Character Name: Mezolene Myndar
Origination: A Negotiator from the Metropolis of Damacian
Eyes: Pale Blue
Description: Beauty is a terrible burden... In a harsh world, obsessed with ownership, beauty can be more of a curse then a blessing. Crafted by nature, Mezolene Myndar was proof positive that there is some force guiding creation, her skin just the proper shade, her eyes perfect in size, set in a angular yet effeminate face. Her nose the sculpted perfection that has eluded even the master painters throughout time. Mezolene's hair hung in beautiful tresses, wild and lively in their tight red curls.
Even her one notable imperfection, a black blemish dappling her chin, seemed to accent her loveliness... To say nothing of the fact she had a pair of breasts of excessive size, yet perfect proportion, defying numerous laws of gravity with a pert glee. These she tends to wedge into a french corset, topped by a pastel satin dress. Surprisingly spry for a lady of such stature, weighed down by that much fabric, she seems well versed in all matters of the court and the merchant's bazaar. Her arctic blue eyes are unsettling however, possessing a certain predator's glee to them.
Weapons/Abilities: Her only weapon is a thick length of rope she calls "Mrs. Phyx". It seems to demonstrate mystical properties, moving on it's own, reminiscent of a so called "indian rope trick". Mezolene has a natural affinity for necromantic arts, speaking the tongues of the dead without any apparent difficulty, as well as an ability to provide the departed with brief periods of animus. Not properly schooled in the arts, she lacks the ability to command armies or properly resuscitate the dead. Not so much a puppeteer as simply one who has an intuitive knack, she utilizes the dead as a natural extension of herself. The dead are her weapon, and she wields them in frightening ways that are both crude and unsettling to even her own ilk.
A skilled courtesan, she is Damacian trained in the carnal arts. Her reputation is one of "Negotiator", and she has garnered some renown as being able to settle disputes between the peoples of various realms with... substantially reduced bloodshed. Blackmail, seduction, and fear are her weapons of choice... though strangulation deaths go up in any city she's staying, making one wonder if she doesn't occasionally enjoy getting her hands dirty.
Personality: A psychopath and hedonist in a world where the terms have little meaning, she has at best the facade of empathy. She has a strange sense of value, and while many might describe her as manipulative, her machinations are not motivated by greed. Hungry for experiences of ever greater personal value, she is a sensation junkie and thrill seeker without conscience.
That isn't to say she doesn't have a sense of fairness, often utilizing ward and ritual magics in a contractual fashion to ensure satisfaction during negotiations. In regards to her services... she sets the price, duration, and limits, refusing to haggle further. Murder, mediation, domination, seduction, communication with the dead, or escort services. She also offers group rate discounts...
Bio: Phyx, a name synonymous with infamy. "The Angel Maker". Thirty years prior, Mrs. Phyx woke one morning in her dingy home. A seamstress by trade, she eeked out a living by providing clothing to the lower echelon's of the wealthy elite of Damacian. The morning was like any other, except that this was the day the angel would speak to her.
The angel had nothing but it's voice, and it whispered to her. It told her secrets. Trivial things about her neighbors or her property or even her customers. Lonely and worn from a life of crushing ennui, the angel became her only true friend. And over time, it became more... intimate.
Though his voice was as sweet as honey, there was only so much a whispered caress of breath could accomplish. Mrs. Phyx hit upon an idea, no doubt guided by the words of her angel.
To make him a suit of flesh...
In Damacian, no one missed the occasional vanishing debtor or vagrant. She chose each piece of her angel carefully, spending months finding the slender hands she favored. Eyes of arctic blue. Lips, firm and thin. With needle and thread she put together her angel, piece by piece. When she finished, her angel put on the suit of flesh, and sat up, taking a moment to grow accustomed to the fit.
Made to love her, the angel did just that. It lay with her each night, leaving each day. The disappearances continued, though Mrs. Phyx paid this no mind. It never occurred to her that there might be more "angels"...
Her "angel" had begun to gather ever more flesh, piecing together an army that would sweep across the land of man and take a bloody toll upon the mortals. Or so it would have been, but for the discovery of the demonic invasion. The fallen angels were burned, their suits of flesh reduced to ash. Nothing more then a voice once more, her angel offered little comfort to Mrs. Phyx as she was led to the gallows...
And it is in the gallows our story begins.
Amongst the refuse, human and otherwise, in the depths of the gallows pit there arose the gurgling cry of a newborn. Pulled from the depths, it was assumed that the child was discarded to die by a careless mother. It wouldn't have been the first time. With dark smooth skin of a Damacian girl, she was noted as exceptional for her brilliant pale blue eyes. Having scarcely breathed, she was a treasure for the harems already.
Raised to know the intricacies of desire, she surpassed her teachers rapidly. While none knew of her true mother, Mezolene was well aware of her lineage. She spoke to her almost daily. Eager for any excuse to visit the gallows, jokingly, they began calling her Little Death. She never missed a single hanging in sixteen years...
When it was retired for a larger venue, she paid off an executioner to assure that she receive the killing rope as a memento. Despite her morbid tendency in this regard, her company was much sought after. Elegant and lovely, she embodied the exotic flavor of Damacian, she wore the aloof and untouchable perfection of a lady of standing... while being amongst the most jaded of harlots once the bedroom door was closed.
She was nineteen when she first heard the angel. Knowing full well who he was, she was less than receptive to his wishes. He wanted her to kill for him. To make a suit of flesh that he could inhabit, as her mother before her had done. Offering her her dreams, she was too well acquainted with the promises men made when passion ran high, and how quickly they were broken when they got what they wanted.
Mezolene gathered her funds, purchasing her freedom for a piddling amount of her savings. Setting out into the world, the silence was brief. The angel found her where ever she settled, bringing horrors in his wake. And so she became a traveler. Grasping great bloody fistfuls of life, she enjoys every day, seeking out new lands and people, dead and alive. A life without limits or moral qualms, she lives by only one rule...
It's rare that she spends more than three days in a single city. Those rare occasions she has dillydallied have brought the wrath of her father. A whispered voice on the wind, his carefully chosen words can bring down kingdoms.