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Realistic or Modern ๐๐Ž๐Ž๐Š ๐Ž๐… ๐…๐€๐๐‹๐„๐’ ; the dossiers

miyabi

๐˜ช ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ ๐˜ง๐˜ข๐˜ญ๐˜ญ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ, ๐˜ช ๐˜ข๐˜ฎ ๐˜ง๐˜ข๐˜ฅ๐˜ช๐˜ฏ๐˜จ
Roleplay Type(s)

scroll
















Cruel



TORI AMOS







































I















the

Dossier















the dossier









SHEET


Name:

A.K.A.:

Fable/Urban Legend: (again, remember that this will be the โ€œvillainโ€ of the tale or legend)

Age: (what their glamour presents them as; 21+ โ€” note that theyโ€™ve likely been alive for centuries)

Gender:

Orientation:

Occupation: (Fits within the modern-day occupations; some orthodox, some unorthodox.)

Residence: Heavenโ€™s End, Red Heights, or Grimm Ward

Appearance: description or faceclaim.

Personality: list or a few paragraphs.

History: (keep in mind the villain title of fable or legend; however, this does not mean that they are the bad guy. Theyโ€™ve likely been framed/misunderstood/etc. Fables in fablebrooke still will see them as such, though.)

Magic item: if applicable, this item will not be in the hands of your fable; instead, it is hidden in The Pit.































XVIII















the

fables
















the truth








Everybody knows the story of Sleeping Beauty.

Put to sleep due to a grudge, they always lament; due to the evil fairy's envy, heart too heavy to spare even a young girl. But what if really was to protect her from something worse - something that only slumber could keep at bay?

Or the wicked sea witch, tearing out a mermaid's song and voice. Perhaps there was some part of the deal that was not mentioned, exchanged words that are conveniently left out?

The blood on the big, bad wolf's paws might not have been that of a red-caped girl. If only somebody had asked him first.

It doesn't matter. Nobody ever asks.

These stories are often twisted; lies that are projected to save the face of the heroes in them.

When Hansel and Gretel came across that witch's home, it was for ill-intent, their greed proceeding them as she took them in selflessly. The queen of hearts, it is said she is the evil that kept wonderland plundered into their fears; but she had gone mad, the work of Alice and the hatter. It is only when cruel words adorn your name, that the world sees your story as the truth.

That's all you are to them - a monster, a villain, something grotesque that drags souls screaming into the night. An outline of a shape to scare children to bed. A shadow to be hated, feared - and oh do they fear you still, even in their gold-lined houses and behind delicately built fences. You are left to haunt the streets now, the parts of Fablebrooke everybody else forgot. Or wants to forget.

























III















the

rules

















the rules








i. Due to the content of this roleplay, you must be 18+ in order to participate!

ii. Bigotry and ooc drama will not be tolerated; we aim to make this a safe space and will not allow for persons to be uncomfortable due to another player.

iii. please be able to post at least once per week. With this, there is a TWO PARAGRAPH MINIMUM. We understand that life gets in the way, but please inform us first before dropping or disappearing!

iv. This roleplay is NOT first come first served, there will be an application and decision making process!

v. Note that this roleplay will in fact have depictions of violence, gore, and other such topics that, again, are not suitable for younger audiences and for those who cannot handle such topics.
















































Fablebrooke









When the fables had to flee the Woodlands, it was only a matter of time before they had to find another home before completely wiping off the face of the earth. So theyโ€™ve ended up here, tucked somewhere in Chicago with their small communityโ€”at war with each other, losing their riches, everything theyโ€™ve ever known.

There are pieces of the Woodlands to look back on, slowly fading with the test of time. And with this, their Tree of Life at the epicenter of Fablebrooke, it is the only magic left that keeps their blood pumping.













Tree of Life









Life holds its place in its roots and takes hold of the leaves that slowly wither. A fickle thing; it changes with the paces of life, ever green and bright in this small town of darkness. The Tree of Life follows the lifelines of Fablebrookeโ€™s citizens, shares the centuries of heartbeats that only now seem to fade away. With the deaths in Fablebrooke, the Tree is slowly dying; its demise follows Fablebrookeโ€™s fate as it slowly inches towards its own decay.













Mirror, Mirror...









Some things cannot be revealed, once again... these lips are sealed. Rhymes and riddles, reams of information condensed into the reflecting shards of the Magic Mirror. There are, however, limitations to his power: how the mirror may only reveal the moment in which they are living--only a clue of their location, but never the exact. It is known in Fablebrooke that the mirror is broken, missing shards dealt by the hand of unknown persons; place the pieces back together and heed its wonder.













Glamour Spells









Lips red as rose, hair black as ebony; use this spell to conceal against the enemy. Glamour Spells are simple, the tie between passing amongst the ordinaries and keeping non-human appearances at bay. But everything comes with a priceโ€”as expensive as they are, they are required in order to live in Fablebrooke so not to disturb its image. Just like any market, there are counterfeitsโ€”often bought from witches rather than Fablebrooke Officials.













The Pit










Leaving everything behind was not just a personal tragedy - it was tearing your own identity out of your hands.

Everything you brought with you, anything magical was at risk; it matters not that you had it since birth or that it was left to you by a fairy godmother, or that it was the only thing connected to your life before. The human world is dangerous in the ways the deep dark woods never were and the magic in your items would have slowly rusted away.

So you hid them.

A crypt, sprawling in the depths of the city - how long ago it was, that you were there. All you own from your previous life lives on there, waiting only for you to return.

It was long ago, yes. The crypt's entrance has long crumbled into itself and you have not yet found a new way in, no matter how much you want to. Your magic lies somewhere in the dark, primal ground, perhaps under your very feet as you walk the city - with no way go find it again.

But it is an old city indeed. Perhaps there are still paths people have yet to walk.













The Ordinaries









Regular humans, the ones who think of your stories as mere tales to raise children with. Here for one blink and gone the next, with their may-fly lives - you've seen enough of them to know that they're utterly without magic and knowledge. And for the best of you all, it needs to stay that way.













The Districts









Fablebrooke has been made up of various districts, all defining its inhabitants. From the Rich of Heaven's End to the wanderers of the Grimm Ward and the seedy nights of the Red Heights; each fable has found their homes in either one of these areas.













Heaven's End









Sparkling, expensive and a place you can't enter without a dress that's worth more than a family's rent. The highest point of Fablebrooke, lined with secure penthouses and sleepy mansions - the cement never cracks here. Only the most prestigious of the Fables live here. **note that, for the most part, the inhabitants of Heaven's End are the princes, princesses, kings, queens, and heroes that have kept their status; though there aren't that many. while a "villain" fable is able to live there, it is unlikely; and very much unwelcomed by the other residents.














Red Heights









A sticky hand, smudged eyeshadow, bleeding nose of a district; addicting like the cheapest drug and just as dangerous. Filled with neon lights, over-trashed alleyways and anything for the right price, it's the club-house of Fablebrooke. The parties never seem to quite die out here and neither do the residents.














Grimm Ward









Abandoned, like a babe by a cruel step-mother, Grim Ward stands. At one point it must have been a bustling industrial zone; now only crumbling apartment buildings and yawning warehouses stand in the echo of memories. This is the disctrict where Fables go to be forgotten - or to forget.









