Tunnel Bat (Fiammata)
Race: Vampiric Netherling
Shorter than average at 5'2", with light brown hair and hazel eyes on most occasion. Appears human at first glance. Fangs grow long unbidden when vampirically thirsty, or in grave pain. Eyes shift red at times, with perhaps other small tells indicating Netherling, not easy to perceive by others unless they are also magical in nature. She herself does not notice.
Still wears her threadbare garment from another realm, usually covered in dust and debris from her work. She is seen sometimes to jump into fires as a sort of bath, and immerse her fists into lava with netherwarts tightly clutched. There are many things she is seen doing with netherwarts, which are harvested regularly from Toad Tower.
Vampires are undead. Whether you use some form of magic to halt your turning partway through, or let your turn happen naturally, a turned vampire is no longer living--can't taste food, can't reproduce, and doomed to spend the rest of its life in a perpetual state of decay. But this is fine. I mean, you're no longer aging, either!
The reason the state of decay isn't really noticed is because vampires are also constantly regenerating from anything which may need healing. This is why many vampires like to sleep in the cold, where the decay is slowed, and the need for healing is slowed, and that energetic buzz which goes along with it is less noticeable and sleep more restful. Healing works the same as it would for mortals: skin and muscle tissues heal the fastest, with broken bones taking perhaps longer to heal--it's just that it's much faster, and more efficient too (no scarring). Healing costs energy, which is restored through rest and blood replenishment. Healing only works so long as there is energy to heal, which means if something makes you sick, the decay will begin to take hold. Aside from mere lack of sleep or blood, some things commonly known to foil a vampire's healing are silver in the bloodstream, a wooden stake too close to the heart, and especially the sun.
As a fully turned vampire, any sun is too much sun. While she may not burst into flames, the sun is essentially toxic and will halt her vampiric regenerative ability almost immediately. It hurts and makes her short of breath, and would result in a feverish, hallucinogenic, nearly comatose state in under an hour--with the time-speed that is Minecraft, this means about a minute. Think whole-body organ failure, bones become brittle, that sort of thing. A 'wither' effect would fit here nicely.
This ain't Skyrim, folks. While shielding the eyes and the face may help with the blinding pain, it does not prevent damage for the traditional vampire.
Likes: Netherwarts, as part of her various experiments--plunged into lava as a sort of haphazard soup, crushed into paste for questionable uses, syphoned of their oils for beautiful red ink; considers them the blood of the Nether. Building and/or excavating. The colors crimson and bronze, and sometimes black or ebony, or a deep firey orange. Getting lost in thought and the zen of design.
Dislikes: Asking for blood when she is thirsty. The color pink and all its varieties, to include that queer tinge found only in magenta. Fighting, and aggression in general. Taunts. Teasing. Insults and all manner of bullying. Being alone. Being social. Not having the proper tools or equipment to do things efficiently. When pickaxes break because she got too lost... in...... thou-
1. Stare awkwardly.
2. Throw broken pickaxes when provoked.
3. Injure, or gesture a threat, without killing.
Very non-aggressive, but would have something substantial to strike with, if backed into a corner or defending someone or something greater than herself.
The adolescent vampire Balthazar had turned her, but had then abandoned her. With no other vampires to ally with, none who could be found. The smiths with their gear, the witches of magic, their Ancients, all would hunt the vampires. And so she fled--deep, deep down. Beneath the stones. Beneath the ores. Hidden from the sun and its worshipers, below all remnant of civilization, she survived. Alone. Cold. She slept on andesite outcrops and hollows amongst the cobble. She fed on zombies, spiders, creepers, and all their ilk. Not strong in the slightest, she had her share of scrapes, but found these would heal quite fast... she liked to watch, perhaps. The skin and sinews torn asunder, would reach with fibers, pull together... it hurt, but it was interesting. She found this quite pleasing indeed.
