Character Avatar: Younés Kahlaoui
Player: Merle
Character Name: Driss Vertefeuille
Age: 21
Birthday: July 8, 2001
Height: 6'
Rank/Title: Adept of Valerian
Race: D'Angeline/Carthaginian
Country/Province: TdA/City of Elua
Appearance/Personality: Driss is lean, somewhat lanky even, but well put together, with features a striking and comely mixture of sharp and sensuous, foreign and D'Angeline. Wide, angular cheekbones and a strong, sculpted jawline are offset by full lips and a broad nose. His medium bronze skin is smooth, flawless save for the steadily growing number of scars that are to be expected in his line of work. An invitation to his patrons to leave their own marks.
Tawny hazel eyes peer from beneath thick brows, sometimes taking on a dark and tantalizing olive tone, while other times, when the light hits just right, they can seem nearly pale as wheat. Luminous in contrast with his warm-hued skin and ebon lashes. The latter a match to the charming crop of thick curls atop his head.
How much of who a man becomes is nature, how much nurture? A question Driss often wonders, given the circumstances of his birth and the conditioning of his upbringing, but has found no answer for. He can be demure and yielding as any of his housemates, and as quietly proud to serve, too. While other times find him sulky and chafing at the role he's been given. In all, like any young man finding his way into adulthood, his moods come in various fits and turns.
At his core, he is devoted and steadfast. Fiercely loyal to friends and family. Quick to laugh and smile with them, to tease and banter, or weep with them, and offer his shoulder. He also doesn't hesitate to leap to the defense of those he cares about, belying his generally submissive nature. Driss may willfully, wantonly surrender himself in the bedchamber or pleasure dungeon, but he is not meek.
That said, he can sometimes give too much of himself. Or bend too far. Or worse yet, take things said in the heat of violent passion to heart, especially the common remarks denigrating his Carthaginian heritage. Which has led to conflicts of identity, depression, and struggles with self esteem.
Additional Information
Marital Status: Single
Known Languages: D'Angeline, Punic, Hellene
Strengths and Weaknesses:
Strengths: Brave, selfless, loving, loyal.
Weaknesses: Sometimes reckless or brash, selfless to a fault, insecure.
Family Members/Important NPCs:
Mother: Nassira (deceased)
Father: Ferdinand Vertefeuille (deceased)
Aunts: Enora Vertefeuille & Irène nó Balm
Sister: Layla Vertefeuille of Balm
Cousin: René Vertefeuille nó Balm
History: For all that Driss has never ventured far outside the City of Elua, his story begins well beyond those glorious white walls. In distant Carthage, there was a man of little ambition, and even less means, who fell enamored with one of his employer's slaves. In a fit of rash bravado and mindless lust, Rafik stole some coin and valuables, took Nassira, and ran. The young woman didn't return his affections, but knowing it was likely her only chance at freedom, she went along readily enough.
Booking passage with the filched coin, they first traveled to Aragonia - a choice driven by desperation and expediency. Once there, Rafik's ill-gotten wealth served them for a time, but fear of discovery kept them on the move, keeping away from the ports and populated areas that might be easier to assimilate into. Such as it was, given the language barrier and tumultuous history with Carthage, they found Aragonia to be an unwelcoming, even hostile environment.
Certainly not the refuge they might have hoped for.
So, eventually, they crossed the border into Terre d'Ange. Having heard much about the land of angels, including word of a vehement policy against slavery, it seemed that there they might find a place they could peacefully settle.
What they found was more than either could have hoped for. Finding those that spoke the familiar Hellene was easy, though Punic was so rare as to be non-existent. And if some D'Angelines were insular and arrogant, others welcomed them with open arms. Their funds were nearly gone, but there was always work to be done. Rafik balked at it, but to Nassira, it was liberation. Earning her own coin, having her own things.
Such was the freedom offered in this new land, that the ties which bound the pair quickly grew frayed and thin. Here, for the first time in her memory, people saw Nassira as an individual person of worth and value. A free woman, deserving of respect and dignity. The more she learned of the D'Angelines... the language and culture, their faith and pride and fierce, loving spirits... the further she withdrew from Rafik. Who held her ever tighter. He was possessive, controlling, sometimes even cruel. Yet he had no qualms with indulging in D'Angeline culture (particularly the pleasures), himself. To Nassira, it felt very like she had traded one master for another.
Nassira was employed at the common house in a modest sized town, working hard to support both Rafik and herself, when she met a minor nobleman by the name of Ferdinand Vertefeuille. He was kind, compassionate, interesting and interested. Perhaps it was that he was the first man to treat her as more than an object to possess, or perhaps there was a genuine spark that would have ignited under any circumstance, whatever the case, it was their love that gave Nassira the courage and confidence to finally leave Rafik behind for good.
So began the best years of Nassira's life.
