Realistic or Modern 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑹𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑫 𝑻𝑨𝑩𝑳𝑬 — 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘴

[erzulie]

hi there! this is the cs thread for THE ROUND TABLE. Before digging into your sheet, please read the following:

╰┈➤ You must apply for one of the seven available roles, which were listed on the interest check. You can also find them here.
╰┈➤ As stated on the ic, you choose to what degree and in what matter the tale of the original mythological figure inspires/dictates your character! if you have any questions or would like to discuss ideas with the mods, please join our temporary discord server. We’re happy to help
╰┈➤ These roles are not first-come-first-serve. Therefore, you are welcome to apply for the same role as another person.
╰┈➤ LGBT+ and diverse characters are very much welcome.
╰┈➤ As a general helpful note, this roleplay takes place in 1995.
╰┈➤ Codes are not necessary!


For your character sheet, we ask that you fill out the following information, in addition to a character concept. This concept is intended to be the majority of your application, and we encourage you to explore your character in a prose format.

FULL NAME:
NICKNAME:
AGE: (21+)
D.O.B:
SEXUALITY:
GENDER:
ETHNICITY:
FACECLAIM/PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION:
PATRON: (this is your desired role. Ex: Malpas.)
DISCIPLINE: ( Anthropology, Literature, Creative Writing, History, Archaeology, or something else provided it has relevance to the overall program)

STATUS + FAMILY: (please indicate if your character is Noble or a Scholarship Recipient. If Noble, include your character’s House name, which is typically going to be the same as their last name. You are welcome to include information about your character’s family here.)
PRIZED POSSESSION: (this is an object that you will bring with you to the induction ceremony for the Society. It’s recommended to review the lore about the Society for some guidelines on this object)

Finally, please include your character concept and any other info you wish to share!

 

[erzulie]

Dorian Chadwick

samael, the duke of nephilim.

♡coded by uxie♡

DE SELBY 2

hozier

SAMAEL.

I.

What you're given, what you live in,

name

Dorian Wilhelmine Etienam.

nickname

None. Her name is short enough as is.

age

Twenty-Five

d.o.b

October 25th

sexuality

Demisexual

gender & pronouns

Cisfemale; She/Her

status + house

Scholarship Recipient. What greatness her line may have once possessed, was stolen from their homeland so long ago. The Etienams are a commoner family that resides in one of Nephilim’s coastal towns. They’re a family of seafarers and fishermen. While they’re one of the few who own a business in town, they’re heavily “taxed” by the noble family over them.

Patron

Samael — The Duke.

Discipline

Archeology, with a focus on ancient and lost civilizations. During her undergraduate years she spent her time at the archeological site of Llanos De Moxos in Bolivia, where she studied remains of the pre-Columbian societies, contradicting claims that the Amazon was not suited for sustaining large populations. Dorian later received an award for discovering proof of another ancient society within the Basin. Her discovery and research brought forth knowledge on the Casarabe Society, which had been hidden under dense forest.

Prized Possession

A silver chain anklet that has a polished Mother of Pearl shell pendant. As one of many siblings, it was often that Dorian was forgotten about. On a day where it had simply been too much for her young heart, her eldest brother had taken the time out of his day to take her to the beach. Dorian found the shell while playing in the sand. Her brother had kept it and gave it to her as a parting present before she left for the Imperial Academy.

II.

darling, it finds a way to live in you

reference

Damaris Harris

style

visuals.

wordbank

coming soon.

III.

and your heart love, has such darkness,

the fable —

coming soon.

V.

I feel it in the corners of the room.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[demonology]

Anaïs Tristán

ose, the inheritor.

anthropology

♡coded by uxie♡

WHO WE ARE

HOZIER

OSE.

I.

my mother told me, over and over again —

name

Anaïs Jean Tristán.

nickname

some may recall the distant days when she went by AJ. Do not call her this. Ana is acceptable.

age

twenty-four

d.o.b

august 24th

sexuality

lesbian (technically closeted, but it is more so the case that Ana practices discretion and refuses to tell her mother)

gender & pronouns

cisfemale; she/her

status + house

A Noblewoman of House Tristán. Information coming soon.

Patron

Ose — The Inheritor.

Discipline

Anthropology, with primary focus on the biological and linguistical fields. Amongst her accolades, she did undergraduate research on termite-eating populations of humans, which helped in determining the location of a hominid bone found in South Africa. Additionally, she put off attending graduate school for two years to pursue a long-term internship on Neanderthal and early Paleolithic cultures, focusing on their death ceremonies and art work. She spent a year and a half ttempting to prove a professor's hypothesis that these ceremonies and art could be the first occurrence of folklore.

Prized Possession

a pin of a falcon with a hollow compartment in its belly. Belonging to Ana’s grandmother, the pin is a family heirloom and a signature element to any outfit she wears. Inside the hollow compartment is a small, wispy bundle of hair. .

II.

a girl is a lying thing. a girl is a precious thing. a girl is nothing,

reference

paloma elsesser

aesthetics

visuals.

style

a minimalist, befitting for the designer tastes of the time. A Klein girl, preferring basics of a singular pattern — she always conveys a clean, breezy look. Just a hint of sensuality and femininity. More here.

III.

and to be a woman was to be everything.

the fable —

The House Tristán's Duchess heard of a series of villages, some occupied and some abandoned to the frequent flooding. Her cousin told her Gathila was up-and-coming, the sort of provincial place whose backwasterish qualities were quaint. Charming. While not located in the area controlled by the Tristáns, it was worth looking at. The Duchess Lucrezia had been wanting to invest in something from the ground up. Charles Gacy of Seraphim Hotels & Casinos appeared to offer such a conquest. Gathila was to be turned into a tourist trap.

As such, the Duchess and her family frequented the ever-growing town as Gacy made it in his image. Stone pillars of cold, gray marbled mixed and stuck out against the sand that permeated every inch of Gathila. The Tristán children became familiar with their coolness against the southern village's damp heat, resting their backs and foreheads against it when Rémy grew out of breath or Eddie's sweat dripped into his eyes. These were the days before Eddie grew discomforted by his identity as a man vs. a girl, before Rémy looked in the mirror and only ever saw what his father disliked, before Anaïs tucked in every edge of herself like a paper doll. Before their family slipped through her fingers like water. They were tranquil in those days, and it in Gathila that Ana met Etta.

Their friendship came quickly, as many of this sort do. Anaïs, on vacation, made a friend in the local Etta: a blonde, cherubic sort of girl whose brown, downturned eyes captivated Ana even then. Her smile was doubly enchanting, but then again so was her wit. This was Etta to Anaïs, filled with a myriad of qualities worthy of dissection. They often sat against those pillars, overlooking the humdrum bustling of Gathila's town square. The sun shone uncomfortably in their eyes. Because of thsi, Anaïs would sit tall so the clock tower covered the worst of it. Etta would lean her head against Ana's shoulder, using her short stature to her advantage. On the day before Ana would leave, Etta told her quietly, I wish I could go with you.

Still, Ana departed from Gathila alone, promising to return. Roaming the dark halls, she thought of Etta's bird-like frame, her hawkish eyes, and a nose like the beak of a falcon. A voice like a chickadee, a great horned owl. A heart like an eagle, who mated for life and exhibited unending loyalty. A decision — rather, an intention, a motivation — came to her as natural as breathing.

Her mother, having adopted Anaïs second, had already taught Rémy how love came. Rémy taught Anaïs, and dutifully, Ana taught Eddie. It required worth as the first ingredient. Merit, potential, or some sort of profitable gain that could improve Lucrezia's life. She'd always wanted children. Having inherited the Duchy by marriage, she grew to be a lonely woman with the mind of a politician's daughter and the grief of a wife made a widow too soon. Her maiden name had spent generations, lives upon lives, forging the small amount of weight they had. Her own mother had, in an act of love, spent this wealth of political fortitude to marry her daughter into a Noble title. This was why Lucrezia wanted children — for them to inherit her mother's sacrifice, to be worthy of her own.

Rémy was chosen first. In hindsight, Lucrezia would recount that there was nothing particularly striking about him. He had a tender grace to his movements, a quietness and a pert concentration manifested in his lips. He was presented to Lucrezia by the lady who ran his orphanage, who he had hidden behind. "Perhaps his humbleness," Lucrezia would later ponder, sipping on a moscato over a dinner in Gathila. Violet and Anaïs had joined her, Lucrezia walking in and broadly demanding a 'girl's day.' She had not commented on Violet's splayed hair across Ana's stomach as they laid on her poster bed. If she took any note of this sort of behavior, she called it sisterhood. She called it a sort of love only successful woman could have for each other. In fact, the nature of Ana and Vi's closeness might have been exactly why Lucrezia wanted these days. Amongst the three of them, they were the only ones in the House Tristán circle that understood the chess pieces around them with equal mental fortuity and clarity. "The Tristán men were expendable, hard to read, incredibly stupid, and bound for a life of living in Samael's shadow," the eldest Tristán woman explained.

Violet fiddled with the central diamond on her ring. Anaïs watched the motion with murder in her eyes. She wonder if this was how Ose had felt. According to some accounts in the post-Voltaire cycle, he had loved Lilith. He grew jealous of Samael, who inherited everything with no amount of blood to claim to such power. At least Ose had some Noble blood, at least he was worth Lili's time.

