Fantasy basgiath war college: a dragon rider rp [CS SHEET]

[Nornslayer]

— BASGIATH WAR COLLEGE !
a dragon rider rp.

01. intro .

**This thread is based on the Fourth Wing book series by Rebecca Yarros. Things have been altered and will not follow the book to a T (especially where dragons are concerned.) I have tried my best to avoid spoilers but read on and join at your own risk if you plan to read the series thus far. You do not have to have read the series to apply for this RP! I have provided extensive lore and will be able to answer any questions you have.**


Welcome to Basgiath War College, located in the Kingdom of Navarre's Morraine Province. Basgiath is an intense college set to prepare cadets for service to their kingdom. There are four different quadrants: Infantry, Healers, Scribes and Riders. When a child comes of age (20-21) they participate in Conscription Day where they choose which of the four quadrants to join. Every child in Navarre has to participate in conscription day, no exceptions. They have their choice of the four branches and if they fail to gain admission to the Infantry, Scribes or Healers they are defaulted to first-line infantry fodder. However if a cadet fails in the Riders quadrant it means they're dead. It may seem ruthless but it is necessary in the war effort against the Kingdom of Poromiel and their Griffin riders who have been causing disturbances along the border. The Riders quadrant is the only one that is volunteer only. If you're there its because you're choosing to be. Unless you're a Child of the Rebellion, in which case you are forced to enter the Riders quadrant with no ability to choose one of the other options.


For the sake of this RP we will only be RP-ing as Riders and Dragons. This is a limited spot application based RP. We will roughly follow the plot of the first book to start out, going through what it's like to be a first-year cadet at Basgiath. There are many challenges to earning a dragon as a partner and bonding with them at Threshing that we get to explore. Think of this as a college style RP except the classes are aimed at training and survival. As far as the dragon characters go, one thing different to the book is that they are able to shift into human forms in this rp. Since dragons don't really come into play until later in the book, in order to make them involved from the beginning my GM's and I decided that they would be going through classes of their own to prepare them to bond with a human rider. The overarching plot of the RP is the conflict with Griffin riders and the Navarre government that our characters will get thrown into.

02. rules.

RULE 01. Fcs must be real, no cosplay or art! characters are aged 20-21. Please make sure the fc you choose fits to the age! If they're 21 they shouldn't look 15, or look 30+. Please have them fit into the thread theme. The real fc rule does NOT apply to dragons, seeing as dragons don’t exist you’re more than welcome to use art for them. However the human form of the dragon will need a real fc that also follows the age rule as dragons are the same age as humans in this!

RULE 02. You can apply for a max of 1 rider and 1 dragon. You do not have to make both, if you only want to apply as a dragon that is perfectly fine. However you could not apply to play two riders or two dragons. We reserve the right to accept your dragon application but deny your rider application or vice versa!

RULE 03. Must join discord, most of the plotting will be through there! Until your character sheet has been completed and approved your spot is not guaranteed. You will not be able to join discord and plot unless you are accepted! If we don't feel you are a proper fit for this thread we reserve the right to reject your character sheet/turn you away from the thread. Behavior that violates rpn site rules will lead to you being kicked!!

RULE 04. Please be respectful to the other members of the thread! If you have an issue please dm me or one of the GM's first.

RULE 05. This is a moderate effort thread in terms of word count, a min of 500 and no more than 2,000!! We do require literate and well done posts!

RULE 06. No godmodding!! Skills and abilities will need to be discussed and approved to make sure they fit within the thread and aren't too op. This follows into the actual rp process as well! An addition to this is making sure character concepts are creative and don't completely overlap with others. My GM's and I will be sure to post our character concepts even if we don't get our apps up right away for reference!

03. roles.

COLORS
Red Dragons: (0/2) have a quick temper and should be approached from the left or front, avoiding eye contact.
Green Dragons: (1/2) highly intelligent and make excellent siege weapons. submission and patience are essential when approaching green dragons.
Orange Dragons: (1/2) exhibit a range of hues and are typically unpredictable
Blue Dragons: (0/1) known for their stealth and ruthlessness. it's advised never to approach a blue dragon in the wild or even at threshing. let them approach you
Brown Dragons: (0/1) should not be shown fear or apprehension. generally stoic and logical.
Navy Blue Dragons: (1/1) a rare color amongst dragonkind. known to be extremely ruthless and not adhere to the rules as well as other dragons.
Black Dragons: (1/1) the rarest color amongst dragons. only one that is currently bonded and that's to the commanding general of all of Navarre.

​

TAIL TYPES
Club: (0/2) the size of the club varies but all have spikes on them.
Scorpion: (2/2) the curvature of the tail varies. some are scythe like while others resemble a sickle. all scorpiontails are poisonous.
Dagger: (1/3) shorter than a swordtail with a sharper point.
Sword: (1/2) The longest tail type.
Morningstar: (0/1) rarest tail type lethal with the larger spikes than a club tail. not as heavy as a club tail so provides more mobility.ignore feathertail we wont be using it (edited)

RIDERS 4/10
The Riders Quadrant is the only one that is volunteer only, unless you're one of the 107 Children of the Rebellion, then you are forced to enter the Riders Quadrant. If you fail to be accepted into any other quadrant you become first line infantry fodder. However if you fail to be accepted into the Riders Quadrant...it's likely because you died.
To be accepted to the Riders Quadrant, a student must first cross The Parapet and survive. Then there will be classes and sparring matches (that could end in potential death). If you survive this far you'll have to participate in The Gauntlet. After completion of the gauntlet, the last task of first years is to survive Threshing where they will then get bonded to a dragon (hopefully). After that you're a rider and now have to learn what it means to be bonded to such a powerful creature, discover your Signet, and survive the War Games at the end of the year. Good luck!

• Children of the Rebellion: 1/3

04. relevant lore.

TYRRISH REBELLION

The Tyrrish people use the term "apostasy" whereas the Navarrians use the word "secession". The rebellion was concluded with the executions of all rebellion leaders. The rebellion leaders' children were forced to watch their parents' executions, were branded with rebellion relics by General Malgren's dragon, Codagh, and were then displaced and fostered by loyal high ranking families. A rebellion relic is essentially a black swirl of a tattoo up the childs neck, some extend to their face. Children of the Rebellion are often treated as less than by many adults and other citizens of Navarre. It's unfortunate but they do have a target on their backs due to their parents decisions. This can pose a bit of a problem at Basgiath so it's common most children have learned how to fight before coming to give themselves a better chance. Especially because they have no choice but to join the Riders Quadrant.

​

Rebellion Relic; As relics can only be given by dragons, the commanding generals dragon branded every single child of the rebellion with a swirling black relic. this would forever define them as a child of a traitor and make sure that was known to all who encounter them. This mark along with their forced conscription to the Riders Quadrant are the two punishments given to the children for their parents treachery by Navarre’s government. It cannot be removed or altered.

THE EMPYREAN
Dragons have their own social heirarchy and politics, and their governing body is the Empyrean. They make all rules for dragonkind and by consequence humans too when it comes to dragons. It is widely known no human commands a dragon. Humans have zero influence on dragon laws and no awareness of dragon affairs. Little is known about the Empyrean but it is known within dragonkind that their word is law.


BONDING
Dragons started bonding with humans so that humans could develop signet abilities and weave the protective wards that they power around Navarre. Their main motivator is so that they can protect the Vale - the valley behind Basgiath that the dragons call home - from gryphons. It created an unlikely partnership.Dragons bond for reasons they don't see fit to share with humans so each pairing is unique and chosen by the dragon. If no dragon wants to bond with you...well you're probably going to get eaten or burned alive or something along those lines. If that is not the case and you survive threshing dragonless, you are allowed to repeat first-year in hopes to bond next year.


"A dragon without its rider is a tragedy. A rider without their dragon is dead."The bond between dragon and rider runs deeper than anything. Once bonded, a rider cannot live without their dragon. If their dragon dies, they too will die. However dragons can live without their rider, but there are some cases where they never recover from the emotional trauma and never bond again. There have been three recorded cases where the bond ran so strong that once the rider died their dragon did too. That is an extremely rare outcome.


Telepathic communication; Once bonded, riders and their dragons develop a telepathic link that they can communicate through. It also allows each to feel their emotions to stay better connected. On the dragons end, they can see and hear through their human making them more aware of situations but the human can not see or hear through their dragon, for the protection of dragonkinds secrets. There are ways the human can learn to build up mental walls to keep the dragon and other mind-reading signets out. But there is no way on either end to completely block out the bond. Dragons can always telepathically communicate to each other if they choose but they don't have that constant open pathway that allows them to feel other dragons emotions or anything like that. Think of a dragon communicating with a fellow dragon telepathically like them speaking a language verbally.

Dragons go through their own learning once they decide they want to bond with a rider. Most dragons are younger but there are a couple who might have had previous riders that are bonding for the second time, though that is not common. They learn how to perfect their shifting between human and dragon and also train to carry the weight of humans, packs, and other things. They are not supposed to fraternize with first year human cadets until they start sparring competitions but some don't follow this rule. Dragons are encouraged to watch cadets from afar during the beginning before starting to form closer connections to help them decide who they want to bond with. They are forbidden by dragon law to tell a human they want to bond with them or to bond with them before threshing.


SHIFTING TO HUMANS
This little tidbit is not public knowledge and kept extremely classified. Only those who are Riders at Basgiath learn this secret, and most learn it on Threshing day, having no clue those other cadets spotted around campus have the ability to turn into the towering lethal beasts they all know.

SIGNETS
Signets are special abilities or powers that bonded individuals possess. These powers are unique to each individual and can range from healing abilities to mind-reading or other supernatural capabilities. The manifestation of a signet is a significant event in a freshly bonded person’s life. One can only get one from bonding through a dragon and channeling their power. The stronger the bond and the more powerful the dragon, the stronger the signet.

LESSER MAGIC
Upon receiving a signet from their dragons all riders develop the ability to use “lesser magic” which includes:
open doors without touching them
preternatural speed
manipulating mage lights(making a fist with both hands and pulling your hands apart expands the distance of the light.)
start mechanical objects
powering ink pens
crafting simple wards


Here are a few examples of signet abilities.
Ice manipulation (common)
Water manipulation (common)
Fire manipulation (uncommon)
Air manipulation (common)
Shadow manipulation (uncommon)
Astral projecting (uncommon)
Barrier creation (ie: forcefields) (common)
Ward Weaver/Extender (rare)

These are some examples from the book but you are not limited to picking one from this list.

SIGNET RELIC
When receiving a signet, it is a painful process as the power flows into the human. The time it takes for a signet to manifest depends on the human and dragon, and no two pair is exactly the same. The longest it can take is a week and after it is complete the human gets a relic representing their dragon somewhere on their person. The most common places are between the shoulderblades or on the ribs.

HOW SIGNETS WORK
So for the sake of this rp the player of the dragon get to create a signet based on their dragons personality and that is the signet their paired rider will get. Think of a signet as a gift from dragon to rider. Dragons don’t have their own signet power their power is simply shifting into a giant fire breathing lethal dragon. Dragons are immune to their own signet but not immune to other rider’s signets.

code by @leviathan.

Spoiler: cs code

[bg=transparent; max-width: 400px; margin: auto; background: #000;][comment]

---IMAGE HERE--- code by LEVIATHAN.

[/comment][bg= transparent; margin: auto; padding-bottom: 5px;][img width="400px"]https://i.imgur.com/u32lN5x.png[/img][/bg][comment]

---BLURB HERE---

[/comment][bg=#222][border= 3px solid #910415][left][B][FONT=times new roman][color=#fff][SIZE=7]❝ [COLOR=#910415]character name[/COLOR]. ❞[/SIZE][/color][/FONT][color=#fff][/color][/B][color=#fff][/color][/left][color=#fff][FONT=verdana][SIZE=3][right]opalescent, cool, and pearly, like midsummer moths,
like bees, gilded and sticky, with a little sting.[/right][/SIZE][/FONT][/color][FONT=verdana][/FONT][/border][FONT=verdana][SIZE=3][/size][/font][/bg][bg=transparent; background: #000; color: #222; border: 1px solid #222;][scroll=300px][color=#fff][comment]

---SECTION 1---

[/comment][font=times new roman][size=7][b]❝ cursory information. ❞[/b][/size][size=4]
[centerblock=80]
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]full name[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]nickname(s)[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]gender[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]age[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]sexuality[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]d.o.b.[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]height[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]build[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]species[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.[/centerblock][/size][/font][comment]

---SECTION 2---

[/comment]
[font=times new roman][size=7][b]❝ background. ❞[/b][/size][/font]
[centerblock=80][font=verdana][size=3][justify]
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed interdum malesuada tempus. Nunc egestas ultricies nisi, vel mattis neque rutrum et. Sed id varius nulla. Vestibulum faucibus arcu ac risus dictum tincidunt nec cursus magna. Etiam eleifend nec nunc at hendrerit. Aenean dignissim, velit id maximus lacinia, ligula metus venenatis velit, ac elementum dolor ligula ut nisi. Aliquam ac sollicitudin sapien, in ullamcorper leo. Duis in mauris et massa aliquet blandit et non arcu. Curabitur nec est consequat, bibendum nunc quis, ornare diam. Duis rhoncus nibh ac odio vulputate, in imperdiet lorem aliquam. Mauris lobortis, leo sed fermentum condimentum, ipsum diam accumsan magna, nec porta justo ligula in leo. Etiam in ultrices ante.
[/justify][/size][/font][/centerblock][comment]

---SECTION 3---

[/comment]
[comment]

---SECTION 4---

[/comment]
[font=times new roman][size=7][b]❝ concept. ❞[/b][/size][centerblock=80][font=verdana][size=3][justify]
concept/blurb about character here.
[/justify][/size][/font][/centerblock]

[font=times new roman][size=7][b]❝ headcanons. ❞[/b][/size][centerblock=80][font=verdana][size=3][justify]
please include at least 20 headcanons about your character, these are facts and tidbits to further flesh out your character. Examples;
— due to his time in the military he is very rigid with structure and following a routine
— he has a daily routine that if thrown off can cause him to fall into a state of off kilter rage and trigger him
— very neat, everything has to be orderly
— can cook pretty well, focuses on nutritional meals
— works out every morning
— hasn’t held a sniper rifle since the explosion
— hates his job at Starbucks
— sleeps with a knife under his pillow
— generally doesn’t say too much, keeps it to short simple sentences
[/justify][/size][/font][/centerblock]
[comment]

---SECTION 5---

[/comment]
[font=times new roman][size=7][b]❝ psyche. ❞[/b][/size][size=4]
[centerblock=80][justify]
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]vices[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]virtues[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]fatal flaw[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]happiest memory[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]a secret[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.[/justify][/centerblock][/size][/font][comment]

---SECTION 6---

[/comment]
[font=times new roman][size=7][b]❝ abilities ❞[/b][/size][size=4]
[centerblock=80][justify]
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]signet[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info. [comment]only answer if dragon otherwise delete this. a signet is a magical ability they bestow to their rider, they themselves cannot use this ability nor have that ability used on them[/comment]
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]rider skills[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info. [comment]what does your rider excel in? swordfighting, archery, strategy, history, ect. where did they learn this skill prior to the academy? must tie into their background and have a reason they excel in this subject.[/comment][/justify][/centerblock][/size]


[size=7][b]❝ rp sample ❞[/b][/size][size=4]
[centerblock=80][justify]
[b][size=5][color=#910415]【[/color]post[color=#910415]】[/color][/size][/b]— info.
[/justify][/centerblock][/size][/font]

[/font][/color][/scroll][color=#fff][font=times new roman][RIGHT][B][FONT=times new roman][SIZE=7][COLOR=#910415]&&[/COLOR]— ❝ the [COLOR=#910415]role[/COLOR]. ❞[/SIZE][/FONT][/B][/RIGHT][/font][/COLOR][/bg][/bg]

 

[Nornslayer]

❝ korazion. ❞

the more intelligent,

the less sane​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— korazion.

【nickname(s)】— kora, zi, razzy (if you dare), tyrant
【gender】— cisgender male.
【age】— 21.
【sexuality】— has a competence kink, gender doesn’t matter.
【d.o.b.】— december 13th.
【height】— 6'5.
【build】— slender and toned, his strength lies in his speed and his mind and less in brute strength .
【species】— dragon.

❝ background. ❞

Korazion's clutch was small, just him and his little brother. Growing up he quickly developed a superiority complex that his parents gladly fed into due to his high intelligence, high even for green dragons. He was endlessly spoiled, granted everything he needed or wanted. His family was small but wealthy and kept themselves tucked out of view, his parents former bonded dragons for the army but retired after their riders died in battle many years ago. Their fear for the same happening to their son was outweighed by their sense of duty to their country.

❝ concept. ❞

Kora excels in separating emotions from logic, seldom getting attached to others. He doesn’t see people, he sees statistics. The only thing that matters to him is how useful someone will be to him. Incredibly cold and calculated everything he does is carefully thought out. He hates to waste his time and will cut losses as needed. Success of the mission and his own survival are the only priorities in his life, even over his own rider. His words can be mean as he refuses to waste energy coddling or sugarcoating. However his brilliance and battle strategy makes up for his lack of teamwork to those he views as lesser. As long as they let him be in charge that is.

❝ headcanons. ❞

• has an iq of 159
• thinks he’s superior to every human and most dragons
• has a plan A-Z for every situation
• values reason over emotions
• success of the mission is his top priority
• has very few friends due to his abrasive personality
• very very picky about his riders
• part of it is his fear that no rider will truly want him
• he had only chosen one rider 3 years ago but the rider rejected him for another dragon
• pretends that the reason he is reluctant to chose another rider is because none are good enough which is partly true
• doesn’t often employ head on attacks, he prefers the idea of trapping and waiting till the enemy gives in
• craves submission
• most bratty power bottom to ever exist on this planet
• has a photographic memory
• knows everything about everyone
• prides himself on being a collector of knowledge
• will blackmail you to get what he needs
• refuses to sugarcoat or coddle someone
• very difficult for him to form emotional attachments but once he does he’d do anything for them except for failing a mission
• very meticulous about his appearance
• neat freak• needs everything in its place
• would rather submission over death but if he doesn’t get that…..
• ruthless due to his lack of empathy
• loves tea & a good book
• has read the art of war like 110 times
• out of the other dragons at the academy he is not the best in terms of psychical or direct combat, but he is by far the best strategist
• if he puts his hair up in a ponytail, run for your life and don’t look back
• his words can often seem cruel due to his lack of understanding for human emotions and his bluntness
• despises the smell of cinnamon
• has a cute little kitten sneeze, he hates this so much
• reserves energy and movement so he seems very collected and slow but can strike incredibly fast
• like a viper
• less psychical strength but very high agility
• difficult to impress
• can be bribed with expensive tea tho
• discuss literature with him and he might deign to give you some attention

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— very good tea, old books, expensive clothes.

【virtues】— smart, dedicated to the mission, quick to adapt.
【fatal flaw】— his pride and his inability to sway from the mission.
【happiest memory】— Kora's favorite memory is lounging agaisnt a large old tree that grew behind their den, while the sun washed over his pale skin. While he basked in the summer glow, he finally finished the last chapter of the great general's journal, reading aloud to his little brother curled up on his lap.
【a secret】— deep down he doesn't want to be a pawn in the army, he'd rather be far away high up on a mountain cuddled up in his very own den with a first edition copy of Midsummer nights.

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— words of authority; powered speech but it shreds his rider's throat everytime it’s used, not permaaenent but they are unable to use this power back to back and need rest and a cup of tea and honey before their throat may be used to speak again. the command needs to be under three words and can’t cause death/extreme maiming and any command that might cause injury to the person under suggestion has a higher chance of fighting it off. Once the command is completed the effect is over and the victim can immediately retaliate as the rider can’t do a command back to back.

Examples:
“open the gate.”
“weapons down”
"north base location"

❝ rp sample ❞

Vulpecula darted through the trees, her small form virtually invisible. She was running low on her supply of Pixie dust and she felt the itch burning in her veins. Despite her body not being built for it she couldn’t resist the honeyed call. Ever since she first was forced to take in in an effort to escape her captivity years ago she was hooked on the rush, the power, the strength it gave her. Her power hinged on sweet words and sultry looks, and rose red lips pressed onto others. For once it was nice to channel her inner genhenna and just punch the everloving shit out of someone. The knowledge that if she had a vial on hand, she most likely wouldn’t have been captured haunted her every waking moment. Now, she is never seen without a vial. Unfortunately she was down to one last hit and the nearest supplier was half a day’s flight away from Vul’s secluded home outside the pixie forest. Vulpecula hated going too far from her hut high in the trees, paranoia seeping through her pores. Every sense was heightened from fear, and she did her best to stay out of sight.

Normally if she was going out she’d ask Gen to come with her, but the larger fairy was unaware of the other’s crippling addiction to the glowing poison, and vul wanted to keep it that way. She flitted carefully around a large outcropping, bright blue eyes darting around searching for an unfamiliar form. She had been flying for several hours and she thankfully was able to dodge the large beasts throughout the forest, and only spotted one human that was easy to dart unseen from. The mental fairy spotted the gnarled twisted tree know for the landmark that signified one was close to a Pixie Dust outpost. Hopefully they were open and were willing to trade for some information and some poisonous mushrooms she had collected with the help of Genhenna.

As she got nearer she began to hear shrill screams and a cacophony of cackles and insults thrown around in grating male voices. Her worst nightmare. Normally she’d fly for the hills but what if Genhenna was there. The other fairy had mentioned she was running low on her stock a couple days ago. She fluttered in place for a minute, panic flowing through her system, at war with herself. Finally she decided, just a quick look. If Gen wasn’t there she’d speed away. Her cold heart couldn’t find it in itself to care about the other fairies, not if it put her at risk. Genhenna and Vul were the only two fairies that mattered after all. The purple skinned girl began her dive forward, getting within eyesight of the outpost and the surrounding environment. A gasp escaped her, fear like she hadn’t felt since Hook had her, soaking into her bones.

A crowd of lost boys lurked there, tormenting fairies unfortunate enough to get caught in their cruel grasp. But that wasn’t the part that struck the paralyzing fear into her, no, that was left for the torches several carried. The torches that were about to set fire to the outpost. The one rule all fairies no matter how unruly upheld, was never bring fire around an outpost. Pixie dust was **highly** flammable. And the lost boys were about start the largest bonfire of the century. Frozen in fear it took a minute for her to spin around, a minute too long. The torches dropped. The fire began. An explosion rocketed through the forest and she heard similar booms echoing around. Oh god, they must have located all the outposts. There was only one fairy she could think of who would have sold that information, Honeybell. That bitch had a knack for killing their kind, more so than the headman himself.

Her thoughts were silenced as the heatwave hit her, the fire beginning to leap forward from tree to tree. It seemed like the entire forest was doomed to be engulfed. Vul turned and flew as fast as she could, flames nipping at her wings. The nearest opening out of the forest was miles away. Tears leaked from her eyes, steaming her face. Death was once something she sought but Gen had given her something to live for and she wasn’t ready to give up. Not till she saw Gen again. She survive this, just like she survived Hook and his men. Not for herself, but for Genhenna. A coughing fit tore out of her, a frequent symptom of her addict, but exaggerated due to the smoke inhalation. She felt her lungs seize, and forced a breath. Her cough growing worse. Blood hit her palm, soaking the soft skin. The heat and pain making her dizzy. She felt burns on her arms and feet. Adding to the nightmare. She saw the opening ahead, it seemed so far. Vulpecula felt her body wane and knew she had one choice left.

The fairy mid flight grabbed her last vial of pixie dust and downed it, feeling the speed boost and momentary energy consume her. The adrenaline let her ignore the pain for now but deep down she knew the after effects would be the worst of her life. But at least she’d have a life. She’d make sure of it. The pixie dust gave her the strength to power on and she dove out of the forest, the blaze following her. It was like a raging storm, taking over every branch and leaf. The attack was over but the real war had just started.

&&— ❝ green scorpiontail. ❞​

❝ wolfgang killin. ❞

Deceit so natural,

But a wolf in sheep's clothing is more than a warning

​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— wolfgang alexander killin.

【nickname(s)】— wolf, wolfie, killin, kil.
【gender】— cisgender man.
【age】— 21.
【sexuality】— dragon.
【d.o.b.】— august 8th.
【height】— 6'3.
【build】— tall and built. Prioritizes strength but has spent many years on footwork and conditioning to increase his speed and mobility. Still not as quick on his feet as those more slender than him however..
【species】— human.

❝ background. ❞

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed interdum malesuada tempus. Nunc egestas ultricies nisi, vel mattis neque rutrum et. Sed id varius nulla. Vestibulum faucibus arcu ac risus dictum tincidunt nec cursus magna. Etiam eleifend nec nunc at hendrerit. Aenean dignissim, velit id maximus lacinia, ligula metus venenatis velit, ac elementum dolor ligula ut nisi. Aliquam ac sollicitudin sapien, in ullamcorper leo. Duis in mauris et massa aliquet blandit et non arcu. Curabitur nec est consequat, bibendum nunc quis, ornare diam. Duis rhoncus nibh ac odio vulputate, in imperdiet lorem aliquam. Mauris lobortis, leo sed fermentum condimentum, ipsum diam accumsan magna, nec porta justo ligula in leo. Etiam in ultrices ante.

