Lone and foolish traveler. . .Ye who have journeyed long and journeyed far. . .That ye should be fated to cross upon these grounds of a long forgotten place and time is rather curious but forgivable. . .simply the way the masterless guiding winds blow. That ye should knowingly persist upon thy path, however. . .Contained within are the fragmented notes of my unseen journey with an individual of dubious and reproachful character. What your intentions are in investigating these is beyond me. Yet ye would be wise to know that the terrain ye traverse in thy hunger for knowledge . . .is friendly not.
Devilesschnika Bifrons von Panzerfaust
Name:- (current) Devilesschnika Bifrons von Panzerfaust (previous) Vaeria von WolfenAge:- 346Gender:- Female (Kindred Manifestation:- Female +)Height:- 6’6”Weight:- 236 lbsMeasurements:- b48-w32-h42 fl8”-er13”Eye Color:- Azure (Kindred Possession:- Crimson)Bloodlines:- Father:- Brahms Gustav /Altepan Rustback Galka, Mother:- Enna von Wolfen /Seawolf Roegadyn, Infestation:- Count Bifrons /Elder Baphomet KindredHomeland:- Vanadiel, Xarcabard- Fulcrum VillageCurrent Residence:- Eorzea, Primal, Excalibur, Empyreum, ward 15 plot 46Occupation:- Dark Kindred Tacticians Lieutenant, Blackmage Slayer, Professional Storyteller, EscortReligious Affiliation:- Blood of Norfair /BishopPrimary Job:- SamuraiMartial School:- Asuran Blitz WarfareMartial Expression:- Ninth Panzersword- Hateful CrusadeAttributed Quote:- “Not for free. Piss, blood, tears and acid. Beaten, broken, buried away and forgotten. . .and that’s the end of you. But by God never. . .no never for free.”Voice Likeness:- Balsa- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wy8bhj6refkTheme Song:- https://soundcloud.com/user3745513/three-days-grace-get-out-alive
Wolf of Vanadiellian Snow
More than three centuries ago by the current calendar, under the endlessly dreary snow speckled skies of the Xarcabardian Highlands, a pup of singular nature was birthed into existence. Fulcrum Village, a well hidden, off the map haven of Galkan males and Seawolf Roegadyn females, was home to Vaeria von Wolfen, a radiantly blue eyed, snow-maned wolf, the second of four siblings. As with her older brother, Sinistral, she inherited the family’s fangs and claws . . .and the unquenchable desire to use them.
Forsaking a normal childhood in every way, much to her mother’s dismay, a preadolescent Vaeria spent her days traversing the blackened halls of the warring King, Shadowlord. Within his fallen dominion, she was to have as her playmates ambassadors from the gates of Hell. . .the Kindred. By their mercilessly nurturing guidance, she was given an intimate education in power, violence, and. . .as she became of age. . .perverse lust.Castle Zvahl provided a real-time martial training ground for the white haired pup in a way no civilized class ever could. She developed a deeply loved affinity for dueling, challenging lower ranked Kindreds at every opportunity she could. While many of these encounters left her bloody and battered, quite a few on the verge of death, she never killed in return. The resulting engagements pushed her combat skills ahead by leaps and bounds, instilling within her as well the appreciation of standing on her own feet over relying on a trusted companion. Along with this all, however, something uniquely strange began to happen.As the years passed, from the endless encounters with the Kindred of Zvahl, an unsaid affinity began to grow between them and her, an acceptance. This, however, as time progressed, began to grow into something much deeper, and a no longer naive Roegadyn female was inevitably initiated into a second family. . .albeit a much darker one. . .Upon the eve of the Blessing of Norfair, a vaunted holy day of the Kindred, several Elder, or Dark, Kindred had been summoned to the castle to conduct the various rituals, many of them sacrificial. Among these was a particularly powerful demon. . .the fearsome Count Bifrons. As he prepared to sacrifice his victim, an exceedingly arrogant Vaeria intervened, before all present, challenging the count himself to a duel, saying that if he beat her, she would take the sacrifice’s place.The duel that insued was as fantastic as it was bloody, exhilarating as it was dangerous, and a wickedly livid Vaeria put her heart and soul into the dance with the elder Count. Unfortunately, she came up short.As Bifrons prepared to deliver the concluding blow, the sight his crimson irises fell upon was a curious one. A female Roegadyn, baptized in her own blood, worn and torn, broken. . .but with an exceedingly satisfied look that spoke of nothing less than pure sexual gratification, a hopelessly deep feeding need that had finally been fulfilled.. . .The Count’s blade waivered. . . .then fell away. . .What