โ™กdesign by terrorkitty, coded by uxieโ™ก






UNCODED CS HERE!

d75b948bf71b409819dd99cdaa6940f2.jpg
8243caaa30050daf4ae0acc88b5b0dfe.jpg
7e927ea96e6f5678f6d8cd4042f5622e.jpg


Name:

A.K.A.:

Fable/Urban Legend: (again, remember that this will be the โ€œvillainโ€ of the tale or legend)

Age: (what their glamour presents them as; 21+ โ€” note that theyโ€™ve likely been alive for centuries)

Gender:

Orientation:

Occupation: (Fits within the modern-day occupations; some orthodox, some unorthodox.)

Residence: Heavenโ€™s End, Red Heights, or Grimm Ward

Appearance: description or faceclaim. this is the appearance they have when using glamours; if your character has a "monster/beast/inhuman" form, feel free to add those details in as well.)

Personality: list or a few paragraphs.

History: (keep in mind the villain title of fable or legend; however, this does not mean that they are the bad guy. Theyโ€™ve likely been framed/misunderstood/etc. Fables in fablebrooke still will see them as such, though.)

Magic item: if applicable, this item will not be in the hands of your fable; instead, it is hidden in The Pit.

 






smoke and mirrors




















# benicio del toro










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก



 
Last edited:






feisty bitch.




















# michelle reis










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก















ELEANOR HSIANG






  • requisite
    visage
    persona
    timeline




    requisite



    NAME
    Eleanor Hsiang


    FABLE
    Queen of Hearts


    A.K.A.
    Elle, El, H, Bitch


    age
    appears to be 28 years old


    d.o.b.
    march 27th


    orientation
    pansexual


    gender
    afab, non-binary; uses she/they


    occupation
    escort and illegal glamours dealer


    residence
    red heights


    Synopsis


    It started with Alice.

    No, no, not the young one seen in booksโ€”the image of a girl lost, terrorized by the evil Queen of Hearts; instead, it starts with the truth. Alice (26), just as scared as sheโ€”the Queenโ€”fled home, had her fair share of encounters with Eleanor, confided in her the deepest of secrets, and escaped the home that never wanted her. Never needed her. There would be times, particularly at first, when Eleanor would attempt to assist Alice in her ambition to flee; a short few falling flatly, never succeedingโ€”an inevitable collision between family and woman too cowardly to run. And their hypotheses elementary, bubbled down to simpler things despite the reality of the complex emotions that had only seemed to riddle their thoughts in every waking moment. Wonderland, as enchanting as it seemed, had become the escape yearned for.

    And with this, everything had weighed down into sacredness: how Wonderland, the home of Eleanor, had soon become Aliceโ€™s as well.

    Escapism, itโ€™s whatโ€™s driven the two together; filled the void of loneliness Eleanor crossed paths with in the life of a royal with no family to call her ownโ€”the woman who unwillingly took the care of the throne, lead a people too selfish, too occupied with their own endeavors. The act of devotions had only relocated, fell from the people to Alice, the Queen of Heartโ€™s heart stolen by a wanderer; cheek to cheek embraces of warmth, Alice had become Eleanorโ€™s roots, her shade, the only thing that kept her head on her shoulders in pressuring times.

    Perhaps it was the outreach of love that helped Alice escape the trenches of her home, falling into the hands of Eleanor, hearts touching in every waking moment theyโ€™d been together. And perhaps then, was there the realization that love, as frightening as it is, had fallen into their laps.

    Happiness, however, has become a long-forgotten conclusion to a story whose end had only met tragedy. The Mad Hatter, a man disguised as a friend, the betrayer of Wonderland, Eleanor, Aliceโ€”too many names to count. Heโ€™d whispered in Aliceโ€™s ear, fed lies that slandered Eleanor; hurt her image, lead Alice into a trap, and had her wrapped around his finger. The throne, Eleanorโ€™s downfall, a hatched plan that hadnโ€™t fallen throughโ€”noโ€”it was accomplished. Somehow, heโ€™d gotten the kingdom, Eleanorโ€™s loveโ€”Aliceโ€”to betray her.

    Eleanor could have dealt with it, despite Alice hating her upon false accusations, she couldnโ€™t bear to hate her back; a cleared name could win her back, a selfish thought, but a thought she had nonetheless. That was the torment of it, failed attempts to tell Alice the full truthโ€”the perpetual suffering sensation the moment the Mad Hatter had no use for Alice anymore.

    It mattered how it ended, despite how the Mad Hatter had put it. He killed Alice and he made Eleanor pay for his sins. And yet, despite his treachery and lies, he had become the hero and Alice the martyr.

    TL/DR
    Alice and Eleanor fell in love, both were the same age at the time. Mad Hatter fed Alice lies and turned her against Eleanor, attempts to drive Eleanor mad and succeeding, though this has lead to Eleanor's crushing depression; he took everything from her, turned the kingdom against her despite the efforts made to rule it well, and had only done it because he sought more power. The Mad Hatter had no use for Alice anymore once he got what he wanted and killed her in front of Eleanor: then, blamed Alice's death on Eleanor. Now, in Fablebrooke, Eleanor is an escort and illegal glamour dealer: the Queen's fall from the throne and her attempt at winning the people's trust back, even if it's by illegal means. Legal does not always mean right or moral.




    scroll.


    "Off with their heads."










designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.แƒฆ
 
Last edited:






Matthias Uriah Cabral
















Headless Horseman




Adonis Bosso










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก



 
Last edited:







scroll








scroll





โ
Did I not come to you on my knees with a kingdom in my hand?





Catherynne M. Valente
















deathless



koschei







name

Koschei the Deathless






fable

The Death of Koschei the Deathless






age

mid 30s






gender

male






orientation

bisexual






occupation

mafioso






residence

Red Heights

































ะงัƒะดะพะฒะธั‰ะต


ะะ˜ะ“ะ•ะ›




















01.



visage

















height

6'2"






weight

195lbs






hair c.

blond






eye c.

brown






faceclaim

ivan yankovskiy























02.



psyche









Cruel and selfish and cold, Koschei is everything they say and more. He's ruthless. He's calculating. He has little thought to spare on anyone who can't be useful to him. But he is not heartless. And that's the problem, isn't it?

Koschei is in love. The kind of enduring, unfailing love that songs and stories are made of. But she doesn't want him anymore, and now that's everyone else's problem.


















03.



history









In the thrice-ninth kingdom, in the thrice-tenth realm, there was a girl named Marya Morevna with eyes like coals and hair like a raven's wing. And when a young tsar came to her on his knees to ask for her hand, she said yes. And in Koschei's kingdom in the forest, they were happy for a time. Until Marya Morevna met Ivan Tsarevich.

To his credit, Koschei tried to let her go. But he could not get over his tsarina.

He came to her on his knees a second time. Marya Morevna invited him inside and, well. You know how the rest goes.

Since coming to Fablebrooke Koschei has recreated his kingdom writ small. If you need something, one of Koschei's guys can get it for you--for a price, of course.


















04.



gallery


































05.



connections

















character name



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character name



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character name



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character name



Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.





















