Kerna
The First Frenzy | Princess of the Seraphim | The Prophesized Pretender | Blackfinger | The Cause and the Effect
Patronage:
War, Rebellion, Prophecy
Primary Clerical Order:
The Seer's Brigade
Propitiation:
Battle, usurpation, adhering to fate.
Date of Birth:
21st of Latewinter, 425 FED
Family:
Kerna is the middle child of Zynterra and Feidhleamad. She has two siblings, Ghazreli, God of Nature, and Naxera, Goddess of Deception.
General, Rebel, Oracle
Kerna was the middle child to Zynterra and Feidhleamad. Like her brother, she was argumentative, entitled, and aggressive. A major difference, however, was the constant stream of prophecies that came to Kerna. Passively, she sensed the fates of thousands years before they came to pass. She soon honed it, so that she could see the future of another with a single touch. The prophecies of war drew her attention most, and in turn rebellion. The prospect of inspiring change on such an awesome level with a single missive to a single leader was tantalizing.
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Her premonitions equally lent to her skill as a fighter, seeing her surpass any soldier who dared face her in the afterlife. Her mother always prevented her from leading wars in the mortal world, which remained a point of contention throughout their relationship. The final nail in the coffin of their rapport came when Kerna beheld a prophecy that saw her on the throne of the Seraphim, and became determined to pursue it. She waged countless wars on her own mother, all in vain despite her prowess.
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With the disappearance of her mother, she ended her war, refusing to storm an empty throne. Then came the Era of Frost, where a thousand years of ice and snow prevented any meaningful war from taking place. With little else to do, Kerna meditated on her domains. While still a dangerous God, she seeks to police war now, more than lead it, though she still feels compelled to inspire rebellion across the globe.
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Kerna's prophecies however, can be a double edged sword. It is said her black fingers are not tattoed but frostbit, from a time she tried to foresee how to end the Era of Frost. Additionally, when one era comes to a close, and another begins, mortals become excited as social changes domino into something new and unfamiliar. The potential for new fates multiply by orders of magnitude, and they all stream through Kerna's head. As such, in the lead-up to a new Era, Kerna is plagued by chronic migraines that infuriate and cloud her judgement. Wars at this time become a bloody, wasteful affair, as the Pretender lashes out and loses control. Whispers say that the Blackfinger's migraines are returning, and that this era might be at a close.
Appearance:
The appearance of the Seraphim morphs to resemble the race of the beholder. In many cases, the Seraphim appear human, as humans have long since monopolized art and depictions, skewing the expectations of other races. Though there are still many facets of a Seraph's appearance that are consistent across depictions.
Kerna bears a striking resemblance to her mother. She is 5'10" in height, with a diamond-shaped face, scrutinizing green eyes, and auburn hair worn at shoulder-length in peacetime. When in conflict, she ties it back with a red ribbon. Additionally, Kerna's fingers have been a deep, obsidian black for the last two millennia. Her general clothing usually consists of practical leather armour with red or purple accents, and any combination of weaponry as accessories.
Background:
This text is extracted from A Biography of Divine Conflict, 2nd ed. by Esther Spittle (56-189 EB). Spittle was a prolific Seraphic historian who had a habit of coming into stories she shouldn’t. A Biography of Divine Conflict was consequently one of the most controversial publications ever. The narrative style, which includes speculative internal monologues and thoughts of multiple deities, was declared blasphemous by many priesthoods, clergies, and clerical orders.
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One noteworthy difference between the first and second editions of this text is that the first declared ‘Her mother hugged her tight. And for the final time, she hugged her mother back.’ Spittle was often questioned on the change, which removed the finality of the embrace. On her deathbed, she eventually revealed that Kerna had demanded a second edition be printed with that change made. In exchange, Kerna declared she would shield Spittle from retaliatory action taken by other Gods she had insulted with the first edition. Kerna’s demand to change this, and nothing else about the tale, is the primary argument for the text’s veracity.
The Second Challenge to the Throne
Kerna was restless. She paced across the hall, then back. Nerves were unfamiliar to her, but unavoidable here. She had been eight hundred when Ghazreli brought this demand before the queen, no more than fifteen to most mortals. Her brother had scared her. The Allmother was scared too. Kerna had the tact to avoid such a scene. So why was she nervous?
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‘Kerna?’
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She resisted the urge to draw a blade, but she could not stop the vicious turn to face her adversary. The queen paced out from a side room gingerly. ‘Feidhleamad said you... Well, he didn’t say much at all.’
