Sonas (Storm)

TRAIT • TRAIT • TRAIT

Put your character's personality here.

Pre-war, they were a bit of a pushover. Laid back, lackadaisical, whichever word you wish to use. While they had issues with paranoia, it was medicated and kept them rather cool-headed.They were in their last year of college when the bombs struck, a few months away from being a wife as well. At least, that's what the memories implanted in their head told them. The memories from the real Storm.

Before they found out they were a synthetic replacement, they were a nervous wreck. Once the cryo-pod released them, they damn near had a panic attack. Everything was gone, everyone was gone, and yet there was still gunfire and screams of pain echoing in the wastelands. They slowly grew into a role defined by the memories that weren't their's; being a hero. "Hero" being a very loose term for reckless idiot doormat, taking any sob story to heart and trying their damnest to bring it to a happy ending. Hell, they even grew confident in their role in this world. Shoot, save lives, be the good guy hero, rinse and repeat.

Post Synthetic truth being revealed, Whisper's confidence shatters. Their pride took a hit when finding out they were meant as nothing more than a replacement for a lost lover. They disappeared like a whisper in the wind after that, boarded up in their old cryo-pod room as they came to grips with their own reality. It took some major beating in the head by a red-coated loudmouth reporter for them to some to their senses and resume their work, desperate to prove to themself that they're worth living this life they were thrust into.

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Storm was thrust into a hidden chamber of cryo-pods built by their fiance, Valentine. She was a crew lead on the Vault-Tec program, quickly moving through the ranks. Despite this, they didn't quite have the money to afford an official spot in the program, so Valentine created her own private bunker for the two, should Nuclear Fallout occur. Well, surprise surprise, the world has ended. Roughly 200 years later, they emerge unfrozen and alone to a world vastly different from the one they had just been in. Val's Cryo-pod was smashed in and she is nowhere to be seen, screaming and gunshots echoing in the small chamber.

Perusing the ghost of the world they once lived in, they stumble into Diamond City, crashing right into the infamous reporter with the silver tongue sharp as a knife. After the initial aggravation, Piper found herself interested in the Pip-Boy clamped tightly around the Dweller's arm, dragging them into an unprompted interview. Storm regaled her tale, of being before the war, of Valentine's desperate plea to save them both in the secret chambers. Of waking up alone, terrified, and to the sounds of sharp gunshots and harsh screaming. Midway through the interview, they began to feel nauseous. Something wasn't right. The story was right, but something wasn't clicking. It lasted for a mere second, disappearing as quick as it came. Piper, as observational as ever, noticed but refrained from pointing it out, only giving a mildly worried look and offering to lead them to Nick Valentine. The detective could surely lead them to their lost loved one.

Finding the detective mysteriously missing, Piper stuck to Storm's side as they went on a Triggerman hunt, intent on keeping an eye on this blossoming story. Lucky for her, she didn't have to wait long. After rescuing Nick, the two get pointed in the direction of a cult, their call sign having been scratched into the walls of Val's cryo-pod. This cult, Storm quickly decided, was their least favorite thing of this new world. Nothing could top it. Humans with bits of metal screwed and nailed into their skin, their teeth replaced with crude metallic imitations, the limbs of other humans being tossed into fires and nailed against shack walls as if they were some kind of protection charm. It was, in a word, horrifying. As it turns out, the cult had a fascination with machines, not too dissimilar to the Brotherhood of Steel. But where the Brotherhood wished to own machines, to keep them from being wrongly used, the cult instead wished to be one with machines. To replace their humanity with that of cold hard steel, their arms as blades and their bodies becoming it's own weapon. They called themselves The Clockwork.

The Clockwork did, in fact, take Val. Initially it was just for a sacrifice, to use her to appease the metal giants they worshiped. Valentine, ever the clever woman, managed to sweet talk her way out, making promises of using her technological mind to improve them, to help advance their goals and provide a more effective way of achieving what they wanted.

- still a wip, the gist is that Storm is a synth to recreate the og, who died during cryostasis. changes their name to Whisper, after their RR agent name. valentine is evil, loves them but threw them to the wolves of the wastelands and moved onto working with institute. only tries to use them when they reconnect, then tries to off piper and nat in an attempt to reclaim what was rightfully "hers".

Wary • diligent • protective

Put your character's personality here.

