⚔️Serberia

Richard el Belfagor was a man of brilliant mind, solid wealth, high position, considerable talents, and refined manners, and in addition to these virtues was even not ill-favored in appearance, insofar as that can apply to a member of the male sex; therefore, among any persons of note in Clematis he was known as a celebrated social lion and valiant officer. In 762 he set off to fight for a just cause against usurpation and false faith. The husband of her mother, however, was the most contemptible creature — a drunkard, a fanatic, a fool, a traitor to the crown, and a deserter. In 762 he completely lost his mind, abandoned his wife and young daughter, and fled from Clematis — either to Reginleif, to his beloved altars and idols, or to Argaliya, to his old soldier cronies.  By the time Alessia realized it had been one and the same man, it no longer mattered.

One way or another, in 762 the life of Cybela el Belfagor took a sharp turn and rolled briskly downhill, clattering and falling apart along the way. Cybela's own capital consisted of a box full of gold trinkets, some fifty dresses, a pedigree of middling quality, a talent for spending significant sums in insignificant time,  and a faint shadow of former beauty on a thirty-five-year-old face. The capital of her disgraced husband was only two estates and several hundred thousand airs, but somehow these trifles came to be sorely missed by Cybela for her own happiness.
Heavy is a woman's grief, but fortunately always short-lived. She cursed and quarreled with her husband before his departure — for that scoundrel also suggested she, Cybela, come with him out of Clematis to some village and live in filth among the peasants; she wept and cursed him for another day, then borrowed money, rented a mansion, and appeared in society with her former imperturbability. And everything would have gone well, had she been younger or more nobly born, or knew how to do anything besides walk upright and keep silent prettily. But time passed, and debts grew. Alessia remembers that first the mansion changed — it suddenly became cramped and dim; then the servants dwindled until finally only a nanny, a cook, and a lady's maid remained, while her mother smiled less and less often and dressed ever more modestly. Usually she told her daughter:

"I'm busy, go to your nanny."

 "Indeed, truly busy," thought the girl, watching her mother meticulously combing her luxurious hair before the mirror — the last natural adornment of an aging woman. She always told her how important it was for a woman to look good, carry herself properly, speak beautifully, or else remain silent, and that this distinguished them from the filthy male breed. Alessia was always attentive to her mother's rare lessons. When she went to the nanny, however, capturing her attention was utterly impossible. Alessia somehow sensed that this woman was beneath her in birth, that she was like a dog to her mother, whereas she, Alessia, was like a daughter. Persuading her to obey was impossible, and the nanny dared not punish her. Alessia left her as soon as she grew bored and wandered through the mansion, trying on her mother's gowns and observing the bustling work of the servants.  She did not associate with other children, nor did she wish to; within the house was comfortable, and she neither wished to know anyone besides her mother nor considered anyone her equal. She was taught to read, but the books about faith and valkyries left behind by her father were terribly dull, and Cybela owned no books of her own.

Loans, inheritance, and pledges of property allowed Cybela to survive until her daughter's seventh year. A month later she fell gravely ill and, after a long sickness, died. And Alessia would have ended her life on the street, had an old acquaintance of her father not taken pity on the orphan and placed her under the guardianship of Richard's aunt. When he brought her to some stone hovel and handed her into the arms of a foul-smelling old crone, Alessia decided the lout meant to mock her. She closed her eyes and pinched herself hard, hoping this delusion would pass at once and all recent events would prove merely a bad dream.

"What are you standing there for? You could at least greet me — and they say you were taught manners... Well now, Lady Ennia, here she is, your great-niece. Good luck!"