06.



miscellaneous

















magic item

His death, which is hidden in a needle that is hidden inside an egg, which is hidden in a duck, which is in a hare, which is in a chest, and the chest is buried in the Pit.






misc

heavily inspired by Catherynne M. Valente's Deathless




















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
Last edited:







soul
stealer


the white snake - zhou yutong




/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

ยฉ weldherwings.













bianca b. ็™ฝๅ˜ๅฝฉ






  • requisite
    visage
    persona
    timeline




    requisite



    NAME
    bai biancai.


    meaning
    white changing splendour.


    A.K.A.
    bianca, the demon in angel's clothing.


    age
    appears to be 26. the age she fell in love in human years.


    gender
    cisfemale - she/her.


    orientation
    pansexual.


    fable
    the white snake (็™ฝ่›‡ไผ ).


    residence
    grimm ward.


    occupation
    nurse of all things fabled.


    the real lesson of her story

    sometimes it's not the monster you should be scared of but the people around you.




    scroll.


    "this snake will always bite back."










designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.แƒฆ
 
Last edited:






King of the Jungle
















#Shere Khan




#Akash Kumar










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก






" When was it we came to adopt Man into the jungle? "





























Jungle Boy



The Jungle Giants












Shere Khan















B

asics.










name


rajesh parter







a.k.a


raj, the exiled king







fable


shere khan from the jungle book







age


appears to be in his early thirties







gender


cisgender male







orientation


bisexual







occupation


nursery worker at a plant store on the border of the heights







residence


grimm ward













A

ppearance.










general


a former king, he stands at a sizeable height of 6'2", a length never truly noticed due to the stooping of his back and curvature of his spine. crippled from birth he wears a brace along his left leg, the atrophied muscles spanning the lengths of it hidden behind clothing and shown only in the severe limp he carries. deeply bronzed skin reflects the origin of his homeland a lush surroundings deep within the jungles of India. a high level of humidity has led the once preening man to buy copious amounts of skincare products with the remainder of his budget, a need to maintain the shine of the jungle almost obsessive.

sunlight are his eyes, a glowing amber that traps and holds tight those that step into the stickiness of his personality. lengthy lashes conceal in a half lid the smile that never quite reaches to color, the beginning onset of darkened circles teasing the hint of exhaustion of the man. the spindly fingers of a worker hold calloused skin, circles and swirls bruised with the work of the day. he is tired but his hair is trimmed, a jungle of its own barely contained with products and trims as length spills over skin with each passing cycle. pointed fangs are a miniscule hint, a small particle of him reminiscent of the fearsome beast everyone claimed he once was. muddled the story became, a shame, truly. now he totters along, limping in his path. fearsome indeed. he is broken overall, but it does not stop the attempts of beauty, the glamour of a king.







true appearance


he can't remember the last time he assumed the form of his birth. marmalade fur streaked violently with ink, accented with the a snowy white that boldly stuck out on the dark floor of the jungle's depths. beautiful was his coat, a visage of health for the most part as a tiger except for the deformations seen on his back left leg. the appendage had matted fur and a mangled air about it, the hobble evident to even those that claimed to fear him at the end. without the use of glamour raj finds himself reverting back to more animalistic appearances but struggles internally to embrace the way he once came into the world as.







body modifications


along the length of his sides ranging from shoulders down to upper thighs he has markings similar to that of tiger stripes in a deep ink. the closer he becomes to losing glamour the more prominent these stripes become and vice versa. upon his left ear he usually has dangling golden jewlery, a simple piercing on the lobe that contrasts to the industrial and helix piercing on his right ear. two thin golden loops hug his right nostril in loops. not a man to shy away from pain he is usually the kind to be on board with gaining further modifications if prompted.











face claim


akash kumar














p

syche.






born without the means of inflicting fear physically, raj had always relied upon the bite of his mind to rule those around him. the desperate clinging to the ranks of power pushed forward only by the bottomless sensation of hunger. he claws along the stone wall around him, the gash left behind by sharpened talons giving rise to the frenzy and fear that surrounded the pathetic humans of him and mankind. the path he had taken in arrogance to give rise to his own needs led ultimately to the downfall of the king.

now, trapped with no escape behind the need for glamour, shere khan carries the mind of a man named raj. broken in spirit he remains, the loss of a kingdom and a home accentuated only by the sheer amount of grime that surrounds him. the clicking of a cane echoes down the stained hallway of his apartment building. only two of the many lights down the length actually worked, an acclimation for the dark aiding him as he bites back the bile of another day spent pretending for customers. every smile was forced, the pointed teeth of the man flashed eagerly with each plant and pot sold, slipping away into the typical listless expression of the man with each closing of the door.

he hesitates only on his path back home from the Heights, no throne or plush way of living awaiting him back in the Grimm Ward. Raj pushes forward each day as a man with the secret of carrying shame. no boasts are proudly stomped around, nor any preening sneers given to those around him. instead he pushes forward, the stiffness of his cane the only part of the former tiger that retains a sense of purpose. moving, he is a cog in the clock of life and fable, pushing forward each day with only a cup of coffee and the atmosphere of his one bedroom apartment to look forward to.


Likes
meat cooked to his liking, sitting on the sill of his window at night and only looking skywards, taking care of his many many many plants, a cat that wanders in the alley near his apartment, a good coffee in the morning, the jungle
Dislikes
feeling powerless due to his leg, the lengthy commute juggle from the Heights to his one-bedroom apartment in Grimm Ward, the sense of deep loneliness that has accompanied the departure of the jungle, his noisy downstairs and upstairs neighbors, being forced to eat vegetables, canned tuna, people who litter or don't take care of the environment
Fears
fire, guns, the feeling of betrayal from those he once considered his loyal subjects, returning to the jungle










h

istory





perched in the trees, an opulent throne of verdant sat a king of the land. watchful and wise he protected the sacred waters and brush with a fighting spirit. an undying, unwavering soul he was determined to secure the future of his homeland from those that constantly encroached on it.

why then was it he who was villified when the red flower of man burnt down their leaves? why was he the one blamed as homes were lost and uprisings started?

when the burned skin of man entered his home he sought merely to exterminate as one would a parasite. there was no offering the humans could give to repair their damage yet their side was taken by the other predators. a singular human cub altered the course and despite threats on his own skin he, the mighty king, was in the wrong.

yellow eyes that once saw him in reverence were now filled with foolish notions and malice. had their loyal king been lying all along, a monster that hid behind a weakened leg? the thought alone was as insulting as it was preposterous but it was enough.

chased out from his own kingdom a bitter soul now wanders about, a striped hide and bared fangs pushed away for the glamour of the same creatures that stole his title. he was once a king, a protector of the land and saviour of the jungle. now? now he works a menial job to maintain his appearance. now the call of the wild that once ran through his veins is dulled into the endless sighs that tumble freely from broken lips.

he has forgotten his stripes and abandoned the claim to a throne.

the king is lost.









g

allery.
































โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
Last edited:
non fancy place holder
the siren/ursula โ€” the little mermaid
fc: tba

FE93B05C-4F98-4CCF-AEE5-6E75DD36925F.jpeg
nerissa aquino
siren
late twenties
female
omnisexual
escort
little mermaid
height
176 cm
weight
68 kgs
hair
a cascade of dark brown locks styled to exude a class unbelonging to those of her supposed reputation. there is a natural curl in those waves but it's one you can only get a glimpse of on rare occasions; its freedom shackled by the visions of those with coin.
eyes
a dark abyss where words breathe and emotions live. in them you will find many things; hear you will the words that lips can not utter, watch you shall and see the storm left behind -- but know you will nothing, of what is real and what is not. you can see your reflection, right into those deep umber hues, and it can flatter you -- maybe charm you even. however, nothing is as simple as it seems; even the shallowest waters can hold depths you will never uncover. so you have to wonder; what lies beneath, and how far down are you willing to go until you can't go back up?
true appearance
what you catch glimpses of the most is a being still close to human; the only difference being scales that run down the arms and torso, right into a tail with two almost translucent fins. the appearance even more true, however, is far less kinder on the eyes; skin once colourful turns grey, eyes deep but warm become such a white that pierces through skin and bone, more gales and scales adorn the body, and teeth normal start to resemble something close to that of an angler fish. it's in this form when you truly see a nature horrific and capable of things bad and worse.
faceclaim
eiza gonzalez
so this is how you died: in whispers you did not hear
personality
change is not something people can escape, life finding its ways to carve out old and sculpt new -- even if what you lose lose is part of your soul, and what you gain is silence. nerrisa is no different; there once was a freedom in those waves of emotion and you would catch a sea of love that stretched beyond the horizon. these waters, now filled with more lies than truth, were that of a serenity soft and gentle. she was the tide that washed the bad and the blood away, dissolving them into foam the blue waves can carry away from you.

she, once, was the peace you could fine below the seabreeze scented winds; a soul of inhuman nature but human heart.

alas, things have changed -- she has changed. now, there lies a heart rebuilt from washed up wreckages of what was before, one a little crooked, a bit more sharper and a bit more salty than sweet. what you may find now is no longer a light serenity, but more so an eerie calmness, one you can't decipher to be true tranquility or the calm before the storm. these open seas are now broken up by rocks tough and edged, meant to cut and sink vessels capable of betrayal, of hurt. call it a security, a siren's labyrinth to deem who is worth giving the keys to her Atlantis to, because what you will find might not be as grand or beautiful as you imagined --- but then again, what else can you expect from the lost and fallen?

still, it's vulnerable all the same, and you, you are so much more capable of destroying than you might think.

so here's to change, to being someone she is and isn't.

and here is to accepting the past and moving on, even if there are still ghosts and lovers sitting in the dark arched marrow of her.

because nerissa might embody the image painted by a cruel man and a lovesick daughter, but that does not mean she is just that; and her past self still exists in pearled soul-shards. there is still kindness within, care that embraces those that have somehow dived deep enough to find her heart's cove. and despite everything, there is still hope, a foolish one perhaps, that things can change again --- that the people can see behind the lies and twisted tales, who she truly is. and maybe, they will hear those words echo again in their minds; hear and listen to that stolen lullaby.

her siren's song might be silenced, but the lyrics still burn in the heart, and burn they do.

alive.

virtues
kind
patient
dependable
intuitive
vices
reticent
dishonest
paranoid
envious
likes
here
heree
here
here
dislikes
here
here
here
here
backstory
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse pretium orci lorem, at bibendum nisi finibus in. Quisque ultricies, ante vitae tincidunt finibus, ante nibh faucibus ex, sit amet consequat risus sapien sed odio. Praesent congue ante consectetur dolor porta, non dapibus velit iaculis. Morbi a commodo leo. Aenean consequat justo tincidunt turpis ultricies pretium. Donec in varius massa. Fusce vitae lacus ut nibh faucibus semper non nec urna. Donec tempus fringilla erat, eget lacinia dolor iaculis eu. Duis tempus molestie rhoncus. Aenean id nunc imperdiet libero pellentesque egestas in eget dui. Donec at urna non elit congue sollicitudin eu ut dolor. Vestibulum fermentum, ante nec fringilla efficitur, nunc tortor sollicitudin risus, at hendrerit nisl velit sed metus. Praesent finibus justo vitae metus venenatis, ut lacinia nisi congue. Aenean lorem ante, interdum id enim eget, ultricies luctus mi.

Aenean tincidunt, erat eu accumsan imperdiet, tortor dolor luctus sem, sit amet laoreet urna arcu in est. Nunc finibus eros eget nisl consequat sodales. Aenean id elementum ligula. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Pellentesque ullamcorper non leo non tincidunt. Fusce ut vulputate justo. Integer in dui vitae enim dignissim placerat vel vel ligula. Morbi vulputate vestibulum aliquam. Vivamus a erat consectetur, tristique dolor vitae, imperdiet metus. Mauris venenatis sed lorem eget tincidunt. Proin tincidunt est sit amet leo feugiat, et aliquam odio congue. Pellentesque vel risus at ligula rutrum commodo. Suspendisse placerat interdum tincidunt. Pellentesque et volutpat sem.

Aenean tincidunt, erat eu accumsan imperdiet, tortor dolor luctus sem, sit amet laoreet urna arcu in est. Nunc finibus eros eget nisl consequat sodales. Aenean id elementum ligula. Pellentesque habitant morbi tristique senectus et netus et malesuada fames ac turpis egestas. Pellentesque ullamcorper non leo non tincidunt. Fusce ut vulputate justo. Integer in dui vitae enim dignissim placerat vel vel ligula. Morbi vulputate vestibulum aliquam. Vivamus a erat consectetur, tristique dolor vitae, imperdiet metus. Mauris venenatis sed lorem eget tincidunt. Proin tincidunt est sit amet leo feugiat, et aliquam odio congue. Pellentesque vel risus at ligula rutrum commodo. Suspendisse placerat interdum tincidunt. Pellentesque et
love language
here
MBTI
here
fun facts
here
Ocean Lullaby -- Kaori

coded by Stardust Galaxy
-->
 
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Lancelot















sascha vulgate




adulterous bastard










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก







๐๐€๐Œ๐„: Sascha Monet Vulgate

๐€.๐Š.๐€.: Lancelot Du Lac, a Knight of the King Arthur's Round Table, personal Knight and Champion to Queen Guinevere

๐…๐€๐๐‹๐„: . . . The Arthurian Legend

๐€๐†๐„: appears twenty-six

๐†๐„๐๐ƒ๐„๐‘: femme (she/her)

๐Ž๐‘๐ˆ๐„๐๐“๐€๐“๐ˆ๐Ž๐: bisexual

๐Ž๐‚๐‚๐”๐๐€๐“๐ˆ๐Ž๐: MLM recruiter, freelance (when she wants to be) album cover artist, small-time drug dealer, and professional slacker seeking to build her own kingdom...

๐‘๐„๐’๐ˆ๐ƒ๐„๐๐‚๐„: former Heaven's End resident; occupies Grimm's Ward currently
DETAILS: Forged from a section of an abandoned warehouse, Saschaโ€™s apartment crumbles along with the rest of Grimmโ€™s Ward. Brick and mortar line her walls, with tinging chill of metal beams. Embracing the structure, sheโ€™s slowly strung up lights across them all. Lit flip flops dangle over the bar cart in the living room. Dragonflies over her day bed. Christmas lights of screaming colors across it all. Thrifted and trash-picked furniture outfit the small space, including a broom to stab at the wall on mid mornings where her neighbors play music far too loud (even if its within their right to do so). There are, of course, a few belongings of note, from her drawing table to the various replicas of her sword, the one fabled, that sheโ€™s bought from poor nobodies on Etsy.

