Hi thank you for the questions!! Much appreciated <3
1. What was the first element of your OC that you remember considering (name, appearance, backstory, etc.)?
This one's actually an interesting one for Luqqah because she is one of my very very rare characters that had at least a bit of backstory before I ever looked at any ingame customization options; and also the only character I created who had an established connection to one of my existing characters.
So her very first element was basically being Lahpp's unnamed ex-girlfriend for backstory purposes with no real impact on present events but... you know how it is, started thinking about the details more, she actually got a personality of her own, started tinkering with character customization to get a feeling for her looks... and when the recent LS1 episodes gave us the antitoxin glove skin the deal was sealed bc "I need a character for this armour skin".
8. What (if anything) do you relate to within their character/story?
Her backstory isn't super relatable for me and character wise I actually strongly disagree with many of her values and ideals… not saying there isn't anything to be found at all but I can't think of anything on the spot!
So I gotta give a relatively superficial answer for this one, which would be her passion for music I guess! She goes about it a bit more hardcore than me (read: she actually knows what she's talking about) but nonetheless a shared hobby! I slap the music interest onto a lot of characters in one way or the other huh.
14. If you had to narrow it down to 2 things that you MUST keep in mind while working with your OC, what would those things be?
A) She's ambitious to a fault (will walk over literal corpses to reach her goal) & B) she thinks she's doing the world a favour with it. Her ultimate medical breakthrough is going to save so many lives after all, all the sacrifices will be worth it in the end :)
18. What is the most recent thing you’ve discovered about your OC?
Okay this is actually a silly detail in her backstory and not super significant in the grand scale of her character / story at all but my girlfriend and I decided that she had a little... short-lived affair with one of my gf's characters (Inquisitor Dunnh) while she was still officially in a relationship with Lahpp.
Sure sure!! :D (And yes as you can see it did indeed autocorrect Kerra's name but no worries no worries ajlskdf :) )
🥵 : Is your OC perceived as physically attractive to others? Is it at first glance or is it something that takes more time to reach fruition?
I'd say yes, she is--she's in excellent shape and it shows, for one thing. She's probably not quite at movie-star level or anything, but still up there. Her smile absolutely makes it, though.
👃 : Does your OC smell good? Do they have a signature scent?
If you like lavender, then yes she does!
💘 : Is your OC a very good flirt? Are they charming?
Is Kerra good at flirting...she's gotten better, that's for sure! She's never been bad at it exactly, just didn't really have much of an opportunity to practice for a while. For the second bit, yes, but not in the romantic sense of the word unless she's specifically aiming for that. She's very skilled at putting Friend Vibes out into the world and is charming in that sense almost on autopilot.
i’ve been waiting to tell this story heehee
enjoy some young arb content!!
76: “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
CW: Graphic depictions of violence, maiming, murder, brief mention of vomit, mild body horror
“Preceptor, there must be a mistake here.” Arbreura stares at the paper in her hands, her brow furrowed. She looks up at Doern, who holds her stare unflinchingly. “I haven’t done a stealth mission in… well, I don’t think I’ve ever done a stealth mission. And the Nightmare Court—?”
“It’s no mistake, Agent.”
She lets out a slow, unsteady breath. “Permission to speak freely?”
He dips his head at her. “Granted.”
“I’m not good at stealth, I’m a fucking spy. I’m infiltration, you know this, what’s going on here?”
“I’m not at liberty to say.” Doern’s lips twist into a pitying half-smile. “Are you contesting your assignment?”
“Is that going to change anything?”
“You know the answer to that.”
Her eyes slip shut and she counts to 10 in her head. She runs a hand through her foliage. “Are you sure that I can’t go undercover?”
“You have your orders.”
“Mulch.” The paper crumples under her fingers.
“Agent Arbreura, you’ll be fine. Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. I’ll report in with my findings within the week.”
“Thank you. Dismissed.”
—
Arbreura grits her teeth as she works the lock. One of the civilians in her cell hushes a weeping sapling. She looks up at the other civilian standing beside her and holds out her hand. He gives her the sturdy twig he’d snatched before being captured, and she gets back to picking the lock. They don’t have much time before the next round of guards comes by the cell, and the seconds tick by in her head like a timer on a bomb.
“How much longer?” a sapling whispers.
“Just a few more…” The lock hisses and the vines retreat and wither. “Got it. Everyone, run. I’ll hang back a bit as a distraction. Don’t worry about me, just run.”
