My story began long before I was born in Metropolis, manifest in the plotting and scheming of a Gerizim priest. One of the favored of the gods, when they spoke to him, he did their bidding, even if questions arose, even if it seemed as blasphemy to him. How could it be blasphemy, after all, if the gods had demanded it? When they put before him this particular request, however, his faith was sorely tested.When they decreed that he create a child, a child of his own blood and that of a human mortal, he balked. No such creature should be allowed to exist, he protested; it was heresy, a dark stain upon the soul of his kind. Humanity was to be eliminated, its taint removed from this world, so that the Gerizim might possess it for their very own.
And yet the gods insisted. Guiding him in the rituals, assisting him to find the right vessel, they saw to it that their plans would come to be. After countless auguries and many sacrifices, he discovered what the gods expected him to do. Father a child upon a human, and let that child be raised with human mores, customs and beliefs. Then, when the time came, and the gods claimed their own, that child would be gifted with an insight into their enemy that the Gerizim themselves did not possess.
He approached a young mortal woman, Lillian Brooks, and made her an offer. Already dabbling in the occult, but never having touched real power, she craved it, wanted it so badly that she'd do anything for it, even truck with creatures which terrified her. A girl-child, of his seed, he promised, and real magics. Blinded by power lust, and the desire to give her husband a daughter after the birth of four burly sons, she consented. The details of that night, the rituals performed and the coupling itself are best left to the imaginations of those who can brave such things. In the morning, Lillian remembered nothing at all, nothing which would betray her infidelity to herself or her husband.
Why was Lillian chosen? Yes, she was easily manipulated, yes, it was believed that she would accept such an offer. The acceptance must be a willing one, even if the victim would have no recollection of the deed. It was more than that, however. Lillian was Romani, fully and completely, though she had forsaken her tribe and their ways for a more stable life when she had chosen to marry Samuel David Brooks. The blood, the power of that human lineage, when joined with Gerizim seed, would produce something which neither could create alone.
Once her true father's work was done, his beloved gods led him to his death in the war between the Forewarned and the Gerizim, the only living soul who knew of those hideous plans now forever silenced.
Things did not go according to plan, however. Nine and a half months later, Lillian went into labor, a grueling affair which lasted many hours, and left Lillian weak and close to death. And the baby, that infernal spawn of mother and demon, was born a frail creature. It wouldn't have survived, under any circumstances, but Samuel saw to its demise, assuring that the tool of his accursed gods would not come into the world. That fact, however, Lillian never did learn. Everyone has their secrets, you see, and Samuel David Brooks, her beloved husband, was not the innocent he purported himself to be. He, too, was Gerizim, their resulting children having all been half-breeds, destined for human lives if Samuel had anything to say about it. He could not deny his heritage utterly, however, and when the visions came, the truth of his wife's betrayal, his love for her, the love which had made him sacrifice everything for her, died, and only the determination that his own kind would not win remained.
That night, more than nine months ago, as he watched his wife join with the demon, his resolve had hardened. Seeking the solace of a young warrior he had at one time fought against, they shared a few nights of passion. In that emotional time, her company was a boon, though it could not cure the ache inside him. When, nine months later, she came to him with the newborn baby girl, asking him to raise it, he knew what he must do. He could not let that wicked infant live; instead, he saw to it that her waning life continued to diminish, and placed his own infant daughter in her stead.
In many respects, Nicole Cynthia Brooks grew up a normal child in the latter portion of the 21st century. Bright, inquisitive, friendly, she won the love and friendship of nearly everyone she met, and her oft-impertinent questions never summoned the wrath her parents expected. If she had any failings, they were two; first, her curiosity often led her to wander, to disappear, sometimes for hours at a time, off on some bit of exploration. As far as her parents could tell, she never came to harm, but they worried nonetheless. Second, she had dreams, often nightmares, from which she would awaken, trembling and afraid. In the beginning, she would tell everything she remembered, but once she learned how much it disturbed her parents, she began to tell them, "I forget. Can't 'member, can't 'member." Or she would simply cry wordlessly, so that they never need know the extent of her fear.
Yet even these dreams could not touch her vivacious nature, her love of life and knowing, and they never darkened her expression during the daytime. She grew and laughed and lived, becoming first an adorable child, and then, gradually, a very beautiful one.