happened next, I do not allow myself to record, less the very retelling cause the empty rocking chair to gyrate of its own accord. One does not speak lightly of such fallen. . .interminglings between man and beast without recourse, and I sooner would fein ignorance of the particular ritual that transpired thereafter. When Vaeria greeted her beyond anguished mother and father a few days later, however, the azure tint of her eyes was gone forever...replaced by a radiant affectionate color much more befitting. . .of a demon.The weeks turned to months, and then to years. A fully matured wolf, no longer containable by the comforts of the snow laiden village, now traversed the limitless lands of Vanadiel. From deepest Ravine, over raging Sea, all the way up into clouded Sky, Vaeria refined her weaponship with a hunger that bordered on madness. Bounty hunting, regional militia assistance, mercenary work on both sides of the field, the challenging of the land’s Kings themselves . . . all did absolutely nothing in curbing the raging bloodlust circulating through her veins. It was only the brief reuniting with her brother Sinistral that finally succeeded in keeping her internal wolves at bey. This intermission, however . . .was not to last.In the fleeting time that the two siblings spent together, Vaeria was introduced to a mock form of combat among the nations known as Ballista. Upon this fighting stage, she would encounter some of the most skilled, fearless, and indestructible opponents she would ever know. Formost among them. . .was a lowly dark knight, an Elvaan by the name of Cloud V, who preached the simple sermon of -ZERG, the reckless path of all fools.- Under his training and Sinistral’s vigilant eye, Vaeria was able to convert a rabidly animalistic fighting style into a hatefully focused, though not at all refined one, and at last her combat capabilities began to lunge upward once more.. . .and then. . .Cloud V and Sinistral were gone. Both victims of a fanatical union of heretics, the Church of Murari, a sect determined to see the triumph of the dark magical arts over all other forms of fighting.Blackmages.The intermission of bloodlust. . .was now over.For the next year, in what was termed by the then reigning Star Sybil of Windhurst as ‘The Hateful Crusade’, Vaeria’s blades would hold exceedingly intimate conversation with the throat of every blackmage she came across (she was always said to start with the tongue). The instincts of an Xarcabard-bred Roe and the blood of an unchained Kindred running through her veins, Vaeria cut a silent line through the ranks of the Church of Murari until its doors were forever closed. The incessant bloodlust. . .did not end.With The Great War with Shadowlord reaching its climax, the need for (and subsequent loss of) blackmages finally reached the knowledge of the Grand Duchy of Jeuno. By the time Vaeria’s murderous identity was established, she had deeply infiltrated the ranks of the Hydra Corps., the very frontline guard against the Kindred. When news of her identity finally made it to her field commander, he silently ordered her taken out. The execution might very well have succeeded. . .save that news of it reached the ears . . .of Count Bifrons himself. With his personal division of Dark Kindred now at her back, Vaeria summarily turned upon the very unit she’d been deployed to protect...a battalion of 200+ blackmages. In the ensuing fight, the mages were utterly crushed. Not, however, before Vaeria was mortally wounded, inflicted with an extremely potent aether-corrupting spell.With her Kindred brethren gathering around her, rapidly losing blood and aether, Vaeria expressed no remorse whatsoever for the hateful life she’d led. Count Bifrons, however, was not a being to submissively concede his own to Death’s inevitable decree. It was here, that he now made a much stronger pact with her, for a steep price, connecting her aether to that of his own. In order for it to take effect, however, she would have to completely purge herself of her Vanadelian aether forever more. Gathering the wounded bodies of three still living blackmages, Taru-Tarus, Count Bifrons preformed an Elder Kindred ritual, heavily similar to magics utilized by ‘time-gate temporal Maws’ . . .and opened a pathway to a land far far beyond the luminescent shadows of Vanadiel. Kissing his consort one last time on the physical plane, he sent her through . . .How much time passed, the distortion of years and centuries is hard to say. When the unholy mists and perverted magics finally dissipated, a gravely wounded but now very much alive Vaeria stumbled forward. Leaning against a tree, she fell down and slumbered, her eyes closing soon after resting upon the bedarkened walls of the estate known by the locals. . .as Haukke Manor.