Violet saw her watching. She put her hand into a fist and stuck it under the table. Let's not talk about this right now, that fist said. Anaïs was reminded why she deemed Vi worthy. Why Etta, aged twelve, had seemed so rife with what Ana's life had lacked. After all, who else could converse in single movements alone?

A plastic smile melted and cooled on Anaïs' face. Her mother had moved onto Eddie, who was adopted last. "That's why I adopted Ana and her baby sister," She brandished the glass towards the two girls, narrowly missing the lit flame. The protest, the immediate urge to correct her mother with a quiet "brother" lumped in Anaïs' throat. Eddie's his name. He's my brother. Violet squeezed her knee, and it said, I know, but let's not get her on a tear while she's drunker than a skunk.

The second ingredient to love, taught by the Duchess, was continuous improvement, continous discovery of new bits to adore. This why why Anaïs was chosen. At only age seven, she had led the other girls in her orphanage into a strike to demand better living conditions for their chores. It was this sort of infleunce that had accomplished Lucrezia's first ingredient. After interviewing the young child, the Duchess determined that Anaïs, despite her Parisian, proletariat influence, had an immense desire for a meritocratic world. She was determined to prove herself.

Similarly, this was why Etta captivated Ana. Here was a girl who wanted desperately what Ana had, but she never begged. She studied hard in school, she navigated her life with a clarity and determination not to remain idle. Etta was the most inspired person Anaïs had met. The most conniving and innovative too, coming up with new games for them to play, schemes for them to pull off, etc. Etta was never stubborn about something unless it mattered. She knew when to yield and when to snarl. She spoke in idioms and metaphors like drunker than a skunk, which Ana found endearing the older they got.

"Your sister—" Anaïs held her tongue, listening to Lucrezia's complaints about Eddie's inadequacies. Vi held her hand, white-knuckled. The check came.

The third and final ingredient was one that, despite his current lackings, Eddie accomplished with ease. The ability to laugh, to face life's cruelty with a smile and resilience, and perhaps most importantly, to make Lucrezia happy. Eddie did this in their first meeting with the entire family gathered around him. Ana had heard about his unconventional upbringing. She and Rémy had been from the same orphanage in a little village outside of Paris, sent there at birth by parents who did not want them, who couldn't afford them, etc. Eddie, conversely, grew up on the island of Nephilim. "Nephi as the day is long," he'd said when Ana asked. "Ma left me with this old thing." He pointed to his eye, which was covered in a white, cotton patch. "I'm in the process of getting that part replaced. Pa gave me this." He pulled up his pant leg, where a small scar in the shape of a circle lied. "That's how they'll identify my body in the ditch," he told his future siblings in a quick aside and with a sly wink. He was thirteen. Anaïs was seventeen. Rémy, eighteen. Lucrezia pretended she did not hear this joke, but a small smile curled around her thick, impenetrable cheeks. The eldest siblings thought this expression weird. Even weirder when boisterous, fully alive Eddie was brought into the fold. When they saw the production and construction of an in-home sculpture studio, they understood why and added the third ingredient to an ever-growing list of ways in which they could win Lucrezia's warm embrace, her weird, uneven smiles.

Vi embodied all three of these qualities. When she won a scholarship to the same boarding school that Anaïs would attend, it became quite clear how deep Ana's devotion went. Etta changed her name to Violet, and she dressed in hand-sewn clothes of overinflated opulence. "Williams?" Ana's friends would roll Vi's name around their mouth. A cold, tangy pearl from a mysterious muscle at a new country club. "Like the Williams that work for House Portaculo?" Violet nodded, explaining she was a distant cousin, and the lie became truth. Anaïs didn't correct her. Later, in their dorm, she told Vi, "Cool it on the pearls. Someone will start calling you conservative." Independently wealthy, the Williams of Portaculo were notably liberal, switching Houses according to moral values rather than where the money talked most. "Or worse — they'll start calling you Abuela behind your back."

This lie would continue. Violet would be bethrothed to Rémy in an attempt to make him worthy of inheriting the wealth of House Tristán. The laws regarding Tristán succession were confusing at best, but Lucrezia knew that her eldest son had to marry before he could inherit her title. This was the final step to ensuring her little experiment, her puzzle-pieced family, preserved Lucrezia's mark on the Nobility.

Their marriage would never come. Rémy would abdicate the title after being outed publicly. Rumors would begin to circulate that Violet was not of the Williams name. Eddie had already been sent to a troubled teen camp. It dawned on Lucrezia that her daughter would be her only hope.

This was three years ago. Violet escaped to Italy. Anaïs was formally bethrothed to [TBD; could maybe be another playable so I'll leave this open for now], but her occupation with university has put off the wedding bells. Publicly, Anaïs is known for her work in the Anthropology field, though tabloids and social media often portray her as a woman made of Tristán steel with the sam effervescence her mother exudes. More and more, Ana feels as though she is a sham. It is only through work that she finds solace. It is only with work that she staves off how quickly she became undeserving. Not just of her mother's love, but of her siblings' and Violet's as well.

Anaïs, unable to let Rémy have what she wanted — the Duchy and Violet — had leaked his location to Nephi publications. Rémy had never followed their mother's formula, but he valued trust above all. "You broke that," he told her before departing to Italy with Vi. "You broke it, and I don't think you even care to fix it."

Vi didn't say a word to her, but her strained neck and eyes to the floor said, You could have had me. You could have had everything. And now you have robbed us both.

"It's not even that he's gay," Lucrezia told her over dinner. Another girl's day. It was just the two of them. "Honestly, you could marry whoever. No, it was the fact that he'd hidden it. It was the fact that you two schemed to have that little, Gathila tart marry him." Surprise arose in Ana's eyes.

Lucrezia smiled coldly. "Who do you think bought her ticket to Venezia and told her to never come back?" She took a sip of her merlot. "I admired your scheming, though. It was really quite clever, even if I figured it out eventually." She leaned across the table, dangerously close to the flame. It reflected in her glassy eyes and singed an end of a flyaway hair. "Takes raw talent, raw wanting to do something like that. Like I told you, Tristán men are idle. They could never slit a pig's roast, even if it could feed the village."

Ana shut her eyes at the comparison. Her mother, gently, grabbed her chin and turned her head towards hers. Ana opened her eyes.

"Did you know that was exactly how I won your father's heart?" she asked in a whisper. Lucrezia leaned back to gesture towards the whole of the restaurant, to the whole of Tristán territory. "How I got all this? Honestly, you had the right idea. You were thinking like a woman of a different name. My maiden one. A Rossi lady. Violetta seemed quite easy to help navigate to where you wanted her to go. She was too eager, too malleable. She clearly loved you. Or at least, the power you could present. I loved Edgar for similar reasons." For a moment, her mother seemed lost, pondering the wine in her glass as it swirled.

Anaïs realized her mother didn't know about the true nature of her affections. Her mother looked up at her. The glint in Lucrezia's eyes showed that she wasn't even upset.

"I'm impressed, dear daughter." A faint smile. Ingredient three. The waiter dropped off Lucrezia's receipt and a pen.

"You'll inherit the title," she told Ana bruskly while signing the check. "You'll marry someone of Noble birth. And you'll learn how to take this House farther than even Ose The Bastard Inheritor could have imagined."

V.

and she looked at me, scowled, and asked which i would be.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[miyabi]

coded by bad ending

TOSHIYA as

MORAX

Hiro Mizui

Change
Deftones

I WATCHED A CHANGE IN YOU...

FULL NAME

Hiro Mizui

ALIAS

Just Hiro

AGE

26 years old

GENDER

Cis-Male [He/Him]

D.O.B.

April 1st

SEXUAL ORIENTATION

Asexual, Panromantic

STATUS + FAMILY

Noble Blood-line; estranged

DISCIPLINE

Organic Chemistry and Anthropology; fascinated by both biological evolution of man and the study of organic compounds.

PRIZED POSSESSION

Hiro holds little with sentimental value, a way to sever a bond to the bloodline he'd been cursed with. Despite this, there is a singular thing that he cannot leave behind: it is the remembrance of the only family who'd treated him with value, never like a nuisance -- his grandmother left behind a necklace, obsidian carved into a rectangular form and held within a silver encasement. On the back of it, a carved inscription, though he cannot decipher it.

ROLE

Morax - the arsonist

IT'S LIKE YOU NEVER HAD WINGS...

FACECLAIM

Toshiya from Dir en Grey

FASHION

His closet holds little color, a sinking void of dark shades -- preferential over the bright and daunting. It is typically made up of jackets, loose articles of clothing, studs and spikes; a loud contrast to the quiet and mild personality that he possesses. It expresses the thoughts clouded within the crevices of his little brain, a chaotic mélange polished in black.

WORDBANK

Cigarette smoke, fog, Inuhōō, bass guitars, tar, fear and loathing, old books, spilled ink, koto, kabuki, visual kei, sour grapes, averted eyes, silence.

NOW, YOU FEEL SO ALIVE...

PERSONALITY

He was never particularly the best student, the best child, the best to be around; the path left behind him was often barren, lonely, a suffocating pit of of anguish. This has always been him, a young man referred to as a "void," by family, by acquaintances, his silence and aversion to normal friendships. Hiro is never proud of this, wishes to be the normal, functioning being of society that he is surrounded by; he wished to melt into the same roles, but this had always escaped him. It often slithered from his grasp, no matter how hard he held on; And the feeling -- it burned into his palms, cast deep strokes into his heart, his psyche, never well-places, never quite the welcoming demeanor to most.

