Delilah Bryndel
Although one of the youngest of her peers among the Dreadlords of Vel Anir, Delilah is one of those who have been there the longest, having been left there in her infancy. Cynical, vindictive, self-centered, and scarred by her own power, she makes few allies and fewer friends and is something of an outcast even among her unstable contemporaries.
Appearance
Were it not for Delilah's usual tendency to lurk in the shadows to the edges of her usual haunts, she would immediately arrest the gazes of those wherever she went. It is not that she is particularly beautiful (although she is quite pretty to a certain eye, most would better describe her as "downright creepy"), nor is it a particularly arresting way of carrying herself (indeed, her posture generally presents a sort of languid, jaded lassitude), nor even any particularly imposing size or frame (she stands only just over five feet in height, and has a relatively petite build); rather, it is instead the sheer unnaturalness of Delilah's appearance that demands attention.
Her skin is an eerie ashen white, almost more akin to weathered porcelain than living flesh. Her hair is long and wild; a tangled wave of strands as black as the wing of a midnight raven. Her right eye is like a blank keyhole, hollow and empty, within which wicked sparks of violet flame dance and flicker with the turn of her moods; her left eye is missing entirely, a dead lid shut o'er an empty socket. And strangest of all, countless thin cracks mar the left side of her face, spiderwebbing out from her missing eye across her face and reaching down across the side and front of her neck and torso, as if her very skin is breaking apart like the porcelain it so closely resembles.
With so much amiss with Delilah herself, the simple mundanity of her chosen garb is rendered all the more striking: a loose-fitting black collared shirt, black-dyed woolen leggings, and a simple pair of leather boots comprise her usual outfit, with the occasional addition of a floor-length black coat in harsh weather or when traveling. Although she eschews most jewelry, she is not above certain characteristic embellishments: her long nails are perfectly painted with a violet dye that matches her eyes, and her lips are similarly colored with a tasteful shade akin to that of fine wine. Not that this does much to offset her offputting appearance, however ...
Fractured Flame—At will, Delilah can conjure forth the violet fire that burns within her, setting alight that which she wills and molding the flames to her desires. The fractured flames feed upon the most fundamental energies of the material reality, and once lit are almost impossible to extinguish except by their creator's will. This, however, comes at a price: the first fuel of the unleashed fires is always Delilah herself.
Warded by Agony—Thanks to the undying agony of the flames consuming her from within, Delilah quite reasonably has what might be considered an "unusually high" pain tolerance. In fact, she can more or less ignore (and often will not even notice, at times to her detriment) most anything of a sensory or mental nature that affects her.
One might presume that Delilah thinks herself better than others; that she is arrogant, and considers her peers beneath her. This, however, could not be further from the truth: Delilah considers no one person better than another, just as no one person is worse. They are simply all equally terrible, and as such equally deserving of her scorn. This flagrant disregard for the propensities of society towards hierarchy and respectful etiquette has gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion, but it is rare for anything to come of it; even when she is punished, she doesn't particularly care about that, either.
Naturally, this does not win her many friends or allies, but Delilah doesn't particularly need or care for such sentimental things. She goes through the motions of her day-to-day existence with a sort of brooding, sardonic nihilism, taking whatever opportunities pass by to hone her razor wit on the unwilling grindstone of her peers and otherwise preferring to stand back and watch in silence with a characteristic judgemental smirk.
Or at least, that's how the Proctors tell it when they want to put her in her place.
Not that putting Delilah in her place ever seems to work, of course. One thing, at least, is certain: born and raised at the Academy as she was, she knows the ins and outs, and she is very aware (perhaps too aware of her own good) of how far she can push things without meaningful retribution. Of course, it helps, perhaps, that any prospective punishment that would end in her injury runs the immediate risk of setting fire to the cause—something that Proctor Malvern in particular tends to be vocally irritable about, as it makes most any attempt at proper sword training a complete debacle.
It's hard to say what Delilah's aims are with the Dreadlords. Aged beyond her youthful years by her environment both without and within, she certainly has enough mind to think for herself; and yet, she has remained, submitting with surprisingly little complaint to the lessons foisted upon Academy initiates. Perhaps she truly does care as little as it seems about ... well. Everything, really.
