Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE CAST

[Gao]

OPEN

SEASON II APPLICATIONS

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SEASON II APPLICATIONS.​

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In advance of Season Two, Rogue Waves has reopened to accept new applications.

Below this post will be new characters from both existing writers and potential new writers. This is to make my life easier when it comes to reading, accepting and creating discord channels, as well as to integrate newcomers with a familiar batch of new faces.

At acceptance, characters below will be placed in a little Orientation Week area in the server where we will have activities and icebreakers to help integrate you into our writing group.

Optional, but I request my existing writers keep the new application below here for a week or two after acceptance before they are moved into a tab in a previous post. You do not have to move them if you do not wish to.

ADMISSION DATE IS THE 16TH OF DECEMBER.​

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[Gao]

as is tradition with this code, obligatory heads up that in the third tab (portrait icon) there is extra information stored away in the three clickable circles along the top
CW FOR EMOTIONAL ABUSE, DRUG ABUSE & ADDICTION, MENTAL ILLNESS, DEATH, SELF-ENDANGERMENT, GORY WRITING.​

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  CLICK

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  GRAY

  
  
  
  

  THE CRYPTKEEPER.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  FIRST DATE

  
  
  
  

  SHAYFER JAMES.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  FULL NAME

  
  
  

  GRAYSON B. MOYER

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Nicknames

  
  
  

  NOT GRAY

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  
  

  THIRTY-THREE

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  P.O.B

  
  
  

  ZENITH

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  PRONOUNS

  
  
  

  HE/HIM

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
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  Age

  
  
  

  33

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Job

  
  
  

  Undertaker

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  role

  
  
  

  Cryptkeeper

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  FC

  
  
  

  Cillian Murphy

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Height

  
  
  

  6'0" (182cm)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Weight

  
  
  

  179lbs(81kg)

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  The Cryptkeeper

  
  
  

  
  PATIENCE
  

  
  INTELLIGENCE
  

  
  STRENGTH
  

  
  DECEPTION
  

  
  TEMPER
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Visage

  
  
  

  BUILD: A pale cast, Grayson is a sylph of Stygian layers. Held to strict guidelines with no purchase for sloth or slack, a tall presence that crosses rooms like an incline of oil-black carrion; those absorbed in their own devices may fail to notice the crypt-keeper perch in their presence, as he settles, crosses one long leg over the other, and lets pale fingers open a book to its marked page.
  
  EYES: Cinereous matter wreathing sooty iris, there is a vicious needle to the crypt-keeper's natural stare. A pick to ice that spiders with fracture, jaded are they when descended upon dunes of filmy skin and wet runs of suppuration. With light molasses in its urge to break the horizon, lethargy weighs bones and pestle blues sweep to stain under eye canvas; inhabitants of the veil all but make pariahs of Grayson’s secular gaze.
  
  HAIR: A bleed of poets ink spills a hymn of funereal formality, a short style governed with perfectionism, frequent fuss, and the shave of an abrasive undercut. Beneath the jurisdiction of intrusive gaze does he still heed atavistic reflex; checks the state of his hair and frets over a particularly errant strand.
  
  SCARS: Two faces of the same feeling, this slender crescent guttered by ring-wearer. Incising scar beneath his left eye, the mar is vague and pallid, coalesces to skin of matching hue. It may be healed and knitted with history, yet Gray is yet to settle the flintlock memory— the trophy of it.
  
  DISTINGUISHING: It is an appearance ridden with insomnolence, starved haggard of smiling or relaxation. Lacking comfort and satisfaction, he diffuses air with silent admonishment and looks down upon others with arrogant sagacity. An energy so dismal, eternally pinch-browed and scowling. It does not take long to reach the sombre understanding that this caricature of luminous doom is all he has ever known, that he has grown so very intimate with this vacuous black.
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
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    PERSONA

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Compassionate, responsible(?), perfectionist, white knight syndrome, hopeless romantic, emotionally durable, outspoken, tidy, tense, grumpy, hot-headed, self-aware, control-freak, recovered addict, reckless, impulsive and a secretly mentally ill adrenaline junkie.
    
    

    IN DETAIL

    
    
    
    

    
    Born in the echelons of Zenith with a gilded spoon pressed to the flat warmth of his tongue, there’d never been opportunities for self-reflection. Dreams and the illusion of free-will crafted out of childish idealism, Grayson had been fated to fulfil what had been charted in detail from boyhood: treasurer for royalty, a marionette strung with barbed tethers to inherit both legacy and luxury.
    
    Anchored by the perfectionist design of the Moyer family’s making, Grayson still habitually encapsulates every part he never wanted to play. Even as a boy, mature, or some semblance of it. Ambition his lodestone, dawn-lit wisps of enjoyment from the addiction of success are still wound tendon deep; an identity formed and calcified around the vulnerable anatomy of grades and parents’ approval is a double-bladed pendulum, spear-headed precedence that drowns the smallest of failures into suffocating terror. He’d been wreathed tight, bridled so taut that any strayed seams were to become a noose to the slope of the throat.
    
    Three decades on and he still entertains these practices. Self-inflicted torment for perfectionism evokes a curious amalgamation of the immovable alabastrine of his namesake; all duty and petulant precision to conflict the caustic palate and impetuous tendencies emerging from an overly restrained adolescence. Never free to learn moderation on his own, it’s no wonder that first night in Antares encased him in soporific rapture. After a lifetime of control he cannot assimilate to freedom in just one night.
    
    Sick, malaised, there must be a word for always feeling the need to test mortality, but there are days when feeling particularly anything proves to be a sisyphean task; how ironic that it served to instigate his partiality for the poppy. Always barely tethered, unspooling in maddening sequences borne of a famished youth; always haunted with an enticement of the unknown. Grit and stain once forbidden from the poise of his seraphic palms, wealth had coloured Grayson naïve, but that sheltered and pearlescent unmarred flesh begged no deterrence for curiosity when stepped foot upon the party port.
    
    That empty feeling cannot be avoided forever, and there are days when it hungers for distraction, danger— to shrug control and feel the thrill of corporal embodiment. Found and relished in the ephemeral rushes in a streetside beating or tall railing of a bridge, he’s always so eager to become an ark of lost ambition. Reckless, detached and bad-tempered and a torpor that pulverises altruism into destructive apathy. It will get worse regardless, an injury or near-death is worth it. He does not want to die, only wants to be reminded that he is alive, and the fiending for adrenaline is the only thing to bring him some kind of resolution— or in the very least, something he can direct his acedia towards.
    
    A creature of compassion for seemingly everything but himself, it is pale hands that usher bug from bedroom to garden, stows romance novels underarm and wears a heart emblazoned crest-like on the same sleeve. For beneath his gloam and regimen it is veins of care that underlie pallor skin draping over skeletal framework. Cares not only for what is seen as woodland and benevolent, but also those wretched and unsalvageable. It is simple, almost childlike naivety, that he does not see empathy as a baring of supple throat, not an offer of heart to altar and knife, but a lance to be wielded. It permeates in everything he sees and hears, as if to stir the sea, prove it can still be moved, know that his empathy remains intact.
    
    Housed between the ribs is his bedrock of humanity, and in his veins travels paths of its sediment. He holds forgiveness and care as easy as a hand; doesn't want to believe that anyone is beyond, or above, help. Deposits of tenderness cannot be uprooted, for be it ranting, fussing, comfortable silence: all of Grayson is steeped in a compelling honesty.
    
    Yet concocted under the hierarchical blood of his father, Gray harbours more anger than he’d ever like to admit. Spun thick with ire, it weaves under skin and steals away to white blades of teeth long before he can consider its consequences. For rage is a self-sustaining force that retraces the hug of well-worn steps, like father, like son, hissing and spitting syllables of fragmented glass; tongues abuse their freedom.
    
    His blood boils and it requires the restraint of a clenched jaw to stay settled. That divine freedom from letting a stray thread split into an entire seam is what fastens Grayson together, something both aimless and purposeful; a man wound garrote-tight yet unspooling all in the same wicked succession.
    
    

    LIKES

    
    

    
    Romance books, hazelnut coffee, cats, rain, libraries, the ocean, vanilla scents, jigsaw puzzles, whipped cream, creepy crawlies, argyle socks, heights, toast, a forbidden cigarette, sliding on polished floors with socks on, the Antares culture of "I almost got stabbed twice this week".
    
    

    DISLIKES

    
    

    
    Murderers, senseless violence, liars, small spaces, tequila, loud rooms, flirting, brash personalities, art, dirt, pinching shoes, physical touch, the pillows with the little tassels what the fuck are those, pianos, most things, you.
    
    

    FEARS

    
    

    
    Claustrophobia. One can imagine how well he manages staying in his room. (Not well). (Intermittent speed walking to go upstairs and sit on the deck at 3am). (Shoeless behavior).
    
    Grayson relies on his occupation and the potency of grief to know he retains care for others, but is frightened there will come a day when a stint of apathy arrives and never leaves.
    
    He would never admit it due to it's childish origin, but he fears ever seeing his parents again. He is afraid of seeing the disappointment in their features in-person.
    

    
    
    
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    EXTRAS

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    HABITS

    
    

    
    “Where’s Grayson” He is climbing up to the crow's nest just to feel something, thank you.
    
    “You’re not allowed up there” actually he is because he’s wearing a turtleneck which means he is better than you.
    
    (A cat that is evidently well taken care of and loved). What if you liked me more and came home with me.
    
    (A cat that is clearly owned that happens to just sit nearby). The cat distribution system has decided you’re coming home with me omg you poor thing.
    
    If you offer him a cigarette he will say "no I quit" and then snatch it out of your hand before you can take it back. You forced him to have it btw. It's your fault.
    
    Very self-aware of his not-normal behaviors which means trying to talk sense into him is impossible because he agrees with you. With that in mind, he is going to climb the mast and if you try to fucking stop him he will insult your mother.
    
    Keeps a felt gray mouse toy in his pocket. Awkward when that falls out and he makes eye-contact with people. It’s not for you. It’s for the cats. What cats? The ones out there. Somewhere.
    
    Saying the rudest shit ever then adding a “please” on the end as if that fixes it.
    
    Has sonic hearing for “ew is that a spider” and will scramble out of nowhere to put it elsewhere before anyone can kill it. If you harm any creepy crawly Grayson will appear like Slenderman to lecture you on the value of life.
    
    Says confusing and morbid things in his sleep. Occasionally sleep walks. Blair Witch era.
    
    Doesn't eat breakfast. Running on caffeine and hatred alone. Takes his coffee with milk, but no sugar.
    
    Rearranging things. Tidying other people's items, clothing and hair without asking. Finds most people in his estimation to look like scruffy little hobos.
    
    Insomnia wreaks havoc through any acceptable sleeping schedule. Accidental naps are promptly followed by flustered claims and panicked shuffling paper, not asleep, only resting my eyes.
    
    Buttoning and unbuttoning the cufflink of his sleeve for no real purpose. Additionally, sometimes wears glasses he doesn't need because they make him focus better. This is a complete lie because he clearly cannot see shit with them on.
    
    Crossing arms over his chest, pinching the bridge of his nose, grinding teeth. Taps pen impatiently. The epitome of tension. A grouch.
    
    He cuts lines into the soles of his pointy expensive shoes so they have a little grip. My boy has evolved.
    
    Rubs the shaved part of his head because he likes how it feels. Ooo. Petties for Grayson. Ooo.
    
    

    HOBBIES

    
    

    
    Does this man look like he has hobbies. He reads. He works. He hangs out with dead people. He writes obituaries. He follows stray cats down random alleyways until he's lost and then refuses to ask for directions. Boy activities.
    
    

    STRENGTHS

    
    

    
    Humanity, perfectionism, intermittent apathy (aka mental illness), bookkeeping, preservation and presentation of corpses, money laundering (not that he’s done it), meowing, running his mouth, five finger fillet.
    
    

    WEAKNESSES

    
    

    
    Insomnia, fighting, weapons, lying, intermittent apathy, creativity, temperamental, adrenaline junkie habits, dedication to his occupation, curiosity, small dark spaces.
    
    

    HEADCANONS

    
    

    
    “IS THAT A GHOST” no that’s grayson and he’s been allowed outside for his allotted enrichment time. He just looks like that, thank-you. Please do not make sudden movements around him.
    
    Wants to steer the boat badly. He wanna spin that damn wheel like crazy. Let him go wild. Give him one chance.
    
    “IS THAT A GHOST” no that’s still grayson. He is making noises in the dark at a disgusting mangy flea-ridden ship cat he wants to hold. Thank you.
    
    Does not cry. Might be incapable idk. Tear ducts eradicated. Shrivelled and dusty.
    
    Has a sixth sense if you have a weapon on you. Has undressed enough bodies to know this. Rather unsettling when he points at your leg and asks what you got there.
    
    The type to take the "Am I Gay" quiz once a month just to lie on every answer and feel secure in his heterosexuality again.
    
    Charm level of Styrofoam. Thinks letting someone borrow a pen is top tier flirting.
    
    Mildly terrifying if he decides to sprint anywhere.
    
    Passionate that people who fold page corners in books deserve to be haunted with inconveniences. Use a bookmark. If you interrupt silent reading time he will start manifesting that you stub your toe. Let his fictional people fall in love in peace.
    
    I think Nightcore would have fixed him tbh.
    
    I want him to have the energy of: Yeah that guy is our compassionate funeral director [camera pans and he’s drinking alcohol straight from the bottle].
    
    

    
    
    
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    INTERVIEW

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    REPUTATION

    
    High mortality rates in the lawless Antares keeps him busy, and Grayson retains an oddly positive reputation because of this. He provides funeral services without bias for status or factions. Bodies are just bodies and they all deserve the same level of respect.
    
    In Zenith, some may recall his family name in connection to the royal treasurer. His family has resolved his absence to the public as "working abroad". There is now a disconnection between Grayson and these circles.
    
    

    FACTION

    
    He has had few interactions with the Carmine Corsairs due to his place of residence, yet has no affiliation. Many respect a funeral parlor as neutral ground and understand fickle loyalties play no part in selecting caskets. All weapons must be left at reception. This includes the knife in your boot. Take it out.
    
    

    STATUS

    
    High status from birth-right. Kingsman through the service of his family as royal treasurers. Outcast from his family and some upper class Zenith circles due to his absence.
    
    

    MOTIVE

    
    Carrion follows the dead and given the recent losses aboard The Leviathan, an undertaker is sure to be in demand. Host a funeral for the bodiless remains of Algol and then host funerals for future bodies. Very exciting stuff. (He's bored and wants something to do).
    
    

    BOARDING

    
    Grayson is boarding The Leviathan legally as crew: a funeral director. Or undertaker if that sounds more appropriate to you. Mortician if you wanna get real freaky.
    
    

    ROYALTY OPINION

    
    He has such a normal feeling towards authority (lying). What were-to-be his future employers before his stint in Antares, Grayson has a complicated relationship in regards to how to feel about them. He does not dislike royalty, but is unsure if the lingering allegiance he feels for them is due to his upbringing or a heartfelt, genuine respect.
    
    

    PIRACY OPINION

    
    Can you not. Piecing bodies together is capricious work. Stop stabbing each other.
    
    ...
    
    I don't like you but can I have a sword.
    
    

    EXTRAS

    
    gives u a disgusting stare.
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
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  kismet

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  PREPARATION

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  How does the son of a royal treasurer, born into an esteemed family name and raised with only the finest education in accounting come to find himself living in a debauched, opium-infested pirate port as a mortician in a rundown funeral parlor?
  
  To do so, we must understand that Grayson misbehaves after some tequila.
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  WAKE

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  Allocation of crown money is a formal occasion, and Silas Moyer is nothing but a patron saint of cold marble in a black coat. Vesuvius ash, he stems like a pillar of abrasive pumice that drowns out the sun with a tightly clenched jaw.
  
  The first inheritance from your father is a golden future as the next royal treasurer. You are pleased with this forthcoming because you do not know if you should feel much else, find expectation to be the one to raise you and toil away in your youth to one day assume this existing entity.
  
  You detach from your mother and what you inherit from her is the passivity to not fight back. Suffused with such obedience that any modicum for tangents had never lasted long enough to covet for, one cannot yearn for something that is never lost.
  
  When your grandmother falls asleep you inherit the knowledge that dead people are rigid and cold. You’d shook her shoulder and waited for her to blink back to animation and spew derision for ever daring to touch her ostrich feather shrug, but the icy hand of death is unforgiving and permeates even after she is gone.
  
  A casket-bound warden, the mahogany vault of grandmother’s old hat and vulture coat is lined with an ivory lace starched white as lamb. Her arms are bowed and her hand is void of its wedding ring, and you shadow the ceremony troubled with panic as they slowly close the lid like a tomb.
  
  Uncomfortable, a young boy who boxes his shoulders with tailored suits and speaks only in phrases of yes sir, no sir, please and thank-you. A dapper heir who can recite the line of the royal family but does not fully comprehend the concept of death and its permanence; you were left with unresolved questions when loss was no more than a convoluted, foreign notion.
  
  You holstered too many emotions and your father always disliked this aspect; a fact so painfully clear when you’d eavesdrop like a dust mote hiding behind the bars of the staircase. The insomnolence and fear of the dark was not exorcised through the languor of time, impatience amplified and attempts at bonding are soon to be rendered paltry at best. What possible reason could a boy of your birthright have to be afraid of the night? Is it sickness? Mania? Are you so effortlessly weak that to sleep means the necessity of burning oil?
  
  That fear was not culled in time, unfolded across the mind of an impressionable boy like snagging knives. You bore witness and it multiplied from a single fragment, each shovel of grave dirt that asphyxiates boxes in cold soil is a dish of suffocation to your own.
  
  Dreams began to canter for distress and there was nothing that could have predicted it. Not divined in the muck of oolong tea leaves, a splay of tarot or bowl of sanguine entrails, nothing to foretell these nightmares that stir, wrathful like a veil or vestigial layer of warm skin. The haunts of decay and cruor plagued the corners of your room each night, ashen flesh that is swollen sea-green and crushed plum, corneas desiccated dry once withered and coated with flies.
  
  It mixes with your blood and begins to breathe for you, condemned to live in fear of the waning sun and what your mind dispenses when you slip towards sleep. You are but a wound in wake, the death, the dark, the destiny of your own casket to one day be cradled by gravedirt:
  
  It all frightened you and the unlearning was taking too long.
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  SERVICE

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  Childhood was a cave.
  
  Not for how the outside is coloured neon violet and the inside is lined with morion quartz and mute greetings. Not for how everything is drawn as a precise staccato breath, remnants of adolescent enjoyment stifled in a blanket of overcast sky.
  
  Childhood was a cave.
  
  Not for the ascetic distance of a noble family or how heads bow and eyes relay to the floor when Silas enters a room. Not for the distant, reserved flavour of apathy filling its place, pooling the spaces around gold-lacquered birth-right and comfortable trust-fund. Not for the resplendent security and mythic grandeur to others, not for a childhood lost in a miasma of decay, greased on solitude and dissolving sun.
  
  Childhood was a cave because learning arrived easier in the dark.
  
  A chasm that forms a vice around the soft muscular throat, through labored breathing you struggle to think of the outside. Repeat this like devotion, the outside. You press hands to the top of the cupboard and what fear of the dead should you have now, boy of seven? The cupboard is damp with the condensation of your breath and one can hope it will soak and crumble like clay beneath your hands. A drawer of skin and bones and teeth, the walls scald your shoulders unlike any tailored suit, again with the caskets and the shovels of gravedirt, again with the digging and the vault lid and prying at the boards.
  
  Light breaks beautifully in early hours, that bleed of morning rips you into life. The harsh expulsion of darkness, you must be awake when the door opens otherwise you have not learned. Bloodshot eyes and sallow wax skin stare back at the Moyer patriarch, know not to complain, grasped onto principles of courtesy and routine long before you’d even understood why. Obligation is your first language, questions your second. Principles bestowed by the man who reign your family name, it had been him who demanded you stave, relent.
  
  A chance of normalcy means one must starve out these juvenile fears.
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  BURIAL

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  No shrink or lozenge brought remedy, but the unorthodox parenting seals atlas-weighted fear back into that tight cupboard, compartmentalised away and forgotten.
  
  You could spend eternity till reduced to bone dust on the imperial flooring of your family line to gather a footing, to succeed in chasing that obsession for approval. To seal protest and batter the inside of your mouth bloody with silence; your father’s blood is scalding— before you leave for Siroc you will have felt it, lathered its boil over a cold fist —the darkness more so, and the hug of a cupboard burns skin more than admonishment ever will.
  
  So your ribs became a warchest, storing away each disregard and reprimand like a library of cruelty. You are a boy left to darken like wood in rain, like applebark cooked in sun till brittle and flaking. It fills your mouth with gravedirt, spins a silky tapestry from the larvae that hatch in its soil in which to be a faultless descendant. There is something rotting in you, loud with its hollow, bearing an accolade of each ring, one for pointer, middle, thumb, a ring for your father’s skull and its wine-red retribution.
  
  You grew into a face like many others, a man in a sharp suit with eyes to match. Learned to not accommodate this gloom, only coexist with its presence. The lassitude settles home like river-laden silt, and what was once heavy and asphyxiating through youth became only an inconvenience. Indifference rolled from boned shoulders, sombre-toned heir swathed in his short-tempered arrogance. A pretentious adult with a bad mouth redundantly countered with a streak of strict pacifism.
  
  Zenith student circled by sycophants and machiavels to a bookkeeper so close to the prophet-god of the royal treasury. Decades of birthright right in your very palm, but the declining interest had been receding in a slow crawl down your spine— testament to a gossamer-thin disguise for struggling lucidity. After lacking identity from years of prioritising only the idealism of success, you’d begin to feel more absent than river Lethe nothingness. Lost to an undefined oblivion, the need for following obligation had felt quiet as of late.
  
  Somewhere you’d stopped bucketing water from the sinking ship, knew there would be no port and waited for its keel.
  
  Small suffocations begged for you to capsize.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  MEMORIALIZATION

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  Days dissolved on the tongue like dust, particles of summer and dead fruit and a childhood never lived. Eden was full of vacancy and it bloomed fetid with your own sinuous absence. You’d watch the world tilt into sleep and long to follow, for Icarus loves the sun in its yellow yolk warmth and warm ambition but loves the ocean all the same, one wing dipped in solar flame and one wing in salt brine;
  
  Split a moth by the wings and the body must hold to half.
  
  But you’d fallen apart at the seams before you’d even left Zenith.
  
  Called abroad as a novice for the Siroc bank, it is the first time in your life that you are served a plate of something outside your compact palate. A layover in Antares for resupply, but the abruptness of the party port ensnares you like a scorching cosmos. There is no law, no hovering father, no polite words that cloy and rot through teeth, and the ridges of your trachea are to meet the most devout of warnings in Antares tequila. A warmth that remained long after the morning hangover where you may have retained no memory, but you woke up with a missing sock and somebody’s wedding ring on your finger.
  
  This single night of liberty is what effaced away the limits of what you thought you knew— what you thought was allowed, redraws a boundary further out in the sand. Anticipation is next to bloom against lungs and you’re nearly salivating to find that next line, drink away another night of memory and forget every trace of that Zenithian upbringing in the sediment of your bottle. The boat embarking to Siroc is forgotten in the revelry for this festering place where booze roils, smoke lashes against skin, and harlots titter from corners like giggling lighthouses.
  
  Tomorrow is what you’d told yourself.
  
  You said that yesterday.
  
  Or— actually, you don’t quite recall when you’d promised that.
  
  There was nothing to it but this; you can say or do anything you want here. The belief that life must operate to strict guidelines, now dissolves. Those foundations in you remain, cinders of perfection and a crisp white collar; you are not entirely lost the same as you are not entirely found.
  
  You grow brighter, happier, hungrier for that loss of limit, and it’s the impending conclusion you’d been barreling towards the moment your shoes found Antarian soil. The signs had been littered throughout the course of your life like stoic monuments; when bridled taut as a mare the propulsion of tearing away is akin to a violent rebirth.
  
  You continue to meet the line in the sand and step over it, find a new boundary forming on the horizon for you to follow. Ambition has always been your lodestone and you are overtaken with the unevenness of the days, to drink, to sleep, to drink again. A tempest that eats, from satin to wool you grow more careless and vicious and it is a day like any other when you are offered a tincture of opium.
  
  Soft as an undertow spun in shades of rose, the quiet violence of the drug blurs the lilac-tender edges of your surroundings into wonderment. Carves a liminal space in your soul of recognising this is exactly what you were missing in all this hollow chasing and partying; trading your soul for a night of rapture so fervent that you would never have to remember how fucking miserable Zenith had made you with an occupation that you were made for.
  
  It was just one night but you cannot get over that feeling in just one night.
  
  It slams into you chest-first and does not stop until it has worked its way through you with steady precision.
  
  It was just one night but you said that yesterday.
  
  Or— actually. You don’t quite recall when you’d promised that.
  
  You become more opium than man, this poppy-sick skull you cradle. Rubbing your hands to conjure heat, you’ve stayed up all night again to push away the blink of sobriety waiting on the demarcation of your slurried vision. You’re certain others can smell it on you, scent it out like a bloodhound, or at least notice the rake of nails that have found penchant in your skin.
  
  Your body aches with dependance but you can quit at any time. You wake up exhausted but you can’t stop now with the thirst malleting your head and the cold slaking your skin with wet frost. Your stomach is sieved through vomit and you’re completely unmoored, pupils ballooning from dots to lagoons and you know how this ends: with a soul rending itself in half and the sentiment you won’t survive it. That fear is enough to ruin you so you return to nibbling yesterday’s mistakes.
  
  Spilling lies to those around you and stumbling out empty promises through the fractures of salt-dried lips. Molars are numb from their mindless grind as you feel that familiar ache begin to harbor in your marrow. The arrival of sunlight does not make it easier to exist, stretched skin between each bone beam where the underlying meat has been scraped away. The wish to peel it from your skeletal framework, slough sinew and replace it with a substance that is yet to learn of dependency.
  
  You’re restless and overish with it, the way a scintilla drop blossoms to a frozen pour down the spine. Mounting forces that know what they need even in the quiet: ask yourself what you want from life and find yourself wishing that you weren’t alive.
  
  Empty sobriety and empty mind, you lose yourself over and over in the narcotic. When it’s good you can shrug the withdrawal like a sheet of satin, make oaths that this is your last time.
  
  It was just one more but you said that yesterday.
  
  Or— actually. You don’t recall when you’d promised that.
  
  You don’t recall many things anymore.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  EULOGY

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  You’d relapsed several times for what felt to be the first apple after long barren winters. That ripping conflict between wanting it to end and wanting its intensification, wallowing in regret of empty promises and moments spent clean as you slip back towards the poppy siege. Drawn like a pendulum and still too much of a nobleman to enlist the help of others, you waged personal war against the acedia that had held you hostage for years.
  
  After all the opium, spikes of adrenaline became the only way to clear that numbing miasma. You would not have brought yourself back from addiction and survived without the new thrill of self-endangerment. Five-finger fillet, russian roulette, don’t know how to feel things if you aren’t toying with death.
  
  There is goodness in you still, the kindness that survives despite your ruin. Empathy that flickers and a profound appreciation for life even when the shadows swarm.
  
  A funeral director was never the intended destination, the rundown shell of a parlor purchased to renovate for the only thing you’d ever been good at: bookkeeping. Word of an undertaker establishing in Antares spread faster than repair and you never expected to be picking out a coffin from storage for an unanticipated arrival.
  
  Grief is everywhere and the sun reminds them the world is not new, but you want to help them seek a path forward. You assume stewardship of the dead, once feared the dark so you exist inside of it, feared the asphyxiation of soil so you dig graves and know the merit of 6 feet deep, fear the encapsulation of a closed casket so you build them and value the delicacy. You subject yourself to these because perhaps you have only ever been taught to stare directly at what you fear.
  
  Graystone Memorials— it is not a very unique name, this much you can admit, but it serves as a place where grief can exist without judgement.
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  gallery

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  PLACE.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  GRAYSTONE MEMORIALS

  
  
  

  ANTARES BUSINESS

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  A somber funeral parlor tucked away in an Antares alley, this business provides burial arrangements and services to honor the departed. Despite the quiet and worn surroundings, Graystone Memorials is a place of quiet care. Usually. Depends if the mortician has had a morning coffee. A concerning amount of stray cats loiter the area due to a certain individual leaving food out for them. I will not name names.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  The Cryptkeeper

  
  

  Eats his first meal at 4pm. Don't ask if he's okay.

  
  

  Full offence but thinks shit is wrong with all of you.

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

nine lives

 

[picklemouse]

Knox Hood, Quartermaster

#The Archer

# Barry Keoghan

♡coded by uxie♡

---

Knox Hood

The Archer

01.

02.

03.

• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  01.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  01

  
  

  
  

  name.

  
  
  

  John Knox Hood

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  02

  
  

  
  

  a.k.a.

  
  
  

  Knox

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  03

  
  

  
  

  age & birthday.

  
  
  

  2#, December 16th

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  04

  
  

  
  

  gender & pronouns.

  
  
  

  Cis Male; He/Him

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  05

  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  
  

  Fluid/Pan; Romantic

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  06

  
  

  
  

  Occupation

  
  
  

  Quartermaster onboard The Leviathan; Currently contracted by The King

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  08

  
  

  
  

  Place of Birth

  
  
  

  A village in a forest outside of Zenith

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  09

  
  

  
  

  Face Claim

  
  
  

  Barry Keoghan

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  weight.

  
  
  

  158 lbs

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  height.

  
  
  

  5'8"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  
  

  Slim, with a strong upper body from climbing, archery, and cutting firewood.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  
  

  Blue-Grey; Bright and Expressive; Sometimes deep, sometimes shallow, possibly making one wonder: What’s he thinking about right now?
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  skin.

  
  
  

  Fair; Prone to burning from the sun and the wind; His cheeks and nose flush when it’s cold out.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair.

  
  
  

  Short; Brown; It just has a way of settling where it wants, no matter what he does; On occasion, there is a cowlick on the back that has the habit of acting up.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  body mods.

  
  
  

  Red Feather Tattoo, Upper back of his right arm [x]
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  distinguishing features & style.

  
  
  

  With his strong jaw and downturned mouth, Knox could often be perceived as a solemn and serious person, until he cracks a wide, sunny smile. He has a comfort oriented style, opting for colours found in nature (browns, greens, oranges, blues) with a fondness for knitted sweaters. His hands are worn from years of working with them.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  02.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  psyche.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Watch as this young man sets out on his own. Determined to make his own name. Sometimes a bit of a slacker, he does work hard as The Leviathan’s Quartermaster. He takes his role very seriously, but also bends the rules sometimes for those in need.
  
  Perhaps he'll fall in love on the way. He'll flirt with and date early anyone, but he is holding out for that bolt of lightning called true love. He’s the type to embarrass himself to get someone to notice him, but mind your heart because he’s known to be a little careless sometimes.
  
  In the meantime, Knox works hard, seeks leisure and takes opportunities to help those in need. Plus a few sunsets along the way. He makes friends easily and offers a helping hand when he can. You can find him spinning yarns on deck for the passengers and crew, sitting up in the beam of the sail, lounging in his quarters, or playing a cheeky game of cards for a few extra coins.
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  virtues.

  
  
  

  
  Romantic & Merry
  

  • This cocky Romeo type. He will do his job but you bet he’s got half his mind on the girl of his dreams. A certified heartbreaker Despite the violent nature of some of his work, Knox can often be found in good humor. He’s ready with a lighthearted joke and a heart melting smile. Just like his father. A good friend to most.

  Resourceful
  

  • Knox grew up fairly poor and learned to go without a lot of luxuries. He knows there's always a way to figure something out. He’d rather try to jerry rig something together before spending any money on it. This makes him pretty crafty, and adept at small fixes. The man can sew a button - hallelujah.

  Altruistic
  

  • This man has nothing, and he’ll still give you the shirt off his back if you need it. He knows right and wrong, and he knows his version is not the popular idea of right and wrong. Life gives some an unfair advantage, so Knox will do what he can to even the playing field.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  vices.

  
  
  

  
  Rascal Behaviour
  

  • Like I said, Knox is a good man, but rules are just a guide post. Now, he does what he can to fly under the radar, he truly has too much at stake to risk losing it all. He is impulsive, and sometimes this leads him to some trouble.

  Cocky
  

  • The boy grew up with so much love around him. He knows what he’s good at, and he’s not afraid to show off. Is some of his confidence unearned? Sure. Will this stop him? Not in the slightest. Sometimes, he can be perceived as being overconfident, but in the end, it’s the confidence that gets what he needs to get done, done.

  Sticky Fingers & Light Feet
  

  • A thief? No. Not exactly. Have things gone missing in his presence? On occasion. Little things, trinkets and coins, always from those unlikely to miss them. He doesn’t keep these things for himself, as there are many more in need. It’s simple wealth distribution, my dear Gao.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  likes.

  
  
  

  “Inconveniencing” the wealthy; People watching; Spending time outside; A strong cup of tea; Teasing; Competition; Finding nature; Writing poetry; Reading Poetry; Telling stories; Falling in love; Spending time with his mother and father; Pickles; Being social, but having time alone to recharge.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  dislikes.

  
  
  

  The ruling class; Authority; Greed; Being rushed; Strict rules; Bullies who bully for no reason; Being told he can’t (re: anything); Senseless cruelty; He does not like magic (It freaks him out);
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears.

  
  
  

  Losing his family; Compromising his moral compass; Having to work for the King his whole life; Missing out on life’s adventures.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  habits.

  
  
  

  Bites his fingernails; Lounges around in places; Compulsive flirt; Impulsive
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hobbies.

  
  
  

  Hiking; Writing poetry; Climbing; Archery
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  strengths.

  
  
  

  Great balance; Very proficient at Archery; Lock picking; Sleight of Hand; “A way with words”; Lithe and a strong climber; Bird calls and Whistling; Persuasive (Charming); Observant; Will stand up for what he believes in and for others.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weaknesses.

  
  
  

  He will do what he can to protect his family from threat or harm; He’s a lover boy and he is attracted to beautiful people - Do with that what you will; He’s a bit of a shit head and will argue with you if he thinks you're just being a d!ck; That said, he’ll happily verbally spar with you for funsies, which often gets him into trouble.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ❛❛

  ❜❜

  “Let us e'er be merry while we may, for man is but dust...so let life be merry while it lasts, say I.”
  ― The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
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  03.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  The Greatest Love Story Ever Told…
  

  • Mother, Mari, was meant to be in the convent
  • Father, Roan, met Mari one day at the market.
  • Roan would work the stand on market day, selling goods from his parent’s farm; Mari was the postulant in charge of market shopping.
  • Mari was approaching her vows to become a full nun of the church.
  • For nearly a month, Roan charmed Mari.
  • Mari agonized over her vows she was meant to take, wondering if it was a fool's game to follow her heart.
  • She met with the Mother Superior of the church, the day before she was to take her vows.
  • Mari was honest about her feelings about the man at the market
  • “In life, we must make many decisions. Sometimes our paths are laid out for us, but for many, our paths open up to us over time. I cannot tell you which path to follow. Only that I hope to have done my best to guide you towards your true heart’s desire.”
  • “You will always have a home with us.”
  • Without hesitation, Mari left the convent, and she ran to the market.
  • Roan wasn’t there, but Mari was a smart woman. She interrogated every other vendor at the market for information about the ruddy haired man with the cheeky smile who worked on a sheep farm.
  • From the information she received, she was led down a road, which led to a vast farm and a man working in the field with an irrefutable likeness of her ruddy haired farmer man.
  • The road leads her to a vast farm, with one sprawling field of potatoes and other vegetables, and another field with a herd of sheep milling around.
  • As she runs down the laneway towards the fenced in field, Roan sees Mari. Recognizing her instantly, he takes off towards her.
  • Imagine; These two running to each other; She’s kind of crying because she finally understands what she’s meant to be doing - He has never been more sure of anything in his life. They run to each other, she climbs the fence, leaping into his arms. He catches her. They kiss. They live happily ever after.
  • At least, this is how Knox always knew the story about how his parents…became his parents. Not to imply that anything in this story is unfactual, but the romanticism has been amped up in retellings as the years progressed.

  It’s a good life…
  

  • The truth is, Knox Hood was born to loving parents, Roan and Mari Hood, who taught him to work hard, but to also find beauty in even the most unsuspecting parts of life.
  • Growing up, Knox worked on his family’s farm, read as many books as he could, and practiced archery.
  • He was unfortunately an only child. Though, Knox would have been a fantastic older brother.
  • Roan and Mari wished to have many children, but alas it was not in God’s plan, nor was it in the Stars’.
  • Mari dedicated her time to helping the underpaid and unhoused within their community. She always had hot meals on the stove and an open door for those in need.
  • Roan continued to take care of his family’s farm, even as they passed. His brothers aging or passing to the point of being unable to contribute much labour.
  • Know treated the farm, as well as the surrounding forest like his playground. He climbed trees and took naps; he named every sheep as if they were his own; He taught himself how to do a handstand on the ridge of their barns just to entertain himself.

  You’ll go far kid…
  

  • As Knox grew older, the unfortunate fact of his father also growing older was not something he could ignore. He also couldn’t ignore the many truths of the world around him as they became apparent.
  • As a young boy, he didn’t notice how many nights his mother and father sat at their kitchen table, speaking in whispers about the rising taxes, as the crown slowly seized the land in the name of The King.
  • Knox and his parents watched as their farmland dwindled, acre by acre, year by year. They had to sell their flock, until they only had two sheep left. They laid off the farmhands who provided much needed assistance. Soon, it was just Knox and his father.
  • Despite the crown taking most of their farmland, there was still a vast amount to care for, and without a large family, help was hard to pay for.
  • Knox started doing odd jobs around the village. Small things like house repairs, and deliveries.
  • He wanted to study Literature at Zenith Academy, so he saved as much money as he could, but when the time came to enroll, his father sustained a serious injury. Knox ultimately chose to stay home to help.’
  • Still, he climbed and practiced archery. He swung on the beams in the now empty barns. He grew strong, and focused. Not spending a lot of time in the town, but making friends when he did.

