<em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 8pt;"><strong>First off, thank you Harry for not drowning me the last few days.</strong></span></em><br/><br/><br/><br/><br/><div class="floatleft"><strong>Name:</strong> <em><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;">Maria Lucia Santana</span></em><br/><strong>Pantheon:</strong> <em>Aztec</em><br/><strong>Player:</strong> <em>Keidance</em><br/><strong>Nature: </strong><em>Loner</em><br/><strong>God:</strong> <em>Tlazolteotl</em></div><br/>(http://i87.photobucket.com/albums/k132/BriBla/454a23a1-68d1-4e94-80cf-f6831337e4f1_zpstunwppnx.jpg)<br/><br/><br/><strong><span class="bbc_u"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: verdana;">Appearance:</span></span></span></strong><br/>5 foot 3 inches of delicate frame and lean muscles stretched across the taunt lines of a body that has known it's fair share of manual labor. While the body itself reflects a rougher life then the social norm finds pleasing in the day and age, it is the demure if non descriptive woman's face that holds truthful distinction. Not beautiful, nor plain she is also not one to be considered ugly either. Eyes, the windows to the soul seem to consume her face and yet the softened expression of her mouth that knows well sorrow and happiness that flickers as her moods do. All together the features blended in a manner that tended to be an acquired taste. The softer lining of flesh holds it's olive undertones even when she is away from the sunlit kissed ground of her home, skin contrasting well enough with the silken fall of Stygian colored tresses which created their own shadows on the high cheekbones.<br/><br/>Her choice of clothing depending upon the feathers of the birds she is choosing to flock near. Most off, it is the subtle clothing in colors of earth or the valley where gentle lies and happiness still dance in memory. Because of her Mother's "legend', it should be no surprise that the Pariah tends to avoid being the center of any attention unless she must be, choosing instead to watch from a comfortable distance and observe. Because of that reasoning it was rare for one to pick her out, to know her for what she might be. Someones sister, someones mother, someones aunt, someones daughter, she was none of these things 'really' and yet her manners made it easy to mistake her for all of them.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: verdana;"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><span class="bbc_u">Attributes/Knacks:</span></span></strong></span><br/><br/><em>Ability to speak, read and write in Latin,English,Spanish, and Italian (all spoken allowed with an accent but one) </em><br/><br/><strong>Manipulation:</strong>Subtle shifting of others using Knowing Glance.<br/><br/><strong>Appearance:</strong>Not in the way of beauty or even charm but instead following Serpent's Gaze and Compelling Presence.<br/><br/><strong>Charisma:</strong>While she is not for everyone now and again she requires the aide of someone who will do exactly what she wishes, when she wishes it. Engender Love<br/><br/><br/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: verdana;"><strong>Abilities:</strong></span></span></div><br/><span class="bbc_u"><em><strong>Empathy's Eros:</strong></em></span>Able to create a compulsion or desire in another to do something that they normally would not.  Inserting a tugging of temptation of their own morals that seem at the time inspired. In fact the temptations are flamed by contact with her through voice, or sight. These actions cannot be ones that lead the target directly 'to' death, but suggestions planted in certain situations have, merely by the accidental discovery of course.<br/><br/><span class="bbc_u"><em><strong>Confession: </strong></em></span>Conversation holds it's own benefits as one gives trust to another, freeing themselves to speak without feeling judgment upon them.  Indeed it is almost as if the target is compelled to confess their deepest and darkest secrets, sometimes even ones they have not yet acted upon but hunger to. One's so vile that they have been rotting inside because of them.  This ability isn't all it's cracked up to be, unless you are hunting , after all who wants to hear whispers of most peoples depravity?<br/><br/><em><span class="bbc_u"><strong>Sinful Survival:</strong></span></em>By absorbing the sins of another, in truth absorbing them of the guilt they may feel burdened with, she is able to heal a target or her own  wounds, purge poisons from their systems, and or rid them of sickness through purification. By the same right, she is capable of infecting another with an illness that often takes the form or symptoms of an std, even if she has not been intimate with them. It only takes a touch or a breath to blown across bare skin, to make misery their new bedfellow.