Fantasy 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐀𝐍 - 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚜

[mother of sorrows]

╰┈➤ ❝ Welcome, the friend of my heart...
This is the character thread! Since CS work differently for everybody, there is no set code or
expectaction - you can use a common CS (name, personality, background), maybe
writing an introduction in your character's POV or from third person! I only want that
the introduction shows your character in a way gives us enough information
about them - I don't mean we have to know everything and secrets are welcome,
but enough that we can get the gist of their concept. Thank you and I'm excited to see them!​

 

[cwosont]

font callfont callfont call

46

human

demisexual

art by @rodrigodraws

duke

{insert quote or lyric here}

garrick barlowe

A young Garrick assumed the role of Duke of Theodan after the passing of his uncle, who conveniently had no living heirs. He was twenty-six, married, and with an heir of his own to secure the family line. Garrick was the obvious choice. He made sure of that.

The Duke of Theodan was not always the cold and apathetic man he is today. For many years, Garrick was a stoic but caring man in his own way. He adored his wife, their heir and son, and even their daughter. He was ambitious and calculating, of course. Securing position and power for his family in a city like Theodan was of upmost importance. He would not settle for the sickly streets of the lower city.

Things took a dark turn for the Barlowe family as a hereditary illness began to take hold on the Duchess' mind. Garrick had not been previously made aware of this affliction. Slowly but surely, the Duchess' gentle and kind heart was diluted with a dark evil. She became cruel, jealous, and quick to anger as the months and years passed. Doctors could not cure this disease of the mind, nor could any priest.

True tragedy stuck when Garrick's second born, his daughter, took matters into her own hand. She could tolerate her mother's madness no longer. She set out to poison her mother. Unfortunately, it was not the mad woman who drank from the goblet. It was the Duke's heir and son. He died in his mother's arms, blood oozing from his eyes and his ears. The Duchess tossed herself from the window before Garrick had even arrived.

Death consumed the Barlowe family, and the stench of it followed them everywhere. Garrick became obsessed with necromancy and the chance of bringing his wife and heir back. Stranger things had happened in Theodan, after all. He spent the next year devoted to the cause and to tracking down who killed his beloved son. The Duke never considered his own daughter. In the end, his necromancy did nothing more than turn his boy into a monster. Garrick put him down for good.

The Duke of Theodan and his new heir have gone unbothered by fate's cruelty in the last several years. Garrick has become the cold and uncaring man the city knows him to be. His heir, his foolish daughter, is nothing that her older brother once was. Garrick can only hope marriage will make a proper Duchess out of her.

{artist name}

night owl

Steve Jobs reached out to me to collaborate for the duke/heir, so the backstory is based off of what we've discussed thus far! i am flexible to change things as needed, though. the timeline will be more fine tuned tonight, i think. and i will probably work on a more expansive CS if he's accepted~

 

[Uxie]

diana cárdenas

The Cuckoo

click

full name.

diana viviana cárdenas

age.

nineteen years old ( forty-five )

species.

human

faceclaim.

plain doll, bloodborne (

x

)

at first, it is nothing; a figment, a fetter, an iota. from the shadows, it watches silently, perpetually.

its first meal is small. it feasts upon the bloodied body of a fallen crow, fell by hunters for sport. the bird wiggles and thrashes in its last throes of life; it descends upon it with frenzy. loud bangs fill the air as it eats, but it does not flinch, because it has nothing to feel fear with. the bird is but a shell, stricken on the ground, as it flies away.

it is a crow. it is a fox. it is a deer.

they follow death like an uneasy child, a reaper of its own making.

it is nothing. it is everything. it is alone.

it is a hound when the ghoul drags a human in. it had seen humans before, but she is very small, smaller than itself, in a bright red dress and streaks of crimson in her gold-white hair. from the jaws of the beast, she falls limply to the ground. as the ghoul stalks away, it draws close. death's bony hand is clamped around her throat, his verdict imminent — her unseemly fate is but a matter of time.

her eyes flicker open, suddenly, sage green meeting ebony. a hand reaches for its neck, and it shrinks back instinctively. she whispers something it does not understand, before her hand drops.

it eats.

when it stumbles to the edge of the forest, it is greeted by gold-white hair in a black vest. they regard it, and for the first time in its existence, it feels fear. it has never fought — it does not know how to. its breath hitches, and it stares back. diana, they finally say, and its mind echoes familiarity. her name. she nods, and they reach for her hand.

did you hear? the cárdenas are falling apart, or so the whispers tell me. the mother is missing and the father is erratic; the children... well, the son is a fool.
and their youngest has yet to recover? she hasn't breathed a word since she was taken, they say. an illness of the mind.
pitiful, indeed.
their oldest is no better than their father, i've heard.
a madwoman?
what else?
ha! god have mercy on their souls.

gold in your hair

✦

 

[miyabi]

Daemons are not susceptible to mortal plagues.

♡coded by uxie♡

lucíena cárdenas

The Scientist

click

full name.

lucíena sofía cárdenas

age.

thirty-two years old

species.

human

faceclaim.

lady maria of the astral clocktower, bloodborne (

x

)

A cursed monster born from the flesh of another; a father’s sins

Crackles and pops; the stench of burning skin, hair, a screech; her eyes, though the light of the electricity bounces off the surface, are void of life. She is her father’s creation, the monster risen from darkness; an observer — no, a perpetrator just as he. Tenderness falls short, his praises empty buckets — a means to control, a means to shape.

She is his daughter: his greatest accomplishment and his greatest disgrace.

There is nothing more satisfying than to see his body rot; to watch as the world is cleansed of such evil as himself; but his death shall not be quick. It warrants pain, suffering — such as he has dealt to her, as he denied her a childhood, denied her her passions — as he molded her in his image. May she avenge herself, put together the pieces of a young woman lost into the ether.