His silence is a gift, as he would say: how he'd held back a burning, destructive emotion that fluttered boiling hot words onto the surface. He'd kept his mouth shut after the first instance that left someone whom he'd call a friend in a muddled mess of tears. The first instance of remorse, fear of himself and what he could do to others with such a sharp tongue -- and the consequences that followed had broken him down into scrap pieces. This detail, however, has been lesser traversed, a topic that he'd rather not get into.

A shut-in, he keeps others shut out; refuses to become close to others, but feels a great deal of love and admiration that he is more than afraid to share.

Hiro looms in the darkness, an eye in the void -- a watcher of sorts. A tight-lipped man who knows all, but refuses to spill all; the assumptions that he'd use this for his advantage, an instance of trickery for others, is far from the truth, but he won't spoil the thoughts of others. Think what they will, he has nothing to prove. It is only in closed quarters and a close bond that the truth flourishes: in most occasions, he is kind, most would be taken aback by the smile he'd hidden under tired eyes and a permanent scowl.

PERSONALITY WORDBANK

people watcher, anti-authority, open-minded, fearful, aloof, kind hearted, hot headed, non-confrontational (on purpose)

TIME MACHINE

PART I: I'M NOT ANGRY ANYMORE

"I saw my corpse,
and from my mouth crawled Hatred,
A father burned his children on a pyre
and a mother molded a new age from the ashes,

I saw the weak made strong,
a pack of lambs feasting on wolves,
Tears of blood rained on a desert jewel,
and the way to Hell war torn asunder,

Then came a spear of light, piercing Hatred's Heart,
And he who was bound in chains was set free."

PART II: WELL, SOMETIMES I AM

He'd felt the room burn in his gaze, the stinging sensation of tears that run down irritated skin; music blared from the room below him, intertwined with laughter -- a party he wasn't invited to in his own home. It was understandable, a consequence to the actions upheld by impulse; the path of destruction just outside the window, but he looks away -- refuses to admit that he'd done it. It was something else, he couldn't control it, no matter how much he wanted to -- a mere child cannot control what refuses to be controlled. That was the first instance among many: it lead him unto a path of self-hatred, a series of spirals before a halt as he falls into a pool of nothingness. This feeling hadn't been contributed by only himself, but a series of interactions -- how mother and father never quite loved him like he loved them, his grandmother the only rock he'd had for the 10 years that he'd known her; How the fall into painful silence was created slowly, a sharp tongue never favorable; How he'd found himself in more trouble than he'd anticipated, an often unintentional thing that left him wondering why had he always done something wrong?

Hatred had fallen harder into the putrid hands of blood, a mother and father whose aspirations only consisted of the wildest of parties behind closed doors, upkept a false image of the perfect family in front of the public. A noble family had to look like they had it all: to them, another source of power over others, to have the things that they couldn't. Happiness, stability, wealth, prosperity; a facade.

PART III: OUT OF CONTROL

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua.

PART IV: INTO THE LABYRINTH

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit, sed do eiusmod tempor incididunt ut labore et dolore magna aliqua.

GALLERY

 

[Steve Jobs]

ROLAND TRASTÁMARA

# belial

# bill skarsgård

♡coded by uxie♡

For your character sheet, we ask that you fill out the following information, in addition to a character concept. This concept is intended to be the majority of your application, and we encourage you to explore your character in a prose format.

FULL NAME: Roland Trastámara (no relation)
NICKNAME: Roy
AGE: Twenty-Five (25)
D.O.B: June 4, 1970
SEXUALITY: Ill-Defined
GENDER: Cis Male (He/Him)
ETHNICITY: Swedish, allegedly
FACECLAIM: Bill Skarsgård
PATRON: Belial
DISCIPLINE: He majored in linguistics and minored in archeology. During his senior year of undergraduate school, he worked with several linguistic anthropologists to construct an atlas of dead languages within the Eurasian area. Aside from mapping out the spread of these languages, Roland created a spreadsheet to track the evolution of Indo-European languages into their modern day equivalents.

STATUS + FAMILY: Though he shares a surname with a renown House there is not a drop of noble blood in his veins. Instead he took the name of his adopted family that just so happened to share the same last name. Due to his appearance, there's speculation that he may be related to a noble family within Sweden, but he has no interest in delving deeper. As far as the student body is concerned, Roland is a stowaway that the school took pity on via scholarship.
PRIZED POSSESSION: A seal stamp with his initials.
WORD BANK: Ignoble, Duplicitous but toothless, Broken mirrors, Old polaroids, Succession, Broken band, No longer a misfit, Power of words, Nick Carraway, Stowaway, Street rat, commoner, Identity, Names

---

"I shall not comfort the oppressed until their path is perfect. I shall not retain Belial within my heart." -The Dead Sea Scrolls

"Ow. Fuck!" An elderly man winced before jerking back his hand. Blood trickled down, as a slender creature descended onto the table. "Why do you keep these things?"

"They're not 'things,'" Roy chided, holding his hand out for the rat to climb up on. "They're my friends."

"A rat is no friend, much less a pet," the man, his father, scoffed, wiping his thumb with a handkerchief.

"What do you mean? They're social, self-grooming, and intelligent." The rat leaped into the other man's hand, nuzzling its head against her owner's palm. He gave her a reassuring pat in response before letting her back in her home.

"A captive rodent maybe, but a street rat has no business being indoors," his father tutted.

"You took me in didn't you?" Roy shot him a wry smile.

A sharp ring brought his attention to the counter where the timer was calling for attention. He capped his french press and pushed down the plunger. Murky waters turned to dark coffee as fine particulate settled beneath the metal filter. He poured a cup, black and pure for his father and one with a spoon of sugar to mask the bitterness.

"You're right. I should have left you on the docks," his father frowned, setting down the cup, "these beans have been roasted to Hell and back."

"The better to hide the impurities with." Roy took a long sip before coming to the conclusion that it needed creamer. Still, he restrained himself from adding anything else lest it ruin the integrity of the drink.

He needed to learn to enjoy the delicacies of the rich, even if they were previously couched in shit.

"If I wanted ashes I would have visited the crematorium." His father shook his head.

"So why have you come?"

"To congratulate you with this." His father produced a felt bag and pushed it across the table.

Upon unveiling the object, all Roland raised a brow at the older man. The handle was mahogany with a shiny finish, light enough to roll around in his hand but still solidly wood. The weight of the base implied that the entire head was copper rather than being plated. To more esteemed nobles, the symbol itself wasn't too impressive but it looked far too fancy for his purposes.

R.T. Roland Trastámara. No, Ramiro Trastámara.

He'd seen his father use this seal while sending personal letters but never official documents. Things like wax seals, stationery, and ornate stamps were there to make an impress, something only meant for close friends and networking, not government officials.

"What? Show a bit more gratitude for the man who raised you!" Ramiro said, holding his arms out.

"Oh...thanks Dad," Roland replied, leaning over to return an awkward hug. Even after all these years, displays of affection felt out of place. A belt felt more natural than two arms wrapped around his back.

"Well, I should get going. It's a long trip back to the library," Ramiro announced, standing up.

"Right." Roland led his father to the door, passing by one of the fuller enclosures near the entryway, "well, thanks for stopping by."

"I look forward to hearing from you, Roy!" he exclaimed, "make this family proud."

"Goodbye Dad." Closing the door behind him, Roland circled back to the kitchen and grabbed a bag of cereal from the cupboard. He approached the female rat's cage, clicking his tongue a few times to get her attention. Holding out a sugary flake, he watched the creature strutted towards the flake and cautiously grabbed it from his fingers.

"Good girl, Kimmy."

She was the newest among his growing cadre of rodents, though unlike the others he found her on top of his trash bin. Tired and emaciated, she fell willingly into his grasp.

It hadn't been the first time he nursed a wild rat, but he typically released them once they returned to form. Kimmy however was...different. She lacked the ferocity present in the other strays and proved surprisingly affectionate (so long as he was the only one handling her). Assuming all went well, she'd smoothly integrate into the second enclosure and forget about her previous life.

Roland barely remembered his early years, much less his mother tongue. The lullabies of the past were replaced with Latin, Spanish, and English (per his father's insistence that it would be far more useful than Swedish). The few words he did remember felt foreign on his tongue, like a tourist reading a sign.

Gone were the days of exchanging swear words with his brothers who all moved on to greener pastures. Gone too was his adoptive mother who divorced his father the moment the last child left for university.

He gazed upon the former street rat, idly wondering if she had a name before "Kimmy."

Actively, he wondered whether he ought to introduce himself to his classmates as Roy or Roland.

 

[.V1LLAINISM._]

Arturo A. Barrera

# ELIGAR

# THE LANCER

♡coded by uxie♡

FULL NAME — Arturo Amadis Barrera
NICKNAME — Art more casually, Artie an identity that he’s hesitant to revisit.
AGE — 28 years old
D.O.B — February 14th, 1967
SEXUALITY — Bicurious
ETHNICITY — Hispanic
FACECLAIM — Diego Calva as Manny Torres in the film Babylon.
PATRON — Eligar the lancer, Eligar the revolutionary, Eligar the sword.
DISCIPLINE — Theology, with a minor in ancient studies.

