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| − | {{WIP}}<noinclude>{{Trad
| + | <noinclude>{{Trad |
| − | |DE=Psychee|DEs=5 | + | |DE=Psychee|DEs=4 |
| − | |EN=Psychee|ENs=2 | + | |EN=Psychee|ENs=4 |
| | |ES=Psychee|ESs=5 | | |ES=Psychee|ESs=5 |
| | |FR=Psychee|FRs=0 | | |FR=Psychee|FRs=0 |
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| | == Description == | | == Description == |
| − | <poem> A teenage albino matis girl of about 16 years. Since her resurrection, when she was announced dead, and said to have been buried, she has not grown up, although it can be assumed that she should be about 22 years old. | + | <poem> A teenage albino matis girl of about 16 years<ref>''Librarian's note'': In Frutor 3, 2nd CA 2534</ref>. Since her resurrection, when she was announced dead, and said to have been buried, she has not grown up, although it can be assumed that she should be about 22 years old. |
| − | She is frail, weak and fragile, and seems unable to hold a weapon, but submits to training within the [[Free Frontalists|Free]] inherited from her late mother's courses and training, and now fights with the huge two-handed Alanowë family sword. | + | She is frail, weak and fragile, and seems unable to hold a weapon, but submits to training within the [[Guild:Libres Frontaliers|Libres Frontaliers]]<ref>''Librarian's note'': “The Free Frontalists”</ref> inherited from her late mother's courses and training, and now fights with the huge two-handed Alanowë family sword. |
| | What she does not possess in strength, she has in stamina and courage, despite her sickly appearance, and she has already survived fatal wounds and injuries, always recovering. | | What she does not possess in strength, she has in stamina and courage, despite her sickly appearance, and she has already survived fatal wounds and injuries, always recovering. |
| | She has two very distinctive wounds on her body: A scar on her flank, the size of a hand, a spear having pierced her side from side to side, and another star-shaped mark, a perfect scar from a stab wound in the heart. | | She has two very distinctive wounds on her body: A scar on her flank, the size of a hand, a spear having pierced her side from side to side, and another star-shaped mark, a perfect scar from a stab wound in the heart. |
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| | One thing that is always surprising is the ability of objects invested with sap to vibrate and emit a kind of crystalline song when it is very close, or touches them. This never lasts more than a moment, but is systematic. | | One thing that is always surprising is the ability of objects invested with sap to vibrate and emit a kind of crystalline song when it is very close, or touches them. This never lasts more than a moment, but is systematic. |
| | </poem> | | </poem> |
| | + | |
| | == Personality == | | == Personality == |
| | Following her second memory loss at age 14, she was re-educated as a Matis by [[:fr:Liandra of Alanowë|Liandra]], her adoptive mother, and Florimelle, a moderate Jena priestess, but was formerly a very young teenager steeped in [[Zorai]] culture. When her memory returned in a fragmented way, she retained both upbringings and both cultures, although she had to abandon her attraction to the Zorai and the [[Witherings]], as they considered her new upbringing and her faith in Jena to be treacherous. | | Following her second memory loss at age 14, she was re-educated as a Matis by [[:fr:Liandra of Alanowë|Liandra]], her adoptive mother, and Florimelle, a moderate Jena priestess, but was formerly a very young teenager steeped in [[Zorai]] culture. When her memory returned in a fragmented way, she retained both upbringings and both cultures, although she had to abandon her attraction to the Zorai and the [[Witherings]], as they considered her new upbringing and her faith in Jena to be treacherous. |
