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Atella - The Nymph of Herculaneum [CONTEST]

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Post by REDSHEILD on May 15th 2019, 9:17 pm


The Nymph of Herculaneum

The Bio

Real Name: Tiberia Marcia Atella
Title: The Nymph of Herculaneum
Alignment: Neutral (Consider as Renegade)
Gender: Female
Race: Sea Nymph (Ancient Metahuman)
Hair: Black
Eyes: Orange-red
Height: 7’ 9”; variable
Weight: 1140 lbs; variable

The Looks

Atella once possessed a typical appearance for a young woman: a slim build complimented by a curve or three, fit but not overly muscular. She often wore her dark hair long enough to pass her shoulders, braiding or tying it only on occasion.

Now she resembles something unnatural, or even monstrous. Her flesh is made of gray freckled andesite, as if she were a statue carved from stone. Fish-like scales of basalt coat her stony skin, densest at her extremities, but sparse near joints. Obsidian fins sweep across her body, forming webbing between her digits and toes, her hair and nails made of the same glassy substance. The largest fin protrudes from her skull, starting at the sagittal suture, following the occipital bone and continuing down the vertebra of her neck, where it tapers away. These fins, though hard, are surprisingly supple.
At her joints the outer layer of stone often cracks and breaks away, revealing her magmatic interior. Her eyes, once a soft brown, are like orbs of molten glass, glowing faintly.

The Personality

Atella had barely become a woman by the standards of her culture when circumstance stole her away from the future she had expected. Despite her physical age and inhuman appearance she is naive and unlearned about much of the world, unsure if she could ever call it home. This makes her cautious to the point of being fearful, regardless of her abilities.

The Story

Her foot broke the water’s surface, stirring it gently. Wetness threatened the hem of her tunic as she waded further, prompting her to strip it off, tossing the garment onto the bank of the stream.

“Atella! Now I understand why you led us so far from the city!” A voice behind her chided with a laugh. “Such vulgarity! Have you no shame?”

“Please, Gemella, it is nothing you haven’t seen at the bath before.” Atella replied. She was waist-deep in the water now, the coolness offering a pleasant relief from the summer sun. “Besides, if you let me take a few more steps, I will be quite decent.”

“It is not I who is at risk, but poor, naive Rullus. You have ruined this young man’s innocence. Look at him, how red his face is.”

With the water up to her collarbone Atella felt secure in turning around. Indeed, Rullus’ visage had gone crimson.

“Innocence? Listen to how silly this girl is!” Rullus said, shaking his head. “And to think she is the same age as I.”

Atella laughed, the emotion enhanced by the sensation of the water around her. The potential tickled at her, and she let the changes start.

“Something has arisen in you Rullus, and if not shame, then…”

“Stop.” He said, nudging Gemella gently. “This was merely, um, an unexpected sight. Not that it was unpleasant, ah, or pleasant, even, or-”

“Rullus, please.” Atella said, smiling. “Say no more, you will embarrass yourself further, and she will never let you forget it. I wish for today to be a good one to remember, for all of us.”

“Of course, Tiberia.” Rullus replied.

The words created a pause in their conversation, giving Rullus a moment to regain his composure. Fortunate for her, as well, providing time for the last stages of her transformation.

“You meant to show us something, Atella. I hope it wasn’t the show you forced upon us.”

“No, no. Close to it, but different. I- I wanted to show you what I am.”

Atella approached the bank of the stream, moving through the water as if she were part of it. She rose from the water, no longer feeling naked as she had before. Fine, blue-green scales coated her skin, glistening in the sunlight. Fins had sprouted where they would help guide the water around her, and in turn guide her through river or sea. Translucent webbing spanned her digits and toes, flexible yet tough.

Standing proud, Atella looked to her friends.

“This is me.”


Rain pelted face as she ran, sandals providing little cushion for her feet against the cobblestones. She had waited for the storm, able to feel its coming. Though the rain had soaked her tunic, Atella hoped it would wash the tears from her face.

