Post by Astraea on Aug 5, 2013 15:56:18 GMT -8
Name: Astraea
Class: Myrimidon (10)
Appearance: Astraea prefers flashy and revealing clothing that is stylish and easy to move in rather than heavy armor, part pragmatism and part ego; she doesn't like anything that restricts her movements, and part of her mystique as a gladiator lies in her flamboyant mystique - a persona that is amplified by her daring dress.
While she has a number of outfits for situations in which her gladiator regalia are inappropriate, the gladiator much prefers it as default attire. Vivid crimson melds with the vibrant green of her eyes and golden hair, evoking an image of a daring but feminine warrior. Astraea holds herself with that image ever in mind, exuding confidence and poise as though it was natural to her. Perhaps she has become the mask she wears, or perhaps there are still remnants of the girl she was beneath the cracks - but she knows better than most what determination and willpower can accomplish, and Astraea is far from finished with her list of goals.
Personality: Charisma and confidence define her persona, polar opposites in nature but equal in strength; she was born with one and earned the other through blood and sweat, and yet now they are one and the same within her. Astraea does not ask, she does, and the hell with everything in her way. That is not to say that she is restricted to brute force - the crimson gladiator is astute and flexible, adept at twisting situations to her advantage while staying within the bounds of her persona, whether it be a war of words, wills, or weapons.
Astraea is not actually interested in physical strength, though she understands that it is necessary to follow the path she has chosen. She enjoys fighting and improving herself, but still sees her blade as little more than a tool to forge a better future rather than an end unto itself. Wealth, fame, political clout - she has her eye on all of them, and enjoys the attention perhaps more than she is entirely aware, but they are all means to an end - to power.
Not over her fellow men, but the power to ensure that no one ever has control over her again. In any arena, be it figurative or literal. Astraea has had more than enough of being at the mercy of others, and while she does not hold a grudge - or at least she has convinced herself that she does not hold a grudge - and believes herself above returning that abhorrent behavior to those she ends up in power over, she does not intend to return to that position ever again. Whatever additional benefits that may come along the way are just that; pleasant bonuses, nothing more.
In some ways she has become the mask she wears; while still surprisingly down to earth and thoroughly pragmatic in private, Astraea is exceedingly proud of what she has accomplished and does not take well to people who doubt her abilities. While she retains control of herself for the most part, she is also possessed of a fiery temper, in keeping with her tendency to feel strongly.
Backstory: There is a certain air of mystique to Astraea's history, mired in the dubious legality of colosseums in Elibe and exacerbated by her own reticence to speak much of it. Greatness comes from humble beginnings, as the saying goes, and hers are humble indeed - the proud gladiator was once a slave, existing solely at her owner's mercy, and thoroughly encircled by his world. Her parents never told her how they were enslaved, but as a child she liked to assume that they had been valiant warriors or devoted guardians, overcome through treachery or overwhelming numbers; powerful mages, legendary warriors, or perhaps even possessed of blood that went beyond human.
Imagination was all she had, and so she turned to it as she entered the work force herself, allowed to see beyond the squalid splendor of her world into another world, that of opulence and relaxation. It was so wildly different from that which she had first known, and that world captured her entirely, leading to more than one incident of being found where she was not allowed to be, and more than a few none-too-gentle reminders from owner and parents alike that her place was as a shadow, as something that should be neither seen nor heard except when it pleased her masters. She balked against those lessons, and after one too many indiscretions as she began the journey into her teens, Astraea was deemed thoroughly useless as a house-slave and deemed useful only as transient entertainment, to be made an example of to better educate any other slave fool enough to follow in her path.
No one really expected her to actually overcome her executioner, but something broke inside her that day - faced with even a cruel mockery of a chance at freedom, everything she was turned to that singular purpose, happily trading her rusty training blade and a fair bit of her own blood to turn the gladiator's own blade against him in a display of awkward desperation.
There was silence for a moment in the aftermath of the brutal kill, Astraea herself half-delirious from blood loss and struggling to omprehend what she had just done, and then thunderous applause broke out. The slaves who had expected to see her die, the retainers who had perhaps not been as excited to watch a young girl die - and her owner, shrewd and astute enough to overcome his own momentary bitterness and turn the situation to his own advantage at the thought of actually finding a use for her. Flanked by his guards, he personally met her on the field, congratulating Astraea on her victory and offering to earn her life by fighting for him.
She learned much that day, about herself and the world - about the value of strength, of power, and of the wisdom to adapt to situations. It broke the back of her nascent hatred and resentment, the mere ghost of a chance at being able to enter a world other than what she had known enough to spur her onwards, and the roaring applause was alien, but strangely welcome, almost natural, to her. The bloodied girl accepted his offer in a heartbeat.
She threw herself into the training with grim determination, taking to the physical brutality and bloody nature of her new life uncommonly well due to a combination of already-existent physical fitness and near single-minded obsession. Even as the stakes mounted, as human gladiators were replaced with inhuman monsters, she simply forged onwards. Along the way, she learned what she could from other gladiators, from their culture and how the greatest among them played the crowd, and learned to link her own jubilation with that of observers - to flourish rather than simply strike, to exude the absolute willpower she brought to bear on her foes to those around her - and to offer a spectacle, not merely a slaughter. It was art, in a way; the art of death and the art of life, entwined in the struggle to define one's own existence more strongly than anything else. She learned herself even as she learned others, dressing for her own pleasure as well as that of the crowd's, making more of each kill than simple butchery.
And in the process, she learned the power of strength, of being able to truly define one's self on their own terms even when the world itself seeks to bring them down. As she became a showman, so too was she forced to learn the science of slaughter, of what a blade could and could not do. Most importantly, she learned that a whole new world opened to those who wielded true strength in all its forms.
By the time she earned her freedom in a suicide match, alone against three monstrous hellhounds, she no longer resented the man who had owned her - for he had also shown her what life was, rather than mere existence. In first trying to break her, he had given her strength; in attempting to take her life from her, he had in truth given it to her. In a way, she could respect his choices more than she had ever conceived possible; where once she had dreamed of turning her blade on him when she earned her freedom, Astraea simply shook his hand with genuine respect as the light of a glorious new day dawned upon her new existence.
For her parents, there was no such gratitude. Allowed to greet her in the hour of her victory, even offered as a reward for her victory, she spurned both and demanded gold instead. It was there that her resentment had shifted - they had simply accepted their lot in life, attempted to lower her to their level, and failed to protect her when the opportunity had arisen; Astraea did not feel she held any obligation above returning the favor. They had accepted the chains she had broken free from, and they would rot in them.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