  Pulling on the wool…
  

  • A few more years passed. Knox took charge of his father’s farm for two years as Roan rested and healed. He used his education fund to hire another farmhand, and Mari did what she could. Soon, Roan was able to take up small tasks, though Knox protested.
  • As hard headed as Knox can be, he learned how from the best.
  • In an effort to raise more money, but more likely to show off his own talents, Knox entered local archery contests, sure to win a cash prize due to his skill, and soon became a local legend.
  • The King witnessed a particularly impressive contest one summer in Zenith, and offered Knox a contract to work for him and the castle as a defense archer.
    • The contract stipulated he was to serve for a minimum of 5 years
    • He would receive a healthy compensation for his time and skill
    • The crown also provided education for him from Zenith Academy upon completion of his contract.
  • Though it was against his personal views, it was a hard offer to pass up. Naturally, Knox consulted with his mother and father, and ultimately he decided it was the least he could do to help his family.
  • Simply, it was the best opportunity for him to get an education, and after 5 years, Knox could return home to his family’s farm with enough money in the coffer to stabilize what was left of their land.
  • The money earned went back home to pay the wages for additional farm hands, keeping a small portion for himself in efforts to enjoy his time in Zenith.
  • Knox served the first of his 4 years as archery defence at the king’s castle. Occasionally, he was called out from the arrow slit for special operations. Guarding the royal family when they travel mostly, but on one occasion he was sent to eliminate a threat to the crown (read: Sniper vibes).
  • He yearned to be free from the clutches of the crown, never forgetting what they took from his family, and the many others in Solas, vowing not only to study literature, but to study politics and law in hopes of changing the course of the kingdom.

  On Board The Leviathan
  

  • An opportunity arose wherein the king commissioned a large ship, The Leviathan, with many crew positions on board.
  • Due to his attention to detail, excellent people skills, and a little charm on his recruitment examiner, Knox secured his place as Quartermaster on the ship.
  • In his mind, the last year of his service was easier to manage. A little adventure, knowing he may never have such an opportunity again, was a better cage than the castle turret in which he was usually held, and much better than in combat with an order to kill.
  • On board, Knox enjoys his job and working with the crew. He delights in meeting so many people from across Solas and hearing their stories. He’s taken it upon himself to entertain passengers with stories, written and learned from his favourite books or made from his own imagination.
  • He’s never strayed from his goal to attend Zenith Academy and return to his parent’s farm to finally release his father from the responsibility, though a certain pair of hazel eyes has caught his attention.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  extra.

  
  

  click

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  about the man.

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  family.

  
  
  

  Father
  Roan Hood; Grew up on his parent’s farm. The farm was known for their flock of sheep and their produce. Their family had a regular stand at their local market, selling wool, knitted goods, produce (berries, potatoes, carrots, turnips), and bread. He had a large family, one of 5 brothers, who all worked on the farm. Roan’s mother baked and knit, teaching Roan also to knit, which he enjoyed and passed along to his son.
  
  Mother
  Mari Hood; From a poor family, most of whom have long been deceased. Mari was set to join a convent of Catholic nuns, one of the last convents of this faith in Zenith.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  reputation.

  
  
  

  Just a wee lad! Joyful, lots of smiles. Very accommodating; Could be described as lazy by the Type A personalities but he is generally liked by people.
  
  It’s possible you got into a little disagreement, but that’s your fault for saying stuff like “Poor people should have to earn food and shelter” and “Wow, I should buy another property to build a home I’ll spend 3 weeks of the year in.”
  
  It’s also possible you and Knox have done some smooching since setting sail. Step right up.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  why did they board The Leviathan? .

  
  
  

  Tried to get out of being a part of the King’s tactical forces, but still had a contract to fulfill, so Knox agreed to take a position on board The Leviathan.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  how did they get on board?
  .

  
  
  

  “With me feet I reckon.”

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faction.

  
  
  

  No faction to speak of; Stygian Order might want to keep an eye on him.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  status.

  
  
  

  Working class
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  opinion on royalty.

  
  
  

  Technically, royalty pays his wages, but he’s not keen on it. Generally, Knox finds royalty to be overpowered and over exploitative of their people.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  opinion on piracy.

  
  
  

  “Go for it, but do yah have’ta do so much stabbing?”
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  headcanons.

  
  
  

  
  - Climbs the masts regularly; You need a guy up there? Knox is your guy.
  - Good with knots; Very proficient at balancing as well.
  - Girliepop could’ve gone to the olympics for gymnastics.
  - Would have actually competed in Archery.
  - True Shot x Robin Hood Vibes
  - Really, what’s so different from climbing and leaping around in a forest, but on a big ship?
  - Your Quartermaster! And he loves it
  - You got your room key from him! He can get you some towels! He also organizes the ship’s supplies; He’s chaotic but he’s really organized.
  - rip Knox, you would have loved an ADHD diagnosis.
  - Flattery works and expect it back.
  - Certified Loverboy
  - Sorry everyone! He’s spoken for
  - But there’s some room for a little fun *Chicka-pow*
  - Will cuddle you in a platonic way.
  - Tells stories at night before bed. Some of them are from books he has (Fairy tales etc) and some of them are stories he just makes up on the spot.
  - Will gamble, but will also cheat
  - Good at picking locks.
  - Would start a union or a strike.
  - Used to work as an archer for the king after impressing him at an archery contest. The King payed his way through school in exchange for years of service. Knox wanted to know more of life and the was the only way he could afford the privilege of an education, so he agreed.
  - The money he made and currently makes goes to his family so they can have a good life. He keeps some for himself, but doesn’t want much. He’ll give coins to those in need.
  - Devoted when you’ve earned that place in his life.
  - Stayed on the ship while all the madness is happening on the shore of Algol
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Queen

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  no slide

  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[CrimsonInk]

the paladin.

scroll

Adrian

Bishop

ㅎㅎ

01.

full name

Adrian Bishop

02.

age

36

03.

P.O.B.

Empyra

04.

sexuality

Demisexual

05.

status

High Society | Earl of House Bishop

• .
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• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Courts are levelers.

  
  
  
  

  Our courts have our faults, as does any human institution, but in this country our courts are the great levelers, and in our courts all men are created equal.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  FC

  
  

  Regé-Jean Page

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5' 11 ft | 180.34 cm
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair colour

  
  

  Dark Brown

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye colour

  
  

  Hazel Brown

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Description

  
  

  He stands tall like the statues all over Empyra with eyes always gazing upon the people. His posture well-formed, his hands soft yet calloused at the fingertips, and a smirk so enticing you almost wouldn’t believe his reputable persona to be true. He carries himself like a gentleman and very well ensures he looks like one. The man keeps himself well-groomed, moisturized, and seasoned for Gao.
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  persona

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  What do you call a man who can only understand the scales of justice? In order to abstain from the disorder the world truly is, he functions on his cognition and discipline to weave through the chaos. Though outwardly stern and aloof, beneath that veneer lies a gentleman whose virtues run deeper than the cold weight of logic—graciousness, patience, and an unspoken warmth for those who truly need it. He is not a man of rigid perfection, but rather one whose inner struggle with his own emotions pushes him to maintain such an unwavering stance, as if fear of disorder threatens to unravel him.
  
  A man so detail-oriented as his papers, his mind never leaves a room without confidence. He ensures his perception remains clear, not just in the courtroom, but in all his interactions—whether with the public, his peers, or his inner circle. His communication is direct, sometimes to the point of bluntness, but his words are never without purpose. He weighs each sentence carefully, striving to maintain control over both what is said and how it’s received.
  
  Any sign of ego was erased by a life spent seeing the world through a singular lens—a world that must be structured, logical, and predictable. Yet, even in his steadfast resolve, there are moments where a flicker of warmth may surface, revealing that despite his control, he remains human. Perhaps, after all, there’s more to him than the man who never allows his gaze to waver.
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Likes

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Writing papers

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  reading books on law

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  maps

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  whiskey

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  bangers and mash

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  puzzles

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  chess

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Dislikes

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Traveling

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  poetry

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  gossip

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  riddles

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  unnecessary violence

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  curse words/cursing

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Fears

  
  
  

  
  
  

  EWW FEET OMG DON'T TOUCH ME WITH THAT AHHHH

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  DON'T ABANDON ME!!

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Thanatophobia: The fear of losing a loved one

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Habits

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Looking around the room

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  messing with his cufflinks

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  licking his lips

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  thinking about which book he intends to read next

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  tapping his fingers against a flat surface

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Hobbies

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Studying for the yearly Empyra exams

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  learning new languages

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  reading/catching up on new discoveries in the scientific and mathematical circles

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  political studies

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  horseback riding

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Strengths

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Law

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  finance

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  math

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  documenting

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ballroom dancing

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Weaknesses

  
  
  

  
  
  

  Making friends

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  having a personality

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  taking things in a literal sense

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  a good chess match (competitive)

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Lore

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  Born in a world filled with chaos and disorder has led this child to wear an armor of justice. The sun rests upon their skin with the needed materials to make those moral decisions. As a baby fear was brought upon their parents when no cries were heard, but as they aged their cries became the least of their worries. Adrian had shown to be clearly different from the other children where playtime was to engage in the words of books rather than the dirt and grime of a playground. Signs of their intellect showed promise, and soon he became well-versed in the academic world. His mother, Calypso, worried about his upbringing being sheltered, but his Father, Othello, believed her word to be nonsense. Their son was a prodigy, but what Calypso saw was a gifted child being used to indulge in his Father’s pride.
  
  The Bishop family were no stranger to the circle of royals, politicians, and the higher societal groups associated. They were well associated and beloved by those in the academic world with familiar members being Professors, writers, lawyers, and some even becoming Kingsmen. What Othello was in the leaves was a judicial judge who initiated order in his eyes, and to be inspired at his adolescence Adrian followed the same path.
  
  During his years at the Academy, his Father had no choice but to step down. The embarrassment of a scandal was evident when someone spilled that Othello Bishop was taking bribes to “look the other way”. Adrian was furious about this, and immediately cut ties with his Father the day he found out. Calypso was the same and divorced him, and when it came to the courts the new judge was able to strip the man from everything he had. Othello Bishop was left with nothing but the clothes on his back. The scandal had caused their name to be tarnished, but Adrian refused to give into the public’s view. Taking on the responsibility of the house, he decided to become the man his Father couldn’t.
  
  Entering the world of Law was a harsh journey. Many of his Professors who saw promise helped guide him to take the correct steps, and even the few who had doubts saw how determined he was to be a judge. On days he studied law outside, he would always find himself enraptured by a woman writing by the fountain. The way her eyes were so mesmerized by her writing and the way her lips curled into a smile, it took his breath away. Though he never approached her. Seraphine Winters was sought by all men, but never announced whose hand she would take. In reality, love was a feeling too complicated for him to understand. That was until she approached him and taught him what love really was.
  
  His Mother soon remarried another man, Orpheus Bloom, who took on the Bishop name. He was a softer and kinder man than Othello, who was a famous sculptor in Empyra and well known for his works for the Martell family. Adrian refused to see the man as a parental figure. Having another father-like figure did not bode well with him, especially for the pain his biological father brought upon them. Little did he know he would gain a sibling in the mix, and that day met Guinevere. A 6 year old nuisance she was. Yet, when home started to be filled with the chaos of laughter did he realize that he enjoyed it. It is a secret he refused to share with anyone.
  
  Four years later, the woman by the fountain writing away, the one who made him smile and laugh his heart away, dies. Adrian had received a letter retelling the tales of an incident that happened at a family wedding she attended. You would believe a beach wedding would be the most beautiful and memorable moment of your life. In most cases it would be, but this one was ambushed by pirates who spilled their blood into the sea. Those who fought back were met with a blade, and Seraphine was a woman who fought for her life. The only ones who survived the massacre were a couple of servants. How lucky they were to use the bodies of their employers to make it look like they were dead. Adrian couldn’t grasp the tragedy and buried the pain by disconnecting from the outside world. He would soon gain another Bishop in the family, Olympia, who he swore to protect alongside Guinivere. Where both girls won’t have to go through the pain he had from losing the person you love.
  
  One day his Mother had disappeared to the Sands. There was no word of her leaving, not even his Father in law knew about why she left. She just left. Disappeared. Abandoned them. Two years of her disappearance and no letter made Adrian realize he was left to carry the Bishop name. His need to protect his younger sisters grew more than ever. Making sure they were well into their studies, limiting their time with the outside world, curfews, friends, he must discipline them on everything so they can have a future without hurt or disappointment. Orpheus believed him to be overbearing and controlling, but Adrian had none of it. On a bright and sunny day in Embrya, Adrian walked into his chambers to overlook case files when he saw a letter on his desk. Upon reading it — GUINEVERE, OLYMPIA, WHY DID YOU RUN AWAY!!!?? AHHHH!!!!! NARRR!!!!
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Reputation

  
  

  
  
  
  

  In Empyra, Adrian Bishop is well-known for their meticulous hand and gavel in the courtroom. A true and honest man of adhering judicial balance for the city. His services to the public as their chief of justice has truly made a mark on those who are both friends and foe. The opinions of the public never sway his need to ensure order, but as of recent years his personal views have started to change. Change intends to happen when the scales tell you to initiate order against the person you love.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Opinion on Royalty

  
  

  
  
  
  

  He thinks highly of royalty, and is grateful for the benefits that come being close in the circle of it. He respects the King in a way, and knows that the common people are to be kept in order so that they can live their simple lives. Those in high societal are carrying the heavier loads and working hard for them so they may live their best life.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Opinion on Piracy

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Disgusting and greedy uneducated gremlins of the ocean. Adrian thinks very lowly of pirates seeing them as part of the problem all over Solas.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Why did they board the Leviathan?

  
  

  
  
  
  

  GUINEVERE, OLYMPIA, WHY DID YOU LEAVE!? COME BACK, AHHHHHH!!!!!!! (His sisters ran off to travel the world and Adrian is chasing them to take them back home.)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  How did they get on board?

  
  

  
  
  
  

  BY LAW, A TICKET WAS BOUGHT FOR HIM TO ABOARD THIS ROYAL VESSEL.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  Iron

  
  
  
  

  Woodkid

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  connections

  
  
  
  

  misc.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  • aaaaaaa
  • aaaa

  • 
    
    
    

    connections

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Olympia Bishop

    
    
    
    

    Adrian’s younger, half sister. Even at the age of 14, Olympia has proved herself to be another intellectual in the family. Her quick wit and confident attitude shows maturity, but still as a child she lacks social experience. Never admitting to her wrongs, she has a lot to learn and idolizes the governess, Claudia Martel.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Guinevere Bishop

    
    
    
    

    Adrian’s sister-in-law. Guinevere is known to be stubborn, immature, and brat-like, and at the age of 20 acts like a teenager hopelessly in love. She yearns to be someone’s Juliet. Never does she wish to be the bridesmaid, she wishes to be the bride. While she shows promise with her mind, she lacks in her awareness of other people. Tired of being held hostage in her home, she with her sister Olympia decided to take the initiative to explore Solas.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Seraphine Winters

    
    
    
    

    Seraphine was truly a woman of her own. Adrian was a man who disliked poetry for a great deal, but not when it was hers. She was a woman of the arts with a creative and optimistic intellect. The winds would carry her presence gracefully, and somehow these two opposites found solace in one another. Many believed she was too good for him, but what she saw in him was something worth staying for. Adrian never felt this kind of warm light again after her passing. You can even say it broke him, and for a while it did. Even after 11 years he still mourns for her love.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    
    

    misc.

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    What I would like for them to experience or encounter in this roleplay?

    
    

    That the world is not a courtroom and chaos is always inevitable. He also has lived his entire life being a complete homebody and never really experience life, so force him to experience it. The good, the bad, the ugly, I want this man to find light, love, and hell, fist fight for once! :3
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[AnimeGenork]

Arata Fukuda

# The Drunk Cupid

# Mackenyu

♡coded by uxie♡

fluticasone fluticasone

Requisite & Appearance

name

Arata Fukuda (or just Arata)

Alias

Eros of Solas, Cupid, Akito

Age

Twenty-Six (26)

Gender

Male (He/Him) [unlocks he/they at a later time]

Sexuality

Rumsexual somewhere on the ace spectrum, probably demi

P.O.B.

Freymoor

Faction

N/A (affiliated with Stygian Order at some point)

Status

Low Society -> High Society

Arata’s scruffy black hair is soft to the touch from meticulous care. Though he keeps the locks combed (when half-sober), it often appears messier. Two parts of his hair simulate bangs by his temples, strands that occasionally fall into his eyes. Brown, bloodshot irises peek through hooded eyelids to reveal the boredom of intoxication. Considering the frequent drunkenness, his eyes are not always bloodshot, as he seems to have no liver anymore. His tall frame is always swaying slightly, balanced until he decides to make a complex movement that requires more thought. He dresses plainly, despite frequenting high society, but then the Eros of Solas needs very little introduction. His favorite color may be green, but there is usually a red sash around his waist to signify his profession as a matchmaker, not that he chose that for himself.

personality

Perhaps when he was a child, before it happened, Arata was a happier boy. He might have even smiled. Nowadays, smiles don’t grace his face unless he is completely shitfaced. Even when highly amused, he lets out a sound that roughly resembles a bark. Perhaps a meow if he’s feeling feisty. In his heart of hearts, he doesn’t believe he’s worthy of happiness, and so he cannot allow himself a smile, not so long as he lives this curated life of a man whose true life has been robbed from him. Apathy is his true nature, save for when he’s completely shitfaced—in which case he’s a party animal.

Rum is literally his lifeblood. He’s not sure how, but it saved his life twenty years ago, and now he repays the debt by drinking. Every second. Every day. How he manages to subsist on little diet save for said rum is a mystery, and not one he’s willing to look into. When not drunk, he’s yearning to be. Most of his sentences contain the word “rum.” It is quite possible he’s an alcoholic. (Everyone knows he is, but he has yet to admit it.) His usual state is that of drunk, and so he does not enjoy being sober. He’s much less fun that way.

As he entered adulthood, he discovered a knack for detecting romantic connections. That is, even while drunk, he can sense when two people would work well together. Thus began his life as Eros, drunkenly pointing to two nobles and declaring that they should get married. He always managed to stumble into another party before those marriages fell apart, but thankfully, no one has seemed to care about that part of his ability. After all, he does not dictate others’ actions (and he wouldn’t want to), nor does he make their decisions for them. Except the marriage bit. (He’s opposed to marriage, ironically.)

history

Content Warning: Underage drinking. VERY. Underage. Alcoholism. Seriously, if alcohol is not a thing you're okay with, do NOT read this guy.​

Arata Fukuda was one of several farmer families in the village of Freymoor, though he was never all that interested in farming itself. He would someday take on the mantle of the Fukuda farm, but he wasn’t too pressed about it as a child. How could he be, when he had greater aspirations? His adventures began whenever he stepped foot outside.

Along with his best friends—Bruno, Abigail, Gabriel, and Milo—Arata would play Pirates. He was the first mate to Bruno’s captain, though he was one of the lazier crew members on their pirate ship. Still, though he was terrible at showing it, Arata loved his friends deeply, as they were everything to him. Making them happy was his greatest goal in life, greater even than taking over the family farm.

When Arata awoke, he wasn’t in the barn. He wasn’t really sure what had happened, but he knew that the bodies of his friends next to him were not alive anymore. How was he still alive? And what if the killer came back to finish him off? So confused and distraught was he that he completely missed the absence of Milo’s body. Instead, he fled the village before the burial.

For a while, Arata wandered aimlessly. He’d never been outside of Freymoor, and so he didn’t know where to go. He ended up in Zenith, alone on the streets. Luckily for him, a nice couple took him in, or so he thought. They were a couple of criminals who needed a third, particularly someone small enough to crawl into tight spaces. For a time, Arata went by Akito, mostly because he did not entrust these people with his birth name, but also because he did not trust the guild to which they owed their allegiance. The only reason he stayed with them was to avoid living on the streets. Well, that and the alcohol they let him drink.

He stayed with the thieving couple for a few years, enough to truly get a taste for the alcohol he was stealing with them. By the time he was eleven, he was old enough to realize he didn’t want or need them anymore, and so he ran away. He was found again, this time by a lower-ranked noble family. They took him in, fed him, and educated him. But they wouldn’t give him anything to drink, which was a shame. Still, he was safe. And he let them call him Arata.

For years, he was relatively happy. Sure, he had very few friends, and sure, he couldn’t tell anyone that’d survived a massacre by drinking rum, but… well, at least he was safe. He didn’t emote very well to begin with, so it wasn’t as if he was looking for a spectacular change.

After he’d turned 18 and was finally, FINALLY able to drink again, he showcased a strange talent at a fancy party. While halfway drunk, Arata took a look at two nobles conversing and said: “Those two would make a great married couple.” What he meant by this was unknown, even to him. But it set off a chain of events leading to his current occupation.

His first match was true. They realized they were perfect for each other and married soon after. Arata was asked to try his magic again for a smarmy second son, whom he pointed in the direction of an angry looking noblewoman who turned out to just have a sour face. He made match after match after match, and all ended in marriages. Whether those marriages worked out was not important, only that he had produced results. Despite the inevitable failures and scandals that followed the couples post-Arata, he was highly sought after during the social season. Despite always being drunk when making his brilliant, if ill-advised, declarations, he was renowned as the Eros of Solas. He still wasn’t sure what that was all about.

Although he had no need for it, families paid him handsomely for his work, allowing him to buy his precious rum. Hearing of a ship sailing the seas of Solas, Arata decided to take a much-needed vacation and perhaps escape one marriage season. So he bought a ticket, not knowing that the ship would bring to him a ghost from his childhood.

misc

Likes & Dislikes: Rum, Rum, Rum, Sleeping, Rum, Green | He’s not really capable of dislike. However, he will not tolerate anyone who harasses Milo.

Fears: He used to fear that the man who killed his friend would come for him. Now he’s more afraid of running out of rum.

Habits & Hobbies: This man is so boring, he literally only drinks or sleeps. Rum is his passion and his hobby, which just. Someone send him to rehab please.

Strengths & Weaknesses: Arata is a great matchmaker (ignore the scandals) and can tell when a couple would work out. Yet he’s terrible at social interaction as a whole and has no defense mechanism against alcohol. How does his liver still work?

Reputation: Known as the Eros of Solas, Arata is renowned for his matchmaking skills, which he thinks is bullshit. Still, he’s not complaining about the money, nor is he about to turn down offers for free drinks to get people married out. Good for them!

Why Did He Board the Leviathan? Arata desperately wanted to escape the marriage season and hopefully have a nice break to just drink and sleep. Can he please not be the be-all end-all for someone’s romantic life? PLEASE?

How Did He Get on Board? Arata will be boarding the Leviathan at Antares, which he considers the Party Capital of Solas. Yes, he’ll definitely be drunk as he boards. Sorry everyone.

 

[ComplexDragon]

• Placeholder
• CS

• 
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  Cosette Martel

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  # The Erudite

  
  
  
  
  

  # Tamika Fawcett

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  the erudite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  

  cosette

  
  
  
  

  Martel

  
  

  
  
  
  

  ㅎㅎ

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  01.

  
  

  full name

  
  

  
  
  
  

  cosette evangeline martel

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  02.

  
  

  Alias

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Little Swan (Cosi, Coco, Setta, Settie)

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  03.

  
  

  age

  
  

  
  
  
  

  2#, March 11th

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  04.

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  
  
  
  

  bisexual

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  05.

  
  

  p.o.b

  
  

  
  
  
  

  empyra

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  • .
  • .
  • .
  • .
  • .

  • 
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    High Achiever

    
    
    
    

    Don't you see?
    Baby, nothing comes for free
    They say I'm a control freak
    Driven by a greed to succeed
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    visage

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    height

    
    

    5'7

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    hair colour

    
    

    Cool brown

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    eye colour

    
    

    Hazel

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    face claim

    
    

    Tamika Fawcett

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    hair

    
    

    Loose curls that run down her back. Occasionally she’ll use heat to straighten it, tie it up in a bun, cover it with a bandana, or adorn it with decorations like bows, pearls, and jewels. Yes, is it impractical? Technically. However, no one said she couldn’t be both smart and a little vain.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    eyes

    
    

    Upturned hazel eyes, with flecks of emerald and gold. Framed with wispy lashes, that are only visible with copious amounts of mascara. When her voice was silenced, her eyes were able to communicate. They communicate a lot, even when she doesn’t want them to.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    build

    
    

    Lithe and lean frame - lacking in many curves. She's not particularly well built either, given that rigorous physical exercise was not in her regimen, preferring to exercise the mind instead.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    scars

    
    

    A few paper cuts on her hands, but other than that, she’s had no occasion to end up scarred.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    persona

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    Oh, dear girl, you know so much and yet so little.
    
    Cosette has spent her life in her sister’s shadow, controlled by the confines of the society she was raised in, yet constantly fighting against her true nature. She’s the perfect example of an Empyran citizen. High achieving, intelligent, academic, diligent, competitive, perfectionistic. Yet despite all that, she’s never quite been able to master the art of conformity.
    
    She’s a girl who feels so much and yet nothing at all. Kind, gentle, and empathetic, she's quick to lend a hand to those in need. She carries herself with all the elegance and poise of a queen, with the self-confidence to match. In fact, it often borders on self-centeredness. She’s aware that when she walks into a room, she’s likely one of the smartest people there, and will quickly out-debate others with her sharp wit, and strong sense of justice. It also means that she has a huge blind spot when it comes to underestimating people. Or assuming things will be easier than they are.
    
    She lives her life attempting to be perfect, which leads to a lot of pent-up emotions and bitterness. When her temper wins, Cosette has no problem holding a grudge, being petty, or passive-aggressive. She makes quick assumptions and judgments about people without much to go on, causing her to create enemies where there is no real need to.
    
    She's tight-laced and attentive to details to the point of obsession. She has a list of her lists, and a backup list for that list in case she loses the first one. While she desperately wants to, she will not just jump. There have to be plans involved. She must weigh all her options. For someone so sure of her knowledge, she second-guesses herself often and will self-sabotage because she believes that she's just not good enough. There is always something she can do better. This constant striving leads to dissatisfaction with herself and her life. However, she's a natural strategist and out-of-the-box thinker. When at her best, there is no mountain she cannot overcome.
    
    She is eternally hopeful and curious, and that often fights against her more pragmatic nature, which demands she conforms like she was told to. She is loud, opinionated, and curious about things outside her books, but desperately tries to be exactly what everyone wants her to be. Her identity is rooted in her academic achievement, and without it, she's not sure who she is or what she wants.
    
    Only time will tell whether or not this young swan will learn to spread her wings and fly. Or if she'll crumble underneath the weight of her own expectations.
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    likes

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Smell of books

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    flowers/floral arrangements

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    flowers/floral arrangements

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    sunsets

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    quiet rooms

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    classical music

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    debate

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    learning

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    hair care

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    lakes

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    sweet treats

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    one-on-one conversations

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    rain

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    wordplay

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    dislikes

    
    
    

    
    
    

    rule breaking

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    loud noises

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    spending too much time in a large group

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    disrespect

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    recklessness

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    ugly sweaters

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    weapons

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    bland food

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    wasting things

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    exceedingly stupid people

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    seeing books desecrated

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    illiteracy

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    mundane conversations

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    mental understimulation

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    being wrong

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    fears

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Disappointing her family

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Seeing her friends get hurt

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Failing her exams

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Making a mistake that proves she’s not as good as she has to be

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Never living up to her full potential

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    habits

    
    
    

    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    hobbies

    
    
    

    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    strengths

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Smart

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Quick wit

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Expansive knowledge on a whole host of topics

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Decent people skills

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Perceptive

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Master of the death glare

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    weaknesses

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Little real-world experience

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    On the physically weaker side (she can get by, but she’s not going to be winning any brawls)

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Hubris

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Gets stuck making plans

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Shoots off at the mouth

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Easy to rile up

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    history

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    To Be a Star

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    • Born in the lower echelon. Cosette’s early life was something of a blur. Her parents were not considered particularly smart and worked as laborers within Empyra. Her sister was a dedicated learner, whereas Cosette was much louder - often told to sit down and focus when she wanted to look around and experience everything. But why experience the world when you can study it obsessively? And being loud and defiant is essentially illegal (though most four and five-year-olds don’t know that).
    • Cosette grew up in Empyra’s library. With her parents working, she would accompany her sister and study. She didn’t do much reading at first and instead was a bit of a menace to the librarians. But soon enough, Cosette was pressured into studying as her sister started to succeed. She wanted the same attention as her older sister, and maturity brought about a need to please. When she gave in to her more “animalistic” tendencies, as they were called, people reacted poorly. But being quiet, studious, and a high academic achiever resulted in praise, adoration, and love.
    • She didn’t hate it. In fact, she enjoyed it for the most part. She was a quick learner and worked hard to succeed. But she was scolded for her interest in things seen as less valuable. However, she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that there was more to life. And she still got into trouble here and there. Even when she tried so hard to meet the standards her sister set. It was a constant battle between the things she really wanted to do, and what society demanded of her.
    • Once Claudia achieved high marks on the exam, that’s when things really changed. Suddenly, she was respected and revered and was afforded luxuries the two sisters could only ever dream about. Cosette felt even more like she had to prove she was just as good, and wanted to fit the mold of a model Emperyan citizen. Especially now that her sister was the poster child for it.
    • Society told her that to be loved, valuable - worthy, she must prove her intellectual prowess. Anything less than conformity and excellence meant she was not good enough.

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    You Must Burn

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    • So she threw herself into her studies. After Claudia’s success in the exam, the older tutored Cosette here and there, hoping to assist her younger sister in making her way up in the world.
    • In her quest to learn everything, Cosette ran into a foreign woman who was visiting. She had a collection of books she’d brought from out of town. In hindsight, Cosette should have known that the fact these books were traded under the table meant there was something wrong with them. But she was curious about what could possibly be contained in the pages of a forbidden book, and she brought one home. It contained short stories, poetry, and other illegal fictional work.
    • She wanted to throw it out - she almost did. But she loved the writing. It was a reprieve from her demanding studies and the pressures of living up to her sister’s legacy. So she kept the book hidden in her room and returned to it every so often. It was a guilty pleasure, but one she indulged in because it kept her sane. She read the book so much that the writing became ingrained in her head and the pages wore thin.
    • The pressure continued to build slowly throughout her adolescence. She passed the exam with flying colors—not as good as her older sister, but enough to propel her far up in the world and make her a formidable scholar.
    • She was a quintessential gifted child, who was rapidly hurtling toward burnout, resentment, and destruction. The warning signs were there, but no one would ever notice. Not even Cosette herself. Especially not when she was finally gaining some recognition.
    • Of course, she was quickly outshone by her sister’s appointment as governess, and once again left to sit in her shadow, wondering if she’d ever make her own name. Prove that she was just as good. Just as worthy. Just as remarkable.
    • But striving and striving only gets you so far, and soon enough the pressure hit a breaking point, causing her to mess up when it mattered most. Her scores on the exam dipped. It wasn’t an abject failure - she was learned enough to prevent that from occurring. But it was enough to bring shame to both her name and her family’s. Proving once and for all that she’d never be as good as her older sister.
    • So, she did what any normal person would do, and decided to locate some rare books Empyra was unable to collect—hopefully using it to expand her knowledge beyond her sister’s and prove herself worthy once and for all. This led her to the Leviathan, and around a bunch of people that are the exact antithesis of all she was taught to hold as good and valuable.
    • Only time will tell whether pulling this young woman from her narrow world of academia and scholarly debate will turn her into the person she was always meant to be, or if she’ll squander the opportunity she procured to experience the world in a way she was never permitted to before.

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    extra

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    dreamer

    
    
    
    

    laufey

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    connections

    
    
    
    

    misc.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    • aaaaaaa
    • aaaa

    • 
      
      
      

      connections

      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      

      Claudia Martel

      
      
      
      

      Cosette's older sister, and the governess of Empyra. The two sisters were quite close when they were younger. Especially since Claudia was responsible for Cosette while their parents were busy working. Cosette has always admired her older sister, but as Claudia climbed the ranks, Cosette was left engulfed by her shadow. And her sister has taken her role as governess quite seriously. Leaving their relationship to quietly fade into the background. Cosette knows that Claudia loves her, and vice versa, but with her older sister being responsible for a whole city, Cosette gets very little time with her. And it doesn’t help that her perfect older sister is a reminder of all the things Cosette will never be. She doesn’t hate her sister - no, she really hates herself. And being around Claudia makes it even worse.
      

      
      
      

      
      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      

      Parents

      
      
      
      

      Cosette and her parents have a complicated relationship. They worked to give Claudia and Cosette opportunities, and have never really been able to pull themselves up out of the lower class. Since they were often working, Cosette didn't see them frequently. But she's always been grateful to them for everything they sacrificed. But after Cosette aced the exam, she found herself in a new class and grew further apart from her parents. And it doesn't help that they were some of the people who shoved her toward burnout.
      

      
      
      

      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
    • 
      
      
      

      misc.

      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      

      Reputation

      
      

      Within Empyra, Cosette is known on sight for being Claudia’s younger sister. She’s known for being the gentler, kinder, and louder sibling. The one who occasionally causes problems, even though she does her best. Outside of Empyra, there is occasionally name recognition when she mentions her last name, simply because her sister is the governess of Emprya.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Why Did They Board the Leviathan

      
      

      Cosette is on a quest to obtain knowledge by finding a book that their library doesn’t have. Hopefully proving herself worthy, maybe one-upping her sister for the first time, and also making everyone proud.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      How Did She Board?

      
      

      A ticket that was purchased legally. She’s a guest.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Faction

      
      

      None at present
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Status

      
      

      She was part of the lower class for most of her life until she followed in the footsteps of her elder sister and entered the higher class after her test scores revealed her to be a brilliant mind. She dresses like she’s of the upper class, but outside of Empyra, hardly anyone would recognize her. She looks like a well-dressed city girl. Most would probably put her in the upper class.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Opinion on Royalty?

      
      

      Royalty is not really on her radar. She knows they are “important”, so to speak. They run the countries, make laws, etc. But since her city prizes academia over everything else, and elites gain their positions via proving themselves, she finds royals to be weaker. They didn’t have to work for what they got, meaning that their competence could range from decent to absolutely dreadful.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Opinion on Piracy?

      
      

      Piracy? Do you mean people who steal things? Yeah, no, Cosette would like absolutely nothing to do with them. They carry weapons, smell bad, and take things that don’t belong to them.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Extras

      
      

      Will have Spotify and Pinterest Here Soon
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Future Developments

      
      

      
      

      • Unlike in previous iterations of her character, Cosette is brilliant, yet has no real-world experience. I’d love to see her experience the world and find her personality and personhood outside of her exam scores and books. I think she needs to be confronted with the difference between the actual world vs what she’s been told to value. She’s out here on a little mission with full intentions of returning home and acing this exam, but it’s never that simple. (And life is more than a silly little test).
      • Please help her break a rule. Like they don’t let them publicly speak without a permit, or eat food that isn’t approved. She’s broken maybe two in her life, and she’s still guilty about it.
      • She’s not sheltered in terms of the idea that she conceptually understands how most things work, but practically… yeah she needs some help with that. And the thing is, she desperately wants to experience the world, but she’s been told that it’s not allowed. It would be interesting to see her tempted with all the various things that she believes are wrong, and the internal ramifications (aka major guilt if and when she gives into them).

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      If Not Selected... etc

      
      

      Yes, ofc
      

      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡
  
  
  

 

[qunqun]

CW: Depictions of family death, grief, abuse, and light sex work found in the history sections. Allusions to suicide, mental illness, and religious trauma throughout the personality and history section. ​

• aa
• aa
• aa
• aa
• aa

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  GRAHAM

  
  
  
  

  THE BEREAVED.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  Someone New

  
  
  
  

  Hozier

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  FULL NAME

  
  
  

  GRAHAM FLYNN BYRNE

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ALIAS

  
  
  

  FROECH

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  
  

  TWENTY-FIVE

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  BIRTHPLACE

  
  
  

  THE CANALS

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  PRONOUNS

  
  
  

  HE/HIM

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  SEXUALITY

  
  
  

  "UNPICKY"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  ROLE

  
  
  

  THE BEREAVED

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Age

  
  
  

  25

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Status

  
  
  

  Outcast

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Faction

  
  
  

  N/A

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  FC

  
  
  

  Donal Finn

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Height

  
  
  

  6'3 (191cm)

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Weight

  
  
  

  181lbs (82kg)

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  The Bereaved

  
  
  
  

  
  All her bright golden hair
  Tarnished with rust,
  She that was young and fair
  Fallen to dust.
  Lily-like, white as snow,
  She hardly knew
  She was a woman, so
  Sweetly she grew.
  Coffin-board, heavy stone,
  Lie on her breast,
  I vex my heart alone
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Visage

  
  
  

  HAIR: Curls of dark mahogany that, when catching the sun properly, turn a reddish brand to it. A bit on the wild side, but short enough to not get too much in his eyes. It is styled a bit, though mostly to stay somewhat neat and not explode to the point of mismanagement.
  
  EYES: A pleasant green-forward hazel, a bit the color of mint though perhaps a little bit muddied enough as to not have the terrifying light eyed stare effect. Lit up well enough with charisma and joy to make up for a lack of cognitive thought, there's a mischief that cannot be overstated, and perhaps the beginnings of prominent crows feet starting around the corners. He has a way of looking at people as if he's genuinely seeing them and asking to fuck at the same time.
  
  WRITTEN DESCRIPTION: An attractive person, though perhaps more in broad-shouldered stature, Graham has a way of lighting up any room which he enters. Muscular in the wiry way of a survivalist and a runner, he has nice long limbs and scars on his hands and knees from a life that has been lived fully. A smattering of incredibly faded freckles on his face, and a bright smile that is perhaps just a little bit vacant.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  • .
  • .
  • .