Finally she reached her home. Cold winds had come with the storm, and the door had been closed. Atella leaned up against the wall, barely sheltered by the roofing tiles that hung over the wall’s edge. Her every muscle ached, and her lungs burned even as she panted, exhausted.

Summoning her last ounce of strength, Atella opened the door and stumbled into the vestibule. Rainwater poured down into the atrium with force, splashing as it impacted the flooded impluvium. Unsteady, she made her way to her bedroom.

“Tiberia?” A deep voice asked. Her father. “Where have you been, my girl? I sent Lucius out to find you, and now you return without him?”

Atella turned around, preparing an answer in her head, something mundane and convincing, that she had needed to haggle with a merchant, or had lost coins from her purse.

Then she saw his face, lined with worry, and her composure shattered. The tears started up again, and she fell to her knees.

“Oh, my poor child, what happened?” Father asked as he knelt down in front of her. He was wearing his armor, and the metal sounded heavy as he moved.

She couldn’t bring herself to speak, instead reaching up to hug him. Father was a tall man, even for a soldier. She cried, her face resting on the segmented plates.

“You were right, father.” She said, choking on the words. “I should have listened, you were right, I’m sorry.”

He squeezed her, then gently pushed her away, so that she could see his face.
“Tiberia, what’s wrong?”

“Gemella, she called me- she said I was cursed, a monstrosity. And Rullus, he wouldn’t- he wouldn’t look at me. He- he said he was sorry, but he wouldn’t even look at me. I stayed in the river for hours, I- I didn’t do my shopping or my chores, I couldn’t, I- I’m sorry.”

“Shh. It’s okay.” He said, stroking her face. “If they can’t see what the gods saw in you, what I see in you, then that is their failure. Now, let’s get up.”

Atella struggled to stand, even with her father’s aid, but she managed.

“Are you leaving?” She asked.

He nodded. “There have been reports of piracy, and more ships are needed to ensure trade is well protected. I don’t expect to be away for long, a month at sea at most.”

“Could I… could I come with you? I know you can’t take me, as you did with Lucius, but I could follow your ship, I’ve been practicing. I’m faster than the triremes, now, it wouldn’t be hard. And maybe, if you sail far enough, I could see mother again.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I understand your desires, Tiberia, but that is not the life she wanted for you, and I am in agreement. Were the world different, then perhaps. As it stands you walk a fine line; some joke that I am negligent as a father, for not trying to find a husband for his daughter. You are young now, making this less pressing, but the day may come when jest turns to accusation, and I fear it will fall on you.”

“I know, father, I know. It’s just, I don’t want to be with stepmother, not when you aren’t here.”

“If Publia is cruel to you, then she will face me when I return. Thanks to this storm, I suspect you will have some freedom today. Lucius has probably gone to her, given he did not find you, and I doubt they will return until the rain has passed. Go to your room, practice your Greek and your geometry. I will have one of the slaves fetch your shopping from the market, so Publia won’t chastise you for missing it. Okay?”

“Okay. Be safe, father. I love you.”

“I will. I love you too, Tiberia.”


Alcohol gave the wine a bitter taste which Atella always found unpleasant; still, she liked its other flavors, so she swirled it just a little in her mouth before swallowing.

Publia had invited a lady friend over for dinner with the family, minus father of course. Decimus, Publia’s son from her prior marriage, had brought his betrothed, a stout young woman barely older than Atella herself.
Rather than have an extra stool or bench moved to the table Atella had been left to eat with the slaves, her usual spot given away. She didn’t really mind; it let her continue the conversations they had started while preparing the meal, and it meant she was distant from stepmother.

Publia and her lady friend had clearly too much to drink, but with the pater familias absent neither woman seemed inclined towards restraint, nor did the two sons appear to care. Stepmother was recounting a story of her late husband, who had been Father’s younger brother, doing the man little justice in her drunken state.

Atella often wondered how Father could stand the wretched woman: their marriage had been pragmatic, keeping assets within Father’s lineage. The birth of Lucius had helped to cement this, though Atella had mixed feelings for her half-brother. He was younger, bratty at times, but he did regard her as family at least, and she appreciated that.

