Inquistor Richter
Posted: Wed Aug 24, 2005 4:39 am
Character name: Isabelle Maura Richter...Lady Richter in social circles, Inquisitor Richter to her subordinates and others she 'works' with. The only people who get away with calling her Belle or Bella are those who have power over her. The common folk often call her The Black Lady, usually in a whisper, and sometimes for the purpose of scaring their children into obedience.
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 27
Occupation: Grand inquisitor and torturer for the powers that be.
Appearance: Isabelle is 6 feet tall and weighs 105 lbs. She has long pale platinum hair that is straight as a stick. Her eyes are the kind of pale blue that make people double-take to make sure she has irises at all. Her skin is alabaster pale and she is very slender - sickly so. With her high cheekbones and angular facial structure, she is breathtakingly beautiful, but in a cold, hard, vicious way.
Personality & Temperament: Superficially, Isabelle is cold, aloof, haughty. These are the masks she wears over her anger, cynicism, sadism, and despair. She angers easily and lashes out viciously when the opportunity presents itself. She uses her wit and cunning to feed her revenge. She hates everything, believing that nothing is worthy of existence and everything will eventually fail. All of her actions are accompanied by an enduring guilt, which only makes her more bitter and angry because she does not feel that the guilt is hers.
Advantages:Isabelle has developed a high pain threshold throughout the duration of her body's weakness. She is a member of the aristocracy, and enjoys the benefits of that social caste, such as being quite literate. Isabelle has incredibly strong will power which is something that makes her a good inquisitor and enables her to have fairly high psionic resistance. She is rarely fazed by anything, even weird things happening to her, merely chalking it up to how fucked up her life is in a typically cynical fashion. She has allies in the church, seeing as how she works for them. Truly her biggest advantage, though, is her most ephemeral - the fear she inspires in others.
Weaknesses: Isabelle has a very weak constitution and pains that chronically come and go, both of which make her physically weak and very susceptible to illness, poison, and other bodily ills. Her weakness and her pain cause her to be incredibly angry, cynical, sadistic, and vengeful - all of which make her a rather unpleasant person to be around. She also has an addiction to opium, which makes her pleasanter to be around, but dulls her senses and her reactions.
Skills: Isabelle is skilled at interrogation and detecting lies, torture and the knowledge and use of all implements of torture, the use and operation of most weapons (though her weak constitution only allows her to use very light weapons or those spelled to be light-weight), first aid (all the better to prolong the suffering of her 'clients'), drug and poison knowledge and preparation.
Wealth level: Quite wealthy
Equipment and Possessions of Note: A quite a few different sets of black armor-clothing, some shaped like dresses and some more like conventional armor; several sets of normal clothes; A set of lethal scalpel-like blades; a garrote; throwing knives; flog; bullwhip; a slim, lightweight, lethal short sword; a string of prayer beads taken from the dead body of the priest who healed her.
History:
Isabelle started out as a somewhat normal upper class child. She was spirited, independent, intelligent and clever, read voraciously, enjoyed the social gatherings of her parents, and was just generally a good kid - with few tantrums from her occasionally fiery temper. But a little after her 8th birthday, her childhood was cut short. She became very very sick from a devastating illness and she was bedridden for months. Her parents searched out any doctor that could cure her but none could. And as her parents searched fruitlessly, her life slipped slowly away until Isabelle lay at Death's door. Out of desperation, Isabelle's parents called upon the priest healer of the church to heal Isabelle, promising a very large tithing. The healer came to Isabelle, laid his too-soft priestly hands on her, and called upon the one true god to pity her pour soul and save her from death. And she was.
Only, it wasn't quite enough. The healing of the priest was not one of restoring her life energy, making her more vital. It was simply a stabilizing of her body so that she wouldn't die. He claimed that her illness had been a punishment from God and now he had filled her with God's purifying light, and that she now had the chance to repent of her sins. Being an intelligent and sensitive girl, Isabelle could feel she had been filled with something, but not health. Her health had been replaced by something else. What was more, he hadn't taken the pain away. She felt as if she was merely an animated sack of bones rattled by spasms of suffering. Isabelle had a sneaking suspicion that she would never truly recover her vitality and that her life wasn't really her own anymore. She demanded of the priest to know why she was still weak and in pain. He told her that God must not be done punishing her yet and that she must be very good from now on. Isabelle, however, knew she had done nothing wrong to deserve such torment.
