Gao
[sad jester jingle noises]
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Fantasy 𝐑𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐒 — THE CAST
- Thread starter Gao
- Start date
Gao
[sad jester jingle noises]
All completed (excluding pinterest & spotifies ignore that) but this is my obligatory heads up that this code is nefarious and the third tab (portrait icon) has secret information stored away in the three clickable circles along the top
CLICK
RAT
THE LAZARUS.
HAVE A SEAT, MISERY
SHAYFER JAMES.
-
-
FULL NAME
Landon Alström
Alias
Rat, Ratthew, Rathaniel etc.
age
THIRTY
P.O.B
The Cascades
PRONOUNS
HE/THEY/IT/THING/DOES NOT CARE
-
Age
30
Job
Botanist
role
Lazarus
FC
Jamie Bower
Height
6'3" (188cm)
Weight
176lbs(79kg)
The Lazarus
PATIENCE
INTELLIGENCE
STRENGTH
DECEPTION
SPITTING DISTANCE
Visage
BUILD: What chartreuse foliage and emerald pondwater this man pores over has not gone neglected. Olive soaked skin wreathing an opal frame of 6’3”, it's a punish for existence, a sternum slatted with bone, wicker wood limbs sharp as paper cranes and gravestone knolls that emerge from the vertebrae of the spine. Thin-skinned as parchment sheaves, the Lazarus is a sylph of pale salt with the headspace of a carnival.
EYES: Neither fond nor cruel, what little light reaches juniper is a flickering glitch at best. No downy parakeet or fresh lime skin, but in the dim hue that bleeds juxtaposition dwells an undercurrent of deviltry, of spring and impish plays not unlike that of a songbird; not unlike that of a vulture. Haggard, carrion-craving, it’s a wintry look to give someone pause, serpentinized and steady. To catch the Botanist’s silent observation is unnerving, realizing he takes apart others' reactions and refashions the pieces to decipher their truths, more so.
HAIR: Leaned to wall with a melodramatic hand over forehead, how the rodent can wail over his Rapunzelesque mane. In truth, bones ache with apathy, and what care Rat has for physical appearance (both his and others) is miniscule. This is especially noted when tawny fawn becomes the victim of boredom-induced trims.
SCARS: Bloomed to the surface like beads of ruby caviar, snagging thistles and unseen thorns are a war of their own. A gardener with not enough self preservation to wear gloves, his hands bear accolades of scars now knitted with brief memory.
DISTINGUISHING: Thanatos is late, and it takes fatigue like a magnifying glass and refracts it through every tendon. There are days he is waxen as tallow, gaunt as a greyhound, and makes no appearance from his cabin. As there are days he is effervescent with energy, luminous like ichor and a bubbling brook, shortly ruined by a Hyena’s laugh and a smile to match.
PERSONA
Lively, social, hobbyist, creative, theatrical, musical, perceptive, mischievous, clever, insightful, autonomous, impudent, two-faced, blithe, impatient, pessimistic, coarse, chaotic, cunning, secretive, trickster, instigating and avoidant.
IN DETAIL
Akin to light of which moths wistfully flock, flower nectar engorged by butterflies or a pack of dogs tailing mutton meat, there are those forever drawn to the brilliant epicentre of a room. Yet when basking drunk in adulation and light, it is easy to forget wraiths that meander and haunt the sidelines can also relish attention given for all the wrong reasons.
Wanton and pestilent; like that of a leper, Rat proudly wears a thick skin of disaster. He is an out of sync applause, an ill-matched puzzle and mosaic of unrest. Mouth full of war and eyes that croon serrated scorn, a masochistic glutton for weaving ire and thorns of annoyance. Corrosive to even the most temperate souls, oddities prove to be wholly impish and exhausting; reputation recalcitrant and almost eager to garner notoriety, the Lazarus prioritises entertainment and recognition rather than opinions (or feelings) of others.
Such insouciance can be soil for shoots of envy. To have a lack of concern for condemnation is almost unheard of, but in abundance the virtue quickly leads to inconsideration. Uncouth, Rat bleeds taunts and spills unpleasantries as easy as breathing. Tongue dipped in vinegar and let steep to curdle the vocabulary, he is loathsome as a mouthful of bile and saltwater. It’s satisfying to wind someone up and watch them tick out the steps he expects, the angrier are the better, reliable as clockwork; nothing quite clears the room like a maniac with nothing to lose.
But like the glass-rimmed salt of a martini, bitterness has an underlying sweet note. Albeit wry, there can be placid fondness in how he entertains others, and unspoken camaraderie exists for those he regards as decent.
Accusations of “unsound mind” aren’t of fraud origin, behaviour curious and perpetually theatrical. From introductions; flourished hands paired with a deep bow and the dubious name “Rat!” to chittered teeth at ignorant ideas and optimistic dreams, he’s a swinging pendulum of peculiar and diabolical. Notable titles of deranged and infuriating are attested in every interaction, and volatile as gunpowder, once pinched the small hard-to-find string between tweezers, a rash carelessness is easy to pull loose.
Personal space non-existent, social-normalcy ignored, slithering out of nowhere to intrude conversations: Rat prides himself on being a terrible little nuisance.
He also prides himself on being completely fake.
At the crux of Rat, patron saint of deceit: Landon is a liar, con-artist, and method-actor who has mastered how to present himself to others. Having woven an unsavoury exterior of acrid names and visceral grins, many would be horrified to learn the Botanist isn’t the attention-seeking insanity he appears.
For when one pulls aside the draped curtain of the stage to find him as a silhouette of solitude, the unassailable trickster is now made of grief and loss. No cackle or spat insult to wrap his wilting bones as a layer of second skin, devoid of the pestilence only a rodent possesses, it is here his surfeit of theatrics wanes and here where he forgets his mother tongue of nasally nuisance.
So brutally turned inside out once tempered by fermented cane sugar and goodberry ale, a coveted consumptive mind, enlightenment, articulation, and a wisdom unbecoming of a man at this tender age.
How disarming to be seen, to be known, all while he grieves a life he is still yet to lose.
LIKES
Plants, painting, pottery, hard toffee, rodents, theatre, topiaries, attention, the colour green, paper origami, sugar, piano, live music, flutes.
DISLIKES
Vegetables, old people, dandelions, formal events, vomit, names, waking early, control freaks, fur, optimists, canines, tepid soup, religion, pity.
FEARS
It's no easy feat, a man enslaved to apathy is a challenge to scare. He doesn’t fear death as a concept, something quick like musket gun or gallow noose is the least of his short-listed worries, but fears the suffering of something slow. Encroaching sickness, in particular, is something Rat would be loath to admit terrifies him.
All sizes and shapes of dogs. A convincing bark will have him tensed like a prey animal.
Emetophobia, the fear of vomiting, seeing vomit, or watching others vomit. He's steely to much, just not regurgitation. Even the sound of someone retching is enough to have Rat leaving the room with haste.
EXTRAS
HABITS
Rat spits at people. There is no nicer way I can frame this. Strangers and enemies alike, he may spontaneously decide to eject saliva at them for no reason other than: "it's funny."
In deterrence of growing emotional attachments to people (don't name a pet you don't wish to keep), Rat will use anything but their correct name. Whilst similar enough by starting with the same letter or rhyming, a few interactions might be needed to realise he's not forgetful and is actually doing it on purpose. Less fortunate souls are assigned a nickname based on their appearance or personality.
Likes origami, and leaves folded parchment in places he has been. It harkens to Rat's origin from the Cascades, sometimes he does not even notice he is doing it. Do not hand him important paper or it will be returned folded and creased to ever loving shit.
Bites his nails when bored. May or may not spit these at people. Step closer to find out.
Likes to “ding-dong ditch” the cabin rooms by knocking on every single door he passes by. This is a conscious effort to be annoying.
You seem to be having a peaceful time. Would be a shame if Rat ripped some grass out of the ground and put it on your lap.
A keen precisionist who is almost painfully perceptive, not many come to realise Rat is actually perfectly sane. This becomes an issue in "Boy Who Cried Wolf" urgencies when nobody is willing to take him seriously. Alternatively, it also means his naturally snide personality comes across a jest rather than truth.
HOBBIES
Frequently picks up new past-times to entertain and expand his knowledge. Currently into really ugly pottery.
Draws and paints flora in his journals. Does not like showing anyone because that would imply he’s an actual person with interests and hobbies. "But he's a botanist–" first and foremost he is an abstract problem and you are not allowed to think he has interests or feelings thank-you.
Can be trusted around unattended plants (lying) (he is taking them) (they are gone). While not something he can actively partake in onboard the ship, Rat does enjoy gardening.
A man of the arts, The Cascades are ample with theatre and music. He enjoys Piano and the Flute, yet isn't interested in playing for others unless he can litter the performance with bard-like insult.
STRENGTHS
Identifying plants, poisons, art, lying, acting, blowgun darts, observation, composure under danger or stress.
WEAKNESSES
Physical strength, combat, sugary treats, pessimism, impatience, being taken seriously. Idk literally dying is kind of shit.
HEADCANONS
“Nyehehe” coded. Perhaps even a little “Nyahaha”.
Does not eat bread crust. Likes to leave it hollowed out.
Very good at card games where he gets to lie. The psychological torture of having to sit at a table with Rat for more than 5 minutes is immeasurable. Can’t even focus on what you’re doing because he’s playing footsies.
Grub, worm, nitwit, beasty, seems incapable of speaking to anyone without throwing a rude name. Elderly lady? Ugly hag. Crying toddler? Snotty gnome. Absolutely diabolical vocabulary and he should never be allowed outside.
Favors hard toffee, and is often seen chewing or pushing it to the side of his mouth when he smiles. For a man who loves green he does not love vegetables. Or fruit. Or anything that could be considered appropriate nutrition. Let him chew some Styrofoam.
Children find him funny. He does not return the sentiment. Begone, worm.
Claims he can't read or write so that nobody asks him to. Is seen reading a letter the very next day.
Hates the feeling of being watched, and is wary around those that don’t fall into his demands for attention. It’s harder to gauge someone’s intentions when unable to derive a reaction.
There’s a small shift in his jaw in tell he’s about to spit at somebody.
If asked for his actual name, he’ll hit them with “Ratalie” or something equally stupid. It's not that he feels his name is a grand secret, but Landon feels more personal than being called a rodent, and he's into everything but personal.
Don't ask what he's doing. If he walks past holding a femur bone you just leave him be. He's busy.
ur honor he's just a manic pixie husband
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
Not well known, but if one has sought botany in the Cascades or Zenith, Rat is sure to have left a whiplash impression. A single encounter is enough to steer a wide arc, and only the truly desperate are willing to tolerate the personality to reap actual results. He travels frequently between the Capital and The Cascades for work-related purposes, yet has preference for The Cascades and its creative ambience.
FACTION
The Lazarus has a past connection to the Covenant of Aethera. His reputation with them is poor after denouncing the religion, disappearing and adopting the name "Rat" little over a decade ago. He is not in contact with them and has no interest in doing so.
STATUS
None applicable. Rat lives a comfortable yet recluse life.
MOTIVE
With a skillset in botany, the King appointed Rat to research remedies for his wife. But this pest isn’t the type to heed the beck and call of anyone, and his true purpose for following the order is out of his own self-interest.
BOARDING
Rat has boarded the Leviathan by (surprisingly) legal means. To the horror of many, he is actually meant to be there.
ROYALTY OPINION
Rat does not care about many things. This is one of those things.
PIRACY OPINION
Rat does not care about many things. This is yet another of those things.
EXTRAS
For a Pinterest board & Spotify but I am beautifully proactive and have not completed either. Get out of here
kismet
SPRING
Moonlit dew beads on blades of grass like bloodless caviar on sawblades, undisturbed between the interval of now and the arrival of cold. Fruit blossoms in Summer, Autumn wilts trees to their skeleton, and Winter ensnares the soil under a cadence of white.
But impatient since conception, the Spring is too early; a premature birth in exchange for a frail blonde. Stubborn nature with an aptitude for tenacity, there is something restless and atavistically ingrained like constellations in your bones to stir awake in the oncoming years of your life.
How revered for the oracles to produce a blood heir, how blessed for him to survive a divine test and not succumb to ailment.
The celestials and their fate take credit for your own perseverance.
SUMMER
Your childhood is the only medley of clarity you can afford, and at an age of eight is the arrival of a sibling. Not early in their Springtime, not impatient in their resolve, and not too curious for their own good.
Your parents are milky snowcaps. Black surf breaks Cascade shores while you stand beneath their watchful alpines, showing them the curving ridges of a seashell and its pale invertebrate. You move a shock of hair away from eyes and look up to see if they are listening, and they remove the shell from your hands to honor no ocean, redirect attention to the sky of your exalted city while the sheet of their robes catch breeze like a blanket of chalk.
But you take note of the wonders beyond celestial bodies, the crocuses and paper pinwheels throughout Cascade stalls. You watch jesters pull drools of ribbons from their pockets and their painted upturned lips in which citizens can watch and soak mirth like a scullery maid's sponge.
You wonder, idly, if jesters feel sad beneath the bronze bells and leaded paint, that perhaps they exchanged their grievances for a mask of theatre.
AUTUMN
One year shy of a decade when you first notice it, that strange flavour of the heart. Gods demand to be bled for, desire a lamb to comb its celestial wool or spittle the flesh into mutton. Occasioned by turmoil until it becomes a rush of blood, the sickness minces you, hacking ferrous ruby into ivory fabric, a heart guttered with a hole that no prayer can knit, no oracle can deem blessing or punishment.
Days are without direction. Weeks and months tethered to bed where birthdays become milestones and healing prayers are the tradition of your existence. To intervene with sickness, applying poultice or herb or cooling cloth to the cranium is to meddle with the star’s divine will, and you are left to solder with bloody cufflinks and copper lined teeth.
Stretches of marble walls do nothing to stifle leaked voices spoken soft at expired hours, bowed breath uneven from a gaping mouth or scratch of thin blankets. The silence can hold a nauseating tune, splashing sanctified glare of lanterns while devotees drift in their gowns of white, tender floors with their soft shoes.
Weak immune system strews algid fog over a wilting childhood, and under the impression of dying young, further blossomed that trait of valuing everything that is small. You’ve learned to look at things, treat grains of information with grandiose significance as there is not much else to do when isolated in a bedroom.
But observation was something that could not be easily excavated from a body, divided from the muscles of hand and heart, recognising despair when you saw it. Hope razored down to crumbling remnants and tender-pink bone, in the lingering question from friends, from family if you dare call them that, How do you feel today?– to feel is punishment, in the pale colour of tired desperation, in the eyes glossed with rheum and mouth full of saltwater and grave dirt, in the death rattle of phlegm slathered lungs, face raised like forlorn hatchlings, mouth wide and filled with moths, to feel is to resign oneself into a future that has become your home like sleep.
You have no choice but to plead indifference, you aren’t willing to feel more. Why weary oneself with the infinite injustice of a finite spirit? Even in the presence of fear, in the presence of fatigue and sleeves blotted wet and red; the more deeply you feel, the more stubborn is your purpose. Once curiously amicable, now steeled in apathy that waits in the face of death ought to be made omen.
You needed a shovel and a mound of gravedirt and a foot inside the coffin to realise you needed for something more, something beyond a bed turned casket.
It is not poor health that kills you, but that mawl of impatience.
You are eighteen and wear apathy like an executioner’s hood, white reaper, horseman of pestilence, no divinity is needed to ascertain your fate. Here you extend your neck and leave it to squirm on the guillotine block, sanguine revolution of a name to be buried and liquefy to dust in the ranks of the Covenant.
Dark and menacing is outside the Cascade walls, hanging wet as wool and sticking heavy as tar, but every light must have a shadow, and in the dark nothing can be removed, nothing can remain, and nothing exists but the bones and scavengers that lick them into glassy opal. Landon melts away from existence, and one of those shadowy scavengers; not unlike a vulture; not unlike a rodent; nests away in the academic halls of Zenith.
WINTER
Many have tried to defy death.
Mesopotamian Gilgamesh, intent to stay awake long enough to become immortal. Consequences of Sisyphus, invoking everlasting punishment. The wistful prince of Troy, Tithonus, granted immortality but forever ageing. Achilles, dipped in the river Styx for eternal life, yet the lyre tendon of his heel still snipped. The Holy Grail, a chalice that preserves, is lost to history.
It is known there are no dark recesses to hide and cheat Thanatos, but you of all people were never meant to live this long.
You ache with age, have learned that life is not an ouroboros of seasons but snow burning and dissolving under the sun where nothing but the shade of you is to remain. The darkest nebula to eclipse the blanched white of your youth, beneath the intensity of the moon the seasons are wilting, and you, too.
How ironic to linger in garden groves blooming with life when time has mutilated your insides and made your mind invulnerable. You wade in emerald, strain toxins and extract calendula oil from flower and root as if this juxtaposition of a dead thing amongst the living is anything but natural, anything but to linger in the memories of your secular origin and limited future.
Rodents travel in the direction of something sweet, something forgotten to find and drag back into the light. A letter, waxen sealed by the crown, parchment smooth yet heavy with intent. To delay or prevent death, The King seeks remedy.
Dying is a wound shared by many, pity is salt, and it is easier to repel others than allow them to deepen the sting. No need to impress has spoiled your personality, your light, intending to be nobody of importance to anyone, a paper crane built out of lies and theatrics and half-imagined concepts.
To be known is too close to existing, a reminder; fear, that you are not a glass illusion undefined and shameless. Built of skeleton bones and pale skin that feels bloodless by the day, being an unwanted heretic is a safeguard against conversations, truths, you can no longer carry: This is borrowed time. Your commitment to deceit is at best, a delay of the inevitable, and at most, something exhausting that is commendable. To feast or salve those pitied wounds, both yours or the Queen, is unknown.
The greatest hurt you are willing to feel is betraying a single inch of your character, for one may have been able to trick the cosmos into giving you more time than most, but you have felt guilty ever since.
Born in the dregs of winter, and you know to the winter you shall return.
gallery
rel.
ORACLES
PARENTS
Not mistreated, rather, never treated at all. A blood heir present for Covenant events for just under a decade, until attendance becomes scattered and he seems to fade from existence. At eighteen Rat’s denouncement of the religion came in tandem with the burden of being a son. He deems he has no parents, for no child should have to beg to be helped.
OSKAR
SIBLING
Rat's attempts to separate his younger brother from their parents and their faith have been unsuccessful. As time passes and Rat's health deteriorates, so too does their brotherly bond. Rat has decided his inevitable passing will be easier that way.
The Lazarus
explodes things on purpose for attention.
sips unknown substances to critique like a fine wine.
nine lives
CLICK
REN
THE KINGSLAYER.
BLUE AS INDIGO
TIGERCUB.
-
-
FULL NAME
Funai Ren
Nicknames
Just Ren
age
TWENTY-SIX
P.O.B
The Canals
PRONOUNS
HE/HIM (DUBIOUS)
-
Age
26
Job
Tax Evader
role
Kingslayer
FC
Atsushi Sakurai
Height
5'10" (177cm)
Weight
185lbs(84kg)
The Kingslayer
PATIENCE
INTELLIGENCE
STRENGTH
DECEPTION
BOYLOSER CHARM
Visage
BUILD: A consort of the sun with warm beige skin and soot-black eyes, Ren cuts a broad-shouldered and lean figure at 5’10”. Sturdier than height may suggest and unyielding in both personality and stature, his movements are confident calculations borne from a childhood stepping from canoe to mooring post to cedar decking. An impression of appearing taller from a distance is a personal chagrin, but characteristics encapsulate that height is mindset and not a limitation to the volume of one's voice.
EYES: Molten amber beneath the sun, irises don a shade of Cimmerian ink. Almost impenetrable by light, there is a quality of ravine-deep opia to his stare: invasive and impassive. Oil pools emulate that which glitters in his grasp, but the lack of any complex thought behind those lashes is a short-lived secret.
HAIR: Splayed loose like a cat o’ nine tails, leather black and insidious as they come; Ren’s hair heeds not convenience nor efficiency. Garnished androgyny coats shoulders to fringe ribcage, and those with an appeal to touch will be met with a snobby slap on the wrist to warn, Paws off.
SCARS: It tastes of ash and smouldering gunpowder, shrapnel cleaving blood; vertical lip scar stands testament to combative escape from the Red Baron. [X]
DISTINGUISHING: Cutting a silhouette of scrappy ink, his disavowing gaze is as icy as northern wind. A natural expression that strips warmth and emits short-tempered disinterest, strangers are prone to assuming Ren must have a bad attitude. A threatening appearance with intentions that are usually harmless.
PERSONA
Greedy, brash, dishonest, demanding, victimizing, rowdy, scrappy, noncommittal, melodramatic, pedantic, bold, determined, excitable, materialistic, foodie, plucky, spontaneous, charming, giving, sacrificial & independent.
IN DETAIL
Paper tiger.
With sabre veneers of soft mâché that cast intimidating shadows and ink stripes to lacerate him in blades of black, Ren’s surfeit of confidence is a purposeful tool for social strategy. Be it abrasive spur or lewd charm, they are chainmail scales to coat the tender flaws missing within his own, and have become the only flavor of self preservation where he can hold someone’s gaze until it hurts, till he can speak without tremor climbing the rungs of his ribs, till he can make others nervous under the smug silence of his own. This impulse, his armour, naught but a cage that moves with him.
If not for this performative characteristic, he knows all the doors of the universe would be locked to him. And if not for this performative confidence, he knows he’d be easier to tolerate.
There is droll charisma to his antics, gestures and mischief that errs on affection. Sauternes sweetness uncharacteristic for a man of his own self-interest, spontaneity blurs the dissection of what he wishes to keep fact or fiction, and in that dissonance lies the unspoken gravitation for company. A lucky charm, a nefarious meal, the larger portion of a halved fruit placed into a friend’s hand; he is a cat that drops birds at the front porch to beat with tufted paws, hoping to keep one fed despite what unconventional means he must undertake.
But with a brash nature, Ren; 蓮 Water Lily, is carved not from lotus but petals of rough asphalt. His apostate views are against the grain, justice over protocol, respect earned over inherited, authenticity instead of the deceit of social etiquette and a reluctant care for humanity over mindless brutality. So unabashedly committed to his beliefs, unapologetic to how they sandpaper over the arrogant and the quiet.
He decrees he has no ruler and pledges no allegiance, but when the tide turns Ren will serve only those he views as innocent.
A nervous dog is reactive, and he never wanted a temper, wasn’t inherited nor born as such, only housed with the fond sentiment of a stray animal. Guttered the virtues of adolescent ignorance fresh and raw from his body to make room for Zenith, let it stay longer than anyone else did. No accident that he wants to be cinder and gunpowder, a splash of cardinal red, the tongue slicing edges of sanguine ruby to scare anyone from ever rivalling his lies or dauntless image. For when pared open ribs and delved hands into the sickly soft viscera, there is cuprite melted to byzantine with a sorrowed regolith of lapis. He is cerulean, bruised wet with melancholic indigo, a meek and lonely son of Neptune with nobody to blame but himself.
It is easier to be cruel than humiliated, and with a child’s loneliness and an adult’s anger, he still feels it logical to proudly parade his paper teeth. When one knows the taste of struggle, has it ingrained like sacrilegious ink to the tongue, they tend to forget that life is no longer a constant war and self-imposed medication of acting tough brings only collateral ruin. After extracting the bold and the brash, what remains is this:
A brave coward, a caring narcissist, and a lonely introvert. Layers of contradiction at war with who he was, is, and ever could be, he is a knitted lip scar and knuckles of pestled sapphires, a habit for behaving red yet born blue knowing that it's melancholy shade drips from the cuff of his sleeves and leaves an indigo comet trail ribboning through each temporary home. Plagued by massacred eulogy of abandoned connections, even now with a mantle of matador red so purposeful in its promise and décor, he knows those of his ilk aren’t easy to keep around.
He screams vacancy like a red light district, prefers cheapened intimacy without engaging in meaningful conversations, and is rendered voiceless when it comes to talk of emotions. A floozy who desires company only to have a place to melt when tired of being cold— if just for a moment. Known to crack and recoil when attachment grows molasses and sticks tar to skin, he dares not be viewed as a burden, save relationships are left as nothing more than scoured veins. Plagued by fear of being owned, by God, King, partner or place, by anyone or anything but himself, Ren has only ever wanted to bite down hard on anything offered to his hothouse mouth. No hand, not even those that feed him, are safe from his wilderness.
The need to imbue fractures with others is to acknowledge there are absences, but it’s his stubbornness speaking, perhaps pride, that thinks he is above needing anyone at all.
An insecure narcissist who cares not for politesse daggers, a non-committal caregiver, a brash yet smooth-talking stray who collects blood in his palm by biting moons from anxious fingernails, a fussy boy born with nothing and acting like he has everything, it’s a paradox of wanting both unconditional loyalty yet unequivocal freedom that becomes his fatal, fearful garotte.
LIKES
Money, hot drinks, long baths, fancy quills, animals, sunlight, good luck charms, milk-pudding, jewellery, naps, alcohol, food, markets, heights, compliments, bugs, handmade items.
DISLIKES
Crowds, liars, apologising, public-speaking, cold weather, books, pirates, deep water, commitment, pretentious words, wealthy people, blondes, royalty, innocent casualties.
FEARS
Drowning is an uneasy demise he'd rather not entertain, but a man who can't swim residing on a boat surrounded by water is testament to the fact he might not think at all. Some argue stupid or just lucky, but the truth is Ren is stupidly lucky not to have been dropped into a watery situation.
Anchors. They’re big and have been in the ocean. He doesn’t like that.
Though his lip has been successfully seamed shut after minutes of bickering, cowardly flinches and drops of Laudanum, Ren retains a fears of needles.
Superstition to a ridiculous degree. If the wind howls it is something bad. If something falls off a shelf it is evil spirits. Anything (or anyone) he finds unsettling will have him nervous as a mare.
A man with a mouth wired to a landmine for all the good it brings him, his leonine confidence before a few strangers or friends is unrivalled. Put him on a stage with many waiting eyes, however, and one will find he has the bravado of wet bread.
The avoidant attachment style is strong with this one, and Ren has an abysmal habit of disappearing without warning. He understands he likes close relationships, but in a constant state of Hiraeth, never feels that he belongs anywhere. When he feels his presence is becoming a burden he withdraws and disappears from their life. This may prove to be difficult on a boat.