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| | * [https://forums.ryzom.fr/showthread.php?t=14427 Ryzom > Communauté francophone > La Saga > Roleplaying : <nowiki>[Nemesis]</nowiki> La fin de la Maîtresse des Lames] | | * [https://forums.ryzom.fr/showthread.php?t=14427 Ryzom > Communauté francophone > La Saga > Roleplaying : <nowiki>[Nemesis]</nowiki> La fin de la Maîtresse des Lames] |
| | === [[Nemesis/The First Day|Nemesis: Day One]] === | | === [[Nemesis/The First Day|Nemesis: Day One]] === |
| − | {{:Nemesis/The First Day}} | + | {| class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" |
| | + | |<poem> Thun had talked for hours with [[Psychee]]... A long discussion, with enigmatic meanings and mysterious undertones. But once again, Psychee had heard a man talk about destiny, about choice, about not choosing. About a miracle, about a precious gift, too. Thun knew things about her that she did not know. The very wise leader of the Sap Guardians had not come to her out of curiosity, but with more about her than Psyche knew, and could understand...</poem> |
| | + | |- |
| | + | |{{:Nemesis/The First Day}} |
| | + | |} |
| | | | |
| | === [[Nemesis/The Giants|Nemesis: The Giants]] === | | === [[Nemesis/The Giants|Nemesis: The Giants]] === |
| − | {{:Nemesis/The Giants}} | + | {| class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" |
| | + | | <poem>The ground quivered. |
| | + | A gigantic [[kincher]] rose above the savannah, its titanic mandibles whipping the air with such force that it killed the flock of birds that tried to escape it with its shock wave. It rushed at its prey, leaving behind it, as if suspended in the sky, three great sagan trunks uprooted under its fury, disregarding the tons of wood that this could represent...</poem> |
| | + | |- |
| | + | |{{:Nemesis/The Giants}} |
| | + | |} |
| | | | |
| | === [[Nemesis/The Blur|Nemesis: The Blur]] === | | === [[Nemesis/The Blur|Nemesis: The Blur]] === |
| | + | {| class="mw-collapsible mw-collapsed" |
| | + | |<poem> They were not attacking... |
| | | | |
| − | Ils n'attaquaient pas...
| + | They were there, taunting the sky with their gigantic size, screaming their power with a sound that exceeded all the ear's capacity to understand, to interpret. Any animal that had been confronted with these vocal organs would have already died, its body driven mad and definitively destroyed by this sound.... How can we ever imagine imitating it? |
| − | | |
| − | Ils étaient là, narguant le ciel de leur taille gigantesque, hurlant leur puissance avec un bruit qui dépassait toutes les capacités de l'oreille à comprendre, à interpréter. N'importe quel animal qui eut été face à ces organes vocaux serait déjà mort, le corps rendu fou et définitivement détruit par ce son.... Comment jamais imaginer l'imiter?
| |
| − | | |
| − | Six kinchers.
| |
| − | Leurs mandibules fouettaient l'air en sifflant, leurs pattes repositionnant leurs corps de mécanique biologique parfaite dans des mouvements rotatifs incessants, leurs yeux fixant un petit point adossé aux parois caverneuses des immenses Primes Racines.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Six géants dont la puissance le dispute à la férocité, six monstres à la violence si inhumaine qu'on ne peut que leur dénier toute pensée, ou émotion. Juste l'instinct de gigantesques machines bio-mécaniques à la perfection inégalée, crées pour tuer tout ce qui est homin sur leur passage traçé avec une telle régularité que l'on croirait de parfaits jouets à engrenages.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Leur seule vie?... Six pairs d'yeux, au reflet presque mort, derrière une couche de chitine translucide, mais des mouvements rapides, qui ne peuvent que certifier qu'ils voient, qu'ils observent, qu'ils analysent, qu'ils savent. Et savoir, prendre conscience, c'est vivre...