Her thoughts shifted to Mother, a Greek who could control the water. Atella remembered little of their relationship, having been just a child, but she knew they had loved each other: they made her, hadn’t they? Mother had taught her of her connection to the seas, how to make her scales grow, how to free her fins so she could swim. Father always said it was a blessing, that she would always be free.

Why, then, had he brought her here? Herculaneum had become home, and yet she missed being free.

Red splashed across her face, tearing away the memory. She looked up, eyes stinging as she blinked: Publia had tossed the wine at her, cup now empty.

“You must answer when queried, girl!” Publia said, grammar worse for wear, thanks to the drink.

“My apologies, stepmother, I did not hear your question.”

“Well well, Tiberia, you should learn to listen, then!”

Atella flinched at the name; praenomen were used by family and close friends, and of course Publia was legally family, but that didn’t make her family.

“As I was asking, what is this nonsense being said of you?”


“By Jove, girl, you are deaf! The rumors, the gossip, they say you are a fish!”

Atella’s blood ran cold; it had been a week since Rullus and Gemella had scorned her, and she had barely seen either, let alone talked with them. The rejection had hurt, but she could understand it- would they really break her trust, as well?

“It is the swimming, isn’t it?” Publia rambled on. “It is fine for a woman to know not to drown, but you spend so much time in the river, in the sea, it has become conspicuous! How are you to be a proper lady if you spend so little time acting like one?”

“Mother, please, sit down.” Decimus interjected. He looked embarrassed, his betrothed concerned. “Tiberia has never been derelict in her duties; besides, what she does with her time afterwards is Tiberius’ concern. Perhaps you should discuss her activities with him, when he returns.”

“Oh, dear Decimus, you are right, but Tiberius is blind to the damage this bastard girl does to his name! What sort of man has such an unruly daughter, to be subjected to such rumors?”

“Mother. Enough.” Decimus stood, stern. “You have had too much to drink.”
He turned, looking to Atella. “Tiberia, if you would lead the servants in cleaning up, I will escort mother to her bedroom.”

Atella nodded, dabbing the wine from her face with a napkin.

“Go to bed when you are done. You and Lucius will be going to Pompeii tomorrow, to fetch items mother desires for the store that we could not find here.”

Atella nodded again. Spending a day with Lucius was not ideal, but it would be a day free from stepmother, a freedom she craved.


They had left early in the morning, well before the shops had opened. It was no matter; the walk between Herculaneum and Pompeii took a few hours, and they had arrived in time for the stores to open, purchasing the items on their lists.

Lucius, though boastful, was also easily misled. He had overpaid several times and run out of coin, forcing Atella to haggle more fervently so the shopping list could be completed. Otherwise his company had been decent enough. He was too old to really be called a boy, but not yet of the age he could be a young man. A few times he asked her questions about how to talk to girls, but Atella deflected them, or answered vaguely. It was just too awkward, coming from her younger brother.

It was well into noon now as they approached their home city. Each held a basket filled with the bounty of their trip, though Lucius was balancing a vase on his head.

“Put it in the basket, Lucius.” Atella said. “If there’s another tremor, it will fall and shatter on the road.”

“If I place it in the basket, it will crush what is already there.”

“Then perhaps you should have bought the vase first, and put it at the bottom of the basket.”

“But then I would have had to lug it around the city!”

“So you would have it crush your neck instead?”

“A weakling like you would think this a burden, Tiberia.”

“Says the boy whose arms are too weak to simply carry it. But I am unfair, compared to your head it must weigh nothing.”

They bantered back and forth, friendly jabs more than pointed insults, as they followed the road, until little was left to be said.

The walls were in sight when the sound of clay shattering on stone almost caused Atella to drop her basket. She caught herself, lowering it gently to the ground, and turning around.

“It slipped.” Lucius said, looking at the fragments of pottery.

“I told you.” Atella replied, crossing her arms.

“Hey, there were no tremors. You were wrong.”

Atella opened her mouth, speech interrupted when the earth shook. Cobbles shifted beneath her feet, and she heard the wall crumbling behind her.