STATUS/FAMILY — Very early in his life, Arturo was forced to reckon with the unbecoming of reality. Harbouring the kind of void that is hereditary — passed down from father to son, mother to daughter, the kind that tears holes in between their threads, turns the what ifs into what could've beens. Very early in his life, Arturo found, that even within his exceptionality, he was too late. That fate was something beastial - bore daggers for teeth, and scales for flesh. He knew it because every time he looked at his father, he found its claw marks seared into the skin of his broken back- his face, his eyes. Fate was a monster and he, he was its keeper.

The son of a dutiful fisherman & a loving homemaker, Arturo came to life in a time most turbulent for his community, and the many communities outside of it. A trait that would seem to follow him as he grew into his features, his big eyes becoming less big, his cheeks less round, his flesh
more hollow, as if the skin is stretched over the bone. War & revolution has always called his name like a child to a lost pet, like a brother to lost brother. Violence was his familiar, violence was written in the stars.

Though what was promised never truly was. What he was given, he had had to earn. That was the Barrera way. Hard, honest work built the rigged home that shook with every one of his protests - his mother’s pleas, his father’s yells. His brother’s cries. He was always the bad one, the rotten egg, the one they couldn’t afford. Though they could afford very little, if only some patience to the rowdy boy whose teachers begrudgingly proclaimed that he was destined for greatness.

And in a way, he was.

PRIZED POSSESSION — A pocket watch with a slightly cracked crystal, scraped along its golden edges & enclasped by a bent, dull case. Found in the crevices of a dirt road by him & his brother, several years ago. It was presumed to be a wealthy man’s timekeeper, as no one in their community could afford such meaningless luxuries, and had most probably been abandoned on accident or by way of pure recklessness.

Because of this, to them, it served as constant reminder for the life they could achieve — the prosperity that comes with owning such delicate materials, helped stifle the hunger they felt in their bellies, the soreness in their knees. Together they spun wild tales, hoping that one day they would manifest, in the late evenings of their boyhood. Though he often keeps this memory to himself.

In its inscription, it reads “Sola Fide.” Or, Faith Alone.

INSPIRATION — Lila Cerullo | Antigone | Achilles | Cain & Abel | Hamlet | Kendall Roy

ESSENCE — Arturo has always believed that he was born with a sickness. Not the medical kind, no (for that he’s grateful he wasn’t), but the kind that festers ; a demented force that ignites the wretchedness in others, starts at the cavity of their chest and then seeps out like blood, pooling around them, engulfing them. He understood this when, at the ripe age of seven and a half, he’d somehow managed to convince his entire class to tear up their test papers, in an act of defiance, for a teacher who initially, was their very own haunting boogeyman.

He understood this when, at the age of 10 & after deciding to run a way — his then younger brother followed suit, and nearly lost his life trying to cross a violent river. Seconds behind.

He understood this when, after fostering what was meant to be a peaceful protest, the blood of another man nearly coated his fingertips. Nearly. It was then when he understood - truly understood, that although he searched for peace in every way imaginable, it was peace that would not have him, accept him. They were to be forever estranged.

It’s been said that one brother bears the prophecy, the other the burden.

He hasn’t spoken his name in a millennia, hasn’t made any mention to those around him. To his peers he simply is, having assumed the disposition of someone entirely removed from life, afraid to make himself known, afraid of fear itself. Truly neutral. He turned to god a long time ago, though he‘s hardly religious. He whispers a prayer every now & then for all the names he refuses to speak, carries a rosary around in his breast pocket, takes his coffee black. He dwells in books and records, nestles against them like a head to a pillow.

His mornings are quiet, his nights quieter. Nothing but the gentle whir of something brewing, always brewing.

In other words, he lives a life of endless purgatory, or permanent repentance, to make up for the fact that he’s him. That he’ll always be him, no matter how hard he tries.

Arturo A. Barrera

# ELIGAR

# THE LANCER

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[.empathogen.]

lexander twix

# the lancer

# eligar

♡coded by uxie♡

Son of Nyx

Hozier

lancer

I.

THE IRE OF WHAT WE DREAM

name

Lexander R. Veron

a.k.a.

Anders

age

Twenty-six

d.o.b

December 21st

sexuality

Homosexual, privately

gender

Cisgender Male

ethnicity

Nephilim, w/ French & Oriental Backgrounds

faceclaim

Willy Catier

patron

Eligar, the Lance

discipline

He majored in biology and minored in archeology, focusing on war tactics predating the Age of Prosperity. His efforts in his studies led him to unearth some of the battle strategies that turned the tide in the war that established the foundations of Nephilim. He also focused on different fighting styles of that era, both in text and practice.

prized possesion

An ornate hairpin that carries the shape of a winding dragon with a sword and a flower in its maw. It was left to him by his older brother, who disappeared around Anders' 18th birthday.

ii.

WHAT LIKES OF YOUR SHAPE

status + house

Scolarship Recipient; Being the youngest child of the inn owner and his barkeep of a wife, there wasn't really much to look at as far as status and privilege. However, the Inn does well and has been in the name of Veron ever since its establishment. With a few modernizations and fixing up here and there the Veron's Way Inn, nestled in the town of Willoughbee, has stood the test of time. And, of its newest generation, there is one child besides Lexander to take care of the place in the years to come.

Temperment

Anders was born brazen and unkempt. And since that age, he has always been a shade too close to rude, if not honest. His stature isn't overwhelming, a trick to the senses making him that much more formidable. His heart longs for the tenderness of peaceful moments, but his actions lead to an uncanny amount of discord. His touch is calculated and precise in its surrendered suppression. His gaze is never empty. He looks at you as if he can look into your abstract form and pull the strings of what keeps you together. And, if he ever found himself strong enough to pluck one of those strings outright it'd feel like rapture as he unraveled your very soul.

iii.

DO WE ONLY EAT ETERNITY?

Lexander was born into a rather dull life. His father owned a humble inn, and his mother kept the folks fed and drunk down. He was the third in a motley of children. One stunning sister, a dark-haired brother with the sweetest green eyes, and himself, with a gaze bearing a passion for depth beyond his years. As he grew up, he was known as the blunt one--the one you need not make conversation with. His presence could boil you alive, but his harshness was tempered by either of these things: sleep(or, more likely, daydreaming) or the kind words of his brother. Listley, better known as Lee, was the one everyone could count on for a kind word or praise. Keeping that appearance, he was more likely seen with his brother to exact transactions among the town folk and Lexander. That was because if you wanted something done right, you went to Lexander, whether it was to have something fixed or to have someone roughed up in retaliation. That was because Lee made a good buffer for the boy--one that neither their sister, Lisalle, nor their caring but provincial parents could not supply.

Not even a single note from his breath was kept unshared between Anders and Lee. By the time he was seventeen, he had enough to leave their boredom and go for something bigger. Something incomplete, but theirs. Overseas had something for them, either direction they planned on going. All Anders had to do was complete s school, like his brother had done two years prior. Schooling took all of the effort he could put into lifting his pinky toe anyway, he mainly focused on the fight club he'd managed to scrape together. He should have known his brother's words were equal to dirt. He also should have known that they'd pick him for the scholarship.

"For your Illustrious Mind and the Good Deeds Made in Your Name..." Bullshit. He was just as rowdy as he was smart and they knew it. He graduated with a full ride through the Imperial Academy. Of course he had to go. But, Lee could have put up a fight. All Anders got from him was a hairpin wrapped in a paper note that could be summed up as 'Take the opportunity and run--without me.'

Anders may have channeled all his years into honing his body and his mind during his time at the Academy, but this spark of fire has yet to be quelled.

g

allery.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Abhartach]

to be named

♅ vassago.

/ the blacksmith.

♡coded by uxie♡

THRONE

mitski

Vassago.

I.

I sleep with dirt by the fire glow;

name

César Herrera

age

Twenty-four.

d.o.b

February 21

sexuality

Homosexual; undisclosed.

gender & pronouns

Cismale; he/him

Status

Scholarship student.

Patron

Vassago / The Blacksmith.

Discipline

Archaeology, with a focus on the retrieval and restoration of metalwork and fresco paintings. César is also an active member of the carpentry and welding workshops, and is a talented sculptor.

Prized Possession

The weathered steel head of a seemingly ancient hammer. His first archaeological find.

II.

we keep all the hurt you will never know.

Claim

Dylan Sprouse.

Visage

Indifference veils César in a dredge of black; a passive creature, whose mind whirls with painful creativity. A warm complexion does little to conceal the shadows beneath oaken eyes, and dark blonde hair is tousled and often tied back and out of view. He musters shreds of motivation to keep his physicality strong and lithe, but this does not draw attention from the profound burn scars which mar the left side of his body. His left leg, lost to fire, is replaced by prosthesis. He copes well with this and it has no consequence on his gait.

His demeanour is reserved. His hands shake when idle. He covers his afflictions with long sleeves, and a glove for his burned hand. He is not terribly ashamed of his condition, but is often aware of the contorted glances received from onlookers.

César possesses a stubbornness which teeters on self-destruction. His toil serves as a distraction from the ambient ache of his joints and the shooting pains which often emanate from thickened scar tissue. His focus is a dangerous thing, and he is privy to the snapping of his temper, should his work be interrupted.

But César is ultimately a kind creature; a tepid being who, amidst his current behaviours and patterns, seems accepting of the fact that he may not live for very long.

III.

believe is to see down the hold.