The air is thick with the scent of mice and chemicals; it chokes, fades life into darkness, and feeds the entities within.

did you hear? the cárdenas are falling apart, or so the whispers tell me. the mother is missing and the father is erratic; the children... well, the son is a fool.
and their youngest has yet to recover? she hasn't breathed a word since she was taken, they say. an illness of the mind.
pitiful, indeed.
their oldest is no better than their father, i've heard.
a madwoman?
what else?
ha! god have mercy on their souls.

gold in your hair

✦

 

[erzulie]

XIX.
vasilis

the devotee.

coded by xayah.ღ

╰┈➤ 𝐁𝐘 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐀𝐍 𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍, 𝐁𝐘 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐀𝐍 𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐘𝐀𝐑𝐃

NAME: Vasilis
ALIAS: The Belov’d, The Formless, The Bridge
GENDER: Female.
SEXUALITY: Pansexual.
SPECIES: Fae

—
The sounds of drum and ancient chants drowned out the noises of the forest that night. The highest within the court had received a vision from the Great Mother. She would send a part of herself, nourished and formed by the flesh and blood of her children.

 

[yokai.]

iphigenia

the lamb.

art by sarakipin

♡coded by uxie♡

IPHIGENIA

✶

the

killing moon

will come too soon

twenty-five.

were-ram.

transfemme.

bisexual ( heavy female lean ).

T

he altar was warm and sweet-smelling, the air clouded with smoke from burning incense littered across the dais. The girl, only fifteen, then, was blindfolded, her hands bound with frayed rope. She could hear scattered noise amidst the buzzing haziness that covered her mind, drifting in and out of consciousness now and then. The sound of collective chanting filled her ears, in a tongue she did not know. She did not feel afraid, not even when the melody stopped. Somehow, she must have known her fate all along. The edge of the dagger must be known by the flesh, much like how the sight of the cleaver must be known by the lamb, in service to a shepherd whose gaze was both loving and cruel.

Under the light of a new moon, Iphigenia took the form of a beast who terrorized the very village that raised her. The ram was mindless and indiscriminate in its killing; as long as blood covered the land, her god continued to smile down upon her. She had no one to turn to but her god, any family of hers long forgotten in the mind-searing brilliance of worshipping the divine. She did not know who she was before she devoted her life to religion, and for years, she did not care to know, content with following the hand that fed her. She felt safe, until she didn't.

Iphigenia had felt a tear within the fabric of her soul when her god started to weaken, loosening its hold on her mind enough for something else to slip through. The call of a city teeming with monsters was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore, and for months, the name 'Theodan' echoed persistently in her ears. Something in its pull told her that she would be hidden from the eyes that watched her every move, a prospect so foreign yet horribly tempting that she had no choice but to listen. Her god was furious, setting the forest alight with an all-consuming fire on the day she fled to Theodan. The flames followed her in a ceaseless pursuit, only stopping once she crossed the border that separated the city from the rest of the world.

In Theodan, she was finally left to her own devices. The ram still reared its horned head at the dawn of each new moon, and Iphigenia felt shame and guilt for the first time in her life, shaking at the knowledge that she had taken and will continue to take countless innocent lives. She found a solution by locking herself in the city's clock tower, waiting out her affliction each month as the ram thrashes wildly against tightly bound chains. A few denizens of the city have grown aware of the ram's presence in the clock tower by now, and though most regard it with fear and hostility, there are also some who have come to revere it as a newly-fledged god. Iphegenia is largely unaware of these rumours concerning her supposed godhood, and moves through the city like a ghost, clinging to the shadows to conceal her true identity. In the quiet moments between moons, she keeps the appearance of an unassuming apothecary shopkeeper, meek and mild-mannered but blessed with an uncanny ability to heal mysterious ailments. Her thaumaturgy became a means of redemption; each life she saved, every illness she cured, was a small penance for the many lives taken by the ram.

Despite her uneasy repentance, she felt somewhat comforted to know that at least in Theodan, the ram was only one beast among many.

FATE,

up against your will

sugar coded ♡

 

[.empathogen.]

- the herald -​

 

[Sear]

RUNE

death's lover

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[demonology]

luda

a body is nothing but a land colonized, so take what is already yours

♡coded by uxie♡

coded by xayah.ღ

╰┈➤ 𝖨 𝖠𝖬 𝖠 𝖱𝖤𝖵𝖤𝖱𝖨𝖤 𝖲𝖮𝖬𝖤𝖮𝖭𝖤 𝖮𝖭𝖢𝖤 𝖧𝖠𝖣, 𝖯𝖴𝖳 𝖴𝖯 𝖳𝖮 𝖲𝖫𝖠𝖴𝖦𝖧𝖳𝖤𝖱, 𝖠𝖭𝖣 𝖳𝖧𝖤𝖭 𝖳𝖴𝖱𝖭𝖤𝖣 𝖫𝖮𝖮𝖲𝖤.

NAME: Luda
PRONOUNS: any, typically they/she
SEXUALITY: undefined.
SPECIES: even harder to define, but their preferred form is a satyr. They can change shape at will, but this is their preferred form. In terms of abilities, they are able to bring things from other people's dreams, but they often have no choice in that regard.
VISAGE: Luda has a few appearances that they shift through from day to day. You can view them HERE. I'm not gonna make any formal fcs but the list rn is: Hari Nef, Golfshifteh Farahani, Park Heejung, David Sylvian, and Cherokee Jack. They have ivory horns and hooves. Their fur is a brown so dark, it is almost black.
AESTHETIC: HERE.