EXTRAS
HABITS
Androgynous attributes sometimes provoke whispers of tall woman or feminine man? Ren settles the unwanted attention by bluntly lifting his shirt to flash his chest at them. For those he mistakes as being invasive rather than zoned out or finding his face familiar, this is a very alarming reaction to receive.
“This is how I win” and then he loses. A man who has lost so much and continues to do so every single day: “I never lose.”
Getting into trouble is probably his enrichment time. Starts fights he can't win then pulls a power move of calling them a coward while running away.
Fixation on hands when nervous. Digging nails into palm, tapping, picking or chewing at the skin around them.
His seduction tactic consists of saying Hello Beautiful and going to lean against the wall but missing and falling down a flight of stairs. It works.
"I never did that." but he very much Did That. Will be in the middle of Doing that. Will have irrefutable evidence that he Did That. Will deny it because he never Did That.
His credible source is that he made it the fuck up. He knows he is poor at outright lying, so settles for giving half truths. The Majesty of Pedantics when it comes to withholding context or avoiding important details. If he's asked a direct question and responds with a nod or shake of his head, there's a 99% chance he's lying and doesn't want verbalize it because it'll sound suspicious as fuck.
His best skill is just Distract! Where he says some outrageous shit and hopes it stuns opponents. “Ur so sexy btw” then he punches them. Romance is a self-defence tactic and by god he will use it.
“Call the guards. I’ll have sex with them.” LOCK HIM UP.
Can cry on command, uses this to make people look bad. It is poorly executed. You won't give him this small turnip for free? Okay I guess... Inhumane of you.... I bet you feel bad........
Takes it personally when he can't just charm his way out of problems. Will flirt his way to success. If that doesn't work, bash their skull in with a mallet.
Will not give respect to those he thinks have not earned it, no matter their status. His flagrant disregard for catering towards nobility and royalty gives an ill-mannered impression to many. Strangers are treated equally, both a virtue and vice.
Sometimes uses big words he doesn’t know the meaning of so he can sound smarter. “This food tastes ubiquitous” boy shut up.
Men. I will not elaborate.
HOBBIES
His holy trinity is Snacking Stealing and Seducing (with a not-so-secret fourth, Speaking).
Peels fruit for people he likes. Would be more wholesome if it wasn’t just him nudging an apple slice against someone’s mouth until they are forced to eat it.
Pick-pocketing. Once a survival tactic now a habitual recurrence, he often steals just for the power trip or curiosity of it. Hide your good cutlery somewhere safe.
With an encyclopaedic knowledge over gemology which extends to their authenticity and rarity, it’s bewildering to realise a man who can’t spell has the aptitude for all that.
He’ll never cook for himself, but Ren enjoys cooking for friends. This may be the reason his food is borderline radioactive to consume since he doesn’t bother to taste it.
STRENGTHS
Locating fruit, pickpocketing, gemology, nimble footing, balance and climbing, picking locks, droll charm, manwhore extraordinaire, disarming conversationalist.
WEAKNESSES
Swimming, temperament, his prejudices, handling guns, literacy, following orders, overcompensating, seasonal asthma, social grace, distrust, mercuriality, lying, talking mad shit then getting his ass handed to him on a weekly basis.
HEADCANONS
Claims to be Vegetarian. Eats meat. Immune to people trying to reason that he is, in fact, not vegetarian because of this. In which he will raise an elegant hand and correct them, it’s a part-time job.
If he calls you Friend or Buddy, you are most definitely not his Friend or Buddy and he probably wants something from you. Is it Buddy [Manipulative] or Buddy [Threat].
Can’t spell or write for shit. He can, however, add and subtract at creepy speeds. Money-minded man.
Has “your friend’s 8 year old brother who has a crush on you” vibes cause he’s just kind of weird and yaps a lot. Social anxiety fears this man.
Brought up in a cold house, asthma flare-ups aren't uncommon during winter.
“Would you like me if I was a bee” but genuinely offended if the answer is no. Repeats one week later with "what about if I was a slug".
Surprisingly good with kids once he gets over the “why is it staring at me” stage. Probably because his love language is just sharing food.
Gets mad if you kill a bug because it’s, ahem, “innocent and just trying to live with what it has”. And NO he’s not projecting onto a beetle how about you STOP psychoanalysing him.
A mommy's boy but he will never admit this. If an older lady calls him a petname he's climbing into their purse to go home with them. Son of all mothers. He is The Honey, The Darling, and most importantly, The Sweetie.
Charming in a "villain's incapable henchman" type way where you know he's up to no good but he's likeable because his behaviors aren't homicidal.
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
A petty thief in Zenith, an enemy of the Red Baron, and a simple nobody to most of the population. There's no renown to Ren, but the unnamed individual who gouged the Baron's eye loose has scorched narratives and speculations throughout the realm. Reiterations of a strong opponent with a greatsword, bearded and wise, intimidating and the size of a bear— none are actually true. At the source of it all, just an upset river waif with a pointy knife.
Instances of recognition are rare, but never without bad reason. A mosaic of trouble, admonishing fingers affix his nose while he shrinks under accusatory call outs: You owe me money, you stole my grandmother's urn, you nibbled that necklace off my body. Ren meets it all in kind with sheepish smiles and his forever crux, I never did that.
FACTION
A past affiliation with the Carmine Corsairs, Ren disliked their methods and spurred by impulse, chose to flee after attacking the Baron. His reputation with them is poor. He tries to keep a low profile and even lower hat when docked in Antares, save familiar crewmates recognise him.
STATUS
Wanted in Antares for his past affiliation and attack on the Red Baron; thankfully a descriptor of "guy with long hair" and a mess of false notions makes it not easily applicable. As a born Fluvian, legally he has an Outcast status, but this doesn't stop him from straying into cities and places he shouldn't be. Low status from an adolescence in poverty.
MOTIVE
To seek audience with the King requires an awe-inspiring deed. Ren can't kill the King from the slums of Zenith. He has to behave and help The Leviathan achieve something great.
BOARDING
Rich people do not have to lug heavy items onboard and engage in gruntwork. And Ren? Ren is rich. Rich in audacity, in bravado, in hair conditioner, rich in everything but monetary value. Ever seen a man charm his way onto a boat? Ren hasn’t. He had to climb over the side after being denied entry five times. It should be noted he has promised this will be the last bad thing he will ever do ever (until he meets the King).
ROYALTY OPINION
He'll hold his tongue around King loyalists, but Ren's silence is his loudest language of hate, and nothing can stop the way inky iris boil from the sideline.
PIRACY OPINION
Experience with the Red Corsairs has formed his biased opinion that all piracy is cruel. Foolish to assume every pirate's morals are as black as the Barons, but Ren has reluctant empathy for the innocent and the fallout that ensues from violence. If destruction of the King wasn't at the forefront of his mind, it's likely that pirates would be. Or marrying someone rich. Or maybe some better hobbies.
EXTRAS
wow gao its really sexy how you add this optional thing into a cs and then don't complete them yourself you're actually so cool for that behavior OK LISTEN HERE I'LL GET THEM DONE SOME OTHER TIME
kismet
THE CANALS
蓮 Water Lily; Lotus, in a coterie of filmy skies and petrichor mist begins a greedy son. Sheltered abode the river, even this patient community distended sighs to small hands prying for bowls of berries and cooling plates of sponge bread. Born with an ache for victory, a little conqueror fascinated by lilypad soups and the crude jewels noosed to the bend of swan-like necks, your fiendish paws reach for anything that gleams and chew on anything that is edible.
A boy must pursue his visions, and your magpie fascination bathes languid in lagoon eyes that wait and watch the preparation of smoked eel with doelike interest. Coiled, bundled snug to the restrained margins of your mother’s arms. Until one day you’re not, and the real peril begins when you learn how to run. Set to motion like a snapping spring, eel in teeth and a knee-tall blur of soot, you slip under low willow canopies and hop over fishermen reclined in their canoes with steps so cunning, they could only be reserved for that of a guilty thief.
You find solitude in the high wishbone of a tree to chew eel and ignore demands to Come down, and the community forgives you because you bear the name of a man you won’t see for years.
A mother who is a child herself, she stashes letters from Zenith at the bottom of a wicker basket to pore over when alone like a sacred script; your father writes from the Capital behind a partition of steel bars.
She often finds you alone in a grove of cardinals, the blue hiding amongst the red, and she can smell the basil you’ve torn into small pieces just to busy your troubled hands. Outside it extends down the river, a Monet tapestry of fluvial living that is fraying, perhaps it always has been, a decline measured like drips of hourglass sand. One less and one less, families stray from the river to build a better life impersonating residency in townships and cities.
When you are old enough to thumb a blunt blade under persimmon skin and split rind from pulp, the ground you occupy and thought was safe suddenly slopes away.
There is a reason nobody explained to you the human jawbone pulled from the river on a fishhook.
DEPARTURE
The oppressive dusk has a way of shoring up sunset red, effacing sky and riverbank in claret gemstone foam. Saturated and gravewarm, the emerald river of which you have lived and loved is screaming and littered with carcass.
Meat disfigured by silver and water lucent flame, you hear the entirety of it in echoes, see it in silhouettes of melting scaffolding, taste it in how every forced breath invites disquiet and engraves a sharp edge of purgatorial prayer into soft trembling insides. It’s a burial in open air until you are displaced from above to below, and the dark throat of the river feels like a swath of black ice.
A short life of taking and an eternity of hunger doesn’t prepare for this; you’ve never practised forgiveness. Churning blood and mire, slipped beneath the surface to drink silt and soil, you aren’t to notice the river takes a piece of you to forever claim as its own. It’s a swallowing of unfamiliar blood as teeth dig into this life and wreathe the roof of one’s mouth with a holy treason. It’s felt, tasted, for only a sickly moment— compulsion that stirs from the regolith of animals reduced to corners with no escape.
Something vicious is not so easily coaxed from the likes of you, a ravening not easily kept; you’re no God or Warrior, and with the teeth and tendon of a child shy of seven, you are nothing but an ashy overture to be easily overlooked. Unskinned and unmade beneath the knife of despotism purpose, it’s the cradling warpath, the cleanest sort of certainty. Hope spades fingers into saltmarsh reeds as you drag your hull of ribs over the brim of rocks and away from the promise of an easy drown.
A shore of both survival and revolution, the home of water burns so viscerally loud, a piece of history to eternally bind and crush peace from existence. It is jetsam of arteries and blood and bait and in your dead language nobody knows how to beg for mercy. Pillagers disconnect a jaw so they may introduce another and you finally understand the bone in the river.
Your mother’s hand is white-hot as she tears you from trembling catatonia; you want to save everyone but do not want to be the last in the dark; you are no hero and you are no god and the only certainty is that no King will ever extend aid for defectors.
Many flee from the community of dead and drowned to weather woodland indirection, and this undercurrent that displaces you is to be helical, orbital, a habit like an encroaching noose. It’ll slip through fissures you believe are seamed shut, the filaments of companionship and familiarity you will have to recoil from when that phantom cord grows taut. Hot wax drips in caution, a cenotaph of love must repeatedly be laid to rest, you’ll always be a stranger in your own household.
An incurable disease, a total aberration, what part of you is left in the river is the unseen genocide.
THE CAPITAL
As a merchant sloop breaks Zenith waters, the sting settles, the fresh bruise fades, and deprivation steps in to raise you.
Water lilies hunger for gentle current and tepid climate, but one must find ways to accommodate ruin, how to coalesce from soft petal to insidious asphalt without crumbling in the loss. It does not take long for the Capital to mutilate luminous curiosity into dark hesitancy; revelations that Zenith teems like a serpent pit, that vying tongues are halved and steeped in vinegar. You have seen what people can do, seen what people won’t, and even the cobble screams with unyielding intolerance.
You learn you are nothing, the water and flame of childhood is extinguished, and the cold of the Capital disorients your heart and activates a prey pulse. Rat-nest hair and barefooted, wounds of poverty leave a muggy smear of need. A house crammed with many families, artwork of stains and holes embellished in walls; crooked peeling of wallpaper akin to crêpe skin. When monsters in the dark are black mould sticking soft, breathing wet to corners of the room, one learns not to value much in the world.
Soot-eyed and headstrong, hacking asthma spattered with slush and lips slicked fire and ice, poverty speaks of misery. Nibbling like a flea, oats mashed in watered down mutton cajoled into a fighting mouth by mother's demands. Brushing dirt from meat dropped onto market floors and cutting mould from stale bread, survival and small delights are felt only in shame. Longing for vinegary mint dousing Siroc lamb, spiced rice and grapefruit ice instead of watery froth flavoured with animal bones, you want a goose-down bed, propped on a pillow with Sencha tea and an ivory bowl of apricot fruit. Even an owner of a vineyard, dreams can become cancerous in their vividness, but so too can that regolith of instinct that urges louder each year.
You often visit the cataract crone who lives next door. One day she asks what you want to do when you’re older.
Kill the King.
A blunt force knocks the apostate clean from your teeth, a slap splaying red across the blade of your jaw.
You nurse it with a sulk and never say it aloud again, but zealous, you’d burn fleshless and skeletal to keep the coals alight. Brought to knees for what you want, boasting accolades of bruised knuckles and split lips so long as victory comes morning like a new sacrament. In distrust your bones have dried to kindling and the hollow between your lungs and diaphragm floods like an oil-black kiln. No longer speaking as a mild Fluvian, but a universal language of Go away as you hide in alleys to peel fruit or count the bounty of a pilfered coin purse.
You are tired of wanting, and the King’s negligence effaces better judgement about partaking in petty crime. Ren from the river is dead, after all, and the Zenith coward that inhabits the shell of your body is someone new, someone who doesn’t know who or where he is.
Every person you love is in a burning house and the only way out is to let something die. You know you’ll scorch everyone you meet, are selfish enough to entertain the thought that this time it might be different, but loyalty is not something you are made for. Memory unfolds into a series of textures and places, and you have chosen to repeatedly sever the people from it like a blade sheathed in loom. Novelty doesn’t last forever, and it is easier to leave before they find reasons to hate you.
All you ever wanted was to be held by a place that won’t reject you, but love in this world is not free and you’ve never had the money to buy it.
CARMINE CORSAIRS
You allow them to think they coaxed you into it, as if any title or powerful faction could convince the compliance of someone so brash. You’ve been set on this warpath of reprisal since cardinal curdled your home, and no matter if the Red Corsairs thought you nothing but another wandering stray, you sit comfortably in this cage of opportunity and pretend you don’t know how to pick the lock.
The crew shows you how to load a flintlock, how to coil mooring lines and eight-figure boat knots. You eat plenty, have wood back beneath the soles of your shoes, drink often and get to watch royal vessels sink into the churning of a salty sea. Foolish to think you can coexist without acknowledging the cost of it, that feeling of when you are seen, when you are listened to, and most fatally of all, feel wanted in spite of your worthlessness. You only intended to stay half-hidden and withdrawn from their hands, but somewhere you faltered, and like always the nostalgia for a home you do not have keeps you warm in the cold, keeps you from staying detached.
Same as that warmth grows unbearable when life starts to cinder and smoke. Heart fond, witnessing their absence of humanity spurs it like a barbed flail in which to wield. It exhumes the blue of you, soft with decay, watching the target shift from royal vessel to defenceless township. You argue it’s wrong as the starboard slowly rotates to align its cannonfire. The Baron’s scorn brings a haemorrhaging shadow to eyes, and after being force fed shame your entire life you now have a palate for something richer. You are brushed aside and ignored, ordered to go below deck if it bothers you; they will not listen, you must make them.
When every waking behavior hovers a pendulum of run and ruin, they should’ve known better than to take someone soft and show them how to use an instrument of violence. It’s not unfamiliar when nobody pays any mind to you loading it with buckshot and gunpowder wadding. You are no God and you are no hero, but outside noise abandons you when you look to the Baron; you understand you are never to be crown-touched and never to be crown-owned but you understand this solar flare of freedom may be your knighting— you raise the flintlock to a netting of gunpowder barrels and only when your gaze collides with his do you squeeze the trigger.
Chain reaction swallows, the calamity of a nobody with a round of lead, a wild dominion graced with heavenly ash as if they aren’t guilty. The knife that peels persimmons is older now, as is its owner. You won’t go gently, its metal is crude and lopsided and peppered with rust, but could still split mouth to navel before anyone can stir from the burning shellshock. You move with promise, coal eyed in red rain and features carved caravaggio.
Fisted hair seizes the heatsick head of the dazed Baron, your breath is wet and perfumed dark with shrapnel blood and mutters gospel promise against his temple. You shouldn’t have, but you did, guttered an eye from his socket and fled.
You wonder if you can ever belong to anyone again.
LEVIATHAN
A boy with nothing who has taken from a man who has everything. You’ve never cared for the politesse of formality, never cared to bow head or lower a knee, and the unspoken agenda is seeping through the claret of your home, through the plum bruising of knuckles and blood-lined teeth and oath of a blade-soaked retribution, you are lit like the sun, like an altar, all blaze and riot and devotion to your faith.
Regicide has you retreated but not quite declawed, for you know those of your ilk cannot make audience with the King without an accolade of conquest. You care not for the nuances of royalty or leaders, and look to the summit of Zenith with a hunger to seize and burn it whole. In the Capital you align yourself with Leviathan as yet another cage of opportunity, climb your way on board like the nothing you are.
You are to become past-tense or a catalyst of change , and you have not drug yourself through muck, through blood and famine and hurt to falter again for something as insignificant as the illusionary appeal of a home.
gallery
rel.
RED BARON
ENEMY
The most regret Ren can afford for the attack is a mild "oops". An overlooked member of the Red Corsairs, how generous this attribute has been in saving him from immediate retribution. A mangled narrative of what the perpetrator looked like has been a source of ire— who started the fable he was 7ft with a beard? —and he has tired of making the claim to fame in egotistical tavern talk just to become the scrutiny of many. You? How could it have been you? Well you know what? God forbid a brunette do something good for society.
KIYOHIME
MOTHER
A glamour ghoul matriarch, the life of Kiyo was sent off-kilter by loving a troublesome man and giving birth to an equally troublesome child. Despite her inadequate parental skills, Ren holds a strong level of appreciation for her. If someone is to make a joke at the expense of his mom, flirts with his mom, says anything bad relating to his mom, Ren will be looking for the nearest brick to bash their skull in. She resides in Zenith with a middle-class man and has (mostly) assimilated to Capital living, but her personality is still reminiscent of a familiar loud-mouth with long hair.
The Kingslayer
ready to manwhore, mansplain, manipulate.
fighting the fatherly urge to abandon everyone.
nine lives
CLICK
LEXIS
THE CAPTAIN.
HOLDING OUT FOR A HERO
NOTHING BUT THIEVES.
-
-
FULL NAME
Lexis Margaux Graves
Nicknames
Lex, Lexy,Mr Graves ):
age
THIRTY-SIX
P.O.B
ANTARES
PRONOUNS
HE/HIM
-
Age
36
Job
Captain
role
Captain
FC
Jeremy Dufour
Height
6'1" (185cm)
Weight
194lbs(88kg)
The Captain
PATIENCE
INTELLIGENCE
STRENGTH
DECEPTION
WITHERING STARE
Visage
BUILD: Sandy gold and hibiscus blue, a position like such would lend itself easy to flashy flaunts of power. For Lex, no such pulse. Bones conjure him as a neat parcel, quiet as ice and assumedly just as vicious, but his voice is serrated with no bite, a perpetual, depthless foam.
EYES: A stare that can turn a room upside down better than any set of arms, the upholstery of the Captain’s eyes are laden with displeasure. Tropical blue but he is all glacier, they drag onto others like a whetstone, honing and holding them without delicacy. Bloodhound in bracken, it is a relieving moment indeed when they breeze indifferently past without a word.
HAIR: Dusk blonde smoothed back and largely uninspired, he has engraved truant ripple with intent and strict direction. Efficient structure without distraction or romanticism, he favours neat familiarity rather than endeavouring to try something new. Exorcism of seasalt may roil waves and loosen strands, moments stolen from his orderly habits.
SCARS: In lieu of years spent at sea, he is littered with scrapes and pebbled callouses, but with space to spare where an axe-edge once grooved itself sharp, the scar in his side has left a reminder of his own foolish undoing.
DISTINGUISHING: Whether carpeting the horizon or unlucky crewmate, Lexis has a stare that scours with half-moon disinterest. Spading uneasiness into skin with indomitable gravity, even iron-wrought individuals have unravelled beneath his sinister silence. Dust speckled blue that betrays nothing of inner-thought, many would be grateful to learn he is more afraid of them, than they are of him.
PERSONA
Stoic, soft-spoken, diplomatic, reasonable, neat, honest, forgiving, polite, thorough, detail-oriented, sharpshooter, direct, anxious, anti-criticism, procrastinator, petty, conversationally dense, misconstrued, withdrawn, competitive.
IN DETAIL
Spoken at but rarely with, this verglas man has little to give outside of the cold that one can only assume blooms internally. Steady as a glacier, Lexis tends to match their quietude. Cross-woven into him, he knows better than to run a pointless tongue if he has nothing to say, knows better than to seam boundaries of acquaintance and companionship and drag the agony of weather-related small-talk which reaps no purpose.
Contagious strain to understand the logic and mechanisms of items, this interest does not correlate easily onto people. Always nervously pencilled into the forefront of his mind, but Lex inscribes others with the impersonal unknown. Apprehension in excess, a skull ribboned with teeming knots, it is only alone where he can baptise the brain from the raucous outside. Verbal language is a hunting snake that constricts thought and intent, and what kind or helpful insight he wishes to make are always steeped in a ravine of ascetic delivery.
The fine edge of insult or honesty, scalpel-fine division is hard to decipher for those that fail to notice he is pureblood verbatim. Undeviating to metaphor or figures of speech, there is factual precision to how he answers questions, and at times, lends himself to looking dense as cement or sounding harsh as slaughterhouse tiles.
Imprinted on the ancestral white of ossein is the Umbrian custom for productivity. Some silent vow that inefficient use of his time is imprudent. Not to say he never tarries from the responsibility of his position— a procrastinator of paperwork often does, but doing nothing is always a forgotten afterthought. A precociousness for guns, assembling boats inside bottles and taking whale oil to ropes in resistance of seasalt, the isolation of ship maintenance sits more comfortably with him than dishing out orders.
Labelled unapproachable, a reliable but quiet man who appears largely prosaic, his impression to others is flared with instruction while the skull is ripe with over-calculations. The arc of a bullet has always been easier to forecast than the motivations of humankind.
LIKES
Carpentry, guns, competitions, winning, innovation, the smell of linseed oil, the Antares brothel, ship upkeep, fresh laundry, lemon tea, Clydesdale horses, wine bottles, chopping wood, being alone, the chair in the captains quarters.
DISLIKES
Olives, improvising speeches, paperwork, hats, Sirocco, socialising, uniforms, figures of speech, formal events, cussing, beards, polished shoes, fragile ceramics, squeaky door hinges, a scuffed deck, ship damage.
FEARS
What is on the Umbra ice is not something that should be stirred. He feels fine being on the tundra by himself, but with company does his paranoia bloom. It's the mercuriality of humans that frighten him beyond anything else.
Most people. He may appear indifferent to their greeting or presence, but is monologuing panic.
Socializing. Without a well-planned script he is quite poor at it. Will lay awake at night agonizing what he said, or more accurately, what he didn't say.
Heights. That’s why he has a crew to do things for him.
Very specific fear to the sound of bodies hitting the ground. Let us not read too much into this. Go look at the sunshine. Touch grass. How lovely.
EXTRAS
HABITS
Chops wood when he’s frustrated. Kind of scary till you realise it’s quite a healthy and helpful use of exertion. You should feel lucky, it could have been bodies.
If caught vandalising the boat, he will make you sandpaper and varnish the damage. Don't chip his pretty railings with a knife. Status won't save you from Lexis and his concern for the cosmetics of the ship.
Patting and speaking to the ship like it is a living entity. There’s a concerning attachment to each vessel he's on. “I sense She is upset” she is floating in a fucking harbor what could you possibly mean She’s upset.
Blunt observations on things that are very obviously there. It’s raining? “Rain.” Ok. Thanks. Makes him look very snide when he’s held at gunpoint and announces “Gun”, or he watches a stick of dynamite fly past and comments “Bomb”.
Speaks very sterile which ruins anything meaningful. “Lexis im sad” vs his “I advise not being sad as that can prove distracting to our objective.” ????? Comfort of an ice cube???
Romantic advances are met with his silent withering stare until they get uncomfortable and apologise or walk away. He doesn’t mean to scare them off but he’s trying to decipher what “Mr Sexi Lexi” means and going through the 5 stages of grief to engage in improvised social interaction.
Thinks Royal uniform is ugly as fuck and is the one rebellion he willingly engages in. Most assume it’s a humble thing but truthfully he’s just vain when it comes to choosing his own attire. He is not putting on a hat because it will ruin his hair.
Never raises his voice which makes his displeasure so much worse. Instead of looking angry, the disappointed energy will make you feel so bad that you want to throw up. Mid-battle he still does not yell. Whoever is closest to hear his instruction does it for him.
Sometimes forgets he's the Captain. It is not his first time governing a ship, but he never gets used to people actually listening to what he has to say or turning towards him for advice.
Don't use figures of speech on him. Please. "She eats like a bird" vs his "... Worms? She's eating worms?? Why???"
Will cheat if it helps him win. He has not gone entirely unscathed by growing up in Antares. He likes winning, will sometimes kneel lower to achieve that.
Dislikes Sirocco because there was an instance where a crate of ice broke during unloading and a rich person yelled at him for it. Behaves very spiteful when at this port. It’s unsettling to see him exhibit personality. Watch him become a bad little bitch.
HOBBIES
Making and collecting boat miniatures, painting the grooves of the ship, avoiding paperwork, horses, sailing.
STRENGTHS
Boat manoeuvring, boat repair, well-travelled, port familiarity, diplomatic relations, long-range rifles, de-escalation, unsettling stares, pickaxing, horses, boat whisperer(?).
WEAKNESSES
Emotional delicacy, comfort, handling blades, acting, lying, improvised speaking, looking approachable, Siroc (fuck you), small-talk.
HEADCANONS
Owns a marmoset monkey named Mike. Michael when he’s being bad.
