About

Full name: Zinaida "Zin" Kirkegrim
Age: "A hundred, at least. —Don't give me that look, I know!"
Gender: Cis Female
Nameday: 11th Sun, 2nd Umbral Moon (4/10)
Sexuality: Bisexual
Race: Viera, Ishgardian-raised
Voice claim: Jackass - Nier Automata (As played by Amanda C Miller)
She/Her, or other pronouns ok (but might provoke her to mention about it). Explicitly she's a very andro/gnc womanQuick take: A fighter who’s somehow always a bit out of place and time. Beneath her pride and (rudely phrased, sometimes) pressure for others to take care of themselves and not be a stupid idiot running without thinking, there’s something less honest, less noble. Eternally budgeting and committing food crimes of the pasta-water tea variety with little care. Laments her actual years of savings are in a currency no longer accepted in Eorzea apparently.———Zinaida is one of the great many adventurers travelling Hydaelyn taking whatever odd jobs would have her. She's confident of her skill in a fight and her experience above all else, decades behind every discipline. Still favors her greatswords best. Weight and might are enough—even a little skill and technique carries her far beyond the average soldier.Although she has a habit of owing debts and running short on gil for herself, she's still willing to come to another's aid, and isn't one to forget a favour, provided one can get past the occasional Ishgardian brusqueness or odd habit. One might find her with a creased brow about to curse at herself for taking low paying jobs most days of the week.As a kid, not being raised by Viera but an Elezen Priest of Ishgard, she used to think herself a Miqo’te, just... very tall. Or half-Elezen, for a while. She’s still embarrassed of it, but will laugh at herself from time to time, openly admitting her unfamiliarity with actual Viera heritage past the "expects (hopes) most of them to be her age" part. That kind of youth gave her a (perhaps, not entirely) unique perspective of the city-state: not recognized as a real citizen, or child of the Fury, in her time.She enjoys watching performers, and musicians from distant lands, still mesmerized by fluid movements and earnest tales and folkloric beliefs—though she grew up in Ishgard and surrounding Coerthas, and still cherishes some of the memories held there, she wonders far too often about the truth of her birthplace somewhere across the ocean. Of possibility. Homes which might have been better to her. She’s not even sure how to start... it's led to her always been curious about other people, bordering on analytical. Difficult habit for her to break, to not stare. She gets along with a certain former bard by name of Sirah'li Kheilsu on that tendency, she probably encouraged the youth's nosiness in their short adventures as leader and subordinates respectively.While she seems to be one to wear her heart on her sleeve, and goes out of her way to help those few she dotes on, she’s still prone to her vices of arrogance (and cowardice) both, and bites her tongue hard when it comes to certain details of her youth. Within her eye belies a discomfort all too obvious no matter how long she's fought to hide it.In spite of her solemn oaths to two people long ago, she still is driven by a desperation to survive at all costs. That supersedes any other ideas or dreams she might have. No "honour" will make her hesitate about that.Somewhat hypocritically, she’s a reckless fighter sometimes, confident in herself above the new blood mercenaries of the Adventurer's Era to a careless point... Not unwarranted. Nor is she above fighting dirty or turning to underhanded work for Gil--but, she's gotten good at separating her different lives from each other over the decades—from the wicked, selfish Kirkegrim, and the beleaguered veteran adventurer Zinaida of Coerthas.Or maybe, she's just better at justifying the means by the ends.

Deeper background

Full name: Zenaide Myste (Given) Zenaide Faulkner/Arulaq (Married)
Aliases: "Kirkegrim, the Black Dog / Kirke" (Circa 1429 AE), "Zee" (????6AE), "Zinaida of Coerthas / Zin" (Pre-guild ID)
Age: 200+?
Nameday: ~1350 6AE, Sun and Moon unknown.
Race: Viera, Ishgardian-raised, assumed Bozjan? Dalmascan? Near-Eastern.Zinaida's history stretches longer than she can remember, willingly or not. Decades of concussion-inducing strikes against her, only a foggy recollection of the years after her wife's passing from grief, and simply the time since those years has left her with a gap-filled memory of almost 100-or-so years of her life.Stunted memory or not though, she’s well aware of the grudges now-held and once-held—for good reason—against her. There's no forgetting what she did, not seeking to soften the damage. Before mercenary and adventuring work held the semi-official capacity it does, plenty of blood stained her hands to keep herself in the good graces of the wealthy who would pay a warrior's hand and shield her from the eyes of authority. Her constant lack of gil comes from being swindled time and time again, not quite grasping modernisms compared to her old wealthy expenditures from better days—but also, from feeling too guilty to turn down a request for aid, physical or financial, ever wondering that it might be from someone’s lineage who she’s wronged before, brought to the same low she was once. Small mercies.
May she be offered them when she needs them too.