  • 
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    PERSONA

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    Dependable, Charismatic, Empathetic, Practical, Melancholic, Hedonistic, Stubborn, Guilty, Martyrical, Gentle
    
    

    IN DETAIL

    
    

    
    Soft green eyes and a mischievous grin, there is not much else to say about a man who chases pleasure with a couple of quips and a negative amount of intelligence. Impulsive and lackadaisical, there is a flirtatious dance to the manner which Graham conducts himself. A man unafraid of dying, he chases adrenaline and endorphins with the purring sureness of someone who is too stupid to fully think through the consequences of his own actions. Despite this, there is a insurmountable charisma that comes from this idiot's mouth, a horrifying gentle nature that sometimes worms its way through when he thinks a softer touch is more necessary. A poetic self-awareness that becomes tantalizing to those that he is trying to persuade: terribly, he gets laid quite often.
    
    While this might seem to be from sheer luck or perhaps the stupidity of the people he sleeps with, people will be equally distraught to learn that this man is an empath. In tune with a crowd and its people, Graham slides through the world with a grace that comes from intuitively knowing what people are feeling at any given certain moment and why through a level of sensitivity he attempts to bury beneath his more idiotic veneer. There is intelligence behind the stupidity, though sometimes it is hard to discern it, and he has a vast array of knowledge for things that he's properly interested in.
    
    Why go through all the trouble then of making people believe something he's not?
    
    A deep melancholy has taken root inside of him. The guilt of losing a dearly beloved has caused deep feelings of self-loathing and grief which takes over most of his days. He is a person that believes he should've died a long time ago, and as such does not want people to become attached to him: it is easier when you're either despised or looked at as an easy lay to disappear in the end. A deep sense of waywardness developed inside of him, he is running from his own demons through adventure and sex, and failing miserably to outpace his own mental illness. But unwilling to burden other people with his pain, he carries on, wishing in some small part to finally die in order to "make up" for his past failures.
    
    
    

    LIKES

    
    

    
    Plants, Dirt, Sky, Sunlight, Astronomy, Alcohol, Nature, Fire, Poetry, Calla lilies, Hammocks, Danger
    
    

    DISLIKES

    
    

    
    Enclosed spaces, Winter, Cold, Thinking, Stagnancy, Cities, Storms, Metal
    
    

    FEARS

    
    

    
    ➢ Claustrophobic: Cannot handle a lot of tightly enclosed spaces for long periods of time
    
    ➢ Loneliness? Loneliness.
    
    ➢ People he loves being killed, but that's really more of an existential thing he's super normal about it-
    
    

    
    
    
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    EXTRAS

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    HABITS

    
    

    
    ➢ Fiddling with pens. Everything becomes twirlable if you try hard enough
    
    ➢ Flirting with everyone. He thinks it's funny, I'm so sorry for him ahead of time-
    
    ➢ Smiles and laughs often, life becomes funnier when you stop caring about your mortality
    
    ➢ Argues with inanimate objects (like his plants)
    
    ➢ Gives everyone fuck me eyes
    
    ➢ Walking outside and going "woo, it's brisk" during cold weather like the most midwestern dad
    
    ➢ Probably gets sunburnt regularly despite himself
    
    

    HOBBIES

    
    

    
    ➢ Camping. Loves a nice camping trip
    
    ➢ Probably a plant dad, look at all of 'em grow
    
    ➢ Drinking and flirting in taverns. Does that one a lot
    
    ➢ Reads and writes depressing poetry oopsie
    
    ➢ Whittles little wooden woodland creatures
    
    

    SKILLS

    
    

    
    ➢ Hunting and skinning meats; foraging. General survival skills
    
    ➢ Charismatic mfer sorry
    
    ➢ Strong and durable fella
    
    ➢ Also really good with plants, got a green thumb
    
    ➢ Nice sense of direction
    
    ➢ Plays guitar and sings. Can do Wonder Wall thanks for asking (or Greensleeves)
    
    ➢ Turning things into a "your mom" or "that's what she said" joke
    
    

    WEAKNESSES

    
    

    
    ➢ Claustrophobic, whoops sorry to put you on a ship buddy
    
    ➢ Goes a lil silly funny every now and then when his mental health tanks
    
    ➢ Not the best at planning for the future, a little impulsive, or chooses to do the funny thing rather than the smart thing
    
    ➢ Crippling feelings of guilt and self-loathing ya
    
    

    HEADCANONS

    
    

    
    ➢ Taurus Sun, Scorpio Moon, Leo Rising, Leo Mercury, Pisces Venus, Leo Mars
    
    ➢ Neutral Good alignment
    
    ➢ Probably a former sugar baby idk man
    
    ➢ Struggles to do x8 multiplications
    
    ➢ Would kill a man if it meant his loved ones are safe
    
    ➢ Gatorade would be spicy to him
    
    ➢ Would probably identify as something like "Pansexual Demiromantic" if he had that kind of language to describe himself
    
    ➢ Hope you're ready for depressing star metaphors
    
    ➢ Probably weirdly believes in the oracles and the stars but also doesn't but also does but also doesn't but also-
    
    ➢ Got himself kicked out of a high class party for "potential noble scandal" whatever that means
    
    

    
    
    
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    INTERVIEW

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    REPUTATION

    
    You've got a fifty fifty here of "Frat boy energy here to party" and "Sweet fella who's just misunderstood"
    
    

    FACTION

    
    N/A, he tries to not get involved with politics. It ain't fun.
    
    

    STATUS

    
    Outcast, Fluvian-ish
    
    

    MOTIVE

    
    Escape away from his grief by going out to the SEA TIME BAYBEE
    
    

    BOARDING

    
    Graham snuck on probably by sleeping with someone on the crew and then just... oopsie didn't leave in time ya he's definitely going to get off at the next port stop he swears
    
    

    ROYALTY OPINION

    
    [grumbling noises] whatever.
    
    

    PIRACY OPINION

    
    Hot. But also they seem kinda ruthless and mean?
    
    

    TORTURE

    
    Graham learns how to actually properly care for himself and that people do in fact worry about his well being despite his best efforts, healing arc
    
    

    EXTRAS

    
    Spotify Playlist
    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
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  kismet

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  VOLUME ONE : WHEREIN TWIN EMBERS ARE BORN, BUT ONLY ONE WILL MATURE INTO A FLAME

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  You are born one of a pair, a minute older than your sister, Aoife in the highlands somewhere between Fluvia and Zenith that has a crumbling castle above the small village of nobodies that aren't quite Fluvian and aren't quite part of the empire. After all, who would ever bother to conquer rolling green hills only suitable for sheep and those that want an isolated life of farmland?
  
  What is there to say about your childhood? Your parents married out of obligation, unprepared for a child you and your sister were a surprise. Your father is distant, preferring corporal punishment and the fear of God to any amount of warmth, replicating his own parents. Your mother is loving and doting, though woefully unprepared for motherhood to rambunctious twins.
  
  You are not rambunctious, at least you don't think you are. But you are almost completely identical to your sister, who is. She gets into trouble fighting the local boys, getting into scraps and mischief and petty theft that leaves your poor mother in exasperation, and your father getting the belt out.
  
  At her wit's end, your mother takes you aside one day and delivers to you a mission statement, secretly:
  
  "Aoife, your brother is a boy, and boy's are troublemakers. You need to keep him in line a little, your father is at the end of his rope. Try to talk to him a little, love."
  
  She got the wrong twin, but you still internalize this sentiment in your own way: it is your duty in life to protect your sister from harm.
  
  You are not one for fighting or troublemaking, not really, but you start to get really good at talking your way out of tight spaces. The nuns at your school swat your hands with rulers, you are labelled trouble alongside your sister. But what does that matter? She is you and you are her. That is the way it's always been. Even when you argue and you fight, you know that she's the only one that will really understand you, and you are the only one that will really understand her. Everyone else treats you as one entity with your sister, and you believe that.
  
  That is until puberty starts to hit, and the differences start becoming terribly apparent.
  
  Aoife is no longer the ambiguous "maybe brother maybe sister we can't tell but she's louder so probably the guy". Your voice starts to crack as it lowers. It's become much too obvious which twin is which, and the punishments Aoife receives are far harsher than the ones that she did when she could be mistaken for you.
  
  Behind the school, run by the nuns which run this town, your sister is caught snogging another girl.
  
  It is the end of the world as you know it, because your parents - more accurately, the church - has decided to send her away, and how are you going to protect her when she's off at some obscure boarding school for girls in Zenith? Do Zenith people even accept not-quite-Fluvians?
  
  It is the loudest argument in your house you've ever had, and after shouting your voice raw to no avail, you and your sister decide at the wise age of 13 to run away into the wilderness which you often played in as kids.
  
  You are found wandering the highlands 3 weeks later, somewhat emaciated with this hollow look in your eyes.
  
  Aoife's body is never found, even though you know that you buried her in a shallow grave somewhere.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  VOLUME TWO : THE GUILT OF LOSS CAUSES THE FIRE TO BECOME AN INFERNO

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  You make a full physical recovery.
  
  It feels like you shouldn't, though. You have failed in your life goal of protecting Aoife, and lost your companion, your twin sister, your support, your reason for living.
  
  Your parents, unprepared for parenthood, are equally unprepared for the death of their beloved daughter, no matter how much trouble she may have caused. She, after all, was energy and light. And you were always her satellite, the one that soothed and calmed in the aftermath. With nothing to soothe, you just bring the energy of the room down with no recourse.
  
  She was going to burn this town to the ground, destined for greatness.
  
  You were destined to be in her shadow, supporting her quietly from the sidelines.
  
  What use do you have now?
  
  Your father has gone from distant and stern to resentful and cold. Your mother never recovers from her grief. The silent void that Aoife leaves behind is deafening and crippling.
  
  There are new voices in your head telling you that you should've died in her place, that you deserved to die in her place. That the world would've been better had you died instead of her.
  
  You become angry. So angry.
  
  A path of destruction and emotional volatility, you destroy and you get punished and you think it's what you deserve. You lash out and you scorch every bridge you've ever built because the pressure at home is too much and the pressure in your head is too much and you just need someone to put you down like the failed guard dog you are.
  
  The nun is gentle and kind when you get brought in, dirty and streaked with the blood of the kid's face that you punched.
  
  She puts her hands over your split knuckles and tells you that your grief is going nowhere.
  
  Look outside of yourself, everyone is suffering around you, and you're making it worse.
  
  How you internalize this is the same old message you've always gotten: you do not matter so much as everyone else around you matters. But it makes sense.
  
  The next day you come into class with a smile and a that's what she said joke, you're emulating Aoife's energy with your own persuasiveness.
  
  The nun smiles at you, and you smile back. Nobody notices how it doesn't meet your eyes, how you sob into dry heaves still in the night, or they choose not to. It doesn't really matter anymore.
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  VOLUME THREE : THE FLAME GOES TRAVELING ELSEWHERE AND FINDS SUCCESS

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  You are an intelligent kid, even if you've now become the class clown. There is some deep hollowness in the pit of your chest that never closes, it's the Aoife shaped hole that will never get filled. But to you, it feels like a deep itch for adventure.
  
  You write to a university in Zenith at the ripe age of 16, and you are accepted.
  
  You study ecology and poetry, your two biggest loves in life, and you bury yourself in parties and women and men and studying until it drowns out the sorrow of loss.
  
  You do not talk about the slowly climbing amount of "mistakes" that you have made that could've lead to your death, but didn't. Perhaps you are cursed to walk this world forever. Perhaps you will never die, and this is your punishment for your failure.
  
  Strangely, you get pulled into higher circles after a noble woman takes a liking to you. She pays your tuition debts, and you two begin an affair.
  
  Another nobleman takes a liking to you, and slots you into a role as a gardener in mansions that are as big as your village.
  
  You are a sugar baby. A courtesan.
  
  Well. There are worse gigs out there, aren't there?
  
  You bounce around the court for a while, getting passed around and getting pampered and spoiled all the while. Hey, if rich people want to give you, a not-quite-Fluvian, money and companionship and gifts and fun because they find your accent exotic and your face attractive, why not?
  
  Eventually, though, the call to run away comes once more. And you do so, silently in the middle of the night.
  
  You make your way to Antares, because surely you'll make a drunken mistake and someone will run you through with a sword there, right?
  
  ... Right?
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
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  gallery

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  rel.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  None.

  
  
  

  N/A

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  No one alive to really talk about
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  The Bereaved

  
  
  
  

  
  People have died for less and people have died for more, but you just wish they hadn’t died at all. Still caught in the throes of a bodiless wake, you’d never understood their fascination with the sea. A graveyard where every direction is a heartless blue expanse mocking what you mourn. You buy a ticket with intent to know what could be so compelling about salt and cruelty, and the pathways of your hateful mind yearn for peace you may never find. The sea has claimed them, whether through storm or murder you may not know, and yet you board The Leviathan and confront what you despise most because it is the closest you can venture to the ghost of your grief. Maybe in the end you’ll understand why they left. Maybe in the end the sea will take you too.
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

nine lives

 

[sollie]

Rhian Llyr

-- The Scholar

-- Abbie Hern

♡coded by uxie♡

XI.
the scholar
scroll.

late bloomer
the secret sisters

rhian llyr —
the scholar, played by sollie

---

Ear presses to small chest, searching for sound. Searching for life. The ear is much larger than the small chest. The ear is familiar to the small chest. The ear of a mother, trying to quiet her own heartbeat as she searched for the heartbeat of her last child.

A thump.

A pause… a pause.

A thump. A thump.

A pause. A thump.

The ear recoils as a cry bursts from the fuzzy haired child, shocked by the sudden squeals and screams of the newborn. Bloodied, breathing, yet out of breath, perfect, yet imperfect.

---

GENERAL
name — Rhian Llyr
aliases — Lady Rhian
role — The Scholar
age — Twenty-Six
place of birth — Empyra

---

APPEARANCE
height — 5'5”
weight — 125 lbs
sexuality — huh
eyes & hair — brown
scars/markings — Aside from the occasional beauty mark littering her skin, her complexion remains untouched by sun damage, wounds, scars, or even the tiniest little cut.

appearance — Even as a child, tight, dark curls sprouted from the precious head of Rhian Llyr. Thick, well maintained, well cared for hair hangs past her shoulder, cascading in healthy dark tresses. Only the finest oils may touch even the tips of her hair. Her complexion, as dubbed by Gwendolyn Llyr, a mother who knows not when it is her place to step back, was that of a hazel fay, warm and bright. Well-fed, well-groomed and bright in nature, and boasting the warmest honey pool so full of curiosity and joy, Rhian's beauty is prized very little by herself. A vibrant mind is where true beauty lies.

---

PSYCHE
personality — There hasn't been a moment in Rhian's life where she hasn't had to fight to get where she is. Though her teeth never grew sharp from fighting for her place, her resilience and optimism shine through and color her unique naivety to most situations. Things work out in her favor because she worked hard to get them. No matter what her luck in life, she will come out on top. Miss. Girl is very ADHD which makes her good at what she does (science) but bad at holding conversations if you get her talking. Despite her reserved and often skittish nature, the minute you get her yapping about a rock or a bug or a creature, she's gonna tell you a story about when her siblings raced to do math problems and whoever succeeded got ice cream for a week or something.

---

VICES
— codependent
— naive
— sheltered
— self-centered
— lacks any sense of danger
— reckless
— overly trusting
— lack of self control
— social awkward

VIRTUES
— confident in science!
— highly intelligent
— problem solver
— uniquely charming
— quiet
— amicable
— optimistic
— resilient

LIKES
— thunder storms & rainy mornings (the worms will come out if ur on land)
— learning new things (any new thing seriously)
— color pencil drawings of swamps, marshes, plains, or any other epic landscape.
— any library
— eavesdropping
— mineral talk
— dogs

DISLIKES
— pity
— loud enviorments
— physical alterations
— bad food
— the cold
— doctors
— needles
FEARS — There are two things Rhian fears most in this world-- her heart stopping and any sort of doctor or physician or individual who wishes to tell her news she wishes not to hear. They are connected, of course, as her fear spawns from a natural place. Perhaps there are also a few childish fears of food and the darkness outside of a room.

HABITS — She is glued to her journal which acts not only as a documentation of her discoveries and musing, but also as the occasional personal journal. Most of the time her personal connects with her scholarly thoughts however and it is a jumbled mess of words, drawings, diagrams, and findings.

STRENGTHS — Her mind is as sharp as a knife, containing logic, reasoning, science, literature or any information you could possibly want. What's that? You just ate a strange fruit. What did it look like? Oh, turns out you most certainly ate something poisonous. Perhaps you're crossed with a strange creature. Oh not to worry, that creature is harmless. Rhian also finds herself fearless when it comes to creatures and critters. She is the type of person to capture a spider in a jar rather than crush it.

WEAKNESSES — She is desperate to prove herself and beat her sickness. She's willing to break her body down in order to prove to her academic onlookers (and her mother) that she is worthy of treatment akin to what they give her classmates. That she is just as good, if not better, than those around her. She also heavily idolizes Claudia Martel-- and she hopes to base her success off hers and one day overtake that intellect with her own hard work.

---

HISTORY

REPUTATION — The daughter of a well acclaimed Professor of Culture and Arts in Empyra and a top prosecutor, Rhian's shoes were weighty to begin with. Unfortunately claiming a fragile disposition, Rhian often mistakenly gets identified as a gentle creature with a lack of desire for excitement. Despite her ignorance, each experience is a pursuit from knowledge. Socially clumsy, more bashful than a blushing flower, and a tad smarter than she knows what to do with, what she lacks in social competence, she makes up with in odd, clumsy charm..

STATUS — ROYALTY -- Daughter of Duke Osian Llyr of Empyra, Marquis of Ziron. (This doesn't matter much in Empyra though.) KINGSMAN -- It is only natural a daughter spawning from royalty would support royalty. Though, when it comes down to it... knowledge is power and she lacks knowledge in such area. Politics simply don't interest her at the moment. Passive allegiance to the Crown.

---

The Martel’s were not a mighty family with the most resources, but Martel’s were hungry rats, scrounging on anything to make their belly fat with whatever they craved. And Gwendolyn craved position most of all. She hated the feeling of being the underbelly of Empyra, vermin not to be respected or looked upon. Trash. And Gwendolyn Martel was not trash.

Her nails were sharpened from desperation, using only the resources she could to attain her status in Empyra. Her sharp wit and her need for more fueled her climb to the top. She learned what she could from those she could, and where she couldn’t find knowledge, she scavaged for it. Old textbook, discarded worksheets, pages ripped from notebooks and furled into a ball.

Anything she could to know what it meant to bask in the sun of enlightenment with her fellow like minded peers.

The parasites of her family wished to leech off her success. They wished to trade her hard work and dedication in for their own success, rather than fighting for it like she had. Her family didn’t fight for her, not one of them, choosing to live a life of dull laboring like the other thick skulled leeches that waited for their children to bring them the life they never could bring themselves.

She needed to purge these toxins from her body, to flush the parasites away so they could never steal from her again.

Of course, Gwendolyn’s success allowed her to continue her pursuit of fairness in the world. She’d always had a particular gift when it came to the concepts of law. Her mind worked unlike many others, retaining the information as if the picture from the textbook appeared written in front of her, though it was only memory. She could twist a breakage of the law with only a few words, and it was apparent to her mentors that her potential exceeded what they could offer. With an extraordinarily high score on the Exam, Gwendolyn found certainty that she would be the greatest prosecutor in all of Empyra.

Osian Llyr, on the other hand, found himself diametrically opposed on all fronts to the very essence of who Gwendolyn was. Born in a life of comfort, the youngest child of a very elderly father, he found the loving embrace of his mother from an early age. She fostered his love of the arts, shaping his form into a tender, loving being. While his focus remained on the creation of his own art, and the study of others, he found himself naturally intelligent, and an excellent taker of exams. Far better than his brothers, his mother boasted to all his friends during Sunday luncheon’s.

He was a sensitive boy, ever fragile to failure. And his mother’s preference for him led her to affording him only the best education. A professor of history at Empyra Academy, her academic resources were overflowing, If his own sharp mind hadn’t allowed him to top the exam, his mother’s endless stream of support (and money) pushed him to success and presented him with the opportunity to stay in the warmth of the Empyrian sun.

Osian and Gwendolyn, as opposites as they were, found a tenderness in each other during their youth. Osian lacked her fastidious nature, and Gwendolyn contained very little sensitivity. Over the course of their time in university, Gwendolyn found a softness for Osian. Though very clumsy and admittedly a bit less focused than herself, Osian was charming and knowledgeable in the areas he was passionate about. They shared very few classes in their post secondary education, as law and culture and arts had very little intersections. But their way home was too similar to ignore after the first few weeks.

It began with a small hello. A wave and a smile– the smile and wave were both from Osian, of course, but eventually, after many months, from Gwendolyn too.

Their conversation minimal. What did they have in common? Gwendolyn lived alone, isolated from her family, isolated from everything she’d grown up in and plunged into a new environment. But Osian’s natural curiosity egged him forward in pursuit of her life.

Clueless as he was, began a bond with Gwendolyn, Friendship or something more complex, not even time could tell. The evolution of Gwendolyn and Osian found itself taking different shapes and forms. At once friends. At once lovers. At once enemies. At once spouses. At once strangers.

–

“Might I remind the jury of Mr. Nelson’s callous and witless behavior? The defendant knew the law, as he was practicing it at the time, and he understood very well what his actions would do. The defendant entered the Solas Archive with the intent to break the law. The only thing the defendant could not have intended is for our enforcers of law to clamp down so heavily on his wrongdoing. My recommendation to the court–” The calculated words of Gwnedolyn Llyr came out sharp and confident, flowing smoothly until they were interrupted by a small gasp. Eyes were on her, eager to see the ever polished prosecutor stumble once. Her perfect memory couldn’t save her from being human. But even in this moment, she conducted herself.

“10 lashings..” She mustered out, holding herself upright, rigid and tense with stress. “Your Honor, I would like to request a recess. I am currently going into labor.”

–

Rhian Llyr was born four hours later, and no less than twenty-four hours after her child’s birth, she was back in court wrapping up the trail for Mr. Nelson against Empyra. Her newborn daughter could wait, justice, however, waited on no man– or baby.

The youngest of the Llyr families, the birth of Rhian held little significance to Gwendolyn. Her work could not be halted by a child and the near act of birth had nearly tarnished her unsullied reputation. An attentive mother clearly held no difference in the development of a child, as perfectly exemplified by their perfect daughter and son Alys and Rhys.

Both six and seven at the time of Rhian’s birth, they thrived as independent thinkers and high achievers in Gwendolyn's eyes, though Rhys seemed distant and distracted if his ideas ran away without guidance. Still, he was the most intellectually potent child in the Llyr family. Alys was dull and unexcited by knowledge, preferring the social element of her education rather than the academic. Aeron, old enough to hold conversation but young enough to be destructible by butterflies, was yet to show as keen an aptitude as Rhys. Gwendolyn held onto the assumption Rhys would bring further glory to their family.

Rhian would have received the same lack of attention from her mother had it not been for the numerous illnesses she’d been born with. A few hours after her birth, the physician noted a strange heartbeat in the child, lacking rhythm and also erratic and strange in nature. But most children were born with some kind of strangeness.

But this strangeness exceeded what her other children had experienced.

Rhian would cry for hours on end, gasping for air. Her tiny arms would become swollen, and her eyes puffy, even aside from the crying. Osian finally drew the line when Lorna, the elderly ward of all of the Llyr children, discovered Rhian breathing quick and troubled and her lips and fingernails a cool blue in color. No longer could he stand idly by while it appeared his young child was being ignored and lured into the cold embrace of something otherworldly.

And so a physician regularly assessed Rhian’s condition. She was monitored, constantly attended to, and never left without a person with extensive knowledge of medicine in the room. His precious child would not be forsaken, however illusive her initial condition appeared to be.

Test after test conducted by the best physicians in Empyra revealed no definite cause to her plethora of symptoms but one fact was made in unison between the physicians; Rhian had an extraordinarily weak heart and without careful monitoring and delicate action, it could cause her demise before she even turned ten years old.

Their youngest daughter, deficient in every way.

But there was hope for a healthy future. Steps taken that could ensure Rhian succeeded with very little impact on her life. And so Osian’s watchful eyes became fully peered on the youngest Llyr, turning a blind eye on Rhys, the son so closely tucked at his side.

Rhian flourished under her father’s wing. Every moment she wasn’t actively learning with rigid teachers, her life was being enriched by the knowledge Osian consumed in his studies at the Solas Archives. Each new piece of text her father would read, she would be perched at his side, scanning along with him.

The Solas Archives offered a less stimulating environment than home at times. Her father feared even school was too threatening to risk, but with an aptitude like Rhian’s, he couldn’t take away her chance at a secure future, even when he wasn’t around. Gwendolyn, while loving her children fully, had such a definite sense of right and wrong and he feared if her children tripped, she would make sure they fell on account of justness.

Books of Empyrian culture and arts quickly turned to other subjects. Science and History quickly enraptured Rhian in school. As she aged, she left her father’s side and began exploring each interest that bloomed in her. Hours she spent reading through the texts that the Solas Archive offered.

Her fixture in the libraries of Empyra became permanent. Polite, well-mannered, and incredibly articulate for each age she passed through, her reputation among her father’s peers was colored by kind smiles and memories of a young Rhian tucking herself behind her father anytime too much attention was put on her.
Her sixteenth age passed, and a seemingly dormant condition remerged in worsening severity.

Rushed away from a lecture on the first century of Empyra, Rhian spent nearly 12 days recovering from the strange episode. 12 days lacking enrichment. 12 days in falling behind her peers. And after those 12 days, an ever eager (and desperate) Rhian returned to school under special circumstances enforced by her father– her interaction would be limited. Social, physical, otherwise. Her time would be confined to the classroom and to the personal libraries of their own home, with the occasional outing to the Solas Archives. If her childhood had been considered confined to solitude, this age of her life was basic isolation.

Sheltered and kept to her books, her hunger for knowledge and understanding grew more insatiable while her relationships with her family began cracking and crumbling.

Rhys Llyr’s path to success had been handcrafted for him early in life. But as his father’s attention drifted from him, his success dwindled. Rhys was distractible, easily angered, and poorly behaved in the classroom. Where he once shined, he now cast a shadow on his peers, making it easy to spot him as the troubled child of the Llyr’s.

Though hope was still held for Rhys’ success, the eldest Llyr was always destined to fall from the sunlight. He was mad. Osian suspected Rhys was not himself when the events unfolded, but Gwendolyn, the prosecutor against her son, found any defense of madness or otherwise fallible and untrue.

Pressure built on Rhys, his life attempting to force him into a diamond. But rather than becoming a diamond, Rhys was crushed.

Smothered by the need to succeed, Rhys broke and found himself stumbling through the Exam Halls, voice crying out in protest as his peers raced for the best. “Do you not understand?” He began slowly, rising from his seat. The room was quiet enough you could hear the heartbeat of your neighbor.

“How insane this is?” His voice hoarse, desperation laced poison into his words. “This is fucking wrong! I don’t want to live this way. I don’t want them to live this way–” Arms grabbed Rhys, tugging him aside as his words continued to echo throughout the Exam Hall.

Disgrace. Dishonor.

Rhian couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Rhys, though she had to admit her visitation with all her siblings was limited. The minute Aeron passed his exam, he was off to his secondary education. Law, just like mother had intended for him. Alys was on a worse track, having fallen behind her siblings and disappointing an already harsh mother to her first born daughter. She remembered her last goodbyes to Alys being bittersweet and all too short. Off to Zenith, for a better life. Where she didn’t have to remember her brother falling for grace, where she didn’t live in shame because she couldn’t test well.

While she couldn’t share her sister's sentiments, she could feel her heart ache that Alys would be so far away in Zenith. A city that would never rival Empyra. Rhian could only hope her sister could flourish in the dark.

Rhian continued forward, the last daughter to succeed in the Llyr family. Aeron pushed forward, sinking his teeth into his education and crafting himself more and more into his mother’s image. Gwendolyn’s Aeron was a picture of rigid perfection, dangerous and sharp with snarling teeth that discriminated against no one.

But once it was time to surpass him, she did it with flying colors. All that time spent tucked at Osian’s side paid off, and with exhilarating results, her path was set forth. Academic revelations struck Rhian daily as she pursued her passion, competing alongside Aeron as they ventured towards true intellectual success.

The faster Rhian went, the harder her body tried to keep up. And the more she pushed, the more her body pushed back. She began missing more and more lectures, unable to stay away from a physician for too long. She’d grown into a woman, now tired of being doted on and watched. She lacked freedom and comprehension of the universe at large and now with a brick tied to her ankle, she would drown if she continued to sink.

And so, the headmistress stepped in, whisking Rhian away from studying the minerals that made up Empyra’s unique landmass. She was faced with an ultimatum– Either Rhian began rapidly improving and attending classes or she would be forced to withdraw. Clever as she wished to be, she knew the chances of her suddenly being healed was little to none.

She could, however, propose an alternative….

Over the course of her years studying, she knew the world’s capability for surprise and discovery was overflowing. Studying a region of Solas to the very furthest reaches from Empyra led her to believe there was a land bursting with biological potential. Not only creatures, but minerals, flora, and perhaps unique and never before studied landscapes.

“Give me time-- um, and also a grant... probably..." She cleared her throat, straightened her shoulders. "I’ll bring you back something that shows you how worthy I am of this program. Let me show you I belong here.”

The only way Rhian could get there was to find a vessel to take her. Etched in her fate was the name of a ship. The Leviathan.

---

FOR GAO

WHAT I WOULD LIKE MY CHARACTER TO ENCOUNTER/EXPERIENCE/DEVELOP IN THIS ROLEPLAY ARE — Rhian is a person that has been sheltered her entire life. She has been treated like a glass trinket her entire life, never to leave the shelf and only to be observed and admired. Her current goals are to make a splash in the academic realm for discovering something of great importance. Be that a creature from the depths of the sea or a completely undiscovered ecosystem untouched by scholar or adventure alike. I want you to take her off the shelf and break her.

IF NOT SELECTED IN THE FIRST ROUND OF APPLICATIONS, I AM WILLING TO BE CONTACTED AT A LATER DATE IF THE GM FEELS THERE’S A FITTING OPPORTUNITY FOR MY CHARACTER TO MAKE THEIR GRAND ARRIVAL — Yes absolutely!!

GALLERY​

rhian llyr.

designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ

 

[Pepsionne]

gao this is all ur fault >:c
​

the beastmaster

i submit to the wolves and feed them my heart

fc Park Taemin

♡coded by uxie♡

​

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 04

  03

  02

  general

  jinara

  full name

  Jinara Ahn

  nickname

  Jin

  role

  The Beastmaster

  age

  27

  p.o.b

  Sirocco Sands

  Status

  High Society

  Factions

  None

  fc

  Park Taemin

  sorry, too, for letting you name the lamb/ before i slit its throat

  Reputation.

  The Ahn family holds a certain prestige to the sound of their name. Their animals are, without competition, the highest quality to be obtained within all of Solas. They're known for their worship of the Panther, an animal closely linked to their heritage and to them--their success.
• 04

  03

  visage

  01

  jinara

  ht

  5’10"

  wt

  151

  hair

  Jinara’s hair is silky, dark and long enough to tuck behind his ears, but not so long that he can tie it up. It’s usually tousled in a way that intends to be read as an afterthought, but Jinara takes great care to ensure that it falls just right. When he overindulges in either alcohol or drugs, he tends to rake his hands through it to push it out of his face, undoing whatever calculation he had spent the morning crafting.

  eyes

  His eyes are a dark, inky black. They have an alluring quality to them, beckoning any who holds them to edge closer to the cool, empty abyss. Jinara is not afraid of eye contact. He holds it constant and steady, his pupils gently shifting from feature to feature of the person he is conversing with.

  body

  The best way to describe Jinara’s movements is languid. Every movement, whether it be a gesture towards a direction or the way he walks into a room has the same lethargic quality. His body moves almost like a marionette’s, each limb held by a thin, invisible string threatening to snap and drop back lazy at his side. A translucent layer of grace still runs throughout him, whether Jinara likes it or not. No matter how lazy or unwilling he may be to uphold his family name, it is ingrained into his body, the instructions carved into his skin and lining everything he does. His posture is always elegant, the way he flops into chairs meant to be sloppy but it’s always calculated with the utmost art.
  
  When conversing his body language stays open and inviting. Jinara leans on counters, lays an arm along the back of a couch, and sinks in further to a seat with spread legs. He exudes the nauseous scent of narcissism and seduction, regardless if those are his intent.
  
  It is hard to get him to wear formal clothing. Having spent years in the jungle around animals has eroded through Jinara’s capacity for wearing form fitting clothing. He can be seen wearing lots of soft fabrics such as silk and suede. Many of his clothing is loose fitting and its a coin toss whether he can be wrangled into wearing a shirt at all.
  

  mods

  He wears a lot of gold jewelry and his ears are heavily pierced, cold gleams of metal will peak through the shadowy curtains of his hair. He has a tattoo of a panther on the inside of his left forearm.

  faceclaim

  Park Taemin
• 04

  persona

  02

  01

  jinara

  • fillersss
  • .

  • likes & dislikes

    misc

    likes

    any type of animal (surprise!), soft and breathable clothing, quiet or calm environments, refreshing food (watermelon, avocados, salads, mint flavors, cold drinks), slow afternoons

    dislikes

    Busy/crowded gatherings, bossy people, someone who steps over his boundaries, heavy fabrics, most soups
  • likes & dislikes

    misc

    hobbies

    
    Animal handling, reading up on different animal research etc., sketching (he's not the best but hey, he tries)
    
    

    habits

    
    Rubs his thumb and middle finger together absently, manspreads when he sits (:p), tends to sneak up on people (he's very quiet and doesn't announce himself)
    
    

    strengths

    
    Animal handling, working under stress, animal knowledge, survival (lived in the jungle and had to make do with little), good with directions, tracking (animals), calm under pressure
    
    

    weaknesses

    
    Apathetic, distrusting, fickle, flaky, distant, bad at housework (cooking, cleaning, etc.), not very great at combat besides simple self defense
    
    

    fears

    
    The destruction of natural habitats, harm coming to a panther, trusting someone, betrayal
    
    

    why did they board The Leviathan?

    
    
    Received a personal request from the King to serve as Beastmaster aboard The Leviathan. The Ahn family name carries a lot of prestige, and what better to serve The Leviathan's maiden voyage if not the best of the best?
    
    

    how did they get on board?

    
    
    A letter of employment from the King.
    
    

  personality

  A shy child grown into a reclusive adult, Jinara has always been better with animals than people. He often found himself tip-toeing around the outskirts of a crowd, eyes drinking the interactions between those gathered with the hope that he could one day emulate the ease of their conversations.
  
  Countless hours forced into formal dinners and tight lipped tea times have allowed him to sharpen his manners into a fashion that proved effective to counter his awkward fumbling. Jinara quickly earned the title of a “great listener” to all those in the Ahn’s inner circle. After all, what did the wealthy love more than to talk about themselves?
  
  The exception to his learned placidity was the child of the Ahn’s live-in servants. Ashir, only two years older than Jinara himself. Often tasked with keeping the young Jinara company on family outings or vacations, Ashir and Jinara fostered a relationship that was more akin to brothers than the divided lines of servant and employer.
  
  Ashir, whose extroverted demeanor came naturally, pushed Jinara from the dark corners of his solitude and built the confidence needed to survive in the world of high society. Jinara owes the development of his adult confidence and suave demeanor from Ashir.
  
  Although he still remains quite mute in most of his interactions, Jinara no longer struggles with holding conversation and speaking his mind. Now--rather than fear, his solitude has become simply preference.
  
  He holds an apathy towards human plights that causes a rift between him and his peers. He’s been criticized for this lack of empathy and how it influences his decisions, but he fails to see a negative to the distance he maintains around himself.
  
• history

  03

  02

  01

  Jinara

  TBD

  TBD

  Relationship

  tbd

  coded by natasha

  Childhood

  
  Jinara has always been something of a golden child. Heir to the mighty Ahn estate, whose wealth rested in the trade of exotic animals, he possesses much to live up to and much to gain. Eldest son to Vana and Tahira Ahn, Jinara’s childhood was full of luxury those in the undercity hadn’t even had the chance to dream about. The finest schools, clothing, food and entertainment were the standard in the family--although unlike other heavy hitters within Siroc, the Ahn family remained tethered to their roots without hubris.
  
  Spawning from family legend, the Ahn family regards the panther as sacred. It is the one animal they refuse to sell or domesticate commercially. They contribute a great portion of wealth to the safety and maintenance of this animal’s natural habitat. Using their influence on the crown, the Ahns have outlawed the hunting, poaching, or capture of wild panthers, a crime punishable by various degrees, most extreme being execution.
  
  The exception to their ban on panther domestication is for those within the family itself. Each child born as an Ahn is paired with a panther cub as a rite of passage. Through a ritual known only to the Ahn family, the child is bonded to the panther cub. They are a reflection of the Ahn’s ties to, what they believe, is divinity. In doing so, the Ahns had inadvertently skyrocketed the worth of this animal, with those greedy for the most coveted rarities dreaming of one day obtaining an Ahn panther.
  
  Jinara was bonded to his panther, Zephyr, when he turned ten. A docile young cub, Zephyr proved easy to train in Jinara’s first months. The golden child and his golden cub. The markers for Jinara’s succession of his father’s estate shone bright against the golden hues of Siroc’s desert.
  
  

  Middle Years

  
  Ashir, the child of the Ahn’s live-in servants, acted as an important guide in Jinara’s life after his coming of age. With his father readily vetting Jinara to inherit the Ahn estate, the responsibilities expected of him piled up faster than he could adapt to. A shy and unsure child was not the picture perfect golden boy the Ahn’s boasted about at balls and elaborate galas.
  