Probably took making paper boats as a kid way too seriously that every other child hated him because he'd show up and win every single time. It's not his fault your paper sloop sucks and his fucking war galleon is not only cool but also water resistant. Stay bitter.
Missing one rib. Honey it’s giving waaaaist(and bonesaw and cauterization)
The type of person in modern au to search up the menu before visiting a restaurant, write a script to read out on a phone call, and look around the streets on Google Maps to see available parking. No he’s not anxious, it's called being prepared.
Probably only agreed to captain the vessel because he’s in love with the boat. Everything else is just background obligation.
His face makes babies stop crying. Not because they find him comforting, but because his lack of reaction disturbs them into silence.
There’s a competition onboard that if you make him laugh you win money. This is not going well. Lexis is not aware of this. He is not sure why people keep asking him knock knock jokes.
Buys wine based on what packaging the bottle has. Buys a lot that have ships on them. Rarely drinks.
Does not like being called Captain Graves because that sounds very intense. He does not think he’s an intense person. Captain Lex is fine. So is just Lex. You could call him Boat Guy or Sir Man and he’d be okay with it.
I like to think people assume he’s got some lewd hobby by how he visits the Antares brothel. In truth he’s having tea with his mom and thinking the workers are just being polite when they say hello to him.
Really hates how he has no governance over who is allowed onboard. Disagrees with having guests on the ship since they can be easy collateral. Makes him feel like a chauffeur for the rich rather than a captain of a vessel with actual firepower. Even more salty when they are called to attend formal events around Solas to flaunt the boat.
Lurch from the Addams family coded.
If he smiles the world ends. It's true I've seen it happen.
Has cursive handwriting which is pretty to stare at yet impossible to read. Everything he writes becomes a scary scrawl. If you can’t read it, it’s your fault. Not his.
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
Known mostly by those involved with the ice trade, Lexis spent majority of his pre-Leviathan years harvesting and transporting from Umbra. Those that have met him usually do not have anything negative to say on his demeanour. Quiet and boring maybe, but otherwise reliable and hardworking.
FACTION
None. He's too awkward for this.
STATUS
Kingsman. Reluctant High Society from the circles he has to communicate with, and grew up in Low Society in Antares.
MOTIVE
Stay on the ship. Keep her afloat. Make sure the crew don't die. Keep dried fruit onhand for Michael.
BOARDING
Doesn't need to board. He has been living in the ship for weeks already. He loves her.
ROYALTY OPINION
They are who offered him the position, he is not inclined to disagree. There is good and bad to royalty, he likes some of their decisions and dislikes others. The ship? He likey.
PIRACY OPINION
He appreciates their lifestyle of sailing and teamwork, not so much the murder and cussing and excessive drinking. Pirates hold little interest in taking ice so he has been largely untouched by their pillaging. As for now being on The Leviathan, DON'T FIRE HOLES IN MY NEW SHIP IM SO SERIOUS
EXTRAS
oh quick look over there (distract).
kismet
SHARPSHOOTER
Origins may be steeped in cognac and mud, but your crosshairs have always been a diaphanous operation.
Diverted from adolescent fancies of wooden guns and paper boats, it is only the cusp of curiosity when you find the item, slipped loose from the holster and left in the slush of boot-tendered streets. Never pushing the limits of what your mother could tolerate, you don’t dare bring it home, and it only makes you more eager to stash away interests from others and keep them for the audience of yourself.
You learn early that there is only one thing that keeps the party port in orbit. Exchange. Coin for bed, gun for hobby, bullet for bottle. A flintlock looks heavy to the shape of your hands but there is a rote easiness in how a placid boy your tender age can level a pre-ordained course and shatter green glass bottles like small emerald mortars.
Deemed not easy to flinch, you enjoy the logical mechanisms of guns, how to compensate for rudimentary sights and the stance against hard-bodied recoil. A muscle memory, not one of your own, but inherited from something beyond.
The sun can be maliciously hot in Antares, leering summer afternoons where dry dust swells from caterwauling taverns, but the heat draws citizens towards coating tongues in booze while ringing of gunfire echoes in the outskirts. These fragments of quiet are where you can be at ease, for in a place that demands perpetual examination, it is necessary to keep a quiet mind.
Their nature is one of hunger and violence, but you do not assimilate, oblivious to every path that is not quiet and lawful. Gone an entire childhood trying to lessen your presence, staying near walls and corners and only inviting yourself to collect discarded bottles after everyone has slumped into drowsy stupor: it becomes unclear precisely what part of you is a body and what part of you is the shadow.
There are some who don’t take kindly to the quiet ones, a strange outsider to a loud society, but the women call your demeanour mature and you take pride in the compliment. If one does not learn that purposeless boasting and dreamy aspiration is unwelcome in these grime coated alleys, notions are sure to be ingrained when catching stray fists or bullets from a nearby fight.
Valid reason for your placid approach, wanting to be seen as something else— or more accurately, not seen at all. Your mild mannered distance with seemingly everyone earns your mother’s exasperation, as if being raised in such conditions hasn’t yawned a confusing seam with you and intimacy, as if witnessing the shadows of human relationships isn’t apt enough to maul self-expression. In the thoughts and queries sitting behind her eyes, sometimes you catch fleeting contempt.
You’ll always be her brutal reminder, still only a child but born with more privilege than she will ever get: a male, something who will never have to demand to be listened to. She buries you beneath a grave of expectation, builds a shrine out of you and smooths your hair back just so she can proffer something good out of occupational transgressions.
Bastard child of an Antares prostitute and Umbrian ice harvester, here is where you learn that intimacy can be a solicitation for violence. To this day you still equate her favorite yellow dresses with split lips and swollen eyes.
To be quiet is to be unseen, to withhold presence is to be mature, and to be familiar with others is to willingly invite their harm.
THE CULLING
Purgatory of silence, you have always liked that Umbra is clean, white glowing. Slicing ice like a fallen guillotine, the arcs of pickaxes into frozen water are the profession of your father, and since subject of being passed between parents, now your own.
Pale homage, cubes are split away from the lake to one day serve the crystalline of Siroccan glass, salted and stashed in crates insulated with sawdust shavings. Despite a fate of one day being crushed between wealthy teeth, the work itself is not lavish, but the solitude of Umbra’s arctic in tandem with camaraderie compensates plenty for a rowdy origin.
A day unlike any other, the chalky mesh that divides lake and ship is a white drift piled with impatience. You are the only individual who does not mind navigating the soft stretch, always the one to cut through white alone with a horse-drawn sled of ice. A lashed tail and tufted hooves dragging through ivory coverlet, it is your return journey when you first sense the encroaching disquiet.
Something has stolen away to a gap in your chest, with each step something displaces a tendon, a bone, an organ; seeping with each passing second like sleet dripping bones and coating skeletons, the chequered lakeside is demolished in red.
Caricatured by bodies that slumber in the snow, six lives rendered to hazy gore. Like blurry embryos, can only recall the panoramic blood and scattered silhouettes that are expelled of their contents. Dismembered and broken, the hellish sequence feels hazier by the second until you cannot even recognise the noise of footfall at starboard.
The horrifying alternative that no animal has done this, the inching bile of the worst possibility finds lodging in your throat. You learn intimately why axes don’t take well to meat.
Damaged tissues and bruised flesh beneath blunt impact, your rib is diluted into shards that lacerate insides; there is no control without the glide of a blade sliding between the run of warmth and quaking epidermis.
Adam made women from his rib, yours makes space for the steel wedge of regret; mother has that in common. Witness to the stadium of snow and pine, God commands life is in blood, Bleed he demands and so we must bleed. Sanguine fluidity takes governance, yellowing adipose fat and slaughterhouse pulp, you are anointed in gore and the crescent of metal that has chewed bone shrapnel in your side.
The notion of outstretched hands and pleading is lost on them, they see right through you, see something beyond you. Terror has bludgeoned them, taken rationality and severed all connective tissue. Detached beyond knowing what is true or false, there is blood and water immersing the valley of their mind and the slaking desperation is swallowed with every inhale.
Their eyes are strangers to you, merciless in their mania and unwilling to lower the weapon, you cannot make them see sense. Sometimes your quiet nature is enough and sometimes it isn’t, that is reality that divides mercy and cruelty. They rake at you with another swing, steamed blood boils against the snow, stillness abounds.
If you try hard enough, you can hear the fading thump, thump, of a pulse yawning in their throat, a cold-strained breathing escaping from chapped lips in misty plumes. An echo down the thin oesophagus that is proof they are still human, with spine to snow and red artery and blue vein, they ask it of you.
No different than a child’s fist clutching a blanket, always that atavistic reflex to pacify what may linger in the dark. You do not know what to say in your common shadowy silence— and yet.
With a meteor trail of red you find your rifle and embed it in your hand.
LEVIATHAN
Survived the arctic only to return to the loud populations that reduce you to a thin wisp of grey, Zenith trade offers quick work and quicker position. Your side still thinks of its missing bone, a branding lacerated in skin for your lapse of recollection: to be familiar with others is to invite in harm.
Still tender but at least no longer aimless in Antares streets, fragments of time have taught you the merits of shooting straight. It is exactly why you don’t dare miss a shot if you don’t have to. When pirates are denied the surrender they want to hear and are met with soft-spoken diplomacy to look elsewhere, they fire a warning into the stained timber.
You’re not an austere man, not unforgiving or cruel, not even a man with a hidden temper, but you are far from fond when they put a hole through your ship; far from forgiving when you retaliate with a hole in their chest. The barrel coils smoke as you lower the rifle, and your efforts on merchant ships do not go unappreciated.
You know the King’s pretence without his admittance, he likes Michael more than he likes you, and you are a strategic choice to anoint at the helm of The Leviathan. A man welcome in both Antares and Umbra, a man who has navigated through river and Algol and has connections scattered throughout the realm:
Your personality may be unconventional to many, a quiet manner considered cold as the ice you once ferried, but they cannot say you are indifferent to caring for the vessel. Present since genesis, you’ve watched from the shipyard as her skeleton formed, flowering a garden of oak to encase the delicate boning.
Mucked with oils and resin, The Leviathan grows and eats the atmosphere. You are quick to realise She is your only remaining purpose, your Eve, the fortune of your missing rib.
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MICHAEL
ASSOCIATE
A marmoset monkey Lexis won in an Antares bottle-shooting competition. A social thing with a habit of gently bringing him unattended items like shoelaces or buttons. Says he doesn't like Mike but gets jealous when other people hold him. Godfather with cat energy.
The Captain
Forming emotional bonds with a carousel horse.
Kicking feet like a school-girl while lining up rifle.
nine lives
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qunqun
Give me your herbs, worm.
tw: medical talk, needles, xenophobia, heavily implied child/family illness/death
ILYA
THE PHYSICIAN.
Melancholia
St. Loreto
-
-
FULL NAME
ILYA MIKHAIL Jovanović
ALIAS
N/A
age
TWENTY-EIGHT
BIRTHPLACE
UMBRA
PRONOUNS
HE/HIM
SEXUALITY
BISEXUAL
ROLE
THE PHYSICIAN
-
Age
28
Status
Civilian
Faction
FRIEND OF THE WORLD
FC
Evgeny Shwartz
Height
6'2 (192cm)
Weight
154lbs (70kg)
The Physician
Don’t ask me why, alone in dismal thought,
In times of mirth, I’m often filled with strife,
And why my weary stare is so distraught,
And why I don’t enjoy the dream of life;
Don’t ask me why my happiness has perished,
Why I don’t love the love that pleased me then,
No longer can I call someone my cherished —
Who once felt love will never love again;
Visage
HAIR: Curly, but very poorly cared for, a dull and unhealthy coppery red. Formerly bright red, it has since become a lot more muted as he's become slowly more exhausted and burnt out
EYES: Possibly the greatest ever boon to his profession of putting people at ease and radiating kindness is soft round eyes, brown and gentle and radiates a gravity of melancholy tiredness mixed with puppylike pleasantry.
WRITTEN DESCRIPTION: Deep sadness seems an old friend to the soft spoken doctor. Quite gangly and thin, he has an impeccably steady hand and a gentle countenance, almost sickly in appearance despite his relative youth, soft curves and slight musculature met with bony wariness. Worry and lack of sleep has aged him prematurely. Despite this, there is a radiating warmth to his demeanor, more a person to smile for the sake of others rather than any sense of mirth, but still a constant all the same. Soothing and mild in speech, even when excited by strange anomalies of anatomy. Prone to flush and meekness when spotlighted, pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight.
Out of the expected for someone so meek seeming, he has a taste for black fashion and silver chain jewelry, a love for the macabre which often winds its way into his dress on a regular basis. Leathers are also not uncommon, but always dark. He has earring scars in his ears, and a staff of Aesculapius on his forearm, specifically to dictate that he is a non-combatant medic please do not hit him too hard, he will cry-
PERSONA
Patient, Thoughtful, Kind, Intelligent, Diligent, Exhausted, Anxious, Depressed, Cynical, Idealistic, Callous, Mellow, Stubborn, Meek, Shy, Sarcastic, Dry, Stable,
IN DETAIL
A lifetime of raising others slides easily underneath the skin of a caretaker. Warm, gentle, empathetic, Ilya is the type of person that you would want to become a doctor: the type that looks at someone and genuinely listens and cares for their wellbeing, not yet jaded to the harsh realities of the world. An idealist at heart, while death is a fact of life that we must all come to grips with, Ilya is the stubborn fool who dedicates himself to an ultimately losing battle.
Kindness is not even a question, it is a fact of life. Every patient is deserving of a smile, a gentle gaze, a soft hand. Sugar helps the medicine go down, and a sweet personality helps with the lethal diagnosis that Ilya has to sometimes deliver. Soothing, pleasant, the warmed spring in the tundra. Though, maybe perhaps just a little bit distant. It’s good, after all, to keep a barrier between doctor and patient. His integrity, after all, matters more than any lustful advances. Through this careful composure and impeccable bedside manner: there is the idea that he is reaching towards what it means to be a doctor, in service for the wellbeing and happiness of his patient.
Lofty ideals come with leaden chains of their own, the taking on of emotional burden weighs heavily upon the mind of a kind person. To a person who exalts life, what is it to encounter death on a daily basis? Blood seeps through the waking world and enters his subconscious, his dreams, painting the world in red. He tries not to feel cynical or downtrodden, as he is the beacon of hope which people should flock towards. Bring their ails and their troubles and lay them at his feet, he will deal with them. He can try, but there is a slow encroaching resignedness to his personability. A small bleed through of barbs poised against a velvet tongue, unused to spitting venom to the people that look at him for guidance. He fears the day when he watches someone die, and feels nothing in return, and worries that it is fast approaching. Yet a part of him will feel relief, the emotional torment that this puts him through is like daggers through a soft underbelly of innocence. Perhaps, in the end, this euthanization will be a kindness.
LIKES
Hearts, physical anomalies, human anatomy, books, science, medicine, sunlight, the sky, spiders, dark chocolate, cacti, stable ground
DISLIKES
Boats, death, beans, excitement, battle, violence, dark rooms, candlelight, screaming, dolphins
FEARS
➢ The encroaching callousness involved with watching people die and feeling very little grates against his morals and he fears his own creeping cynicism
➢ Committing harm to others for reasons outside self-defense or in trying to heal them. He swore oaths a long time ago to never do violence, and he takes that oath very seriously
➢ Similarly, he fears being unable to save people: the uselessness that that brings, though he is having to reckon with that more and more
➢ Umbrians don't need executions, only to exile people out into the steppe and let the wilderness take it from there. Thus, social ostracization has become an inherent fear
EXTRAS
HABITS
➢ A pen biter
➢ Flushes bright red whenever anyone even remotely attractive tries flirting with him
➢ Hiding his sarcasm and dark humor which sometimes pops out at very inopportune times
➢ Excitedly talks about his cousins any chance he gets (Nikolai caught a fish THIS BIG guys!!!!)
➢ Doodles little penguins in the margins of his notebooks absentmindedly
➢ Makes comments sometimes while in the middle of checkups and refuses to elaborate ("Your skull has formed fascinatingly")
➢ Very much holding back almost a constant eye roll
HOBBIES
➢ Nervous knitting intensifies
➢ Befriends and feeds the seagulls when he's especially bored and needs some fresh air
➢ Currently domesticating the cats kept on board to keep the rats at bay, they come flocking to him whenever he pokes his head out of the med-room
➢ Often goes up to the crows nest and stares at the clouds idly
SKILLS
➢ A trained, and very skilled, doctor. Theoretically, a lot of overlap between murder skills and doctor skills
➢ Passably okay at tundra hunting, tracking, and fishing, but admittedly never really had the stomach for that kind of thing
➢ Very good clothes repairer
➢ Excellent dart player, very good hand-eye coordination, steady hands
➢ Very good at scavenging for herbs and edible plants in tundra environments
WEAKNESSES
➢ Willing noncombatant, might throw up if he has to stab someone
➢ The constitution strength of paper
➢ Shit eye for design
➢ Quite meek when outside of his medbay
HEADCANONS
➢ Virgo Sun, Scorpio Moon, Libra Rising, Virgo Mercury, Cancer Venus, Scorpio Mars
➢ Neutral good alignment
➢ Have you ever heard someone use the atria of the heart to flirt with someone? No? What about the colon? Well, you will now!
➢ Sleeps anywhere and everywhere but rarely in his bed at normal hours
➢ Wears a t-shirt in 49 degree weather and calls it "brisk."
➢ Designs simplistic stick n pokes in his free time
➢ Sends letters to his parents when he can. Has a messenger pigeon for this very purpose, a fat rotund thing named Percival.
➢ Drinks coffee, calls it his potions
➢ Gives compliments to inanimate objects. Feels like they need the extra encouragement.
➢ Gets easily seasick
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
Ilya is an incredibly talented doctor who worked a lot in Zenith. He is known fairly well amongst the doctors there, and his immeasurably patient and kind disposition meshed well with both the rich and the poor. They both think of him as a naive idealist, one for trying to help the downtrodden, the other for taking on so many burdens in such a selfless manner. However, he DID consistently make his patients' lives better so there is that.
He’s also from Umbra, though the type of person to perhaps not feel like he belongs in neither there nor here. His family is very supportive.
FACTION
An oath given quietly in the hospital, solemn and assured: thou shalt do no harm. And no, he shall never. Be it pauper or nobility, he will aid anybody that traipses across his floor the best he could, even if he questions at night that in doing so he is dooming a vast majority to more suffering.
STATUS
A civilian through and through, while not really feeling like he particularly belongs anywhere, it's not like he's going to be chased out anywhere. Generally, any place he goes to is in need of a good doctor, so he could probably find his place amongst any singular population and have his ongoing existential crissi.
MOTIVE
He wanted to go to Fluvial and have a nice leisurely vacation with other pacifists, unwind a little from the constant threat of violence while still doing good in the world. This was the cheapest option. Work on the boat amongst the crew until they get to where he needs to be and get dropped off thank you goodbye
BOARDING
Ilya sent out feelers amongst his patients for people that could potentially be going to Fluvial. He then got on through nepotism with some of his former rich patients by stating that they would potentially need a surgeon on board just in case fights broke out.
ROYALTY OPINION
A workaholic at heart, immediate assumptions dictate that they would be referring to "would Ilya treat a member of the royal family" and that answer is yes. To him, all life is sacred and should therefore be strived to be saved. On asking his actual opinions, he would assume that the person asking is a narc, so he would probably respond in a very polite manner without actually answering the question; however, when in private, he questions the legitimacy of a divine right to rule over all. Is that the correct way to govern a multitude of people with various ills and needs? Perhaps not, but he doesn't view himself as important enough to ever change something like that.
PIRACY OPINION
Piracy in itself is to steal, and not always from the people who deserve to be stolen from. Therefore, Ilya would err on the side of caution and say "No, he is against piracy of all kinds." Even when stealing from government ships, that still requires murder and the collateral damage would make his head hurt. Late at night, by himself, when there is nobody else around but his own desires, he may or may not fantasize about hot pirates stealing him away for a life of adventure and danger and swashbuckling and what not. That is HIS PERSONAL indulgence, though. Fantasy is a way of enjoying life which would be absolutely horrible elsewise. He would not want to live out that dream, and is very comfortable living a quiet small life doing quiet small things to make everyone's day better.
TORTURE
AHEM. I want Ilya to become more and more callous towards the violence around him until he starts willingly partaking ty. OR he’s going to be the first to die, either way I want this innocent doctor man BROKEN… also he may or may not develop a drug addiction depending on the plot who knows-
EXTRAS
Spotify Playlist
kismet
VOLUME ONE : EDUCATION
Born to a family in a small fishing village a little ways south of the northern hub of Umbra, the oldest son of a massive entangled web of cousins and uncles and aunts and somewhere in there your parents. The harsh wastes of the cold mean that raising children is more of a community affair, and death is often expected amongst the biting winters. Healing is expensive and lethal with the scant supplies available from scavenging through tundra springs and summers. Carefully metered out and administered with the understanding that saving someone now will mean that someone later might die. You are the most skilled healer of your small community, but that isn't enough. People still suffer, people still die.
When you become of age, the quiet miseries and joys of this life grate against your skin. Shiny idealism sparkles in warm eyes, you will become a doctor and save all of the children of the earth so that you never have to see a cousin in peril again. So you leave to find someone to teach you. A wooden barrel lifted onto a boat in the dead of night, nobody ever knows the wiser as you head to somewhere that isn't the frozen glaciers of Umbra.
VOLUME TWO : RESIDENCY
Barbaric, crude, words spat upon at the feet of innocence despite the harsh environment of upbringing, you learn to hide your accent and the things that make you stand out too much as a northerner. Halfhearted jokes of polar bear steeds regaled as tall tales, things of trifle amusement. Sacred beliefs of twinkling northern lights nothing more than a party trick to the outside world. It burns, but there is strength in a crowd's embrace. In being liked. Eventually, pushed towards a hospital for the upper echelons of society
The head surgeon takes in the innocent sparkle, the warm steady hands, the naive kindness that emanates from a kid: an illusion quickly shattered by curmudgeonly attitudes and disgraceful actions towards the help. You last 4 years at the hospital as your clumsy skills become practiced and honed, before you submit notice of leave: these people do not need your help, smoothing the porcelain skin of the rich was not what you became a doctor for. You are 20, and the innocence has not yet been bled from you when interacting with the privileged few. So you join a practice in the seedier parts of town.
VOLUME THREE : PRACTICE
You are a doctor who now lives in relative comfort by caring for the poor. Your patients are many, the source of your income, and in much more need of help. The pain and agony they suffer is your own, yet at the same time you are an outsider. There are times that lives are saved, there are other times that they see the pristine clothes you wear and assume that you are rich and not just a need for cleanliness after constant bathing in blood (it has started infecting the dreams when you sleep, so much blood), and attack for the lint in your pockets. You are not rich. But you get by, and try to donate your excess. It is a life of strife. One that you feel slowly eroding your endless patience.
The rich do not understand your bleeding heart to the poor, the poor don’t understand your quiet mildness when being trodden upon, your family doesn’t understand your wide eyed innocence when talking to the outsiders. Whispers of the market speak, in rather caustic terms, of a river people — peaceful and pillaged… constantly. That grates more upon the flesh of an idealist more than any knife to the throat, any threat of being skewered through for pocket change by the desperate. That, you decide, is where you’re needed most. Surrounded by other gentle people, and your skills useful to aiding their way of life. It is perfect.
Now, getting there is the problem.
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Jovanović
FAMILY
His family from Umbra, the wastes of the frozen tundra mean that he grew up with a very close, if rather subdued family. While they probably placed way too much pressure and responsibility upon his shoulders, it was more out of the fact that there weren't many who could take on burdens. And he had talents and skills which were necessary for survival. They're loving and supportive, though they don't quite understand every little bit of his lifestyle or outlook.
They try though, and that's what matters at the end of the day. He wants to visit again someday, but worries that if he goes back he'll never leave again.
The Physician
Cut, tear, burn, heal. What difference is there to the blade in your hand — a scalpel, but just as sharp as the dagger at your side. The tearing of flesh in careful lines, fishing line stitches neat and tidy in black lines down a man’s back. Herbal poultices sting the nose, there is a smell to your wake, death and medicine.
nine lives
tw: physical/emotional child abuse/neglect and infancy abandonment, disassociation, mental illness, poverty, and heavily implied sexual abuse throughout both the relationships and the history section.
ARI
THE BUTCHER.
... And Justice For All
Metallica
-
-
FULL NAME
AURELIAN FIOCCHI
ALIAS
Ari Jones (name given when he didn't have one)
age
TWENTY-THREE
BIRTHPLACE
SIROCCO SANDS
PRONOUNS
HE/HIM
SEXUALITY
BISEXUAL (REPRESSED)
ROLE
THE BUTCHER
-
Age
23
Status
exile
Faction
N/A
FC
Florent Fauverge
Height
6'0 (184cm)
Weight
217lbs (98.5kg)
The Butcher
May the door to the room open and let him stride away to the Valhalla
he deserves.
May you—bleeding, broken—drag yourself upright.
May you think the worst is over;
You've survived, and may still win.
Then may the door open once more, and let me in.
Visage
HAIR: Harsh oiled wire shaved on both sides with a strong flip over his eyes, it really gives an interesting look alongside yellow stare. Carefully groomed and freshly shaved biweekly, he would never admit to actually being pretty good at hairdressing though.
EYES: Hazel in name only, they’re brown but with a yellow outer ring, feathered into the amber center. Because of this, they have the illusion of being able to change based on light and emotion and the way he’s tilting his head, but only in the warm colors of yellows, oranges, and varying shades of brown. Perhaps when swimming in bright blue waters, one could mistake them for green. But that is rare indeed.
WRITTEN DESCRIPTION: Blessed (and perhaps cursed) with an angelic beauty of perfection, this is almost immediately soured upon an almost permanent scowl and frown that he wears like armor. Sculpted and muscular through years of hard training, there is an attempt by him to make him seem far meaner and hellish than he actually is, a constantly aggressive and barking voice complementing this affect. Silver studs stapled into his ears, a couple in his cartilage. Black ink swirls around his skin. A red letter A on his calf, the head of a woman with snakes for hair on the underside of his bicep, a decorative flourish on his hip, and a black cursive PRIDE on his forearm… in reference to the sin. However, when particularly off guard, there is a gentle smile and the ingénuic grace becomes apparent once more.