Early / ~200+ - near 160 years ago

A fleet of sailors from the East and near-East found themselves stranded upon the coasts of Eorzea two centuries ago, following a nightmarish storm at sea that tore them off course, leaving the shattered ships aimlessly floating before spotting the shore. With them was a Viera couple's young daughter, taken by her uncle to Hannish doctors for a vile illness that left her barely clinging to life already, only for fate twist its knife again.The Elementals of the Black Shroud rejected the lost sailors’ attempt at founding a camp, forcing the group to scatter to Gyr Abania and Coerthas respectively—the Gyr Abanian collective seemingly disappeared into history, while those westward-bound found themselves facing the wrath of Coerthas, particularly the few Au Ra among them. Glamours and careful masking of appearances steadily led to their integration to the local coerthan villages.Zenaide’s guardian, along with many others, was a victim to the Dravanian general Darkscale's rampage through the hillsides. The numbers of the lost dwindled further. She fell into the charge of a Halonic Priest, Father Florimont, who was then accompanying a party of knights hunting Darkscale—who mistook her for a maimed Miqo'te child among the wreckage.Or at least, a half-elezen bastard, with her lack of tail but prominent ears damaged in the chaos. Cradled in the arms of a dying man, Father Florimont took her as he breathed his last, promising to protect the little one. Thus she was given the name Zenaide Myste in lieu of her lack of one, and raised along his other son with the rest of the of the clergy's children at Brume's edge.She lived the majority of her young life as such, believing herself a lost Miqo’te indebted to the Church, ever indebted to have been found. To have anything. She grew up in slight seclusion due to her odd appearance making her more a piece of interest, subject to mockery and dismissal than a peer—an attempt by the priest to spare her the worst of "the myste experience" his half-highlander son Alrekr had faced years earlier. Eventually, when she grew up she married her lover in secret—a ‘hyur’ Inquisitor named Katrine Faulkner who, unbeknownst to either of them at the time, once hailed from that lost fleet's sailors as well through her parents. Zenaide's brother became a well respected Dragoon, and the Priest rose in authority upon his coattails, and upon her shows of piety and fidelity.…Zenaide's brother attempted to kill the Priest in a sudden snap of madness, and she was caught in the collateral damage of his attempts to reach him. Here at barely her twentieth summer was her eye wounded, and despite best efforts, neither she nor her dwindling family friends could find nor afford a way to save it.Alrekr immediately deserted, and fled to Dravania. The Priest died of his wounds, all his honours erased from record out of disgust for the man he sired. The lost Dragoon’s lance and armour were recovered in shattered pieces, proclaiming their previous owner dead. Scarred from her brother’s madness in too many forms, afraid of city life without the protection of her brother and father’s ranks to shield her from the worst of Ishgard, Zenaide moved out to Western Coerthas with her wife.Mutterings of her appearing when that damnable Darkscale did, the arms of death around her, and the Priest's two omen children followed; the experience crushed Zenaide utterly and she shut herself in completely. She dedicated herself to only the life and home built anew with Katrine's family. Florimont was gone, Alrekr made his choice, and it was clear now Ishgard would not easily forgive the crime of her living.Though they lived many years together, it felt too soon after this that her wife Katrine, in truth an Auri woman named Kai Arulaq, eventually grew elderly and retired from her work in the military. Their life was a happy enough one, if not marred by the Dragonsong and Katrine's work as an Inquisitor to dissuade questions of her own loyalty. On her deathbed, Kai spoke at length of her regrets, their fond memories, her dreams of her family's return to the East for the glory she heard of in their stories, freedom from fear, and at last of the day they would reunite, the aethereal sea bound to guide them back together someday.Still (somehow) young, heartbroken over her losses, endless suspicion rising at her endless youth whilst surrounded by death, Zenaide Faulkner left Coerthas a heartbroken, vindictive mess... Taking her wife’s Paladin stone with her as protection and memento, to no small backlash. Evidently the omen had meant to deal Ishgard one final blow. The Inquisition and hired blades harried the bereaved woman for moons.