❝ concept. ❞

Wolf grew up in a poor area, food was scarce and survival was a constant battle. Former children of rebels, those with no money to their name, and former criminals swarmed his area. Wolf quickly learned that only the strong survived. His dad used to tell him stories of the soldiers who fought for their country on the back of noble beasts, and that consumed his every waking moment. He would frequently sneak away to practice fighting in the woods nearby and when not out strengthening his body he would nag everyone he could for more information about the dragons and their riders. Wolf had always been strange as a kid, different from the others. He was possessive over everything he had (not a very unusual trait for a person from the slums), but to the extent he was worried his mother. His father was constantly working, struggling to provide and seldom was able to find time to spend time with wolf, much less observe his strange habits. But his mother saw it all, the dead look in his eyes when he saw others, the gleam that consumed them when he heard of the dragons, the injuries other kids went home with after trying to steal from wolf. The list went on. Scared that one day he’d be taken away or look wrongly at the wrong person, she trained him how to act normal. Soon he got used to smiling and being friendly even while inside he was constantly thinking how he could manipulate the situation to get what he wanted. She taught him how to be a normal person and in his free time he kept working out and practicing, determined to be the perfect rider. He would be picked, he had to. On his 16th birthday his mother fell ill and died, her last words to him were, “never forget, you must be the wolf in sheep’s clothing my little cub. Never show the real you.” He promised her, holding her close. She was his after all, so it hurt him to lose a piece. More anger than hurt, anger at his father for never being home. Angry at his village for abandoning her in this hovel. Angry at himself for not being stronger. He promised himself that his dragon would fill the void, and them he would never let leave him. No matter what.
hes definitely the kind of man who would if he was dying attempt to kill his dragon so they could be together both in life and in death

❝ headcanons. ❞

— carries around a journal with in depth sketches and research notes on dragons
— well used to running with the heavy weight of his longbow on his back
— feels naked without it
— perpetually smiling
— when he stops be afraid
— seems like your normal kindhearted himbo at first
— very good at making quick friends
— keeping them often ends up much harder
— literally laughs in the face of danger
— no sense of personal boundaries
— will give u the dad backslaps all the time
— loves the play up the "im just a little ol' poor country boy" angle
— talks about how he came from no money so he works hard every day no matter what
— seems like a nice hardworking young man with a heart of gold
— he is n o t.
— constantly figuring out how to manipulate someone or a situation
— would sacrifice you in a second to further his goal, and make it seem like an accident
— his obsession with dragons is legit concerning
— thinks dragons are the most beautiful, majestic beings on the earth and can literally do no wrong
— could be clawed in half by one and would still be complimenting it the entire time
— treats dragons like cats, you have to get a little scratched in your quest for them to love you
— thinks melee weapons are lame and overused
— bows are where its at
— has a very vigorous workout routine he does every morning at 4am
— this includes a truly obscene amount of pull ups/crunches along with inner thigh workout (along with working his entire delts, triceps, and biceps for his bow)
— the reason he does so much ab work is bc he has a dream of flipping himself upside down on his dragon and shooting things below
— has iron abs just for that
— doesnt feel pain the way normal people do
— has a very high tolerance and his wires are crossed so must pain just feels like a good time to him
— gets a huge endorphin rush from getting an injury
— extremely territorial over what he views as his. this includes material items and living beings
— keeps memento's hidden away from battles he has won
— he will only read books related to dragons
— has dyslexia so the fact that hes even reading shows how much dragons mean to him
— it takes him awhile to get through a book but his old childhood friend ronin used to help him
— shes the one that taught him how to read in the first place
— will shower his dragon with love, affection, and kindness but will also stalk side dragon, keep others away from them, and watch them sleep at night
— his love is a double edged sword

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— obsession, recklessness, manipulation.

【virtues】— brave, loyal, strong, adaptable.
【fatal flaw】— his possessiveness and obsession. He would literally burn the world down for his dragon.
【happiest memory】— info.
【a secret】— info.

❝ abilities ❞

【hand-to-hand combat】— wolf is well used to rough and tumble brawls and lives for the thrill of going barehanded into a fight. due to his delightful personality he often got into fights growing up and he learned how to shrug off a hit, even going a step farther. he developed a type of fighting style that not only accepts getting hit but encourages it in order to get a better strike back at the enemy.

【warbows, specifically the english longbow】— once wolf knew he wanted to be a rider, he decided swords weren't good enough. dragons spend most of their time doing arial attacks and he is not someone who would leave behind his dragon for the ground. he wanted to be on their level in all ways. thus begin his passion for archery. bows were difficult to get where he was from but one of his neighbors was a retired soldier who due to losing a limb in the war couldn't hunt anymore. he gave the bow to wolf in exchange for regular deliveries of meat, but he warned the boy of the difficulty in wielding the 6ft english longbow. said bow, was known for having the heaviest draw of all warbows and it took Wolf many years and intense dedication to build the strength he needed to wield the massive warbow. More practice honed his ability and made him lethal at long range with the strength to send arrows piercing through light arrow and shields, a task that only great strength and a heavy bow could fulfill. However since he is so used to heavy draw trying lighter bows messes dreadfully with his aim.
【intense dragon knowledge】— obsessed with dragons since a very young age, wolf has a world of knowledge centering around dragons. he has scrounged up every detail he could, some by mouth, others by scouring history books. he keeps journals with all the research he has gathered and continues to hoard more knowledge of the majestic beasts whenever possible.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— info.

&&— ❝ the rider. ❞​

 

[Meatball30]

Ruadhán Wylin

The worms'll have me before I grow old.
I'll live on in stone and bronze.​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— Ruadhán (roo-AHN) Wylin
【nickname(s)】— Ru, to his close family.
【gender】— Male
【age】— 21
【sexuality】— Heterosexual
【d.o.b.】— May 12
【height】— 5'7 / 172 cm
【build】— Slender and wiry, Ruadhán looks the part of a farrier's son. Years of hammering iron horse shoes sculpted the youth into a scrappy, if undersized, young man.
【species】— Human, aspiring dragon rider

❝ background. ❞

A Tyrrendor native and farrier's son, Ruadhán had few opportunities to leave home as a boy. The rugged mountains and foothills near the border with Promoiel are as familiar to him as the hovel he shared with his parents and two younger sisters throughout his youth, and the hours spent leaping onto rocks and scaling exposed stone reinforced Ruadhán's already rowdy nature. While he never had any brothers to rough house with, he delighted in tests of strength against other village boys, and even as they grew older — and larger than himself — Ruadhán reveled in the challenge.

Raised in the wake of a destructive rebellion centered in their home province, his mother and father were hesitant to bring their children up as "too Tyrrish." Ruadhán, ever since he was a teenager, has looked forward to his conscription as a personal contribution to erasing what he considers a historical stain on his home province through patriotic and valorous service. He desires nothing more than to become a hero, and the fastest means he saw to that end was dragon riding.

He and his parents were loving, but never especially close. Ruadhán did what was expected of him as a dutiful son and loving older brother to his two sisters, but he never confided his deep-seeded identity crisis in his family, nor did he show that conflict outwardly. He expects most people viewed him simply as a rowdy, rough, determined, hard-working lad. The only time he felt a deeper connection with his close family was during late nights around the hearth or, during summer, an outdoor fire, where he would delight his siblings with songs and stories. For his rough edges, Ruadhán has always had a pleasant voice.

He and his family never spoke of the rebellion, or of the close eye the military kept across Tyrrendor as a whole afterward. His father viewed the matter simply: “Doesn’t matter who’s arse polishes the throne or who taxes us, horse’s’ll need shoeing and shoes’ll need smithing.”

If he held any political convictions beyond that, Ruadhán could never guess them.

Ruadhán’s village was well isolated from where a majority of the fighting took place — a few short miles away from the famous Cliffs of Dralor — but he remembers brief stints of soldiers keeping a wary eye on their village from time to time. Some adults he remembered never came back. Some childhood friends bore strange new markings, or were removed from the village entirely. He never understood what for at the time, but he knew he hated them for what they’d been tangled up in. It reflected badly on all of them.

When he wasn’t busy helping his father at work, his mother keep house, or scaling stony cliffs on the lookout for foreign Gryffin riders, Ruadhán took to woodworking. He first did so to teach himself how to fight left handed, an uncommon and advantageous trait he desired after hearing of the exploits of a legendary left-handed swordsmen in tales from his childhood.

Others would be hard pressed to identify him as Tyrrish given the effort he takes to remove himself from local customs, and he isn’t particularly proud of his heritage as of now. He understands his home’s importance to Navarre, providing vast manpower to its armies and natural defenses to its people, but the betrayal of secession still lingers as a biting reminder of shame he takes personally.

❝ concept. ❞

Ruadhán projects as an over-confident young man, hungry for the fight and happy to serve his government, but shame in his identity — and because of that, a lack of a true sense of self outside his chosen service path — gnaws at him. Privately, he hopes surviving the perils of the academy and bonding with a beast all his own will instill some pride in who he is, not as a Tyrrish farrier's son, but as a hero of Navarre. He’s ever too willing to give his life to prove that not all of his countrymen are as treacherous as some might still believe, that a Tyrrishman, too, can serve with honor and valor.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— It's rare to hear him speak a full sentence without swearing.
— Though he doesn’t hold a strong Tyrrish identity outwardly, hearing anyone mock or speak poorly of his home infuriates. Usually he stews in silence. If it’s a ranking officer, he may even agree.
— Fidgets with his fingernails when nervous
— Rushes to speak loudly and first on anything
— Often flashes a smile, even when becoming fed up or angry with something or someone
— Still carries his first sword with him, a poorly made iron blade gifted by a relative
— A night owl, it's difficult for him to get to bed and wake early
— Never learned to read and write properly
— Loves songs and singing, especially when drinking
— Has a natural Tyrrish accent, but has made an effort to hide it as much as possible.
— Skilled at making small trinkets of wood
— Like many, he has a particular distaste for Children of the Rebellion. His hatred runs especially deep for those born in his home province.
— A natural swimmer, he enjoys his time in the water, especially at night
— While naturally right handed, he’s worked on fighting with a left handed stance. He took inspiration from a hero from one of his favorite childhood stories.
— He’s awed by the larger cities of the kingdom, but prefers the outdoors and countryside
— fully expects to die young
— never a picky eater, Ruadhán wolfs down his food greedily and quickly
— a sucker for green eyes and a pleasant smile
— fireside stories are a must for him
— secretly thinks Gryffins are a bit cooler than dragons, having first seen them in the skies during border disputes in his youth
— etiquette is not a strong suit of his. Would probably proudly tell the crudest joke he knows to the king himself
— his illiteracy doesn’t particularly bother him. Why would he have to read in battle?
— aesthetics
— playlist

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— Ruadhán is headstrong and quick to conflict. He's overly coarse and ill-suited to following orders at times. Arrogant to a fault.
【virtues】— Perseverance is baked into Ruadhán's very nature, and it's not in him to fold to adversity. There's little that truly terrifies him, his stubborn ways instill him with an overwhelming bravery, though it often leads to foolishness. He greatly respects those who serve, especially riders, and wishes to learn intently how to follow their example.
【fatal flaw】— Ruadhán's overconfidence and eagerness for conflict make him especially susceptible to being taunted and goaded into exactly whatever his opponent might want him to do. His personal pride — and more so, shame in his background — means he doesn't take mockery well, even if in jest.
【happiest memory】— On his 17th birthday, Ruadhán received a shoddy iron shortblade from his uncle, who had previously served in the infantry quadrant. While it's overall poorly crafted and hardly fit for real use, he still carries it with him as a symbol of his own rough make and humble origin.
【a secret】— Ruadhán speaks with an accent, but has schooled himself to hide it as well as possible with a more "traditional" accent from the heartland of the kingdom. He's done this in private over the years, and has only committed fully to it after leaving home.

❝ abilities ❞

【rider skills】— Ruadhán spent much of his youth sparring with larger, stronger boys at home, and honed his skills as a pugilist and grappler thanks to this "combat" experience. He's an agile close-quarters opponent who knows how to use his leverage as a smaller-framed fighter exceptionally well, but he hasn't received any formal education in using blades or other weapons. Unafraid to fight dirty, he'll throw dirt, bite, kick, and scrap as much as he needs to to overcome his general inexperience and smaller stature.

He's also skilled at navigating and pathfinding on difficult terrain thanks to his time exploring his mountainous home region.

He has handy knowledge of ironworking and woodworking, and is interested in learning proper steel smithing techniques.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— Linked

The chipped wrought iron in his hands was cold to the touch. There was a bite in the dawn air — there always was in Tyrrendore's high eastern reaches — but Ruadhán's skin was flush and fiery. He'd woken to countless Tyrrish chills in his life. None had left his palms slick with sweat and his heart pounding in his ears.

He turned his gaze west from the shoddy blade held across his lap. The craggy, snow-capped mountain peaks that flanked his home had mist swirling around the summits and pouring down the slopes, as always. The sun had just begun to creep over the lowest of the ancient mountains, bathing the rugged hamlet in red-orange beauty and melting away the night's frost. When he let his gaze fall back to earth, his eyes were fixed steadfastly ahead, watching the frosted needles of the pine tree in their front yard weep as the sun continued its ascent.

Ruadhán was vaguely aware of faint sobbing and a burly voice behind him in the family's humble hovel, but was too distracted to eavesdrop. He glanced down at his fingernails. All were reddened and bleeding lightly from his habitual picking. He was yanked from his stupor when he felt a strong, calloused hand clasp his shoulder firmly.

"Y'look like a piss-poor soldier hunched o'er yer knees like that, Ru." His uncle, Shay, teased.

The authoritative bass in the man's voice had been more common than usual in the last week. Ruadhán's mother was inconsolable at the thought of her baby boy marching off to conscription, and Shay took the lead on trying to assuage her fears. Shay gripped Ruadhán more tightly, and Ruadhán could feel the callouses spread across his uncle's hands through the thin tunic he wore. Shay had workman's hands. Wylin hands.

"Get on yer feet."

Ruadhán stood from the empty wooden crate in front of the family's small hovel, turning to face his uncle with the iron blade in his left hand. Uncle Shay had made the blade four years prior. He was humble enough to acknowledge the poor craftsmanship, but figured it would at least do for practice.

Shay pulled his nephew into an embrace, patting him on the back. Shay was a boulder of a man, not quite so tall as others but broad and muscular, sporting a bulging belly and wide chest. His forearms and biceps themselves were larger than some men's calves and thighs. He looked likely to crush his slender nephew to dust, but Ruadhán had gotten used to his uncle's bear hugs.

Shay released Ruadhán without a word, glancing down at the sword his nephew let hang at his side. "I expect the folks'll getcha a proper piece o' steel," he chuckled, a booming sound that shook the belly behind his thick smith's apron.

"'N I expect I'll keep this around, just in case," Ruadhán answered with a jovial grin. He examined the iron blade once more, turning the blade over in his hand. "It is shite though."

"There're no shite swords, only shite swordsmen," Shay said. He smiled, revealing teeth yellowing with age. "Made a decision yet?"

Ruadhán feigned thoughtfulness. Uncle Shay and his father were both infantrymen. His mother had been a healer. As far as he knew, Ruadhán had no dragon-riding legacy tied to his name. Much as they were in their home village, the Wylins proved themselves workman-like in their service. None stood out as flashy warriors of great renown. None were immortalized in grand statues. Those who survived did their duty, and did it well, but nothing more.

Ruadhán couldn't bring himself to reveal he was going to become a dragon rider. The training was...often lethal, as everyone knew. He didn’t wish to worry his mother more than needed.

"I've got some miles to think on it," Ruadhán finally said.

"You've 'ad 21 years to think on it, lad," Uncle Shay countered. He didn't press further.

Before Ruadhán could respond, the clatter of rickety wooden wheels and horse hooves echoed across the high sloops of the village valley. The sound of the approaching conscription caravan grew closer by the minute.

"I hope you'll do what's asked of ya," Shay said. "Were always an ornery one. You'll 'ave to be, no matter what you decide. Don't lose that edge, but don't get carried away. There'll be bigger lads there than 'round the village, runt."

Ruadhán smiled. It was a familiar, mocking name, though he never minded it from his family. That wasn't so when the village boys would use it growing up, which often left them with bloodied noses and blackened eyes.

His mother exited their home then, still teary-eyed and sniffling. Ruadhán acknowledged her with a gaze, meeting her icy blue eyes, mirrors of his own.

"Make sure you've all yer things Ru," she managed to squeak. She dabbed at a tear on her cheek. "And if I won't hear from ya for so long, just... make me a promise, son. Think of us often. Me and your father. Your sisters. Don't do nothin' more than what gets ya home to us. Please?"

Ruadhán chuckled, letting the iron he held in his hand fall to the ground unceremoniously and pulling her into a hug.

"I've got a lot to come back to," he lied.

It left his lips easily as a sigh, which put him at ease. It was a feeling he knew he'd have to get used to.

"You'll 'ave me home in one piece."

 

[comfortable]

❝ tirrane. ❞​

go on; bare your teeth at me, for I will pull them out one by one..​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— tirrane.
【nickname(s)】— rane.
【gender】— female.
【age】— twenty-one.
【sexuality】— demiromantic hetro.
【d.o.b.】— december 22.
【height】— 5'7".
【build】— svelte with toned muscles giving way to a voluptuous figure..
【species】— blue swordtail dragon.

❝ background. ❞

left out in the cold, a single hatchling emerged from a clutch frozen to death. very uncommon for a blue mother dragon to leave her hatchlings but whether she was murdered or simply just left her clutch to die would never be known. despite the fledgling's innate drive for survival, the encroaching specter of death loomed as snow descended rapidly. fortune smiled upon the blue dragon, for serendipity manifested in the form of a lone orange dragon within earshot. responding to the desperate cries, vovni, the orange dragon, scooped up the fragile blue hatchling and introduced her to the warmth of her kin, tindross. a blue dragon raised amongst an orange was something no one could ever have predicted. vovni was kind to her and showed no bias due to her color.

tirrane and her older brother tindros, were constantly at each other’s throats. tirrane, with her ability to patiently stalk prey for hours, aimed for a strategic, precise kill with a single strike. in contrast, tindros was impulsive and untamed, embodying a more reckless approach. their sibling rivalry mirrored the typical skirmishes seen among children, prompting vovni to intervene swiftly before the conflicts escalated into violence. but vovni knew of a blue dragon’s true craving for violence but hoped her daughter would be different. as the two grew older vovni’s words of finding peace within the home began to fall on deaf ears. tindros continued to embody a wild and nearly uncontrollable spirit, while tirrane, in her effort to distance herself from her brother's tactless ways, became the epitome of restraint and striving for her ideal of perfect.

a deep-seated aversion to her brother's erratic nature began to erode the very fabric of their tentative relationship. on a fateful night, vovni tasked the siblings with the responsibility of gathering dinner, which had proven challenging for them to accomplish together. in the course of their hunt, tindros stumbled upon a flock of deer. unperturbed by strategic thinking, he impulsively charged towards the prey, inadvertently causing them to scatter. observing tindros wildly snap his jaws, narrowly missing his targets, triggered a profound realization in tirrane.

survival dictated that only the strongest dragons would endure, and the culling of the weakest was a necessary measure to safeguard their kind. in tirrane's perception, eliminating tindros was an act of mercy, a favor bestowed upon him to prevent potential risks. seizing her brother's momentary confusion over her sudden absence, tirrane swiftly brought about tindros's demise. upon tirrane's return without tindros, vovni awaited her. she embraced and kissed tirrane's forehead belied the profound decision that followed. in a hushed tone, vovni uttered, "you are not welcome here anymore," turning her back on tirrane, who dared not contest her mother's decree. born alone, the dragon found the abandonment to be a novel experience. upon reaching maturity, she joined basgiath. while she didn’t struggle against the militant expectations, she struggled to let her go and find a rider who was “perfect” in her eyes.

❝ concept. ❞

no stranger to the threshings, this is her second year attending basgiath. since reaching maturity, she has frequented these gatherings, consistently departing without a chosen rider and leaving a string of mangled bodies behind. this pattern has earned her a reputation that places her either at the pinnacle or the nadir of many riders' lists. with a reputation for being difficult tirrane continues to struggle to find a rider who is worth her bond. tirrane yearns for a rider with an equal thirst for calculative violence. with a thick air of arrogance permeating off of tirane, and a natural proclivity to be fierce and unyielding, she refuses to bow to those beneath her, and surprise; most are. often, as she pursues a potential rider, she can’t help by hyperfocusing on their glaringly apparent flaws. leaving her increasingly frustrated. however, finding the perfect rider seems to be a formidable challenge for the finicky brown dragon, who is dangerously selective in her choices.

❝ headcanons. ❞

● never calls anyone by their name simply because she doesn’t care to remember.
● will only eat animals that she has hunted and killed
● mannerisms are that of a giant cat, lazing and basking around in the sun all-day
● uses her long tail as a way to silently communicate emotions
● perfectionism can consume her thoughts and to escape it, sometimes doing nothing feels better than obsession
● is a bit sadistic and likes to make her prey suffer for being weaker than her
● protective of younglings/children/baby animals and considers them “off-limits”
● a shit-talking instigator and finds chaos and discord funny especially when she started it
● hates any display of weakness around her, and instantly views them as weak
● friendly but not nice
● you’ll know you’ve gained her favor when she calls you by your real name
● hates failure, and has a hard time accepting it
● likes to play devil’s advocate
● wants to be remembered for something great, and in her mind that means killing someone or something of greater power than her
●has very few allies of dragon-kind but doesn't mind her solitude
● despises recklessness in humans/dragons
● tirrane’s anger is silent and cold, not explosive; you’ll never have to guess she’s upset but she rarely ever loses her composure
● has incredibly nice handwriting and takes very detailed notes
● thinks humans are cute, in the same way, humans think that their pet is cute
● strength isn't her strong suit, but dexterity and speed are something she excels in
● loyalty from tirrane is rare but once you have it, its power is felt

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— perfectionist, arrogant, amoral, fickle, hedonistic, moody, sadistic.
【virtues】— clever, dignified, steadfast, observant, patient, gracious, phlegmatic.
【fatal flaw】— rane's pursuit of perfection often obscures simpler alternatives. her inclination toward perfectionism leads her to be overly analytical, honing in on minutiae and smaller details. even pushing her to hyperfocus on her own flaws, causing her to spiral. it's not that she cannot see the broader picture; rather, the bigger view comes with a multitude of details that demand careful consideration and retention.
【happiest memory】— her happiest memory is that one sunny december morning when the sun shined so hard it made the fresh white snow blindly beautiful. the landscape resembled a carpet of sparkling crystals scattered across the forest floor. when tindros and tirrane woke up, they instantly got up and played in it. disrupting its flawless purity by mingling it with the frozen, muddy ground beneath. engrossed in play, they frolicked for hours, continuing until their fingertips tinged with a shade of purple from the cold. this memory serves as a source of physical discomfort for tirrane—not due to the absence of her brother or mother, but rather the haunting beauty of the undisturbed snow that was forever altered by their playful escapade. yet in the rare moments, when her mind isn't hyper-focusing on the need for perfectionism, she relishes in the feeling this day left behind.
【a secret】— thinks orange dragons are the weakest species of dragons and holds a strong dislike for them. while this prejudicial thinking is purely based on her brother, a part of her, she refuses to acknowledge; feels guilty about killing her brother, tindros. so she never shows her dislike for them but goes out of her way to steer clear of them. or at least try her best. .

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— perfect healing: her signet possesses the ability to swiftly mend injuries and transform her rider’s body into perfect condition, free from any ailments. this includes previous injuries that may have not healed correctly or even bad eyesight. small wounds will instantly heal, free of scars and pain almost like it never happened. however, the perpetual upkeep of this optimal state places the rider in an almost ceaseless and unending state of hunger. as the signet compels the body to operate at an accelerated pace, the rider must increase their food intake to match its demands. substantial and severe injuries will require more of the signet’s energy and will deplete the rider, often resulting in blurred vision, migraines, and dizziness. all of which can be promptly alleviated with the consumption of meat or bread. in instances of life-threatening injuries, the body initiates a protective response, inducing the rider into a profound and restorative sleep.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— as mazu subdued the malevolence embodied by yunchang, the rapid dissipation of fear and adrenaline left dalnim almost breathless. the dissipation of intense emotions carried away her remaining strength, and she could physically sense herself relaxing. but even as mazu and the assailant, chatted away, a palpable tension lingered among the group. the abrupt sharpness in inazami's voice made dalnim flinch, and her gaze instinctively returned to ukko, evoking a profound sense of sadness in the pit of her stomach.

every single god was so spectacularly different that contemplating the possibility of one devaluing another seemed painful. this sentiment intensified as the blood of senda vanished from her white swimsuit, serving as a stark reminder of their finite existence and borrowed time. but before she could say anything oya cut in, oya interjected with words sharp and venomous, irritation etched across her face. “inazami” she called out to the goddess but she didn’t stop in her pursuit of the other group.

“is she yours?”

her eyes cut to oya as her irritation began to subside “she didn’t mean it. inazami and sedna were friends.” she paused looking back at the japanese goddess, “death hits hard for some” it was an overwhelming feeling to know that sedna’s blood physically disappeared, but even as her hand was left spotless, the feeling of crusted blood lingered. everything right now was wiggling its way under her skin. irritation tested her patience as oya and the bronzed-skinned god unabashedly flirted, creating a dissonance in the air.

"why are you talking about her as if she's a damaged pet to be passed around?" dalnim's voice carried a stern edge as her eyes shifted to the male god before returning to oya. "cleal—" dalnim's words were cut short as inazami approached the group and uttered a quiet apology before retreating. her irritation, combined with the flippant energy of the god, grated on her nerves, and she shot him a glare. moving past oya and the god, she addressed monai, "do you think you can make it back to the hotel with him?" she rubbed her hands together, attempting to rid herself of the feeling of sedna's blood. dalnim felt off, she wanted to take a shower and rid herself of this day.

&&— ❝ the blue swordtail. ❞​

 

[opaline]

should be done!! i can change the code if needed i just got inspired to make my own.​

darcy dallows-liu

❝life's furnace is unforgiving. you come out forged anew, or not at all.❞

cursory information

full name — Darcy Brynn Celeste Dallows-Liu.
nickname — D, Darc. Her name is already rather short as is, though. Regardless she's open to more as they come.
gender — Cis-female.
age — Twenty years old.
sexuality — Pansexual.
d.o.b. — November 18th.
height — 5'3" (160cm).
build — Darcy is rather short and if anything, of average build. Her lithe frame enables her nimbleness and though she lacks the muscle definition and general strength of her peers, she maintains a fit physique.
species — Human.

background

Darcy Brynn Celeste Dallows-Liu — a mouthful of name, courtesy of an accidental and rushed half-political, half-loving union. Her mother was stationed in a village of the blank province due to recent outbreaks of an illness she was well-versed in treating, teetering edge of the Kingdom of Poromiel, of which her father's squad of riders were situated close. He hailed from a family typically bound for the infantry, but managed to excel and propel them to prosperity in becoming a rider. Her mother fell pregnant, and the pair rushed to marry before the baby, Darcy, was born.

And from that moment, her path was cemented. Her mother overjoyed to raise her baby as an accomplished healer, Darcy was playing doctor before she could talk. In the scheme of Navarrian lifestyles, her life was picturesque. Except for how often her father was missing due to his duties as a rider. Upon the conclusion of the rebellion, they were one of the loyalist families selected to - for lack of a better term - adopt one of the children of the rebellion. Zach. Whilst not the most highly ranking family, they were significantly separated from other families, due to being settled in the Elsum province. It was easier to keep them geographically isolated from one another, perhaps another layer upon their merciless punishments.

Zach was older, a dullness engulfing his visage, the swirls of his rebellion relic captivating whispers from the crowd. She had been largely sheltered from the rebellion, and she had thought him kind.

The young girl would create yet another sling under her mother's watchful eyes, though the woman didn't catch Darcy's gaze being drawn outside where her father trained with the older boy, sparring. He was destined for death, and yet she was jealous. Her father was barely around, and his attention was directed almost entirely to someone who wasn't even his son. She snuck out to copy some of the moves, but was caught by her father. He chastised her, but was convinced to allow her to join. She was smaller than them both, and though she enjoyed the challenge, her father's words cut deep- that she wouldn't be good enough for the riders, and that she was destined for the Healer's Quadrant regardless. Perhaps, she thought, that was why his attention had been so thin until she expressed some interest in fighting. But his eyes always seemed to reflect the disappointment he didn't allow to reach his tongue.

