Elizabeth Bathory [Arrancar][Fin] Jan 29, 2018 8:22:21 GMT -5
Post by Elizabeth Bathory on Jan 29, 2018 8:22:21 GMT -5
Lady Elizabeth Bathory
[ AT A GLANCE ]
Age / Apparent Age: 425/27
Height & Weight: 170cm & 52kg
Hair & Eye Color: White & Light Grey
Loyalties: Las Noches
1560, Summer, born in Hungary into the noble Bathory family
1605, Autumn, put on trial for the torture and murder of over 650 women
1609, Winter, died under mysterious circumstances after being sentenced to solitary confinement in a mansion in Slovenia
Haunting the castle grounds Elizabeth learns how she died, the bitter resentment sparking her Hollowfication
Stalking the Carpathian Mountains Elizabeth feeds until she is finally banished to Hueco Mundo by a questing paladin
Driven by incessant hunger she continues her hunt until the eventual transformation into a Gillian
After countless years as mindless Gillian, Elizabeth and her follow Gillian turn on the Adjuchas that had recruited them after he had lost a fight
Satiated with soles after being the lone survivor of the feeding frenzy that had devoured her pack Elizabeth regains part of her individuality and tears of her Gilian mask
Driven by hunger and the desire for more Elizabeth is drawn to Las Noches and the Earth alike
[ ON THE SURFACE ]
Elizabeth is of medium height, with skin as pale as porcelain. Her hair, akin in color to freshly fallen snow, is tied together with a small red ribbon at the back of her head, leaving only a handful of bangs to frame her face. High cheekbones and piercing grey eyes, reveal her aristocratic heritage, and with their slightly oval shape as well as her full lips they make for a face that is very easy on the eyes. Due to the excessive paleness of her features though Elizabeth makes use of a few little tricks to bring a blush to her cheeks and an inviting red to her lips.
Her attire is decidedly practical in nature. Tall leather boots, breeches, a tight vest over a lavishly embroidered blouse, a single-feather tricorn hat, soft gloves and a long coat make up the core of the ensemble. A blood-stained white scarf with turquoise amulet over its knot adorns her neck and tends to catch the eye.
The Arrancar spouts a lithe physique, with muscles that are lean but strong, and moves with the grace of a fencer and the deliberation of a hunter. And the occasional hip sway of a woman raised at court. Elizabeth often seems fueled by a restless energy, almost like a shark that needs its next kill to stave off death, and in those moments her eyes have an obsessive enthusiasm that is unnerving to say the least. However, as someone who was once laid low by her own decadence, it is also possible to find her bereft of all energy and movement. Gripped by apathy she appears then more like a statue or doll than a living being.
Cherishing the lumen flowers that grow in Las Noches, Hollow versions of sun flowers, if you wish, Elizabeth often faintly smells like a mix of flowers, honey and copper. Her voice carries a distinct eastern European accent and canine teeth appear eerily long for her slim face.
Elizabeth's Hollow Hole is located on her throat, beneath the scarf and brooch. The remnants of her mask, two small horns on her head, protruding barely an inch, are often hidden beneath hat and hair.
Elizabeth’s Reiatsu is of a misty grey that shrouds her like fog. It feels cold, and hard to grasp, making it easy to miss her in a crowd. In times of great aggravation it shows a crimson streak.
[ BEHIND THE EYES ]
Elizabeth is characterized by refined manners, taste and good education. Arrogant, haughty, pompous and proud she holds herself above her peers, often raising her chin or wrinkling her nose at them. Born to lord over lesser beings she often patronizes people and has made many enemies as consequence. An astute judge of character though, she also recognizes when she is in the company of her betters - strength wise only, of course - and is able to flatter, charm and beguile like only a true aristocrat can.
Elizabeth is a hedonistic soul that seeks pleasure above all else. However, this continuous pursuit is a compulsory one and even the finest delights soon grow stale to her taste, making her easily annoyed or irate. As such the Arrancar is capable of exerting tremendous strain and effort, is unreletting and unflinching in the pursuit of her goals - you can run, but you can’t hide.
However, in the same vein, going without something new to indulge in for too long can throw her into a paralyzing apathy from which it is hard to rouse. In these moments of lethargy and boredom she is not only prone to self harm, but also, little by little, loses her cultured nature until she is more akin to a naive child than a primadonna, and motivated by desire alone.
Goals & Achievements:
More! Like sharks that need the constant flow of water across their gills to stay alive, Elizabeth too needs to continuously find new pleasures, or fear the loss of her sanity.
