Fantasy 𝕯𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝕷𝖆𝖒𝖇'𝖘 𝕮𝖑𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 - CS

[s e v e n]

basic info

backstory

extra

Sir

Lancelot

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• PROFILE

  FULL NAME

  Rosconval, Othello

  NICKNAMES

  Otto

  ROLE

  Lancelot, Second-in-Command

  AGE

  twenty-six

  BIRTHDAY

  februrary 14

  GENDER

  male

  Beshrew that heart that makes my heart to groan
  For that deep wound it gives my friend and me:
  Is’t not enough to torture me alone,
  But slave to slavery my sweet’st friend must be?

  APPEARANCE

  BASICS

  HEIGHT

  5’9” | 175cm

  WEIGHT

  144lbs | 65kg

  EYE COLOUR

  Dark grey

  HAIR COLOUR

  Platinum

  CREDIT

  @PYO_GYEOK_

  MISCELLANEOUS

  wavy pale blonde hair framing an equally pale white face, othello possesses a look that can only be described as almost ethereal. perhaps not much of a conventional beauty, as some features of his often strikes in such a manner that often feels less than natural, though it is certainly far from unattractive. grey dark eyes that approach black, if he had not smiled so often (in which his eyes would often light up) perhaps his traits could even be described as mildly unsettling. of course, this impression quickly dissipates the more one familiarizes themselves with the young man.
  
  despite being rarely seen in an outfit that is less than formal, appearances can often be deceitful. a loosely buttoned dress shirt has become his favourite, very uncommonly tucked in (much to everyone's dismay), and very often stained in odd substances that at some point, people simply felt too uninterested to ask. at some point, too, he decided to wear black as his main colour. a hundred ties and another hundred hats has been lost in his life- in the end he concluded that it was simply too much of a hassle. many placed bets in how much longer till he ditches his gloves, too. he is often seen in boots with a slight heel elevating him, a choice of fashion that unfortunately caused more trouble than good (no, that height count is not with the heels included). in a mission, his hair is tied to his back in a small ponytail. due to the nature of his status, he is often seen wearing a hooded coat upon heading outside in fear of being recognized.

  PERSONALITY

  Melancholy were the sounds on a winter's night.

  on first impression, othello could be many things. a look-up worthy senior knight, perhaps. a pretentious noble. a good-for-nothing pretty boy. none of which were right- mostly at least. despite named as arthur's own right hand man, where a professional behavior is expected of him, othello is anything but that. it was not to say that he was incompetent- othello does his best to maintain his status as lancelot, and he was known to do his missions really well- sometimes even too well. upon acquiring a goal, othello is willing to use all methods, the wicked and dirty if necessary for the greater good.
  
  on most days, however, othello is incredibly laid back. even as a senior knight, he would let things slide (sometimes for a price). perhaps that itself is an understatement, as most of the mischief happening around the quarters came from him anyway. a lover of pranks and dares (though please do not dare him anything), a day could rarely be boring with him around.
• BACKSTORY

  Hormis d'une seule chose, et, à cause d'elle,
  Il a mis les autres choses en oubli ;
  Il pense tant à cette seule chose
  Qu'il n'entend, ne voit ni ne comprend rien
  
  - Chrétien de Troyes

  Twenty-fourth of December, 1847. That was the date he began living. Or at least, the first day he felt warmth in his life. Rather ironic, as the fields were covered in snow, white as much as the eyes could see. He remembered that his eyelids had felt heavy, the days before he does not recall well, after all, it was nothing more than a number. Empty. Meaningless. Another day, another suffering. Sometimes he had wished that the sun stop rising, yet never had it betrayed him off the cruel nature that is time.
  
  Time. One that chains all, enslaving every single being in blatant disregard of race, sex, wealth nor status. We are all servants of time, hands bound and eyes masked. Begging does not do you good, as so were nature- merciless. Blood trickled down his skin, circling upon the cold pavement. A mark of rose, blooming over ice. A withering beauty, a symbol of ephemeral. At times Othello looked back to this exact day, and he wondered if he ever regretted it.
  
  Being saved.
  
  Othello Rosconval. That was all he remembered, or at least one that he chose to. That day a nobody became somebody, and his name was not another meaningless word to be written on paper. That day he found meaning when he was in a lost for one.
  
  Bright blue eyes met his coal blacks, hair that glowed like fire itself. A small face, a pretty face. He sees it all through frosts that has begun to gather by his lashes, blurry as though a smudged painting. And the face smiled at him, rosy cheeks and pink lips. And he felt warmth.
  
  “Brother, look!” He had heard her shout, though the voice itself fade the longer it went. “There’s a boy!”
  
  “What have I told you about not talking to strangers?”
  
  Another voice chimed in, this time, a male. Tracing his own finger against the stains of his blood, he had felt his soul began to leave him, though really- how much of them were left then? But when her hands reached upon his, suddenly things became clearer. Just for a second, he saw her.
  
  Jewel of the sea. Heart of the lion.
  
  “Goodness me!” the other male had exclaimed. He felt fingers brush against his forehead, and that too was warm. Othello found himself smiling to himself, tilting his head back in a manner that is perhaps much more subconscious than anything. “Heavens, what are you doing here all by yourself? Where is your family?”
  
  And then he felt a tear sliding down his cheek. He recalled of a sting, his heart clenching, yet even then he did not know for sure. Perhaps he had looked so pathetic now, and he buried his face over his knees. And perhaps God was still so kind, for the next thing he remembered, the man had gone down to his knees, removing the hair that had covered the platinum haired boy’s eyes. He did not know them, and he was sure they did not know him. But he had smiled, and Othello had noted how similar he was to the younger girl.
  
  “Do not worry,” said he. “We can be your family.”
  
  Time went by, and for once he had been so thankful for time itself. Somehow Othello had become a member of the Cavendish family, and those had been the happiest years of his life. Tonight, over twenty years later, he could only gaze over the skies from the windows of his room. The stars had looked the same from that night, and as he breathes in the air, it was the same cold ones. He extended his arms towards it, stretching his fingers nonchalantly. And the skies- he and her are to be underneath of the same big sky. They were looking over the same bright star. Wherever she is.
  
  “Lance!”
  
  He looked over the door. That was right- tomorrow would be the coronation of new knights. There was much to do, much to prepare. How very exciting. Smiling to himself, he gave the skies a final look, hopping off the windowsill. And as he turned, walking towards the door- the stars gazed back.

  RELATIONSHIPS

  Arthur

  Relationship
  
  Adopted brother. After Cordelia's disappearance, the two appears a bit tense around one another. This later dissipates, though everyone still forbids her name to ever be spoken.

  Cordelia

  Relationship
  
  Adopted sister. It was hinted that the two had a spark of romance, a long time ago perhaps. It is unclear where he stands as of now.
• EXTRAS

  Some things are more precious because they don't last long

  Likes

  midnight strolls, stargazing, random mischief

  Dislikes

  cats, humid weathers, being told around

  Quirks/Habits

  he has an odd habit of wearing gloves wherever he goes, despite having the affinity of losing things, too. It was not to say he has not lost a thousand pairs of them as well.

  Deepest Fear

  feeling lost

  Motivation

  doing what is right

code by Nano

 

[Akudon]

Spoiler: ex balin

​

BASIC:
Full Name: Cenric Dalton
Nickname: Son of a bitch/whore, Bastard, Theif, etc. Oh right, also Cen
D.o.b/Age: November Twelfth 24
Gender/pronouns: He/Him
Sexual/romantic orientation: Bi-Sexual
Role: Balin

APPEARANCE:
Face Claim: done by Virginie Carquin
Height: 5'4/162cm
Weight: 124lb/56kg
Build: Although smaller in stature and on the slimmer side, Cenric still has musculature from living an active lifestyle his times of doing manual labor to get by that is not immediately apparent.

Attire: Although rather frivolous with money, clothing is not one of the things Ceric spends a lot on oddly enough. His only requirements are that it is easy to move in and is comfortable to wear. Though he does value looking good, he find not standing out far more important and dislikes frilly and fanciful clothing of nobles. Often a simple but soft shirt and pants with good pocket size will suffice, only adding on a jacket or scarf and gloves if the temperature requires it.

Misc: Cenric generally has look of a commoner on the poorer side of the spectrum. Short and messy brown hair, stubble showing that he is not able to care his facial hair as often as often as most, and dressed in rather simple clothes. The only things that really distinguish him are that his clothes are usually somewhat dirty in some fasion or another due to the places he frequents and his usual activities on top of often being ripped or torn to some degree. He has many a scar all over his body from fights hes gotten into, most obviously the one of his head.

PERSONALITY:
Vices:

indulgent: Due to his rather poor lifestyle in his early years, Cenric has an unhealthy relationship with items and activities that are perhaps unnecessary but allowed one to enjoy themselves. Although delicious food is always nice, and alcohol lets him enjoy himself and forget his woes: a majority of his time and money are dedicated to connecting with those of the opposite or same gender physically.

Monetarily Inept: Although it is questionable whether it is because he is poor with money due to his indulgence or vice versa, at the end of the day money is used up rather quickly when in his hands. Even if he were to come across a a larger amount of money than usual, he has the tendency to use it for others in those situations. While not very responsible, he does at least manage to keep himself fed and clothed for the most part.

Hard Headed: Throughout his life Cenric has come to almost need for his ide ls to be correct to continue onward. As a result of this, he may often end up looking down on others with different viewpoints to a degree or oppose those who disagree which causes him to cause many an enemy. Even if he realizes he is in the wrong position it may take him some time and force for him to admit the fault but it is not impossible.

Virtues:

Kindness: Although debatable how much comes from selflessness, his strict code of conduct, or his own personal desires: Cenric will assist those in need however he can. Even if one is in no need of aid, it is not strange for Cenric to be generous with sharing his monetary successes as he knows how it feels to be lacking and enjoys sharing happiness with others.

Loyalty: Though Cenric is rather friendly to most; any who he serves, is responsible for, or calls a true friend will be a top priority in his life and they will no longer be truly alone as long as he is around. Should anyone somehow manage to betray this deep trust they have obtained however, they will have made an enemy for life.

Determined: Once Cenric has decided to set his mind to something; unless impossible, he will finish it without fail no matter the ease or danger associated. That said, finishing it is not enough as he must perfect it as well. If he is unable to do something to the standard he holds himself he will drive himself to improve said skill should he ever need it again for the future.

Deepest Fear: Dying with nobody to notice or miss him.
Motivation: To live a life full of connections and without regret.

Misc: Most who interact with him either have a love or hate relationship with the man. Though friendly and helpful and a nice person for the most part, he can be seen as noisy, nosy, and overbearing to some. For someone who find connections rather important, most of his are rather casual and surface level and the only thing semi-romantic he does is some flirting for nightly activities. Unless one of his victims or a noble (generally one in the same), the general consensus towards him is that he is a mostly good but strong-minded and troubled man.

BIOGRAPHY:
Cenric was born in 1842 to his mother Arden Dalton alone. The young woman had neither family nor partner to support her and was getting by within the slums by offering her body to those requiring companionship within the night and any side jobs she could find. Though objectively a poor decision to raise the boy when she could hardly support herself alone, the woman could not bear to separate from her one and only child. Despite this, it worked out for the most part due to her hard work and the assistance she received from others due to pity. Though going hungry did happen occasionally The two managed to get by in life for the most part. The hardest were Cenric's early years but as he grew enough to work selling newspapers and working as a chimney sweep, the twos' lives were more comfortable if not incredibly modest.

