This application is not indicative of standard character apps. It better. BOOYAH
Name: Ivone (nee Karalas) Malatrast (pronounced Ee-vahn)
Nickname: Ivi (Evee)
Born: November 5, 145 PW
Gender: Female
Race: Human
Hair: Dusky blonde
Eyes: deep blue/violet
Height and body size: Petite, 100 pounds (~45 to 46 kg); standing almost, almost at 5'2 (~157 cm)
Skills
- poisons - knows how to make and use poisons
- non-poisons - before she became devoted to killing off those bastards, she liked to make soaps and teas and perfumes and all that nice stuff. As she progressed in her work, the quality was store worthy. Many of her peers seek out her creations. It's chic and fashionable to have an Ivi original, you know.
- looks - she is an attractive young woman with a good pedigree.
- breeding - she knows how to conduct herself among her peers and betters
- driven by revenge, she is a powder keg waiting to be lit
- Member of Paragon - to be caught means treason and treason means death, or worse
- For the most part, she is content to wait for the opportunities to arise or to engineer them.
- Her co-dependent relationship with Aurelio Merynir is a weakness
- A very nice house in the suburbs
- A very nice bank balance
- A closet full of occasion specific clothes
- A ring for every occasion - meaning, they have little compartments in which poisons can be stored and then dumped into someones beer, whiskey, water, or wine. She keeps them in a special jewelry box, nicely labeled
- A client list - The non-lethal products she makes are surprisingly popular among the ladies and gentlemen in her circles. She is still working on getting some of "those bastards" on her client list.
Ivone is an attractive young woman with a refined build. She is not tall or wide. Instead, she is petite and dainty, weighing in around 100 pounds (~45 to 46 kg) and standing almost, almost at 5'2 (~157 cm). She has the kind of build that make men want to protect her. Oh, those delicate little hands, engulfed by your big manly one. Couldn't you just sweep her up and carry her off? You just know you could.
Dusky blond hair falls in well-groomed waves around her face and accents her high cheekbones, straight nose, and full lips. Her eyes are a remarkable dusky shade of dark blue and violet She uses her mouth and eyes to her advantage.
She comes from The Karalas family, a synevive family of humble origins who came to Marn as simple metal workers. Through hard work, determination, and strategic marriages, the Karalas family has retained a comfortable, upper middle class lifestyle.
Being groomed for marriage requires constant education and constant practice. Ivone walks demurely, glances demurely, and speaks demurely. She knows how to run a household and manage a budget. When allowed down time, Ivi (as her family called her) had and has a passion for making things such as shampoo, scents, soaps, candles, incense, and flower arrangements. The family had its own greenhouse and Ivi grew many of the plants and flowers she used for her projects.
Excursions to the market had her examining imported oils and silken fabrics. Once, Ivi saw a gypsy dancer and wished she could be as free as that woman appeared to be. She felt guilty about the wishing, though, knowing that securing a good marriage would mean her family would be better off. In a fit of rebellion, she did manage to get a tattoo. It was her little secret, hidden beneath the dainty undergarments she wore, and thinking about it always gave her a little thrill.
At the age of 17 she married Tianthus Malatrast, a second cousin to Priscilla Malatrast. The marriage was arranged and afforded the Karalas family a substantial influx of bishani and connections. Despite a thirty year age difference, the two were well suited to one another. Marriage into the Malatrast family was a boon for Ivona's creative skills. Tianthus cared for his younger wife, respected her, and encouraged her to further her skills. He also gave her time to get to know him and love him before they fully consummated their marriage. The experience was unexpectedly enjoyable for Ivone. After many of those enjoyable experiences, Ivone became pregnant in the summer of 125 PW.
The pair was overjoyed. Tianthus was not young. An heir, male or female, was most welcome. For Ivone's part, giving her husband a child was the most precious gift she could give him. The first few months of the pregnancy followed the usual path of anytime sicknesses, fatigue, and emotionalism. The second trimester was wonderous and Ivone was filled with love, joy, and benevolence. The rounder her belly became, the more she touched it. Smiling to herself, she was awed to feel the little life in her move. She was enamored of her pregnant body. The baby sat like a little round ball on her front. From behind, she didn't even look pregnant, except as her husband noted, her rear became a little more round and pert. He wasn't complaining.
"Tian, come feel!" She would call out only to share a laugh with her husband when the little creature stubbornly refused to move when he was paying attention. At night, the couple would cuddle together and Tian would read from the Tomes to their expected bundle of joy. They both agreed, that despite their social circumstances, they would not have a wet nurse or a nanny. Tian wanted to be invovled with his child's life and development. So did Ivone.
Everything was not idyllic, though. Marn is an established city and has a fairly large population. Crimes occurred. Circumstances do not always favor the innocent and the family were no exception. Tian and Ivone were caught in the crossfire of a battlemage and the Public Enemy #1 she was hunting.
The weight of the baby sometimes caused Ivone discomfort and walking eased it. An unfortunate placement of her foot on a rock resulted in Ivone hurting her ankle as the couple walked the edges of the woods. Ivone sat gingerly on a rock as Tian gently checked her ankle for serious injury.
Tian smiled up at his wife. "I'm sure it will be fine. We can wrap it up and I will carry you to the hospital."
"You worry too much. We should just wrap it up. I can walk with your help."