Then her mother found out about the sparring. Panic filled her eyes as she screamed at her husband and at Zach. Darcy can't recall what was said, but she was never allowed outside the overbearing instructions of her mother after that. Her mother's words also became more harsh - criticising how poor her skills were, how at her age she'd already memorised certain remedies, that her progress made her a weak link in her lineage.

One night, her father was called to battle against a drift of gryphons. He wouldn't see the following sunrise. And six months later, Zach had gone to Basgiath and been attacked on the Parapet. Well, those were the rumours. And then, Darcy's world collapsed - her bites of freedom outside of her mother dissipated in an instant. They visited the town her father had died defending to burn his things, and help tend to the wounded. In any other time, she may have felt the flourishing warmth of joy about identifying an infection other healers had missed and saving someone. But the fire in Malek's temple made everything so cold.

The next few years passed relatively peacefully, the life of a Healer becoming second nature. Her time at Basgiath would pass uneventfully. She would then save lives or at the least, make them easier — but a gnawing sensation would beg to differ.

concept

Darcy was a girl always bound for the Healer's Quadrant. Like her mother before her, a lineage traced through females of her family for seemingly centuries; the quiet assumption for Darcy lathered thick like honey meant to trap wasps. But when stuck, it never mattered if you willed your limbs to move, the thoughts never manifest in tangible difference - she never had to decide for herself, and her independent thoughts never voiced. 'Unexpected' barely grasps her declaration to volunteer for the Rider's Quadrant.

She is known to be relatively reticent, cautious to reveal any machinations for worries of interference. There is warmth in her kindness, and a gentle edge to her treatment of others that is sharpened by her confidence. Darcy has the capacity to lead, though eroded by her reluctance to confront others, and unrelenting stubbornness. But for her, everything is driven by an inherent care for human life — what better way to fulfil this desire than end a war that claimed her father? Vengeance is a deadly concoction, but she insists other logical reasons ensure it will be anything but. Inevitably, Darcy believes there is the possibility to accomplish larger feats by being a rider. Certainty of success became the kindling for a chance of more, or an even higher chance of death. When had she become someone to partake in a gamble?

headcanons

— Ambidextrous, but only right-handed when it comes to weaponry.
— Loses her appetite when stressed or focused.
— Extremely stoic towards blood and injury; completely desensitised to even the most grisly wounds.
— Does not know when to give up, literally ever.
— She will literally do the most fruitless endeavour if she becomes intent on doing so.
— Usually stems from a relentless desire to deliver medical treatment and save lives, but has bled into her average conduct.
— Ends justify the means.
— Will gladly circumnavigate rules, laws and norms that she doesn't agree with.
— But every other law should be followed obediently, apparently...
— A bit of a hypocrite.
— Struggles to keep her emotions in check, since she prefers to logically operate on fact.
— Thinks the punishment for children of the rebellion was excessive.
— Still apprehensive around them as they are around her; she assumes most are different to the boy she knew.
— Mixed race, further contributing to a lack of belonging and worthiness for either family name and culture.
— Also felt like she wasn't necessarily good enough for either path.
— In colder months, would ice-skate with her father when they could.
— Very lightweight when it comes to alcohol, and often gets hiccups.
— Loves the smell of freshly cut grass.
— Won’t sugar the truth, but doesn’t exactly go around planning to share the truth.
— Can name most herbs, plants and their properties and has always enjoyed studying nature.
— Also for... other reasons (poison, it's poison "just in case").
— Actually a good cook even though she doesn't do it often.
— Mostly convinced she's going to die in the Threshing, honestly.
— Doesn't really trust any other Healer or person to do medicine-related stuff.
— Ego about her medical skills goes crazy.
— Mommy issues...
— Always wanted to learn more languages.

psyche

vices — Reserved, stubborn, non-confrontational, impatient, obsessive, impulsive, fact-driven, egotistical, blunt.
virtues — Dedicated, calm, considerate, reliable, confident, decisive, honest.
fatal flaw — Tenacious obsession. Whilst arising from Darcy's first thought on how to help others, or how many people can be saved, and the best way to do so, it often mutates into a relentless pursuit of her goals that she will become frustrated when others disagree, work against her, or otherwise impede her ability to do as desired. She is cognizant of the fact that care for others' wellbeing does not suit Basgiath but struggles to ignore the urge. And can simply never determine when to quit, counterintuitively putting herself or others in harm's way.
happiest memory — The warm summer wind kissing her skin as she sat on the soft green carpet of grass, intently listening to her father explain how to get out from under another and turn a fight.
a secret — Poisoned her mother just enough so she was too ill to come with her to Basgiath and wouldn't know she was going to volunteer to be a rider.

abilities

medical expertise — Darcy had all but actually completed her Healer training in the college, but her knowledge rivals those who are fully qualified. Tonics and tinctures memorised, capacity to diagnose and treat most injuries effectively. A double-edged sword, her extensive knowledge of anatomy is helpful in combat: knowing where to target; how to pinpoint someone else's weaknesses; best ways to injure yet not kill.

hand-to-hand combat — Darcy is completely untrained with most weapons. But in hand-to-hand combat, Darcy is capable due to training alongside the child placed with them and her father. Her main skills lay within her agility and capacity to use another's strength against them. Due to only ever being sparring, she's yet to 'properly' fight and struggles to even weave in daggers.

archery — She's always preferred fighting from afar, and her accuracy rings true with a bow. This does not encompass any other throwing weapons, though. Just a bow.

wildlife knowledge — Having lived in further reaches of civilisation, though being well-educated, Darcy was enabled and taught about nature and its properties. She can source fresh water, scout out food, identify materials useful in various tinctures and tonics... both helpful and otherwise.

rp sample

“Was that supposed to frighten me away?” Alex halted a laugh threatening to burst through his lips. He wasn’t going to return empty-handed, quite frankly the dread that lay settled against his shoulders meant he couldn’t. Alexander was perplexed by the notion, however, that a girl seemingly raised by those in Evermourn had a distaste for their dealings. Though, he figured he was much the same, albeit in a significantly different environment. There was more bubbling under the surface, but Alex’s patience was wearing thin - he had not the time for her lack of will. If she would not help him, then he was done here.

Though he wouldn’t be led astray by her words, there did remain a stinging sensation that perhaps Evermourn was not worth the trouble. If only for himself and the answers he sought, Alexander would’ve already abandoned the town, but pictures stained the back of his mind - harried eyes, hopeful whispers, desiccated homes with boarded windows. It wasn’t merely for him, not anymore. Such a weakness, his father would scold, in thinking beyond the potential yielding for Casteron. Alexander recalled a time when he was much smaller on a family trip to discuss relations with another high ranking house in the king's circle, where he found himself getting to know the staff much better than the other nobles. His father, once finally noticing, spared a short moment to chastise him- these people had nothing to offer the house and were thus not worth the young boy's time. Of course, Alexander now understood what he meant, though didn't necessarily agree. What was a noble if not a leader for the people? And how can one lead when no one believes in them? That was partially the reason Konstatin Casteron had reluctantly agreed to send Alexander to Coldmouth, for he had established himself as a man of the people, to the former's disgruntlement. Knowing and being immersed in people, although, certainly assisted in sharpening interpersonal skills, which was the part Konstatin could not deny. That was perhaps the highest praise he'd received.

Alexander had one last idea to push the girl to the edge, with the way she shrunk and buried behind her long white hair when speaking of Evermourn, she perhaps required a last shove to reach into desperation. “I suppose I’m going to take a visit with you. I’m sure they’re wondering where you’ve gone. You must’ve been missing for a while.” Alex proclaimed as he stood, pulling the gloves taught on his hands. Either way, he had decided, she was going to come with him. Though the power now lay in her hands what that visit would entail, whichever was most advantageous for him.

"One moment," he mumbled to the girl as he stepped out of the room before she could answer, the guard captain and Metal Tooth awkwardly positioned outside. "Ensure my horse is ready to depart. I'll likely be leaving with the girl shortly."

"But Lord Alastair, what she did was horrific!" Metal Tooth shrieked, though the young nobleman paid no mind, directing his attention to the captain of the guard, "And if you could get a cloth and some water to clean off the blood. I've seen everything." The guard remained silent, with a curt nod and departed off down the hall, albeit not without a glance over his shoulder back at Alex. The other male hesitated, before deciding to simply make his way out of damp, twisting hallways of grey stone. Alexander spun on his heels, entering the room once more.

"So, are you ready to go home?"

the rider

 

[Goldie.]

❝ usu. ❞

I shall not beg for forgiveness, for I find joy in sin​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— usu.

【nickname(s)】— n/a.
【gender】— cisgender female.
【age】— 21.
【sexuality】— honestly hasn’t given it much thought, especially in the human sense. all things considered, it’s doubtful she’d care much about gender if it comes down to it.
【d.o.b.】— april 5th.
【height】— 5'3.
【build】— small and thin, it’s rather clear from her small stature and lithe frame that she has faced years of malnutrition. her skin seems to stick to her bones, and although she no longer seems terribly unhealthy there is clearly little fat for her body to work with.
【species】— navy blue sword-tail.

❝ background. ❞

Cold. Alone. Hungry.
Before she could even form the words that matched those thoughts Usu recognized their wrongness. Raised in a cold, solitary mountain, far from any sound or light, three young dragons were quite literally thrown to the wolves. Three identical girls were brought into this world with the sole purpose of surviving. From birth they were given no comfort or leniency. Their mother fed them for a while, but not for long. Each time the scent of fresh prey wafted through the mouth of the cave, it was a miniature war. Only the strongest sister earned their mothers approval, only the strongest sister got to eat. With meals scarce and their mothers wrath deadly, the only way to guarantee their own survival was to forfeit that of their sisters. These fights, won and lost, are deeply ingrained into Usus memory. The taste of her sisters blood forever lingers there on her tongue, the sound of crackling laughter echoing in her brain, barely audible over the whistling winter winds, burns her ears. Most jarringly is the haunting feeling. That hungry, horrible feeling that churns her stomach the same way it had when she was small. Hatred.

Usu and her sisters were raised to relish in their power and strength as dragons. Their mother was a beast of a dragon herself, covered in scars and following no law nor code, human or dragon. Any creatures unfortunate enough to cross her path faced brutal, bloody deaths. Within her there was no empathy or love, her driving force was to guarantee her power live on past her in the most worthy of her children. As her children, Usu and her sisters were not spared the brutality possessed by the dragon who created them. The girls lived in constant strife and challenge, forced to prove themselves fit for survival. Weakness meant hunger, pain, and death. Their mother lamented that the greatest example of this was humans and their wars. Humans died, and suffered. It’s what they do, and it’s all they’re good for. The greatest sign of weakness in a dragon, as declared by their mother, is their ability to resemble humanity. *A shameful waste*, she’d say, *to be a god prancing around as a lamb.*

The clear distaste and resentment her mother had for humanity, and dragons who chose to spend time with humanity, was palpable. From birth Usu was forbidden to sully her potential with human companionship. She was warned by stories or great and powerful dragons, forced to make themselves smaller to accommodate a human riders ego. To Usu, these stories did not deter her, in fact they only made her all the more intrigued. The idea of a human was abstract and far away, like a unicorn or a warm bed. Every night her dreams were flooded by pink, hairless soldiers fighting the good fight, whatever that meant. For years, Usu was slowly shaped by this idea of some fantastical being who fought because the loved it, it was what they were made for. She created this story in her head of what they were and what she herself felt she needed to be to survive this cold, lonely world. It made her realize what she had to do to escape this snowy grave, if only she could get the chance to do it…

Usu sat, a blob of blue and red in a white sheet of snow. Her sisters’ bodies lay at her feet— chilled and stiff. Lifeless eyes stared up at Usu, fogged only by her own breath as she stared back. This was not how winning was supposed to feel. She did not feel strong or powerful. She felt empty, hollow, alone. She never knew that she could feel more alone. Low, rising laughter echoed from the nearby trees. The world around Usu quaked, and before her mother even arrived at the clearing she knew that her chance had come. All she had to do was wait, watch the trees, follow the shadow that was quickly approaching. Usu stared unwaveringly as the edges around her vision grew darker, darker….

A small, frail young woman crawled and stumbled into a tiny village at the base of Tagash mountain. She was clothed in nothing but the skin and scales of a navy blue dragon, dripping with warm blood. Against the dark of the night sky, her bright green eyes seemed as if they were glowing. People filed out from their homes one-by-one, a few beginning toward her, but most of them stopping in their doorways. Many had looks of fear and confusion at the sight of this woman. The few who grew close slowed as her full visage became clear. White teeth grinned upwards and what had started as a quiet giggle became a hearty laugh. Usu fell to her knees, her human knees and threw back a head full of blonde hair in triumphant laughter. It was time to be made smaller, to be a god that blesses the lambs.

For once, Usu did not mind being cold, alone, and hungry.

❝ concept. ❞

Usu is new to the human world and eager to experience it. Every bone in her body still craves the constant state of battle she was raised in, and it shows through her actions and her excitement toward violence. Deciding to bond with a rider was not a difficult choice for Usu, rather it was made out of curiosity and spite. While her mother declared humanity to be weak and fragile, Usu saw fight and potential. The weak will get hurt and die, it is something that just is, but humans throw themselves head-first into battle anyway. Blunt, non-empathetic, and odd, Usu is a hard dragon to like. It’s hard to tell where her loyalties lie, for she seems to only serve herself. But ultimately, if you appease her curiosity and use the right incentives, you can prove yourself useful. Once you prove your fight and strength you might even gain her respect, and truthfully, who knows if she is capable of more than that.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— terrible social skills
— stares people down wayyyyy past the point of uncomfortable
— her mannerisms are rather odd, from the way her head snaps back and forth, or the way she squats on chairs to eat
— similarly, she knows next to 0 basic human gestures: handshaking, waving, most body language-cues
— seclusion has made her ignorant of many of the goings-on amongst humans and dragons
— despite her upbringing, she values fight and passion over brute strength
— while she may never show true loyalty her respect is far more valuable
— as never been touched affectionately
— sniffs people
— human fragility astonishes her
— constantly hurting herself, not knowing she is hurting herself
— makes an absurd amount of random noises in her human form
— has no idea how to talk to or treat human beings
— or dragons for that matter
— loves to cozy up by fires, although it seems as if she can never get warm enough
— even for a navy-blue dragon, due to the circumstances of her upbringing, Usu’s dragon form is rather strange and disfigured
— will break your arm for startling her and leave you with an “oops!~”
— bugs never existed to dragon Usu, but to human Usu they are extremely freaky
— just bit a bee straight out of the air before
— fun fact: found out she’s allergic to bees
— no sense of personal space
— “I ate my grandma” vibes
— hates the snow, now
— everything is new to her
— absolutely SCARFS her food
— will accidentally eat until she pukes sometimes
— looks as if she is staring into your soul
— doesn’t really understand play-fighting
— if you don’t want her to kill you you better have someone there ready to stop her
— although her laughing and grinning during fights may be misleading
— no understanding of grief, not in the traditional sense
— the devil on your shoulder pushing you to kill and fight and win
— will certainly put her riders humanity and morality to the test

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— odd , blunt , apathetic , unobservant.

【virtues】— brave , independent , decisive , curious.
【fatal flaw】— she has genuinely no idea how to serve anyone but herself. there is little humanity in her, any sense of that was lost in that distant cold and snow a long time ago.
【happiest memory】— her dreams of what humanity was. her fantasies, the ones that kept her going when she was starving and freezing to death under her mother's cold gaze.
【a secret】— although she is extremely proud of the act itself, Usu does not truly remember how she killed her mother. the world truly faded away, and all that she has that proves her victory is her scaly shawl and her life.

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— info.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】—

A light fog sat eerily atop the rolling waves. The shifting sea rocked the anchored Jolly Rodgers as a mother does a cradle. Despite the many pirates aboard, lulled to sleep, the looming ship felt… empty. Sails sat lifeless as not even the wind dared blow this fateful night. Salted wooden floorboards were freshly polished and even the barrels sat neatly along the railings. Upon first glance, the ship looked as if no one lived there, a shell of the bustling busy pirate ship it truly was. It had been a few days since Hooks departure, but his sudden absence was notable and left a knot in each sailor's stomach. Without much else to do, they kept themselves busy, as if prepping for his obviously inevitable return. While they did their best to continue life as normal, it was clear to the other factions that something was wrong. Maybe such is why a handful of lost boys, hyped up on stolen pixie dust, found themselves in a rowboat headed straight for the infamous Jolly Rodgers.

It’s clear the lost boys were unwell. Their bodies shook and muscles twitched, yet the strength and speed they used to board the ship is unparalleled. Small figures, cloaked in darkness darted around the ship. Each headed in a different direction, spreading out until they located each entrance below deck. Each lowered their bags and began removing glass bottles- powder flasks. Filled with gunpowder and metal, these bottles were small bombs made to set this boat ablaze. Casting each other fleeting looks and crazed grins, they began tossing them through the doorways and the fires began. But their true intentions…


———————————————


The sound of shattering glass and pained screams startled Pyxis right awake. Barely awake she could already feel the heat of the flames. Clumsily she rolled out of the hammock, stumbling for a moment as she struggled to catch her breath. The smoke was already thick, filling her lungs and causing her eyes to water. Every one of her senses was overwhelmed. Loud voices echoed around her as the crew members found whatever they could to try and douse the flames. The scent of burning wood and charred flesh bombarded her nose. Finally able to make sense of what was happening, Pyxis looked around the cabin.

The sleeping quarters were always relatively busy. Hammocks were hung up in a disorganized fashion, clothes and personal belongings were strewn about. It was never a very tidy space and was relatively crowded. Now, illuminated horrifically by flames were some of these same hammocks, torn and a blaze. The sight of those sleeping within them, some lying lifeless, bodies bloodied by the explosion, was gruesome. The living were the unlucky, writhing in pain as the flames lapped at their skin. The teen girl swallowed hard as she tore her eyes away from the gruesome scene.

Some of the other pirates had figured out ways to escape. Some lacked fear of the flames and ran straight through. Others wrapped themselves in blankets. A couple even worked together, attempting to douse the flames with water from scavenged bottles and stomping it out with remnants of bedding. Few looked back at the fallen, and fewer attempted to help those too wounded to save themselves. Pyxis quickly go the hint and began readying herself. Fortunately, her belongings were relatively untouched by the flames. All she dared take were her daggers, as she knew that she would not be able to carry much else. Whatever waited for her past the flames was undoubtedly ready to kill her. She would have to kill them first.

The girl, the smallest and youngest member of the crew, dared not show weakness in the moment. Her bright green eyes were locked in a steely glare. Beads of sweat rolled down her face, swept away by a delicate yet calloused hand. Hair, looking as if it itself was a flame that danced upon her head bounced as she walked toward one of the entrances. Every muscle in her body was tense as she strode to the door, unpaused as she bent down and scooped up a blanket. She adjusted it over her head and round her shoulders as she had seen the others doing before her. Just as she neared enough to take her turn bursting through the flames, a hand clutched her ankle.

“Help, please.” The voice was rough, words followed by a loud cough. Below Pyxis on the ground was Tess. Pyxis’s eyes widened slightly, blinking harshly as if the image she saw would change. Tess was a beautiful, strong woman. She was an amazing pirate with long, sandy blonde hair and dashing blue eyes. Many of the men couldn’t keep their eyes, or hands, off of her- but Tess always stood her ground. But looking down at her now as she desperately grasped and pleaded for help, she was unrecognizable. Cut and burned, totally coated in ash and debris, those same striking blue eyes were the one feature that Pyxis recognized. They pleaded with the young girl, and despite everything she knew, Pyxis began to scoop her up.

This split-second decision was difficult for Pyxis to carry out. The two struggled for a moment before finally making it upright. Tess’s arm was draped over Pyxis’s shoulder as the young girl attempted to support her full body weight. “We just have to get you out,” Pyxis huffed as she readjusted the blanket. With them both covered, Pyxis tried to listen to what was happening outside the cabin. All she could hear was the roaring of flames. They were going in blind. Just as she readied herself, beginning to cover her face with their blanket, she noticed a group of others gathering around her. Enough of them were gathered to make a more formal attack now. No more trickling.

A voice from behind her sounded, “One… Two…”

A mass of bodies rushed through the flames and up the steps. Blankets around her began flying off as battle cries roared out. Pyxis stumbled out. It was much darker now, and her eyes still watered from the smoke. But instantly she could tell that something was wrong. Before she had the chance to register her surroundings, she and Tess were thrust to the ground. The two skid across a cool, wet wooden floor. Pyxis’ ribs slammed down hard, the wind knocked right out of her. She coughed and wheezed as she tried to get up. The world buzzed around her, she barely managed to make it to her hands and knees. Get up, get up, get up. Was Tess alright? What had knocked them over? She didn’t have to look very hard to find out.

Tess lie lifelessly on the ground, and above her a lost boy stood. He stared at Pyxis with harsh, bloodshot eyes. He pressed a foot on Tess’s body, removing a blade from her side. An unnatural, wide grin opened as he began to laugh. Without a second thought, he dashed toward Pyxis. She had no chance to get fully on her feet before he was there. Her arms flew up to protect her face, still unable to catch her breath. This was how she was going to die. Unable to defend herself or her crew. Hook would be disappointed in her- no, disgusted with her.

Pyxis awaited deaths cold embrace, but instead the laughing died off. Instantly. Removing her arms from her face, Pyxis watched as the lost boys eyes, mere inches from her face, became lifeless. A blade protruded from his chest. As it was removed he slumped to his knees before falling right into her lap. She quickly shoved him off, gasping as she was finally able to breathe. Her eyes followed the blade to its hilt, then to its handler. Marwood stood over her, giving her a brief nod before rushing into the fray.

Pyxis unsheathed her dagger as she regained her breath. Her gaze moved from the lost boy and Marwood to search around the deck. A few more lost boys were darting around the ship, quickly becoming overwhelmed by the crew. Over the clanging of blades and cries of battle, Pyxis could hear the other boys laughing as they killed. The way they fought was brutal. They took hits without flinching, fighting until the light left their eyes. Never had she seen such insanity or strength from the lost boys. What brought on this attack? They’ve gone mad, surely.

Water rolled across the deck. It wet her knees as she sat kneeled. It would have meant nothing as it was, but soon the familiar cool sea water turned warm. Pyxis looked down at the red liquid soaking her pants as she slowly rose to her feet. Slowly she turned her gaze from the battle, clearly dying out as there was no more laughter or screams. Her mouth fell open at the sight that befell her. The entrances to the cabin below were still lit by the flames within. Flickering light illuminated what Pyxis had initially thought to be fallen barrels right above the stairs. Now she could see that these were not barrels at all. These were bodies.

The first crew members to leave the cabin. Those who had trickled out one by one to begin the fight on these attackers. These crew members lie dead, picked off one by one. Pyxis stared at this scene horrified. The lost boys had taken the time to sit them up against the walls, showcasing what they had done to them. Each one had their right hand cut off, like a certain captain they all revered. She realized now that she was coated head to toe in the blood of her friends, her family. Without moving her gaze she felt as the remaining crew members drew near. Some stood with her, observing this carnage in horror. Others worked at putting out the remaining fires. Pyxis closed her mouth and clenched her jaw, turning round to find a bucket and rope. There was nothing more they could do for their dead. Kicking the head of the lost boy at her feet as she passed, Pyxis couldn’t find it in herself to make sense of what had just occurred.

There were no winners in this battle. Just the dead, and the living.
.

&&— ❝ the navy-blue swordtail. ❞​

❝ orla hollyhock. ❞

like everybody else, I've got a dream.​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— orla enid hollyhock.

【nickname(s)】— info.
【gender】— cisgender female.
【age】— 20.
【sexuality】— bisexual.
【d.o.b.】— may 19th.
【height】— 5'7".
【build】— broad, tanned, and toned Nimmia may not be huge but her body bears the markers of a dedicated farmer. her body is clearly no stranger to hard work and long days in the elements..
【species】— human.

❝ background. ❞

As a child of farmers, surrounded by vast fields and small groves of trees, Orla was not subject to much of the war aftermath. Their community was small and far away from the hustle of everyday goings on within the majority of the kingdom. Orla and her twelve siblings were raised under the watchful eyes of their gods, each one highly respected and represented within their everyday lives. Zihnals name was evoked for luck, and Maleks presence was felt at every funeral. to work hard and fit in. The roles of their community were limited, and the choices were to fit in or get out. For a long time, Orla felt there really was no decision at all. It was her family, after all. How could she leave? (WIP)

❝ concept. ❞

Overly talkative and not unfamiliar with the “annoying” label, Orla likes to chat and be heard. With twelve siblings it was a constant fight to be heard and seen. She is a chronic over-sharer, completely unable to keep things secret for very long. Orla is a simple girl with a dream to be something more. Her awkward laughter paves the way for a face that hides nothing. She is mildly religious and takes the time to send off each and every person/creature she kills. The act of taking a life is not taken lightly by Orla. While there are very few things she takes firm stances on, respecting and caring for the dead is something she insists upon.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— chronic over-sharer
— unable to lie for the life of her
— flushed cheeks, loose lips, and an extremely Quilty conscience
— has had a hand clapped over her mouth more times than she can count
— very comfortable around lots of people
— honestly being alone is quite uncomfortable for her
— prior to this she will have never killed anyone nor really seen anyone die
— sheltered from much of the effects of the war on her little farm
— completely illiterate, recognizing verbal numbers and words but unable to connect them to the written language
— this is due to her working on her family’s farm and having no time for classical schooling
— her accent is what we might recognize as southern, although Orla has intentionally toned it down
— face will say “ew” before her mouth does
— rests her forehead on her fists to pray
— will stand behind someone and fake strangle them then she’s upset, only to look away the moment they turn around
— very very expressive
— her face and with her body
— a hand talker
— master of the dramatic sigh
— her work ethic is impeccable
— makes herself comfortable with people far too quickly
— takes her time to bury the dead at every chance she gets
— strong believer in some sort of afterlife
— grew up singing, dancing, and playing the lute by the campfire
— can play the lute
— can also dance
— makes other people do it with her
— good under pressure
— very good at doing other peoples hair
— left everything to try and be something that will be remembered
— will always get back up again
— will 110% participate in shenanigans
— charming in a goofy kind of way
— good at many things, great and nearly nothing
— forgets how to speak when she rushed or flustered and becomes a master at charades
— terrible gag reflex, especially when it comes to foul smells
— quite the cook
— likes to keep people fed and happy
— can name just about every type of crop and livestock
— easily distracted

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— annoying, indecisive, chatty, self-critical, indiscreet.