Though knowing his situation wasn't like most; much due to the taunting of the fellow children within his neighborhood, Cenric was content for the most part. Although he did wonder where his father was, his mother did not answer much of his questioning on the subject other than with a bitter smile, but he was more than happy enough with just her presence. Although many a joke were made and pity shown to the boy for his mother's profession, he did not really understand or care at the time as well as all he knew was his mother was a good and loving woman. Sometimes he had to go hungry but he knew how hard she worked as she always seemed rather tired whenever she returned for the day and later after he returned from his job. It was not until he was around the age of 13 did his life truly end and begin.

It was a day like any other at least to Cenric, he had woken up early to begin his work as usual and had a small breakfast together with his mother before leaving. As he had grown older, so too had his mother and she had become frailer and weaker. As she aged, her customers had obviously lessened and although he had no solid evidence and she would never admit it; he believed the majority of their money ended up going towards his own meals as she had always claimed she had eaten when he had returned. Winter was setting in her health had deteriorated as a result, often growing sick more often and seriously than usual. It had taken a bit of saving and grabbing coin from unsuspecting groups going slumming but he had been preparing for a special meal to enjoy together to cheer her up and make her feel better.

It was not to be however as when he returned to celebrate he no longer had a mother to do so with. All that remained was a small and quiet home filled memories that a woman's corpse was now within. He did remember much after that, all a blur of disbelief, panic, crying out for the help of others and for the woman's return. When met with reality however he could not accept it and ran away. He ran until he could no longer, ignoring all those who bothered to show concern and gave his fist to those who belittled him until his whole body hurt as much as his heart did. Perhaps the world mourned her loss as much as he did as cold droplets of rain fell from the sky as if god's tears. That night as he hid from the sky's downpour; even soaked in from the rain and his own salty tears, Cenric had one of the most delicious and filling meals of his life until then.

Time passed quickly after that day, or so it felt at least. He found a new place to call home so he was no longer haunted, throwing himself into jobs for his own survival and to forget. Though he had done so before, his attempts at theft were no longer limited by the upright character of his parent especially as it became more necessary. After his days of hard work he would throw everything he had earned into a feast for himself until he passed out to begin the day anew. As he grew older he wanted more from his life, it was not worth it just to be happy alone and so he shared his happiness with others. He learned the glory of alcohol and how he could forget with it and how others enjoyed themselves with it. When particularly lonely he was able to seek out the company of men and women alike and assist those of the same profession as his mother with his coin as well. He would continue this self-destructive lifestyle, making friends and enemies alike and sometimes within a cell, all until a twist of fate deigned that it had other plans for him.

TRIVIA (optional):
Likes: Good food, fine alcohol, physical intimacy, the rush of a good fight or successful job
Dislikes: Pompous nobles, Comments on his height, Rainy days
Quirks/Habits: Even as a member of knights now, Cenric's days of thievery are still ingrained into him. Even now he makes sure hes aware of any exits should things go bad and often causes offense by unconsciously sizing up potential targets.
Misc:

WRITING SAMPLE:
"How long has it been?" Cenric quietly wondered to himself as he blearily woke to the early morning starting to peek out over the horizon. It wasn't as bad as it was yesterday but his body still ached from his rampage the day before and his eyes were sore and bloodshot as it seemed he had cried in his sleep again evidenced by the dried tears. Even if his senses were dulled due to his depression he could still feel the cold assaulting him in this unprotected alleyway he had collapsed in. It made him long for his old bed once again but he was a coward who couldn't return to that place as he would be forced to accept what had happened. His stomach burned with pain and felt as if it were trying to consume itself in order to maintain his body that had not eaten since that night. His heart wished for him to stay here and meet his end as only then would he no longer be alone but his instincts to survive and avoid the pain were more powerful, forcing his weakened body to its feet.

On standing Cenric became slightly more aware of his surroundings, the usual dirt and garbage surrounding him, but he also saw the glint of a few coins. In his escape he had ended up closer to the more standard living areas and a minuscule of the passerbys seem to have shown some kind of pity for by tossing a few his way. Though he still had some leftover, this would at least pay for a meager meal he needed right now. After gathering the precious coins he made his body weakened from abuse and disuse stagger off to find something to fill his stomach. It was strange really, despite how much life had changed for him, the world around him had hadn't changed much, if at all. The streets were already filled with the chattering and steps of men and boys alike off to begin their day of work and return home to their families when night draws near. Perhaps it had been fate or it may have been lady luck finally showing him some favor, but despite the noise, crowd, and his own disinterest in the world; he managed to notice the person who would then change his life.

It was a common scene really, the three main trouble making kids of the slums had managed to cornered new unsuspecting prey off in the alleyways to shake down for coin. They seemed to be more agitated than usual today however, likely due to the numerous bruises and scratches covering their bodies covering their bodies. They had made the mistake of thinking Cenric wandering alone at night was an easy target when he no longer had anything left to lose and paid the price for it even he ultimately suffered the most. What stood out this time was that this time they were after a beautiful girl with long silky black hair, soft pale white skin, clear sky blue eyes, and high quality frilly clothes to match. If it was not already obvious enough, the jeering of the boys that a noble would come here so blatantly was the nail in the coffin to say she was one.

This was of no interest to Cenric however. Sure, he felt bad for her but this is what she gets for flaunting here status here all alone. He had already suffered enough by their hands to last him a while and he'd rather not lose the coin he had left while he could still get the food he so desperately needed. However before he could make it more than couple steps away he was halted by the memory of the woman who was so dear to him and her cold lifeless body. He wasn't able to help or be there for her but at least her could for this girl. With a sigh he balled his fists tightly and whipped back around to charge the group with his body having been the lightest it has since that night and clear focused eyes. The lanky boy who was closest to his entrance and the one to notice him only managed to get out a "Oh shit, it's the crazy!" before he promptly received a jumping tackle at full speed from the smaller Cenric.

Things actually managed to go well at first with Cenric taking the group mostly by surprise, tackling one to the ground and being able beat his face in until his nose was bleeding and bent in an unnatural way. That was about as far as he got however before he was dragged off by the two companions of the boy and thrown to the alley wall to start receiving punches and kicks from them to his face and stomach. He was able to block some blows with his arms but for most part he was just wildly scratching, punching, and even biting at them in return for each blow like the cornered animal he was. While getting wailed on, it seemed that the girl had finally gotten over the surprise of the situation and figured out she was free to act with the boys distracted,starting to scream with a shrill voice and yell for help.

Between the attacks of the seemingly feral Cenric, the loud and panicked cries of the noble girl, and the gathering attention of the public; the boys ended up deciding it was time to retreat and dragged their injured friend off in a rush. With the relentless beatings no longer assaulting his already weakened body, Cenric slid down the wall to sit and curl up to endure the pain. Both his nose and lip were bleeding and his left eye was already starting to swell into what would eventually become a black eye. His arms were sure to show a good amount of bruising and although not yet seen, his stomach and chest were bound to end up quite bad as well. While trying to distract himself from the pain he was experiencing, he was jolted awake by a soft touch and then being met with the face of the girl.

"Are you alright?" The girl asked Cenric as she looked at and checked him over with deep concern. "I'm...fine" He managed to end up getting out with a wince and some difficult. Obviously he wasn't fine but he wasn't going to say that, and he was too busy being confused as to why she hadn't ended up running away already. "Thank you so much! I was so scared and didn't know what was going to happen. I swear i'll make this up to you. Ah, right, I'm Winifred Fieldse." After showing her gratitude she seemed to remember her manners, standing and moving back to give small and charming curtsy to the boy. "Huh? Uh..i'm...Cenric...Dalton?" Although only further confused her attitude and greeting, Cenric managed to return it even if it ended up sound like a question because of his inexperience as he slowly and painfully raised himself. The small giggle and smile she gave accompanied by a slight head tilt was probably what marked the beginning of Cenric's first love.

 

[Cosmic_Chaos]

Alixa Kirja

• Basic
• Appearance
• Personality
• Biography
• Trivia
• Rp Sample
• Face Claim Art

• 
  
  Full Name: Alixa Occisor
  Nickname: N/A
  D.o.b/Age: 05-12-1840 - 26 years old
  Gender/pronouns: She/Her
  Sexual/romantic orientation: Asexual (Mostly uninterested)
  Role: Lucan (No preference overall)
• 
  
  Height: 5’8 (5’11 in heels)/172cm (180 in heels)
  Weight: 145 lbs
  Build: Slim, dainty, almost doll like.
  Attire: A Dark Blue dress with a collar that stops past the knees as opaque, the rest of the dress is see through blue fabric with Black lace, reaching her wrists and the floor on her arms and legs respectively. on her feet she wears 3 inch black heels, with a spine at the back wraping around just above the ankle. If its cold, he'll wear a thick cloak black lined with fur.
  Misc: Her hair is black and straight but very curly at the end. She was designed with a porcelain doll in mind.
• 
  
  Vices:
  Unfriendly. While politely social, she hasn’t grasped the subtleties of friendship and so she doesn’t bother trying to make friends.
  Lack of Wit. She doesn’t understand jokes and humour as much as most, as she can be slow to uptake or take things seriously.
  Lack of Ambition. While ambitious and wanting to move and get ahead, she doesn’t often take the initiative.
  
  Virtues:
  Modest. She doesn’t often take credit where credit is due, believing that if it was important, people would notice without it having to be pointed out.
  Patient. She is calm and quiet, prefers to listen before acting, and thus she can and will wait, either for orders or for an opportunity to arise.
  Truthful. She is blunt and to the point while trying to be cautious of being rude. She doesn’t often hold back if allowed to speak her mind.
  
  Deepest Fear:
  Isolation and boredom. Alixa feels the need to be busy, and while she likes being alone, she isn’t a fan of being away from people for long periods of time.
  
  Motivation:
  To learn, create, adapt and improve. Alixa loves learning, loves using the knowledge she has to create something, only to adapt it and improve on it later.
  
  Misc:
  She’s quick to worry and have concern over something, which can prevent her from thinking clearly. Despite often being cold and hard to talk to, she actually enjoys peoples company. She’s a watcher, an observer. She prefers to listen than to talk.
• 
  
  Her family is an old family, going back at least ten generations, six of those generations had and grew the Library which was also passed down, mostly from Father to Son. Alixa is the oldest of two, her younger brother being three years younger than her. She wasn’t aware of what her mother used to do, Her father never spoke about it, she found her mother's old journal and she was researching history on Vampires. Her Brother mostly looks after the Library but he was never into books unlike her, preferring to go out and drink.
  When she was only five years old, and her brother at two, she lost her mother and as such was mostly brought up by her Father. Her Father never talked about her mother, and as such she doesn’t know what happened to her and why she disappeared. Her Father was a librarian, and so she had a full range of books to read, which she did so. She busied herself with learning as much as she could, finding that she rather disliked when people talked and she couldn’t understand what was going on.
  Because of her dedication to her books and studying, she became well versed in history and strategy. However, because of this, she lacked most social skills, and so while polite, she never fully learnt how to make friends. Her Father, worried that she might get hurt or in trouble, taught her some basic ways to defend herself if the need to do so should ever come. He even got tutors to help teach her in areas he was unable to himself. He also made her read etiquette and gain the knowledge most women have by the time they are of age of being courted.
  And she has been courted, multiple times in fact, being a beautiful lady taking after her mother. But she’s turned them all down as not only was she not interested in a relationship, but she was also more interested in working and continuing to learn about the world and its history. She helped her father part time in the Library, with him getting older in age he had hoped she would find a husband or take over the shop, even both is he was lucky, and the rest of the time picking up small jobs that needed a keen mind
  She wasn’t planning on Joining the Knights of the Round Table, content to help from the sidelines, however that wouldn’t be the case when they had noticed her intelligence and decided they wanted a better look at her, so she joined in hopes of learning more and helping others. She decided that she would help as much as she could by giving them her mind, helping plan any strategy she was allowed to help with. She wasn’t much of a fighter, but she could hold her own in a fight, as proved whenever an older man tried to touch her.
• 
  
  Likes: Talkative people, Books and the ability to learn, Tea (Specifically Jasmine), People watching.
  Dislikes: Invasive people, Most alcoholic drinks, being fully alone and having nothing to do.
  Quirks/Habits: If she's anxious, she will start to pace. Her speed is based on how anxious she is. Slow, low anxiety or worry. Fast, high anxiety and worry.
  Misc: Her favourite colour is actually yellow, however she noticed that Yellow doesn’t exactly suit her which is why she doesn’t wear the colour, often going to blues and blacks. Excalabur is a funky weapon
• 
  
  Alixa’s Memory, Five years old, her last memory of her Mother.
  