OVERVIEW:
— Time is a tricky thing. Where Luda's time on this plane begins and ends is unknown. They were generated from someone's dream, that they know. Perhaps that is all anyone needs to know. They are without a childhood, without an arrival into adulthood. One minute, they did not exist. The next, they were awake, splayed across a grassy knoll on the side of a rural highway.
— What happened next was simple and logical: Luda got walking. They happened across the heart of Theodan, and they have been in and out of the city for many years. How many? Luda doesn't know and don't quite care. Suffice to say, they may be a familiar face... or not. They change it up quite a bit.
— If you do recognize Luda, it will be for her ability to make herself at home in any old slumbering spot: an alleyway, the side of a street, atop a horse, or even in your backyard or your guest room. When someone or something calls them, they are out like a light, traversing the interstate of dreams and nightmares. What they bring with them is usually okay. Neutral, maybe even a bit silly (they once gifted someone a pet poodle who blew bubbled when it barked). Other times, it is a beast or a weapon that someone wished upon this earth. This is Luda's mind: a factory that in it contains multitudes but has no choice over what it produces. She knows the thoughts and intentions of those who call upon her. She prefers not to dwell on them.
— But inhabited much like an exorcism victim, they do take on the qualities of their many dreamers. If they seem irritable one day, please don't take offense, and if they seem a bit manic in their happiness, it is likely because they were recently in the mind of one so jubilant that it made this terrible gift seem worth it.
— They are a frequent traveler with no home to call their own, if you could not tell. It is easier this way. But rest assured that Luda is happy to help in whatever way she can.

— ° —​

might write a narrative someday but thats the vibes for now.

 

[neon reverie]

• .
• .

• 
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  VIII
  art by ares valto

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  THE MASKED PAINTER

  Role

  The Masked Painter
  
  

  Name

  Viktor Omarov
  
  

  gender

  male
  
  

  age

  thirty-two (?)
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  A faceless artisan, with renown etched into strokes that exist for people to admire and the rest of time to forget. Theodan might not know him by face, but they certainly know him by his masks. His fame is whispered across cobblestone streets, lauded within chandelier rooms, and his name has become its own currency of prestige that is traded between patrons who have glimpsed the mesmerising allure of his creations. Paintings that move and breathe, as if they are just another being within a world of gods and monsters; it comes the closest to watching dreams and nightmares after waking hours. And you, weak for everything that exists and does not, will come to him.
  
  Come to see life twist and turn and tease within one gilded frame.
  
  There is an odd charm to the man behind the masks, a charisma that flirts with the unsettling, or so his patrons tell you. They don’t speak ill of him, admirations and amazement being expressed plenty, but none of them could quite deny the aura that wraps around his being; one you can’t quite get a grasp one — something that lingers like a mystery unsolved. Expression obscured, it only leaves penetrating stares and darkness kept in mutable particles. For someone so entrenched in a realm of hues, there is something notably colourless about him; almost like a white canvas that seems to wash itself clean every time it comes in contact with anything that could color.
  
  Still, you at least know who he is.
  
  He is a secret noble, a child thrown out of the gates for being born with a deformity, the shame of one's parents being grander than their love.
  
  He is a retired adventurer, one who stopped after saving a village from horrid beasts; the deep scars on his face being the lasting evidence.
  
  He is a handsome artist, someone who wanted to be known just for his art and not for his beauty, and so he veiled the other.
  
  He is an ambitious painter that made a deal with one of the gods, exchanging his face for his power of creating moving art.
  
  Yes, you know who he is.
  
  But do you really?
  
  
  
  

designed by bad ending & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Sylvio]

THE PALADIN

Gerard Mahon

"Shrouded in darkness
We are guided by the light
So do not fret
For the beacon burns bright"
- Oath of the Beacon
​

- Basic

​

Age: 34
Gender: Cismale | He/Him
Sexuality: ???
Species: Human

- Background

​

Many have grown accustomed to the monsters that lurk in Theodan. Gerard was one of those people. Hearing of death because someone stumbled down the wrong alleyway was commonplace, and for a long time, Gerard did not once think that was wrong. But when his husband was mauled by a minotaur, Gerard changed his tune. His apathy turned into frustration and sorrow as he had less to live for. So he joined the Order of the Beacon, to put his life at risk to hunt monsters in Theodan’s streets so that no one else could feel his pain.

The origins of the Beacon are shrouded in mystery, a ball of pure light that lays dormant in an observatory. It grants its paladins the ability to flash arcane light that can temporarily blind or burn depending on its intensity. Of course, before anyone can swear the oath they must train within the observatory which requires rigorous physical and psychological training. Once that's done, they will become a Beacon Paladin and take the oath.

Paladins have found it difficult to find some sort of consistency with the Beacon's powers. They claim that their arcane light isn't as effective or sometimes doesn't even work. It is agreed that due to the unpredictable anomaly that is the Rift, the powers given through the oath cannot be utilized to their full potential. When that fails, paladins rely on their rifles and swords.

After Gerard took the oath, he learned that being a member of the Order could be one of two extremes. Either endless patrols walking on a treadmill of cobblestone streets or chaotic hunts. A lot of hunts took place in the poorer areas of Theodan as monsters hunted those who wouldn't be missed. He's seen a lot of blood and bodies, heard screams of victims and the whispers of murderers, and the scent of smoke and steel. These sensations don't always come to him, but when they do, he loses sleep.

But the Beacon's glow keeps him trudging onward. Taking the oath is more than promising to fight monsters, it's the belief that Theodan can be saved from the darkness and its terrors will subside. It's why Gerard can handle the night terrors and remains motivated as a paladin.

Art Credits
I - Oleg Volkov (Major Grom)
II - Storming a fort during the Franco-Prussian War (Paul Louis Narcisse Grolleron)
III - Face the Enemy, 1884, (1890) (F Meulle)

coded by reveriee.

