Gildre Family/Jessica

Jessica
Status:	Alive.
Continent:	Beluterra
Realm:	Sacred Obia
Previous Realms:	Nothoi,Gothica
Current Titles:	Dame
Titles Held:	N/A
Class:	Warrior
Honor:	67
Prestige:	21
Age:	31
Eyes:	Green
Hair:	Red
Sword skills:	30
Jousting skills:	N/A
Leadership skills:	40
Infiltration skills:	70
Bureaucratic skills:	N/A
Preaching skills:	N/A
Unique Items:	N/A
Unique Items Held:	N/A

Jessica Gildre

Economic Sabotage		Military Sabatoge
Taxes Stolen	18,000	Militia Murdered	0
Taxes Counted	10	Troop Leaders Assaulted	7
Food burned	0	Captured	5
Production Sabotage	0	Escaped	3
Caravans Raided	0	Bounties Collected	0
Workshops Disabled	0	Fortifications Damaged	0
Current Status	Opperational	Travel Disrupted	0

Appearance

Bright green eyes and fiery red hair contrast delicately with her dark subdued clothes. Long limbs are wired with sinewy muscle. She stands tall, yet slim. Twin daggers rest on her hips. Her ivory skin seems to repel the sun's light.

Early Years

Jessica began her career in Gotland, however due to some creative differences with the Manstomper, she was sent as an envoy to Nothoi to the south. It was in Nothoi that Jessica spent most of her time fighting Daimons during the 4th Invasion. During the war, she began her training in the shadow arts.

Foolishly over confident in her skills, she set forth on a mission to slay the Daimon Prince Akkan. During the raid, she was captured, banished, and deported to the Colonies.

It was on the Colonies, in Gothica, that she honed her skills for a year. It was also in Gothica that she discovered dark, sinister forces...

Assault on the Dark King

The world had fallen upside down. The Dark Throne sat empty, and a mad tyrant had claimed power through a sham of an election. Praises to Daimon worship had sounded through the streets as the Dark King brought forth a new order. Gothica had been swept into disarray, there had been no Necromancer to lead the army for some time, no leadership to speak of at all. Jessica set down the report the scribe had brought her. The parchment revealed the outcome of the election. There was a new Dark King in Gothica. Inquisitor Altenahr had successfully run unopposed. Jessica crumpled the paper in her fist.

Later that night…

Jessica stood staring at the Dark Court. Wind pulled at her dark cloak and whipped her dark hair across her face. She touched the poisoned daggers sheathed in the small of her back. The monstrous building loomed before her, blocking out the night sky. She shifted her jaw and ground her teeth as she gazed at it. Inside was the newly crowned Dark King Godric Altenahr, and she vowed that tonight would be his last. Blending with the shadows, avoiding the flaming sconces lighting the wall, she raced under the open arches and into the court yard. Between her and the doorless entrance patrolled six guards. Ducking behind a tree, she came upon the closest guard. Her dagger flashed into her hand as she stabbed the man in the neck from behind. Swiftly, she set him down without a sound. She then skirted a bush opposite a pair of guards and reached the far corner of the courtyard. Another guard was huddled here, attempting to light a pipe with some flint. Finally a spark caught on the dry tobacco and it glowed red in front of him, casting a red illumination on Jessica as she thrust her dagger into his gaping mouth. The only sound from the strike was his pipe clattering quietly on the ground.

She timed her movement, avoiding the sight of the remaining four guards as she slipped through the entrance. Quietly, she slipped through corridors towards the Dark Throne. The building was quiet, save for the odd rustle of a servant or chamber maid. Jessica stopped at the last corner before the hallway which lead to the throne room. She steeled her nerves for the task ahead of her, and drew both her daggers. Nodding to herself, she rounded the corner at a dead sprint. Two guards flanked the door to the Dark Throne, armed with halberds. They gawked at the sight of the woman, clad in black, charging at them from the depths of the quiet structure. Quickly they hefted their pole arms and moved towards her.

The first guard raised and thrust his halberd at her chest. Using her momentum, she leapt and pushed off the wall, flinging her across the hall and away from the guard’s weapon. She rolled and came up behind the first guard, directly in front of the second. Thinking his partner would have the woman skewered, he was undefended. Rapidly, she thrust twice into his side with her right, and sliced his throat with a backhanded cut as she spun to regard the first guard. He stared in shock as his partner slid to the ground, bleeding out. With all her might, Jessica heaved a thrust kick to the man’s chest. He stumbled backwards and fell heavily to his back. Immediately she was upon him, stabbing viciously. Blood was everywhere, and Jessica heard the clamour of guards approaching to investigate the sounds of the battle. The time for subtly had passed. She dropped her cloak to the ground and advanced on the throne room with daggers in hand.