  It was a rainy day, she remembered it clearly. She wasn't allowed to have the window open to listen ot the rain, so she sat near the fireplace to spend her time. She remembered being on a mission, a goal in mind and nothing to get in her way. She wanted to draw her Mother and Father, but she thought to draw herself as well because she knew that her parents loved her as well. She took the better half of the afternoon, only leaving when she was hungry enough to bug either parent for food. when she finished she showed her father first, because she knew from past experiences that he liked to work later in the evening, and he didn't want to annoy him while working, he worked really hard after all!
  "Thats very good Alixa. Now, Papa needs to get to work, he has to get a lot of stuff ready for tomorrow, so why don't you show Mama before going to bed, yeah?" He had suggested, and she nodded, running through the house to where her mother often liked to stay, the personal library.
  “Mama! Mama! Look! I made a picture of you me and Papa!” Aliza beamed with childlike innocence at her mother who was sitting in a comfy reading chair. Her mother smiled and put the book she was reading down to look at the picture.
  “This is a brilliant picture, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” Her mother praised, cupping the cheek with care and adoration. Her thumb slowly and gently rubbed the young girl's cheek. Alixa smiled and leaned into the gentle hold. Her mother then pulled away, only to quickly pick Alixa up to sit her on her lap. Alixa giggled in happiness and joy, happy just to be near her mother.
  “Now, how do you feel about me reading you my story and then taking you to bed?” She asked and Alixa lit up like a christmas tree, bouncing up and down clapping excitedly.
  “Yes! Yes please!” She giggled as she got comfortable in her mother's arms, reading along as her mother spoke the words on the pages.
  It wasn’t a book she understood, there were a lot of words that she didn’t know or recognised, but her mother's soft, calm voice talking was enough to calm and relax her giddy five year old self. She yawned and snuggled into her mother's chest, feeling the vibrations of her voice, the rhythmic heartbeat, soft and constant. It slowly put her into a Doze, slipping into sleep as her mother put her to bed. Her last memory of wakefulness was clear as day despite her tiredness of her younger years. She could remember the scent of books and her mothers purfume, clear as day, the feeling of being gently placed in a bed with the soft sheets being pulled over her, and a gentle touch of fingers on her face, caring and delicate is almost singed into her skin. Then, a pair of lips pressed on her forehead burning with the memory, and words whispered against her skin, the breath hot but gentle, an echo in her memory, bouncing off of her skull like a reverb.
  “You’ll be okay, my love. You’ll always be okay.” And then, the comforting embrace of sleep took her to the land of dreams, where she would stay, blissfully unaware of the world until she awoke, and woke up to a solum father and not a sign of her mother.
• 
  
  
  

  Face-Claims:
  (Artwork is my own, but I have no ability to save it as a whole as a PNG so I can only screenshot my own work so I can't get a see-through pictures) the last picture was made on Picrew and it has the feel of what I think Alixa has going for her.
  

  

  

  

  
  

Spoiler: code free

Full Name: Alixa Kirja
Nickname: N/A
D.o.b/Age: 05-12-1840 - 26 years old
Gender/pronouns: She/Her
Sexual/romantic orientation: Asexual (Mostly uninterested)
Role: Lucan (No preference overall)

Appearance
Height: 5’8 (5’11 in heels)/172cm (180 in heels)
Weight: 145 lbs
Build: Slim, dainty, almost doll like.
Attire: A Dark Blue dress with a collar that stops past the knees as opaque, the rest of the dress is see through blue fabric with Black lace, reaching her wrists and the floor on her arms and legs respectively. on her feet she wears 3 inch black heels, with a spine at the back wrapping around just above the ankle. If its cold, he'll wear a thick cloak black lined with fur.
Misc: Her hair is black and straight but very curly at the end. She was designed with a porcelain doll in mind.

Personality
Vices:
Unfriendly. While politely social, she hasn’t grasped the subtleties of friendship and so she doesn’t bother trying to make friends.
Lack of Wit. She doesn’t understand jokes and humour as much as most, as she can be slow to uptake or take things seriously.
Lack of Ambition. While ambitious and wanting to move and get ahead, she doesn’t often take the initiative.

Virtues:
Modest. She doesn’t often take credit where credit is due, believing that if it was important, people would notice without it having to be pointed out.
Patient. She is calm and quiet, prefers to listen before acting, and thus she can and will wait, either for orders or for an opportunity to arise.
Truthful. She is blunt and to the point while trying to be cautious of being rude. She doesn’t often hold back if allowed to speak her mind.

Deepest Fear:
Isolation and boredom. Alixa feels the need to be busy, and while she likes being alone, she isn’t a fan of being away from people for long periods of time.

Motivation:
To learn, create, adapt and improve. Alixa loves learning, loves using the knowledge she has to create something, only to adapt it and improve on it later.

Misc:
She’s quick to worry and have concern over something, which can prevent her from thinking clearly. Despite often being cold and hard to talk to, she actually enjoys peoples company. She’s a watcher, an observer. She prefers to listen than to talk.[/size][/color][/bg][/Tab]

Biography
Her family is an old family, going back at least ten generations, six of those generations had and grew the Library which was also passed down, mostly from Father to Son. Alixa is the oldest of two, her younger brother being three years younger than her. She wasn’t aware of what her mother used to do, Her father never spoke about it, she found her mother's old journal and she was researching history on Vampires. Her Brother mostly looks after the Library but he was never into books unlike her, preferring to go out and drink.
When she was only five years old, and her brother at two, she lost her mother and as such was mostly brought up by her Father. Her Father never talked about her mother, and as such she doesn’t know what happened to her and why she disappeared. Her Father was a librarian, and so she had a full range of books to read, which she did so. She busied herself with learning as much as she could, finding that she rather disliked when people talked and she couldn’t understand what was going on.
Because of her dedication to her books and studying, she became well versed in history and strategy. However, because of this, she lacked most social skills, and so while polite, she never fully learnt how to make friends. Her Father, worried that she might get hurt or in trouble, taught her some basic ways to defend herself if the need to do so should ever come. He even got tutors to help teach her in areas he was unable to himself. He also made her read etiquette and gain the knowledge most women have by the time they are of age of being courted.
And she has been courted, multiple times in fact, being a beautiful lady taking after her mother. But she’s turned them all down as not only was she not interested in a relationship, but she was also more interested in working and continuing to learn about the world and its history. She helped her father part time in the Library, with him getting older in age he had hoped she would find a husband or take over the shop, even both is he was lucky, and the rest of the time picking up small jobs that needed a keen mind
She wasn’t planning on Joining the Knights of the Round Table, content to help from the sidelines, however that wouldn’t be the case when they had noticed her intelligence and decided they wanted a better look at her, so she joined in hopes of learning more and helping others. She decided that she would help as much as she could by giving them her mind, helping plan any strategy she was allowed to help with. She wasn’t much of a fighter, but she could hold her own in a fight, as proved whenever an older man tried to touch her.


Trivia
Likes: Talkative people, Books and the ability to learn, Tea (Specifically Jasmine), People watching.
Dislikes: Invasive people, Most alcoholic drinks, being fully alone and having nothing to do.
Quirks/Habits: If she's anxious, she will start to pace. Her speed is based on how anxious she is. Slow, low anxiety or worry. Fast, high anxiety and worry.
Misc: Her favourite colour is actually yellow, however she noticed that Yellow doesn’t exactly suit her which is why she doesn’t wear the colour, often going to blues and blacks. Excalabur is a funky weapon

Rp Sample
Alixa’s Memory, Five years old, her last memory of her Mother.

It was a rainy day, she remembered it clearly. She wasn't allowed to have the window open to listen ot the rain, so she sat near the fireplace to spend her time. She remembered being on a mission, a goal in mind and nothing to get in her way. She wanted to draw her Mother and Father, but she thought to draw herself as well because she knew that her parents loved her as well. She took the better half of the afternoon, only leaving when she was hungry enough to bug either parent for food. when she finished she showed her father first, because she knew from past experiences that he liked to work later in the evening, and he didn't want to annoy him while working, he worked really hard after all!
"Thats very good Alixa. Now, Papa needs to get to work, he has to get a lot of stuff ready for tomorrow, so why don't you show Mama before going to bed, yeah?" He had suggested, and she nodded, running through the house to where her mother often liked to stay, the personal library.
“Mama! Mama! Look! I made a picture of you me and Papa!” Aliza beamed with childlike innocence at her mother who was sitting in a comfy reading chair. Her mother smiled and put the book she was reading down to look at the picture.
“This is a brilliant picture, sweetheart. I’m so proud of you.” Her mother praised, cupping the cheek with care and adoration. Her thumb slowly and gently rubbed the young girl's cheek. Alixa smiled and leaned into the gentle hold. Her mother then pulled away, only to quickly pick Alixa up to sit her on her lap. Alixa giggled in happiness and joy, happy just to be near her mother.
“Now, how do you feel about me reading you my story and then taking you to bed?” She asked and Alixa lit up like a christmas tree, bouncing up and down clapping excitedly.
“Yes! Yes please!” She giggled as she got comfortable in her mother's arms, reading along as her mother spoke the words on the pages.
It wasn’t a book she understood, there were a lot of words that she didn’t know or recognised, but her mother's soft, calm voice talking was enough to calm and relax her giddy five year old self. She yawned and snuggled into her mother's chest, feeling the vibrations of her voice, the rhythmic heartbeat, soft and constant. It slowly put her into a Doxe, slipping into sleep as her mother put her to bed. Her last memory of wakefulness was clear as day despite her tiredness of her younger years. She could remember the scent of books and her mothers purfume, clear as day, the feeling of being gently placed in a bed with the soft sheets being pulled over her, and a gentle touch of fingers on he face, caring and delicate is almost singed into her skin. Then, a pair of lips pressed on her forehead burning with the memory, and words whispered against her skin, the breath hot but gentle, an echo in her memory, bouncing off of her skull like a reverb.
“You’ll be okay, my love. You’ll always be okay.” And then, comforting embrace of sleep took her to the land of dreams, where she would stay, blissfully unaware of the world until she woke, and woke up to a solum father and not a sign of her mother.

Face Claim Art
Face-Claims:
(Artwork is my own, but I have no ability to save it as a whole as a PNG so I can only screenshot my own work so I can't get a see-through pictures) the last picture was made on Picrew and it has the feel of what I think Alixa has going for her.