PERSONA
Aggressive, Honest, Caustic, Blunt, Confident, Disciplined, Arrogant, Promiscuous, Mean, Repressed, Just, Moral, Straightforward, Action-oriented, Spartan, Harsh, Frank
IN DETAIL
Vain, arrogant, caustic, ill-tempered, borderline monstrous, words slither amongst his reputation to the high society which he was forcibly dragged into. And he does the absolute best that he can to live up to such high praise. Rude and vulgar, there is a real and electric danger to interacting with him, all rage just simmering underneath the surface of a well placed scowl. A brawler, he unfortunately has the skills to back his claims, and never a step more than that.
In this way, it is not that he is particularly arrogant, as arrogance requires that one have an inflated view of the self. He, in fact, has an incredibly realistic view on his abilities, he just chooses to not blanket it in humbleness. He is what he is, and those that cannot accept it are unworthy. Regimented and disciplined, Aurelian views the time he has on this earth to be precious and few, the resources he has are fleeting and unstable. Therefore, he has carefully constructed a schedule and is unyielding in its implementation upon his own wellbeing. This thoughtfulness to environment, personal ability, and growth is not something which he chooses to elaborate upon though, as he figures that the irrationally high standards which are both self-inflicted and self-enforced are meetable… and also normal to have. Anybody who does not follow the same militaristic ideology, but idly wishes for his results, is foolish and wasting their time — a subject for odious statements about weak work ethics.
Austere and blunt, the charisma of a pissed off grizzly covered in sandpaper, and the conversational equivalent of running naked through bramble, there is a harsh simplicity to the way which Aurelian executes his lifestyle and conversation skills. Friendly faces are met with open hostility and spat out rebukes, cruelty is gridlocked with thrown wooden spoons and flying fists. However, there is a strange freedom to the way which he lives: spartan and inhospitable, yes, but none can ever state that he is a hypocrite.
Starkly frank, when cutting out the profanity and the harsh tone and the vague threatening demeanor, there is normally a shocking amount of thoughtfulness to the way which he decides upon things. A strong believer in justice and equity, Aurelian has fallen into a set of morals which dictate how he views his life that can arguably be some of the fairest laws which a person could implement. Though this only translates to verbal conclusions, matter of fact and flat with no other recourse of actions, the methods of how he got there are usually very deliberate in attempts of making the best of all resources available. Echoes of what could’ve been if life had not taught him to be cruel, considerate and strongly compassionate despite his more standoffish behaviors.
Shadows whisper in the corners of his mind, while the severe style which he inflicts upon himself is by no means healthy, it is better than falling to the monstrous beast inside of him. Ravenous and unhappy, repressed emotions and traumas that he is unequipped to face broil underneath in a tight ball of unending rage. Weakness meant death, and death meant weakness. Rage gave strength from trifling, fleeting bits of failure, so he learned to funnel any negative emotion that he had into an unyielding anger towards the world until justified anger towards the injustice of society met impotent rage at how incompetent he felt. While briefly smothered out, once unearthed again this blazing inferno has settled back into his soul. The only time he did not have it for company, he cares to never recount, and he has learned to fear the day when it is snuffed out for good.
LIKES
Swords, blades, knives, culinary arts, weird foods, cleaning, boxing, silver, seasoning, tidiness, control, being left alone, fire, tattoos, piercings, competency
DISLIKES
Liars, cheats, incompetency, excuses, losing, mess, propriety, high society, excess, unappreciative people, rot, decay, bodies, his parents, especially fucking hates child abusers
FEARS
➢ A learned fear, he is terrified of the House of Malatese, his... adoptive parents-ish. One of the few things that managed to fully break him, a rare moment of weakness
➢ Losing the one bit of affection without strings attached that he has, he isn't reliant on a lot of things but Dante's one of them.
➢ Sometimes the doubt comes in, and in moments of rare self-reflection he questions if he is actually worthy of affection. If he is just a disgusting monster in disguise shambling around as a human. He doesn't want that pondering answered, he's afraid of what it'll be
➢ Self-worth stems from his usefulness; therefore to not be useful is a genuine fear of his
EXTRAS
HABITS
➢ Almost constantly scowling
➢ Gestures aggressively with knives when he's cooking, unaware that he does this
➢ Voice softens immediately when talking to children twelve and under, refuses to admit to it
➢ Such a bad liar. Has to disassociate to lie, and even then it's just nodding or shaking his head
➢ Does not talk about his past. Yes it is farcically edgy, he is trying to make himself more imposing than he actually is
➢ Skittish around every animal. They all hate him, except for cats that literally hate everybody EXCEPT for him.
➢ I hope you're ready for 5D chess whenever he flirts with a man where he self-justifies that what he is doing is NOT GAY (it is very gay, he's deep in denial)
HOBBIES
➢ He reads in his spare time for fun
➢ Very willing to spar anyone in his general vicinity, likes to keep his skills sharp
➢ Experimenting and taste testing weird ass ingredient combinations he can come up with when they have a rare excess
➢ Staring lovingly at horses. They hate him. He wants one. It's fine.
SKILLS
➢ An incredible chef, good at breaking down carcasses, using every bit of an animal, creating nice menu items out of scraps
➢ A trained fighter, good at hand to hand combat, excels with a knife or a blade, and a sword.
➢ Fairly competent at dancing, on a normal basis
➢ Good at "entertaining" (seducing) when he really has to
➢ Strong bubba
WEAKNESSES
➢ Such a strong, impassible code of ethics means that he absolutely refuses to cheat, lie, or steal because he is unneeding of the wealth... or fight dirty in any way
➢ 0 rizz. Absolutely rancid vibes. Prone to shouting whenever anything pisses him off. This is not a charismatic person.
➢ Sometimes disassociates in order to live through unpleasant things like flirting
➢ Completely unprepared for anybody ever giving him affection, and his loyalty, while hard won, means that he has incredibly large blindspots to the people who are good to him. If someone can connect with him on a human level, he automatically believes they have the same strict and strong code of ethics.
HEADCANONS
➢ Leo Sun, Virgo Moon, Aries Rising, Aries Mercury, Virgo Venus, Aries Mars
➢ Lawful good moral alignment
➢ Technologically incompetent
➢ Has been kin assigned Patrick Bateman, did not understand a single word of that sentence
➢ Psychics and fortune tellers can literally send him into rage with very little effort
➢ Forces mediums to be constantly "over there"
➢ Never met a power bottom, doesn't think they exist
➢ Think of him as just an incredibly aggressive tsundere and his character makes way more sense
➢ Writes to his brother every now and then... and journals. It's to keep his rage down
➢ A terrible sick patient, constantly and aggressively tries to pretend like he isn't sick
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
He is known in the upper echelons of Sirocco Sands to be an extremely talented chef, if extremely short tempered. A good entertainment, a puppet to dance along their strings, and a very pretty face to look at. He is both pitied and resented by the lower class of Sirocco Sands. Resented, because he got a better life. Pitied, because people are aware that the rich of this city will never see the poor as anything more than objects to be played with and abused for their amusement.
FACTION
None. Organized movements tend to bring about corruption and greed
STATUS
Low society from his childhood as an orphan on the streets, high society from his teenage years being passed along to different noble houses, exiled from Sirocco for his assault on Lady Maletese
MOTIVE
The one person whose orders he will listen to told him to go on this boat in order to survive. When Dante says jump, Aurelian asks how high, even if he grumbles a little bit. He isn't sure why, but this is where he has to be.
BOARDING
High positions in society meant that his passageway was all but paved for him when the call came out for a cook. He was unaware that this was happening until he was literally standing on the boat, knives in hand.
ROYALTY OPINION
Ew.
PIRACY OPINION
Depends on who you're stealing from.
TORTURE
Aurelian needs to be emancipated from his family ty. Potentially murder House Malatese? Boy needs to learn how to loosen up and have fun in life ty, maybe receive affection with no stipulations oooo give him a breakdown
EXTRAS
Spotify Playlist
kismet
VOLUME ONE : TENSION
A bastard child of a lord and his dirty little secret, you are unwanted, unneeded. Thrown into the trash to hopefully die from exposure, babies often die that way, after all. Mouths to feed, those who are not of high stature need to break even somehow, and the cruel outcasting of the weak and the small is a necessary evil.
The innocence of a youth, plucking a crying baby from the dump. What caused the girl to bring you out of sure death? Luck itself, and an irateness towards the wail that pierces through her ability to sleep. The family is not well, they are thieves that slip in and out of the night trying to plunder and steal what little resources they scrounge together. Somehow, though, miraculously and luckily, they allow you to live just a few years more until your small hands and slender body can fit into nooks and crannies, pillage gold and jewels from rich neighborhoods that will never be missed. You have never known more than the slapping sting across your cheek, spit flying in the air as they tell you to be grateful for the sheet strung over alleyway that they call a roof. The roasted rats that you eat for dinner. Hunger gnawing at you when you don’t bring in money and jewels and gold. Children, hungry children, can be cruel, and you learn that there is something about you which is shameful, revolting. Prettiness is a boon and a curse, a boon that the rich are more likely to adorn you with scraps, a curse that you garner the attention of the less savory.
You skitter like a rat out of view of the rich, dumpster diving for the scraps left behind at restaurants that cost more than your life, fist fighting other children for the least rotten pieces, but one lady turns her head in a rare moment towards the shadow and yellow amber eyes catch green. She sees you and points, the servant dragging you out into the light until you’re bowed at her feet. The dirt streaks your face, white satin glove pinches your cheeks and turns you around. Rose lips turn into a sorrowful smile at your pitiful state. You are too beautiful to be treated like the rest of the vermin, she whispers softly. And you are not aware that words and touch can be soft. You are 16.
VOLUME TWO : VIOLENCE
She shows you to the lord and you are bathed, scratchy rags are replaced with strange clothing that clings to soft features hidden beneath the hardness of starvation, in the belly of the beast, you are examined once more, the search for something that gives you goosebumps. And then, dressed up once more like a little porcelain doll, you are shown off to others in the high society. Fancy drinking soirees, beautiful pretty things on display for the pleasures of the rich. Parties of every kind of indulgence.
During the day, the head chef of the kitchens which you are assigned looks at you with something disgusting that makes you want to claw and scream and shout, but the words are stuck in your throat. He teaches you skills, perhaps out of pity, perhaps out of hope that you will escape somehow by learning something else which is marketable other than your pretty face. You try to not imagine the dirt that seems to cling to you like a second skin infecting the porcelain plates which you scrub, the world hazing in and out of recognition more days than not. There is a leash attached to your throat now, the favorite of the mistress of the house. It is better to not pay attention and to be blank.
You learn that soft touches are just as disgusting as harsh ones. And that these revolting soft touches, if met with rebellion, can lead to just as disgusting punishments.
VOLUME THREE : HONEYMOON
A youth on the brink of manhood, a little older than you, attends these parties. You are 18 now, and one of the best chefs in the kitchen, the only escape from the Hell around you. He locks eyes, and pulls you aside. Soft velvet is just as dangerous as harsh concrete, you have to remind yourself over and over again. But instead of a snake looking to swallow the rat whole, he looks at you with this deep understanding that rattles whatever deep reverie you have retreated into in order to survive.
He buys you a short time later from that house, and you become his personal chef. But that isn’t quite right. That is your title, but you are also called brother. He cracks open the vault and a flood of tears and nightmares wash over him as you are left drowning. But he hauls you out of these rapids. Somewhere, in the back of the mind, you recognize that you are nothing more than a project for him to fix. But this kindness is the first you’ve felt with no stipulations other than returning love. It is the closest to unconditional affection you’ve ever received. So you fall limp against his chest as he holds you through the terrors that plague your night, tells you you matter on some level. Nothing will harm you now.
Well, nothing will harm you now if you can keep you damn fucking mouth shut. Illusion of apathy shattered, there is a deep inexplicable rage welling up between your breast, hot and disgusting and you’ve picked one fight too many.
Your brother cannot shield you from every social faux pas you make. You are 23 when you finally strike your old mistress, temper finally snapping at a revolting graze of long nails against goosebumped flesh. She falls to the ground, clutching her face. You have filled out into a muscular bodybuilder type, and your strikes hurt. She screams as you continue your assault, music to the ears. The rich have always seen the poor in Sirocco as nothing more than objects, and you have just struck someone of a very high class family. Not even Dante can save you now.
You are given the order to go on the maiden voyage of The Leviathan just a week after. Do not come back until you have brought glory to the family name.
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rel.
Dante
BROTHER
Theirs is a complicated relationship. Based in the version of love which they both don't fully understand, love is something meager and passed between the two of them under the cover of night. Family, for what it's worth. The slightest bit of true affection either brother will ever receive. For Aurelian's part, it's desperation: Dante brought him out of the despair that permeated his sad sad existence and gave him perhaps the first feeling of stability he's felt... ever. Half a decade under Dante's wing being his personal chef and younger brother is the only reason why he's even as moderately stable that he is now. What would he owe to such a person? His life? His soul? He doesn't know. But sometimes, he wonders if this is a debt that he will someday have to repay. He dreads that time, but relishes in the gentle encouragement in the present. His own tiny bit of selfishness.
Some part of him is aware that Dante has ulterior motives, but all affection comes with its own price. Dante's hand has not been shown, and maybe, it will shatter him when it's revealed. But Dante has reassured time and time again that it's nothing physical, so maybe. Maybe this time it'll be okay.
Malatese
(ex)PARENTS
Aurelian needed parents, and what he instead got was abuse. Sent to the kitchens as a staff member, he was treated more as a display piece: the pretty face to show off to guests. The lucky slumrat who got pulled out, too beautiful to stay in poverty. Their touch prickles at his skin, so easily bringing as many welts as they did praise. He learned to disassociate through most of his time with them, living for the sunrise when everything would be over and he could go back to the kitchens.
The Butcher
The beating red under grime and dust, to rise above the ash of ruin there needs to be flame, rage. Straight and true, the scales of justice turn their blinded eye upon the world, and mete out their punishment upon the gluttonous wealthy
nine lives
TW: Parental neglect and abuse, infidelity, partner death, mental health issues, underage prostitution
DANTE
THE CHIMERA.
Only Acting
Kero Kero Bonito
-
-
FULL NAME
DANTE FIOCCHi
ALIAS
DANNY
age
TWENTY-SEVEN
BIRTHPLACE
SIROCCO SANDS
PRONOUNS
HE/HIM
SEXUALITY
"BAD IDEAS"
ROLE
THE CHIMERA
-
Age
27
Status
High Society
Faction
N/A
FC
Gus Halper
Height
5'9 (175cm)
Weight
121lbs (55kg)
The Chimera
And sky and earth showed what they were like:
the earth panting, livid, in a jolt;
the sky burdened, tragic, exhausted:
white, white in the silent tumult
a house appeared, disappeared in the blink of an eye;
like an eyeball that, enlarged, horrified,
opened and closed itself in the pitch-black night
Visage
HAIR: Dark brown explosion of curls on a natural level, carefully slicked back out of his eyes through oils that take an hour of preparation, a showcase of wealth in itself that it can be so carefully styled. When out of its prison, there is a youthfulness to his appearance which makes him appear far more kind and friendly and in keeping with his outward demeanor; however, despite the flashy display, it unfortunately gives a slimy understatement of a used car salesman. He is painfully aware of this fact, but his mother prefers it slicked back in the way mothers think its cute when their sons look older than they are, so that's the way it has to be.
EYES: A true kaleidoscope, the type of hazel that appears to change complete color based off the way he tilts his head and the light coming in. He has it down to a science in order to give different vibes to the way he looks at someone. Master at faking warmth and coldness alike. When studied, there is a greenish bluish greyish quality, to the point that it'd start an argument on the internet about what classification it would be under.
WRITTEN DESCRIPTION: Handsome and quick-witted, there is a strange dichotomy to the way he appears. On one, a charming fast talker with a crooked grin. The other is a ruthless business man that oozes too much charisma for an overtly slimy appearance. Slicked back oaken hair that curls at the ends and dressed fine with riches woven into the fabric of his appearance. The kind of good looks which is expected out of someone like a prince. Despite the aura which he projects outwards of strength and self-assuredness, there is a leanness to his frame, yellow stains to his fingertips from chainsmoking, his teeth - concealed through practiced facial expressions - are crooked. The quieter imperfections which he fusses over to no small end, hidden carefully beneath the gilded veneer.
PERSONA
Manipulative, Charismatic, Fanatical, Nihilistic, Loyal, Resentful, Clever, Repressed, Stressed, Arrogant, Unhinged, Determined
IN DETAIL
A mercurial shapeshifter, it is hard to define exactly what ambiguous concrete traits that Dante possesses. A hardass rule follower one second, the clinking of gold coins the next will have you believe he has no adherence to the law at all. Cold and distant to one, warm and friendly to the next. Ascribing no set personality, there are many masks which Dante will don at any given moment. Shifts subtle and careful to not draw any attention as he slithers through the cracks of persuasion and pries open desires.
Certainly as expected for an actor to this degree, ruthlessness is carved into his bones. Soft hands prefer to not commit violence themselves, but blood staining them would not be new. While ultimately a performer, he has no particular morals or scruples to bind himself to except for one.
Family is everything.
A full dissolution into the slurry of backroom deals and politics that is the upper class, repression comes from those that pull his strings. He is but a hollowed out shell of which to push his family’s agenda out into the world. What more to life could there possibly be?
Dante is a Fiocchi, the Fiocchi name is Dante. At least, that’s what he wants to believe.
Beneath the heavyset trauma and stress which comes from carrying the weight of secrets and repressing his selfhood, there lies a personality. Though one that has laid dormant for a lifetime.
LIKES
Children, puppies, flowers, kittens, the color blue, vanilla, world peace, ice cream, anything you like
DISLIKES
Death, hate crimes, mean people, bullies, anything you don't like
FEARS
➢ Plans going wrong, if all of his lies converged then it's game over.
➢ Aurelian dying.
➢ Being abandoned by his family, he is nothing without them
EXTRAS
HABITS
➢ Smooths his hair back as a nervous tic
➢ Practices facial expressions in the mirror every night
➢ Drinks... alcohol.... socially?
➢ ....
➢ Read...ing...
➢ ...
➢ Smoker
HOBBIES
➢ People watching, seeing how people move, how they express, how they talk
➢ Hanging out with friends
➢ ...
➢ Meeting new strangers
SKILLS
➢ Contract writing and negotiations
➢ Lying
➢ Ridiculously skilled actor
➢ Capable of great bursts of anger and rage and violence
➢ Rich with a lot of connections, nepo baby power
➢ Sings pretty and plays piano shhh
WEAKNESSES
➢ No sense of self, unable to understand that
➢ Kind of a weak little baby ngl
➢ Crippling need for validation and affection from his family
➢ Oh boy when that sense of independence begins to kick in after being disconnected from his abusers will that moral compass and subsequent deserved self-loathing hits him like a truck-
HEADCANONS
➢ Aries Sun, Pisces Moon, Gemini Rising, Gemini Mercury, Leo Venus, Scorpio Mars
➢ Neutral Evil alignment
➢ Kill count: 2
➢ RIP Dante you would've loved musicals and RuPaul's Drag Race
➢ Theater kid energy
➢ Probably listens to The Smiths or smth
➢ I hope you're ready for inconsistent physical descriptions of Dante's eyes
➢ What a completely trustworthy narrator he is,
➢ Iron stomach, eats basically anything without complaint
➢ Let's hope growing a concrete personality is like a chia pet
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
On one hand, he's this outgoing, personable guy that's never done a step wrong: he does a lot and he's never put a step wrong by his family, truly a son to be proud of. On the other, he's one of the most vicious lawyers and contract enforcers currently active. Not particularly because he's a very strong person himself, but because he has connections and money and a likeable personality that he can get mostly anyone to work for him.
FACTION
His parents have deals with the Carmine Corsair, with nobility, with the Stygian Order. He has deals with them as well.
STATUS
High society. There is no escape.
MOTIVE
He is traveling to ensure his family's contracts.
BOARDING
Dante came on board legally. He's supposed to be here.
ROYALTY OPINION
Rich.
PIRACY OPINION
He doesn't particularly care.
TORTURE
Dante regains a sense of self and a moral compass and immediately eats shit in 4k
EXTRAS
Spotify Playlist
kismet
VOLUME ONE : OVERTURE
To know the Fiocchis is to know Dante as he knows himself, so who are they?
The Fiocchis are the head of a massive trade operation, the details of which are unimportant to the public, but what’s important is that your parents married for need rather than for love. Your father, Ludovico, is the leader of the company, your older brother its heir, your mother, Ilaria, is the second daughter of a count. He was never a particularly loving person, distant, cold, unmoved by passion nor emotion. Charming in the dead eyed way of a shark, your brother takes after him.
A shot of endorphins, Ludovico is none the wiser to Ilaria’s quiet treachery to their marriage. She is sleeping with the gardener, while trying for a second son. You are born lucky. You take after Ilaria more than either of your potential sires, male, and expected. Your mother’s affair is quietly dealt with, soldiers dragging him to the depths of a dungeon, never to be seen again.
None of this is known to your memory, but the head of the clan always has his suspicions to your heritage. Perhaps that is why you are immediately labeled as trouble.
There is no logical reason, for what logical reason could there be for a parent to hate their child? But they do. Somehow, in your face, Ludovico sees a reflection of love, knows that you are foreign, and hates you for it. Hates you in a way that can never truly be stated outright, but immediately brands you to be what can only be described as the absolute downfall of their mercantile empire.
You are a baby crying in a crib, and already powerful enough to bring about the collapse of western society.
For your mother’s part, you are a reflection of a silly mistake that could be deadly. A time bomb ticking down to when their world will fall apart. She hates you as well.
The pressure has begun before you are even born, the goal set forth is simple: impress your parents or be exiled forever. You decide at the age of seven that it is your duty in life to please your family. To show them that you are worthy of love and affection.
VOLUME TWO : RECITATIVE
This is when luck comes in, because even with your mother’s grooming and your father’s tutelage, both of which pull you in two different directions and just make you seem slimy as a result, somehow within there is an instinctive possession of charisma. A good talker, a snake in the grass. If you were born to any other family, your natural talents for charming, acting, and singing would've lauded awards for opera and theater. But only two of these are necessary for what is to come, so you keep the third to yourself and hide what little scraps of you remain in this hollowed out shell which you've created of yourself.
There is a niche amongst the rich for someone who knows the laws to weasel in and out of contracts and deals. You slot in very nicely for paperwork and charming anybody that needs to be persuaded, learning words.
Finally, this attracts the patriarch's attention. And he decides to pull you deeper into his enterprise. The attention and faint praise you've always dreamed of, finally at your fingertips.
The pristine face of the company he’s built giving way to the black market smuggling and piracy underneath the surface.
You are born to riches and splendor. This grime and dirt and blood and sweat is completely foreign, a tourist destination to see how others live, glamorized through the eyes of someone who has never been able to properly breathe the way you'd like to. Quickly, you lose sight of your mission because you are drawn to a handsome sight of a pirate, around your age.
It is a bad idea, and perhaps that is why intrinsically you are drawn to him. For his part, you are the second born son to a massive enterprise and nobility. He could do a lot worse than cozy up to your good graces. The freedom that rebellion brings is a drug that you become addicted to, too quickly your rendezvous become emotionally attached. Neither of your lifestyles are indicative of longevity, and it is wrong. It is a tightly bound ball of excitement and dread and something that might be even more dangerous to consider.
Your father finds out about this affair, and absolutely loses his goddamn mind. Your lover disappears.
The words, heavy and aimed to stab this fledgling bit of individuality you've developed, stab as the answer comes from your father's lips. He ran away. Obviously. Who would ever love a failure like you?
He is found. Tortured. Stabbed many times over and burned alive and then shot in the face. Heartbroken, you notice your father smile in the corner of your eye. Something deep and ugly rises from a place in the cavernous chest you identify as a heart, the pinpricks of tears as your knees go weak. It is a temper tantrum, and wrong, and the rings of your father’s hand sting as he backhands you across the face when you begin to scream, you remember your place.
You do your work and then come back home, go to your room and do not leave it. Even as you become adept at wining and dining, partying and subterfuge with all manner of people, there is an emptiness that has become comfortable.
You are a tool of your family’s desires, and that is all.
VOLUME THREE : ARIA
Perhaps it is your mother and her flights of fancy that takes you to that party. You do like these types of parties, after all. The booze, the drugs, the sex, they alleviate whatever spare ache comes at the edges of a gutted carcass.
You meet him. Her. Him. You aren't quite certain at first, dolled up all pretty as he is. The Malatese gemstone, their pride and joy. There is an emptiness to his gaze as someone grabs at slender waist and pulls him tighter in, and you find yourself in it. Eyes open but not seeing. There is an uncouth manner to the way he holds himself, untamed, they did not raise him for the proper decorum, but more as a piece of meat.
Your mother notices this is the first thing you've been interested in ever since the incident, knows the previous little toy got broken by your father, and arranges to buy you another.
He is sitting on your bed one day after you finish your work, waiting for you. He stares blankly, unmoving.
You wonder if your mother in her infinite wisdom bought you a too young prostitute to have your way with. He lays down on your bed without another word.
You, in your infinite wisdom, continue to stare.
He does not budge, even hours later when you try to nudge him over so that you can sleep next to him.
You end up sharing a bed for the first time with a stranger who doesn't really talk or move or do anything… And some strange part of you has labeled him as a constant after a week of this, family, you don't touch him which is probably the only reason why he stays when your father finds out. Instead, after a lot of pleading, your father seems to come to the conclusion that you got a human houseplant. Harmless. Frivolous. We all need hobbies, after all. You bring him water and food and he just lays there, staring at the ceiling, but the dishes are cleaned when you come back. You try not to disturb him too much as you go about your day.
And that's when the screaming starts. Suddenly, the weird teenager your mother bought for you has a lot of personality. So much personality. An overwhelming amount of personality.
It is truly the blind leading the blind, but you never crack. You have dealt with pirates and smugglers and rich assholes your entire life. One angry teenager is nothing, and when it all evens out you somehow manage to convince him that you are going to be his older brother. That he is safe, and loved.
He stares at you with love and admiration, smiles with increasing frequency, and the emptiness warms in response.
He was never made for this life of hiding who you are. His temperament grates against upper class society platitudes and formalities. But he’s a fast learner and a good man. You have no idea where his morals came from, but he seems to ascribe them to you. In him, you feel a sense of personal accomplishment at his reintegration into society. Whispers of your peers tell of the fantastic chef you polished up, the impossibility of “taming” the wild brute. You find yourself craving that high more than any drug.