***

In the first months, Alessia felt as though she had been sold into slavery. No servants whatsoever. A cramped little room instead of bright halls. The old woman drives her for hours: wash, serve, fetch — and afterward pesters her with moralizing.
"That's how it is — without labor you won't get by, and without learning either..."
In her free time, Alessia learns arithmetic and other simple wisdoms, which irritates her almost as much as performing chores fit only for peasants.
"I hate you! Mama never made me do this! Fool!" cries Alessia in a burst of temper, tears already in her eyes.
"Me, a fool?"
"You, you! You don't know anything! You live in a shack! Mama was at court, and you..." — Alessia hadn't yet thought of what to say to the vile old hag and fell silent.
"Oh, big deal — being at court! What do I not know about that place," said the old woman, walking to the dresser, pulling from its depths a portrait without a frame, blowing off the dust, and thrusting the worn canvas at Alessia. On the old but excellently crafted painting — an elegant fair-haired lady, around her gentlemen and other noble ladies, but she surpasses them all in luxury and beauty, and her facial features strikingly resemble Ennia, and only slightly — Alessia herself.
"There — that's what I used to be like! And you call me a fool. I've seen far more of the world than your late mother, and as for what else I've understood and learned in life — that cannot be counted at all."

From then on, Alessia came to greatly respect the old woman. Her laziness had not vanished, but she no longer contradicted the old woman and gladly listened not only to her instructions but also to other stories. Some were exceedingly strange, and she always asked that she tell no one about them.

"Grandmother, what is your surname?"
"Surname? What do I need it for," the old woman waves it off, but Alessia persists.
"Everyone has a surname! You were married, weren't you?"
"I was... briefly. Here's why: one day a fine fellow came to our house — stately, handsome — while my husband was away. And I was quite young then too. And I liked him so much, from the very first second, that I received him, in the feminine sense, if you take my meaning. Afterwards I myself didn't know what had come over me. Then my husband returned and caught us together at the most compromising moment — he turned purple all over. He lunged at him with his sword, but where would that fat man manage — the fellow kicked him down the stairs. Then he winked at me — and transformed into a maiden, of such beauty as I'd never dreamed of. And afterwards I saw the two of them together with my former husband... It took me a while to understand what that had been."
"Whoa! And what was it?"
"Why, that was from Gonzo. Listen, I'll tell you..."

"Grandmother, oh grandmother!"
"What do you want?"
"Tell me something else. About Arateria. Why does everyone pray to her?"
"Well, alright. Many, many years ago..."
"...and as for why they pray — I don't know. I don't pray, and I don't teach you to. Praying is foolishness — you'll bruise your forehead, and gain nothing. Truly, even praying to the Empress, as they've started doing nowadays, isn't so stupid — she might at least reward you for prayer. But what is our Empress — a laughingstock! Let me tell you about Empress Karia — now THAT was someone people prostrated themselves before in prayer, whose boot they kissed — and not without reason..."

Alessia bustled about household chores from morning till night, yet still managed to notice that affairs in this house proceeded strangely and seemingly altogether too well. The old woman seemed to do nothing, had no relatives, yet always had enough money. Once, Alessia found the box where Ennia kept her savings and discovered it completely empty, and the next day — full of money. Most astonishing of all was how Ennia handled fire. One day, Alessia caught the old woman starting a fire in the hearth. Without flint and without matches. A huge log simply burst into flame in a second, as if of its own accord.

"How do you do that with fire, Grandmother?"
"With fire? That's family heritage with us. My mother was a great mistress of such arts — where would I compare to her! She always said it was ancestral, that fire must be felt with the heart, and I — I couldn't feel it. So, I can do a little..." — the old woman feigned a sigh, and suddenly, glancing sideways at the heavy candelabrum standing nearby, instantly turned it into a puddle of molten metal. Fortunately, the tiled floor suffered relatively minor damage from that. "Behave yourself well — I'll teach you. But if you behave badly..."
Ennia looked slyly at Alessia. The latter grasped the hint quickly, and that day the house shone with cleanliness. As did every subsequent one.