History

César was born into a modest residence, comprised of a difficult father and a mother who loved him dearly. His upbringing was difficult; a facet ensured by the awkward sleeping patterns which manifested in his early childhood, troubled by deep apnoea and the night terrors which followed. His mother struggled to keep herself upright amidst her own resultant sleeplessness, compelled to comfort her young son whenever he woke up screaming. She sought help as soon as he was old enough to do so, and he was prescribed sleeping aids at the age of six.

This medication worked so well, that he failed to wake up when an electrical fault caused his bedsheets to catch fire.

The incident caused significant burns across one side of his body, and the damage to his leg was deemed irreparable and later resulted in amputation. His mother was burdened by grief and guilt, and his father later left the household as a result of the tensions which followed.

It was when work began on his prosthesis that César began to nurture an interest in tool-making and carpentry. The technician would allow him access to study books and literature to distract him from the discomfort of his work, and César came to adore the many faces of history — the origins of metalwork, and the first, most primitive prosthetics.

Creative seeds would take root by ways of the carpentry and welding equipment his father left behind, and the many books which his family had accrued on the subject. He was a profoundly bright and innovative boy — whose works would continue even in idle thought, or when his disturbed dreams would allow him respite. His mother - a hardworking housekeeper for nobility - would subtly inject her son into odd conversation, and tell of his beautiful imagination, and the intellect he possessed.

He would always remember the tears she cried when he was awarded his scholarship.

V.

you burned this ship alive, now I'm coming home.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Archie.]

Catherine Émilie Alba

uzza, the archer.

♡coded by uxie♡

uzza, the archer

Y

ou are the snake and the world it's your forbidden fruit.

full name

Catherine Émilie Alba.

nickname

Her mother named her Catherine in a superficial display of respect towards late Queen Catalina. When she was a little girl, she would ask people —childhood friends, maids, business partners, strangers, anyone— to call her Catalina and force them to play along her fantasy of sovereignty. It's not something she'd deny, as she looks back on it with fondness. Nowadays friends and family alike refer to her as Cat, or Catherine when they're particularly upset. Nobody ever uses Émilie and sometimes she thinks people have forgotten she has a middle name.

age

24 years old.

d.o.b.

January 1st. She used to believe people around the world would get so excited about 31st turning into 1st because they were celebrating her birthday. It's another thing she's not ashamed to acknowledge.

sexuality

Heterosexual. To her family's dislike, in her journey to experience everything, she tried dating and sleeping with women before. It didn't work for her, maybe because there was a nagging reminder in the back of her head that there was no future for those relationships. Or for any kind of relationship, really. Not in her circumstances.

gender

Cisfemale, she/her.

ethnicity

Nephi with a Spanish heritage from her father's side and French from her mother's. Regardless, Cat is terrible at speaking French no matter how much she tries and will go to great lengths to cover up this fact. It appears to be one of the few things about herself that makes her insecure.

faceclaim

Àstrid Bergès-Frisbey.

patron

Uzza, the archer.

discipline

History with a focus on cultural history regarding the creation of Nephilim, the myths of old, Samael and Lilith, and what truths therein lie according to records, ancient literature and recent findings related to a certain rumored society called The Round Table. However, this is a rather personal passion project that is still ongoing and which she hasn't disclosed to anyone. Instead, for her final year, Cat centered herself on social history —most specifically politics— and wrote a research paper denouncing Nephilim's current form of government, pointing out all its flaws and the inconsistencies in its legal system in a brutally frank yet undeniably objective way. She provided solutions to the aforementioned and even threaded into dirty secrets about the Prime Minister's latest election, effectively causing the outrage of the people made aware of this paper's existence. While a brave attempt, it was for naught. What ended up being submitted was a less polarizing take that read as uninspired and average, stunting her outstanding university record. Cat had to take a break after that per her family's insistence and soon became trapped in a tricky situation that prevented her from attending graduate school for two years.

status + family

Noblewoman pertaining to the house of Alba. Inarguably the most affluent house of Nephilim, the Albas are known for their involvement in mining goods and all matters that ensue. Through the exploitation of both environment and workers, they've crafted a curated monopoly over the ores of Nephilim and established themselves as experts in the treacherous field of economics. Some of the Albas most notable lines of work include successful dealings with oil shale; extraction of precious minerals and subsequent ownership of Nephilim's preeminent jewelry brand, Pretiosa; main and primary supplier for building materials to the point that they've become essential to Nephilim's structural safety, quality and development.

The Albas possess property over Nephilim's south plateau region, which is surrounded by a range of mountains. It's the de facto vacation spot for other nobles to leisurely relish in their wealth and a perfect location for tourists second only to Nephilim's largest city, Praemunio. Due to this they're well-regarded among the lesser nobles, sycophants following them around in hopes of obtaining a sliver of success by association, while seen as an ever-present threat by their fellow houses because of their social influence and capability for swaying and turning the tide in the parliament's decisions. Though the Albas are perhaps the house less involved in politics out of all, known for interfering solely when it benefits them and forever acting on the basis of their self-interest.

Bitterness exacerbated by the general state of the country, the non-nobles think of the Alba house as superfluous, greedy individuals that look to preserve their high positions and further oppress those in need. They sport their riches with class, subtly bragging, and then slap you in the face with the knowledge you won't ever reach their level once you witness them spend thousands at the drop of a hat. Although reluctant to admit their political prowess, even the common Nephi can recognize the Albas' significant contributions to the country's affairs. As corrupt and unjust as those can be, of course.

prized possession

A gold medium-sized wide cuff with a plain design and room for some sort of engraving on the side. It was passed down to her by her grandmother.

w

hat else would your soul desire if not greatness?

To be added.

g

allery.

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Athens]

Vivian Cardona-Lane

# Lilith

# savannah lee smith

♡coded by uxie♡

Vivian Chantel

LILITH

Full Name

Vivian Chantel Cardona-Lane

Nickname(s)

Viv, vivi, vivy, Petal

Age

25

Gender

Cis-female; she/her

Sexuality

Pansexual

D.o.b.

February 5th, Aquarius

Status

Noble; House Cardona

• .
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  Appearance

  
  

  Vivian towers over the majority of her family. It’s the single most prominent trait she’s inherited from her father and a source of both satisfaction and contempt on any given day. A sprouting lily amongst daisies, her mother would tease. “We couldn’t catch up to you if we tried, Petal.” She stands tall and unwavering, more like a reed than a flower because flowers wilt, but a kind of elegance that only comes from an unspoken confidence. One rooted down to the bone.
  
  Because of her active lifestyle, playing sports and working out, her build has always been rather lithe and modelesque. There have been many-a-times where companions were shocked to see Vivian smile because her physique portrays a much more unapproachable demeanor than she actually has. Still, there are some benefits to having an such an air, it keeps people on their toes.
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Style

  
  

  When you're wealthy, you tend to go one of two ways with your fashion: understated or extravagant. As a young woman who doesn't need to try and draw attention to herself, Vivian prefers to keep things simple and comfortable while still adhering to the standards of her tax bracket. She may wear highwaisted blue jeans and a white t-shirt, but the t-shirt will cost at minimum $300. The House of Cardona may boast humble-beginnings, but they have strict dress code rules and family appearances matching the station they hold; you can't be a representative member of this family and wearing a $8 t-shirt.
  
  Vivian enjoys dressing up. Wearing skirts, dresses, and cute (but practical) shoes. But she's disillusioned by statement pieces, gaudy accessories, and jewelry in general. She also enjoys playing the part of the elite bachelorette, and looking rich but not that kind of rich.
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Traits

  
  

  Voice; Vivian has a naturally dry tone, but with an amused edge to it. Like she's in a joke that may or may not be at your expense. When she raises her pitch she sounds much more approachable, but it can sometimes give her a lilt that can sound condescending or flirtatious depending on the speed at which she speaks.
  Flourishes; Vivian's not much of a hand talker, but she does have a habit of emphasizing or finishing points with a random flourish of her hands. Dismissals, points, hair-flips, thumbs-ups, the lot. She can be such a performer at times.
  Scent; What is that? Wherever Vivian goes, she's accompanied by a tropical-esque scent with a fresh mint note on top; like a fruit tea

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Height

  
  

  5'10''

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Dist. feature

  
  

  You can always recognize Vivian by her eyes. Distinctly arched eyebrows and slender eyes with a captivating gleam.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Faceclaim

  
  

  Savannah Lee Smith

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Patron

  
  
  

  Lilith - The Betrayer
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Discipline

  
  
  

  Linguistics with a double minor in anthrolopgy and folklore studies; language, culture, and stories paint such a fascinating picture of the people in the present and those long gone. Vivian has always been interested in what the things people leave behind have to say; what story do these things tell when you're not around?
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Prized Possession

  
  
  

  A capsule necklace that was bought with her mother and brother. Vivian's mother enjoyed things like going to local towns and seeing what vendors were out and about during weekend markets. And it became a family tradition after the birth of her children.
  
  One of the earlier excursions, when Vivian's brother was still pre-school age, her mother took them to a stall run by an older man selling jewelry made by his wife. Nothing stood out as particularly child friendly until little Vivian's eyes were drawn to the sight of a woman opening one of the capsule necklaces. Vivian's mother bought one for each member of the family.
  
  Ivan was too young to wear his so her mother kept it in her dresser, Camille and Matthew would leave notes in each other's necklaces at night for the other to find the next day, Vivian stopped wearing hers after a while because it looked old and she wanted her child brain wanted to wear bright, and colorful things.
  
  She forgot about the capsules entirely until jewelry was collected for the mortuary to dress her mother's body and Camille was buried with a small capsule around her neck.
  