 

[Athens]

V. Favored

Pagan Witch

soleil sumna

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[. D O V E]

fluticasone fluticasone

the detective

name

genevievve archer

nicknames

madame g

age

thirty-one

gender

female

sexuality

demiromantic pansexual

species

human

The Madame is a lady of many faces. Sophistication is but a ghost of the past as her ill-fate has necessitated every fabric into a bastion against wolves clawing for her skin. Every combination of clothes corresponds to a role she must play to slitter through Theodan's mysteries. Still, beneath the costumes, she is a woman of raven locks and chestnut-colored eyes. A beauty mark, often concealed, lays on the left side of her lips.

excerpt

Tens of paper clippings adorn the cracked wall like stars do an evening rippled with thunderstrike. A pale hand cautiously connected each piece with a trail of red thread, like a spider weaving its nest. At the heart of it all, a large headline reads: "The Source of Unlimited Power"

Unlimited - a big word; couple it with Power, and it even starts to glow amidst the muddled sea of texts. Nonetheless, like a lamp lit in the night, such brilliance would attract insects of all kinds. All small yet nevertheless vexatious. As such, the figure within the abandoned room stirred when the faintest of shuffling pervaded from the other side of the door. Swiftly, she donned her coat and ripped off the writings before jumping off a half-lidded window with arms spread.

As the midnight breeze caressed her cheeks, the sharp noise of gunshots pervaded from above, followed by miffed murmurs that became more and more muffled until her back hit a cushion. The sound caused one of the men to peer through the window sill, his finger pointing at her when he yelled: "The Madame is getting away! AGAIN!"

The woman laying atop a futon strapped onto a circus carriage hurled her hat at the sky, like an act of grand finale as strips of papers cascaded from the item like a confetti. "See you later, boys!" The Madame's boisterous laughter faded as two horses expertly drew the vehicle into the darkness of an alley. As the goon desperately tried to shoot after her, he took notice of the words on the fluttering paper before him.

"LOOK UP OR BE SWALLOWED BY WHAT LURKS BELOW! LOOK UP!"

others

tucker nimmons: A young thief who picked the wrong target. A short tussle between the two led to the boy being in servitude to the detective. Albeit he essentially sold his life short, the Madame is pleased to have someone take care of the horses.

 

[AI10100]

fluticasone fluticasone

basics

name

tucker nimmons

nicknames

tuck

age

twenty-two

gender

male

sexuality

aromantic asexual

species

human

An unassuming poor young man walking through the streets of Theodan— not a strange sight at all and you're inclined to think that he's likely delivering parcels for the local postal service. He looks the part, especially with the expertise with how he navigates through the streets like he knows every nook in cranny in the city. Your eyes meet and he grins and tips his hat before disappearing into an alley. The sound of a coin flip echoes across the alley as you turn and he's simply not there anymore.

It is common to mistake Tucker for a much younger man owning to his slow aging features. Tucker doesn't spend a lot of money on being able to dress for the occasion. After all, the more common he appeared, the better for his line of work. Still, he appears presentable, if a little dirty.

journal

Ever heard of the thieves of the night? Of course you haven't, if you did, we'd be doing a shitty job, eh? Well, let's shed a li'l bit of light into me and the kind of life I've led to this point. Strap in cause it's a bit of a wild one filled with mystery or whatever the Madame writes in those books of hers to hook in the readers.

See, if you're born in a big family and you ain't the favorite, you gotta learn fast how to make yourself useful or you're gonna get left behind for dead. Literally. You'd think with how ma and pa kept pumpin’ us out, they'd be able to feed us but you'd think wrong! Look can't blame ‘em for being in love or whatever but I can blame ‘em for having to take turns eatin’ with my siblings! Now, I just can't let ‘em be hungry so I struck out on my own. Make some living by myself and see where it goes. At least some food, preferably.

Selling newspapers can only get ‘ya so far. It got some food on the table but I needed more. I'm a growin’ boy! A boy with dreams and passion. So I turned to the more unsavory things. I pickpocketed, I stole, I did everything under the sun in cover and I ate good. I ate well! I got clothes I couldn't ever get before and my siblings actually don't gotta take turns to eat. It was all well and good until I got myself into some hot water with the coppers. I was a kid, sure, but I was still stealin’ and they threw me into jail for a short amount of time.

Would love to say I was a changed man when I got out, and I was! I changed for the better.

To become a better thief, of course! I was such a good little guy in front of the coppers but I snuck around still. Not to toot my own horn but I'd like to say I'm talented. And talent gets noticed— and talent like mine gets noticed by the worst kind of folks. But the worst kind of folks have the most money and a lot of grudges to settle. Cue me getting sucked into Theodan Criminal Underworld. You got everything down there and I mean everything— even job offerings.

If you don't wanna die, you kinda wanna be neutral with everyone— or in their good graces. But that ain't an option when you start workin’. I try my best to get the requests that ain't gonna step on anyone's toes but if there's anyone I don't wanna cross, it's the Farringtons. I end up workin’ for them more times than anyone else. They tell me to pick a place clean, I do it. They tell me to grab a precious heirloom and plant it on someone else, I do it. It's a risky lifestyle but oh so rewarding.

I don't talk about it a lot but like… y'know how your parents warn ‘ya about going out at night? Yeah. Don't go out at night. You're either gonna get shot, stabbed or you might see something you wish you never saw.

Met the Madame a couple a’ years ago. Walked right up to her carriage and tried to steal from it but she was inside and put up quite a fight! We ended up stumblin’ into some… unsavory folks and we had to work together to get the fuck outta there! Ever since then, I've been seein’ ‘em around, lurkin’ and shit. So I went back to the Madame and she took me in as an assistant. I'm free to do my personal things but now I'm roped up in helping her with her investigations. It's… honestly kinda fun and brings a different kind of thrill. She knows about those that go bump in the night that we can't explain.

Nowadays, I stick close to the Madame. Look, I ain't all too fond of the whole carriage sleeping situation but there's not much I can do. I used to rent this small place and when I came back after the whole shindig, it got wrecked! They didn't come for money or anythin’, looks like they were just out for my head. So yeah, maybe it was safest in the carriage.