  Through their bond, Ashir molded Jinara into the model heir that those within high society expected of him. That his family expected of him. Although to Jinara, his maturity rapidly brought about a growing distaste for high society. He often found himself avoiding his duties, preferring to spend his time with Zephyr in the panther enclosure. It was typical for all Ahns to have an affinity to animals, but Jinara’s passed the expectations of talent and veered further into prodigy.
  
  The schism between Jinara’s passions and his family’s expectations only widened with each year that passed. The time requirement of his responsibilities as the Ahn heir grew an appetite for the time he had to tend to the animals, leaving Jinara stretched thin in the pursuit of his passion.
  
  Bitterness found root in his frustration, leading to a flowering distaste for high society and Jinara’s perceived role in it.
  
  

  Zephyr

  
  The pivot point in Jinara’s life, the event that led to his current employment on The Leviathan, began with, of all things, the annual ball. A night of impossible splendor, with all eyes and security focused on the ballroom brimming with wealth. A learned hatred for the event was prevalent in Jinara’s demeanor that day.
  
  Zephyr had been ill the day of the annual ball, set to transport to the Ahn’s veterinary facility that evening. Against the merciless protests provided by Jinara, Vana refused to let him skip the evening’s festivities. Jinara, now eighteen, had been officially introduced to society as the Ahn heir, and his role in high society was no longer optional.
  
  The food at the gala, cooked by the finest chefs in Siroc, suddenly became inedible. Ashir’s jokes and attempts at easing Jinara’s worries fell flat amongst the clatter of silverware and ambient conversation. Something was gnawing at Jinara--an odd kernel of dread that had seeded itself the moment he had noticed Zephyr’s symptoms.
  
  There were often rumors spread around Siroc, tall tales grown from curiosity around the secrecy of the Ahn ritual. Some would say the Ahn’s themselves could turn into panthers. Some would say they could speak to them, that it was some sort of magic. Neither were true. Though--that night--one rumor cemented itself as reality to Jinara. That their ritual tied the souls of an Ahn and the panther. Inextricable, a bond that not even death could cut loose.
  
  As the night wore on, no amount of gross displays of wealth could distract him from the feeling that something was very, very wrong. Upon arrival at the veterinary facility, Jinara felt as though time itself had begun to slow and wrinkle. People were moving in slow motion--or was it fast forwarded? No words spoken to him held any meaning or understanding.
  
  Zephyr was missing. His transport from the Ahn estate to the facility had been hijacked, someone having tipped off to poachers that an Ahn panther would be easy bait the night of the gala.
  
  His family spread the wide wingspan of their influence across all of Siroc in search of his panther--but those in the black market of animal trade had been waiting for an opportunity such as this for much longer. Zephyr vanished from the city as if he had never existed at all.
  
  And thus began Jinara’s undoing.
  
  
  

  Ashir

  
  Following Zephyr’s disappearance, Jinara entered into a period of inexplicable grief and obsession. He needed to find the mole who had tipped off the poachers about Zephyr’s illness, and he needed to understand the cause of the illness in the first place.
  
  Jinara blamed his parents for their role in forcing his attendance that night, pushing them further than they had been before. The only person he could tolerate to be around in his obsession was Ashir.
  
  Whether guilt had eaten through, or simply the mess such a loss had made of Jinara, Ashir eventually confessed that he was the one who had poisoned Zephyr and tipped off the poachers. An act of desperation, the money it afforded allowing his mother to seek treatment for a fatal disease--yet at the cost of a betrayal that would haunt him forever.
  
  Blinded by the red veil of his rage, Jinara demanded the execution of Ashir. His best friend--his brother. How could he have done this to him? Out of anyone, Ashir knew the bond he had fostered with Zephyr. A betrayal so large, Jinara could only see its justification obtained by a punishment of the most severe degree.
  
  Following Ashir’s execution, Jinara stepped down as heir to the Ahn estate. He fled to a reclusive facility in The Canals where the Ahns owned land to raise, train and study a large variety of exotic animals.
  
  Years were spent in self inflicted isolation, with only animals to keep him company and the rare appearance of fellow researchers and trainers.
  
  

  Current

  
  Using his talent for training dangerous and exotic animals, Jinara re-entered society while taking odd jobs for the wealthy around Solas, for the King, and his favorite, as a trainer for the traveling circus troupe.
  
  He received a request from the King personally to serve as The Leviathan’s beastmaster. With apathy the driver of any decision Jinara made, he accepted the offer.
  
  What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplay are:
  
  TBD
  
  

left

 

[Daddy Dream]

Duchess

Violetta Frankfort

• xxxBASIC INFORMATIONxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
• xxxBACKSTORYxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
• xxxABILITIESxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
• xxxEXTRA NOTESxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

• ATTACK

  DEFENSE

  SPEED

  INTELLIGENCE

  “

  ”

  The hunt is the best game there can be.

  Nickname

  ...

  Alias

  None

  Gender

  Female

  Birthplace

  The Cascades

  Age

  30

  Status

  High Society/Royalty

  Appearance

  HEIGHT: 5'2"
  BUILD: Slender
  HAIR: Black
  EYES: Deep Blue like the deep ocean
  IDENTIFYING MARKS: Small mole under left ear

  Personality

  GENERAL PERSONALITY TRAITS
  Generally very reserved and calculative, Violetta runs her Duchy with an iron clad hold filled with order and organization. She likes to be involved with the workings of her duchy, but also tries to make herself known in High Society by attending as many balls and tea parties as possible. While in society, she is very social, fluttering around and making as many connections as she can.
  
  CHARACTER LIKES/STRENGTHS
  Organizing and building up her duchy's strength and power is one of her many strengths. She also finds talking business quite easy, if it is to benefit her. While at home, she likes to sit in her library, surrounded by silence, and mull over her thoughts while watching out over the gardens. She also enjoys some challenging games of chess, though she has not found an individual in her home that has been able to provide that challenge anymore.
  
  CHARACTER DISLIKES/WEAKNESSES
  Violetta has a hard time socializing outside of talking business or forming connections to help her duchy. When she does chat outside of these confines, she is usually mentally determining whether or not the talker is beneficial to her or not. She also tends to find it irritating when things are not timely or planned out. While she can understand some things are out of her control and can delay things, she has more of an issue when the problem comes from something that can be easily fixable.
  
  CHARACTER FEARS
  The fall of her house and end of her bloodline. Her fear is very simple, and one she is trying to protect by strengthening her Duchy.
  
• Backstory

  BACKSTORY
  Violetta was thrown into the chaos of running a duchy early at the age of 15. Her parents had come up missing while traveling to a royal meeting and left her with quite a sizeable estate and inheritance. However, she was not the only one alive as she had an older brother who could have inherited the duchy above her. The reasonings behind why he did not was due to his massive history with gambling and rumors that he was doing dealings in the black market. Violetta's parents had removed him from the family when she was 10, and she had never seen him again until their parents came up missing. So, while she was quite devastated, Violetta had to steel her nerves and press forward to continue running they duchy as the only reasonable member of the family. It took several months for the duchy to fully accept her, not believing such a young girl would be able to handle everything. But when they saw her advancement's and experienced the changes to their lifestyle they started to back her decisions even more.
  
  Out in the social world, Violetta was quite the social butterfly before she took over, attending all sorts of balls and parties with her close knit circle of friends. When it was discovered that she would be taking over the duchy, her social outings were restricted and the friend group she had moved from going out to visiting her home. While they would occasionally lament over their inability to hang out as often, they were able to drag Violetta out on occasions. When out, Violetta would socialize in ways that would either help her duchy or herself in some way. Even when she had some romantic aspects approach her, they were typically driven away by her lack of proper social skills.
  
• Goals and Reputation

  CHARACTER GOAL

  A delivery has come up missing and Violetta has received a letter stating the delivery is across the waters and is in need of proper inspection.
  
  

  POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES

  Inquisitive
  Studious
  Practical
  
  

  NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES

  Stubborn
  Forward
  Nosy
  
  

  REPUTATION

  Violetta is known in her ducky of being a fair but kind leader who knows how to read a room. She often times tries to find solutions to problems than listening blindly to others when bad times arise. In the social circle, she stands out just enough to be known as un-lady like for her business fueled conversations and conceded due to her 'how will this benefit me' mindset.
  
• Extras

  Notes

  
  
  

Royal Personal Knight

Monte Greyfin

• xxxBASIC INFORMATIONxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
• xxxBACKSTORYxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
• xxxABILITIESxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
• xxxEXTRA NOTESxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

• ATTACK

  DEFENSE

  SPEED

  INTELLIGENCE

  “

  ”

  I will not let you go into the unknown alone.

  Nickname

  Knight of the Stars

  Alias

  Sir Lloyd or Canbridge

  Gender

  Male

  Birthplace

  Zenith

  Age

  30

  Status

  Royal Knight

  Appearance

  HEIGHT: 6'2"
  BUILD: Lean, but muscular
  HAIR: Dirty dark blonde
  EYES: Dark Brown
  IDENTIFYING MARKS: Ankles and wrists covered in old scars

  Personality

  GENERAL PERSONALITY TRAITS
  Monte is a silver tongued, quick fighting man who takes his job very seriously when he is with Violetta. He is usually one who is very obedient, but also quick to defend when someone tries to slander his master. When he is not around his master, he is often quiet and observant to his surroundings and likes to stand guard near where she is.
  
  CHARACTER LIKES/STRENGTHS
  Monte has not shown any interests on his own in much except for sword fighting and shooting guns. He has shown he is exceptionally good at combat, and so the family put him in charge of protecting Violetta when she was young the moment they discovered his talent. He also likes to take interest in the things his master does, and therefore has attempted to dabble in the hobbies she does as she does them.
  
  CHARACTER DISLIKES/WEAKNESSES
  Monte hates talking about his past, and finds the entire conversation very uncomfortable. When he is berated for being a common man, his mood becomes dark and he finds that his hand is on his weapon before he knows it. These reactions are generally when he is alone and not when his master is around, for she becomes his everything. He also has a hard time listening to people slander his master and attempt to soil her reputation, making a note to get back at them.
  
  CHARACTER FEARS
  Monte fears that harm will come to his master or his family in Zenith. He also has a fear of fire and storms, though he will push through them regardless.
  
• Backstory

  BACKSTORY
  Monte was born into the life of a common man by a mother who was a devout follower of the Covenant of Aethera and a knight of the royal guard. He was raised with as much love as a common house can provide, occasionally receiving swordsmanship training by his father and knowledge of the stars from his mother. It was a peaceful life until Monte found his childhood home up in flames with him and his mother trapped inside. They were eventually rescued, with his mother having been burned severely and him sustaining minor injuries physically. It was at this point that Monte found his way into the Frankforts, through his fathers connections, and was put in charge of helping the other guards with training and the maids with chores. This was to make sure Monte was safe and taken care of while his father worked extra time to tend to his mothers injuries.
  
  When Monte entered into the house, Violetta had shown great curiosity and interest in him. Monte treated the little girl quite coldly at first, finding her annoying like all little kids at that age. However, when he noticed that she didn't leave him alone, and actually up the ante and started bringing snacks. He began to soften and accept her efforts, joining her for playtime and sneaking off into the garden whenever he could. It took several years to accept, but Monte found that when he was away from her that he felt incredibly saddened and that he had an urge to protect the one person who had showed warmth to him in his hard times. He desired to be closer to her, so when he asked for advice from another they suggested training harder to become a personal knight guard so he could be by her side at all times. Monte immediately found the desire of training harder reignited and jumped back into his training with new vigor with the other guards.
  
  By age 14, Monte was fully recognized by the lord of the house and the captain of the guards in the manor for his exceptional talent to learn and utilize the sword and gun combo at such a young age. He asked Monte what he desired, offering to appoint him as a house guard, but instead he asked to personally guard Violetta, to which the lord obliged with a grin. However, the joy was short lived as the following year Violetta was thrown into running the duchy and Monte was appointed as her personal knight guard. Monte also received a visit from his parents who came to offer their support to Violetta and some words of wisdom as best they could. A few months after their visit, on a stormy evening, Monte was escorting Violetta to the dinning hall when a bright strike of lightening struck the window next to them an blasted glass into their bodies. Monte was hardly harmed, but Violetta was severely injured despite Monte shielding her from most of the glass. The image of her bloodied body in his arms scarred his mind, bringing upon an irrational fear of storms that puts him on edge and occasionally hinders his abilities while on duty.
  
• Goals and Reputation

  CHARACTER GOAL

  Investigate the reason why the shipment of goods was late and finding out who sent the letter.
  
  

  POSITIVE ATTRIBUTES

  Protective
  Observant
  Resiliant
  
  

  NEGATIVE ATTRIBUTES

  Short Fused
  Obsessive
  Coldhearted
  
  

  REPUTATION

  Monte has a reputation among the nobles to be ruthless to enemies and obsessive about his lady. Rumors have spread that if she gave the word, then he would easily kill for her at the drop of a hat. However, that is the only praise they give him as the rest of the talk is of him being a dirty common man who probably swindled his way into the rank he has now.
  
• Extras

  Notes

  
  Monte does not wear what is typical of a royal knight. He has confidence in his skills and finds most armor to me a hinderance. However, with insistence from Violetta, he does wear a durable layer of chainmail under his travel clothes.
  

 

[tsurene]

• THE ABEL (WIP)

• 
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  THE ABEL.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  

  Ephraim

  
  
  
  

  PROKOPIOU

  
  

  
  
  
  

  ㅎㅎ

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  01.

  
  

  full name

  
  

  
  
  
  

  ephraim prokopiou

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  02.

  
  

  alias

  
  

  
  
  
  

  simply "frey"

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  03.

  
  

  age

  
  

  
  
  
  

  twenty-two (22)

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  04.

  
  

  p.o.b.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  valdioro

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  05.

  
  

  status

  
  

  
  
  
  

  kingsman

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  • .
  • .
  • .
  • .
  • .

  • 
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    HERETIC BOY,

    
    
    
    
    

    you should know: hate misshapes even the most woodland into something that would rather die in captivity than domesticate.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    visage

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    faceclaim

    
    

    ralph macchio

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    height

    
    

    5"8 (173 cm)

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    hair colour

    
    

    dark brown

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    eye colour

    
    

    brown

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    desc.

    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In bibendum tincidunt purus ac facilisis. Aliquam commodo dapibus auctor. Ut eget arcu ut enim euismod bibendum a quis risus. Nam sed egestas lectus.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    persona

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Nam et faucibus erat. Sed lobortis tincidunt imperdiet. Nulla a ultricies risus. Pellentesque rutrum ipsum non tempus convallis. Maecenas eget nibh eu diam blandit auctor in interdum ligula. Nam ultrices risus vel ante suscipit facilisis. Ut ac semper nulla. Morbi accumsan finibus turpis nec gravida. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Vestibulum tempus, erat nec porttitor finibus, nulla diam molestie leo, eu interdum nunc tortor non tellus. Nunc non pharetra libero, sit amet convallis elit. Proin in diam finibus, porttitor mauris hendrerit, cursus velit. Vestibulum quis faucibus tortor, eu ullamcorper metus. Aliquam erat volutpat. Nulla a enim magna.
    
    Sed ut tempor libero. Morbi vel felis et libero consequat vulputate sit amet vel elit. Suspendisse at porta mi, vitae venenatis mauris. Curabitur id maximus nibh, sed fringilla mauris. Aliquam efficitur finibus diam. Nam pharetra ac turpis ut ornare. Curabitur sed tellus ut nisi dictum cursus eu at nisl. Praesent eleifend nunc erat, at ornare sem accumsan et. Integer in massa rutrum, placerat quam vel, ultrices dolor. Maecenas et risus pellentesque, pulvinar enim nec, consequat tellus. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Vivamus ullamcorper massa ac sodales ultricies. In pellentesque vestibulum tristique.
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    likes

    
    
    

    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    dislikes

    
    
    

    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    fears

    
    
    

    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    strengths

    
    
    

    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    weaknesses

    
    
    

    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    hehe

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    history

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    event title

    
    

    
    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cras ullamcorper erat purus, quis mollis metus auctor vel. Duis eget luctus justo. Donec aliquet fermentum porttitor. Morbi quis dapibus odio, at viverra leo. Integer ut dictum lacus, nec congue odio. Nullam sapien ante, interdum ut mattis eget, varius ac justo. Pellentesque eu ante nec nibh vulputate ullamcorper.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    event title

    
    

    
    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cras ullamcorper erat purus, quis mollis metus auctor vel. Duis eget luctus justo. Donec aliquet fermentum porttitor. Morbi quis dapibus odio, at viverra leo. Integer ut dictum lacus, nec congue odio. Nullam sapien ante, interdum ut mattis eget, varius ac justo. Pellentesque eu ante nec nibh vulputate ullamcorper.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    event title

    
    

    
    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cras ullamcorper erat purus, quis mollis metus auctor vel. Duis eget luctus justo. Donec aliquet fermentum porttitor. Morbi quis dapibus odio, at viverra leo. Integer ut dictum lacus, nec congue odio. Nullam sapien ante, interdum ut mattis eget, varius ac justo. Pellentesque eu ante nec nibh vulputate ullamcorper.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    event title

    
    

    
    
    
    

    Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cras ullamcorper erat purus, quis mollis metus auctor vel. Duis eget luctus justo. Donec aliquet fermentum porttitor. Morbi quis dapibus odio, at viverra leo. Integer ut dictum lacus, nec congue odio. Nullam sapien ante, interdum ut mattis eget, varius ac justo. Pellentesque eu ante nec nibh vulputate ullamcorper.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    extra

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    cabo

    
    
    
    

    ricky montgomery

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    connections

    
    
    
    

    misc.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    • aaaaaaa
    • aaaa

    • 
      
      
      

      connections

      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      

      name here

      
      
      
      

      Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cras ullamcorper erat purus, quis mollis metus auctor vel. Duis eget luctus justo. Donec aliquet fermentum porttitor. Morbi quis dapibus odio, at viverra leo. Integer ut dictum lacus, nec congue odio. Nullam sapien ante, interdum ut mattis eget, varius ac justo. Pellentesque eu ante nec nibh vulputate ullamcorper.
      

      
      
      

      
      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      

      name here

      
      
      
      

      Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cras ullamcorper erat purus, quis mollis metus auctor vel. Duis eget luctus justo. Donec aliquet fermentum porttitor. Morbi quis dapibus odio, at viverra leo. Integer ut dictum lacus, nec congue odio. Nullam sapien ante, interdum ut mattis eget, varius ac justo. Pellentesque eu ante nec nibh vulputate ullamcorper.
      

      
      
      

      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
    • 
      
      
      

      misc.

      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      

      reputation

      
      

      Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In bibendum tincidunt purus ac facilisis. Aliquam commodo dapibus auctor. Ut eget arcu ut enim euismod bibendum a quis risus. Nam sed egestas lectus.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      motive

      
      

      Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In bibendum tincidunt purus ac facilisis. Aliquam commodo dapibus auctor. Ut eget arcu ut enim euismod bibendum a quis risus. Nam sed egestas lectus.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      boarding

      
      

      Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In bibendum tincidunt purus ac facilisis. Aliquam commodo dapibus auctor. Ut eget arcu ut enim euismod bibendum a quis risus. Nam sed egestas lectus.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      to royalty

      
      

      Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In bibendum tincidunt purus ac facilisis. Aliquam commodo dapibus auctor. Ut eget arcu ut enim euismod bibendum a quis risus. Nam sed egestas lectus.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      to piracy

      
      

      Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. In bibendum tincidunt purus ac facilisis. Aliquam commodo dapibus auctor. Ut eget arcu ut enim euismod bibendum a quis risus. Nam sed egestas lectus.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡
  
  

 

[celadon.]

oathbinder

...Look up and now angel see; you have seen inside me; sheer and spooky

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  requisite.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  anna h. luukas

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  twenty-five

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  gender

  
  

  female

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  pansexual

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  place of birth

  
  

  the cascades

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  role

  
  

  the devout ↓

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faction

  
  

  covenant of aethera

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  status

  
  

  high society

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  visage.

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  Five feet, nine inches.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair colour

  
  

  Blonde.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eye colour

  
  

  Blue.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Slender, very long, wrists like tree branches etc. When she moves it's with the naturalness of wind.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  scars/markings

  
  

  Barely any, so you really notice the ones she has: on her cheek, and a few old scrapes across her right shoulder.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  Hunter Schafer.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  persona.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  empathetic

  
  
  
  
  

  agreeable

  
  
  
  
  

  indoctrinated

  
  
  
  
  

  secretive

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  Anna feels for other people at a depth not often seen. You might expect this even less given how clearly this woman lives for faith – for having it, for feeling it flutter through her body, for teaching others the way – but she knows things. She knows things that others do not. She knows why you chose to laugh just now. She knows why you chose not to speak, what you would have most likely said, and what sort of misery stopped you. If there were something you could not cry for, she would find a quiet spot and pray that you could – as your friend, or even as someone you refuse to follow, someone you hate. And she'd remember to make sure she saw you later, to see if it made any difference. She waits to take you in her arms. She'd take the totality of this wormy-apple world in her arms if she could.
  
  And she'd say what you wouldn't, or wanted to. And she'd laugh if your mind was too doubtful a place for it. She'd come bearing the peace you never allowed yourself, that simplicity you always hid yourself from, and she'd offer it to you as surely as if it were something you'd lost back there in the dark. And throughout all of these moments of brightness she'd be committing things about you to memory, things you had expressed only in your choice not to express them, and if she needed to, she would plan. To use those things. Maybe for you, maybe 'against' you, if that's what you needed. Not everyone knows what they need. And you're not always supposed to like it.
  
  As her belief in the wisdom of the Stars is unshakable, so too is her belief in the necessity, the solidity, the security of her mission. Because, after all, it is only love. Why else would they have fled, running like foxes? They were not given the love that was promised to them. It is her duty to right that wrong, and because it is a duty to love, that duty is holy. And it lets her see the love in the world.
  
  The rest of it isn't up to her. But she's always known that.

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  likes

  
  

  
  

  animals, daytime, candlelight, flowers, mushrooms, bathing, human difference, old people, tall windows

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  dislikes

  
  

  
  

  chocolate, dirt, drinking, piracy, most luxuries, the impolite, eating pork or fish, stones with sharp edges

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  fears

  
  

  
  

  being lazy, natural predators, lost children, class warfare, holding bad advantages, death by fire

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  habits

  
  

  
  

  practices bird calls all the time; scribbles in a journal rife with drawings, lyric poems, and star charts

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  strengths

  
  

  
  

  eavesdropping, lying, stealing things, knife skills, performing various cultural customs, quick on her feet

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  weaknesses

  
  

  
  

  not very physically tough; would rather not stomach violence, and she makes decisions based on that; sometimes gets too tied to people; missing some kind of basic dignity such that she'd fawn over anyone

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  history.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  background

  
  

  
  
  
  

  C/w: suggested child grooming?
  
  Anna was born into privilege in the Cascades – her mother's family line has been represented in the Council since the very beginning, and her father, having married up from out of the service class, was once employed as Judge Quinlan Wright's physician for many, many years.
  
  Anna was not a selfish or overly expectant child, but from a very early point in life she was disturbed by her own – how do you say it – limitations? She heard about the Oracles and the exalted Children and then there she was, just a normal girl, kneeling in worship, trying to sing the higher song she felt was inside her and always failing. And yet always finding things to pray about other than that failure. Never once allowing herself to be graceless.
  
  This was noticeable. Even her 'uncle' Quinlan noticed it. And he began to appreciate it. He began to appreciate a lot of things about her, because sure, there were a lot of things for a normal person to appreciate. But as we know, Judge Wright was not a normal man: he took her aside, away from her brothers and family and really the rest of society, and within a few years they had bonded such that, when he chose to have her begin advanced training – not the first time he'd done this for a young girl smarter than her age – her father did not voice any kind of disapproval. Not that he really would have dared. He wasn't a naive man. Any power he had, it'd been a gift, not anything he had earned for himself.
  
  So the young girl trained. That one day her faith might be met, in some way, by her talents. In so doing, the girl became a woman. And the woman became more than what she'd once been.
  
  Shortly after the completion of this training, her father was jailed. And though she swept around, asking every question she could, the people who knew enough to answer them were prohibited from doing so. Eventually, she heard it from the Judge himself that her father had been disloyal. Not just to him, but to the country, its future, and the gods.
  
  Though shaken, it did not take her long to recover from this news, especially when the Judge told her that she would take to port within the year – at first with a little retinue of bodyguards, and then eventually on her own, a bird in flight through a world that would never know her true goals.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  reputation

  
  

  
  
  
  

  In the Cascades, Anna is about as obscure and hard to describe as a daughter of high society could possibly be. Rather than enjoy the benefits of her position she spent most of her younger life either standing behind her father or inside, in well-lit rooms of white cloth, halfway through some book, or praying, or getting ready to train. To most who talk about her, she's a mystery, something to spoil any conversation. She was and is very well known among Judge Wright's people, though, and there are rumours about that, some grounded in falsehoods and some not.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  questionnaire

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Why did Anna board the Leviathan?
  
  Per her duty as an 'oathbinder' – an agent of the Covenant tasked with finding Children who have desisted, or otherwise gotten lost in the world, and sending back to where they should rightfully be – to follow leads on their whereabouts across the oceans.
  
  How did Anna get on board?
  
  She bought a ticket in Antares.
  
  What is her opinion on royalty?
  
  Strong leadership is needed for any people to survive. From what she's seen of the world, not everyone is willing to do what needs to be done. They were given the freedom to decide these things, decide how a nation should be, and they don't use it.
  
  What is her opinion on piracy?
  
  What a reckless world, that so many forces conspire to make it happen, even so-called noble ones – they buy up their very own pirates, they call them 'privateers', and then turn around acting like theft by another name isn't still theft, and so on and so forth.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  to realize you are a liar

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  an extra text

  
  
  
  
  

  an extra reply

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  connections.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  name here

  
  
  
  

  role/status

  
  
  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Sed elementum nunc nec risus porta iaculis quis sit amet ante. Quisque eget est mauris. Curabitur posuere nibh nibh, ac maximus dolor vestibulum sed. Nullam ut nulla tincidunt, tincidunt mi ac, ullamcorper mi. In ultricies euismod fermentum. Nulla convallis nec sem sit amet porta. Morbi convallis ornare arcu quis commodo. Sed in luctus libero. Sed pretium malesuada nisl at laoreet.

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  extra.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  question

  
  

  answer

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  10:37

  
  

  beach house

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[luciferin]

• THE CAIN. — FIN
• THE MODISTE. — FIN.

• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  the cain.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  Kohen Prokopiou

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  role

  
  

  The Cain

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  Twenty-six

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  p.o.b.

  
  

  Valdioro

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faction

  
  

  None

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  status

  
  

  Kingsman

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  style

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  Evans Nikopoulos

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5'10"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  Straight dark brown hair that's kept short and neat for both respectability and practicality.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  Brown framed by a pair of thin golden glasses that help compensate for his myopia. He wears them extensively, having grown used to them during childhood.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Fit but not noticeably muscular, having developed an emphasis on dexterity over strength in his work.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  title

  
  

  
  
  
  

  artist

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  req.

  
  

  req.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  a little quote here!

  
  
  
  

  Kohen is, above everything, a man who choked on expectation. He shies from responsibility like a moth that has learned to fear the heat, quivering wings held in place only by the weight of familial expectations. After all, he’s already given it all for his heritage, so what’s a little more?
  
  If he loses it now, he will have nothing, having hollowed himself out to make room for the wishes of his parents. Even now, his skin feels too tight around his body to fit the conflict within. Seeing his brother stand under the light of success, the love he once cherished has long since collapsed under the weight of his longing and awe. Now, the same warmth has turned into a fire running through his veins, scrambling against his straining flesh to escape in warped streams of twisted envy.
  
  He is scared of what he will become if he goes through with this. He is terrified of being eaten alive if he doesn’t. (In the end, the ones he loved sealed him into his tomb with his heart still beating, so surely it’s only fair if he returns the favor?)
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  
  

  Entomology, watching the life that crawls in the dirt. Fresh air, working with his hands, the sight of movement.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  
  

  Cramped spaces, the heat, his family. People touching his things without permission, Ephraim to the upmost extreme.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  fears

  
  
  

  Always amounting to be less than his little brother, such that his efforts will always go unacknowledged and his sacrifices be left meaningless.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  habits

  
  
  

  Readjusts his glasses in tense situations. Laughs quietly when he's really happy, even if there's nothing funny.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hobbies

  
  
  

  Collecting diagrams and specimens of insects and reading all of the entomology research that's readily available. He enjoys searching for new additions to two whenever he arrives at new places.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  strengths

  
  
  

  Dexterity, lying, masking his emotions. Hand eye coordination, memorization, knows all major art pieces by name and creator.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  weaknesses

  
  
  

  Self-loathing, judges himself too much based on others' opinion of himself, keeps a grudge like nobody's business.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  pers.

  
  

  pers.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  the good

  
  
  
  

  Kohen treasures his baby brother when he's first born. Of course, Ephraim being down four years doesn't make him a baby brother, but the way Kohen practically raises him surely does. Ephraim always seems to be sick, and thus, despite Kohen's occasional protests for want of time outside that his parents refuse, he always ends up looking after his brother. It leaves him feeling childishly frustrated at times, but he never despises the moments they spent together. After all, Kohen worries about Ephraim too, so it's good that his brother has someone he can truly rely on. Growing up in the same household, he's always known that his parents can miss important details with how busy they are.
  
  When Ephraim's sickness gets worse, Kohen is always the one watching over him by the bedside. He whispers promises that they'll play together when Ephraim gets better, and he makes sure to keep them when his little brother does. Sometimes, it's a simple, joyful excursion through Valdioro's landscape, and at other times, Ephraim guides him toward the insects he treasures. Those youthful interests are among the mundane details his parents tend to forget, so it was always rewarding to have his little brother remember them.
  
  Still, with the weight of his father's high expectations, he is turned away from playing in the dirt where insects and animal bones catch his eye and towards the family profession. He grows in his studies, slowly maturing into an artisan whose skills he can take pride in, even if it's never the profession he would have chosen for himself. He wonders if Ephraim would like to take a different path, thankful that he can offer his brother the choice now that he's become his father's means to an end, and this is where things begin to go terribly wrong.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  the bad

  
  
  
  

  The realization that Ephraim's a born genius destroys him. Kohen is jealous of his little brother's achievements even in the beginning, but his guilt and his brother's dependency stop him from ever sharing the fact. It's the first meaningful secret he ever keeps. Still, Kohen was raised to be independent, and it shows in how he's always hidden his weakness — this one is just a little more serious than most. He re-devotes himself to his art, wondering if his lack of devotion is what's holding him back, and comes back with failure. He begins to resent his father for forcing him into this, but he never thinks to blame Ephraim until he walks into his brother's exhibit.
  
  For years, Ephraim has been the only one Kohen can entrust the flawed parts of himself to. When Kohen chooses to continue collecting insects despite his parents' disapproval, Ephraim is always been the one supporting him to create something that truly belongs to himself. And yet, when Kohen forces himself to attend another one of his brother's unveilings in the name of support, he finds the piece dedicated to himself and parts of his private collection transformed into another one of Ephraim's successes. In all his good intentions, Ephraim shines a spotlight on his hobby, and suddenly, Kohen's escape from his shadow doesn't feel like much of an escape.
  
  The argument that night is the only time Kohen ever tears his scars open for Ephraim to see. All his jealousy, inferiority, and hatred for the little brother that followed in his footsteps, finally laid on the table for Ephraim to see. Ephraim doesn't get it though. He's never experienced enough bitterness to understand that Kohen's hurt runs deeper than this one argument, and when he asks again, Kohen assures him that it was said in the heat of the moment.
  
  After all, when he first realizes that Ephraim is now steps from surpassing him despite his advantage in age, Kohen finds himself suffocating on the sudden lack of space and self he has left. What will he become in the aftermath of the catastrophe of his own brother? With nothing left, he begins to imagine the sensation of his hands wrapped around Ephraim's throat, and oh...
  
  Isn't that something? Kohen might have found himself a way out after all.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  the ugly

  
  
  
  

  Kohen keeps up the facade of goodwill even when his parents' praise for Ephraim grows and his own skills are left overshadowed. In fact, he's the one that views his brother's displays the most. It becomes his obsession. Among them all, the piece his brother dedicated to him becomes one of the most well-known, along with the one Kohen visits the most. Seeing more and more people visit each year, his bitterness only grows, and each day, sitting in its shadow, he resolves to cut himself free from this tangled web of ambition by removing his brother.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  best friend

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  name here

  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vestibulum dui eget diam sodales lobortis. Nulla fermentum purus fringilla hendrerit tincidunt. Quisque ullamcorper fringilla augue, a laoreet ligula vehicula vel. Vestibulum laoreet tristique sem, vel malesuada nunc congue quis. Nulla aliquet massa a felis viverra iaculis. Praesent ac tortor quis diam efficitur consequat non id eros. Nullam malesuada quis nisl vitae consequat.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  best friend

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  name here

  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vestibulum dui eget diam sodales lobortis. Nulla fermentum purus fringilla hendrerit tincidunt. Quisque ullamcorper fringilla augue, a laoreet ligula vehicula vel. Vestibulum laoreet tristique sem, vel malesuada nunc congue quis. Nulla aliquet massa a felis viverra iaculis. Praesent ac tortor quis diam efficitur consequat non id eros. Nullam malesuada quis nisl vitae consequat.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  best friend

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  name here

  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vestibulum dui eget diam sodales lobortis. Nulla fermentum purus fringilla hendrerit tincidunt. Quisque ullamcorper fringilla augue, a laoreet ligula vehicula vel. Vestibulum laoreet tristique sem, vel malesuada nunc congue quis. Nulla aliquet massa a felis viverra iaculis. Praesent ac tortor quis diam efficitur consequat non id eros. Nullam malesuada quis nisl vitae consequat.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  reputation

  
  

  Few outside of Valdioro's circle of craftsmen have heard of him, and those that do recognize his name for his brother's works instead of his own.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  why did they board the Leviathan?

  
  

  An opportunity to kill Ephraim once and for all.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  How did they get on board?

  
  

  Took the ticket offered by his brother under the guise of reconciliation.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Opinion on royalty

  
  

  Kohen admires the royal bloodline and their achievements. It runs in his family and education, along with all the parts of himself that are too ugly to share. So perhaps not too neatly or too genuinely, but not unwillingly — he still plans on returning once he can take his brother's place, after all.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Opinion on piracy

  
  

  A ship of pirates would be an awfully convenient reason to be rid of Ephraim. If he needs to get a little involved with them along the way, Kohen hardly minds getting his hands dirty, provided that he doesn't get stained by the crime. (Though, part of him wonders if they could help him break free to this cycle?)

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hist.

  
  

  hist.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  
• 
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  the modiste.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  full name

  
  

  Rhys Vaughn Nair

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  role

  
  

  The Modiste

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  age

  
  

  Thirty-four

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  p.o.b.

  
  

  Sirocco Sands

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  faction

  
  

  None

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  status

  
  

  High Society

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  style

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  faceclaim

  
  

  Parvathy Thiruvothu

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  height

  
  

  5'3"

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hair

  
  

  Chin length black hair, done in a bun with whichever hairclip she's deemed worthy of of the day's clients.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  eyes

  
  

  Black eyes outlined sharp, deadly, and beautiful by strokes of smoky eyeshadow. Here, they say, is a woman who breathes fashion.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  build

  
  

  Sharp and slender, the type that showcases a strict lifestyle rather than any sort of combat experience.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  attire

  
  

  Always well-dressed, with a preference for tailored suits over dresses. Typically wears modest colors that rely on high-quality fabrics, saving striking shades for when she wants to make a statement.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  title

  
  

  
  
  
  

  artist

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  req.

  
  

  req.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  i hide all the sins you've never dared to commit.

  
  
  
  

  There are rules every member of high society must learn before serving the nobility. Luckily, these are things a modiste know well.
  
  Most important are the eyes. They must be keen, such that a sweep over the silhouette is enough to discern the client's best features and a tour around the displays reveals their every preference. Your gaze leaves nothing unnoticed, piercing far beneath the boundaries of the body to glimpse the secrets buried deep in the breast without the need for a whisper or written word. You undress them, carrying their deepest desires of crushing rivals and wooing lovers beneath skirts of chiffon and lace, and shape them into versions must worthy of infatuation and envy. There is nothing you cannot see, and everything you cannot say.
  
  After all, the lips must speak sweetened honey or not at all, so you lapse into silence in between your perfect negotiations. As time goes on, you forget how to fill your home with the sound of your voice until the only things you have left to say are the words you swallowed before. When you finally part from them, they tumble out, kindness and sharpness so entwined in the shape of cultured beauty that to separate them is speak in trailing fragments, tangled around the emptiness of each other. Yet even as your throat withers, you continue to dedicate yourself because you are a creature of ambition.
  
  To this, you offer your most valuable possession: your hands. They must operate with upmost respect, treating the body you measure with upmost reverence yet placing each stitch with decisive precision. You make a study out of treating others with a gentleness that you've never afforded yourself, fingers flirting across figures with a measuring tape like a butterfly's wings as you offer biscuits and tea. At night, you continue alone in your studio, leaving no room for regret or hesitation as dresses come to life in the candlelight, and when you wake, it's to examinations of the market laying by your bedside as your prepare to cut another slice of a society sunk deep into decadent decay.
  