The couple settled in the City of Elua, and Ferdinand introduced her to all of the finest things. He spoiled her. Adored her. Delighted in seeing her grow into a curious, vivacious, and most importantly, happy woman. There were dark moments, of course -when Nassira's past plagued her, for example- but Ferdinand was understanding, patient, tender, and never less than completely devoted.
They were never wed, the concept being too like ownership in Nassira's mind, but built a deep, abiding relationship together nonetheless. And in time, as such things are wont to do, she quickened with child... a prospect equal parts exhilarating and terrifying to her. When the moment came, she labored hard, and wept to see her perfect, beautiful son. She named him Driss, after the ghost of a brother she could barely remember, from a nearly forgotten time before she had been a slave.
Nassira adored him beyond reason, doted on him. Sang him songs in her native Punic, and in Hellene and D'Angeline, too. Taught him to be fair and kind and thoughtful. She made sure he had every opportunity and freedom that she hadn't been granted. Ferdinand was perhaps less demonstrative, but loved his son no less. His was a traditional view of child rearing, with the anticipation of teaching Driss about manhood as he grew into it.
When Driss was around seven, his mother became pregnant again. Their little family was thrilled at the expectant addition. Driss would hug Nassira's rounded belly and talk to the bebe within, her little bijou. He would sit at her feet when she sang the songs that had once been just for him, but were now for them both. As is the way with children, sometimes he was jealous. More often, he could not wait to meet his new brother or sister.
None of them would have anticipated it so if they had known the tragedy that awaited. The pregnancy was difficult for Nassira, and she grew increasingly weak and exhausted as the end of her term neared. Ferdinand had all the best healers and midwives attend her, but in the end it came to naught. They could not save Nassira, and it was only by some divine grace they were able to save the babe.
A little girl.
Everything Driss had known was thrown into chaos and grief. Ferdinand was beside himself, and ill-equipped to deal with a motherless newborn, or his stricken son. In the end, he chose to send them to his sister in Balm House, as her partner had a toddler at breast, and thus milk to suckle Driss' infant sister, Layla.
He visited them often enough, made sure they never wanted for anything. If things were distant and awkward, it was not for lack of affection. Only a matter of his nature. Driss was old enough to understand that - somewhat. It was never explicitly said that he can recall, but there always seemed to be an unspoken understanding that their father would have them back when they were older. A day that he looked forward to, for all that he quickly came to love his aunts, and life at Balm was pleasant for him. He was a sweet child, well liked and much fawned over.
Unfortunately, that awaited reunion was not to be. War broke out, and Ferdinand, being a man of honor and action, didn't hesitate to join the defense of his nation. He fought through the Skaldi incursion mostly unscathed, but in a cruel jest of fate, died at the hands of the Carthaginians. Those same people who had both spawned and tormented the love of his life, and whose blood ran in the veins of his own children.
With this new loss, Driss and Layla were even more fully accepted and integrated into their aunts' household, and in the course, decided that was where they wanted to stay. In the Night Court as a whole, that is, for it was decided that Driss would be sent to Jasmine when he turned ten, rather than remaining at Balm.
He was devastated. Furious. Distraught. He simply couldn't imagine, nor abide, the thought of being separated from Layla. So, with all the forethought and rash confidence of a determined young boy, he took his toddling sister and attempted to run away with her.
If it had only been himself, the Dowayne might have been more lenient, but he had recklessly endangered them both. Driss was punished.
It wasn't the first bit of mischief he'd got up to, however it was certainly the most serious, and it was decided that he would be flogged. One couldn't say that he enjoyed the experience. He struggled and wept and suffered through the pain, as one might expect. Yet there was something in the way he did. Something that prompted the chastiser to have a word with the Dowayne about considering Valerian for him rather than Jasmine.
Indeed, it was Valerian that took him. Trained him. While Layla remained at Balm, after all.
Despite living in different houses, they see each other as often as they are able, and Driss remains close with their aunts as well. They might have lost their mother and father, but are not without parents who love and support them. Which has been sorely needed in the aftermath of the Carthaginian invasion.
Not all who know of their heritage have been kind, despite the fact that Driss and his sister are native born D'Angelines. The wounds left from the war are deep. The frequent praise Driss received for his 'exotic' looks as a child have become more othering than complimentary as he's grown older - if they ever were. Being fiercely protective of his sister, he counsels her to claim a different lineage when asked, and does the same whenever he can... but he often does not have such a luxury.
Within Valerian, his Carthaginian heritage has become something of a selling point, and Driss often plays the (frequently literal) whipping boy for patrons with lingering anger, pain, and bitterness left in the wake of the war. He is routinely spit upon, kicked, abused, and reviled for a birthright he never asked for and cannot change. For the most part, these clients do acknowledge the pretense of it, turning gentle and solicitous after, but it has nevertheless been impressed upon Driss time and again that he holds the blood of Terre d'Ange's enemies. Leaving him to feel an outsider even in his own skin, and with the idea that perhaps these sorts of dalliances are a necessary purging.
Approved by Janet, 10th April 2019