【virtues】— hardworking, friendly, spiritual, extroverted, honest.
【fatal flaw】— orla cares far too much. she was never able to turn away a beggar and, much to her parents dismay, was known to bring home dying animals in the hopes of saving them. the hardest thing she will ever have to do is end someone's life, each time it will chip away at her.
【happiest memory】— time spent with a love in a field. the cornstalks seemed to glow in the early dawn, illuminating their lovers golden hair and skin. it was beautiful. this was one of the few times that Orla felt extraordinary.
【a secret】— she met a dragon, once. or rather she had seen a dragon once. it was small, likely young, and had landed beside a stream shrouded by trees. orla had been playing in the grove and felt her whole view of the world change the moment the green scales flashed on the water's surface.

❝ abilities ❞

【shield bearing】— here

【chain whip】— here.

【plant/crop knowledge】— here.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— above < 3.

&&— ❝ the rider. ❞​

 

[arthur morgan.]

SAINT OF ANGER, THE BLACK FURY & THE DARKEST OF FABELS

# black daggertail

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[SUGAR.]

❝ ronin murdoch. ❞​

there's blood on the side of the mountain,
shadows of us are still dancin'
i bet you figured i'd pass with the winter
but i'll be here past december.​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— ronin alruna murdoch.
【nickname(s)】— ro, bear, rebel shit/scum/bitch the variations are endless.
【gender】— cis female.
【age】— 20.
【sexuality】— pansexual.
【d.o.b.】— december 27th.
【height】— 6'0.
【build】— beefy goddess. well-built and toned.
【species】— human.

❝ background. ❞

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed interdum malesuada tempus. Nunc egestas ultricies nisi, vel mattis neque rutrum et. Sed id varius nulla. Vestibulum faucibus arcu ac risus dictum tincidunt nec cursus magna. Etiam eleifend nec nunc at hendrerit. Aenean dignissim, velit id maximus lacinia, ligula metus venenatis velit, ac elementum dolor ligula ut nisi. Aliquam ac sollicitudin sapien, in ullamcorper leo. Duis in mauris et massa aliquet blandit et non arcu. Curabitur nec est consequat, bibendum nunc quis, ornare diam. Duis rhoncus nibh ac odio vulputate, in imperdiet lorem aliquam. Mauris lobortis, leo sed fermentum condimentum, ipsum diam accumsan magna, nec porta justo ligula in leo. Etiam in ultrices ante.

❝ concept. ❞

her parents both participated in the rebellion so she possesses a rebellion relic. she had to watch them both get executed when she was 10. her relic starts on her left collarbone and swirls up her neck and ends by hooking around her left ear. she was raised by loyalists who were compassionate to the children of the rebellion, not thinking they should be punished for their parents mistakes. she was one of the lucky ones. due to this she has prior experience fighting since they wanted her trained knowing she'd be a target at Basgiath. doesn't really consider them family but appreciates that they didn't treat her like shit. big presence, standing at 6 foot and well-built. definitely a bit of a teddy bear with those she is close to. always locks in when it comes time to fight, never taking it lightly. she thinks she's giving you a light hug but she's probably crushing you. reserved and intimidating at first (to protect herself) but once you get to know her she's very warm and talkative.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— reserved and intimidating exterior
— once she gets to know you she is very warm and talkative
— adept fighter thanks to her foster parents
— and also from getting into fights a lot during her childhood due to her rebel relic
— once you’ve made a friend out of her she’s loyal for life
— so basically if you’ve got one fan it’s ronin and if you’ve got no fans ronin is dead
— very rarely irrational or one to let her emotions get in the way
— very good at braiding hair
— used to being made fun of not only for her relic but for her “lack of feminine figure”
— so comments like that don’t bother her and haven’t for a while
— when she’s excited has a tendency to bear hug
— is slightly worried that a dragon won’t want to bond her due to her relic
— she tries to gaslight herself into not thinking that way but being told your whole life you’re going to die at threshing bc the dragons know you’re a traitor tends to be a thought that sticks around
— good at hiding her emotions in emotionally charged situations
— with that being said she isn't exceptionally stone faced in everyday conversation
— has one nervous tick that can be picked up on if you know her enough
— which is clenching and unclenching her fists repeatedly
— from a town on the mountainside of Tyrrendor so is used to the altitude and weather
— also an adept climber. whether it be trees or a rocky cliffside, ronin will likely scale it at remarkable speed
— is always hot temperature wise so doesn’t wear as many layers as most
— better trained with her fists and larger weapons like axes and swords, you won’t really find her with daggers
— her aim is kinda shit so you’ll find her practicing her knife throwing with dummy’s
— doesn’t really talk about her childhood pre-rebellion
— will shut down if you press her about it
— keeps her nails short
— will not go out of her way to help a stranger but if you ask for her help she’ll give it
— does NOT like the commanding general
— will never take a fight lightly, even if it's sparring she will give it her all
— not a happy gal when she's hungry
— literate and enjoys history books
— has a personal connection and love for edelweiss flowers. they remind her of home
— her mother was the one who taught her to braid and weave
— she's also well versed in tying rope due to her mother's lessons

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— self-doubt, self-sacrificing, secretive, resentful.
【virtues】— loyal, analytical, emotionally aware, hardworking, steadfast.
【fatal flaw】— ronin is a very morally sound individual. if she does not believe in something, she will not contribute to it. in some cases, she may even openly oppose and try to sabotage it. she finds it very difficult to do anything against her beliefs. missions that may "toe the line" and cause her to make questionable choices are hard for her to execute efficiently. one of the few moments she will let her emotions get in the way of what "needs" to be done.
【happiest memory】— naturally her happiest memory is one from her childhood before the execution of her parents. spring was dawning and the snow was finally melting from the mountaintops. the streams and rivers that appear during this time ronin has always enjoyed playing in. this memory took place at one of those streams, not too long before her world was ripped from her. her mother sat by the riverbed, braiding together a crown of edelweiss flowers. her father was nearby collecting firewood to get them through the last of the cold days. it was the last time she remembers feeling truly at peace.
【a secret】— ronin has killed before, and not on accident. it's something she keeps locked up inside. it happened when she was 17 and out at a market. another rebel kid was there, a smaller girl who couldn't have been much younger than her, trying to buy fruits from a stand. the owner spit in her face and threatened her. he shoved her away from his products causing her to drop her own basket full of purchased items. the lethal fury that filled ronin was unlike any she had felt since the day her parents were executed. she had seen marked ones be treated horribly before, she had even been treated horribly herself, but something about this incident resonated with her on a deeper level. she bided her time, perusing the market until nightfall. when the man was closing up, she cornered him in the alley right behind his stand and beat him to an unrecognizable pulp. at this time she was already 5'10 and had been training for a few years.

❝ abilities ❞

【rider skills】— ronin excels in hand-to-hand combat and working with heavy weaponry such as axes, which so happen to be her preferred weapon choice. she has always been bigger and stronger than most kids her age so when getting a feel for what weapon she liked the heavier ones other children couldn't lift properly became her starting point. she learned her combat abilities courtesy of lessons provided by the loyalist family who took her in after her parents execution. she also got into many fights outside of lessons due to her rebel relic. being a marked one meant your childhood was not rainbows and butterflies.

historical knowledge is another one of ronin's strong suits. she has always been fascinated with the history of Navarre, especially post-rebellion. this knowledge will be useful in some of her classes but also to give context to the nation. there are always ways to learn from the past and ronin is adept at making it applicable to the present.

ronin's climbing & terrain awareness is off the charts. growing up in the harsh Tyrrendor Province gave ronin a reason to grow accustom to such environments. living in a mountain town meant she was climbing cliff sides...a lot. she's always enjoyed the outdoors so it was no surprise to her parents when she climbed a tree at 5. give her a wall to climb and she will find a way. also, when helping her dad around outside their cottage, he taught her about different terrain and how to navigate them to satisfy her urge to explore the world. this ties in with her historical knowledge. she used both realms of knowledge in tandem to give herself a great understanding of Navarre and it's various landscapes.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— darkness clouded her vision and enveloped her. greer felt as if she were falling. squeezing her eyes shut she relaxed her body. so this is it? i've died. i'm dead. i'm dead and it happened in my school's courtyard. i never even made it to med school... her thoughts swirled around her head as she accepted her fate. what else could she do but succumb to the swirling purple blackness that surrounded her? at least my death was an anomaly that will be studied for decades to come. she tried to reassure herself. the nothingness she had previously felt was now accompanied by wind, and then impact.

greer groaned, her back having hit the ground so hard it knocked the breath out of her. wait, the ground? her eyes shot open then quickly closed. it was way too bright. she squinted, letting her eyes slowly adjust before opening them completely. above her loomed an extravagant ceiling and large marble columns. what the hell... her mind buzzed from the impact as she slowly rose to a sitting position. she winced at the movement and held her head. god i'm sore. she complained internally. she blinked a few more times as her eyes scanned what was in her immediate sight. before here was a gaudy throne room. there were men in knights armor and an old geezer sitting cockily on an ugly throne. the floors were marble and there was gold and red velvet everywhere. it was straight out of those fantasy games she sometimes saw ads for online. "i must be dreaming..." she whispered, making uncomfortable eye contact with a knight that had moved to stand closer to her.

suddenly aphelion's voice pulled her out of the trance like state of disbelief she was in. she hadn't even noticed her other classmates were scattered around. her blue eyes whipped towards her blonde friend, noticing killian stood clutching his arm with a look that could kill. "alright? yeah..." her voice came out jumbled, like she had just learned how to speak. she still felt achey and her brain hadn't caught onto the fact this was no dream. this was her new reality. the blue haired pre-med student rose slowly, stretching her limbs to try and relieve the tension in them. a few joints popped, causing a sigh of relief to fall from her lips. her brain was waking up and it did not like what it was seeing. greer jolted when another guard started yelling and pointing at aphelion. "oh my god." was all she managed to say. of course li would have let his towel fall. in the presence of some entity from the past maybe? greer still didn't understand how they were there. in their time there were absolutely zero palaces that looked like this, let alone one's that had kings and knights in them. the portals must have been rips in the space time continuum and they time traveled. that was the only remotely logical explanation she could come up with other than she was dead and this was some cruel afterlife joke.

greer stood rigid, listening intently to this so-called "kings" words. heroes? king? goddess? demons? greers mind reeled and she brought a pale hand up to her forehead. she thought she might pass out. this was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous. she looked around, most other students staring at the king. one seemed to be a bit too excited about the whole thing. she gulped and shot li a dirty look as he entertained this man's delusions. our world? there is only one world. i mean there are other planets but they don't sustain life...this is absurd. greer refused to believe a word. her brain was not wired for this roleplaying fantasy stuff. someone wake me up I have to have just slipped and hit my head on the concrete. any second i'll come to and be in that god forsaken courtyard in blightrest. her eyes pleaded with the marble ceiling.

before her pleads were answered aphelion was by her side, killian too. greer had zoned out and didn't even realize they approached. "my screen?" she asked, taking a deep breath. she didn't want to believe a screen would pop up for only her to see if she said the magic words, but after seeing aphelion's now gold clad body she had lost all sense of reality. "fine. i give in. i'll play along." she spoke in an annoyed tone to no one in particular. her brain obviously wasn't going to let her wake up from this nightmare unless she played along, so that's what she would do. "View status." she rolled her eyes, only to swallow hard when a decently sized screen appeared in front of her. her pupils dilated as she took in the information. her attack and defense were nonexistent. fabulous. her health and stamina were above average but her magic power was off the charts. she scoffed, shaking her head. what was the irony of her, someone who doesn't believe in anything other than science, having the highest magic power? it was a cruel, cruel joke. she felt li's chin rest on her shoulder. she chewed on the inside of her lip.

"mine says i'm a..." she paused, eyes filtering over the information. above her stat bars the word CLERIC was bolded. "cleric." she announced quietly, where only the two men next to her could hear. her eyes shifted uncomfortably to the guard that was still close by. he was staring intently at the trio. "cleric? like a priest of the church? i'm not religious." greer pointed out, crossing her arms. she became immediately aware she was wearing a shirt that said hoe's mad on the front of it. that was probably not the best thing to be wearing right now. the exclamation point caught her eye and she clicked it, bringing her to a tab titled EQUIPMENT. she selected the first one, gasping as she felt the weight of her clothes change. she looked down, wearing a dark grey metal corset with matching forearm and knee guards. her shorts were absurdly short and also black, with black mesh tights underneath. there was a space cut open, with her lower abdomen on full display. her black boots came to her mid-calf with some design on them. she also had a gold emblem at the top of her corset. to top off the ridiculous and impractical outfit, she had a black cloak type thing on. instantly she flushed and moved her arms down to cover her stomach. no other outfit offered more coverage. "this is ridiculous." she frowned. she hated showing off skin or any part of her body for that matter. now her stomach, legs, and chest were essentially on full display and it made her extremely uncomfortable. she shrunk into li, hoping his presence would mask hers.

still kind of feeling like she was going to pass out, she eyed killian. "are you alright? i know this idiot," she elbowed li though it didn't do much since he was in fact wearing a chest plate, "tripped you." her eyes showed some concern though her face remained with a look of discomfort. she was hoping by talking to killian she wouldn't have to acknowledge anything else that was going on.

&&— ❝ the rider. ❞​

❝ lorcainia. ❞​

she walks through hell
with a smile
because she owns her demons​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— lorcainia.
【nickname(s)】— has been called nia before.
【gender】— cis female.
【age】— twenty one.
【sexuality】— demisexual biromantic.
【d.o.b.】— summer solstice.
【height】— 5'8 in her human form. 18 meters in dragon form..
【build】— slender and lean. doesn't have bulging muscles or anything of the sort, her body looks like it was built more for stealth than straight up combat. same concept applies to her dragon form. she is slightly smaller than the average dragon but her tail is longer than most.
【species】— dragon.

❝ background. ❞

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed interdum malesuada tempus. Nunc egestas ultricies nisi, vel mattis neque rutrum et. Sed id varius nulla. Vestibulum faucibus arcu ac risus dictum tincidunt nec cursus magna. Etiam eleifend nec nunc at hendrerit. Aenean dignissim, velit id maximus lacinia, ligula metus venenatis velit, ac elementum dolor ligula ut nisi. Aliquam ac sollicitudin sapien, in ullamcorper leo. Duis in mauris et massa aliquet blandit et non arcu. Curabitur nec est consequat, bibendum nunc quis, ornare diam. Duis rhoncus nibh ac odio vulputate, in imperdiet lorem aliquam. Mauris lobortis, leo sed fermentum condimentum, ipsum diam accumsan magna, nec porta justo ligula in leo. Etiam in ultrices ante.

❝ concept. ❞

never was overly interested in humans so when she announced she was going to bond this year it was a bit of a surprise. but everything about name is a surprise. like most orange dragons she is extremely unpredictable. this means she has layers of walls built up to keep others at arms length while her emotions could change at the drop of a hat. spontaneous in the sense that if an idea comes to mind she will execute it immediately rather than waiting/talking it out. her loyalty is earned and not given by default, making her fickle when first getting to know someone. doesn't typically hide her emotions so you can tell how she's feeling based on body language and facial expression alone. however she is skilled at masks so if she didn't want you to know what she's feeling, you wouldn't.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— moody let’s be real
— one second she’s happy and the next she’s snapping at you (both literally and verbally)
— has the most trouble adjusting to her human form
— always watching. her eyes are piercing honestly
— hates being bossed around
— unpredictable in most situations. you may think you know what she’s thinking but you don’t
— always keeping you and your toes
— very in tune with her body and sexuality, doesnt get ashamed easily
— most human food grosses her out but she will become a whore for pastries
— for an emotional being she’s good at keeping a mask up when she wants
— more often than not though she purposefully wants you to know how she’s feeling
— fickle with those she first meets, best not to trust her with your secrets right off the bat. they are not necessarily safe with her
— big on loyalty being earned. no matter if you’re the best person/dragon on the planet. you have to earn her respect and loyalty
— thrilled to find out her human form had orange hair
— very protective over her being. do not touch her without consent, even in a friendly way
— As a dragon, she’s not the biggest or mightiest. she is a decent size but more slender and can tuck herself in with more flexibility than most dragons, this translates to her human form
— her flexibility in dragon form allows for more adept tail movement, meaning she is a virtual pro at disembowling people and creatures in one motion with her scorpion tail
— not to mention as a scorpion tail her poison would kill you if her attack did not
— slightly prideful, takes good care of her appearance
— regal and intentional with her movements
— near perfect posture
— easily agitated, especially if you violate her personal space
— you know she's furious when her nostrils flair and she's silent
— always sleeps curled in a fetal position
— if she were to listen to or enjoy music it would certainly be classical
— perhaps a little violent but aren't most dragons?
— more to come

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— prideful, moody, fickle, unpredictable.
【virtues】— intentional, protective, independent, driven.
【fatal flaw】— her inability to be forthcoming. no matter what lorcainia will always do what she wants and won't share the plan with anyone else. she will keep secrets, tell lies, and overall relish in the fact that you don't know what she's thinking or what she's going to do. This makes her hard to work with.
【happiest memory】— her older sister, aoife, telling her she believed in her. before she went off to bond with a rider and go to the front lines, lorcainia and her older sister were inseperable. lorcainia adores aoife, one of the few lorcainia holds on a pedestal. to hear that her sister had faith she would make something of herself was her happiest moment.
【a secret】— oh lorcainia has many secrets. one of them is that her biggest fear is dying alone. she will never tell you, nor will she allude to it. she flaunts her independence but deep down she is terrified her dying moments will be cold and lonely with no one to care that she's gone.

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— undecided.
[/comment]

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— see above.

&&— ❝ the unpredictable. ❞​

 

[blue tea]

❝ mason vangelis. ❞​

you collect scars because you want proof that you are paying for whatever sins you have committed​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— mason vangelis, although does commonly go by azure.
【birth name】— bai qinghai ( bai he ).
【nickname(s)】— azu, zuzu, zu, mace / mazy, blue-eyes, little monster.
【gender】— male.
【age】— twenty-one.
【sexuality】— bisexual ( male-leaning ).
【orientation】— demiromantic.
【d.o.b.】— august ninth.
【height】— 188cm ( 6'2" ).
【build】— an ectomorphic build with broad shoulders. a lean yet muscular appearance with evident muscle, yet visible bone along the spine and ribcage can be seen.
【species】— blue dragon with morningstar tail.

❝ background. ❞

born out of obligation with his twin, mason grew up in a household with no love for its offspring, but selfish greed for power. to manipulate and control. victoria was nothing but the puppet master and her sons her puppets. a manipulative woman, she bred out of jealousy and hate, turning her husband into an empty shell after she birthed two daughters, six years younger than mason and vaitiare.

the vangelis children lived a hellish life, one out of undignified rage, victoria would do the unspeakable, most turning a blind eye while mason took on the brute of her outlandish punishments, or well, training in her stubborn hues. not the eldest, mason took the brunt of it, keen on keeping his siblings tucked beneath his wings for as long as possible. he became cold and calculated, but his heart remained warm in his sibling's presence.

nearly a year later, the twins reached the tender age of seven, mason had been taking care of their father, nothing more than a puppet, trapped and fearful, but loving, even if he did nothing to combat victoria’s ruthlessness. she was a soldier and cared little for anything else. her daughters showed little promise, coddled by their father and brothers, victoria sought to kill them. and that she did. cruel as she was, killing them in front of them, but it showed promising results.

she continued her training, or else she would have refused them in public. she would not have weaklings for children. not like their kind-hearted father. this was no place for sympathy, not if they wished to survive and so she killed havardur ( their father ) to show that kindness would not be permitted. not with her around.

vaitiare was a shell of his former self, depressed and selectively mute, growing worse as the days flew by. mason was in his own world of hurt, but after his twin fell ill, mason had little time to deal with it. instead, he pushed himself through training and chores. if he did good, then victoria would allow this one promise to keep his twin alive.

shortly after he turned seventeen, victoria decided on an “arranged marriage” born out of obligation rather than true love to another dragon, but one just as vile as herself. a daughter she had always dreamed of having.

more hellish than ever, mason faced constant ridicule and abuse from his mate and mother. becoming something he hadn’t wanted, which was to become a mindless puppet at his mother’s whims. it wasn’t long after he met youkai ( his adoptive father in the future ) that things became more bearable for the dragon. meeting his adoptive kin and the other letting vaitiare into their home was a relief.

entirely new experiences, youkai took mason under his wing despite his deadpan gruff exterior, the older male became a father figure. it was not intentional, but mason wasn’t complaining then. even if his mother continued to sneer and push him further to become a monster that they both knew he could become. ruthless and bloodthirsty as she was, mason was a dragon meant to be feared. he was brutal as he was self-sacrificing, training like it was a battle to the death.

riddled with scars since his hatchling days, mason was something unsightly in appearance and personality. but even she couldn’t destroy his overwhelming need to protect, no matter the situation. his aloof personality couldn’t hide that.

turning twenty, mason discovered he would become a father. he wasn’t sure if he was happy or terrified at the news. in the beginning, mason had fallen completely pliable, afraid that something would happen until he grew a backbone, planning on taking them to youkai once they hatched. unfortunately, plans changed when chi discovered it. in a fit of seething rage, she destroyed them days before they hatched. if she cannot keep him, then he can’t keep them. she wanted him and that was the only reason she kept her clutch, but now, she saw no reason to keep them alive.

nothing matters more than keeping his brother safe ( and inevitably the others ). that mason will do anything to see it through and watch his mother die by his paws.

❝ concept. ❞

in many cases, mason would be considered the anti-hero, born out of obligation rather than pure love, the dragon knew nothing about love except what was beaten into him since he was of age. he is a ruthless being, trained to kill and leave no survivors behind. his mother was a cruel being, far crueler than his father who laid to waste, grief-stricken. his father was nothing more than a puppet at his mother’s disposal. he matured faster, determined to carry the weight as an older brother to his mentally unstable twin and two younger sisters. he is a protector at heart, self-sacrificing, and devoid of life, mason would have been the perfect weapon if his mother had been anything worth her boasting. riddled with grief and guilt, mason is unpredictable and unwilling to cooperate if the outcome is treacherous to his rider, or the other dragons as much as he curls in disgust and unfeathered anger. he is to be approached with great caution, but past his flaws and the need to punish himself for wrongdoings that weren’t his fault, mason is a loyal and stubborn creature. aloof and downright rude, mason enjoys getting a rise out of the other dragons, grinning smugly and firing off those dreadful nicknames he came up with just to irritate them, mason thrives off of chaos, or more preferably organized chaos. misunderstood, mason is a man of many mysteries, tormented by memories and nearly terrified to let others in, afraid they too will meet the same fate. mason has little he cares for that isn’t scattered across fields. he sees himself as a monster, even more so despite being a massive beast capable of scorching cities with a single breath of agonizing fire. mason is nothing more than a hypocrite, but even he admits it, grinning and spewing another sarcastic joke before anyone gets too close.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— enjoys the thrill of adventure. the blood roaring in his ears to the adrenaline thrumming through his veins. by far, mason isn't an adrenaline junky, he just enjoys the occasional thrill.
— refuses to ask for help. he will be the one to sink while trying to help someone else keep afloat.
— will assume that whenever someone helps him, they want something in return, which is why mason doesn't exactly enjoy having to lean on others. even if they're his friends. it's just a state of mind that's been engraved since he was little.
— has no sense of self-preservation. something dangerous ? sign him up.
— can be a total flirt but if someone flirts with him back ? completely oblivious.
— doesn't like being inside his head, or being alone for that matter. would much rather be beside someone, sitting in silence and sitting with his thoughts, drowning in his demons.
— so used to being treated like shit. someone being nice ? a whole different ballgame.
— horrible luck. mason is just packed with overflowing bad luck.
— tendency to ignore his problems, laughing it off as nothing serious even though isn't the case.
— will fight to the bitter end to protect the people he cares for.
— will drink vodka like apple juice. not even kidding. he drinks that stuff like it's water.
— views himself as a monster, refusing to lean on others in hopes of keeping them safe from himself. he'll blame himself for everything and anything, even if it's not his fault.
— will not rest, unless someone physically makes him sleep, otherwise he'll be up for weeks ( or until he passes out ) with only a few hours / minutes under his belt. this man hates sleeping despite the fact once he's out, he's dead to the world.
— mason tends to not use people's actual names, opting to create nicknames for those he's met like pop rock or peppermint.
— isn't a morning person, although that's putting it lightly. the man does enjoy watching the sunrise, but only if it's his idea.
— romantically clueless. someone help him. he's a dumbass. he'll take it as being strictly platonic. terrible communication, but one heck of a heater during the cold months.
— high pain tolerance after years of physical abuse at the talons of his mother, viewing him as a blemish in the timeline rather than her biological child.
— rarely is he seen consuming something that isn't alcohol, or if it isn't allowed, sneaking it through. but he isn't hopeless, forgetting to eat, but making sure others eat. when he does remember, mason enjoys meat and the occasional dessert of chocolate chip cookies or red velvet cake.
— rarely does he sleep, mason enjoys the quietness the night has to offer, looking up at the cluster of stars and pinpointing constellations.
— will sit and listen to the rain, even better if it's during a thunderstorm.
— loves a good spar. isn't a fan of half-assed fights, more determined to prove himself as a powerhouse and ruthlessness than he is for play fighting.
— doesn't shy away from killing. he doesn't get hooked up overtaking another life, if they deserve it otherwise mason will be feeling the heart-wrenching guilt later on.
— talks with a sarcastic, deadpan drawl. people think he's poking fun at them, but really isn't. he took after his adoptive father, gruff deadpan voice, but mason's is like booming thunder, soothing, yet terrifying.

— smells like driftwood and spices.

— his most distinguishing features ( both human and dragon ) are the plethora of misshapen skin graphs and scars scattered across his frame that he keeps hidden beneath a white bandage wrapped around his throat and chest.
— his most prominent feature ( both human and dragon ) is his bright blue hues that lighten / darken depending on the maelstrom of emotions.

— suffers from minor spouts of depression (becomes more violent and more likely to lash out toward strangers ), nightmares, and a wicked case of insomnia ( jokingly states he inherited from his father if someone attempts to shove themselves into his business ).

— isfp / istp.
— chaotic good.
— gryffindor.
— fire / lightning.
— divergent.

— pinterest.
— spotify.

— his love language revolves around physical affection and acts of service. naturally, mason isn't one to shy away from physical touch from someone he trusts. he'll move mountains for them, offering small gifts of gratitude and the occasional mind-numbing hug. otherwise, mason is a great comfort, offering safety to those encompassed in bulky arms, rumbling softly and pressing tender kisses to the shell of their ear as they doze in the mid-day sun.