Devil of Eorzean Rain
Sleep, by definition, is relied upon to be restful, restorative. . .a haven from the trials and tribulations of life, if only for the brief intervening hours. On occasion however, nightmares come along that leave the entrapped soul pleading for the eye opening light of day.Vaeria found herself within the loving confines of a demonically induced coma...for two weeks. While her body fought to strengthen itself from the grevious wounds suffered, her mind became a battlefield in itself. A tug of war. . .against the very nether creature she was inseparably linked to, Count Bifrons. The things, acts, memories that he forced her to watch, drink in, until each and every one of them were her own. . .were, by all rights, enough to buckle her soul, let him consume her entirely. Vaeria’s will, however, was as hellish as her possessor. If he had won the physical duel against her so many years ago, he had, for the present, miserably lost the mental one. In a last ditch effort to keep her from completely gaining the upper hand, he sealed off all of her memories connected to life in Vanadiel. . .then simply vanished.Days went by . . .A weathered but rested roe finally woke to find herself in a quite warm bed. . .with a stench of death lingering all around her. More curious still, to the one no longer affected by such things, she found a wondrously inquisitive raven haired succubus floating attentively at her bedside. She, herself a voidsent, was heavily attracted to the completely unfamiliar aetheric scent Vaeria was giving off, stating it had a flavor she’d never before encountered. As thanks for watching over her, Vaeria agreed to form what she thought to be an ‘innocent little pact’ with the succubus, letting her satisfy her curiosities about her in exchange for being something of a guide. (It is interesting to note that Count Bifrons did not in any way interfere with this psychic linking, perhaps being as curious about the nature of Eorzea’s voidsent as they were about the Kindred.)Days once more turned to weeks as Vaeria’s strength returned to her completely. At the suggestion of the succubus, she took up the bow and arrow to fill the otherwise empty hours, for her memories, try as she might, were still tightly sealed away. For a while, this suggestion proved to be exactly what her tortured soul needed. As she was refining her marksmanship, she happened to pick up the ways of a traveling bard. Storytelling was one of her two laughable weaknesses. Back when she would come home from excursions in Castle Zvahlbloody and battered, her father, Brahms, would tell her all sorts of exciting tales, such as the inevitable tragedy of the Eldernine Necropolis, and the last and valiant stand at the Garlige Citadel. While she could not remember the actual memories of these times, her heart indeed recalled the feelings of peace and fascination she had during the telling, and decided it a mighty fine thing that this curious new world of Eorzea with its strange ‘lalas, Hroths, and Vieran Bunnies’ should be treated to that which calmed her so on her blackest days.Speaking of bunnies. . .As Vaeria began to travel the lands of Eorzea, she slowly began to pick up the tiniest pieces of her memory. To facilitate this, the linked succubus gave up recollections of meeting a group of individuals who might be able to help. On the far off lands of Il Mohegan, Vaeria had been guided to seek out a unique tribe of highly skilled alchemists known as the Nu Mou. It was here, in the humble tucked away village of Pla Enni, that she came across Ose Sigun, a small Mou that didn’t exactly have the best sense of humor. . .at all. After giving her a quest to acquire certain items to aid in countering the apparent grip on her memories, she made the jesting comment that the little Nu Mou looked like what happened after a stout ‘popoto’ and a feral ‘bun’ had one drink too many. The final straw of assigning the title ‘poor man’s Viera’, on the spot, earned Vaeria a curse that made Count Bifrons malevolent arcane craftsmanship look like a cheap joke. The very next morning, Vaeria woke up with a set of ‘Nu Mou approved bunny ears’ she would brandish the rest of her life, tangible proof of that age old saying “If ye can’t say anything nice . . .”
