angel, Nefertiri still had no idea which sorry soul had decided to remove her from life's playing field. She knew only that he'd not been any of the souls she'd collected with her husband, which meant that, some how, her killer was still alive. Her father, too, had survived, though through the magick of his people and the blessing of his late wife's goddess. He would live until another, more suitable soul would come to take his place. Even the gods did not know when that would be.

But Nefertiri did. And soon, she would tell her husband. She waited inside the library, pacing past her favorite row of books, wondering just how she was going to tell him. She was terrified to the point of jumping when he finally joined her, though she had nothing to fear from him. "Don't scare me like that. Damien, I have to talk to you. It's really, really important."

"So I gathered when you sent Daemon to get me. What's wrong?"

"I know who's going to replace my father, Damien... The child will be born in six months."

"Nefertiri, how can you know that when your powers come from me?" Damien, now, was quite curious. Only Miina, his sister, the goddess of Life, could tell when a child was born. Either that, or...

"Damien.. We're having a baby." That was the first time Nefertiri ever saw her husband faint.

And now the track is changed. Nefertiri began to run from her husband, five years after the child was born. Nearly three thousand years have passed, and now Nefertiri is 3,099 years old, and still has no clue as to who, really, had killed her.

So begins...

Nefertiri Way Lyn's Story

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She was quiet, silent as death, as she made her way into the bar. Anyone who ventured too close would feel the pure chill resonating from her dead, pale, chalky skin. How she could even be moving... That was a wonder, even to her. Many, she knew, would call her a reaper. Either that or, if they really were naive, some sort of zombie.

But none of it bothered her. Whether whispers were heard at her back or not, it didn't matter. After all, the woman had been dead for centuries. What did a few rumors matter? Cold, black eyes glanced from one end of the bar to the other, searching for an empty seat. Finding one that was in the middle, she slowly made her way towards it, the feathers of her black wings shifting as she moved.

She sat down at the bar, glancing around for a bartender, if one was on duty. She'd heard rumor that the bar was half automated. That would definitely be an interesting claim, if true.Other than that small spark of curiosity, the girl seemed lifeless. A shame, for someone who appeared no older than sixteen. A terrible, terrible shame.

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Nefertiri Way Lyn glanced to the side, noting the action Adiva had done, a light tilt to her head. "So this place really is half machine," the soft yet crystal clear voice stated with not much more interest than she had originally started with. Perhaps, however, the tender bot wouldn't pay any attention to a girl that was, or at least seemed, no older than sixteen.

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Reading the board, she tilted her head slightly. "How in the world is it hard to keep a bar staffed? Especially one so full as this?" She shook her head slightly, drumming her fingers on the counter. "And I suppose they wouldn't get me a drink, either. I look too young."

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Nefertiri Way Lyn sighed, shaking her head after reading the board a second time. "I tried once. No one would believe my birthday." She shrugged slightly. "Unless people in this city would believe me.."

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Nefertiri Way Lyn raised her brows curiously. "Believe that a girl who looks no older than seventeen... was born just over three thousand years ago? I doubt it."

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Nefertiri Way Lyn shook her head slightly. "With feathery black wings like these? Not even. Besides. I'm fangless." She flashed him a big, toothy grin, just to prove her point. Once again she began drumming her nails on the counter. "It's hard to explain what I am. I died, by suicide, the night I turned sixteen years old. Back then, the drinking age was... whenever you could hold your cup for more than one glass of wine."

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Nefertiri Way Lyn felt the corner of her lips twitch slightly in a smile. "I used to be called Nefertiri. Now? Normally, people just call me a Dark Angel."

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"It's... Supposedly different for different cultures. Where I come from, the Dark Angel is like... well.. A reaper." She shrugged, wiggling about on her barstool. "We pretty much 'guide souls' through the process of death."

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Nefertiri Way Lyn rubbed her arm slightly. "I know. It's a bit odd, isn't it? And I started this job the moment I died."

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Nefertiri Way Lyn smiled lightly back, taking the piece of candy. "Thank you, Mister Adiva." She unwrapped it and popped the piece into her mouth. "I guess I'll live though-- in a manner of speaking."

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Nefertiri Way Lyn looked at him with a light grin. She didn't really say much, though. Especially since she'd figured out by now that he couldn't really respond.

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Nefertiri Way Lyn shrugged slightly. "Just passin' through, I suppose."

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Nefertiri Way Lyn smiled lightly. "I'll see you again someday." She waved.

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Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The repetitive sound was grating against the nerves, but as the black winged angel walked into Gambit's, it was the only thing she could concentrate on. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound itself came from something in [b]Nefertiri's[b] hand. And, before any of you silly writers ask? No, it isn't a bomb.

It was, in fact, something so much more innocent than that. The ticking came from no more than a simple time keeper; a pocket watch, of sorts. But why, oh why, was the woman holding it and staring so intently at the blue quartz surface? If anyone were to look over her shoulder, they'd see that the numbers were not numbers, but names. She was set to work, now. There was someone.. Someone she was bringing back.

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She made her way into the bar with a soft, breathless sigh. Yet another day of going unnoticed. It wasn't a bad thing, mind you, but the woman had begun to believe that people just simply wouldn't pay attention to her unless she actually found a way to age over sixteen. That.. wasn't likely to happen, however. She sighed, moving over to the bar counter and fiddling with the machine. Nefertiri would have alcohol, this time, if it was the last thing she'd ever do. Why the laws had to change so that the age actually mattered, she had no clue.

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Nefertiri Way Lyn raised a brow at William, then the bottle. It was unlike her to accept a drink from a stranger, but tonight, she'd make the exception. She moved over to William and held out a pale, icy hand. "Nefertiri Way Lyn," she said simply.