— faceclaim is huang junjie, voiceclaim is a mesh of huang junjie, christopher sabat, and nathan wanger.

— of course, the got dragons only have hindlegs, i figured with enough imagination we can pretend they have four. i pictured viserion for mason's dragon counterpart, although with a blue-tinge, but i wanted to keep his unnatural blue hues the same ( both in human and dragon ). here are a few examples, leaving the body up for imagination ; here and here.

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— charming, passionate, imaginative, supportive, adaptive, practical, spontaneous, rational, independent, protective, loyal, trustworthy, curious, sensitive.
【virtues】— self-critical, unpredictable, reserved, blunt, reckless, insensitive, rude, competitive, aloof, self-sacrificing, stubborn, sarcastic, pessimistic.
【fatal flaw】— his self-sacrificing nature. although it is noble to willingly risk your life for the greater good, this is mason's greatest downfall. he will do anything, and i mean anything to protect what is his, whether that is his family or the few friends he managed to make. he will become rigid, downright stubborn, and cold-hearted that burns brighter than the northern star if someone dares object. he may display an air of arrogance and irritation for his dragon rider, nipping at their forearms and bumping them with his shoulder, mason would go to the ends of the earth for them, even if it becomes his deathbed. he despises being on the sidelines, always ready to risk his life, flying in the front during the heat of war, mason will use himself as a shield, regardless of the risks to himself.
【happiest memory】— mason has little memories of being happy, shrouded in grief and festering anger that brewed for years. losing his siblings to a wicked mother and a heartbroken father. it wasn't until his adoptive father, alone and without guidance did he began to hope. it was at that moment that mason wanted to try for something more than simply existing.
【a secret】— as briefly as it had been, mason had been a father. inexperienced and terrified, it had been a hopeless dream. paired with a ruthless woman who killed them days before they hatched in a fit of blind rage, abusive as she was, mason had loved her at one point.

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— the ability to generate and manipulate blue flames. ties heavily to the rider's emotions, triggering large bursts when overwhelmed, or emotions like fear or anger. it is a power meant to protect the rider, in case mason isn't there. it can be destructive, overheating the user's body with prolonged usage ( risk of heat stroke or severe burns ), but nothing an ice bath won't fix.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— here.

&&— ❝ the blue dragon. ❞​

 

[Juju]

❝ Rynyrth. ❞​

on wings of blue silk
death descends from parted clouds
terrible beauty​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】Rynyrth
【nickname(s)】Ryn
【gender】Female
【age】20
【sexuality】Ace
【d.o.b.】First day of spring
【height】5'3(human form)
【build】Delicate and lithe
【species】Blue Dragon Daggertail

❝ background. ❞

Rynyrth was there on the day the traitors were executed. She watched as familiar faces lost the light in their eyes, some begging and others cursing, but all eventually falling silent. She was young, it was true, but it had been her mother's wish. Ryn stood by her mother's side as she dragged the corpse of a rider... her mother's rider up with the other 'examples'. Since the death of her father in the war, the empty paternal void had been partially filled by this human, Sabar. To Rynyrth, and her young siblings, he had been almost like a father.

He had been her mother's closest friend, which is why Ryn could not understand the ease in which she ripped him apart with her fangs. They said that he was a traitor, who had supported the rebellion and raised sword against the riders. She couldn't understand. Why were they fighting? Why did they have to die?

With the smell of iron thick in the air, her mother turned to Ryn and said thusly;

"All things must remember their place in this world. Humans and dragons alike. It is not comradery that binds dragon to man, but fear and war. A common enemy. Burn this into your memory, child, and nothing can ever betray you."

It was indeed something she would never forget.

Rynyrth's family had long been the guardians of a seaside town, one that had been devastated by the short-lived rebellion. What had once been a place of culture and trade had become a home of widows and branded children. The rider Sabar had been well-loved by the people, and the news of his betrayal and death by the fangs of his dragon shook the town to its foundations. Under the watchful eye of Ryn's mother, the port was rebuilt, but no number of tides could wash away the stain that haunted their family's credibility. How had a dragon been unable to sense her rider's betrayal through the bond? Did she also sympathize with the rebellion? Both Ryn and her mother were held under scrutiny for Sabar's support of rebels, despite her mother's act of murder upon discovering this. Her mother never did take another rider, and as the years went on, it seemed that their family would be unable to escape the lingering shade of the rebellion.

It was only natural for Rynyrth to pledge herself to the Riders Quadrant, a gesture she hoped would further solidify her family's loyalty to the Empyrean. This was something her mother had already prepared her for since she was a youth, but in the act of volunteering Rynyrth at least spared herself some measure of free will. Even if it was just a façade. She fights not for the Empyrean, nor the riders, but for survival and is willing to use any means necessary to keep herself and her family free of the dishonor that threatens them.

❝ concept. ❞

A well-mannered dragon whose eloquent grace hides the festering seeds of dishonor. Her family fell from grace during the days of the rebellion, and since then Rynyrth has devoted her years to reclaiming her family's honor by any means necessary. A connoisseur of beauty in all its forms, Rynyrth turns combat into a devilish work of artistry with swift wings bringing swift death. While fascinated by human culture, she refuses to let herself get overly attached to them, for fear of the wounds it would place on her heart or cloud her judgement.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— she speaks softly and elegantly, even when saying dark or horrible things.
— a poker face of porcelain and petals, soft yet betraying little of what's behind the eyes.
— likes to ask people for information and secrets, but doesn't enjoy sharing her own secrets when asked.
— enjoys being underestimated or being judged incorrectly as weak or shy.
— when in her human form, her hair and outfit reflects her dragon features (hair hoops in place of frills, flowing silk in place of wings and tail)
— wears silver nail protectors on a few of her fingers for style
— she is genuinely fascinated by human culture and fashion, something seen in her human form, and judges those who are poorly dressed or cultured.
— views humans not as equals, but as beings in need of guidance and protection. They are amusing or adorable, but flawed.
— a very deep sleeper. It's somewhat of a source of anxiety for her, but she doesn't usually admit it. She will only rest if she feels absolutely safe. If you catch her dozing off near you, consider it an act of unparalleled trust.
— gets drained from too much socialization and will retreat into a secluded spot, typically in nature, to recharge. Will only let trusted friends accompany her. Will grow agitated if intruded upon.
— has a 'special spot' she goes to whenever she needs to think or find peace. Likely one of the places she feels the most safe and will sleep there. If she brings you here its a HUGE gesture of friendship.
— she plays the guqin in her spare time. Enjoys listening to others play music.
— her dragon form is more delicate and streamlined to favor speed, agility and stealth.
— a gifted flier, Ryn's heart sings when she is soaring free like the wind. In battle there are few dragons who can match her aerial grace, which she uses with deadly effect.
— when fighting she is not afraid to employ dirty tactics so long as it makes combat more efficient. Stealth and outmaneuvering opponents are her primary tactics, using her agility to her advantage.
— her dragon wings have soft edges, like an owl, which helps her to fly more silently
— she enjoys diving in the ocean and lakes and is able to hold her breath for a long time.
— ocean fish is her favourite food, but she will only eat it raw and fresh.
— will spend hours in gardens, enjoying the ambiance and fragrance of nature
— writes haikus and poetry
— in love with hunting. Will turn her nose up at any meat that is not gathered from the wild
— enjoys the art of tea making and is very picky about her ingredients.
— likes cats and cute animals, but is embarrassed to admit this to others. Secretly wants a pet cat.
— tries to create distance from humans by giving them names or titles that is different than their name (like "little sparrow" or even "creature")
— hates messiness and will start cleaning an area, flustered, if it is untidy.
— surprisingly ruthless in combat and ideology, something that is off-putting when compared to her manners
— prefers clean deaths and will be disgusted at others who draw out combat or brutalize opponents. Combat should be efficient and elegant, not brutish like animals.
— Is naturally observant to the needs of others and is surprisingly helpful in assisting others, but will catch herself being warm and immediately try to brush it off as being practical
— has a soft spot for the weak and helpless.
— a total nerd for the simple art of flower arrangements and can identify almost every species of flower that grows in the valley. Will talk for hours about them.
— attracted to fine smells that are delicate and elegant. Pungent or too strong scents have the opposite effect
— keeps it on the downlow, but enjoys a good serving of gossip. Tea with TEA
— can win her favour with compliments, but only on specific topics. Saying she is pretty won't get far, but tell her how her hair ornaments are properly matched to her skirt's embroidery...
— craves close relationships but is held back by fear. If she senses she is getting too close to someone she will try her best to cut it off by suddenly creating distance or feigning coldness.
— silently admires anyone who wears their heart on their sleeve and is unafraid to love fiercely.

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】aloof, blunt (though masked by flowery words), suspicious, afraid of failure, perfectionist, cold-hearted.
【virtues】level headed, high willpower, observant, creative, well-mannered, efficient, discreet, good memory.
【fatal flaw】Afraid to form close bonds with others, especially humans, for fear that one day she will have to kill them or they betray her, die or leave by any other means. The closer they are to her heart, the more it will hurt when one day she is abandoned. Its better to keep your distance than to get hurt. This may cause issues in developing the dragon-rider bond.
【happiest memory】Attending a human festival with her mother and her mother's human rider. The years have turned this memory to bitterness.
【a secret】she doesn't believe that her dear friend Sabar died for nothing. There must have been something meaningful behind the rebellion. She keeps this close to her chest but she refuses to accept that he betrayed them for nothing. As such, she is secretly sympathetic towards the branded children.

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】Silken Sea Breeze: the ability to summon a fragrant wind to your side, increasing your movement speed and jump distance. You are lighter and move as gracefully as the seaborn winds, just like Rynyrth. While the wind is not powerful enough to blast enemies, it can move lighter things such as leaves and dust. Handy for cleaning just as much as evading death.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】

Fantasy - As the World Burns

As the world burns... ...stars fall from the sky All across Aegisea, a brilliant flash from the cosmos announced the arrival of a new star. Like a second sun, its rays illuminated the land below in a cool, mystical glow. Even the cosmos seemed to stir into a dance, flushed out in billowy...

www.rpnation.com

&&— ❝ the Blue Dragon. ❞​

 

[stargrrl.]

❝ andromeda yarrow. ❞

“If you kick a lion when it is down,

God help you when it gets up.”​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— andromeda yarrow.

【nickname(s)】— andy (to acquaintances) , meda ( to those very close).
【gender】— cis-female (she/her).
【age】— twenty.
【sexuality】— bisexual.
【d.o.b.】— 4th of January.
【height】— 5ft8.
【build】— appears somewhat slight but is well toned from years of sparring.
【species】— human: rider.

❝ background. ❞

“Why on earth would they even bother keeping the children? Little bastards’ll try the same thing ten years from now mark my words.”

Andromeda can recall the sentiments of the infantry guarding the staging of her parents' execution all those years later like they were spoken to her moments before they would appear in her head. Thevoices, their comments, so repulsed by her brother, her family, her friends.

Scum, traitors, murders

Which she supposed they were to those outside of Tyrrendor. A well-balanced person surely couldn’t blame nameless infantry guards for such decisions as who and who not to execute, and yet, as Andy stared, their faces burned into her memory. Watching them stand guard she swore none of them would speak another word if she lived to see the end of this hellish occasion. From that moment on she was always slightly askew, the scales of justice always seeming to tilt away from balance, in favour of the rage that perpetually simmered just below her skin. With her older brother sobbing silently beside her Andromeda couldn’t coax out any tears, she could only stand shocked and seething.

Promising was the word used for Andromeda six months later, after being assessed on her applicable rider skills in her foster home. Troubled, yes, but promising, all that training her parents had overseen would seemingly work in favour of the people that had executed them. This idea of course horrified Andromeda and delighted everyone else involved, but even to just cross the parapet in first year and see her brother in the courtyard would be reward for swallowing the venom she felt rise like bile in her throat everytime she so much glanced at her foster ‘family’.

The announcement of her brother Ain's death came days before Andromeda’s twentieth birthday. As if it was a slight inconvenience, a red wine stain on a white rug or a cancelled meeting of friends, her foster father announced it at the dinner table between spoonfuls of his dessert. The tolerant respect Andromeda had built up for the man disintegrated in a moment, as did the curtains of the dining room when she chucked the candelabra from the table into them. Much of this ‘hysteria’ was taken out on her foster siblings in the coming days, causing her to be exiled to a solitary existence in her room most hours of the day for the few months left before she would enter Basgaith. Her foster parents feared so much for their own children who would attempt to enter the rider’s quadrant, that if allowed to continue training beforehand that Andromeda would continue to improve and kill them as soon as they joined in the years after her, not a completely unfounded fear. These attempts at thwarting her of course did not stop their resourceful protegee from training to do exactly that in her room each day since.

❝ concept. ❞

The daughter of two Tyrrish rebellion leaders, Andromeda was born with fire in her blood.

After watching her mother and father executed in front of her, she vowed she would take revenge on every hand that had a part in her parent’s violent death. She knew as she watched her parents burn that she would get her own back, that one day she would drag those responsible kicking and screaming from whatever outpost or office they were living their lives in and make them pay. She also figured while at Basgaith that getting back at their children and loved ones would be just as satisfying.

Getting behind the walls of the rider’s quadrant is her first step into exacting that vengeance. Andromeda is willing to play the game, well aware of the prejudice against marked cadets and realising she’ll get nowhere by slaughtering as she pleases through her year so she’s willing to play the game, rise through the ranks become stronger and then maybe finally she’ll find the retribution she has sought ever since her parent’s death.

Andromeda is a trained killer in her own right, exhilarated at the idea she can compete for the ultimate prize of dragon and signet, but Basgaith has already taken so much from her. Her own brother, two years into his stay at Basgaith he was killed during war games and the love of her life, the man she was engaged to before he left to train didn't even make it across the parapet after being shoved over the edge the moment he stepped on. Both of their souls condemned to Malek, their belongings burned and a stone carved with their names placed in the site surrounded by hundreds of other deceased riders.

Her relentless path is in the name of retribution and vengeance but when it comes down to it, all Andromeda really wants to do is silence the sound of her parents' screams that have reverberated through her mind everyday since.

❝ headcanons. ❞

• Is generally a deceptive and two faced person but believes in a strong code of honour. If you scratch her back, she’ll scratch theirs.
• Very good with maps.
• Has an insatiable sweet tooth.
• Would alter her outfits as a teenager to show off her relic out of spite.
• Has a great memory, great for academics and even better for burning faces and names into her brain.
• She’s always had trouble sleeping and a fear of the dark.
• Cat person.
• Loves the snow, one of the only things that gets her actually excited.
• Cannot carry a tune but will hum to herself during sparring.
• Has a set of daggers she inherited from her mother that she keeps with her at all times.
• Her relic goes from her left wrist to her collarbone, curving above her heart.
• Gets uncomfortable around fire due to the circumstances of her parents death,,, obviously a little awkward when aspiring to be a dragon rider.
• Loves swimming, lived by the water as a child and always wished to be taken back to the sea.
• Has severe trust issues, never enjoys things too much due to her presumption that it will all eventually be taken away.
• Is a complete lightweight when drinking.
• Has read every book she could get her hands on about stargazing.
• Has broken her nose twice and regularly dislocates her left shoulder after falling from a tree when she was 10.
• Is terrible at history and any subject that involves long tracts of information.
• Loves fine things.

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— ambitious, assertive, outspoken,quick thinking, well-spoken, intelligent, determined, loyal, perceptive, in the end driven by her emotions which can be both a vice and a virtue.

【virtues】— headstrong, stubborn, short-tempered, cold, tunnel-visioned, deceptive, untrusting, callous, calculating, vindictive, can be childish.
【fatal flaw】— her temper; andromeda’s emotions often blind her to fits of violence and vitriol, pushing away anyone, no matter how rational or well meaning, who gets in her way.
【happiest memory】— The summer she turned eight she would go down to the beach with her family every evening to swim. She used to watch her brother and cousins go out as far as they could but for years she knew she wasn’t strong enough to swim that far. One night she managed to swim you all the way to the rocks she could see from her bedroom window was one of the happiest of her life. She rode to shore on her brothers back to her parents cheering, so satisfied to have achieved what everyone had thought was impossible.
【a secret】— Belongings are to be burned after the death of a loved one, so says Navarrian tradition. But Andromeda is not Navarrian and although the classified materials she still has access to could easily get her imprisoned for treason or worse. Andy still has the diaries of both her father and mother as well as a compass of her fathers and a set of knives of her mothers, only still in her possession because of a sympathetic staff at her foster parents residence.

❝ abilities ❞

【rider skills】— Hand to Hand Combat: Andromeda has been sparring since she was six years old, her older brother and parents ensured that she would be fully capable to defend herself in the likelihood she needed to. She’s only honed those skills since, becoming a fairly deadly opponent, especially with her penchant for fighting dirty.

Strategy: her parents were key strategists in the rebellions, although that didn’t end how they expected, Andy picked up on their problem solving abilities and critical thinking skills as well as identifying people’s strengths and putting them to good use (although her emotions can cloud this rational part of her brain in especially stressful situations)

Perceptiveness: has a talent for reading people; their body language, their words for deeper meaning. Andromeda has always been a good judge of character and an uncanny judge of what people want to hear, comes in handy when she wants to get her way which is of course always.

Her knowledge of social customs and traditions at Basgaith is something she’s betting will come in handy. Squad leader, wing leader, executive officer, Andromeda wants whatever power she can get her hands on, and she knows that involves playing along which she can do no problem.

Navigation: taught to read the stars since she was young Andromeda has always been fascinated by her namesake and developed an awareness of natural ways of navigation. As she grew up this transformed into an additional ability to read and maps.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】—

The mottled floors of the bathroom were Tyrrish wood, Andromeda was positive. It had been a theory of hers for a period now, but with her cheek pressed to the cool reprieve of the floor she was sure of it. Another cosmic joke, another insult to her heritage and her culture. A hundred year old tree chopped down to adorn the floors of this gaudy, tasteless manor she had called home for the past five years while her own family home lay in ruins along with the entirety of Aretia. She found a moment to seethe even now, as the blood from her nose dripped into the oak’s grooves, pooling around the side of her face which was similarly bruised. Andromeda simply blinked as the blood slid past her eyelashes, entirely focused on regulating the metronome of her heartbeat, and the smooth inhale and exhale of her breath.

Scuffling on the floor up to her knees managed to be the most painful and humiliating part of the whole ordeal. Despite her aloneness she could picture herself in someone else’s view. Her strong arm coming to hoist her body up as her knees slid on the floor, seeking traction, her features contorting in a grimace of searing pain as her left arm lay limp against her side. This wasn’t the first time and Andromeda was sure that it wouldn’t be her last to pop that shoulder back into place but that knowledge did little to curb the pain. It was the simple act of grabbing her wrist and then pulling, forward and straight. Andy liked to think that like many things she had it down to a fine art. Silent and quick, that was her marker for a successful attempt.

Biting down on the towel she has shoved in her mouth she let out a cry of pain, and then one of frustration for good measure, she could never get the image of her foster siblings pressing their ear to the door to hear her in pain out of her head. Even at eighteen years old Andromeda’s imagination held a firm grasp over her existence, these little thoughts entered her brain and ate away at all logic until she was already too deep in her own fervour to notice she had completely lost all sense.

Grasping onto the polished marble of the sink she heaved herself to her feet with her good arm, surveying the damage done in the soft mage light shining above.

The towel she had used to muffle her scream was already spattered in her blood, Andromeda held it to her gushing nose and felt for a prognosis. Not broken, but Gods was it painful, that elbow swung at her out of nowhere. She was getting too comfortable during sparring. Presuming she could beat her ‘brothers’ when they were all sixteen and gangly and practically the same weight as her was fine, but getting knocked on her ass by a six foot two, two hundred pound man seemed to knock a hard reality into her, she would simply have to get better, quicker, she was smarter, more tactical, maybe it would just take a few more hard jabs for her to remember that.

“Andy!” a voice boomed through the hall “Ready for round two?”

She clenched her fists, the pain jolting her body for a moment as her left arm screamed at her for doing so.

“Coming!”

She bit her tongue to bite back the insults she wanted to tack on to the end of it, satisfied in the knowledge that the round vowels of the remnants of her Tyrrish accent would be enough to make her foster father cringe.

Leaning back down with a strained huff of breath she wiped her blood from the floor, taking extra care to leave it unmarked. Once her nose had stopped bleeding Andy had little need for any other intervention. The dull buzz of pain that was setting into her bones was a nice reminder. The youngest Yarrow was alive and breathing as well as she could in her state.

She crumpled the towel in her hands, throwing it in the basket so as to purposefully conceal its crimson stains. There was still something so shameful about it, the idea that she could lose. That she could be beaten and that she bled just like the rest of them, that her relic, in actual fact, didn't give her any superiority over them, other than serving as a reminder that she had survived despite their best efforts.

 

[Pastry]

❝ Kaelen. ❞

to be engorged in flame is a merciful death.​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— Kaelen, no last name.

【nickname(s)】— Kay.
【gender】— male, cisgender.
【age】— 21.
【sexuality】— heterosexual.
【d.o.b.】— unknown, sometime in spring.
【height】— 5'11.
【build】— stocky, muscular. Kaelen's build consists of strong muscles, a balanced frame, and a bit of a shorter height. if peeta mellark was a description, think of that.
【species】— dragon, red clubtail.

❝ background. ❞

Kaelen's father, a prominent figure in the dragon world, knows no bounds to achieving power. It may be through money, assets, the stories of his father echoes in his head constantly. It was said that his father had "never lost a battle." The bond between his father and his rider, was beyond anything. Turns out, that both the love shared between his father and his rider, was beyond anyone in their region had ever seen. But, the memory of his mother burns far greater. For to have a father that believed he could have everything, also decided to take his mother to bed. Though, his mother wasn't his to take, nor was his wife. So, Kaelen was born in secret. In a cavern in the middle of the woods, when rain had pattered outside the walls, a clutch of four, turned to one surviving egg. Paid little for silence , exiled and shamed, his mother worked to try and establish a home for Kaelen. A bastard with no last name, growing up in the streets, he was born to never trust another person. He was never to share that he was a dragon. So, the anxiety built, as he attempted to control the dragon part of him who was clawing for escape. He attempted to immerse himself as fully human. He worked to feed the family of two, in a small apothecary on the outskirts of the town he lived in. Never making friends, because to let anyone in would result in death. Many asked questions when they came for wares, wondering why someone so below the dragon hierarchy looked so similar to them. It was almost like he was never a dragon. The secret was kept. But, he boiled. To be forced to confine in the form of a human to protect himself and his family, was almost like being chained to the ground. Because of this, no one that he coined "of value" lived long in his life. He'd meet someone, spend time with them, but they would disappear soon enough when they got too close. Sometimes, it was because of his mother banning him from making friends, from going to school. He'd struggled with this, and often rebelled. It would never work out, though, because his new friend would either end up dead or disappeared.

One day, shortly before Kaelen left for Basgiath, he discovered a letter from his father, to his mother. It was dated a few days previously, stamped with his symbol of power and control. Asking to meet his out of wedlock son. She had a drafted letter settled on the desk, with a quill and ink next to it. The first few sentences depicted a disdain for his father's existence, and how he "shall never meet Kaelen, no matter the circumstance." He'd finally reveled that he was truly, dragon. Those moments of red fury boiling under his skin, waiting, itching to be released. He remembered when his mother would return with carcasses of executed animals, with gory slashes in them, and moments where there was a faint glow in his eyes whilst looking in a mirror. He had many dark moments in his life, where he'd wake up in a meadow of singed glory, but he was brought up in such secrecy, that he'd convinced itself that it wasn't real. Though he has memories of his childhood soaring in the skies, he thought it was dreams. He thought of the times that he had an itch to "be released," he thought he was just crazy. This revelation, brought an idea upon him. Dropping the letter from his shaky hands, he decided to walk straight up to the gates of his father's residence. Entering his chambers, he proclaimed his kinship to his father. The rage he felt for his father, for someone who abandoned him, a vile figure in his life, he blamed his father entirely. He felt abandoned, left behind to suffer with his mother. As he stepped out the doors of the apothecary, he could only remember a few steps before appearing at his residence. A conversation was exchanged, and this conversation was never revealed to another person. But, what happened next is still held in memory, and multiple scars across his entire body. In a vicious flurry, the next thing he knew was waking up in a puddle of blood with servants standing over him. Piles of rubble, the home of Kaelen's other half destroyed. there were other bodies in the rubble, but were unrecognizable. The blood was a mixture of his and his father's, but only one was left standing in that exchange. A cocktail of emotions, relief, shock, fear, and a small ounce of greed for the taste of blood. He was finally, "released." He'd felt the power in his hands, though dangerous and terrifying to him. He exploded out of his form and covered a half of his world that never exited in ashes. Shock, revelation, he was uplifted in power- but fear consumed him. He affirmed that this feeling to destroy and consume was always apart of him. His memories of human interaction and how they feared dragons and gryphons so much, scared him. Growing up as a human, he didn't even know that it was possible for him to fear himself. Covered in gore, he rose and stumbled out of the room, servants standing agape in both shock and fear. His father, finally losing a battle. But not on the field, in his own home. On his attempt to return home, he was captured by the force. After a year spent in the confines of a cell, his fate was decided. The people of his town felt that he was too dangerous to be a noble in his land, so they decided to send him to Basgiath's War College. The next thing he knew, was chained in a carriage on his way to Basgiath's War College, with a conscription in his hand.

❝ concept. ❞

Protective, anxiety-filled, and constantly fearing he will turn and kill his friends and family. A young boy who just wants to be loved and feel safe. The animalistic, lethal beast that is always a part of him, taking control of his entire life. Hoping that one day, he would achieve inner peace and be a valuable asset to a team.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— experienced in basic medicine for humans.
— journals constantly, his drawings are much better than his handwriting.
— "journaling" as in drawings of herbs, flowers, and words used in the apothecary inventory.
— he would really love it if someone taught him how to read.
—hufflepuff house if there was such a thing
— neutral good.
— uses his eyes to communicate.
— attempts to control himself from involuntarily turning into a dragon using exercise, particularly running.
— secret keeper
— always trying to practice reading and writing, since he was never taught.
— makes hardcore eye contact like creepy.
— taps his finger on surfaces to ground himself.
— writes in chicken scratch, i believe the longest sentence he has written was "I like marigolds."
— to think, he goes outside to the closest meadow or shade of a tree.
— his dragon form brutally demolishes his enemies in violent and destructive attacks. Never meaning to stun, or intimidate. He will always leave them unrecognizable when he's finished.
— scars across his nose, sides of his face, along his chest and arms.
— dresses for practicality, except for his simple gold necklace, the only thing he cherishes.
— hates strawberries
— he's one of those "single tear people." casual whiplash reference
— loves flowers
— very immersed in human culture
— does believe he is much more dragon than human
— sarcasm is his first language, even though he doesn't speak often.
— likes to watch birds, or other dragons fly.
— hard to earn his trust, since he doesn't want to get too close to anyone.
— often sits with his thoughts.
— can't remember what he does in dragon form (red wave violence).
— chronic eavesdropper
— extremely loving when you break the large and wide wall infront of it.
— so loyal. so. so. loyal.
— always trying to prove himself, but his fear of turning into his dragon form holds him back.
— afraid of his true potential.
— fully believes he can figure something out before asking for help.
— essentially lost in the dragon world
— pretty good dancer
— looks like he's cool and calculated, but literally panicking and crying on the inside.
—extremely meek, it'll take awhile to pull more than a few sentences out of his mouth.
—terrified of closed spaces less than 10 feet wide (you'll never catch him in a broom closet).
— pretty sure he never had a friend and doesn't remember if he ever made a friend or accidentally killed them

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— silence, dissociated, anxious, paranoid, follower, lack of confidence, irrational fear, constantly saying "I'm sorry," people pleaser, social skills? not there, hides his emotions.