Damn I'm talkative. Guess I just needed an outlet ‘cause of all the crazy shit that's happened recently. Whatever I'm just gonna burn this after. The Madame wants to go on another investigation. Wonder what we'll see next.

others

The Farrington Family : Tucker is one of the freelance thieves employed by the Farrington family for their more covert operations— the ones they don't like being traced back to them. This has given Tucker a much more lenient standing in their part of the city.

Madame Genevievve : She is Tucker's current employer and, despite, their rough beginnings, he appears to be quite loyal to her. Though, he does consistently complain about the danger they're constantly in.

 

[lucenti]

Artist — x

Kalcimer — sentient sword

“

the blade was worn out, not by metal, but by the grief of those he struck down. a ruby adorned the dark hilt, its lustre lost over the decades. it did not matter anymore. the layer of dried blood made up for it.

”

coded by @Ambiloquous

​

fluticasone fluticasone

stationary

name

Kalcimer

gender

male

age

forty-three (ninety-six)

sexuality

demisexual

species

sentient sword

A statue stood somewhere, forgotten by all but one.

Time had taken its toll, and nature had not hesitated to reclaim its lost space. Roots cracked the sole of the marble, reaching up to the man's face. Birds nested on the top of his helmet, while rodents found shelter in the cracks of his armour. His features were now unrecognisable, but his posture was enough to show what kind of man he was during his lifetime. Proudly displaying his sword, its tip pointed at unseen enemies. He held himself with confidence and anticipation as he awaited the arrival of an imaginary battle.

Even in death, Sir Baltimore could not rest.

awakening

No sound chimed through the field. A strange silence reigned among the corpses, one that neither screams nor the flapping of wings could truly penetrate. The vultures had already descended, feasting on the foolishness of both the fallen and the initiators. Blood stained the air, the ground and the crown upon which it was spilled for. The sacrifices that kingdoms would make in the name of their rulers were able to turn such beautiful landscapes into scenes of tragedy. Yet in the end, hope always prevailed. Courageous songs will be written about the battle, events weaved into inspiring tales, as shouts of presumed victory will ring through the streets. Just enough to attract the next wave of hopeful squires. But for now, nothing but grieving families will echo into the night.

In the midst of this brutality, Kalcimer awoke with only two certainties in his mind. His name and the undeniable fact that his knight was dead. Just as a mother would know when their offspring were in danger, so did the sword know the same when it came to his owner. But unlike a parent, there was nothing he could have done to prevent the demise, and now all that remained was to mourn the one whose passing had fuelled his own birth.

Time was meaningless when it came to grieving, but the increasing decay of the bodies and the imminent arrival of more troops, whether to continue the slaughter or to scout the scene, left Kalcimer with no choice. Either stay and ignore the consciousness bestowed upon him, rest for an eternity with his companion, or rise and seek redemption for all those who had fallen under his blade. Loyalty demanded that he stop, but his new soul craved more. Even with nothing in the world that could have been the reason, something compelled him to leave. Away from the duties that had defined his entire existence, onto an unknown path filled with doubt and shame.

Suddenly his universe, which had always revolved around someone else, became much lonelier.

wandering

It was chance that kept him in Theodan. Fortunate circumstances, opportunities that no other place had offered before. Or perhaps that was the lie Kalcimer told himself as he gazed out to sea. An eternal resting place, untouched and peaceful. Something to consider when his guilty mind became too weary and the karma of decades too heavy to bear. Until then, he earned his stay by slaving away as a barber. It was not his shop but it was still his talent that attracted the crowds. His cuts were praised as the finest in the city, cheap for his efforts. Meanwhile, merchants fought over his tools. Rumours of their enchantment were whispered in dark alleys. The townsfolk could find no other explanation for the precise cuts his scissors made with deadly accuracy. A mystery that did not stop them from greatly enjoying his work.

Creating his clients' dream hairstyles may not be the atonement he sought, but with nothing else to show for, it was better than accepting the absolute futility of his past actions.

 

[Colorless Spectrum]

font call font call font call

the florist

Tammeryn "Eryn" Vermont

code : fluticasone

artist : @irt_5433

age : 28

gender : female

species : human

flowers

knives

guns

"Shit... Shit, shit, shit!" Roman furiously whispered as he ran. He didn't know where else to go but one thing was clear, he regretted involving himself with the Viscount’s affairs. All it took was one mistake. One slip of the lips, that was all it took for death to hunt him down. He should have lived a boring and normal life like his mother had wanted.

*Clack, clack, clack*

The way the heel of the shoes hit the pavement was like the ticking of the clock. His legs were starting to burn. How long had he been running now? He couldn’t remember. His heart danced in irregularity, his lungs hung on what he could breathe. “I don’t want to die, I’m not ready to die!” He cried out loud but his wishes fell on the deaf ears of the night.

*Thud*

“What was that?” He wondered before noticing the knife gleaming under the moonlight, impaling the wooden box near him. He stopped.

“

Damn, I missed.

” He heard someone say mockingly as if they did it on purpose. Maybe they did. Fear turned into dread. His body wanted to give up at this point, but he couldn’t let himself. “

You should start running again Mr. Stiles.

” Yes, that was what he was gonna do. Perhaps this was a chance? That’s what he wanted to think.

He ran once more, body on the verge of shutting down but he didn’t care. One more step, he thought with each foot he put down on the floor. He found himself an abandoned house, someplace he could hide and rest, even for just a moment.

Roman had found a space underneath the stairs, hidden by a large sofa in its desolate living room. There was a problem. He couldn’t stay quiet enough. He gasped for breath, the result of having to run for too long, too much for his body to handle. “Shit.” He forced himself to breathe slowly, trying to calm his heart and his shaking body.

The door creaked. It was slowly, tense, and painfully warning him of his nearing death. The sound of footsteps mirrored his beating heart. It felt like a bird flying around its cage in a craze. But he was safe, he wanted to believe he was safe. That he wouldn’t be found, that his hunter will give up, that he’ll li-

“

Mister Stiles,

”

Wait-

“

Found. You.

