Helena

Zea Helena Mazuo
name (rp world)	Zea Helena Mazuo (Gaera Main)
birthdate (birthplace)	12 Falisara 1322 Netherworld.
current residence	MAC Igala D
occupation	Special Ops
family	Quinn (mother, deceased), Zeke Mazuo (father, deceased), Rapierre Waepon (grandfather, deceased), Shillelagh Waepon (aunt, deceased), Kamos Mazuo(first cousin once-removed, deceased)
race	Functionally human.
physical description	She's tall and thin like her father was, but wears her hair a good deal longer than he wore his. It really is as rediculous as the image looks.
typical clothing	During the course of her work, Helena wore a lot more white than most other people working for Reshtaha. When not forced by circumstances to wear her MAC uniform, she prefers a T-shit and ripped black jeans.
personality	Having long ago forgotten most of her mortal life, Helena has seriously seriously lost touch with humanity. She has retained general ideas of right and wrong and has a good handle on basic social graces, but she needs improvement in all of the above areas.
religious beliefs	Helena is a devout follower of Reshtaha, though at the moment they're "on terms."
drunk type	Talkative.
affiliations	Reshtaha

Mortal Life

See Zea Mazuo

Career and Exile

"Your fear is that the dead disappear," she began, the familiar condolences leaping effortlessly to her lips as they always did. "That you will vanish from the hearts and memories of the people you loved in life. I can tell you that it simply is not possible. Love remains long after pain, and even when their grieving eases, you will remain in them. You must move on ahead of them, and someday they must follow in your footsteps." These phrases always seemed to calm them, give them strength, but the shepherd had long ago forgotten their meaning. "Know this. You are not alone on your journey, just as they will not be alone. I am here with you, and I will ensure that you are guided safely home."

His resignation came in the form on an exhausted trust in his shepherd. What could he do but follow? She had come to see the mind of a dying mortal in terms of patterns. There were only a few, and seldom was she forced to deviate from likewise categorized responses. She was gracious, sensitive, and even compassionate in a very generalized universal sense. Unthinkable that these mortals should suffer. Die, yes. But fear, horror, bitterness... these were the sworn enemies of a dedicated reaper. She had no need of empathy, only to say the right words at the right times; first this, then this, then this.

She had little contact with the world of mortals. All that she had learned came in terms of causes of death. The years passed for her no less slowly than for a mortal, and with each passing decade her years as a human girl shrank away. For many years she watched the descendents of her loved ones, following their progress through time. Even this finally stopped.

Her only remaining pleasure aside from a certain dim pride in her work was the sky. Frequently she would disappear from the ranks of her colleagues for hours and hours at a time, walking out into a courtyard and lifting herself up into the air. Sometimes she went so high that no mortal could have breathed the thin frigid air and started down at a sea of clouds shining in the sun or glowing over a darkened land.

There came a time when she no longer thought of herself in personal terms. She and everyone else became a nest of self-imposed responsibilities and obligations. She was occasionally frightened to realize she'd forgotten her own name, only to recall when addressed by her Lord. She forgot her friends, forgot her mother's laugh, or the face of her father when she saw him for the first time.

Those she had depended on in life faded from her thoughts even as she herself began to erode under the assault of time.

She was good at her job, damn good. Never wavering in her determination or devotion to her Lord, she forgot herself. She had lived too long away from life. She was roused into self-awareness and human emotion rarely, and nearly always at the urgent encouragement of her god. He would tease her, provoke her, goad her into remembering the passion and willfulness that had brought her to him in the first place.

There came a day when she would not be provoked, when she was beyond reaching. Her stoic acceptance of the duties and honors laid upon her ran too deep for anything but the most drastic of measures.

She was summoned to him, and he told her he was very pleased with her accomplishments and contributions. She had exceeded all expectations and dedicated herself completely.

"You're fired."

The words felt like another language. She studied her Lord carefully, certain that if he were joking there would be some cue as to his true intentions.

He was entirely serious.

As the reality of his words opened up to her, she felt as if her entire world were melting away. For the first time in years, the shepherd herself was afraid, angry even. She pleaded with him, railed at him, and he only waved away her words. She could come back if she could relearn why she was here in the first place. If that time never came, she would lead a mortal life and eventually die as all creatures must.

So here she was, cast out. Trapped in a mortal body until chance or fate brought her back before her master.

RPs

Vessels of Souls: GM'd by Archmage

GURPS Sheet

This will come later when I feel like figuring out how to format GURPS sheets on the wiki.