Welcome to the Last Judgement
-
This section is for roleplays only.
ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.
Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
Fantasy The Last Judgement Survivors
- Thread starter Hell0NHighWater
- Start date
- Created at
- Index progress
- Incomplete
- Threadmarks
- 88
-
Statistics (17 threadmarks, 27k words)
User Total Lekiel 1 Hell0NHighWater 2 CupAndCough 1 Cara 1 Dear Mrs. Psycho 2 Chise_Robin_ 1 Anise 1 Lakyr 2 Kaas 1 BasiliskVeranda 2 BELIAL. 2 Steel_427 1 Threadmarks Reader mode
Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
Much thanks to
RI.a
for the amazing code!!!
[class=container] width:100%; height:80vh; margin:auto;center; display:flex; flex-wrap:row-wrap; background-color: #770909; background-image: repeating-linear-gradient(120deg, rgba(255,255,255,.1), rgba(255,255,255,.1) 1px, transparent 1px, transparent 60px), repeating-linear-gradient(60deg, rgba(255,255,255,.1), rgba(255,255,255,.1) 1px, transparent 1px, transparent 60px), linear-gradient(60deg, rgba(0,0,0,.1) 25%, transparent 25%, transparent 5%, rgba(0,0,0,.1) 5%, rgba(0,0,0,.1)), linear-gradient(120deg, rgba(0,0,0,.1) 25%, transparent 25%, transparent 5%, rgba(0,0,0,.1) 5%, rgba(0,0,0,.1)); background-size: 70px 120px; overflow:hidden; [/class] [class=title] font-family:Kaushan Script; font-size:3em; color:#eee; text-align:center; text-shadow:1px 2px 0px #e271ca; position:absolute; margin:auto;center; width:1em; height:auto; margin-left:93%; z-index:25px; opacity:0; animation:{post_id}fade 0.75s linear forwards; animation-delay:1s; [/class] [class=largepicture] width:40%; height:80vh; display:inline-block; background:url('https://66.media.tumblr.com/aa0ec4a08a884b55051ae143d0195d6b/tumblr_ny1mnxwjpN1rxx9sho1_500.gif'); background-size:cover; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:-2.5em 0em; z-index:3px; margin:auto;center; opacity:0; animation:{post_id}fade 0.75s linear forwards; animation-delay:1s; [/class] [class=contentwrap] width:60%; height:80vh; padding:0.8em; overflow:hidden; opacity:0; animation:{post_id}fade 0.75s linear forwards; animation-delay:1s; justify-content:space-between; display:flex; [/class] [animation=fade] [keyframe=0]opacity:0;[/keyframe] [keyframe=25]opacity:0.25;[/keyframe] [keyframe=50]opacity:0.5;[/keyframe] [keyframe=75]opacity:0.75;[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]opacity:1;[/keyframe] [/animation] [class=tabwrap] width:6%; height:100vh; margin:auto;center; margin-top:-1em; background:#222; padding:0.3em; z-index:10px; background-image: linear-gradient(#222, #770909); [/class] [class=tab] font-family:Josefin Sans; font-size:1.3em; width:3%; height:auto; cursor:pointer; color:#d8baba; transition:all 0.75s ease-in; text-align:left; padding:0em 0em 0em 0.8em; margin-left:-.3em; [/class] [class name=tab state=hover] color:#fff; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #d8baba; [/class] [class=contentbox] width:94%; overflow:hidden; height:75vh; [/class] [class=textscroll] width:105%; height:75vh; overflow-y:scroll; [/class] [class=textbox] width:90%; padding:0.8em; font-family
pen Sans;
font-size:1em;
color:#fff;
text-align:justify;
opacity:0.8;
[/class]
[script class=none]
hide one
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[/script]
[script class=tabone on=click]
fadeIn 1000 one
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[/script]
[script class=tabtwo on=click]
fadeIn 1000 two
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[script class=tabthree on=click]
fadeIn 1000 three
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[script class=tabfour on=click]
fadeIn 1000 four
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[/script]
[script class=tabhome on=click]
fadeIn 1000 zero
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[/script]
[div class=container][div class=contentwrap][div class=contentbox][div class=textscroll]
[div class="textbox zero"]
THE
SURVIVORS
[/div]
[div class="textbox one"]
Welcome to the survivors page, here you can see every character currently in play. Each character, unless unapproved or waiting for their starting post, will have a threadmark dictating their current status in the world.
[/div]
[div class="textbox two"]Required things:
Name:
Class:
Age:
Gender:
Sexuality:
Appearance: Picture or description [No Anime preferred]
Height:
Weight:
Hair Color:
Eye Color:
Complexion:
Features:
Powers/Skills: (can be listed or written out)
Control/Soul Corruption: This is how likely your character is to loose focus while casting spells and determines how likely they are to fail. Also if your character is an afflicted or blessed please use this as a way to determine how corrupted their soul is (If not using code scale it from 1 to 10). If they do not do magic (or are afflicted/blessed) then you can ignore this.
Abilities: List or description
Weaknesses: List or description
Personality:
Bio:
Extra:
[/div] [div class="textbox three"]Here is a code that you can use. It's totally optional, you can use your own if you want:
[/div]
[div class="textbox four"]Character List:
Reverie
Lekiel
| Harry
BELIAL.
| Amara
Dear Mrs. Psycho
|
Alaska
Chise_Robin_
|James
Lakyr
|Kayden
Anise
|Elijah
Dear Mrs. Psycho
Niklas
BasiliskVeranda
|Ryan
Lakyr
|
Rhys
Hell0NHighWater
| Penny
BELIAL.
Allea
Hell0NHighWater
| Adisa
Kaas
Daisy
Steel_427
|Niylah
Cara
|Frank
BasiliskVeranda
[/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=tabwrap]
[div class="tab tabone"][/div]
[div class="tab tabtwo"][/div]
[div class="tab tabthree"][/div]
[div class="tab tabfour"][/div]
[div class="tab tabhome"][/div][/div] [/div][div class=largepicture][/div][div class=title]C h a r a c t e r s
[/div] [/div]
RI.a
for the amazing code!!![class=container] width:100%; height:80vh; margin:auto;center; display:flex; flex-wrap:row-wrap; background-color: #770909; background-image: repeating-linear-gradient(120deg, rgba(255,255,255,.1), rgba(255,255,255,.1) 1px, transparent 1px, transparent 60px), repeating-linear-gradient(60deg, rgba(255,255,255,.1), rgba(255,255,255,.1) 1px, transparent 1px, transparent 60px), linear-gradient(60deg, rgba(0,0,0,.1) 25%, transparent 25%, transparent 5%, rgba(0,0,0,.1) 5%, rgba(0,0,0,.1)), linear-gradient(120deg, rgba(0,0,0,.1) 25%, transparent 25%, transparent 5%, rgba(0,0,0,.1) 5%, rgba(0,0,0,.1)); background-size: 70px 120px; overflow:hidden; [/class] [class=title] font-family:Kaushan Script; font-size:3em; color:#eee; text-align:center; text-shadow:1px 2px 0px #e271ca; position:absolute; margin:auto;center; width:1em; height:auto; margin-left:93%; z-index:25px; opacity:0; animation:{post_id}fade 0.75s linear forwards; animation-delay:1s; [/class] [class=largepicture] width:40%; height:80vh; display:inline-block; background:url('https://66.media.tumblr.com/aa0ec4a08a884b55051ae143d0195d6b/tumblr_ny1mnxwjpN1rxx9sho1_500.gif'); background-size:cover; background-repeat:no-repeat; background-position:-2.5em 0em; z-index:3px; margin:auto;center; opacity:0; animation:{post_id}fade 0.75s linear forwards; animation-delay:1s; [/class] [class=contentwrap] width:60%; height:80vh; padding:0.8em; overflow:hidden; opacity:0; animation:{post_id}fade 0.75s linear forwards; animation-delay:1s; justify-content:space-between; display:flex; [/class] [animation=fade] [keyframe=0]opacity:0;[/keyframe] [keyframe=25]opacity:0.25;[/keyframe] [keyframe=50]opacity:0.5;[/keyframe] [keyframe=75]opacity:0.75;[/keyframe] [keyframe=100]opacity:1;[/keyframe] [/animation] [class=tabwrap] width:6%; height:100vh; margin:auto;center; margin-top:-1em; background:#222; padding:0.3em; z-index:10px; background-image: linear-gradient(#222, #770909); [/class] [class=tab] font-family:Josefin Sans; font-size:1.3em; width:3%; height:auto; cursor:pointer; color:#d8baba; transition:all 0.75s ease-in; text-align:left; padding:0em 0em 0em 0.8em; margin-left:-.3em; [/class] [class name=tab state=hover] color:#fff; text-shadow: 1px 1px 1px #d8baba; [/class] [class=contentbox] width:94%; overflow:hidden; height:75vh; [/class] [class=textscroll] width:105%; height:75vh; overflow-y:scroll; [/class] [class=textbox] width:90%; padding:0.8em; font-family
pen Sans;
font-size:1em;
color:#fff;
text-align:justify;
opacity:0.8;
[/class]
[script class=none]
hide one
hide two
hide three
hide four
hide five
[/script]
[script class=tabone on=click]
fadeIn 1000 one
hide two
hide three
hide four
hide five
hide zero
[/script]
[script class=tabtwo on=click]
fadeIn 1000 two
hide one
hide three
hide four
hide five
hide zero
[/script]
[script class=tabthree on=click]
fadeIn 1000 three
hide two
hide one
hide four
hide five
hide zero
[/script]
[script class=tabfour on=click]
fadeIn 1000 four
hide three
hide two
hide one
hide zero
hide five
[/script]
[script class=tabhome on=click]
fadeIn 1000 zero
hide three
hide two
hide one
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[/script]
[div class=container][div class=contentwrap][div class=contentbox][div class=textscroll]
[div class="textbox zero"]THE
SURVIVORS
Name:
Class:
Age:
Gender:
Sexuality:
Appearance: Picture or description [No Anime preferred]
Height:
Weight:
Hair Color:
Eye Color:
Complexion:
Features:
Powers/Skills: (can be listed or written out)
Control/Soul Corruption: This is how likely your character is to loose focus while casting spells and determines how likely they are to fail. Also if your character is an afflicted or blessed please use this as a way to determine how corrupted their soul is (If not using code scale it from 1 to 10). If they do not do magic (or are afflicted/blessed) then you can ignore this.
Abilities: List or description
Weaknesses: List or description
Personality:
Bio:
Extra:
[/div] [div class="textbox three"]Here is a code that you can use. It's totally optional, you can use your own if you want:
Code:
[nobr]
[class=openwindow]
height:70vh;
background:url('BACKGROUND IMAGE URL HERE');
background-size:fit;
background-position:top;
background-repeat:no-repeat;
padding:1em;
margin:auto;center;
[/class]
[class=openbutton]
margin:auto;center;
border:2px solid white;
width:150px;
padding:.2em;
font-family:Unica One;
font-size:4em;
color:white;
text-align:center;
text-shadow: 1px 2px 0px #7b78a5;
animation:{post_id}loop 2s linear infinite;
cursor:pointer;
[/class]
[animation=loop]
[keyframe=0]opacity:0.25[/keyframe]
[keyframe=25]opacity:0.5[/keyframe]
[keyframe=50]opacity:0.75[/keyframe]
[keyframe=75]opacity:0.5[/keyframe]
[keyframe=100]opacity:0.25[/keyframe]
[/animation]
[class=mainpage]
height:70vh;
padding:1em;
overflow:hidden;
overflow-y:scroll;
background:url('BG IMAGE URL 2');
background-size:fit;
background-position:center;
background-lock:fixed;
background-repeat:no-repeat;
margin:auto;center;
font-family:Karla;
font-size:0.9em;
color:black;
text-align:center;
[/class]
[class=closebutton]
font-size:2em;
width:10px;
cursor:pointer;
position:absolute;
[/class]
[script class=none]
hide mainpage
hide closebutton
[/script]
[script class=openbutton on=click]
slideUp 500 openwindow
show mainpage
show closebutton
hide openbutton
[/script]
[script class=closebutton on=click]
slideDown 500 openwindow
hide closebutton
hide mainpage
fadeIn 500 openbutton
[/script]
[class=textbox]
margin:auto;center;
background:white;
opacity:0.9;
width:80%;
[/class]
[/nobr]
[centerblock=70][div=overflow:hidden;height:70vh;padding:1em;][div class=openwindow]
[div class=openbutton][font=Unica One]Character Name[/font][/div][/div][div class=mainpage][div class=closebutton][fa]fa-times-circle[/fa][/div][div=margin:auto;center;width:50%;][IMG]CHARACTER IMAGE GOES HERE[/IMG] For your character images please use digital art or realistic. No anime please[/div]
[div class=textbox][div=width:100%;margin:auto;center;background:#43416d;font-family:Unica One;font-size:1.5em;color:white;text-align:center;padding:0.2em;]basics[/div][font=Karla]Name: [/font]
Class:
Age:
Gender:
Sexuality:
[/div]
[div class=textbox][div=width:100%;margin:auto;center;background:#43416d;font-family:Unica One;font-size:1.5em;color:white;text-align:center;padding:0.2em;]appearance[/div]
Height:
Weight:
Hair Color:
Eye Color:
Complexion:
Features:
[/div]
[div class=textbox][div=width:100%;margin:auto;center;background:#43416d;font-family:Unica One;font-size:1.5em;color:white;text-align:center;padding:0.2em;]powers/skills[/div]
Description or list of past training/skills or powers if following a school of magic
[div=margin:auto;center;width:100%;][IMG]http://another character image or you can take this out[/IMG][/div]
Control: [COLOR=#43416d][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][/COLOR]
This is how likely your character is to loose focus while casting spells and determines how likely they are to fail. Also if your character is an afflicted or blessed please use this as a bar to determine how corrupted their soul is. If they do not do magic (or are afflicted/blessed) then you can ignore this. [/i][/div]
[div class=textbox][div=width:100%;margin:auto;center;background:#43416d;font-family:Unica One;font-size:1.5em;color:white;text-align:center;padding:0.2em;]abilities[/div]Martial Arts: [COLOR=#43416d][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][/COLOR]
Hand-to-Hand Combat: [COLOR=#43416d][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][fa]fa-square-o[/fa][/COLOR][/div]
Note: You can add abilities by following the format above or you can just write it out, whatever floats your boat
[div class=textbox][div=width:100%;margin:auto;center;background:#43416d;font-family:Unica One;font-size:1.5em;color:white;text-align:center;padding:0.2em;]weaknesses[/div]
List or description
[/div]
[div class=textbox][div=width:100%;margin:auto;center;background:#43416d;font-family:Unica One;font-size:1.5em;color:white;text-align:center;padding:0.2em;]personality[/div]List or description
[/div]
[div class=textbox][div=width:100%;margin:auto;center;background:#43416d;font-family:Unica One;font-size:1.5em;color:white;text-align:center;padding:0.2em;]bio[/div] Character bio here, would prefer at least two paragraphs to get a sense of your character [/div]
[div class=textbox][div=width:100%;margin:auto;center;background:#43416d;font-family:Unica One;font-size:1.5em;color:white;text-align:center;padding:0.2em;]extra[/div]
These are for fun you can add whatever you want to this section
Theme:
Faceclaim: [/div]
[/div][/div][div=text-align:center;font-family:Karla;font-size:0.5em;letter-spacing:0.3em;opacity:0.6;]code by Ri.a[/div][/centerblock]Witches
Reverie
Lekiel
| Harry
BELIAL.
| Amara
Dear Mrs. Psycho
|
Hunters
Alaska
Chise_Robin_
|James
Lakyr
|Kayden
Anise
|Elijah
Dear Mrs. Psycho
Afflicted
Niklas
BasiliskVeranda
|Ryan
Lakyr
|
Blessed
Rhys
Hell0NHighWater
| Penny
BELIAL.
Prophets
Allea
Hell0NHighWater
| Adisa
Kaas
Humans
Daisy
Steel_427
|Niylah
Cara
|Frank
BasiliskVeranda
[/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=tabwrap][div class="tab tabone"][/div]
[div class="tab tabtwo"][/div]
[div class="tab tabthree"][/div]
[div class="tab tabfour"][/div]
[div class="tab tabhome"][/div][/div] [/div][div class=largepicture][/div][div class=title]C h a r a c t e r s
[/div] [/div]
code by RI.a
Last edited:
ACTIVE
Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
[class=openwindow]
height:70vh;
background:url('https://i.pinimg.com/originals/1d/a9/19/1da919f53a5f71c5d1a7ab7ee304bc72.png');
background-size:fit;
background-position:top;
background-repeat:no-repeat;
padding:1em;
margin:auto;center;
[/class]
[class=openbutton]
margin:auto;center;
border:2px solid white;
width:150px;
padding:.2em;
font-family:Unica One;
font-size:4em;
color:white;
text-align:center;
text-shadow: 1px 2px 0px #7b78a5;
animation:{post_id}loop 2s linear infinite;
cursor:pointer;
[/class]
[animation=loop]
[keyframe=0]opacity:0.25[/keyframe]
[keyframe=25]opacity:0.5[/keyframe]
[keyframe=50]opacity:0.75[/keyframe]
[keyframe=75]opacity:0.5[/keyframe]
[keyframe=100]opacity:0.25[/keyframe]
[/animation]
[class=mainpage]
height:70vh;
padding:1em;
overflow:hidden;
overflow-y:scroll;
background:url('https://66.media.tumblr.com/20e0d5b2e2034472ee4a09abc1173ef3/tumblr_npvj6c8Qhz1rgda2fo1_500.gif');
background-size:fit;
background-position:center;
background-lock:fixed;
background-repeat;
margin:auto;center;
font-family:Karla;
font-size:0.9em;
color:black;
text-align:center;
[/class]
[class=closebutton]
font-size:2em;
width:10px;
cursor:pointer;
position:absolute;
[/class]
[script class=none]
hide mainpage
hide closebutton
[/script]
[script class=openbutton on=click]
slideUp 500 openwindow
show mainpage
show closebutton
hide openbutton
[/script]
[script class=closebutton on=click]
slideDown 500 openwindow
hide closebutton
hide mainpage
fadeIn 500 openbutton
[/script]
[class=textbox]
margin:auto;center;
background:white;
opacity:0.9;
width:80%;
[/class]
[/div][div class=mainpage][div class=closebutton][/div]
[div class=textbox]
Class: Human // Blessed
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 210lbs
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Blue
Complexion: Fair, save for the couple scars on his face
Features: He has a large tattoo of wings spanning across his entire back (that ironically become white the more his soul is corrupted)
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Soul Corruption:
[div class=textbox]
Cleansing Fire:
Martial Arts:
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Fire Arms:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
[div class=textbox]sometimes too much about the well being and safety of others. He can come off as bossy at times, if not a bit arrogant, but his heart is usually in the right place. His short temper and foul mouth have gotten him in trouble more often than not, especially during times of emotional distress. Flirting is a bit of a weird thing for him, he either gets it or he doesn't, sometimes you just have to hit him over the head before he realizes that your actually interested. He has a soft spot for kids and dogs everyone else can go fuck off.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
▻ THEN
[div class=textbox]
Theme:
Voiceclaim: Jensen Ackles
Faceclaim: Ronan Lynch // Jacob Hankin [/div]
[/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Emrys "Rhys" Contiello Class: Human // Blessed
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 6'4"
Weight: 210lbs
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Blue
Complexion: Fair, save for the couple scars on his face
Features: He has a large tattoo of wings spanning across his entire back (that ironically become white the more his soul is corrupted)
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
- Hand to hand combat
- Fire arms proficiency (mainly with side arms; he's a god with a pistol)
- Cleansing Fire
- Eventually will have minor healing capabilities
Soul Corruption:
[div class=textbox]
abilities
Cleansing Fire:
Martial Arts:
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Fire Arms:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
- PTSD
- Hates snakes
- Has a bit of a temper
- Has to constantly shave or he looks like a lumberjack
stubble struggle is real - Has a problem with punching walls and hurting himself when he's super angry or frustrated
- Can't stop swearing
[div class=textbox]
personality
Stoic and appearing too serious at times or the life of the party at others, Rhys is charming and charismatic when he chooses to be (which is rarely ever). He prefers to get straight to the point, sugar coating has never been one of his strong suits, and he has a dark/dry sense of humor that sometimes gets taken the wrong way. A natural born leader, Rhys cares [/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
▻ THEN
Rhys Contiello could’ve been just about anything, well-off parents ensuring that their only son attended only the best schools and received only the best education. It was no secret that they would’ve preferred him to continue his studies through graduate school, and it was less of one how much of a disappointment it was when he turned his energies towards a career in law enforcement instead. The decision might have come as a surprise to them, but it built in him over time, the result of too many comic books as a child. The feeling it left in him translated to an adult’s passion for justice, a frustration with the state of the world around them. It was the source of a number of arguments and a strain in their relationship that he hoped time would mend.
In the meantime he dedicated himself to his work, putting in the hours and the legwork as a patrol cop to build himself up towards detective. But the violence it exposed him to took it’s toll, the reoccurring nightmares still not as bad as the sensation that nothing he did truly made all that much of a difference. It was the byproduct of gazing too long into the abyss, and it was a woman named Monica who pulled him back from the edge of it. They met in a coffee shop, an entirely accidental crossing of paths that left him staring over his shoulder long after she walked away. It became a daily ritual shortly after, until it became dinner dates and then him down on one knee offering up a ring. They had the wedding date picked and it seemed as if the relationship with his parents was starting to get better.
Then he and his partner took on a new case, a string of murders and a killer that kept slipping through their hands. It became personal to him first, a quiet frustration that anyone was getting the best of him that drove him to longer hours away from home. It might’ve paid off, a suspect taken into custody and settled across the metal table across from him. But none of the answers were the right ones, none of the proof was quite enough to book him, and the man was let back onto the streets with a smile on his face.
Two days later, Rhys came home to find his fiance butchered. Monica had her throat cut and all he could see was her blood on the carpet. He knew with absolute certainty who was responsible, but the law demanded proof. In the absence of evidence and kept off the case, he tipped over the edge and took matters into his own hands. He tracked down the man responsible and emptied a clip into him at point blank range.
His own arrest warrant followed, but his parents pulled strings and got him out on bail. All the same, the only person that really mattered in his life was gone, career over, and friends left staring at him like a traitor.
▻ NOWIn ever the metaphorical sense, his world had already ended, but a more literal version of events came days before his case went to trial. The earth trembled beneath his feet, an orange glow ominously appearing on the horizon where across the river New York was supposed to be. The monsters came next, dark and vicious, and he was quick to arm himself and head out into the streets. It might’ve been a mistake, but he still hadn’t learned how to stand idle and let anyone else take control. Trying to find some way out, or at least some way to signal for help, he and a few other survivors holed up in what was left of the ruins of Newark Airport.
[/div][div class=textbox]
extra
Theme:
Voiceclaim: Jensen Ackles
Faceclaim: Ronan Lynch // Jacob Hankin [/div]
[/div]
[/div][/div]
code by Ri.a
Last edited:
ACTIVE
Lakyr
The Dark Lord of Laziness
Name: James Cutler
Class: Hunter
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Height: 5'9''
Weight: 133 lbs
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Green
Complexion: Fair
Features: Hunter's mark upon the right hand
Powers/Skills:
Melee: 9/10
Handguns: 6/10
Other Firearms: 4/10
Agility/Dodging: 8/10
Stamina: 8/10
Speed: 8/10
Abilities: Physical abilities of a hunter; especially quick and nimble; trained in combat
Weaknesses: Disproportionate self-esteem(or he just doesn't care about his own safety); scared of the unknown; can't swim and is scared of (deep) water; can't accept the loss of his family and believes he'll find them someday;
Personality: James is an inherently kind and unselfish person. He's trying his best to protect the people around him and is loyal and caring towards his friends. The time in the apocalypse made him grow quieter and less engaging with other people but given that he finds someone he cares about he'll do his best to keep them around and will also, given the chance, try to hang onto a good mood. He's good at staying calm in most situations and normally doesn't want to burden others or even himself with his problems. Sometimes you just have to convince yourself and everyone around that you're fine in order to be fine.
Bio: Born and raised a hunter he learned about demons and the like early on and has been taught to fight them by his parents. He also has an older brother and they were a happy family and a good team. They were in New York on June 10, 2066, and they've got separated in midst of the chaos. He found his way out on his own and went to friends of the family nearby. He hoped to meet his parents and brother there, but they never came. It didn't take long until he started searching his parents on his own ... . He couldn't find them yet and therefore was never able to stay at one place for long.
Extra: Armed with a Beretta 92, a machete and a hunting knife. Carries a backpack around, he has a set of warm clothes, some food and drink and a comic book in there.
Class: Hunter
Age: 18
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Height: 5'9''
Weight: 133 lbs
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Green
Complexion: Fair
Features: Hunter's mark upon the right hand
Powers/Skills:
Melee: 9/10
Handguns: 6/10
Other Firearms: 4/10
Agility/Dodging: 8/10
Stamina: 8/10
Speed: 8/10
Abilities: Physical abilities of a hunter; especially quick and nimble; trained in combat
Weaknesses: Disproportionate self-esteem(or he just doesn't care about his own safety); scared of the unknown; can't swim and is scared of (deep) water; can't accept the loss of his family and believes he'll find them someday;
Personality: James is an inherently kind and unselfish person. He's trying his best to protect the people around him and is loyal and caring towards his friends. The time in the apocalypse made him grow quieter and less engaging with other people but given that he finds someone he cares about he'll do his best to keep them around and will also, given the chance, try to hang onto a good mood. He's good at staying calm in most situations and normally doesn't want to burden others or even himself with his problems. Sometimes you just have to convince yourself and everyone around that you're fine in order to be fine.
Bio: Born and raised a hunter he learned about demons and the like early on and has been taught to fight them by his parents. He also has an older brother and they were a happy family and a good team. They were in New York on June 10, 2066, and they've got separated in midst of the chaos. He found his way out on his own and went to friends of the family nearby. He hoped to meet his parents and brother there, but they never came. It didn't take long until he started searching his parents on his own ... . He couldn't find them yet and therefore was never able to stay at one place for long.
Extra: Armed with a Beretta 92, a machete and a hunting knife. Carries a backpack around, he has a set of warm clothes, some food and drink and a comic book in there.
Last edited:
ACTIVE
BasiliskVeranda
80s Trash
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[div class=textbox]
Class: Afflicted
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
Lowkey besties with Penny Vale, but has no idea she's alive.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 175
Hair Color: Blonde, sunkissed at one time, and now root-darkened and amber.
Eye Color: A deep hazel that borders on blue. Let's just call it blue.
Complexion: Fairer now than he's ever been before, as the sunny skies and blue, dreamy days have been all but forgotten.
Features: The darkened markings of his new nature seem to be just a natural progression of the tattoos he already had, deeply ground into his skin with needles and pocks. Forests and trees line up from his back, the mark of the afflicted taking its rightful place on his chest. It spires over the tattoos on his arms, which range the gamut from the prenatural symbols of the Beast he already had an affect towards, and some names from some people he cared about at some time.
His full-suited tattoo stops just at where a t-shirt's neckline would display it, and it spires past his hips to rest downward on lithe legs. The only color he has on his body, in all the inks of old, and all the marks of the damned, are poppies that rest languid on the hips and inner thighs. Bright and flush, they've waned in color over the years.
He is seen often wearing the trappings of far, far, far older days. Like a wraith intent on keeping the music alive, old band t-shirts and all. The rest is black, hole-worn, pock-marked, burn-signed and metaled. Perhaps a dark coat when he can find it, but the hot days that happen at times make it difficult.