”

The bells chimed— the sign of a new customer for the small and humble flower shop in town. A man of great stature walked in and inhaled the smell of the flowers that surrounded him. It smelled like the fresh blooms of spring despite the summer sun. “Miss Vermont, are the flowers ready?” Asked an old man whose voice rumbled across the room.

“

Ah, Mister Quimby. Let me make some final additions to the bouquet then I’ll be with you.

” The florist replied before leaving to the back of her shop.

This left the man to himself, his eyes wandering about the colorful array of flowers and noting how well it's grown. The flowers were beautiful as always and he had become all too familiar with its many species after working with Tammeryn Vermont for so long. “Tragically beautiful.”

“

Makes sense,

” the woman replied as she appeared from behind the curtains of her establishment. “

Here is the bouquet. Don’t forget to place them in a place that can get enough sunlight.

” Tammeryn handed the flowers over to Mister Quimby.

“Right. These are magnificent as always, Miss Vermont. You’re flowers have been blossoming well,” He continued, curious about her state of affairs within the last few weeks. “I take it you’ve had some good fertilizers for them?”

“

Oh I wish, but I did receive a really good one yesterday! All thanks to the Viscount. Which reminds me…

” She walked up to Mister Quimby and plucked out one of her precious flowers, urging him to take it. “

Please give this to the Viscount as a thank you for his request! I hope to work with him again someday.

”

Mister Quimby nodded and took the Red Spider Lily. “I will be sure to relay the message. May you have a good day, Miss Vermont.” He handed over a thick envelope before leaving the premises. Sometimes he wondered why a woman like Miss Vermont does what it is that she does, alas he wasn’t one to pry nor did he have the time to do so. All he needed to do was to relay the success to the Viscount along with the bouquet.

Colorless Spectrum

 

[Steve Jobs]

fluticasone fluticasone

the heir

name

nicolette barlowe

species

human and aquatic chimera

age

twenty-two

gender

female

sexuality

pansexual

art by

entei ryu

Cold eyes born from the same seas as her mother. Warm, brunette tresses born from the earth her father rules.

On dry land Nicolette appears wholly human, standing above most women her age but still a head shorter than her father, Duke of Theodan. Her body seems to be in a state of perpetual emaciation, gaining neither muscle nor fat no matter what she eats or how much she exercises.

Nicolette's oceanic lineage reveals itself in the presence of seawater, wherein her skin becomes covered in golden scales and she grows rounded protrusions from her spine. Her lower half grows into that of a beast. Four taloned legs emerge from an elongated, scale-covered torso while a prehensile tail gives her the balance to fight on land and in the sea.

But she's an entertainer, not a fighter.

the poison

The tavern is lively when she walks in, her heels tracking in sand and seaweed. A pianist catches her eye while they rally the local sailors (fishermen or navy) for a shanty. They're celebrating a bountiful catch, of which, she bears no responsibility (beyond her father ruling the docks). Still, Nicolette joins them after buying another round of drinks and hopping on the bar.

She dances across the sticky surface, slapping the hands of mariners who dare to cop a feel.

There once was a lass who made sailors crash

Her voice would make the calmest men clash

The tide would rise, The ships would fall,

Because Theodan's duchess was the scariest of them all!

the restitution

Nicolette wakes up the next day after being doused by her handmaid;it's the anniversary of her brother's first death and her mother's suicide. Though guilt thrashes inside her, she commits to sobriety and instead, feeds it her grief and self-loathing.

She resists a groan, and requests and bath be drawn in her larger-than-average tub (which, really, is a recess carved into the floor). Her presence at breakfast is long overdue, but it doesn't stop her from dragging her feet out of the tub and dressing in a purple gown, not because she wants to, but because it was her brother's favorite color.

Her father's already left for more pressing matters, but that made the visitation easier. Instead of flowers, she brought his favorite sandwich. Instead of cleaning his gravestone, she poured one out. Instead of saying a prayer, she ran her hands over the epitaph carved by Theodan's best mason.

"I'm sorry. I know I say it every year, but I am. I didn't mean to switch the cups. I wanted to save you!" she whispered, taking a long sip from her bottle, "come on. Say something! Say anything! Strike me down if you must!"

Ostensibly, neither the grave nor the ghost of her brother had anything to say, but it didn't stop her from spending the next three hours finishing her brandy.

"If you had been there, you would have done the same."

the crown

Nicolette listens to the tide, its droplets revealing golden scales every time it crashes against the shore. It begs for her mother. It demands to know why she did what she did. It tells her she isn't fit to rule.

Pah! Why did that even matter? Her father controls the docks now and should he ever remarry, it would go to his next partner. After that, it would be her and whoever she married (and she certainly wasn't going to marry her cousin).

Fusce at purus id dolor fringilla commodo quis a ipsum. Pellentesque dapibus consequat elit, imperdiet tincidunt purus auctor at. Sed eget lectus et lorem mattis rutrum sed ac orci. Cras a auctor ipsum. Vivamus eleifend nisi sed turpis venenatis, consectetur euismod ante viverra. Donec massa tortor, posuere lobortis ornare vel, semper in metus. Praesent non nulla et odio eleifend pharetra in vel dolor. Ut mauris leo, sollicitudin at aliquet non, ornare a velit. Fusce in urna metus.