| |
| − | | |
| − | Ces six monstres, mécaniques parfaites pourtant bien vivantes fixaient une homine piégée à leur regard.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Mais ils n'attaquaient pas.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Psychée avait pu trouver le chemin des Primes Racines. Aidée par son cher promis Leonil, elle avait pu rejoindre un bien étrange et spectral Kami, au sein des immenses salles de silence et d'obscurité des Racines, et ainsi trouver le moyen de se téléporter seule, quand elle le désirait.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Cet endroit avait une magie trop attirante pour y résister. Dès qu'elle le pouvait, elle y retournait, même seule, pour goûter au calme de ce paysage dont la seule lumière était celle des végétaux qui éclairaient leur monde de leurs organes photo-luminescents. Le bruit semblait banni de ces cavernes et, malgré les dangers que Leonil lui avait répété, et répété encore, elle ne pouvait résister à ce lieu... A cette paix. La même paix que celle qui brulait au fond de son coeur. La paix d'un monde voulant faire croire que la lutte, la survie, la guerre, la colère, la haine, et la faim pouvaient être bannis et oubliés.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Les Racines étaient tout de même non habitées, mais visités. Les meilleurs prospecteurs venaient y récolter les plus remarquables matières premières d'Atys, et les lieux n’étaient jamais privé de présence homine.
| |
| − | Et c'est un cri d'un prospecteur zorai qui avait alerté Psychée...
| |
| − | - "Kitiiiiins!!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Aussitôt, les prospecteurs abandonnaient leur travail, et courraient se réfugier dans les boyaux les plus étroits... ces boyaux même où Psychée, Osmoz, et Leonil avaient trouvé de la Goo... même ici.
| |
| − | Les prospecteurs connaissaient bien leurs coins de cavernes, et restaient alors de longues minutes, écoutant les cliquetis et les hurlements des monstres, guettant, cachés, leur départ.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Psychée, elle, se retrouva piégée à sa méconnaissance des lieux. Elle était loin des prospecteurs, incapable de les suivre dans les bonnes cachettes.
| |
| − | Elle courrait, sans voir les monstres, essayant de se guider aux appels des homins dans le lointain.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Et se trouva face à eux.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Six kinchers, marchant comme une horde mécanique et implacable.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Droit vers elle.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Elle se mit à courir, espérant les distancer assez pour appeler les Kamis, et se faire téléporter. Quinze secondes... il lui fallait quinze secondes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Les kinchers ne les lui laissèrent jamais.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Ils accélérèrent, paniquant l'adolescente matis, la faisant trébucher, encore et encore, le cœur rendu fou de terreur, tandis que les monstres filaient à une vitesse effrayante, arrachant et faisant voler autour d'eux des mottes de terre de la taille d'un bodoc adulte. Elle heurta une paroi de la grande caverne au point de s’assommer, et eut, dans le brouillard de l’étourdissement, juste le temps de se retourner, pour voir, flou, six silhouettes titanesque venir se jeter sur elle, les tarses ravisseuses levées pour l'attaque, pour le carnage.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Elle hurla, la terreur à son paroxysme, au milieu du tumulte monstrueux de la charge des kinchers.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Un flash, le temps qui s'arrête sous la terreur de sa mort imminente.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Un retour en arrière, à son huitième cerne, à son enfance.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Elle tient la main de sa mère. Elle se nomme Elenaa, le nom de sa propre grand-mère, donnée par sa maman.
| |
| − | Elle n'avait jamais pu retrouver son propre nom.
| |
| − | Sa mère est inquiète, et regarde partout. La petite fille lève les yeux.
| |
| − | Le convoi est grand, près de cinquante personnes, autant, sinon plus, de mektoubs. Pas de vieillards, mais plus d'une vingtaine d'enfants.
| |
| − | Elle se souvient qu'elle avait demandé si papi et mamie allaient venir. Papa avait répondu, un voile dans les yeux, que non... Elle n'avait pas compris pourquoi. Pas plus que cette fuite d'Avalae, en pleine nuit, avec ces gens qui les avaient rejoint.
| |
| − | Elle avait juste entendu: "les zorai, eux seuls nous aideront". Elle ne savait pas qu’étaient les zorai.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Un hurlement.
| |
| − | De femme.