As she grew older, her suspicions were confirmed - she never truly got well. What was more, an undefined, unexplainable guilt was her constant companion. Her parents, overjoyed at her 'miraculous' recovery, became very devout and started taking Isabelle to church every chance they could. Isabelle learned to appear humble and pious and angelic, and soon the people of the church began to think of her as their own little miracle, a soul saved from sin and now bathed in the holiness of God. From that point on, Isabelle practically grew up in the church, coveted and cosseted by the priests, who believed her to be destined to be an instrument of the church. Isabelle, on the other hand, began to harbor a deep resentment of the state of her weakened life, and a darkness grew within her, a hatred so vast that it corrupted her very nature. She hated being coddled, she hated the fact that she couldn't do anything without threat of injury, she hated that she had to rely on others to do the simplest tasks, and she hated feeling guilty for things that didn't seem like they should make her feel guilty. She began to wish that she had died, rather than be touched by that awful priest. And, of course, felt guilty for the wish.
After a while, the priest who had healed Isabelle became the focus of her anger. She began to watch him, to memorize his movements, and to fantasize about causing him the kind of pain she felt he had condemned her to. She stalked him. Then one day, when she was 14, she found him alone. She confronted him, asking him what he had done to her and why she was so weak. His first answers were pompous, self-righteous and empty - the same blather he'd given her 6 years ago...and he paid for it in blood and pain. For Isabelle had stolen a knife, sharpened it until it was razor sharp, and practiced on rats that she caught until she knew how to cause pain that endured and did not end a life. And it did not take her long to convince him she was deadly serious. Eventually, through whimpers and groans, he told her how priests intentionally did NOT restore their patient's strength and that their healing was conditional, compelling the patient to seek God's forgiveness, devote themselves to the church, and feel guilty for anything the church defined as a sin. There was an inherent curse in the healing too - if the patient sinned without repenting then they were doomed to become a tortured, restless wraith after death. When Isabelle asked him why they went to all that trouble she told her that they believed illness to be a punishment sent from God, and therefore not something to simply get rid of. Isabelle was enraged. How dare they presume to control someone's life in such a manner? In her desperate anger and frustration she slit the priest's throat. And was crushed by the guilt of it. Guilt that she was now certain was not her own.
As she took the priest's prayer beads and tucked them into her pocket, the head priest came bustling into the room, drawn by the unusual noises that had emanated from it. The scene he found before him stopped him in utter shock and horror. He demanded to know what was going on. Isabelle, her white dress soaked in blood and the knife still clutched in her hand, humbly and piously explained to him that the priest had been in the grip of a terrible demon, and that despite her every effort to save the priest's life, in the end his soul could only be saved by his death. The head priest, long convinced that Isabelle was certainly in the hand of God more than any of the priests in the church, believed her. He felt this was a sign of her destiny, that she had a gift, and he immediately had her apprenticed to the head inquisitor.
The revelations and death of the priest did nothing to assuage Isabelle's physical or spiritual torment, and she became cynical because of it. Not buying into the church's morality and believing that none of the guilt she felt was her own, she developed a kind of sociopathy that made her frighteningly cruel and sadistic. And being compelled by the curse of her healing to remain in the church, she felt trapped and resented it. She channeled all of her emotion into her work under the inquisitor, eventually taking his place as the head and solidifying a reputation of absolute terror. When her parents died she inherited their considerable estate and used it to develop an army of utterly loyal servants and bodyguards, including an armourer, a weapon-smith, and a mage, to ensure that her weakness was never evident to the common people. She began to wear suits of armor almost everywhere she went, and her approach was proceeded by a sound like the rattling of chains. She had her weapons spelled to be lightweight and, in a fit of paranoia, impossible for anyone else can pick up. Soon she never went anywhere without being accompanied by at least four highly trained bodyguards, even in her own home.