Before either of them had regained their composure a deafening sound split the air. They both looked at Vesuvius, a great plume of ash rising from its peak, wreathed in fire.

Atella looked at her half-brother, his eyes wide like hers, and they both ran.


She had wanted to flee, get far away to safety, but Lucius had insisted.

They had reached home in record time, despite the ash in the air. It was light enough that she could breathe, though the occasional flake lead to coughs and sputtering.

Lucius was right, though. Stepmother was still there, having used cloth to try and seal the windows, unwilling to abandon the property. It had taken some arguments, but he managed to sway her.

They ran against the panicked tide of people, searching for a friend of Publia’s who owned a carriage.

“Stepmother, please.” Atella said. “We should just leave the city by foot. If we go all this way, and your friend has fled, we might not make it.”

“Stupid girl, this running puts such strain on me already! You know my ankle is still healing. It will be sore and swollen for weeks if I have to evacuate on foot!”

“Mother.” Lucius said, his voice cracking. “A good ankle won’t matter if you are dead. If we are dead.”

“Fine!” Publia scowled. “But you two will wait on me for it!”

They had to backtrack to get to a more direct route, leading both out of the city and away from the mountain. Ash continued to fall, though only enough to form a fine coating, almost snow-like.

The main road was well-worn and roughened, difficult to run on when she only wore loosely secured sandals.

A cobble had been dislodged, and it caught Atella’s foot. She fell awkwardly, screaming as her knee twisted and tendons snapped.

Lucius, who Publia was practically dragging through the streets, tried to stop and turn around.

Atella tried to scream for help, but the pain was so great she failed to form the words.

“Mother! We need to help her!” Lucius shouted, as Publia tried to haul him further.

“Leave her! Now she is not only a bastard of a girl, but a lame one! It is better for all of us that she die here, so she shan’t be a burden!”

Publia’s fingers dug into Lucius’ wrist, hard enough that her nails drew blood. He staggered and started to walk again.

“I’m sorry, sister.”

Atella screamed and cried, trying to drag herself onto her feet to no avail, and quickly lost sight of her supposed family.

Water. She thought. I need to reach the water.


She had crawled for hours, ash coating her back and hair, her right leg bloodied from being dragged limp along the stone streets.

Finally, she had reached the water.

There were people here, too, huddled inside vaulted boathouses. Some shouted at her as she crawled towards the beach, but she didn’t care.

Ignoring the pain, Atella stood as much as she could bear to, and threw herself into the sea. She fell roughly, twisting her left arm as she rolled onto her back in the landing, but it didn’t matter: she had reached the ocean.

Staring at the sky as she felt the changes begin, she saw the ash cloud. It seemed smaller now- was it over?

Another eruption split the air, dashing her hopes.

Faster. Please. Faster. She thought, trying to will the changes into being. Scales began to form, and fins started to sprout, but she wasn’t ready. Water entered her lungs, yet she didn’t choke.

Then suddenly, burning. The water was gone, turned to steam. Atella felt her flesh slough off, stripped to the bone as heat and ash pummeled her, volcanic forces burning into her heart.



She was cold and still. Cold and still for a very long, long time. These things defined her: she couldn’t move, because she was cold, because she was still, because she couldn’t move… No concept of when, or where, or who, or what. It was dark, too, but she couldn’t be sure, because she couldn’t remember what light was supposed to look like, and she knew that things were dark when there was no light.

Light. She remembered light, sometimes, or at least remembered what she did with light. The sun made light, but she couldn’t remember the sun. What else made light? Lamps. She had a lamp, once, she used it to read at night, that time of darkness that didn’t last forever, to see her wax tablet when her studies went past sunset. And when she made mistakes, she would use the lamp to warm the wax, melting away what had gone wrong.

Warmth. A thing she had so little of, but it was how she knew she was cold. A tiny ember, at her core, beating in vain, but beating still. Warmth was strange to her: it was the opposite of cold, but cold was uncomfortable. Something was missing, or a combination of somethings. Nothing could be warm and uncomfortable, but perhaps, something could be cold and comfortable? Like… like water.