The dark rider walks in style, style that marks a danger, despite him being a far friendlier ally than many of his other damned kin.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Darkness Manipulation:
Pain Inducement:
Pain Suppression:
Hey there, Sweet Talker:
Whatever Charisma he had before becoming Afflicted amplified to the nines after he was subject to the unyielding damnation that befell Earth. Call this a latent capacity, a skill, or a power. Whatever it is, the boy sure can lie, and he sure can dazzle.Put on the slow music, it's time to dance as the world falls apart.
Control:
Soul Corruption:
Extremely Corrupted, but managed to slow it down to a snail's crawl by way of a friendly Witch / very temporary ex-lover with the Gift. What a woman.
Oddly enough, has great control over his emotions (hello heavy-handed family upbringing) and relatively low susceptibility to demonic possession, but because he welcomes it (on occasion) we can set this at a low rating. It doesn't prove any point to have the great capacity for control if you lapse as easily as some err against their sobriety.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Isn't some kind of Jujitsu master.
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Skills with the short blade are a fondness he's always had, as he enjoys the quickness. He had to learn this for himself before the time of darkness, the art of defense in close quarters, so it stuck along with him. He's ruinous with long-range attempts, but his speed makes up for that. He is susceptible to stronger opponents insofar as he enjoys being slapped around a little bit, so a hard-knock to the face will result in imminent laughter and perhaps banter, even if he's bleeding from the nose with broken bones. It's best not to try to fight him, because he enjoys it too much, and might take it as a courting ritual. Fun times.
Agility / Dexterity:
You're going to want to avoid letting him get in close range.
Defense:
He could probably defend from physically overpowering creatures and humans if he didn't like getting smacked around so much.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Charming to the nines, Nik is the one you go to for a laugh, a cheer, a flirt, or friendly banter. He is extroverted to a fault, and actually cares a great deal about other people, despite what he regularly imbibes in. Which at this point, if you haven't realized that he's fine with Hell On Earth, you've clearly missed the memo. He's kind to women and children, likes cats, and before this time of darkness and decay, was known as a Friend To Moms Everywhere. Nothing untowards in that nature, he was just an excellent partner for their daughters and sons, was responsible, a good driver, had a good credit score, a good job, and all that wonderfulness. Which puts what he is, what he likes, what he wants, and what he will most likely someday become at odds with his gregarious nature.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
He wasn't one to full-heartedly believe in the ways of demons, angels, the divine of the unclean. He just enjoyed rock and roll and all the trappings within, favored horror movies, and took an interest in the macabre. But this was normal teen-boy stuff, nothing much to see here. Cigarettes, tattoos, and piercings, without somehow having an edge factor in the slightest. He took to sports like soccer, and did well in school. Then the interests grew in beauty and application, in college, where he double majored in Painting and Business. An odd pairing to be plain, but the man was smart with his intentions. Dark oil portraiture, dark and deep, with bones and skin in titantium white and the deepest perelyne red this side of an art supply store. He dated many, he loved many, he grew a small cottage business selling his work online, and it was all lovely, sunshine, roses, hot white heat, cool summers, and goth 80s music for what seemed like years.
Nothing particularly striking happened in his life to set him on the wrong path, but there was always something there that he couldn't ignore. A fascination that drove him to be passionate about his craft. He went on to study more on business, and took it upon himself to start a gallery called Black Mass--ironic, that--that gained some acclaim in his home burrow of Queens, New York. With the business booming, the much beloved fiance named Diana pregnant with their child, everything seemed good and right with the world.
He got to be his strange self, with much love in his life, sans a rather strict upbringing, and everything he had wanted to happen had simply come to be.
Then, on June 10th, 2066, his world came crashing down.
In the hellfire that swept New York, his gallery was burned to a crisp. And inside, his pregnant fiance, with her own art opening. He had stepped outside for just one cigarette--no smoking around the glowing beauty--and he was left flung quite across the street. Landing face-first in a muddied puddle, he came to, to see all around him what had become of the world. What had become of his fiance. The child he'd never get to hold. That...that dream was lost.
The gallery be damned, she...was his everything. And their child would've been his everything. And everything had been right, and good, and perfect. Until it wasn't. The world was ending. It had ended. And his world, too, was rust and stardust, decaying in the building he still entered. He still stood within. He stared at her corpse for far too long, and something broke, and it was never the same again, and it would never be as it was.
And he was never the same. And he would never be who he was.
Always searching for some reason to belong, for someone to belong to, Niklas was an easy target for the darkness that bathed the world. It almost caressed him in a way, it was eager, it seemed. And he was a great prize for that which lay beyond the void. As any strapping man with his charms, and his talents, and his swiftness, and his interests is apt to be.
But her, and they--the babe within...had to be taken first, he guessed. For him to just finally accept whatever fate he had been dealt. To accept that he was no longer himself.
Now in New Jersey, in ashen ruins, with cigarettes he hoards and kind words he tries to give, and smiles, and the want, and the mark...he simply is. Standing perfectly still, yet still moving. Perhaps waiting to fully transform. Perhaps waiting to be killed.
Or, perhaps, waiting to be called to action by being of light or denizen of darkness. For he can go either way, despite what ails within his heart.
A man on a wire, between two worlds.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Theme: A Little Death To Laugh
Faceclaim: Boyd Holbrook[/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Niklas Liam VossClass: Afflicted
Age: 32
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 175
Hair Color: Blonde, sunkissed at one time, and now root-darkened and amber.
Eye Color: A deep hazel that borders on blue. Let's just call it blue.
Complexion: Fairer now than he's ever been before, as the sunny skies and blue, dreamy days have been all but forgotten.
Features: The darkened markings of his new nature seem to be just a natural progression of the tattoos he already had, deeply ground into his skin with needles and pocks. Forests and trees line up from his back, the mark of the afflicted taking its rightful place on his chest. It spires over the tattoos on his arms, which range the gamut from the prenatural symbols of the Beast he already had an affect towards, and some names from some people he cared about at some time.
His full-suited tattoo stops just at where a t-shirt's neckline would display it, and it spires past his hips to rest downward on lithe legs. The only color he has on his body, in all the inks of old, and all the marks of the damned, are poppies that rest languid on the hips and inner thighs. Bright and flush, they've waned in color over the years.
He is seen often wearing the trappings of far, far, far older days. Like a wraith intent on keeping the music alive, old band t-shirts and all. The rest is black, hole-worn, pock-marked, burn-signed and metaled. Perhaps a dark coat when he can find it, but the hot days that happen at times make it difficult.
The dark rider walks in style, style that marks a danger, despite him being a far friendlier ally than many of his other damned kin.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
Darkness Manipulation:
Pain Inducement:
Pain Suppression:
Hey there, Sweet Talker:
Whatever Charisma he had before becoming Afflicted amplified to the nines after he was subject to the unyielding damnation that befell Earth. Call this a latent capacity, a skill, or a power. Whatever it is, the boy sure can lie, and he sure can dazzle.
Control:
Soul Corruption:
Extremely Corrupted, but managed to slow it down to a snail's crawl by way of a friendly Witch / very temporary ex-lover with the Gift. What a woman.
Oddly enough, has great control over his emotions (hello heavy-handed family upbringing) and relatively low susceptibility to demonic possession, but because he welcomes it (on occasion) we can set this at a low rating. It doesn't prove any point to have the great capacity for control if you lapse as easily as some err against their sobriety.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
abilities
Martial Arts: Isn't some kind of Jujitsu master.
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Skills with the short blade are a fondness he's always had, as he enjoys the quickness. He had to learn this for himself before the time of darkness, the art of defense in close quarters, so it stuck along with him. He's ruinous with long-range attempts, but his speed makes up for that. He is susceptible to stronger opponents insofar as he enjoys being slapped around a little bit, so a hard-knock to the face will result in imminent laughter and perhaps banter, even if he's bleeding from the nose with broken bones. It's best not to try to fight him, because he enjoys it too much, and might take it as a courting ritual. Fun times.
Agility / Dexterity:
You're going to want to avoid letting him get in close range.
Defense:
He could probably defend from physically overpowering creatures and humans if he didn't like getting smacked around so much.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
- Can't shoot a gun, aim a projectile, or throw a frisbee to save his life.
- Likes taking bad orders from bad people.
- Problems with impulse control for the things he wants (which vary).
- Easily susceptible to the humorous and charming.
- Feels physical ill in the presence of the Divine, Prophetic, Blessed or wielders of White Magic. Whether this is psychosomatic or a pure marker of his subjugation to the Impure, that's yet to be determined. He'll still chat, however.
- Dogs hate him.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
personality
Charming to the nines, Nik is the one you go to for a laugh, a cheer, a flirt, or friendly banter. He is extroverted to a fault, and actually cares a great deal about other people, despite what he regularly imbibes in. Which at this point, if you haven't realized that he's fine with Hell On Earth, you've clearly missed the memo. He's kind to women and children, likes cats, and before this time of darkness and decay, was known as a Friend To Moms Everywhere. Nothing untowards in that nature, he was just an excellent partner for their daughters and sons, was responsible, a good driver, had a good credit score, a good job, and all that wonderfulness. Which puts what he is, what he likes, what he wants, and what he will most likely someday become at odds with his gregarious nature.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
He wasn't one to full-heartedly believe in the ways of demons, angels, the divine of the unclean. He just enjoyed rock and roll and all the trappings within, favored horror movies, and took an interest in the macabre. But this was normal teen-boy stuff, nothing much to see here. Cigarettes, tattoos, and piercings, without somehow having an edge factor in the slightest. He took to sports like soccer, and did well in school. Then the interests grew in beauty and application, in college, where he double majored in Painting and Business. An odd pairing to be plain, but the man was smart with his intentions. Dark oil portraiture, dark and deep, with bones and skin in titantium white and the deepest perelyne red this side of an art supply store. He dated many, he loved many, he grew a small cottage business selling his work online, and it was all lovely, sunshine, roses, hot white heat, cool summers, and goth 80s music for what seemed like years.
Nothing particularly striking happened in his life to set him on the wrong path, but there was always something there that he couldn't ignore. A fascination that drove him to be passionate about his craft. He went on to study more on business, and took it upon himself to start a gallery called Black Mass--ironic, that--that gained some acclaim in his home burrow of Queens, New York. With the business booming, the much beloved fiance named Diana pregnant with their child, everything seemed good and right with the world.
He got to be his strange self, with much love in his life, sans a rather strict upbringing, and everything he had wanted to happen had simply come to be.
Then, on June 10th, 2066, his world came crashing down.
In the hellfire that swept New York, his gallery was burned to a crisp. And inside, his pregnant fiance, with her own art opening. He had stepped outside for just one cigarette--no smoking around the glowing beauty--and he was left flung quite across the street. Landing face-first in a muddied puddle, he came to, to see all around him what had become of the world. What had become of his fiance. The child he'd never get to hold. That...that dream was lost.
The gallery be damned, she...was his everything. And their child would've been his everything. And everything had been right, and good, and perfect. Until it wasn't. The world was ending. It had ended. And his world, too, was rust and stardust, decaying in the building he still entered. He still stood within. He stared at her corpse for far too long, and something broke, and it was never the same again, and it would never be as it was.
And he was never the same. And he would never be who he was.
Always searching for some reason to belong, for someone to belong to, Niklas was an easy target for the darkness that bathed the world. It almost caressed him in a way, it was eager, it seemed. And he was a great prize for that which lay beyond the void. As any strapping man with his charms, and his talents, and his swiftness, and his interests is apt to be.
But her, and they--the babe within...had to be taken first, he guessed. For him to just finally accept whatever fate he had been dealt. To accept that he was no longer himself.
Now in New Jersey, in ashen ruins, with cigarettes he hoards and kind words he tries to give, and smiles, and the want, and the mark...he simply is. Standing perfectly still, yet still moving. Perhaps waiting to fully transform. Perhaps waiting to be killed.
Or, perhaps, waiting to be called to action by being of light or denizen of darkness. For he can go either way, despite what ails within his heart.
A man on a wire, between two worlds.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
extra
Theme: A Little Death To Laugh
Faceclaim: Boyd Holbrook[/div]
[/div][/div]
code by Ri.a
Last edited:
ACTIVE
Chise_Robin_
procrastination queen
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[div class=textbox]
Class: Hunter
Age:18
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Pansexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 5.5
Weight: 113 lbs
Hair Color: Chestnut brown with highlights of a lighter color
Eye Color: light brown, almost like the color of honey
Complexion: fair
Features: Alaska has toned muscles and abs because of her constant training as a hunter. The last year made her lose more weight as her eating and sleeping schedules have been screwed up. Dark circles never leave from under her eyes because of sleep deprivation.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
hand to hand combat:
archery:
fire arms:
Machine maintenance and mechanics:
Telekinesis:
image by basilisk Veranda 
[div class=textbox]
[div class=textbox]
* Alaska's main weakness is the fear ofher soul getting corrupted, be it angelic or demonic. She feels like if that were to happen she would lose the essence of who she truly is and become a different person.
*bipolar: she behaviour drastically changes when she's tired or very hungry. The once lively, smiling ball of enthusiasm becomes a pit of apathy and becomes almost always annoyed at whatever people do. Whenever that happens she prefers to stay alone, in order not to hurt anyone with words or so she doesn't snap at every sound
*Claustrophobia: She absolutely hates crowded places and small places, she gets panic attacks and can't slow her heart beat on her own.
*navigation: what is a rather useful skill in the apocalypse is Alaska's shame and embarrassment source, she can't navigate a map if her life depended on it. And directions are just mere words to her
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
She is very loyal to her family and friends and very dedicated to keeping people alive. Alaska never had a romantic relationship, some of her friends even claim that she's friendzoned the universe While this is mostly true, the reason behind it is probably the fear of getting her heart broken, and her constant fear of the death of the people she loves.
Alaska is adaptable to realistic and materialistic change, while she isn't rigid, always either moving or fluid,s he doesn't force things to change, but thrives in the interaction of others and easily conforming to it.
When put under pressure or forced , if the struggle or pressure affects only herself she'd endure it, up to her last breath. If it is directed towards a friend she'd snap and give in in a heart beat in order to save them,she's terrified of losing people she cares about, even more so than dying.
She believes that this world is doomed, that no matter what they try to do , it will end despite them. But also that saving as many people as she can for as long as she can might give some hope of life to others. She strives to make people believe this world has a chance because she herself isn't capable of doing so. She's a very realistic person with a dormant emotional side she's trying to shake awake, that's why she cares for the struggles of others even magnifying them while simply shrugging her own.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Alaska was 16 years old when one day while Alexander was on a hunting trip with his sister and father, they were ambushed by a group of red eyed demons. he was possessed by one of the demons, but the thing that was absolutely surprising was that he let himself go without a fight. It was as if he'd enjoyed it. The three were captured and Alaska was forced to watch Alexander while possessed by the demon kill her father in front of her eyes while she screamed and promised revenge.
After the death of her father, Alaska was tortured by curses and pain inducements, the pain sometimes becoming so severe she'd pass out. For some reason the demon didn't kill her, he seemed to enjoy torturing her and trying to get inside of her mind, while her brother, possessed by another demon would sit and watch.
She was saved by hunters from the organization who killed her brother in the process. Alaska was taken to complete her training. Her determination for revenge made her work harder every day, it drove her to become a better hunter with no mercy when it comes to demons. She's still haunted by that demon almost every time she closes her eyes to sleep, knowing that he is still out there. Alaska vowed to kill him slowly the minute she finds him, maybe then she can finally find some peace. [/div]
[div class=textbox]
Theme:
Faceclaim: Lily Collins[/div][/div][/div][/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name:Alaska Roberts Class: Hunter
Age:18
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Pansexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 5.5
Weight: 113 lbs
Hair Color: Chestnut brown with highlights of a lighter color
Eye Color: light brown, almost like the color of honey
Complexion: fair
Features: Alaska has toned muscles and abs because of her constant training as a hunter. The last year made her lose more weight as her eating and sleeping schedules have been screwed up. Dark circles never leave from under her eyes because of sleep deprivation.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
hand to hand combat:
archery:
fire arms:
Machine maintenance and mechanics:
Telekinesis:
[div class=textbox]
abilities
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
* Alaska's main weakness is the fear ofher soul getting corrupted, be it angelic or demonic. She feels like if that were to happen she would lose the essence of who she truly is and become a different person.
*bipolar: she behaviour drastically changes when she's tired or very hungry. The once lively, smiling ball of enthusiasm becomes a pit of apathy and becomes almost always annoyed at whatever people do. Whenever that happens she prefers to stay alone, in order not to hurt anyone with words or so she doesn't snap at every sound
*Claustrophobia: She absolutely hates crowded places and small places, she gets panic attacks and can't slow her heart beat on her own.
*navigation: what is a rather useful skill in the apocalypse is Alaska's shame and embarrassment source, she can't navigate a map if her life depended on it. And directions are just mere words to her
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
personality
Normally Alaska is fun to be around, she is charming when she wants to be, sometimes silly and adventurous on her good days. Other days you'd find her completely silent and somewhat melancholic. She loves everything that has to do with books and music.She is very loyal to her family and friends and very dedicated to keeping people alive. Alaska never had a romantic relationship, some of her friends even claim that she's friendzoned the universe While this is mostly true, the reason behind it is probably the fear of getting her heart broken, and her constant fear of the death of the people she loves.
Alaska is adaptable to realistic and materialistic change, while she isn't rigid, always either moving or fluid,s he doesn't force things to change, but thrives in the interaction of others and easily conforming to it.
When put under pressure or forced , if the struggle or pressure affects only herself she'd endure it, up to her last breath. If it is directed towards a friend she'd snap and give in in a heart beat in order to save them,she's terrified of losing people she cares about, even more so than dying.
She believes that this world is doomed, that no matter what they try to do , it will end despite them. But also that saving as many people as she can for as long as she can might give some hope of life to others. She strives to make people believe this world has a chance because she herself isn't capable of doing so. She's a very realistic person with a dormant emotional side she's trying to shake awake, that's why she cares for the struggles of others even magnifying them while simply shrugging her own.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
Alaska had a brother three years older than her, she completely adored him and aspired to become like him. Alexander was an accomplished hunter known by almost everybody in the community, he always looked after his little sister and was the one who trained her along with their father. Her mother was a witch who died when the girl was three years old, Alaska only inherited telekinesis from her mother due to her not being there to teach the young girl about her powers, she herself discovered her powers after the apocalypseAlaska was 16 years old when one day while Alexander was on a hunting trip with his sister and father, they were ambushed by a group of red eyed demons. he was possessed by one of the demons, but the thing that was absolutely surprising was that he let himself go without a fight. It was as if he'd enjoyed it. The three were captured and Alaska was forced to watch Alexander while possessed by the demon kill her father in front of her eyes while she screamed and promised revenge.
After the death of her father, Alaska was tortured by curses and pain inducements, the pain sometimes becoming so severe she'd pass out. For some reason the demon didn't kill her, he seemed to enjoy torturing her and trying to get inside of her mind, while her brother, possessed by another demon would sit and watch.
She was saved by hunters from the organization who killed her brother in the process. Alaska was taken to complete her training. Her determination for revenge made her work harder every day, it drove her to become a better hunter with no mercy when it comes to demons. She's still haunted by that demon almost every time she closes her eyes to sleep, knowing that he is still out there. Alaska vowed to kill him slowly the minute she finds him, maybe then she can finally find some peace. [/div]
[div class=textbox]
extra
Theme:
Faceclaim: Lily Collins[/div][/div][/div][/div][/div]
Last edited:
ACTIVE
Lekiel
Two Thousand Club
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[div class=textbox]
Class: Witch
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Has never felt sexually attracted to anyone of any gender. Possibly asexual, she doesn't know herself. ~ "And I never cared. But honestly, when the world's gone to shit and you have a bunch of salivating revenants thirsting after your tasty behind, the last thing you'd want is getting yourself eaten out."
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 175 cm (5 Feet 9)
Weight: 57 kg (126 lbs)
Hair Color: Cocoa Brown. Soft languid waves. Shoulder blade length. Usually loosely clasped together with a claw hairpin.
Eye Color: Hazel, Almond Shaped
Complexion: Fair Olive
Features: High cheekbones, with a faint sprinkling of freckles across the nose and cheeks. Willowy elegant limbs with just enough curves and decent musculature as to still appear fit and feminine.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Control - White Magic/Alchemy:
~ "Focus? What?"
"Likelyhood to fail? Very Likely. . . Also depends on what you define as a failure. Does not having the intended effect count? I mean, something did happen, right?"
Spells: Reverie's knowledge of White Magic is considerably large, however, she struggles to even make some of its simpler cantrips work. She has a better grasp on alchemy, simply because that path of magic relies less on the latent power within the witch.
Equipment: Reverie carries a well worn backpack with her. Other than the usual travelling supplies, she carries a pen knife, carefully secured bottles of alchemy reagents, and a revolver (which she doesn't know how to use other than to squeeze the trigger and reload).
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Martial Arts: ~ "I've watched about five reruns of Kungfu Panda. I think I've managed to memorize all of Po's moves!"
Hand-to-Hand Combat: *The woman stares unblinking at you with her vivid hazel eyes a moment too long* ~ "Like thumb wrestling?"
Firearm Proficiency: ~ "Nupe."
Agility: ~ "Huh? Normal?"
Durability: ~ "What do you think I am..? What kind of question even is that!? I'm not a Toyota, hellooo!?"
Overall Usefulness to a Community: ~ "Na-uh."
How do you even survive: ~ "I dunno? I guess I'm just lucky? But you know, you'd be surprised how long you last by being... smart. I'm not saying I'm smartI am, just... don't do stupid things. And keep yourself fit! Good legs will carry you anywhere. And maybe the occasional spell that works. Also..." *the lady leans forward and whispers into your ear*
You want me to ask you if you cook: ~ "Wow! Now that's a proper question! I do in fact! Very well I gotta say... I was going to open a lil' diner and call it 'Alchemy Bites'! But then the world went to poop on itself as you know it. Bugger that."
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
❖ Selfish - Don't expect Reverie to put her life on the line to save yours. Especially if she has nothing to gain from it. She would be the last person you'd pick to play a superhero.
❖ Fickle Loyalty - No she's not a tramp. But while she can readily put on a friendly front and warm up to you quickly enough, it's better for you to watch your own six. She's used to sticking it out on her own, and kinda expects you to do the same for yourself. Relationships to her are temporary conveniences. The warm company of another fellow human being, the shared experiences, stimulating banter. She appreciates those moments, and would even write you a 'thank you' note for it, but you might find her bedroll gone in the morning for no apparent reason.
❖ Appears Apathetic/Cerebral - Rarely moved by emotion. It does not mean she is incapable of feeling. In fact she can appear to be very responsive in general situations. But her smiling eyes and smirking lips can quickly be replaced by a blank facade devoid of any pity to those unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of her lack of empathy.
❖ Dark Chocolate - Can be bribed with the finest cocoa beans.
❖ Hugs - Kinda contradictory I know. But if you give good cuddles, she tends to stick around longer.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
In general, Reverie can be an open and friendly individual. Quick to laugh at your jokes, flashing random grins that would brighten the dreariest of days and exclaim over your epic tales of survival. During these initial moments, you might catch her eyeing you out of the corner of her eye, a half smile curling at corners of her lips, eyes staring intently as if searching for something that lay beneath your skin; judging. Then you, like so many others, might one morning find the enigmatic brunette gone without a trace. Her spot by the kindling embers void with cold emptiness as you wonder what it was about you that made her leave- ~ "Oh come on, I'm joking! Don't give me that look! Hahah! Why don't you meet me and then you can help me fill in this space?"
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Reverie grew up under the care of a doting mother, and loving albeit busy father. Her early life was much as anyone could expect for a child of noble birth; except for the extra lessons behind closed doors. Sophia did much to remind her daughter about her heritage, even that of her husband's, schooling her in the witching craft of white magic and alchemy. Despite the potent blood that coursed through young Reverie's veins, she could never really find her footing in her parent's craft. Her powers seemed sporadic and uncontrollable, no matter how much she affirmed that she understood what was being taught. Nevertheless, she found alchemy reasonably easier (perhaps due to it relying less on latent talent) and her mother resigned to the fact that perhaps Reverie would take after her father; it wasn't much of an issue to Sophia despite how her own family thought about it. To her, just seeing Reverie being happy with who she is, was good enough.
But Reverie's idyllic life would not last forever. One cold November morning, eight year old Reverie was awoken to the frantic cries of the servants and the strained and concerned voice of her father. It had been a blood moon on the previous night, and one of the groundskeepers thought he had seen the Countess head out of the manor into the woods. But when he went to check, she was nowhere to be found; so he had dismissed it as his imagination. But come morning, Sophia was truly nowhere to be seen. Gone without a trace or a farewell word. Much of what happened then Reverie had blocked from her memory. She only remembered that her father had changed. Gone was the kind loving paternal figure. Replaced instead by a cold, apathetic man obsessed with ensuring that Reverie be groomed to one day take over his large estates. He removed all traces of her mother from the house, and set tasks and demands on the young girl with the sole act of making sure she was a Glangarry through and through. Reverie began to resent him, and all her relatives on either side who seemed to care for nothing other than their abstract heritage. Reverie cried and screamed for her mother to return, strangely enough, never once blaming her for her unexplained disappearance. She was surrounded by servants and 'family' from all sides, but she felt so alone. She wanted no part of it all.
Thus, not long after finishing her senior year at school, she gathered her most personal belongings and some savings from part time jobs (she resolved that she wanted nothing to do with her father's inexhaustible riches) and left for the continent across the Atlantic ocean. She took up her mother's maiden name, and began a new life for herself. It was very difficult at first, as she came to the realization that she had lived a very sheltered life back at the Glangarry manor. She'd hit rock bottom on more than one occasion, and sold her dignity and swallowed her pride all in an effort to prove to her father and herself that she was her own person, and could make it in the world. She'd learned the darkness of people's hearts, knew not to trust less you let yourself become vulnerable to their selfish intentions. She learned the hard way. The days were a drag, waiting on tables and the nights even longer, waiting on even more tables in shady parts of town bringing piss tasting liquor to disgusting pigs who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. And when they couldn't keep their pants up... well, at least they usually didn't last very long and the tips were considerable. It was the first time she was truly thankful for her witchcraft. Potions and a simple spell (triple casted to make sure at least one worked) made sure she contracted nothing and had no unwanted surprises. Whatever free time she could glean, Reverie devoured volumes after volumes of books from the public libraries and bookstores, taking comfort in their offerings of precious liberating knowledge that reminded her ever so often, that there was so much more in life to hope for.
Her modest break came in the form of a well groomed man in a dapper suit almost two years in. She'd recognized the logo on the name tag he had forgotten to stash away, as he stepped into the bar late one night. Judging from his dressing, perhaps a manager at the upper class restaurant uptown. He took a liking to her (well, there were many like that of course) but unlike all of the others, was enough of a gentlemen to not take advantage of the situation. She had only been doing her job, refilling his glass, nodding and smiling while he cried about his latest heartbreak. She later suspected that he might have mistaken her warm smile for genuine interest. When her shift was up in the wee hours of the morning, Reverie stepped out into the dingy wet alleyway only to find out that Desmond had been waiting for her, insisting that he take her back to her place. She hesitated, but relented. By the time they reached her apartment, she'd landed a new job at a snazzy restaurant in the finer parts of New York. She woke up the next day, wrapped in nothing but her stained sheets, Desmond snoring loudly by the side. He'd harbored the motive afterall, but at least, had also something more lucrative to offer than bodily fluids and dirty bills. She'd appreciated that at least, anything to move on up the ladder. Besides, he didn't complain about the fact that she had just laid there like an inanimate doll. Fast forward a couple of months, she found herself in the kitchens of a chic fine dining place in New York as a sous chef, while she freelanced some nights as a jazz bar singer.