Eventually she discovered the one thing to bring her ease: opium. The apothecary that she was studying under at the time, took pity on her and introduced her to it. It became her one pleasure in life. She learned to do it in moderation, and in secret, recognizing the chink in her armor that it presented to her enemies. But even with all the care in the world it is still a chink.
One night, coming home from an opium den that she had begun to frequent, she was confronted in a typically dark alley by a man in long dark cloak. She thought nothing of it, for she had her guards with her as always. But as the man approached, no guard moved to stop him, even when she ordered them to do so. Still, Isabelle was a proud woman, and she did not retreat, only demanded to know who he was. When he was close enough that she could see his face, he smiled and she saw the glint of fangs. He called her Belle, he wrapped his arms around her, and he pierced her flesh with those fangs. Isabelle struggled angrily in his grasp, but she was weak, and he was strong and there wasn't anything she could do. He didn't have to draw much blood from her before she passed out.
She awoke, stripped of her armour, in a luxurious bed and a lavishly appointed bedroom with drawn velvet drapes. She was even weaker than usual, and could barely push herself up to a sitting position. A maidservant hurried in and set a platter with food on the table next to Isabelle and hurried out, all the time avoiding her cold angry gaze. The maidservant was eventually followed by the vampire from the night before. Isabelle felt fear creep along her nerves, a feeling she didn't feel often, but glared even more angrily at the vampire, demanding to know what was going on and where were her men. He laughed indulgently at her, telling her men had been sent home, and drew up a plush chair next to the bed. He proceeded to explain that he knew who she was, that he admired her skill as an inquisitor, and that she was now in his employ. She told him that she already had employers, thank you, and she would be leaving soon. He smiled sardonically at her, telling her she didn't have a choice. He reached across her and lightly touched the tender spot on her neck where he had bitten her and he explained that she was in his thrall and had no way to escape his wishes. And not to worry, she'd be compensated lavishly.
It took her a week to recover. When she finally did, she was given her things back, a chest of money and a lavish coach to take her back home. She was told to continue in her life as if nothing had happened, and that when her services were required she would be notified and given instructions. And then she was packed off.
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Age: 27
Occupation: Grand inquisitor and torturer for the powers that be.
Appearance: Isabelle is 6 feet tall and weighs 105 lbs. She has long pale platinum hair that is straight as a stick. Her eyes are the kind of pale blue that make people double-take to make sure she has irises at all. Her skin is alabaster pale and she is very slender - sickly so. With her high cheekbones and angular facial structure, she is breathtakingly beautiful, but in a cold, hard, vicious way.
Personality & Temperament: Superficially, Isabelle is cold, aloof, haughty. These are the masks she wears over her anger, cynicism, sadism, and despair. She angers easily and lashes out viciously when the opportunity presents itself. She uses her wit and cunning to feed her revenge. She hates everything, believing that nothing is worthy of existence and everything will eventually fail. All of her actions are accompanied by an enduring guilt, which only makes her more bitter and angry because she does not feel that the guilt is hers.
Advantages:Isabelle has developed a high pain threshold throughout the duration of her body's weakness. She is a member of the aristocracy, and enjoys the benefits of that social caste, such as being quite literate. Isabelle has incredibly strong will power which is something that makes her a good inquisitor and enables her to have fairly high psionic resistance. She is rarely fazed by anything, even weird things happening to her, merely chalking it up to how fucked up her life is in a typically cynical fashion. She has allies in the church, seeing as how she works for them. Truly her biggest advantage, though, is her most ephemeral - the fear she inspires in others.
Weaknesses: Isabelle has a very weak constitution and pains that chronically come and go, both of which make her physically weak and very susceptible to illness, poison, and other bodily ills. Her weakness and her pain cause her to be incredibly angry, cynical, sadistic, and vengeful - all of which make her a rather unpleasant person to be around. She also has an addiction to opium, which makes her pleasanter to be around, but dulls her senses and her reactions.