  And yet, you are softened by the childish gifts your daughter wraps around your wrists and tucks into your hair. Through her presence, you learn to regain the body you once abandoned for the sake of providence, finding the freedom, wit, and joy you never needed to experience. You treasure every part of her deeply (so terribly possessively), that you continue to savor them even after she's gone.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  likes

  
  
  

  Tortoiseshell hairclips, fresh fruit scattered across ice cream, and sprawling across neatly kept grass. The relaxation of a scented bath, the clink of champagne glasses, and the sharp bite of success after nights of sacrifice.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  dislikes

  
  
  

  Sour flavors, walking on cold floors, and the texture of fish skin. The sound of coughing, inane conversations, and being around the ill. Threats to her market, though competition in moderation is always terribly delightful.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  fears

  
  
  

  The idea of oblivion after death.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  habits

  
  
  

  Taps her fingers when in thought. Keeps a small notepad in her pockets. Carries a small vial with a portion of her daughter's ashes and decorates it with trinkets that she thinks her daughter would've liked to wear.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  hobbies

  
  
  

  Sketching down beautiful outfits that belong to the middle class. Used to love children's clothes especially, though she usually continues past them now.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  strengths

  
  
  

  Fashionista, steady hands, reading body language and verbal tics, navigating negotiations, patience, business acumen, accustomed to violence.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  weaknesses

  
  
  

  Arrogant, judgmental, prone to obsession, difficult to inspire or motivate. Friendly conversation, combat.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  pers.

  
  

  pers.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  the apprentinceship

  
  
  
  

  tw: abuse of child workers & during education, unexpected pregnancy, child death.
  
  Rhys's first introduction to fashion is when she is plucked from the raff of Sirocco as a child and bent over the cramped environment of a workbench with her arms crowded against another's sticky skin and the scent of sweat lingering thick in the air. They spend every waking hour in the backrooms of Sirocco's most reputable designer as cheap labor waiting to be replaced once they outgrow their seats, crowding stitches into the parts of a dress destined to go unseen. She gains a master without an apprenticeship, the skill of breaking her body in place of a trade.
  
  Yet, the slide of fabric lingers under her skin in an obsession with the impossible, and the sight of it sends a vicious need throbbing dry in her throat. She is a pupa without a cocoon, caught between two worlds as she sleeps with hunger knotting her stomach and creates a beauty that she can never afford to become.
  
  It's why she volunteers each time her master searches for another pair of hands to complete the details he tires of, even knowing his impatience in imparting the complex techniques will end with the purposeful marks of his needle covering her arms and the deduction of her wages for each day she wastes in passing his standard. She grows used to his temper, and he comes to select her without the need for consideration.
  
  One day, she makes him pause when she turns in her practice fabrics earlier than expected, and when she returns to work the next day, he brings her to the storefront with a new title.
  
  Of course, where she gains status, she also gains responsibility. She learns when to order his meals, what he needs to get through his migraines, and how to read his mood to prepare for the days she needs to weather. His customers are much the same, and she comes to grasp their eccentricities with palmprints on her cheeks.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  the journeyman

  
  
  
  

  Eventually, she passes her evaluation and graduates from his mentorship. They do not bid farewell with tears and fond memories, but Rhys treasures his expertise more than any sweetness. Her first customers come trickling as aristocracy drawn in by her reputation as his student, and when she performs well, their numbers continue. By now, she finally makes enough to wear clothes of the same quality as the ones she creates, yet she remains a secondary option for those who've missed her mentor's appointments.
  
  Rhys did not give this much just to be suppressed until her master's passing, so she leaves all she knows behind to migrate to Zenith, bidding farewell for the sole sake of giving her connections' faces. There, she arrives as the sole student of Sirocco's star modiste, selling her story like a commodity until high society hangs onto her status as a craftsman shaped from Sirocco's bloodied sands and debauched luxury.
  
  When she reveals her first line of dresses, it's a massive hit. They crave Sirocco's opulence, collecting the pieces like they're transforming into the desert's own metal and gold.
  
  She does not stop there. Where she began with themes of magnetic, restrained violence, she pivots into cold, cutting refinement and then adventurous revelry until she breaks out of the mold of foreign sensationalism and steps into the spotlight as Zenith fashion's symbol of innovation. Among each season of balls and celebrations, echoes of her presence always thread through each trend, failing to doing so only when they're the ones outright defining them.
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  the masterpiece

  
  
  
  

  On occasion, Rhys relaxes with a glass of wine and the company of someone willing. Following her twenty-sixth birthday, she does so with a man and makes the mistake of miscalculating her time of month. She wakes up several weeks later with morning sickness and a darkening realization. She's built her image on power and freedom, so instead of wondering about the father or calling about a scandal, society is blessedly quiet as she considers the possibility of childbirth. When people do talk, it's about her suitability as a mother (because, really, her?), and Rhys is inclined to agree.
  
  It's uncomfortable, to say the least, but when Rhys sees her, everything after becomes terribly worthwhile. She turns her obsession to her daughter, and when she wakes late into the night, it's to nurse her daughter in place of designing dresses. She sews together children's clothes with images of strawberries and frills of lace in place of evening gowns, and when she leaves her daughter in the care of another while she works, it's to pave the way for her daughter at an influential school with respect amidst her noble-born peers.
  
  Her daughter slowly grows, and Rhys spends her time wandering parks with a picnic basket in hand and waiting at studios, watching her daughter learn to paint. She is beautiful, and she dreams of fairy princesses, so Rhys dresses her like one. Rhys gives her everything, save for the time she spends away as a modiste. They're a little longer than she'd like, but it's worth it for the future.
  
  Then, her daughter falls sick and never recovers. Rhys lives in the silence her daughter left behind, and though she speaks nothing of it, the flames of obsession burn brighter than they have ever before.
  
  Having found success, the pupa has become a butterfly, but it now has less than before. The loss ripples through her life, and she turns to the gods she never believed.
  
  Sleep a little longer now, sweetie. Your mother will find you heaven, come hell or high water.

  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  daughter

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  Anastasia Nair

  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vestibulum dui eget diam sodales lobortis. Nulla fermentum purus fringilla hendrerit tincidunt. Quisque ullamcorper fringilla augue, a laoreet ligula vehicula vel. Vestibulum laoreet tristique sem, vel malesuada nunc congue quis. Nulla aliquet massa a felis viverra iaculis. Praesent ac tortor quis diam efficitur consequat non id eros. Nullam malesuada quis nisl vitae consequat.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  master

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  name here

  
  

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vestibulum dui eget diam sodales lobortis. Nulla fermentum purus fringilla hendrerit tincidunt. Quisque ullamcorper fringilla augue, a laoreet ligula vehicula vel. Vestibulum laoreet tristique sem, vel malesuada nunc congue quis. Nulla aliquet massa a felis viverra iaculis. Praesent ac tortor quis diam efficitur consequat non id eros. Nullam malesuada quis nisl vitae consequat.
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  reputation

  
  

  One of the most prestigious modistes within Zenith.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  why did they board the Leviathan?

  
  

  Going on a pilgrimage to visit various religious sites and pray over her daughter's soul.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  How did they get on board?

  
  

  Bought a ticket in Antares.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Opinion on royalty

  
  

  The pursuit of art, luxury, and culture is the pinnacle of achievement, even when steeped in oppression and treachery. Even in acknowledging the failings of her society, Rhys continues her path through the flames of vanity, using her words to praise royalty like the rest of her kind while her heart wanders down the path of disinterest.

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  Opinion on piracy

  
  

  Terribly tragic but far out of her realm of concern. Though Rhys remains capable of quoting every argument about their disruption, she finds herself losing interest in discussions of morality with every passing day. Those born in Sirocco are hardly raised with such concerns, after all.

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  hist.

  
  

  hist.

  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  

 

[jones573]

Ravinder Coving

#the explorer

#dev patel

♡coded by uxie♡

content includes: reference to potential child abuse, sexism in business, unplanned pregnancy, traumatic brain injury, reference to potential spousal abuse, implied alcoholism

Full Name: Ravinder Coving
Nickname: He almost exclusively goes by 'Rav' or 'Ravi'.
Role: The Explorer
Age: 28
Place of Birth: Zenith

Face-claim: Dev Patel
Height: 6'2"
Eye & Hair colour: Ravi has dark brown eyes, only a shade more coopery than his curling brown hair.


Personality:
One might expect someon of Ravinder's past to be... Jaded. Scorned by his family, spurned by his wife.

But instead the man is unfailingly kind. He opens the door for anyone with their arms full, regardless of class, and will offer to carry something while he's at it. He gives coins to beggars on the street, and sometimes the coat off his back. He laughs at the nonsensical jokes of children, and asks nods at appropriate intervals when the elderly prattle at him.

He has an unsatiable thirst for knowledge- About the world, about people, about about anything at all. He will listen enraptured to the expertise of a dockhand on how to best load crates of cigars, or to a botanist's description of ancient megaflora.

He can be a bit absent minded at times, and had a particular tendency to forget where he placed physical items as a child. This is mostly better these days, but can be quite stressful when it does happen, and he is quite good at finding other things to panic about as well. While he is good at navigating other people's distress and helping them work through it, he is miserable when stressed himself and can never seem to snap himself out of it. He usually just tends to ride the wave of anxiety until it exhausts him.

He knows how to be a polished gentleman when necessary, and can come across as quite refined and cultured. He perfected this art in his early twenties while traveling with his uncle and having to meet with business partners and potential business partners so often. However, he has fallen out of this habit recently and it takes a more conscious effort to play to the part.

Likes: Getting to know someone. Colorful fish to look at. Listening to a musician. Speaking new languages. History and geography.
Dislikes: Gossipers. Eating fish. Playing an instrument. Those first few weeks of learning a new language. His own penmanship.
Fears: Failing his loved ones. Heights. Dogs. That there is nothing beyond the horizon.

Habits: One lock of hair in the front of his head seems to grow faster than the rest of it, and he often finds himself blowing it out of his face or brushing it back, especially when animatedly discussing some new topic.

Hobbies: Reading old books, mostly. Recently, drinking.

Strengths: Ravinder's kindness has allowed him to make many unusual friends- Not always in the places the Coving family might like, but making friends in expected places can be a bit of a bore. His curiousity has been a great asset as well, and he is never afraid to change his opinion based on new information. He is hardworking and studious, and always sees a task through once started. He is generally quite respectful, as though it might have been beaten in to him.

Physically, he seems to have a remarkably robust immune system and rarely gets sick when others do. He also throws a pretty good punch considering his minimal training and could probably be a decent enough fighter with some practice- Though practice isn't really something he's interested in.

Weaknesses: In many ways, Ravi's strengths are his weaknesses as well. He is sometimes too kind and forgives too easily, making him a target for those who wish to take advantage of him. His curiousity often gets the better of him, and he finds out things he might rather have not known. His studious nature means he cannot give up on a project, even when it is beyond him. More than he would like, he relies on social order to determine who or what is 'right', rather than stand up for his values and risk offense.

He has recently discovered that while he can drink with dinner like most of his peers, he does not handle strong liquors very well. At all. He almost certainly has carpal tunnel, and squints much more often than he really needs to on account of losing his reading glasses so frequently.

Spoiler: History

It was Ravi's great grandfather, who bought the first boat in the Coving shipping fleet, but it was his grandfather who built it into an empire. The man worked tirelessly, expanding the trade routes and currying favor with nobility and other merchants alike. Things were good, in those days- Before the boom in piracy, back when the seas and even Antares still belonged to the crown.

The old man meant for his eldest child to inherit his business- That she was his daughter made little difference to him, even if some might scoff at it. Including her brother, who felt it was his right and his privilege to take over Coving Lines. He had grand schemes on how he would improve the business, and had even began investing his own private money into these ideas.

Imagine his delight when his sister's pregnancy began to show. Their father demanded she name the child's sire, or at the very least consent to marry one of the sons of his business partners. Amala refused, publicly.

The rumors spread even faster than her waistline- Was it one of the sons from the upper echelons of society? It had to be, of course, they gossiped, looking down their noses at their peer's young heirs, self-assured that their own precious boy could not be the culprit. Unless... Well, what if- What if she had truly debased herself, had fallen in bed with a commoner. A servant perhaps, or a solider, or even one of those young knaves that had taken to lurking on the street corners of Antares.

Scorned by their peers in Antares and eager for a fresh start, the Covings moved their home and their business to Zenith. There, Ira began to learn the knowledge he'd been denied about how to run his father's empire, and Amala was sequestered away in a private facility to have her child.

In her isolation, her only visitor was her old rival. Perhaps Ira felt badly for how things had turned out, or embarrassed that their parents could so easily set their daughter aside. He came to see her once a week. He was there, when she fell.

One of the nurses found them at the bottom of the stair, Ira cradling his sister's split skull, the blood pooling red on the white marble floor.

Rarely has a carriage made it so quickly through the cobblestone streets of Zenith as the Coving's did that day. Amala's mother held her hand while she suffered through her stress induced labor, her father and her oldest brother pacing in the hall. Hours later, her son breathed his first and was declared to be in perfect health. Amala's prognosis was less optimistic.

Tearful, the new grandparents pledged they would do right by Ravinder. He would be a member of the family, entitled to anything and everything their own children and future grandchildren enjoyed. From the corner, his uncle looked on.

----

In a now distant port, the estate where the Coving family once lived burned. Antares fell to the rule of the Red Baron. Those that had looked down at the Covings' family misfortune and mocked them for running to Zenith wished that they themselves had had the good timing to leave Antares when the Covings did.

With their fleet and fortune safely intact while so many others' sunk into the depths, the Covings wealth and influence only grew. When your field is cleared of your competitors, the market is yours for the taking.
____

His grandparents may have promised him all the advantages of their lifestyle, but they were not affecionate people, and Ravinder grew up... Lonely. When his uncles and aunts began to marry and have children, the little boy was hopeful for friends. That was not to be the case.

He may have had the Coving name, but his cousins made sure he knew it was out of obligation and nothing more. Despite being he eldest, he was the brunt of their jokes, the object of their bullying and a constantly singled out. If there was blame to be passed, it went to Ravinder. When he did worse than them in his lessons, it was because he was a mere bastard. When he did better, he was being an arraogant upstart.

He learned to spend his time alone, burying himself in books of history and geography and scientific studies. A few of his tutors took notice of his inqusitive nature, and advised his grandfather that the gangly young adolescent might have a future and Zenith Academy one day. This appealed to Ravinder greatly, but less so to his grandfather. What use was a scholar, when their was a business to run and pirates roaming the seas?

Since moving to Zenith, Ira had taken more and more control over the Coving business, and expanded it greatly. They were not just in the transportation of goods these days, but the storage and the creation and the selling of them too. They had bought a mine in the mountains surrounding Valdioro, ranches in the Canyon, warehouses that lined the docks of Zenith and many other investments besides. Perhaps Ravinder's intellect could be applied to the Coving empire, his grandfather decided, and so it was that Ravinder began to travel with his uncle.

Traveling through Solas was a great adventure for Ravinder- The sights to see, the foods to sample, the people to talk to! Even working with his uncle had its merits, and teenaged Ravinder swelled with pride on the rare occasion that Ira would clasp him on the shoulder and tell him he had done well. He knew the people they met with still whispered about his bastard origins when they thought he couldn't hear, but the Coving name had become so influential that it hardly mattered.

It was the great irony of his life, he began to realize. As the Coving bastard, people would respect him. As the Coving bastard, his family would not love him. His uncle might have tolerated his presence for the time being, but Ira's own sons would be old enough soon to travel Solas with him instead of Ravinder, and Ravinder knew he would be forced to make his own way in life soon.

He spoke of these concerns to his mother during several of his regular visits, holding her skeletal hand in his own. As always, she stared blankly ahead at the wall, her head lilting to one side.

He was at a crossroads, with no sign to point which direction he might want to head.

But then- He met her. Irene Saville. And it seemed like everything might be clear, for once.

They courted for nearly three years, an astonishingly long time. Presumably due to the long and sometimes tense negotiations between their respective heads of family: Ira Coving, now that Ravi's grandfather had died, and Irene's father. The Savilles were among the oldest noble families in Solas, but had depleted their fortune over the generations. The Covings had plenty of wealth, but a titled member of the family would be a true feather in their cap.

If only that member wasn't the bastard.

But the lovebirds won out eventually, and were married. It was not exactly the event of the year in Zenith, but it was well attended by most who mattered in their circles, and perhaps more importantly, the couple enjoyed it. They moved into an elegant townhome to start their life together, and seemed to be quite happy. Ravinder split his time between his new wife, his dwindling responsibilities with Coving Lines, and exploring the Saville's massive library. It had ancient texts in it, the sort of knowledge he had only dreamed of. His new father in law that even the famed Academy of Empyra lacked some of his rarer scrolls.

And then, just after their first anniversary... Ravinder moved back to the Covings' estate and Irene to the Savilles'.

The rumors flew even before the townhouse went up for sale: She'd had an affair with another man. He'd had an affair with another man. She was infertile. They'd fought over finances. They'd both had an affair with the same man. Their families had forced them apart. He had hit her.

Even that last whisper, Ravinder did not respond to, hurtful though it was. He bore the rumors same as his mother once had- His head held high, his face passive and uncaring. They went to court to divide their shared assets, but for the wealthy those records can been sealed, and the status of their marriage became another source of speculation for those of status in Zenith. Divorce? Or perhaps... Annulment?

A source of never ending scandal and embarassment for the Covings, his uncle scolded him. Make yourself useful in your exile at least, he was told. First, to Antares: To assess the estate outside the city that had been abandonded, and see what might be done with it. It had no doubt been looted and burned and whatever they had not packed those 30 some years ago was gone. But the land deed still belonged to the Covings, and might be sold.

Then, to someplace he might make no trouble, or at least none that would shock their well-bred peers: Empyra, to study for the rest of his years. Perhaps he might rank well in the Exams and give his family some small reason to be proud.

Ravinder packed his bags- including some rather unusual items, kept under lock and key-, took the papers and purse of money from his uncle, and left Zenith without looking back.

Reputation: Unfortunately, Ravinder is much more well-known than he would like to be: His family name is stamped onto ships and crates and boxes and various goods all over Solas. At least his the circumstances of his birth were not well known by those outside of his family's immediate circle, though. But then the gossip rags all over Zenith published headlines about the 'Coving Bastard' and his catonic mother and his failed marriage. If someone has been in Zenith in the last year and pays even the slightest attention to the scandals of the upperclass, they've probably heard his name.

Why did he board The Leviathan?
After concluding his business with the family home in Antares, Ravinder has his orders from his uncle to get himself to Empyra post-haste, where he will sit the exam and once (if) he passes, he will join the Academy and hopefully live out the rest of his days learning and perhaps teaching, and not causing the Coving family any more stress. But it's not Empyra that he's packed his bags for.

The truth is: Ravinder is running. From something or to something?

How did they get on board?
Ravi has a ticket, paid and purchased and everything- Isn't he such a fine upstanding gentleman?

Faction:
None specific, but presumably loyal to the Crown, the nobility, and to the mercantile class and interests.

Status:
High society, but somewhat ostracized from it due to scandal.

Opinion on royalty:
Ravi bows deeply to the titled, just as he has been taught. They are wise, gracious, benevolent and they protect all of Solas, do they not? If he has any less than charitable thoughts on how nobility and the elite have treated him throughout his life- or how they treat others- he is clever enough to keep that to himself.


Opinion on piracy:
The topic of piracy came up often at Ravi's family home as a child, and he is well versed in how much the 'scourge of the seas' have cost Solas- and Coving Lines- in both money and lives. He is somewhat more pragmatic about those that pursue piracy than his peers might be. He knows that not everyone has their life handed to them on a silver spoon, and that survival can be a fight. He's even dared to express this aloud a few times. All the same, he finds excessive violence distasteful and thinks the exponential rise in piracy over the last few decades is a bad thing, if only because he has personal reasons for wanting travel across the seas to be safe and accessible.

My hopes/dreams for Ravinder:
I'll be honest- Ravi is a very new character to me, and I'm just excited to explore what's going on with him! (And with the details of his past I haven't quite figured out!) I have some vague ideas about what he's looking for out there in the wide world (maybe some sort of fountain of youth/healing he's read about in ancient texts?) but it really depends on what I learn about other characters and the lore and what sort of connections can be made. For his emotional journey, I'm hoping for him to get out of the shadow of his past- His bastard status, his uncaring family, the gossip around his marriage. He's a very genuine person and knows how to stand on his own two feet, but he definitely needs more practice at it.

 

[jones573]

lara crane

#the cook

#joani johnson

♡coded by uxie♡

content includes: reference to miscarriage

Full Name: Lara Crane
Alias: You think the two of you are close enough for nicknames?
Role: The (other) Cook
Age: 67
Place of Birth: Zenith
Face-claim: JoAni Johnson
Height: 5'4"
Eye & Hair colour: Lara has large but often inexpressive brown eyes, and silvery gray hair that she wears down straight or in a long braid when she's working. As she is almost always working, it is usually in its braid.


Personality:
Lara has been described as 'curt', 'somewhat abrasive' and even 'downright rude', and these are all correct. She might describe herself as 'minding her own business', and encourage others to do the same.

Lara has not always been as she is now, though. She used to care quite deeply about others. She still does actually, which is why she takes such great pains to not get attached to anyone these days. It's easier not to care, though she slips up more often than she'd like, especially with those she spends the most time.

Historically, Lara was an excellent judge of character, but these days she often allows her own bias to determine what she thinks of someone rather than give them a chance. She is also hardworking and methodical, and rarely deviates from her plans. She is somewhat stuck in her ways, but perhaps she might still be pried out...

Likes

• Citrus flavors.
• Working with her hands.
• The satisfaction of seeing people well fed.
• Clean and well kept spaces.

Dislikes:

• People asking her questions. About herself, about how to do something, or even what tomorrow's weather might be.
• Overly sweet things.
• Singing. She had a beautiful voice once, but has not used it in quite some time.
• Excessively wide open spaces. She tries not to spend too much time on deck, looking out at the endless sea.
• Nearly all animals, though there have been a few mousing cats she's been annoyed to be fond of over the years.
• Scholars, particularly scientists. Always meddling with what they shouldn't, in her opinion.

Fears:

• Losing people.
• The Cascades and whatever the hell goes on in that city. If the Leviathan docks there, Lara will need a damn good reason and maybe some extra pay to get her off the ship.
• Getting too attached to anything or anyone that could be taken away.
• A recurring nightmare she has where the Lowry catches fire, and she can't get out. She thought she'd stop having that dream after she sold the place, but no such luck.

Strengths:

• Very perceptive and observant, especially in social situations.
• Great cook, pretty decent baker as well. (Her skills are largely wasted on the Leviathan, and that isn't just her thinking highly of herself.)
• Managing expectations and following through. Lara never bites off more than she can chew. She'll say exactly what she thinks she can accomplish, and then does it.

Weaknesses:

• An aging body. Her knees are shot to hell- amongst other things- and her sense of hearing is going in the left ear.
• No physical defenses. She has no experience wielding weapons or being in a physical fight.
• Does not take orders well, and can be argumentative in situations where it would really be best if she wasn't.
• Charisma. Even when she was younger and considerably more naive, Lara has never had the gift of speaking eloquently. Do not expect any rousing speeches.

Spoiler: History

History:
Chop, and the fish's head goes into one basket, the body into another.

It's not that she's against telling her story. She just has no idea why you want to hear it. It's not much to tell.

If you can convince her you are just genuinely curious- no ill intentions, you promise- perhaps she'll share.

What, are you going to just sit there? Here. These potatoes need peeling.

She was born in Zenith, to a couple that owned a lodging house in a reputable if not flashy area of the city. They catered mostly to artisans, new merchants, and visiting scholars not able to find lodging within the Academy. It was not a particulary excting childhood, she will tell you. She learned to cook, to make minor repairs, to balance the books. Her parents died young, and she was in her early twenties when she was running the Lowry mostly by herself with the help of some parttime staff.

A few years later, she met the man who would become her husband, Captain Theodore Crane. He wasn't a captain at the time anymore than he was her husband yet, just another man in the city guard marching by on parade. She threw a flower into their ranks, and stifled a laugh when it landed on his face.

She won't tell you that detail.

He came back to the Lowry the next day, a boquet of those same flowers in his hand, and they were married a year later. The years went on- He got promoted, she ran the inn. Eventually, after several miscarriages, they had twins: Two identical sons.

Who taught you to peel potatos? Your blind grandmother?

The boys followed their father, and entered into military service when they came of age. They joined the ranks, and the ranks did not return them.

The fond bickering she had enjoyed with her husband turned to shouting matches. They began to sleep in seperate beds.

She won't tell you those details, either.

Very slowly, she began to grow around the grief, the abrasive edges of it sanding down with the grains of time. The Captain quit his job to join a private security detail for some minor noble family, so they might have more time together.

Maybe they could have fixed things.

Except, that minor noble family had a daughter. A precocious thing, who became the daughter the Captain had never had. Who replaced the sons they'd had.

The next fish head is severed neatly from the body, and flies across the counter, missing its basket by a good two feet.

She definitely won't tell you those details. She won't tell you that he moved on, when she could not. That she could not forgive him for the sin of leaving her behind in her heartbreak.

He moved out, and she kept running the Lowry. Ran it straight into the ground. Not financially, she'll make sure you know. But it was an old building by then, and there was only so much repairs that could be made. She sold it to someone who would rip it down and rebuild it will all the modern amenities.

Oh, give those damn potatoes back. Here, take the knife- Surely you can cut the head of a fish, can't you? An idiot could do it.

She joined a merchant's vessel, feeding the crew. Low standards for fine dining, ones she could easily meet. But the King's ship pays better, and it's much better armed. Plus, she gets to make a more varied menu. Gruel for the crew, of course, but fine fair for their privileged guests.

She'll purse her lips at you, but refrain from insulting your grandmother this time. The fact that you do not how to use the knife is implied.

Are you waiting for more? There isn't any.

And then she'll tell you the dishes need doing too, so if you are going to keep taking up room in the kitchen, at least make yourself useful.

Reputation: Lara has a slight reputation on the Leviathan, for being a good cook and a poor conversationalist. But it is unlikely anyone would have heard of her before boarding.

Why did they board The Leviathan?
Weren't you paying attention? She sold the boarding house. She needed a job. The King pays better than a private enterprise, and has a lot more cannons.

How did they get on board?
She was hired in Zenith and has been onboard this whole time. It's hardly her fault you haven't noticed her.

Faction: Lara is pretty much loyal only to herself.

Status: Lara is probably considered 'low society', as she does not have great wealth or status. However, she did not grow up poor and has rarely struggled to make ends meet.

Opinion on royalty:
Lara does not care for the royal family or for their panting little lapdogs, the nobility. They killed her boys and broke her family, and she will never forgive them that.

Opinion on piracy:
Lara doesn't like pirates, either. They killed her boys and broke her family, and she will never forgive them that.

My hopes/dreams for Lara:
Lara is a character who refuses to move into the future, or even into the present if I'm being honest. She allows her grief to guide her, and I'd like to see her find a new internal direction- Ideally, by creating some new social/emotional connections. She is a little slow to thaw, but I think she's at the point where deep-down she knows her anger isn't serving her anymore and is ready to begin caring again.

 

[q r o w]

Place Holder! Click Image !

The Frankenstein

Ayaka Takezawa

"Right? Wrong? No such things. Science has no morality."


Character Sheet Progress: 100% Complete
Accepted?: ???
Character Status: Alive

FC—Anna Sawai

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• Dismemberment Song

  Bluekid

  
  

  
  

  
  
  

  01

  name

  Ayaka Takezawa

  02

  Titles

  Razor. Medusa. Reaper.

  03

  age

  Twenty-Seven.

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  place of birth

  Empyra

  05

  Affiliation

  N/A

  06

  Status

  Outcast

  07

  occupation

  Traveling Alchemist/ "Doctor." Etc.

  08

  role

  The Frankenstein
• hair colour / style

  
  

  : Used to be long, but she’s cut it to about shoulder length recently for convenience. Dark black in color, usually a bit untidy as she cares less about keeping it neat and more on keeping it out of her face. A thing to note is an odd white streak, something she's had for as long as she can remember.
  

  eyes

  
  

  Brown eyes. Chronic eye bags. Please tell her to get some sleep. Wears glasses when reading or journaling her notes, but not much else. Though you will always find a pair of glasses and a pair of goggles on her person somewhere. Whether tucked in a bag/pocket, or on her face/head.
  

  build

  
  

  Ayaka stands at about 5'5 and has a more toned, athletic build. Weighing around 121 lbs. They are someone that sticks to workout schedules and eating routines (when not absorbed in studies/research).

  attire

  
  

  Prefers functional attire over stylish attire. Dark colors and layers to hide any ...stains... her research may leave her with. Though if asked about said stains she will give you a truth blunt answer. Business/professional like attire mixed with some more academia like flare. Always has gloves and ensure her outfits have pockets. Even if it means sewing them on herself.

  scars / markings

  
  

  Ayaka has no piercings, but she does have a tattoo on her right ribs/side in the rough shape of a snake and blooming flower. Her hips and arms carry a quite a bit of different scars, most faded. Too many small ones too mention really. Very few people know about the tattoo and Ayaka rarely ever mentions it or talks about it.

  misc info

  
  

  Always seems to be wearing gloves. Always carries a scalpel hidden on her person and her glasses and a pair of goggles.

  weight

  121 LBS

  height

  5'5
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  • virtues

    Intelligent

    Open-minded

    Decisive

    Calm

    Determined

    Intuitive
  • vices

    Ambitious

    Callousness

    Blunt

    Challenging

    Calculating

    Daring
  • likes

    Anatomy

    Word Puzzles

    Whiskey & Coffee

    Debates

    Horror Stories

    Snakes

    Newspapers

    Mystery Stories

    Studying/Research

    Cardistry (keeps her hands busy)

    Science break throughs

    Long talks about interests

    dislikes

    Stupidity/Fools

    Being Underestimated

    Needless Drama / Arguments

    Yelling

    Getting Distracted

    Sweets / Chocolate

    Romance Novels

    Comedy Novels (she often doesn't get the jokes.)

    Talking about the banishment

    Not having something to do with her hands

    People who don't knock

    Tasteless food

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
  • strengths

    Extensive knowledge of human anatomy. Has a good bit of medical knowledge though it's not her specialty. Has studied some psychology. Knows the bodies vital points and will use that knowledge in fights. Knows how to hide bodies (also knows how to grave rob bodies). Was taught some martial arts + self-defense and is not to be underestimated in a fight based on her stature. Really good at sewing. Poison connoisseur.
    

    weaknesses

    Not great at communication unless its debates or talks of research. Often freaks people out with questions about death. Doesn't understand comedy all that much. Get her started on one of her research talks and she will not stop. Her hands must be doing something otherwise she grows tense. Her personality makes her come off as insensitive. Her casual attitude about death makes people withdraw from her often. Gets absorbed in research or tasks and forgets to tend to her bodies needs. Will straight up ignore those she finds boring or that she dislikes.

    reputation

    Her most defining reputation is the "bright student failure banished from the academy". After her trial despite being proven innocent, her research methods made many uncomfortable and the verdict was made for her to be expelled. If only that had been the end. Ayaka's presence grew increasing unwelcomed in Empyra as more learned of her trial. A plethora of nicknames were thrown into gossip about her, each more exaggerated than the last. Even in the city of logic, the human heart preys of rumors and gossip. Branded as "Academy's Reaper" or "Keeper of corpses" didn't bother Ayaka. Calling her cursed for her work wasn't anything new. It was the constant road blocks people made to prevent her research, thus leaving her no choice but to leave the city behind. Almost like a quiet unspoken exile.

    fears

    Lockiophobia. Phobophobia.

    
    
    

    hobbies

    Researching, Journaling, Sketching anatomy, Debates, Collecting and cleaning knives, Cleaning her medical equipment, Cardistry, Sewing, Grave robbing(?), Dissection(?), Chemistry & Alchemy, Observing people, Taking care of Wisteria (her snake).

    
    
    
  • habits

    Muttering to herself

    Keeps her hands busy

    Wear gloves often

    Always has a scalpel hidden

    Names different bones to focus

    Blank stares at others often

  "Right? Wrong? No such things. Science has no morality."

  personality

  
  
  There is one thing no one can deny about Ayaka: her intellect. Perhaps that just part of growing up in Empyra, but even among several peers she manage to stand out in tests.
  
  Ayaka is a very methodical and logic driven person, preferring choices of the mind rather than the heart. This has caused her to rather insensitive and unempathetic to those around her. She isn't one to lie unless she absolutely has too, preferring the blunt truth over sugar-coated words. Often being taken as rude or cold-hearted by her peers.
  
  There are times where the heart wins over the logical mind, such as her seemingly illogical decision to pursue research on immortality. Something more already established or more realistic would have been the more logical choice....yet she chose an idealistic path. Once she had set her heart to the matter, there was no stopping her. She was determined to see her choice through and still is. She understand the concept of immortality is seemingly impossible, that thwarting death is a mere dream in the eyes of many. However, she isn't one to give up on a challenge, and is determined to see her research through. In her words "even if she dies before reaching the way to immortality, her research may one day be a stepping stone for someone who does." Failure is expected, and she takes it better than most intelligent minds when they hit a wall in their studies. She is able to pick herself up and move on to a new clue point in her studies.
  
  Spending more time absorbed in the latest studies or her research, there were very few times where she spoke with others. Small talk never comes easy for her. Plus Comedy? She never truly gets its most the time. The joke often needs to be explained and even then she fails to understand the point in some of the jokes. Why would the chicken have to cross the road? Is there not enough food on his side? Is he being chased by a predator? Why is the chicken even near a road? Are the kind of questions you can expect from her.
  
  Her ideas and research is viewed by many as overly ambitious and far too daring. It leaves people judgmental of her choices. Ayaka though has never been one to mind the gaze of others or words they throw at her. Nor does she return the judgement throw to her onto others. She is open-minded about people she encounters, enjoying different views or discussions into science matters or debates. A change in perspective can be eye opening for future studies after all.
  
  A thing Ayaka truly hates in someone is stubborn ignorance and stupidity. She can understand ignorance to some degree but being stubborn about it and refusing to learn is just stupidity in another form in her eyes. Closed off minds stuck in a certain way are often a breaking point for her calm personality. Often showing visual disgust in what is normally a rather unexpressive face. It will get to the point she straight up ignores such people when they speak to her. Being underestimated is another thing she hates. On one hand she enjoys the challenge of proving others wrong, but on the other she hates not being taken seriously. No matter what reason they give.
  
  Ayaka will almost always act on her minds intuition. She gets a feeling about something she's gonna act on it. While maybe not so much impulsive, it is certainly daring to trust instincts than to think first. She plans as she goes and always has back up plans should she encounter something unexpected.
  
  Finally Ayaka doesn't really have a sense of morality. She understand the view most people have, but to her anything that can further her research is on the table. Often....literally. From taking corpses from graves to taking the freshly departed from killers who trusted her to keep it secret. There hasn't been mush thought on what she was doing be wrong. She does however have a rule book. Other than the dead, one must be aware of what she is doing and consenting to it should they volunteer for her work. She isn't sure if this rule if out of morals or something else. It is however, her first rule she has ever given herself and she stands by it.
  
  
• Birth of a star

  The cursed student of Empyra’s prestigious academy. A cautionary tale to children not to stray from the righteous path. That is what could be said of Ayaka’s story in the eyes of most of her fellow peers in Empyra. Though the truth is shrouded in a web of entangled gossip making her seem worse than she was.
  
  Born to two very upstanding doctors within Empyra, Ayaka had quite a path carved from her from birth. Everyone expected her to be just as brilliant as her parents. Maybe to even take up the field of medicine just like her parents. A lot was expected of the young child, who had only just begun to learn how to breathe.
  
  Growing up under her parent’s guidance had her pulled in several directions at once. One had encouraged her to focus on being happy, the others expected results. As she grew to come into an age where she could read, she was thrown into studies. Mathematics to language, science to cultural art. Her parents wanted her well equipped for Empyra’s academic structure. Exams happen all the time after all and often one's fate could be decided by one mistake.
  
  Perhaps to them, they viewed it hitting some genetic jackpot. Ayaka did seem like some sort of knowledge sponge. To Ayaka, she saw that some subjects were easy to study, and the ones that weren’t made her want to study it more. If there was something she loved as a child it was a challenge. The more tough something was to grasp, the more she desired to learn about it.
  
  

  The star veers to it's own path

  If there was one flaw to point out about Ayaka, it was her lack of attention to her peers. She had little care for the political games and social life of Empyra even as a child. Her parents tried getting her to interact with kids of their same status to in a sense help ‘secure’ her position. As if that would help her should she ever fall victim to a mistake during an exam. Ayaka however would always pull away from others after a few exchanged greetings, hiding away with her latest topic to study.
  
  There was one person who got her and stood by her side. Her younger sister. In a way Hisako was Ayaka’s grounding force keeping her in the realm of reality. Otherwise she would have been lost in her endless books. Despite being younger than Ayaka, Hisako found navigating social situations far more natural than Ayaka.
  
  The two were attached to the hip, you rarely saw one without the other. Ayaka always helped Hisako with things she got stuck on and Hisako always helped Ayaka escape the tense battle field of social interaction. Ayaka would have preferred things to stay that way, Hisako fell ill.
  
  Something struck the young girl who already seemed so frail. It didn’t take long for her condition to deteriorate. Despite their parents being revered as gifted doctors, they couldn’t find out what was wrong with their youngest child. All efforts and attempts to better Hisako’s condition were in vain and the child succumbed to her illness.
  
  Ayaka was only 15.
  
  There is a difference in knowing the concept of death and being faced with it as it takes someone so close. For a while it made her heart bitter. Filled with such emotion she could not explain even if she tried. She blamed her parents for failing to save her sister, even though she knew they too were grieving the loss of their youngest daughter. Pushing away her parents left her with one coping mechanism. Drowning herself in her hobby, something she found comfort in: studying. The bitterness moved its pointed edge towards medicine as a whole rather than her parents after a few months. It was around this time she picked up an interesting book that brought forth a concept that would change her entire life’s path: Immortality.
  
  With more conviction than a 15 yr old should have, she announced to her parents she wouldn’t study medicine and would take up her own field. When she told them what they had interrogated, what prompted such an irrational choice.
  
  Was it because she feared death after what happened to her sister? Did she fear death would come for her too?
  
  Her answer was given with the same conviction: Medicine failed Hisako. I can’t bring her back, but there’s a chance I can prevent anyone from losing a loved one again.
  
