Abilities: The Dolorosa is a good listener, and often has just the right kind of advice to give to someone who is willing to listen. If an ability to reduce someone to their rawest emotions can be counted, it is definitely one that she possesses. She is also able to put everything aside, even her own morals, in order to do the right thing, and is a capable fighter when necessary.

Relationships to Canon Characters: The Signless is a redblooded troll she raised from a grub she found abandoned, and she acts as a lusus towards him, though certainly feels emotions towards him more akin to those of a human mother. The Disciple and the Psiioniic are companions of hers within the Signless’ inner circle. She was a slave to Orphaner Dualscar and later captured by Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, who seemed to show a romantic interest in her. Kanaya Maryam is her descendent, and Porrim Maryam is her Pre-Scratch self.

First Person:
[Her abrupt awakening is almost as jarring as the blow which had ended her life. She sits up with a gasp, jade eyes flashing yellow in sudden fear and one hand gripping at her chest. There’s nothing there, not even a stain of blood, and she doesn’t understand. It takes her some moments to realise that the thing she’s sitting in is moving, and she leans towards the window, touching the glass with fascination. What manner of material is this, she thinks, but there’s little time to ponder on it as a structure and platform slide into view.

Suddenly, she’s struck with an urge for fresh air, and finds her legs shaking as she quickly departs the wheeled device, barely giving it a second glance as she hurries to the wall across from her, leaning against it. She presses her forehead to the cold, damp stone and covers her mouth with one hand, swallowing down nausea and the burning anger rising in her throat. The weight of the watch in her pocket goes unnoticed, but her voice broadcasts over the network. There’s a tremble in it, and it’s tired, softly muffled against her hand]

What new manner of hellish torment is this, Marquise? Must you plague my death as well?

[She tries to straighten, to draw some of that long-lost pride into her posture, but she’s so, so weary, and instead, she turns and rests her back against the wall. It will do, for now, until she can regain her strength. Her death… haha… The thought brings a momentary grim smile to her lips. She had thought she would be able to re-join her loved ones… but it seems the cosmos has different plans for her]

Third Person:
The initial pain had exploded across her chest like a firebrand when the bolt had hit her, and she had stood for a moment in shock, looking down at the shaft protruding from her chest as jade seeped out in a dark stain around it. It only hurt for a moment, then she simply felt cold, and barely registered the jarring sensation of her knees hitting the deck of the ship. She heard something – a voice – but it was distant, muffled, and each hitching breath she took ached in a way that had nothing to do with the bolt piercing through her.

She swayed, then the world seemed to tilt, and suddenly she was leaning against the deck… or had she fallen? Black edged her vision and her heart thudded dully in her ears as she closed her eyes and felt something wet and warm running down her face. Her lips moved, but no sound came out, and all she could think of was how many ways she had failed those whom she’d sworn to protect.

Blood filled her mouth, but she was no longer breathing to choke on it. Her eyes glassed over, and her fingers twitched. It didn’t hurt anymore, and somehow, she felt cheated by that, but everything in her was spent and there was no more anger, no fear, only a soul-deep grief that struck deeper than any weapon could reach.

Kankri... My little Kankri... I’m so sorry...