For a person who has made their entire life about serving others, this one person who shows you gratitude and reciprocates every kindness you give him is more than enough. Family is everything, and Aurelian Fiocchi is family.
You just need to keep him out of trouble.
Duty is as duty goes, though. The Leviathan is a death trap, and once Aurelian is gone, the eyes of hatred have you in their sights once more. The Fiocchi name cannot be tarnished, and your personal servant assaulting his former owner is not a good look for either of you. This is strike two, and you feel the ice beneath your feet begin to crack.
The threat of being cast out, of falling, still fills you with the same amount of terror, so you look for what you can do to make yourself useful.
You are sent to ensure that the contracts with your family's business are reinforced with an iron grip.
You know, however, that you are being sent to die. What a gift it will be, indeed, to die for your family.
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rel.
Aurelian
BROTHER
Dante loves Aurelian. Let it never be stated otherwise that on Dante's end, he loves Ari deeply. However, with his family things are different. Selfishly, Dante loves that his brother has such a worship of him. A person who has craved love and affection and acknowledgment his entire life from family, Ari being the first to actually shower him with such praise makes him... incredibly happy. In this way, he is aware that he is using Ari to make him feel better about himself.
But then again, Dante was the one that made sure that Ari is as stable as he is today. The one that bought him therapy - brought him a therapist. He has seen his brother at his most vulnerable and done nothing but care for him. He also has Aurelian in an equally toxic household, knowingly, and knows that some of Ari's more deeply held beliefs about his own worth comes from trying to measure up to him.
Fiocchi
PARENTS
Deeply craves the love and admiration that he's been starved for his entire life. He was the problem child. Anything that went wrong in the house was blamed on him. A servant dropped a plate? Somehow he was to blame. The servants were instructed to treat him thusly, and the mental, emotional, and physical abuse led to the... problems we see today.
To the outside observer, Dante was nothing but the perfect son from birth to present.
Dante has memory issues for the worst part of it. His lover's name he can barely remember anymore. The deepest, darkest secret that he holds is that he's almost positive that he murdered him that day. His father has never denied the paranoia, allowing for the fear to compound and break any will of Dante's to escape or develop independence.
His family is the only people that will ever accept him.
The Chimera
Lofty ideals whisper in the ears of the chimera. Approval is the best heroin that money can buy, and you chase it with the hunger of an addict, warping and fitting the boxes which others bind you in. A different person to everyone that meets you, you are surrounded by people who find you amiable. Yet despite popularity amongst others, a profound loneliness echoes throughout the caverns of the internal world. There are spaces missing where the self should lie, who will be there to pick up the pieces?
nine lives
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roxybirdie
𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐨𝐤𝐢 😸
a fury's roar.
role
The Maestro
full name
Aryon Solei Hóng
alias
Altalune Onyx Starfury
date of birth
June 4th
age
27
gender
Genderfluid
pronouns
All Pronouns
sexuality
Homosexual-Demiromantic
marital status
Married
social status
Royalty
place of birth
Sirocco Sands
face claim
Dylan Wang
written description
Aryon is an androgynous individual standing at 6'0. As first impressions go, they appear delicate and unassuming. However, after incorporating dance in their performances, Aryon developed a strong core and powerful legs. They're exceptionally flexible.
Their hair is a light platinum (almost silvery) blonde. Their hair is long, sweeping past their hips in sleek waves. Their eyes are dark grey (almost black) and framed with long thick lashes.
Their pale complexion — a light fawn beige with a cool rosy undertone — is clear and unblemished.
height
6'0
hair
A pigment as rare as a blue rose blooming in the heart of winter. A blonde so pale, it can only be bestowed by the Moon Goddess herself. The natural coloring — a rare mutation renowned in the Hóng bloodline — is a blessing and a cruse.
eyes
A raging thunderstorm with streaks of lightning. In other words, a stormy grey so dark, it can only be described as black. If the stormy grey is exposed to light, flecks of silver penetrate the dark clouds.
dist. features
Their moonlight hair and stormy grey eyes are their most striking features. They stand out like a moonflower masquerading as a sunflower.
body modifications
Their earlobes are pierced twice.
As an act of defiance — a dangerous gamble since it made them more identifiable — a single forget-me-not is inked on the back of their right ear.
preferred style
Like a desert bathed in moonlight, silver and blue are their bread and butter. Once upon a time, the colors represented the Hóng family. Unless they're forced to represent House Goldwyn, they avoid green and gold. Since their husband forced them to be the matriarch of the House, their wardrobe featured a variety of feminine clothing. However, they grew to love dresses and corsets.
In truth, Aryon doesn't mind feminine or masculine clothing. If they find a Hóng original, they'll do anything to obtain it.
one flower one sword
tgcf
req.
req.
Light can be found even in the darkest of hells.
TW for implied physical abuse and threats of non-con.
On the surface, Aryon is charismatic, flirtatious, and well-mannered. As a royal, their renowned beauty and impeccable grace earned them the epithet, Blue Rose.
Tears slid down their mottled cheekbones. Aryon bit their lip hard, the taste of copper bitter on their tongue. They clutched the dagger — a stolen ceremonious blade as ostentatious as the Archduke — with trembling fingers.
Aryon is a performer. With a pluck of their strings or a hum from their lips, they drew in a crowd like a moth to a flame. Not even the most reputable musicians held a candle to their performances. An average entertainer couldn't compete against true musical genius.
The doorknob twisted with a click.
Aryon pressed their back against the wall adjacent to the door. As the door opened, they slide behind it and waited.
"My sweet Songbird~ Where did you go?" A silky voice crooned.
Their heart thudded against their chest. It felt as if it were ready to burst. Aryon raised their dagger, ignoring the twinge of discomfort. Their ribs ached.
Despite their pale coloring — the source of their renowned beauty — Aryon learned how to blend in the background. While it became a necessary tool to survive — Archduke Goldwyn wanted an obedient and submissive husband — it introduced them to the world of secrets. Eventually, information gathering became their bread and butter.
With their charming wit and honeyed words, Aryon collected secrets — no matter how small and insignificant — involving the upper class. If a careless noble spilled a dark secret during an extravagant ball, they knew.
The skin on their arms resembled a constellation of black and blue. The shackles on their wrists were tight, rubbing their skin raw. A single thick chain connected the shackles together, restricting their movement. However, since they removed the shackles around their ankles, their wrists aren't their current priority.
Escape first, pick the lock later.
"It seems my Little Bird has escaped from their cage." The Archduke picked up a set of shackles; the same shackles they removed from their ankles. "You're only delaying the inevitable, Doll. A bird with clipped wings can't fly."
Their grip on their dagger tightened.
Songbird ... Little Bird ... Doll ... Aryon hated it. The terms of endearment were like a sweet Sirocco wine laced with the deadliest poison.
Despite the unforeseen circumstances — the Archduke chaining them to a bed wasn't part of their plan — they refused to admit defeat.
Below the surface, Aryon is anxious, clingy, and manipulative. Before the fall of the Hóng family, Aryon was gentle and naïve. They believed in fairytales and dreamed about their knight in shining armor. However, after the Archduke forced them in a loveless marriage, their sweet naïveté shattered.
Once they witnessed the true darkness of the world, Aryon stopped believing in fairytales.
"I know you're in here, Little Bird. The room has no windows for a reason~" Despite the lighthearted tone, an undercurrent of anger bubbled beneath the surface. His patience was reaching its breaking point.
Aryon bit back a sob. They closed their eyes and struggled to calm their heart. When they planned their escape, Aryon anticipated a possible encounter with the Archduke. However, it didn't erase their petrifying fear.
The platinum blonde was terrified of their husband.
Suddenly, the door slammed shut, revealing their hiding spot. "Found you," Viren sneered triumphantly.
Their wealthy background taught them how to navigate through high society. However, to survive the Capital, Aryon constructed a perfect façade. They buried their vulnerable heart and hid their pain behind a flirtatious smile.
They became their own knight in shining armor.
Their blood ran cold. No...
"You know what happens when you try to escape, Doll. Was your previous punishment not enough?"
The carriage was waiting for them. Please, no.
"I'll admit, you've grown craftier. I have a beautiful and resourceful husband," Viren praised.
A hand caressed their face, evoking a flinch. The gentle stroke felt vile and repulsive. When their husband's other hand trailed up their thigh, their heart sank.
Deep down, Aryon craved companionship. While they desired freedom above all else, their traitorous heart remembered their family's unconditional love. Despite their flirtatious tongue and cunning wit, they're a romantic at heart.
Unfortunately, Aryon is terrified of being vulnerable.
The Archduke leaned forward until his lips brushed against their ear. "If you're a good boy and don't make a single sound, I'll consider a lighter punishment," he murmured.
All those months of planning ... embezzling ... blackmailing ... is this the end? Are they destined to remain a porcelain doll for House Goldwyn?
The hand neared their inner thigh.
No ... no ... NO! Something inside them snapped. "Get your hands OFF ME!" Aryon shoved their husband away. Before the Archduke could recover, Aryon lunged forward with their dagger raised.
Despite their inner turmoil, Aryon is exceptionally strong-willed. Due to their resilient nature, they survived the Capital and House Goldwyn. After their escape, they joined the Stygian Order and boarded the Leviathan. The Thieves Guild was dangerous and unpredictable. However, after nine years of hell, Aryon learned how to be crafty and resourceful.
They'll do anything to ensure their freedom.
On a final note, Aryon is loyal. They despise betrayal more than their husband.
likes
Astronomy.
Festivals.
Flower Language.
Tea.
Storybooks.
dislikes
Betrayal.
The Capital.
Chains.
Hot Weather.
Royalty.
hobbies
Calligraphy.
Embroidery.
Origami.
Painting.
Stargazing.
habits
Carding their fingers through their hair.
Folding origami to clear their mind.
Humming a tune under their breath.
Using hand gestures while speaking.
Venting their emotions through painting.
fears
Abandonment.
Archduke Goldwyn.
Dying.
Loss Of Freedom.
Spiders.
strengths
Acting.
Charming the crowd with their performances.
Dancing and singing.
Gathering information and secrets.
Playing multiple musical instruments.
weaknesses
Being vulnerable.
Giant sweet tooth.
The sun and arid temperatures.
Too flirty for their own good.
Unable to set healthy boundaries;say "no" to sex.
pers.
pers.
chapter one: moonchild
On the night of a full moon — when the moon reached its zenith — a newborn wail pierced the silence. With hair as pale as the moon and eyes as dark as the night sky, Aryon Solei Hóng was akin to a rare desert rose blooming in the scorching hellscape known as Sirocco Sands.
The news of the Hóng heir spread like wildfire. As one of the wealthiest merchant families in Sirocco Sands, the Hóng family dominated the textile trade and gemstone market. They were renowned for producing the most luxurious silks and exquisite jewelry. If one garbed themself in a Hóng original at a soiree, they were treated like royalty.
Like vipers in an underground cave, the upper class waited eagerly for the young heir to grow. Once the Hóng heir reached a certain age, they would bare their fangs and strike.
Marrying into the Hóng family was a dream they would do anything to achieve.
chapter two: before debut
The denizens of Sirocco Sands are hardy and unforgiving. While the upper class sat on their fat asses and drank their wine, the lower class — the true desertfolk — adapted to the scorching heat and dwindling resources.
Like a delicate moonflower masquerading as a resilient desert rose — a beautiful flower destined to wilt under the sun — Aryon lacked the hardiness of a true desertfolk. With their pale features, Aryon was vulnerable to the Sirocco heat. Their alabaster skin burned like wildfire. Their dark eyes flinched under the bright sun. Their body couldn't handle the hellish temperatures. Due to their delicate constitution, Aryon spent their childhood behind the protective walls of the Hóng estate.
Despite their sheltered upbringing, rumors of their otherworldly — as first impressions go, Aryon doesn't resemble a Sirocco citizen — vision spread throughout the city. As they grew older, high society circled around the estate like vultures, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
chapter three: blood moon
TW for implied fratricide and violence.
Eighteen is a significant year. It marked the beginning of adulthood, a momentous milestone teeming with endless potential. After years of isolation, the Hóng heir stepped out of the estate and entered the world. Entranced by the wondrous sights and sounds, Aryon was too naïve to notice the storm on the horizon.
It started with a single performance.
While Aryon grew up in the Hóng estate, they didn't sit idly like a fat nobleman. On the contrary, Aryon received an outstanding education befitting a wealthy heir. Inspired by their beautiful mother, Aryon followed in her footsteps and learned how to sing, dance, and perform.
On their eighteenth birthday, the Hóng family hosted an evening soiree — it marked their official debut to high society — in their child's honor and invited the most wealthy and influential.
Determined to make a lasting impression, Aryon performed for the first time. While they dazzled the crowd with their delicate beauty and musical prowess, a dangerous predator lurked in the shadows. The shameless vultures who waited eagerly for the Hóng heir's debut paled in comparison to the monster circling the crowd.
The moment Archduke Viren Goldwyn witnessed the dazzling performance, the traveling noble desired to own the beautiful Songbird.
When Elyas Hóng — the youngest of the Hóng Pillars, an epithet bestowed to the brothers of the Hóng Merchant Guild — approached him with a sinister proposal, Archduke Goldwyn accepted.
On the night of a full blood moon — two weeks after the celebration — the Hóng family fell. While the Archduke fulfilled his end of the bargain and elevated Elyas Hóng to Guildmaster, he stabbed the man in the back — literally — and seized the guild.
Aryon, who witnessed the murder of their entire family, was kidnapped.
chapter four: the leviathan
As a child, their mother read them fairytales. She introduced them to worlds filled with daring adventurers and fantastical beasts. When the charming knight rescued the beautiful princess from the evil dragon, Aryon dreamed about their own knight in shining armor.
After they witnessed the murder of their entire family, Aryon stopped believing in fairytales. Their knight in shining armor never saved them from the evil Archduke.
When they arrived in the Capital, Aryon Solei Hóng became Aryon Solei Goldwyn.
Nine years passed.
Despite their commoner background — while they hailed from an influential wealthy family, they lacked a noble title — Aryon adapted to the Capital. Their renowned beauty and impeccable grace earned them the epithet, Blue Rose.
With their new moniker and growing reputation, Aryon navigated through the lion's den known as the Capital's royalty.
Due to their musical prowess, their husband exploited them for his own selfish gain. While they felt like a Songbird in a gilded cage, Aryon gathered their own power and planned their escape.
When the perfect opportunity arrived, Aryon executed their plan.
First step, they embezzled money from House Goldwyn's coffers. If they wanted to survive the outside world, they needed money.
Second step, they bribed the right people to secure a safe passageway to their final destination. If they wanted to board the Leviathan without their husband knowing, they needed a secured route.
Final step, they joined the Stygian Order — a seemingly powerful organization if their intel was accurate — in exchange for protection. They never imagined joining the Guild. However, if the Stygian Order shielded them from Archduke Viren Goldwyn, they'll do anything to survive.
They refuse to return to their gilded cage.
father
Elaryon Hóng
The head of the Hóng Merchant Guild. With his keen mind and exceptional charisma, the Hóng clan became one of the wealthiest merchant families in Sirocco Sands. Despite his ambition, he treasured his wife and child. (FC: Wang Kai)
mother
Lyra Hóng
A musical connoisseur of renowned beauty and impeccable grace. While she originated from the eccentric Cascades, she adapted to Sirocco Sands with finesse befitting a desert queen. She loved her child unconditionally and adored them until the very end. (FC: Qin Lan)
uncle
Elrond Hóng
The right-hand of the Hóng Merchant Guild. He inherited moonlight hair and dark eyes, a rare mutation renowned in the Hóng bloodline. Due to their shared inheritance, he doted on Aryon. (FC: Gao Weiguang)
uncle
Elyas Hóng
The youngest of the three brothers who founded the Hóng Merchant Guild. Unlike his brothers, he was egotistical and avaricious. (Chen Xingxu)
husband
Viren Goldwyn
A ruthless Archduke with a penchant for violence and murder. The nobleman is known for his arrogance and vanity. After a visit to Sirocco Sands, he met the elusive Hóng heir. He became obsessed. So much so, he conspired with Elyas Hóng to overthrow the head of the Hóng family. However, instead of honoring their deal, he murdered the entire family and claimed the Hóng heir as his prize. After the downfall of the Hóng family, all of its riches and assets were transferred to House Goldwyn. (FC: Ewan Mitchell)
Fun Fact:
Their legal name is Aryon Solei Goldwyn. However, after their escape, they reclaimed their birthname; Aryon Solei Hóng.
Opinion on royalty?
Against disguised as neutral.The bitterness is a byproduct of their forced marriage. Their husband doesn't hesitate to use his noble title and royal blood to his advantage.
Opinion on piracy?
Neutral. As long as you treat them with respect and don't harm them, they don't care about pirates.Swinging a sword is sexy. However, buy them dinner first.
Faction:
After their escape, Aryon joined the Stygian Order. In exchange for protection, they became a valuable information broker. With the Order's resources, Aryon crafted a new alias: Altalune Onyx Starfury.
Reputation:
As Archduchess Goldwyn, Aryon earned the epithet, Blue Rose. The Blue Rose was renowned for their otherworldly beauty and impeccable grace. They dazzled high society with their alluring performances, charming wit, and flawless etiquette. Due to their high rank, not many nobles opposed them.
Outside the Capital, the Blue Rose doesn't carry much weight. However, in Sirocco Sands, whispers of the Hóng heir rising to Archduchess circulated through the upper class. Many wealthy merchants seethed with envy.
As Altalune, Aryon is a new member of the Stygian Order. Despite their inexperience, they proved to be a reliable information broker.
Why did they board the Leviathan?
One word: Freedom. After they escaped, Aryon needed to leave the Capital. The Leviathan sounded like the perfect opportunity.
How did they get on board?
As an Archduchess, Aryon has the money and prestige to afford a spot.We don't talk about how they stole the money from their husband. Or how they manipulated the right people to secure a spot without their husband finding out.
What I would like my character
to encounter/experience/develop
in this roleplay are:
A romantic partner or partners (they're polyamorous) sounds juicy. My gey child deserves true love. However, you know what's sweeter?Their husband boards the Leviathan at a later port. The same husband Aryon wants to murder to ensure their freedom.
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:
*unholy screeching* YES! YES! GIBBB!
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a widow's bite.
role
Black Widow
full name
Avalon Iris Matsuoka
alias
Ruby, Red Riding Hood
date of birth
July 29th
age
27
gender
Nonbinary, Demiwoman
pronouns
She/They
sexuality
Bisexual-Biromantic
marital status
Widowed
social status
High Society
place of birth
Sirocco Sands
face claim
Kanna Hashimoto
written description
Avalon is a slender and petite woman standing at 5'0. As first impressions go, she is delicate and unassuming. However, as a former street rat who called the desert her home, she learned how to fight dirty. She developed a fondness for concealed weapons like daggers and throwing needles.
Her hair is medium chestnut brown. Her hair is long, cascading down her back in sleek curls. Her eyes are deep brown and framed with long thick lashes.
Her fair skin — a light tawny beige with a warm coral undertone — is clear and unblemished.
height
5'0
hair
A pigment akin to roasted chestnuts over an open fire. The deep reddish-brown hue is rich and fiery like the Sun Goddess herself. Unlike her mother, she never sullied her hair with black dye.
eyes
A fresh coffee brew on a brisk Summer morning. In other words, a rich mocha brown with a hint of cinnamon. If the mocha brown is exposed to sunlight, flecks of honey swirl through the warm brew.
dist. features
Her fiery hair and dazzling smile are her most striking features. She inherited the warm Sirocco beauty.
body modifications
Her earlobes are pierced once.
Pale lines (scars) on her hands. She developed the habit of wearing fashionable gloves to hide her scars.
A snake and flower tattoo on her left thigh. After the death of her first husband, she commissioned an artist in secret.
preferred style
Like a spider lily bathed in a sea of darkness, red and black are her bread and butter. After she buried her past, she embraced her role as a refined Lady. Her wardrobe is filled with the latest fashion. While she wore dresses and corsets of the highest quality, she doesn't shy away from masculine clothing. On the contrary, pants are a liberating experience.
Due to her scars, fashionable gloves are incorporated in all her ensembles.
clarifications
Avalon is directly responsible for three deaths; first husband, third husband, and fourth husband. Her second husband died in a carriage accident. Her fifth husband committed suicide. Her sixth husband died from a serious illness. She didn't kill them, but it worked in her favor.
The deaths didn't occur back-to-back. It spanned over a decade.
Avalon hasn't been convicted because she framed other people for her murders. Despite her dangerous reputation, high society deemed her innocent.
Not everyone believes her innocence. She earned the epithet for a reason.
Avalon is technically Viscountess Matsuoka. She inherited the noble title from her second husband. It's her highest noble status. Her previous husbands didn't have a higher rank.
Avalon desires a higher noble status because of security. She refuses to be vulnerable and defenseless.
Her thirst for power and wealth stemmed from childhood trauma.
After six husbands, Avalon amassed a significant amount of wealth. While she isn't as wealthy and influential like House Goldwyn, her wealth is massive.
once upon a dream
l. del rey
req.
req.
Anything can be poison at the right dosage.
TW for blood, death, and mild gore.
On the surface, Avalon is elegant, poised, and sophisticated. She captivated high society with her sharp wit and impeccable beauty. However, after the death of her third husband, she earned the epithet, Black Widow.
“The Baron! He-He’s dead!”
A soft gasp escaped her lips. She covered her mouth, horror evident on her face. “D-Dead?” she choked out. She stepped forward, but her knees buckled.
“My Lady!” Her handmaiden caught her. “M-My Lady, we s-should go–”
Avalon ignored her.
Despite the rumors swirling around the Capital, Avalon proved her innocence. She mourned the losses of her husbands and prayed for her misfortune to end. Captivated by her genuine performance, nobles began to doubt the notorious title. How could a refined woman like Lady Greyjoy kill her husbands?
It was blasphemy. Lady Greyjoy is innocent.
She broke free and stumbled forward, rushing toward the crowd gathered in front of the Baron’s bedchambers. Her movements were slow and jittery like a newborn fawn taking its first step. She squeezed through the crowd and entered the chambers.
“My Lady, you shouldn’t–!” It was the Baron’s personal bodyguard. Despite his position, he wasn’t the first person to discover the Baron’s corpse. The head butler found him first.
The Baron laid on the floor in a pool of his own blood. The bed was in complete disarray and some furniture was knocked over and broken. It suggested a struggle.
Oh gods, there was so much blood. It was splattered against the bed, the walls, and the furniture like a macabre painting. The killer left a gruesome impression.
Her eyes filled with tears. “R-Rolf…” Avalon whispered.
Avalon is an accomplished Lady. With her charming wit and eloquent poise, she established a powerful network in the Capital. Despite her low noble status, she gained significant influence. Her presence almost rivaled the famous Blue Rose. While the Archduchess captivated the audience with their musical talent, Avalon charmed high society with her sweet disposition and unwavering perseverance.
Her dancing prowess further cemented her charm.
“My Lady, please. It is of utmost importance that you return to your chambers,” the head butler announced.
“Who did this…?”
“Pardon?”
Avalon whirled around. “Who did this?!” she exclaimed.
He flinched. “I-I–” The butler was at a loss for words. Lady Greyjoy rarely lost her composure.
The bodyguard stepped forward and bowed. “We’re still investigating, my Lady,” he murmured.
“You were supposed to protect him. It’s your job!” she spat.
He flinched in response.
Avalon paused, taking a moment to compose herself. “Please, Sir Huffman … let me say goodbye to my husband,” she declared.
“I don’t think–”
“Please.”
Sir Huffman heaved a sigh. “I’ll wait by the door. Please make haste, my Lady. It’s not safe here,” he urged.
She nodded stiffly. “Thank you…”
Below the surface, Avalon is calculating, manipulative, and vindictive. As a former street rat, she learned how to lie, manipulate, and steal. She won’t hesitate to use dirty tricks to accomplish her objectives. However, after she moved to the Capital, Avalon erased every trace of her past. Instead of a street rat, she was an accomplished Lady who restored her family’s honor. She crafted the perfect mask and adapted.
She was determined to survive.
She approached her fallen husband and dropped to her knees. She ignored the blood seeping into her nightgown. With a trembling hand, she closed the Baron's eyes. She clasped her hands together and prayed. With her back facing the knight, Avalon leaned forward. A curtain of chestnut curls draped over her face, obscuring her lips. For a moment, her lips curved upward in a smile.
The smile was dark and vicious. The sweet and poised Lady Greyjoy vanished, revealing a monster underneath. Cold eyes regarded the fallen Baron with pure loathing.
"I hope you rot in hell, Rolf Greyjoy," Avalon whispered.
The smile vanished. Avalon rose to her feet and smoothed the front of her robe. Since it was early in the morning, she was in her nightgown and robe.
“It's not safe here. I’ll escort you back to your bedchambers, Lady Avalon,” Sir Huffman announced.
She sniffled and wiped her eyes. She resembled a fresh widow mourning her husband. “Understood,” she replied.
Avalon navigated through high society with the grace of a gazelle and the ferocity of a tiger. While she bewitched the crowd with her elegant charm, she plotted her revenge. After the death of her first husband, Avalon craved more power. If she wanted to survive the Capital, she needed more wealth and influence.
It marked the beginning of the Black Widow.
likes
Apples.
Daggers.
Monarch Butterflies.
Snakes.
Spider Lilies.
dislikes
Betrayal.
Cigarettes.
Dogs.
House Greyjoy.
Loose Ends.
hobbies
Archery.
Dancing.
Darts.
Flower Arrangement.
Gardening.
habits
Clapping her hands with excitement.
Incorporating the color red in her entire wardrobe.
Practicing her archery to clear her mind.
Throwing daggers at a dart board.
Using throwing needles for hair needles.
fears
Abandonment.
Being Vulnerable.
Falling In Love.
Large Dog Breeds.
Loss Of Freedom.
strengths
Acting.
Covering her tracks.
Dancing and etiquette.
Producing deadly poisons.
Throwing daggers.
weaknesses
Being vulnerable.
Daddy and mommy issues.
Extremely vindictive.
Obsessed with wealth and power; greedy.