But they came. The hunters had sought her out, would not just let her be! And so she fled deeper, as deep as one could go... found the obsidian within the bedrock, found the shimmering portal it contained... a passage to the unknown. With a quick look back at that cold, dreary place she had called home, she took a breath, and softly stepped through. On the other side it was... warm. Very, very warm! The ground was coarse and flowed with red. Brittle. Rough. Dark and foreboding, with intensely bright fires scattered here and there, as if the air itself had attacked with flame. She found herself staring out over some deep cavernous maw, pools of lava poured down from on high. It was frightening. And it was... beautiful.
Behind her. In the portal. Noises of pursuit. They still followed her, even to this place? Just to murder her?
She looked forward, and down, below the ledge on which she stood. With the haze in the air it was difficult to see, she didn't know, how far down did it go... would she land in fire? Would she break every bone?
It would hurt like heck. But if she survived, she knew the pain would not last. And so she leapt.
They did not follow.
Time in the nether is difficult to judge. She's not sure how old she is, nor does she care. Vampires do not age, per se, but their powers do mature with time, and having successfully hidden from hunters for anything from decades to centuries, she has certainly progressed. Running fast along ledges, leaping from netherrack ridges to mounds, creeping stealthily above sediments--she is scrappy, limber, and tenacious. Most vampires fear any type of fire, being too similar to the evil starfire from on high. The one that burns... like acid in the air. Searing, endless agony. Cannot breathe. Cannot see. One might tumble, and fall, and writhe in pain and fear... with shady salvation not ten feet away, and not even know to reach for it. The organs fail. And the bones do crumble. Necrosis sets in.
But time in the nether has taught her a difference of these netherfires. Sure, it hurts like heck to get too near. The hair on the skin wisps away so fast you wonder if it was ever there. The flesh begins to flay, then the muscle beneath, and the bones would also smoke and char...
Yeah, it hurts like heck. But she knows it does not last.
It's only pain.
Deep in the nether, amongst the fire and the molten lava and the hardened outcroppings of magma, lives the Heartfire. Source of the connection between man and flame. Conduit of the arcane power used in runic enchantment. Keep the flames fed, men do, from on high up above. All from the dwarves to the elves to the animorphs have used this power, have not known from whence it came. How does it work? Why is it there? Do we just use it, and not really care? Abuse it? Misuse it?
Here in the nether, source of greatest fires.
Here lives the Heartfire.
Guarded by flame dragons Hraethigaldur and Ottostafur. Ancient monoliths of power and might. Undisturbed for eons. Alone.
She found them. So small, and fragile, was she. She found them beautiful. She adored them. They could remove her from all existence. They could destroy her so easily.
She cared about this. But, maybe she did not mind.
They allowed her to live.
This small young vampire became caretaker to these Heartfire Guardians. They never spoke. She loves them, still. Her family.
She spent most of her time with them--decades, centuries, who knows--making rounds of the area of the Heartfire, ensuring its safety and the safety of its two Guardians. Sometimes she would draw, or write. The cloth spun for use by those numerous men of pig could be crafted together into parchments, and she made use of netherwarts as a sort of red ink. She enjoys cultivating netherwarts, and there are still many questionable things she is seen doing with them in her experiments.
With the passage of time, alone in the depths of the nether with her dragon guardians and their coveted Heartfire, the world above began to fade away. Wars raged. Lands were ravaged. The atmosphere itself was torn asunder, wreaking havok all around. Those who could escape through magical means would, but down in the nether, she did not know. She did not follow. Without air, and land, and even water to surround it, eventually the nether itself would be reached--would also implode. She knew not the danger. She did not flee.
W.I.P from here based on the lore of Arkacia...
HOW DID I GET TO ARKACIA...? Was the HEARTFIRE saved too??
She woke in the tunnels, feeling cold and malnourished and really kind of lost. A man of pig stood over her, covered head to toe in armor of material she had never seen, resplendent and striking and just a little bit insane. She reached up to pat it, and it snarled.
"That's enough, ," another said, leaning casually against one wall. He looked tall--seven foot, at least. And menacing. Very, very menacing.
Do I know him?
"I bet you're thirsty," he remarked, and reached into some fold of his garment, producing a small bottle of crimson nourishment, and tossing it her way. It was wrapped in cloth and did not break as it skittered across the floor. She picked it up and sniffed it, catching scents of sweetness and just a little bit of spice. It smelled delightful. Her fangs were showing... did he notice?
