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Phoenician Lynnette Bowman, Chosen of Nyx

General Information

Name
Lynnette Bowman
In-Game Name
Keres
Aliases
Keres, Melody
Nicknames
Lynn, K
Twitter
@ArsDolus
Age
26? Undeath makes this difficult.
Height
5'5"
Weight
70 pounds before factoring in unnatural parts.
Hair Color
Black.
Eye Color
Steel blue (left), violet (right)
Birthplace
Brooklyn, New York
Appearance
Behind the mask is a girl, features frozen permanently in time, never to advance. Her face is ghastly pale and peppered with scars. Deep, long lines etched into her flesh cover her lips and eyes. There is a tragic beauty about her. Her features delicate, yet the skin canvassing them has suffered.
Personality
Everything is a mask, a joke you just don't get, a form of distant irony one after another. It's all a joke, it's all hilarious until one realizes that she's protecting herself by hiding the truth. She knows exactly what words to use to keep you at bay, but for those persistent enough to work through her walls she frequently comes up speechless.

When one finally finds themselves inside those walls they see just how much the core of her personality is built around her suffering. One can see that she never truly recovered from any of the countless events that scarred her. That hurt her. That broke her.

Especially not the one that killed her.

Lynnette Bowman is a broken, scared little girl. But she is not alone. She is merely the face behind the mask.
lynnface.jpgdavriel lynn.jpgFinal_Hood_Version.pngFinal_Default_Version.png

Biography

History
Little remains of who she once was. Her earliest memories are of the circus with her mother and father, their smiles mimicking her own. Young Lynnette was reserved, but her smile could light up a room better than the sun itself.

That girl died long ago at the hands of the Illuminati, now her body persists. Her recruitment was not voluntary, nor was her first kill. It would turn out she had quite a talent for murder, whether or not she was willing to utilize it for the gains of the Eye.

A freak accident granted her undeath. Another granted her freedom.

She would not squander either.

Now she flies her own flag, a decidedly purple flag.​
The Buzzing
Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see.
TRANSMIT - initiate gravedigger signal - RECEIVE - initiate stygian frequency - DOWNLOAD - watch from the sea of stars - TO THE LAST I GRAPPLE WITH THEE - weather the blackest night - FROM HELL'S HEART I STAB AT THEE - initiate the Phoenix cadence - initiate the bloodless rhythm - FOR HATE'S SAKE I SPIT MY LAST BREATH AT THEE - initiate the unfinal rest - WITNESS - Lynnette Bowman.
A departure from our usual tales of derring-do and a trip into the macabre! Hold tight to our hands, Sweetling.

This one once had wings just like yours, yet now they crumple underfoot, dead and dying, brittle and hollow like the bones of an infinitesimally small carcass. She has torn them from her back again and again in defiance of the call. And yet she is still Her chosen. Not all of the chosen are meant to be heroes of the center stage. Not all of them gallant knights in shining armor, off on a quest to save the princess. But this one does have a dragon to kill.

As is the way so many of the young hopefuls around the world do, her contractual obligations were not by choice. The collar around her throat snug and decidedly blue.

Years of slaughter left her heart cold and blackened. Then shards of shrapnel would leave it cold and dead!

None of our chosen are to know the dignity of the grave. Not for long at the very least. Where's the fun in that?

From the grave emerged a different creature than the child buried in it. No longer a girl. A woman shaped and hardened by hatred. A familiar story for the ages! She heard our whispers, she knew our names, and yet she rejected us.

The Eye and Pyramid created a monster that not even their most advanced chains could shackle and control. In a brilliant flash of gunfire and plastic explosives, she was freed and the stage was set for her second death. Over the communications equipment, there was a report of a fight. A moment's hesitation later, a body soared from the top floor of a parking garage and left a sickening crimson snow-angel on the pavement below.

That is where the story of Lynnette Bowman the slave ends.

Again from the silent grave something new rose. A fiend, a liberator. The monster that she was shaped into was free to wreak righteous vengeance against those who had killed her twice over. A nightmare from which the children of Rockefeller could n̷̪̙̕e̷͓̐͜͝v̴̝̼̓̏e̴̢̢̓̉r̴̨̜̎ ̸̖̿͝å̶͖̭w̵̥̬̚a̵̳͝k̵̢̏e̵̡͗ṇ̷̢̈́ ̶̱͍̔̕f̴̉..̶̱̂


Let me stop you right there.
That's not what you want, Chuck. Let me give you just what you're looking for. The good stuff.

The truth.