【virtues】— loyalty, masked appreciation, remorseful, protective, observant, resourceful, determined, independent, honest, passionate, true to his heart, his promises will always be kept.
【fatal flaw】— "red wave" level of violence in his dragon form, he has to learn to accept help and "tame himself." His dragon form has been hard to control, and is usually triggered by strong waves of negative emotions.
【happiest memory】— Picking flowers for his mother in a field while she watched nearby.
【a secret】— he killed his father, and knows that his mother was killed while he was imprisoned.

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— scalding hot iron chains sprouting from the ground, meant to stun the wearer, and bind them to the ground. As the chains wrap around the victim's arms, they are both burned, and trapped unless the victim is capable of breaking out of them (usually if chained in dragon form, they turn human, if chained in human form, turn dragon, but will take time). This ability can be used in conjunction with riding Kaelen in his dragon form, or used to get away when Kaelen isn't around to protect them. An incantation is used to conjure these chains, chosen by the user.

the confines of this signet: usually pertaining to it's short range of 10 feet when riding kaelen. When first receiving the signet, the rider has to build a connection with kaelen so strong that they need to use both the emotions felt through kaelen, and their own (mainly strong negative one). After building that connection, the receiver of the signet is completely capable of doing the incantation on their own.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】~ pastry's bakery

&&— ❝ Red Dragon, Clubtail. ❞​

 

[BOKEH.]

❝ fia alves. ❞​

from sprinkler splashes to fireplace ashes
i gave my blood, sweat, and tears for this.​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— fia catarina alves.
【nickname(s)】— although she typically just goes by fia or alves, she is sometimes referred to as fi by close friends or relatives. she is, however, open to other nicknames.
【gender】— female (she/her).
【age】— twenty years old.
【sexuality】— pansexual panromantic.
【d.o.b.】— june 1st.
【height】— 5'4 or 162cm.
【build】— fairly slender and toned with a smaller bone structure.
【species】— human.

❝ background. ❞

fia was born in the province of morraine at the military outpost of montserrat near the cygnisen border. she was the only daughter and second child to valeria and alexandre alves, who were relatively high-ranking dragon riders in the kingdom at the time. as children of the alves, fia and her older brother, enzo, were always held to exceedingly high expectations and were expected to follow in their parents' footsteps. her parents ruled with an iron fist in an attempt to keep their children under their thumbs. even at a young age, fia learned that it was easier to just comply with her parents' demands for the punishment for disobeying was typically harsh. if she did what they asked, then she might just get an ounce of their affection or at least positive attention. but, what little fia did not realize was that her efforts would never be enough for them.

although her parents were not necessarily the best at parenting their children, their statuses as part of the elite in navarre allowed their children to receive quality education and gave them access to a variety of resources. they also arranged for their children to live in a village just west of the outpost and out of danger's way. there, fia and her brother were cared for by her uncle when their mother and father were off fulfilling their military obligations. fia's uncle, nicolau, had once been a part of navarre's infantry but had been discharged from his position due to the loss of one of his arms. fia had always thought her uncle to be a cold and a bit of an odd man. like her parents, he was strict and had high expectations for them. but, he was not exactly cruel. during the time she spent with her uncle, he taught her quite a few skills like how to handle a knife and how to punch someone without injuring herself in the process. he used to tell her stories about his time in the infantry and about the continent itself, but his stories were more like riddles and never quite made sense to fia.

when the rebellion began, fia was only around ten years old. her father was sent south to tyrrendor while her mother was stationed in calldyr city during the duration of the rebellion. it was not until sometime after the end of the revolt and after the treaty of aretia that fia saw her parents again. unfortunately for fia, when her parents returned to the eastern part of the kingdom, their demands of her had multiplied. if she had ever had any hope of potentially having a choice of her path before, the results of the rebellion had also sealed her fate as a future rider in the eyes of her family.

during her later adolescent years, a lot of fia's time was spent focused on preparing herself to one day volunteer to join the rider's quadrant. after all, if she was going to someday make it in basgiath, it was better for her to somewhat have an advantage from the start. she also grew more curious about the details of the rebellion and the confidential information that her mother and father kept under lock and key. thus, she began to find clever ways to obtain the information that she sought. but, still, some secrets remained just out of her reach. through these years, she learned how to more effectively navigate different aspects of the world she lived in.

when she came of age, fia did what was expected of her and volunteered to join the rider's quadrant. no matter the cost, she would have to survive it.

❝ concept. ❞

fia comes from a family of dragon riders and is the daughter of loyalists who may have had a hand in the collective, unfortunate fate of rebellion leaders and their children all of those years ago. although she is equally charming and cunning in nature, fia is not a young woman who can necessarily be trusted by the majority, nor does she trust the majority either. she's a girl with her own agenda and isn't afraid to step on another's toes to achieve her ambitions and meet her parent's expectations. thus, it is no surprise that she is a known perfectionist with a tendency to be capricious and enigmatic. while she seems to hold herself with confidence and knows how to put on a good performance, fia struggles with some inner turmoil. while she might have become the daughter that her parents pushed and molded her to be, she is not so sure that she wants to be just that anymore.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— almost always avoids eye contact when she is lying to someone she cares about
— picks her nails when she is bored
— is a great conversationalist
— if she were to be sorted into a hogwarts house, she would be a slytherin
— has great aim and tends to gravitate towards weapons like throwing daggers
— it absolutely drives her insane when people chew with their mouth open
— has an older brother who is amongst the riders quadrant as well, but he has already graduated the war college
— struggles to maintain any sort of deceptions or lies when it comes to people she cares about
— really great at a little something called self-sabotage when it comes to relationships
— enjoys messing with other people
— has always enjoyed dressing up for events even though she will probably claim otherwise
— when she is stressed about something, she trains or cleans
— she has always been kind of a sucker for dramatics
— frequently worried that she's not enough and will not live up to the expectations of her family
— while she does not excel in the department of physical strength, she is rather agile and has fast reflexes
— if she feels like she has been wronged by another, she will get back at them for doing so
— in her free time, she enjoys playing games, solving mysteries or puzzles (not literal ones), and dancing
— she might just have a minor panic attack if she gets something sticky on her hands which is why she tends to avoid sweets
— probably an entp or entj but leans more towards being an ambivert rather than an extravert
— surprisingly a heavy sleeper when she is actually able to sleep
— will do whatever it takes to achieve her goals and desires because she can't deal with the consequences that come with failure
— very hot and cold

❝ psyche. ❞

【virtues】— quick-witted, charismatic, creative, bold, ambitious, adaptable, strategic, brave, curious, hard-working
【vices】— cunning, insecure, perfectionistic, unpredictable, manipulative, deceptive, vindictive, sarcastic, selfish, distrustful.
【fatal flaw】— her selfishness. fia's will do almost anything to survive and achieve her goals. thus, she tends to put her own needs and desires over others. she wants what she wants and is willing to sometimes burn her bridges with others to get it. she may offer to help someone else from time to time, but usually, it's because she benefits from it in some way. even so, she knows what she does is wrong and acknowledges that she should not behave in such a way, but she just cannot seem to help herself despite the misery it sometimes brings her.
【happiest memory】— on her eighteenth birthday, fia received a beautifully crafted dagger from her uncle. it was one of the few gifts she recieved from any of her family members other than her brother. she remembers the precious gift being lighter in her hand than she had expected. the blade was cold and smooth to the touch, and the hilt of the dagger had been engraved with an intricate design. she had run her fingers along the carved areas in a bit of awe. her uncle was stoic as ever, but she could not stop her lips from curving into a genuine smile.
【a secret】— while she does not consider herself to be a rebel sympathizer, she does not exactly trust the navarrian government nor does she agree with how they chose to deal with the children of the rebellion. of course, fia wouldn't admit to having such thoughts though.

❝ abilities ❞

【rider skills】— accurate aim & speedy reaction time: fia excels at using weaponry, such as throwing daggers and archery, that requires accurate aim, especially at a distance. she has a quick reaction time and does well at finding patterns among her targets movements or lack of movements. being smaller in size and lacking in physical strength, fia has put a lot of time into trying to perfect these particular skills prior to her arrival at the college.

communication & adaptability: fia has always been a great conversationalist despite being more of an ambivert. she is rather clever with her words and her ability to adapt allows her to move seamlessly through a variety of different conversations. not only this, but the aspiring dragon rider knows how to put on quite the performance and can play almost whatever role she needs to in a conversation depending on the situation. she also does well at absorbing information from her different conversations and effectively communicating that information when needed. even so, she still somehow seems to struggle with such skills within the context of her interpersonal relationships.

creative & strategic thinker: despite the many restrictions that have been placed on her throughout her life, fia is a relatively creative and strategic thinker. the young woman has always been rather curious about the world around her and learning new things in general. moreover, fia is known for brainstorming unconventional ideas to solve existing problems and overcome obstacles that may be in her path. as mentioned previously, she is also fairly good at finding patterns and formulating goals based on her observations and knowledge of the situation at hand. these skills of hers will likely continue to develop as she goes through the process of becoming a rider.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— death was not an uncommon phenomenon in the city of criminals. unfortunately, the most recent death did not benefit her in any sort of way. though she did not care much for the dreg's former boss, his demise had left the gang in, well, for lack of a better term, a shitty situation.

the boss had had no definite heir to his wicked throne, leaving his ambitious sons to struggle for power and position. in a city like ketterdam, it was a dangerous game to play. if the other gangs knew what a difficult and vulnerable position they were in—they were sure to capitalize on it. after all, a place of ruins was the perfect subject for a revolution of sorts. though this meeting was necessary, the three of them who were representing the dregs today at the blue olive would have to exhibit a strong, united front in the wake of their boss's death. any sort of weakness would be a delicious appetizer to the power-hungry leaders that they were about to face. even if it meant spilling half-truths and lies, the dark-haired woman was sure to keep her appearance. she hoped that her companions were willing to do the same while they investigated the truth behind their boss's death.

as the carriage rolled to a halt, the young grisha pulled the heavy window curtains shut. It was time. "alright, my darlings, let us keep our wits in this meeting." she said with a mixture of exhaustion and irritation in her voice. she waited for the eldest of them, zosime, to step out of their ride first before she followed suit. after being in that stuffy carriage for longer, the brisk air was much appreciated. dia adjusted her darkly colored, thick cloak on her shoulders and pushed a few stray hairs away from her face. she examined the exterior of the blue olive. the two-story building was nothing special from the outside. to most, it looked like any other tavern that one would find in the city. she supposed its simple nature made it a good place to uphold suspicious activity without drawing too much attention.

the inside was not much better. much like zosime, indira grimaced at its poorer conditions. "it's all part of the charm, zo." she responded to the other girl's comment as she moved her way through the dimly lit passage, being mindful of her every step.

upon reaching the designated door for the meeting, she sucked in a deep breath and mentally prepared herself for whatever fate they would meet on the other side of those doors. she was not certain what outcome this gathering would have. would they get the answers they sought or would they be met with a puzzle to solve? there was also the dreadful possibility of being tossed into a war if their boss's death was connected to one of the other gangs within the city. but there was only one way to find out.

the half-suli woman followed her dark-haired companion into the room. the atmosphere was tense as she had expected it to be. as she advanced forward to claim her seat amongst the already-gathered, she eyed the ghezen priests with distaste. though she had grown up with the belief of the saints, she had never been a very religious individual.

claiming a seat next to zo, she took a moment to examine her surroundings. though she was the one who had been with the dregs for the least amount of time between the three of them, she did recognize some of the faces of the representatives from the razorgulls and the dime lions around her, especially those of power like caballero and darne. both of them had a certain ambiance about them that made them stand out amongst their peers. however, she knew no more than their subordinates. she was sure that their little minds were attempting to formulate why they had called this meeting and why the dreg's boss had yet to arrive. admittedly, the morbid gangster took some pleasure in their evident ignorance.

&&— ❝ the rider. ❞​

 

[erzulie]

❝ azara the scourge. ❞

“Isn’t all that rage so ugly?”
“and isn’t it mine? Good God, isn’t it mine?”
​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— azara | fire or scarlet red

【nickname(s)】— zara
【gender】— female.
【age】— 20.
【sexuality】— demisexual.
【d.o.b.】— summer solstice in june.
【height】— 5’6”.
【build】— compact and strong. azara’s physique holds all the likeness of a sculpture. she is strength and hard muscle built through rigorous training. her control over her body is impressive and she has honed her strength, endurance, and agility. (for reference her body type is that of a shorter jade cargill).
【species】— red morningstar tail.

❝ background. ❞

she remembers the first time she’d tasted blood in her mouth and hard scales ripping beneath her claws. her mother had done well to hide her clutch, for she knew that harm could befall them at any given moment within their home. omaira was a ferocious dragon, scar riddled warrior who had slaughtered both dragons and humans alike. it was why her father had wanted her and why he’d captured her. but even she could not be in two places at once. azara’s mother had left them one day and and it had been the perfect opportunity for her siblings and their own mothers.

azara had only been a hatchling when a sibling only two years older than her had found where they were hidden. she had slain one of her azara’s full blooded siblings with little effort and for the first time azara knew fear and rage. her other sibling had fled, leaving her to defend herself. azara had to fought, heart cold with fear and with death seemingly looming over her. something unlocked within her day, as she tore into her older sibling with all the likeness of a wild animal. her mother returned to her looming over the body, eyes as cold and hungry as her own.

it was then that she was thrust into the battleground that she called home. she was presented to her father after her very first kill. azara could not help but shrink beneath his gaze. vermell was a fearsome dragon, head of a bloodline known for their prowess in war and in combat. he was a being to favored strength and cruelty. it was why he had taken multiple makes and had them bore him many hatchling. only the strongest of them would have the honor of being accepted by him. and so a dangerous competition and standard was set amongst the hatchlings.

with her debut she was no longer allowed to be coddled and hidden by her mother. instead she was groomed to become a monster that her father approved of. amongst cruel training and test, she was forced to watch her back constantly in order to avoid being killed. it was common for one to fall during combat lessons, especially when set up against a sibling. so azara bettered herself and fighting for her survival soon became something that morphed into an enjoyment towards violent. she was a brute indeed but she was also as sly as a serpent. many of her siblings fell prey to her fire and her claws. she became one of the favored amongst her siblings and the threat to her life only increased. it was when she slaughtered her second oldest sibling that her father had pulled her aside and told her to prepare to join basgiath.

❝ concept. ❞

a deceptively quiet dragon who has learned to let her anger strengthen her instead of blind her. her pretty visage of jewel like scales and eyes, hides a beast that is all snarling maw and brutality. violence begets violence and she is cruel to her very core, or so it is often believed. they watch her with cautious eyes, waiting for the moment that she snaps like a tightly coiled spring. her words bite but her claw bite deeper. there is a grace about her, an animalistic type of allure that sets teeth on edge and chills the skin.

it is advised that riders use extra caution when they attempt to bond with azara and if they have done their research, to come bearing gifts of glittering jewels and freshly killed meat. she has yet to bond with anyone just yet and those who have tried so far have been met with her fire and nearly devoured.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— is a hoarder when it comes to jewels, especially of red ones. riders who give her jewels have a better chance of escaping her unscathed.
— a very light sleeper. azara can wake up from deep sleep at the drop of a hat.
— she may be a fire breathing beast but she is also skilled in both hand to hand combat and swordsmanship.
— she holds clear contempt for humans. in her perfect world she would not be shackled with a rider, but instead going where she pleases and reigning terror.
— her human form feels unnatural to her. she enjoys being in her dragon form more
— her scales are a variety of deep reds, rather than one color.
— has only one weakness and that is her mother. they have an odd relationship where they are cold to one another, so that they would not be used against each other.

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— intense, shrewd, confrontational, manipulative, insensitive, vengeful

【virtues】— tenacious, observant, intuitive, resourceful, honest, ambitious
【fatal flaw】— her rage and need to survival | azara’s fatal flaw has always been the anger that festers inside of her. she has been living her life fueled by those emotional. azara does not know how to turn it off. she is like a coiled viper, a moment away from striking. because of it she has a difficult time forming relationships and will often bite off more than she can chew when it comes to opponents.
【happiest memory】— during the few times when they were at peace, her mother would tell her stories of her battles and fights that she won and lost. It was a warm day, beneath a giant tree and surrounded by red wild flowers.

【a secret】— she is purposely keeping herself from bonding with a rider, both as an act of rebellion and because she does not feel that humans are worthy of commanding dragons the way they do

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— Sense Manipulation: Azara gives her rider the ability to manipulate the senses of themselves and others. With her signet they can freely alter or remove the five senses. It can manifest through touch or a pitch black smoke that can be released.

Enhanced Senses: Her rider can enhance the senses of themselves and others. An example of this signet would be using it in a way that causes a sensory overload or lowering an enemy’s pain tolerance. They can only target one sense at a time.

Sensory Deprivation: Their rider can cruelly send people into a state where they feel nothing, her shadows will surround them and rip away the senses of their choice.

Imperceptibility: They are able to make themselves imperceptible, unable to be detected by those around him. They take up space but those around will not be able to perceive them. An example would be the feeling of walking into an invisible wall.

Illusions: They can create vivid hallucinations or full blown illusions when dealing with a target. They’re life like in nature, making them difficult to distinguish from reality. They can conjure up nightmarish images, make mere minutes seem like hours.

— LIMITATIONS

Targets: When using the ability through touch, they must remain in physical contact with them in order to manipulate their senses. Of course, this leaves them open to attacks that break his concentration, thus stopping the ability.

Mental Fortitude: Those with abilites that focus on the mind or those with strong wills are more likely to break his illusions. They seem to have some sort of mental block that stops them from being completely absorbed into the illusions.

Time Length: The rider is unable to permanently remove someone’s senses. The ability has a time limit through both means. When shadows are in use, depending on how much is inserted into a person or how much they are exposed to, it can last up to a few minutes or days. With touch, the connection is broken as soon as they let go.

【rider skills】— info.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— she could feel the servant behind her trembling ever so slightly. Shaking hands and combing through her mess of curls with the upmost care. Void-like eyes met lovely greens for a brief second. The woman seated admired them in the soft glow of the candlelight. Her love for precious gemstones kept her gaze focused, and the two of them locked in a staring contest before the emeralds disappeared behind pale lids. A grin appeared behind her fanged mask. She dropped her gaze, instead looking at her own visage.

The silence around them stretched as she lost herself in thought. Her invitation had made it to her safely. However, the messenger had an entirely different story. He had arrived at the entrance to their estate—or rather, whatever had taken his form had arrived with the letter in tow. There was no way of knowing what happened to the body, and she could only pray that the animals had gotten to him first before they snatched his form.

Nevertheless, her family had decided that the invitation called for a celebration. The night before her journey had been quite a revel. They had taken to the forest in a frenzy. Screams, howls, and cackles filled the night air, traveling far off into the wilderness and inviting more to join in their celebration. She had noticed how their numbers grew and the forms that crept from behind the trees. The Acindius family carried on well into the morning.

A low chuckle slipped from her lips. Peering at the handiwork of the maid, she hummed in satisfaction. "Leave me." She was alone soon after she’d spoken. Gazing at the invitation on her vanity, the heiress smiled to herself again. It had been quite some time since she had gone to a sleepover. Her first one had been her very last after a little incident, but that had been fine with her. Now, though, her interest was piqued, and she was genuinely curious about her fellow guest.

With one final look in the mirror, Devana was gone. It could just be a simple trick of the eye, but the shadow at the entrance of the peace hall seemed to get darker. From the shadows stepped Devana, clad in black and wearing the mask of some fanged creature. Her steps were light, and her black, pupil-less eyes took in those around her as well as her surroundings. She seemed rather out of place against the color scheme of the room. "Hello, I am Devana Acindius." Her tone, though icy, was polite.

 

[yokai.]

❝ osian sildrel. ❞

to hold me like water; or christ, hold me like a knife​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— osian sildrel

【nickname(s)】— oz, osh
【gender】— cis male, he/him pronouns
【age】— 21
【sexuality】— bisexual
【d.o.b.】— august 12
【height】— 6'2"
【build】— streamlined, swimmer's build with broad shoulders
【species】— human

❝ background. ❞

The Sildrels are famed for their meticulously curated reputation, ranking highly among most Navarrian families. A lineage of combat-trained nobility comes with many privileges, but for how many doors are opened by the Sildrel name, even more remain locked. Oz was spared most of the burden by being born second to his older brother, whose shoulders were weighed down heavily by expectations of inheriting and overseeing their mother's weaponry fortress. Because of this, Osian was granted more freedom, but often went neglected, their parents' attention reserved only for their firstborn, their most adored. At times, weeks would pass without Oz ever seeing the face of either of his parents, as they were preoccupied with providing necessary military aid to the war effort. And so he was handed off to various live-in caretakers, all of whom would eventually quit from frustration after a few times spent catering to his infamous tantrums and mischief. Despite all of his trouble, it seemed to amuse his mother to watch him make fools of other people, and though his behaviour was never explicitly approved, it wasn't exactly discouraged, either.

His brother, Lyle, on the other hand, never failed to express his disdain for Osian whenever possible, their relationship defined by cutting remarks that always aimed to spill blood. They didn't always treat each other with the same cruelty they grew to wield, and on good days, Oz would recall times when a younger him would stumble terrified in the darkness of the manor's grand hall, reaching for the safety of Lyle's waiting hand to guide him back to the light, losing himself in the memory of a time when he thought the world of his brother. But their parents' favouritism inevitably drew a wedge between them, and this fostered a resentment that would fester as years went by. Oz stopped looking to Lyle for guidance, growing to want to forge his own path. He became wilder, more provocative, an aggressive sharpness forming in the upturn of his lips. Schoolyard fights became a daily occurrence, and he began to seek more amusement at the expense of others. He grew to not care about whoever he stepped on, as long as eyes were on him. This earned him a lot of admirers as well as enemies, so he quickly learned how to say the right words to twist situations in his favour, eventually being able to talk his way out of most conflicts.

For most of his adolescence, he played the part of a harmless, thrill-seeking rake, set up for a life of comfort and freedom. And then the war ended. The Sildrels were suddenly saddled with caring for the child of a rebel officer, a task they begrudgingly accepted, if only to gain more social capital. The boy they took in was quiet and kept to himself, unable to meet the eyes of anyone who addressed him, a ghost that drifted through the halls of the manor looking for a place to belong. For a while, the Sildrels and the rebel child maintained a peaceful and detached coexistence. But eventually, it became increasingly clear that the boy overshadowed Oz in many aspects, besting him in every duel he would start and ranking higher than Oz in most academic subjects. Every time Oz retaliated, either by cheating or manipulation, the boy seemed more and more hellbent on proving himself, unwilling to submit no matter what cruelty Oz had the mind to inflict on him. His parents were outraged. Their son, a child of noble birth, being bested by a child of the rebellion? Simply inexcusable. And so they issued Osian a strict ultimatum: He would either prove himself by volunteering for the Riders Quadrant upon his enrollment to Basgiath, or he would be promptly disowned and thrown to the streets without a penny to his name.

Take a good guess at which option he chose.

❝ concept. ❞

The second son, the spare, a necessary sacrifice. Oz bears all of these titles with an easy grin, with no visible hesitance aside from the tightening of corners at the edge of his lips. In his youth, he was afforded more of a hedonistic lifestyle, and he mourns the fact that he is held to stricter standards now that he has come of age. He longs for the lyresong of a revelry, thrives amid the crowd of an alehouse, yet forced to trade it all to carve through bodies on a battlefield. He possesses quite the silver-tongue, jumping at the chance to make light of an otherwise serious situation in his own playful way and knowing how to persuade most into falling into his favour. He is swayed by all things amusing, known for being a bit of a jester, walking with the confidence of a man who has lived a life of privilege.

Though many flock to his charming and carefree nature, few ever have the privilege of seeing Oz behind his mask of mirth; beneath it, he is deceptively calculating, making sure to gauge the temperature of a room before playing his hand. Unable to settle for mediocre, he often pushes himself to physical limits to become better, stronger, quicker. He was raised to be useful, only valued for what he can provide other people, at first by becoming an instrument for laughter, and now a sword to be swung and a shield to take cover under. A dog in a gilded cage, really, although he is convinced he's chosen these things for himself. In the end, he is loyal to those he swears fealty to, led with blind devotion to the only cause he grew up knowing.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— failson
— born to "hiii :3" forced to "hi >: )"
— he just wants to be at the club
— cannot stand a killjoy, will boo loudly if you're killing the vibe
— he'll start fights and then leave, he dgaf
— will do anything to please a crowd, he must entertain the masses!!
— hypocrite but would rather die than admit this
— instead of resting bitch face, he has resting pout face
— had a fear of the dark when he was young which he grew out of
— can now only focus on studying at night
— haaaates losing
— opinion on dragons? he thinks they're scary but is intrigued
— will probably pester his dragon with questions about their origins, culture, meetings, etc.
— forbidden knowledge? forbidden to YOU maybe
— secretly wants to bond with a dragon just to feel special
— his love language is insults
— thinks he's hot shit, and he kinda is
— passes notes by throwing and aiming right for the face
— surprisingly has really neat handwriting, almost elegant
— loves farm animals, once begged his parents for a pet lamb to no avail
— to this day is convinced he would've been the best owner
— unfairly handsome, almost impish
— holds himself to impossible standards
— incapable of letting grudges go, will do whatever it takes to settle a score
— smiles when he's nervous
— very good at playing the fool, knows what's expected of himself
— lots of callouses on his hands from years of rigorous sword training
— often never took said sword training seriously
— naturally athletically gifted, but not used to applying himself
— enjoys sour foods the most, dislikes sweets
— carries sour candy in his pockets at all times
— can fall asleep anywhere within a matter of seconds
— childish when things don't go his way
— will tell you to your face that you don't belong
— like tinkerbell, he will die if he doesn't get enough attention
— very much a gossip, never one to miss out on laughing at other's misfortunes
— he can keep a secret, however; only reveals information when it benefits him
— not as impulsive as most would think and is actually quite stealthy
— better at tasks that require dexterity and agility rather than brute strength
— everything about him is well-groomed except for his hair
— doesn't bother to style his hair much so it always looks like a wild mess of curls
— well-read literature fan but he's a bit embarrassed by it
— however if you're spouting some inaccurate shit, he won't hesitate to let you know how wrong you are

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— arrogant, vindictive, manipulative, self-critical, chauvinistic, can and will be a nuisance if he wants to be.