| |
| − | Dans sa vision.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Kitins!!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Tout le monde se mit à courir, tandis que son père embrassait sa mère, tenant une immense épée à deux mains, et courrait à l'arrière du convoi. Les mektoubs affolés étaient laissés à leur sort, et sa mère la souleva de terre pour la porter dans ses bras. Psychée pleurait de terreur et d'incompréhension, comme tout les enfants portés soudain par leurs parents.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Un bruit, que jamais Psychée n'avait entendu.
| |
| − | Le hurlement des kinchers, s'abattant sur la queue de la colonne. Les hurlements homins en réponse, le déchainement des mages, et des guerriers, leur ultime résistance pour sauver leurs enfants, leurs femmes, pour une seule chance. Le hurlement de sa mère, son propre hurlement, ses larmes.
| |
| − | Elle n'eut même pas de mots pour prévenir sa mère quand le kincher se dressa, six mètres au dessus d'elles, pour s'abattre sur les femmes et les enfants.
| |
| − | Sa mère ne la lachà pas, même quand près d'un mètre d'éperon traversa son abdomen.
| |
| − | une chute au sol, une fureur aveuglante, tout ce qui vivait ici fut massacré en quelques secondes.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Psychée ouvrit les yeux, sa mère ne l'avait pas lâchée, dans son dernier souffle, dans son dernier geste avant la mort.
| |
| − | Le kincher regardait sa proie, la dernière en vie, la dernière trace homin à tuer. Ses tarses relevés, il pouvait découper l'enfant d'un geste.
| |
| − | Il regardait. Il regarda longtemps...
| |
| − | Puis, il se détourna, dans un bruit de cliquetis mécanique, et de glissement de muscles.
| |
| − | Psychée perdit connaissance...
| |
| − | | |
| − | Le temps reprit sa course.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Psychée ouvrit les yeux, le dos à la caverne.
| |
| − | Ils étaient là...
| |
| − | Les six kinchers s'étaient arrêtés devant elle, et attendaient. Ils regardaient. Impossible de rien lire d'humain, ou même d'animal dans leurs yeux.
| |
| − | | |
| − | - "Pourquoi?..." murmura-t-elle. "Pourquoi n'attaquez-vous pas?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Les monstres restèrent sans réponse, et comment même deviner dans ces choses le moindre langage des yeux ou du corps?... Comment trouver la moindre empathie pour ces créatures si étrangères?
| |
| − | | |
| − | - "Mais dites-moi !!!"
| |
| − | | |
| − | Elle avait hurlé. Un kitin s’était redressé, comme surpris. Il avança le corps vers elle, dans un souffle, et Psychée détourna le regard, les yeux fermés, saisi par une peur terrifiante.
| |
| − | Le kitin la dévisagea. Si jamais il en était capable.
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| − | | |
| − | Puis il se redressa et de son incroyable mouvement rotatif de mécanique parfait, s'écarta, pour reprendre sa patrouille, suivi des cinq autres.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Psychée resta seule, prostrée, recroquevillée sur elle-même, dans la lumière blafarde des Racines. Cela dura longtemps. Elle ne pouvait plus, désormais, effacer les images de ce souvenir d'enfant si longtemps relégué au fond de son esprit. Le visage de sa mère, un masque presque extatique de mort tandis qu'elle s'effondrait, le dernier regard de son père, empli d'amour, et en même temps de terreur, avant de rejoindre ceux qui essayèrent de résister. Sa vie, épargnée par ce monstre... et tout les autres, tout les autres.
| |
| | | | |
| − | Elle pleura, assise dans l'herbe, elle pleura, sans ne pouvoir rien arrêter...
| + | Six kinchers...</poem> |
| | + | |- |
| | + | |{{:Nemesis/The Blur}} |
| | + | |} |
| | | | |
| | === [[Nemesis/The End of the Masteress of the Blades|Nemesis: The End of the Masteress of the Blades]] === | | === [[Nemesis/The End of the Masteress of the Blades|Nemesis: The End of the Masteress of the Blades]] === |
Her primary character trait is her pacifism, which borders on a phobia of violence. She has never raised a hand against a human being, and is incapable, even in anger, of attacking or insulting someone. Her pacifism has played tricks on her, her hominism making her save her worst enemies or making her feel sorry for the last murderer.