๐€๐๐๐„๐€๐‘๐€๐๐‚๐„: If there is a sack of flesh to beat on, Sascha offers hers. If there is a pound of skeleton dust to inhale, butterfly powder to power oneโ€™s own, she offers hers. However, do not cry or bemoan when expectedly she rises once more, curled inward from the sins of the Other Lancelot, into a foul form most do not desire.

She was once respectable, even long after her tale had been felt. A man, leering yet supple. She wore only the best, shrouded in the hard-fought gifts of Artieโ€™s enduring favor. The paintings of Sacha served her well, when she was once a foreign blade sharpened for the sake of others. Curt-cut bangs and tendrils freshly washed turned into a cropped set of brunette sticks. Brittle, thatโ€™s what they made him. Her. Brutish armor that gave a physique worth having replaced by a suit. Dress to impress, Artie would remind Sascha. Eternity, and yet the Knights remained the same. Fresh coats of paint, a piece of clay glazed over and over. She is unrecognizable. Foreign to this new creature is a sense of nobility, nor honor, though both ride the waves of unforgotten streams of blood. Blood. That is all that remains of Lancelot Du Lac.

Yet, a tree-line body does not forget. A circlet, a must, adorned her neck. It still does. An A, a G, and finally, once she left the Bled Knights, an L. She carries the story now, the one everyone forgot.



๐๐„๐‘๐’๐Ž๐๐€๐‹๐ˆ๐“๐˜: A glutton, a fool, a pestilence โ€“ all vices run abound within her soul. The newest cyberfreak, forgotten of the days of yore. A modern knight, dressed in an oversized neon green hoodie with a j hanginโ€™ out her mouth. Fingers stained from charcoal and sleepy gunk. She is seeking to forget, but she cannot. Instead, Sascha opens a new bag of distasteful things. She distracts, stuffing the โ€œThank You Come Againโ€ plastic until it breaks. She starts over, again and again. There is no end, but she cannot remember. She cannot forget. Her smirk offers a plethora of double-edged swords. Adderall-infused happiness and peach-tea-whiskey-sours-drenched insomnia. Ambien-doused sleepiness and Munchiesโ„ข-sponsored 3 am self-imposed mosh pits. There is another pit, the deeper sort that she threatens to fall into, but sheโ€™ll smile once more. โ€Donโ€™t fret.โ€ Then, sheโ€™ll twist the knob of her stereo, drowning in ICP and lemonade incense.

RANDOM BITS
โ€“ has a completely flipped sleep schedule
โ€“ a woman driven by revenge and Monster
-- draws metal album covers
-- "ask me later... maybe."

๐‡๐ˆ๐’๐“๐Ž๐‘๐˜:
A kingdom of your own?

Artieโ€™s face unraveled as his eyes attempted to poke and prod the creature beneath him. Sascha withered but then struck straight as a spear. โ€œYes,โ€ she explained, even and lame. โ€œI canโ€™t be both villain and henchman.โ€

โ€œItโ€™s about Guinevere, isnโ€™t it?โ€

Sascha shook her head. No! The words couldnโ€™t come. They were wispy, evaporating as easily as the image of a loved-one dead.

Poor, poor Gwenyโ€ฆ

Arthur sits in his chair, expectant.

Sascha walks, free, as the Bled Knights stand, letting their brother walk without pain. Without scar.

A husk, thatโ€™s all you can be.

Yet, thereโ€™s a reason dear Artie let her be. Why else could he? Sascha turns to debauchery, yet she knows. She sees. Magicians arenโ€™t the only ones who can read the embers of souls, the flames that breathe with each passing compression of the lungs. Lancelot senses what happened to dear dead Guinevere.

Hungry. She doesnโ€™t look for answers, but in a search for her own kingdom, doesnโ€™t she? Sascha passes a dime baggie, buy one, get one free, while Artie smokes bigger fish. He eats, while Sascha starves. Thereโ€™s no need to search for what Lancelot knows. Hell marked him the day he laid eyes on her. The Devil found revelry within thee.

Sascha, however, she runs free. Free.

She wears the skinned flesh of Launcelot, of that man who used to beโ€ฆ

Sleeping beauty. Itโ€™s better off to be. Rome wasnโ€™t built in the day, nor was any tale forged. Why canโ€™t she make her own? There are pockets everywhere, pockets she can stab and break like the joint of a chicken leg. Crack.

Was it Arthur?

Her boot on someoneโ€™s jaw.

Instead of asking, she screams, โ€œYou owe me. Pay up by Friday.โ€

Keys squeal and tires jingle. Peel out of the parking lot. Collateral.

Rome wasnโ€™t built in a day.

Yet, dear Arthur. You quiver as she draws nearโ€ฆ

The Bled Knights watch her. They threaten her, her customers, yet somehow, Sascha succeeds. Villains donโ€™t trust heroes, and most Knights are too afraid to cross those that are rumored to maim. To eat the scorned flesh of those that bound them. Sascha smiles, standing on her street corner.

No, Arthur knows what happens when Sascha is crossed. He hears the hum of the harp that sings his fate. He crossed the Devil, who told God, and now the world will scream with the truth to his villainy.

๐Œ๐€๐†๐ˆ๐‚ ๐ˆ๐“๐„๐Œ: the ring . . . the mythic object bestowed upon her by her true love, deflecting any and all enchantments.

A description from Merlinโ€™s notes: It laps up high with its staunch edges, sipping like the spring from whence poor Lance came.

 
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Eve
















mikey erroll




godlessโ€ฆ literally










โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก







๐๐€๐Œ๐„: Micah Lilith Erroll

๐๐ˆ๐‚๐Š๐๐€๐Œ๐„: Mikey

๐€.๐Š.๐€.: Eve, Ishsha

๐…๐€๐๐‹๐„: The Book of Genesis; The Bible; The Dawn of Man

๐€๐†๐„: appears thirty-two years old

๐†๐„๐๐ƒ๐„๐‘: genderfluid (they/she/he)

๐Ž๐‘๐ˆ๐„๐๐“๐€๐“๐ˆ๐Ž๐: bisexual

๐Ž๐‚๐‚๐”๐๐€๐“๐ˆ๐Ž๐: cabaret performer and owner; drag queen; city council board member

๐‘๐„๐’๐ˆ๐ƒ๐„๐๐‚๐„: Red Heights
DETAILS: An abode marked by her personality and the eons theyโ€™ve spent cultivating a certain sense of oneself. Mikeyโ€™s halls are decorated with countless photographs, some signed, others dated, and some simply left to the mystery of time. Paintings from and of past lovers. Shrouded in curtains, her rooms offer endless amounts of sleep and privacy to those she allows inside. It sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the crumbling buildings and oil-slicked alleys, but fret not. It, like her, has simply tested the lengths of immortality and infamy. The outside is weathered, making its oldness a quirk of the districtโ€™s poor infrastructure rather than an indication of wealth. Of course, the manicured gardens and freshly painted shutters add a bit of charm to the rustic, gothic building. It is black, beige, and red, outfitted with a cheetah print welcome mat and the path to the doorway lined with every pride flag imaginable.