 

[Clouds]

my head is a very dark place

Zane Dawson

Shield Knight

001

002

003

004

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 001
  basics

  defense

  attack

  mobility

  stamina

  tactics

  Full Name

  Zane Dawson

  D.o.B./Age

  October 31 / 28

  Gender

  cis male

  Sexuality

  pansexual

  Nickname

  N/A

  Role

  Lionel

  appearance

  Height

  187cm

  Weight

  89kg

  Standing at a staggering height of 187cm, Zane was one of the tallest inhabitants. It was both a curse and a blessing. His body weight was around 89kg, a combination with fat and muscles so he could uphold his shield with ease and more. His hair was raven black complimented by a fair skin. Aquamarine blue eyes that could pierce through the very soul of someone with strong facial features made him stand out even more than he already was. “Rusty” fingers at the touch due to the constant training he went through.
  
  His voice is deep and sounds hoarse in an attractive way. It is also known as a husky voice.
  
  Attire: x x
  
  

  personality

  Very often he is a daredevil particularly out of despair. When he falls in this state, he becomes nervous and jealous. When he feels more relaxed, he often annoys people with his unreal problems. He is frantic, lazy and frivolous, and when being criticized for these shortcomings he quickly becomes angry. Although Zane feels rejected and dejected, it is almost impossible to understand his view of the world to pass into anarchism, explosiveness and hysteria. He is not proud, gossips and lies are also not in his heart. He can hardly be named a rotter, nincompoop and grubby. Due to him being too humble, he cannot be vulgar and sneaky. In spite of his inherent frivolity, when needed he expresses his opinion which gives people no reason to call him indifferent. He gives easily what he owns but sometimes he makes it out of dullness and lack of any sedation of character. He definitely fails to adjust to the speed and flexibility that present-day demands. He is definitely not a good talker… Last in intellect and erudition he balances with honesty and obedience. He cannot concentrate for a long time on anything. Optimism for him is an abandoned boat swinging away at the horizon in a sea of uncertainty.
  
  Deepest Fear: Actually dying a useless death.
  
  Motivation: Surviving would be the closest thing that comes to motivation…
  
  
• 002
  background

  Born into a family of some kind of nobility, he was supposed to be of the privileged kind. Supposed to indeed… That kind of advantage went to his two older brothers which were about to inherit the two companies of their father. A merciless man who did business like none other. Rotten one could even call him, at least Zane did. He wasn’t particularly close to any of his family, merely living in the house he was born into. His brothers got the best education there was while Zane got send to a regular school which didn’t exactly strived for their students to become top notch. They barely existed due to people gifting their money so their children could still go and get some kind of education. Most of them ended up as waitresses, people who fixed gadgets, cleaners, etc. So Zane supposed the same faith was awaiting him. The humor could be found in it if he looked good enough.
  
  Of course, his brothers had to bully him about it. Calling him names which weren’t all too pretty, sometimes it didn’t even stop with just words but he got physically attacked by them. Oh, how fond his memories were from the past. He should have just hung himself while he had the chance… Thinking that way became a habit to him. His personality shifted into a true pessimist. Kind of fitting for someone whose ego got broken down in a matter of weeks. The bullying was relentless.
  
  One of the guards that worked there couldn’t bare watching him anymore. Convincing him to start training so that Zane could get stronger and protect himself from more harm to be done. The guard couldn’t do anything to stop it after all, so Zane took his faith in his own hands which was a lot harder to be done than it was said. He trained every day when he got out of school and during his abundance of free time as his parents practically saw him as nothing more but as thin air. Barely remembering to set a plate for him so he could have some food. That was about it. Love was something unknown to him except for when he met the guard. His name was Arno.
  
  They trained over the years, which made Zane stronger and stronger. What came as even more of an advantage was that he grew in length as well. A true warrior was what Arno called him. Since he could do whatever he wanted, Zane eventually decided to become a knight. Picking up the shield as his main weapon as it could be used in a lot of ways, plus he had the build to withstand some impact as well. Becoming used to being in the frontline, he was a warrior to be feared. However, instead of receiving a bit of respect of his family, he was merely met with jealousy as his reputation became more overpowering than theirs. It wasn’t long after that he moved out and lived on his own.
  
  
• 003
  combat

  Shield Skills

  He perfectly handles the shield as if it is part of his own body. He mainly uses it for close range combat. It helps that he knows the essence of martial arts which gives him also some attacking power. His only disadvantage when handling the shield would be his mobility as he drags around quite a heavy piece. Sometimes he just throws the thing, slamming it into someone so he could go faster. The blow would probably slow the victim down or even knock them out.
  
  

  Martial Arts

  As said previously, he knows martial arts beside handling the shield with minimum effort. He isn’t a master but knows how to defend himself. It rarely gets to this point as he tends to avoid using this skill of his. He’s also known to throw people of a lesser body mass towards the enemy while following up behind.
  
  

  weapons

  Equip 1

  Shield Pridwen. The holy weapon he received and uses it the way it is supposed to. He is a threatening opponent and a somewhat reliable ally with this in his hands.
  
  
• 004
  extra

  Likes

  Ice cream, reading a book, being left alone once in a while, rainy days, etc.

  Dislikes

  Being stuck in a large group of people, planning something, his sleep being disturbed, etc.

  001.

  If he could choose his spirit animal, he would be a deer. The deer is highly sensitive and has a strong intuition hence why this animal.

  002.

  He tends to try to get out of a crowded room as soon as possible as he describes it as (almost) suffocating.

  003.

  He likes to read books in silence or with some music softly playing in the background. It keeps his mind at peace for a while.

code by @Nano

 

[Paltajayd]

instagram: ariesayuu

BASIC:
Full Name: Jesse Kenward
Nickname: Jess
D.o.b/Age: january twenty-first/25
Gender/pronouns: Cis male/He
Sexual/romantic orientation: Heterocurious?
Role: Bedivere

APPEARANCE:
Height: 6'0
Weight: 165 lbs
Build: Jesse has enough body mass to nimbly handle his spear and pierce the head of his enemy without flinching. His thick thighs give him enough strength to equilibrate and react on point to what his opponent will do, he always likes to say they're his pride.

Attire: His wide thighs make it hard for him to choose which trousers will suit him best, but that can be easily solved by having a personal tailor by his side, which leaves him with absolute liberty for whatever he wants to wear everyday. Apart from that solved problem, his casual outfit consists on matching and trousers and vests along with a white chemise, of course colors have to match his blue hair too. When being called for duty, his attire changes to black, long neck coats paired with a classic bowler hat.

Misc: His blue hair doesn't have a clear explanation, a family trait for sure since his mother's father had blue hair too, though that lineage had stronger blue tints that have been fading away with each generation. His appearance matches what you would encounter yourself with, a distant man.

PERSONALITY:
Vices:
- Explosive Fury: Jesse can blow up and his rage can take over the scene if you exhaust his patience or try to subdue him. And at that point it's not a matter of how to calm him down, it's about how to run away from him before he injures you or effectively kills you, depending on his judgement.
- Vainglorious: His fortune was earned by his blood and sweat, beating all of his competitors to stay up high on the market sales in the iron industry. That being said, he's got no problem with teaching you how the job's done and letting you know why he's top notch.
- Apathetic: Regarding other's feelings and whatever they think about his actions, Jesse doesn't care at all nor try to not step on them. As simple as that.

Virtues:
- Stoicism: Anyone who's met Jesse before and seen him in action would say he'd be the perfect meat shield, no pain whatsoever being shown on his face. This could mean he suffers from congenital analgesia, but Jesse's got no idea about that... not that it matters to him anyways.
- Courageous: Jesse's got no fear against those blood suckers nor to death itself. If times of despair and true needed where to fall upon him, he'll respond to them and stand in the front, no matter the amount of obstacles and enemies. He was born to fight.
- Dedicated: When he chooses to commit to anything, Jesse won't rest until he's reached his goal. Stubborn as he might be, he can end up changing his attitude and his ways in order to achieve the task at hand, never giving up on it.

Deepest Fear: Being buried alive
Motivation: Vampire hunting
Likes: Drinks, Horse riding, Forests, Nightlife
Dislikes: Slothfulness, Fire, Snobs
Quirks/Habits: He tends to go over every detail regarding plans in his mind, at least two or three times before actually putting it on action.
Misc: Even though he doesn't approve bribes or any other mechanisms similar to that in order to obtain what he's looking for, he's done it a few times already knowing how easy it is to let people get blinded by money.

BIOGRAPHY:
Being born in a high society family, anyone could say Jesse Kenward was raised on a golden cradle, used to the commodities and pleasures of a wealthy life. And it was a secluded childhood at his house, but that did not mean a Kenward would stay away from social life, not even at a young age. The parties and reunions of the aristocracy were a common sight for his kids eyes, and he learned a thing or two from his parents, specially how to act and be around this social stratum.

High hopes rose over the kid's shoulders, of a bright future upon him filled with luxuries and, but his father's vices and failed attempts to gain a nobility title made all riches crumble down to his feet. Nothing was left for him. And so with what little income the family had left, they started of again, managing a local iron factory from one of the few friends they had left. It was pure insane luck, everyone else had left them to their own luck and Jesse how all "best friends" drifted apart from their sight.

From rags to riches as people like to say, the Kenwards had fallen from the high society to the middle lower classes, to then rise up again and get closer and closer to where they once where, to where Jesse's father wanted to go back. But the dream didn't last much. A heart attack shut down all chances to regain what once had been lost, and now a seventeen year old Jesse was in charge of following his father's dream. But of course he couldn't care less, for he had other plans in mind, not only go back to their past lives but also become one of the richest families in the whole city. And his father's genetics sure did the boy well. It was around this time that spear handle training began for him as a hobby during what little time he had left, which he later started focusing on along with his job.

The next six years Jesse spent along with his mother taking care of her, saving up and managing the still medium sized factory left by his dad. Luck and wise decisions, fructiferous negotiations, meeting acquaintances at the right place and time, and the help from some friendly contacts led him to reach his own dream. His company's assets grew tremendously at his fourth year after signing export agreements to foreign countries and contracts with local factories that on the long run would become his. The training had gone quite well and during this years he'd even attended tournaments and clubs to test his skills, finding out he had remarkable abilities at handling such weapons. Throughout his fighter career he gained recognition as one of the best spearman in the country.

His mother had died a year ago, for whom he mourned a couple of days before focusing back on his job and construction of the second factory owned by him. Jesse Kenward was once again a rich man, back to his luxurious life and once again surrounded by his so called friends, but he knew they were all fake and bad liars, so he forgot of their human nature and started looking at them as tools that would lead him to even higher stratums.

A year had passed until Jesse realized he couldn't go any further from where he was. His story, the Kenward family that rose from the ashes had become an exemplary case on how to overcome the cruel judgement of God himself. Of course Jesse couldn't care less on what the people said about his journey to become the owner of a prestigious iron company and renowned spearman. There was nowhere else to go, and he wasn't greedy enough to keep amassing wealth or properties, the riches he acquired with his factory and prizes from tournaments where more than enough for him. There was no thread, no strand he could follow, until a letter came to his door.

The letter had the royal seal on it, the remitter: the queen herself proposing Jesse Kenward to be one of the thirteen knights of the round table. The iconic round table King Arthur, England's hero on the days of yore, had assembled for the safety of his own country. This time, vampires where the center of attention, and the government apparently was panicking about the arosement of cases of vampire attacks all around the country. Jesse hadn't fought one of them before, but this was the strand he was looking for, the motivation he needed to keep going and surpass himself once again. He wanted to hunt them, and this was his chance to get started.​

 

[Melpomene]

HOME

I

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III

• 1
• 2
• 3
• 4

• 

  
  
  
  

  Leonard Lincoln
  
  
  
  Percival​
• 
  

  Basics

  ​

  
  
  

  

  
  

  name

  Leonard Lincoln
  
  

  nickname

  Leon
  
  

  D.O.B./age.