As the months turned to years, the now tall eared Roegadyn female was inevitably drawn to Eorzea’s version of combat sports. Retaining only the skills of a bard, a damage dealer from the safety of a distance. . .something. . .something did not seem quite right to her. Time and time again after engagements in the fields, many of them shallow empty victories, she would stop and gaze at her hands. Their clean unsullied look, the absence of blood and visceral, . . .the sickening hunger to experience the sensations that could only come from wrapping her fingers around her target’s throats and very intimately gazing in their eyes as she extracted the life from them. . .all began to cause a deepseated yearning between her large breasts that no wards, Kindred enhanced or otherwise, could even hope to keep at bay.Perhaps just as serious, Vaeria began to notice over time what she perceived to be a sickening trend among many many of Eorzean’s combatants. Unlike the prestigious killing fields of Ballista, where it was by one’s personal skill, tenacity, and power where one lived. . .lived or died. . .here, there was a putrid dehabilitating dependency on teammates and. . .much more so . . .healers. The levels of blatant cowardliness she was exposed to, many times under the guise of caution and the grossly transparent need for teammates, many times prearranged just to gain a tactical advantage, an act which she herself would later steep to utilizing, seemed to twist, or. . .more accurately. . .. . .unlock. . ....something loooong and forgotten in her nefarious soul.. . .Count Bifrons began to take notice . . .Following the feral whisperings of her Xarcabard tempered soul, Vaeria put down the safe and distant ways of the bow and turned to a creed that had more to do with Fang & Claw. At first, her steps faltered, having no tangible memories to effectively guide her strikes. Her attempts at mastering the ways of the vaunted Dragoons often ended in blackest failure. Try as she might, the fundamental dance steps so crucial to the bloody waltz her heart subconsciously lusted after eluded her.And then . . .After repeated forays onto the frontlines of the Carteneau Flats, one particular fighter above all others began to have a telling effect upon the pup far from home. A Roegadyn himself, Khronor Murph, displayed in real-time combat, the very memories which Count Bifrons struggled to seal away. Practicing the unflinching creed of a hellfire forged warrior, Khronor threw himself into his engagements, whether his teammates backed him or not, to do his duty against those who’d stand in the way. Many times, armed with only the utilities his job provided, he blitzed the frontline. Quite a few of these excursions tended to be somber one way trips. . .from which he did not return. However . . .Upon one particular fight, Vaeria witnessed him, completely alone, with absolute mastery of the tools at his disposal, make a stand against and crush 3 targets. Up until that time, she understood the concept of the typical ‘lone wolf’, the need for caution and precise, calculated strikes to ensure both victory and survivability. Well she knew the ways of the predator, who stalked his prey by light of day or star of night. But this. . ., . . .THIS. . . was something else entirely. . .A ravenous, hateful beast, who walked where he would, alone, without the assistance of so much as a single other, one who stood on his own two feet, far far removed from the carrying restorative arms of the reassuring healer. Armed with only the fortune under his own hat, he set himself against any foolish enough to meet him . . .The sight of this one incident. . .was enough to mercilessly shatter Count Bifrons’ hold over Vaeria’s mind. The old ways of the bloodstained educations hard-taught at Jugnar Forest, the Pashow Marshlands, and the eternally indifferent Meriphataud Mountains all came screaming back to life with a sadistic cry maddening enough to rip her free of the lethargic state she’d found herself in since her arrival upon Eorzean soil. And along with this infernal awakening came the murderous realization and rationing that if Count Bifrons could have sway over her powers. . ., she. . . could sink her teeth into his. . .For the embattled Roegadyn who had traveled so very far from home. . .the age of wolves and demons . . .was now over.