Just when she thought she was finally getting the hang of life, Hell decided to come knocking.[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Favourite Song:
Cover Theme Inspiration:
Frisson
Faceclaim: Reverie Lowiezka
Voiceclaim: Mia Wray[/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Reverie Anielica LowiezkaClass: Witch
Age: 24
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Has never felt sexually attracted to anyone of any gender. Possibly asexual, she doesn't know herself. ~ "And I never cared. But honestly, when the world's gone to shit and you have a bunch of salivating revenants thirsting after your tasty behind, the last thing you'd want is getting yourself eaten out."
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 175 cm (5 Feet 9)
Weight: 57 kg (126 lbs)
Hair Color: Cocoa Brown. Soft languid waves. Shoulder blade length. Usually loosely clasped together with a claw hairpin.
Eye Color: Hazel, Almond Shaped
Complexion: Fair Olive
Features: High cheekbones, with a faint sprinkling of freckles across the nose and cheeks. Willowy elegant limbs with just enough curves and decent musculature as to still appear fit and feminine.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
Control - White Magic/Alchemy:
~ "Focus? What?"
"Likelyhood to fail? Very Likely. . . Also depends on what you define as a failure. Does not having the intended effect count? I mean, something did happen, right?"
Spells: Reverie's knowledge of White Magic is considerably large, however, she struggles to even make some of its simpler cantrips work. She has a better grasp on alchemy, simply because that path of magic relies less on the latent power within the witch.
Equipment: Reverie carries a well worn backpack with her. Other than the usual travelling supplies, she carries a pen knife, carefully secured bottles of alchemy reagents, and a revolver (which she doesn't know how to use other than to squeeze the trigger and reload).
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
abilities
Martial Arts: ~ "I've watched about five reruns of Kungfu Panda. I think I've managed to memorize all of Po's moves!"
Hand-to-Hand Combat: *The woman stares unblinking at you with her vivid hazel eyes a moment too long* ~ "Like thumb wrestling?"
Firearm Proficiency: ~ "Nupe."
Agility: ~ "Huh? Normal?"
Durability: ~ "What do you think I am..? What kind of question even is that!? I'm not a Toyota, hellooo!?"
Overall Usefulness to a Community: ~ "Na-uh."
How do you even survive: ~ "I dunno? I guess I'm just lucky? But you know, you'd be surprised how long you last by being... smart. I'm not saying I'm smartI am, just... don't do stupid things. And keep yourself fit! Good legs will carry you anywhere. And maybe the occasional spell that works. Also..." *the lady leans forward and whispers into your ear*
You want me to ask you if you cook: ~ "Wow! Now that's a proper question! I do in fact! Very well I gotta say... I was going to open a lil' diner and call it 'Alchemy Bites'! But then the world went to poop on itself as you know it. Bugger that."
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
❖ Selfish - Don't expect Reverie to put her life on the line to save yours. Especially if she has nothing to gain from it. She would be the last person you'd pick to play a superhero.
❖ Fickle Loyalty - No she's not a tramp. But while she can readily put on a friendly front and warm up to you quickly enough, it's better for you to watch your own six. She's used to sticking it out on her own, and kinda expects you to do the same for yourself. Relationships to her are temporary conveniences. The warm company of another fellow human being, the shared experiences, stimulating banter. She appreciates those moments, and would even write you a 'thank you' note for it, but you might find her bedroll gone in the morning for no apparent reason.
❖ Appears Apathetic/Cerebral - Rarely moved by emotion. It does not mean she is incapable of feeling. In fact she can appear to be very responsive in general situations. But her smiling eyes and smirking lips can quickly be replaced by a blank facade devoid of any pity to those unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of her lack of empathy.
❖ Dark Chocolate - Can be bribed with the finest cocoa beans.
❖ Hugs - Kinda contradictory I know. But if you give good cuddles, she tends to stick around longer.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
personality
~ "What, haven't you already figured it out yet?"In general, Reverie can be an open and friendly individual. Quick to laugh at your jokes, flashing random grins that would brighten the dreariest of days and exclaim over your epic tales of survival. During these initial moments, you might catch her eyeing you out of the corner of her eye, a half smile curling at corners of her lips, eyes staring intently as if searching for something that lay beneath your skin; judging. Then you, like so many others, might one morning find the enigmatic brunette gone without a trace. Her spot by the kindling embers void with cold emptiness as you wonder what it was about you that made her leave- ~ "Oh come on, I'm joking! Don't give me that look! Hahah! Why don't you meet me and then you can help me fill in this space?"
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
Reverie Angeline (Anielica) Glengarry had been the lovechild of Countess Sophia Lowiezka and Victor Glengarry, Earl of Inverness-shire, in the UK. Shortly after Reverie was born, the two tied the knot. To the unassuming public, the joining of both Sophia and Victor was nothing more than a marriage between relatively obscure European nobles. But beneath the surface, in the shadowed alcoves of the Glengarry Manor, a ritual was underway, marking the end of a rivalry between two powerful witching covens with a feud that ran far into ancient times; a time so long passed that even both families kept no accounts of when and why the feud started, only that they had once shared a common ancestor. The Lowiezka's drew their roots from the grounds of the Białowieża Forest. Oldest forest in the European continent. They were a coven of very powerful White Mages. And until that day, were bitter rivals of the Glengarrys, hugely powerful alchemists in their own right and guardians of the Glengarry Forests of Scotland. Perhaps it was due to the very nature of magic that both families drew upon that allowed their rivalry to last through the ages, for White Witches drew no strength from evil intent. Nevertheless, fate of perhaps simple chance drew them together, ending the squabble for a time.Reverie grew up under the care of a doting mother, and loving albeit busy father. Her early life was much as anyone could expect for a child of noble birth; except for the extra lessons behind closed doors. Sophia did much to remind her daughter about her heritage, even that of her husband's, schooling her in the witching craft of white magic and alchemy. Despite the potent blood that coursed through young Reverie's veins, she could never really find her footing in her parent's craft. Her powers seemed sporadic and uncontrollable, no matter how much she affirmed that she understood what was being taught. Nevertheless, she found alchemy reasonably easier (perhaps due to it relying less on latent talent) and her mother resigned to the fact that perhaps Reverie would take after her father; it wasn't much of an issue to Sophia despite how her own family thought about it. To her, just seeing Reverie being happy with who she is, was good enough.
But Reverie's idyllic life would not last forever. One cold November morning, eight year old Reverie was awoken to the frantic cries of the servants and the strained and concerned voice of her father. It had been a blood moon on the previous night, and one of the groundskeepers thought he had seen the Countess head out of the manor into the woods. But when he went to check, she was nowhere to be found; so he had dismissed it as his imagination. But come morning, Sophia was truly nowhere to be seen. Gone without a trace or a farewell word. Much of what happened then Reverie had blocked from her memory. She only remembered that her father had changed. Gone was the kind loving paternal figure. Replaced instead by a cold, apathetic man obsessed with ensuring that Reverie be groomed to one day take over his large estates. He removed all traces of her mother from the house, and set tasks and demands on the young girl with the sole act of making sure she was a Glangarry through and through. Reverie began to resent him, and all her relatives on either side who seemed to care for nothing other than their abstract heritage. Reverie cried and screamed for her mother to return, strangely enough, never once blaming her for her unexplained disappearance. She was surrounded by servants and 'family' from all sides, but she felt so alone. She wanted no part of it all.
Thus, not long after finishing her senior year at school, she gathered her most personal belongings and some savings from part time jobs (she resolved that she wanted nothing to do with her father's inexhaustible riches) and left for the continent across the Atlantic ocean. She took up her mother's maiden name, and began a new life for herself. It was very difficult at first, as she came to the realization that she had lived a very sheltered life back at the Glangarry manor. She'd hit rock bottom on more than one occasion, and sold her dignity and swallowed her pride all in an effort to prove to her father and herself that she was her own person, and could make it in the world. She'd learned the darkness of people's hearts, knew not to trust less you let yourself become vulnerable to their selfish intentions. She learned the hard way. The days were a drag, waiting on tables and the nights even longer, waiting on even more tables in shady parts of town bringing piss tasting liquor to disgusting pigs who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. And when they couldn't keep their pants up... well, at least they usually didn't last very long and the tips were considerable. It was the first time she was truly thankful for her witchcraft. Potions and a simple spell (triple casted to make sure at least one worked) made sure she contracted nothing and had no unwanted surprises. Whatever free time she could glean, Reverie devoured volumes after volumes of books from the public libraries and bookstores, taking comfort in their offerings of precious liberating knowledge that reminded her ever so often, that there was so much more in life to hope for.
Her modest break came in the form of a well groomed man in a dapper suit almost two years in. She'd recognized the logo on the name tag he had forgotten to stash away, as he stepped into the bar late one night. Judging from his dressing, perhaps a manager at the upper class restaurant uptown. He took a liking to her (well, there were many like that of course) but unlike all of the others, was enough of a gentlemen to not take advantage of the situation. She had only been doing her job, refilling his glass, nodding and smiling while he cried about his latest heartbreak. She later suspected that he might have mistaken her warm smile for genuine interest. When her shift was up in the wee hours of the morning, Reverie stepped out into the dingy wet alleyway only to find out that Desmond had been waiting for her, insisting that he take her back to her place. She hesitated, but relented. By the time they reached her apartment, she'd landed a new job at a snazzy restaurant in the finer parts of New York. She woke up the next day, wrapped in nothing but her stained sheets, Desmond snoring loudly by the side. He'd harbored the motive afterall, but at least, had also something more lucrative to offer than bodily fluids and dirty bills. She'd appreciated that at least, anything to move on up the ladder. Besides, he didn't complain about the fact that she had just laid there like an inanimate doll. Fast forward a couple of months, she found herself in the kitchens of a chic fine dining place in New York as a sous chef, while she freelanced some nights as a jazz bar singer.
Just when she thought she was finally getting the hang of life, Hell decided to come knocking.[/div]
[div class=textbox]
extra
Favourite Song:
Cover Theme Inspiration:
Frisson
Faceclaim: Reverie Lowiezka
Voiceclaim: Mia Wray[/div]
[/div][/div]
code by Ri.a
Last edited:
ACTIVE
Anise
Sherlock Tough Cookie
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[div class=textbox]
Class: hunter
Age: 20
Gender: male
Sexuality: heterosexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 5'10'' (177,8 cm)
Weight: 153 Ibs
Hair Color: dark blonde / light brown
Eye Color: blue
Complexion: fair
Features:
- hunter’s mark on the back of his left hand that looks like it was wanted to be crossed off with some kind of a blade
- scars all over his arms
- freckles
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
- smiling
- having fun
- sarcasm
- being annoying
- drawing: 5/10 (always carries a sketchbook)
- cooking (he loves to cook, but he'll probably set your kitchen on fire so pls…don't let him cook, even if he begs you)
- dancing skill: 4/10
- agility: 8/10
- fighting: 7/10 ("Fighting is bad, don't do that. Look at the poor revenants, they are just hangry…Just kidding. Hehe. I guess I know how to use a bow and I'm also pretty handy with blades…we'll see. ")
- firearms: 0/10
- archery: 8/10
- dual wielding with swords: 7/10
[/div]
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physical abilities of a marked hunter, swift, agile.
[/div]
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- spiders and every single creepy crawly: "Those eight legged creatures, ugh.. *shrugs and spaces out for a minute* Not a fan I suppose. "
- cigarettes = trauma: because faded burnmarks
- dogs: "Ayeeee, did you say dogs?! Where are the doggos?! Gimme the doggos! "
- his family: It's been hard. And Kayden is the only one who knows the brutal truth behind his pitch perfect family, especially his father.
- fears of getting recognized: his family was well known among hunters and as a unwanted child he was often mocked by other hunters.
- fears of losing his friends
[/div]
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He's such a cinnamon roll. Strong, loving, not scared of anyone, loves talking to people, smart, maybe stubborn, forgetful, gets hurt a lot but still smiles every day,cries almost every night, light- hearted, dedicated, not scared to fight, hugs everyone, loves everyone he knows, sneaky, protective, hugs random people just because why not....
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he always keeps his arms covered in white bandages so that people would not see his scars.
Theme:
Faceclaim: Froy Gutierrez [/div]
[/div][/div]
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basics
Name: Kayden Julian HuangClass: hunter
Age: 20
Gender: male
Sexuality: heterosexual
[/div]
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appearance
Height: 5'10'' (177,8 cm)
Weight: 153 Ibs
Hair Color: dark blonde / light brown
Eye Color: blue
Complexion: fair
Features:
- hunter’s mark on the back of his left hand that looks like it was wanted to be crossed off with some kind of a blade
- scars all over his arms
- freckles
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
- smiling
- having fun
- sarcasm
- being annoying
- drawing: 5/10 (always carries a sketchbook)
- cooking (he loves to cook, but he'll probably set your kitchen on fire so pls…don't let him cook, even if he begs you)
- dancing skill: 4/10
- agility: 8/10
- fighting: 7/10 ("Fighting is bad, don't do that. Look at the poor revenants, they are just hangry…Just kidding. Hehe. I guess I know how to use a bow and I'm also pretty handy with blades…we'll see. ")
- firearms: 0/10
- archery: 8/10
- dual wielding with swords: 7/10
[/div]
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abilities
physical abilities of a marked hunter, swift, agile.
[/div]
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weaknesses
- spiders and every single creepy crawly: "Those eight legged creatures, ugh.. *shrugs and spaces out for a minute* Not a fan I suppose. "
- cigarettes = trauma: because faded burnmarks
- dogs: "Ayeeee, did you say dogs?! Where are the doggos?! Gimme the doggos! "
- his family: It's been hard. And Kayden is the only one who knows the brutal truth behind his pitch perfect family, especially his father.
- fears of getting recognized: his family was well known among hunters and as a unwanted child he was often mocked by other hunters.
- fears of losing his friends
[/div]
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personality
He's such a cinnamon roll. Strong, loving, not scared of anyone, loves talking to people, smart, maybe stubborn, forgetful, gets hurt a lot but still smiles every day,cries almost every night, light- hearted, dedicated, not scared to fight, hugs everyone, loves everyone he knows, sneaky, protective, hugs random people just because why not....
[/div]
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bio
Originally from Canada, Huang family was said to be one of the most powerful families from The Order of Saint Michael. The family was highly respected among other hunters but they knew little about the Huangs. Always hiding their dark secrets, the family slowly created a giant web of lies. No one really knew what lied underneath the shiny surface and even the family members themselves were wandering in the darkness. Once sent to deal with some demons near Toronto, Hudson Huang, the head of the family, had an adventure with a local. Her name was Maura and she gave Hudson the peace he desperately needed. After returning to his duties, Hudson received a phone call, saying that he would become a father.
Several years later Hudson finally decided to go and visit his rather new, unplanned, side of the family. And there they were, sitting on a random rusty bench in one of the parks, looking at the distance. An awkward silence surrounding them when finally a voice cut through the silent air screaming: "Puppy! "
Hudson turned his head to see Kayden running towards a massive, unleashed dog. He stood up and grabbed the child,
"You want to get yourself killed kid?! Can't you see this is a fully grown dog?! It could bite your face off in mere seconds. "
Kayden looked at Hudson. His big eyes looking at a masculine man, holding him tightly. The words spoken with such a concern it was almost funny. As soon as Hudson stopped talking, the child's lips curled into a big smile. It looked as if nothing, really NOTHING, could swipe that ridiculous smile off his face.
In that kind of situation Hudson would continue on scolding the kid, when his eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of something familiar on Kayden's left arm. The hunters' mark. It was the moment when Hudson FINALLY realized the painful truth. The child had inherited his powers. After a fight with Maura, Hudson took the child with him. It was tough for all of them.
The family had never embraced the child and he was often beaten up as a result of joining them. Even the training he had, came with a bonus of putting out a cigarette on his skin every time he'd mess up. Kayden wanted to quit. He never really wanted to become a hunter. He had enough of it. He didn't deserve any of the bruises, any of the scars. And so he cried for help. He cried and cried, but nobody heard his silent screams. After seeing that people won't help him or even start to think he was mental, Kayden had no choice but to go with it. He trained a lot harder and tried not to get punished for failing. Kayden even started practicing on his own, so after 7 long years of hell and pain, it finally stopped. He had mastered archery and dual sword wielding. And let's be clear; He became a badass fighter, always keeping that eerie smile on his face.
However on the day of his last test of becoming a hunter he disappeared. And no one saw him ever again…or so do the rumors say.
[/div]Several years later Hudson finally decided to go and visit his rather new, unplanned, side of the family. And there they were, sitting on a random rusty bench in one of the parks, looking at the distance. An awkward silence surrounding them when finally a voice cut through the silent air screaming: "Puppy! "
Hudson turned his head to see Kayden running towards a massive, unleashed dog. He stood up and grabbed the child,
"You want to get yourself killed kid?! Can't you see this is a fully grown dog?! It could bite your face off in mere seconds. "
Kayden looked at Hudson. His big eyes looking at a masculine man, holding him tightly. The words spoken with such a concern it was almost funny. As soon as Hudson stopped talking, the child's lips curled into a big smile. It looked as if nothing, really NOTHING, could swipe that ridiculous smile off his face.
In that kind of situation Hudson would continue on scolding the kid, when his eyes suddenly caught a glimpse of something familiar on Kayden's left arm. The hunters' mark. It was the moment when Hudson FINALLY realized the painful truth. The child had inherited his powers. After a fight with Maura, Hudson took the child with him. It was tough for all of them.
The family had never embraced the child and he was often beaten up as a result of joining them. Even the training he had, came with a bonus of putting out a cigarette on his skin every time he'd mess up. Kayden wanted to quit. He never really wanted to become a hunter. He had enough of it. He didn't deserve any of the bruises, any of the scars. And so he cried for help. He cried and cried, but nobody heard his silent screams. After seeing that people won't help him or even start to think he was mental, Kayden had no choice but to go with it. He trained a lot harder and tried not to get punished for failing. Kayden even started practicing on his own, so after 7 long years of hell and pain, it finally stopped. He had mastered archery and dual sword wielding. And let's be clear; He became a badass fighter, always keeping that eerie smile on his face.
However on the day of his last test of becoming a hunter he disappeared. And no one saw him ever again…or so do the rumors say.
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extra
he always keeps his arms covered in white bandages so that people would not see his scars.
Theme:
Faceclaim: Froy Gutierrez [/div]
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code by Ri.a
Last edited:
INACTIVE
CupAndCough
Sought Hope Here, Became Blind To It
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"Major Grigs"
"Father Grigs/Grigori"
"Grim Grigs"
"Professional" - A jab at his time as an "Enhanced Interrogator"
[Fun Fact: Kind is only towards his manners, not his methods. He was fear before a world full of demons, now he blends in rather well. The name is a reminder of a past he cannot forget, couldn't. Won't.]
Class: Prophet
Age: 39
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Most likely Heterosexual. Hasn't really thought about it all that much.:
[/div]
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Height: 6'2 - 6'3
Weight: 250 lbs.
Hair Color: Silver/White | Oddly when Mr. Grigori awoke his latent potential as a prophet his hair soon took a stark white appearance. Making him look much older than he is. He is often teased on it by Darius and Velska, his two young followers and adoptive childrenm
Eye Color: Brown-Dark Brown
Complexion: Caucasian Mixed (Unknown Latin Origin and Slavic mix)
Features: Appears primarily Caucasian. His mixed Hispanic-Slavic origins are rather interesting to study, a rugged and mature handsomeness comes forth despite the scars. A large scar rests over his eye, healed--it denotes his past as a military serviceman. His eyes are tired, but determined, an ever powerful judgment and cold piercing gaze emanates for his eyes. Grigs is handsome in his own right, perhaps not an idealistic form of it, it calls back to a time of masculinity and power. Grigs doesn't really care about his looks all that much, the ruggedness of his face alludes to a life of demanding work. (Not to forget his jaw that could cut rocks)
Very rarely he lets loose a vivid emotion, perhaps its a habit from his days of feeling nearly none at all. The man is seemingly impenetrable by outward emotions, seemingly.
Grigs is well built, the year of retirement never hit him. Built for battle, built for war, built to kill--The United States Marines never lets down in training regiment. Of course he had already transferred to Paramilitary Contracting before, even then he kept up with training. Grigs has a survivalist-brawmy musculature that at first glance one could forget they were looking at a modern person, and not some sort of scarred and healed warrior from long dead kingdoms. Grigs by skill alone could kill a man relatively easily, but the power behind any of his blows is something to fear. Among gouge, slash, and hack marks there is a host of religious icongraphy defaced and scratched. A sinner seeking salvation, a holy man turn sinner? The truth is hard to discern, but Grigori has no shortage of eternal years to spend in his afterlife burning for all the things he did
[/div]
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Military Background | Grigs spent his youth fighting in the United States Marine Corps, it has honed him and filled him disciplines and survival instinct that seems almost fitting to test against Armageddon. Don't expect him to die without a fight, he is more willing to converse a problem away by sheer respectful courtesy than maliciousness. That doesn't mean he lacks a devil inside him too, his has just been awarded medals. Grigs has extensive training in firearms and hand-to-hand combat along with tactical strategies and survivalist training.
"Interrogator" | A non-descript job, for a discreet line of work. Not many people have the speciality to be sought after for this line of work, not many were as good as Grigs either..
Grigs has the knack of getting a person to talk, whether they like to or not, enhanced interrogation is an artform to him regretfully. Even non-physical interrogations or even simple conversations can dispense a host of truths--some whole chapters written on how people look can even be read by him. Grigori is more than talented in knowing what can both coax out the truths within men's hearts, easily inserting this behavior within simple actions, perhaps subconsciously.
The horrors he can inflict are perhaps even talked about among the denizens of hell.
Some may call it torture, he called it a job.
Prophecy | Much like other prophets he can see truths of futures and pasts. He's been a prophet for a long time, 8 years in fact, he has gotten used to it somewhat. He's been somewhat meditative on these seeings, only until recently he has found some newfound appreciation for them--it does not however bode well for his PTSD and his ability to forget the things he has done.
The images he sees are often unfocused, he has yet had the time to fully appreciate the meanings and usefulness for them. The sights he sees clearly often fill him with passion, anger, fury, sorrow, and a righteous indignation for humanity's survival.
Cult of Personality/Apotheosis | His motivation is clear, Human Survival. He curses God, He curses Man, He curses the Devil. Grigs has dealt his entire life making sense of what "God" is, of what benevolence he holds in a world even before the advent of demonic hordes on Earth. It wouldn't be so far-fetched to say that, with all the conflicts and suffering he has seen, he'd crucify God if he had the chance. He hates everyone somewhat, but being a prophet and the massive empathy that derives from it, the overwhelming compulsion to save humanity--so hate filters to a need to call Hell on Earth an overdue consequence not just for humanity's actions, but God's. As such he has chosen to lead a path of anti-holy/anti-demonic/pro-human beliefs and propped up the idea of eliminating both forces from the weave of human fates--Humanity will become their own masters of fate, their own gods, their own saviors.
This all accumulates into a messianic complex built on humanity and revolting against the machinations of gods and demons. It easy to get enraptured by his speeches, his call to arms, his passionate prose--if he was born 2066 years or so earlier, he'd be pretty much rallying the dejected and forgotten into a religious movement. And in a way he is looking to do that now too. No more demons, no more angels, no more Satan and definitely no more God. Only Man. God in his heavens, devil's in their pit, man on his earth.
Survivalist/Scavenger | He can thrive pretty damn well in the wilderness, and the post-apocalypse isn't turning into hell on earth for him just yet. He can survive damn well, and find something useful from most things he finds.
Strength| Grigori can easily overpower an untrained foe, and with small effort provide a frightful encounter for most trained foes. He has no issue carrying most military arms suited for personel:
Dexterity | Grigori is dexterous enough to finesse a range of movement due to his training. However it has gone down somewhat, his intelligence now holds most usage for perceptions:
Constitution | Grigori is a healthy adult male who is benefited from the life of training and proper health assessment. Don't expect a short fight.:
Intelligence | Grigori is a keen mind, not a scientist or ivy league native, but he has a keen intellect and capacity for learning that seems to be very little satiated.:
Will | Expect No Remorse, No Hope, No Salvation:
Agility | He doesn't like moving about like a gymnast or a ballerina, his feet are hardly ever not firmly planted and willing to think smart and not move faster. Its too predictable.:
Charisma | Wildly Charismatic:
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Martial Arts:
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Perception/Observation:
Scavenging :
Firearms :
Maintenance :
Strategy/Tactics :
Intimidation/Speech :
[/div]
Note: You can add abilities by following the format above or you can just write it out, whatever floats your boat
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Pain Asymbolia | a rather slight case of Pain asymbolia, its a condition in which the sensation od pain is felt but not felt as severe. Grigori does feel pain and its effects, however just at a much decreased rate. One with a keen mind could observe this and exploit it. However do not expect him realizing it. He's dealt with the condition all his life, so use cunning and proper battle tactics
Darius and Velska | Much dismay to the children left to his stead, Darius and Velska are young teenagers. Their inexperience and easily accessible weak points are a weakness to the group as a whole. Velska suffers from Total Pain Loss. Her condition much like Salvadore's, but considerably worse as she bears no concept of what pain is. Darius is a brash young man who is just trying to prove himself--not a kind ally in survival. Attacking them would shift his priorities, but do not expect a fully enraged Grigori to be killed easily.
Age | Not as fast, not as spry, not as youthful. He's 39 and able--but sometimes all it takes is a couple of years to notice your speed, agility, and dexterity weaken.
Prophet | Visions at random moments, emotional impacts hitting harder. Empathy to its extremes. He understand the change, but he won't fall easy to simple emotional crits--he's been trying to suppress his nature. Hit hard. Bleed his heart out. Demons may find it easy to control this, but expect to be assailed by a stronger will.
[/div]
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Choosing to commit evil despite the choice not to do so, that is what makes man crueler than any demon. At least the were evil in natural state, we make abominations of ourselves--because of that Free Will that roots our humanity, our choice to commit horrible acts have no rival among the vilest dukes and marquis of Pandemonium.
Grigori is a willful, intimidating, and charismatic man. A who thrived in armed conflict and is now holding a vendetta to all supernatural and holy spirit, he believes himself not a savior chosen by a god, or chaotic destructor of the remnants of the world by a devil--he sees himself as a step forward into role of Messiah of Men. He weaves Pathos by his design using his empathy as a form of resource, using manipulations of emotion and passions to give onto himself and his reason and truth. Logos used bluntly will break the will and enthrall most to his reasonings, his word, his path. And that it shows the nature of his lack of total sanity, he seeks to enthrall of humanity to war against not only demons, but God himself.
Grigori is rather collected once seen outside his rallying, he is always keen, always assessing, always planning. Studying the subtleties of human action and emotion, his empathy demands it and his manipulations will bend it. Grigori cannot shut out the screams as easily anymore, it wains on his heavy mind with such weight. The idea of hell or heaven, afterlife, does not beckon to him--sins beckon to him as a regret and reminder of his humanity and cruelty that would often progress nothing. The world has ended around him and yet it feels as if a righteous indignation would not be satisfied....he will not die quietly into the burning night as tinder for a wildfire.
[/div]
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Weep not my little savior, I merely rest my head upon your lap. I am well, please be silent as as I speak. I love you, adored you since birth. To make you a strong man as my father made me, my cruelty--I will burn for it. The times you wept upon the picture of her such healthy and unknowing face. If you hate me, so be it. I love you despite this. I will burn in a place you will never see, you will join her. And not me. Please Salvadore listen to me, please do not weep, men do not cry for their lost families. They move on....." -- Nikolail Grigori's final words to Salvador.