  March twentieth||28
  
  

  gender/pronouns

  cis-male/he|him|his
  
  

  sexuality

  Homosexual
  
• 
  

  Appearance.

  
  
  

  

  
  

  Credit

  Carissa Kay Powell (Tumblr)
  
  

  height

  5'7 ft
  
  

  weight

  150 Ibs
  
  

  hair

  Dark and long, falling to his shoulderblades. It is usually kept up when he is working.
  
  

  eyes

  Honey brown
  
  

  build

  Leon is not large or bulky by any means. While he gained muscle from his labor work and days in dogfights, he always had a trimmer build. But there was no doubt he had a significant amount of muscle. His biceps are toned and he has wide shoulders. It is obvious he was used to hard work and labor.
  
  

  Attire

  Leon has never been one to dress fancy, though mostly because he is not able to afford it. However due to his most recent job being working in a home, he has taken to wearing something more akin to his status. Simple straight legged pants and a white shirt topped by a vest. It made him look fancy enough for any guest that walked into the house, though the house he worked in was less than respectable. When he is off duty, however, he has a tendency to take off the vest and put on more practical clothing when going out, as he never knows when a fight will break out and he does not like getting his nice clothes dirty.
  
  

  Misc

  Leon has several scars criss-crossing on his back from being whipped when he was younger, those are the most prominent but he is littered in scars, mostly small things such as knicks from a knife or scrapes and burns. He is also a bit hairy, having dark coarse hair run across his chest and legs.
  
  
• 
  

  Persona .

  ​

  
  
  

  

  
  
  

  virtues

  
  Loyalty
  Leon would never give up on anyone he committed himself to. If he trusts them enough to give them his undivided devotion then he believes they deserve to have him see them through thick and thin, which is why many of the fights he gets in are over others rather than just himself. He is known to be quite frightening whenever a man gets overly friendly with any ‘lady friend’ of his to the point where she feels the need to call him over. He would never betray someone he pledged himself to, whether that be as an employee, as a friend, or as a lover, he is forever theirs for the rest of his life. Or at the very least for as long as they would have him.
  
  Fun-loving
  His nihilism mixing with his flirtations with hedonism, he likes to have a good time. Despite being a cynic and believing all is for not, he can find it within himself to come to a party because if nothing matters, then might as well have fun while you still lived. He is a loud laugher and a fine dancer, willing to listen to any song and down any drink alongside those he can call friends, he can very much be the life of the party, with his jokes and love for a good time, and as long as no one comes in to ruin his good mood, he is more than willing to let it continue throughout the night.
  
  Strong sense of justice
  One of the greatest defining characteristics of Leon is his sense of justice, believing if legal justice cannot be found, then personal justice will be. After having to stand by and watch so many get spat on, feel himself get spat on, he is unafraid to get his hands dirty stepping out for someone smaller than him. He knows no one watches the little guy, so he chooses to watch out for the little guy himself. While he would not call himself a hero, believing he gambles and cusses a bit too much for that, he likes to think he could help the odd person who felt too weak or powerless to help themselves.
  
  

  vices

  
  Cynical
  Though he will always fall back on the idea that he is simply being realistic, he tends to see the worst in people and others. He believes the world itself is a vampire, sucking the life from everyone who walks upon it. Whether it be the crux of his jokes or complaints, he is unabashed when detailing his views of life being some sort of battle to the end where they all end up in the ground no matter how hard they fight. He believes it is foolish to hold out for a hero when none of them exist as everyone is simply out for themselves, the little man has no one to protect them while the big man hires people with guns and knives to fall at their feet and take every hit for them. The cynicism was a bad habit, fueling his anxiety and paranoia as well as his reluctance to trust others.
  
  Rowdiness
  Long ago had Leonard dropped the idea of being a passive man in the world’s hands. He is loud and rambunctious, unafraid to get into a fist fight and some nights even welcoming it when he wishes to blow off steam. The older he gets the less likely he is to take insults lying down, especially if they are about his race or sexual habits. While he does not always start the fight he is known to always want to be the ones that ends it. He will never back off from one either, once someone challenges him or he settles himself on fighting another, he throws himself into it full force and will not stop for anything.
  
  Closed-off
  It is hard to get Leonard to open up about anything, thus making it hard to create any type of close friendship with him. Very few people know his full story, where he came from, how he ended up working in a house of sin, why he has so many scars. He is a private person, and he usually intends to keep it that way. He usually gets peeved if anyone attempts to try and will deflect or flat out not answer questions about his past.
  
  

  likes

  sweets, animals, rain, mischief, flowers, drawing
  
  

  dislikes

  bears, hot weather, cabbage, losing
  
  

  deepest fears

  Being returned to chains or having to bend to another's will
  
  

  motivation

  Doing what is right
  
  

  misc

  
  Most who do not speak to Leon that much do not know of how cynical he is, as he does tend to put on a more pleasant front for most people he meets, especially if he finds nothing inherently wrong with them or he likes them. He usually comes across as a simple, pleasant man who will offer a smile and a nod of the head as he walks down the road.
  
  He is also quite mischievous and his fun loving nature truly shows when he plays small tricks on others, much like putting things on shelves too high for the girls in the house. He is known to be a tease as well, which is why it is best to never let him know who you are crushing on, as he will not let it rest, at least until you tell them.
  
  

  biography

  
  
  Leonard could still remember the moment his mother died, the sores on her dusky face agape, but her chapped lips parted in a smile. She was beautiful, breathtakingly so. He had remembered, at ten years old, he was sure his mother was the pinnacle of all beauty and grace, the way she held herself even when men hit her, beat her. The way she always smelt of lavender and freshly baked bread when she would come home and sweep him into her strong arms, cooing that he was her boy and always would be her boy.
  
  But how was he anyone’s boy any longer?
  
  Escaped from a plantation in a America, him and his mother had fled after her husband had been beaten to death out in the fields for choosing to protect his wife from the lecherous fingers of the owner.
  
  Leonard never knew the owner’s name, but he did know that owner was his daddy, even if it took him years to understand why he looked a bit different from his mother. But everyone always said he had her lovely dark expressive eyes, and he took that to heart.
  
  ‘Think you can just steal like that?!’ the crash of the whip against his spine was shocking, shattering and breathtaking. It was supposed to be better here, yet it felt as though there was nothing different.
  
  ‘Y’all’s free ain’t ya?’
  
  Perhaps. Free to starve if they chose not to work, free to be done with this hard labor. The coal mines were hard, yet that was the only place he could find work. They accepted orphans, that was mainly who worked for them. And it was hard work, work which was only done by those desperate for food, drink, money, anything. Yet, it was almost cruel, as many did not live long. Digging coal at the bottom of their graves. There was a certain kinsmanship to be found there, in the hot oppressive cage which they were all locked in. Those who survived, they were together for life. Leon’s first lover came from there, a fine young man, strapping with a mop of red hair and freckled cheeks.
  
  Oliver. It was a fine name for a fine boy that had grown to become a fine man. Hand in hand they had taken one step and then the other together. Basked in one another’s warmth when the nights grew cold. Held each other, pulled one another from the brink in their hope they would one day escape this hellish prison and break out into a better world. They dreamed of their own house. Their own dog to run about in the yard and their own love being able to blossom and grow prouder.
  
  At eighteen it felt they were ripe to leave.
  
  Leon was the only one, however, that left alive. Oliver had been crushed when a roof caved in, burying him. Suffocating him in the coal. Leon could only imagine the pain, the immense hurt he must have felt, alone in that dark devil’s rock with no one to ease him into the death which was slowly happening on him.
  
  There was nothing for him there.
  
  In the streets he fought for money, using muscle he gained and his own anger against any opponent that came his way. He was young and stupid and angry. But he knew if he wanted to get into fights he may as well get money for it. So he came stumbling through the streets with a bloodied jaw and nose and a few more coins to weigh down his pockets.
  
  That was until Mrs. Taylor. He was lucky for Mrs. Taylor. A fine woman. One of the best woman. One of the only ones to come close to reaching his mother’s beauty. He did not mind she was a mistress of a brothel, he did not mind she wanted him there to help keep the rift raft away. She provided him clothes, food, drink, a home. She loved him when no one else would, and he stayed loyal to her for years because of it. For years, that one room had been his home.
  
  It was there he had heard the news in America, the Civil War being fought and that good man President Lincoln, that wonderful man freeing all the slaves. He had called himself Leonard Lincoln ever since.
  
  The bed he laid on, looking up at the ceiling as he drifted through away from unconsciousness with memories resurfacing when a soft knock came from the door and a small girl came in, paper in her hands.
  
  “Oh… Mr. Lincoln did I wake you?” she said.
  
  He smiled, sitting up and letting the covers slip off of him. “No. What do you have?”
  
  “Ma’s been teaching me the alphabet, you said you couldn’t read Mr. Lincoln, can I-?”
  
  He beckoned her close and her eyes lit up as she came to settle beside him and began pointing towards the various shapes which Leonard could vaguely discern on the page. He did not understand it fully, but little Emma beamed as she read. So he let her go on.
  

code: s e v e n ​

 

[Shadow]

Sir Gareth

BASIC:
Full Name: Elian Shackleton
Nickname: Lian, El
D.o.b/Age: September tenth || 27
Gender/pronouns: Cis-male || he/him
Sexual/romantic orientation: Asexual || Bi-romantic
Role: Gareth

APPEARANCE:
Face Claim: Artist Unknown, from an art dump by Sobersloths || Mochiibon's picrew creator (for ic art)
Height: 6’1 || 185
Weight: 202
Build: Broad shoulders, thick thighs, rippling muscles...to a certain extent. Elian’s strength and agility come from practical function more than specific training, so he has some chubbiness here and there when he eats well, or loses some muscle when he doesn't.
Attire: Lian’s admiration for the fashions of olden days often shines through in his signature leather tunics and mid-length capes. However, his interest in clothing is considerably limited to its usefulness, particularly regarding combat scenarios. One reliable pair of buckled boots suits him just fine in all occasions, but he keeps them strictly clean and in good repair to hide their long years in his use. He avoids tassels and fine embroidery in his breeches and shirts alike, although he often wears a silver cross tucked under his shirt that belies his simple tastes. He is partial to gloves, usually a soft brown leather pair that still affords him a measure of dexterity.
Misc: A face that is a touch too wide to be pleasing to the eye ensures that he doesn’t draw much attention in a crowd. Abnormal light green eyes might warrant a curious gaze, except that they are most often concealed behind a curtain of dark brown hair. He rarely tends to his appearance, except when he braids the upper sections of his hair in order to open his field of vision when necessary.