Too curious for her own good; nosy.
pers.
pers.
preface: sacrifice
Once upon a time, House Matsuoka — a wealthy and influential family with the noble title of Baron — dominated the coffee bean and tea trade in Sirocco Sands. The House was renowned for producing and selling high quality tea and coffee. However, due to a sequence of bad investments — including the previous Baron's gambling addiction — House Matsuoka fell in ruin.
When House Greyjoy — a noble family from the Capital — expressed keen interest in the only daughter of House Matsuoka, an arranged marriage was proposed. To save her family from complete ruin, the daughter married the Baron of House Greyjoy.
Renowned for her noble sacrifice, the daughter moved to the Capital and lived happily ever after.
...if only the tale were true.
Not that anyone can rebuke it. When she spun her web of lies, Avalon murdered every single soul responsible for bringing her bittersweet tale to life.
She doesn't leave loose ends untied.
With a whisper here ... a bribe there ... Avalon became a noblewoman overnight.
She hailed from a fallen House. However, her marriage restored her family's honor.
If you peer through the looking glass, her tale is marred with betrayal ... and unbridled rage.
chapter one: rags to riches
Before the spider spun her web of lies, a poor and defenseless street rat resided in Sirocco Sands.
As a child of the desert, Avalon adapted to the scorching heat and dwindling resources. While the wealthy sat on their fat asses and hosted their extravagant soirees, Avalon fought tooth and nail for her next meal. With a manipulative charlatan for a father and a neglectful harlot for a mother, Avalon became extremely independent at a young age.
If she couldn't rely on her parents to survive, she would rely on herself.
She learned how to lie, manipulate, and steal. She utilized every dirty trick in the book, securing a roof over her head and food on the table.
After her sixteenth birthday, her father amassed a substantial amount of debt. To save his skin, her father exploited her beauty and offered her to a wealthy Baron from the Capital.
She was destined to become his bride. She refused.
Unfortunately, her mother betrayed her and foiled her escape plan.
When her parents sold her to an older man – Baron Greyjoy was as old as her father – she vowed revenge.
chapter two: a game of chess
TW for implied death and murderous plots.
Her revenge didn't happen overnight.
When she moved to the Capital, Avalon made her first move on the chessboard: changing her past. To ensure her survival in the long run, Avalon modified her background. Instead of a filthy street rat, she was the only child of a fallen noble House. She married Baron Greyjoy to restore House Matsuoka to its former glory.
Once every trace of her past was erased, Avalon tied up the loose ends.
This included removing her parents from the picture.
A few months later, Avalon made her second move on the chessboard: forging connections. Despite her husband's significant wealth, Avalon refused to rely on him for everything. She navigated through high society, establishing connections with accomplished Ladies of reputable Houses. She captivated her audience with her sweet disposition and elegant poise. Eventually, she secured enough allies to elevate her influence and power.
Three years later, Avalon took out her greatest obstacle: Baron Greyjoy. With a combination of poison and a stolen sword, she murdered her husband and framed his personal bodyguard. Since the House physician declared the cause of death to be a sword through the heart, the evidence pointed to the knight. He was executed for his crime against House Greyjoy.
Avalon wasn't satisfied with her revenge. She desired more.
During the mourning period, she caught the eye of a young Viscount who inherited his father's estate. He didn't hesitate to court her. A few months later, Avalon gained a second husband.
The vicious cycle continued.
After the death of her third husband, rumors circulated through the Capital. She earned the epithet, Black Widow. Despite her dangerous reputation, she secured another marriage.
She was determined to gain a higher noble title.
chapter three: black widow
A few years passed.
When her sixth husband died, Avalon realized her power and influence was limited to the Capital. She established a powerful network in the Capital. However, if she wanted to lure another husband to her web, she needed to search outside the Capital.
Her overwhelming desire for power led her to the Leviathan. A vacation sounded wonderful.
father
Rei Matsuoka
A scheming charlatan. Due to his gambling addiction, he amassed a substantial amount of debt. When his life was threatened, he sold his daughter to House Greyjoy in exchange for money. (FC: Shun Oguri)
mother
Ivy Matsuoka
A negligent harlot. After a night with a charming grifter, she became pregnant. To survive, she manipulated him into a marriage of convenience. Due to childhood trauma, she dyed her hair from reddish-brown to pitch black. When her daughter tried to run away, she foiled her escape plan. (FC: Rinko Kikuchi)
ex-husband
Rolf Greyjoy
An arrogant and manipulative Baron. When a charlatan borrowed money from him and refused to pay him back, he threatened his life. The man offered his daughter in exchange for money to clear his debts. Captivated by her Sirocco beauty, the Baron agreed. (FC: Aidan Gillen)
Fun Fact:
After her first husband died, she reclaimed her birthname; Avalon Iris Matsuoka.
Opinion on royalty?
Neutral.As long as she can amass more wealth and power, she doesn't care about the royal family.
Opinion on piracy?
Positive. She can use piracy to her advantage.Swinging a sword is sexy. However, buy her dinner first.
Faction:
She was an unofficial member of the Stygian Order as a child. She stole in exchange for food. However, she joined the organization officially after the death of her first husband. She specialized in manipulation and poison.
Reputation:
As Baroness Greyjoy, Avalon was renowned for her fiery beauty and refined aura. She dazzled high society with her charming wit and impeccable etiquette. Despite her low rank, most nobles adored her.
After the death of her third husband, Avalon earned the epithet, Black Widow. Some nobles suspected she killed her husbands and claimed their fortune. However, since the culprits were caught and executed, she was declared innocent. It created a rift in the Capital.
The majority of nobles believed her innocence. Others ... refused.
Outside the Capital, whispers of the Black Widow spread like wildfire. However, her true identity isn't widely known.
Why did they board the Leviathan?
One word: Power. Avalon is determined to elevate her noble status. The Leviathan sounded like an interesting opportunity.
How did they get on board?
Avalon booked a spot on the Leviathan with her previous husband's money.
What I would like my character
to encounter/experience/develop
in this roleplay are:
More husbands to kill. A girl has to make a living somehow. Perhaps, a chance to gain a higher noble title?What? She's ambitious. It doesn't hurt to have high standards. Maybe a chance to settle down and marry her lover?
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:
*unholy screeching* YES! YES! GIBBB!
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♡coded by uxie♡
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q r o w
Body in Abyss, Heart in Paradise.
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The GuillotineHarmony Liang"Honesty without kindness is brutality, but kindness without honesty is manipulation."
Character Sheet Progress: 100% Complete
Accepted?: Yes
Character Status: Alive
FC— Ju JingYi
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The DispiritedYanlin Zhou"And those who lose their passion are cursed to wander endlessly; until they too wilt away to nothingness"
Character Sheet Progress : 100%
Accepted?:--------
Character Status: Alive
FC — Tang Shi Hao
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The PhoenixValerie"Aut Viem Inveniam Aut Faciam.......I will either find a way or I will make one."
Character Sheet Progress: 100% Complete
Accepted?: Yes
Character Status: Alive........for now.
FC— Yu Yan
- Lilithellise
01nameCountess Harmony Liang02TitlesNoble Society's Flower, Desert Rose03ageTwenty-Seven04place of birthThe Capital05AffiliationStygian Order - Present06StatusRoyalty/High Society07occupationCountess08roleThe Guillotine - hair colour / style
Harmony's hair is a dark black in color and is quite long; Falling around waist length. Typically its styled elaborately with hair accessories. She prefers it to be kept primarily down, only styling it up when need be. Much like her attire, she styles her hair to fit the situation she is in.eyes
Harmony's eyes are brown in color. You'll find that they never linger in one direction too long. Always sweeping the room and observing others.build
Her time being raised by the Stygian Order has left her some muscle, but nothing to visible. Best way to put it is "there is more than what meets the eye". She keeps fit, while also balancing keeping up the image of "society's flower". Thus is always rather on the more lean side as people have expectations of such a title.attire
Her attire is always donned with purpose. She's very picky about clothing and for events will spend much time in advance planning out attire. Her choices will always depend on the situation at hand and the role or persona she will present as. For instance, when playing the part as "Society's Flower" she will always choose lighter colors. Such as white, since people associate it with youth and innocence. Personally, she prefers clothes in colors such as dark red or green.scars / markings
Perhaps a bit shockingly, she does have a scar. It's around her hip area, from a knife oh so narrowly dodged.misc info
You will never see her without a hand-held fan or parasol. Never.weight125 LBSheight5'7 - virtuesCharismaticAdaptableResilientPerceptiveIntelligentLevel-headed
- vicesUn-sympatheticUntrustworthySecretivePerfectionistCalculatingNarcissistic
- likesHand-Held FansSunny daysSwordsMoneyThe color redDancingComplimentsWinedislikesHer ParentsWinterMarksmanshipDisorganizationPeople who ask too many questionsBeing outsmartedSmall enclosed spaces
- strengthsSword Fighting, Daggers, Some knowledge on poisons, Silver-Tongued, Many connections, Disguises, Hard-Working, Intelligent, Crafty.weaknessesDoes not take orders easily, Unsympathetic, Poor Accuracy with aim, Untrustworthy, Secretive, Manipulative, Cruel, Cold-Hearted.reputationAmong the Nobles and most of high society; Harmony has a great moral reputation. Often referred to as "Society's Flower", people see her as an innocent and graceful noble lady. An image she has carefully and patiently developed for her self since taking her position as Countess. Very few have any negative things to say about her.
However not everyone knows her a Harmony Liang. There are those who merely know her as Desert Rose, or more simply; Rose. A nickname she gained when taken in by her late mentor. Those she had contact with in the Stygian order and presently maintain contact with know her as such. Her reputation there is much more different. They know her as a ruthless, resilient woman who doesn't ever back down. "Rose" is someone unafraid to take on high stake bounties and has a much more feared reputation.fearsAbandonment, Failure, Small enclosed spaces, Being rendered helpless.
hobbiesSword fighting, Horseback-Riding, Collecting hand-held fans and parasols, Dancing, Socializing, Observing others, Studying.
- habitsTwirling a ring around fingerWrites left handedGrinding teethJaw clenching in moments of tensionSideways glance when offendedAlways carries a fan
Tell me father, what sin did I commit? Tell me mother, why I pay the price for your sins?personality"Tell me, do you know me or do you know the image of me I've shown you?"
Harmony is a rather complex individual. A woman of many faces, so to say. A master of carefully chosen words behind a sweet smile. She has carefully constructed her many images and works tirelessly to ensure nothing falls apart. After all, wearing a mask is what she does best. She carefully play out a part as if acting in a play. Such is her role when presenting as Countess Liang. Her most carefully constructed facade.
Harmony herself is a cunning individual. The type to view people as pieces in a grand scheme. She isn't afraid to cut ties with those who no longer serve a purpose. She lacks both empathy and sympathy for people around her. To her the world is very much the survival of the fittest; and she plans to come out on top no matter the cost. Even if it means she must bury people 6-foot-under to ensure it. A ruthless, self-driven person. She isn't the type to take orders easily unless the orders are in line with her survival or a goal she is trying to achieve.
She is unafraid of using people. Manipulating a narrative or emotions is viewed as mere child play to her. She will spend time observing and building a profile in her mind of people around her. Noting everything even down to the smallest detail, even listening in to conversations. She will use any thing she observes or learns to her advantage. She change the way she acts from person to person, playing the part of a people-pleaser. Carefully learning how they view her and expect her to act; then crafting her act around those details. All to get their trust and become someone they trust.
Harmony isn't just someone passive. If you offended her, she will hold a grudge. She will get even. Even if it's years down the line. It doesn't matter to her, patience is a virtue and revenge tastes better when you slowly savor it as if it were a vintage wine. But it goes both ways, she will remember every grudge and ever favor. She hates owing people and repays any favor in full no matter how small. Often times, its favors people don't even realize they do for her. Such as indirectly helping her leave a unfavorable situation. Times like those, she pays back the favor anonymously.
She's level-headed and calm, very rarely letting her emotions take control. She knows how dangerous emotions can be and keeps them to herself. You will rarely see her let herself get angered or upset. She swallows the emotions and hides them behind a smile. She doesn't let people in too close. Preferring her own company of solitude than having a genuine circle of friends.
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"Oh? A private interview? Hmm......Alright, just promise my answers stay between us."
(Just to be clear the following answers are Harmony's honest opinions and answers. Not what she would say if answering as Countess Liang or putting on an act.)
Question 1: Rumors have it you are boarding the Leviathan, are they true? "Yes. I've painstakingly made plans to join the voyage. It sure was not cheap buying a ticket. I believe it will be much worth it in the end. I think some fresh air and new sights will be quite good for my health and I am in much need of a vacation. It seems word has already spread between the other nobles and made it's way around. Don't worry It's to be expected. It's a huge event after all. I'm sure there will be news headlines "Frail Countess joins Sea Voyage." let them spread word. It will make my work much easier."
Question 2: Opinions on Royalty? : "That's a rather daring question. If you want me to be quite honest.....I could care less who sits on the throne so long as they mind their business. Leave me be, I leave them be. Simple as that. The only thing that would change my answer is 'money'.
Question 3: Opinion of piracy? : "Hmm. So long as they aren't giving me trouble or headaches I could care less. People need to make a living in this twisted world, this is how they choose to do so."
Question 4: Rumor has it you are connected to the Stygian Order....are they true? How did it come to be? : "You are sure asking a lot of unrelated questions. However to answer you; Yes. I was and currently am in connection with the Stygian Order. I am well connected with them privately. They.......a member of the order took me in when I was cast away from my rightful home. They taught me everything I know today. I owe them and some others of the Order my life. Without them, i wouldn't be where I am today nor would my revenge been so successful. Besides that, I still occasionally take on ...... 'odd' jobs through my connections."
Question 5: Why is it you carry fans and parasols all the time?: "Well I will just say this: "Weapons are best when hidden in plain sight. Now Is that all your annoying questions?"
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What can shall happen to Harmony?: Over time, make her struggle to keep up the facades. Have her stumble. She thrives under pressure and surrounded by chaos. I would love somebounties/assassinations*ahem* 'jobs' to happen. Perhaps causing some tension on the ship. NPCS are prime targets. Maybe have her develop a soft spot for some found family.
Honestly anything goes.if almighty Gao wishes it, even her death can happen. Just not too soon. I would like to enjoy playing her for a little please almighty Gao.
- first stage of lifeOn the third day of the eleventh month, a most momentous occasion occurred. After years of trying and failing to sire a child, one was finally born. The new born baby girl's cries echoed throughout the halls, loud and unyielding. Despite her cries being far from a harmonious sound, the couple bestowed the name Harmony to the girl. Thus Harmony Liang she became, the one and only child of Count and Countess Liang; their only heir to the family name. The couple would try to sire another child several times after her birth, but to no such luck. Harmony truly seemed to be "a lucky miracle."
A miracle she would be. Highly intelligent from a young age, Harmony met milestones much early than most children. The couple took pride in flaunting off their child's achievements. Much to the dismay of those who were target of such flaunting. Count Liang himself would bring up his daughter any and every chance presented. His daughter was the apple of his eye. The most precious gem. He spoiled her every moment of every day. Thus as she grew older, she felt great pride rather than feel second hand embarrassment of the fact her father brought her up every conversation. She began pushing herself from a young age to be a child he would be proud of. Advanced classes. Etiquette Tutors. Riding lessons. She begged for any and every class she could. Of course her father said yes. You expect him to say no to his angel?
What Harmony truly excelled at was dancing. Performing was her call and she accepted it with grace. She preformed at small gatherings and parties. Anywhere where the host requested her too. This ranged from dance to singing or even just playing instruments. She began receiving many invites even before her debutante. Harmony never rejected a single one. She took great delight in performing. She may have loved studying and such before, but performing? It was true love at first dance.second stage of lifeIt was as she turned 15 and the talks of her debutante started that things took a subtle, but noticeable shift in the house hold. Her parents grew distant from each other. As noble couples tend to do. There was this odd....tension that always seemed to linger. As if one wrong word would cause a bomb of reactions. Harmony didn't understand it then. Why her mother withdrew and isolated herself. Why her father spent more time at work than at home.
The arguments didn't take long to occupy this new suffocating silence. Small disputes turned to screaming matches. Then followed the shattering of vases. Wouldn't take long for the sound of slamming doors to follow. Harmony tried her best to figure out what started the rift.....but she never did find out.
One argument a mere month before her sixteenth birthday would be one of Harmony's most bitter memories. As the argument drew on, her mother uttered the most life changing secret. Harmony wasn't Count Liang's daughter. Rather, she was the daughter of a commoner man that her mother had an affair with even while married to Count Liang.
The words threw Count Liang into utter shock. Though they threw Harmony into far worse. The shock. The fear. The anxiety. So many emotions crashed into her at once. She stood frozen in place. A place she should not be for more than one reason. Though mostly because she was eavesdropping. She barely registered what was said after that.
Until her "father" announced he was kicking them both out. For the first time since she was a baby, Harmony wanted to cry. She wanted to break down then and there. What stopped her you may ask? It was the words from her mother's lips. Her mother begged for Count Liang to think about it. She begged for herself, not her child. Rambled off a hundred reasons why it wouldn't reflect poorly on him. Then finally the words that broke Harmony; "We can send her away and we can try again. We can have another heir." The bitterness that filled her throat was overwhelming. She didn't bother listening to her "father's" answer. She left as silently as she came.
A week later, she wasn't shocked when she found herself being sent away. Rather, she just felt bitter. Angry. Hurt. Part of her had hoped maybe her "father" would choose her or even kick both her and her mother out. At least that way she would have felt better "dragging her mother down with her."
News spread that the young heiress had fallen gravely ill and was sent to their home in Sirocco Sands to recover. The truth? She was thrown out. Never made it to that villa. Tossed to the sands. Perhaps her "father" couldn't bring himself to kill her. Or hire someone to do it for him. Perhaps he thought she would die to the desert environment. Maybe he thought it to be a last act of Mercy, letting her live. Whatever it may have been, Harmony was without a home and people to call family. She was conveniently swept under a rug to be forgotten.third stage of lifeIn the streets of Sirocco Sands, Harmony didn't last 24 hours before getting kidnapped and shoved into a small crate. Her kidnappers assuming she was the cherished daughter of a noble and they could get ransom money. Unfortunate for them, she was no such thing. Not anymore. This is how she met her mentor. After hours of being held hostage in a small barrel, the sounds of arguing voices fell on her ears. Until finally, the sound of running foot steps and a new set approaching her. When the lid of the barrel opened, she never felt so relieved and anxious in her life. She remembers vividly the apologetic look amidst some confusion on the man's face. How he helped her stumble out the tiny barrel, her legs having gone numb a while back.
The man had a lot of questions. Harmony, not seeing much to lose at the point gave him the answers he wanted. How she ended up there. Who she was. She told him her story, down to the rawest detail. The man didn't react much. A nod here and there, but she didn't feel like he was pitying her. She found that she liked that. Not being pitied. Made her feel better about everything in a way.
The two talked for awhile, eventually the man got up to leave.
"Wait. Can I stay with you? Just for a while. I can earn money to pay. Do chores. Anything. Just. Give me a few days. Please."
He paused and looked to Harmony with a expression she couldn't quite place. Worry? Empathy?
"Anything? Could you kill a man if you were told too?"
The question shocked her. She stopped in her tracks and pondered about it. Could she? The man having taking the silence as an answer, started to leave and Harmony grabbed his arm.
"No. I don't know how, but teach me and I will. I can do it. I swear it. "
It was his turn to be shocked. He merely had asked the question to scare her. To make her stay away. Didn't want to be responsible for some "pampered noble child". Perhaps her answer sparked his curiosity. Maybe it was the look in her eyes. Or even the pure determination she had to survive. Either way, he found himself agreeing to the teen's request.
"Alright. You can't go around using a name connected to nobility. Rose. Like a desert rose. The name suits you well enough. "
Thus the new bonds of a Mentor and Student began. A dynamic that became, over time, much like father and daughter. Harmony lived with him and his wife, learning skills from both. Fighting, disguises, pickpocketing, acting, stealth. So much more.
Her mentor, she quickly learned, was high up in the Stygian Order. Not the leader, but worked closely with them. Had enough say on how things worked he was treated with respect. With his help "Rose" made a name for herself within the Stygian order. As she learned skills, she would take on jobs. First pickpocketing. Over time though, it became bounties. They quickly became her preferred jobs. She found she was best when it came to taking down targets. She felt the most thrill doing so. At first it concerned her how she didn't feel bad for taking a life. However, those thoughts didn't last long as she took more jobs.
As more years passed, Harmony had her signature weapons designed and made. It cost her quite a bit, but the finished product was worth it to her.
fourth stage of lifeEventually she turned twenty-two. She learned that her "noble parents" planned to adopt a new child. As their attempts to have one of their own had not worked. Well, such a thing didn't sit right with her. Why should she let someone else take what had rightfully been hers in the first place? Was she not her mother's daughter? Illegitimate she might be, but she was still an heir by definition. They never formally renounced her after all. She had always planned on getting her revenge against her family. Now was a good of time as ever.
She took her time planning every detail. She was patient. Waiting for her perfect chance. The golden opportunity. When it came, she slipped in the home and took out her once beloved parents. Despite everything, she did give her "father" a chance. If he had just welcomed her back, perhaps she may have found it in herself to forgive him. Instead even in the face of demise, he didn't utter a word to her. Out of shame? Anger? Harmony didn't bother to ask. Once the task was done, she staged her scene and left without a trace. It was a waiting game at that point.
It wasn't long until the papers spread news of the horrible crime. The butler turned out to be a lover of the countess and the count went mad when he found out. He killed the countess and the butler before dying himself. Truly tragic. Truly.
People couldn't believe the news. The count was the talk of the town for weeks. The story became a smear on the family's reputation. When Harmony, who the count had once claimed "Was recovering in the other home", arrived soon after getting a summons to the capital. There was a long process, a funeral, several people who offered their condolences, and so forth. Finally, after some time she became the new Countess Liang. Given she was Count's only heir and no extended family meant she was the only suitable one. She built off the image the count had so graciously given her. The frail young heir became the frail yet elegant countess. Now years later, she's rebuilt the family reputation to what it once was. Arguably becoming more successful than her "father" - galleryCount Liang (Deceased)The man who raised her thinking she had been his own daughter. The same man that discarded her when she turned out to not be his. Harmony often finds herself wondering if her ever regretted it. Abandoning such a young child. She will never get her answers.Marissa Liang (Deceased)The former countess. Her birth mother, though she hardly deserves to be called such. A woman willing to throw her child to the wolves doesn't deserve to be called mother. Harmony's hatred mostly was directed towards her. Even now, despite the countess's death, Harmony finds that resentment still boils underneath her skin. No matter how much she erases of the late countess's existence doesn't ease the feeling.MentorLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.Mentor's WifeLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.
leftrightcoded by natasha.- lostghost nation
01nameYanlin Zhou02TitlesYanlin.03ageThirty04place of birthThe Cascades05AffiliationN/A06StatusLow Society, Wanted07occupationBroken Artist08roleThe Dispirited - hair colour / style
Yanlin's hair is quite long, falling a bit past his shoulder and nearly his mid back. Part of it is tied up, but most left down. Typically well maintained and well-kept. Recently though, its been a mess. An after thought. Given his current mental state, who could blame him?eyes
Yanlin's eyes are light-ish brown, always seeming to have this frazzled look. He wears glasses most the time for both functional and stylistic choice.build
Frail. Lanky. He may be tall, but that's it. Yanlin has no muscles to speak of. How he managed to survive some situations is an amazement. He's grown even more worse for wear since the stress and anxiety have eaten away at his mind and thoughts.attire
Typically at least presentable, giving the image of a scholarly man. Loves lighter colors, nothing too dull or too bright. Doesn't wear many accessories and doesn't invest too much money or time into attire. Just enough to be "taken seriously" by the rich.scars / markings
Surprisingly he bears no scars or markings, despite getting hurt or bruising easily.misc info
May often have a paint brush tucked in his ear. An old habit he's never fixed.weight137 LBSheight6'3.5 - virtuesCreativeGood-NaturedImaginativeCalmGood ListenerPassionate
- vicesCo-DependentReservedAbsent-MindedPerfectionistDesperateClumsy
- likesArtCalligraphyBitter Drinks (Loves Coffee)RecognitionQuiet SpacesRainy DaysNight SkiesThe color blueFlowersCreative peopleTrying new thingsInnovationdislikesLiarsBeing AloneHorsesStrong PerfumesBeing snuck up onYelling/People YellingSweetsUpsetting OthersSandA blank canvasPunsBirdsRepetition
- strengthsPainting, Listening to others, Patient, High-Alcohol Tolerance, Can read a room, Gives decent advice (wish he would listen to it), Quick-witted, Ambidextrous, Calm, Skilled with many art mediums, Keen Eyesight, Easy to get along with, Following Orders, Walking on water (Swimming WHO?)
weaknessesComplains quite a bit, Frail/Physically weak, No idea how to use a weapons, Blindly follows orders, Co-dependent, Emotionally distant, Absent-minded, Gets discouraged quite easily, Desperate, Clumsy, Doesn't voice his opinion much, Doesn't understand humor/jokes.reputationOutside of Zenith he doesn't have much reputation. He's just some artist that fled the Cascades. An Artist that made a name for himself in the Capital of Zenith through his art. As well as the artist that burned his fame by "scamming" a noble. His wanted status is hardly high enough to catch attention. Most people have already forgotten about it. Hot topic one week, brushed off the next. In the eyes of nobility there's several artists out there after all, who cares what happens to one?fearsAbandonment, Being Forgotten, Being Unwanted, Not living up to full potential, Being Alone, History Repeating (what happened with his 'Husband'), Failure, Pyrophobia, Atelophobia
hobbiesPainting, Calligraphy, Weaving, Sketching, Picking up new art mediums, Gossip, Pacing , Stargazing, Collecting things
- habitsTracing patternsShifting in seatStaring into spaceGestures when SpeakingBiting FingernailsMessing with hair
I do not desire mediocre love. I wish to drown in someone.personalityPERSONALITY BLAND AS HELL
"How is pretty boy an insult? I'm the prettiest damn boy in this town." to "Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't Look at me...." No In-between.
Yanlin is co-dependent, there's simply no nice way of putting it. His self-worth and passion directly coordinates with being with someone. He doesn't take being alone well. He hates being alone and loathes feeling unwanted. A high tendency to latch on to people who show the slightest of interest in him. When they cut ties, he panics internally. He doesn't dare to beg them stay, nor fight for the relationship. As in the past it's never ended well for him when he did so. He's learned its best to cut ties and move on quickly.