A man does not cry. A man does not weep in agony, and neither does he claim his emotions as sovereign.... These lessons were instilled at a young age into a young Salvadore Grigori. His father, Nikolai Grigori, often preached this onto him as they left to attend church. Raised Russian Orthodoxy and left motherless at a young age, the two Grigori were outsiders of their American communuty in Maine. Raised to hunt, thrive and survive these two were in a difficult relationship. His father had ties to the Russian mob and some unscrupulous religious sects of the Russian Orthodox Church, which he sought to run from in the secluded cabin in the wilderness of Maine. Forced to supplement his religious beliefs with Protestant churches, he served a strict mentor and impromptu pastor to the young Salvadore. He learned theology, survival skills and a harsh lesson in what his father considered a "true man's way".
It was a hard life, 8 years of it to only end abruptly at his father's death. His body torn nearly asunder and left to cling and bleed out for the horrors he saw. Salvadore held his father til his final moments as he clutched a locket his father kept of his mother.
Alone and left to die in a wilderness which hosted something that rendered his father in two, Salvadore chose to survive. Burying his father, dry eyed and empty. He wandered the woods, until coming upon a US Marine and her brother. The Marine adopted him, the two were rather close despite Grigori's instilled teachings of manhood. She raised him, impressed by his fortitude, his struggle, his desire to survive. She aligned him to sign his life away to the American Military. Marines of course. From there he impressed his superiors with his talents and his effortless assignment completion. Taking on the rank of Major, and refused higher any ranks until being taken by a special team of operatives: Ars Goetia. An ironic name now, but the team was an off-the-books wetwork team, total deniability from the government and military. Specifically it was created to keep eyes on the world despite isolationism rising as a narrative in the US. It was a team of what was denoted as "demons among men", ruthless and tireless soldiers. Assassination, anti-espionage, torture, conflict-manufacturing, anything was the job.
Second-In-Command, it wasn't a glamorous title--but they realized that something empty nested in his heart and mind. Until one fateful day. An operative dubbed a "Hunter" was seen conducting in conflicts with unknown assailants. Little did they know only one would return alive from this mission, the bodies that turned cold on the Serbian snow that evening would forever remind Grigori of how little he knew. He met that "Hunter" 8 years ago, how hard he hit, how viciously he attacked, and the prophetic visions that he snarled out as he hooked him up to a chair and watched as red hot shells from the fight pierced his skin like nails.
The horrifying stories he spun ensnared Grigori in morbid curiosity, enraptured. And for a moment as the Hunter drew a final breath an immense sadness. Then agony. Then fear. Then finally.....Empathy.
Imagine all one's sins, the gravity and pain they wrought, it followed onto them like molten iron and rock. All the fires of hell beset upon him. Then from where memories and emotions surged...vision of Armageddon. Of hellspawn. Of the loss of human life so immeasurable it left but charred remains of what millennia took to build. Grigori's father. His voice. It tore him asunder with pleas to repent, to give one self to God.
Grigori defected, fearful, hateful, mournful. No matter how hard he sought to received penance he found none. Emotions untouched left scars upon his body. Lashes for repentance, icons for god tattoo to only be whipped away once finding a singular narrative: God existed and did nothing. Hate.
Grigori wandered, looked for answers. Tried to find them in the professions of his old life, tried to find them in sacrosanct documents and theology. Demons existed he had to defend himself. To get his revenge. Revenge on God, on Man, on Demonkind. And as he returned to America. Home. Spending a year or so of reflection on rehoning his emotions and dreams of pasts and futures beyond man's ken--he watched men make sense of the hellgates. And he laughed, work must be done.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
These are for fun you can add whatever you want to this section
Theme:
Blood On My Name
Faceclaim: Daud [Dishonored] [/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
b a s i c s
Name: Salvadore "Kind" Grigori"Major Grigs"
"Father Grigs/Grigori"
"Grim Grigs"
"Professional" - A jab at his time as an "Enhanced Interrogator"
[Fun Fact: Kind is only towards his manners, not his methods. He was fear before a world full of demons, now he blends in rather well. The name is a reminder of a past he cannot forget, couldn't. Won't.]
Class: Prophet
Age: 39
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Most likely Heterosexual. Hasn't really thought about it all that much.:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
a p p e a r a n c e
Height: 6'2 - 6'3
Weight: 250 lbs.
Hair Color: Silver/White | Oddly when Mr. Grigori awoke his latent potential as a prophet his hair soon took a stark white appearance. Making him look much older than he is. He is often teased on it by Darius and Velska, his two young followers and adoptive childrenm
Eye Color: Brown-Dark Brown
Complexion: Caucasian Mixed (Unknown Latin Origin and Slavic mix)
Features: Appears primarily Caucasian. His mixed Hispanic-Slavic origins are rather interesting to study, a rugged and mature handsomeness comes forth despite the scars. A large scar rests over his eye, healed--it denotes his past as a military serviceman. His eyes are tired, but determined, an ever powerful judgment and cold piercing gaze emanates for his eyes. Grigs is handsome in his own right, perhaps not an idealistic form of it, it calls back to a time of masculinity and power. Grigs doesn't really care about his looks all that much, the ruggedness of his face alludes to a life of demanding work. (Not to forget his jaw that could cut rocks)
Very rarely he lets loose a vivid emotion, perhaps its a habit from his days of feeling nearly none at all. The man is seemingly impenetrable by outward emotions, seemingly.
Grigs is well built, the year of retirement never hit him. Built for battle, built for war, built to kill--The United States Marines never lets down in training regiment. Of course he had already transferred to Paramilitary Contracting before, even then he kept up with training. Grigs has a survivalist-brawmy musculature that at first glance one could forget they were looking at a modern person, and not some sort of scarred and healed warrior from long dead kingdoms. Grigs by skill alone could kill a man relatively easily, but the power behind any of his blows is something to fear. Among gouge, slash, and hack marks there is a host of religious icongraphy defaced and scratched. A sinner seeking salvation, a holy man turn sinner? The truth is hard to discern, but Grigori has no shortage of eternal years to spend in his afterlife burning for all the things he did
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
s k i l l s
Military Background | Grigs spent his youth fighting in the United States Marine Corps, it has honed him and filled him disciplines and survival instinct that seems almost fitting to test against Armageddon. Don't expect him to die without a fight, he is more willing to converse a problem away by sheer respectful courtesy than maliciousness. That doesn't mean he lacks a devil inside him too, his has just been awarded medals. Grigs has extensive training in firearms and hand-to-hand combat along with tactical strategies and survivalist training.
"Interrogator" | A non-descript job, for a discreet line of work. Not many people have the speciality to be sought after for this line of work, not many were as good as Grigs either..
Grigs has the knack of getting a person to talk, whether they like to or not, enhanced interrogation is an artform to him regretfully. Even non-physical interrogations or even simple conversations can dispense a host of truths--some whole chapters written on how people look can even be read by him. Grigori is more than talented in knowing what can both coax out the truths within men's hearts, easily inserting this behavior within simple actions, perhaps subconsciously.
The horrors he can inflict are perhaps even talked about among the denizens of hell.
Some may call it torture, he called it a job.
Prophecy | Much like other prophets he can see truths of futures and pasts. He's been a prophet for a long time, 8 years in fact, he has gotten used to it somewhat. He's been somewhat meditative on these seeings, only until recently he has found some newfound appreciation for them--it does not however bode well for his PTSD and his ability to forget the things he has done.
The images he sees are often unfocused, he has yet had the time to fully appreciate the meanings and usefulness for them. The sights he sees clearly often fill him with passion, anger, fury, sorrow, and a righteous indignation for humanity's survival.
Cult of Personality/Apotheosis | His motivation is clear, Human Survival. He curses God, He curses Man, He curses the Devil. Grigs has dealt his entire life making sense of what "God" is, of what benevolence he holds in a world even before the advent of demonic hordes on Earth. It wouldn't be so far-fetched to say that, with all the conflicts and suffering he has seen, he'd crucify God if he had the chance. He hates everyone somewhat, but being a prophet and the massive empathy that derives from it, the overwhelming compulsion to save humanity--so hate filters to a need to call Hell on Earth an overdue consequence not just for humanity's actions, but God's. As such he has chosen to lead a path of anti-holy/anti-demonic/pro-human beliefs and propped up the idea of eliminating both forces from the weave of human fates--Humanity will become their own masters of fate, their own gods, their own saviors.
This all accumulates into a messianic complex built on humanity and revolting against the machinations of gods and demons. It easy to get enraptured by his speeches, his call to arms, his passionate prose--if he was born 2066 years or so earlier, he'd be pretty much rallying the dejected and forgotten into a religious movement. And in a way he is looking to do that now too. No more demons, no more angels, no more Satan and definitely no more God. Only Man. God in his heavens, devil's in their pit, man on his earth.
Survivalist/Scavenger | He can thrive pretty damn well in the wilderness, and the post-apocalypse isn't turning into hell on earth for him just yet. He can survive damn well, and find something useful from most things he finds.
Strength| Grigori can easily overpower an untrained foe, and with small effort provide a frightful encounter for most trained foes. He has no issue carrying most military arms suited for personel:
Dexterity | Grigori is dexterous enough to finesse a range of movement due to his training. However it has gone down somewhat, his intelligence now holds most usage for perceptions:
Constitution | Grigori is a healthy adult male who is benefited from the life of training and proper health assessment. Don't expect a short fight.:
Intelligence | Grigori is a keen mind, not a scientist or ivy league native, but he has a keen intellect and capacity for learning that seems to be very little satiated.:
Will | Expect No Remorse, No Hope, No Salvation:
Agility | He doesn't like moving about like a gymnast or a ballerina, his feet are hardly ever not firmly planted and willing to think smart and not move faster. Its too predictable.:
Charisma | Wildly Charismatic:
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a b i l i t i e s
Martial Arts:
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Perception/Observation:
Scavenging :
Firearms :
Maintenance :
Strategy/Tactics :
Intimidation/Speech :
[/div]
Note: You can add abilities by following the format above or you can just write it out, whatever floats your boat
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w e a k n e s s
Pain Asymbolia | a rather slight case of Pain asymbolia, its a condition in which the sensation od pain is felt but not felt as severe. Grigori does feel pain and its effects, however just at a much decreased rate. One with a keen mind could observe this and exploit it. However do not expect him realizing it. He's dealt with the condition all his life, so use cunning and proper battle tactics
Darius and Velska | Much dismay to the children left to his stead, Darius and Velska are young teenagers. Their inexperience and easily accessible weak points are a weakness to the group as a whole. Velska suffers from Total Pain Loss. Her condition much like Salvadore's, but considerably worse as she bears no concept of what pain is. Darius is a brash young man who is just trying to prove himself--not a kind ally in survival. Attacking them would shift his priorities, but do not expect a fully enraged Grigori to be killed easily.
Age | Not as fast, not as spry, not as youthful. He's 39 and able--but sometimes all it takes is a couple of years to notice your speed, agility, and dexterity weaken.
Prophet | Visions at random moments, emotional impacts hitting harder. Empathy to its extremes. He understand the change, but he won't fall easy to simple emotional crits--he's been trying to suppress his nature. Hit hard. Bleed his heart out. Demons may find it easy to control this, but expect to be assailed by a stronger will.
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p e r s o n a l i t y
Choosing to commit evil despite the choice not to do so, that is what makes man crueler than any demon. At least the were evil in natural state, we make abominations of ourselves--because of that Free Will that roots our humanity, our choice to commit horrible acts have no rival among the vilest dukes and marquis of Pandemonium.
Grigori is a willful, intimidating, and charismatic man. A who thrived in armed conflict and is now holding a vendetta to all supernatural and holy spirit, he believes himself not a savior chosen by a god, or chaotic destructor of the remnants of the world by a devil--he sees himself as a step forward into role of Messiah of Men. He weaves Pathos by his design using his empathy as a form of resource, using manipulations of emotion and passions to give onto himself and his reason and truth. Logos used bluntly will break the will and enthrall most to his reasonings, his word, his path. And that it shows the nature of his lack of total sanity, he seeks to enthrall of humanity to war against not only demons, but God himself.
Grigori is rather collected once seen outside his rallying, he is always keen, always assessing, always planning. Studying the subtleties of human action and emotion, his empathy demands it and his manipulations will bend it. Grigori cannot shut out the screams as easily anymore, it wains on his heavy mind with such weight. The idea of hell or heaven, afterlife, does not beckon to him--sins beckon to him as a regret and reminder of his humanity and cruelty that would often progress nothing. The world has ended around him and yet it feels as if a righteous indignation would not be satisfied....he will not die quietly into the burning night as tinder for a wildfire.
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b i o g r a p h y
Weep not my little savior, I merely rest my head upon your lap. I am well, please be silent as as I speak. I love you, adored you since birth. To make you a strong man as my father made me, my cruelty--I will burn for it. The times you wept upon the picture of her such healthy and unknowing face. If you hate me, so be it. I love you despite this. I will burn in a place you will never see, you will join her. And not me. Please Salvadore listen to me, please do not weep, men do not cry for their lost families. They move on....." -- Nikolail Grigori's final words to Salvador.
A man does not cry. A man does not weep in agony, and neither does he claim his emotions as sovereign.... These lessons were instilled at a young age into a young Salvadore Grigori. His father, Nikolai Grigori, often preached this onto him as they left to attend church. Raised Russian Orthodoxy and left motherless at a young age, the two Grigori were outsiders of their American communuty in Maine. Raised to hunt, thrive and survive these two were in a difficult relationship. His father had ties to the Russian mob and some unscrupulous religious sects of the Russian Orthodox Church, which he sought to run from in the secluded cabin in the wilderness of Maine. Forced to supplement his religious beliefs with Protestant churches, he served a strict mentor and impromptu pastor to the young Salvadore. He learned theology, survival skills and a harsh lesson in what his father considered a "true man's way".
It was a hard life, 8 years of it to only end abruptly at his father's death. His body torn nearly asunder and left to cling and bleed out for the horrors he saw. Salvadore held his father til his final moments as he clutched a locket his father kept of his mother.
Alone and left to die in a wilderness which hosted something that rendered his father in two, Salvadore chose to survive. Burying his father, dry eyed and empty. He wandered the woods, until coming upon a US Marine and her brother. The Marine adopted him, the two were rather close despite Grigori's instilled teachings of manhood. She raised him, impressed by his fortitude, his struggle, his desire to survive. She aligned him to sign his life away to the American Military. Marines of course. From there he impressed his superiors with his talents and his effortless assignment completion. Taking on the rank of Major, and refused higher any ranks until being taken by a special team of operatives: Ars Goetia. An ironic name now, but the team was an off-the-books wetwork team, total deniability from the government and military. Specifically it was created to keep eyes on the world despite isolationism rising as a narrative in the US. It was a team of what was denoted as "demons among men", ruthless and tireless soldiers. Assassination, anti-espionage, torture, conflict-manufacturing, anything was the job.
Second-In-Command, it wasn't a glamorous title--but they realized that something empty nested in his heart and mind. Until one fateful day. An operative dubbed a "Hunter" was seen conducting in conflicts with unknown assailants. Little did they know only one would return alive from this mission, the bodies that turned cold on the Serbian snow that evening would forever remind Grigori of how little he knew. He met that "Hunter" 8 years ago, how hard he hit, how viciously he attacked, and the prophetic visions that he snarled out as he hooked him up to a chair and watched as red hot shells from the fight pierced his skin like nails.
The horrifying stories he spun ensnared Grigori in morbid curiosity, enraptured. And for a moment as the Hunter drew a final breath an immense sadness. Then agony. Then fear. Then finally.....Empathy.
Imagine all one's sins, the gravity and pain they wrought, it followed onto them like molten iron and rock. All the fires of hell beset upon him. Then from where memories and emotions surged...vision of Armageddon. Of hellspawn. Of the loss of human life so immeasurable it left but charred remains of what millennia took to build. Grigori's father. His voice. It tore him asunder with pleas to repent, to give one self to God.
Grigori defected, fearful, hateful, mournful. No matter how hard he sought to received penance he found none. Emotions untouched left scars upon his body. Lashes for repentance, icons for god tattoo to only be whipped away once finding a singular narrative: God existed and did nothing. Hate.
Grigori wandered, looked for answers. Tried to find them in the professions of his old life, tried to find them in sacrosanct documents and theology. Demons existed he had to defend himself. To get his revenge. Revenge on God, on Man, on Demonkind. And as he returned to America. Home. Spending a year or so of reflection on rehoning his emotions and dreams of pasts and futures beyond man's ken--he watched men make sense of the hellgates. And he laughed, work must be done.
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e x t r a
These are for fun you can add whatever you want to this section
Theme:
Blood On My Name
Faceclaim: Daud [Dishonored] [/div]
[/div][/div]
code by Ri.a
Last edited:
ACTIVE
BELIAL.
wanna bewitch you in the moonlight
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[div class=textbox]
Class: Blessed Human
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 135 lbs
Hair Color: Blonde, not quite straw but not quite gold
Eye Color: Blue, and getting brighter every day
Complexion: Fair, though there are traces of an earthy glow beneath the flesh that fade by the day
Features: She doesn't have many distinguishing features or anything entirely remarkable. However, if you wanted, you could call the scars a survivor tends to bear and the wind bitten cheeks and nose something remarkable. Then, there is of course, the glaring white tattoos beneath the skin that lace like comforting hands over her lower back and up to her shoulders where they kiss her neck and extend down her arms.
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Practicality and helpful endeavors are Penny's strong suit. She's got an affinity (or well, had just as much of one before being blessed) for being able to patch people up. She's the jack of most survival trades, but she's truly master of one: first aid. Having a limited healing power started off as shocking, and still is something she stubbornly refuses to use.
Penny's a master diplomat as well. Her tongue may not be silver, but it is sweet. She knows how to play nice (because, shockingly she is nice) and she wants nothing more than to smooth wrinkles and soothe tears.
For the most part, Penny is exceptionally strong. Her dexterity and strength is within human boundaries, but still surprising. She knows a few tricks of the fighting trade, but rarely ever uses offensive tactics. She's a defender at heart.
Of course, as well, she's got the growing range of blessed abilities. Still fairly new into the change, her powers are only developing.
Soul Corruption:
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Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Dexterity:
Persuasion:
Firearms:
First Aid: [/div]
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Mister and Misses Vale were a tight-knit couple since they'd met in high school -- the Mister a Varsity jock on the football team and the Misses an eccentric art-nerd. They got married as soon as the diplomas were in their hands and fresh to the touch. Babies came shortly after in the form of Penelope and Vivian Vale: twins. Two kids, a doting marriage and an easy lifestyle had the Vales basking in this privileged state. Praises were flooding in from the woodwork.
The Vales appeared to be the Stepford family, living in a centuries old manor on the Boston Coast. They were a high-profile family with the media always on them. 'What other perfect surprises could happen to the perfect Vale family?'
And well, things were bright and happy for the first eight years of it all. Penny and Vivi were close, always holding hands and reminiscent of a horror movie that they were definitely not allowed to watch. They were spotlighted for some time, always on everyone's watch in wonder of what these twin prodigal children could do next aside from being so darn adorable! The second day of second grade, however, Penny caught a sudden fever. She stayed home from school that day, and it was what set the clock for destruction and devastation. The twins were separated, a trivial event, but it would end up shattering the unbreakable bond that the Vales had.
Vivi never came home that day. Misses Vale had a social event that afternoon, where she was supposed to call her husband to pick Vivi up from school. Mister Vale was pressed for time at his meeting and unable to follow through. He contacted the girls' nanny, Wendy, to pick Vivi up. Wendy went and came back empty handed. Vivi was gone.
The family erupted in panic, but were sure to keep the lid closed on the subject. Penny, at age eight, was a curious girl with loud mouth. She was open about the confusion of Vivian's whereabouts, and that she knew something was wrong, but they played it off. They told her that Vivi was with Grandma, but Penny couldn't believe them. She told them that she felt something wrong with her twin. But they didn't listen.
Ultimately Penny would turn out to be right.
Viv was never found, allegedly, and the family was left to mourn an empty casket. Evidence dried up and any sign of Viv was lost to the wilderness and to time itself.
It took moving away from Boston for the public to forget about the wealthy, socialite family. Money began to swirl down the drain as neither parent had a proper job. Penny was alone in the world, and her only comfort came in the form of her Grandmother. Her Grandma was basically a mother to Penny's early teen years. Misses Vale was battling some amount of mental demons, shrinking into herself and eventually being admitted to a mental health facility. Mister Vale gave up on trying to stay strong, and sort of crumpled into himself -- fading into oblivion. Grandma ended up taking custody of Penny and tried to outfit her with the positiveness of life. She had a garden in the back that Penny often visited. She dedicated herself to the plants when she wasn't at school or visiting her mother at the institution. Penny was inspired to help by seeing the broken people surrounding her mother. Nursing called to her, and it was what she would pursue in life. She became a master in stitchery and soothing broken bodies. Penny felt a lot. She bonded with the blood and the guts.
Funny enough, it was once the world began to fall apart that Penny's twin sister showed up again. A correlation maybe, or perhaps a causation. The day she showed up, Penny got a twisting feeling in her gut. It was as if a light that was long forgotten was switched on again, but oozed something foul. There was something wrong but she knew... it was her sister.
There was something insidious to her sister. She wasn't the same. The stomach twisting feeling that Penny felt was for good reason, as it turned out, because not a day after Viv returned did she viciously murder the twins' grandmother. The old lady had still been kicking, and was one hell of a fighter. All it took an emotional weakness, however. It was all it took to snuff out her light.
Penny fled, but she knew that the monster that had resided some comfortably next to her was no longer her sister. Everything else started to click into place too. There were other monsters that prowled the landscape, which mangled and curled into something nefarious. Hope was beginning to look bleak, and any chance of survival was often squashed or ripped apart right in front of Penny's face. She faced many challenges as she fled north. Each one was another tick on the belt of bad things... But she stayed strong. Somehow, despite all the odds... Penny kept her resolve. Despite perdition on all sides, she stayed strong. Perhaps it was why she was blessed, but it was something Penny didn't need. Knowing what will become...scares her. Her emotions keep her sane, and keep her human. She'll fight this damn curse until she can no longer. If she can save a few people on the side, then hey, even better. If it causes her death? That'd be the ultimate conclusion.
For now, she dons a mask and lends her abilities to help survivors.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Theme: Pristine - Snail Mail
Faceclaim: Amber Heard [/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Penelope ValeClass: Blessed Human
Age: 27
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 5'9"
Weight: 135 lbs
Hair Color: Blonde, not quite straw but not quite gold
Eye Color: Blue, and getting brighter every day
Complexion: Fair, though there are traces of an earthy glow beneath the flesh that fade by the day
Features: She doesn't have many distinguishing features or anything entirely remarkable. However, if you wanted, you could call the scars a survivor tends to bear and the wind bitten cheeks and nose something remarkable. Then, there is of course, the glaring white tattoos beneath the skin that lace like comforting hands over her lower back and up to her shoulders where they kiss her neck and extend down her arms.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
Practicality and helpful endeavors are Penny's strong suit. She's got an affinity (or well, had just as much of one before being blessed) for being able to patch people up. She's the jack of most survival trades, but she's truly master of one: first aid. Having a limited healing power started off as shocking, and still is something she stubbornly refuses to use.
Penny's a master diplomat as well. Her tongue may not be silver, but it is sweet. She knows how to play nice (because, shockingly she is nice) and she wants nothing more than to smooth wrinkles and soothe tears.
For the most part, Penny is exceptionally strong. Her dexterity and strength is within human boundaries, but still surprising. She knows a few tricks of the fighting trade, but rarely ever uses offensive tactics. She's a defender at heart.
Of course, as well, she's got the growing range of blessed abilities. Still fairly new into the change, her powers are only developing.
Soul Corruption:
[/div]
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abilities
Martial Arts: Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Dexterity:
Persuasion:
Firearms:
First Aid: [/div]
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weaknesses
- Penny's perception of good vs. evil is fairly superficial and mostly black and white. Given recent circumstances, perhaps more so skewed. She sees evil, and she sees good.
- The mere mention of siblings and family gets Penny all choked up. She's a sucker for a sob story.
- Dogs. Dogs are way too good for the world.
- She's a hot head and overzealous, that's for sure. Penny has it convinced that she's going to save every sucker that comes crawling her way.
- Of course, she's fairly human in mortality. One bullet between the eyes will do it.
- Her emotions are numerous and full of voracious intensity. She's passionate, but perhaps too keen on jumping the gun.
[div class=textbox]
personality
- RIGHTEOUS: Penny considers herself a righteous gal, and sticks by her stubborn morality of good and bad in order to upkeep this sense of righteousness. she prides herself on remaining virtuous for the people, and helping those who need it above those who have it. she's a hypocrite, however, as her basis of good and bad is based on reputation and appearance alone. the means to which either side fight is a big decider for her, as well. using people as weapons, or inflicting unnecessary bloodshed is against her moral codes and she will work against those in the wrong.
- GENEROUS: She's naturally a giving kind of girl, and not afraid to nearly deplete her own resources to help some starving/endangered innocents. she's been on the brink of death a few times from this generous nature -- which some might call naive -- but has somehow managed to keep on living. she's willing to help people as well, without any payment or anything from them in return. all she wants is to see people happy and safe.
- INTUITIVE: Penny's eyes are keen enough to describe and recount specific details in a person or a situation. as a child, she was always the silent, watching type. this continues into the present, but it's her way of taking notes of the scenario without making any drastic decisions that could result in a negative outcome. it's easy for her to pick up on subtle disturbances in attitude or atmosphere. yet, sometimes it's the things right in front of her that she will gloss right over; too busy focusing on the details to recognize the big picture.
- STUBBORN: Penny would love to hear your side of it all, but chances are she's not going to give a crap at your attempts to sway her one way or another. her judgement is the jury and her bull-headed edge the judge. it takes a lot to make her see another person's side of the story.
- ALOOF: Penny keeps her emotions to herself, afraid mostly getting close to someone and watching them get hurt. she's a passionate heart at the center of a porcelain casket surrounded in Kevlar. she's subtle and distant, caring less about herself and the little details of her own life and more about the people around her. her mysterious air isn't to cast blind eyes her direction, but to lump her into the one role of a savior for the people.
[/div]
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bio
Mister and Misses Vale were a tight-knit couple since they'd met in high school -- the Mister a Varsity jock on the football team and the Misses an eccentric art-nerd. They got married as soon as the diplomas were in their hands and fresh to the touch. Babies came shortly after in the form of Penelope and Vivian Vale: twins. Two kids, a doting marriage and an easy lifestyle had the Vales basking in this privileged state. Praises were flooding in from the woodwork.
The Vales appeared to be the Stepford family, living in a centuries old manor on the Boston Coast. They were a high-profile family with the media always on them. 'What other perfect surprises could happen to the perfect Vale family?'
And well, things were bright and happy for the first eight years of it all. Penny and Vivi were close, always holding hands and reminiscent of a horror movie that they were definitely not allowed to watch. They were spotlighted for some time, always on everyone's watch in wonder of what these twin prodigal children could do next aside from being so darn adorable! The second day of second grade, however, Penny caught a sudden fever. She stayed home from school that day, and it was what set the clock for destruction and devastation. The twins were separated, a trivial event, but it would end up shattering the unbreakable bond that the Vales had.
Vivi never came home that day. Misses Vale had a social event that afternoon, where she was supposed to call her husband to pick Vivi up from school. Mister Vale was pressed for time at his meeting and unable to follow through. He contacted the girls' nanny, Wendy, to pick Vivi up. Wendy went and came back empty handed. Vivi was gone.
The family erupted in panic, but were sure to keep the lid closed on the subject. Penny, at age eight, was a curious girl with loud mouth. She was open about the confusion of Vivian's whereabouts, and that she knew something was wrong, but they played it off. They told her that Vivi was with Grandma, but Penny couldn't believe them. She told them that she felt something wrong with her twin. But they didn't listen.
Ultimately Penny would turn out to be right.
Viv was never found, allegedly, and the family was left to mourn an empty casket. Evidence dried up and any sign of Viv was lost to the wilderness and to time itself.