Skills: Isabelle is skilled at interrogation and detecting lies, torture and the knowledge and use of all implements of torture, the use and operation of most weapons (though her weak constitution only allows her to use very light weapons or those spelled to be light-weight), first aid (all the better to prolong the suffering of her 'clients'), drug and poison knowledge and preparation.
Wealth level: Quite wealthy
Equipment and Possessions of Note: A quite a few different sets of black armor-clothing, some shaped like dresses and some more like conventional armor; several sets of normal clothes; A set of lethal scalpel-like blades; a garrote; throwing knives; flog; bullwhip; a slim, lightweight, lethal short sword; a string of prayer beads taken from the dead body of the priest who healed her.
History:
Isabelle started out as a somewhat normal upper class child. She was spirited, independent, intelligent and clever, read voraciously, enjoyed the social gatherings of her parents, and was just generally a good kid - with few tantrums from her occasionally fiery temper. But a little after her 8th birthday, her childhood was cut short. She became very very sick from a devastating illness and she was bedridden for months. Her parents searched out any doctor that could cure her but none could. And as her parents searched fruitlessly, her life slipped slowly away until Isabelle lay at Death's door. Out of desperation, Isabelle's parents called upon the priest healer of the church to heal Isabelle, promising a very large tithing. The healer came to Isabelle, laid his too-soft priestly hands on her, and called upon the one true god to pity her pour soul and save her from death. And she was.
Only, it wasn't quite enough. The healing of the priest was not one of restoring her life energy, making her more vital. It was simply a stabilizing of her body so that she wouldn't die. He claimed that her illness had been a punishment from God and now he had filled her with God's purifying light, and that she now had the chance to repent of her sins. Being an intelligent and sensitive girl, Isabelle could feel she had been filled with something, but not health. Her health had been replaced by something else. What was more, he hadn't taken the pain away. She felt as if she was merely an animated sack of bones rattled by spasms of suffering. Isabelle had a sneaking suspicion that she would never truly recover her vitality and that her life wasn't really her own anymore. She demanded of the priest to know why she was still weak and in pain. He told her that God must not be done punishing her yet and that she must be very good from now on. Isabelle, however, knew she had done nothing wrong to deserve such torment.
As she grew older, her suspicions were confirmed - she never truly got well. What was more, an undefined, unexplainable guilt was her constant companion. Her parents, overjoyed at her 'miraculous' recovery, became very devout and started taking Isabelle to church every chance they could. Isabelle learned to appear humble and pious and angelic, and soon the people of the church began to think of her as their own little miracle, a soul saved from sin and now bathed in the holiness of God. From that point on, Isabelle practically grew up in the church, coveted and cosseted by the priests, who believed her to be destined to be an instrument of the church. Isabelle, on the other hand, began to harbor a deep resentment of the state of her weakened life, and a darkness grew within her, a hatred so vast that it corrupted her very nature. She hated being coddled, she hated the fact that she couldn't do anything without threat of injury, she hated that she had to rely on others to do the simplest tasks, and she hated feeling guilty for things that didn't seem like they should make her feel guilty. She began to wish that she had died, rather than be touched by that awful priest. And, of course, felt guilty for the wish.
After a while, the priest who had healed Isabelle became the focus of her anger. She began to watch him, to memorize his movements, and to fantasize about causing him the kind of pain she felt he had condemned her to. She stalked him. Then one day, when she was 14, she found him alone. She confronted him, asking him what he had done to her and why she was so weak. His first answers were pompous, self-righteous and empty - the same blather he'd given her 6 years ago...and he paid for it in blood and pain. For Isabelle had stolen a knife, sharpened it until it was razor sharp, and practiced on rats that she caught until she knew how to cause pain that endured and did not end a life. And it did not take her long to convince him she was deadly serious. Eventually, through whimpers and groans, he told her how priests intentionally did NOT restore their patient's strength and that their healing was conditional, compelling the patient to seek God's forgiveness, devote themselves to the church, and feel guilty for anything the church defined as a sin. There was an inherent curse in the healing too - if the patient sinned without repenting then they were doomed to become a tortured, restless wraith after death. When Isabelle asked him why they went to all that trouble she told her that they believed illness to be a punishment sent from God, and therefore not something to simply get rid of. Isabelle was enraged. How dare they presume to control someone's life in such a manner? In her desperate anger and frustration she slit the priest's throat. And was crushed by the guilt of it. Guilt that she was now certain was not her own.