At the age of ten, Alessia was informed thus:
"You're not a medal, girl, to hang around my neck forever. Time for you to work, to learn a trade."
"Work? But I... how..."
"What do you mean 'how'?" Ennia cut her off roughly. "When I die — you'll have your whole life ahead of you. How will you live?"
"I'll get married!"
"Married? What nonsense! Who would marry you, a dowerless nobody? And in vain... men have grown small nowadays. They used to walk about importantly, shower you with gold, woo you into marriage — marry such a one and you'd roll in butter for life! Ever since Lucretia started hanging around the throne, men's purses grow thinner each year, their ranks lower — no, you can't make a living with such as them. These days, girl, you must rely only on yourself — remember my words. Don't be so frightened — it's a good place, you'll like it."

Alessia remembered. And the place indeed proved good. "Brilliant Colors" was a world of wealth, beauty, and luxury — the world of her dreams. The proprietress quickly appreciated the quick wit and diligence of her young assistant, and those few coppers the latter earned for her modest help immediately turned into new profit for the shop — in Ennia's house there was never any shortage of anything, and jewelry and gowns were Alessia's first passion.

The girl's second passion, unexpectedly to herself, became books. Ennia increasingly refused to tell her stories and instead sent Alessia off to reading. The old woman maintained a substantial library, but always chose the books for her ward herself. At first Alessia read about the history of Airisufir, then about the kings of Heckelia. She absorbed information quickly, her curiosity grew, and she wanted to study subtler matters, but her grandmother still denied her the interesting subject, and the bookshelves were always kept locked.

Time flowed swiftly. A few hours at the shop — and home, headfirst into the bookish whirlpool. Alessia loved the luxury and beauty of Clematis's streets, but the people — not so much. All the more so now, when from every second alleyway whispers followed her: "witch's daughter... the old hag probably bore her from the devil himself." Of course, the opinion of any rabble did not trouble her, but it certainly did not encourage any striving toward human company, even with peers. Thus Alessia turned twelve, and Cecilia suddenly announced to her that she intended to leave Clematis.

Alessia was stunned. She deeply respected her mentor; her appearance and mannerisms were very pleasing to Alessia and reminded her of her mother, and her pragmatism and business acumen perfectly harmonized with the principles her grandmother had instilled. And suddenly — such folly: to abandon the brilliance of Clematis and depart to some godforsaken backwater following an idiot husband. Indeed, men lead to no good. At home, Alessia likewise found no understanding.

"Why are you moping? Here's your chance. You'll see the world, meet people. Besides, with Cecilia is exactly where you belong — you said so yourself. Go to her right now and tell her you're coming with her." — the old woman slammed the door in her face.

And so Alessia had to leave her native city and set off for Baldr, that village populated mostly by assorted rabble and louts. For the journey, her grandmother finally gave her the object of Alessia's long-held dreams — several highly entertaining treatises and a flask of unknown potion — "for an emergency."

"I wanted to wait until you grew up, but evidently fate decreed otherwise... Show it to no one. Better yet, burn it entirely once you've read and understood it. Obey your mistress, do nothing foolish. Farewell," were the grandmother's final parting words.

* * *

Alessia has lived in Baldr for nearly a decade now and still helps Cecilia with the shop; now she works on jewelry pieces. The Baron, bless his soul, has taken her under his wing — a strange quirk of his, but perhaps that's just how things are done here. As instructed, she burned her books long ago, and for a long time now a dead, viscous boredom has gnawed at her. After Clematis, Baldr still seems to her akin to a dried-up marsh — lifeless and slightly reeking. Perhaps something needs to change in her life, but Alessia does not know how to change her life, and simply waits for it to change itself.

Alessia Belfagor

Origin: Airisufir, December 758
Conviction: Demonology
Mentor: Cecilia von Mariendorf
Skills:


Toxicity
Passive ability. Pyromancy spells deal 100% bonus damage to wood; attacks in melee or ranged combat deal 50% bonus damage to wood. Character's attacks and spells inflict burn and poison. 

Jeweler - free.
The character is able to craft jewelry items provided they possess the necessary materials. 

Savings
+500 Serberian seliks at start.

Inventory: elegant clothing, savings, elixir

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