To Summon A Devil
”Panzer”, a derivative from the language of the ascetic Gigas of Qufim island, translates to ‘armored tank’, while the term ‘Ghaunszhlatte’, abbreviated as ‘Faust’, tells the tale of one who, in exchange for glory, sold his soul to one unholy. . .With her memories now fully restored, Vaeria drew deeply upon the teachings of her older sibling Sinistral, as well as the brothers Battosi and Batousai, all ones versed in the ways of Asuran Blitz Warfare, tempered monks, armed in the osode of Kirin, who prioritized, above all things, on hellishly fortified defensive capabilities to effectively facilitate penetration deep into enemy lines. . .An Armored Zerg . . .Adapting the style to flow in conjunction with the utilities of the then current Dragoon, a now much darker Vaeria, who was already beginning to manifest physical signs of corruption beneath the skin. . .turned upon Count Bifrons with the savagery of a devil. Before he could sever the link between them, she counter-infested his soul, ravenously siphoning murderous amounts of raw, undiluted, pure demonic aether. So much did she rip from him that it was enough to completely negate the loss of her Vanadiellian soul, finally allowing her to manifest fully upon Eorzean soil. . .Armed finally with the tools she so hellishly craved, a blackened Roegadyn set her nefarious crimson eyes upon the somber fields of the Carteneau. With absolute malice, unquenchable hatred for the stagnant, complacent battlers all around her, the over abundant stream of quivering ranged fighters too timid to get their hands dirty, of the useless melees ever insistent upon the nurturing assurances of healers, she set out.
What happened next. . .is left to the bloodstained pages of fighting history.
There simply weren’t enough bodies. . .Enough time. . .
Since that day, the fell Roegadyn now known as Devil Panzerfaust wanders the land of Eorzea like a lost soul ever in search of conflict. Objectives of fights, skills, titles, qualifications of those who cross her footsteps mean about as much to her as their possible rank. . .. . .absolutely nothing.Losing all faith in the fangs of Dragoon, stating that it now felt nothing more than a ‘ranged melee’ occupation, Devil has taken up the sword of the Samurai. More importantly, regardless of the job, she has at long last begun to solidify her own martial expression.Ninth Panzersword: Hateful Crusade is said to be a continuation of the eighth hit of Asuran Fists, the signature killing skill that was used to send so many to a miserable and early grave during the days of the 75th conflicts. It is a style that commands neither a practical, cautious user or a brave one. . .but a reckless fool simply intent upon breaking through.Of all the stories left to tell of the killing grounds, perhaps the only one that may hold any significance is the rather obscure recounting of an event one day upon the Rock of Seals.As a hungering Devil ascended the windswept plains near the coast, her eyes fell ruefully upon a single Lalafell. Surrounded by enemy summoners, the tiny, rather plump lala, a whitemage, held his ground . . .attacking back, not with magic. . .but his lala staff. Enraged at the sheer stupidity of the tiny potato, Devil stood motionless, wishing nothing more than to see his pint sized life righteously snuffed out.The lala won.Angered beyond words, Devil marched up to the now calm Lalafell, looking down upon him with a years worth of distain. “You FOOL! That was one of the stupidest * things I’ve seen in my life! A* COMPLETE disregard for any rational, orderly fighting sense!” Responding not at all with her tone of contempt, the tiny lala raised a brow. “. . .was it, now?” Nearly tempted to smack the blatantly carefree lala where he stood, Devil walked right up to him. Lowering upon her haunch, she glared in his direction. “What is your name?” With an old kindly smile that assumes nothing but the warmth of the afternoon sun, the tiny lala looked up at her. “Name? Oh ho. . .my name is of no import whatsoever. However,” he said, gesturing with a teaspoon’s worth of mischief, “I am occasionally prone to raise a bit of a ruckus.” Taking a step forward, gazing down the field in the direction of the next conflict with the strange presence of one who knows a thing or two about conflict. . .a general. . .the lala turned back to her. “. . .you coming?”Whatever tales remain of the Devil of Eorzean Rain who, to this day still struggles to maintain control against the demon seeking to reclaim all that is his. . .are unimportant ones. Slithers of obscurity best left filed away in the halls of a library long forgotten. There remains but one word regarding the individual who I have already stated far too much about. That if you should ever find yourself traversing a lonely road, where the dust rises with a tireless refusal to settle. . .If you should come upon a female Roegadyn with mane black as night or white as drifting snow, with ears belonging to an alert bunny. . .. . .walk on by.. . .continue on your way.If, for whatever reason, you feel a need to engage her, do it with the safety of a group. Do it with a caring and supportive healer who will assuredly assist you in standing on your feet. Do it with friends, with allies. . .. . .do it with at LEAST O N E O T H E R person. . .For if you attempt to engage her without ANY BACKUP WHATSOEVER. . . you may find. . .that the day is much later than you initially suspected. . .