It took moving away from Boston for the public to forget about the wealthy, socialite family. Money began to swirl down the drain as neither parent had a proper job. Penny was alone in the world, and her only comfort came in the form of her Grandmother. Her Grandma was basically a mother to Penny's early teen years. Misses Vale was battling some amount of mental demons, shrinking into herself and eventually being admitted to a mental health facility. Mister Vale gave up on trying to stay strong, and sort of crumpled into himself -- fading into oblivion. Grandma ended up taking custody of Penny and tried to outfit her with the positiveness of life. She had a garden in the back that Penny often visited. She dedicated herself to the plants when she wasn't at school or visiting her mother at the institution. Penny was inspired to help by seeing the broken people surrounding her mother. Nursing called to her, and it was what she would pursue in life. She became a master in stitchery and soothing broken bodies. Penny felt a lot. She bonded with the blood and the guts.
Funny enough, it was once the world began to fall apart that Penny's twin sister showed up again. A correlation maybe, or perhaps a causation. The day she showed up, Penny got a twisting feeling in her gut. It was as if a light that was long forgotten was switched on again, but oozed something foul. There was something wrong but she knew... it was her sister.
There was something insidious to her sister. She wasn't the same. The stomach twisting feeling that Penny felt was for good reason, as it turned out, because not a day after Viv returned did she viciously murder the twins' grandmother. The old lady had still been kicking, and was one hell of a fighter. All it took an emotional weakness, however. It was all it took to snuff out her light.
Penny fled, but she knew that the monster that had resided some comfortably next to her was no longer her sister. Everything else started to click into place too. There were other monsters that prowled the landscape, which mangled and curled into something nefarious. Hope was beginning to look bleak, and any chance of survival was often squashed or ripped apart right in front of Penny's face. She faced many challenges as she fled north. Each one was another tick on the belt of bad things... But she stayed strong. Somehow, despite all the odds... Penny kept her resolve. Despite perdition on all sides, she stayed strong. Perhaps it was why she was blessed, but it was something Penny didn't need. Knowing what will become...scares her. Her emotions keep her sane, and keep her human. She'll fight this damn curse until she can no longer. If she can save a few people on the side, then hey, even better. If it causes her death? That'd be the ultimate conclusion.
For now, she dons a mask and lends her abilities to help survivors.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
extra
Theme: Pristine - Snail Mail
Faceclaim: Amber Heard [/div]
[/div][/div]
code by Ri.a
Last edited:
ACTIVE
Lakyr
The Dark Lord of Laziness
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[div class=textbox]
Class: Afflicted Hunter
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 6'6''
Weight: 220 lbs
Hair Color: Blonde
Eye Color: Greyish Blue
Complexion: Fair
Features: A hunter's mark upon his right hand, many a scar on his body and of course the black tattoos of an afflicted crawling across his torso, arms and slowly his legs. The first one in the middle of his chest looks like a black rift and out of it emerge long tentacles, dark arms and claws slowly engulfing his body as if they wanted to drag him inside.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Pain Inducement:
Pain Suppression:
Telekinesis:
Soul Corruption: [/div]
[div class=textbox]
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Firearms:
Defense:
Crossbow:
Liar: [/div]
[div class=textbox]
He won't trust anybody he doesn't know really good. I know how people are in these times. Others made
the mistake of trusting me, that won't happen to me.
Doesn't like to stay in a bigger group for a long time. They just attract attention and scream for help as soon as a revenant shows up, I can't spend my time keeping those alive who aren't worth it.
Has even a certain fear of bonding with new people. They'll hurt me or I'll hurt them. Maybe not on purpose
but it'll end in pain after all.
He takes pleasure in killing the evil things roaming the new world and madly searches for whatever killed
his family to get his revenge. I don't know what it was and have never seen it, but I'll fight my way through
hell itself if I have to in order to kill it.
Can easily get aggressive, especially when the topic is his former family. Say one more word and you'll wish
I'd simply rip your head off.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Before the apocalypse he was a kind, loyal and normally honest person. But if in trouble or any kind of predicament he always had the habit of lying to prevent uncomfortable or bad situations. So he's trained to lie into one's face without even flinching. Since hell opened itself and his family was killed he got worsening anger problems and deeply rooted sorrow. His mind is set on revenge, killing evil things eases his mind and he stopped caring about most other people. He's selfish, wouldn't risk his life for another person as long as that person isn't really important to him and had more than once left a group of survivors he was with in the night taking all the supplies he could carry. He grew accustomed to loneliness, maybe even prefers it over a group of stupid people not able to take care of themselves.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
He didn't have an easy childhood, his father was an angry drunk and his mother died doing her job as a hunter when he was seven. From that on he kept running away, getting into trouble outside and learned quite a few lessons on his own. But he always got back home after a few days, sometimes on his own and sometimes brought by the authorities. As the time for the hunter academy came he was more than accustomed to disobey orders and wasn't exactly one to like the concept of a school. He still kept running away, got into trouble at the academy and tried to get away from them for good a couple of times. At the age of fourteen, he managed that after he got into some real trouble, including picking fights with students and breaking more than just a few rules. He's certain they'd kicked him out if he stayed any longer. Living on the streets for the next two years he got himself quite the list of smaller crimes, though most of them not recorded because he didn't get caught often. The crimes mainly included thievery, assault and battery and mild drug abuse. Luckily he got away not getting addicted to anything. At the age of sixteen and with frankly no real future he was picked off the street by a family of hunters. James' Family. James' parents took Ryan in like their own son and he quickly became a brother to James. It was new to him that people had hope into him and didn't just tell him he did everything wrong, it was his first experience of the love of the family since his mother died. They taught him everything about hunting and fighting, just like they did with their own children and also taught him a kind of discipline. After three years with them, without any tries of running away, he was ready to go his own way and so they parted ways in a fashion, still staying in close contact. He got himself a dog, a little puppy so he wouldn't feel all that alone. It only took one year until he found love. Kim, a beautiful witch at his age, not really trained or interested in her magic abilities. They were happy, married and had a daughter, with the money of Kim's family they were able to build a small house in the country. As the apocalypse started they stayed, it was easier to protect a house then to protect yourself outside and they took in others who they knew who were living in the area around them. They were attacked by quite a few revenants, some vampires and demons. They've everyone who couldn't fight to hide in one room and the rest made a stand downstairs. It was a bloody fight, but they were winning as they heard screams from upstairs. As Ryan reached the room everyone inside was dead. Slaughtered. No sign of a monster except the carnage. His memories of that day and the fight were blurry but the corpses were a clear image in his mind. As he walked back downstairs he was met with the same sight, everyone he had left there was dead. From that day on he hunted down the monsters from hell, searching for the thing that has done this to him. It had changed him, he didn't care about others anymore, survivors that needed saving weren't worth it, they'd die another day anyway and his own mission and safety were important. He would tear down the gates of hell if he had to, some simple people he didn't know wouldn't stop him. He took supplies away if he left a group but tried to stay on his own as much as he could.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Theme: A Day In My Life
Faceclaim: Luke Mitchell [/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Ryan Brown Class: Afflicted Hunter
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 6'6''
Weight: 220 lbs
Hair Color: Blonde
Eye Color: Greyish Blue
Complexion: Fair
Features: A hunter's mark upon his right hand, many a scar on his body and of course the black tattoos of an afflicted crawling across his torso, arms and slowly his legs. The first one in the middle of his chest looks like a black rift and out of it emerge long tentacles, dark arms and claws slowly engulfing his body as if they wanted to drag him inside.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
Darkness Manipulation: Pain Inducement:
Pain Suppression:
Telekinesis:
Soul Corruption: [/div]
[div class=textbox]
abilities
Martial Arts: Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Firearms:
Defense:
Crossbow:
Liar: [/div]
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
He won't trust anybody he doesn't know really good. I know how people are in these times. Others made
the mistake of trusting me, that won't happen to me.
Doesn't like to stay in a bigger group for a long time. They just attract attention and scream for help as soon as a revenant shows up, I can't spend my time keeping those alive who aren't worth it.
Has even a certain fear of bonding with new people. They'll hurt me or I'll hurt them. Maybe not on purpose
but it'll end in pain after all.
He takes pleasure in killing the evil things roaming the new world and madly searches for whatever killed
his family to get his revenge. I don't know what it was and have never seen it, but I'll fight my way through
hell itself if I have to in order to kill it.
Can easily get aggressive, especially when the topic is his former family. Say one more word and you'll wish
I'd simply rip your head off.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
personality
Before the apocalypse he was a kind, loyal and normally honest person. But if in trouble or any kind of predicament he always had the habit of lying to prevent uncomfortable or bad situations. So he's trained to lie into one's face without even flinching. Since hell opened itself and his family was killed he got worsening anger problems and deeply rooted sorrow. His mind is set on revenge, killing evil things eases his mind and he stopped caring about most other people. He's selfish, wouldn't risk his life for another person as long as that person isn't really important to him and had more than once left a group of survivors he was with in the night taking all the supplies he could carry. He grew accustomed to loneliness, maybe even prefers it over a group of stupid people not able to take care of themselves.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
He didn't have an easy childhood, his father was an angry drunk and his mother died doing her job as a hunter when he was seven. From that on he kept running away, getting into trouble outside and learned quite a few lessons on his own. But he always got back home after a few days, sometimes on his own and sometimes brought by the authorities. As the time for the hunter academy came he was more than accustomed to disobey orders and wasn't exactly one to like the concept of a school. He still kept running away, got into trouble at the academy and tried to get away from them for good a couple of times. At the age of fourteen, he managed that after he got into some real trouble, including picking fights with students and breaking more than just a few rules. He's certain they'd kicked him out if he stayed any longer. Living on the streets for the next two years he got himself quite the list of smaller crimes, though most of them not recorded because he didn't get caught often. The crimes mainly included thievery, assault and battery and mild drug abuse. Luckily he got away not getting addicted to anything. At the age of sixteen and with frankly no real future he was picked off the street by a family of hunters. James' Family. James' parents took Ryan in like their own son and he quickly became a brother to James. It was new to him that people had hope into him and didn't just tell him he did everything wrong, it was his first experience of the love of the family since his mother died. They taught him everything about hunting and fighting, just like they did with their own children and also taught him a kind of discipline. After three years with them, without any tries of running away, he was ready to go his own way and so they parted ways in a fashion, still staying in close contact. He got himself a dog, a little puppy so he wouldn't feel all that alone. It only took one year until he found love. Kim, a beautiful witch at his age, not really trained or interested in her magic abilities. They were happy, married and had a daughter, with the money of Kim's family they were able to build a small house in the country. As the apocalypse started they stayed, it was easier to protect a house then to protect yourself outside and they took in others who they knew who were living in the area around them. They were attacked by quite a few revenants, some vampires and demons. They've everyone who couldn't fight to hide in one room and the rest made a stand downstairs. It was a bloody fight, but they were winning as they heard screams from upstairs. As Ryan reached the room everyone inside was dead. Slaughtered. No sign of a monster except the carnage. His memories of that day and the fight were blurry but the corpses were a clear image in his mind. As he walked back downstairs he was met with the same sight, everyone he had left there was dead. From that day on he hunted down the monsters from hell, searching for the thing that has done this to him. It had changed him, he didn't care about others anymore, survivors that needed saving weren't worth it, they'd die another day anyway and his own mission and safety were important. He would tear down the gates of hell if he had to, some simple people he didn't know wouldn't stop him. He took supplies away if he left a group but tried to stay on his own as much as he could.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
extra
Theme: A Day In My Life
Faceclaim: Luke Mitchell [/div]
[/div][/div]
code by Ri.a
Last edited:
INACTIVE
Steel_427
New Member
Name: Daisy Holland
Class: Human
Age: 16
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Appearance: A tall young girl, very athletically built and fit as well as still feminine looking. Curly hair in a ponytail.
Height: 5"8
Weight: 136lbs
Hair Colour: Dark brown
Eye Colour: Hazel brown
Complexion: Very tan
Features: Soft skin with freckles dotted on her nose and cheeks, a scar/cut that crosses between her neck and chest
Powers/Skills -
Hand to Hand: 6/10
Stamina: 7/10
Durability: 6/10
Speed: 8/10
Pain Inducement: 1/10
Health: 6/10
Cuteness: 9/10
Control/Soul Corruption: None
Abilities: Very athletic and good at hand to hand and sword-fighting combat.
Weaknesses: Losing loved ones, blood and heights.
Personality: Shy, quiet, doesn't have many friends but she is a kind and friendly person.
Bio: As a child, was always pushed into athletics by her parents - which she enjoyed. She's also very clever and always got top grades in school. When she hit her teens, the apocalypse hit and she saw her parents slaughtered before her very eyes. She has made a vow to kill all evil so that now one else goes through the same situation as her. She trained herself in an abandoned area, learning to hunt and fight. She is travelling everywhere she can to kill all that get in her way but is afraid of getting close to people in case they die.
Extras: Has the most beautiful smile (when she does), and sparkly eyes.
More Personality: She has a love for Oreos, it's her favourite biscuit and she always uses one to fuel up before and after fights. It's like her medicine that cheers her up. Fighting always makes her release all of the tension and anger inside her - but now she needs to fight and release more due to everything that's happened to her. As each fight will progress, she will begin to lose it bit by bit, meaning she may hurt someone badly (they could be innocent in the situation).
She is friendly because she is polite and will do whatever she can to help others. She doesn't want others to go through what she's been through. Also, she will try her best to understand situations from other points of view but she does sometimes get heated if she feels offended or hurt.
She is shy and quiet because she's afraid of opening up to people in case she loses them - but she still longs for a close friend. She feels as though she's going mad because she has no one.
Class: Human
Age: 16
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Heterosexual
Appearance: A tall young girl, very athletically built and fit as well as still feminine looking. Curly hair in a ponytail.
Height: 5"8
Weight: 136lbs
Hair Colour: Dark brown
Eye Colour: Hazel brown
Complexion: Very tan
Features: Soft skin with freckles dotted on her nose and cheeks, a scar/cut that crosses between her neck and chest
Powers/Skills -
Hand to Hand: 6/10
Stamina: 7/10
Durability: 6/10
Speed: 8/10
Pain Inducement: 1/10
Health: 6/10
Cuteness: 9/10
Control/Soul Corruption: None
Abilities: Very athletic and good at hand to hand and sword-fighting combat.
Weaknesses: Losing loved ones, blood and heights.
Personality: Shy, quiet, doesn't have many friends but she is a kind and friendly person.
Bio: As a child, was always pushed into athletics by her parents - which she enjoyed. She's also very clever and always got top grades in school. When she hit her teens, the apocalypse hit and she saw her parents slaughtered before her very eyes. She has made a vow to kill all evil so that now one else goes through the same situation as her. She trained herself in an abandoned area, learning to hunt and fight. She is travelling everywhere she can to kill all that get in her way but is afraid of getting close to people in case they die.
Extras: Has the most beautiful smile (when she does), and sparkly eyes.
More Personality: She has a love for Oreos, it's her favourite biscuit and she always uses one to fuel up before and after fights. It's like her medicine that cheers her up. Fighting always makes her release all of the tension and anger inside her - but now she needs to fight and release more due to everything that's happened to her. As each fight will progress, she will begin to lose it bit by bit, meaning she may hurt someone badly (they could be innocent in the situation).
She is friendly because she is polite and will do whatever she can to help others. She doesn't want others to go through what she's been through. Also, she will try her best to understand situations from other points of view but she does sometimes get heated if she feels offended or hurt.
She is shy and quiet because she's afraid of opening up to people in case she loses them - but she still longs for a close friend. She feels as though she's going mad because she has no one.
Last edited:
ACTIVE
BELIAL.
wanna bewitch you in the moonlight
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[div class=textbox]
Class: Human (Witch)
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 175lbs
Hair Color: Dark brown, a nice and charming chocolate with streaks of caramel
Eye Color: Blue eyes that will storm sage colored on cloudy days
Complexion: Fairly tanned from years on the farm
Features: Ever growing stubble that comes back regardless of sharpness or width of blade, as well as always bruised knuckles and cuts and scrapes on his body.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Despite having witch blood, Harry has no training whatsoever with magic. He doesn't even really know he's a witch. He just thinks he's an average guy, thrown into the hellfire of a world long gone. He's hardy, fairly durable and probably has nine lives.
Control:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Southern Charm:
Cooking Skills:
Marksmanship:
Mechanical Prowess:
Magic Proficiency:
Magic Potential:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
[div class=textbox]
BENEVOLENT: Harry is naturally good, with well intentions for people. His heart is always in the right place, and he loves to do things that would benefit other people. He's nearly selfless in this regard, as he would put the health of someone else before him without a shred of thought.
CHARMING: Harry has that sickeningly sweet country charm, and a plenitude of historic chivalry and manners that would put the oldest southern gentleman to shame. His smooth-talking southern accent is like a cherry on top.
SUSPICIOUS: While Harry may be good-natured, he is still sure to keep an eye out on folk who put out strong vibes in the opposite direction. He was raised to keep his hackles high, but to always be the better person. Events that transpired after the Gates open have led Harry to be a bit more apprehensive toward people.
DIM-WITTED: While good hearted, suspicious and a hardy mechanic... Harry is not the brightest bulb in the drawer. He knows his trade, and he knows it well, but for the most part he falls a bit short socially. He isn't slow he's just... very keen on processing everything before saying anything. Some things go over his head, and he really only knows how to have good manners, how to fix a car, and how to hog-tie a pig. Well, a few things in the middle but it'll take him a second to name them all.
PLAYFUL: Harry's good fun, always, and he always tries to lighten the mood. He takes the serious things seriously, but you can't expect him not to make a pun if you walk right into its door.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
In the deep south, witchcraft was in equal parts hated and feared. The idea of a mortal and a witch being in a relationship was taboo, and at one point illegal, especially in Louisiana. New Orleans held their witches high above the mortals, but simultaneously ground them into the dirtied earth to reinforce that these monsters were not human. They were made of nightmares, and magic, and were to be feared. Love in the older days was a romanticized concept between witches. Over time, the stigma lessened... but something more terrifying to strict traditionalists in rural parishes was two powerful witches procreating. The idea of untapped, and to an extent unrecognized, power being created... terrified them. A true horror, deep in the bayou.
This fear was what conceived Harry. His mother was an irrational, but fiery and passionate witch with activism running in her blood for centuries. She was a rebel, and had an iron-plated heart . His father was a sympathizer, and subservient to the will of mortal man over witches. His father was non-confrontational, and a high ranking whatever the fuck. The spark between the two was ignited in rebellion, and one that would result in their deaths. The details of this have been lost to all but those related, and the remaining members of the coven-- the ones that were forced underground from the overbearing eye of the government and witch community. The only thing that matters, is that the union created a child. Against his mother's wishes, Harry was ushered off into the night and left on the doorstep of an homely, lonely couple deep in a southern parish.
And no one knew the secret of Harry's birth. The only exception was his parents, who were told by Harry's birth father the life that he didn't want for his son. Even then, the couple used this information only to suppress the ability within the boy. For the most part, Harry assumed his adoptive parents were his birth parents.
The Rutherfords were a wealthy family, with no children to their name. Having been trying for years, they appealed to a local witch for fertility help (who happened to be one of Harry's paternal uncle, who recommended the family to Harry's father). There was no stir in the Rutherfords, but their lucky day when a healthy baby boy arrived at their door in the arms of a desperate father. They were instructed to keep tight lipped about the entire situation, and to never let Harry or anyone else know about it.
And so, no one did. Harry grew up with the Rutherfords, who afterward ended up having two other children by some miracle, with no idea of the ancestry behind him. Growing up, Harry was an angel. He was devoted to his mother and father, and a great older brother. He cared a lot for people, and maintained a unique innocence and naivety that made him a cherub among the neighbors.
At eleven, Harry had an experience with a witch. She was a pale thing, with stringy black hair who lived in an abandoned shack with her mother. Harry's friends joked and teased about the girl, calling her names and such. Harry failed to see the comedy in it, but despite feeling bad he went along with his friends to throw rocks at the cabin. Once there, and after letting loose a few, the young girl exited the cabin to stare the boys down. The way the boys had framed it, she was a wrinkly old witch with warts and boils. Instead, Harry was captivated that she was their age, maybe a bit younger, and pretty. Enraptured, he didn't notice when one of his friends threw a rock at her and hit her in the head. It was only after she screamed did Harry run to her side, much to the protests of his screaming fellows. He apologized profusely, as his mother had taught him, and helped her back into her cabin.
Her mother was on him in an instant, and the young girl shrieked for no harm to come to the young boy. The mother sized Harry up, sniffing the child like a rancid dog. Upon processing the scent, she enveloped the boy in a firm hug-- but said nothing. He was booted out quickly, and Harry was left scratching his head on what had happened. Conferring with his parents, they perpetuated the narrative that witches were scary and bad-- especially the ones who practiced dark magic. They forbade him from doing something stupid like that again, lest he be murdered on sight by a vengeful witch.
So he did. He kept his distance, and lived the most average life someone could. Did well in school, played varsity on the football team, had a handful of really gorgeous girlfriends that he worshiped... At seventeen, however, his mother passed away. It rocked the young man's world, and sent Harry into a whirlwind of grief. He began to take refuge in cars, especially old ones. He found he had a knack for fixing vehicles. Somehow, the boy always knew what was wrong. This began to bleed into human conversation too. His little sisters would come to him, plenty upset, and he'd know exactly where they hurt. This helped when they had their first boyfriends (and heartbreaks).
Eventually, at twenty, Harry decided to pack up his things and head north. He had a job offer in Jersey that offered good money, and he wasn't going to say no to a change in scenery. Home brought too many painful memories of his mother.
Some years later, hell washed up on the shore and sent everything to the shitter. Harry had a friend, Declan Wayne, whom he followed about. The two eventually found themselves with other survivors at the McGuire base. [/div]
[div class=textbox]
could be a doofus, might be a secret genius
Theme: Country Road
Faceclaim: Chad Masters [/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Harrison Erin RutherfordClass: Human (Witch)
Age: 27
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Bisexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 6'2"
Weight: 175lbs
Hair Color: Dark brown, a nice and charming chocolate with streaks of caramel
Eye Color: Blue eyes that will storm sage colored on cloudy days
Complexion: Fairly tanned from years on the farm
Features: Ever growing stubble that comes back regardless of sharpness or width of blade, as well as always bruised knuckles and cuts and scrapes on his body.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
Despite having witch blood, Harry has no training whatsoever with magic. He doesn't even really know he's a witch. He just thinks he's an average guy, thrown into the hellfire of a world long gone. He's hardy, fairly durable and probably has nine lives.
Control:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
abilities
Handiness: Southern Charm:
Cooking Skills:
Marksmanship:
Mechanical Prowess:
Magic Proficiency:
Magic Potential:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
- Water. Bad occurrences left Harry fairly afraid it. Specifically, murky or opaque bodies of water
- His own untapped potential. While he isn’t aware of it, it’s still something that could cripple the young man.
- He’s susceptible to persuasion, and is a bit clueless to complex conversations. His life has been pretty simple.
[div class=textbox]
personality
ADVENTUROUS: Harry was the type of kid that always got up to no good. This evolved into a greater, almost reckless, sense of adventure. His heart isn't meant to be static, and it longs to be excited and captivated. He is always steered toward where the attention is most held, or where the action is happening.BENEVOLENT: Harry is naturally good, with well intentions for people. His heart is always in the right place, and he loves to do things that would benefit other people. He's nearly selfless in this regard, as he would put the health of someone else before him without a shred of thought.
CHARMING: Harry has that sickeningly sweet country charm, and a plenitude of historic chivalry and manners that would put the oldest southern gentleman to shame. His smooth-talking southern accent is like a cherry on top.
SUSPICIOUS: While Harry may be good-natured, he is still sure to keep an eye out on folk who put out strong vibes in the opposite direction. He was raised to keep his hackles high, but to always be the better person. Events that transpired after the Gates open have led Harry to be a bit more apprehensive toward people.
DIM-WITTED: While good hearted, suspicious and a hardy mechanic... Harry is not the brightest bulb in the drawer. He knows his trade, and he knows it well, but for the most part he falls a bit short socially. He isn't slow he's just... very keen on processing everything before saying anything. Some things go over his head, and he really only knows how to have good manners, how to fix a car, and how to hog-tie a pig. Well, a few things in the middle but it'll take him a second to name them all.
PLAYFUL: Harry's good fun, always, and he always tries to lighten the mood. He takes the serious things seriously, but you can't expect him not to make a pun if you walk right into its door.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
In the deep south, witchcraft was in equal parts hated and feared. The idea of a mortal and a witch being in a relationship was taboo, and at one point illegal, especially in Louisiana. New Orleans held their witches high above the mortals, but simultaneously ground them into the dirtied earth to reinforce that these monsters were not human. They were made of nightmares, and magic, and were to be feared. Love in the older days was a romanticized concept between witches. Over time, the stigma lessened... but something more terrifying to strict traditionalists in rural parishes was two powerful witches procreating. The idea of untapped, and to an extent unrecognized, power being created... terrified them. A true horror, deep in the bayou.
This fear was what conceived Harry. His mother was an irrational, but fiery and passionate witch with activism running in her blood for centuries. She was a rebel, and had an iron-plated heart . His father was a sympathizer, and subservient to the will of mortal man over witches. His father was non-confrontational, and a high ranking whatever the fuck. The spark between the two was ignited in rebellion, and one that would result in their deaths. The details of this have been lost to all but those related, and the remaining members of the coven-- the ones that were forced underground from the overbearing eye of the government and witch community. The only thing that matters, is that the union created a child. Against his mother's wishes, Harry was ushered off into the night and left on the doorstep of an homely, lonely couple deep in a southern parish.
And no one knew the secret of Harry's birth. The only exception was his parents, who were told by Harry's birth father the life that he didn't want for his son. Even then, the couple used this information only to suppress the ability within the boy. For the most part, Harry assumed his adoptive parents were his birth parents.
The Rutherfords were a wealthy family, with no children to their name. Having been trying for years, they appealed to a local witch for fertility help (who happened to be one of Harry's paternal uncle, who recommended the family to Harry's father). There was no stir in the Rutherfords, but their lucky day when a healthy baby boy arrived at their door in the arms of a desperate father. They were instructed to keep tight lipped about the entire situation, and to never let Harry or anyone else know about it.
And so, no one did. Harry grew up with the Rutherfords, who afterward ended up having two other children by some miracle, with no idea of the ancestry behind him. Growing up, Harry was an angel. He was devoted to his mother and father, and a great older brother. He cared a lot for people, and maintained a unique innocence and naivety that made him a cherub among the neighbors.
At eleven, Harry had an experience with a witch. She was a pale thing, with stringy black hair who lived in an abandoned shack with her mother. Harry's friends joked and teased about the girl, calling her names and such. Harry failed to see the comedy in it, but despite feeling bad he went along with his friends to throw rocks at the cabin. Once there, and after letting loose a few, the young girl exited the cabin to stare the boys down. The way the boys had framed it, she was a wrinkly old witch with warts and boils. Instead, Harry was captivated that she was their age, maybe a bit younger, and pretty. Enraptured, he didn't notice when one of his friends threw a rock at her and hit her in the head. It was only after she screamed did Harry run to her side, much to the protests of his screaming fellows. He apologized profusely, as his mother had taught him, and helped her back into her cabin.
Her mother was on him in an instant, and the young girl shrieked for no harm to come to the young boy. The mother sized Harry up, sniffing the child like a rancid dog. Upon processing the scent, she enveloped the boy in a firm hug-- but said nothing. He was booted out quickly, and Harry was left scratching his head on what had happened. Conferring with his parents, they perpetuated the narrative that witches were scary and bad-- especially the ones who practiced dark magic. They forbade him from doing something stupid like that again, lest he be murdered on sight by a vengeful witch.