Ivone's words were lost in the crackle and crunch of a horse crashing through the underbrush. The red gloved figure looked around in annoyance, angered at being made to wait. The pair they sought was in the woods, there!
The spell was reckless and wide, preceded by a flash of light. Tian and Ivone were thrown apart. Tian's head hit a rock. Ivone flew sideways into a tree. When she came to, her husband stared blankly up at the sky with his mouth slack, and her stomach ached. Cradling her belly with one arm, Ivone forced herself to move. If she could get to the guard's post, she could get help for them all.
Every step was pain. Ivona had forgotten about her ankle. That pain was nothing compared to the lancing fire across her belly.
"Shhh... shhh... stay put. We'll get help for daddy. Shh..." There! Ivona saw the glisten of sunlight on armor. A guardsman!
"Please..." her voice cracked and she stumbled closer. "Help.." The guardsman turned to look at her, face not discernible beneath his helm. The guard hesitated, looking in another direction, before moving to help her. That moment's hesitation was all it took. Ivona's pregnancy ended at eight months with a still-birth.
The baby was so perfectly formed. Each finger, each toe - exquisite. The body so delicate. His head had been round and his nose just a little pushed up. Yes, their child had been a boy. A thatch of dark hair barely covered his pate. His mouth... it hung open as if he had been crying out in pain. That image haunted her. He was so perfect. There was no reason for him to be dead. And the blood... why had there been so much blood? If it wasn't the baby who was crying like that, then who was making that noise?
It took three strong men and heavy sedation to pry the baby from her arms so she could be treated for the injuries she had sustained from the throw and the unexpected delivery. The men suffered bite and nail marks in the process.
A week later...
Ivona stared listlessly at the wall. Her hands were clasped loosely in her lap. A mourning veil covered her face. Her hair was pulled up into a tight bun. She was pale and wan. Black was not her color.
Her family made polite talk as acquaintances, family members, and social vultures filed through the room that held two caskets, one adult sized and one so very, very small.
It was when the Judge was greeted that she pulled from her woolgathering. Her family was thrilled that a high ranking official would come to the wake. When Judge Vyaduka gave his trite words conveying his sorrow at her loss, Ivone fixed him with her gaze. Vyaduka and her husband knew each other. Tian had contributed to Vyaduka's charities. Her eyes had the glassy gleam of a heavily medicated zealot, but her voice was even, well-modulated, and devoid of emotion. The tone was as if she were making an off-hand comment about the pleasant weather.
"You let this happen. Your rabid, magic using battle mage killed my husband and my child. You... all of you... are responsible for this." Faces paled around them and an aunt rushed over, followed by a flock of other biddies.
"She's grieving heavily and has been given medication. Please, forgive her. She's beside herself with grief."
"I understand. I will take my leave now."
Ivone turned her face back to the wall, but the spark of an idea had lit. They all needed to pay. A small, tight smile curved the edges of her lips up. One should always remember: there's nothing more dangerous than someone who thinks they have nothing more to lose.
Now - "Hello, my name is Ivone Malatrast. You killed my husband and baby. Prepare to die."
Three years have passed since then and one thing keeps her going: revenge. During those three years, she learned to apply her herbalist skills to more ominous variations: poisons.
At the age of 23, she is still petite, dainty, and wears the facade of the proper, young widow very well. Her breasts are a little larger as a result of the pregnancy and her hips just a little wider, but the effect served to round her out in pleasant ways. As a Malatrast, she is a catch. As a young, pretty widow things really couldn't get better. Being a widow means she is free to do as she pleases without answering to husband or family.
On the surface, she is everything an upper middle-class Marnian should be. She also goes to those questionable house parties, but does not dabble in the behind-the-scenes dalliances and parties. She watches, with those blue-amethyst eyes, from behind her fan. If there's piqued interest, she hides it well. She sees who is doing what with whom and working to understand the system. Keeping herself inaccessible has its perks. Who doesn't want what they can't have? This amuses her, too, but you wouldn't know it by the demure expression she keeps on her face. You know the one, the one you want to kiss off or bash off... It's those eyes. Speaking of kisses, certainly one or two has been stolen in this shadowy alcove or that, but that Merynir bastard always seems to show up at the most inopportune times. Did we mention she is manipulative? Did we mention her complete and utter disdain for those who fail to maintain their marriages? That disdain, oddly, gains her some attention as well. How interesting are those who want to be put down...
She hides everything well, except when the source of her hate is sparked. At home, she might explode in anger. Things crash against the wall. Her hair falls loose in strands from the expertly coiffed design. She may take a sharp knife to her skin because the pain and the blood make her feel less numb and empty. It's the emptiness that is the worst part. No matter what she does, she can't seem to fill it. At least she has a few outlets.
One is obsessively working on creating poisons. Days can pass by without sleep or food, unless they are forced on her. The other is more private but gets the same degree of .... commitment. The brunt of this particular outlet is her self-proclaimed bodyguard, who probably finds as much joy in the act as she does, meaning none. Not to say there isn't passion, only that the intimate emotion connection isn't there. It is a means to an end, an outlet.
The healthiest thing for her to do would be to make peace with the past, but she can't. She won't. She resents the losses and the randomness that resulted in this change to her life's path. She wants to tear it all down with her own hands, but knows she can't do it alone. The waiting is the hardest part.
Theme Song: "Not Ready to Make Nice" http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pojL_35QlSI