Despite the fact Yanlin doesn't take advice well, he's great at giving it. He's patient and will listen to his friends. Always providing a shoulder to lean on if you can tolerate his behavior.
He comes off as emotionally detached, as he was taught to be so. Yanlin was told showing excessive emotions or voicing opinions over others was not allowed. It's a lesson that's stuck. He's great at listening to others, following orders/instruction.....but when it comes to him expressing himself outside of art he can't. He doesn't feel it's right for him to. Nor does he really know how, as he's never had to/been allowed before.
A puppet with out someone manning the strings. He's had to pick the strings up himself and he has 0 clue what to do with them.
Calm demeanor. Outside his fears and panic over his future in art, he's very calm. Handles stressful situations very well surprisingly. He adapts given time. Throw him in some dangerous situation and he will methodically work a way out.
Flirting comes easy. He can deal flirts and compliments well and doesn't get flustered easily. He's learned from people he's encountered. However humor? Jokes? He's bad at them, and doesn't understand them. They will go over his head. Best way to make him laugh is a well placed pick up line.
- first stage of lifeYanlin was born to a family that was very devoted to the Stars and Oracles. Yanlin would even say they had extremist values if you pressed him enough. They were strict and traditional. Oppressive. Of course, Yanlin never saw it that way back then. Though he doesn't really view it like that now, either. He's had no reason to. They raised him and his other siblings under strict rules. Enforcing their "ideal" behavior on them. Yanlin took to it the easiest compared to his other siblings. He likes to think that even though they never had favorites, that his parents favorited him.
As they grew older and were enrolled in education, Yanlin fell in love with art. It came to him so naturally. His parent's allowed him to pursue it as he showed much promise. Planning to use it in their favor.
His favorite medium was painting. To him it was his greatest joy. He enjoyed painting and showing his parents. Their small smiles and slight recognition of his work made him happy. When they didn't acknowledge his work, he knew the work wasn't good. This started the never ending cycle of constantly needing someone to judge his own value and the value of his work. If someone he love's doesn't acknowledge it, then it must be horrid. There simply was not other explanation to him.
second stage of lifeHis life is bland until his young adult years. Rather, just barely 20 and meeting someone he thought was the love of a lifetime. Michael. A guy slightly older than him. They met through Yanlin's art. Yanlin was trying to sell it for money, but it's the Cascades. A place known for art. Artist central. It wasn't easy to become well known in a competitive environment. Regardless of talent. Michael, however told Yanlin his art was the peak of perfection. Showered his craft with compliments. Nothing sounded sweeter to Yanlin's ears.
The two began meeting up after that faithful day. Who knew selling one painting to the right guy could lead to something more? It wasn't long before Yanlin was attaching himself to this painting buyer. In mere months Yanlin was moving in with him. Hushed vows were said. Rings exchanged. There was no formal ceremony, no paper proving their marriage. To Yanlin however, it was real. Nothing could change that.
Yanlin devoted his art to Michael. Each painting carried a piece of his heart. For six. whole. years. He rarely left the house unless Michael asked him to join him. It was like he disappeared to the eyes of people who knew him.
When he was 26, he learned something that shattered him. Rather, it skewed his perception of the relationship. Michael had been selling Yanlin's paintings under his own name. As someone who had a wider web of connections, he was making more money than Yanlin ever had. This wasn't really what hurt Yanlin. It was the fact he hid it. Lied about treasuring Yanlin's paintings. He wouldn't have minded Michael selling them if he had just told him. But no. Michael swore he was treasuring them, keeping them safe.
Yanlin left the Cascades the next day. Perhaps it's his odd view of relationships, but to him it had been a huge betrayal. He left the ring behind. Only taking his art supplies.third stage of lifeYanlin found his way to the Capital of Zenith. For the first time, his art didn't depends on someone else's love. No. It was him bleeding his heart out on the pages. Spilling his emotions on canvas. His art gained a new soul and people of Zenith hungered for it. For the first time he got the recognition he so desperately craved.
Though, it was a slow start. It did take him a while to pick up a brush again. Even longer to get his paintings out there. Giving his paintings to people he spent ......"nights" with if they asked about them. It's how word spread about him. A artist who gave away his art to "lovers".
As his fame rocketed and time passed, his wounds healed. The bitter mark they left on him no longer throbbed in pain. A mere faded scar, a forgotten memory. It's then that his paintings reflected this. Without pain pouring onto the page, they lost their soul. Their passion. With that came the hawk eyes of those eager to buy his work. The paintings were still goo, yes. But they lacked once they once were. Therefore to the eyes of nobles, weren't "perfect quality."
One nobleman gave the painter a deal. Paint him a potrait, and he sponsor Yanlin's craft. Desperate to make an attempt, he accepted. He painted over and over. Started from scratch a dozen times, but it wasn't satisfactory. He knew that. When the deadline came and the nobleman saw the work, he wasn't satisfied either. He defamed Yanlin and his craft. Calling him nothing more than a fraud and scammer. He even annoced he would take him to some trial. Yanlin was some lowsociety guy. He knew he wouldn't win a fight aganist a noble.
He fled. Has been on the run for the past month, not even realizing most people have forgotten his "scandal" and "wanted status". There had been a night he stopped and got significantly drunk. This lead to him stumbling to the port to paint the sea, but what do you know? A large vessel was docked in the way. Determined...or perhaps foolishly.......Yanlin climbed aboard with his canvas and paints......and that's how he arrived on the leviathan.
- gallerycharacter nameLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.character nameLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.character nameLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.character nameLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.
leftrightcoded by natasha.- Tonight is the Night I DiePalace Royale
01nameDaiyu Xu02AliasValerie03ageThirty04place of birthSirocco Sands05AffiliationSonorous Society06StatusWanted, Presumed Dead.07occupation"Wanderer"08roleThe Phoenix - hair colour / style
Valerie's hair is a red like color and quite long. Style wise it varies, but she likes to keep it mostly down and out of her eyes. Simple styles with a few hairpins. Nothing to elaborate that would take time or draw more attention than needed.eyes
(Refer to gallery image 1) Val has heterochromia. Both her eyes are green, but the shades are very distinctly different. She lost most vision in the left eye not long after her birth. Recently she often wears a lace veil or some kind of mask over her eyes as she has been told they stand out too much.build
Valerie has a fairly slim body. She's isn't frail, but she lacks notable muscle mass. On the taller end compared to others on the ship, but by no means a "giant".attire
Compared to her in the past, she lacks a diverse wardrobe. Being stuck to the shadows, she travels light and doesn't dress too extravagantly. Sticking to dark patterns, her clothes give off the impression of someone just barely considered high society. Someone who has just a bit more wealth than what may meet the eye. But not enough for people to wonder if she is a noble. Recently you will always find her with a mask or veil over her eyes and her neck covered with cloth or high collars of her clothing.scars / markings
A light scar across the front of her neck.misc info
Carries around a cane. Occasionally carries around a parasol. Always wears something to cover her eyes.weight113 LBSheight5'9 - virtuesEloquentDeterminedObservantCalculativeMethodicalResourceful
- vicesHesitant/Overly CautiousOpportunisticSecretivePerfectionistObsessiveWeak-Willed
- likesBlueberriesPoetryTeaObserving othersDark spacesQuiet SpacesArtSweetsdislikesSwordsCrowdsBright AreasBeing touchedBeing fooledNot knowing somethingGrapes
- strengthsPhotographic memory. A scholar; has a lot of book knowledge. Decent aim with weapons. Smart. Resourceful. Lying. Knows a lot of secrets/Information. Socializing. Politics. Connections.weaknessesHard time trusting others. Hesitant. Lacks conviction. Poor at physical combat. Physically weak. Skittish. Partially blind. Struggling with confidence. Wary of everyone around her.reputationFormerly she was well known as Sonorous Society's next leader/the heir to the organization. While there wasn't much record on her physicall appearance as she was kept hidden away, she was known to be dedicated to the organization itself. Know to be smart and capable of influencing decisions made by the organization.
That reputation would come to a halt when Daiyu "died" in the attack. Now as Valerie, she doesn't have much of a reputation. No connection to the society than crumbled the same night the leaders and the upcoming leader were assassinated. Any whispers now are regarding her appearance that seems to stand out. It's the veil isn't?fearsFailure above all else. Getting betrayed. People finding out who she is and whoever killed her family hunting her down again.
hobbiesReading/Studying, Chess, Card Games, Target practice of any kind, Sketching, Writing in poetry.
- habitsCounting her footstepsTouches her neck oftenEavesdroppingBlinks. A lot.Rocks back and forthWill not stop eye contact
Death and I have been scandalously intimate for quite some time now.personality"Tell me, what is my purpose ? What path am I to take?"
Valerie is both one of the most confident people you will meet while having little confidence in herself. She's a walking contradiction. She lacks the confidence in herself to make decisions about her goal. Like a strategist to cautious to decide on what the most optimal move would be. Meanwhile her multiple close encounters with death have given her this false confidence she uses to carry herself. Not an arrogant "I'm immortal!!", more ...... "I've cheated death. Do you think your threats scare me?" kind of confidence. It helps her continue forward. A false bravado if you will.
What she lacks in conviction is made up in determination. The drive to keep moving. Keep trying. She has a goal and she will achieve it one way or another. That or she will die trying. The assassination left her rattled and without guidance. She's been thrust into this world outside of what she knew and she's stumbling trying to find her way. However, given the chance of regaining her wits and confidence; I dare say there wouldn't be much to stop her revenge. Valerie isn't the brunt force type. She's in it for the long run; she will make those who have wronged her fall apart at the seams. If the opportunity arises that is.
She views things as a game of chess. Everything feels calculated to her. Valerie carefully observes those around her, listening more than speaking. She mentally assigns people values, ranking them of how useful they are to her or what benefit befriending them offers. There's a few reasons as to why she does this. The first being, it's simply how she was raised. The other being she is cautious of everyone. She fears betrayal or being sold out to whoever killed her family. So her way of thinking is if she keeps relationships strictly restricted to logical benefit, she can keep people at arms length.
"Oh.....? An interview? Alright. Let's keep it short.."
Question 1: Rumors have it you are boarding the Leviathan, are they true? "Yes. I've bartered with a someone for a ticket. They have yet to find out I've lied to them about my end of the barter...please keep this between us."
Question 2: Opinions on Royalty? : "I have....nothing I wish to say about them at the moment. Next question please."
Question 3: Opinion of piracy? : "I don't like the murder of innocent lives......but I'm in no place to judge. Many used the information provided by the Sonorous Society for purposes just as bad. I guess I have blood of innocents on my hands indirectly...."
Question 4: Is it true your hair isn't truly red? : "Where did you hear such thing? I'm not answer such a question."
Question 5: Opinions of death. : "I've cheated it multiple times. I do not fear it. I know it will catch me one day. But I will keep eluding it till I complete my revenge. Not matter what it takes."
- birth, death, lifeA baby without a cry. A doctor too stressed to do his job. A devasted couple. The newborn had just entered the world yet pronounced dead before she could open her eyes. The baby didn't cry, and had no heart beat according to the doctor. Thus she was whisked away. It was later when the doctor was alone with her, did he realize she was alive. Perhaps embarrassed for his mistake, or fearing for his reputation and job, he swaddled the newborn and passed her off to someone ....close. Someone who promised to handle the newborn quietly.
The newborn was passed hand to hand, until she was given to a new couple. A couple who could not have children of their own. The family didn't question where the child was from. They trusted the person who gave them the child. They were just glad to have a baby.
Thus the couple gave her the name Daiyu. Raising her as their own. They were protective of her. They kept her hidden away in their home. As she grew they would dye her hair a red color, wanting to prevent her from standing out too much. They never told her she was not their own. Daiyu had no reason to suspect otherwise. To her they were her parents.nurturing of a heirThe couple that had adopted her were the heads of an organization known as the Sonorous Society. A hidden organization that collected information. Kept records of truths and secrets. Known well enough that many sought their service to fulfill their own needs. An organization of scholars and spies, if you will. The Society was a neutral organization. It did not side with the Royals or the law. They did not side with any other organization either. For the right price and a good agreement, they would give out information to anyone who asked. If they didn't have it, they would obtain it for said client.
The couple raised Daiyu as their successor. Their heir, if you will. She was taught multiple subjects from a young age. Many thought her to be a little prodigy, and she had photographic memory to aid her. It's didn't take long for the couple to hold their daughter in great respect.
Not much else happened that was eventful in her younger years. Studying, roaming the guild and it's collection of records. Occasionally assisting her family in the Society's affairs. Daiyu did have quite a calm and peaceful child hood. From a child, to a teen, and finally an adult. There wasn't anything out of the ordinary daily living of hers.another death, another lifeTW TW TW: Faked Suicide!!
She was 29 when everything burned down around her. A big request. A betrayal. A client she wasn't allowed to meet. A deal made without her present. Her parents took on a request and kept it a secret from even her. It wasn't long after that the Society was attacked. Assassinated, would be a more fitting word. Many members were killed that night. Other's scattered to the winds.
Daiyu's parent's were some of the ones that were assassinated. Daiyu tried to hide, but however was sent knew the secrets of the guild. It wasn't long till they found the hidden room she slipped into it. She was desperate. She drew the sword she had picked off the ground and cut her own neck. The cut was hardly enough to cause much damage. She had no idea how to wield a blade. Though maybe her bloodied dress or the way she let her body fall to the ground convinced her pursuers she really had died. She didn't know what convinced them or if they were really just that foolish to not check. Either way; they seemed to believe her to be a corpse.
Their mentioning of reporting back to their employer is how Daiyu learned this was no surprise attack. No. It was planned. Soon as she was sure they left, she forced herself back on her feet. She had lay in the floor for hours, silently tending to the wound on her neck. Careful not to move much out of place in fear they would return. However after a few hours she was convinced they were gone. She wandered out of the room and saw the blood bath that had occurred.
She knew they would be back eventually. Likely for the records. She gathered what little she could take and with the rest, she set them ablaze. That day Daiyu was pronounced dead and Valerie was born. She now wanders Zenith in the shadows searching for clues on just who betrayed her family that night. She swear to get revenge no matter how long it will take her. - gallerycharacter nameLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.character nameLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.character nameLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.character nameLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Donec vel tellus in mauris feugiat tempor in a magna. Fusce eu ornare urna. Quisque hendrerit mauris diam, sed venenatis lacus mattis a. Sed accumsan dapibus elit nec maximus. Etiam ac auctor quam. Suspendisse vitae faucibus nisl, sed dapibus quam.
leftrightcoded by natasha.
Last edited:
AnimeGenork
The Duck Overlord
Rosaline Touchard
# the enamored
# poppy corby-tuech
♡coded by uxie♡
Milo Stafford
# The Farmboy
# Taz Skylar
♡coded by uxie♡
Madelina Volkova
# The Decoy
# Antonina Vasylchenko
♡coded by uxie♡
Arata Fukuda
# TheDrunkCupid
# Mackenyu
♡coded by uxie♡
The EnamoredRosaline- xxxBASIC INFORMATIONxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
- xxxBACKSTORYxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
- xxxABILITIESxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
- xxxEXTRA NOTESxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
- pure of heartdumb of asssex appealforesight“”Let your hands go where they please but don't come crying if your fingers break.NameRosaline TouchardAliasRose, Noelle (formerly)GenderFemale (She/Her)Sexuality"Closeted" PansexualPlace of BirthAntaresFactionStygian Order (formerly)StatusLow Society (Courtesan to High Society)AppearanceThe length of Rosaline’s hair is difficult to determine, partially due to the fact that she keeps it in elaborate updos around others and partially due to the fact that she is constantly changing its style. For the most part, however, her brunette tresses are kept to her mid-back, wavy locks framing her angular face and high cheekbones. There is often a strand or two bouncing by her neck, as she likes to provide her clients with something to play with as they flirt. Her pursed lips are always painted, spreading into a thin smile to convey amusement, or what passes for it. Such amusement rarely reaches her green eyes, which occasionally spark with defiance but otherwise are dull, lifeless, even dead. An overall lovely figure, her subtle curves are the subject of at least two poems, though she burned them upon receiving. She tends to let her work do the talking rather than her body, though she has been known to dress provocatively if desperate for more coin. At five feet, four inches, she is not terribly tall, but she has the charm to make everyone forget this aspect.PersonalityWhile she may be a rose, Rosaline definitely has her thorns. She has learned the saccharine words befitting a harlot whose primary trade is the carnal arts, but she has a dignity that even some of her fellows do not. Though she has not much to lose, she wishes not to lose herself entirely to her career, or lack thereof, as she puts it. A small rosebud remains curled tightly within her, and though it is unlikely to bloom, Rosaline takes measures to protect it from outside influence. No more will she let others dictate the entirety of her fate, even though her occupation decries otherwise.
Around her clients, she is fluttering eyelashes and roaming hands, enticing however she may in order to secure payment or a meal. She cannot fathom just how long she’s been at this, for she has lost all sense of time. There is great skill to be had in her line of work, and she has a good deal of it, which all of her clients and fellows will attest to. In truth, she does enjoy a great bit of it, especially the game of figuring out just how much shoulder to bare to have all her whims met or to up her price. Perhaps she is secretly a goddess of love, or what passes for it, as she is not too weary of her occupation, save for the clients who have no respect for her line of work and would sooner spit on her than give her fair compensation.
A tisket, a tasket, Rosaline is a basket of roiling thoughts and subtle glares. Beautiful mess lies beneath the lovely dresses, and while her popularity has caused her to move up in the underbelly of humanity, she only wishes to survive, to live. So far, it seems as if money may be the ticket to that, though lately she has dared to try her hand with her own affections, genuine ones, not the lies that fall easily from her lips like honey. - BackstoryContent Warnings: Horrible Death of Mother, Sexual Assault Mentions/Implications, Sex Workers & Thus Some Inherent Misogyny in Clients, Rosaline is an Entire Warning, I’m Sorry
Rosaline’s life has been a series of revelations, all of which have perhaps led her down her current path more than any choice she has made in all her years of living.
Revelation 1: No one was going to care for her except herself. Barefoot and dirty in an alleyway deep in Antares, Noelle, as she was named back then, stared down at the broken body of her mother as the rain fell upon her hair and skin and ragged clothing. Dull, glassy eyes and parted lips spoke none of the fake comforts that she had heard for six years, but then, with a broken neck, how could she? Her mother had been trying to earn coin for a meal, but instead she’d crossed someone who hadn’t wanted to share their bed with someone so unclean.
Revelation 2: Being a young girl alone on the streets leads to kindness, but also the depths of hell. Though Noelle had found shelter in a house full of women, she soon realized the kind of work these women were employed in. A house full of strange sounds, but always with a stocked kitchen. It was in this brothel she started to brush her hair so meticulously. Though she washed the dishes and cleaned up after the clients of the house, she knew she would have to repay the bawd with her own body someday. She was resigned to it.
Revelation 3: Living in a house of harlots entails all sorts of untoward activity, including pickpocketing. She stole coins, valuables, all while the clients were occupied with the women in the house. The madame was only tangentially affiliated with the Stygian Order, as Noelle had heard of it, and thus her earnings were theirs as well. Later, she would no longer be in contact with any members of it, as she was on to bigger and better things. But for now, in this moment, she sent off her loot to the Order, hoping for praise that never came. What use was a skill if no one found it useful?
Revelation 4: It doesn’t matter how young you are to some. That is all Noelle had ever been willing to say on the matter, though the madame and her other charges let her grieve what had been lost for as long as she needed it. Was it truly a crime, she wondered to herself, if she was getting paid for it? If she had accepted the single coin for it? This was the last time she would think these thoughts, for delving too deep into the madness of the world was sure to drive one to death, as it had one of the older, sweeter harlots. The madame tilted her chin up and looked into her dead eyes. “Take on a new name befitting of your new life,” she said. “Then perhaps you won’t hurt so much.”
Revelation 5: Roses are lovely, but their thorns sting. Now Rosaline, with a surname Touchard speaking of strength and also humor, she practiced her trade often. Cleaning meticulously at the end of every day, still brushing her hair and handing over enough coin to keep her bawd happy. Clients, or culls, as she soon learned, adored her face and her name, as well as her body. Some of them were amusing, others not so much. One particular one learned the hard way that broken fingers were the price paid for too much freedom with someone unwilling to part with too much too soon. They protested that she was earning coin, which of course earned the glares of every harlot in the house. There are limits to what they will take, make no mistake about that.
Revelation 6: If one satisfies enough carnal desires, one can go from harlot to courtesan in the blink of an eye. At not two decades old, Rosaline was the talk of Antares. Their brothel was the most popular, even with the rumor of biting, and the madame treated Rosaline as a prized daughter. Rosaline herself was just happy for more coin to buy more gowns to seduce the right sort of gentleman, but she also spoiled herself in terms of her sustenance. One day, a woman bedecked in jewel tones and with ruby lips offered to buy her, and while she flinched at the wording, she agreed to the terms, leaving Antares behind forever. Sirocco Sands was a welcome change, though she sometimes missed the boisterous pirates who treated her more “kindly” than those who visited her newer, acclaimed brothel.
Revelation 7: The rich love to keep beauty to themselves. Rosaline, the highly desired rose of a courtesan, given compliments and praises aplenty to appreciate the so-called splendor she brought to their chambers. Though not taken to society functions, she was the talk of the elite, even with the underlying problem of her attitude. Some tried to claim her for their own, but she refused. Independence was not something she was entirely privy to, but at least she had this sliver of it. It was amusing, really, watching them fall all over themselves, offering more and more coin in hopes to curry her as their mistress alone. Dance, puppets, she thought to herself. Keep me alive with those lined pockets.
Revelation 8: Love is a wilted rose. She fell in love. Rosaline had never been sure she’d know love, though theoretically she had known it for as long as she’d been pursuing carnality. It was unrequited, painful, a thorn to her heart every time her glances were unmet. Such a great pain followed her footsteps. Such delightful affections filled her bosom. Oh, how she wished for something, anything, to suggest that perhaps there was a fairy tale meant for her. But it was not meant to be, perhaps.
And now she boards The Leviathan, at the cost of what she usually pays. It was worth every cent.Relationshipssurname, givenLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Praesent aliquet volutpat sem, vitae interdum lorem euismod pulvinar. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos.
surname, givenIn et interdum enim. Fusce placerat tristique tortor. Nulla laoreet quam dui, eget pharetra justo fermentum vel. In elit neque, mollis eu auctor ut, commodo non orci. Phasellus urna leo, pretium non ante vel, sollicitudin euismod dolor. Orci varius natoque penatibus et magnis dis parturient montes, nascetur ridiculus mus. Mauris vel arcu tincidunt, sollicitudin libero posuere, luctus nibh. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos.
surname, givenNam in vestibulum ligula. Proin quis enim ut purus porta malesuada. Sed lectus enim, accumsan ut dignissim ut, elementum vel arcu. Vestibulum finibus, tellus sit amet convallis rutrum, risus nunc suscipit massa, quis bibendum orci massa et nibh. Nulla vel nisl suscipit, vehicula dui sit amet, sodales quam. Aliquam tempor, ex in lobortis convallis, lorem erat gravida justo, semper euismod nibh tellus in mi. Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Praesent sed ligula aliquet, viverra libero ut, elementum ipsum. - Persona - DeeperLikes & DislikesMoney, Fancy Gowns, Pink, Roses, Sex, Flirting, Rouge, Brushing Her Hair, Lip Color | Overly Forward Clients, Mending Gowns, Brown, Chrysanthemums, Lobsters, Insects, Clients Who Sweat a Lot
FearsConsidering the world she comes from, Rosaline is quite without many fears. Most of the horrors that could afflict a woman she has witnessed or experienced in some capacity, and so she doesn't fear that. If anything, she would fear, most of all, dying in the gutter as her mother did, bleeding out or with her neck broken. To her, that is a fate worse than hell.
Habits & HobbiesRosaline tends to her own hygiene and care with an almost meticulous care. She brushes her hair carefully every morning and every night, applying every effort to make sure she looks her best. She also becomes quite frustrated if the same strands of hair are not framing her face and will redo her entire hairstyle. For the most part, she has no hobbies or occupation besides that of a courtesan harlot, though she has been known to clean her rooms or others when lacking for clients.
Strengths & WeaknessesHer strength lies in her skills of flirting and seduction, as belied by her position as a highly sought after courtesan. There is a ladylike grace to her that lends to such a reputation, for she has also mastered the art of pretending to be of high birth. As for weaknesses, she has many, mostly in the fire that threatens to break free whenever a client pushes their luck. She tries her luck every day with the attitude she was born with. Also, she is not terribly literate. - ExtrasReputationRosaline is perhaps the most popular courtesan (she prefers "harlot") to come out of Antares, so popular that she was even offered employment in an esteemed Sirocco Sands brothel. She is known for her discerning eye for fashion (read: she knows how to show tiddy) as well as her ability to please in the most heartless client. Any more details about her reputation are left to whispers, and not many of them have been proven true. Supposedly she has the capability to break fingers if displeased with the words aimed at her.
Why did she board the Leviathan?To others, she claims she boarded the Leviathan for adventure, perhaps to seek clients from reaches beyond Antares and Sirocco Sands. In truth, she wanted to follow her love. Being near them is enough for her, and plenty enough to fuel the daydreams that plague her waking thoughts. All she wanted was to watch over them, make sure they were alright. It is the only thing she truly cares about. Besides money.
How did she get on board?The details of the "how" are rather privateand would break RPN rules, but suffice it to say Rosaline traded a night of near endless (one-sided) passion in order to purchase her spot aboard the ship.
Opinion on RoyaltyIn public, they seem to care not a whit for those of Rosaline's ilk, but she knows the truth: they are the dirtiest bastards in the land. She has played out many a fantasy for their benefit, all with the promise that she never tell a soul just how depraved they are. They pay well for this privilege, and even she can admit that some of those nights were more amusing than most. Why is it the rich and beautiful ones are those she would hate to cross?
Opinion on PiracyThough she hasn't met as many as she'd like, Rosaline does know that pirates are often the best customers. They tend to care more about her than any noble or royal, though this care is in service of their pleasure. She has the most fun with pirates and associated clients, with many ending in a promise to visit her again. She rarely ups her price for these clients, for loyalty is sometimes better than more coin.