So he did. He kept his distance, and lived the most average life someone could. Did well in school, played varsity on the football team, had a handful of really gorgeous girlfriends that he worshiped... At seventeen, however, his mother passed away. It rocked the young man's world, and sent Harry into a whirlwind of grief. He began to take refuge in cars, especially old ones. He found he had a knack for fixing vehicles. Somehow, the boy always knew what was wrong. This began to bleed into human conversation too. His little sisters would come to him, plenty upset, and he'd know exactly where they hurt. This helped when they had their first boyfriends (and heartbreaks).
Eventually, at twenty, Harry decided to pack up his things and head north. He had a job offer in Jersey that offered good money, and he wasn't going to say no to a change in scenery. Home brought too many painful memories of his mother.
Some years later, hell washed up on the shore and sent everything to the shitter. Harry had a friend, Declan Wayne, whom he followed about. The two eventually found themselves with other survivors at the McGuire base. [/div]
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extra
could be a doofus, might be a secret genius
Faceclaim: Chad Masters [/div]
[/div][/div]
code by Ri.a
Last edited:
ACTIVE
Hell0NHighWater
Queen of Hell
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[div class=textbox]
Class: Witch (Prophet)
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Pansexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 120lbs
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Complexion: smooth bronze
Features: No tattoos, small scars on her arms from various fightsand rituals
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Magical Control:
[/div]
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Black Magic:
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Voodoo:
Blood Magic:
[/div]
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[div class=textbox]
SELFISH: Only one person matters to her and that's herself, that's all who she can rely on anyway.
TACTLESS: She doesn't beat around the bush.
UNTRUSTWORTHY: But also in a weird way this makes her trustworthy....because you can trust her to not be trusted.
IMPISH: Mischief should be her middle name. I mean who doesn't like a good prank every once in a while? Especially when they involve reanimated corpses.
ABSENT-MINDED: She tends to forget things....it's a side effect from dying and it gets worse the more she dies.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
▻ THEN
The first time Allea died, she was three hours old, a newborn found abandoned in the dumpster behind a bar. The second time she was five years old, living in her third foster home. She swallowed a handful of painkillers and Xanax thinking it was candy, and what followed was a stomach pump and her fourth foster home.
The third time wasn’t an accident. Fifteen years old, she tied a noose to ceiling fan before she tried to hang herself. For a moment she saw bright lights and blackness before the fan broke, and she ended up on the floor with bruises around her throat. The fourth time she was sixteen and she took a razor blade to her wrist. That time she swore would be the last time, but hours later she still woke up in a hospital bed, with the beginnings of a new set of scars.
The reason for it never stopped, despite every attempt. The sensation that she was never quite alone, the persistent shadows in the corner of her vision. Whispers in the dark, no matter how many times she was told there were no monsters under the bed; by both foster parents and siblings alike. Unaware that it was the manifestation of some greater power, at seventeen she ran away from her latest home, determined that she could survive without anyone else.Not that the system had given her much of a choice. And if she didn’t, it was no great loss to anyone, including herself.
The fifth time she died, she was sleeping underneath a park bench. She picked the wrong part of New Orleans, someone tried to rob her, and expressed their disappointment that she had nothing by sliding a knife between her ribs.
It must have been the blood that drew Castor King, but Allea was never offered those thoughts. Just the sight of the man waiting for her when she opened her eyes again. For the first time, she was face to face with someone that understood what she was, better than she did. A witch, one with too much control over life and death for someone so ignorant. King was quick to change that, and if Allea had been unable to find herself a home within the system, that’s what the older witch offered to her in the shape of his coven.
She had never been the brightest in her class, prefering the streets to an actual school, but she was a quick study when it came to magic. Embracing it quickly when it provided most of the answers to what had been off with him all of her life. And there was nothing but gratitude for the man that offered her that, blind obedience and unquestioning loyalty offered in exchange for every grimoire placed in front of her. Some of her first lessons were in ritual magic: how to draw a circle with coal, which tools went on which points of a pentacle, anything to make the practice of witchcraft feel like second nature. Once she was able to understand what she was doing, her teaching went further. From goetia to the practice of willing a body to rapidly decay, King gave her the tools she needed and taught her why she needed them. She learned there were two types of people in the world: the ones that manipulated others for their own benefits, and those that were easily manipulated.
If it was obvious to the rest of their coven that King was simply using the girl like he would a favored dog, it was nothing Allea was unaware of, simply unaffected by. Because anyone who crossed the King was put under the knife, and with a witch at his side that could keep someone hovering on that cusp between life and death, she became the perfect instrument of torture.
For one reason or another Allea decided that she had had enough of Castor King. She moved north to Pennsylvania, never staying in one place for too long having been black listed as a witch who had betrayed the coven. When she was twenty-two she found her passion for photography. She could capture moments, freeze them in an image of color, catch an expression in the frame of a second. Those pictures put her mind at ease and gave her a ways to come to terms with the traumas of the world around her.
▻ NOW
If survival should’ve been Allea’s primary concern, for the last seven years it had come secondary to a more pressing one: Castor King. In this case hunting him, even it meant walking across the country back to California where he had been last seen. A thing that might’ve gone easier if there weren’t so many monsters flooding the streets. It was a chance encounter that introduced her to a dashing detective, and it didn’t take more than one invitation to join his ‘party’. At least it would keep her from getting too bored.[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Theme:
Voice claim: Marie Laveau
Faceclaim: Zoe Saldana [/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Allea Marie DelacourClass: Witch (Prophet)
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Pansexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 5'2"
Weight: 120lbs
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Brown
Complexion: smooth bronze
Features: No tattoos, small scars on her arms from various fights
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
- Communication with the dead
- The Dark Arts
- Blood Magic
petty dabbler - A pinch of voodoo
more like she tries - Photography
Magical Control:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
abilities
Necromancy: Black Magic:
Hand-to-Hand Combat:
Voodoo:
Blood Magic:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
- Big Mouth -She tends to say the first thing that comes to mind without considering the consequences
- Dyslexic -Words are sometimes jumbled, it makes reading harder, especially tomes with big words.
- Distrusting -Allea doesn't trust anyone but herself and if she does trust you, then you're lucky.
- Liar- "Never trust an honest person. At least you know the dishonest ones are always dishonest."
- Prone to Death -She's not exactly the best at...staying alive...
[div class=textbox]
personality
SELFISH: Only one person matters to her and that's herself, that's all who she can rely on anyway.
TACTLESS: She doesn't beat around the bush.
UNTRUSTWORTHY: But also in a weird way this makes her trustworthy....because you can trust her to not be trusted.
IMPISH: Mischief should be her middle name. I mean who doesn't like a good prank every once in a while? Especially when they involve reanimated corpses.
ABSENT-MINDED: She tends to forget things....it's a side effect from dying and it gets worse the more she dies.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
▻ THEN
The first time Allea died, she was three hours old, a newborn found abandoned in the dumpster behind a bar. The second time she was five years old, living in her third foster home. She swallowed a handful of painkillers and Xanax thinking it was candy, and what followed was a stomach pump and her fourth foster home.
The third time wasn’t an accident. Fifteen years old, she tied a noose to ceiling fan before she tried to hang herself. For a moment she saw bright lights and blackness before the fan broke, and she ended up on the floor with bruises around her throat. The fourth time she was sixteen and she took a razor blade to her wrist. That time she swore would be the last time, but hours later she still woke up in a hospital bed, with the beginnings of a new set of scars.
The reason for it never stopped, despite every attempt. The sensation that she was never quite alone, the persistent shadows in the corner of her vision. Whispers in the dark, no matter how many times she was told there were no monsters under the bed; by both foster parents and siblings alike. Unaware that it was the manifestation of some greater power, at seventeen she ran away from her latest home, determined that she could survive without anyone else.
The fifth time she died, she was sleeping underneath a park bench. She picked the wrong part of New Orleans, someone tried to rob her, and expressed their disappointment that she had nothing by sliding a knife between her ribs.
It must have been the blood that drew Castor King, but Allea was never offered those thoughts. Just the sight of the man waiting for her when she opened her eyes again. For the first time, she was face to face with someone that understood what she was, better than she did. A witch, one with too much control over life and death for someone so ignorant. King was quick to change that, and if Allea had been unable to find herself a home within the system, that’s what the older witch offered to her in the shape of his coven.
She had never been the brightest in her class, prefering the streets to an actual school, but she was a quick study when it came to magic. Embracing it quickly when it provided most of the answers to what had been off with him all of her life. And there was nothing but gratitude for the man that offered her that, blind obedience and unquestioning loyalty offered in exchange for every grimoire placed in front of her. Some of her first lessons were in ritual magic: how to draw a circle with coal, which tools went on which points of a pentacle, anything to make the practice of witchcraft feel like second nature. Once she was able to understand what she was doing, her teaching went further. From goetia to the practice of willing a body to rapidly decay, King gave her the tools she needed and taught her why she needed them. She learned there were two types of people in the world: the ones that manipulated others for their own benefits, and those that were easily manipulated.
If it was obvious to the rest of their coven that King was simply using the girl like he would a favored dog, it was nothing Allea was unaware of, simply unaffected by. Because anyone who crossed the King was put under the knife, and with a witch at his side that could keep someone hovering on that cusp between life and death, she became the perfect instrument of torture.
For one reason or another Allea decided that she had had enough of Castor King. She moved north to Pennsylvania, never staying in one place for too long having been black listed as a witch who had betrayed the coven. When she was twenty-two she found her passion for photography. She could capture moments, freeze them in an image of color, catch an expression in the frame of a second. Those pictures put her mind at ease and gave her a ways to come to terms with the traumas of the world around her.
▻ NOW
If survival should’ve been Allea’s primary concern, for the last seven years it had come secondary to a more pressing one: Castor King. In this case hunting him, even it meant walking across the country back to California where he had been last seen. A thing that might’ve gone easier if there weren’t so many monsters flooding the streets. It was a chance encounter that introduced her to a dashing detective, and it didn’t take more than one invitation to join his ‘party’. At least it would keep her from getting too bored.[/div]
[div class=textbox]
extra
Theme:
Voice claim: Marie Laveau
Faceclaim: Zoe Saldana [/div]
[/div][/div]
code by Ri.a
Last edited:
ONHOLD
Dear Mrs. Psycho
Junior Member
Amara Jane Blackwood
[IMG='width:739px;']http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_ZpQBU5J2gg/TnY-CVeAXxI/AAAAAAAAZJs/wk-2E7dPnZc/s1600/S4_Morgana3.jpg[/IMG]
basics/ appearance
Class: Witch
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Height: 5'1"
Weight: 115lbs.
Hair Color: Dark Brown (almost black)
Eye Color: Green
Complexion: Pale white
Features: No Tattoos, Random small scars from fights and practice
[IMG='width:739px;']http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_ZpQBU5J2gg/TnY-CVeAXxI/AAAAAAAAZJs/wk-2E7dPnZc/s1600/S4_Morgana3.jpg[/IMG]
basics/ appearance
Class: Witch
Age: 23
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Bisexual
Height: 5'1"
Weight: 115lbs.
Hair Color: Dark Brown (almost black)
Eye Color: Green
Complexion: Pale white
Features: No Tattoos, Random small scars from fights and practice
stats
Powers/Skills
Dark Magic
Blood Magic
Enchantments
Fortune Telling (Random Hobby as a way to make money)
Magic Control: 70%
Abilities
Dark Magic: 65%
Blood Magic: 70%
Enchantments: 80%
Hand-to-Hand: 60%
Fortune Telling: 40% (Best with Tarot Cards and Palm Reading
Weaknesses
Brother: Out of everything in the world, her brother is one of the only cares she has left. She would do anything for her brother, even if it meant burning the world. He could persuade her to do anything, as well as be her rock and bring her back to earth. If anything happened to him, she would be lost and devastated, but also bring out a dangerous determination to bring him back.
Spiders: It's a hard no. She can't do spiders. It's just not a thing.
Alcohol: With the way the world is, who wouldn't have this weakness of drinking until the saw the end of the bottle and sometimes even then some? Not to mention some of the struggles she had endured, even before the war with her family and coven.
Stubborn Mixed With Determination: Amara is just plan stubborn and even worse so when she is so fixated on something. It's hard to change her mind or see the wrongs or cons in what she is doing.
Quick to Anger: Amara has fallen fault to being a hot head, even the slightest things on her list that will piss her off will throw her into a rage. Just be careful, it's worse to piss off a witch.
Aggressive: On top of her anger management issues, you will find she can be a bit violent, keep sharp objects far away.
Dark Magic
Blood Magic
Enchantments
Fortune Telling (Random Hobby as a way to make money)
Magic Control: 70%
Abilities
Dark Magic: 65%
Blood Magic: 70%
Enchantments: 80%
Hand-to-Hand: 60%
Fortune Telling: 40% (Best with Tarot Cards and Palm Reading
Weaknesses
Brother: Out of everything in the world, her brother is one of the only cares she has left. She would do anything for her brother, even if it meant burning the world. He could persuade her to do anything, as well as be her rock and bring her back to earth. If anything happened to him, she would be lost and devastated, but also bring out a dangerous determination to bring him back.
Spiders: It's a hard no. She can't do spiders. It's just not a thing.
Alcohol: With the way the world is, who wouldn't have this weakness of drinking until the saw the end of the bottle and sometimes even then some? Not to mention some of the struggles she had endured, even before the war with her family and coven.
Stubborn Mixed With Determination: Amara is just plan stubborn and even worse so when she is so fixated on something. It's hard to change her mind or see the wrongs or cons in what she is doing.
Quick to Anger: Amara has fallen fault to being a hot head, even the slightest things on her list that will piss her off will throw her into a rage. Just be careful, it's worse to piss off a witch.
Aggressive: On top of her anger management issues, you will find she can be a bit violent, keep sharp objects far away.
personality
Amara is neutral with it comes to others, she is respectful, kind and takes mind in using her manners when she does speak, but she truly remains quiet, watching from a distance, internally judging on which box of people to put you in and until then, she won't open up, she will keep her distance and give out short answers. Generally when it comes to new people, she leave it to her brother to handle. It's hard for her to trust people, which is why her nature of being so unopen, showing a lack of emotion on her face, and being slightly cold, is like a defense mechanism.
As her ally, she will generally be the same in nature, but she will try to be a little more sociable, but still so closed off. Though her lack of emotion will change to the occasional smile. every once in while. She will be loyal and help in any way possible. She won't throw you under the bus, but she will have a version of trust in you. If you annoy her, sarcasm is the way of her showing it, as well as if she finds you intelligentially lacking.
She is the most open to those close to her, she trusts them completely and will truly do anything for. She will shed any outer skin and break down any walls she would normally have with everyone else. She comes up with inside jokes, is outgoing and is generally the happiest. Instead of people a cold person, she can be a teddy bear and will be completely comfortable around you. However, just like there is a better side, there is a worse side, that side being she hates you. This is where you see her completely merciless, evil side. She won't show any respect or care. She do whatever it takes to bring you done to your knees or worse both physically and mentally. She will pull out all the stops, making you hate her even more.
As her ally, she will generally be the same in nature, but she will try to be a little more sociable, but still so closed off. Though her lack of emotion will change to the occasional smile. every once in while. She will be loyal and help in any way possible. She won't throw you under the bus, but she will have a version of trust in you. If you annoy her, sarcasm is the way of her showing it, as well as if she finds you intelligentially lacking.
She is the most open to those close to her, she trusts them completely and will truly do anything for. She will shed any outer skin and break down any walls she would normally have with everyone else. She comes up with inside jokes, is outgoing and is generally the happiest. Instead of people a cold person, she can be a teddy bear and will be completely comfortable around you. However, just like there is a better side, there is a worse side, that side being she hates you. This is where you see her completely merciless, evil side. She won't show any respect or care. She do whatever it takes to bring you done to your knees or worse both physically and mentally. She will pull out all the stops, making you hate her even more.
bio
Amara and Elijah grew up in a family coven of witches. Elijah was born first, leaving Amara to be the baby after their sister, Isabelle. Elijah and Amara grew up closely, Elijah was more protective of Amara, since she was the baby. Isabelle thought she was the better and above them, so growing up as these siblings, cause Isabelle to be out of their pictures, especially when Isabelle was the first person to see how terrible Amara could be to people around mid-teen years. However, their relationship with their mother was also a close one, until later events happens. As for the rest of the coven, it was mixed until they too became on the shit list.
Before then, all three siblings were taught the main magic practices of the coven, blood and enchantment magic, when they turned around eight, starting with the extreme basics and worked their way from there. Just like normal school, each year was a different level of magic and learned different things about magic, including history and their family history. The learned all aspects of both magics, and even how to use them together. However, hey weren't taught the more dangerous of spells and rituals, well at least Amara and Elijah weren't. Around late teens, Amara got curious and wanted to learn more on what she can do or what she can do with her magic. She found herself friends with a witch of dark magic, and with her determination, she learned all aspects of it, but only practiced a little more then half. When her coven found out from Isabelle spying on her for the coven, the tortured her and cast her out, for they were scared of Dark Magic's abilities and believed it was the worst form of betrayal. Elijah was Amara's biggest advocate and tried to lessen what the coven would do to his sister, but the damage was already done when Amara hexed her sister.
Amara left her coven, well was cast out, and she found herself in New Orleans, where she learned Fortune Telling, only as a means to make money, as well as some side jobs to keep in practice with the magic she was taught. She kept alone and to herself until the day she learned of the gates of hell opening and she packed for the survival of the apocalypse. She didn't get very far, before her brother found her outside of her apartment and every since they have been a duo. Elijah taught her how to fight and use various weapons, though she manly sticks to her daggers and knives and she helped him magically since he gave up on it and refuses to use it.
Before then, all three siblings were taught the main magic practices of the coven, blood and enchantment magic, when they turned around eight, starting with the extreme basics and worked their way from there. Just like normal school, each year was a different level of magic and learned different things about magic, including history and their family history. The learned all aspects of both magics, and even how to use them together. However, hey weren't taught the more dangerous of spells and rituals, well at least Amara and Elijah weren't. Around late teens, Amara got curious and wanted to learn more on what she can do or what she can do with her magic. She found herself friends with a witch of dark magic, and with her determination, she learned all aspects of it, but only practiced a little more then half. When her coven found out from Isabelle spying on her for the coven, the tortured her and cast her out, for they were scared of Dark Magic's abilities and believed it was the worst form of betrayal. Elijah was Amara's biggest advocate and tried to lessen what the coven would do to his sister, but the damage was already done when Amara hexed her sister.
Amara left her coven, well was cast out, and she found herself in New Orleans, where she learned Fortune Telling, only as a means to make money, as well as some side jobs to keep in practice with the magic she was taught. She kept alone and to herself until the day she learned of the gates of hell opening and she packed for the survival of the apocalypse. She didn't get very far, before her brother found her outside of her apartment and every since they have been a duo. Elijah taught her how to fight and use various weapons, though she manly sticks to her daggers and knives and she helped him magically since he gave up on it and refuses to use it.
extra
Items
Bag filled with various ingredients for various spells, especially uncommon ingredients. She also has a couple of cursed objects in a small box. A few daggers she keeps on her person and in her bag.
Amara Blackwood
Items
Bag filled with various ingredients for various spells, especially uncommon ingredients. She also has a couple of cursed objects in a small box. A few daggers she keeps on her person and in her bag.
Amara Blackwood
Last edited:
ONHOLD
Dear Mrs. Psycho
Junior Member
Elijah Dean Blackwood
[IMG='width:788px;']http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/39100000/Photo-by-Stewart-Shining-matthew-daddario-39151578-1080-1350.jpg[/IMG]
basics/ appearance
Class: Former Witch Turned Hunter
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight
Height: 6'3''
Weight: 180 lbs.
Hair Color: Dark Brown (almost black)
Eye Color: Brown
Complexion: Tanned White
Features: Few scars around his body.
stats
Powers/Skills
Blood Magic
Enchantments
Hand-To-Hand Combat
Weaponry
Magic Control: 0% (He doesn't practice anymore)
Abilities
Hand-to-Hand: 80%
Weaponry: 80%
Strength: 70%
Flexibility: 30%
Stamina: 65%
Speed: 55%
Weaknesses
Sister: Same as Amara, out of everything in the world, she is pretty much all he cares about that is left in the world. If anything would happen to her, he would flip. He protects her, even though she is much capable of doing so on her own and if she was severely hurt or dead, he would feel as if he failed and go into a downward spiral, since he lost his sister once, he isn't up to doing so again.
Lack of Self-Preservation: When it comes to his own life, he has this kind of attitude on if he lives, great, if he dies, it's fine. He will often jump ahead of things before thinking through the possibilities or cons, and just drive straight through.
Human: Even though his ancestry says he is a witch, it hasn't used any of his witch abilities since he left, so on a small technicality, he is human, which means anything can kill him, no matter how many protection enchantments Amara might put on him.
Possession: He can still get possessed, so can almost anyone, him more so with his witch ancestry, so any ghosts or spirits, his is one of the many walking skins available.
Alcoholism: What can he say? The world sucks now.
personality
Out of the two siblings, Elijah is more sociable then the two of them. He still happens to leave his guard up sometimes when he comes to people wanting to get too close, but generally he gets him and Amara into groups to survive because he isn't as harsh on the world as Amara is. He is kind, likable, respectful, and easy to talk to. He tries to be there for people he grows to care about, but it seems like nothing will reach high on the care radar then Amara.
With Amara, he is over-protective, even much so after watching what their coven did to her before they tossed her out. He lost her then, and doesn't plan on loosing her again. She is the one person, so far, that he would do anything for. He is there for her when things go south. Someone even looks at her the wrong way, as he is instant "You're on my shit list" mode, which is most of the times when he is an asshole.
When people disrespect his sister, piss him off, or he just finds annoy or not likely on the intelligent side, he is a jerk. There is no easy way to put it. He can be rude or sarcastic. Hhe has a resting bitch face and eyes like daggers. He can't stand people that do one of three. He won't kill them though, well, maybe he would on the disrespecting his sister, but with the other two, he has more bark then bite, knowing they are a dying race. But when he does go kill mode, that's it. No mercy. Just rage.
bio
Amara and Elijah grew up in a family coven of witches. Elijah was born first, followed by Isabelle and then Amara. Elijah and Amara grew up closely, Elijah was more protective of Amara, since she was the baby. Isabelle thought she was the better and above them, so growing up as these siblings, cause Isabelle to be out of their pictures, especially when they through Amara out. However, their relationship with their mother was also a close one, until later events happens. As for the rest of the coven, it was mixed until they too became on the shit list, because to him, they didn't deserve what he had to offer them, when they clearly had no heart or soul to do what they seen him do to Amara.
Before then, all three siblings were taught the main magic practices of the coven, blood and enchantment magic, when they turned around eight, starting with the extreme basics and worked their way from there. Just like normal school, each year was a different level of magic and learned different things about magic, including history and their family history. The learned all aspects of both magics, and even how to use them together. However, hey weren't taught the more dangerous of spells and rituals, well at least Amara and Elijah weren't. Elijah didn't care, he just wanted do his own thing. And he did, while Isabelle studied to be the next High Priestess or Wisewoman and Amara studied to be better, or at least that was until they found out what Amara was studying and did the worst they could do to one of their fellow members and blood.
Elijah didn't even know what was happening until after it happened. He hearing high pitch screaming from outside, he had never heard Amara scream like that until that day and it haunted him, even to this day. When he knew immediately who was screaming, he ran to find out why and to help her, but it was already too late. They had tied Amara to a post and where torturing her both physically and magically, yelling why and what she had done. He wasted no time, jumping between the leader of the torture, his own mother, and Amara as a way to keep her from getting any more hurt. Yelling that she was still their blood, their family.
In that time, Amara took the moment of rest to hex Isabelle, he never figured out with what, but he knew after that he immediate banishment began. He was told to release Amara, and help her back. He did so, comforted her, but when he helped her back, she said and showed nothing. No emotion, no tears, no words, until she said a simple goodbye and walked out. Later that night, he packed his own bags and walked out himself, after letting them know what he felt about them.
Years went by and in that time, he became a hunter. He try to take his mind off the coven with booze, no magic and killing things that didn't belong. He quit magic, because he didn't see the good anymore, he saw it at it's worst, hurting someone he loved, and he hated it for it. He kept tabs on Amara, but he didn't visit her because he was scared to see how she would react seeing a former coven member, even if it was her brother. He thought she would resent him because he was a reminder of that dark night. But, when word spread out that hell was approaching, literally, he made his way across the country to find his sister in New Orleans, he found her in perfect timing of when hell broke open and released itself. Since then, he stuck by his sister's side and helped her learn the skills to survive with more then just magic and food, but in a fight as well.
extra
Items
Bag filled with food, weapons and ammo
Elijah Blackwood
[IMG='width:788px;']http://images6.fanpop.com/image/photos/39100000/Photo-by-Stewart-Shining-matthew-daddario-39151578-1080-1350.jpg[/IMG]
basics/ appearance
Class: Former Witch Turned Hunter
Age: 26
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Straight
Height: 6'3''
Weight: 180 lbs.
Hair Color: Dark Brown (almost black)
Eye Color: Brown
Complexion: Tanned White
Features: Few scars around his body.
stats
Powers/Skills
Blood Magic
Enchantments
Hand-To-Hand Combat
Weaponry
Magic Control: 0% (He doesn't practice anymore)
Abilities
Hand-to-Hand: 80%
Weaponry: 80%
Strength: 70%
Flexibility: 30%
Stamina: 65%
Speed: 55%
Weaknesses
Sister: Same as Amara, out of everything in the world, she is pretty much all he cares about that is left in the world. If anything would happen to her, he would flip. He protects her, even though she is much capable of doing so on her own and if she was severely hurt or dead, he would feel as if he failed and go into a downward spiral, since he lost his sister once, he isn't up to doing so again.
Lack of Self-Preservation: When it comes to his own life, he has this kind of attitude on if he lives, great, if he dies, it's fine. He will often jump ahead of things before thinking through the possibilities or cons, and just drive straight through.
Human: Even though his ancestry says he is a witch, it hasn't used any of his witch abilities since he left, so on a small technicality, he is human, which means anything can kill him, no matter how many protection enchantments Amara might put on him.
Possession: He can still get possessed, so can almost anyone, him more so with his witch ancestry, so any ghosts or spirits, his is one of the many walking skins available.
Alcoholism: What can he say? The world sucks now.
personality
Out of the two siblings, Elijah is more sociable then the two of them. He still happens to leave his guard up sometimes when he comes to people wanting to get too close, but generally he gets him and Amara into groups to survive because he isn't as harsh on the world as Amara is. He is kind, likable, respectful, and easy to talk to. He tries to be there for people he grows to care about, but it seems like nothing will reach high on the care radar then Amara.
With Amara, he is over-protective, even much so after watching what their coven did to her before they tossed her out. He lost her then, and doesn't plan on loosing her again. She is the one person, so far, that he would do anything for. He is there for her when things go south. Someone even looks at her the wrong way, as he is instant "You're on my shit list" mode, which is most of the times when he is an asshole.
When people disrespect his sister, piss him off, or he just finds annoy or not likely on the intelligent side, he is a jerk. There is no easy way to put it. He can be rude or sarcastic. Hhe has a resting bitch face and eyes like daggers. He can't stand people that do one of three. He won't kill them though, well, maybe he would on the disrespecting his sister, but with the other two, he has more bark then bite, knowing they are a dying race. But when he does go kill mode, that's it. No mercy. Just rage.
bio
Amara and Elijah grew up in a family coven of witches. Elijah was born first, followed by Isabelle and then Amara. Elijah and Amara grew up closely, Elijah was more protective of Amara, since she was the baby. Isabelle thought she was the better and above them, so growing up as these siblings, cause Isabelle to be out of their pictures, especially when they through Amara out. However, their relationship with their mother was also a close one, until later events happens. As for the rest of the coven, it was mixed until they too became on the shit list, because to him, they didn't deserve what he had to offer them, when they clearly had no heart or soul to do what they seen him do to Amara.