  Vivian hasn't been without her own necklace since.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Persona

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Guess you'll have to wait
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Skills

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Compartmentalizing

  
  

  With how closely lined Vivian is to the House of Cardona, the stuff she's experienced with her extended family alone would take a whole 2-3 years to unpack and a lot of unpleasant feelings.
  
  To get through any given day, Vivian has mastered the art of separating thoughts and feelings and then putting them into neat little boxes to be dealt with when the time arises... The feelings box is practically a mountain at this point.
  But she gets. things. done.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Observant

  
  

  If less-flattering terms were used, observant would be subbed with hyper-vigilant. Vivian has trust issues, she rarely takes things at face value. When faced with new environments and people, she's storing away anything of note to spot discrepancies. She's very much the type to note things like wrist wear, call others out for lying, and know where all the emergency exits are in a building.
  
  She's a note-taker and lives in a section of society where the real conversation is in the subtext; you won't catch her lacking. Or at least that's what she thinks.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Academic

  
  

  Question everything. The truth is out there. Seek me and ye shall find me. Vivian is a lover of knowledge and discovery is her paramour. She absorbs new knowledge like a sponge, especially anything that could even slightly pertain to her chosen studies. As such, she has no qualms rifling through books or sitting through most lectures. Of course, she too has her limits for boredom, but her general enthusiasm for new knowledge gives her the resolve to push through arduous tasks while still making notes and asking them important questions about what she's perused; she's not good at having a stopping point to her interrogation, though, which has caused occurences of butting heads.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Motives

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  : The house of Cardona was Vivian’s strongest tie to her mother : Holding knowledge that others lack gives leverage and power : Making a name of her own to the chagrin of her extended family : The preservation of knowledge and traditions : Being apart of a selective group for the prestige : Wanderlust, and a general desire for new, exciting things in the monotony of her routine :
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Flaws

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  : Obsessive : Can’t resist the draw of trouble : Over-confident in her knowledge : Gets impatient and cuts corners : Doesn’t forget an insult : Performs when being watched : Slow to trust : Condescending : Loyal to tradition : Entitled : Prioritizes knowledge and material things over people : Tendency to over-complicate things :
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Desires

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Spoiler: Desires

  : Go absolutely bat shit; screw the consequences : Crack open the vault and expose her House : To have her mother back : Try and be good; whatever that means : Be brave enough to say to hell with tradition and this family : Contribute something to Nephilim that will make her be remembered : To be her own person separate from her status, but to not be a nobody at the same time :

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  Fears

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Spoiler: Fears

  : There are days where Vivian wonders if her father is to blame for her mother’s death : The thought of amounting to nothing terrifies her : Smart as a whip but will she ever be allowed to do anything with it : She can’t be successful and loved : The women in her family don’t live very long or happy lives : She will always be associated with the Cardona House; not only the sins of the father but the sins of the family are hers to bear :

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  V. Chantel

  
  
  
  

  online.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  What's with the emoji on my post?

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  sooo youre saving the whales now

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Are you trying to imply something about my character?

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Call lasted 38:10.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  HISTORY

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  The men hold positions of power and the women are figureheads. It was something Vivian picked up on very early in her life; how the men made all the executive decisions while the women were forced to play politics. Her uncles could completely ruin a person’s livelihood, seizing local farmland for a more efficient labor-force, but it would be Vivian’s mother, Camille, who would have to speak on behalf of the choice and become a target for the public.
  
  But even then, if Vivian’s father, her uncles’ wives, or some other outsider tried to give input on how the House of Cardona was run. Or tried to drive outside of their lane, it became apparent; Above all else, the Cardonas hold the power. If you held no blood with the family, you had no input with the family.
  
  It led for a very charged childhood for Vivian where the people who married into her family resented a child for having more influence than them, and despite living in a 2-parent household there were many discussions that Vivian was allowed to witness for that she could only discuss between her and her mother.
  
  And even then, there was a sort of disregard her relatives treated her with not only because she was female and the eldest of the next generation of the Cardonas, but simply because her mother chose to hyphenate her last name.
  
  After Camille’s death, it became apparent that her older family members keeping her around was more a courtesy more than anything; it’s not as if her father had any power to influence them and she was merely a teenager. But with Vivian’s desire to hold onto her ties to the only family she’s ever known (and her mother), it was easy to take advantage of an influenceable teenager and get her to do as the Heads needed and without any questions. Vivian would go to the events they told her to attend, she’d donate to the charities the Cardonas partnered with, she jumped when they told her to jump, and she kept her head down.
  
  Don’t make waves, don’t become a nuisance.
  
  And so long as she keeps the Heads of the House happy, Viv’s family stays safe and sound. The sacrifices Vivian makes to ensure her father and brother are taken care of outweigh the reality that she’s merely a puppet for the more influential members of her family. She feels no attachment to them, and them to her; It’s a house not a home.
  
  A distinct memory that comes to Vivian when thinking of her family is of the days preceding her mother’s death. It wasn’t a fast process. And each day as she laid in the hospital carried the knowing dread that they were delaying the inevitable. Vivian couldn’t stomach seeing her mother in such a state, and so she took to preparing instead; always the one preparing and organizing things for the family. She spent her days between the hospital and home getting everything in order so that when her mother passed, there would be no hitches or hiccups to keep her from reaching her final resting place.
  Her aunt called it assistant’s work.
  
  An offhand comment that Vivian wasn’t meant to hear, but loops in her head every time she starts to question why she’s still here.
  
  But where would she go. Her father is a glorified pet to her extended family, and it’s not her brother’s responsibility to worry about such adult matters when he should be enjoying being young.
  
  So she toughs it out and enjoys the benefits that do come from her performances on behalf of her family.
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  CONCEPT

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  Vivian has it all. She’s beautiful and intelligent, her House isn't in shambles like some of the others, she’s got a loving family, she has opportunities and interests she’s able to pursue, and she lives comfortably without concerns about politics or where her next meal is coming from.
  
  

  Spoiler: Note to the GMs

  These things are all things that I would like to challenge or completely wreck. Vivian is already a complex young woman, but she hasn’t been incited to change because of how static the environment around her is. I’d love to play with things like the downfall of her house, sudden instability, or her become mixed into the politics of Nephilim

  
  But much like a Goldfish, no matter how many things she’s given, she has no concept of when enough is enough. Vivian will consume and seek and embrace new things until it leads to her demise with intervention.
  
  And although she lives a comfortable life without any interference from the outside world, she’s still inside a box. An overfed Goldfish swimming around waiting for the next morsel to descend upon them, perking up at anything that may guarantee dopamine and trying to ignore the reality of their existence.
  
  That they’re trapped and not truly living.
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Footnotes

  
  
  

  Ideals are Freedom and Tradition. Constantly seeking meaning and value in her life. Life is lived out of the comfort zone. Wants to get out but has no reason to.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  scroll

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  House of Cardona

  
  
  

  The region the Cardona House controls is agriculture-centric. There is a major city sprinkled within their area of control, but it's primarily farm-land and college towns. The Cardona's are content with monopolizing on the hubs for Nephilim's major crops, mills, and storage warehouses, but they also have a large hand in the education realm, funding universities and schools with the intent of furthering the influence and agendas.
  
  The family motto is: Humble Beginnings, emphasizing the fixation the members have on "hard-working" citizens, and achieving things through your own merit - as hypocritical as it may be.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Moodboard

  
  
  

  Lilith [link]
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Parallels

  
  
  

  ✿ Lydia Martin
  ✿ Katherine Watson
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  Trivia

  
  
  

  ✿ Vivian is to her House as the Lost Boys were to Peter Pan.
  ✿ You can hear Vivian coming by the slosh of an ice coffee and the soft thud of her pumps
  ✿ The type to wax poetic about things
  ✿ Keeps her hobbies to herself
  ✿ A lil shady in both senses of the word
  ✿ The (self-appointed) planner of the family - often mocked for playing an assistant’s role
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Molly Smiles

  
  

  Uptown Girls

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[sox]

• aa
• aa
• aa
• aa
• aa

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  vaani

  
  
  
  

  ain't that just classic?

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  — goddess

  
  
  
  

  by pvris.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  name

  
  
  

  vaani arya

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  
  

  twenty-seven

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  
  

  cis female

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  
  

  pansexual

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  d.o.b.

  
  
  

  february 11, 1968

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ethnicity

  
  
  

  south asian

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  patron

  
  
  

  malpas

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  status

  
  
  

  noble

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  mbti

  
  
  

  estj

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  
  

  5' 7"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  
  

  lean, slender

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  
  

  dark brown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  
  

  teal, dark undertones

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ailments

  
  
  

  insomnia

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  notable features

  
  
  

  nape tattoo

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  body mods

  
  
  

  four ear piercings

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fc

  
  
  

  alanna panday

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  jaded

  
  
  
  

  words of sin, masks of hypocrisy, overflowing in the ballroom. champagne popping, wine and bread, the dance of stuffed pigs. it might be pretty, it might be beautiful, it might be grand. this might be right, this might be justice, but i sing to death, the song of lies. dance along to death, the dance of the devils. the center of the grand feast under the big guillotine, to whom does the rolling head belong?
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  prized
  possession

  
  
  

  the successor of the house of arya is presented with a custom gold key to the family vault at their coming of age ceremony. per vaani's request, the unassuming key looks little different from the average house key, save for the yellow tint of high quality ore and the ornate house crest engraved into the head.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  • .
  • .
  • .