๐€๐๐๐„๐€๐‘๐€๐๐‚๐„: A sculpture from antiquity. Turn the bust on a dime and find a whole new angle. Strong, blank plains of skin taut. Broad, yet soft shoulders. A confusion to most, but a playful puzzle to all. A timeless classic. The record that spins and spin until the needle of the player kills it. But he cannot be killed. An abyss in their eyes, the folded donut of time. They cannot be killed.

๐๐„๐‘๐’๐Ž๐๐€๐‹๐ˆ๐“๐˜: She snuffs out her cigarette in a dice-shaped ashtray. Swinging the smoke from his eyes, he looks down. He squints. They already know your type. What are you here for? Mikey is giving, so try. Push them and see what gives and what doesnโ€™t.

Even after the beginning of time, she still has her groove.

A person worth respecting, despite their tom-foolery. Debauchery. Hon, thereโ€™s always a time and place for a little bit of fun. Sheโ€™s a walking, talking book of phases, wisened bits of well-warmed knowledge. The microwave turned on, ancient, yet she spins and warms your meal. A problem can be solved in his grasp, simply let him hold it.

Quickly confused for the snake, he is the first to admit how quickly fooled she once was. How, now, they are the one that tricks and thieves. Well, once upon another tale. Instead, theyโ€™ve taken to better talents. Much more worthwhile forms of dealing. Do not be fooled by her slippery endeavors. Mikey is a pole struck deep into the ground. She is the abyss.

Let them swallow you whole.

RANDOM BITS
:
-- rebellious, refuses to listen to reason
-- wisened all the same; marches to the beat of his drum
-- scorned. โ€Who isnโ€™t, though?โ€
โ€“ caring and quick to give advice
โ€“ does a lot of charity projects and grassroots efforts
โ€“ got elected to the Red Heights council because of her community involvement. Itโ€™s very rare people havenโ€™t heard of Mikey and their gaggle of club-goers
โ€“ i feel like (if Red Heights gets a pride parade), he is definitely part of the initial committee that started it
โ€“ allows people to live in their gigantic ass house provided they explain why and are willing to hear her out in terms of solutions (usually that just means listening to his adviceโ€ฆ)
โ€“ sticks their nose where it isnโ€™t wanted, but they arenโ€™t judgey about what they learn
โ€“ seems like a grandma type; quite parental
โ€“ surprisingly, doesnโ€™t talk very much about any stories from pre-human days

๐‡๐ˆ๐’๐“๐Ž๐‘๐˜:
"And your punishment shall be the pain of childbirth and subordination to those more loyal."

As Mikey will tell it, this is a line of bullshit.

And sheโ€™s no fly.

Adam turned on them like an arrow flush to the sky. She took a bite of the apple, and thus, she was born of sin. Punishment required. Mikey sneers at the memory. When they were younger, Mikey thought of battling this fate. He insisted, through all forms of domination by Adam, by God, by Earth, and by the Devil, too, that he was not the real villain. A simple mistake fed by the true evil, but the morality of Eveโ€™s fable was not dictated by low-down villainy. Instead, it was a test, which Eve failed and drowned her brethren in the stench of sin.

Mikey is a different tale. Another myth.

Except, of course, the author isnโ€™t a disciple with a complex about AFAB people and instead is an incredibly divine drag queen and immortal owner of a cabaret club.

The years have muddied memories. The inception of Micah versus the death of Eve remain a camera lens with vaseline rubbed into the glass. He recalls, but there are no details to the story. A series of pregnancies, the sword whose hilt was imbued with holiness. A type many deemed Eve unworthy of. So, she chose to act as such.

Unworthy. Lackluster. A temptress.

Being unleashed into Fablebrook was letting loose a pack of dogs. They were bound to Micahโ€™s soul, running amok, and tearing into the flesh of those they deemed less worthy. Unworthy.

Some say he became a city council member not by vote, but by favors. By fear. But thatโ€™s the old Mikey.

Sorta.

A person who deals in secrets. Sometimes, violence, if the case calls for it. Robin Hood, if he was a good man and not a cheat. Charity work for those they find wanting.

Ultimately, Micah is the scale, the judge, and the executioner.

RANDOM BITS:
โ€“ used to do dirty work for crime families
โ€“ probably robbed banks at some point
โ€“ has a penchant for giving away money
โ€“ lots and lots of nasty rumors about this one
โ€“ Adam goes by Micheal just to piss them offโ€ฆ
โ€“ their cabaret club is called Garden of Eden because duh! Of course it is!

๐Œ๐€๐†๐ˆ๐‚ ๐ˆ๐“๐„๐Œ: the flaming sword of Camael's hand . . . gifted to them upon expulsion from Eden by God's own; it was the only sign of her goodness, her equity

 
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Hocus Pocus.

Appearance: Tall, well-built with a dark mocha-stained skin tone, Abel would be a sight for sore eyes if not for the fact that the denizens of Fablebrooke rarely ever saw him out of his pharmacy overalls. His straight jet-black hair fell almost to his shoulders, and a trimmed angular beard hugged the edges of his cheekbones. On the rare occasion that Abel was spotted out in the open, he would usually be sporting what looked like a worn-out, pale-green striped suit with some of the seams fraying. The outfit was complete with a brown flat cap, making him look like a bookie from the late 50s.

Personality: Abel was polite enough; he had had no complaints from his customers. In fact, some would even deign to call him nice, though most of them felt sure that he was anything but. Perhaps the only ones who knew him well enough to comment were the girls at the various gentlemen's clubs in the Red Heights, whom he had a habit of frequenting. In general, though, Abel seemed to be the friendly sort, albeit slightly introverted, meaning that while he was not likely to strike up a conversation, he wouldn't shy away from keeping one going.



Orientation: Heterosexual.
Occupation: Pharmacist.
Residence: Red Heights.
Magic Item: Abanazar's Sceptre.


Name: Abel al-Nasir.
A.K.A.: Abanazar.
Fable: Aladdin,1001 Nights.
Age: Late 30s.
Gender: Male.

History: To be unappreciated is a curse indeed. For years Abanazar was known as the greatest sorcerer who ever lived. His name was spoken with admiration all across the Maghreb. That is until he'd meet a pestilent little urchin called Aladdin. Having taken pity on the little boy, and having noticed the child's obvious gift, being nimble and quick, Abanazar decided to bring him along on a bit of an adventure. Abanazar had been tracking a magical chirag of great value that had mysteriously vanished from the vaults of the owners in Baghdad. It was rumoured to have been sealed with the spirit of an ancient Jinn. The pair had narrowed down the chirag's location to a nearby cave, possibly where the thieves had decided to stash it before selling it off. Now, Abanazar was planning on using the boy to get through some tough spots in this cave that was surely booby-trapped, but he wasn't going to be letting him do it alone, as the usual story goes. Whatever his plans, they were assuredly dashed when the boy stole Abanazar's ring and scurried off deeper into the abyss while the latter took a much-deserved rest from a long day's travel.

Having not heard anything from inside the cave for over a week, Abanazar decided to turn back, sure that the boy must've died trying to find a way out. Imagine his surprise when learning that the boy had not only managed to become fabulously wealthy but had also married the Sultan's daughter, Badr ul-Badour.