PERSONALITY:
Vices: Aloof || Elian is at his most comfortable working and existing on his own. He tends to answer personal questions vaguely, and takes care when learning personal information about others. Secrets are useful, trivia is unwanted.
Exploitable || It takes more than a moment to gain his trust, but there are many things he would do for someone even without trusting them. Deliberately deceiving him isn’t easy, but appealing to his kindness tends to open more doors than it should. His sympathy holds considerable sway over his better judgement.
Fierce temper || When Elian allows his temper fly, it is a fearsome thing. Once loosed, he doesn’t hold back or even restrict his wrath to his enemies. Less likely to be verbally aggressive, Elian lashes out physically or not at all. Passive aggression is foreign to him.
Virtues: Independent || Elian can take commands gracefully, but he hardly relies on someone telling him what to do. He can stand on his own and improvise within the rules he is given. Years spent alone have provided him with a certain self-sufficiency that can be surprisingly beneficial to the people around him as well.
Compassionate || Elian has a certain inability to pass by someone in need. On the streets of a busy city, this trait can empty his pockets quickly, which is how he learned to avoid main streets or carrying too many coins. Whatever he can do for someone, he will usually do gladly enough.
Self-controlled || Elian holds a firm handle on his stronger emotions; battling anger, sadness, and guilt with steady determination. He can usually be relied upon to have a stable head and hands, particularly when it is someone else who sparks an intense situation.
Deepest Fear: Becoming too fond of someone
Motivation: Finding or creating nobility within himself
Misc: Elian gives a mixed impression, depending on the insightfulness of the observer. He can be gruff and off-putting, but underneath lies a certain vulnerability that he might wish wasn’t there at all. Yet there it is, and upon further examination, can even be endearing to those who would value such a thing in the people they know. But he is equally at ease with a rougher crowd, as he holds an adventurer’s heart above all.

BIOGRAPHY:
Tenured in the service of a nobleman from the moment he was able to wield a weapon; unnumbered generations of his ancestors served to guard the same lands that he himself would one day patrol, and which had, in the past, belonged to the noble’s forebears. His father before him had done so, and trained Elian early in his life to continue the post with skill.
However, the world was changing, and though Elian grew to honor his late father’s memory through determined pursuit of his task, his position soon drew to a close. Although his skill kept his future out of darkness, he struggled to find peace in the dishonor that his ancestors’ dedication to their post had ended with him. Instead, he was forced to offer his services as a mercenary to anyone who asked. Although he didn’t lament his new path in life for long, he did often look back on his limited years with the nobleman with longing.

In the years since he was released from his family’s obligation, he has found many employers who send him on tasks far and varied. Although he has become fairly well traveled and knowledgeable in the ways of foreigners, his feet inevitably led him back to the country of his birth. He has spent much of recent memory in the fast-changing city, which has but a limited appeal to him. Yet jobs still find him, and most require less time and travel from him in a city. He hadn’t yet decided whether to stay his new course or not, but fortunately he didn’t have to make that choice.

TRIVIA:
Likes: Intelligent animals, the countryside, exotic foods
Dislikes: Jokesters, city air, guns and cannons (any weapons of ‘mass’ warfare, really)
Quirks/Habits: Manages to stay up exceptionally late and yet is awake by dawn || A borderline obsessive habit of checking doors that should be locked
Misc: Elian fights left-handed

 

[Plutoni]

godfrey

St. Clair

“We believe that we can change the things around us in accordance with our desires—we believe it because otherwise we can see no favourable outcome. We do not think of the outcome which generally comes to pass and is also favourable: we do not succeed in changing things in accordance with our desires, but gradually our desires change. The situation that we hoped to change because it was intolerable becomes unimportant to us. We have failed to surmount the obstacle, as we were absolutely determined to do, but life has taken us round it, led us beyond it, and then if we turn round to gaze into the distance of the past, we can barely see it, so imperceptible has it become.” – Marcel Proust, In Search of Lost Time

01

basic information

name

godfrey isadore st. Clair

nickname

frey / Clair / the doctor

gender

male

age

28

date of birth

January 24th

orientation

bisexual

role

Tristan

credit

sh0d03 / DeviantArt

02

appearance

height

6’1 / 1.86m

hair

black

eyes

teal

Frey has a bearing so imperial and self-controlled that, at times, he seems almost more statue than man. Broad shoulders and the weight of muscle borne of hard use is carried with the grace of a stag, enfolded in his long frock coat, double-breasted silk waistcoats and crisply ironed trousers all seamlessly pressed and tailored snug to his figure no matter what kind of blood and viscera is painted upon them. A thin black scarf is often draped around his coat lapels, boots polished to a military shine and cravat seldom forgotten, and this tight-laced, well-dressed uniform of rich black, deep navy and white only serves to make his height and frame all the more imposing. It’s not entirely unintentional. The single stud in his right ear is all the more incongruous for it. A pale gash of scar tissue laces itself just above his collarbone from a miraculously close lead bullet.

Silver sleeve garters are exposed when he works, fine shirts rolled up to the elbows and replaced with long leather gloves over elegant, callused fingers, and an apron to minimise stains. Only in such moments of exertion - or intoxication - do wavy forelocks escape their glossed-back hold, a faint flush reaches his cheeks, and his face, though as cool and severely feline as before, no longer seems quite so unapproachable. For a time, at least. His eyes are always piercing, due in no small part to the strikingly pale green-blue iris that lights up so translucently in sunlight to seem almost blind.

03

personality

VICES
Frosty: The man’s inner workings are, for all intents and purposes, an outright mystery to near all who have met him. Both dispassionate and often entirely disinterested in the messy, contrived emotional lives of others. He does not care to watch his tongue, and is curiously ignorant of other’s emotional states.
Dogmatic: Uncompromising and utterly convinced of his own brilliance. Why listen to others when he believes his intellectual faculties to be just that much greater? It would seem to take nothing short of divine intervention to make him backtrack once his mind has been made up. Can make him a maddeningly difficult team player.
Egocentric: Endlessly self-assured, but also prone to following the path of his own whims and curiosity before that of official duty if he deems it to be of lesser importance. He’ll merrily lead himself down self-satisfying tangents of research and exploration before reappearing days later for whatever he was originally tasked with doing without a shred of remorse.

VIRTUES
Driven: He knows what he wants, and does not stop until he achieves exactly that. Has surprising underlying passion. Capable of such high focus that he’s liable to frequent burn-outs, if he’s not careful.
Intelligent: There is no mistaking that he has been gifted with a brilliant mind. Unfortunately for everyone else, he recognises this too. Sharp-witted with a head for numbers, and rational to a fault.
Unflinching: Precious little is able to turn Godfrey’s stomach, from gore to tragedy to imminent unholy danger. This makes him cold, perhaps, but in turn allows him to keep his head far better than most.

DEEPEST FEAR
Failure. Uselessness. Having his mind deteriorate from it’s current prowess. Reaching a ceiling in his ability and understanding that he will never overcome.

MOTIVATION
Knowledge truly is power. He will use it to carve his mark on history and science, and maybe even eventually to understand - and cure - death itself. For Alastair. In a way, perhaps even childishly, he has embarked on a lifelong demonstration of that fact that he was always right. Through this work, he has the power to do more good than the war, wealth and family of his childhood ever could in three lifetimes.


There could well be an altruist buried somewhere beneath it all, however hard it may be to believe. A gifted doctor with an obsession for scientific truth but a bedside manner as kind as a Northumbrian winter, he makes it exquisitely hard to break below the ice. Even engaging with him in debate is an ordeal for most - brutally direct, infuriatingly knowledgeable, and armed with the occasional imperious curl of the lip for those who can’t stand up to the brisk intellectual wringing. The words needed to admit any wrongdoing may as well be vocabulary from a foreign tongue. He will readily lock his jaws onto any perceived wrong or mistruth, and won’t let go even if his opponent is reduced to tears.

This casual, insensitive disregard is present throughout much of his usual character. It’s not cruelly intended - well, perhaps on the odd occasion - but instead done out of simple lack of investment. He has far greater interests and preoccupations elsewhere. Though largely inexcusable, it’s perhaps a byproduct of a lesson that his time as a soldier taught him; it’s not overly wise to get too attached to something as soft, as utterly confusing and as easily breakable as human life. Of course, he would sacrifice without thought near whatever it takes to fix it, to preserve it, to repair the fragile things he cares for as far as it is within his power to do so, though his behaviour speaks little of it. Such gallows humour and idle derision of the world hardly paints a picture of a caring soul. Accusations of even a god complex, of a kind, expressed through his ambition to prove his unmatched protection of - and thus a mastery over - human life may not be entirely far-fetched, but is far from all that would meet the more scrutinising eye.

But sure, he’ll admit to at least a slight interest in others, occasion permitting; he can rarely resist playing a little, seeing most socialisation as a kind of mind-game to be partaken in at leisure, and for a while the steely pride can slowly relax. People can be compelling, when they’re not actively invading his life and space. He doesn’t take it for granted. Ultimately, Godfrey does have a love for humankind at his core. It certainly doesn’t mean that he has to like them, though.

04

history

The pedigree of the St. Clairs has long been military-starred and illustrious, and it was one that General Benedict St. Clair was adamant for his sons to continue. Two such forces of will were never destined to coexist long in a household together, and it showed from near the moment he was born one dark January, the second of three to bear the weight and wealth of the family name. The eldest, Sanford St. Clair, was a dutiful son and four years his senior, long a figure of genuine animosity even without his name being used as a bludgeon by their parents as they held him up as a model for comparison, and as a stark reminder of their displeasure at young Godfrey’s ‘soft’ and academic persuasions. His younger brother Alastair was not only closest in age but eventually his closest confidante - the tyranny of a decided fate, though markedly less upon the younger, brought them oddly together. A dysfunctional yet inseparable pair, he died the year Godfrey turned 18. A thunderbolt illness with no cure, and the final nail in the coffin in the war waged against him to abandon his 'science' and new-fangled medical nonsense and return to family duty. He had lost, even against himself - too wrecked to fight for something that had failed to save his brother - and the shame still burns him whenever he thinks upon the day he left to join the ranks of Queen Victoria’s army, as had always been commanded. He caved, and will never let himself forget it.

However much he kicked and fought against it, his time served inevitably, inexorably changed him - like all others before him, he could not withstand the grinding machine of service unscathed. His social strata saw him made a Captain in a laughably short length of time, the very embodiment of the poor decisions borne from the aristocratic bias still so rampant in their selections so as to appoint someone so proudly and fiercely ill-disposed to the profession in all but name. But he exploited the leeway it gave him mercilessly. The stretching years of hauling bloodied and weeping comrades from battlefields overseas into sparse medical care had created a surprising use for his knowledge; he had wished to join the medical profession long before he’d been so brutally reminded of its shortcomings, but he found there the sudden opportunity to make it right, however rough-shod and limited the manner. It was a small, furious victory. It worked. There is little that can compare to such bliss as that of an idyllic childhood belief becoming suddenly reaffirmed. He took the first opportunity to cross disciplines he could find, exchanged his rank for a place upon the medical corps the day he arrived home to England, and returned with such fervour to even surprise himself.

The night his patients began to wake up dead will stay with him forever.

He had allowed himself a moment of self-doubt when the first clawed the linen shroud from his face, gasping, rambling, body wracked with tremors and eyes rolling until he could see the bloodshot whites. He’d been dragged from the field half-alive, but his pulse had failed moments before they could even begin to dress the wounds. Frey had confirmed it himself. But he almost slapped himself as he reasserted that he couldn’t have been wrong. The man had been stone-cold dead. This was no miracle at all.

He recalled in the next moments as he fought for his life how pale the body had been. Most infantry spent long, mind-numbing hours out in sun, wind and dirt; only the ill, the Scots and the shell-shocked - the latter of which he had first assumed - even stood a chance of remaining so pallid. He should’ve looked closer. He should’ve spared more than a glance, one less thought for his many far more hopeful charges and one more for the memory of vampires that he had dismissed from being a chance out here in the wilds. Foolish, foolish, foolish. At last victorious over the weakened fledgeling, though covered in blood that for once also included his own, he wasted little time in shutting down the facilities. Although he was now at least somewhat prepared for the two others that woke, it was a long night indeed.

Perhaps some of the beauty in running such an understaffed division was the privacy it allowed him for what he did next. He performed a thorough autopsy long into dawn, studied teeth, eyes, even removed a heart as hastily as he could bear and likely violated more legal and medical conventions than he could name in the process. But he was enraptured. These beings, once men, had beaten the final frontier of medicine and science. They had defeated death itself, and Godfrey St. Clair demanded to know why.