Water. I need water.

She tried to squirm, but she was still. Then she heard a sound. She had heard many sounds over many years, the sounds of the earth as it groaned, the sounds of distant movement, but this sound was close and it was new, but somehow familiar. It was sharp and quick, and it kept coming back. More followed it, and the sounds kept getting louder, closer. Made by things that had to be sharp like the sounds, sharp scraping-things.

She heard words, strange ones, yet words all the same. They weren’t her words, or ones she would have said. Nor were they the bar-bar-bar of the words she couldn’t say. Some other sort of words, then? Words that fell in-between.

Some of them, she realized, she knew, or were close to ones she knew. Something about the stones being hot. Strange, when everything was cold.

And then water.

Stillness had never bothered her, until now. It had been everything, but now she needed water and to get water she needed to move.

The sharp sounds were very close and very loud now. She felt one near her, exposing her. Then the sharp-thing struck out again. This time it struck her ember, in the very moment it beat.

Atella screamed in pain and joy as the warmth returned to her, overflowing from the pulsing ember that was her heart. Her flesh glowed red with strength, and she pulled herself free of the ashen concrete.

She stumbled, catching herself by grabbing one of the sharp-things. No, not a sharp-thing, a pickaxe. Its handle burned at her touch, but held. Her right leg, once broken, had become a stump at the knee.

She looked up at the men who had been digging, her glowing body casting wicked shadows through the pit. They dressed in trousers like barbarians, yet the stitchings and cut of their clothes were complex, expensive.

They shouted in panic and alarm as she tried to approach, backing away. She picked up few words here and there, but couldn’t make sense of them. One of the men, she saw, held a cup made of some metal, pewter or even tin.

“Water?” She asked, reaching out with her free hand. The sight of it stirred something within her, a familiar tickling sensation. Bits of her stony flesh began morphing into scales, fins made of black glass growing from her limbs. Then the scales fell off, the glass shattered.

“Water.” She repeated, firm.

The man grabbed a shovel, placed the cup on the blade of it, and cautiously used the tool to pass it to her.

Atella lifted the cup, bringing it to her lips, but it melted through before she could drink, the fluid boiling into steam as it ran down her chest.

The misshapen cup fell from her grasp, and she looked at the man.

“Water!” She screamed, causing the workers to clamber out of the hole. She followed, slowed by her injury, using the pickaxe as a crutch.

The smell of the sea hit her as she finally heaved herself up onto the ground. The men had fled, but she didn’t care. She ran, desperately chasing after the sea air. People speaking a strange tongue fled from her as she careened down foreign streets, sprinting with wild abandon through a seaside village. Then the axe handle turned to ash in her heated grip, forcing her to crawl.

Pebbles and sand adhered to her red-hot skin as she struggled to cross the beach. The tide rose to meet her and she cried with joy at the water’s embrace, even as it boiled around her. Cradled by the sea, Atella realized how much she had changed. Much of her had been stripped away, rendering her almost skeletal in places, skinless in others. What flesh remained had been petrified, leaving a ruined statue of the woman she had been.

She reached inward, trying to draw out her nymphic self. It was there, waiting, even eager, yet it wouldn’t come. The water was all it had needed before; now she could feel a deficit as it tried to work, that it lacked something essential.

Atella looked to the sea as the waves began to withdraw. Whatever she needed, she would find it there.



Atella opened her eyes, sitting upright in her bed. By the sunlight from the window she could tell it was late in the morning, possibly even noon. The voice… it was deep, yet soothing.

“Tiberia.” Father said. “You overslept.”

She turned to look at the doorway where he stood, finding him blurred in appearance, like there were tears in her eyes. There were tears, she realized, feeling them streak down her cheeks.

“Father, I-” She said, reaching to him.

“It’s okay.”

She blinked trying to clear her tears and that world fell away, replaced by the gentle glow of magma.

It took time to get her bearings. She had gone here after the strange men had freed her, seeking a place of warmth where she could feed the changes her body needed.