Such trivial things to waste wishes on too. Resolved on teaching Aladdin a lesson, Abanazar travelled all the way back to the site of Aladdin's castle. Here he'd employ the sceptre that allowed him to imprint a suggestion on Aladdin's new bride, making her subject to his bidding. Naturally, he was able to secure the chirag with the woman's aid and promptly set off to return it to the rightful owners. It was not to be, however, as the cunning Aladdin, having poisoned the princesses' mind so thoroughly as to be able to command her to seduce poor Abanazar, was able to trap him in the same ring that he'd stolen. Abanazar would spend the next hundred years trapped in this ring before finally breaking free. Only to find that his beloved brother, who had sought vengeance for Abanazar's apparent death, had also been mortally wounded by the conniving Aladdin. Thus the story had ended, with the villains slain and the hero lauded. The worst of it was that everyone had believed it.



code by low fidelity.
 
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wanted


#66


scar






/* ------ credit -- do not remove ------ */

ยฉ weldherwings.





nero
"i'm surrounded by idiots"
  • i
    ii
    iii
    iv
    name
    nero kraisee
    nicknames
    prince, scar
    fable
    scar โ€” the lion king
    age
    appears in his mid-twenties
    gender
    male
    orientation
    bisexual, heavy male lean
    occupation
    bartender, exotic dancer & part-time model
    residence
    has an apartment in both red heights and grimm ward since he works in both locations
coded by natasha.
 
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BARNABAS






  • requisite
    visage
    persona
    timeline




    requisite



    NAME
    Barnabas Irene Winterfell


    FABLE
    sleeping beauty; maleficent


    A.K.A.
    master of all evil, winged beast, bee, barns,


    age
    appears to be in early 30's


    d.o.b.
    March 7th


    orientation
    homosexual


    gender
    cisgender male


    occupation
    unknown, all there is to be known is that barns houses misfits and the unwanted within Grimm ward


    residence
    Grimm Ward


    magic item
    The Dragon's Eye is a magical scepter that is held within his staff, though it was thrown within the pit.


    Synopsis


    "While the princess will indeed grow in grace and beauty, she will be cursed. When the sun sets on her 16th birthday, she will prick her finger on a spindle of a spinning wheel and fall into an eternal sleep."

    A spell casted from a broken heart and battered soul, barns wanted to hurt those who held a hand to his misfortune and in his own sick attempt-- protect the life of an innocent babe.

    Barns was the product of the love of two fairy parents, but not of the same of those who raised him. He had been adopted by two little fairies and soon became the youngest son of three sisters; fairy, fairy, and fairy. Though it looked as though one didn't belong, and that was the little boy Barns. Unlike his family, Barns was much bigger and less aesthetically pleasing-- massive wings, ram like horns and sharpen features.

    It became known that he was the black sheep of the family

    and they made sure Barns understood that.

    he was a monster and they would portray him as such.

    Fairy, Fairy, and Fairy are the real monsters of this fairytale-- but looking at them, they couldn't hurt a fly right? These twisted sisters hurt Barns in the worst way possible, taunting him and casting blame of everything upon their younger brother. There was no one there to stick up for the young man, he was forced to take the blame and take the punishments that soon followed.

    The scars on his body can tell a story, a story of horror and misfortunate. The constant abuse would soon make Barns loose his mind, cracking underneath the falling rumble of his own sanity. Barns had to adapt to the life style "don't be seen don't be heard" if he wanted to survive his household, fending for himself in every sense of the word. Forced to watch as his 'family' spread love and joy to everyone around them expect him, rubbing into his face that he didn't belong in their word and that he was truly the monster they saw him as.

    Malificent.

    A name the sisters would call Barns, a twisted name that he soon would shape and take as his own.

    Not out of fear or shame like it once was.

    But as a way to take back from his abusers and not give them the power they once had upon him.




    scroll.


    "QUOTE."










designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.แƒฆ
 
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LA LLORONA
















Dios te salve, Marรญa, llena eres de gracia, el Seล„or es contigo...














โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก



 
Name: Polyphemus of Thrinacia

A.K.A.: The Bane of Nobody

Fable/Urban Legend: The Odyssey

Age: Appears 34

Gender: Male

Orientation:Heterosexual

Occupation: Musician

Residence: Red Heights

Appearance: 1655839699968.png (True Form) stands at 12ft in height his single eye is milky white

As a human he looks like a large muscular Greek man with long dark hair, a beard and olive toned skin. He's blind with both eyes being milky white with a significant amount of scaring around them. He uses a modified shepherds crook as a cane and takes his sax everywhere.

Personality: A silent somewhat stand offish giant that usually likes to spend time with his dearest friends. He has hard time accepting help from people put is prone to helping other folk if they need it. His hatred of Odysseus hasn't waned in the slightest and has in fact grown to match the cunning heroes fame. Having the tale of his own blinding be immortalized in story spurs his rage on to no end. He still seeks to someday have the Ithacan King roasting on his cooking fires. But despite his gruff demeanor and mien Polyphemus is more sensitive than one would think at first glance. A lover of music, he's used his great skills with woodwind instruments to earn a living. Be it a pan flute or a saxophone he can play with a skill near equal to orpheus. It was this skill and the sensitive soul behind his blinded eye that drew the nymph Galatea to his side. He loves her and tends to get angry or nervous if he thinks she needs something or is in danger.

History: The son of Poseidon and a well respected man among his people, Polyphemus was victim of his own kindness. After long day of tending to his sheep he returned home only to find a group of humans had broken in his home. He told them all to leave not so stubbly threating to beat the lot of them if they didn't. But one among them managed to fast talk his way into at least staying the night. Explaining that they had run out of food and had only come into his home out of desperation.

He reluctantly agreed and entertained his guests for the night. Opening his larder and sharing his wine with them while have a bit himself. The following morning Odysseus and his men jammed a skewer into his eye hoping to kill Polyphemus. By the grace of the gods it didn't reach his brain and only ruined his eye. Hungover and enraged Polyphemus killed two of Odysseus men while the rest managed to escape his cave. He was a poor Shepard without his eyesight so he relied on his music to support himself. In time he learned live with out sight and eventually wooed the sea nymph Galatea with some help from his father. Today Polyphemus and his wife play live music for a club in the Red Heights that caters to more monstrous fables.

Magic item: ฮงฮฑฯŠฮดฮตฯ…ฯ„ฮนฮบฯŒ ฮšฯฮผฮฑ (Caressing Wave): A pan flute made from red coral that was gifted to Polyphemus by his father not long after losing his sight. It translates the deepest feelings of the user into song showing there truest self be it beautiful or ugly.
 
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evil
queen
  • mirror
    mirror
    on the wall
    who is the fairest one
    of them all?
code by valen t.
 
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Name: Lord Edward Gorman

a.k.a: Bluebeard

Fable: Bluebeard/Fitcher's Bird

Age: He appears to be in his early to mid thirties.

Gender: Male, uses he/him pronouns

Orientation: Bisexual, though that is not well known. It is certainly his relationships with women that have made him (in)famous.

Occupation: Landlord/real estate developer

Residence: A mansion in Heavenโ€™s End

Magic Item: A large silver key that can unlock any door

Appearance:

A tall man who seems to be of European and East Asian descent, Edward is fairly attractive. He has a charming smile, but it rarely makes an appearance. Of particular note is his long dark hair and his beard, which are said to look almost blue in color under certain light. The same was true for his father, and his grandfather before him. (Faceclaim- Anthony Thornburg.)