As she took the priest's prayer beads and tucked them into her pocket, the head priest came bustling into the room, drawn by the unusual noises that had emanated from it. The scene he found before him stopped him in utter shock and horror. He demanded to know what was going on. Isabelle, her white dress soaked in blood and the knife still clutched in her hand, humbly and piously explained to him that the priest had been in the grip of a terrible demon, and that despite her every effort to save the priest's life, in the end his soul could only be saved by his death. The head priest, long convinced that Isabelle was certainly in the hand of God more than any of the priests in the church, believed her. He felt this was a sign of her destiny, that she had a gift, and he immediately had her apprenticed to the head inquisitor.
The revelations and death of the priest did nothing to assuage Isabelle's physical or spiritual torment, and she became cynical because of it. Not buying into the church's morality and believing that none of the guilt she felt was her own, she developed a kind of sociopathy that made her frighteningly cruel and sadistic. And being compelled by the curse of her healing to remain in the church, she felt trapped and resented it. She channeled all of her emotion into her work under the inquisitor, eventually taking his place as the head and solidifying a reputation of absolute terror. When her parents died she inherited their considerable estate and used it to develop an army of utterly loyal servants and bodyguards, including an armourer, a weapon-smith, and a mage, to ensure that her weakness was never evident to the common people. She began to wear suits of armor almost everywhere she went, and her approach was proceeded by a sound like the rattling of chains. She had her weapons spelled to be lightweight and, in a fit of paranoia, impossible for anyone else can pick up. Soon she never went anywhere without being accompanied by at least four highly trained bodyguards, even in her own home.
Eventually she discovered the one thing to bring her ease: opium. The apothecary that she was studying under at the time, took pity on her and introduced her to it. It became her one pleasure in life. She learned to do it in moderation, and in secret, recognizing the chink in her armor that it presented to her enemies. But even with all the care in the world it is still a chink.
One night, coming home from an opium den that she had begun to frequent, she was confronted in a typically dark alley by a man in long dark cloak. She thought nothing of it, for she had her guards with her as always. But as the man approached, no guard moved to stop him, even when she ordered them to do so. Still, Isabelle was a proud woman, and she did not retreat, only demanded to know who he was. When he was close enough that she could see his face, he smiled and she saw the glint of fangs. He called her Belle, he wrapped his arms around her, and he pierced her flesh with those fangs. Isabelle struggled angrily in his grasp, but she was weak, and he was strong and there wasn't anything she could do. He didn't have to draw much blood from her before she passed out.
She awoke, stripped of her armour, in a luxurious bed and a lavishly appointed bedroom with drawn velvet drapes. She was even weaker than usual, and could barely push herself up to a sitting position. A maidservant hurried in and set a platter with food on the table next to Isabelle and hurried out, all the time avoiding her cold angry gaze. The maidservant was eventually followed by the vampire from the night before. Isabelle felt fear creep along her nerves, a feeling she didn't feel often, but glared even more angrily at the vampire, demanding to know what was going on and where were her men. He laughed indulgently at her, telling her men had been sent home, and drew up a plush chair next to the bed. He proceeded to explain that he knew who she was, that he admired her skill as an inquisitor, and that she was now in his employ. She told him that she already had employers, thank you, and she would be leaving soon. He smiled sardonically at her, telling her she didn't have a choice. He reached across her and lightly touched the tender spot on her neck where he had bitten her and he explained that she was in his thrall and had no way to escape his wishes. And not to worry, she'd be compensated lavishly.
It took her a week to recover. When she finally did, she was given her things back, a chest of money and a lavish coach to take her back home. She was told to continue in her life as if nothing had happened, and that when her services were required she would be notified and given instructions. And then she was packed off.