Etiam non nisl in sapien rutrum rhoncus. Maecenas ut ornare dui, cursus fermentum felis. Fusce sodales in magna at volutpat. Phasellus eu lectus at lectus tincidunt accumsan faucibus id nibh. Etiam tincidunt arcu in purus imperdiet, id malesuada ipsum accumsan. Nam mattis dolor sed ipsum tempor sagittis. Aliquam ut nisl nec enim feugiat ultrices at faucibus ipsum. Mauris et lorem ac nibh viverra feugiat.

end of profile

 

[Ha_lfLife]

XXX.
Ezra & Lucinda Craven

the entwined

coded by xayah.ღ
image by IrishCream

NAME: Ezra Craven, Lucinda Craven
GENDER: Male, Female
AGE: : 29
SPECIES: Human
BACKGROUND: Born of joined flesh, Ezra and Lucinda Craven came into the world intertwined. Though merely joined in the middle, their heads being entirely their own, they seemed truly one of the mind. Indeed, the subtlest of glances could convey between the twins whole layers of meaning no outsider could comprehend.

From their earliest days, the twins never fathomed being apart. It was their mother who, having just seen the twins past their fifth birthdays, concluded that to separate them was a necessity. She feared that the twins’ conjoinment would place them at a disadvantage in this already cruel world; a host of dangers lurking just beyond the Rift, not to mention a buzz of fear from the city’s inhabitants in the face of even the slightest hint at abnormality, worrying her endlessly for her childrens’ wellbeing.

Despite the near-fatal risk accompanying the separation, at their mother’s insistence, they were taken apart. As they grew older, Ezra and Lucinda came to understand her choice. Yet, both of the twins found themselves questioning the good it had done. For though oftentimes they acknowledged that being their own persons made life much easier in many ways, they found that life separated from the other was painfully empty. Not to mention, the separation left each of the siblings with their own scars.

When faced with the choice of to whom an organ should be given, one that was previously shared by two, their mother gifted them to Ezra, placing their hopes in him to one day become to provider and protector of their small family. As a result, Lucinda became chronically frail and susceptible to temperamental weather and outdoors. Ezra, in turn, suffered from damaged nerves severed on his side. Often he was stricken with debilitating pains shooting up his side, causing tremors in his dominant arm and hand.

The twins grew older in their mother’s humble home in a lower-class borough of Theodan. While they always seemed to complement one another, like two sides of a singular coin, their young personalities flourished as their own.

Ezra was a quiet young man, studious and ambitious, with a mind worthy of uncovering any unknown and hand masterful of taking up whatever skill he chose to undertake. Conversely, Lucinda was poetic and social, calculating and manipulative; she found that convincing one to give her what she wanted became increasingly easier the more she practiced.

Despite being from a lower class home, both children were giftedly precocious. Both advanced through their schooling and went to higher universities, a first for their family. Ezra studied to become a surgeon, but the tremors in his arms and the increasingly frequent absences during his lectures caused him to drop the pursuit in its final year. Meanwhile, Lucinda pursued languages and music, proficient in many and well poised to converse easily to any and all she crossed paths with.

She used her knowledge of language and ease of conversation to become a secretary to the local law enforcement branch, though her penchant for listening in on private conversations and sneaking around offices in the late hours earned her a mighty reward when threatening to reveal what she’d learned to the public. When she learned of the lucrative business of keeping secrets, she soon took to the work full time, meeting in shadows with wandering heads of government, catching them with their belts at their ankles before warning them chillingly that their presence there could be dropped to the morning papers lest they pay for her silence.

When Ezra dropped his training, he soon also fell in with illegal doings in their borough. Using his skills from university labs, he soon found himself a lucrative position on the black market, stealing whatever parts were requested from a plethora of creatures wandering the streets. Soon, his sister added her social magic to the wasted parts of the crop he harvested, packaging and pushing such things as wulf blood for treating eczema or scales of mercreatures as an elixir for youthful skin. They eventually set up a curio shop in their neighborhood, gaining many returning customers from the upper classes who frantically feared such things as yellowing teeth and growing older. The shop, along with each of their respective side specialities, imparted the twins with a small fortune. They lived handsomely, sharing a lush three-bedroom flat above their shop.

The question as to whether or not the twins were truly insidious actors or more so creatures of opportunity remains to be seen. Nonetheless, one would do wisely to tread carefully when in the presence of the Cravens.

 

[jones573]

He’d been a captain once, in the royal guard. His name still held some notoriety, from when he’d saved the Prince from that possession attempt. Not that he was really sure he’d had.

He’d had command, respect, and even money- And then he’d found her.

Couldn’t have been more than four, sitting alone on the palace steps late at night, no guards in sight. He’d been about to admonish her, to tell her to go home- Prepared to fight if she did not, prepared to sound the alarm if she was more than what she seemed.

But she had turned, and their eyes had met, and he’d known.

Not by any physical similarity- They could not have been more different. Nor was he grasped by that same feeling of affection he’d felt when he’d seen his son for the first time.

It was a tight feeling. An obligation. The sort he could not deny, even if wanted to. And he did want to.

But she was his daughter, so what else was there to do but take her home?

—-

He bought a townhouse in a less seedier part of the city and began to raise the strange girl. He called her Georgiana after his grandmother, though she preferred Gigi once she was old enough to have a preference. And she was old enough quite quickly.

She grew in odd intervals- One day she appeared to be four, and the next seven. She screamed terribly the nights those changes happened, but at first Crane was too scared to interrupt. The first time he did, he saw things that made him wish he hadn’t.

Gigi was a precocious child, far more aware than others. She was bright and inquisitive, always asking more questions than her caretaker could answer. She seemed fascinated by other people, as if they were something to study. But she seemed to have no interest in hurting others, for which Crane was relieved.

As time went on, he was won over. Gigi had a kind heart (even if Crane wasn’t sure where it was), and a brilliant smile that showed dazzling white teeth more often than pincers. He loves the girl as if she were his own, despite his early misgivings. He is her protector against the world.

He just wonders if he is also the world’s protection against her.




Descriptions:

Captain Crane: A large and heavily built man, the former captain is in his early fifties, with streaks of gray running through his dark, shortly cropped hair. His cool toned olive skin has laughter lines around his dark monolid eyes, and frown lines around his mouth. He may seem an old man, but don’t let it fool you- He has no qualms about decking someone, and his fists have seen recent fights.