And then . . .
The Hateful Law of Zerg
There is a place upon Vanadiel’s tortured and embattled landscapes that does not feel remorse for the weary soul. There is a place, that does not give consent or show difference for the plight and sensibility of the burdened passerby, does not weep for the inexperienced illprepared wanderer that stumbles upon its unforgiving sands. . .only to rise no more. These. . .are the thankless fields of the Meriphataud Mountains, where the scorching sun and parched winds punish those who traverse. And upon these fields, a law was given. A simple law, mindlessly so. Shallow and vague, baseless and transparent. Yet in the shadow of its application. . .One day, a lone dark knight, brandishing scythe and sword. . .preached a grossly intolerant philosophy. One that made no quarter whatsoever for the dignified concepts of respect, honor, patience, caution. A godless prayer that was engineered exclusively. . .to bring the fight to an end. . .or perish in the attempt.The hateful law of Zerg“Ask not if you offend. Ponder not if you encroach. Weep not for the enemy made. Leave friendships be cultivated in the cemeteries amongst the corpses silent. Send every man. . .on his way.”The core concepts of Zerg are built upon swift, merciless execution, a complete dispensing of formalities. Whether opponents are skilled or not does not factor in. Merely, if they’re still standing after the blade has been drawn. No consideration is made for tactics of any sort. It is a direct and final answer to the question of who is transient. It can end in seconds, what could otherwise be lengthily drawn out. A flip of the coin and a forsaking of the soul, to one end or another.In an age where one lived or died by the seconds of the hour upon the stage of Ballista, Zerg...was life.But that was a long time ago.
Peaceful Days
Between the brief intervals of conflict and combat, the tortured dreamlike whispers of an unholy lover turned master, Devilesschnika finds some slices of her former past of long ago still in tact.
Continent: Excalibur
Citystate: Ishgard
Housing District: Empyreum
Ward: 15-Subdivision
Plot: 46
Peek In the Closet
While Devil has a high affinity for ‘shock-type’ gear most beneficial for blitzing tactics, she can usually be seen slacking off in something moody. . .or whatever lets the evening winds kiss her skin. After all, nothing truly worth doing, was never done significantly better in style, right? No? W-well who asked you?!
Whispers On the Winds
There are two unconfirmed rumors surrounding the reckless Roegadyn, each possibly nothing more than idle chat upon liquored lips.The first has do do with the notion that if Devil were to reestablish (and synchronize) aetherical intercourse with Count Bifrons, briefly, she could obtain a state of Inverted Lycanthropy, better known as ‘Fellwolfism.’ In such a state, her combat perimeters would be enhanced astronomically. However, due to the ever present blunderings of the gods damned ascian known as YoshiP, who currently maintains a dampening ward significantly weakening physical attacks on many of the areas Devil is known to frequent, the necessary energies required to execute such a transformation are currently too strained. Combat can be fickle . . .
There is a rumor that Devil has deep connections with a fanatical religious order known as Blood of Norfair, the same suggestion strong ties to the legions of the demonic Kindred. It has been said she holds the rank of Bishop in this order, and occasionally facilitates the deployment of her TSA division (Tactical Assassin Spuds) made up of entirely of grossly unscrupulous yet exceedingly efficient Lalafells. Until solid proof can be found of her hand, however, it is mere speculation at best.
Devil’s Inner Sanctum
“Well! And just WHAT were you hoping to find here?! Have you no shame?! It is very rude to go barging into a woman’s innermost den!”
“I highly doubt that. No. You would have to have done some deed of extraordinary merit to win my trust. A woman’s feelings. . .and desires. . .are precious things, like a diary, not so easily made manifest. Perhaps there’s a way but. . .In any case, move along. An idle mind IS after all the Devil’s workbench. . .”