Jessica had achieved the aim of her self-appointed mission. Upon entering the throne room, she had discovered the newly coroneted Dark King. Having dedicated much of his life to priesthood, he put up a measly fight, and she put him down with a severe wound. They were not, however, alone. Dark King Altenahr had been meeting with the outgoing Royal Donagal Prestongreen at the time. Having surprise and shock on her side, Jessica had the opportunity to make her escape.

Looking at his surprised face, she instead turned to square up to him. It was his fault that everything was falling apart. He had abdicated and created the power void that the monster Godric had filled. If he had only kept his seat on the throne… She gripped her daggers in anger. She had often thought that the old king had seen too many winters already, and now she had him within reach. One on one.

She had grievously overestimated his age being an important factor. As she stalked towards him, he drew his sword and advanced as well. Quickly she became aware of how he had reached such an old age. Sensing he had already won the fight, Jessica attempted to break contact. She leapt back to no avail. An upward slash carved a slice into her right thigh and she dropped to the ground. Jessica had a little luck left to her name though. As Donagal stood over her, the throne room door crashed inwards. The old king spun to see ten castle guards flood into the room, spreading out and searching wildly for enemies.

Taking advantage of the lull in the battle, Jessica grabbed her daggers and forced herself to run towards the window.

“Stop her!” she heard Donagal shout behind her, and the scramble of feet as guards chased after. She was too far ahead. Mustering the last of her strength, she flung herself through the window. Her head made contact first, and she felt the concussion of the impact against her temple. The pane broke, and glass exploded around her. Shards sliced her bare skin as she passed through the opening and she fell into open air. Unfortunately, the drop was over ten feet. Jessica landed heavily on her side in a small garden. Air burst violently from her lungs and she rolled in the dirt, dazed and gaping like a fish out of water. After a few seconds, she was able to breathe in again, and gulped the air down. She coughed and forced herself to her knees. Blood flowed freely from her thigh and she began to feel light headed. Climbing to her feet, she looked around. She rolled herself over a small fence and onto the street which ran along the garden. Bells were already ringing inside the castle and it wouldn’t be long until the city watch began looking for her too. She hobbled into an ally and continued towards the harbour. All along the harbour were marinas, warehouses, and fish mongers. Behind a fisherman’s hut she stole a needle and fishing line that had been left unattended for the night, and carried on along the ally until she reached a large warehouse. Outside were a series of bins full of netting and other fishing gear. Quietly, she slipped into one of the crates and dug herself underneath the pile of nets. Cocooned and out of sight, she drew out the fishing line and threaded the needle. Then, biting her lip, she raggedly sewed the gash on her leg shut with four barrel stitches. It certainly wasn’t the best case scenario, but at least the bleeding would stop until she could get to someone who could clean and suture it properly. She took a deep breath. The air smelled of salt and grime and fish. She nuzzled into her nest and let her eyes close, content that she would be safe until morning.

With the rising sun, she would have to move quickly. They were coming for her.

Capture

She had not returned to her estate. Undoubtedly guards had taken the place over and were waiting to arrest her. She had taken up refuge at an old inn along the waterfront. She laid sprawled on the bed, occasionally taking a swill from a bottle of a gods-knew-what concoction fermented by the inn keeper. She kept herself busy by lamenting in her self-loathing. Two days had passed since her assassination attempt, and she had not left her room since arriving.

The inn keeper had come to her room twice, to see if she required food. The first time, she had demanded the liquor, and the second time she had flung the empty bottle at him as he retreated from the room. She had not seen him since. She sat up on the bed, wobbling drunkenly. Her hair had come undone long ago, and it frizzled wildly where she had been laying on it. She glanced at the wash basin beside the bed and reluctantly splashed cold water onto her face. The cold smashed her back to a sense of sobriety, and she put a hand on the bed to steady herself as her brain tore itself in half. As the moment of clarity struck her, she frowned. Where would she go? She had neither networks nor contacts with which she could seek asylum. Damn her incompetence. If she had been able to kill Godric and put down Donagal, everything would be fine now. It was during this moment of future reflection when her door exploded inwards in a storm of wooden shards and a flood of armed men filled the room.

