Lil Scorpion
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Lil Scorpion Slaved Amanuensis  About
 Vanessa was never prized for her size but after her unfortunate incident and subsequent capture by Garleans, her prosthetic legs placed her at a standing of a little over 2 feet. Obvious as they may be, it is more often the clank of metal that can be heard upon each step taken that draws people’s attention. Another commonly noticed attribute was the woman’s ebony skin and alarming white irises. In addition, the Dunesfolk boasted long silky raven tresses, which reaches the edge of her spine when not tied up, and rather unnaturally long outwards ears that bent or perhaps were broken to a slight crook at its midst, having a darker tinge to that ebony color. Scars & Markings: For prying eyes there are scars visibly present, a tapestry of lashes and crossed scars that aligned from beneath the knuckles of her hands, up along her arms and covering the whole of her very back. In the rare instance that her legs are bare, burn scars lay visible from where her prosthetics join her knees to the middle of her thighs. Clothing:
The collar is one's perception.
Some of these rumors are untrue, speculation, or are greatly exaggerated. Please feel free to add your own rumors under the Player Character category!
 Soft trembled murmurs slipped past in their faint cries as the same constant terror plagued one’s mind, of life and it's never ending cruelty. A life most would think it's struggles would have brought a strength that defied it, conquered it. But in truth... it only defined whom she was... A slave... A slave in mind, body and life... Before and even after the great calamity and even now. It played as it did in a feverish motion picture every time she was able to close her eyes. Every time she felt the bliss of sleep and the slip of consciousness. A remembrance, her memories, her life... Hard labor came even before the Lalafell could utter a word, a life of one being sold off or found, she cared never to find that answer, and could only remember the awful stench of a few.... customarily things passed between master or mistress. It wasn't until she was bought by a few cultists that she really began to vividly remember the horrors, the terrors and it's hurt. They prayed to a great wyrm, one who could scorch away their enemies, who would deliver them into the salvation and reign riches and power none has ever seen. But it came at a cost... enslaved they were to their lust for their God did they unjustly began their torture, hoping even the cries of their slaves would bring about the wyrm to succor their desperation. The constant screams and cries that echoed hollowed walls, begging for its own salvation or death itself. She could remember her own whimpers and please as each night brought about a different "offering". It was not until that very wyrm descended did the cries stop... that day when the skies were naught but fire and ash as it were awakened and released unto the plains. Had it been her? Had he finally came to set her free? Had the cultist right in their trials and horrors that summoned Bahamut? There were no answers that day, just destruction. The very housing and its cold stone lair crumbled within it's might, wrought from the chaos that reigned the skies. Burning bodies and feeble cries were crushed beneath the falling tapestries and all she could remember was her own starved and scarred body pinned by legs that slowly went numb beneath heated stone. Then a world of nothing but black. She almost believed she were saved, that perhaps death was much more filling than the life she had lived anyways. It wasn't until she heard the roar of Bahamut, or what she thought had been her savior, that stirred her. With barely a clear vision did she feel herself being carried off, but how? She was trapped. And by whom would even go through the trouble? Again did the world fade and she again hoped it were truly over this time... How pathetic of her to believe. It wasn't until something felt... aflame at the ends of her knees and the burning of flesh and her own cries that tore her from that dark abyss. She awoke within the stronghold of an imperial encampment. It was there that her life of slavery continued... The damage to her legs were immense and so the easiest fix was to rid of the imperfections. The pain of it all seared behind tightly closed lids and the endless chokes of her own constant depravity of life. This was all just a cruel jest, yes? Freed of the confines of cruel hands to be maimed by the very people that saved her... But why save her? Days went on behind closed hues, tossing and turning through the recants as if she were never allowed to forget. The Garleans saved her, yes... they even somehow were able to transmute machinery to compensate for her lost limbs. The technology made it easier in the long run, even if it took her months to be able to even take a step again. Yet it was not just, and it were not for the simple acts of kindness. No... It was beyond that and she knew nothing of such things after so long, this being easier to even cope with her wretched life now... Apparently the engineer and their higher official had their own... self-interests in the matter of a slave. They had not thought she would have the will to go on after finding her pinned to the soiled earth. Sick minds that toyed for entertainment. If she were to die after the amputation than why would they care? If she lived, then perhaps made into a better asset. How easy it was to take a former slave and make them do as they were bought to do? There were nights without food, testing her very limits, amused at her suffering. Nights were they would even take the very prosthetics they had made for her in exchange for whatever acts that came to mind and there were nights... when one or the other were not in the best of moods or even when they just felt compelled to take their anger or aggression out, that she would take their will with little regard, whatever it may be. This was the life of a slave, yes? Somehow or another it seemed as though she was taken into favor for her struggles, given a meager rank even and was soon out of the grasps of those that entertained her suffering for their own gain. She was taught to write, to read, to speak- yet only when told to do so. She documented the records of their history, the patterns of their soldier’s formations, the mechanics behind their engineers works or even... the plight of their enemies. Even had she been given the tasks of writing documents pertaining to higher officials. Her trust and loyalty came with the very steel collar around her neck and the alloy that made up the rest of her legs. She did whatever it was she could not to feel the backlash of life, whether it was to write, whether it was to spy or lie or even murder for the Empire. No task was too small, not if it meant without pain or starvation. And yet she still held the rank of a slave, even if decorated behind simple words, entrusted to obey. And this is where life has led her now, hidden in plain sight behind enemy lines, instructed to gather intel and record the findings. Given as an amenuensis to yet another higher official and ordered to follow their rule for the Empire. A part of dry lips bore the soft stirs from her ended nightmare, staring up into the dimly lit room she was given within the company. Soft beads of sweat clung from the terrors the night always had offered and always remained as she lay in thought to her constant reminder. Perhaps a better life is what most would hope for... For her? Hope was lost long ago and she just bares on until it finally comes... that blissful salvation many was given, except for her...
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