Don't I know him?
"You liked this kind before. I remember," he said impassively, red eyes gleaming through a darkened skeletal mask. Slipping off his mask he stared hard at her, then gave her a wry, clever look as if he'd just opened up her mind and spread it out on the rocks for them to admire together. She was indeed thirsty. She fidgeted with the bottle topper until entry was gained and sipped its contents in their entirety.
I must know him...?
He was twenty paces away already. She hadn't heard him move? "Come on, tunnel bat!" he called behind him, not waiting for her to catch up.
1. Stare awkwardly
2. Offer snacks
3. Flee if able to, unless protecting something, or cornered
4. Gesture aggressively in an attempt to avoid actual confrontation
5. Pelt haphazardly from afar in further attempts to avoid true harm
6. Strike with whatever she's got in focused desperation--likely to steal blood from others at this point
None of that Skyrim Daywalker stuff thank you!
- Very fast and agile, stealthy, surefooted.
- Heals rapidly and will never age.
- Can drain life force from both the living and the magically reanimated dead.
- Exceptional hearing. Is pained by loud noises.
- Heightened sense of smell, especially if blood is involved. Can be overwhelmed by strong scents, such as garlic--or, y'know, mace.
- Can see in the dark. Can be blinded by bright lights.
- Nearsighted visual comprehension exceptional, possibly due to a generalized high speed perception. Mid-range vision mediocre. Distance vision poor. Corrects vision sometimes with magnification goggles.
- Needs blood to survive but cannot create her own. Regains energy from the blood of others and from quality sleep. If energy lacks, healing will slow, and her undead body will begin to decay.
- Cannot taste or digest food. Undigested food sits unmoving in the stomach until it rots and is expelled. Super fun.
- Can't procreate. Vampirism, and its immortality, is transmissable by blood during a state of near-death (in this case, near-life). All components of the vampire are immortal. Atoms which are unable to age are unable to form a fetus.
- Can be paralyzed by a wooden stake to the heart.
- Is weakened by close, lengthy proximity to silver. Just a quick touch, as in being hit or struck, won't do much bonus. But bindings of silver will make her nauseous and she is generally unable to break them. It's like poison. Embedded silver (bullets, fragments, liquid) will slowly kill her if not expelled. Airborn silver dust would do the same and its potency depends on how much is inhaled.
- Cannot tolerate direct sunlight--period. Causes immediate blindness which can possibly be negated by a face covering. Causes nausea and weakness. Causes the 'wither' effect after about a minute or less of Minecraft time, to relate to about an hour of Real World time.
A self-dubbed netherling, she is technically a human afflicted with vampirism. But she has spent vast amounts of her immortal lifespan in the nether, and has become more accustomed to it than to the overworld. And she has lived long with the Heartfire, from the center of the nether of another realm, which has had considerable effects on her mind.
- Feels strongest when warm and dry.
- Does not need hydration beyond that found in dietary blood.
- Feels weakest when cold and wet.
- Water used to just be uncomfortable. Now it numbs her limbs and makes it hard to breathe. The more she is bonded with the Heartfire, the more damage that water will cause.
Has spent uncounted ages alone in the nether, in its endless unchanging night, with two silent monoliths and one unmoving treasure as company. Has OCD. Has extensive experience in tinkering with netherwarts.
- Simultaneously thinks inside and outside the box as if there is no box at all. Resourceful. Adaptive. Intensely curious.
- Wants to press all the buttons and read all the signs. Will notice if anything seems out of place or something has changed and will stop and stare and poke at it for some time.
- Tenacious. Scrappy.
- Pays attention to numerous tiny details. Catches things that others might miss. Cares when others might not.
- Socially inept.
- Believes in the sanctity of being specific and is downright offended at anything too vague.
- Overly logical or overly emotional, but doesn't do both at the same time very well. INxP.
- Can become competent in many things. Does not really specialize. Tends to lean more on the potency of materials or of tested methods rather than her own skill.