Personality:

Lord Gorman is a man of his word- few though they may be- and expects the same of others. When he hires an escort for a night, he pays the price they ask, and always tips. When a rental agreement is signed, he expects it will be followed. When he gives a key and instructions not to open a certain door... He expects that door to stay closed.

He tends to be fairly reserved and does not socialize much. This isn't to say he never goes out- His status as a social pariah does not stop him from going about his life in pursuits of both business and pleasure. He just tends to be alone, or with company he's hired for the night. It's unclear if these habits are due to his ostracization, or are actually his own preferences.

Gorman's reputation and his power in the community as one of the primary property holders has made him into an intimidating figure that few wish to test, but in reality he is slow to true anger. He may snap in verbal frustration when cross, but he rarely takes action against someone without serious consideration first.

History:

Lord Gorman has had seven brides, each younger, more beautiful and more destitute than the last. Only the seventh still lives.

After their wedding, Edward gave Anya a large silver key and told her it would unlock any door in her new manor home. She was free to explore as she wished. His office, the library, the conservatory, any of the bedrooms were hers to do with as she pleased. The riches she might find within- golden coins, jewels of all shapes and sizes, priceless artifacts- were hers to spend, save, or give away as she desired. All he asked was that she stay out of one room- The final door, plain and wooden, at the dim end of the cellar hall.

But Anya, like the other brides before her, was a curious woman, and decided she would see what lay beyond the simple door as soon as her new husband was away. Unlike the other brides, however, Anya was wary that she might lose the valuable key and so tied it to a long white hair ribbon and wore it around her neck.

When Lord Gorman left on business, Anya snuck into the cellar and opened the forbidden door. She cried out in shock when the door swung open, and dropped the key. It would have fallen into the pool of blood were it not suspended from her neck.

The room beyond the forbidden door was a ghastly sight, and its contents not fit to repeat. But Anya now knew the rumors that her husband had been married before were true- And she knew what had happened to his wives.

When Lord Gorman returned, he asked Anya to see the silver key he had entrusted to her. Anya had since removed it from its ribbon, and pulled it from her pocket for his inspection. Lord Gorman saw that there was no blood stain upon it, and smiled at her beneath his dark beard. At last, he thought, he had found a wife that could be trusted.

Over dinner that night, Anya told him of the plants she had observed in the conservatory and the books she had read in the library, and Lord Gorman told her of the people he had met with while on business and the sights he had seen, and presented her with a gift he had bought for her, of a small golden bird with emeralds for eyes, that sung a pretty tune when wound up.

Are you happy here, Lord Gorman asked Anya. Very much so, she replied. Then added wistfully, if only she could see her brothers and her father once more, and assure them of her happiness. This was easily arranged, Lord Gorman told her, and ordered a carriage made ready.

Anya took the carriage the next day, and at every stop she made, she told anyone who would listen what she had seen. By the time she made it back home to her family, half the kingdom knew of Lord Gorman's crimes. But when she, her brothers, and the mob that followed them returned to the Gorman manor and stormed into the basement.... The room behind the plain wooden door was empty of blood, bodies, and all other proof.

The king of the land could not afford to alienate his richest and most powerful noble, and refused to imprison Lord Gorman based only on the word of a peasant girl. But the tale spread regardless, and Lord Gorman's name became synonymous with murder, bloodshed and uxoricide.

Unlike many of those who have been maligned wrongly, Lord Gorman has never protested his innocence, or railed against the injustice of his treatment. Nor has he confessed to the crimes he was accused of. He has simply endured the ostracization and hatred in solitude. In his current role as landlord to much of Fablebrooke, he has not done much to improve his reputation among his fellow fables. The good opinion of his neighbors, tenants, and large community does not seem to be of much interest to him.

The truth is a tricky thing, with many sides, but the truth is this: Edward Gorman did not kill his wives. He feels the guilt of their deaths all the same.

Writing notes: If your character has a sister/daughter/friend who you would like to have been one of Gorman's dead wives, please let me know- I'm always down to create some pre-existing grudges/drama for characters!









lord of murder



"bluebeard"








  • filler tab!





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Vanessa Creedence
















  • req.




















    Mother knows best







    * Name
    Vanessa Creedence
    * AKA
    Nessa, Vanny
    * Fable/Legend
    Mother Gothel -- Rapunzel
    * Age
    Appears to be around her late thirties, pushing onto forty
    * Occupation
    Highschool English Teacher







    Female




    Heterosexual




    5'7




    Red Heights















    * height
    Stands at 5'7
    * weight
    135 lb
    * build
    Mildly curvy whilst keeping on the thinner side
    * hair colour
    Deep chocolate
    * eye colour
    A beautiful emerald green hue


















req.



pers.



hist.



misc.



















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 
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unglamourous














# stepsister 2


# yokota mayuu









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Miles Duclain
















  • req.




















    Mothman







    Name
    Miles Duclain
    AKA
    Mothman, Mothboy
    Fable/Legend
    The Mothman
    Age
    Appears to be in his late 20's to early 30's
    Occupation
    Entomologist







    Male




    Homosexual




    5-9 -- 7'10




    Grimm Ward















    * height
    With the glamour spells, he is 5'9. Without them, he stands at about 7'10 hunched over and 8'4 with a straight posture
    * weight
    140lb with glamour spells and roughly 350 without
    * build
    Lanky, thin, and wiry are all good descriptors of both of his appearances. His 'moth' form has two large wings that extend from his back that match the long and thin descriptor too.
    * Glamour Spell Appearance
    With the glamour spells, Miles is very attractive. His hair is a deep chocolate that sits in nice curls, the cut being shaggy yet decent looking. His eyes are a deep, rich brown color that almost looks red in certain lighting--because they are. His skin is pale and has a few moles and beauty marks littered on his person, despite his clothing covering the vast majority of his skin.
    * Moth Form
    In this form, Miles no longer looks remotely human. Pictures of this form are often blurry and cryptic, detailing a large figure with large, red eyes. This form is indeed tall, his body covered in a black fuzz that is often found on moths. His wings span about 35 feet from tip to tip, and his eyes are indeed large and crimson red. He has two large antennae that sit on top of his head, his limbs long and spindly. He looks rather creepy in this form, despite his nature.


















req.



pers.



hist.



misc.



















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก

 







scroll








scroll





โ
Different denotes neither good nor bad, but it certainly does not mean the same.





Bloody Maryt
















Bloody Mary



Moira.







Full Name

Moira Fiona Croft






aka

Blody mary, Hell Mary






age

Fifty-Seven






d.o.b.

Feburary 18, 1516






ethnicity

British






sexuality

Bisexual






p.o.b

Greenwich, England

































Sail


Awolnation




















01.



visage

















height

5'6"






weight

136lbs






hair c.

White shoulder length hair that






eye c.

Icy blue eyes stare that pierces right into your brain.






distinguished features.

High defined cheekbones. Ice blue eyes. Stark white hair.






wardrobe.

WIP






faceclaim.

Carmen Dell'Orefice





















02.



psyche









WIP






likes

wip






dislikes

wip






fears

wip


















03.



history










WIP


















04.



gallery


































05.



connections

















Character Name



WIP

















character name



Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.

















character name



Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.

















character name



Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.





















06.



wip

















wip

wip






Strengths


  • WIP






Weaknesses


  • WIP




















โ™กcoded by uxieโ™ก
 
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