The first thing many tend to notice about Storm is their friendliness and protective tendencies. Rarely will they act in true fury towards another. Frustration, yes. Actual, genuine anger? Damn near never. And should they feel one of their clients is feeling unsafe, they'd make sure to always offer a safe space to recooperate. They have this awkward charm that tends to draw in other witches easily, usually seeming to be read like an open book. Should a few look deeper, however, they'd realize it's a ploy. They'd find underneath Storm's friendliness a layer of exhaustion that just keeps sinking deeper and deeper, a layer of residual aggravation that leaks out in response to certain witches and situations. A layer of pure anxiety, of self doubt and terror, of paranoia towards near anyone and everyone. But, few tend to look that deep. The handful that do, that go to the effort of getting close enough to see that, tend to hold a special place in their heart and gain their undying loyalty. They can also be a bit morbid, and often makes deadpan sarcastic jokes that rarely land. They really dislike people being behind them or touching them, even if inadvertantly. They'll rarely ever let others know of their own emotional plights, instead bottling it up and pretending everything is a-okay.

Beginnings

Honestly, they hadn't wanted to go to the Emperor's Coven initially. Sure, they had the grades for it. Perfect attendence, straight A's, high recommendations from the teachers, the works! But they found it.. intimidating. Being authorative wasn't their strong suit, and the whole 'being a bootlicker' thing wasn't exactly appealing either. But they were convinced, eventually. All thanks to Valentine, their girlfriend, who dreamed of being part of the coven together. It was just too cute to resist, the way she prattled on and on about it, so they agreed to apply. And they got in. Both of them.

Of course, not everything could be perfect sunshine and rainbows. After initiation, the coven threw so much work onto the two that they rarely saw each other. It was annoying, but part of the stupid job. Whenever they were free, Storm usually tried to hunt Valentine down to try and hang out, but it was fruitless. Too much paperwork needed done, the cells in the Conformatorium needed cleaned, the prisoners needed lunch served, the whole schtick. It was disheartening, quite frankly.

Eventually, they stopped seeing her pass in the hallways. At first it wasn't much of a worry, but after a few weeks of absence they went to her home. They knocked, and knocked again, and knocked even more. Nothing. Using a quick lockpicking spell, they entered the house only to see it looking as if no one's lived in it for months. The house plants were wilted and dead, all the furniture was coated in a thick layer of dust. This didn't make any sense, Valentine was a clean freak. They toyed with their heart earring, an anniversary gift from Valentine herself. When near it's pair, it'd pulse out a steady heartbeat. Now it lay silent. Valentine was missing.

Current

A few years had passed, Storm continued to serve the Emperor's coven despite Valentine's absence. They also provided tutoring and even ran a shop during the Night Market hours to occupy their free time. It was during one of their merchant nights when everything changed. One moment they're walking their cart of incredibly fragile knick knacks to their stand, the next the cart is toppled and a young teen lay sprawled over the shattered glass. This proceeded to be only the beginning of a very stressful year.

Standoffish • Awkward • Possessive

Whisper isn't the kind of person to favour growing closer to others and let themself be known for who they are, and this is rather clearly expressed by their standoffish if not bitchy attitude towards the people around them, rarely willing to even begin to care for anyone but themself. There's an aura of superiority around them that they like to maintain, harsh exterior sharpened with snarky comments ready at moment's notice. Though in reality -and maybe because of that- they struggle forging connections with others, each step met with hesitation to reveal themself. They are rather awkward beyond their bitch queen approach, it’s not uncommon for them to not get a joke or take them too seriously and personally. They always seem tense. Alert, as if relaxing and letting loose around others is a weakness they can not allow. Not when they have an image to maintain.

It takes time for them to warm up to people and generally an external effort is needed for them to grow used to someone enough to soften their biting attitude, although even at that point it is mere tolerance from their side. One will have to actively engage them in any sort of hangout, drag them from their room if necessary as they are rarely the kind to initiate. Though as they grow closer, their true colours start showing and one may find that they've found themself a friend who will kill for them.

Whisper is immensely protective of people they care about and will not hesitate to back their friends up. They won't stand for any injustices, though they tend to lack the boundary of how much they should stand up for others and may wind up making excuses for their friends, growing blind to their negative traits, holding onto the few connections they have desperately despite jarring problems. At least, until they finally notice them and suddenly it stains everything they’ve ever thought about the person in question, tainting them in their eyes irreversibly, as though they were never good to begin with. A nasty cycle of black and white thinking, they’ve yet to realise the world is but a blur of various shades of grey.

A creature of pattern, Whisper settles into certain tested and tried ways and they won’t settle for anything less, even in seemingly petty and nonsensical instances; their usual seat being taken, favourite pen going missing, their possessions being misplaced and suddenly it winds them up into anger or panic. This is true for all of their routine, from work on lessons to personal training. Their stuff, their way, it’s as simple as that.

Speaking of routine, being awake is not favourable by any means; a cardinal sin, as they put it. If people are divided into early birds and night owls, then Whisper most certainly falls into the second category, finding themself more attentive during the nightly candlemarks and more willing to find the energy to be "nice" and "cooperative" towards others. Ramorath with you if you accidentally wake them in the morning, that might as well be a death wish.