The dreams were messages from the gods; in them, she learned the old tongue, and the workings of sorcery, though in the waking world she didn't mirror what she had learned till she was twelve, at least not consciously. Before that, she could always see the auras of people and places, and would try to cheer up sad strangers, try to do anything she could to bring happiness to desolate lives, though she certainly never would have phrased it thus.
In the world of dreams, however, she used her magics. Unawares, she would connect to the MESH, and indulge in the games that were played there. Even there, however, her childlike sense of fair play directed her, and she would often hinder the mental cruelties perpetuated by the Gerizim. Alas, here, she was just as often a force for mischief, for children can be inherently cruel creatures, and so it is to her shame that she caused great harm as well as good. Manipulated by the Gerizim and their gods, she hovered upon a cusp, wavering between good and evil.
When she was twelve, she became a woman, and the gods set their sights on reclaiming their project. She would be a strong warrior, the prophecies said, in the war between the humans and the Gerizim, and would help to cement the mastery of their dark kind over this realm at last. No matter that the gypsy prophecies told a slightly different version of the tale, that the daughter of their own blood would become the Gerizim's undoing. The gods knew better, for they had their hand in the child's making from the outset, and she was undeniably theirs!
Did either realize that this girl-child was not the one they thought her to be? It is unclear; perhaps they hoped to sway her nonetheless, and perhaps, just perhaps, all were deceived by the scheming of one fallen Gerizim, subject to his passions.
Samuel gave his life defending his daughter from the Gerizim kidnapping attempt. Recognizing one of their own masquerading as a human, they would not allow him to live, not this abominable traitor.
Nicole spent the next two years with deity-chosen priests of the Gerizim, being brainwashed, instructed, molded. Not truly one of their own, their methods weren't always kind, but she learned nonetheless. She rarely speaks of this time in her life, trying to brush it off as inconsequential, but what they did to her affected her deeply.
And then, finally, freedom! The gypsies intervened, along with allies amongst the other Forewarned, and managed to free her. It was a scorched earth sort of scenario, however, as they lost nearly all of their operatives in the process.
Six months later, allowed much more freedom with the Rom than she ever had with the Gerizim, she has fled. Though she wants very much to aid the gypsies, to reclaim her world, she despises being a tool. And so now she is a fugitive from both peoples, and trying to decide what to do. In it all, however, she has not lost herself, evincing a stronger sense of will than anyone should have a right to expect.
Had I known when I set out what I do now about mommy dearest, I might have stayed home! Then again, I now have a favorite nephew! Yes, me, an aunt at fourteen. He's older than I am, and cute, but well, he's family! What's his name? Oh, it's Narcissus! Check him out, and you'll see what I mean.
I still haven't figured that out yet, but I'll give you some hints, and let you decide what you think you can for yourself. If you come to any astounding conclusions about me, look me up; I might appreciate the insight. And if you want to tell me I talk too much ... I already knew that!
Favorite Ice Cream Flavor: Neopolitan. Why? One flavor is boring if you have it all the time. This way, I get three. Three is a magic number, you know.
Favorite Animal: Can you guess? Their names are Anshar and Kishar and they're friends of mine; unfortunately, they're lost right now, and I need to find them.
Favorite Person: I'll always be daddy's little girl.
Favorite Place: Oh, I can't tell you that, it's a secret. Part of why I like it is no one can find it.
Favorite Place I'll Tell You About: Turan. Daddy gave it to me to protect. It's nothing like where I grew up, but it's wonderful fun. Except there's this group of people there called the Ordo Mater Diana, and they think I'm the voice of their goddess. Vox, by the way, is a fancy old word for voice. I didn't know that when I got there. Anyway, I guess she does talk through me sometimes. It's a really strange sensation.
Favorite Colors: Blue and red. Did you know that gules was a fancy word for red? Oh, that gets me thinking about ...
Favorite Crest: You're only supposed to have one, silly. I didn't know I was supposed to have one, but I guess lots of people do. As an ambassador, I was told I should have one to put on formal stuff. Like everything else I'm learning, it's got fancy wording. It goes like this: Gules, a heart argent accosted by two hands sable surmounted with a crown azure. I even know what it all means!
Favorite Music: Oh, plenty ... just nothing classical, or country, or opera ... or ... Well, you get the idea. My favorite songs include Wrapped Around Your Finger and Le Femme Accidente.
Favorite Warrior: RimDuke Sawall. He dumped confetti on mommy dearest, and she decided to march on Chaos. If he's an example of their government officials, though, maybe it's why they call it Chaos in the first place.