S͇̖̹ͨ̉̋̏͋̀̚s̴̫͇͚̣͉͉͓̓̒ͯͧ̃̓s̒͘s͔̠̮̺͉̗̄͝s̢͌͌́̌š̠̮ͩͨͫ͑̈ͨs̠ͤͪͥ̀ͮş̗͎̚s̡͓ͣ̎͋̄ͩs̷͖͓̙͓̆ͨ̾ͧͪ͗s̄̍́͑ͯ͊͏s̰͖̺̹͚̭͍sͧͨ̓̐ͧ̓̑͏͕̱͉s̟͙̫̪͈͚͋ͯͤs̶̞̤̭̭̼̥s̡̱̬š̲̦̤͓̜͍ͤ͐͒ͬͅs͉̭̩̤̪̝͙̾̔ͮ̃s̾ͭͥ͂̚s̟̔͂͑̓̍̚s̤̮̓́̍s͕̯͖̣̩̹̜͊͐͋͟s͉͙̜̦̓̆̚͠sͤ͏̺̗̖s̗̲̹̈́͌ͥͯśs̐̽҉̠̱̮̝ͅs̘͕̦̮̳̚s̷̞͎̩͈̬̦̐̿s̏ͭͨ̍ͥ͏̬̝̗̹s-͖͈͇̓ͤ̈́̄͛I̸̮̞͓̪ ̲̻̃ͨ͆ă̢͌̒͆ͥm̱͚̺ ̢̽̊̋ͩ̚ẗ̃̇h̵͒ẹ̴̥ͦͪͥ̇ͧ͂̉ ̩͓̮̬̥̌̎̌͂̌p͕͈̞͈͍ͮ͛͌̃ͅr̟̘̯̘̠ͨ͟ī̦̿ͣ̈ͦ͑͊c̐̉ͯ̿e̥̟̬̫̲͙̣̓͗̂̓ ̯͍̞̥̬͓̓̊o̪̟͎͎ͧͨ̉̄f̃ͯ̐̎ͦ͊͏̬ ͠f͔̽̓ͮͬ̋͗ͥ́r͎̙͖ͥ͆ͭ͌e͔ͧ͜e̟̥̩͉ͩ͑̂̓̚͟d͙̏͋̚ͅo͇̝͚̰͍̘ͪ̐͌͊m̦̯͉̮̬̪͗-̘̫͈͚̮͕͕̄ͯl̝͚̼̘̬̼ͫ̾̆ͣ̿̚͝e͇͗̎t͈͔͉͕̍̃̈ ͆͐́m͍̫̞ͧe̛͍͙̙͍͐ͯͬ̎ ̥͔̲͓̯̈́̍ͬ̂
i̽҉͉̳̻̺̮̙n͓̼̜̰̈̉̋́̉ͅ.͚͇̯̠͉̗̽ͯ̐͆ͯ͢

How many black and blues does it take to make the world a more just place, Chuck? You of all people would know.

You want to play hero? You want to be a savior? You want to protect all those innocent kids like you?

You're batting zero for three, Chuck.

Wonder how many of them just like you are lying on the sidewalk, drowning in a puddle of obsidian and crying themselves into their final rest? Wonder who did such a thing, don't you, Chuck?
Who could jam a crowbar into the door, pry it off its hinges and let loose an unending font of suffering and terror?

Why don't you ask that cute little thing on the radio? The spacy little doll with remorse in her eyes, the poor girl chasing redemption at the bottom of a bottle every night, wondering if tonight is the night she atones?

A̶͝͡sk̷͢ ̷̶͝h̀͜͝er ̨w̨͟h̢͞ơ,̵ ̡C̶̵̴h̛͝u̧͠c̸͏k̢͢͡.̸͞ ̧

Your nifty new friends aren't blue, but they're all black on the inside, and isn't that where it really counts?

They smell doubt, Chuck. They see weakness. They know you don't belong. How long until they tear you apart? Rip them ò̕p̕e͢͞n͟-͜op̨̛͟è̶n-̛o̷p̵̨͞en first and see their true colors. Find the truth.

The truth is you're not the hero. You're not even the hero of your own śt̡o̡͟ry̢̕͜-̷̀͝s̵̡to̡͟ry̷͡-̶s̴t̨̀͘ǫ̵r̀y̵̨͝.͢͢

Abilities

Abilities
Every talent she has is fine crafted to aide in lethality. There is no skill she possesses that does not end lives. Trained in firefight tactics, reconnaissance, infiltration and survival techniques, and an expert in three different martial arts, heavily modified to account for her own unique physiology.

She is a master umbramancer, a rare and little known art. She may rise from nothingness itself and wield it as a weapon to strike down her foes.

RP Hooks

RP Hooks
There have been a string of high profile murders in Kaidan, in which Illuminati agents or those connected to team blue have been impaled to billboards for all to see.

However, that's just Kaidan. Similar cases have been cropping up all over the world, but without the locale to tie them to, it's unknown whether these are connected or not.

An Illuminati defector once presumed dead is currently theorized to be behind the cases, but little hard evidence sticks her there.

Any with purple ties know an entirely different story altogether. They know the face behind the mask. They know the other half of the whole.

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Item information

Added by
Ace of Hearts
Views
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Additional information

Abilities - Personal Physical Powers
Superhuman agility
Abilities - Reality Manipulation
Darkness

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