<br/><br/><br/><br/><div align="center"><strong><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;">Birthright:</span></strong></div><br/><span class="bbc_u"><em><strong>Jar of Dirt:</strong> </em></span>A small vial of dirt that is held upon a fine chain of gold. It's ability allows her to cleanse a small area against things that wish to harm her or those she is near. Purification of soiled, or tainted lands which create a small field of protection against things not of the mortal realm. At least her maternal line saw fit to erase the ochre colored symbols of excrement from the vial. Then again at times small favors often amounted to the ones she was most grateful for.<br/><br/><br/><br/><div class="spoiler_container"><div class="spoiler_header" onclick="hideSecond (this);" role="button"> History</div><div class="spoiler_body">The Father used to tell her a story of when they found her. A babe found upon the doorsteps of a mission with a note written in the old tongue upon it. In Nahuatl, a tongue that had not been spoken in so many years that it took a grandchild of a man a grandfather three times over to translate it for the Father. "From the sinner comes something sweet, from the sweetness comes the hunger to eat." The translation didn't do the terms used justice, the play upon Judges 14:14. Fitting enough for a babe so malnourished that it seemed she would fade rather then thrive. But the good Father could not bear to lose her, not when there seemed something about the child that needed nourishment of soul and body. What had been within the basket she was left in was secreted away until the time it would be needed. The foundling now a  precious child to be brought up as a daughter of the Church, and so she was.<br/><br/>Maria grew within the embrace of the Church and of the Mission upon the soil of her birth. Personally taught by the good Father and tended to by the Nun's who had been both forced into their roles by not wishing to conform to society, or by their own genuine belief they were called to service.  Not a bad childhood by any means, the sickly girl becoming stronger day by day. Because of her nature she was allowed to be taught to read, to write, taught the lessons of the faith,  even allowed to learn to speak Latin. Her favorite activities were the studies of the old scrolls and tablets within the missions hidden caches, a wonderland of knowledge from places so far away.  And as all children she grew, and as her body became strong, her soul did as well. Father took note when her dreams began. He took note when she began to 'speak' freely of the things she saw after accidental touch now and again. In fact, there was very little he did not take note upon and sent to Mexico City to be forwarded on to the Holy Church by messengers in their heavy robes.<br/><br/>Most of the Church maintains it's strength through the absorption of native cultures and rituals, turning them, transforming them into symbols, rituals and rites of the Church itself, so that conversation is far less painful then it could be if it had to be. This was no hidden fact upon the educated papers and parchments, but one that was shifted to the background when speaking of conversions. There were those rumored to be able to do what they believed Maria could do. They even had a term, a title for it, the job not of the church but outside of it as a necessary evil. A needed thing for the Church, the Vatican,  was a powerhouse that had started to lose its steam, indeed in some ways it's foothold, as the world embraced a new dawning of science instead of religion. As that dawn came it seemed that there was less of a need for the light of the Church that had once provided shelter from the darkness in the shade of it's arms. <br/><br/>She had no idea what the Father had prepared for her. What she did hold in her heart was absolute trust in him, and in the Church, much to her own regret later. Always she had held the belief that she had a gift, a talent the Lord allowed because it's purpose although the reason for it was vile in the end the result brought more to Him. To grant in her pain, another to be sanctified, to be purified, or to be punished as the Church would lead her. As she matured, the realization of how devastatingly disgusting a person could be, began to twist her mind one's mind. The realization came early into her, that even if others did not act upon the things she saw when she gazed into their eyes? That they could think them, want them, need them shattered the illusion of right and wrong. Monsters no longer werethings underneath the bed or in the shadows. A hard lesson in the truth that sometimes the monsters were right beside her, with a beautiful smile and tender touch. A lesson in the business end of the church, as she was lead to absolve men whose hearts held nothing but vileness, steeped in the steaming shit of sin. But for the cost set by the Church, she was to make them clean. By the cost of another, she was to make them pay. <br/><br/>Eventually it was etched upon her heart that all goodness was driven to the shadows at some point and all shadows stepped into the light as they needed to. Life was not a thing in vivid color, oh no, but more a constant flow of grey's and muted tones. It was not to be black or white, merely the mixture of the absence and the inclusion. <br/><br/>Revolution eventually came to Mexico, making the sandy earth red with the blood of people considered rebels or patriots depending on which side of the sand one stood on. Ripe in the valley, the land was fertile and the people proud of their heritage mixed and became as varied as the fruit upon the vine. In 1910 the Revolution overtook the peaceful lands, creating an era of war and suffering to a people already plagued by such. The failure of Porfirio Diaz and his political succession meant that once more the rich battled for the power. The armed conflict lasted for ten years, split into phases of consolidated power and revolts that made the multitude civil war become something of a monster devouring a land that could have been so much more.