Her skin is an eerie ashen white, almost more akin to weathered porcelain than living flesh. Her hair is long and wild; a tangled wave of strands as black as the wing of a midnight raven. Her right eye is like a blank keyhole, hollow and empty, within which wicked sparks of violet flame dance and flicker with the turn of her moods; her left eye is missing entirely, a dead lid shut o'er an empty socket. And strangest of all, countless thin cracks mar the left side of her face, spiderwebbing out from her missing eye across her face and reaching down across the side and front of her neck and torso, as if her very skin is breaking apart like the porcelain it so closely resembles.
With so much amiss with Delilah herself, the simple mundanity of her chosen garb is rendered all the more striking: a loose-fitting black collared shirt, black-dyed woolen leggings, and a simple pair of leather boots comprise her usual outfit, with the occasional addition of a floor-length black coat in harsh weather or when traveling. Although she eschews most jewelry, she is not above certain characteristic embellishments: her long nails are perfectly painted with a violet dye that matches her eyes, and her lips are similarly colored with a tasteful shade akin to that of fine wine. Not that this does much to offset her offputting appearance, however ...
Skills and Abilities
Fire Within—An unholy fire flows through Delilah's veins. While this leaves her somewhat physically fragile and lacking in strength, it grants certain "benefits" in turn: she is driven by ceaseless, untiring energy, to the point where she almost never sleeps; she is largely unaffected by the cold; and she is more or less immune to most forms of poison, illness, or disease. When injured, she bleeds not blood, but violet flame.Fractured Flame—At will, Delilah can conjure forth the violet fire that burns within her, setting alight that which she wills and molding the flames to her desires. The fractured flames feed upon the most fundamental energies of the material reality, and once lit are almost impossible to extinguish except by their creator's will. This, however, comes at a price: the first fuel of the unleashed fires is always Delilah herself.
Warded by Agony—Thanks to the undying agony of the flames consuming her from within, Delilah quite reasonably has what might be considered an "unusually high" pain tolerance. In fact, she can more or less ignore (and often will not even notice, at times to her detriment) most anything of a sensory or mental nature that affects her.
Personality
Many outcasts live in denial, try to fit in, or otherwise fear themselves. Not Delilah. She knows she is a freak of nature, and she embraces that fact with a sort of grim, jaded revelry. While often preferring to lurk outside the limelight, this is hardly an omission of shyness or discomfort, but rather a mere convenience: often wearied by the constant pains of her existence, the cursed girl is happier to avoid having to put energy into her public appearance. Once taking the spotlight, however, she has no difficulties slipping into the character she presents to the world: one at once weary, cynical, dismissive, sharp-tongued, and without sympathy for the petty plights of others.One might presume that Delilah thinks herself better than others; that she is arrogant, and considers her peers beneath her. This, however, could not be further from the truth: Delilah considers no one person better than another, just as no one person is worse. They are simply all equally terrible, and as such equally deserving of her scorn. This flagrant disregard for the propensities of society towards hierarchy and respectful etiquette has gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion, but it is rare for anything to come of it; even when she is punished, she doesn't particularly care about that, either.
Naturally, this does not win her many friends or allies, but Delilah doesn't particularly need or care for such sentimental things. She goes through the motions of her day-to-day existence with a sort of brooding, sardonic nihilism, taking whatever opportunities pass by to hone her razor wit on the unwilling grindstone of her peers and otherwise preferring to stand back and watch in silence with a characteristic judgemental smirk.
Biography & Lore
Delilah Bryndel was less than a year old when her horrified parents—traders from Maraan—abandoned her at the Academy of Vel Anir, calling her "a monster that needed to be tamed" and almost pleading for her to be taken in. Even as an infant, she burned from within with an unholy dark fire, and without the masterful and timely aid and guidance of some of the more benevolent Dreadlords, she likely would have been reduced to ash from within, possibly taking everything nearby with her.Or at least, that's how the Proctors tell it when they want to put her in her place.
Not that putting Delilah in her place ever seems to work, of course. One thing, at least, is certain: born and raised at the Academy as she was, she knows the ins and outs, and she is very aware (perhaps too aware of her own good) of how far she can push things without meaningful retribution. Of course, it helps, perhaps, that any prospective punishment that would end in her injury runs the immediate risk of setting fire to the cause—something that Proctor Malvern in particular tends to be vocally irritable about, as it makes most any attempt at proper sword training a complete debacle.
It's hard to say what Delilah's aims are with the Dreadlords. Aged beyond her youthful years by her environment both without and within, she certainly has enough mind to think for herself; and yet, she has remained, submitting with surprisingly little complaint to the lessons foisted upon Academy initiates. Perhaps she truly does care as little as it seems about ... well. Everything, really.
