Name: Cyrielle Taylor
Pseudonym: Andromalius
Gender: Female
Normal Appearance: A frail 17 year old girl of average height, slightly pale with blonde hair and bright green eyes.
Magical Appearance: Cyrielle’s hair turns black and her eyes adopt a dull black coloring. She is enshrouded by a peculiar, unsettling long coat; a point-down pentagram is inscribed inside a circle the sigil is printed in blood-red dye over the fabric of the coat that covers her heart, contrasting with black material that it was imposed onto. Upon closer inspection, the sterile darkness of her coat seems to absorb all light near it; offset only by the crisp, white blouse underneath it and the monotonous grey gloves that protrude from underneath it. Even calling it black would be slightly inaccurate. The abysmal depths of the fabric seem to stretch forever into an eternal void in a color darker than black, yet the material contradicts its own phantasmal depth by appearing to completely two-dimensional. Overall, this part of the outfit has an unsettling, angular appearance with rigid corners that have the illusion of sharpness. Dull, metallic plating extends in sparse amounts from the joints of the armor-like grey trousers which extend from underneath the coat before ending just above the polished black leather shoes. The more idiosyncratic features of her garments are usually subtle and almost unnoticeable except under close inspection, however, these traits become increasingly obvious in proportion to magic usage. In this form, Cyrielle's emotions are mostly suppressed.
Power: Distortion Manipulation – able to generate and
vaguely direct fluid tears in reality; they display an unnatural sharpness despite the spherical bluntness they should logically possess; they flow like an extremely viscous fluid that can completely ignore gravity. These distortions explosively expand and attenuate when they pass go from low to high and back to sufficiently low-density objects. The distortion can be used as a ranged beam, when utilized as thus, it can easily pierce targets; however, it will have a
miniscule entry and exit wound, though it will knock targets towards the beams origin when the beam detonates after exiting; hence, it can only be used effectively if aimed at major organs with different densities. The tear can also be shaped as a blade and used for melee combat. Her power is usually channeled to summon a rift-created matte-black sniper rifle that is missing many of its components, including most of its barrel, its stock and its scope. The weapon has a rather odd muzzle-flash, if it could be called that. Mysterious runic symbols appear in front of it as if an invisible pen etched an ink onto the air itself, but the most striking feature of its muzzle-flash is that it absorbs light and sound rather than emitting it. It can be deconsolidated into a whip-like tear blade, which can quickly coil and reconsolidate into its rifle form.
Background: The first word Cyrielle ever learned was “prognosis” whispered in hushed tones and silenced anguish in the dead of the night. Her condition was more or less, incurable. Though “life-threatening” was the official statement, there was little to no doubt that it would claim Cyrielle’s life; it was merely a matter of when. Cyrielle coped quite well in spite of death hanging over her like the Sword of Damocles; it was mainly due to a combination of apathy (he had the condition for as long as she could have remembered so she didn’t really “lose” anything she previously had) and a mildly nihilistic, yet positive outlook on life. She made friends quickly and participated in everything she could. Yet hidden from this picturesque childhood was a cold, sterile world of examinations, of desperate procedures and of grim verdicts. Cyrielle’s condition was quickly deteriorating; her life was slowly being strangled by the noose she prepared for herself: Cyrielle never wanted to die in a hospital bed, to fade slowly over the course of days, weeks or months. Rather, if she was going to perish, she’d rather burn herself out and die on her on terms in whatever short amount of time she had left, she was adamant to experience life as best as she could. Her life would be much shorter, yes, but in her mind at least, it was a better fate than to live in a death-like state within the open casket of a bed. Eventually, the inevitable occurred. There was no light at the end of the tunnel; but there was no fire either. Only an endless void, in spite of popular depictions of nothingness, it was not black. Black is quantized by its differentiation from other colors, but there was no color here, just an endless absolute emptiness. It took about an hour for the unfortunate girl to realize that she wasn’t dead; a long coat’s sleeve was just pressed against her face, obstructing her view. Straightening the odd garment that had somehow applied itself to her, Cyrielle realized that her ailing heart was now beating with a strong steady rhythm that echoed through her body for some reason, she didn’t care that much. Managing somehow to switch back into her normal form, she realized that something had cured her, or had at least, bought her more time, the overdue elation finally registered in her mind. There were questions of course, from friends, family and doctors alike they were never answered, there was no indication of what panacea healed her and there was no indicator that she ever had her condition. Eventually everyone just gave up trying to understand what happened and moved on with their lives.
Str: 5/1
Mag: 5/7
Dex: 5/7
End: 5/3
Mind: 5/7
Author
Topic: Rise of the magic girls* OOC (Read 287840 times)