Though he was never once so complacent again, this bloody weekend was the only time he ever encountered them in this bloody manner, and only one of three occasions that he even encountered them at all through his service. But the seven years contract was soon already up. He left immediately for the continent to complete his studies at some of the best schools of science and medicine the world had to offer, and it was here that he first truly dove into the biological mystery of vampires. An utterly fascinating occurrence, the explanation of which he still rejects to this day as simply being down to such flimsy hand-waves as faith and superstition. Science will explain all, in the end, no matter how many (perhaps entirely questionable) experiments must be done to achieve it.

He returned to the rain of London two and a half years later to open a practice in the heart of the city, never once returning to the family estate he had been sent from now nearly a decade past. To even a man of hard rationale such as himself, if he may indulge, his summoning to the Table almost felt like fate itself.

05

last words

LIKES

• Cold weather
• Dark rum
• Citrus
• Flora
• Method
• Mystery

DISLIKES

• Being rushed
• Cheap fabric
• Theatre
• Religious fanatics
• Heat
• Chaos

QUIRKS

• Smokes, occasionally. Never quite managed to quit.
• Fastidiously neat.
• Will pace and play with his earring in thought, but most often when he’s sure he’s alone.

06

relationships

· · ·​

code by @Nano

 

[lion.]

Dragonfly

Full Name:

Lady Odonata Moore

Nickname:

“The Dragonfly of Southwark,” “Nat”

D.o.b/Age:

The third of March during high noon/ 22

Gender/pronouns:

Female/ she/her

Sexual/romantic orientation:

Bisexual

Role:

Mordred

basics.

Faceclaim:

fdasuarez

Height:

5'5

Weight:

120 lbs

Build:

Mesomorph for basic, and curvy for detail, Odonata has a willowy body that one could identify to a deep forest. Her arms are like romantic vines, green if touch could be a color and long like vegetation overhanging from the roots. With length, her arms also have the fluidity esteeming close to the dancing birds of paradise when it comes to making vivacious gestures. Her legs, in comparison, are that of a fierce panther. Sway walking like a prowling cat, it’s more than fair to catch on to the leanness that reposes itself around the agile bones and veins of Odonata Moore. As for stances such as standing, her hips tend to be pushed forward like the sweet jutting of rock before a waterfall.

Attire:

Odonata Moore is hardly a true lady of the era. While women wailed over their tight corsets and whalebones for hoop skirts, Odonata Moore made herself relieved and breezy in clothing which some may argue is too close to a mere chemise. Rumors run about her like an endless river, but the first mistake you can make about Odonata Moore is that she is a girl who meets every angry river with a vessel. Silk is the woman’s favorite fabric, and in all honesty, it singularly illustrates her as a rare, nearly envious beauty. Popularly, the glossy cloth falls down her mildly average bust without strangulation, cinches at her waist with a will of it’s own, and the mutated colors work magic against her skin. For missions, she is shrewdly adamant that she is a woman of many talents, such as one who can work with style.

Misc:

Odonata Moore has golden skin caressed with dyes of Indian mahogany. Swampy eyes embellish her heart-shaped face, and within, a hazel pond spires to remain wet in the mass of a mud base. More than often, she brings out her almond eyes by the immoral use of English fashion. Eyeshadow from the mixing of elderberry juice and wild fruit take the meadows of her upper lids, and a balance occurs when a fanatic dark red stains her lips. Her face is completed with refractory brunette curls and a wide smile like the stripe of a fearless honey badger in the wakes of its predators.

appearance.

Vices

Indecisive:
Decisions make Odonata schism into stamping trails of pacing back and forth. Her trivial innocence and instilled learnings as a child meets with her hell-bent devil on her shoulder, and it is this weakness that often prolongs aspects of what her legacy can be, sometimes shifting it for the better and other times counting tallies for the worse. It is also this weakness that could truly create damage during missions for it is in her nature to reflect on every element of the actions she has been opportuned with.

Lazy:
One of the seven deadliest sins is sloth, and Odonata Moore could be every which way more sloth than any other sin. She’s got a habit of lounging about on chaises, and even becoming a criss-crossed lotus on the ground. Her passivity in settings out of work could total into her lack of eagerness for missions. It often gives her a setback to be enthusiastic during training and sparring as well.

Moody:
Odonata might love you for a blink of an eye before deciding that she detests you. She’s witty and shifts from moods like sun and moon, only forget the orbits. She’s erratic and easily irritated perhaps due to her taking words too deeply to heart.

Virtues

Resourceful
Like a librarian, name a book, and Odonata will find it. Odonata Moore is by no means a social bee, but loves knowing about the contemporary society’s trends, lifestyles, and gossip. This virtue comes with the consequence of fueling her wit for she is quite smug about knowing just about everything and anything about a subject in London society.

Forgiving
Odonata Moore can only hold grudges for so long. She finds it difficult to keep hostility warfare, and is more than likely to quietly apologize on her end. She has faith that people can change.

Optimistic
Doves are a symbol of hope and Odonata Moore’s sky is full of them. Let her wings expand- for you have concluded right. Odonata Moore believes in a utopia of tranquility and happiness. Harmony appears to sing even in the gloom, and if you are feeling down in the dums, Odonata Moore is bound to make you see life with her set of eyes.

Deepest Fear: Drowning
Motivation: Payback to Richmond Dolores

personality

Likes
nature, dancing, painting, animals

Dislikes
ballrooms, business magnates, mushrooms, soup, sweltering weather

Quirks/Habits
Breaking into humming, huffing under her breath
Misc
wip

psychology.

“You’ll go far, my little dragonfly.”

Those were the last words her mother said to her, and thereafter, her mother’s words silently and terrifyingly recited true. As her mother had foretold, her father and Odonata would travel far and far away from the woman who had given birth to her, whose hazelnut-warm and tender face was slowly keeling out of her memory out like a last life nostalgia.

In her father’s narration, Odonata Moore was conceived out of an elopement between him: self-made John Moore(who was also an ever so diligent worker of the East India Company) and the clever daughter of an Indian tailor. They had a small town type of whirlwind romance, which began when imperialism began to bud around the country. Odonata liked to remember when her father, under the crackle of a fireplace on one minty Christmas morning slipped, “I fell in love with her when she called me a selfish rat.” Love finds a way was a common saying, but it was near impossible for the couple. In their elopement, they had tied the knot, but would be doomed to a life of hiding from both cultures.

Odonata Moore was around seven or so when her father and her moved to a small, lofty manor just on the outskirts of London. His father, surprisingly, remarried shortly years after. In keen sight, Odonata remembered that he had hid away the ring his mother had given him. “It’s time to move on, Odonata,” he had urged, “Do you not wish a mother?” Truth be told, Odonata Moore only wanted back her own mother. In this charade of a marriage, Odonata became a Cinderella in reverse. Her step-mother was evil as Lilith, the mother of all demons, and her step-siblings were wretched beings. Schooling, which was once fairly entertainable with her home tutors, became rigid and strict. By sixteen, Odonata could no longer stand it. She chose to make the same mistake as her mother: she began to believe a boy who promised her a life of promise. She’d run away with him in cold December with just a stash of money and a suitcase of dresses.

Two years with Richmond Dolores was the best she’s lived in all eternity. They behaved like two fools gone mad. They traveled, laughed, and lived in a shack in Southwark that let them count stars and name clouds as animals. It was worth the while until she found him buckled drunk with another maiden. Richmond taunted her to come back to him because otherwise she’d be a lonely, walking damsel, and that would be the start of Odonata Moore’s new chapter.

That is when Odonata Moore began her new life. Her wardrobe would change and she’d wear colors that she’d think her mother would have loved. She’d learn to throw away society’s opinions, learn to live more like freely than ever. She’d apply for a job at Melina's Couture, learn to earn by poking a needle into thread. Many nights, she’d fall asleep with tailoring glasses at the brim of her nose and awake to accidentally stabbing herself with the needle.

Vampirism was becoming more abundant and frequent by her twenties. It stroked her curiosity, and marveled enough for her to consider attending Islington.

background.

codebytriples

 

[RiverGamer]

Freya Bayer

• Basic
• Appearance
• Personality
• Biography
• Trivia
• Face Claim Art

• 
  
  Full Name: Freya Sylvia Bayer
  Nickname: Lady Silver (or just 'Silver)
  D.o.b/Age: 21st November 1838 (28)
  Gender/pronouns: Female (She/Her)
  Sexual/romantic orientation: Heterosexual/Straight
  Role: Gawain
• 
  
  Height: 5’11 (180.34 cm)
  Weight: 11 Stone (154 lbs)
  Build: Slightly muscular and well-built (Mesomorph) due to constantly fighting and pushing her body.
  Attire:
  
  Misc: Credit - Witch Hunter by Ze-l - DeviantArt - From Pinterest)
• 
  
  Vices:
  Doubtful - Freya doesn’t put much trust in people easily. It takes a lot of time and consistent positive interactions for her to consider someone in a somewhat positive way. This is due to many factors including the amount of times she and her sister have had to ask for help only to be deceived every time. She can interpret many actions made by others as acts of deceit or malice. Freya will judge every movement made, every word spoken and will analyse it all to look for any signs of threat towards her.
  
  Resentful - She hates how she’s been treated by many she meets, especially those of a higher class and status. As a result she resents anyone afforded luxuries without any perceived hard work behind it (i.e. it was handed to them). When someone of higher standing appears to talk down to or act superior to her or others, she becomes irate and can even lash out if she’s angered enough with very little that will stop her from getting physical with her target.
  
  Secretive - Freya doesn’t like to reveal information about herself or anything related to her, and any information that is given is very limited and much of the truth is omitted if she can help it. This makes Freya seem untrustworthy or manipulative which is further enhanced by her doubtful nature. She can very rarely be coaxed to reveal more information than she initially gives which doesn’t inspire much confidence in those she interacts with. Freya has constantly had to be weary of what information she gives to others in order to keep herself and whatever or whoever she values from harm or manipulation
  
  
  Virtues:
  Loyal - Freya is dedicated to those she respects and/or cares about and will help them whenever needed. Freya will stand by someone as long as she feels is needed and will support those she cares for in anything they set themselves to do or, if she disagrees with them, try to talk them to a better path/method. Freya has had only a few people care for her completely and greatly values those she cares about and respects as a result. She will always help them in anything they need and to the best of her capabilities or at the very least find someone who she knows can assist them.
  
  Righteous indignation - Freya cannot stand any injustices and will fight against them no matter who she’s up against. This is also shown in how she treats people on a daily basis. Whilst she isn’t really nice per say, she does remain civil and polite when interacting with others and she doesn’t judge someone without a perceived reason to do so. (This reason can vary from how they act towards her and others to how they carry themselves and their status). When she perceives someone as unworthy of respect or courtesy, her attitude will change to a more negative one (curt responses, no pleasantries, blunt with her opinions, etc)
  
  Patient - Freya is more than willing to wait if she feels it works in her favour to do so. She is careful to not rush into confrontations or any action. She won’t initiate confrontation without assessing how she can do so to best benefit her or those she values. She also understands there are folks like herself who are weary of anyone they meet for fear of harm so she is patient to earn their trust and make it clear to them she isn’t a threat. She will do this for as long as is comfortable for the person in question and won’t press them too much if she can help it.
  
