Cynthia Regalia

Character Name: Cynthia Regalia (Cynthia_Regalia)

Age: 27

Species: Human

Gender: Female

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Bio: * You have arrived at the newly liberated Spawn Station situated in the Confederate Syndicate States of New Ephebe. All that you accumulated, acquired or built in your life is gone. You are starting your life anew in the Syndicate States.

- Were you were killed in action, defending your home from the Baalites*? No

- Were you killed many years ago before the Baalites arrived, unknowingly floating in the cubatom stream waiting to be revived through an undeathonator which the Spawn Station intercepted? Yes

Formally the heir to a wealthy family, Cynthia left the pampered lifestyle to pursue a life of freedom which eventually led her to the likes of Beard and his pirate brotherhood. Rising in notoriety and brutality, Cynthia eventually formed her own small band within the brotherhood named the Crimson Corsairs, who created a lot of trouble for the Ephebes military with their probing attacks and raids on trading lines. The Corsairs always found a way to slip past most security networks before anyone could react, thanks to the Red Queen, a repurposed experimental stealth frigate. The naming caused some confusion as to whether Red Queen was the name of the ship or Cynthia’s title, so many usually referred to them as the same thing, as the ship itself had become a symbol of her power and influence. Cynthia would continue to cause grief for the military and many traders, all the while evading the bounty hunters sent by both them and her parents for a few years.

The story of Regalia, the Red Queen, came to an abrupt end while she was onboard a Brotherhood station that came under attack by an unknown enemy, possibly Ephebes forces. The fate of her ship and crew all unknown, but after waking up nearly 200 years later, it doesn’t bear much thought. However, now in a new lifetime, she merely sees this as a new chapter in what she intends to be a legend that will be told for centuries to come.

The sudden flush of light caused her eyes to burn. That primal instinct to protect them kicked in, and the limbs moved to block the attacker. She stirred on the slab, shifting their body weight to a more comfortable position. It didn’t work. Memories flashed, and she remembered what had happened only moments before. Alarms and flashing red lights fresh in her mind, and the sounds of an explosion ripping through the bulkheads, and now she wakes up, unknowing what happened. Her body lurches forwards, her eyes adjusting and focusing. The white room is unfamiliar, but it doesn’t look anything like the medbays on Brotherhood installations. The room feels unsteady, or is that her? The disorientation is too much and the body slumps backwards. A groan escapes lips.

The sounds and vibrations begin to overwhelm, and hands clutch a temple, straining to bring silence and balance back. The prayers are answered, the vibrations stop and the sounds grow quiet, but the room ceases to stop the incessant spinning. A sigh drags itself out. The mind catches up though and forces the body into action. Hands scramble as the torso lurches forward again, reaching out for anything to defend with. A small table falls over with a loud metal clang, followed by a thud as the barely functioning meat falls after it. A shout escapes and the room goes dark.

Sounds invade the mind, lights flash over, and the eyes bolt open. The light burns, but she stares back in defiance. The sounds come again. A voice? Someone is speaking to her.

“-an you understand me?” The voice comes into focus. A nod is the only reply, but the only one that can be managed. A groan is all that accompanies it. “Good. Do you know where you are…?”

Cynthia Regalia, the Red Queen, leader of the Crimson Corsairs, sits at the table facing a man in a white jacket, obviously a doctor of some kind. Her disorientation had stopped and she could now function like normal. A blessing she took for granted too often it seems.

“Now, Miss Regalia, do you know where you are?” The doctor asks, but the question makes little sense.

“I’m guessing it’s an Ephebe medical installation?” He voice comes, with slight breaks in it, her body having not fully recovered yet, but it doesn’t take a fully aware person to know where she was. Her response is not an expected one. The doctor’s face grows grim, almost sad.

“Miss Regalia, this station was only recently liberated; it has been under Baalite control for over 213 years.” That last part hung in the air. And the realization of her situation was becoming more and more apparent. “We suspect you may have been stuck in a cubatom stream for that time, unable to rematerialize until a functioning facility was available. That would explain your severe disorientation and inability to move your body in a working manner. I understand this news might be quite distressing… Especially since you’re probably wondering what has happened to your family business in that.”

Family business? The one her parents owned? What about it?

“I’m afraid the entirety of it is lost. The Regalia Ranch was destroyed just after the Baalite made their first incursions. I’m terribly sorry.” The doctor carried on about the dead ranch, the same ranch she wanted gone. This news was welcome, but why was she being told? The fate of the ranch would’ve been the last thing anyone from Ephebes would be talking to her about. What about her short lived legacy as the Red Queen?

The doctor continued, explaining what had happened in the last few centuries and how he was from a new Ephebes state that had recently liberated this station. It mostly fell on deaf ears, because as soon as she was alone, she started looking up entries in any of their databases on the Crimson Corsairs, a few entries came up, but all of them referred to the Red Queen as both the ship and person. None of them referred to her, by her actual name. The famous ship and the person itself had become a single entity in these records. She cocked a smile in a sense of frustrated humour.

Looks like there was work to be done to fix this little mess…