【virtues】— charismatic, witty, playful, insightful, determined, endlessly loyal to those he considers friends.
【fatal flaw】— His lack of agency in his own life. His downfall is that he doesn't think for himself, nor was he ever taught to, and so he is complacent with blindly following a false narrative. To Osian, there is no other choice but to be the cause of pain before others can hurt you. The war is seen by him as a prime example of the strongest winning out over the weak. As long as you're on the winning side, you must be on the right one, right?
【happiest memory】— He was about six or seven years old, and he was sitting in the dark of a closet with only shadows for company. He had been locked inside for hours, his stomach churning with hunger and his bladder full from trying his best to hold it until he was out, lest he make a fool of himself. He tried screaming and crying as loudly as he could, his throat hoarse with his efforts. No one came to free him, either because he hadn't been loud enough, or because no one wanted to deal with him. The latter was why he was locked in there in the first place, as his current nursemaid had gotten sick of trying to appease him and thought it was best to punish him by depriving him of light and food for however long she liked. 'Unwanted' was the word that ceaselessly plagued the child's thoughts as he curled into himself, mind conjuring up all sorts of horrible images to accompany him in the terrifying darkness.

At some point, the lock clicked open, and the door swung ajar to reveal a sliver of light, along with the sound of his brother's voice. Lyle had asked him why he was there, earnest concern apparent on his face. Oz was at a loss for words, only overjoyed by the sight of his older brother, and launched himself over to embrace his lower half, small enough then to just about reach the top of his waist. A hesitant hand hovered above his head as he sought out his comfort, burying his face in the side of Lyle's trousers, before the older boy resigned to run his fingers through Oz's messy curls in attempt to soothe him. The rush of warmth that flooded him in that moment never left the younger Sildrel boy, and to this day it serves as a reminder that there had once been someone who cared for him enough to look for him, to free him.
【a secret】— He was quite fond of the rebel boy his family had taken in. They were close friends before things turned sour, and the tension between them eventually turned into something more intimate than heated rivalry. But he would rather fall on his sword than reveal this to anyone.

❝ abilities ❞

【rider skills】— Swordfighting; He was taught by the finest instructors over many years in his youth, and although he mostly coasted through these lessons without putting much effort in improving, he has an undeniable skill for wielding a variety of blades and thinks quickly on his feet. Evading and parrying are his strengths.

— Literature; His family owned an extensive library that held many texts on a variety of subjects, and as a child who did not have many friends growing up, he often passed the time by burying his head in any novel that captured his interest. He is most fond of fictional myths and legends, but is also up to date with medicinal and geographical texts.
— Sociability; He knows how to wield his words and is more perceptive than people give him credit for. Oz prides himself on being able to read other people and figuring out what makes them tick, which is very advantageous when he's trying to gain others' favour. He picks his battles with the wit of a strategist, only deigning to move when it best suits him, and this philosophy extends to his relationships with other people. As long as you benefit him in some way, he'll make sure to keep you around.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】

baring her teeth, she grabbed some matches she had scavenged earlier and a stack of printer paper from the trash to throw them into a ratty misused satchel, and stormed off into the forest.

she looked for a dry spot - it had rained yesterday so the ground was still quite damp and pushing up between her bare toes, muck sticking itself to her heels as she trudged forward. there was one on a slightly raised mound of earth near the center, and onyx dropped the bag full of matches she was carrying and wasted no time digging her hands into the dirt to rip out chunks of grass.

she plunged her teeth into the soft cushion of her bottom lip and growled, animalistic with the thirst for what was to come, to satiate this all-consuming anger. she thrusted her claws into it, mud forcing itself between her nails and the spaces between her fingers as she clawed at the ground until there was a large shallow circle cleared before her.

she had to leave the clearing in search of dry wood she could use for tinder, which turned out to be a difficult task. every moment she spent idle was an opportunity for the rage she harbored to grow restless, to overwhelm her with anticipation and anxiety and a pain that was all too satisfying. by the time she had a small armful of bark and branches, she was shaking with exhaustion, bones aching and muscles telling her to stop. she never listened.

her arms were almost useless when she set to work building a teepee from sticks, smaller pieces of wood lining the base of the little structure, some cardboard scraps and printer paper for kindling. her patience had long since run short once she finished off the circle with some stones.

she was sloppy with the lighter fluid, shaking violently and near the point of hyperventilation, sloshing it messily over the teepee, probably dousing the ground more than the wood. she fiddled with the matches, shaking as she struck it and threw it into the center of the pit.

shoulders heaving, she watched with golden eyes as the small flame she produced sparked to life, the crackling of the embers calming her nerves. the lighter was cast aside in the dewy grass next to her, along with scattered printer paper and her soiled bag.

blinking, she relaxed and felt the grogginess overwhelm her slowly dying fury like night engulfing the sunset with midnight blue and black. her face flushed as she let the heat of the fire put her into a somber trance.

&&— ❝rider. ❞​

❝ irathel. ❞

i was raised with my face to the skies;
but i was not a heavenly child.​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— irathel

【nickname(s)】— ira, "little ghost," "runt"
【gender】— cis female, she/her pronouns
【age】— 20
【sexuality】— asexual
【d.o.b.】— spring equinox in march
【height】— 5'4"
【build】— petite, spritely, and fleet-footed in her human form; slender and small for her colour as a dragon, with a scale pattern reminiscent of a luna moth
【species】— dragon | green clubtail

❝ background. ❞

Weakness in Irathel's clutch was not tolerated kindly, and the young are trained to be ruthless from the moment they are hatched. Among green dragons, it was not unusual for parents to eat the weakest of their children, and Ira's own father was not the exception to this. He treated her, the runt among her siblings, with a severity that would scar her throughout her entire life. And yet, through all of the fear that defined her childhood, Ira would hold onto the rare moments of kindness her father would show her. As fleeting and conditional as it was, his love was all she'd ever known.

She and her siblings did not fight using claws and teeth, no, they played mind games and used fear to torture each other, instead. There was nothing more coveted among them than their father's approval, and each of them were quick to discover that the only way to gain that was to become exactly like him, a beast of meticulous calculation who stalked his prey from the shadows. He punished shows of blatant brutality, deeming it a base instinct that was beneath a species of their caliber. So they played nice, pretended they didn't yearn to eviscerate each other, and came up with more effective ways to destroy and sabotage. Ira and her siblings were most effective when working together as a unit, cohesive in their strategy and downright terrifying while working towards a common goal. However, their distrust of each other poisoned any chance of forming genuine loyalty. In the end, Ira could only look at her siblings and see traitors lying in wait.

The humans' little war made its presence known, a force that could no longer go ignored as more and more dragons were called to serve on the frontlines. The bloodshed spread until it reached the edges of the Vale, where Irathel's father, as mighty as he was, fell to a spear that miraculously pierced through adamantine scales. Ira still remembers the moment her father died, his scream of visceral agony resounding through the air as he reared back, maw slack as the life left his eyes. Instead of anguish, she felt ... fascinated. Until that moment, she was unaware that her father could die, imperious in his dominion over her and her siblings, his authority enforced with the reverence of an undying god. How curious it was for him to have fallen at the hands of a human, an objectively lesser species. Perhaps, she thought, living among them would be a worthy investigation.

Before she set out for Basgiath, she tested the limits of her human form, an ability that she previously never had the need for, and so it took some time to adjust to her new vulnerabilities. She wandered her way into a nearby village, catching the sight of a farmer who only saw a helpless, lost child, oblivious to the monster hidden beneath. Ira studied the farmer and his husband with intense scrutiny as they took her into their home, clothing her and feeding her with what little they possessed. The two men treated her with utmost care, an entirely different way of being that went against her very nature, and felt foreign for her to even dare to mimic. Her practiced grace felt awkward, out of place alongside the undisguised affection her adopted parents held for each other, a warmth that extended to include her the more time she spent in their care. As Ira grew into a young woman, she mastered the art of masquerading as a human, suppressing her true nature to play the part of a quiet, curious daughter raised in an earnest and humble farmstead. An idyllic study of humanity that, despite its bitter end, she would hold close to her heart as she committed herself to the Riders Quadrant years later. Humans were artless in their ways of being, and though they were tender, this made them weak. Their fragility needed protecting, and Irathel would see to it that their wars, however futile, would not lead to their extinction. They made for fascinating subjects of study, after all.

❝ concept. ❞

Innocence and charm are often what draw people to Irathel at first glance. She projects an image of delicate grace, a reserved soft-spokenness that permeates her interactions with others. Some inconsistencies may be observed if she is studied for long enough, such as the switching of tones and speech patterns to mimic her current conversation partner, or her lack of intense emotion. The few who really pay attention will see that she is deliberate in who she speaks to and how she speaks to them, only acting personable to others when she has something to gain. Otherwise, she can come across as aloof to those who do not offer her any value, and these judgments are made fairly decisively.

Irathel's intelligence is a cut above most of her kind, but she doesn’t see the point in making the full extent of her cleverness known to others. No stranger to being underestimated, she utilizes perceived weaknesses of hers (her frail appearance, her youth, her lack of brute strength) to benefit her in any way that she can. Ira likes to be a few steps ahead at all times, and the rare times she is caught off guard is when she feels the most vulnerable. Her intellect is both her weapon and her safety net; it is easy for her to dance around people as long as she is controlling them, like pawns to a game master, but because of this she finds it hard to forge genuine connections with others, humans and dragons alike.

Most of her disdain for humans comes from this lack of understanding. Why do they hurt themselves willingly over foolish endeavors such as love, hate, betrayal, revenge? But this is also what draws her to them, intrigued by the chaos they bring to her careful calculation, so different from her logic-oriented kin. Underneath her elegant shows of indifference lies a deep longing, to feel and be ruled by the very same emotions that drive humans to their graves, however much this longing can feel like a betrayal of her own blood.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— she likes to hide in odd places, small and stealthy enough to fit in desk cabinets or even on top of ceiling rafters
— embodiment of the tbh creature
— what do you mean her actions have consequences she's literally just a girl your honour
— bakes when she's stressed, a habit she picked up from her time in the countryside
— attentive listener, but sometimes forgets to show that she's listening, defaults to a blank and bored expression when actually she's hanging on to every detail
— collects rocks and bugs in her spare time, her room is littered with mason jars of moths, butterflies, and beetles of all shapes and sizes
— gives the best advice at the most unexpected times
— insults rarely faze her and she can clock manipulation from a mile away
— social chameleon, will echo others' mannerisms after a certain amount of time spent with them
— will trail around after other people like a little duckling if she finds them interesting enough
— doesn't really get angry or feel intense emotions like hurt or fear
— the only exception to this would be her siblings, as they can get under her skin like no one else can
— looks at humans like they're lab rats, with a morbid but not entirely detached curiosity
— hates being restrained in any way
— keeps a very close eye on anything she considers a threat and is naturally distrustful of others
— she can read and write, but very out of practice so her writing is more like a scrawl
— prefers handmade gifts that show care and thought, has a fondness for crafted jewelry but wouldn't say no to pastries (especially if they're strawberry-flavoured)
— unimpressed by finery or luxurious goods
— fascinated by theatre and music, anything recreational that requires creativity is very foreign to her
— can be headstrong if she doesn't agree with a decision being made and will go out of her way to defy authority
— doesn't really like to resort to violence, it's more fun to toy with her food rather than devour it outright
— performs very well under pressure

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】stoic, unsettling, secretive, tendency to isolate, distrustful, over-reliance on logic.

【virtues】level-headed, cunning, resourceful, curious, pragmatic, rational, genuine desire to learn.
【fatal flaw】— Despite being driven by her curiosity, she remains detached from humans and humanity as a whole. This can lead to carelessness when she interacts with them, still unused to the intricacies of their emotions and the vastly infinite ways she can hurt them. Ultimately, she still sees them as inferior and incapable of higher thinking. She might be willing to work with them for now, but only if they are willing to follow her lead.
【happiest memory】— Calldry soil, the scent of flour in the air, a wheatfield that stretches as far as the eye could see. Gentle hands braiding her hair into identical pleats down her shoulders. The taste of strawberry jam on her tongue.
【a secret】— Blood smeared across the kitchen floor, the sound of beating wings in the far distance, a sickeningly familiar cackle ringing in her ears. The creak of a barn door opening. The all-consuming roar of a funeral pyre as the scent of burning flesh fills her lungs.

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— cloaked in shadow: her rider can hide themselves in areas of shadow, and has the ability to step from one shadow to another. Once cloaked in shadow, the rider cannot be seen or heard, essentially becoming invisible, and can see in darkness from up to 50 feet. They retain these abilities even if they perform an action, but can be pulled out of the shadowed area if their target discovers their location, rendering their powers useless. This ability cannot be utilized in illuminated areas and the rider must be careful not to step into light whenever transporting themselves.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】

see cs above.

&&— ❝green clubtail. ❞​

 

[Juju]

❝ Gwendolyn of Eastshire. ❞

Fire and brimstone fell upon my ears
As their throats of open graves recited fear
Like the bullets of a gun they drove my tears
And my feet to run the hell out of here​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】Gwendolyn Falwell

【nickname(s)】Gwen, Oddlyn, "Dragonbait"
【gender】Female
【age】20
【sexuality】fictional characters
【d.o.b.】 Winter Solstice
【height】5'5"
【build】 Pale, soft skin are the tell-tale signs of a privileged birth. Having not worked a day in her life, she has little muscle to boast. Well groomed and trim.
【species】Human
【Faceclaim】Edith Cushing from Crimson Peak

❝ background. ❞

The Falwell family is perhaps not a well known one, but an established name in the history of Dragon Riders. From the very day of the family's founding, they have offered up a new rider with each generation. It is a seal of honor, one they hold with pride in supporting the defense of their nation. Gwendolyn grew up hearing about the stories of Falwell riders of days gone past, as well as the glorious tales of their current Rider, her grandmother.

When Gwen was a little girl she loved nothing more than sitting on her grandmother's lap and hearing her tales as a rider. Daring stories of battles fought on the back of her red dragon. She would beg her for new stories every time her grandmother came to visit the family manor, and wait anxiously until her return. The days between were spent pilfering through books, pouring over legendary tales of dragons and riders, some historical while others fictional.

Gwen was still young when her grandmother's visits stopped. Gwen heard the news from her father, who told her that her grandmother and bound dragon had fallen in battle. They said that she had died in service, sacrificing herself for others, but that didn't do much to soothe the pain. In all her childhood stories of heroic deaths, it never had quite occurred to her that her grandmother could be among them.

The true pain was witnessing the aftermath that followed. Despite their prideful tradition of offering up a rider, her relatives made no move to offer their children up for the threshing. Everything their family stood for, the honor her grandmother died for, seemed to mean nothing. Gwen's dislike for her family deepened over the years, and likewise the tensions between she and her kin grew rotten. They did not share her idealistic views of honor and duty, instead focusing on the wealth and power of their heritage.

When Gwen was of age she made a sudden announcement; she was going to volunteer for the Rider's Quadrant. Everyone assembled burst into a roar of laughter, that head-in-the-clouds Gwen was making a joke. She wasn't. When they finally realized she was serious, many simply bid her good luck in her death with. A few made bets for how long she would last. At this point Gwen was determined out of spite to continue her course, and by the time she had doubts it was too late. She is terrified of what is to come, yet she does this for the love of her grandmother and everything she died for. While she yet lives, Gwen is determined to uphold her family's proud tradition, to ensure their sacrifices were not for nothing.

She just might not live long.

❝ concept. ❞

Gwendolyn is one of the last people you would expect to volunteer for the Rider's Quadrant; a scrawny noble lass more likely to hold a book than a blade, and yet she was the only one in her family willing to step up to take the generational mantle of Rider. After her grandmother's death at the hands of the griffin riders, her family was poised to offer another one of their members as part of an inherited pledge of loyalty, yet for years the promise was left empty. That is, until Gwendolyn volunteered herself.
Her announcement was met with laughter. They called her stupid, she called them cowards. She would like to think that they both were right. With limited time to prepare herself for the trials to come and armed with nothing but courage and wit, Gwyn is determined to hold her head high and learn as she goes... or die trying. Probably die trying.

❝ headcanons. ❞

please include at least 20 headcanons about your character, these are facts and tidbits to further flesh out your character. Examples;
— Superstitious. 100% believes in ghosts, gremlins and a great deal of other fairytale creatures
— Talks to herself as words of encouragement or when deep in thought.
— Has to check under her bed every night before sleeping. Surprisingly not because of monsters, but because her grandmother once told her that an assassin hid under her bed.
— Cries when hearing emotional stories or witnessing other people in distress.
— Screams if a bug lands on her. Especially bees and spiders.
— Has a huge collection of books and is attached to several fictional characters. Dedicated to one series.
— More intelligent than she might seem at surface level and is quite humble and dismissive of it.
— Nominated “most likely to die before threshing” by friends and family
— Doesn't stand up for herself, but the moment someone else is mistreated she can be surprisingly feisty.
— Dissociates whenever under heavy fire or extreme emotional turmoil. Cries for a long time later.
— Shuts down into a flustered mess at flirts or any sort of high praise.
— Talks a lot when nervous, sometimes laughing.
— Believes in the godly power of lucky undergarments
— Absolutely horrible poker face and can't lie to save her life. Can read her emotions like a book.
— Unafraid to ask others for help and embraces mistakes as part of learning.
— Snorts when she laughs too hard. Then gets embarrassed about it.
— Scolds people who do not take proper care of themselves and will fuss over them until they sleep or eat or whatever. Will personally oversee them and provide help until she is convinced they are better.
— Type to tuck the homies in before bed and give them a kiss on the head.
— That friend that waits for you to tie your shoe.
— Fusses over people who are sick or injured and is the first to provide whatever aid she can. Even if it's just keeping them company.
— Envious of people with skills above her own and has a little tendency to fangirl over them.
— Does a little happy dance when excited or overjoyed at something
— Will make you flower crowns or friendship bracelets. You’ve been warned.
— Handy at sewing and can fix clothing or decorate them with embroidery. Likes to make little patterns over rips and tears.
— Likes kids and gets along with them well. Is well-loved by her younger siblings and cousins. They cried when she left, and she did too. Promised to write to them often and give them a ride on her dragon someday.
— Writes in a neat, flowing pattern she copied from her favourite author. Loves calligraphy.
— Collects fancy quills and fine ink. Hates the cheaper stuff.
— Loves giving people gifts!
— Smells like old books and rosewater

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】bleeding heart, headstrong, stubborn, naïve, idealistic, emotional, too trusting, puts up with abuse, squeamish, jumpy, puts needs of others before herself

【virtues】empathetic, intelligent, quick learner, patient, deeply caring, friendly, forgiving, strong sense of morality, can maintain a sense of hope even in hopeless situations, courageous
【fatal flaw】Mercy. She would hesitate to kill someone and would be lenient to find a way to spare them.
【happiest memory】When she was 6 years old, her grandmother let her have her wish of being able to see her Red Dragon partner. It was the first and only time she got to see the beast, but it has since become her most treasured memory. The dragon let her approach and touch its muzzle. Even to this day she can feel the warmth of the dragon's scales against her palm, and the hot breath that stirred her hair.
【a secret】She was the only witness to her uncle murdering a family member. He threatened her with death if she ever told a soul. She suspects he could have been behind other untimely deaths. Unsurprisingly, he was the only one in her family who supported her decision to become a rider and gave her some supplies.

❝ abilities ❞

【rider skills】Well Read: Gwen knows her way around a library (she has one of her own!) and is familiar with many literary works, from the mainstream to the more obscure. She is highly literate and can have an educated conversation on most genres, though her favorite are philosophy, biology, legends, history and poetry.

Bookworm Strategist: while she can only claim her experience comes from historic records and heroic tales, Gwen has picked up on some military tactics by reading through rider history and hearing stories and tricks from her grandmother.
History: Tales from her grandmother and the thousands of hours spent with her nose in a book has given Gwen a wealth of knowledge on the matters of history, both of riders and the nation's past.
Equestrianism as a noble, she had access to horses and was taught how to properly ride them. Now, there is a big difference between horses and dragons, but a lot of techniques can be passed over. At least, she hopes.
World Smart, not Street Smart: noble education granted Gwen the knowledge of geography and cartography. Gwen can easily read maps and navigate using the stars or landmarks if need be. She was educated on the regions of Navarre, mostly their politics and noble families. Noble sigils and names were burned into her brain, and she can recall information on noble families and the regions they rule over.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】

Multiple Settings - Anima Studies

The Beginning @Juju @jmann @seasonedcat You recall being brought to this place, one moment you stepped through a marked door and the next you were transported to the school. It held the appearance of an old college constructed in days past only that this one seemed to have been built...

www.rpnation.com

&&— ❝ Rider. ❞​

 

[Morrighan_Moonchild]

❝ The Last Morganagh ❞

"Fire only scares those who haven't spent enough time trapped in the dark."​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— Maevyn Ambrose Morganagh

【nickname(s)】— Vyn, Maeve, or Morgan
【gender】— Female? (Refer to as "pretty" at your own risk)
【age】— 21
【sexuality】— Lesbian
【d.o.b.】— October 31st
【height】— 5'10"
【build】— Slim but incredibly well-built from years of obvious training
【species】— Human

❝ background. ❞

Morganagh was a well-respected name among the Tyrrish nobility before the rebellion wiped the entire family (save for one) off the registry. Once, the name was synonymous with the power that came from the dragons they rode and the powerful signets each of the family's Riders boasted. Maevyn was born out of one of the most potent Rider pairs seen in centuries, both her parents being renowned officers seemingly loyal to a fault. It shocked the entire kingdom when both Riders turned traitor during the rebellion, choosing to betray the kingdom which gave their family the very power it was known for. For their betrayal, the Morganaghs were sentenced to death by Dragonfire, alongside Morgan’s only sibling - her older brother Valkyn, who had graduated the Rider's Quadrant only weeks before. Only 11 years old at the time of her family's execution, the last remaining member of the Morganagh family was granted her life in return for unwavering loyalty, which would be drilled into her by the staunchly loyal Navarrian Officer who took her in as in orphan in the days following the sentence- Burton Varrish. Ten years have passed, and now another Morganagh stands poised at the gates to Basgiath War College, with nothing but her worthless name and everything to prove. She will see her family name restored, even if she has to kill and burn her way to graduation.

❝ concept. ❞

Beautiful things had no place in House Varrish. Hair was to be cut short and kept neat, rooms were always to be spotless and unadorned, and orders always obeyed, even if they seemed impossible. Failure was never an option, not when the price for it ranged from the loss of meal privileges to weeks trapped underground in the vile darkness of Burton's "classroom". It was all to forge her into the perfect soldier, he said, to redeem her worthless family name back into some semblance of value. Morgan would do anything to achieve it, or at least to avoid the horrific fate that awaited her should she dare to fail at anything Varrish put in front of her. When your options are to succeed and live or fail and suffer, then you understand the reality of war. There are no options in the real world, only obedience and annihilation.

❝ headcanons. ❞

— Finds difficulty in forging any sort of relationship built on truth or trust
— Always covers her upper arms and chest, where twin Rebellion Relics twine from elbow to collarbone. One for each Traitor Parent, and (supposedly) a third somewhere else, for the elder brother whose death occurred before he could even be officially stationed at a permanent post. Beautiful tattoos cover nearly every visible stretch of skin (save for her face) to distract from the relics no one sees.
— Owns very few personal belongings, and sees materialism to be a weakness
— can't cook for shit and is easily impressed by good food
— works out every morning and occasionally very late at night
— Can see incredibly well in the dark
— Very fond of cats, terrified of dogs
— Flirtatious as a defense mechanism
— Obsessed with chocolate

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— Beautiful women, whiskey/wine, loves to watch the stars, puts duty over just about anything out of fear, can be too analytical, selfish, trusts no one, always expects the worst, will use others when needed

【virtues】— If you somehow manage to earn her trust, she will kill for you without a second thought. Incredibly good at keeping secrets and withstanding torture of many kinds, frighteningly intelligent and perceptive, isn't afraid to fight for what she wants
【fatal flaw】— Morgan is utterly terrified of Varrish and will do anything to keep from being sent back to him
【happiest memory】— Before her family was eradicated, they were incredibly close. Even though it was almost unheard of, her mother's dragon was rather fond of Morgan. A few months before the rebellion began in earnest, on the last real night of peace she experienced, her mother took Morgan on a flight high above their family home deep in the mountains to see the stars she loved so much. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.
【a secret】— Despite being a bit notorious for her looks and sexuality, Morgan has never actually been in love

❝ abilities ❞

【rider skills】— As a Morganach, Morgan learned all about dragons from a young age, information most cadets wouldn't have access too until their second year. She wouldn't share any of this information with much of it being classified, but she uses it to her full advantage. She’s also in fantastic physical condition from living and training under Vice Commandant Varrish, who personally oversaw her progress after being charged with ensuring she became a useful asset to the Navarrian military. As such, she has undergone extensive training in multiple forms of combat, her specialties being in unarmed combat and long-range archery. She's not too bad with a sword either, though this is still something she's working to improve.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— "Again."

Morgan’s fists trembled slightly as exhaustion seeped into her bones, weighing her down after that eleventh set. It didn't surprise her though that Varrish expected another, not when he loved to see just how far she could be pushed. Gritting her teeth, she adjusted her stance before the Vice Commandant, whose beady eyes glinted with challenge and malice as he held out his padded hands, utterly unphased.
"Do I have to repeat myself, girl?"
She fought the urge to avoid his gaze and only shook her head in quick reply as she squared her shoulders and punched, her fists connecting with the pads in a familiar, pounding rhythm again and again and again.
One-Two, One-Two, One-Two One-SLAM!
Her vision went black as Varrish struck, sending her to the stone floor, hands up around her head as she fell to protect herself as the impact registered with a deep, thrumming pain across her cheekbone. Morgan knew better than to cry out, though, and forced herself to breathe through clenched teeth as he circled to kneel beside where she'd fallen, the satisfied smirk on his face as familiar to her as her own bloodied fists. As soon as she saw the promise of violence in his eyes, she lowered her arms and swallowed the panic in her throat.
Nothing would make this go faster, and showing fear would only make it worse. Better to let him prove whatever point he was trying to make.