As a recruit they aren’t the most studious, they will never learn ahead and sometimes they won’t care too much about current lessons, they will pay attention sometimes though to expect any kind of notes from them is underestimating them by a longshot. With chores however, it seems to be the complete opposite, Whisper will go above and beyond to make sure they do their work precisely and that they carry exactly their own weight, not without whining and complaining of course. However sometimes they work themself up a bit too much in their strife for perfection, making sure everything is in order as it should be, often to a point of outright stressing themself out.

Before The Weyr

Growing up in the Eastern Hold was always a rough time for those that lived by the paycheck, and Maelstrom was no exception. Even as a kid they knew that money mattered, that wants were a privilege and needs were a near unattainable goal. That some people were just born unlucky, into a world that merely wished to chew them up and spit them back out.

They were always taught to find a crafthall, to build a skill as soon as possible and then exploit it to ensure they would never end in the red like their family. So they did, albeit reluctantly, and put that as their main focus, their only goal. Be productive, make money, be happy(?), die. It wasn’t a perfect plan, but it was a plan, and Maelstrom found immense comfort in that.

Even as an apprentice Weaver, life wasn’t easy. Everyone knew how to sew their clothes so why bother paying to have a shoddy attempt done by a child? Every attempt to practice was met with scorn, every plea met with a scoff or blatant ignorance to their plight. The few bucks they did make was from cleaning well-tailored clothing, scrubbing stains out and even re-dying the articles to their original colors.

One day, a strange customer had approached them. Offered words of encouragement after seeing yet another failed sale, provided a boon that they hadn’t foreseen. The Ivory Watch. Offered for them to come and join, gain a foothold and continue with their work while reaching for something Greater, something better than just peddling for coins to make ends meet. Honestly, could you blame them? How could they possibly refuse!

So they joined, and they worked hard. So hard, in fact, that they didn’t realize how wrong some things felt. How some pieces of their ‘family’ didn’t quite fit, like it was a mask thrown over to hide it’s scars. It was curious but they chose not to complain, not to question that there were certain routines everyone was required to have. That they did some things that were labeled as a ‘tradition’, yet it didn’t quite feel right in their gut.

It wasn’t until their late teens that they first heard their family described as a cult. The speed in which they whipped around a corner could’ve given most people whiplash. Eavesdropping, the albino heard the vicious words spat by a passing group. Of their blindness to reality, their intense devotion to the dragonkin, and that’s when it Clicked. When the weirdness of their ‘family’ suddenly made sense. And that’s when it went downhill quick.

For you see, they hadn’t just endured the Watch alone, even if that’s what they would’ve preferred. No, unfortunately they had some acquaintances.

One of the cult’s hunters, Riavrook of brown Riavroosk, had taken young Maelstrom under her wing, to help them fit into the Watch. The help was, at first, somewhat appreciated; Riavrook knew her way around and she understood where her place in the hierarchy was and taught the same to them. Though as time went on they realised just how conceited she truly was, twisting truths in a way that forced them to say, like they were nothing but her pawn in the grand scheme of things. She even went as far as to keep them farther from one of the cult members, a girl around Maestrom’s age they’ve fallen for.

She had gone by Val, ever refusing to share her full name despite the prodding and poking of Maelstrom and the other members. It didn’t take long for them to fall and fall hard for the intelligent woman. Every word was like music, her soul like a songbird as it prattled on about the notes and meeting schedules. Even though they were quite clearly enamoured with her, Val showed no sign of reciprocation and Riavrook used this knowledge to her advantage.

It didn’t take long for Maelstrom to hear rumors around the Eastern, whispers and hisses about the dragon fanatics, the crazed cultists who stole people from the streets and dyed them with their beliefs. Tainted good, kind souls with the evil of their practice, forcing them all to act as one.

A frantic, unplanned escape attempt left them in the clutches of Riavrook. Sometimes their ears still ring with the gentle croon of her threats, of harm towards them or Val. They can still feel the claws in their skin as her Wher held them down, still feel the blade gliding through their skin as she marked them with wounds across their face and abdomen. When her Wher let them go, the threat was clear; return to the Ivory Watch and be a good little denizen or let their wounds get infected and die in agony.

So they chose life, bound and returned like a little prize. They were treated and continued to play with the cult’s rules all while trying to figure out a better way to leave, to escape without Ria noticing and hunting them down. Why she continued to keep them there, chained to a group where they had no loyalties, they would never know. Perhaps it was for the manipulation, to use them as a punching bag of sorts. Or perhaps she thought she could break them, could convince them to be the perfect pawn she desired. Either way, it didn’t work.

Because they would escape, no matter what.

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