  Shocked, whether by her answer or by the conviction she showed, her parents ended up relenting. Simply giving up knowing there was no stopping her choice. Any further interference would just push their last daughter further away.
  
  
  
  

  The collapse of the Star

  After that point her life was relatively “quiet” for a while until her acceptance into the academy. (college basically?)
  Given more resources to use and learn from, her studies began to come to fruition and as she became more vocal about her choice, the other students often gave her odd looks. Gossip flooded the halls with her name on most people’s lips. It became the start of her infamously poor reputation.
  
  Still not much else came of it. The whispers faded out as new more interesting things came to talk about and she kept studying in peace.
  
  During her time in the academy there were some more positive notes to her name. Research papers she published from her research that were sometimes stepping stones for other fields. While she was really never publicly praised, you could say people did keep an eye out for what the academy’s oddball published next.
  
  It was around the age of 25 did she become more obsessed with the darker aspects in her research. Examining the dead. Of course it was hard to get anyone to offer up a loved one that had passed on for her research…..so she did what any “logical” pursuer of science would do when they needed something. Take it. In her case? Grave robbing. This is what spiraled her reputation further. No one really wanted to associate with someone rumored to be taking corpses from graves. No matter how good of a paper she published, her reputation was sealed with her choice unless she made some mind-breaking breakthrough in her dedicated research.
  
  Time goes by and while she still publishes different papers, sometimes even articles pointing out flaws in others research, she doesn’t manage to make any explosive breakthrough.
  
  She was 27 when some group barged into her lab, caught with a corpse on the table. That wasn’t what shocked the intruders. It was the fact that the man on the table was thought to be alive and missing that shocked them. The word murderer was upon every person's tongue and every newspaper’s headline.
  
  Accused of a murder, Ayaka faced a relentless trial that lasted for far longer than it should have. By the end of it the truth came out. She wasn’t the murder and proved her innocence, however in doing so she revealed she had been working with killers and “disposing” of evidence and bodies for them in an odd contract of keeping silent for them and they supplied bodies for her research. That was all the public needed to finally fan the flames of her already infamous reputation. Public opinions swayed her trial's verdict. Despite her innocence she was expelled and barred from the academy. Her innocence from the murder only saved her from imprisonment.
  
  Her every move became strictly watched. Every time she appeared outside her home whispers and names followed. Some were creative, some not so much. She had effectively become ostracized from society as a whole. Her parents faced pressure from this as well. Thus she made the decision to leave Empyra entirely to continue her research and study elsewhere. She told her parents to say they denounced her in a note she wrote to them and left the city. A silent unspoken banishment from its borders as she knew she would never be welcomed back.
  
  In hopes of gaining new perspectives she decided traveling would be the best. Claiming to be a traveling alchemist to a doctor, to a science professor. She's taken on any job she could to blend in from place to place, never staying too long. Her reputation didn’t seem to follow her from Empyra. But staying in one place left a tense feeling. She couldn’t seem to settle for long. When she heard of the Leviathans voyage she managed to get passage just barely and that's where her new story begins.
  
  
• gallery

  character name

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  character name

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  character name

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  character name

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left

right

coded by natasha.

 

[Bumblebeee]

BIIIIIG WIP

like wildflowers; you must allow yourself to grow in all the places people thought you never would

Cleo Lysarius

The Untried

001

002

003

004

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 001
  basics

  STAT HERE

  STAT HERE

  STAT HERE

  STAT HERE

  STAT HERE

  name

  Clementine Lysarius

  gender and sexuality

  Cis Female, Homosexual

  nickname

  Cleo

  age

  Twenty five (25)

  Class

  answer here

  place of birth

  Rhesson, a small town about an hour from Valdioro

  appearance

  height

  5'07"

  Face-claim

  alycia debnam-carey

  Hair color

  brown

  Eye color

  brown

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer turpis lacus, tristique eget odio quis, viverra varius magna. Ut ullamcorper auctor nisl, luctus molestie felis ullamcorper sed. Donec nec nibh bibendum, pharetra nunc sed, placerat purus. Nulla a ligula lobortis, condimentum lacus eu, efficitur justo. Donec vitae volutpat odio, sed tincidunt enim. Suspendisse at ante sit amet libero blandit dapibus non in turpis. Vestibulum pharetra feugiat lacus a pulvinar. Nullam eget hendrerit dolor, vitae sagittis lacus. Vestibulum lacinia ex et lectus porta iaculis. Suspendisse interdum a nunc vitae egestas. Aliquam dignissim hendrerit leo sit amet sagittis. Vivamus eget ipsum vitae tellus facilisis aliquet. Mauris elementum eu diam id vestibulum.
  
  Etiam eleifend metus nisi, ac laoreet nibh tincidunt id. In vel auctor magna, nec porta arcu. Morbi eget mattis justo. Fusce vitae auctor erat, at ullamcorper mauris. Ut pharetra vitae eros sed ornare. Quisque in malesuada elit. Nunc at malesuada turpis. Pellentesque at leo congue, faucibus lorem nec, mollis est.

  personality

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer turpis lacus, tristique eget odio quis, viverra varius magna. Ut ullamcorper auctor nisl, luctus molestie felis ullamcorper sed. Donec nec nibh bibendum, pharetra nunc sed, placerat purus. Nulla a ligula lobortis, condimentum lacus eu, efficitur justo. Donec vitae volutpat odio, sed tincidunt enim. Suspendisse at ante sit amet libero blandit dapibus non in turpis. Vestibulum pharetra feugiat lacus a pulvinar. Nullam eget hendrerit dolor, vitae sagittis lacus. Vestibulum lacinia ex et lectus porta iaculis. Suspendisse interdum a nunc vitae egestas. Aliquam dignissim hendrerit leo sit amet sagittis. Vivamus eget ipsum vitae tellus facilisis aliquet. Mauris elementum eu diam id vestibulum.
  
  Etiam eleifend metus nisi, ac laoreet nibh tincidunt id. In vel auctor magna, nec porta arcu. Morbi eget mattis justo. Fusce vitae auctor erat, at ullamcorper mauris. Ut pharetra vitae eros sed ornare. Quisque in malesuada elit. Nunc at malesuada turpis. Pellentesque at leo congue, faucibus lorem nec, mollis est.
• 002
  background

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer turpis lacus, tristique eget odio quis, viverra varius magna. Ut ullamcorper auctor nisl, luctus molestie felis ullamcorper sed. Donec nec nibh bibendum, pharetra nunc sed, placerat purus. Nulla a ligula lobortis, condimentum lacus eu, efficitur justo. Donec vitae volutpat odio, sed tincidunt enim. Suspendisse at ante sit amet libero blandit dapibus non in turpis. Vestibulum pharetra feugiat lacus a pulvinar. Nullam eget hendrerit dolor, vitae sagittis lacus. Vestibulum lacinia ex et lectus porta iaculis. Suspendisse interdum a nunc vitae egestas. Aliquam dignissim hendrerit leo sit amet sagittis. Vivamus eget ipsum vitae tellus facilisis aliquet. Mauris elementum eu diam id vestibulum.
  
  Etiam eleifend metus nisi, ac laoreet nibh tincidunt id. In vel auctor magna, nec porta arcu. Morbi eget mattis justo. Fusce vitae auctor erat, at ullamcorper mauris. Ut pharetra vitae eros sed ornare. Quisque in malesuada elit. Nunc at malesuada turpis. Pellentesque at leo congue, faucibus lorem nec, mollis est.
• 003
  supernatural powers

  Ability One

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer turpis lacus, tristique eget odio quis, viverra varius magna. Ut ullamcorper auctor nisl, luctus molestie felis ullamcorper sed. Donec nec nibh bibendum, pharetra nunc sed, placerat purus. Nulla a ligula lobortis, condimentum lacus eu, efficitur justo. Donec vitae volutpat odio, sed tincidunt enim. Suspendisse at ante sit amet libero blandit dapibus non in turpis. Vestibulum pharetra feugiat lacus a pulvinar. Nullam eget hendrerit dolor, vitae sagittis lacus. Vestibulum lacinia ex et lectus porta iaculis. Suspendisse interdum a nunc vitae egestas. Aliquam dignissim hendrerit leo sit amet sagittis. Vivamus eget ipsum vitae tellus facilisis aliquet. Mauris elementum eu diam id vestibulum.
  
  Etiam eleifend metus nisi, ac laoreet nibh tincidunt id. In vel auctor magna, nec porta arcu. Morbi eget mattis justo. Fusce vitae auctor erat, at ullamcorper mauris. Ut pharetra vitae eros sed ornare. Quisque in malesuada elit. Nunc at malesuada turpis. Pellentesque at leo congue, faucibus lorem nec, mollis est.

  Ability Two

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer turpis lacus, tristique eget odio quis, viverra varius magna. Ut ullamcorper auctor nisl, luctus molestie felis ullamcorper sed. Donec nec nibh bibendum, pharetra nunc sed, placerat purus. Nulla a ligula lobortis, condimentum lacus eu, efficitur justo. Donec vitae volutpat odio, sed tincidunt enim. Suspendisse at ante sit amet libero blandit dapibus non in turpis. Vestibulum pharetra feugiat lacus a pulvinar. Nullam eget hendrerit dolor, vitae sagittis lacus. Vestibulum lacinia ex et lectus porta iaculis. Suspendisse interdum a nunc vitae egestas. Aliquam dignissim hendrerit leo sit amet sagittis. Vivamus eget ipsum vitae tellus facilisis aliquet. Mauris elementum eu diam id vestibulum.
  
  Etiam eleifend metus nisi, ac laoreet nibh tincidunt id. In vel auctor magna, nec porta arcu. Morbi eget mattis justo. Fusce vitae auctor erat, at ullamcorper mauris. Ut pharetra vitae eros sed ornare. Quisque in malesuada elit. Nunc at malesuada turpis. Pellentesque at leo congue, faucibus lorem nec, mollis est.

  weapons

  Equip 1

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer turpis lacus, tristique eget odio quis, viverra varius magna. Ut ullamcorper auctor nisl, luctus molestie felis ullamcorper sed. Donec nec nibh bibendum, pharetra nunc sed, placerat purus. Nulla a ligula lobortis, condimentum lacus eu, efficitur justo. Donec vitae volutpat odio, sed tincidunt enim. Suspendisse at ante sit amet libero blandit dapibus non in turpis. Vestibulum pharetra feugiat lacus a pulvinar. Nullam eget hendrerit dolor, vitae sagittis lacus. Vestibulum lacinia ex et lectus porta iaculis. Suspendisse interdum a nunc vitae egestas. Aliquam dignissim hendrerit leo sit amet sagittis. Vivamus eget ipsum vitae tellus facilisis aliquet. Mauris elementum eu diam id vestibulum.
  
  Etiam eleifend metus nisi, ac laoreet nibh tincidunt id. In vel auctor magna, nec porta arcu. Morbi eget mattis justo. Fusce vitae auctor erat, at ullamcorper mauris. Ut pharetra vitae eros sed ornare. Quisque in malesuada elit. Nunc at malesuada turpis. Pellentesque at leo congue, faucibus lorem nec, mollis est.
• 004
  extra

  Likes

  Item one, Item two, Item three, Item four, Etc

  Dislikes

  Item one, Item two, Item three, Item four, Etc

  001.

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer turpis lacus, tristique eget odio quis, viverra varius magna. Ut ullamcorper auctor nisl, luctus molestie felis ullamcorper sed.

  002.

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer turpis lacus, tristique eget odio quis, viverra varius magna. Ut ullamcorper auctor nisl, luctus molestie felis ullamcorper sed.

  003.

  Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Integer turpis lacus, tristique eget odio quis, viverra varius magna. Ut ullamcorper auctor nisl, luctus molestie felis ullamcorper sed.

code by @Nano

 

[Shadow]

The Drowned

full name

Romello Tova Kahnell

Alias

Toska

Age

26

Role

The Drowned

Place of Birth

Zenith

Faction

None

Status

Former Royalty, can no longer claim a particular place in society

style

Face-claim

Matteo Martari

Height

6'1

Eye and Hair Color

Dark brown eyes conceal a slight olive hue, while wavy hair falls in equally dark strands without anything to reveal when sunlit.

Build

Carried by a posture of practiced dignity, it is difficult to mistake Romello for anything other than the treasured son of nobility. Athletic talent compliments the grace of a dancer, but he has never, of course, borne muscles that would slant an assumption toward heavy labor. Equally aesthetically pleasing and practical, Romello's broad chest and shoulders are given proportion by his long legs, lending an air of quick-footed sturdiness.

Toska has a subdued way of moving, as if each step could be misplaced and too tall a posture might be found offensive. Though he still bears the fluidity of hard-learned talents, his body is weakened by circumstance and seems to defy any familiarity he tries to establish with it.

Distinguishing Features

Adorning his left shoulder was a blue-ink tattoo, once designed with a mind for easy concealment and the eternal devotion of childish friendship. The tattoo now presents itself toward being entirely forgotten, as the path of a blade has written over it: whether that injury was intentional or not remains a difficult thing to discern.
The other scars on his body cannot be more than six months old, and all seem to reflect a lack of proper medical attention.

All visible parts of the man are well-manicured, suggesting a pampered upbringing that infected his tendencies and shaped him around the importance, the inevitability, of being perceived. A hair is never out of place, his posture never slouches, and no blemish is left uncovered.

Tossed into obscurity and the sea, his skin has been burned by the sun, hair tousled beyond appeal, and hollowed eyes seem devoid of any facade. Though hints remain of the touch of luxury that used to swaddle him, he could just as easily be mistaken for a man who has never known comfort.

La révolution

Saycet

req.

req.

Yet the only shame I find is I have left oblivion

Romello had a natural ease in carrying out whatever was requested of him, with an ability to leverage knowledge to his advantage, as any good Royal must to gain an honored reputation. The successes of his adulthood afforded him a sense of infallibility, hubris that overcame enough challenges to become his perfect answer to any obstacle. He was not quite charming, but made himself charismatic and eloquent enough for it not to matter. An expert handler of conversation, he was rarely put out of his comfort zone and only held enough imagination for scheming his way through the present moment. He wasn't taken with dreams or hopes, but held steady on the path before him and took satisfaction from excelling at it.

Toska is a reflection of the world as he sees it, easily influenced by the things he's experiencing as if for the first time. His manner is not childish, but void, betraying his newness to the world in each hesitation, every flicker of surprise across his tired face for yet another lesson learned without desiring it.
He has a gentle, reserved manner, yet bears an expressiveness with a traitor's tendency toward the pattern of thoughts in his mind; often rendering them rather painfully visible to anyone in eyeshot.

Toska thinks often of himself, how to conduct each motion and speak each word, knowing despite it all that there must be some natural manner he could rediscover if he tries on every persona, tests them all for familiarity.
Why he seeks his past, he isn't entirely sure, and grows even less so by the day. There is a haunted spectre in every night's dream, and it promises nothing except the usual gifts of ghosts: the betrayals they seek recompense for, or perhaps an atonement for the treasons they themselves carried out. His desires are laced with despair, and he lives each day as an isolated scene in a play, hoping to find finality in the daily curtain close over fraught new memories of navigating a world where every face is a stranger.

Toska reaches ever more hopelessly toward the composure he hopes to have carried once, and marks each source of naivety as a burden to remedy. On occasion, he recognizes something that seems a part of himself and clings to it, in spite of the foul taste it leaves in his mouth. With peace being a rarity in his days and nights, Toska seems perpetually stressed and tired, but then again, chasing mist does wonders for building an appetite for things more tangible.
Toska is the sort of person whose ambition is constantly forced toward the journey, as the destination twists and corrupts itself into something that cannot be aspired for.

Habits

Romello Toska is known to place particular care on hygiene and grooming, with a strong distaste for getting his hands or clothing dirty. This leads to some repetitive behaviors, easily noted, such as washing his hands often, compulsively brushing his hair back from his face, and straightening wrinkles from his clothes. He may also pause by mirrors and other reflective surfaces to check his appearance, though the distant look in his eyes at those times doesn't quite align with vanity.

Without conscious memory to work from, Toska has a hesitance within many mannerisms that could otherwise be completely reasonable. Reading and speaking are particularly likely to cause his movements to slow and a haze to enter his eyes, betraying his concern toward doing things "properly" and checking his instincts twice before acting.

Strengths

- Curious and open-minded as anyone going through life for the first time might be, Toska gives fair and careful consideration to all options presented to him.
- He still carries the strength and elegance of a dancer, a treasured instinct that remains intact. While the physical memory of swordplay is equally stuck within him, those experiences were limited to polite sparring and technique, rather than practical application.
- The memory of lying skillfully has also returned to him, and he willingly feigns ignorance when it may be to his advantage.
- Similarly, he is a perceptive conversationalist, capable of speaking with concealed intention to unveil the goals of his opponents and leverage them to his own purposes (unfortunately, he has lost the motivating factor of having goals of his own).

Weaknesses

- Toska does not know many of the things that might be useful, or even crucial, for an independent adult in the world to know. He is constantly learning, second-guessing himself, and seeking old knowledge that may no longer be relevant for him to know.
- He can be trusted to know nothing of anyone's reputation, building an impression of people based solely on the things they reveal to him and nothing else. A blank slate, given meaning by others' writing, his wariness is unlikely to save him from being a pawn if the tale is convincing enough.
- Hesitant to act, yet unfamiliar with making apologies, he is likely to fall into awkward and poor manners when something ruptures his veneer of competence.
- As memories slowly begin their return, his sense of obligation may become a burden he no longer wishes to carry. Toska is naive in many ways, but he still knows better than to extend his loyalty recklessly.

Reputation

Romello was a charming bachelor of the King's court, yet held enough distance between himself and all others to ensure that duty authored control over passion. His past diplomatic efforts and business savvy had not gone unnoticed, so it is only natural that his retreat from Royal circles has incurred some intrigue. Few dare to ask questions or presume any cause too confidently, but gossip has not yet run its course.
And yet, it won't be long before his name fades into blurry memory, for high society moves quickly and waits for no one.

Opinion toward Royalty

A slight indiscretion in his youth gave Romello the only taste he needed of bitterness toward the Crown. For many years, his opinion was compelled most willingly toward favor and respect for his King. By nature of all his experiences, Romello believed the power of Royalty might be the only salvation that could keep the world in motion.

Toska has no opinion toward Royalty.

Opinion toward Piracy

Piracy, to Romello's mind, being both good and bad for business, became simply another variable to consider in any worldly pursuit that crossed the seas. He would comfortably sympathize with nobility who had lost valued property to pirates, but from the delicate language of courtly negotiations, Romello molded a savvy twin to his advantage during sparring matches of wit with less savory partners, to prosperous effect.

Toska has no opinion toward piracy.

likes

Unique fashions, dancing, and skillfully cooked foods still appeal to Toska in some half-remembered way, but the call of the ocean waves has captured his fascination and tainted any feelings of attraction with fear and uncertainty.

dislikes

Toska has an instinctive discomfort with having dirty hands.
He will go to great lengths to avoid reading out loud or around others, and becomes withdrawn in conversations where he seems to be lacking important information.
For many things, he is, as yet, unaware of his own feelings.

Fears

A taut wire connects Toska's fear of living without a sense of self or purpose to his fear of regaining his life, only to find it isn't worth returning to.
The sense that his loyalty has lost its direction just adds to the fear that he is unworthy of this second attempt at a life, just as he must have been undeserving of the memories he lost from the first.

Hobbies

Romello was a skilled dancer and sword-fighter, generally enjoying any activities that involved physical movement rather than the tedium of socializing and paperwork. He also engaged in many of the activities appropriate to a young royal at court, including poetry, hunting, playing piano, horse-back riding, reading, and attending social gatherings.

Toska doesn't know of any activities that he might find enjoyable to engage in.

Headcannons

- Occasionally found in a mutual feud with his body, Toska has a touch of a stammer, particularly when he is nervous or taken by surprise. This can lead to him blushing or tearing up a little, and at a certain point, the only option he can think of is to walk away and hope he never sees the person again.
- With that in mind, he will avoid conflict at any and all costs, but may be willing to make a single attempt to help resolve conflict between others.
- Can be found staring out into the sea at any time of the day or night, and won't immediately notice someone calling out or approaching him.
- After nightmare-ridden nights, Toska will refuse to sleep until the point of absolute exhaustion in an effort to keep himself from dreaming again. Though the flashes of memory don't occur every night, their incomprehensible nature often turns his stomach against letting himself fall unconscious.

- Has mastered the arts of: staring off into the middle-distance; assuming a defensive posture during conversation; missing the point but nodding wisely; having an hours' long delay before coming up with a response or understanding a punchline.

(His brush with death flipped a little switch in his brain, and now, he's not quite hungry for adrenaline, but the sensation of death breathing down his neck? Yes, this is fine, thanks.)

pers.

pers.

The Golden Spoon

Born as the first son, Romello was bathed in every generosity of wealth and status afforded by his father, Marquess Orpheus Kahnell. Bearing eventual responsibility for an estate that bordered the sea, trade and business ventures were the prime focus of all schooling from his earliest days of youth.
A serious, studious child soon morphed into an audacious and intrepid youth, who took every opportunity to flout his father's wishes: with all measures of secrecy, of course.
Somewhere within him, his sensitive soul had not yet come to terms with the complexity of the world, and he still respected the way of things too much to defy them openly.

It was a kind, energetic friend in his boarding school days who walked with him as he learned how to sneak out in the late night hours, to wander the streets without catching the attention of guards, and to paint rather lewd messages on the city walls proclaiming the King to be unfit as a ruler.
Aurora Phieral didn't know much about anarchy, but the two royal youths would talk to each other and the stars for long hours, imagining how much better the world might be with the freedom to travel and curse and wear undignified clothing, to speak with disrespect when it felt right and to offer respect only by choice.

They had discovered rebellion and romanticism, as if for the first time in all of humanity: yet, that very art form had already been carefully prohibited from all curriculum at their prestigious school.
To their demise, their escapades were uncovered by royal guards before anyone else.

By the King's mercy, Romello was recalled immediately to his father's estate and given a single opportunity to demonstrate his remorse. Without hesitation, or any viable alternative, Romello quickly committed himself to enduring the strict schedule and surveillance from tutors and his father, who re-asserted the acceptable behaviors, manners, and thoughts of a Royal son.

Unbeknownst to him, Aurora was quickly named villainess by his own parents, and her family, already leaning heavily on the King's mercy for other misfortunes, fell entirely from the light of Zenith.

The Fall From Grace

Romello was not, as it turned out, resistant to the fate laid out before him, having experienced such a stern reminder of its inevitability in his youth.
He soon recalled the serious, dutiful path of his early childhood and grew into a young man who harbored no thoughts of wavering from grace again.
His academic years passed quickly in routines and obligations and learning, which neither sparked his imagination nor humored it whenever it arose on its own.

Without the freedom to author his own life, Romello disappeared into the role set upon him, and put considerable effort into proving himself as both a Kingsman and an asset to his family.
The only obligation he evaded was marriage to a suitable partner, but he more than made up for it with his willingness to go to great lengths to accomplish any task set out for him: negotiating trade deals, wooing any unreliable nobles toward more stable ground, bargaining with pirate crews, and quietly removing any indiscretions that might otherwise have shattered reputations or caused concern among the King's subjects.
Romello had made himself valuable, but it only served as atonement for his youthful misdeeds as long as trust went unbroken and new mistakes went unmade.

Despite his careful and skillful navigation through courtly endeavors, Romello had failed to suspect the intentions of two people he had deemed worthy of close counsel, and in turn, became the unwitting conspirator of his own downfall once more.

The first was a friend he had met when he initially entered the Royal courts as an adult: someone who had seemed to offer nothing but well-intentioned advice, yet her mask had finally slipped and the pleasantries proved themselves hollow. She revealed her role as a watchful eye, monitoring the status of his loyalty on behalf of the Crown, when she brought a report of the spy Romello had harbored to the King.

A classmate from Romello's time at Zenith Academy, the other betrayer had similarly appeared to serve him well in the years that followed, yet beneath his mask lay indecipherable loyalties; whether to greed, the Stygian Order, some lesser thieving crew, or selfish desires alone, it mattered not.
The result of the betrayal was costly either way, bringing low the Kahnell name and one of the King's prized investments.

In the night after the snapping shut of the spy's careful trap, Romello Kahnell quickly found himself rendered a traitor by the claim of disguised intentions or such gross negligence that it could be naught but an indication of prior hateful sentiments toward the Crown, and the second son of Kahnell was called upon at once to take his stead.

Unworthy of the light of Zenith, Romello was swept away while all reasonable folk slept, boarding a ship under escort to be thrown upon some hostile shore befitting his apparent low character.

Tarnished Beyond Recognition

Content warning: vague physical violence, murder

With the path removed from his feet, Romello's shock sent him reeling haplessly into the beguiling arms of Antares, where alcohol and gambling offered the only sensations of comfort he could find an escape within.
In spite of his years negotiating all manner of deals and arrangements with such people as he now drank beside, Romello, in his grief, made himself an easy target for the schemes and traps that had ensnared many a tragic noble son.
He lived by any means necessary, and never knew the reason for it: dancing along the line of death with only an animal's instinct to avoid stepping over it.

Though he could only hope against being the subject of a familiar gaze, one did find him: robbed of their innocence and optimism, Aurora's eyes pierced into his and recognized that, after all this time, her own misfortune had found its way into Romello's fate as well.
And, by all appearances, he wasn't handling it very well.

Where revenge and hatred might have been, Aurora's kindness (or perhaps, her guilt) extended protection to Romello, as she was now more of a warrior than she ever could have dreamt in her rebellious youth.
Though she resisted intervening in Romello's reckless ways, she opened her home to him and kept up a distant guard over him as he drunkenly wandered from tavern to tavern each night. She knew, from experience as much as anything, that he had made himself vulnerable to unsavory intentions, and she found it impossible to abandon him.

Romello barely marked the passage of each day, so his chance of seeing the bad luck approaching was even more distant.
When he was set upon by a crew of bandits, hungry for ransom or revenge, it was only Aurora's sharp oversight that stood between him and them.
He tried to sober up, to clench his useless hand around a sword hilt, while she fought for both of their lives, but the thread connecting the two was cursed, rotted, and her name died on his lips just before her heart had throbbed its last.

Romello was dragged away in shambles, sobered up all too late by her loss, and not a little by the pain dealt out by his captors. He was brought out to the turmoil of ocean waves as they became sickening, the world a fickle blur that seemed bent entirely on tormenting his unglued mind.
If death would take him now, he could only imagine it to be a mercy.

A mercy...

But the sea was disinclined to accept such pitiful resignation.

Father

Orpheus Kahnell

Orpheus was a stern, opinionated man who made his expectations for his eldest son clear at every turn. Their relationship was not quite contentious, but was nearly transactional in nature, with Romello's eventual status and successes at court contributing to the strength of their bond more than anything else.

Childhood Friend

Aurora Phieral

Once a pupil in the same school as Romello, Aurora's stubborn liveliness brought an infectious energy to the stiff etiquette of the only world he had known. When their mischievous antics were discovered by the King's guards, the daughter of lesser nobility was the easier scapegoat, and it was claimed that she tainted Romello's mind with talk of anarchy.
Walking separate lives for many years, the two were reunited after Romello's fall from grace, but her own kindness (perhaps, guilt) became her downfall when she died trying to protect him in Antares.

Mother

Indra Tova

A rather distant figure in Romello's life, Indra spent any time she could at her ancestral home with her own parents, due to the unhappy dynamic of her relationship with Orpheus. She would visit Romello at his school when she could and held genuine affection for her firstborn son, but she preferred the freedom she was granted in raising the younger children who weren't expected to inherit the Kahnell name and fortune.

Why did they board The Leviathan?

Toska required transportation off of grey sands, and had no reason to refuse the help of strangers, without a path of his own to follow.

How did they get on board?

Toska received assistance from the crew and passengers of the Leviathan when he was stranded. While he does not hold a ticket or money to pay for his fare, his boarding was no secret.

Extras

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♡coded by uxie♡

 

[parhelion]

• ◇◆◇
• CS

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  Sergei "Nemo" Valencia

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  # the marionette

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  # lucas tønnesen
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  
  
  tw: religious trauma, mental illness, scars & gore, medical experimentations​
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  the marionette.

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  scroll

  
  

  NEMO

  
  
  
  

  hehe

  
  

  
  
  
  

  ㅎㅎ

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  01.

  
  

  full name

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Sergei Valencia

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  02.

  
  

  alias

  
  

  
  
  
  

  Nemo (preferred name)

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  03.

  
  

  role

  
  

  
  
  
  

  the marionette

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  04.

  
  

  gender

  
  

  
  
  
  

  demiboy [he/they]

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  05.

  
  

  age

  
  

  
  
  
  

  23

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  06.

  
  

  sexuality

  
  

  
  
  
  

  queer. questioning. aesthetic attraction to brunettes. male lean.

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  07.

  
  

  place of birth

  
  

  
  
  
  

  the cascades

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  08.

  
  

  faction

  
  

  
  
  
  

  covenant of aethera (previously)

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  

  
  

  09.

  
  

  status

  
  

  
  
  
  

  outcast (currently), high society (formerly)

  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  
  

  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  
  

  • .
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  • .

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    si sol deficit, respicit me nemo.

    
    
    
    

    if the sun is gone, nobody looks at me.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
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    visage

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    height

    
    

    5'9

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    hair colour

    
    

    ash blonde

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    eye colour

    
    

    topaz-brown, gold in the right light

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Appearance

    
    

    Nemo is a feverish, unassuming thing. They try their hardest to not be noticed, generally sticking to neutral tones and black for clothing, often hiding beneath hoods and masks. His short hair is a pale, ash-blonde, with a fringe that frequently falls to hide their eyes. Their build is slight, but they are a bit more muscled than they might seem at first glance, owing to years of wildly climbing up to all the heights that they really shouldn’t. Their skin is pale and pallid, generally leaving them with a bit of a disoriented look. Constant experimentation has left them with patches of darkened, corrupted veins across their flesh, particularly visible on their cheeks and by their eyes. Insomnia has left them with deep, dark circles beneath their topaz eyes also, adding to the general feverish disorientation vibes. Their flesh is marred by various scars from years as a science dummy, though most are kept hidden beneath long sleeves and shirts.
    
    tl;dr: ash-blond hair, topaz eyes, dark corrupted veins, scars, sleeper build.
    
    FC: Lucas Lynggaard Tønnesen
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    Malady

    
    

    Since they were young, Nemo was never quite… right. Never quite fully lucid, afflicted with an odd mental neuroticism that thoroughly defined how they interacted and saw the world. Perhaps it was simply the cost of their "gift", the price of the divinity they were told they carried. But when the stars "spoke", their voices were always too loud, drowning out Nemo’s own voice in their mind. They heard things that weren't there, saw the world differently, in shadows and shapes and rushing noises.
    
    The Covenant of Aethera believes that sickness is pre-destined, and as such, potential assistance that could maybe have relieved the symptoms of Nemo’s malady before it was too late was not provided; a key factor which may have led to their mind snapping and the ‘loss’ of any useful prophetic abilities they may have had. Think of it as like a broken radio frequency: a constant, static buzzing noise is present at the edges of his senses consistently. Occasionally the strain of this constant noise will allow it to short itself out and allow for a moment of peace, but more often becomes an overstimulating presence which makes it hard for them to remain wholly lucid.
    
    Other symptoms includes a constant rapid pulse, tremors, paleness, numbness in their chest, hypersensitivity to stimuli, psychomotor agitation, auditory hallucinations and insomnia. It also features frequent disassociation and depersonalization episodes, leading them to often feel detached from themselves and their actions, or to feel that nothing is actually real. The constant experimentation at the hands of Melchior does not seem to help this; disassociation has become one of their safe ways to survive in the world around them.
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
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    persona

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    "Life, although it may only be an accumulation of anguish, is dear to me, and I will defend it. I am thy creature and I will be even mild and docile to my natural lord and king, if thou wilt also perform thy part, the which thou owest me—"
    
    To get a saint, two things must be done: convince them of the existence of sin, and then of the inherent need to purify it. Nemo is what culminates when rot is said to be insidious and devotion is said to bring redemption, even if the cost of it eats oneself alive. They are a lamb who will willingly lay themselves down upon the altar and call the pain borne of their sacrifice love. They are the puppet who constricts, desperately, beneath broken strings for the hint of purpose such an act provides. They are a star, burnt out long before they ever got the chance to truly shine, who has formed a truly complicated twisted devotion to a chance to burn.
    
    Nemo often isn't fully lucid, nor can they be said to be completely "sane", a result of their malady's strain on their mind. But nevertheless, they understand and live by two important, indomitable things which have shaped their worldview: 1. They are sick, and 2. They are a sin.
    
    To deny the rulings of the celestial is to deny absolution. Nemo knows this intimately well, because it is what they have done. It is what they continue to do. It is the fatal hypocrisy they hold close to their heart, the war against their own innate faith: they want to live, even if they are a sin. They show this weakness in other ways: by loving all the things that hurt them, as if the self-destruction can satiate their own internal guilt. The stars. The pain. The scalpels.
    
    Fortunately, they have never been comfortable in their own skin, so Melchior cannot not take this from them (though, they would try to give even that, if asked)
    
    "—Oh, Frankenstein, be not equitable to every other and trample upon me alone, to whom thy justice, and even thy clemency and affection, is most due. Remember that I am thy creature, I ought to by thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel whom thou drivest from joy for no misdeed."
    quote from Frankenstein, Mary Shelley
    
    They have been many things (a chosen one, an almost-prophet, a puppeteer's loyal plaything), but never once have they been their own. Never once have they stood on their own two feet and raised their chin and told the world "actually, I belong here amongst the light and the beauty of the marvels around me." They have always been moved by the will and the words of others, and yet they rarely offer objections. They have simply learned not to flinch and not to show the extent of their hurt. They do not have many ambitions of their own and they certainly do not crave any kind of power, because life has taught them that one cannot have power without corruption, and thus they'd much rather stay weak, even if it means (as it frequently does) denying their own agency. They have always been able to justify pain, so long as they're told there is purpose within it. They are, quite obviously, latched on to their puppetmaster and will quite pointedly ignore any criticism about the juxtaposition of Melchior's scientific efforts versus their own devout religious obsessions. Nemo will generally ignore any criticism about him, period, despite having encountered both the worst and best aspects of the scientist. As a general rule, they're not jealous, except for specifically when that guy's affections are involved.
    
    Nemo sees and hears the world differently than most people, chalks it all up to divinity and sin and absolution and noise and colour, and tries to make themselves smaller as a result. They speak softly. They move quietly, sticking to the shadows, trying to make themselves a ghost. They forget how to breathe frequently in favor of swallowing their rage instead. They are an odd little thing; bitter, imaginative and bright-eyed, smarter and far more eloquent with their words than most would expect, when they can be persuaded to talk. Most times they are not; most times they are stuck firmly within their mind, viewing the world as if from behind a clouded windowpane, there and yet... distant. Constant noise surrounds and overwhelms them; they simply do the best they can to not drown within the buzz of it.
    
    In most social situations, they're largely out of their depth. They don't really like to be in the spotlight and they don't really know how to foster many meaningful connections with others, platonic or otherwise. They don't trust gentleness (or maybe they don't think they deserve it), always hyper-vigilantly searching for some sort of catch to kindness. Think of them as a stray dog; they're wary, but can be persuaded given time, and when that's done they'll be a loyal follower. They tend to try to observe and learn people, so that they know how to adapt to stay relatively safe around them, exhibiting a highly hyper-vigilant sort of situational awareness.
    
    ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────
    Strengths: high pain tolerance, keen eye-sight, discretion, insanely good at climbing up things, being a bit delulu, the best sacrificial lil meow meow around, very good at ignoring their feelings and trauma, dexterous,
    
    Weaknesses: dissociative disorder, constantly overstimulated by the buzzing noise inside their head, no real sense of self or individualism, heavily dysphoric, convinced that they’re a sin, too good at ignoring their feelings and trauma--
    
    Hobbies: Perhaps their one form of truly expressing themselves is through art. They have sketchbooks filled with charcoal sketches. Other than that, they also adore reading, but specifically old fairytales. Hashtag romanticize life.
    
    Habits: Climbing up as high as they can if left unsupervised for one moment, insomnia, sketching, ducks their head when they smile
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    virtues

    
    
    

    
    
    

    observant

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    imaginative

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    adaptable

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    strong situational awareness

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    creative

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    insanely devoted

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    vices

    
    
    

    
    
    

    neurotic

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    obsessive

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    irrational

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    *slightly* insane when it comes to [the Master]

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    untrusting

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    religious

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    dysphoric

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    fears

    
    
    

    
    
    

    sin

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    their own inadequacy

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    abandonment

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    likes

    
    
    

    
    
    

    Dr. Melichor Vlissegem (somehow. & definitely more than they should)

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    the grit of charcoal

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    the rustle of turning pages

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    night skies

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    the vertigo of heights

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    wind in their hair

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    fairytales

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    broken things

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    

    dislikes

    
    
    

    
    
    

    attention

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    social situations

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    early mornings

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    the concept of sin

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    piano music

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    white clothes

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
  • 
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    history

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    HOW DO YOU TALK TO A STAR?

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    Nemo was born quietly amongst the ivory and origami lanterns of the Cascades as Sergei Valencia, the second son of an illustrated old-money family. As far as he remembers, he has never known a time when his mind was not a whirling mess of turmoil—his inner monologue has never ever been quiet. He has never known silence. Even to the largely unreligious others of his family, it quickly became evident that something was not quite… right… about their quiet boy with his blank, topaz eyes and his constant shaking limbs and his tendencies to hide away in the corners of every room, shielding his ears from the stream of relentless, overwhelming noise that no one else could hear.
    