Finding this place, this volcano under the sea, had meant a great deal. It was kin to the mountain that destroyed her home, that had taken everything from her: her family, her flesh, everything but the water. And if this creation of Vulcan could thrive in the realm of Neptune then perhaps she could thrive as well, changed as she was.

This place wasn’t just meant for rest; no, she had come here to grow. Atella rose to her full height, taller than any man she had ever known. Vesuvius had changed her, but she remained the Nymph her mother had birthed, with long sweeping fins grown from obsidian and innumerable fish-scales of basalt. Even her hair had regrown: flowing threads of black volcanic glass, supple despite their hardness.

Atella gathered her strength and pushed off against the rocky seafloor, kicking hard in the water. She was dense, too dense to float, but strong. Drawing her internal warmth she forced it outwards, boiling the water as it flowed past her fins, pressurized steam propelling her even faster than she could swim. She swam toward Campania’s coast, able to sense the seafloor for miles around. Herculaneum and Pompeii had surely been destroyed; yet Neapolis may have survived.

She approached the surface of the water, a red-orange glow residing in the dark ocean. Steam billowed off of her stony form as she broke through, gazing at the night sky. Her eyes fell to the gulf of Neapolis, an unbelievable sight greeting her.

Large, blocky buildings, taller than any insulae, spread as far as the eye could see. Towers coated in glass dwarfed them, and all the buildings glowed. Ships made of metal crowded the port, moving in defiance of the wind.

Only then did Atella realize how long it had been, and how much had changed.

The Priority

1. Endurance
2. Strength
3. Reaction
4. Agility

The Powers


Exposure to the eruption of Vesuvius inexorably altered Atella at fundamental level, changing her into a hybrid of the sea and the fiery earth. The vestiges of her human anatomy, though present, are little more than aesthetic. Magma flows within her veins, and her body is capable of generating heat that rivals the mountain which sundered her. Under normal conditions the surface of her body is very warm to the touch, though short of burning. However, she can increase her body temperature to the point where her outer layers glow red-hot, approximately 1,100 °F, and is capable of maintaining her form even when molten.


Flesh turned to stone as Atella’s power adapted in the aftermath of the eruption. This grants her superb strength and durability, well in excess of a human being. She can readily withstand impacts from large vehicles, and easily lift objects of that mass in turn.


Atella’s body constantly generates pycroclastic ash internally. This ashen rock can be vented from within, forming concentrated plumes of volcanic embers. The temperature of these plumes can be as high as 1,800 °F.


The volcanic ash Atella’s body produces can be mixed with seawater to form concrete. Using this substance and the heat her body emits Atella can sculpt her form however she desires, and even add mass to herself. She can also incorporate mundane stone into her form, though she must do so by heating it almost to the point of melting.


Lungs once adapted to breathe in water as well as they did in air now serve as a way for Atella to store water, releasing it as superheated steam either through her mouth or nose, or by channels made for purpose. When used with her Pycroclastic plumes, Atella can spray the same concrete used by her Molding power.


Despite her transformation Atella remains attuned to the seas. She is an extremely capable swimmer, and can even use the volcanic energy within her to aid in this, channeling superheated steam through her fins to act as a form of jet propulsion. She can achieve underwater speeds in excess of five hundred knots when doing so, swimming at seventy knots normally. Thanks to her stoneflesh Atella can survive the crushing pressure of the ocean floor, as well.
Atella’s increased density allows her to swim in lava or magma, though at a slower speed of forty knots
Her nymphic nature also enhances her senses when she is in water, allowing her to see and hear underwater as clearly as she would above it, and giving her an awareness of the water in her immediate vicinity.

The Weaknesses

Precious Ember

Atella’s heart still beats, the source of her body’s supernatural heat and the supplier of the magma that flows within her veins. Unlike the rest of her internal organs, her heart remains vital. Should it be damaged her abilities will be greatly affected. If it is stopped, though she will not die, her abilities will be rendered almost entirely nonfunctional. Atella’s heart can be restarted if exposed directly to a volcanic environment, preferably lava or magma, though sufficiently high temperatures can achieve similar effect. Complete destruction of her heart will render Atella petrified until it has been replaced and restarted.