  • 
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    persona

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    now, what was it those young boys among the library staff have been calling the illustrious young master of arya as of late? a— a warmonger?! what a preposterous label! battle-ready, sure, and a wee bit headstrong, perhaps more than most; a bookworm, as every proper successor of her lineage must be if they wish to survive such intensive studies, and most certainly a prankster, no doubt, quite unruly in the most polished manner when the tricks hidden up her sleeve come out to play— above all else, of course, vaani is a scholar of the highest caliber, diligent, persistent, and unyielding in her hard-working efforts to pursue the innate truths of this world. her thoroughness in maintaining her composure under stress remains unmatched, observant and meticulous while paying careful attention to detail as she faces every challenge with resolute courageousness, not to be intimidated by bothersome hypotheticals or looming eventualities alike. though at first glance miss vaani may seem to fall under the same pastel lace umbrella as the other noble ladies whose tea parties she frequents on the weekends, such temperament is but a perfect reflection of her ability to adapt to her surroundings and cope with instability with grace. coupled with her cooperative and consistent nature, vaani is a dependable friend and ally, someone in whom trust can be placed without worry that it may one day be betrayed.
    
    the deceptive mask of youthful, pompous nobility can be destroyed far quicker, however, by listening in on any of vaani's private conversations. not only is the young successor unfailingly straightforward in her everyday speech, caring not for the pretenses of courtesy and etiquette when there are far better uses of her time, but she is also terribly hasty, becoming rather irritable should unnecessary factors get in the way of her daily toiling. the greatest bane in miss vaani's world, you ask? without a doubt, above hypocrisy and deception lies the grave sin of tampering with the hard-earned food on her plate, her one respite in a world of bloodshed and an instant pick-me-up on her darkest days. from early childhood to the present, vaani's love for all things edible remains yet to be rivalled, to the point of always carrrying snacks in her immediate vicinity for seamless consumption in between page-turners. should she catch you in the act of stealing her beloved sugary companions, however, the sharp scholar can be no less than merciless, offering little compassion or reprieve towards her aggressors.
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    virtues

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    • Assiduous
    • Attentive
    • Cooperative
    • Dauntless
    • Dependable
    • Equanimous
    • Erudite
    • Resilient

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    vices

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    • Blunt
    • Fussy
    • Gluttonous
    • Grouchy
    • Hasty
    • Lavish
    • Merciless
    • Tricky

    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  
  
  

  all genres of music, dancing, bourbon, mathematics, flirting, meeting new people, most animals, travelling, fine dining, reading, politics, arguing for the fun of it, baking, winning, being helpful, lilies, spontaneous late night adventures.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  
  
  

  bugs that sting other than bees, edgelords, politicians, stubbornness, being underestimated, people who can't take criticism, tomato-based dishes, malicious gossip, relationship labels, driving, roses, several of the men in her life.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  discipline

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  history // literature — from the moment she first stepped foot on the battlefield as a sixteen-year-old accompanying her father on a last-minute expedition, vaani became enthralled with war politics, poring over classics such as sun tzu and clausewitz with a drive far beyond her years as a future researcher and theorist. though usually reserved for male successors, the eldest daughter demanded to be adequately trained in hand-to-hand combat and firearms, if only to better her understanding of the texts she'd become so fond of scrutinizing as an adult.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  lineage

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  vaani is the eldest daughter from the house of arya, a longstanding noble family renowned for its terrifying military might. notorious for pulling the strings of nephilim's political scene, the house of arya boasts a wide range of high-profile figures among its ranks, including several of the top generals guarding its coasts and borders. as for vaani, the young woman faces quite a crisis when it comes to inheriting the family legacy: while she may be able to clearly envision a method to the madness that comes with all-out war, deciphering the turbulent whims and wishes of ordinary people is far from her area of expertise.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  character concept

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  stray beads of wax rolling down the flickering, hyacinth-scented candlesticks atop grandiose, polished mahogany tables. the subtle, ever-present orchestra of crinkling textbook pages between stimming fingers and scritching fountain pens against stacks of scibbled notes. a calm, barely noticable breeze wafting through from the hand-carved, arching double doors softly swinging open and shut every few seconds. complete and utterbliss.
  
  "so," the sleep-deprived student took a break from annotating ancient memoirs and leaned forward across the papers scattered before him, interrupting vaani's moment of appreciation for the grand library situated in the heart of arya's territory. "riddle me this: assuming all other factors are identical, who has the advantage between a state with an extensive intelligence network and average defense, and a state with middling intelligence and a properly fortified defense?"
  
  'pointless question.' luckily, that gracious thought failed to pass through vaani's verbal filter as she closed her eyes in contemplation. pondering hypotheticals such as these was simultaneously free entertainment and the bane of her existence, a stimulating mind exercise that filled her brain with fanciful ideas that couldn't translate to the battlefield. but, oh, how fun they were.
  
  as she sat in her cushioned desk chair with flawless posture and properly formulated her response to the posed question, the shadows shifting along her eyelids began to oscillate and take shape into a silhouette that she knew better than anyone, the overwhelming, broad frame of her military strategist father and mentor staring from across the dining table at her seventeen-year-old self.
  
  "your assigned readings last night must have been most scintillating, judging by the bags under your eyes." devon arya took a long, contemplative sip of his piping hot coffee, eyebrows raised inquisitively. no matter how many times he'd studied the material himself in his youth, the head of house arya never tired of conversing about such topics with his eldest child. "after having slept on it, care to share your thoughts?"
  
  the nearly-graduated vaani plopped down on a bar stool across the room, munching on a handful of cashews she'd stowed in her pocket earlier for this exact moment. "hm, well, shelling and clausewitz both agree that war is a part of politics and vice versa," she mused, not truly looking at anything as she recalled each author's conflicting viewpoints, "but while shelling sees war as a tool for politics, clausewitz sees them as inherently intertwined. now waltz, on the other hand, disagrees entirely and says war is a part of people. war is to convince people of things because human nature never improves. it's... the lack of compromise due to that very nature."
  
  a pleased smile began to tug at the corners of devon's otherwise unreadable lips. "and who do you agree with more?"
  
  "obviously, it's—"
  
  "not obviously." the sudden interjection shut the child up in a millisecond as she acquiesced to her father's wise words. "choose carefully, vaani. even if you already have the answer in your head, at least pretend to think about it a little longer. you may not understand why this matters at this moment, but you'll see it in action once the chance arises. you know what i always say: wisdom comes through listening to those with more experience, only—"
  
  "— fools blunder through unnecessary pain."
  
  now the sole successor of house arya and a mentor to many herself, a twenty-seven-year-old vaani snapped back to the present with newfound clarity and released the breath held hostage in her lungs during her thoughtful silence.
  
  “... intelligence is fleeting, transient even." vaani's answer finally resounded with an intentionally slow delivery, making sure her words stuck properly in the ears of her eager study buddy. "a solid defense can't rely on intelligence alone in a fluid battlefield situation. 'when one has used defensive measures successfully, a more favourable balance of strength is usually created; thus the natural course in war is to begin defensively and end by attacking.'”
  
  a low, impressed whistle, just loud enough to earn an irritated shush from a table of elderly men down the aisle. "well stated."
  
  "stop, gosh," vaani giggled into her mug of lukewarm coffee, satisfaction glimmering in her jade irises. "clausewitz is blushing in his grave."
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  gallery

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  rel.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  devon arya

  
  
  

  father, military strategist

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  as the head of house arya and a revered strategist to nephilim's leadership, devon arya runs a tight ship at the family estate. responsible for the house's financial management and child-care, he takes care of all the matters shalini does not have time to attend to between her own duties, resulting in a close bond between himself and vaani.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  shalini arya

  
  
  

  mother, commander-in-chief

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  though she harbors little interest in being named the head of house arya, shalini arya boasts a highly respected status as the head of nephilim's military forces, a terrifying force in enemy territory and an even scarier one in parliament. though not as involved in raising vaani, she remains her daughter's primary role model with her extensive track record of victories on the battlefield.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  okay, so what?

  
  
  
  

  feel like nothing ever seems quite right? are you circling the drainpipe, getting off on pain like you're corrupted? i need to know where your loyalties lie: tell me, are you gonna bark or bite? do you really wanna twist a knife in the belly of the monster? kingslayer, destroying castles in thе sky. i'd sacrifice my life to find you, angel of the blade. kingslayer, come and collect us from the night.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

nine lives

 

[Twin Fantasy]

Datsu . hikage No Onna

Otoboke Beaver

Morax

S

ome people love to watch the world burn.

name

Nakatomi no Takumi

a.k.a.

Takumi Nakatomi

age

24

birthday.

March 30th - Aries.

ethnicity.

Japanese.

gender.

Transfem, she/her.

sexuality.

Bisexual, female lean.

faceclaim.

Utaha

I

have the tools, I set the fire.

status + house.

Noble, a descendant of the Nakatomi clan.

patron.

Morax - the arsonist.

discipline.

Archaeology and biochemistry. Particularly Takumi's interests fall in the territory of studying ancient weapons and studying various methods of dating archaeological discoveries or fossils. These seemingly barely-related interests have also gotten her into studying how to make her own bombs.

prized possession.