<br/><br/>Her side in all of this was of course, to be the touch of the Catholic Church with it's puppets of wealthy landowners and capitalist that held a death choke upon the frail common man. Others fought for reforms, or empowerment of the workers and peasants via the state.  She struggled to maintain a balance between the duality of her nature. While the Church protected her, sheltered her, sent her to tasks like some shadow. The more she granted absolution too, the more sin she swallowed into herself, the more she would catch herself savoring the spread of infection, the hints of sin into the minds of others. Eventually it would become a self realized truth that she guarded, that she savored the use of the right hand as much as the left. Pain or Rapture, both brought her distinct joy, a quiet clarity, a feeling of duality that made her happy.  Only one question clouded the mind in those days. What would happen to her own sin, when the time came and she was judged. If she was gifted for His purpose, then why could she be not his daughter, his bride? Why in all of the humility and truth would she be instead forever outside the harbor of his love? <br/><br/>Eventually the out of 15 million country men and women, 1.5 million lay in the earth rotting. Another 200, 000 at least fled into the United States where peace was promised and the poorest of poor seemed to flaunt their affluence. She of course? Followed the tide as the Church bid her, in the guise of a Nun's robes from time to time, in the guise of a whore at other times.  Eventually the letters would lead her to New York, where she would begin to work at the behest of a well known Church set to inspire a new generation of Catholics to their fervor. The Vatican paid her well, to stay unknown and unheard of, to be their blessing and their curse. Of course they paid her even better to come and set souls at ease when those souls had more then a few coins to donate, or manses to give for the use of their Holiness. <br/><br/> Still there was a pleasure in being allowed to study where Priests alone could go, allowed to communicate under a false name of course, with many of the religions most credible minds on matters such as the occult, conversion, religious theory in several major forms. This was her time of learning, the time of knowledge and she thrived within it. Alone she was, and yet? She was not her mind filled with the voices of a thousand words, consuming the legends and stories as a child would a fairy tale, set to memory and clung to as some small sliver of truth might remain in there. Some happy ever after. <br/><br/>And all she had to do, was spiritually whore herself. A hidden Mistress while  the Nuns were received as Brides.<br/><br/>It changed of course, when the package arrived wrapped in brown paper. Within it her ocher stained swathing cloth, the edges bordered in golden threads, the ritualized turn of the corners to represent the mother's knotting. A thin slip of parchment written in blood, the crimson scrawl of the words of the riddle she had always been told of, but had never really understood. The instant her fingertips touched the cloth, the second connection was made gifting a burning awareness unlike any other she had ever pulled into her body. A pain cold and bitter for what had been, and what would come, but an understanding that each held purpose beyond her understanding, beyond the understanding of any one being, God or Man. The knowledge however that soothed as much as it inflamed was that of who and what her Mother was, and why the child had been cast away.  For it had not been out of hate, but out of the many aspect's of a Mother's love.The riddle rang with it's own truth. It would be a lie to think that it did not amuse Maria to know full well the Church and it's lies. It would be a lie to assume that it did not amuse her that this business that masked as something more had twisted it's truths to profit from it's lies.  <br/><br/>What was done had been done and nothing could return to the time where it could have been changed. Her need for knowledge became voracious, a never ending teeming cycle of study coupled with the work she would do. If the church wished to use her still? So be it, but no more would quiet absolution be gifted to one she did not find worthy or willing to bargin or barter for it. After all, whores have needs too. <br/></div></div>