She cursed her drunkenness. With a clear mind, she never would have been found unaware. She sprung to her feet and turned towards the window. It was a futile move, however, as four of the men were already upon her, throwing her to the ground and holding her limbs immobile with their full weight. The last thing she remembered was a sharp crack against the back of her skull and then darkness.

Prison

Jessica groggily regained consciousness deep in the dungeons of Gothica. Her vision was a blurry haze, but slowly it began to focus. She tried to move, and found that she was restrained to a table. Leather straps bound her wrists and ankles to the surface, and her forehead was lashed down. As her vision sharpened she struggled to look at her surroundings.

A torture chamber. Racks of glistening instruments adorned the walls, and in the corner of her vision she could make out mechanical contraptions. Torture. She could face torture. A sound at the far end of the room. A door opened and someone entered. She gazed sharply at the man as he entered her field of vision. The Inquisitor smiled down at her.

“Jessica, my dear,” he purred as he stroked her cheek softly, “You have been very, very naughty. Are you aware that Godric lives? I thought maybe you should know that, before we begin our activities. Thank the Portal that Lord Donagal was there to cut you down before you could finish off our new Dark King. He has instructed me to ensure you never forget your lessons here, beautiful Jessica.” “Get away from me you filthy cretin!” Jessica cursed at him and spit up into his hovering face. Blustering, the Inquisitor wiped the spit from his face, which had turned completely red.

“You wretched slut!” he growled through clenched teeth and he picked up a pair of pliers, “Gothica has endured enough of your cursed prattle!” Jessica tried to lash out, but she couldn’t move an inch. Tightly she clenched her jaw shut as he tried to wiggle the pliers into her mouth. Tears welled in her eyes as she struggled, and finally he pushed with enough force to push one of her teeth free. She yelped in pain for a brief second, long enough for the Inquisitor to catch her tongue with the pliers. He pulled her tongue from within her mouth slowly as she whimpered her protests. Dramatically, he twirled a serrated knife above her head, ensuring she could fully understand what was about to happen. Slowly, he cut through the base of her tongue.

When he finished, she lay still, crying, trying not to choke on her own blood. Such a fool she was, thinking she could cope with torture. There were so many types of pain that she couldn’t even imagine or fathom. She watched him collect long, thin, metal needles in fear.

There were fingernails.

Journey to Beluterra

“Throw her in the water!” the captain gave the order to the two soldiers carrying Jessica between them. Her arms were draped across their shoulders, her feet dragging on the ground. Blood dribbled from her face as her head lolled back and forth in semi consciousness. “Aye sir,” one soldier nodded. He shifted Jessica to take her by the wrists, and the other lifted up her ankles. “One, two…” the captain called out as the soldiers swung, “Three!” They released her, and she tumbled from the wharf and splashed into the dark, cold water below. A deck hand on a moored merchant vessel watched the soldiers retreat back towards the castle, laughing and slapping each other’s backs for a job well done. “Poor death, that one…” he grumbled to himself. Left to drown alone in the brackish waters seemed a terrible fate. Gothica had never struck him as a realm over encumbered with morals, so he made up his mind and called over a few other deck hands. While they pulled out some rope, he dropped down to the water and swam over to the woman. He flipped her onto her back and she coughed out water, gasping for breath. She didn’t move or struggle as the deck hand draped an arm around her and started swimming back to the ship. A long length of rope splashed into the water in front of them. Quickly, the crew on the boat pulled the two onto the deck. Jessica lay still, unmoving. The sailors stood around her, wondering what to do next. “What are y’all gawking at instead of getting us ready to be under weigh?” the merchant captain demanded as he came up behind the hands. “Sir,” the man who had gone into the water replied, “Some Gothican soldiers tossed’er into the drink.” The captain looked down at the broken figure of Jessica. She looked like a sodden, disfigured wretch. He rubbed his eyes in annoyance. The gods certainly wouldn’t favour his voyage if he sent the girl to her death, but at the same time he held reservations about harbouring a criminal of Gothica. In the end, their next destination port made the decision in the captains mind. They sailed for the Sacred Obia next, and if there was anywhere that was safe for an enemy of Daimon worshipers to go, it was into the embrace of the Veiled Goddess. “We take her with us,” the captain said, “Johns, you fished her out, so you take care of her. Get her into a bunk. Figure out if she is even going to live. When we reach Obia, she leaves.” The sailors looked at each other, then picked up the crumpled form of Jessica, carrying her to the infirmary.