There aren't many things Takumi holds in high esteem. To her, objects are temporary -- much like human lives. However, she does have one thing. A hunk of amber with an ancient insect trapped inside that she discovered and found the date of using chemical means. It's her pride and joy. She keeps it in a secret box.

inspo

Punk rock, the Japanoise movement, Norah Wakeman, Junkrat, Miss Frizzle, history of Japanese royals, dinosaur exhibits, nihilism, existentialism, hedonism, epicurianism, the heat death of the universe, motivations for arson, Poly Styrene, The Ramones, Yoko Ono, Yukaman, the various works of Takashi Murakami, Cyborg Noodle, Tank Girl.

L

eave no witnesses.

She was once a son. Now, she lives a daughter.

Her fingers hover over the massive ancient pot she gotten her hands on. Something from Japanese hunter-gatherers long ago. She'd been looking it over for days now, and managed to date it back to roughly 2,000 BC. Her eyes rarely showed any light. Only two things brought her any excitement -- discovery and destruction. The dull gleam coming off of old things, and the wild sparks of an explosion.

A day later, she got the date even closer -- 2,100 BC. Then, 2,140. Within the week, she had the year down exactly.

She took it to her father, a proud Nakatomi-bred noble. He sneered in her face.

"Takumi." He gestured at the pot in her hands. "You've wasted a week on this thing. What good is it to you? Go find a wife, boy. Cut your hair and make something of yourself. At least sell this to a museum. The past has been left behind for a reason."

She sneered back.

Her father wanted her to give the pot up to a museum. They'd probably pay her a decent amount, but the sciences aren't exactly well-paying occupations. Not to mention that any Japanese history museum worth its salt will have dozens and dozens of Jomon-era ceramics. Everything she found was never really good enough.

She took her discovery to the park. The ancient pot, from the year 2146 BC. She filled it with handmade bombs.

If nobody could appreciate her work, then they couldn't have it.

D

ance for me!

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[leviohsa]

MALPAS

Domenico

01.

02.

03.

• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  01.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  01

  
  

  
  

  name.

  
  
  

  Domenico Gionata da Verona

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  02

  
  

  
  

  a.k.a.

  
  
  

  Prefers Domenico

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  03

  
  

  
  

  age.

  
  
  

  twenty-four

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  04

  
  

  
  

  gender.

  
  
  

  cis male (he/him)

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  05

  
  

  
  

  sexuality.

  
  
  

  Closeted Bisexual, Male leaning.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  06

  
  

  
  

  ethnicity

  
  
  

  Italian

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height.

  
  
  

  5'11"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  appearance.

  
  
  

  A young man of slender build, Domenico shows clear signs of not having had to work any sort of physical labor a day in his life. Despite his numerous days indoors, his skin retains a warmth to it, easily tanned once exposed to the sun. Blue eyes are often rimmed with dark circles, which his family attests are to his scholarly habits. One will often find him wearing button-down shirts and slacks, coupled with sweaters and/or cardigans. Mostly oversized, as to not draw attention to his lithe frame.
  
  Those who have met him notice that he smells of old book pages and worn leather. A hint of coffee always lingers upon his clothes as it is his tradition to have at least a cup every morning.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim.

  
  
  

  Lorenzo Zurzolo

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  02.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  psyche.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  A young noble never quite formidable enough to overcome the shadows of his elders. Responsibilities ever-looming just out of reach, Domenico finds the solace in the dark corners of the ignored. Blue eyes and freckled ears are keen on picking up the secrets of the manor surrounding him. Confidence in his looks and family name have molded the youngest Verona into a rather bothersome intellectual. The type to believe that he has the ability to achieve anything he sets his mind to, thanks to the seemingly unlimited resources at his disposal.
  
  Albeit witty and irritable on the surface, Domenico cares deeply for family, and is a romantic at heart. Stories of old fill his memories, and he can't help but be fond of the memories he shares with his brothers as children, out in the fields without a care. Before their responsibilities took a hold of their lives.
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  virtues.

  
  
  

  curious, steadfast, intelligent.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vices.

  
  
  

  stubborn, secretive, reclusive.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears.

  
  
  

  to be revealed.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ❛❛

  ❜❜

  When you do not recognize the wrongs of the past, the future takes its revenge. - Ian C Esslemont

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  03.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  To be revealed.
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  extra.

  
  

  click

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  misc.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  discipline.

  
  
  

  Literature with a minor in History. Domenico has always been fascinated by books and manuscripts, often wondering their origins and eager to learn something new. Answering questions most give up on is what fuels him, leaving him hungry for the chance of finding what others cannot. Research and analysis are what take up most of his days, which are much preferred over the politics of his family regime.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  prized possession.

  
  
  

  A golden locket given to Domenico by his late grandmother. The letter 'V' is inscribed on the front, and inside are two miniatures (portraits). On the left, is his great grandfather Bartolo, and on the right, his great grandmother, Imelda. It was a prized possession of his grandmothers that she left to his youngest grandson, in hopes that he may pass their epic love story onto the next generation. Whether it is tucked underneath his button-down or blatantly on display against his chest, Domenico never goes a day without wearing the family heirloom, as it was a promise he made to his nonna.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  status.

  
  
  

  Domenico is a noble member of the House Verona. A city with subtropic climates, it is often known for its historic sites and gains most funds through exporting goods such as wines and aged cheeses. He is the youngest of three, often overlooked in regard to politics and the limelight. A notable quality of Verona that Domenico favors is its expansive history in literature and romance.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  title

  
  

  
  
  
  

  artist

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[arthur morgan.]

Nectarios Lamb, The Belial

#the chewed up hero, battered and bruised

#a used pawn in someone else’s war.

♡coded by uxie♡

numb

lincoln park

belial.

I.

i’m tired of being what you want me to be—

name

nectarios lamb.

nickname

bambi, lamb, and nectar seem to be a common name that others call him, but he’s been called nectarine to his dismay.

age

twenty-six

d.o.b

may 7th

sexuality

homosexual, disclosed. lamb’s younger sister split the beans by accident over a family dinner to celebrate their older sisters engagement— one could imagine the surprisal and disbelief that arose. while his identity is out in the open, it was never discussed again among his family— it was never clear to him on whether they agreed or hated him for it, but he wasn’t willing to touch the subject again after that.

gender & pronouns

cismale; he/him

status + house

nectar is a scholarship student with a hand been bloodline of house lamb, his nobility essentially stomped out well over 20 years ago.

the house of lamb, strong and self reliant. for many centuries house of lamb held power over several acres of farm land upon the fertile soil of nephilim, mighty oaks and powerful streams bleed through the land. growth of ample food spread throughout their lands, pounds of flesh were harvested and fed the people of nephilim for centuries. the founders of this once noble house held an utmost importance towards helping lesser nobilities and commonwealth all throughout nephilim that many had considered them the nobility of the people. a sigil of a black lamb standing in front of an oak tree, gold and red accented all throughout— it was strong, it was self reliant and it was honorable. house of lamb were for the people, they bleed for the people and fed the people— a noble house that was held strong by not only other nobles but the commonwealth as well.

however as time progressed on and the blood of house lamb grew bigger and bigger— poison began to flow within the veins of those that were destined for greatness. it was as though the gene of honor, selflessness, and honestly were slowly being pushed out. as dukes became greedy and duchesses became selfish, what their founders built their home upon were slowly beginning to rot away. greed plagued them like a pestilence, closing their doors to those who they once called friends and allies in fears that they would come and steal their wealth and gold (a gold that was hidden within the hundreds of acres of land, no one’s every been able to find it.) as this new era of lamb decedents began to change how they ruled, they soon realized that the power they once hand would begin to slip away— the common people began to turn their backs as did other common houses.

it all came to a head when they were slowly running out of money, their lands began to produce less and less and creatures migrated far away. as if a curse was placed upon their heads, but in actuality it was from their poor decision making. the once might house of lamb was on the brick of bankruptcy, their lands were dying from the lack of attention they could no longer afford— forced to sell their prized lambs for w quarter of their actual wealth just so they can stay afloat. some stayed strong while others took it upon themselves to stop existing, some succumbed to illness while others stole what they could and fled to find a new life. little was left when another house came to their cobble steps, preying upon an injured lamb that was left behind. buying them out of their debts in exchange for control of their lands, they could keep their home and titles— but even with that much grace, there was simply no way out of their essential extinction. very few people still live with their nobility, but mang of which either moved into new houses or married into them, leaving behind their family name.

Patron

belial — The assassin.

Discipline

Paleontology & Archeology; being able to see and find things that have been lost for thousand of centuries, to show their purpose and importance like they used too seemed enlightened to lamb. He had a particular interest in studying and digging up fossils and other once living beings, but archeology began to peak as a form of coping with his own lost identity.

Prized Possession

a silver chain with two dog tags t, a grief and sadness that cannot be explained shroud it like a dark cloud. it was an unfortunate gift that he didn’t want, wiping away dried blood that coated each tag— hiding the names of its true owners. they belonged to two people that he loved the most in this world, who’s very breath kept him pushing through the grueling sands and death that surrounded them all. unfortunately they were killed in the line of duty, one shot through the chest while the other slowly bled from the neck— both dying at his feet. the flimsy piece of metal was the only thing he had left of the two of them, forced to leave them behind by the waves of hot metal flying through.

II.

killing off the things you wished were never there.

reference

andrew garfield as desmond doss in hacksaw ridge

wordbank

tba

style

visual

III.

i’ve become so numb, i no longer know who i am

the fable —

TBA

V.

only what you want me to be.

♡coded by uxie♡