  Deepest Fear: Being disregarded and left for dead due to being perceived as weak or unworthy. Freya has Pyrophobia (Fear of Fire) and prefers other means of keeping herself warm. She doesn’t go out of her way to destroy fires though if she knows it benefits someone and it is monitored very closely.
  Motivation: Create a life for herself that she’s always wanted and help those like her. To exact justice on those who have wronged her and others.
  Misc (optional): She also spends a lot of time analysing what people are saying and doing, making mental notes of what she notices in order to get a read on a person and what type of individual they are. Freya also suffers from continuous nightmares of her early years and the day of the fire, often waking up in the weird hours of the night or barely sleeping at all.
  
• 
  
  
  Born in the winter of 1838 from Bavaria, Freya lived comfortably with her parents and elder sister Ada and had a pretty peaceful childhood. This was up until the Revolutions of 1848 that is.
  
  Freya’s family, home and heart were all shattered…
  ... and her peaceful, sheltered life ruined.
  
  During the ensuing chaos Mr and Mrs Bayer bade their children farewell with tears in their eyes. And with that the girls were forced on the run. Slowly Freya and Ada made their way out of Bavaria, passing through Baden-Württemberg and crossing through France with the aim of getting to England and finding safety there.
  
  After nearly a year*, the Bayer sisters eventually made it to English shores. They were forced into living in the streets with only the few clothes they had managed to take with them. Ada begged every single day for anything passers by could give her with Freya sitting behind a nearby wall crouched for warmth. Many things worked against them both. The weather, their lack of spoken English and the seemingly cold hearts of the people. The suffering seemed to drag on.
  
  This was until one day in the August of 1853. An older gentleman came across the sisters, and for once, Freya saw something akin to slight pain in the man’s eyes. “Why hello. You two must be tired.” He spoke calmly with a warm tone to his voice, looking between both sisters. Freya hid, but Ada stepped up to speak to the gentleman with what English she could muster “Yes sir. We have stood here for a long time.We just want to live.” Freya peeked up at the man, hoping he’d understand what her sister had said,and give them some food for the evening.
  
  He offered the girls to live with him. He’d teach them English and give them the chance to read about all sorts of subjects and they would only be expected to help out where they could.
  The gentleman turned slowly and said “If you wish to take me up on my offer feel free to follow me. I say again, you won’t be harmed” and with that he slowly walked away. At that moment, both girls ran after the man, desperate for somewhere warm to stay.
  
  Ada and Freya had finally found a place to call home, with a man whose name they learned to be George Smith.It was the next 2 years that had become the best years of the Bayer sister’s lives in recent memory. George taught them proper English grammar and language, made sure they were as well taught as he could manage by having them study books he held within his library and always reminded them that kindness was a great thing to hold.
  
  The peace was just what Freya wanted….but not what she would keep.
  
  One day she had been sent to fetch some bread from the local bakery that George had requested and be back as soon as she could. As Freya made her way home, she saw a crowd forming near her home. She turned the corner and looked down... to see a small figure partially hidden in a pile of debris, a small wooden figure of a little girl..
  It was then the realization hit her..
  ...Ada and George were gone. Leaving Freya to fend for herself in the cold streets as she had done when she arrived in England. And now she was back where she started.On the streets and fending for her life.
  
  She just wanted to be happy with her family. Be it in England or Bavaria. She cried each night asking why. All she hoped for was the safety and happiness she had felt whilst living in the Smith residence. And now all she seemed to get from people were either blank states or looks of disgust and contempt. What had she done wrong? Why did she, and them in turn, deserve this?
  
  So Freya would fight anyone who got in the way of what she wanted. Not that she picked fights, but she ensured she got what she wanted by working hard. She pushed her body as far as she could every day and made sure those who tried to ruin her and any innocent person’s life….
  
  ...would pay the price.
  
  
  _{*This is an estimation as I couldn't find how long it would take for someone to travel from Bavaria to England in the late 1840s. If this is incorrect please let me know so I can correct the mistake.}
  
  
• 
  
  Likes: Reading | Wood Carving | Kind/Generous people |
  Dislikes: Arrogant/Selfish people | Diplomacy | Dresses (sort of) | Fire
  Quirks/Habits: Always watches people when in a room | Tends to stand farther back/away from people than a normal person would | Always has a small knife in hand and twirls it through her fingers regardless of how much sense it makes to have a knife where she is
  Misc: Freya enjoys reading about various stories in English folklore, her favourite being the story of the sword Excalibur
• 
  

  Face-Claim:
  
  
  
  Credit - robert Elliff - From Pinterest ​

Spoiler

Freya Bayer
BASIC:
Full Name: Freya Sylvia Bayer
Nickname: Lady Silver (or just Silver)
D.o.b/Age: 21st November 1838 (28)
Gender/pronouns: Female (She/her)
Sexual/romantic orientation: Heterosexual/Straight
Role: Gawain

APPEARANCE:
Height: 5’11 (180.34 cm)
Weight: 11 Stone (154 lbs)
Build: Slightly muscular and well-built (Mesomorph) due to constantly fighting and pushing her body.
Attire: (IMAGE HERE)
Credit - Witch Hunter by Ze-l - DeviantArt - From Pinterest)

PERSONALITY:
Vices:
Doubtful - Freya doesn’t put much trust in people easily. It takes a lot of time and consistent positive interactions for her to consider someone in a somewhat positive way. This is due to many factors including the amount of times she and her sister have had to ask for help only to be deceived every time. She can interpret many actions made by others as acts of deceit or malice. Freya will judge every movement made, every word spoken and will analyse it all to look for any signs of threat towards her.

Resentful - She hates how she’s been treated by many she meets, especially those of a higher class and status. As a result she resents anyone afforded luxuries without any perceived hard work behind it (i.e. it was handed to them). When someone of higher standing appears to talk down to or act superior to her or others, she becomes irate and can even lash out if she’s angered enough with very little that will stop her from getting physical with her target.

Secretive - Freya doesn’t like to reveal information about herself or anything related to her, and any information that is given is very limited and much of the truth is omitted if she can help it. This makes Freya seem untrustworthy or manipulative which is further enhanced by her doubtful nature. She can very rarely be coaxed to reveal more information than she initially gives which doesn’t inspire much confidence in those she interacts with. Freya has constantly had to be weary of what information she gives to others in order to keep herself and whatever or whoever she values from harm or manipulation

Virtues:
Loyal - Freya is dedicated to those she respects and/or cares about and will help them whenever needed. Freya will stand by someone as long as she feels is needed and will support those she cares for in anything they set themselves to do or, if she disagrees with them, try to talk them to a better path/method. Freya has had only a few people care for her completely and greatly values those she cares about and respects as a result. She will always help them in anything they need and to the best of her capabilities or at the very least find someone who she knows can assist them.

Righteous indignation - Freya cannot stand any injustices and will fight against them no matter who she’s up against. This is also shown in how she treats people on a daily basis. Whilst she isn’t really nice per say, she does remain civil and polite when interacting with others and she doesn’t judge someone without a perceived reason to do so. (This reason can vary from how they act towards her and others to how they carry themselves and their status). When she perceives someone as unworthy of respect or courtesy, her attitude will change to a more negative one (curt responses, no pleasantries, blunt with her opinions, etc)

Patient - Freya is more than willing to wait if she feels it works in her favour to do so. She is careful to not rush into confrontations or any action. She won’t initiate confrontation without assessing how she can do so to best benefit her or those she values. She also understands there are folks like herself who are weary of anyone they meet for fear of harm so she is patient to earn their trust and make it clear to them she isn’t a threat. She will do this for as long as is comfortable for the person in question and won’t press them too much if she can help it.

Deepest Fear: Being disregarded and left for dead due to being perceived as weak or unworthy. Freya has Pyrophobia (Fear of Fire) and prefers other means of keeping herself warm. She doesn’t go out of her way to destroy fires though if she knows it benefits someone and it is monitored very closely.
Motivation: Create a life for herself that she’s always wanted and help those like her. To exact justice on those who have wronged her and others.
Misc (optional): She also spends a lot of time analysing what people are saying and doing, making mental notes of what she notices in order to get a read on a person and what type of individual they are. Freya also suffers from continuous nightmares of her early years and the day of the fire, often waking up in the weird hours of the night or barely sleeping at all.

BIOGRAPHY

Born in the winter of 1838 to a high class family originating from Bavaria, Freya lived comfortably with her parents and elder sister Ada surrounded by breathtaking fields for most of her childhood. This was her life up until the Revolutions of 1848.

This shattered Freya’s family, home and heart…
... and ruined her peaceful, sheltered life.

During the ensuing chaos Mr and Mrs Bayer bade their children farewell with tears in their eyes. And with that the girls were forced on the run. Slowly Freya and Ada made their way out of Bavaria, passing through Baden-Württemberg and crossing through France with the aim of getting to England and finding safety there.

After nearly a year*, the Bayer sisters eventually made it to English shores. They were forced into living in the streets with only the few clothes they had managed to take with them. Ada begged every single day for anything passers by could give her with Freya sitting behind a nearby wall crouched for warmth. Many things worked against them both. The weather, their lack of spoken English and the seemingly cold hearts of the people. The suffering seemed to drag on.

This was until one day in the August of 1853. An older gentleman came across the sisters, and for once, Freya saw something akin to slight pain in the man’s eyes. “Why hello. You two must be tired.” He spoke calmly with a warm tone to his voice, looking between both sisters. Freya hid, but Ada stepped up to speak to the gentleman with what English she could muster “Yes sir. We have stood here for a long time.We just want to live.” Freya peeked up at the man, hoping he’d understand what her sister had said,and give them some food for the evening.

He offered the girls to live with him. He’d teach them English and give them the chance to read about all sorts of subjects and they would only be expected to help out where they could.
The gentleman turned slowly and said “If you wish to take me up on my offer feel free to follow me. I say again, you won’t be harmed” and with that he slowly walked away. At that moment, both girls ran after the man, desperate for somewhere warm to stay.

Ada and Freya had finally found a place to call home, with a man whose name they learned to be George Smith.It was the next 2 years that had become the best years of the Bayer sister’s lives in recent memory. George taught them proper English grammar and language, made sure they were as well taught as he could manage by having them study books he held within his library and always reminded them that kindness was a great thing to hold.

The peace was just what Freya wanted….but not what she would keep.

One day she had been sent to fetch some bread from the local bakery that George had requested and be back as soon as she could. As Freya made her way home, she saw a crowd forming near her home. She turned the corner and looked down... to see a small figure partially hidden in a pile of debris, a small wooden figure of a little girl..
It was then the realization hit her..
...Ada and George were gone. Leaving Freya to fend for herself in the cold streets as she had done when she arrived in England. And now she was back where she started.On the streets and fending for her life.

She just wanted to be happy with her family. Be it in England or Bavaria. She cried each night asking why. All she hoped for was the safety and happiness she had felt whilst living in the Smith residence. And now all she seemed to get from people were either blank states or looks of disgust and contempt. What had she done wrong? Why did she, and them in turn, deserve this?

So Freya would fight anyone who got in the way of what she wanted. Not that she picked fights, but she ensured she got what she wanted by working hard. She pushed her body as far as she could every day and made sure those who tried to ruin her and any innocent person’s life….

...would pay the price.


TRIVIA:
Likes: Reading | Wood Carving | Kind/Generous people |
Dislikes: Arrogant/Selfish people | Diplomacy | Dresses (sort of) | Fire
Quirks/Habits: Always watches people when in a room | Tends to stand farther back/away from people than a normal person would | Always has a small knife in hand and twirls it through her fingers regardless of how much sense it makes to have a knife where she is
Misc: Freya enjoys reading about various stories in English folklore, her favourite being the story of the sword Excalibur