    It is little wonder that the Covenant soon took an interest in him when they caught wind of it. This odd, strange little boy who heard things that others couldn’t. It is rare, albeit not unheard of, that a Star originates from the moon city itself. Rarer still, for that child to be born to nobility. He was an oddity in more ways than one, but a child does not know purpose until they are taught it. Does not know the words they whisper to the dark are star-dust vows until they are taught of divinity. When the Covenant took him, he went willingly. Soft, meek mannered little Sergei, desperate to understand the world and his place in it.
    
    That he was unwell could not be denied. His face would frequently go blank; he would watch the walls close in around him and the world shake as he struggled to breathe beneath pressing weight in his chest. He constantly would lose touch with reality. Would see things that weren't there, twisting shapes and hallucinations born only of his mind. But the Covenant does not believe in intervention against sickness. “It is the will of the cosmos,” the nuns murmur, “-who are we to go against the machinations of the heavens? Let us not anger them further.”
    
    There was never anyone to catch him when he fell. There was never a gentle hand to pick him up from the floor, or hold him through the shakes, or ground him when he lost all sense of reality and the self.
    
    “But how have I angered the Gods?” he asked once. Only once. When he was bolder and more curious and less scared of the consequences of his own naivety, before he had quite learned that it was not his place to question the wills of those higher and wiser than he. The grand design of the celestials above had deigned he was made to be nothing more than a vessel for the absolute noise that was divinity, and to think of such a boon as burden was to deny that which made up the very essence of him.
    
    But bitterly, the child began to think that he did not want to be a prophet. He mourned all the ways that his Creators had made him broken when they had made all others so much more whole. And thus, Sergei learned sin.
    
    Or more specifically, he learned of his own. It did not matter, really, how he had angered the gods. It just mattered that he had.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    KEEP YOUR BODY NICE AND SHIELDED FROM ALL THAT HEAT?

    
    

    
    
    
    

    He was always a quieter prophet than the rest. Never spoke as much as all the other Stars, kept the words inside, swallowed them whole even when coaxed to spit them out.
    Perhaps part of it was spite, his one method of defiance and control in a world where he had none. But most of it was simply the boy’s attempt to understand, and in many ways, just survive. All the relentless noise in his head drowned him out, overwhelmed him, made him numb to the world around him. He lost himself frequently trying to pick reason from it.
    When one learns of their own corruption, there becomes an obligation to rectify it. This, he understood fundamentally. He was sick. He was unholy divine, a juxtaposition of everything that he could and should be. He mused that if only he could find absolution, if he could find purity, he could possibly find some sort of peace.
    
    But such indomitable things are easier said than done.
    
    Years of experience crying out for help and going unanswered led him to the obvious conclusion: he could not ask the Covenant for his redemption. In their eyes, he was flawed irredeemably, though undeniably useful. He had to figure out how to do it by himself.
    
    The answer lay in becoming closer to the sky. Because maybe, just maybe, if he was closer, the stars would hear him too. Maybe they could answer his questions, instead of leaving him with more. And so, a reckless obsession with heights was born. He began to climb, faltering at first, higher and higher, chasing the wind and the sky despite the shake in his bones.
    He found in the odd habit a newfound sense of freedom. It became difficult for their keepers to keep them contained within the walls of the tower that housed them, because they showed no consideration for the dangers of the fall. How could they be scared of falling? They were already fallen from grace. How could they be scared of punishment? Corruption punished them enough.
    
    They searched the streets of the Cascades for redemption. Did not find it in the constant executions, or the showy displays of faith’s reverence orchestrated for wide-eyed tourists. (Faith, they had in abundance; it was simply not enough to save them.) So they began to wander further and further through the city. They always came back, of course. They are nothing, if not a dutiful little sinner. But the Covenant's waning control over their little star-child runaway did not bode well. His resolute, blank-faced tolerance of any punishment showed that he could not be dissuaded from his wandering ways, but his compliance with everything else kept him useful.
    
    Until, of course, he could not be useful any longer. The noise in his mind built. Astronomy's orchestra would not be quieted, even if its meek vessel kept as still and soft as they could. A particularly bad episode of depersonalization shattered any connection to divinity they possessed, left them reeling on marble tiled floors. The language of the stars stopped being one that the boy could speak. It would stutter-stop-stutter-stop, incoherent, a rush of static that screamed and sang but no longer made sense, if it ever had.
    
    The sinner lost any claim to grace he had ever had.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    HOW DO YOU SHOW THEM WHO YOU ARE?

    
    

    
    
    
    

    In one of the many, many old rooms of the Spire, inscribed upon an old sundial that no longer finds purpose, is etched the motto ‘si sol deficit, respicit me nemo’. Translated into the common tongue, its message becomes so much more poignant: when the sun is gone, nobody remembers me. In the City of Endless Night, there is no sun. There is no reason to consult sundials -- the night sky's inky blackness is a much more reliable navigator.
    
    What a thing, to be so useful once and then so forgotten. To be so holy, and then so corrupt. To burn, and to be extinguished. Is it any surprise that the words stuck with them?
    
    They don't quite remember when they changed their name, the only part of themself they ever actually chose. When they stopped thinking of themselves as Sergei, and decided to become Nemo instead. Dysphoria had long ago warped their perception of themselves into something they could barely stand. The decision to be Nobody instead of a Somebody was not difficult. They had no choice in the matter, not really, when their mind snapped and they lost their right to their place amongst the holy children of the stars, if they'd ever had it anyway. They did not speak of their final sin, told no one of the way that their mind broke.
    
    They ran.
    
    Found themselves a different sort of poison: a prodigal stranger, a brilliant mind that had turned itself towards the pursuit of science (or perhaps sociopathy, under another name) who spoke of sparks and scalpels, and life. That Dr. Melchior Vlisseghem's impassioned tirades had got him exiled from the university, and abhorred by the more rational folks for his immoral methods, mattered very little against the opportunity for redemption he offered.
    
    He wanted a living cadaver. They wanted to be saved. What followed was to them, a non-sequitur. Nemo put themselves under the scalpel's blade willingly, tied the red string knots to their puppetmaster himself. All he asked in return was a simple request of the scientist, in a voice barely more than a whisper: "Can you fix me?"
    
    And so the star met a burning sun, drawn into Melchior's orbit with desperation and wide-eyed reverence, firmly placing themselves into the shadow of greatness and refusing to leave. They knelt at a bloody altar, let themselves be unmade and made anew under the machinations of a mad scientist, forever resolute despite the pain of creation.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    Boarding The Ship

    
    

    
    
    
    

    Since meeting Dr. Vlisseghem, Nemo has loyally followed in his wake to various corners of Solas, chasing whatever materials and whims catch the Master's fancy without objections, despite a lack of results. But they are patient: they understand that this takes time, and their trust in him has not faltered. It is little wonder, then, that when Melchior decided that the sea will hold the next breakthrough, they ended up on the Levithan right alongside him.
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
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    extra

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    How Do You Talk To A Star?

    
    
    
    

    Everyone's Worried About Owen

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    
    
    

    
    
    

    connections

    
    
    
    

    misc.

    
    

    
    
    
    
    

    • aaaaaaa
    • aaaa

    • 
      
      
      

      connections

      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      

      The Master

      
      
      
      

      A puppet and a puppeteer are inexplicably bound by virtue of the craft. It may be easy to assume that Nemo would hate their puppeteer. They certainly have enough reasons to; Melchior Vlisseghem is not kind to them. But were one to point out (and rightfully so) that the hands that cradle their face to kiss their forehead are soaked in unfathomable amounts of blood (their own and potentially others) their loyal answer remains 'but they cradled me, no?' There is a complicated parasocial relationship that arises from being wounded deeply by a creator that should keep you safe & doesn't, but it cannot be said that Nemo isn't often complicit in their own pain. They generally observe [The Master] with a wide-eyed reverence that almost borders on obsessive, that could perhaps be said even to be adoration, if not for the way that bitterness sometimes tempers through the absolution.
      

      
      
      

      
      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      

      name here

      
      
      
      

      Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Cras ullamcorper erat purus, quis mollis metus auctor vel. Duis eget luctus justo. Donec aliquet fermentum porttitor. Morbi quis dapibus odio, at viverra leo. Integer ut dictum lacus, nec congue odio. Nullam sapien ante, interdum ut mattis eget, varius ac justo. Pellentesque eu ante nec nibh vulputate ullamcorper.
      

      
      
      

      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
    • 
      
      
      

      misc.

      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      

      SPOTIFY

      
      

      Playlist
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Opinion on royalty

      
      

      Neutral.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Opinion on piracy

      
      

      It's definitely a sin, which is why they'd definitely be being hypocritical if they admitted the idea of it is quite exciting.
      

      
      

      
      
      
      
      

      
      

      Nemo's reputation

      
      

      They aren't well-known, though the Oracles and members of the Covenant in the Cascades likely know of them as a runaway Star, and also as "that freak who won't stop climbing things."
      

      
      

      
      
      
      

      
      
      
      

    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    
    

    
    
    

  
  
  
  
  

  
  
  
  

  
  
  

  ♡coded by uxie♡

 

[lyn.]

scroll

nocturne

laufey

Willow

Farchill

persona

&

attributes

strengths

weaknesses

backstory

&

connections

name.

Willow Farchill

age.

22

gender.

Female

pob.

Zenith

role.

The Onlooker

"Happily waiting, all on my own. Under the endless sky, counting the seconds, standing alone."

eyes.

Dark brown

hair.

Hazel, since her husband died, she wears her hair down and straight.

height.

5' 5"

faceclaim.

Alice Nokes in The Spanish Princess

A plain girl with a plain face, most that's said about her appearance is how young she looks. Words that exhaust her to no end. Any thoughts that she's younger than she is, however, are thwarted by the way she holds herself.

overview.

Curious - A curious mind, she’s very likely to leave the party if she finds something else more interesting. She is here to learn, to observe, and if you are close to her, ask questions.

Selfish - One thing she has learned from her mother is to live for herself. She will fight for herself, and will need convincing to fight for anyone else.

Woman of her word - Her words are important to her. If she’s made a promise, she will be sure to keep it. If she feels she owes someone a favor, she will do everything to make it even.

Observational - When put to the test, Willow can figure out how to manipulate the world around her. Her smarts lie not in her interactions with other people, but noticing things about people others might not notice.

Intelligent - A curious mind, she listens and she learns. She catches onto new skills and dynamics quickly, and is always searching for something to nurture her mind.

Aloof - She is quiet, and though she does not hide her expressions, you’re more likely to see a stone face than a smile.

Judgemental - She might not think it out loud, but her mind runs rampant at the words and actions of other people. To her, most men are morons, and women foolish.

"Did it's people want too much, too? Did its people want too much? And I don't want your pity, I just want somebody near me."

likes.

Eating food, exotic foods, music, reading, tinkering, rain, learning new things, writing, pretty jewelry

dislikes.

Sewing, being touched by someone she’s not close to, large events, crowds, early mornings, doing her hair

fears.

Somehow ending back where she started, seeing her mother again, her past acts coming to light, torture

habits.

She holds her hands behind her back when she’s nervous.
Ever since she arrived back in Valdioro, she has a habit of biting her nails.
Eavesdropping. All the time. You have been warned.
If she finds herself stunned or flustered, she begins to hiccup uncontrollably.

hobbies.

Tinkering, piano, writing, Sewing, she is hoping for more.

Intelligent

A curious woman, she listens and she learns. She catches onto new skills and dynamics quickly, and is always searching for something to nurture her mind.

Resourceful

Though limited by her knowledge, Willow will attempt to use everything at her disposal to aid her situation.

Tinkering

Though not very well practiced, Willow can work on and repair the most basics of machinery, and is practicing in her free time to make crafts of her own. She is currently not very good at it.

Sewing

Raised to be the perfect lady, she’s adept in sewing and embroidery.

Observational

When put to the test, Willow can figure out how to manipulate the world around her. Her smarts lie not in her interactions with other people, but noticing things about people others might not notice.

Piano

Her mother insisted she learn at least one instrument, this was Willows choice, her motivation the fact that it was the only choice that didn’t involve strings.

Naive

Understanding people is one thing, but understanding the world around her is another. Her whole life she’s lived in an environment of wealth. She’s never gone hungry, never been too cold. When it comes to life outside of that, however, she might lack understanding.

Not an actress

The most she can do is lie with a straight face. Faking happiness, sadness, or even anger is a talent of her mother, not her.

Weak

She’s a lady, not a fighter!

Temperamental

If you’ve angered her, expect some pushback in ways you don’t expect. She does not care to be friendly with everyone on the boat.

"You can't pin me down, I fear all solid ground. I'd rather be alone at tea, love when nobody's makin me."

history.

Brief Summary
Willow’s mother wanted power, and ended up becoming the concubine of a Count. She pushed Willow to succeed higher than her siblings and marry for power, and ended up compromising their relationship with her father so Willow could marry the son of a Duke. Willow’s married life was just as miserable as her childhood, and after her mother went missing, she schemed to get her husband killed at risk of her own life. Thankfully, she succeeded, and went home to her family in Valdioro.


Willow was born to Luella Hollandse and Upton Farchill, her father a noble, and her mother his concubine. Born in Valdioro, her mother, ambitious as she was, loathed the town and wished for an escape, for power. She used everything at her disposal to force her way into the lives of those wealthier as she made her way to Zenith, and eventually, into Count Farchill’s bed.

Still, as high as she managed to reach, Willow’s mother wanted more. She used Willow’s marriage as her goal, and tears as her tool. Time and time again she crossed boundaries and broke rules, much to the Countess’ anger, and used her past as a way for pity from the Count. As a result, Willow’s life was one of constant defense. She was antagonized by her siblings and the Countess, and pushed around by her mother. Her father, useless when it came to women’s affairs, would only throw a gift of a new necklace or two whenever Willow’s misfortunes were caught. Her only solace came in the few visits her and her mother made to their home in Valdioro. Only twice a year, but the only time Willow could find some enjoyment in her stressful life. She adored her family back home, and always felt a sense of wonder at their inventions. She could not fathom why her mother hated this place so.

Her mothers greediness came to a head when her mother encountered the son of Duke Peyton. In just a few weeks Willow’s honor was sabotaged, and she was forced to marry Wesley Peyton.

The days with Wesley were slow, her new husband was distant and uncaring, her in-laws furious, and her mother, who had infuriated the Count with her actions, was sent back home to Valdioro. A place Willow would not see for many years.

Willow grew lonely and bored, her time spent observing over the nobles who thought her less than them. She read books to pass the time, listened to conversations on the street, fulfilled her role as a wife. As her sadness grew, so did her resentment, and so did her desperate need to escape. She didn’t want to be here, and all it took was the news of her mother going missing for Willow to finally put a plan into action. The weight of her mothers ambition lifted off her back.

Not one for acting, Willow used her wits instead. The wealthy were easy to manipulate, always ready to throw someone under the bus for their own success, ready to spread words of hatred at any moment. Instead, she used rumors to her advantage. She fed the paranoia of those who frequented her husband, of those in higher power. Made them wary, made them scared.

It wasn’t long until her husband was dead. As for who did it, Willow didn’t care. She took a risk and came out alive, that was good enough for her.

Mourning his dad, the Duke gave no attention to Willow, and it wasn’t long until she was sent back to her mother in Valdioro, support from her father long gone.

Willow spent a year there, observing and learning from her family and neighbors. She was fascinated by it, by the different people. She picked up a few tricks of her own from her family, learned the parts of machinery and repairs that they would allow her to learn. She never became an expert, her want for more exceeded her enjoyment of the tinkering. She wanted to travel, she wanted to experience more, see more. And without the watchful eye of the nobility, of her mother, she could do just that.

reputation.

At most, she is known by some nobles that live in Zenith. Her time outside was minimal, save a few balls or events. Those that do know her, however, describe her as cold as unfeeling, and nothing other than a straight, blank face ever crossed her features.

Why did they board The Leviathan?

Exploration, to meet new people, to see new things. She is prepared for anything, or at least she claims to be.

How did they get on board?

Bought a ticket and boarded at Antares.

faction.

N/A

status.

Former high society, any connections near the palace have ceased. She is simply a wealthy woman from Valdioro.

opinion on royalty.

The amount of times Willow has been in the palace can be counted on two hands only. Though she has no pressing opinions of the monarchy, she has no intention of messing with those more powerful than she is. They are not to be messed with.

opinion on piracy.

Just like there are so many different nobles, no doubt there are so many different people that steal. She does not judge, but she wonders for their motives.

Luella Hollandse

Willow's love for her mother quickly ended once she realized her true colors. Still, she let her mother push her around, as it was the life she always knew. Willow felt nothing but relief when she heard her mother went missing, yet still she lives in fear that she might return. Even though her affection for her mother was gone, she is not positive she would be able to deny her if she ever appeared.

Upton Farchill

To Willow, her father was nothing more than Count Farchill. His affection towards her conditional on his relationship with her mother. When he cast her mother out, he never contacted Willow again.

Wesley Peyton

A son of a Duke, and one Willow quickly realized was useless. A man riding off his fathers success, he never paid any attention to Willow, choosing to spend his time in brothels and with concubines. Their relationship was a distant one that Willow didn't mind, no matter how far the rumors spread.

filler

 

[Naomiii_]

• .
• .
• .
• .

• 04

  03

  02

  general

  aranyani

  full name

  Aranyani

  nickname

  Yani (to friends)

  role

  The Handmaiden

  age

  21

  p.o.b

  Empyra - Lower Echelons

  Status

  Low Society

  Factions

  None

  fc

  Neelam Gill

  plants and people aren't all that different

  Reputation.

  She has no reputation, being just a maid among hundreds.
• 04

  03

  visage

  01

  Aranyani

  ht

  5’0"

  wt

  110

  hair

  Her hair color is a deep black that shows little variety no matter the lighting. It lays flat against her head, lacking in volume or curls that noble women value. It cascades down to the small of her back which she loosely keeps tied behind her to keep it out of her way, unable to part with it by way of a haircut despite how it would make her life easier. Its in need of a good brushing, but that isn't something she often has time for. The color matches her thick, wolfy eyebrows that cast soft shadows over her eyelids. While the color alone is intense, it is softened by her brown skin that holds a delicate warmth with soft, umber undertones that tell of the sun’s influence.

  eyes

  Her eyes are dark brown pools that seem to gleam when she’s excited. They hold a softness, wide and unguarded, with a childlike wonder that seemed to absorb the world around her in awe. The light in them dances with inquisitive curiosity as each new experience is a delightful discovery. Her eyes are framed by modest eyelashes that don’t draw attention, but hold a certain innocence and a thoughtful depth. There is no mask she wears, but only the honesty of a soul untainted by politics and violence. When she looks at you, it’s as if the world is simpler and new. Her gaze holds many questions but no malice or ill intentions. Her eyes reflect her only goal: to learn everything she possibly can.

  body

  For Aranyani, her beauty lies in her simplicity, unassuming yet gentle. Her face, though not striking, holds a quiet warmth - a subtle glow that catches the eye only when one lingers. Her smile is warm and inviting, yet not one that lingers in memory, but instead, one that invites comfort and curiosity in the moment. Her body is rather unremarkable, thin, and includes a few imperfections like her scarred and calloused hands that she earned from her dedicated work as a handmaiden.
  
  While she would love to wear bright pastels that resemble petals that adorn the flowers within Empyra’s gardens, her occupation keeps her to beiges and neutrals. Her clothes are high quality, being once the handmaiden of a noble, but simple. Beige blouses, tucked into dark long skirts, adored with aprons and rags for cleaning, are her usual.
  

  mods

  None

  faceclaim

  Neelam Gill
• 04

  persona

  02

  01

  aranyani

  • fillersss
  • .

  • likes & dislikes

    misc

    likes

    People watching, flowers of all kinds, sweet foods, botany, learning about people.

    dislikes

    Cold places, gatekeeping knowledge, Lord Aston Heisig
  • likes & dislikes

    misc

    hobbies

    
    Sewing, patchwork, identifying plants
    
    

    habits

    
    Eavesdropping unintentionally. Taking note of surrounding plants, and pointing them out to others. Staring.
    
    

    strengths

    
    Picking up on things easily, gathering information, great memory, knowledge of medical herbs.
    
    

    weaknesses

    
    Not good at lying, no physical strength or combat skills, tends to speak out of turn, has poor awareness of danger.
    
    

    fears

    
    Heights, Monsters, breaking the rules of Empyra
    
    

    why did they board The Leviathan?

    
    
    For a job and to see other parts of the world. After losing the job she had for years, the only skill she had was being a handmaiden. To be a handmaiden on a ship would be an exciting opportunity!
    
    

    how did they get on board?

    
    
    

  personality

  Aranyani is a girl whose heart is as open as a field, honest to a fault and her words are clear and unadorned. There is a genuine sincerity in her, a straightforwardness that is rare, yet refreshing. She doesn’t speak to seek approval or to cause problems, but simply to share her thoughts. Her curiosity about the world is insatiable; a product of her home city and restricted upbringing. Whether it’s a book she’s yet to read or a stranger she has yet to meet, she welcomes each opportunity with a childlike enthusiasm. Her mind was ever hungry for knowledge and connection.
  
  Unfortunately, to those who may not know her, her curiosity can be mistaken for simply being nosy. Her inquisitive questions may cause offense or have people questioning her motives- after all, who is she and why does she want to know? One day she’ll learn, but hopefully not the hard way.
  As a handmaiden, her work is her pride, and she tends to her duties with a diligence that comes from a heart invested in her craft. Though her labor may go unnoticed by many, she carries it with a quiet dignity knowing that in her work, she can shape the world in a small but meaningful way.
  
• history

  03

  02

  01

  aranyani

  Lord Heisig

  TBD

  Relationship

  tbd

  coded by natasha

  History

  Aranyani grew up in the lower echelons of Empyra to parents of low status who were jaded from their fruitless pursuits of a better life. Due to such, she never received a proper education nor were her parents able to properly teach her and prepare her for the exam that would inevitably determine her status for life. From the beginning, Aranyani was at a disadvantage within the city of Empyra. Still, it never dulled her thirst for knowledge.
  
  As a young girl, she would often sneak out to visit the Solas archive when the kind librarians were working and would let her in. She would stroll the gardens, reading each and every plaque that told the flowers’ stories. She would sneak into the Empyra academy grounds to admire the students who worked tirelessly, dreaming of seeing herself one day amongst them.
  When she got a little older, at the age of 15, she got a job as a handmaiden for Lord Anton Heisig, a noble botanist associated with the academy, who had a focus in botanical medicine. She was just one of many that tended to his estate, cleaning, organizing, and tending to the grounds. Lord Heisig never paid attention to Aranyani, or any maid for that matter as he was always engulfed in his own work. Aranyani would take notice of her lord’s writings and it sparked a curiosity she couldn’t hide. At night, when her shift was over and the household was asleep, she would sneak into his library in search of knowledge. The scent of aged books filled the air as she carefully turned the pages of text forbidden to a maid like her. There she spent hours, engaged with stories of strange flowers from distant lands, the secrets of medicinal herbs, and detailed illustrations of plants that only existed in the pages of these books. While it was nice to read over, without a proper explanation, it was hard for her to fully grasp the concepts written.
  
  One night, as she read a book by candlelight, immersed in a manuscript on rare orchids, the sudden creek of the floorboards sent a jolt of fear through her body. She spun around to find Lord Heisig standing in the doorway with an unreadable expression, their eyes locked on one another as the realization of her audacity dawned on her. Her face paled, as the potential consequences ran through her mind. A physical beating? A dismissal? As she began to sputter out an apology, Lord Heisig’s eyes glanced down at the book in her hands. He spoke up before she had a chance.
  
  “What are you doing here? Were you looking for something?” He asked calmly, with a slight tone of curiosity.
  
  “N-No, my lord,” She said quickly. “Please, I’m sorry- I only wanted to read about plants and-”
  
  Heisig shut her up with a raised hand. He smiled, a knowing, almost patronizing smile. “No need for apologies. If anything, I admire your curiosity. What is your name?”
  
  “Aranyani, my Lord…” She responded quietly, shyly. To her surprise, Heisig then took the book from her hands.
  
  “You won’t get anywhere with a book like this, Aranyani. It's far too dated.” He stated bluntly, looking at the cover before tossing the book onto the large wooden desk. “You’ll need something far more modern.” He walked over to another bookshelf and pulled out a written academic journal, one filled with notes and tabs all over. Heisig returned, sitting at his desk and motioning Aranyani to sit across from him. “As long as your work gets done, I see no reason for you not to learn a bit about what your lord does for a living. I’ll even teach you a thing or two.” He remarked with an amused tone.
  
  With that started a new chapter in Aranyani’s life where she could finally- at least somewhat- live her dream of being a student. Lord Heisig taught her various facts about botany throughout her years as his maid, highlighting his own academic work as groundbreaking achievements in the field. The more he taught her, the more Aranyani was able to make connections herself from the books she would read from his library. She quickly found she had an excellent skill set for identifying plants and their potential usages, and for remembering all the information she's told.
  
  One aspect of her new found education that bothered her, was how often the books she read contradicted Lord Heisig’s teachings. When she would ask for clarification she was met with the explanation that the books were outdated. If the books were modern, he'd simply state the author had no idea what they were talking about. In the end, she would just chalk this up to a difference in perspective. After all, Heisig was credited with discovering the medical benefits of Vlucoil, a small subspecies of vines that offered mild healing for rashes. But for Lord Heisig, it was the most efficient healing the world had to offer, second to only a miracle from god. At least, that is how he made it sound to Aranyani. No matter her lord’s quirks, Aranyani remained a diligent student who was honored to learn from someone educated.
  
  By the time Aranyani was 21, she had learned quite a lot from Lord Heisig’s lessons. One evening, he stood over his workbench, his sharp eyes narrowing as he examined the shelves filled with meticulously arranged jars of herbs. A noblewoman had arrived earlier with swollen feet, a condition that would normally be simple to treat. But simple wasn’t in Heisig’s vocabulary.
  
  “I’ll create a mixture so potent, so revolutionary…” He murmured. “It will be expensive, but worth it. A perfect mix of Vlucoil and dandelion. That should be enough.” He said, already reaching for a vial containing powdered Vlucoil, which seemed to be his answer for everything.
  
  Aranyani put another book down on the desk as she listened curiously to her lord’s words. It wasn’t practical. Her brow furrowed. “But, my lord… wouldn’t it make more sense to simply give her a goldenrod mix as a tea? It’s a far stronger diuretic than dandelion and significantly cheaper than Vlucoil which would be useless in this situation.” She spoke honestly, giving her opinion that she had formed from years of research, but it was the first time sh. Heisig froze- his fingers tightening around the mortar in his hands, his eyes darting to Aranyani filled with sudden hostility. She took an instinctive step back.
  
  “Goldenrod?” He scoffed, his voice dripping with disdain. “A common herb. No more impressive than a weed. I’m not some village herbalist, Aranyani. I am a scholar. A Master of thought precision and innovation.” He snapped, his tone sharp. “You don’t get to question me. Now go. Leave me to my work.” He commanded, turning away from her and back to his desk.
  Aranyani was startled by his outburst and could only nod meekly. She silently retreated from the room, her mind still turning over his out of character reaction to Goldenrod.
  
  The next morning, Aranyani was fired.
  
  Option on royalty: Aranyani idolizes royalty and nobility as a whole. Having been a maid for a nobleman allowed her a glimpse into what their world is like. Being free to study from the best tutors and educators in the world? It would be a dream come true. She was too naive to understand the complexities of politics and how it's the systems in place that restrict her access to education in the first place.
  
  Option on piracy: Similarly to nobility, she romanticizes piracy. Daring sword fights? Freedom on the sea? It all seemed so exciting to her as her knowledge ends in the few books she’s read on the topic. She’s in for a rude awakening if she was to witness it first hand.
  
  What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplay are:
  Aranyani is very naive and a very simple person. I would like her to grow as a person, shaped by new experiences that may take her out of her comfort zone. I would also like her to meet other characters and get to know them and form relationships whether good or bad. I’d also like her to be useful with her knowledge of plants. This is my first roleplay, so I honestly am not sure what to expect so I’m open to suggestions!
  
  If not selected in the first round of applications, I am willing to be contacted at a later date if the GM feels there’s a fitting opportunity for my character to make their grand arrival: Yes
  
  

left

 

[harlequinade]

• The Innamorati.
• The Courier.

• 
  
  scroll

  common people

  pulp

  [

  bastijn

  van der linde

  persona

  &

  attributes

  strengths

  weaknesses

  backstory

  &

  connections

  name.

  Bastijn van der Linde.
  

  nicknames & aliases.

  /
  

  occupation.

  Sculptor.
  

  role.

  The Innamorati.
  

  age.

  23.
  

  birthplace.

  The Cascades / moved to Zenith around age 6.
  

  faction.

  /
  

  status.

  High society; sponsored and employed by a wealthy merchant family.
  

  How frequently do you look in the mirror? Does your face please you? Are you disgusted to detect familial features? Do you consider your image erotic? If you squint, does your reflection become abstract?

  face claim.

  Aaron Taylor-Johnson as Count Vronksy.
  

  eyes.

  Dark brown, neatly indistinguishable between pupil and iris – two smudges of charcoal powder amongst his otherwise light color scheme, always visible; some would say he has a quote unquote staring problem.
  

  hair.

  Light golden brown – curls of gilding under lights, he takes great care to leave his hair artfully tousled and falsely carefree.
  

  height.

  5'9.
  

  overview.

  Bastijn is a man with an underpainting of golden tones, ivory mixed into his palette with a heavy hand. He stands at average height, built in a way that’s soft; something reminiscent of cherubim – he would say angelic. His skin is unmarred, save for the beauty marks dotting his face and the thin, pale scars on his hands he covers with gloves.
  
  Hair, pale and haloed, curled and framing the face looking up; eyes as dark as bone black paint; his features are soft, rounded and feathered at the edges as if lined by smudged charcoal – the soft slope of his jaw, showing his age and giving away the pedigree of silver spoon fed milk and honey tipped between straight, white teeth. His nose is his sharpest feature, a straight alpine line casting a harsh shadow, underlaid by a quick pass of a paintbrush, upper lip painted darker than his hair.
  
  He is an artist first, but a rich man closely second. It is rare to see him not draped in layers of fine fabric, cuts and colors picked with self-described good taste. He prefers dark tones – black, navy, purple mauve – to accent with jewelry of mixed metals. Putting together an outfit is akin to the old masters of baroque with their oils; deep contrast, rich colors, clothing stark shadows against pale skin. He secretly reserves a soft spot for jewel tones.
  
  He will always appear to others as prim, pressed, and proper with heeled boots to give him the height to look down from his high, high horse. He knows the first reveal of a piece is most important; he needs the gasps, the awe, the standing ovation, and refuses to be seen if anything on his person falls out of place. He presents himself in a way meant to last, emblazoned like a signature in other’s minds.
  
  

  overview.

  He can be likened to a raven – drawn to shiny things, shiny people. He seeks beauty in everything. His definition of alluring things differs with the time – he likes strong personalities, hot, sticky rooms, cold night air, the way smoke curls when exhaled, gilded frames, eyes of all colors, mismatched fabrics, rough hands; the list does not end. He is moved by passion, drawn to it in others.
  
  His own fits of passion come on easy and leave even quicker. He seeks momentary pleasures, is prone to fits of lethargy when they’re gone. His obsession with creating is the only thing that has stuck with him through time.
  
  His affinity for things he likes and disregard for things he doesn’t is a product of his station, the excess of wealth that allows him to make bad decisions and not think of the consequences. It is rare to find him thinking past the current moment and how it makes him feel; if he is, it is on how to capture the feelings in a block of marble. Vain, materialistic, superficial; all words thrown at him that go directly over his head. He does not care for other’s thoughts on him, save for if they find him beautiful. He preens under the attention of others, expects and demands it, positive or negative. He is charming, easy in conversation but prone to asking personal questions. He doesn’t dislike small talk, but he finds himself falling in love (in the broadest definition) with people easily and thinking of himself as closer to others than he is in reality.
  
  He is, frankly, pretentious. An inflated ego, his head in the cloud, with no real problems except for bouts of feeling uninspired and the occasional rejection, he has not experienced hardships. For all the charming way he words things, he speaks a lot, often saying very little of substance. He will fill the open air with pretty words, but lacks experience. He loves people openly, but has limited experience with them outside of others sharing his social status.
  
  He does not take to being denied or slighted well. Another consequence of new money; he wants the world and expects to have it. It’s an immature way of thinking, and something he has not grown out of. He has yet to see the benefits of losing the outer shell of selfishness, and has yet to face repercussions of it until recently.
  
  With a flair for the dramatic, and great care put into his appearance, it is hard not to see his personality as a performance. And, yet, he is simply acting as he has learned from his art; something meant to be looked at and adored.
  
  

  Some wait for angels, while others wait for men -- I wait for a shadow to move across some skin. Light moves fine through fabric that is thin. Good taste gives in to hasteful lust again.

  hobbies.

  A bad habit of starting and stopping things he is not immediately good at – a never ending string of various artistic endeavors, writing (bad) / reading (good) poetry, shopping, collecting (drinking glasses, antique books, dolls, perfume oils)
  
  

  habits.

  Asking invasive questions too quickly & always expecting answers, wearing strong perfumes, keeping odd waking hours / sleeping in late, thinking out loud, wearing gloves except to work, chain smoking, overindulging, talking too much, keeping a diary & writing letters.
  
  

  fears.

  Being known intimately as a person rather than an artist, death & the dying, aging, horses.
  
  

  likes.

  Rich, warm tones, opera & theatre, epic poems, gold jewelry, hand rolled cigarettes, cheap, sweet wine, string music, gossip columns, fashionable lateness, avant-garde.
  
  

  dislikes.

  Repetitive noises (clocks ticking, etc), landscape paintings, the smell of turpentine, sunrises, cemeteries & mausoleums, multitasking, nihilism, large dogs.
  

  humanism

  A deep, deep love for people, surface level and in the great, wide sense; this is the driving force of his art and thus himself wholly.

  charisma

  He is, unfortunately, very charming. He loves to engage in the simple act of conversing with people.

  opinionated

  There is a very short list of things he has no thoughts on, and he is both able and willing to defend them even when they are unpopular.

  flattery

  He has an ego but by God at least he will give you a bigger one with the way he speaks.

  good taste

  in everything but relationships and wine.

  hedonism

  An ache for beauty, in all forms; he yearns to feel silk on his skin, powder in his nose, smoke in his lungs, the stars on his tongue; overindulgence is not a word he’s ever considered to be negative.

  obsessiveness

  What makes him a good artist also makes him neurotic, he has never done anything casually in his life.

  judgement

  He is quick to judge others, as well as critique himself; he has high standards and an inflated self image, both of which come crashing down easily.

  frailty

  He can talk his way into problems but can not fight his way out.

  vanity

  A visual artist who sees himself as an extension of his work, he places a lot of value on physical appearance.

  Oh, don't say you don't, please say you do. I am the last of the famous international playboys.

  
  

  history.

  The Repeated Image of the Artist Destroyed: A History in 6 Pieces.
  
  i. Portrait #76, Johannes van der Linde, oil on canvas. The painting, done in a skilled hand, depicts a family of three – mother and son, easily likened to madonna and child, with the father behind.
  
  Born of turpentine and gold, Bastijn van der Linde comes from a line of artists. His father, an oil painter; as was his father’s father, and thus up the line. His mother, a gilder, the first in her family. They met and married young, placing careers before family with the aspirations to hang their names among the star artisans of a generation. They found medium success, both talented, but without the connections to make it further.
  
  A baby boy, then, born at the height of their efforts was not in the plans. The couple was blessed with an heir, a future painter to continue the line but the time required to raise a baby, to begin the shaping of personhood, takes away from the time to make art. A transitional period, silent resentment covered with a layer of varnish.
  
  ii. Portrait #83, Johannes van der Linde, oil on canvas. A second painting, the family growing; the boy, older, stands at his mother’s side now, father and son now akin to the magi; mother’s lap occupied by a baby girl.
  
  He is three when his sister is born, under the same circumstances as him; semi-wanted. He is still barely able to think abstractly, but he loves her dearly. As they age, their roles will reverse but for now he is older and assumes his part, as best as a toddler can, as the protector.
  
  Three years after her birth, the family is changed again. No other children will be born, but their circumstances take a drastic shift; starving artist is a term that will become as foreign to them as their birthplace when they receive an offer of sponsorship from the capital. A merchant, from a line of war heroes, capitalizing off their accomplishments; the founder of Chevalier Arms Company making a gamble on golden frames making him richer socially than his iron. The family is uprooted, the children small enough to remember mostly only the capital city, and the large house they could (almost) think of as home.
  
  Their care is barely overseen by their parents at all, here. More than happy to get their art, their life back, and with the newly acquired influx of money that is paid in stipends, the children are hovered over by tutors but rarely their own blood. They are caught up on lessons quickly: manners, history, math, science. Most importantly, picking up their trade. Bastijn, ten now, becoming unruly in the wake of parental attention spent his youth contrary and unhappy until he finds a chisel.
  
  iii. [Name of Important Historical Figure], Bastijn van der Linde, marble. The first sculpture by a young, up and coming artist, sold at auction. The sculpture is nothing special, a man standing in contrapposto. The fabric draped at his waist is imperfect, the folds awkward at certain angles.
  
  The first betrayal. No oils to stain his hands, no under sketches of charcoal, no mastery of color. Unlike his family, he finds himself in the hard, white blocks of marble, the jolt in his wrist of a hammer, the human figure emerging from nothing. He takes to sculpture better than his lessons; all consumed by the act of creation. He is still uncomfortable with the lack of attention from his parents, an unfillable crack carved away through his veins.
  
  His sister follows him out of the family trade. She takes up harp with lithe fingers and discipline. More of their time is spent apart, more of it together arguing. They are in the age of petty sibling fights and scuffles. She always wins.
  
  They go out together, as a family, sometimes. In the day, to meet with men and woman dressed easier in finery than he feels. He tries to emulate them, their easy laughs and soft hands as they talk to his father about the portraits they want. At night, to the theatre. He watches the actors on the stage closely, feels a pull towards them more than the people he meets. He becomes enamored – starry eyed at the costumes, the drama, the way emotions are expressed and felt even by the audience. Later, when he's old enough to make bad decision without his mother sitting next to him, to smoke and laugh and talk to the boys behind the stage, he knows it is the performance of it all.
  
