Violetta Vane

"Power is an empty vessel; used but never filled." —Translated Scalekin Text At the edge of the Yalnor, where grassland grows into thickets and hills into swamp, lived Violetta Vane, the widowed Marchioness of the South. As a bastion of the Crown, she preferred to display her strength through public punishments, deterring would-be offenders and trespassers alike. Though harsh, she was also known to be fair, always measuring her punishments to fit the crimes, at times even forgoing them altogether. For Violetta, order did not demand spectacle, only discipline and conformity. Nearby settlements also paid tribute for protection, offering up gifts in exchange for safety against unknown dangers creeping from the nearby Blackroot Bog. One day, Violetta received a curious tribute—a set of armor said to have been unearthed in the heart of the Bog itself, from the Scalekin Ruins. Intricate latticework was etched into its every surface, and at the center rested a sleeping figure, eyes closed but with arms coiled, as if channeling some inner-force. The dark plate danced in deep hues, and seemingly smoldered purple. The kit was otherworldly, and Violetta's connection to it felt magnetic. Before long, it would replace her old tarnished set, fitting to her form perfectly, and flowing with her every movement like ink in water. Some time later, her men captured a band of thieves, and after some deliberation, she decided that a public demonstration was necessary to deter future offenders. Her punishment had been harsher than before, and her orders delivered without pause. Though the thieves pleaded for their lives, no one was spared. After dusk fell in the silence of her bed chambers, Violetta replayed the scene, her mind gripped by doubt. Yet when she donned her armor the next day, all hesitation once again faded. As time went by, each ordeal required less deliberation than the last. Violetta's subordinates began avoiding her gaze, simply bowing their heads in subservience, and she began to grow accustomed to silence from her onlookers. This reception led her to believe that her previous punishments had perhaps been too lenient, for she came to see that compliance was merely born of fear, not loyalty. The enemy grew within the hearts of men, and she would root it out. Violetta ordered her men to seize a trader's caravan spotted traveling through their lands. Their presence was disrupting order, she declared, moreover they lacked her approval. Their prison sentence was given on that same night, but when the traders begged and pleaded, Violetta took it as resistance, and instead ordered their execution. Her men were left with no choice. "Bloodshed is necessary," Violetta admonished as she wiped the blood from her armor, now pulsating in violet hues, grinning. "Order does not uphold itself."