Midlife / Near 160 - 110 years ago

Zenaide scarcely recalls the amount of time between then and the day she met her mentor, but knows the extent. The years blurred as she let routine take over while she grieved. Attunement with her wife's memory lent themselves to the combat stone in depth, and she used her skill from their time together learning under her tutelage as self defence, to fight and hunt for coin, if not stand around and look menacing with a sword. She got good at it. The fighting and standing. Motions that gave her something to dedicate herself to. Her presence; silent, analytical. Cold. Hollow.For years she fought for whoever bought her stolen blade and shield, in the wars between Beastmen, between nations in the Autumn War, show, or for petty vengeances, aware she had no chance to return home after her thievery and without political leverage to protect her any longer. Her name was lost with her old identity and life, and she gained many enemies and a small fortune, beginning to don instead the name The Kirkegrim—the mythical black dog who’s presence spelled death.Kirkegrim was a dull-voiced tower of metal, who's supposedly disfigured face hid behind a wooden mask, if they had one. Clearly one-eyed, near-lame on one side compared to raw strength of the other, but that which remained could stalk from a thousand yalms and saw everything. Kirkegrim the Black Dog, with their tattered ears and beastly claws, a voice like distant metal's groan and a roar like a beast's anguish. In the tricks of the light, when the shade of their masked face flickered, Kirkegrim's eye was dead. The person beneath that stolen face had lost too much sense of feeling in body and in spirit to react much more.Kirkegrim, eventually, had their weaknesses exploited—the flaws of slipping reflexes and numbed sense of danger. Poison trickled down their throat that they couldn't taste before it worked it's way within, and envenomed blades to the chest to be sure—Kirkegrim was too cocky, too assured, and a spurned, wealthy employer wanted them dead, to silence any living memory of their dealings.—Kirkegrim lived, but not unscathed. Invisible wounds plagued her from within, and blood pooled without. Keenly aware of her own mortality for the first time in an age, since first losing her eye, she disappeared into hiding again... Worried about the fate of her beloved, as the only one alive who could honour her memories within the Paladin's stone. They couldn't allow someone to take it, and with desperate wish to return home, somewhere safe, she cast a transporting spell far from Ul'dah as she could take herself. Kirkegrim dropped in a bleeding, bile-and-dirt-covered heap in Mor Dhona, delirious. Dying. Everything she had was offered in exchange for help, every coin: the ball of rags and metal at the xaela healer's feet spurred her sense of pity.She was kept there for years, never recovering her full breath, but alive, and found herself work as a chirurgeon and healer as a thanks to those who'd saved her life, her vast knowledge and skill with magic and mending her own wounds legitimately granting her stay and hiding among the sisterhood of doctors working there.By fortunate or unfortunate chance, her profession led her to meeting a young knight wielding a blade long as he was tall, shambling towards her. She recognized the armour—blood seeping between the cracks of a Dark Knight’s breastplate, a clade of warriors she'd once fought alongside—and he, the fearful eye of the guilty. But then the Knight collapsed there, much like she did once. And she immediately took to bringing him back from the brink.Bringing him back to life would not be a pardon. When he awoke with his chest no longer in two, the Knight swore that just because 'Zee's' eye did not burn like rumours of The Kirkegrim said they should all those years ago, in frightening tales he was told as a child, did not mean it never could again. He left, with the proclamation he would see to it she pay her dues once he finished his prior duty. Over time, the Knight would return with more wounds or the wounded, demanding she keep them hidden as perfectly well as she concealed herself from the world’s dangers, until they could safely leave. 'Zee' worked closely with him, devoted to amends of some kind to her rescuers even as the Knight constantly swore she could not earn forgiveness from the dead, whoever they were or whatever the reason. She only groaned in annoyance at the talkative boy and his threats.

Recent-ish / 100-0 years ago

Years onward, what could eventually be called “conditional friendship” formed between Zenaide and the Knight. She left Mor Dhona to accompany the Knight’s travels, “delivering justice” (his words) and tending to the wounded where they found it, or his wounds whenever he stupidly charged ahead. Not even allowed to hold a weapon proper, he was convinced rightly) she was smart enough to live without one for a while, inadvertently making her hone her skills as a mage. She learned his name—and eventually, he did hers, beyond simply The One Once Known As Kirkegrim. Given her lingering reputation, disguised or not, she decided to change her first name to Zinaida. Something close enough it felt like her, hopefully distant enough no one could piece she was the same person as that Ishgardian thief from ages ago, a fresh name for whenever he annoyingly snarled it with contempt like he wasn't a punk kid trying too hard in front of a clear superior.One such case of this contempt, was upon his realizing that Zinaida genuinely didn’t know she wasn’t half-Miqo’te. Over a hundred and fifty years into her life was what it took to figure that out, when she was angrily mocked by an idiot less than a quarter her age. That was when she first heard about Viera, and only because he'd refused to believe they were in any way alike. The animosity of their partnership yielded, slowly, agonizingly slowly into trust on the field, and trust as companions. It would never be like his own former mentor and him, or her and her wife, but the two got along as constants on the dangerous, everchanging road.While the Knight was still in the prime of his youth, no more than 25 summers, he took a deadly injury to the neck, the price of his overconfidence. Mortality struck again, an eternal reminder to Zinaida. Knowing Zinaida couldn’t mend his wounds before his body gave out, he stored the final remnants of his aether within his Soul Crystal, and demanded they hold a hasty ceremony here on his deathbed. She swore his oath, repeating his choked words—that of the Dark Knight's order, and to uphold his memory, as his family would never know his fate. She said this, along with a final promise she would keep others from falling into her old vindictive ways, for if she didn't, he'd come back for her.Should it be necessary, and she forget her oaths to the long- and newly-dead—she should allow another Dark Knight to put her down. Thanking her for never needing him to do it, the young Knight passed, their communion ended. Since then, Zinaida has felt the weight of her promises to her late beloved, the healers of Mor Dhona, and fallen friend on her shoulders all.‘Tis stressful to live with the responsibility of two souls (not including her own...) and their demands, but Zinaida tries to hold steady. Only very recently in need of a surname with the dawn of adventurer’s guilds and ""official record"" again, she’s defaulted to Kirkegrim. Every other name for better or worse wasn’t her own, and her goal now is to do what she can as herself while staying alive, shouldering the consequence she's earned.