  He is fourteen and his first work sells. His name helps, his father’s last name tacked on to a new medium. It's not perfect, still, with no touches of a master. And, yet, his art, his youth, is sought after. The word is whispered, quietly, and then said to his face around wide smiles. Prodigy. He knows what it means and weighs the weight on his tongue, in his hands. It feels like nothing, the same as la mazza. He accepts it easily. He waits for his father to say it to him.
  
  iv. At Rest in the Garden, Bastijn van der Linde, marble. Two male figures, intertwined. They are depicted as angels at rest. The drapery of the last piece is foregone.
  
  He waits a long time, until his jaw sharpens and the hair on his face starts coming in. He waits, and while he does the world starts to shift. He becomes a man. He sees things and people differently. The desire to capture them in intimate moments, forever caught in marble overtakes him. The desire for intimate moments overtakes him. He waits, and waits for the words of his father, and little longings fester into big ones. He continues trying to be good enough in art but in no other aspects.
  
  The words he wants from his parents never come, and so he absorbs the arrogance of youth and the boys around him. His dad is rich, he is rich, and he has seen what that allows – an absence of consequences. He knows how people view artists, knows what artists are like; he has lived with himself all his life. He plays the part given to him, makes no thought of if it's nature or lack of nurture. He is neurotic, doesn't sleep, talks too much, works himself up, calms himself back down with drink or smoke or anything he can reach, seeks attention, fears he will be like this for the rest of his life.
  
  v. Portrait #108, Johannes and Anneliese van der Linde, oil and gold leaf on canvas. The man and woman stand alone. They are haloed in gold but they look unhappy, mouths in flat lines as they clutch into weaponry of polished silver.
  
  In replacement of the praise he seeks from his parents, he is met with only silence. The occasional lecture, the money moving pockets to keep people that have seen him running errant quiet. He becomes worse. The need to be seen makes his actions grander, the men he seeks out higher status. It overtakes him like a fever takes a town; slowly, then all at once, half the population dead. Death, here, is the social kind.
  
  His escapades, his affairs find the public eye. He tries to find the love he is missing from his father with a married man of high status and that’s the beginning of the end. Noses are upturned, words whispered – none of the acclaim from his art, only disapproving jabs at his character. He is compared to his sister, recently assigned as a guard, an upstanding citizen. They should have known, taking an artist and giving him the affluence of a boy born into nobility. He has brought it on himself.
  
  vii. Third Horseman, Bastijn van der Linde, marble (unfinished). A sculpture of a knight, broken to pieces before it was sold.
  
  He brings his family and his sponsor down with him. The rug is pulled suddenly and completely out from under him. Their names are tarnished and he imagines himself facing the gallows.
  
  He is given an option that's not an option at all: a boat to take him far away. Marble is too heavy to drag aboard, but he’ll be inspired. The sea air will help, being around people that have never seen the initials VDL signed on a piece of art will help. Get it out of his system. Grow up.
  
  

  relations.

  
  ♰ Johannes van der Linde – father, 46, oil painter; Not the worst a parent could be, though mostly absent. Currently, threatening to cut him out of the inheritance if he doesn't shapen up.
  ♰ Anneliese van der Linde – mother, 45, gilder; He is not close with either parent. He can't remember the last time he saw her smile.
  ♰ Lieke van der Linde – younger sister, 20, prison guard; His younger sister, and the more mature of the two. She wields a sword with sharp precision and an intellect to match. Recently instated as an Ironspire guard.
  ♰ Lazare Chevalier – 54, sponsor, head of Chevalier Arms Company; Though the man provided many opportunities for him and his family, he only knows him in passing. The most Bastijn knows of him personally can be summed into two facts: 1. He is in his third marriage and 2. His company’s main product is bullets.
  
  

  reputation.

  His father would be more easily recognizable than him, by name. Both of his parents are well-regarded in the art world. His personal reputation has recently taken a hit; a very talented young artist to another rich man making a spectacle of himself. Local reputation as both a playboy and a fool.
  
  

  boarding the leviathan.

  He boarded as a ticketed guest, paid for by his father. He was “asked” to leave the capital after a social scandal; he is taking the opportunity to get away from home and the love lost there, to find more inspiration for his art. His motivations are personal, to be away from the exploits of high society and see, for the first time, what lower class people experience (all while staying in the comfort of his pre-paid room…).
  
  

  thoughts on royalty.

  He harbors respect for the king and authority, though minimal. Most of his political interest currently is in capitalism & monetary values rather than a question of who is in power. He hasn't had reason to question the powers at play, nor been around lower class people so his opinions are stilted and, currently, begin and end with his own experiences as a man born into new money.
  
  

  thoughts on piracy.

  He has absolutely no experience with violent crime; it’s an aspect of humanity he is interested in because he is incapable of enacting violence or holding a sword himself. He has a half-baked, romanticized idea of what piracy really entails.

  headcanons

  ♰ If he were modern he would be trilingual (in Dutch, French, English, from most to least fluent).
  ♰ He writes absolutely godawful poetry.
  ♰ Dorian Gray kinnie (derogatory). His vain ass can not be trusted to understand that beauty can’t be pursued without morality.
  ♰ The literal worst things that has ever happened in his life is that he had a messy gay breakup when he was 20. He needs real problems.
  ♰ Tossing around the idea of him doing drag but no concrete thoughts on that, yet.
  ♰ Unsure what kind of art movement is happening in universe right now but he's a baroque artist to me; RIP Bastijn you would have loved the Ecstasy of Saint Teresa.

  extra content

  ♰ Pinterest board
  ♰ Playlist

  filler

  
  
  
  
• 
  
  content warning: blood (no violence) in one gif.
  95% done, still need to add physical descrip & fix music player after work aaaa​

  ---

  scroll

  to forgive

  the smashing pumpkins

  [

  sir lancet

  fialova

  persona

  &

  attributes

  strengths

  weaknesses

  backstory

  &

  connections

  name.

  Sir Lancet Sybil Fialova.
  

  titles.

  Sir, Commander.
  

  nicknames.

  Lance.
  

  occupation.

  Guard captain (previous) / trainer of new recruits (current).
  

  role.

  The Courier.
  

  age.

  39.
  

  birthplace.

  A small farming village in the mountains, nowhere of note.
  

  faction.

  /
  

  status.

  Kingsman.
  

  The useless drag, the empty days; the lonely tower of past mistakes; to forgotten faces and faded loves; sitting still was never enough.

  face claim.

  Nikolaj Coster-Waldau as Jaime Lannister.
  

  eyes.

  Gunmetal blue, verging on the colorlessness of an overcast sky; his eyes could be considered kind if not for the rest of him, hardened and weathered, starkly juxtaposed.
  

  hair.

  Light cool brown, streaked with grey; he is in a constant battle with it, shaving it close enough that the blade nick his scalp and then growing it out until it is long enough to pull into a ponytail – it is currently close cropped. His facial hair is a similar, losing fight; he always has at least dark stubble.
  

  height.

  6'0.
  

  overview.

  hhh.
  
  

  overview.

  If the walls of the capital’s barracks are impenetrable, Lancet’s are both more weathered and thicker. He does not see himself as capable of getting close to, lacking in anything to provide at a personal level that he can't with others kept at sword length.
  
  His tongue is a sword pommel – blunt. He does not mince his words nor aim to save feelings. His conviction is as strong as a sword set into stone. He is a man of actions above words.
  
  Even those he does not let in, he is sworn to protect and to teach. His words are rough, but his heart is soft below his breastplate. He has found himself in the role of teacher and, though it was taken up with hesitancy, he has come to welcome it. Despite his efforts, he cares for the recruits that train under him; he is not easy to them when armor is donned but dines with them, lends his ear for woes, and, clumsily, his tongue for advice when he is prompted. The walls are high but there is a gate. He is steel with too little carbon – sharp, but pliable. If something does not go against his own sworn moral code, he is easily malleable; if it is framed to be for good, he likely to fall for it.
  
  Where the steel has left tracts through his veins to encase his heart, settled in that soft part of him is guilt. The boyish fantasies he had in his youth were not enough, his idea of knighthood and chivalry idealistic, lost years ago. He has become a gritty realist. The guilt does not run molten anymore, but he feels the sting still. Striving, now, to protect and to serve are his ways of seeking penance. Putting his emotions and aspirations both aside to become more than he was. He takes a knee, bows his head, needs to be of service, needs new actions to wash away the old. He takes to the blade because it is what he knows, he turns it where he is pointed. He teaches the young, takes the words and blows meant for others like his body can be a shield. He pushes people to the precipice of their limits because he knows what falling latent leads to. He is not, generally, happy unless in action.
  
  He thinks himself Atlas, he thinks himself Charon; a man of deliverance with the world on his back. Yet, of those inhabitants of the underworld, he is most akin to Cereberus – loyal as a dog who sleeps at the foot of the bed.
  

  
  

  So chain me, restrain me, teach me how to kneel.​

  
  

  ​

  
  

  hobbies.

  Falconry, gambling (dice games), wood carving, "gardening" (attempting to maintain a small patch of medicinal, mostly wild herbs; lacks a green thumb severely), leather working.
  
  

  habits.

  Speaking with a constant downward inflection, drinking (dark liquor), prolonging eye contact to an uncomfortable degree, maintaining stiff posture, cracking knuckles / neck, losing at cards.
  
  

  fears.

  Not his own death but that of those around him, feeling helpless, meaninglessness / chaos / loss of social order; intimidated by well-spoken people but tries not to show it.
  
  

  likes.

  Herbal tea, black coffee, strong liquor, the smell of soil, antique weaponry, violets, birds, fresh baked bread, ambient noise (crickets, ocean waves, etc.), cluttered rooms, quilted blankets.
  
  

  dislikes.

  Lying, wasting time, sitting with his back to a door, cats, cold & damp weather, philosophizing, the texture of wool, open windows.
  

  Sword arm

  Two and a half decades of physical training have made his body strong, even after having to switch his sword hand.

  Honesty

  He would rather fall on a sword than say or do something he does not mean.

  Obedience

  He is good at taking orders as well as giving them.

  Experience

  He's held multiple fairly high ranking militaristic positions.

  Action First

  Never one to mull things over, if there is a call to action or a decision to be made, he will be the first to act.

  Bullheaded

  His conviction passes the line into blind faith. He is stubborn enough that you would think the metal of his helm fused with his skull.

  Manners

  He does not mince words, and in some circles that is considered rude. He has difficulty socializing in general.

  Unrelenting

  He tends to prefer to do things himself, instead of relying on others. He will not quit anything until it is completed.

  Literacy

  Little formal education; he has never learned to read or write well.

  Thinking Second

  He doesn't take the time to mull things over; it's now or never.

  Hope you've got your things together, hope you are quite prepared to die – looks like we're in for nasty weather. One eye is taken for an eye.

  
  

  history.

  Knight of Tarnished Armor
  content warning: depictions of violence, brief allusion to torture, dismemberment.
  
  Once, a time long ago, there was a boy born of summer; laughter like the warmth of a sun-soaked lake, eyes bright as the wings of warblers nested in the foliage, feet bare, hands quick, alive as the forrest surrounding his village.
  
  The boy was welcomed into a lively home, warmed by the fires of a forge and scented with medicinal herbs. He was showered in mothers’ love, soaked through with it as if caught perpetually in a warm summer rain. There is little money, but he does not want for anything. He chases hares in the spring, triumphs over deer in the autumn, learns which way to hold a sword, tumbles down the rolling hills with the swiftness of a river, fits into the landscape with joy and gratitude.
  
  The boy did not know his father, only stories with a name that made his mother’s bright face fall still, smile shrinking to a line with a faint upward tilt. He learned quickly to hold his tongue, to turn his questions to other things: what spices were best with fresh meat, which cured a stomach ache, which to press to a cut to stop the bleeding. What time of day was best to swim and which was best for catching fish. Where the stars went during the day.
  
  The boy had hopes, dreams too big for the river valley he was born in. He had been fed stories and believed them true: there were knights, in armor that shone like the sun. Quests, with cups that granted eternal life and castles hidden under lakes. A king, to accept him, to love him, to treat him as a son or a brother or a lover. He could almost taste them, sweet and supple on his tongue as the berries he forages, the same his mother makes into sweet wine in the fall; he grows dizzy off of it.
  
  He kissed his mothers on the cheeks, makes promises to be home before the moon has gone through too many of her cycles. He hid his homesick tears in the mane of his horse as he broke past the treeline.
  
  The boy was sixteen, thinking himself a man, and did what all boys who think they are men do; set off to bring back the world.
  
  

  ༺༻​

  
  The interlude is long and has little to say – it also begins the erosion of his daydreams. The fables told to him by his mother never included this part, jumping straight from the introduction to the climax.
  
  It is a long period of yearning – for glory in battle, for his body to grow stronger, to become immortalized like the knights of olde, for a princess in an unhappy marriage to save. To do more than tend horses and train his arm in the yard.
  
  He starts later than most, strong from the work back home, but awkward under heavy plate. He spends a lot of time knocked on his ass. He misses the songs his mother would sing, the warmth of fire on his face from the other. He takes it all with determination, puts in hours of work, does not complain. Seasons melt into years before he is sworn in as a protector.
  
  He is posted first as a city guard. The environmental is unfamiliar. There are cobbled streets, here, and more people than trees. It takes getting used to. He spends his time patrolling quiet streets, stopping petty crimes. It's less exciting than he thought, to control order.
  
  He is in the right place at the right time, stops a blade aimed for the wrong throat. He is elevated, from city back to country. His new assignment simple: be an envoy, a quiet watcher for important people through a treacherous stretch of road. He is assigned a small squad; there are men under him now, people to command as well as protect.
  
  He is bright eyed and full of purpose, and fails on both fronts.
  
  

  ༺༻​

  
  The golden illusion shatters in pieces and then all at once.
  
  The boy is twenty-five and face down in the mud and his men are dead. He chokes down a breath of dirt and blood and feels the grit against the back of his teeth. He tries to sob but there is no time to grieve.
  
  There was no reason to think today was to be any different from the rest; he knew the land, grew accustomed to it quickly even though it was flatter than his home, and he knew the dangers. He had been stationed on the same stretch of road for years with little trouble, all of it handled quickly with a lunge and a cut.
  
  Today, a massacre falls around him instead. His men, the people he is supposed to protect – all crumpled around him, with his hand barely finding the handle of his sword.
  
  He tries not to remember anything more, after he is pulled forced harshly to his knee. He is restrained and forced to keep his head up. With a deliberate, slow cut, his arm is taken below the elbow. By mercy or cruelty, he is left alive. He is sent to bring a message back, one sealed in blood.
  
  For the first time since he can remember he whispers a prayer. The king's banner that previously flew proudly above one of his men's heads is tied around the remains of his arm, opposite hand fumbling and awkward with disuse, until it is tied off. The red stains before he makes it to the tree line. There is nothing else for him to do; he sets off for the edge of the world.
  
  Perhaps his prayer was heard by something higher; there was not a soul left in that bloodstained field to hear and yet the man is found, alive but barely.
  
  For a long time, he sleeps. It's the most rest he's gotten since he left home. He is fed sweet poppy milk when he stirs awake. In between, he is glad he does not dream.
  
  When he wakes, fully, he finds a letter at his bedside, emblazoned with fine script and sealed with a heavy insignia. He is to withdraw from the land he knows, again. He is being reeled back in. His failure is known by the crown, but so are all of his previous successes. His shield arm still in tact, he is meant to pass his knowledge onto others. It would be a waste of a man and his training, to fully retire him after only half a decade, when he is still mostly intact.
  
  

  ༺༻​

  
  These are the whispers that cling to the tail of Lancet's cloak as he circles the training grounds. The ones most based in truth, at least. There are more, he knows, more fanciful stories of how he lost his arm and his honor, ones he does not stand to indulge.
  
  It has been almost fifteen years since he has taken his new post, tried to fold away the golden tapestries of wanting to becoming a makeshift legend. Instead, he does his best to become a makeshift father, and then does his best to pretend he didn't think that word.
  
  They send him young people, faces still round under their helms to turn into guards, warriors, heroes. It took him a long time to feel comfortable in the part he's placed in, but he has always been able to change just enough to adapt.
  
  He gains renown amongst recruits for being tough, harsh and ruthless in their physical training. He always expects better, pushes them for more. He gives them the time to get up, brush the dirt off or punch out the dents in their armor, and then goes again. Later, he sits amongst them and lets them regale him with their own ideas of how they will become what he couldn't; some kind of knights at a round table, the same stories his mother filled his own head with. He had to choke down resentment, the need to tell them they were young and stupid. He stops himself. He lets them believe what they need to make it through. He pushes them harder in the yard.
  
  The training grounds that have been his longest comfort are leaving him, too. Or, he is leaving them. Another assignment, his sword pointed in a new direction.
  
  Another letter comes, again stamped with a heavy seal. There's a ship, and a whole world behind the city. A whole generation of people with no way to get to the capital to train, outside of the walls that he's become comfortable behind. In a cruel parallel, he is sent back with a message. Crown guard in need of new recruits.
  
  He sets his jaw and vows to do what he had started so long ago: goes forward to bring back the world.
  
  

  relations.

  
  ♞ Sybil Fialova - mother, herbalist; His ma, a gentle woman that raised him with the same care as her garden. She provided medical aid when she could to the community. The source of Lancet's past idealistic view of the world, he misses her dearly.
  ♞ Inés Calderon - mother, blacksmith; Married to his mother when he was around 5, he doesn't remember a time without her. Though not his birth mother, he loves her as one.
  ♞ Ellis Ashmore - father; Left or died before he was born. Unknown to him, he's never given it more thought.
  
  

  reputation.

  He would be known to other Zenith city guards, but not beyond; notoriety among those who trained under him but little-to-no widespread reputation – possibly passing rumors that are more widespread after the massacre but in most of them would have been thought dead. Easily recognizable to anyone that has trained under him in the last ten years. Easily recognizable as those who have never met him as a loyalist / guard by the way he dresses & carries himself.
  
  

  boarding the leviathan.

  Boarding at Antares on assignment; his orders are to bring back new recruits with him. For personal reasons, he is both happy to get out of the city and back into the field and nervous that he has potentially "gone soft" staying in one place.
  
  

  thoughts on royalty.

  Extreme loyalist; view of the monarchy has changed since he was young (he was raised on legends & fairytales, and has realized life is not actually like that), but is still unshakable; where some men may lose part of them in battle along with their faith in the ruling class, he lost much but sees it as a debt owed and paid in blood.
  
  

  thoughts on piracy.

  He knows from experience that people will do what they need to survive. He thinks violence is innate to mankind but sees himself as more righteous as he does not revel in it. Stick in the mud.
  

  headcanons

  ♞ He is probably autistic; special interest in blades & weaponry (me projecting).
  ♞ He hates to be called Lance, with the justification that he fights with a sword and shield and thus it is an unjust name.
  ♞ His prosthetic is made of wood, leather, and steel; it is fitted to hold a shield. There are no embellishments to it, save for the etching of a violet on the palm.
  ♞ I know this is low-fantasy, he does not. He still believes in stories of werewolves that his ma told him when he was young to scare him into being good & I am not going to break it to him.
  ♞ He prefers dice / truly luck-based games to cards; surprisingly bad poker face for a stoic man, he has a hard time lying.
  ♞ His bird for hawking is a saker falcon named Gwen. She is treated with the care of a princess; she is not making the voyage with him and has been left in good care back home.
  ♞ He's lost most of his country twang, but it creeps through sometimes. He hasn't shaken the vocabulary.
  ♞ Even though he hasn't been home in a long time and can't read well, he receives letters from his moms. He sends them back small parcels of things in response.

  extra content

  ♞ Pinterest board
  ♞ Playlist

  filler

  
  
  
  

 

[yokai.]

de selby (part 1)

hozier

the heretic

I.

but still the mind, rejecting this new empty space

name

melchior vlisseghem

titles

dr. vlisseghem (unofficial)

age

twenty-seven

gender

cis male, he/him

sexuality

demisexual

role

the heretic (the master)

place of birth

unknown, possibly the canals; raised in zenith

appearance

Unkempt chin-length hair the colour of a night eel frames gaunt, sallow skin, stretched taut over bone. Beneath abyssal eyes sit discoloured shadows of skin, translucent enough for blue-violet veins to seep through. The scientist's frame is slender and bird-like, standing at a mere five feet and seven inches. A black lab coat often covers his shoulders, graceful hands protected by dark leather gloves.

status

outcast

II.

fills it with something or someone

persona

Though Melchior's brilliance burns as brightly as a comet's tail, the fire of ambition in his heart has always been self-aggrandizing, capricious, caught in an endless pursuit of interests and theories that seem to constantly border on extremes. The grandeur of a pedestal had never appealed to him, uninterested in the limitations that such idolizations place on morality. An ethical mind is a shackled one, and true greatness refuses to be subdued. A perpetual black sheep who cares little for tradition or conventional means, he is well acquainted with the mocking laughs and whispers of derision that follow his shadow like a blood trail. Melchior's work never fails to be defined by outliers, it is only natural that he would be one, as well. He takes the road less traveled and wears solitude like a second skin more often than not, content with simply playing god in the confines of a laboratory for his own satisfaction.

The monotony of everyday high society speak only stirs impatience and boredom, yet despite his dislike of idle chatter, Melchior is well-versed in etiquette enough to come across as polite, if not somewhat distant, on a first impression. Though most conversations with Melchior end as soon as they begin, when prodded about specific topics of interest, he readily offers his eager guidance, delivering astute observations in the form of meandering, often incomprehensible sermons that continue long after his audience has stopped listening. To the untrained layman's ear, the scientist might as well speak in echolalic tongues. Avarice makes a monster of him, willing to share truths about everything but himself.

For a man so unafraid to confront the unknown, Melchior is highly disquieted by intimacy. The enigmatic viscera of being seen disarms him completely, rendering him useless in the face of the one thing that logic cannot shield him from. He is resolute on being the only one to hold the knife, the one to cut through vulnerability and tender flesh to dissect the beating heart laid bare underneath. A higher purpose calls to him, and he is not so foolish enough to tarnish his brilliance with the manacles of empathy.

likes

philosophy, maths, Pondering the Orb, treading on uncharted land, the smell of embalming fluid, entomology, the occult, yapping, good listeners, solitude, being the most esoteric person in the room

dislikes

criticism of any kind, incompetence, crowds, lack of privacy, being dismissed or looked down upon, processing emotions, frivolity, rule-followers, blind devotion to tradition

fears

death by humiliation, incompetence, depending on others, being seen as a burden, making the same mistake twice, owing a debt to the wrong person, bats (???)

habits

talking to himself, overthinking and underdoing, doesn't always wear proper lab equipment (shh), people-watching & eavesdropping, horrendous sleep schedule

hobbies

surgical operation, research, alchemy, collecting trinkets, taxidermy, needlework, cultivating the perfect library archive

strengths

self-sufficient, insightful, cerebral, meticulous, resourceful, innovative, curious, earnest, opportunistic

weaknesses

over-reliance on logic, slightly immoral, vehement non-conformist, egotistical, avoidant, uncooperative, individualistic, slow to act

III.

no closer could i be to god

history

tw: child neglect, unethical scientific experimentation, death, allusions to gore

Melchior's story is one of loneliness. It was loneliness that brought him into the world, as well as what had stolen him from the arms of his starving mother, taken away to the heart of Zenith by a man who possessed everything but companionship. Without loneliness, he would have wasted away on some forgotten riverbank, young mind untouched by the cruelty of empire, the greed of men. It was what raised him, fed him, when the man he was taught to call 'father' lacked the mind to. Ysman Vlisseghem believed himself to be a good man, a decorated field researcher at his best and an absent father at his worst. He'd taken up the duty of giving charity to a child in need, if only to prove to himself he was capable of caring for something beyond scientific acclaim. However, when all was said and done, he didn't quite know how to hold something gently the way that a parent would a child, too afraid of failure to even dare to try.

The emotional divide between father and son grew as years went by, teaching Melchior to shut off the part of himself that was starved for love, for it was too much of a mess to be seen by others. He was so much more than that, his mind a sharply-tuned vessel for innovation and ingenuity. Left to his own devices, Melchior could rival the stars, solve the indecipherable, understand the fabric of everything, but also go down paths of no return, darkened by the desire to know all things, even at all costs. Ysman had glowed with pride when he'd written his way into the academy at an impossibly young age, immensely pleased to believe he had raised such a fine young prodigy. Melchior knew better than to correct him, not hesitating to use the Vlisseghem name to his advantage when wading the chauvinistic waters of higher education.

He became the perfect pupil, learning from the greatest minds as he traded pieces of his humanity with every line crossed, every attempt to discover sacred knowledge. Isolation housed him in its embrace, closing him off from the world as he conducted countless experiments, filling his mind with a language so obscure he could no longer be understood. Most of his eccentricities were excused on account of his willingness to pursue seemingly impossible endeavors: transmuting base metals to gold, curing pestilence, and most desired of all—eternal life. He touted his own brilliance, cultivating financiers of his research from far and wide with the most alluring promises. One final grievous mistake had cost him everything, when high risk yielded no reward but a lifeless patron lying dead in a pool of their own sick. The teachers and peers who had once praised him for his acumen grew to look at him with revulsion, no longer willing to acknowledge his blood-soaked studies and dismissing his theories as blasphemy. He was cast down from Zenith's elite before he could finish his education, only barely escaping a murder conviction.

Yet still, his mind refused to rest, leading him to make deals with graveyard devils in exchange for ice-cold flesh and bloody oddities, viable supplies for his research. Science required him to leave no stone unturned and so he set his sights on rectifying his previous errors, convinced that with a little refining, he could truly achieve the impossible. Growing tired of cadavers and the failed results they yielded, a moment of clarity finally dawned on his unquiet mind—success was contingent on a live subject.

Fortunately, he found the perfect specimen to test his theories in poor, downtrodden Nemo, prodding his devotion with the same honey-sweet promises he once made to ornamented lords and ladies of the upper class. Only, instead of seeking to create gold or defy death, Nemo's desire was simple: to be taken apart and remade into something worthy of grace. Pleased to finally have a willing victim to his blade, Melchior has since strung along the impressionable star across the shadowy corners of Solas, chasing down necessary materials to supplement his experiments for the sake of his design, each one more elusive than the last with every trial and error.

Turning to last resort and too far gone to be swayed by conscience, Melchior has convinced himself that the sea is where he will triumph. With nothing to lose but the last of his sanity, he embarks on yet another pipedream, loyal marionette in tow.

reputation

Dragged through the dirt and on its last legs. He is known by most as a madman who flew too close to the sun, banned from entering Zenith Academy, and shunned by high society and honest people alike for causing the death of a well-liked nobleman. The details of his expulsion have been long-since shoved under the rug by the institution, but there's ample speculation that foul play or coercion had been involved despite the verdict of innocence. In shadier areas, however, he's made a name for himself as a miracle worker, bartering high-grade chemical compounds in exchange for fresh organs and other meats of dubious origin.

why & how did they board the leviathan?

He is on the search for bizarre materials to use in his experiments and thinks he will find what he's looking for on an impromptu sea voyage, supposedly on the brink of a breakthrough. In Antares, he came across the Leviathan, and paid the last of his gold for two tickets on board. An uncharacteristically legal decision on his part, but a wise one considering his already disgraced reputation.

opinion on royalty?

They're a stuffy, conceited sort of bunch, but they have their uses. Melchior doesn't have much of a personal opinion on them or their policies aside from their pliable tendency to seek impossible cures, not to mention their deeply lined pockets.

opinion on piracy?

He sees the appeal, sort of, in the kind of rough, nomadic life they lead. It's not for him, but he can respect it from a reasonable distance.

IV.

or why he would do what he's done

♡coded by uxie♡

 

[eebeevee]

the jester.

☆ — hermes dodd.

basics & visage

name:

Hermes Dodd

alias:

Mesi, Ruse, Hermit/Fool

age:

24

gender:

Genderfluid

sexuality:

Who knows?

status:

Kingsmen

faction:

None

role:

The Jester

"the world doesn't laugh at me. i laugh at the world."

hair:

Dark Chocolate Locks

eyes:

Honey

skin:

Fair

height:

5' 6"

birthplace:

Unknown (says Zenith)

faceclaim:

Vqllera

distinguishing features:

The reason for his constant use of longer sleeves and always being covered at all times is to hide his past. When he was just a slave to his previous owner before he had become a jester, before he was able to do something with his life. The long streaks of burn injuries he had succumbed to by “Lord”. A reminder to Hermes that he wasn’t always his own person. He was someone’s.

tattoos:

Out of all of his tattoos which are in total of 4, two of them were chosen by him. The first he ever got was a label, a skull sun was what “Lord” gave his special mice and forced to have it placed on the left side of his chest, he told Hermes that he would always be stuck to his heart. Which Hermes always thought was disgusting. The second wasn’t as bad but still a label onto him, on the right side of his shoulder is Zenith's balanced scales. A representation of his loyalty and bond to the Zenith’s royal family. The last two are linked together as Hermes’ love for tarot reading, the card of the Fool and of the Hermit on both thighs.

style:

Since he is now a free man, Hermes has chosen to windowshop and simply copy what he sees is common for the individuals who walk the streets so this tends to come off as quite basic to many. If it weren’t the pressure to confine into the social norm, Hermes would definitely continue to wear his usual jester attire that he has worn most of his life before with the royal family.

persona & attributes

personality:

Hermes from an outsider’s point of view (which is everyone with the expectation of three people) can say he’s quite a selfish individual who will do anything to get what he wants, and by anything, we mean ANYTHING. Due to this some see him as cunning and sometimes self-absorbed, often being rude and passive aggressive to those around him. But with the thanks of his laid back and charming tongue, people tend to gloss over the fact that he’s insulting them by reassuming them it's all fun and games. To many he may come off as a bit childish but that’s all for show as Hermes doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s truly thinking up in his mind. Making sure that everyone underestimates the power and control he can have over situations without having to prove it until the time is needed.

To those he would consider as close and important to him, it’s a completely different side of a coin. Hermes’ cold demeter is replaced with a warm hearted and caring person who will protect the ones he loves with all his will and mit even if it costs his demise. He is also surprising a considerate person whose top love language is act of service as well as always remembering small details of things they have spoken to him about because to him, to be loved is to be heard.

hobbies:

Making people laugh, Sketching, Tarot card readings, Star gazing, Lying for no reason, Creating pranks

ailments:

No clue but he sure has something loose up there.

ambitions:

He just wants to live.

fears:

The dark, being touched, Fire

strengths:

Creative, Resourceful, Adaptable, Discipline, Self-regulation

weaknesses:

Apathetic, Dishonest, Inconsiderate, Unethical

lore & backstory

knowledge of weapons:

Cut throat anchor dragger, Musket or any type of gun, Swords

family:

None. It’s just him in his eyes. By connections, people assume he has some part of being close to the royal family, especially Penelope.

residence:

Zenith

"there's a difference between a jester and a fool. a jester knows what he is while the latter has no clue."

history:

Hermes doesn’t quite remember his childhood. If he even had one. All that is known about his life when he had a family was that there were a total of 9 members, his mother and father and 5 sisters and 3 brothers. He was told he was the second youngest but may as well be the youngest as his baby brother had passed a few years after his departure. At around the ripe age of 5, Hermes’ parents thought it would be best to sell him off to a powerful owner as they thought it would benefit his future more than keeping him in the lows that his family was currently struggling in, if only they knew this would cause the greatest pains that even poverty would seen like a breeze to many. Much was known about his new master but he knew three things were certain, 1) He must always be addressed as “Lord” 2) What he commands must be done, no matter what it was 3) He has a selective handful of slaves he had that he personally names his “special mice”. Hermes was the few unlucky ones to be named as a special mouse. Hermes has no clue what his birth name was as Lord named him Ruse instead and from that point on he was known as Ruse.

The beginning was too rough for Hermes, the life he had before was rough of course having working parents but he was given all the attention he had ever wanted from Lord. It was as if Hermes was his own son. This continued on until he hit his adolescence as Lord’s demeter shifted from one of kindness to something more shameful and darker. His touch wasn’t the caring crease of a father figure but of something far sinister. The first time Hermes fully felt the change, he wasn’t fearful and stopped Lord in his tracks, calling him out on his inappropriate gestures. This was only received with punishments, no matter how loud or quiet he would comment on these gestures, Lord would punish him. He soon realized that Hermes’ screams were loudest when it came to punishments that involved the burning of skin. Even when Hermes halted completely with his effects of stopping Lord and his advancements, he seemed to enjoy the pain he could feel from Hermes. Soon enough, all Lord wanted to do was be around Hermes, making sure to his other mice that although they were special as well Hermes was a different kind of special. He was his. No matter who came after him.

To Hermes, he could only wish death would come to him sooner. The days went on and even with the various parties Lord threw as a way to show Hermes off to the rest of his peers, he knew he was just a trophy. A property to show off the power and control the Lord could have over a human being. Fortunately he learned to use his pain and sorrow to entertain those in these parties as an escape from his dark reality, creating a well known reputation that only drew more guests to these parties to view his acts. One of which caught the attention of the royal family of Zenith’s daughter and princess, Penelope. Often a guest of these parties due to her family’s power, she was always fond of Hermes, fully captivated with his talent and ability to keep the attention of the crowd regardless of who could be amongst him. Thanks to this, Hermes was able to be sold off to the royal family. It wasn’t easy. Lord didn’t want to give off his prized possession and even fought against King Rowan, the only thing that made him stop in his tracks was the threat that his business affairs would be cut out completely from Zenith if Hermes was not to be given to the royal family at once. With only power and effect, Lord reluctantly sold Hermes off, finally making his pain and struggle come to an end for him.

At first, Hermes continued with his performances and shortly named the royal family’s official jester which felt different to him. Although he was owned by someone, they didn’t seem to want anything more from him but what he was able to give. Whenever Hermes wasn’t performing for the family, he was often seen wandering around the garden of the royal palace. These moments he would always be caught up with Princess Penelope who always did her best to show him that all she ever wanted was a friendship and just a person to hear her that wasn’t her family’s advisors or servants. As they were the only real children within the castle’s walls, Hermes had no other choice but befriend Penelope out of pure pressure to not upset her. Through the years, he began to grow a liking towards her and calling her a close friend if not his best friend through the rest of his years living in the castle with the family. During his free time, Hermes became obsessed with oracle readings, especially tarot cards. Teaching himself the meanings of all the cards as well as being able to read the cards of those who wanted their future or advice to be read to them. Penelope would be his only real client but it served him as practice as the more he did it with Pen, the more the servants wanted their cards to be read as well. Hermes almost became the one that people would come for advice through his tarot card readings.

Being a Jester did come with many benefits that Hermes wasn’t aware of, one of the most entertaining ones for him was the ability to have free speech. This allowed him to throw his snarky comments and cover them with a hint of humor, making it a way for him to freely go through each and every individual that he thought deserved the more insults to without the fear of being hurt afterwards. This soon became his favorite hobby as no matter what he said as long as Penelope laughed, he could not be punished. Through his ability of free speech was also able to advise the king with small comments of those guests who he believed would benefit or cause harm to the family. Even if King Rowan didn’t care too much about Hermes, he did take into consideration his comments and usually soon or later, Hermes would be proven correct which only increased his importance and value in the King’s eyes.

Near the end of his time in the royal family’s control, Pen asked him if he ever wanted something more than the life he was given. She was the first to ask her what he wanted and Hermes wasn’t sure. “I guess I want to live freely. Travel the world. Perform to all. Be free.” This response was all Pen needed to hear to help create a plan with Hermes. Advising him what to do to trick her father into freeing him as well as helping him plan what he would do when he was out of these castle walls. “You would first need to make a name for yourself because you simply cannot be named Ruse nor Fool out in the world.” He nodded in agreement but still puzzled with the name he would be given. “How about… Hermes? It means messenger after all and you’ve always been able to give the messages people need to hear.” Pen replied with a warm smile, looking for his reaction to the new name. He nodded once more but returned the smile. “I like it. If you like it, I’ll use it. As for my last name, Dodd. I heard it’s another name for Jester because at the end of the day, Pen, If it weren’t for this.” Hermes spoke, holding her hands. “I wouldn’t have been able to meet you. I would have never been able to bond with the purest soul in Zenith.” Small tears started to form in the corner of his eyes, ones he didn’t even realize he could even create out of joy. “Stop it, Mesi. You may as well be speaking to a mirror. I can’t believe someone like yourself could go through so much and continue to be this strong.” The two stayed silent as the bird hummed throughout the garden and the sun rayed through the leaves of the willow tree they were between. “Mesi, Promise me something.” He looked up at her as he observed her facial features. “Live. Never Look Back. I want you to live out the life you were always meant to have. For me. Please.”

current & past connections

known affiliates:

→ Princess Penelope of Zenith

After arriving at the palace, Hermes and Penelope were the only children within the walls of the massive estate so it was only natural for the two to come together and experience some kind of child play. Although the family never really did approve of their friendship, they couldn’t complain that Hermes was in fact doing his job of entertaining the royal family and a good job with that. Almost becoming brother and sister in a sense and the only person Hermes truly can say he loves dearly and holds a special place in his heart.

→ King Rowan

The two share the same care and protectiveness over Penelope, often or not the king does show him some kind of importance simply because his daughter is fond of him but other than that, to him, Hermes is just another tool that obeys his every command.

→ Lord

Hermes hides that memory as far back into his brain. There’s times when walking down the streets of Zenith he will give himself a small heart attack thinking he saw HIM. But that can’t be, he’s died…at least to Hermes he is. All he can do is wish for the worse and pray ill upon such a despicable excuse of a human.

 

[celadon.]

idogbé gendre

the dishonoured

rouguy faye

♡coded by uxie♡