And now for the third piece of Rise fiction, featuring Catalina de Sanbicente, a 36 point Godly character, and written by airiko.
Name: Catalina de Sanbicente
Age (at time of death): 0
Date of Birth: n/a
Date of Death: April 29, 2006, 6:01AM
Ethnicity: Half Spanish, half American
Hair Color: Brown
Eye Color: Green
Religious Affiliation: Catholic
Defense Mode: Insight
Resistance(s): Stun Immunity
Exorcism Resistance: 9
Basic Attack | Whisper (+7 ATK, 7 DMG) Catalina whispers and brings forth invisible energy that attacks the opponent.
[Properties: Esoteric, Range: Mid]
Spirit Control 2
Sign of the Cross: Catalina fills her rosary with divine energies. It orbits around her, shedding a soft light all around. While animated, it has 3 charges. As a free action at the beginning of her turn, Catalina can spend a charge to have the rosary fire a beam that deals WIS/2 damage to a single target. Furthermore, if she is targetted with a direct attack, the rosary creates a field of energy around her that causes her attacker to take WIS/2 damage. This use of the ability expends one charge. All shots require a successful roll of the dice (10 or higher). Level 1 [ARTS]
Cost: 1 MP (for activation) DMG: 6 damage (per successful attack)
Property: Divine, Base: Dei-sculpting
Restorative Prayer: A limited healing ability that runs on ethereal energy and restores an average amount of IP to a group of allies. Level 2 [ARTS],
Cost: 3 MP, DMG: 8 (10 on self)
Property: Spiritual, Base: Spiritual Control
The Apostle's Creed: Deals PRE x (0.75) damage to a single target. If the target is Selfish or Satanic in alignment, they must make an Exorcism roll against Catalina's attack. If they fail, they take twice the previous damage at the beginning of their next turn. Level 2 [Exorcism]
Cost: 5 MP DMG: PRE x (0.75) prior to Exorcism roll; failure results in 2 x [PRE x (0.75)] in additional damage.
Property: Divine, Base: Dei-sculpting
Light of Revelation
Unspent Passive Slot
Unspent Passive Slot
The illegitimate daughter of a notable Spanish bishop and an American missionary, Catalina was killed in the womb when her mother was murdered in order to silence the controversy surrounding the bishop's affair. As a spirit of the unborn, she is innocent, naive, but also possessing of a selfish streak and a somewhat alien personality. Currently, she wanders the earth in search of her father, but also does the bidding of God under direct orders of the Holy Madonna.
Catalina is perhaps among one of the more controversial characters in this first generation of play, in that she is the spirit of an unborn child, bringing to the game all the gritty details and moral ambiguities such topics engender.
Catalina's story takes place after her death, in December 2006, during a moment at which Catalina found some time away from the perils of the spiritual wars and managed to have some time to herself.
It was a nondescript December day, one where tastes and tunes were muted to a fine shade of green that lacked the luster of the most elaborate of Christmas trees. Months had passed since she had moved from a position close enough to taste life to one where it was drained away, but because she had no real since of time Catalina could judge it only by the color of the sky. The glistening surface of the cement street, though, had been the culprit that caught her gaze and led her away from whatever she'd been doing. The sun had long since vanished from the sky - death, it seemed (though she could not compare it to life) was an endless array of sunrises and sunsets marked by very little in between. Feeling nothing save the warmth of her own intuition, she was alone of her own accord for the first time.
It was no surprise, then, that she wandered for some time. She passed Christmas displays that she could not comprehend, alleys with nothing but a bit of icy residue left for the rats to pick apart, and homes. She stopped to glare in the face of a particularly gaudy Mary in a nativity scene, certain that she had seen such an image before but all too aware that it little resembled the faces and fixtures of Heaven.
"The Holy Mother?" she intoned softly, reaching up with a ghostly hand to trace the contours of the plastic figurine's face. Though Catalina had not seen her own mother, she thought this was closer to her ideal of human matriarchy than what she had seen in Heaven was. She wondered, vaguely, what the woman had been like aside from her love of salsa music and her affinity for sleeping on her side, but because she had no answers for such questions she moved on before she gave herself a chance to linger.
It became dusk as she traveled, and by the time she thought to look back behind her there was nothing but an expanse of shadows stretching out into the horizon. Christmas lights glimmered from all sides - she was in a neighborhood, likely the same as the place that had harbored the gaudy Mary she had seen before. From house to house she wandered like an expectant child observing toys; she was not surprised when several, snow-covered lawns had nearly identical setups for she was not completely aware of where she was. Each material existence was something so new to her that she did not know whether she should be frightened of the colors or elated that so many humans seemed to have respect for the very same images she had seen in the Church (though it went without saying that she feared the rotund man and the creatures that dappled several doorsteps for they were completely alien to her).
Catalina was by a window, looking in at a curious contraption that appeared to be crafted from a tree, when it began to snow. Every statue, every bright colored ornamentation, clashed with the natural environment she would have expected at such a time, but somehow their presence was calmed when the white precipitation began to fall around her. She was not frightened of it - not as she had been at her first sight of rain, for it was already upon the ground when she had wandered off, and she was certain that she was as stalwart as a lopsided depiction of Mary. The snow fell in arcs; faster in some places, slower in others, but it was so white and pristine that as it began to coat the decorations she had examined earlier Catalina could not help but take a closer look at the snowflakes as they fell from the sky. She remained sitting, for a long time, brilliant green eyes darting back and forth as new flakes trickled down and came to rest upon the already covered grown.
"It's so pretty..."
Though her words of admiration were exhaled in a single breath, the little girl managed to add something of a laugh on the end, and she outstretched her hand, palm up, to the sky. She knew snow could not land upon her as it did upon the decorations or the ground, and she knew that it was impossible to feel the cold, but it was with childlike naivety that she stayed where she was to begin with, and her actions were almost instinctive. She captured the first snowflake she could see by cupping her palm directly below where she felt it would fall. The flake melted before it came to rest upon her palm, floating as a single, sullen droplet before it fell against the ice that coated the walkway beneath her. Desolate, lacking a full-fledged embrace of the human contact it craved, it was as lonely as she was. She gave a final, fleeting glance to the light that burned from within the window, and looked up to the sky, towards the Heaven she knew kept her from being discarded like the snow. Remembering that, and erasing the smiles and the sincerities in a life she would never live, kept her from feeling as if she, too, would collapse into a puddle when the sun rose again.
It was a holiday she would never experience, but she felt the connection it held with God in the depths of her soul, and that was something no amount of knowledge would change.
Somewhere, somehow, a hymn was being sung. Somewhere, somehow, a prayer was being prayed, and a soul was being saved. That was enough, for her, no matter the loneliness.