Aribbe
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
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| 'Excelsior vitae!' | |
| Aribbe | |
| Player: @Wix | |
| Origin: | Natural |
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| Archetype: | Controller |
| Security Level: | 20 (Apr 2008) |
| Personal Data | |
| Real Name: | [Secret Lore] unrevealed |
| Known Aliases: | The Handmaiden of Zenobia |
| Species: | Exotic; Non-Terran |
| Age: | 1768 |
| Height: | 5' 8" |
| Weight: | 137 lbs |
| Eye Color: | Dark Liquid Orbs |
| Hair Color: | Long Lavender |
| Biographical Data | |
| Nationality: | Ancient |
| Occupation: | ' |
| Place of Birth: | ' |
| Base of Operations: | Confidential |
| Marital Status: | Alone |
| Known Relatives: | ' |
| Known Powers | |
| of Sight & Mind, and the Protective Cloak | |
| Known Abilities | |
| Confidential | |
| Equipment | |
| the Mark of Ciraabi | |
| Ethereal, ghostly and exo-terrene. | |
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"Only part of us is sane: only part of us loves pleasure and the longer day of happiness, wants to live to our nineties and die in peace, in a house that we built, that shall shelter those who come after us.
The other half of us is nearly mad. It prefers the disagreeable to the agreeable, loves pain and its darker night despair, and wants to die in a catastrophe that will set back life to its beginnings and leave nothing of our house save its blackened foundations."
- Rebecca West
Contents |
יד בִּגְזֵרַת עִירִין פִּתְגָמָא, וּמֵאמַר קַדִּישִׁין שְׁאֵלְתָא; עַד
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From whence the Watchers?
"Theology is not what we know about God, but what we do not know about Nature."
- Robert Ingersoll
The Celestia, or watchers of life, are not magical but instead are born from a presence of faith that only life may conjure. As more life exists, as is it's purpose, so more may tend that garden. As avatars of that seed, the watchers may not normally live in life’s stead, but must follow the path that life takes helping to guide it in subtle ways. Forming what perhaps a scientist may think of as instinct. Or what some might call by a different name; God.
But such a massive thing as ‘God’ so dependent on entirety cannot entirely exist within one place or being. And yet, as given by long wisdom and time it may be given to an urge in need of a voice, as pressure and time are want to do, to change and take shape other than its origin, and in that space take a new form. These overwhelming urges of life can come to form the Celestia, or more banally, angels.
In moving from the ether to the material this demiurge takes a form that the well of life proscribes to it. The form now allowing critical separation and action toward purpose. With existence the angel brings a vast knowledge of things deemed magical, but in truth tis power that comes from a sheer understanding and long study of the nature of things, now given shape and form.
But so starts the fall. The Celestia will never remain pure of purpose once they can internalize the concept of free-will, or sense the overwhelming and unfiltered pulse of life up close. And it is at some point with existence that they turn to the aspect of the Fallen.
Persona
Aloof, and some what cold, Aribbe seems the personification of calm. Her genesis stems not from the growing desire of hidden passions, but instead from observation and frustration. In the norm, her genuine concern for humans never seems to transition to true feeling or empathy, instead maintaining a discreet distance in the service of God. And yet, even this dry calculus has started to subtly change her from angel to agent, awakening a forbidden desire for action where such is forbidden. Of this change she is still ignorant, but it begins none the less.
Angels spend eons watching humans, trying to subtly guide them and assist, perhaps arrogantly coming to think they understand them intimately. Yet once they are within the bounds of the material, they find themselves slowly encumbered by confusion. They are no longer as easily, or quickly able to discern God from other more selfish motivations.
Thus, to outsiders she seems to struggle with the façade of humanity that she is now forced to exhibit, and feint emotion, as yet an unknown and alien thing, as best as she can.
Inner Self
The ripples from the fallen tear through all that is ordered and good in the world. We watchers are forbidden to intervene ...and yet. How long can one simply observe as the innocent are corrupted?
And of my teacher?
Long now have I watched this horror transpire with the Crimson Conjuress and the wanton 'school' of Sigma Iota Nu, and I can no longer bear it. Ciraabi the Fallen must be purified. I would save the memory of what was once good, before the Iblis devours what is left of my once cherished and noble teacher.
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