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‘I gave him little to say.’
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The queen must have thought the answer amusing. Her shoulders relaxed, and the space between them closed faster. ‘He is your father, not your servant.’ As she arrived, she reached to embrace the God of war. Something cylindrical pressed against her waist instead. The queen stepped back, eyeing the scroll Kerna had deftly placed between them to avoid the creator’s touch. She looked warily between the scroll and its bearer. Once, twice, thrice. Then she took it. ‘My dear, can’t you just s-’
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‘Just read it.’ Kerna took an exaggerated step back, glancing around the throne room as though the gilded hall would offer anything it hasn’t in the last eleven hundred years. This shouldn’t be awkward. She had done this hundreds of times, this was no different. And yet she still couldn’t look at the queen.
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The queen didn’t look up. ‘War?!’
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Kerna narrowed her eyes. What was that? Anger? Exhaustion? Heartbreak? The queen read it again, as though it might change what was coming. ‘Kerna... not you too.’
‘I have seen it. I will be Queen of the Gods, and I will obtain it by force.’ She had rehearsed that maliciously, breaking the prophecy down to its most central, ambiguous points. Fewer details to argue against. Fewer courses of action made clear. Fewer chances she stumbled over a word.
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‘Ignore it, you ignore countless visions.’ The queen looked around as though her king might arrive to help. As though her sister might appear and reveal it all a poor-taste joke.
‘I can’t ignore this one.’
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‘Whyever not?’
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‘Because I want it,’ Kerna spat, a little faster than she had planned. The queen blinked hard. Damned nerves. This wouldn’t go the way of her brother. Deep breath. Calmer. ‘Because I want the throne.’
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Kerna blinked back. Because for a fraction of a second, she had seen the queen’s eyes flit to the side, the beginnings of a glance. A glance back to the throne, and to the crown slung around one of the gilded spires erupting from its back. She had decided against it, surrender. Kerna studied the face of the God for another concession like that. The lines on that face had grown darker, deeper, a line or two lingered on her forehead when it relaxed. Had Kerna done that? Was the queen just getting old? She didn’t visit enough to know.
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They stared at each other a long while. The queen broke the silence. ‘I can’t lose another-’
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‘You won’t.’ Kerna jabbed a finger toward the scroll. ‘Stalemates, six a year. The seasonal festivals, Naxera’s birthday, your anniversary.’
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‘Stalemates?’ The queen scoffed. ‘You want to just pop in like we’re not at war?’
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‘It’s that or nothing.’ She needed no prophecy to know that question was coming.
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‘And our followers?’
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She had expected that too. ‘It’s heaven, they’ll survive.’
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The queen sighed; the parchment fell from her grip. She turned away from Kerna. She stood in silence. She was hiding, thinking too. Kerna could wait.
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What was she thinking? Would she lash out here? She hadn’t done so to Ghazreli. This might have pushed her too far though. She could read a face like an open book, but those neatly preened auburn tresses held no useful information on the queen’s thoughts. Kerna broke the silence with an impatient, ‘Well?’
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‘What do you want me to say, Kerna? Go on. Tell me, what’s next in the script?’ The characteristic quiver of stifled tears permeated her tone.
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Kerna cleared her throat. ‘Such a vision illuded me.’ She scolded herself internally, realising that was why she was nervous. ‘I do not know how this talk is meant to go.’
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The queen stooped to retrieve the scroll. Kerna strafed left a pace or two to try and see the queen’s face, but her hair fell between like a curtain as she read a third time. ‘You’ve left your birthday off.’
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‘That could be remedied.’ That had been an earnest accident, but framing it as a concession might salvage this, as much as one could salvage a declaration of war. She jutted a hand into the queen’s line of sight. She handed the scroll over, and Kerna added a seventh détente. A silence threatened to settle in again. Kerna cut it off. ‘That is everything, I believe.’
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‘Your sister’s birthday is next week.’ What the queen meant by saying that wasn’t clear.
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Kerna made an educated guess. It would be awkward, after all. ‘If you don’t want me to come I can-’
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‘No, come. Just... shall I tell her before or after?’
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‘Everyone will know by tomorrow anyway.’
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Whatever the queen had planned to say instead came as a small, defeated cough. She looked back to Kerna at last. She hated her, no one could feel that sad, there had to be some deception in that expression, an exaggeration. Kerna supressed a scowl as she stepped forward. Her mother hugged her tight, and she hugged her mother back. Then she left.