Warm Nature

Exposure to extreme cold saps at the thermal energies that drive Atella’s powers, reducing her agility and the responsiveness of her abilities, or even disabling them entirely. Low enough temperatures are not found naturally on Earth, but powerful cryokinetics or cryogenic technology can prove a threat.


Changing her form in the absence of readily available material is almost always a subtractive process, done by cleaving away excess. Though it is possible for Atella to reheat and reshape her existing form without losing material, this is a process done on the matter of hours or days, not moments.


Though Atella’s Stoneflesh is strong, it is not malleable. When hit with great force or from repeated impact, it will crack and shatter, damaged portions falling away from her body and exposing her softer interior. Lost stone can be replaced, but not quickly.


The tough, unyielding nature that makes Atella's Stoneflesh strong lessens her sense of touch, including pain. While seemingly a boon in that aspect, it weakens Atella's awareness of her body and whether her outer layers have been damaged, or how badly. This is offset somewhat should she be submerged in water or lava, her Nymphic sense of the surrounding fluid making up for lost sensitivity.
Attacks which penetrate her Stoneflesh are felt just as they otherwise would be, pain and all.


The concrete created by Atella’s Molding power requires time and heat to fully harden. Concrete applied to herself will cure within minutes, but is much weaker in that time, and takes hours to become as strong as her usual Stoneflesh. Once set it can be slowly transmuted into the types of stone that make up Atella’s body, taking about as long to transmute as it would to cure. Concrete applied externally will not set for hours, up to a day, and requires a week to reach full strength. Until it has set it is heavy, sticky, and viscous, but not inescapable.


Repair or regrowth of significant damage done via Molding proceeds at a rate similar to human healing, making it primarily suited to patch jobs instead of true regeneration. Rapidly adding to her form, or quickly replacing large amounts of lost material, requires external sources of stone. Working with raw stone is a slow process for Atella, requiring hours to completely integrate large amounts of new material. Only lava or magma can be used to instantly replace what has been lost to injury or shed while sculpting.


Even with her increased strength Atella’s greater mass often works against her. She is no more agile than the average person, at least while out of water, and her high density means that environments with unstable footing can leave her mired.

The Fluff

Atella has a form of echolocation allowing for terrain mapping, though it is not sensitive enough to reliably track moving objects, save for ones that are very large such as a whale or a ship. Her Nymphic senses allow her to intuitively sense the location of bodies of water and impending storms; after her transformation she can also use these senses to seek out volcanic activity, and is aware of impending earthquakes.

With the passage of millennia rendering the world alien to her, Atella prefers to spend her time in the one place which has remained somewhat familiar: the seas. She tends to swim deep enough to avoid human attention, going to the ocean floor and seeking out volcanic vents when she needs to rest.

Application created by Chellizard | This code is open-source and available for free use.


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Atella - The Nymph of Herculaneum [CONTEST] Empty Re: Atella - The Nymph of Herculaneum [CONTEST]

Post by Chellizard on May 20th 2019, 11:52 pm

Approved Ghost slot character.

-My DeviantArt-
Atella - The Nymph of Herculaneum [CONTEST] JiLqjv0
~Main Characters~
Naomi | Skyler | Nate | Chelle | Tyuki | Gerard | Miri | Uzma |  Malus | Vihaan
Anna | Girl Alive!

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Quote : "A woman's place is in the sky with the goddamn birds."

Nekromonga (08/23/2017 10:05PM): Chellizard the Internet Born, Mother of Nerds, first of her name, Queen of the Gamers and the Roleplayers

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Age : 28
Job : I Work Full time/Artist/Charizard Enthusiast
Humor : [18:47:50] Spirit Corgi : Dear mods, I need my apps unapproved. If you don't do it an orderly time, I will compare you to nazis and tell everyone how you are stiffening my creativity, yours truly, a loving member of the site.
Registration date : 2009-11-15

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