Georgiana/Gigi: Gigi’s face is the kind that makes her age somewhat questionable- She might be anywhere from 18 to 23. Just how long she has been living with the Captain is also questionable; he tries to count the years sometimes, but finds he is unable as his mind blurs.
The young woman has a lean build that hides a surprising amount of muscle, and dark curls that bounce with her exuberant steps. She has warm brown skin and sparkling brown eyes, and a nearly perpetual smile that lights up a room.

The Captain & His Charge

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Pepsionne]

the apprentice

Björn

✧Name: Björn Rask
✧Species: Human
✧Occupation: Wizard apprentice

What would you be willing to do for power?

For Björn, the answer felt quite simple.

Was “sell your soul to a devil” an appropriate response? Ah--he jests of course! Madam Ania wasn’t a devil! Well...at least not that he knew of.

He did sell his soul though. Well--sell sounded quite severe when worded like that. Could he rephrase it maybe? Borrowed--how about he lent his soul to Madam Ania to borrow for the time being. Collateral to ensure he wouldn’t steal her knowledge and run away. Not like he’d ever do that, right?

What he didn’t know was the web of oddities this apprenticeship would weave. Years had gone by with barely a spellbook’s worth of magic learned. And the tasks just kept growing didn’t they? “Björn go get my laundry from the cleaners. Björn fix something warm for dinner. Björn go sacrifice this fox in the woods. Björn go find a lost soul for me to devour.”

He was getting a little tired of the orders. The lines between his apprenticeship and servitude were beginning to grow blurrier by the day. And since when did a master wizard need to devour souls anyways?

It didn’t matter. He had learned long ago that questions would lead him nowhere. An innocent inquiry as to her acquisition of so many different styles and sizes of clothing had ended in Björn sifting through drawers upon drawers of different trinkets. Wedding rings, engraved lockets, hair ribbons and children's toys. He didn't get why she thrifted so much she never used, but he wasn't complaining. More for his eclectic closet.

Over the years that he’d been Madam Ania's apprentice, he’d learned more than double the magic he’d known before meeting her. Not that it was hard to double nothing. He just had to stick by her increasingly nefarious demands until his apprenticeship was over, and he’d be more powerful than he could ever dream! When was his apprenticeship actually over though? He forgot if they had discussed that--maybe he should bring it up on one of her good days.

✧✧✧

No one really questioned when Björn washed into town. Perhaps their individual problems kept them from caring, despite the odd nature of one moving into Theodan, rather than attempting to run away. Perhaps Björn was simply not that interesting, his eccentricities and colorful dress falling on a disinterested crowd. What they didn't notice was nothing of concern. It was what they did.

What they did notice was where the wizard seemed to venture into the city from. A house in a part of the woods that no one dared go near. Not even animals, not even insects. The air ran stagnant there, like the wind itself shuddered at the thought of stirring whatever lay in wait. A silence so thick it would drive you mad. Not even death could manage a stillness quite so unsettling. Yet somehow--the young wizard seemed unaffected by it.

There was something rotten rolling off of his person whenever he strolled into the city. Rich and metallic like freshly spilled blood. A parasite dug deep within its host, nefarious intent nestled in warm flesh. He wouldn’t be the first to encounter some kind of monster in Theodan. He would be the first to stroll so willingly into salivating jaws. It was unknown if Björn was aware of this evil sharing his bed. Such a bright smile and cheery disposition to judge by, most would assume--no.

coded by reveriee.

 

[Songstress]

fluticasone fluticasone

the thespian prodigy

name

soleil anne grosley

nicknames

solenn

age

twenty-eight

gender

female

sexuality

demisexual

species

human

fc artist link here

A woman in her prime whose presence is admired by the lot. Solenn is infused with talent– able to portray her assigned roles flawlessly and has a way of captivating the crowd with her sweet melodies. She is the gleaming gem of the expanding domain of theatrics– a born to be star. Amidst the loud cheers of love and praises, she is also a target of hate– not by the crowd but among her co-actors and actresses as she often overshadows the rest of the cast. The world of acting has its own battles. The attempts of slander and malicious comments were already too familiar that she grew unaffected, not a spare tear would drop from her serene eyes. In fact, she finds it amusing how they’re all just talk but no one dared to haggle the spotlight she has been bathing in. Just lifting and pointing blades, that’s all there is to it.. Or so she thought.

background

One fateful night was all it took for her whole life to shatter in pieces. A dreadful “accident” occurred in front of thousands of people from Theodan where Solenn was lethally injured in the head by a falling stagelight, leaving her body in an eternal slumber. The screams of terror were the last thing she heard before everything faded to black. Now a wandering soul, she was trapped in darkness where the absence of everything had almost left her insane. Until, she slowly began to regain consciousness in a room unbeknownst to her, only to find an unfamiliar reflection gazing back at her.. this body wasn’t hers.

Rachel, a young girl with long red locks who appears to be in her early teens. Solenn’s soul was trapped inside a child’s body; and what more is that this child was one of the blessed devotees granted with power to somehow connect with the dead.

“Blessed” you say? If anything, cursed might be a more fitting word! Her first night was an utter torture taking a toll in her sanity. The lingering spirits that were supposedly unseen, and now she is forcefully placed at the front row seat seeing everything in play. The cries, whispers, their begging for warmth. This was the horror that Theodan concealed. The child’s origins were still obscure, however, if she learned about one thing is that this was no ordinary child. She had power and authority over the people under her roof– a leader of some sort?

Solenn had a long list of questions desperate for answers. However, she had not forgotten the night where her flourishing life was so easily robbed away. Perhaps the spotlight was a curse in disguise. Her continuous uprise in fame had turned her into a prey. But she remains breathing in this unknown vessel, all the more eager to find the predator lurking in the walls of Theodan.

others

fiance: unknown