Before then, all three siblings were taught the main magic practices of the coven, blood and enchantment magic, when they turned around eight, starting with the extreme basics and worked their way from there. Just like normal school, each year was a different level of magic and learned different things about magic, including history and their family history. The learned all aspects of both magics, and even how to use them together. However, hey weren't taught the more dangerous of spells and rituals, well at least Amara and Elijah weren't. Elijah didn't care, he just wanted do his own thing. And he did, while Isabelle studied to be the next High Priestess or Wisewoman and Amara studied to be better, or at least that was until they found out what Amara was studying and did the worst they could do to one of their fellow members and blood.
Elijah didn't even know what was happening until after it happened. He hearing high pitch screaming from outside, he had never heard Amara scream like that until that day and it haunted him, even to this day. When he knew immediately who was screaming, he ran to find out why and to help her, but it was already too late. They had tied Amara to a post and where torturing her both physically and magically, yelling why and what she had done. He wasted no time, jumping between the leader of the torture, his own mother, and Amara as a way to keep her from getting any more hurt. Yelling that she was still their blood, their family.
In that time, Amara took the moment of rest to hex Isabelle, he never figured out with what, but he knew after that he immediate banishment began. He was told to release Amara, and help her back. He did so, comforted her, but when he helped her back, she said and showed nothing. No emotion, no tears, no words, until she said a simple goodbye and walked out. Later that night, he packed his own bags and walked out himself, after letting them know what he felt about them.
Years went by and in that time, he became a hunter. He try to take his mind off the coven with booze, no magic and killing things that didn't belong. He quit magic, because he didn't see the good anymore, he saw it at it's worst, hurting someone he loved, and he hated it for it. He kept tabs on Amara, but he didn't visit her because he was scared to see how she would react seeing a former coven member, even if it was her brother. He thought she would resent him because he was a reminder of that dark night. But, when word spread out that hell was approaching, literally, he made his way across the country to find his sister in New Orleans, he found her in perfect timing of when hell broke open and released itself. Since then, he stuck by his sister's side and helped her learn the skills to survive with more then just magic and food, but in a fight as well.
extra
Items
Bag filled with food, weapons and ammo
Elijah Blackwood
Last edited:
ACTIVE
Cara
i'm a leaf on the wind watch how i soar. ♥
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“ I may not belong anywhere, but that doesn't mean I should stop fighting”
[div class=textbox]
Class: human/hunter
Age:20
Gender:female
Sexuality: heterosexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 5 foot 4
Weight: 121 lbs
Hair Color: sand blond
Eye Color: hazel
Complexion: slightly tanned
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
[div class=textbox]
Knives and daggers
Archery
first aid [/div]
[div class=textbox]
Hardly trust anyone. Has a soft heart and always puts the lives of others first. Not very good with guns. Stubborn and likes doing things her way.[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Niylah is the very serious type at a battlefield, she plans before attacking, preparing more than one way to escape if anything goes wrong and always has a plan B. Training every day is a must for her for she always prefers being ready and in shape if needed.
But she also knows how to have fun when things are quiet. She loves music and loves to dance, she enjoys playing the guitar and mostly travels with one. When it comes to singing however She is a terrible singer and she knows it.
When Niylah was young, she used to help her mother with cooking, she was responsible for mixing ingredients when her mother used to prepare sweets. Now she finds comfort in baking, believing that it helps her remember who she was and that what she is doing is worth it. She loves baking cupcakes, and star-shaped cookies because she loves the stars. She is good at swimming, climbing, Herbs knowledge, and she's a fast runner.
Niylah doesn't always have free time, so she intends to enjoy every last minute of it when she does, but since there isn't so much to do, In her free time she can be found reading a book, or playing the guitar.
Although Niylah loves enjoying life, she is mostly careful about her surroundings she doesn't trust new people and questions every weird sound she hears and thus, carries a weapon at all times.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Niylah learned first aids from her mother, and developed her medical knowledge as she grew up .
Theme:
Faceclaim: Alycia Debnam-Carey
[/div][/div][/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Niylah BlakeClass: human/hunter
Age:20
Gender:female
Sexuality: heterosexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 5 foot 4
Weight: 121 lbs
Hair Color: sand blond
Eye Color: hazel
Complexion: slightly tanned
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
[div class=textbox]
abilities
Hand to hand combat Knives and daggers
Archery
first aid [/div]
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
Hardly trust anyone. Has a soft heart and always puts the lives of others first. Not very good with guns. Stubborn and likes doing things her way.[/div]
[div class=textbox]
personality
Niylah has a soft heart, she believes that all lives matter and that the world deserves a second chance. So she travels helping those who are week and still want to keep their lives, and those who are not looking for a fight but accidently are in the middle of one.Niylah is the very serious type at a battlefield, she plans before attacking, preparing more than one way to escape if anything goes wrong and always has a plan B. Training every day is a must for her for she always prefers being ready and in shape if needed.
But she also knows how to have fun when things are quiet. She loves music and loves to dance, she enjoys playing the guitar and mostly travels with one. When it comes to singing however She is a terrible singer and she knows it.
When Niylah was young, she used to help her mother with cooking, she was responsible for mixing ingredients when her mother used to prepare sweets. Now she finds comfort in baking, believing that it helps her remember who she was and that what she is doing is worth it. She loves baking cupcakes, and star-shaped cookies because she loves the stars. She is good at swimming, climbing, Herbs knowledge, and she's a fast runner.
Niylah doesn't always have free time, so she intends to enjoy every last minute of it when she does, but since there isn't so much to do, In her free time she can be found reading a book, or playing the guitar.
Although Niylah loves enjoying life, she is mostly careful about her surroundings she doesn't trust new people and questions every weird sound she hears and thus, carries a weapon at all times.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
Before:
Niylah was a loved child, she had two big brothers, and her parents were both doctors. she had a great life full of adventures, love, and safety. she was very close to her mother and they used to do almost everything together. Her mother was amazing and perfect in every way, she used to help people in need saying that no one is better than anyone and that everyone should pay it forward, and Niylah learned that from her. when she became 14 however, her parents were killed by Vampires and she was left with both of her brothers to find the world of hunters and monsters. They learned that life isn't perfect and that those who take lives should give their lives as a punishment. She grew up training and traveling with her brothers, looking for the supernatural and killing them, they met other hunters and often teamed up with few along the way. Her life turned upside down and suddenly she wasn't only not safe anymore but she was moving towards new dangers every day. Her brothers wanted revenge and died trying to get it when she was 16. After that, she was left alone knowing that Revenge takes more than it gives. she lost contact with the hunters she knew and felt that she doesn't belong anywhere. However, she wasn't afraid of danger anymore so she decided to continue hunting and help people from dangerous creatures.After:
when the apocalypse came, Niylah was one of the few who survived. At first, she refused to believe that it was game over and she dedicated her life to helping those who cannot protect themselves. Soon, people, she knew started ding until no one left and she was alone again it was then that she was convinced that the world is actually over. Now, she is traveling trying to find somewhere to help her stay alive planning to stay standing until the very end.[/div]
[div class=textbox]
extra
Niylah learned first aids from her mother, and developed her medical knowledge as she grew up .
Theme:
Faceclaim: Alycia Debnam-Carey
[/div][/div][/div][/div]
Last edited:
ACTIVE
BasiliskVeranda
80s Trash
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The well-adjusted country-bumpkin knows how to wield a gun. Her expertise is top-notch, incredibly accurate aiming as close to natural as breathing is. She can shoot without quite looking, her peripheral vision honed from years of hunting with her father.
However, she's better suited for shot-gunning and jumping into the fray, first. She is unafraid of the onslaughts of hell, almost strangely normal and well-adjusted to the unyielding assholes who reign upon the earth. It's just more hunting for her to do, something she has to focus on and knock down, like any task.
She doesn't technically have the best running stamina, finding a runner's stitch up her side in most fleeing situations, so she just doesn't flee.
No point in booking it like a bat out of hell when you can reload and blast off 8 shots in less than 5 seconds with a pump-action Benelli Performance M2.
[div class=textbox]
Hand-to-Hand Combat: [/div]Shotty Skillz: [/div]Running Skillz:
Long-term Stamina:
Hunting / Fishing:
Talkin' Good:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
- Has almost no ability to run away, her short-term stamina is in the crapper, but she can stalk her enemy for miles. Albeit slowly, and deliberately.
- Not that great with many other weapons than guns, but is pretty great with wrestling people to the ground.
- Women that are smarter than she is, interesting women. She'll probably take several bullets for the ladies.
- Baby animals, she will save that little bird if it kills her.
- Cake, in all its scrumptious majesty.
- Being called stupid, she's incredibly self-conscious about her intelligence.
- Talking, she's awkward and stammery.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Sexuality: She's awful picky, prefers to flirt awkwardly with interesting women. Men have always been a disappointment.
She enjoys whittling little animals out of wood with her Swiss-Army knife, knitting, sewing, and coloring in her shoes with markers.
She loves knitting and nailpolish.
She has a stash of weed and will happily share it, plus a bunch of smoked and jerkied various animals she's caught and processed along the way.
Theme: Timothy Heller - See Ya!
Faceclaim: Jane Levy [/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Franklin "Frankie" Austin Hibbard
Class: Human
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Pansexual
Class: Human
Age: 19
Gender: Female
Sexuality: Pansexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 132
Hair Color: Bright, fiery red
Eye Color: Crystal-blue
Complexion: Fair and pale as a vamp, but ruddy pinks when she tans
Features: Frankie has a long, jagged, ugly scar up the side of her arm.
It's incredibly apparent, and almost looks like it was carved by a claw of some sort. Whitened, but not fresh, the scar tissue will never heal.
She's not self-conscious about it, it's a badge of honor.
Weight: 132
Hair Color: Bright, fiery red
Eye Color: Crystal-blue
Complexion: Fair and pale as a vamp, but ruddy pinks when she tans
Features: Frankie has a long, jagged, ugly scar up the side of her arm.
It's incredibly apparent, and almost looks like it was carved by a claw of some sort. Whitened, but not fresh, the scar tissue will never heal.
She's not self-conscious about it, it's a badge of honor.
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
The well-adjusted country-bumpkin knows how to wield a gun. Her expertise is top-notch, incredibly accurate aiming as close to natural as breathing is. She can shoot without quite looking, her peripheral vision honed from years of hunting with her father.
However, she's better suited for shot-gunning and jumping into the fray, first. She is unafraid of the onslaughts of hell, almost strangely normal and well-adjusted to the unyielding assholes who reign upon the earth. It's just more hunting for her to do, something she has to focus on and knock down, like any task.
She doesn't technically have the best running stamina, finding a runner's stitch up her side in most fleeing situations, so she just doesn't flee.
No point in booking it like a bat out of hell when you can reload and blast off 8 shots in less than 5 seconds with a pump-action Benelli Performance M2.
[div class=textbox]
abilities
Wrestlin': Hand-to-Hand Combat: [/div]Shotty Skillz: [/div]Running Skillz:
Long-term Stamina:
Hunting / Fishing:
Talkin' Good:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
- Has almost no ability to run away, her short-term stamina is in the crapper, but she can stalk her enemy for miles. Albeit slowly, and deliberately.
- Not that great with many other weapons than guns, but is pretty great with wrestling people to the ground.
- Women that are smarter than she is, interesting women. She'll probably take several bullets for the ladies.
- Baby animals, she will save that little bird if it kills her.
- Cake, in all its scrumptious majesty.
- Being called stupid, she's incredibly self-conscious about her intelligence.
- Talking, she's awkward and stammery.
[div class=textbox]
personality
Calling little ol' Frankie well-adjusted is an understatement. Obstacles show up, she knocks them down. She has a curious nasally, nerdy ticking-laugh, which she belts out after she triumphs. Which she is ecstatic over, nine times out of ten. The girl does love to croon when she wins.
Frankie doesn't spend very much time worrying about stuff that she can't change. If it was meant to work out, it would've.
She rarely gets angry, preferring to shut her trap when she doesn't agree with something. Ultimately, if she gets mad enough, she'll start yapping a firestorm of terribly childish curse words like 'dumbtruck', 'ballbucket' or 'assfart'.
She's not that great with words, stumbling awkwardly over them often with her thick, off-color accent. Which is some strange amalgamation of various sorts, typical to Ashlen Town and nowhere else.
The little firecracker thinks she's dumb, and sometimes she is a little spacey, and takes any slight to her intelligence as a call to war. She's a tad bit simple in affect, but beneath her something vacant, distant crystal-blue gaze, she has oceans of mental poetry. She just doesn't know how to articulate it, and she's slow to talk at times, for fear she'll mangle what she's saying. If you question her intelligence, she'll be darn ripshit, however.
Frankie is a normal girl. She has traditional feminine interests, like painting her toenails, doing up her hair, and sewing clothes. She takes her sewing and knitting very seriously, and when she's bored can be found making clothes, cross-stitching, or knitting scarves for the cold. She also likes traditionally masculine interests like fishing, hunting, and wrestling people for the fun of it.
All in all, she's obscenely normal. She has to be, because the things she's seen are just too fudgin' wild to think 'bout, so she don't. Can't change the past, doncha' know?
Frankie doesn't spend very much time worrying about stuff that she can't change. If it was meant to work out, it would've.
She rarely gets angry, preferring to shut her trap when she doesn't agree with something. Ultimately, if she gets mad enough, she'll start yapping a firestorm of terribly childish curse words like 'dumbtruck', 'ballbucket' or 'assfart'.
She's not that great with words, stumbling awkwardly over them often with her thick, off-color accent. Which is some strange amalgamation of various sorts, typical to Ashlen Town and nowhere else.
The little firecracker thinks she's dumb, and sometimes she is a little spacey, and takes any slight to her intelligence as a call to war. She's a tad bit simple in affect, but beneath her something vacant, distant crystal-blue gaze, she has oceans of mental poetry. She just doesn't know how to articulate it, and she's slow to talk at times, for fear she'll mangle what she's saying. If you question her intelligence, she'll be darn ripshit, however.
Frankie is a normal girl. She has traditional feminine interests, like painting her toenails, doing up her hair, and sewing clothes. She takes her sewing and knitting very seriously, and when she's bored can be found making clothes, cross-stitching, or knitting scarves for the cold. She also likes traditionally masculine interests like fishing, hunting, and wrestling people for the fun of it.
All in all, she's obscenely normal. She has to be, because the things she's seen are just too fudgin' wild to think 'bout, so she don't. Can't change the past, doncha' know?
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
Franklin grew up in the sticks with her father, Theodore 'Teddy' Hibbard. Her ma died when she was just a kid, but Teddy made it a point to help her socialize with the youngsters in their heavily wooded quasi-village. This tall, red-bearded mountain-man would set her up with play dates, but end up driving over in his beat-up Caddy a scant hour later to pick her up because she tore some girl's pony tail off her head for talkin' sideways.
She wasn't very interested in making friends as a child, preferring to take long hikes, climb trees, hunt with her pa and make little forts in the forest out of leaves and dry sticks. When she was bored, she'd mend her father's clothes or sew some funny little deers on knitting circles. Their home was a safe-haven for her crafts and experiments, once making a monster out of spaghetti. It was quite realistic, with tiny little fangs covered in pasta sauce and horns colored in with her pa's chewing tobacco.
He was not happy with this.
An awkward survivalist through and through, Frankie showed up at her first day of kindergarten covered in leaves taped to her body so she could blend in with the trees and not say something duckin' stupid. She was never very good when it came to schoolin' and found her grades slipping because she daydreamed too much. She may have some undiagnosed attention problems, was just extremely bored with arithmetic, or distracted by the pretty girls in her class. Which she was, quite often.
Frankie learned to wrestle when the boys in her neighborhood called her a slur for her interest in a female classmate named Rebecca, or 'Becca', who was also her best friend. They gave her a bloody nose, but she smashed them on the ground at the wee age of 10 and broke one of the boy's arms. That taught them not to mess with the little sharpshooter (for a while), and her pa couldn't have been prouder for standing up for herself. A man of few words, he had beamed rosy that day, eyes crinkling with tears.
His little girl was a fighter, just like her ma.
Grades lagging in her small schoolhouse as she got older, the world around her little village started to change. She always felt left behind, but she had never felt more like she was lagging than the moment they finally got a color television. Not one of them fancy holographic ones, something old and crackly, they had found it on the outskirts of Townsend.
The world was in living color, there were so many things she didn't understand, nor did her father.
Their village (Ashlen Town) wasn't even on any real map, and the closest town was and still is Townsend, Tennessee, with less than 1000 people living there before the apocalypse touched down. Ashlen Town, even less so than that.
Witches were a thing she knew about intimately, her extremely rural neighborhood home to several of them, because it wasn't like the local townsfolk would blab about it or nothin'. Secretive small town communities don't tend to speak ill of their neighbors, to the outside world at least.
Healers and the like set up camp there, a little coven that was lead by Becca's stern—but fair—mother, Bridget Fairlorn.
Time went on, and Frankie's crush on Rebecca grew, and the other girl returned her feelings. The little firecracker would bring her gifts like cute tiny frogs, pretty stones, and hand-woven headbands. Her first kiss was underneath a tall oak with big orange leaves; she'll never forget that day as long as she lives. Because that was the day that Becca was taken from her.
The local rabble, in all various tones of bored, drunk, high, and pubertorial thought they'd teach her blond little friend a lesson. Becca was inordinately pretty, and they thought it was a 'bleeding shame' she liked the little fiery-haired rabble-rouser. They took her that day, just took her, spirited away into nothing.
No word of where she'd gone, her mother, distraught, called to arms the local coven. But they mostly dabbled in healing spells, rural alchemy like curing sickness or communing with animals, their powers couldn't extend to suss out where the thin-limbed beauty had been holed away.
She wasn't identified, not until much later, washed up in a local river with a head wound bloated like an overripe fruit in the blistering summer's sun. The adults surmised some local boys had tried to force themselves on her, and she had fought bravely, with her nails broken and knuckles bruised. But little Becca hadn't made it, at the tender age of thirteen, her life snuffed out by an apparent bashing of a dull rock.
Frankie didn't let that stand. The news came in from her father's lips, over his strong beard, his steady hand raised trying to keep his daughter calm. But she wouldn't, she couldn't, crystal-blue eyes wild but her expression calm and collected.
She went fuckin' hunting.
Clad in greens, browns, quiet boots, and a smart cap, she went on her chase. She gunned down every one of those assbuckets with expert precision, taking out the town's finest, handsomest, smartest, strongest young men—all accomplices, enablers, or enactors—like they were rabid animals. And they were, she felt. Knocked out with one shot to the leg so they'd bleed out as they limped in the thick, black woods. The worst of the bunch was the one who she knew stuck his greedy little hands up Becca's skirt one time when they were playing ball at recess—he got properly tortured.
He had hobbled in the woods as she followed his bloody trail of breadcrumbs, on the war path. Crystal-blue eyes shining, but calm, she'd stop every now and then to take a toke from a blunt, and continue on. Terrorizing him by hollering in the bushes, letting off warning shots, she stalked him until dark.
Sixteen was the age she lost her innocence to how horrible humans were, and how violent she could truly be. Standing over this stammering shithead, she clocked him in the head with three shotgun shells for good measure, and dragged his completely decimated body to the center of town. Keening red over the auburn leaves, red that matched her hair, mouth wrapped tightly around her blunt. His brains made a mighty-fine trail.
It was a display of power, blood on her face, her knuckles, her clothes. Her father was conflicted. Equally horrified but also, strangely proud. A strange feeling to have, but his daughter had taken care of a bunch of the worst scum of the earth. Holding up the asshole by the back of the head by his long, matted blond hair, she dumped him on the steps of the small wooden town hall like a dead animal, and declared:
"Ya' don't gitta take no lives fr'm nonofus, don' twist it, I'll git t'takin' ya down faster thn' ya can blenks, doncha' know I ain't mince a fackin' wordofit!" That day, she crooned out a guttural, animalistic promise. And that day, hell swallowed up the world in hellfire and brimstone.
Untrusting of most men except for her father, little Frankie grew even stronger over the next two years of hell. Plenty of hell hounds twisted into their village, while her, her father, the local coven of witches, and a few trustworthy fellow hunters, protected their lands. It didn't last forever, of course, when the cold winters came, food ran scarce.
There was infighting. Her father was the first to fall, diving into a bullet meant for his daughter while she ate the scraps of squirrels she, herself, had killed. And again, Frankie had to take people down, blood is repaid by blood, and she didn't suffer no fools. And she never would.
Taking off, the girl managed to spiral her way up the East Coast by stealing cars, siphoning gas, and shooting first and asking questions later. The entire time there was an odd calm to her, a stillness, a well-adjustment that was antithetical to the things she had suffered and seen. Because she couldn't change any of it. The best she can do, and could do, was overcome each obstacle with the clarity of a soldier on her own executive order.
Frankie has a nose for bullshit, her instincts carried her far, despite being a bit thick-headed.
Currently, Frankie is bumbling around in an ancient—but reliable—hatchback, mustard colored and covered in blood and gore from her repeatedly driving over hell-hounds on her journey. Like roadkill in the way, honestly. She tends not to stay in one place for too long. The last time she did, she got that angry scar up her arm, almost losing it in the process by some red-eyed sumbitch, escaping just barely with her life.
Maybe this time, she'll stick around. Maybe, if peoples are nice'nall that.
She wasn't very interested in making friends as a child, preferring to take long hikes, climb trees, hunt with her pa and make little forts in the forest out of leaves and dry sticks. When she was bored, she'd mend her father's clothes or sew some funny little deers on knitting circles. Their home was a safe-haven for her crafts and experiments, once making a monster out of spaghetti. It was quite realistic, with tiny little fangs covered in pasta sauce and horns colored in with her pa's chewing tobacco.
He was not happy with this.
An awkward survivalist through and through, Frankie showed up at her first day of kindergarten covered in leaves taped to her body so she could blend in with the trees and not say something duckin' stupid. She was never very good when it came to schoolin' and found her grades slipping because she daydreamed too much. She may have some undiagnosed attention problems, was just extremely bored with arithmetic, or distracted by the pretty girls in her class. Which she was, quite often.
Frankie learned to wrestle when the boys in her neighborhood called her a slur for her interest in a female classmate named Rebecca, or 'Becca', who was also her best friend. They gave her a bloody nose, but she smashed them on the ground at the wee age of 10 and broke one of the boy's arms. That taught them not to mess with the little sharpshooter (for a while), and her pa couldn't have been prouder for standing up for herself. A man of few words, he had beamed rosy that day, eyes crinkling with tears.
His little girl was a fighter, just like her ma.
Grades lagging in her small schoolhouse as she got older, the world around her little village started to change. She always felt left behind, but she had never felt more like she was lagging than the moment they finally got a color television. Not one of them fancy holographic ones, something old and crackly, they had found it on the outskirts of Townsend.
The world was in living color, there were so many things she didn't understand, nor did her father.
Their village (Ashlen Town) wasn't even on any real map, and the closest town was and still is Townsend, Tennessee, with less than 1000 people living there before the apocalypse touched down. Ashlen Town, even less so than that.
Witches were a thing she knew about intimately, her extremely rural neighborhood home to several of them, because it wasn't like the local townsfolk would blab about it or nothin'. Secretive small town communities don't tend to speak ill of their neighbors, to the outside world at least.
Healers and the like set up camp there, a little coven that was lead by Becca's stern—but fair—mother, Bridget Fairlorn.
Time went on, and Frankie's crush on Rebecca grew, and the other girl returned her feelings. The little firecracker would bring her gifts like cute tiny frogs, pretty stones, and hand-woven headbands. Her first kiss was underneath a tall oak with big orange leaves; she'll never forget that day as long as she lives. Because that was the day that Becca was taken from her.
The local rabble, in all various tones of bored, drunk, high, and pubertorial thought they'd teach her blond little friend a lesson. Becca was inordinately pretty, and they thought it was a 'bleeding shame' she liked the little fiery-haired rabble-rouser. They took her that day, just took her, spirited away into nothing.
No word of where she'd gone, her mother, distraught, called to arms the local coven. But they mostly dabbled in healing spells, rural alchemy like curing sickness or communing with animals, their powers couldn't extend to suss out where the thin-limbed beauty had been holed away.
She wasn't identified, not until much later, washed up in a local river with a head wound bloated like an overripe fruit in the blistering summer's sun. The adults surmised some local boys had tried to force themselves on her, and she had fought bravely, with her nails broken and knuckles bruised. But little Becca hadn't made it, at the tender age of thirteen, her life snuffed out by an apparent bashing of a dull rock.
Frankie didn't let that stand. The news came in from her father's lips, over his strong beard, his steady hand raised trying to keep his daughter calm. But she wouldn't, she couldn't, crystal-blue eyes wild but her expression calm and collected.
She went fuckin' hunting.
Clad in greens, browns, quiet boots, and a smart cap, she went on her chase. She gunned down every one of those assbuckets with expert precision, taking out the town's finest, handsomest, smartest, strongest young men—all accomplices, enablers, or enactors—like they were rabid animals. And they were, she felt. Knocked out with one shot to the leg so they'd bleed out as they limped in the thick, black woods. The worst of the bunch was the one who she knew stuck his greedy little hands up Becca's skirt one time when they were playing ball at recess—he got properly tortured.
He had hobbled in the woods as she followed his bloody trail of breadcrumbs, on the war path. Crystal-blue eyes shining, but calm, she'd stop every now and then to take a toke from a blunt, and continue on. Terrorizing him by hollering in the bushes, letting off warning shots, she stalked him until dark.
Sixteen was the age she lost her innocence to how horrible humans were, and how violent she could truly be. Standing over this stammering shithead, she clocked him in the head with three shotgun shells for good measure, and dragged his completely decimated body to the center of town. Keening red over the auburn leaves, red that matched her hair, mouth wrapped tightly around her blunt. His brains made a mighty-fine trail.
It was a display of power, blood on her face, her knuckles, her clothes. Her father was conflicted. Equally horrified but also, strangely proud. A strange feeling to have, but his daughter had taken care of a bunch of the worst scum of the earth. Holding up the asshole by the back of the head by his long, matted blond hair, she dumped him on the steps of the small wooden town hall like a dead animal, and declared:
"Ya' don't gitta take no lives fr'm nonofus, don' twist it, I'll git t'takin' ya down faster thn' ya can blenks, doncha' know I ain't mince a fackin' wordofit!" That day, she crooned out a guttural, animalistic promise. And that day, hell swallowed up the world in hellfire and brimstone.
Untrusting of most men except for her father, little Frankie grew even stronger over the next two years of hell. Plenty of hell hounds twisted into their village, while her, her father, the local coven of witches, and a few trustworthy fellow hunters, protected their lands. It didn't last forever, of course, when the cold winters came, food ran scarce.
There was infighting. Her father was the first to fall, diving into a bullet meant for his daughter while she ate the scraps of squirrels she, herself, had killed. And again, Frankie had to take people down, blood is repaid by blood, and she didn't suffer no fools. And she never would.
Taking off, the girl managed to spiral her way up the East Coast by stealing cars, siphoning gas, and shooting first and asking questions later. The entire time there was an odd calm to her, a stillness, a well-adjustment that was antithetical to the things she had suffered and seen. Because she couldn't change any of it. The best she can do, and could do, was overcome each obstacle with the clarity of a soldier on her own executive order.
Frankie has a nose for bullshit, her instincts carried her far, despite being a bit thick-headed.