[ GUARDIAN ANGEL ]
Aspect of Death: Decadence
"I love this word decadence, all shimmering in purple and gold. It suggests the subtle thoughts of ultimate civilization, a high literary culture, a soul capable of intense pleasures. It throws off bursts of fire and the sparkle of precious stones. It is redolent of the rouge of courtesans, the games of the circus, the panting of the gladiators, the spring of wild beasts, the consuming in flames of races exhausted by their capacity for sensation, as the tramp of an invading army sounds."
-Paul Verlaine, The Aesthetic Adventure, by William Gaunt
Decadence is the art of reveling in your own demise. It lets us idolize the past at the cost of the future. In Elizabeth’s hands that can mean many things. A broken cup can appear polished and pristine, a shot that had missed its mark is remembered as having gone straight through the heart, and the taste of red is always sweet instead of coppery. However, everything has a price. Push too hard, and the world is bound to push back.
Decadence allows Elizabeth to turn something into an ideal version of itself for a short time.
Elizabeth’s Zanpakutou takes the form of a silver saber and dagger duo. The saber bears the inscription “In Sanguis Veritas” and the dagger “Vae Victis”.
[ LEGACY CREATED ]
Born to the aristocratic Bathory family in the 16th century Elizabeth was left wanting for nothing. She was well educated, fed, entertained, dressed in the finest fabrics and jewels, and yet it never was enough. Raised from birth in the belief that she was smarter, more beautiful, simply better than everyone else, Elizabeth indulged in great debaucheries and lavish orgies over the course of her life. At the beginning of her fourth decade though, she was starkly reminded of her own mortality. Wrinkles appeared on her face, her body no longer moved with the same grace as it used to before, and worse, eyes were no longer on her, but on younger, prettier women.
Searching far and wide for a cure she was eventually approached by a handsome stranger with strong eyes and a cold grip. He told her that the key to life was in blood, and if she wanted to retain, even regain her former glory, all she had to do was to drink and bathe in the blood of other women. And so Elizabeth did. Over the course of the next years she caused the death of hundreds of women, until finally a group of paladins, sent by the crown, put a stop to her. She was put to trial, too, but as the prominent member of an important bloodline sentenced to house arrest in a remote area, instead of the death.
Isolated and alone, confined to but a single room where before she roamed lavish palaces Elizabeth began to waste away, stricken by apathy and depression, craving the golden days of yore. The bloody days of the past. Until one day, she heard the voice of the handsome stranger carried into her room on a faint wind. Whispering his name her eyes widened in disbelief as he stood in her room a heartbeat later. Once again he offered salvation, and once again Elizabeth reached out to be saved.
However, when she awoke, she found herself dead, a ghost, with but a faint memory of gleaming teeth and a gaping abyss. Driven mad by the experience of undeath the Bathory quickly lost her sense of self, her soul transforming into a baser state and more monstrous form. Now, more ghoul than ghost, she stalked the Carpathian Mountains, a terror in the night, until once again one of the crown’s brave paladin ended her reign of terror.
Rise to Power:
Years of stuffing herself in effort of quenching the bottomless thirst eventually led to Elizabeth’s transformation into a Gilian, a mindless amalgamation of souls. Subjugated by an Adjuchas she served for untold decades, if not centuries, before the leader of her pack lost a decisive bout against a rival. Agitated by the weakness und filled by a thirst she had not felt in a long time, but had returned with unimaginable fury, she threw herself at the injured leader with teeths chattering in anticipation. Emerging triumphant from the feeding frenzy memories of her past life began to resurface the same way the thirst had returned. The more of her personality returned, the deeper the cracks on her Gilian mask grew, until she ripped the thing off in one violent motion.
Bathing in the pale moonlight Elizabeth watched her new body transform, take the shape of her memory until she could finally flex her fingers and stare in disbelief at what she had become. Alone, thirsty, and angry she rose uneasily to her feet and began to wander, stalking the desert of Hueco Mundo. While the thirst barely lessened, with every kill at least her anger grew dimmer until she walked fully upright once again, until she used words once more instead of grunts. From there, her quest began sate her craving.
Call to Action:
Countless years went by in which Elizabeth relentlessly pursued anything that allowed her to relive the golden memories of her past. That allowed her to relish and cherish something as lavish and divine. However, over short or long, even the finest wines turned to copper in her mouth. Even the softest silks began to scratch at her skin. Even the sweetest melodies turned to screaming to her ears. When she had all but resigned herself to her fate and nailed her body to an opulent chair with her own dagger to slowly waste away, she felt a massive shift of souls. The deaths of millions across all three planes promised a shift in paradigm that was bound to reveal something, anything, that was a match for her decadence. Rising slowly from her seat, as if she had all but forgotten how to walk, moving more like a broken doll than a hunter she mumbled:
“A corpse should be left well alone.”