Her cellmates do just as she says, with no small amount of hesitation. She watches as they retreat into the dimly-lit trees, counting to 10 in her head, then follows. Her sap pumps hot and fast through her body. It’s pure terror in her veins, something she’s become deeply acquainted with over the past several days. Her mistake had been small, a simple brush of skin-against-skin with a Courtier, but it was enough to get her captured, enough to be tortured on and off for days. She’s going to give Doern a piece of her mind once she gets back to the Chantry.
A shout rings out behind her: “The prisoners escaped!”
She runs faster, no longer caring if her steps fall heavy. Speed is what matters here. Arbreura is lightheaded. She’s not even sure if she’s still breathing. Her vision blurs at the edges, but the person sprinting to block her path still appears crystal clear. The Courtier grapples her, tries to wrestle her to the ground. She snarls and pushes back. Her muscles strain with the effort. For a heartbeat, time freezes around them. The Courtier’s eyes narrow, then they stop and step away. Set off-balance, Arbreura stumbles. Metal whistles through the air.
She screams.
There’s a dagger in her eye and sap oozing down her cheek. Her eyelid spasms around the blade. Pain shoots through her head, and she howls again. Arbreura staggers back, grasping blindly for the hilt of the dagger. The Courtier who stabbed her laughs and laughs and laughs, mocking and triumphant. She yanks the dagger free, her eye slipping shut. A round of adrenaline pulses through her, and the pain fades into a distant throb. She’s angry, furious, murderous. She tackles the Courtier to the ground. Dagger clutched in her trembling hand, she stabs them over and over again, only stopping once their screaming stops and a final horrible, rattling breath shakes their body. She rises on trembling legs. Her stomach curdles. She staggers to the side and vomits up bile. The back of her hand swipes at her mouth, and, her vision swimming in a haze of gold, she staggers further into the trees.
A cry rises up. Somebody catches her before she hits the ground. Distantly, she hears somebody call for a Mender.
—
She’s not sure how long it takes for her to become fully lucid. For the first few days, all she knows is the taste of the bland vegetable broth the Menders feed her and the dull ache that comes whenever her bandages are changed. The civilians that escaped with her come to visit every so often. One of the saplings sits at her bedside and weaves flower crowns for her. Eventually, the Menders deem her well enough to leave, but remind her ad nauseum that she needs to take it easy for the foreseeable future.
Arbreura returns to the Chantry in other people’s clothes and with a hollow sort of exhaustion on her face. One Agent sees her and rushes to her side to help her through the dark corridors. She nods listlessly as a ‘thank-you.’
“Preceptor Velazquez,” she says upon entering his office.
His head shoots up and his eyes go wide. He stands and looks her up and down. “Agent Arbreura! You’re alive.”
“You could say that, yes.” Her eye shuts and she puffs out a sigh through her nose. “I need to be on desk duty for a while.”
“For how long?”
She presses her lips together. Her empty eye socket throbs. “I don’t know.”
astralarias replied to your post “PTSS! a Sylvari who is slowly being taken over by a body controlling...”
If we want to go darker, it takes over their mind as well and drives them to infect others. A sylvari locked away in the Grove, begging the Wardens that it’s them, to let them out, they’ve known each other since they awoke. But there’s something...off in their voice, and their begging isn’t so much desperate as angry. All the Warden can do is watch as their former friend is taken over more and more, replaced by a mindless being whose only instinct is to infect.
OHOHOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO FUCK YES THAT IS SO COOL!
I love this! Imagine there being a few locked cells, and I mean locked - the never open, not sure what to do ebcuase can it even be reversed by menders of the Tree, sliding food through the bars on a ravaged pole, kinda locked. chains wrapped across the front as the infection spreads
Wardens stop wanting to go near, fearing spores and infection from sheer proximity, they talk about how the mushrooms grow, how the movements hit the uncanny valley, how it’s sylvari, but not sylvari.
Once it’s progressed too far, they’re scared to even open the door to let their friend rest, the living corpse twitches, dragging itself. Does it have near perfect control? The kind that makes younger saplings think it’s just learning to walk, or has a strange ailment to cause the slightly off-colour movements. Or does it resemble rabies? Are they dragging themselves, so devoid of nutrients, across the floor?
Zombie Sylvari? Or rabies but make it plants?
ALOS, who else do they call to kill what cannot, or everyone’s too scared of to, kill? The Commander. Be it ranged or melee, what if, the Commander does their grim duty... and walks away with a single spore, snagging onto their leaves?