Currently, Frankie is bumbling around in an ancient—but reliable—hatchback, mustard colored and covered in blood and gore from her repeatedly driving over hell-hounds on her journey. Like roadkill in the way, honestly. She tends not to stay in one place for too long. The last time she did, she got that angry scar up her arm, almost losing it in the process by some red-eyed sumbitch, escaping just barely with her life.
Maybe this time, she'll stick around. Maybe, if peoples are nice'nall that.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
extra
Sexuality: She's awful picky, prefers to flirt awkwardly with interesting women. Men have always been a disappointment.
She enjoys whittling little animals out of wood with her Swiss-Army knife, knitting, sewing, and coloring in her shoes with markers.
She loves knitting and nailpolish.
She has a stash of weed and will happily share it, plus a bunch of smoked and jerkied various animals she's caught and processed along the way.
Theme: Timothy Heller - See Ya!
Faceclaim: Jane Levy [/div]
[/div][/div]
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ACTIVE
Kaas
Aurora Musis amica
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[div class=textbox]
Theme:
Name: Adisa Imamu
Class: Prophet (Previously a Witch Doctor/ Voodoo Practioner)
Age: 31 (In reality 61)
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Asexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Height: 6'4
Weight: 163
Hair Color: Jet black
Eye Color: Sapphire blue (Changes when possed by a loa)
Features: Strange runes, markings, and symbols cover his body in the form of scars. His tongue is split like a snake, something he did to himself when supposedly possessed by a snake spirit.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Loa Communion: Adisa is an adept and practiced Houngan. He has worked with the loa for many years in Haiti and has learned to be able to perform rituals to summon them wherever he might be. It can be a terrifying and dangerous experience to summon a loa but they can offer many things to those who summon them. He has also learned to summon a variety of spirits, both divine and hellish in nature, and can even commune with the deceased.
Visions: Like all prophets, Adisa is granted the power of visions. The visions are powerful and potent, either striking him during rituals or out of the blue. Adisa rarely has gentle visions, almost always breaking down into a full-blown seizure when they occur. He enters into a trance-like state, seeing the visions unfold before him like a painting. He cannot tell whether they are from the past or present, and they often leave him shaken. However, he is known to have blissful visions in which he comes out of them with a sense of purpose and complete faith to his goal, whatever it might be.
Black magic: In his old life before becoming a Houngan, Adisa was a Bokor, a practitioner of black voodoo magic, petro or congo. He is able to still channel this energy but relies on it very little. When he chooses to use this magic, he prefers either performs a ritual or summoning. During rituals, he will place curses, hexes, and jinxes on people, places, or certain things. These rituals are dangerous, and Adisa will very rarely perform them in the presence of others. During a summoning, Adisa summons dark spirits under his control and attacks his foes with them. These spirits range from mischievous sprites to deadly monsters. When summoned, they are under his control so long as he promises them something in return. It can be very risky, but his dark arts are a powerful and deadly force that should not be reckoned with.
But his magic is not limited to simple summoning. Channeling the forces of the universe, Adisa can create bolts of dark purple lightning, firestorms, and can even raise the dead.
Ease the pain, confront the thorn: Adisa is a healer, but not physically. He is a spiritual healer. He can ease the pain of a physical injury, but can only truly heal the mind. He uses a variety of techniques to do so, and the process can be long and arduous but he has never failed someone who has come to him for help. He will perform rituals and ceremonies to ease the person, and will devote himself to them should they ask for his help. He believes this is his way to atone for the previous harm he has caused.
Excellent misleader: Adisa is a master of misdirection. He will often seem insane or deranged but is truly quite clever and smart. His sayings are often not taken seriously, until the reveal themselves to be prophetic, wise, or true in nature.
Voodoo Protection: While not totally immune to possession and infection, Adisa is gifted with the ability to push away those that might try and do so. He was gifted this power by the loa Legba who protects him on his journeys and staves off those who would try and harm him. Demonic entities will tend to stay away from Adisa, not wanting to go near him unless they need to.
Serpentine Familiar: Adisa found his loyal snake Masego when he was an egg, almost cooking him as a meal. He heard a voice from inside and swore to protect the unborn snake with his life. He has raised the snake from birth and claims that it can speak to him and give him guidance. He treats the snake as a close friend and adores it. Masego follows orders and commands from Adisa, understanding them like a person. He seems to understand speech and Adisa can supposedly translate what the snake says.
Control:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Black Magic: 6/10
Communion: 6/10
Spiritual healing: 9/10
Visions: 2/10
Sneaking: 5/10
[div class=textbox]
Spiders: Due to a horrible communion with a spider spirit, Adisa has a crippling fear of them. The spirit told him that should any of her children find him, they would crawl in his ear and lay babies in his skulls. For this reason, Adisa runs from the smallest of spiders.
Possesion: While Adisa is protected in his journeys from demonic entities, during rituals he is particularly prone to possession from any spirit that might enter the room. It doesn't matter whether they a benevolent, malevolent, or neutral. He can regain control, but it all depends on the strength and will of the spirit
Alcholism: He has a taste for booze, and will drink himself into oblivion if given the chance. Alcohol doesn't impair his magic, but instead weakens his control over it and leads to a far greater likely hood that something will go amiss in his rituals. When he is without booze, he starts to get major symptoms of withdrawal and experiences vivid hallucinations.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
During his teenage years, Adisa began to work in private as an occult practitioner. He would work in secret, using Black Magic to perform all forms of evil deeds upon the wishes of those who paid him. He worked alongside various dark spirits and Loa, but still worked alongside the Voodoo priests of his village. It began to tear him apart, fighting against the good and evil until his mind was inevitably shattered. He delved into madness for several years, not making any sense as his mind battled with the literal demons inside of him. He emerged from his madness when he 30 years old, but he was never the same afterward. He was smarter, sharp-witted and mysterious after that point. He retreated into the jungles and began to live a solitary life.
When Adisa retreated into the jungles, he harbored his darker side within his staff. When he came across his trusted serpent Masego as an egg he transferred it to the snake. The snake was a sign to him, a sign of change. Masego has held that darker side for many years. But should Adisa fall weak, the sides will change. The Bokor Adisa will return to his body until the Houngan can gather strength and return.
From that point on he worked as a healer, helping those who were troubled like him. He would exorcize their demons and soothe their minds, helping them deal with the battles they fought. He was legendary in his village, earning the title of Adisa Imamu which replaced his birth name of Joseph.
One year before the first gateway opened up, Adisa had his first vision. He saw the gates of hell opening up and releasing for evil unto the world. He saw himself standing in the ruins of New York with a divine white light around him. From that point, he made his way to America, determined to be there for when the gates opened. He arrived in New York one week before the gates opened and went to the streets like a madman, screaming about the end of the world and how everyone must evacuate. He was ignored... Until he was proven right. He watched as the pits of hell opened up from beneath him and consumed all he could see.
The next few weeks went dark for Adisa. He couldn't remember what had happened, only that he had been saved by something divine. He was lost and confused until he was struck by another vision. He saw himself surrounded by people, survivors like himself standing upon a high rock as a holy white light surrounded them. He knew he had to find these people, and set off in search of those who would be with him in that vision... [/div]
Faceclaim : Smite
Faceclaim: thatsthespot.com Matt Barnes photography blog
[/div]
[/div][/div]
[div class=textbox]
BASICS
Theme:
Name: Adisa Imamu
Class: Prophet (Previously a Witch Doctor/ Voodoo Practioner)
Age: 31 (In reality 61)
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Asexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
APPEARANCE
Height: 6'4
Weight: 163
Hair Color: Jet black
Eye Color: Sapphire blue (Changes when possed by a loa)
Features: Strange runes, markings, and symbols cover his body in the form of scars. His tongue is split like a snake, something he did to himself when supposedly possessed by a snake spirit.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
POWER/SKILLS
Loa Communion: Adisa is an adept and practiced Houngan. He has worked with the loa for many years in Haiti and has learned to be able to perform rituals to summon them wherever he might be. It can be a terrifying and dangerous experience to summon a loa but they can offer many things to those who summon them. He has also learned to summon a variety of spirits, both divine and hellish in nature, and can even commune with the deceased.
Visions: Like all prophets, Adisa is granted the power of visions. The visions are powerful and potent, either striking him during rituals or out of the blue. Adisa rarely has gentle visions, almost always breaking down into a full-blown seizure when they occur. He enters into a trance-like state, seeing the visions unfold before him like a painting. He cannot tell whether they are from the past or present, and they often leave him shaken. However, he is known to have blissful visions in which he comes out of them with a sense of purpose and complete faith to his goal, whatever it might be.
Black magic: In his old life before becoming a Houngan, Adisa was a Bokor, a practitioner of black voodoo magic, petro or congo. He is able to still channel this energy but relies on it very little. When he chooses to use this magic, he prefers either performs a ritual or summoning. During rituals, he will place curses, hexes, and jinxes on people, places, or certain things. These rituals are dangerous, and Adisa will very rarely perform them in the presence of others. During a summoning, Adisa summons dark spirits under his control and attacks his foes with them. These spirits range from mischievous sprites to deadly monsters. When summoned, they are under his control so long as he promises them something in return. It can be very risky, but his dark arts are a powerful and deadly force that should not be reckoned with.
But his magic is not limited to simple summoning. Channeling the forces of the universe, Adisa can create bolts of dark purple lightning, firestorms, and can even raise the dead.
Ease the pain, confront the thorn: Adisa is a healer, but not physically. He is a spiritual healer. He can ease the pain of a physical injury, but can only truly heal the mind. He uses a variety of techniques to do so, and the process can be long and arduous but he has never failed someone who has come to him for help. He will perform rituals and ceremonies to ease the person, and will devote himself to them should they ask for his help. He believes this is his way to atone for the previous harm he has caused.
Excellent misleader: Adisa is a master of misdirection. He will often seem insane or deranged but is truly quite clever and smart. His sayings are often not taken seriously, until the reveal themselves to be prophetic, wise, or true in nature.
Voodoo Protection: While not totally immune to possession and infection, Adisa is gifted with the ability to push away those that might try and do so. He was gifted this power by the loa Legba who protects him on his journeys and staves off those who would try and harm him. Demonic entities will tend to stay away from Adisa, not wanting to go near him unless they need to.
Serpentine Familiar: Adisa found his loyal snake Masego when he was an egg, almost cooking him as a meal. He heard a voice from inside and swore to protect the unborn snake with his life. He has raised the snake from birth and claims that it can speak to him and give him guidance. He treats the snake as a close friend and adores it. Masego follows orders and commands from Adisa, understanding them like a person. He seems to understand speech and Adisa can supposedly translate what the snake says.
Control:
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[div class=textbox]
ABILITIES
Black Magic: 6/10
Communion: 6/10
Spiritual healing: 9/10
Visions: 2/10
Sneaking: 5/10
[div class=textbox]
WEAKNESSESS
Spiders: Due to a horrible communion with a spider spirit, Adisa has a crippling fear of them. The spirit told him that should any of her children find him, they would crawl in his ear and lay babies in his skulls. For this reason, Adisa runs from the smallest of spiders.
Possesion: While Adisa is protected in his journeys from demonic entities, during rituals he is particularly prone to possession from any spirit that might enter the room. It doesn't matter whether they a benevolent, malevolent, or neutral. He can regain control, but it all depends on the strength and will of the spirit
Alcholism: He has a taste for booze, and will drink himself into oblivion if given the chance. Alcohol doesn't impair his magic, but instead weakens his control over it and leads to a far greater likely hood that something will go amiss in his rituals. When he is without booze, he starts to get major symptoms of withdrawal and experiences vivid hallucinations.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
personality
Adisa is peculiar and eccentric soul. His life of magic and drinking has left his mind twisted and damaged. He is prone to mumble and ramble about seemingly inconsequential things. He is acutely aware of peoples emotions and mannerisms and knows an almost frightening amount about their lives and who they are. He is kind, and truly wishes to help people but is prone to outbursts of anger, mania, anxiety, depression, and hysteria. Adisa will appear aloof and stupid but has a quick wit and sharp tongue. He seems to always be one step ahead of people and tends to toy with those that mean him wrong.[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
When Adisa was born, his mother heard a great storm roar overhead. Lightning crashed around the house and the wildlife outside began to call and howl wildly. The midwife and priest said this was a sign of a powerful soul being born. Adisa grew up in a small Haitian village secluded from society. He grew up surrounded by Voodoo and when he was twelve when he first got his calling to the spirit world. During a Voodoo service, he was possessed by multiple Loa in a row who told him of his divine destiny and that he must become a Houngan to fulfill his destiny. from that point on he worked alongside the priests and priestess to work with the Loa and Voodoo arts.During his teenage years, Adisa began to work in private as an occult practitioner. He would work in secret, using Black Magic to perform all forms of evil deeds upon the wishes of those who paid him. He worked alongside various dark spirits and Loa, but still worked alongside the Voodoo priests of his village. It began to tear him apart, fighting against the good and evil until his mind was inevitably shattered. He delved into madness for several years, not making any sense as his mind battled with the literal demons inside of him. He emerged from his madness when he 30 years old, but he was never the same afterward. He was smarter, sharp-witted and mysterious after that point. He retreated into the jungles and began to live a solitary life.
When Adisa retreated into the jungles, he harbored his darker side within his staff. When he came across his trusted serpent Masego as an egg he transferred it to the snake. The snake was a sign to him, a sign of change. Masego has held that darker side for many years. But should Adisa fall weak, the sides will change. The Bokor Adisa will return to his body until the Houngan can gather strength and return.
From that point on he worked as a healer, helping those who were troubled like him. He would exorcize their demons and soothe their minds, helping them deal with the battles they fought. He was legendary in his village, earning the title of Adisa Imamu which replaced his birth name of Joseph.
One year before the first gateway opened up, Adisa had his first vision. He saw the gates of hell opening up and releasing for evil unto the world. He saw himself standing in the ruins of New York with a divine white light around him. From that point, he made his way to America, determined to be there for when the gates opened. He arrived in New York one week before the gates opened and went to the streets like a madman, screaming about the end of the world and how everyone must evacuate. He was ignored... Until he was proven right. He watched as the pits of hell opened up from beneath him and consumed all he could see.
The next few weeks went dark for Adisa. He couldn't remember what had happened, only that he had been saved by something divine. He was lost and confused until he was struck by another vision. He saw himself surrounded by people, survivors like himself standing upon a high rock as a holy white light surrounded them. He knew he had to find these people, and set off in search of those who would be with him in that vision... [/div]
Faceclaim : Smite
[/div]
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code by Ri.a
idalie
ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ʙᴀʙʏʟᴏɴ
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[div class=textbox]
Class: Human Afflicted
Age: 36
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Weight: 185 lbs
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Brown
Complexion: Fair
Features:
No tattoos which tell his troubled tale but scars instead. Silvery lines that occupy his forearms and old burns on his knuckles. The black, spidery web of affliction spirals outwards from the centre of his chest reaching the shoulders. The wispy fingers of corruption have been stretching for a long while now, growing with his use of the gift. Something which he tries to temper these days, avoiding extensive utilisation of his powers.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
An intelligent, charming man of the faith. Father Creed has always been an active member of the church, leading sermons and confessions with passionate readings and warm sympathies. His charisma is inherent but honed for public speaking and counsel, retaining the softer nature as a man of the cloth.
Outside of holy employment, Cymbeline has a history of violence and retains knowledge of how to throw a punch. His defensive combat is something of more recent times, on the contrary, taking the funded initiative for safety's sake. His health is likewise paramount to keep the body he has fit for trials ahead, running before the revelations which graced his endurance.
His time in the clergy and previous arrests that landed him in juvenile detention gave Creed time to read. Most importantly he widened his perspectives, regained the education he’d abandoned and engaged in philosophers, religions, fertilising the soil for faith to grow. Even then, he read the missing gospels which had been removed from the bible. It did much to alter his perception of the Catholic church in it’s higher ranks. For it was the footsoldiers, the priests and preachers who had rescued him from his fate.
As a father to his flock, Creed doesn’t use guns. He doesn’t like guns as a rule unless they be used for righteous death. Equally, he has no clue how to use one and no desire to learn.
His powers are relatively new to him, but he refuses to utilise pain inducement. His focus on suppressing it instead, besides darkness manipulation and telekinesis. He has never desired to inflict pain without purpose, and the use of pain inducement seems a cowardly way to do it in his opinion.
Corruption:
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Defence:
Hand-to-Hand:
General Knowledge:
Endurance:
Firearms:
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[div class=textbox]
Faith, the double-edged sword that it is, can be used against the believers. Living by the hope and rules of redemption, seeking more from a higher power, he may be manipulated by things beyond his knowledge.
His understanding of morality is rather grey than black or white. As god smashed infants on the rocks and crushed the lives of his creations, he gifted plenty of miracles of a kinder nature. The morality in question is where you might stand to see such things happen. Creed can be lost easily on his crusades, even to a lesser cause.
Seeing the light and lack of it. He knows he's corrupted, believes it to be a test of God, but it equally gives him the insight into how good people can be when they show their true ambitions. Those with little good, he sees no difference in putting down as that of an animal.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Creed is an all-round likeable character with few enemies but fewer friends. Whilst he’s acknowledged as a kind man, helpful as he is compassionate, Cymbeline doesn’t make strong connections to people often and retains a certain level of privacy. One might say he’s the most socially antisocial person in the faith, preferring his own company o r selectively comforting personalities. When he speaks, people listen and to have them stay after he finishes his charming soliloquies marks the beginnings of a foundation of trust.
Marred by a history of a lacklustre childhood which has matured him beyond his years he’s defensive of his past and acknowledges that religion is his safety net. Where social services failed, there was the church. A charitable institution for the lost and poor since the birth of Christianity, it was there he found a future and there he found a way to help others in his unfortunate predicaments. It blossomed into compassion, empathy, and equally manifested the dark which fills the pages of every holy text. He can’t help but look down at some individuals and see them as cases for his divine and selective intervention.
As the time of judgement has come to pass and his affliction was imparted, Creed has found himself falling into a dark place. Where he fails to see light, he cannot find the humanity to care and equally the humanity to care has failed him as time goes on. Men turning on men, Old Testament returns back to the day it was written. As if he has stood to witness the ten commandments broken and dropped from high above. Cymbeline has changed, his path to redemption has begun to wind in its twists and turns of good and bad. He cannot pretend to be the man he was. As Jesus walked through the desert, Creed believes to face the same trial.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Raised in New York by a single mother with a poisoned mind. One of the forgotten kids in a bad home with a bad school and nobody batted an eye. He skipped school to help her shoot up and came home early to stop her from choking. She often sat staring at the peeling wallpaper with vomit down her nightie and a blank stare. She’d come for a better life and instead got hooked, knocked up, and left to live with the consequences. Strange men entered and left, the landlord let them off on rent when she went up to his room, the noises from behind the walls kept him up at night and his mattress never had a bottom sheet.
Sometimes she was awake enough to pick up dinner when the electricity was off, occasionally she’d take him out to a restaurant and watch him eat with a lazy smile. Like that was her only obligation to him, it made her feel real, like a normal mother and son outing. Into his teens, Creed caused trouble, neglected and caught up in violence with other kids. Those who asked what his mum worked as, why he didn’t have any clothes or his hair was always hidden under a hat because the hot water had been out for a month and the cold showers made him feel vulnerable in a house that wasn’t quite his own.
The bad thoughts followed behind, unhelped and unhindered in their spread with a boy who was desperate to escape the prison built by his mother. When he was fourteen she got him hooked with the needle too. Burning his hands on the metal spoons, pricking his pale arms until they were purple with bruising. He resorted to self-harm as an escape, didn’t like going out, and slept through the lessons he managed to turn up for.
It happened to be one of the Cathedral coffee mornings that a desperate junkie sought something to eat, church was free from what he’d known. But the priests were good at spotting new faces. A young kid at that who’d wandered in with his scuffed shoes and thin hoodie during the brisk winter was a walking charity case if ever you’d seen it. But they didn’t turn him away and the kindness they’d offered had him return the next coffee morning and the next until he was a regular. They fed him, clothed him, taught him from the pages of the bible and supported his attempts to get clean.
Only after he was sent to juvie for drug charges, was he free of the addiction and developed a taste for reading, something to fill the long lonely hours. Supported through the ordeal by his small religious community, it was clear where he wanted to go from then on. Priesthood. A difficult path made possible by his mentors and father figures alike.
Stumbling his way through gathering qualifications and given bed and board whilst working as a janitor for the cathedral, he took night school until he graduated from an online university course and began working as a real member of the clergy whilst further studies got him closer to his goal one step at a time.
When judgement came, he gave his flock mass as they cowered in the cathedral with heads bowed. Believers and non-believers under the grand temple of God. All were massacred in the waves of hellfire and it was there Creed was afflicted. A lone survivor. The failure to his followers who had looked to him for answers let him be exposed for such darkness to take hold. Something he carries with him as he travels now, a man of cloth offering his blessings and wondering whether redemption is truly the way to free himself.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
Faceclaim: Keanu Reeves[/div]
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[div class=textbox]
basics
Name: Father Cymbeline CreedClass: Human Afflicted
Age: 36
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Heterosexual
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
appearance
Height: 6'1"Weight: 185 lbs
Hair Color: Black
Eye Color: Brown
Complexion: Fair
Features:
No tattoos which tell his troubled tale but scars instead. Silvery lines that occupy his forearms and old burns on his knuckles. The black, spidery web of affliction spirals outwards from the centre of his chest reaching the shoulders. The wispy fingers of corruption have been stretching for a long while now, growing with his use of the gift. Something which he tries to temper these days, avoiding extensive utilisation of his powers.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
powers/skills
An intelligent, charming man of the faith. Father Creed has always been an active member of the church, leading sermons and confessions with passionate readings and warm sympathies. His charisma is inherent but honed for public speaking and counsel, retaining the softer nature as a man of the cloth.
Outside of holy employment, Cymbeline has a history of violence and retains knowledge of how to throw a punch. His defensive combat is something of more recent times, on the contrary, taking the funded initiative for safety's sake. His health is likewise paramount to keep the body he has fit for trials ahead, running before the revelations which graced his endurance.
His time in the clergy and previous arrests that landed him in juvenile detention gave Creed time to read. Most importantly he widened his perspectives, regained the education he’d abandoned and engaged in philosophers, religions, fertilising the soil for faith to grow. Even then, he read the missing gospels which had been removed from the bible. It did much to alter his perception of the Catholic church in it’s higher ranks. For it was the footsoldiers, the priests and preachers who had rescued him from his fate.
As a father to his flock, Creed doesn’t use guns. He doesn’t like guns as a rule unless they be used for righteous death. Equally, he has no clue how to use one and no desire to learn.
His powers are relatively new to him, but he refuses to utilise pain inducement. His focus on suppressing it instead, besides darkness manipulation and telekinesis. He has never desired to inflict pain without purpose, and the use of pain inducement seems a cowardly way to do it in his opinion.
Corruption:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
abilities
Charisma: Defence:
Hand-to-Hand:
General Knowledge:
Endurance:
Firearms:
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
weaknesses
Emotional instability, born from his affliction he’s rash when it comes to helping others or doing something he’ll regret.Faith, the double-edged sword that it is, can be used against the believers. Living by the hope and rules of redemption, seeking more from a higher power, he may be manipulated by things beyond his knowledge.
His understanding of morality is rather grey than black or white. As god smashed infants on the rocks and crushed the lives of his creations, he gifted plenty of miracles of a kinder nature. The morality in question is where you might stand to see such things happen. Creed can be lost easily on his crusades, even to a lesser cause.
Seeing the light and lack of it. He knows he's corrupted, believes it to be a test of God, but it equally gives him the insight into how good people can be when they show their true ambitions. Those with little good, he sees no difference in putting down as that of an animal.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
personality
"By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, we wept, when we remembered Zion.“Creed is an all-round likeable character with few enemies but fewer friends. Whilst he’s acknowledged as a kind man, helpful as he is compassionate, Cymbeline doesn’t make strong connections to people often and retains a certain level of privacy. One might say he’s the most socially antisocial person in the faith, preferring his own company o r selectively comforting personalities. When he speaks, people listen and to have them stay after he finishes his charming soliloquies marks the beginnings of a foundation of trust.
Marred by a history of a lacklustre childhood which has matured him beyond his years he’s defensive of his past and acknowledges that religion is his safety net. Where social services failed, there was the church. A charitable institution for the lost and poor since the birth of Christianity, it was there he found a future and there he found a way to help others in his unfortunate predicaments. It blossomed into compassion, empathy, and equally manifested the dark which fills the pages of every holy text. He can’t help but look down at some individuals and see them as cases for his divine and selective intervention.
As the time of judgement has come to pass and his affliction was imparted, Creed has found himself falling into a dark place. Where he fails to see light, he cannot find the humanity to care and equally the humanity to care has failed him as time goes on. Men turning on men, Old Testament returns back to the day it was written. As if he has stood to witness the ten commandments broken and dropped from high above. Cymbeline has changed, his path to redemption has begun to wind in its twists and turns of good and bad. He cannot pretend to be the man he was. As Jesus walked through the desert, Creed believes to face the same trial.
[/div]
[div class=textbox]
bio
"Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the stones."Raised in New York by a single mother with a poisoned mind. One of the forgotten kids in a bad home with a bad school and nobody batted an eye. He skipped school to help her shoot up and came home early to stop her from choking. She often sat staring at the peeling wallpaper with vomit down her nightie and a blank stare. She’d come for a better life and instead got hooked, knocked up, and left to live with the consequences. Strange men entered and left, the landlord let them off on rent when she went up to his room, the noises from behind the walls kept him up at night and his mattress never had a bottom sheet.
Sometimes she was awake enough to pick up dinner when the electricity was off, occasionally she’d take him out to a restaurant and watch him eat with a lazy smile. Like that was her only obligation to him, it made her feel real, like a normal mother and son outing. Into his teens, Creed caused trouble, neglected and caught up in violence with other kids. Those who asked what his mum worked as, why he didn’t have any clothes or his hair was always hidden under a hat because the hot water had been out for a month and the cold showers made him feel vulnerable in a house that wasn’t quite his own.
The bad thoughts followed behind, unhelped and unhindered in their spread with a boy who was desperate to escape the prison built by his mother. When he was fourteen she got him hooked with the needle too. Burning his hands on the metal spoons, pricking his pale arms until they were purple with bruising. He resorted to self-harm as an escape, didn’t like going out, and slept through the lessons he managed to turn up for.
It happened to be one of the Cathedral coffee mornings that a desperate junkie sought something to eat, church was free from what he’d known. But the priests were good at spotting new faces. A young kid at that who’d wandered in with his scuffed shoes and thin hoodie during the brisk winter was a walking charity case if ever you’d seen it. But they didn’t turn him away and the kindness they’d offered had him return the next coffee morning and the next until he was a regular. They fed him, clothed him, taught him from the pages of the bible and supported his attempts to get clean.
Only after he was sent to juvie for drug charges, was he free of the addiction and developed a taste for reading, something to fill the long lonely hours. Supported through the ordeal by his small religious community, it was clear where he wanted to go from then on. Priesthood. A difficult path made possible by his mentors and father figures alike.
Stumbling his way through gathering qualifications and given bed and board whilst working as a janitor for the cathedral, he took night school until he graduated from an online university course and began working as a real member of the clergy whilst further studies got him closer to his goal one step at a time.
When judgement came, he gave his flock mass as they cowered in the cathedral with heads bowed. Believers and non-believers under the grand temple of God. All were massacred in the waves of hellfire and it was there Creed was afflicted. A lone survivor. The failure to his followers who had looked to him for answers let him be exposed for such darkness to take hold. Something he carries with him as he travels now, a man of cloth offering his blessings and wondering whether redemption is truly the way to free himself.
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extra
Theme: I'm Always Walking as Somebody ElseFaceclaim: Keanu Reeves[/div]
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code by Ri.a