However, since her mother's death, she seems to be forcing herself to learn to fight, and wield the family's living greatsword. Like all Atys, she is preparing for the coming war.
Her second trait is a fragile and outspoken personality, devoid of the devious nature of the matis. She expresses her emotions, and cannot hide them, has never lied or almost never lied in her life, and is very unconvinced of the idea of cheating or tricking someone, even if she has resorted to these extremes to protect herself. Always speaking her mind, she easily attracts either great sympathy or great rage from her interlocutors, despite her propensity to always try to favour peaceful and calm relationships.
And her final trait is that she hides beneath great efforts to be cheerful an immense despair. She has lost her loved ones twice, her natural family, then her Zorai family, then her mother, and lives in fear of a destiny that no one knows if it is a lie or reality.
She therefore fights against her suffering, against a desire to end it all, and tries as best she can to live her interrupted life in a world where war is the only order of the day.
They were not attacking...
They were there, taunting the sky with their gigantic size, screaming their power with a sound that exceeded all the ear's capacity to understand, to interpret. Any animal that had been confronted with these vocal organs would have already died, its body driven mad and definitively destroyed by this sound.... How can we ever imagine imitating it?
Six kinchers...
|
Their mandibles whipped the air with a hiss, their legs repositioning their biologically perfect bodies in ceaseless rotary movements, their eyes staring at a small point against the cavernous walls of the immense Prime Roots.
Six giants whose power rivals their ferocity, six monsters whose violence is so inhuman that one can only deny them any thought, or emotion. Just the instinct of gigantic bio-mechanical machines of unparalleled perfection, created to kill everything homin in their path, traced with such regularity that one would think they were perfect geared toys.
Their only life? Six pairs of eyes, with an almost dead reflection, behind a layer of translucent chitin, but rapid movements, which can only certify that they see, that they observe, that they analyse, that they know. And to know, to become aware, is to live...
These six monsters, perfect mechanics yet very much alive, were staring at a homina trapped in their gaze.
But they were not attacking.
Psychee had found her way to the Prime Roots. With the help of her beloved betrothed Leonil, she had been able to reach a very strange and spectral Kami, within the immense halls of silence and darkness of the Roots, and thus find the means to teleport alone, whenever she wished.
This place had a magic too enticing to resist it. As soon as she could, she returned there, even alone, to enjoy the calm of this landscape whose only light was that of the plants that illuminated their world with their photo-luminescent organs. Noise seemed to be banished from these caves and, despite the dangers that Leonil had repeated to her, and repeated again, she could not resist this place... To this peace. The same peace that burned in her heart. The peace of a world that wanted to believe that struggle, survival, war, anger, hatred, and hunger could be banished and forgotten.
The Roots were still not inhabited, but visited. The best prospectors came there to harvest the most remarkable raw materials of Atys, and the place was never without a hominin presence.
And it was a cry from a zoraï prospector that alerted Psychee...
—- “Kitiiiiins!!”
Immediately, the prospectors abandoned their work, and ran to take refuge in the narrowest gutters... the very gutters where Psychee, Osmoz, and Leonil had found Goo... even here. The prospectors knew their cavernous corners well, and would then stay for long minutes, listening to the rattling and howling of the monsters, watching, hidden, for their departure.
Psychee, on the other hand, found herself trapped by her unfamiliarity with the place. She was far from the prospectors, unable to follow them into the right hiding places.
She ran, not seeing the monsters, trying to guide herself by the calls of the homins in the distance.
