Elodianna La'Valentina Ophelia

Complete workings

• Elodianna's handbook:

  Journal entry number one: Raw days: the first entry of my adulthood.

  Can't exactly speak for much outside of the belligerent folk - whom, for reference, are utterly useless and serve of no worth to any man nor unit who has come to exist amongst our intertwined fabrication - other than the matter I chose to dabble in earlier; the dare I say it, more melanoid side of doings against the rebellion in the north - though, they're all as good as the sand is here in Egypt; however, worse and yet still, I fear, opposed to those that do, in fact, serve of no value nor moral to anyone, that each and every singular grain of sand holsters an infinitely boundless spectrum of proven worth by default: I can walk atop the surface here, and thereafter receive nothing more than a weak burn come the turn of an incandescent day - for them, it's different; for them, I walk over one body - be it so alive as the water, or as dead as the creatures they slaughter for their non-stable meals every night - and I then thereby of such, I find myself wishing I was traversing over pure, molten rock: lava, of such, from the volcanos of the homeworld; but, hey, what more can I do other than wonder as to why I even gave my old position up to come out here, in the baking temperatures of a hellish earth, just to appease a colossal, moronic being who has nothing better than to do, to kill for amusement -- funny, since that summarizes my time here very well; almost to the nearest frequency of perfection in itself: wrapped and placed atop a nitid shelf, never to be concealed, but once forth, never in sight, per say. Not all bad, mind you; at least some of the locals know their doings, respectively so, of how to gather water using pails or buckets we made from essentially using brick a cement-like material -- not overly sure what they called it again; a sort of mud, but regardless, it perplexes me as to why you'd need to lumber something so heavy around; though, bearing something in mind: humans need not share the knowledge of my kind, nor shall they ever as far as we're all concerned - they don't have fancy attributes, like powers or fight...unless they try the slingshot method again, and then find out that splattered corpses are no fun to clean up, both physically and mentally; the disdain upon one's eyes and mind alike is enough to churn one's stomach. Bunch of gadfly bastards if anyone asked for my honest opinion - not like anyone has done, though; it's merely a game of who kisses who's ass the best, and who can lift the most sandstone bricks from point A to point fucking B without any or minor injuries: a bemused atavism collection formed from the depths of their 'holy society' to build to gods that, as far as I am concerned, don't actually exist; and, so if they do, may the lords of the Sixth have my back.
  Now, can't be flustered any longer, must I say so myself - even if it is starting to absorb the reasons in itself from cynical behaviours and childish emotions hereby granted, near bestowed to my mind, because the bloody fools can't any clean water - always turgid, dirty, to the brim with waste of landslides or rainwater: utterly disgusting, foul and rigid - words don't come close, you'd need to be here to truly see it -- or rather, drink it; not like one would want to, though, that is.
  Well, the first day of 'adulthood' as the Sixth put it, and I can say that today - something that is otherwise, on the complete contrary, meant to be special - isn't anything outside of another lethargic waste of my time: why, that, on paper from pen of a desperately hungry-for-ink quill sounds almost mean, doesn't it; maybe, just maybe, if those around me, weren't complete tyro's at their jobs and dabbled doings, but rather to opposite - savants if one shall, - then mayhaps my time wouldn't, by myself and my own choice, be wasted throughout every shortening day.
  The very best that I could possibly draw out of today, is that I told some of the locals of the day, and they're going to be treating it like a sort of ritual - fuck knows what exactly I'll be participating it, but surely it couldn't be worse than the last ritual they performed.
  Given that, having been said, the ritual last week was, without a doubt, insanity defined to the perfect fabrication of such letters: sacrificial plays and tortured screams of those being burnt alive as a mere 'metaphorical meal' to their 'illogical yet almighty, non-existent gods -' defines not only insanity, but perhaps stupidity too; to where in which of such, the camps butcher, and I hereby quote, hand on my heart, wholeheartedly, spoke the following words: "he could have made for some great meat - stunning figure, nonetheless, sad to see him go, as he was always great at arranging the camps meals out for the specifics...so the gods now chose who get's that position - a position we thought nobody could fill, and that nobody could fill, for a good ten years."
  Basically meaning: they killed their only fucking source of organization, when we're in a desert, and could get raided by animals, creatures or other factions at any point in time throughout both bright day and stygian night: weak, weak, sorrowful, poor miscreants - misfortunate enough to be deluded into thinking the clouds are a blessing 'they' created; not very intelligible, but I might just be a logical bitch.
  Disregarding that, my work here, at the very least, hasn't been in vain or for no cause, unlike in the Homeworld; you see, at least here, for each terribly crafted bowl I clean, they pay or reward me in some way or another - at least it isn't with sand, like those they've kept as captives, servants or even slaves: pretty degrading if you ask me - can't help but feel even the slightest bit sorry for them, no matter how cold and frozen my heart and soul alike might be. Anyway, it won't be long until I get going; in fact, I believe around another 29 days until I get to go home after four long weeks of being away. Feels like more, but, I really shouldn't argue nor subvert the system they have in place. Getting out is my only priority, yet my biggest concern, as they'll surely notice if my presence or aura darts out of their mashed existence of a canvas; thus, faking one's death or even worse might have to occur in order for me to get out and away from 'the arrival -' apparently, when the god of all shows up above the Sphinx they're building: still pointless in my eyes.
  At best, they'll have another sandstorm of typhoon show up with a middle finger stuck up in their faces, whilst a mouth forms screaming 'die you repugnant little shits - get off my land and terrain,' or something of the sort. Oh, how I beg for such; and yet, oh how I wish to not have such ever arrive -- or at least, arrive again, I should state. The last typhoon was enough to knock me down - something, formally, a lady such as myself, am not used to: but, guess it was a good lesson -- the lesson being: the sand below makes for a good cushion and landing for one's behind.
  No matter, no worries: I'd imagine the chief will be calling for me in a moment to start preparing for the ritual - therefore, I need not keep around here, in a lonesome tent, with only the wind to noise being my friend on the matter; I should be out there, barefoot, in the sands of my temporary home, enjoying whatever they have - so long as I'm not being sacrificed as some sort of 'worthy entity for their unparalleled and almighty god of gods' all of a sudden.
  Ah, what joys I do just to stop my mouth being filled with the taste of vinegar and salt in the homeworld : anything is good enough for now; the war is not of my concern, thereby, I say it once, and twice over in the future: I like this place, my life is not on the line, and I can get my duty-planning done in peace -- for the majority of it.
  And one last thing: the second I return... IF I return from the event tonight, I'll be sure to keep a diary entry... though I question my sanity when writing this, as nobody is going to see it; probably just means I can get away with more than I originally could have done.

• Characteristics/basics:

  • Name: Elodianna La'Valentina Ophelia
  • Gender: Female
  • Race: Plagued half-breed
  • Species: Demon(ess); mothers side of the bloodline
  • Sub-species: Shape-shifting Draconic Wyvern; fathers side of the family
  • Technical spectrum: 80% flesh; 20% metal-infused, as her heart is supported with a core
  • Suspected age: 32
  • Canon age: 5038
  • Humanoid height: 5'8ft
  • Humanoid weight: 198lbs
  • Hybrid cross-state height: 7'9ft
  • Hybrid cross-state weight: Unknown; canon: 289lbs

• Appearance in image:

  The Sheep Army Arc III, Chapter IV: returning to the home world for the third time: subversive solutions to a raging war

• Detailed report:

• Spectral character analysis:

• 'Sheep,' a short arc chapter:

• Background story/pre Chap.V:

• 'Your time: I am you,' Arc I

• Arc II - X?: chronological -;