"What did you just learn, girl?"
Varrish raised a brow at her as if daring her to answer.
Breath, Morgan...He's not angry yet. If you just give him what he wants he'll be satisfied for now.
Blinking through the pain, Morgan forced herself to think through his attack. She'd been neck-deep in a test and hadn't even realized it, like a complete novice.
"I let my guard down and didn't anticipate the strike to come while I was distracted with my form."
Please let that be the answer he wanted to hear...
Varrish's eyes gleamed as he took in her answer, his head tilting to regard the young woman on the ground before him. For a moment, he watched her in pensive silence, as if studying her answer.
Then he stood, offering a hand for her to get up.
Relief flooded her even as her cut lip hissed in protest, but she ignored it and took his hand, her sore muscles aching with the movement as she stood.
Only for him to snatch her by the throat with an iron grip, his lips twisting in a poisoned smile as he turned and slammed her against the freezing stone wall of the cellar, the impact sending stars across her vision.
This time she couldn't help the small bark of pain that treacherously escaped as she forced herself not to fight back, despite every instinct roaring at her to gauge out his hideous eyes.
He merely watched her with that serpent's grin for a long moment before leaning in to murmur into her ear.
"Always anticipate an attack."

&&— ❝ The Traitors' Daughter. ❞​

 

[Dorodoros]

❝ Grinn. ❞

Strange, isn't it?
To grow ever more knowledgeable,
yet never truly learn.​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— just Grinn.

【nickname(s)】— call him anything you'd like so long as it's creative.
【gender】— cis-male.
【age】— twenty-one.
【sexuality】— claims asexual and aromantic, though there was once this time—
"Nice try. On you go."
【d.o.b.】— a day full of fire, unimportant.
【height】— 6'0" | 183cm
【build】— sleek, supple and otherwise not worth noting. In contrast, while not shifted, Grinn can seem like one of the largest creatures of both land and sky. He surpasses the size of most other dragons his age and dismisses it as there being a bit of blue in his lineage.
【species】— orange daggertail.

❝ background. ❞

And so we come to another tale of mystery, heartache and—

"Yeah, look, let's not do this song and dance. You don’t want to tell my sob story any more than I want to hear it."

A summary, then?

"Nope. Next."

❝ concept. ❞

At first glance, Grinn appeared contrary to his kind; calm, calculating, collected. Some residents at Basgiath called him Grinn the Golden, with never a foot out of line or a word misspoke. Would an ear that'll listen to your sorrows help? Talk to Grinn. Have a problem that needs solving before morning comes? Grinn likes finding answers. In need of a hand to help move precious possessions through the halls? Well, you-know-who has two. It's a reputation near ten years in the making, ever since he was found outside the Vale looking lost and confused, a quiet boy with his eye turned to the future.

If only they took the time to peer a little closer. Those sorrows turn to secrets, and sometimes those secrets reach the wrong people. Solutions given in confidence might just turn one problem into two, three, four. That helping hand can quickly become one which swipes things it shouldn't, items gone missing just to show up in an innocent friend's room days later. Oh, the number of relationships ruined by that one.

Grinn loves chaos. Or, more appropriately, it loves him. No matter how often he resists the urge to make life less stable for himself and those around, he tends to give in, usually through a white lie here or a misinterpreted truth there. It's an infatuation with possibility that he sometimes hopes will pass, although he just as often wants its fiery grip to lure him wherever it pleases, willing or not.

When he's free from the clutches of whimsical impulse, he finds that he admires human society. They're fickle in their own way. Over the years and through numerous threshings, Grinn has come to know many aspiring riders, expressing a genuine, distant kind of curiosity despite rejecting them all. Violence or shows of strength faze him little, and those who have approached him say he enjoys a stimulating conversation more than anything; banter seems to be his favorite test. These days, he's known to be as evasive in speech as he is in nature.

After all, what's a bond worth if it's going to be predictable?

❝ headcanons. ❞

☼ cynic supreme.
☼ quite polite, as long as you don't indulge in that horrid human thing known as small-talk.
☼ smile? Sounds contagious, no thanks.
☼ a better listener of deep topics than most therapists, with a tongue sharper than most swords.
☼ does not have a hand-built cabin somewhere in the Vale and he does not go there to get a bit of quiet or peace of mind.
☼ likes to whittle and has a collection of small wooden trinkets that he stores in secret; simpler if nobody knows he has actual passions, really, so don't tell anyone.
☼ most interested in things that are considered odd, strange, or subtle.
☼ will never bite first, but if bitten, he may bite back twice as hard.
☼ favorite emoji would be the eyebrow raise.
☼ favors no languages more than Snark and Sass.
☼ rather unafraid to get his hands dirty and follows the mantra: "If you want a thing done right, do it yourself." Father used to assert it often. Bastard.
☼ believes there's not a creature in the world capable of more arrogance and vanity than a human... except dragons, of course.
☼ 50% conspiracy theorist.
☼ side eyes 24/7.
☼ sticky-fingered. Hide your shinies.
☼ known to pull pranks that are complex and absurd. You should hear about that one time with the General, a group of drunk dragon riders, and a sweet lamb named Lucy (she lived).
☼ puzzles or games of strategy? He's in.
☼ gambles or games of chance? That's that good shit.
☼ thinks fighting with tooth and claw is barbaric. He much prefers to roast an enemy with words or flame, pinkies out.
☼ takes an irrational liking to most menders, healers and certain other soft-hearted fools, yet he'll never, ever hint at why. but I will
☼ fond of sunrises and the warmth they bring, but sunsets are his favorite since they remind him of fire—a fire whose sparks are the stars, ever in pursuit of a fleeing, flighty sun.
☼ prefers the company of humans to his kin.
☼ doesn't 'wear' scales or the shape they come in unless it's needed.
☼ loves surprises.

❝ psyche. ❞

【virtues】— modest, inquisitive, perceptive, open-minded, analytical, patient, thoughtful

【vices】— cynical, indifferent, distant, insubordinate, arbitrary, deceitful, erratic

【fatal flaw】
Some people have consistency running through their very veins. Grinn wouldn't understand the concept even if it slapped him across the face then took him to bed. The thought alone of routine and order makes his skin crawl, and he is likely to resist any orders given to him whether they're reasonable or not. Authority is a word he entirely ignores. The only thing he trusts is his own mind—as likely to be self-deceptive as it is to be cunning, if he must be honest. Ideas are everything. They make for creative solutions or intriguing failures.

【happiest memory】
"I swear, if you even think ab—"

The first and only human Grinn ever wished to bond with was a selfless soul. He'd been teetering on the edge of death when they found him, burned to the point of no natural recovery after a brutal encounter with reds raging in the Vale. It was just his luck this human was a mender, and equal misfortune that they already had a bond; their touch was gentle, their words soft and kind, their presence a beacon of brightness at a rather dark time. Even after days of recovery while he grew well, they spent weeks meeting together, speaking of shared ideals and places beyond the horizon where life might treat them with something close to kindness. Every now and then, he'll think back and wonder where they are now. Across the sea like they dreamed? It's enough to make a heart bleed.

"Charming. Had your fun?"

The mender liked reading poetry. To this day, Grinn likes to write it where no one will see.

"Ugh."

【a secret】
Rebel sympathizer? Not this dragon. In case the General ever asks, he's never supported, associated with, or assisted a single being who seeks to tear down their great nation. Long live Navarre! And all that other blah, blah, blah.

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— Foresight: For all the unpredictability in Grinn's life, his greatest desire has been to know the future, to be granted the ability to influence it in a way that is truly his own. While this will never be more than a pipe dream for himself, it is a possibility for his bonded rider. They're granted the power to peek into the near future and witness a fraction of what's to come. Oftentimes there's little they can do to change major events, but small things - a sword coming one's way, a glass item about to tip over, knowing which particular word or phrase could be the difference between failure and success - are all capable of being swayed in the rider's favor.

Unfortunately, multiple facets of "sight" can cause madness in a weak-mind or those without extremely strong will. Stare too long into the future and you're liable to get lost to it.

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— La Lune. Virgil stared up at its white-washed walls, expressionless. Patient.

Kestrel's court had been a place he'd never visited. Not out of bitterness, of course, or due to being shunned, or even a resentment to the cause. No... he merely didn't envy their yearning to flock together like sheep, ultimately to the slaughter.

Yet here they were again. Only time would tell if things would be different a second time.

Cecile Bellerose's name was one he'd heard more times than he could count since his arrival in the city. The opinions were a mixed bag of undecided factors, as some wished to see her head apart from its shoulders, and others sang praises of her like an exalted queen of old. Opinions were just that, however: subjective. Virgil wanted to see for himself who the throne had gone to, especially if he was to offer any services he might have at hand. Even that was assuming he'd pick a side. An amused grunt might have left him then and there, had he not been keeping to the darkened corner of a nearby alleyway, shrouded in stifled sound.

An opportunity was quick to rise when two ruffled, frantic young men bolted from the entrance of the building. Either out of pure ignorance or simply blinded in their haste, they didn't seem to notice Virgil as they fled through the alley that hid him. It was nearly entertaining the way that one of the boys rebounded off of his chest when he stood to block their path; he'd surely have toppled against the concrete had Virgil not gripped the fabric of his shirt in a loosely clenched fist. Instead of falling backwards, the boy found himself brought forwards instead, until he was on the tips of his toes and eye level with a man much, much older than himself, wearing the grin that he always wore.

"You're in quite the hurry."

Virgil spoke at a leisurely drawl. It would have been easy to release him to whatever fate lay beyond the alley, especially after the one not in his grasp scurried away without an inkling of remorse or concern for his friend. An uncharacteristic urge to simply let the boy go free was strengthened by a whimper and the loosening of his posture, but then the kid decided to talk.

"She's crazy... she killed him so easily," the boy muttered out between faltering breaths. "Please don't hurt me. I swear I won't come back and you can tell our queen that. Just, please, let me go!"

Operating on presumptions alone, he guessed the boy mistook him as working for Cecile. He was released from the man's grip without another word and, intelligently, sprinting through the alleyway as fast as his feet would carry him.

Now alone, the vampire glared with idle interest at the hall's entrance, where a woman was making her way inside at the greeting of the guards. Beyond, just before the doors closed behind her, she met with a woman that greeted her with kisses to either side of the face. Traditional French fashion, if memory served. He knew them both: one had taken something from him long ago that he wanted back, and the other was the object of his unfettered attention, for now.

"Your queen," he said to a boy who'd already disappeared into the streets of the city. "Not mine."

 

[Phayne]

❝ Agares. ❞

"Are you the one destined to sate my curiosity?
Or have you merely come to forfeit your life?"​

❝ cursory information. ❞

【full name】— Agares Thornscale

【nickname(s)】— N/A
【gender】— Male
【age】— 21
【sexuality】— Heterosexual
【d.o.b.】— August 17th
【height】— 5ft 9 (Human)
【build】— As a human, he has quite the toned and muscular build. Nothing close to resembling a body builder, yet enough muscle mass to imply that he is physically fit. As a dragon though, he is considerably bulkier especially around his tail and chest.
【species】— Green Clubtail.

❝ background. ❞

Born amidst a clutch of three, Agares is without a doubt the 'odd' one out of the litter , the emerald colored hatchling being born with a far more 'open-minded' outlook towards life. Innately curious to the point where it would lead him towards trouble, Agares was a dragon born with the curiosity capable of rivaling that of a feline. Naturally the more adventurous of the trio, he would quite often go against his parents desires and venture through the vale; leaving the safety of his brethren and searching for whatever it was his curiosity had managed to land upon.

Raised among his siblings, Agares like them had nurtured a particular outlook towards the human race, viewing them as little more than 'slightly smarter' livestock who were fortunate enough to be born with thumbs, yet no where near qualified to be considered a species capable of standing toe to toe with that of the dragonkin. For the most part, his parents and his siblings had been adamant towards their desire to avoid human contact; viewing the dragons that had lowered themselves to working alongside humans as being an embarrasment to their mighty species.

Arrogance nurtured through his upbringing, Agares had for a very long time shared that view of humanity, swearing to himself that he would never lower himself to such an embarrassing state. Yet, that innate curiosity that he had been born with would soon melt that icy view. Against his parents wishes, Agares would visit these dragons; listening to their tales of adventure and glory and the experiences that they had only come to attain through their willingness to accept a Human bond. Initially skeptical of their stories as well as fearing the repercussions of going against his parents; Agares had for many years tried to bury this growing desire to learn, to experience and to grow; yet it would be a task that even he would find impossible to achieve.

The 'black sheep' oddity of the Thornscale brood, Agares would eventually make the selfish desire to venture out on his own, to sate this curiosity that had anchored itself upon humanity.

That being said, Agares still harbours this arrogant and dismissive viewpoint towards humans. He will not allow himself to settle for some -run of the mill- person... no.. for someone to even stand a chance of bonding with him.. they must be a person capable of maintaining that curiosity that drives Agares's actions.

❝ concept. ❞

"I am a creature of desire, one cursed by an insatiable curiosity towards what I have yet to understand. I am an entity that exist solely to satisfy my selfish whims, driven by a furore to quench this never ending hunger that dwells deep within me. My curiosity fuels my actions and my actions fuel my hunger. My selfish desires may come in many different forms, yet its sole essence outweighs any other petty concerns that plague this accursed earth. Without pleasure, there is no fun, no life and thus no meaning to my very existence; so to deny me of what I rightfully deserve... what I demand, is to condemn my very being and quite rightly a crime punishable by your death. To even begin to assume that you can deny me of what is rightfully mine shows a level of arrogance that I cannot allow to fester any longer. Know your place human, open your eyes to the reality of this world... to accept that thy fate is to be beneath that of us dragonkin; livestock whose value resides little more than that of cattle. Be grateful that your intelligence has enabled you to be of some use to us, that your trifle struggles have elevated you to a position of where you may have some semblance of benefit to us.

Cease your foolish thoughts... and listen closely.

I am a beast that shows no remorse for my actions, a being that see's humanity as nothing more then playthings... possessions to be manipulated with my very whim and to be broken should I no longer find any value in their woeful lives. I will discard those that fail to satisfy my desires, those that fail to pique my interest!. I care not for the trivial politics of your kind, nor do I acknowledge the existence of these ethereal puppeteers that you refer to as gods.

Be thankful that I am even talking to you as it is simply by my whim that I have some vested interest in your species. But be warned! Should you fail to even tickle my hunger... then rest assured... I will make better use of your corpse more so than you would have done should I allow you to live."

Agares is quite the proud and belligerent dragon, relishing in the power and domination that his species naturally carries above all others. He fully embraces the idea that dragon's stand at the peak of this worlds food chain and will quite often make it a point to remind those that are naive enough to forget. Straightforward and often speaking with venom laced words, Agares demands that respect be shown towards him; especially by those of lesser standing. Naturally, he will fight against those that attempt to bend him to their will; to defy those that are brazen and foolish enough to convince themselves that they stand above him.

Behind his golden irises, Agares will almost always be judging those that he does not respect, belittling them behind their backs purely out of boredom. He will often ridicule mankinds attempt to nurture power for themselves, to chastise their weakness in seeking strength through numbers rather than grasping that strength solely for themselves. He see's the armies of mankind as nothing more than a swarm of locusts, nipping at the feet of those that stand above all else.

That being said, behind this arrogance lies an intuitive and almost insatiable curiosity. While his attitude towards humans was nurtured through his upbringing, this innate curiosity that drives his actions is something that he simply cannot ignore. Born by this strong desire to seek answers to whatever questions he has, he is almost always motivated to try and satiate that curiosity... even if it means defying the wishes of his family.

While he will never openly admit this, he does have a growing desire to understand humanities desperation; to grasp where exactly it is they find this undying perseverance to stand amidst a power far greater than what they could possibly attain for themselves. The ways of mankind are slowly rubbing off on him...

❝ headcanons. ❞

— Does not like being compared to other dragons of his species, especially those who he is related to. He is himself and should only be measured by his own achievements; regardless of what his ancestors have accomplished or what his species are stereotypically known for.
— He does not appreciate it when others rest on their laurels and fail to back up their talk.
— He has quite the venomous tongue and will often spit vitriol towards those who get on his bad side
— Quite the proud and confident individual, he takes offence towards those that attempt to mock him or his kind.
— Spicy. He will not bite his tongue to make sure your feelings aren't hurt. If he feels you need to hear something, he will be blunt about it. Human emotions are so fickle.
— Chaotic Neutral. - He isn't foolish enough to believe that sacrifices can be avoided in war. If there is a chaotic solution to resolving the situation, then he will not waste time pondering the price that needs paying.
— Curiosity won't kill this fella... cause he ain't a cat!
— Feels severely restricted and uncomfortable in his human guise; like there is an itch he can't remove.
— Having to wear clothes... was a difficult obstacle for him to overcome.
— Humans and their silly washing habits.
— Has become quite the avid hunter, as a human.
— Jump first, think later. He has a never say die attitude that is more inclined to take a risk than to waste time considering alternatives. Sometimes the fastest solution is to simply dive in blindly.
— Feels challenged by humans that stand taller than him when he is transformed. Does not like being looked down upon.
— He isn't really a fan of 'fine dining cuisine'. Just sprinkle some salt, dab a bit of pepper and its good to go. Om nom.
— Will openly mock the over reliance of weapons in combat, however he secretly wants to implement some form of weaponry that he can use when transformed.
— Despite mocking the over reliance on weaponry, he does enjoy watching the humans train.
— Wants to become competent in hand to hand combat.
— Hero Complex. Won't openly show any appreciation towards flattery; however he does love getting his ego stroked in private.
— The way to his heart is via food... as long as its not sea food.
— Basically a tsundere. Feels that it is a sign of weakness if he were to lower his guard openly and easily...
— Past time hobby: Flying as a dragon, hunting as a human. He gains a new thrill when he goes out hunting in his human visage. It's no fun when the hunt is too easy.
— Not a fan of how human society throws large festivals. Despises all the commotion.
— Human social etiquette is a foreign concept. Knives and forks be damned.
— He seeks a rider that shares his desire to reach new heights, yet one that isn't blinded by the accolade that may follow suit. He has no desire to be a hero of he people, simply he seeks to prove to the world that he reached the pinnacle through his own efforts.

❝ psyche. ❞

【vices】— Poor Mannerisms, lacks the willingness to conform to acceptable social etiquette. Quick to anger and take offense when none was directed, can be crass when speaking about more 'human' matters, Reckless, cynical

【virtues】— Loyal to those he has deemed worthy of earning it, Fearless, determined, awkwardly reliable. Good intentions
【fatal flaw】— Very quick to anger and overthink things. Being Cynical he will always assume the worst and may often anger himself simply through overthinking a minor issue
【happiest memory】— His first solo hunt. The overwhelming sense of achievement that washed over him is to this day, incomparable to anything he has experienced since. While it may seem barbaric to some, he cannot forget the fleeting moments where he felt the life drain away from his prey, to watch as he ended a life through his own strength and then to have the honour of consuming his catch. It was the first step he had taken into becoming a fully fledged dragon, a creature that resides at the upper echelon of the worlds hierarchy
【a secret】— Despite having strong opinions towards how humans operate in regards to war; he cannot help but have a growing desire to experience the comradery that those who join the infantry experience. To stand toe to toe with his fellow brethren as they stepped foot upon the battlefield as brothers in arms. So while he may make a comment here and there about the infantry, he cannot help but be fascinated by their commitment to the cause; despite their lack of strength..

❝ abilities ❞

【signet】— Portal Creation - . The signet bestowed upon Agares's rider is the ability to create portals within a limited vicinity. Once the rider has been bestowed with this signet ability, an invisible 'field' is created around their body in the shape of a sphere with the rider's body acting as the central point. Within this 'field' the user can conjure up to two portals so long as it is within that field. Presently the field maxes out at 20 yards in every direction from where the rider stands. So they can create a portal up to 20 yards ahead of themselves and a 2nd one behind them up to 20 yards.

While the ability is highly useful in combat, its true prowess only shines when the rider is fully aware of their surroundings. In addition, constant use of the ability can be severely taxing to both the mental and physical strength of the user. For an example of how it works: [x]

❝ rp sample ❞

【post】— iEyes furrowed and with a look that could cause even the bravest of lions to back down in submission, Agares getting increasingly frustrated with the lack of answers to his questions had shot a glare towards the direction of Brenier; the man whom had interjected and voiced disagreement towards how Agares had thus far been channelling his abundance of energy. Of course it didn't help to cool the simmering fire that was growing within the wind dragon; his frustration only growing ever more volatile.

"Oh, I've noticed!" shouted Agares, clenching his fists and slamming it against the side of the wall before turning his attentions towards the surrounding interior of the Dragons head Inn; eyes scanning for anything he could use as a makeshift weapon. "I can smell their putrid stench carried along the wind, as well as the blood that stains fang and claw!, I need not be told of the pest's that lurk outside! Nor do I require your instruction on where and when I expend my energy!" he continued, voice still raised as he continued to look about for something to wield. The slayers, as well as the others that chose to fight seemed more inclined to defend the immediate area from the invading serpents, yet as far as Agares was aware, none had voiced intention of spreading out towards the rest of the village of SeaWatch and if that were the case, that could only mean that the humans he had resided with would be exposed to the dangers outside.

A large bang would catch his attention as a back door was flung open, several men and woman piling in through the back entrance of the Dragons head inn and making a quick dash towards the counter and where the white haired lass -one of the three- that had caught his gaze for longer than anticipated was standing; ushering the defenceless into the underground room as well as the new arrivals who seemed to have prior knowledge of the underground refuge.

That being said , Agares was not about to follow their lead and head towards the safety of the hidden basement; nor was he about to help usher the humans towards the cellar either. Rather, like the other two; he was more inclined to take action rather than refuge and with a potential weapon insight; he was all the more willing to force his way towards the harbour and towards the rest of his crewmates.

"I have more important things to attend to!" commented Agares as he brushed past Brenier; eyes reaffixed on the back entrance where a pitchfork had been discarded by one of the men that had rushed in. "There are those outside that I..." he paused, realizing the words that were about to come out of his mouth; words he had not even imagined uttering prior to his transformation. Not fully ready to commit to the whole 'i actually care about them' schtick, Agares continued to ponder his next words carefully, before sighing. "My crew may be in trouble out there" he added, before picking up the pace and grasping the pitchfork; leaving the tavern via the back entrance and making his way towards the harbour.


Now outside, the putrid smell of blood and death had been magnified tenfold, permeating the air; the vile concoction of aroma's poisoning and corrupting the salty sea air that danced along the torrid winds. Unable to hide his distaste, Agares's nose was visibly scrunched in disgust as he pushed forward, separating himself from where the major fighting was occurring and heading towards the ocean and where the Esmerelda was moored.

Thankfully it seemed the chaos occurring on the streets around the Dragon's head inn had attracted the majority of the Basilisks attention; the serpentine beasts lured towards the heat of battle and the acrid smell of fresh meat; their furore seemingly heightened by some unseen force. Alas, Agares's sole motivation at this moment was to simply seek his crew and ensure their safety; fully unaware of the futility behind his actions as they had long since met their demise.

Turning a corner, Agares would stop in his tracks; grip tightening around the pitchfork he held as he happened across a straggler; a rather obtuse looking Basilisk with its back facing the dragon; attention absorbed by whatever was in its maw. Watching the beast, Agares could not help but notice how strong the smell was; the street reeked of human blood more so than it had up by the Dragons Head and had it not been for a flash of lightning that lit the skies above; Agares would not have noticed the carnage all around him; nor would he have discovered the morbid answer to the question he had earlier asked the fisherman.

Around him, the mutilated bodies of those he had reluctantly grown fond of would be found, many torn asunder with pieces unaccounted for; blood seeping into the streets and painting the cobblestone red. "You filthy serpent!" growled Agares, his grip now threatening to snap the wooden pitchfork in two as his anger began to tip over; wind converging on his spot as it began to swirl around him in fury. Disguised against the storm and easily mistaken for the natural wind that rushed through the alleys, it would be hard for an untrained eye to notice the air growing thicker around Agares as his emotions began to get the better of him.

Like prey sensing their demise; the lone Basilisk would begin to turn; its large girthy tail sliding across the ground and collecting bits and pieces of the men it had ripped apart and pushing it to one side; the lack of care in its movements only causing Agares to tilt even further; though the coup de grâce and final nail in the creatures coffin would be the lifeless body of the young seasick deckhand wedged tightly in its mouth; a chew toy for the rabid beast.

Almost instantly, the arm holding the pitchfork would lash forward; the wooden stave flying out of his hands as a torrent of wind carried it forward; the spinning vortex a small horizontal tornado strong enough to cause the pitchfork to spin rapidly; the prongs rotating at a speed almost undiscernible to the eye as iron met flesh. The farmers weapon had drilled itself into the chest of the creature not deep enough to go all the way through and out the other side yet deep enough that the force would knock the beast back ,and cause it to open its maw in pain;

As the corpse fell to the ground, Agares wasted no time in running forward; other hand grasping the cutlass of one of his fallen comrades and pressing it against the roof of the serpents now exposed mouth; tip of the blade beginning to sink into the roof of its unguarded mouth whilst the hilt remained firm against the bottom jaw. With the creature wincing in pain, it had been child's play avoiding its petrifying gaze.

Unable to close its mouth; not without causing the cutlass tip to drive through the top of its mouth and out the other side. The beast was at Agares's mercy, the unavoidability of a painless death was all but guaranteed. Angry and vengeful, Agares would place his left hand into the mouth of the pinned basilisk gripping its tongue as air once more gathered upon the palm slowly forming another vortex of wind; one that once generated would begin to tear away at the insides of the beast.

"Even this death is too kind for a creature like you!" cursed Agares, before unleashing the mini vortex straight down the throat of the creature, Agares launching himself backwards from the force of the release and landing next to the body of the deckhand; eyes fixed upon the writhing serpent as its innards were shredded and turned to nothing more than goo.

As the final writhing of the creature would come to an end; Agares could only look skyward; rain trickling down the side of his face as he lamented the fact that even now, as a human. He was once more cast into solitude.

&&— ❝ the Green Clubtail. ❞​

 

[SUGAR.]

IMPORTANT
Mods and I have decided to extend CS deadline to tomorrow 12/12 at midnight EST!!! This is due to RPN being down for a bit this weekend. We will now announce who is accepted wednesday 12/13!!

 

[Nornslayer]

Hi everyone! We have selected all the applicants and we just wanted to say thank you to everyone who showed interest and applied. It was so hard to choose and every submission would have made a great addition, sadly we only had a select number of spots. Those accepted have been dmed, so if you did not get a message from me or sugar, i am sorry to say you have not been selected. If the dm did not mention both character names that you applied with that means only one was accepted. We still enjoyed reading every cs and all of you would have been a joy to rp with! I hope to see yall in another thread one day!