And then she found herself facing them.
Six kinchers, marching like a relentless, mechanical horde.
Straight towards her.
She started to run, hoping to outrun them enough to call the kami, and be teleported. Fifteen seconds... she needed fifteen seconds.
The kinchers never let her have them.
They sped up, panicking the teenage matis, causing her to stumble again and again, her heart racing with terror, as the monsters sped by at a frightening speed, tearing up and flying around them clods of earth the size of an adult bodoc. She hit a wall of the great cavern so hard that she was knocked unconscious, and had just enough time to turn around in the fog of daze to see, in a blur, six titanic figures coming to pounce on her, their ravenous tars raised for the attack, for the slaughter.
She screamed, terror at its peak, amidst the monstrous tumult of the kinchers' charge.
A flash, time standing still in the terror of her impending death.
A flashback, to her eighth ring, to her childhood.
She holds her mother's hand. Her name is Elenaa, the name of her own grandmother, given to her by her mother.
She had never been able to find her own name.
Her mother is worried and looks around. The little girl looks up.
The convoy is large, nearly fifty people, as many, if not more, mektoubs. No old people, but more than twenty children.
She remembers asking if grandpa and grandma were coming. Dad replied, with a blur in his eyes, that they were not... She didn't understand why. Nor did she understand the flight from Avalae, in the middle of the night, with those people who had joined them.
She had only heard: “the Zoraï, only they will help us”. She didn't know what the Zoraï were.
A scream.
Of a woman.
In her vision.
“Kitins!!!”
Everyone ran, while her father embraced his mother, holding a huge sword in both hands, and ran to the rear of the convoy. The distraught mektoubs were left to their fate, and her mother lifted her from the ground and carried her in her arms. Psyche cried in terror and incomprehension, like all children suddenly carried by their parents.
A noise, which Psychee had never heard before. The howling of the kinchers, slashing at the tail of the column. The homin screams in response, the outburst of the mages, and the warriors, their final resistance to save their children, their women, for one chance. Her mother's howl, her own howl, her tears. She didn't even have words to warn her mother when the kincher rose, six metres above them, to fall on the women and children.
Her mother didn't let go, even when nearly a metre of spur went through her abdomen.A fall to the ground, a blinding fury, all that lived here was slaughtered in a few seconds.
Psychee opened her eyes, her mother had not let go, in her last breath, in her last gesture before death. The kincher looked at his prey, the last one alive, the last homin trace to kill. His tarsus raised, he could cut the child with a gesture. He looked. He looked for a long time... Then he turned away, with a sound of mechanical clanking, and the sliding of muscles.
Psychee lost consciousness...
And time resumed its course.
Psychee opened her eyes, her back to the cave.
They were there...
The six kinchers had stopped in front of her, and were waiting. They were watching. It was impossible to read anything human, or even animal, in their eyes.
— “Why?” she whispered. “Why don't you attack?”
The monsters remained unanswered, and how could one even guess at the language of the eyes or the body in these things? How to find the slightest empathy for such alien creatures?
— “But tell me!!!”
She had screamed. A kitin had straightened up, as if surprised. He moved his body towards her with a gasp, and Psychee looked away, his eyes closed, gripped by a terrifying fear.
The kitin stared at her. If he could ever do it.
Then he straightened up and with his incredible rotary motion of perfect mechanics, stepped aside, to resume his patrol, followed by the other five.
Psychee remained alone, prostrate, huddled over herself, in the dim light of the Roots. This lasted a long time. She could no longer erase the images of that childhood memory that had been relegated to the back of her mind for so long. Her mother's face, an almost ecstatic mask of death as she collapsed, her father's last look, filled with love, and at the same time terror, before joining those who tried to resist. Her life, spared by that monster... and all the others, all the others.
She cried, sitting in the grass, she cried, unable to stop anything...
一━══ ⧼⧽ ══━一
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