ExtrasRosaline's theme song is "Middle of the Night" by Elley Duhé. Playlist possibly forthcoming.
What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplayRosaline needs to be disillusioned about her so-called love, realize she has fallen for someone not worthy of what little affection she can provide. She needs to be sexy, do sword, learn how to be her own person outside of her occupation again. Perhaps cut her hair into a short little ponytail. Should she find real love, it should be less all-consuming than this first one, not quite a fairy tale, but enough that perhaps she will not quite hate her circumstances so much. Also, she needs to wear pants at least once.
If not selected in the first round of applications, I am willing to be contacted at a later dateYes
If you'll have me!
code by Nano
basic infobackstoryextraMilo Stafford- 01010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101010101
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- PROFILEFULL NAMEMilo Emrys StaffordALIAS
Horse GirlAGE26GENDERMale (He/Him)SEXUALITYFluid (He Don't Know)ROLEThe FarmboyPLACE OF BIRTHFreymoorFACTIONFarmersOnly.ComSTATUSLow Society"You can say I talk and I dress all funny, but you can't say I ain't country."APPEARANCEBASICSHEIGHT6'0" | 182 cmWEIGHT165 lbs | 75 kgBLOOD TYPEB+HAIR COLORLight/Dirty BlondEYE COLORBlue GreenIN DEPTH APPEARANCEMilo keeps his blond hair cropped close his head, almost making him seem as if he has no hair, considering the lightness of the color. Though he has considered growing out his hair, he would have no idea how to take care of it, and so the length has stayed consistent throughout his life. The color of his hair varies along the spectrum of blond depending on things such as season, cleanliness (i.e. has he mucked out the animals’ stalls lately), etc. He is often wearing a smile on his face, which also has a spectrum of variation to help determine his mood. The smile shows off excellently cared-for teeth, with only one tooth missing from a childhood accident near the back of his mouth. His lightly colored eyes like to shift depending on setting, though they seem to shine in the sunlight and bring out the sunshine that appears to reside deep within him. From the constant physical activity of working his family’s farm, he has well-toned muscles in his arms, legs, and abdomen, which are often shown off due to his interesting choice of wardrobe, which includes vests and no shirt underneath them. Oftentimes, grass stains can be found on his clothes from the excitement of rolling down a hill or petting some stray animal that he played with for hours.PERSONALITY"You can say I drink too many longnecks, that my edges are a little bit rough..."Although his accent does not necessarily match his upbringing, Milo is a farm boy through and through. He loves the outdoors and breathing in the fresh air, even if there is an intense odor of manure about. Animals means quite a bit to him, and he would never harm one on purpose, though he has been known to voraciously eat a meat dish set in front of him. (In his eyes, it would be rude not to honor the animal’s sacrifice. He also needs his protein.) This mindset extends to other people as well, as Milo is essentially a pacifist, even when someone else is threatening his life. Knowing no self-defense, he is very capable of running into danger this way—he used to have a friend to rely on for these situations.
Without meaning to, Milo is apparently a flirt. He simply believes in the power of compliments, and has been paying them since the moment he could string together complex sentences. From telling a woman she reminds him of the kindness of his mother, to telling a man he’s as strong as an ox, he always seems to be flirting. Unfortunately, he knows not what he’s doing, and he becomes incredibly confused when these people pay him the sort of attention he can’t name. (It’s attraction.) There is not a mean bone in his body, and it gets him in a different sort of trouble with people. Again, he used to have a friend to get him out of such sticky situations.
Once upon a time, Milo’s friends were everything to him. Though he doesn’t have them anymore, he has never forgotten them, and he lives his life to the fullest to honor their memories. His loved ones mean absolutely everything to me, and considering he needs to save the family farm by boarding the Leviathan, well. He’s achieving two goals in one, and that’s math! - BACKSTORY"You can say that the world's flat
You can say we never made it to the moon
You can say we all come from a bunch of monkeys
But you can't say I ain't country, no"Content Warning: Gruesome Murders.
Milo Emrys Stafford was born in a loving farming family of five as the youngest son. His brothers, Richard and Frederick, were following in their father’s footsteps, and Milo grew to love the farm life too. The Staffords had the largest farm in the farming village of Freymoor. The closest city to Freymoor was Zenith, and it was at least two days’ journey there. Milo’s entire life was Freymoor and the farm, at least until he met his best friends in the universe.
Bruno, Abigail, Gabriel, and Arata. They were a tightly knit group of five, and they had one main game they loved to play: Pirates. Though they had never met any pirates or seen them, they had heard stories and old wives’ tales of them, and the children wanted to emulate the more heroic side of pirates. When Milo wasn’t helping around the farm, he was often with his friends, playing at being a pirate. He loved his friends, and they loved him. Milo couldn’t imagine his life with the other four—they were five parts of a whole.
Then it happened. To this day, no one in Freymoor can explain how it happened. Milo went out to play with his friends as dark gray clouds rolled over the village. They were going to hang out in one of the old barns at the edge of Bruno’s family farm, where they would be safe from the rain. Unfortunately, they were not safe from the fugitive running from the kingsmen and bounty hunters.
When the village found the source of the screams that had echoed throughout the cobbled streets, they found Milo sitting alone, covered in his friends’ blood. Why he had been spared, he didn’t know. But his friends—his pirate crew—was gone. He wasn’t able to talk about what happened, as it brought on horrible flashbacks and nightmares. All he could say was that he was sorry he hadn’t saved them. Of course, no one blamed him, but that somehow made his guilt even worse.
With his crew gone, Milo could only throw his entire being into the family farm. While Richard and Frederick grew up, got married, and moved out of the house, Milo didn’t. He helped his mother and father take care of the farm, even as the harvest started to wane and the older animals started to fall ill. Money became tighter and tighter, but Milo worked as hard as he could.
The farm was in debt. The Staffords were at a loss how to dig themselves out of his hole. The harvests were coming back sparser each season, but how would they solve such a thing? Word reached the village of the maiden voyage of a new ship, the Leviathan. Perhaps the answer to their farm’s troubles would be found on the passage. Milo’s mother and father scrounged what money they could, borrowing from his brothers, too, in order to buy him a ticket. Milo didn’t want to leave his family, but they insisted.
The night before he left the village, he had a dream, much like he’d had over the years. This time, the dream featured Bruno, the captain of their old crew. “You have to go, Milo. You’ll get to be a pirate.” Milo took one look at his friend’s smile and knew it to be the truth. So Milo agreed to board the Leviathan and hopefully find the solution to his family’s troubles. At the same time, he took with him the dreams of his friends to finally be the kind of pirate they’d always known they could be.
RELATIONSHIPSBrunoBest Friend (FC: Iñaki Godoy) - Deceased
The captain of Milo's first pirate crew. He had the most infectious smile on the planet and always knew how to make everyone happy.AbigailBest Friend (FC: Emily Rudd) - Deceased
She joked she was the token "girl" of the crew, but Abigail was much more than that. Though they were platonic soulmates, the village thought for sure she would be his wife. He didn't see it. Neither did she.GabrielBest Friend (FC: Jacob Gibson) - Deceased
The "cool" one of the crew. Gabriel always had the charisma to talk them out of trouble, if they got into it. He had far better words than even Milo did.ArataBest Friend (FC: Mackenyu) - Deceased
Bruno's first mate. Arata was very skilled at pretending to be a bodyguard. Though he was lankier than even Milo, his presence spoke volumes. - EXTRAS"You can say what I'm smokin' on is kinda funky, but you can't say I ain't country."Likes & DislikesBaling Hay, Cows & Horses, Chickens & Goats, Any Animal Really, Vests, Sunshine | Rainy Days (Can’t Go Outside
), Being Away from the Farm, Spiders, Most Bugs Really, Raw Meat, Cooking AloneFearsMilo fears that someday he will lose everyone important to him again. Also, spiders.Habits & HobbiesAlthough it is his occupation, farming is very much a hobby for him, as he will find any excuse to tend to it. For the most part, brushing the animals’ coats or feathers falls under such a category, as his meticulous care of it is not necessary. He has the habit of waking up at the crack of dawn every day, no matter how late he stayed up the night before. Also the wearing his stupid vests thing. Weirdo.Strengths & WeaknessesMost forms of social interaction are a bit of a weakness for Milo, as he’s not used to the cultures outside of Freymoor. He tries his best using his main strength: giving compliments. Of course, they don’t always translate the way he wants, but he tries. Apparently, he also has a strength of flirting, though he is entirely unaware of this. Farming, of course, is something he’s very good at, and so chores falls under that. However, he’s not the best at cooking unsupervised, and probably should not be left alone in a kitchen.ReputationMost who meet Milo and know of his hometown would call him a country bumpkin, and he does not try to dissuade him of this. Indeed, he’s a farmer, and he’s proud of it. His tendency to flirt without meaning to earns him some side eyes, some glares, though he’s unsure why this is. That woman did have a beautiful smile!Why Did He Board the Leviathan?Milo’s family is hoping that by being on board the Leviathan, he’ll be able to find a solution to their farm’s troubles, maybe bring back some sort of crop that will help save the farm. It’s a last ditch effort, but it’s all they have.How Did He Get on Board?The Staffords scrounged together the money to buy a legal ticket to board the Leviathan, their last effort to save the farm. Milo doesn’t want to fail them and after how much they sacrificed.Opinion on RoyaltyMilo has no opinion on royalty or even nobility—he has grown up too far away from such things to have much of an opinion. His family’s troubles are their own and caused by general economic strife and, of course, bad harvests. He has no ability to blame others for what happens to him.Opinion on PiracyAlthough logically Milo knows that pirates come with a stigma of doing bad things to good people, he grew up with a group of friends who wanted to be pirates anyway. They didn’t necessarily want to plunder and pillage—rather they wanted to be a heroic sort of pirate that would help people. Milo thus is fascinated by pirates. And he will probably get stabbed when he’s not careful.WHAT I WOULD LIKE MY CHARACTER TO ENCOUNTER/EXPERIENCE/DEVELOP IN THIS ROLEPLAYI would love if Milo could become tougher, learn how to use those long legs to kicky kick. It would be great if he could make some friends to unlock the child in him again (not that that’s not already present), help him get over his survivor’s guilt. Also, if we could perform a marriage between Milo and Gen, that would be great.
ExtrasMilo's theme song is "Can't Say I Ain't Country" by Florida Georgia Line.
code by Nano
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Full NameMadelina Lilianne VolkovaAliasHer Highness, Lady MadelinaGenderFemale (She/Her)SexualityBisexualRoleThe DecoyBirthplaceZenithFactionN/AStatus"Royalty"
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MadelinaHer HighnessI< click for info >
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- Height5’10”Weight135 lbsHair ColorDark Brownish BlackEye ColorHazelFace ClaimAntonina Vasylchenko[soundcloud]Long waterfalls of near-raven hair cascade over her shoulders in neat waves, polished to a sheen from her life in the palace, used to braiding and pinning in order to give off the impression of someone much different than herself. Long eyelashes frame eyes of hazel, dancing between hues of blues and greens and browns, perfect changes for her disguised self. Though tall in frame, she tries to hide, not wanting to draw attention to herself lest she be recognized at that whom she is not. Willowy limbs hold up a frail bird of a body, almost too thin, but she has never skipped a meal. Though her clothes are plain, she was once in finery, and her clean hands and nails suggest this. Only recently was she forced to don the visage of a commoner, and only recently has she remembered what it was like to be one.AppearanceAs the princess, Madelina must keep up the façade of royalty, a perfect representation of Solas. She does not speak, there is no chance to, but she allows the briefest of smiles as she traverses a room and disappears behind a curtain to be replaced by her other. Yet she keeps the royal demeanor even when the jewels and silks are removed, a demure maiden who does not speak out of turn. Her personality blends into that of the princess, though she is well aware that she is nowhere near as noble as the true blooded royal.Personality
Terribly shy, Madelina has not had much social interaction throughout her years in the palace. She was swept from her family at a very young age, and since then she has been educated and primed to always walk ahead of the princess, to ensure her safety. Her life is always on the line, and she holds little value for it. Though her loyalty is to the crown, she feels a strange emptiness at the prospect, often wondering if there is more to her than disguise and acting. What is she truly like, she wonders, as she smiles at the noble families. Who is Madelina, and does she even exist?
- Madelina was born a commoner, but her parents always thought she had the beauty of a princess. They didn’t have much, not they tradespeople of Solas’s capital, but Madelina was happy every night her parents tucked her in and told her they loved her. It was a happy family, just about a perfect family. But unfortunately, the little “princess” was all too special.Backstory I
Kingsmen knocked on their door one day, asking to see the daughter of the house. They explained that Madelina had been spotted playing in the street with her neighbors, and her resemblance to the princess was uncanny. Though the features weren’t a perfect match, they were good enough. The king wanted Madelina to act as his daughter’s decoy, to enter rooms ahead of the real princess and make sure no dangers were to befall her.
Though Madelina didn’t want to leave her parents, the Kingsmen promised they would be compensated. She couldn’t pass up the chance for a better life for her parents, and so she reluctantly agreed to go with them.
Locked away from the world, Madelina spent her childhood and teenage years in the palace. She was educated by governesses and tutors, looked after by maids, and was essentially treated as if she was the princess. Except she wasn’t. She had no tiara, her clothes were not her own, and she was to never speak and give away her true nature. Not that she was terribly sure what her true nature was, for the more time she spent learning to be the princess, the harder it became to separate herself from the princess.As a teenager, the princess attended more and more public functions, and thus, Madelina did as well. Addressed as “Your Highness” rather than by the princess’s name, Madelina always entered a room before her charge, taking a turn about the room before switching places. She was never allowed to enjoy the parties or balls herself. No, instead she was escorted straight back to her room. Her charge was safe, and therefore the decoy was no longer needed.Backstory II
Years passed, an endless amount of functions attended and then abandoned. Madelina was becoming bored with her empty life. Though she was allowed whatever food or entertainment she wanted, she had no friends. She knew no one. Not even the princess really knew who she was. Half of the palace was convinced Madelina was the princess herself. She didn’t exist.
At the ripe age of twenty-three, Madelina made a fatal mistake. One of the guards assigned to watch over her—for without the decoy, all is lost, supposedly—started talking to her. Surprised by the show of friendship, Madelina befriended him. It started with inside jokes and coy smiles before balls. Then there were brushes of fingers and lingering stares. The day he kissed her for the first time, Madelina felt alive like she never had before.
But of course they were caught. Her first kiss, and it was a scandal. The palace was in an uproar, thinking the princess had been having a tryst with a lowly guard. Locked in her room, Madelina was forbidden from seeing him ever again, and the guard himself was dismissed. She cried for days. She hadn’t meant to cause a stir or ruin her charge’s reputation. And yet she had ruined everything she had worked so hard to build.
After weeks of punishment, the princess herself visited Madelina’s chambers. They had never spoken before now, but the princess had a proposition. Her so-called crime would be forgiven, if only she would complete a mission for the princess. A ship called the Leviathan was to set sail from Zenith’s port, and Madelina would board it. She would keep an eye on things for the princess’s sake and report her findings via courier at every port. Only then would she be welcomed back as the princess’s decoy once again.
Madelina had no choice. She agreed. Even though she had no idea how to exist in a world outside the palace. - What does she like? What does she dislike? She certainly disliked letting down the princess. She likes the idea of being outside and finding herself. Madelina will have to discover for herself what she likes, rather than the princess.Likes & DislikesMadelina fears the punishment that will befall her if she should fail the princess again. She fears what such a punishment will do to her parents.FearsAlthough she was supposed to unlearn it, Madelina has never stopped twirling loose locks of her hair. Even in commoner clothes, she moves as if she is in petticoats, practically floating over the ground. With very few things she likes, she does enjoy reading, as she can inherit the lives of others through the words. She also enjoys tasting new foods, hoping to build herself a personality.Habits & HobbiesMadelina knows much of Solas society and the functions of royalty. Unfortunately, she knows very little about how to befriend people, as she has never had a friend before, nor was she afforded the chance. While she can navigate a ball or a crowded room with ease, she cannot navigate a conversation.Strengths & Weaknesses
- The Princess"Herself"I am supposed to be her, but she is not me. At least, I don't think so.The princess and Madelina do not speak. Or at least, they didn't used to. Madelina was kept separate from her for the princess's safety. Even after disgracing the princess, she offered her clemency via this Leviathan business. Madelina doesn't want her parents to suffer for her mistakes, and so she took the chance.First SurnameRelationship TitleAliquam bibendum ante mauris, vel pulvinar ligula ornare vitae. Mauris et purus sodales, iaculis dolor et, pharetra tellus. Donec eget quam magna. In auctor risus metus, a venenatis mi finibus vel.Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque a dapibus magna, in scelerisque mi. Suspendisse ex lacus, aliquam sed gravida ac, suscipit elementum justo. Praesent dolor lacus, tincidunt convallis dapibus et, malesuada sit amet dolor. Cras odio justo, rhoncus eu euismod sit amet, tempor at metus. Pellentesque ligula nisi, aliquet elementum volutpat sed, aliquam at tellus. Duis urna ante, ullamcorper vel nisl a, consequat fermentum nibh. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Vestibulum tristique rutrum orci, a facilisis metus rhoncus suscipit. Cras dapibus ullamcorper ante, ut lobortis eros faucibus sit amet. Nullam in lacus ante. Aenean id commodo risus, et blandit leo. Curabitur luctus accumsan sem ac ullamcorper. Vivamus volutpat scelerisque pellentesque. Aliquam erat volutpat. Nulla id diam sed nibh feugiat tempor. Aliquam scelerisque sagittis lorem, eget gravida nisl venenatis sed.First SurnameRelationship TitleLorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit.Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Quisque a dapibus magna, in scelerisque mi. Suspendisse ex lacus, aliquam sed gravida ac, suscipit elementum justo. Praesent dolor lacus, tincidunt convallis dapibus et, malesuada sit amet dolor. Cras odio justo, rhoncus eu euismod sit amet, tempor at metus. Pellentesque ligula nisi, aliquet elementum volutpat sed, aliquam at tellus. Duis urna ante, ullamcorper vel nisl a, consequat fermentum nibh. Interdum et malesuada fames ac ante ipsum primis in faucibus. Vestibulum tristique rutrum orci, a facilisis metus rhoncus suscipit. Cras dapibus ullamcorper ante, ut lobortis eros faucibus sit amet. Nullam in lacus ante. Aenean id commodo risus, et blandit leo. Curabitur luctus accumsan sem ac ullamcorper. Vivamus volutpat scelerisque pellentesque. Aliquam erat volutpat. Nulla id diam sed nibh feugiat tempor. Aliquam scelerisque sagittis lorem, eget gravida nisl venenatis sed.
Suspendisse potenti. Aenean eu ante massa. Vestibulum consequat ipsum sed nisi varius scelerisque. Aliquam dui neque, vulputate quis facilisis in, posuere at sapien. Maecenas elementum nisl non mollis sagittis. Suspendisse potenti. Pellentesque accumsan eros eget faucibus convallis. Vivamus a eros sagittis dolor consequat semper rutrum ac dolor. Curabitur varius, risus a vehicula molestie, leo quam rhoncus nisl, at ultrices elit orci eget augue. Etiam vitae odio a nisi dignissim vestibulum et eget ante.
Aliquam bibendum ante mauris, vel pulvinar ligula ornare vitae. Mauris et purus sodales, iaculis dolor et, pharetra tellus. Donec eget quam magna. In auctor risus metus, a venenatis mi finibus vel. Vivamus tincidunt magna eu leo condimentum, vel rhoncus eros tincidunt. Maecenas ut mauris tempor, interdum ligula et, vulputate neque. Quisque ornare nibh enim, efficitur blandit lacus porttitor non. Cras nunc nulla, feugiat ut nibh at, aliquam pellentesque purus. Integer eleifend in lorem pretium ornare. Sed tincidunt interdum hendrerit. Class aptent taciti sociosqu ad litora torquent per conubia nostra, per inceptos himenaeos. Sed non scelerisque lorem, nec luctus enim. Nulla rutrum lectus a pretium faucibus. Sed vel enim non enim tempor pulvinar vel ut sem. Aenean eget risus ut orci congue dignissim id id odio. - [Reputation] Madelina has no reputation, save for the princess's. She is the daughter of the king, as far as most people are aware. On the Leviathan, however, she is simply some girl with a ticket. Recreation, she claims, though no one is quite sure what to make of that. She's a mite suspicious but she can't help it. This is her mission, to simply be on the ship.Notes
[Why Did She Board the Leviathan?] She didn't necessarily have a choice. Madelina will never be allowed back as the princess's decoy, and her parents will likely be punished, if she doesn't do so for the princess.
[How Did She Get on Board?] She was given a ticket by the princess herself. Madelina has yet to work out her actual alibi.
[Opinion on Royalty] Madelina is rather neutral about royalty, as she respects them and the life they have allowed her to lead thus far. However, her lack of identity is a struggle, and she's not sure she likes that part very much. Still, she's loyal as she can be to ensure her parents' safety and financial well-being.
[Opinion on Piracy] There... there are PIRATES?
[What I Would Like My Character to Encounter/Experience/Develop in This Roleplay] Madelina needs to build a personality and an identity, one separate from that of the princess. She will still do her job of course, and report back to the princess, but as she gets to know the crew, she'll realize the life of a decoy isn't meant for her. That maybe she needs to do other things with her life. But what about her parents....
Code by Nano-
Arata Fukuda
# TheDrunkCupid
# Mackenyu
♡coded by uxie♡
Coming someday to a Leviathan near you...
Last edited:
Pepsionne
oi oi
the huntsman
death twitches my ear
fc Aneurin Barnard
♡coded by uxie♡
- 040302generalmagnusfull nameFinnick MaddenaliasMagnus (his real name is dead to him)roleThe Huntsmanage29p.o.bZenithStatusLow SocietyFactionsStygian Order (former)fcAneurin Barnardand all of my devotion turns violentReputation.He is known as The Doctor because of the surgical precision and cleanliness of his kills. Some would call it a mercy. Others shiver at the implications of such clean kills. No struggle, no hesitation. A fatal blow dealt with as much thought to him as breathing. If there had been mercy begged from trembling lips, it fell on deaf ears.
It’s a well known rumor whispered across webs of criminals from multiple cities that if the doctor takes on your bounty--it’s pretty much a death sentence. And you won’t see it coming.
- 0403visage01magnusht5’11"wt162hairHis brown hair is not rich enough to appear totally black, but lacks the typical golden hues that denote lighter shades of brown hair. Thus, his curls tend to fall somewhere in between the two depending on the lighting. Regardless--the color is a stark cut against his fair complexion. He keeps it short on the sides and neatly styled to match a buttoned up façade.eyesHis eyes are a flat, depthless grey that fall black in most lighting. His eyes carry the majority of intimidation and intensity that come with interacting with him. He is unafraid of eye contact, and when it is desired, Magnus has a way of seeking it out, even if it means chasing the gaze of another. Pair this with a heavy, straight brow line and he is someone whose stare you can feel pressing into your skin with a physical pressure.bodyMagnus presents himself like one born of noble birth. He figured the best disguise was a respectable one, such a pristinely formed façade only adding to the looming shadow of death that is tethered to his neck like a leash.
His movements are stiff and well trained. Not a finger is lifted without some kind of purpose lining its journey. This body language leads him to exert an eerie kind of presence, a ghost of sorts, present but with the aura of an impossibly silent mirage.
His attire is made up of durable, neatly pressed fabrics in shades of only black and white.
modsHis body is littered with scars from his profession and time spent serving under Celine. They're not seen often, as he is rarely ever seen unclothedfaceclaimAneurin Barnard - 04persona0201Magnus
- likes & dislikesmisclikesSilence, early mornings, moonlight on water, a freshly sharpened blade, black coffeedislikesHeat and humidity, blinding afternoon sun, sweet foods, loud and crowded spaces
- likes & dislikesmischobbies
Magnus’ life hasn’t afforded him the luxury of any hobbies, but he does enjoy spending time in nature and bird watching.
habits
Running his finger over the edge of a blade, not hard enough to draw blood but enough to feel the threat of it.
Smoking.
Pausing for several moments before he speaks. Many people interpret this habit as a response, and he gets talked over quite often.
strengths
Combat, tracking, weaponry, stealth, thieving, lying/manipulating
weaknesses
Singular minded, lack of empathy, thin tolerance for bullshit, reserved, trust issues
fears
Celine Dowin. Killing against his will.
why did they board The Leviathan?
Opportunity and money. With the Leviathan’s itinerary and ability to attract all walks of life with its shiny promises, Magnus sees the dollar signs that trail in the leviathan's wake. He could make enough here, potentially, to even retire to a gentler life. But can an attack dog ever truly be free from the baring of its fangs?
how did they get on board?
Celine's weaponization of wealth taught Magnus early on that you can do anything you want if you attach a high enough price tag to it. He knew he lacked the proper paperwork to board The Leviathan by any legal means, but what he did have was a heavy pouch of gold burning a hole in his pocket from a previously claimed bounty. Questions fell breathless with the amount he could afford, and soon enough, he found himself aboard the large ship. He could hear Celine's cooing approval at his actions. The thought made him nauseous.
playlist
personalityThere is something predatory in the way Magnus carries himself. A kind of learned violence set into the depths of his eyes. When he smiles, his canines gleam with the threat of something not to be trusted.
To people who are not his target, Magnus is friendly enough--behavior to be expected from the gentleman he presents himself to be. He carries with him the familiarity of a pet snake wrapped around one’s neck. It wouldn’t, surely, but an instinct much older than you begs to be believed when you feel the muscles in its body tighten just a fraction.
Magnus has a way of emitting a sort of pressure when he needs to, hardened fingers pushing into the soft flesh of rotted wood when he senses someone he can break. He wouldn’t call it outright intimidation, but the disappointment of his expectations comes with an unspoken threat.
He is unremarkable in quite a calculated way, a person whose impression becomes fluid in memory. His opinions and beliefs will change to fit whatever city he is in. Most of his victims don’t even realize they’re being hunted until his sword has pierced their flesh.
The real Magnus, the one he lost in that dank cellar all those years ago--that one was softer. He liked a harmless prank, laughing and drinking with his friends until the sun began to yawn out across the sky. Violence was not something he even thought about, much less expected to have honed into a natural instinct. But maybe those things died with Finnick. There’s far too much blood crusted over his hands to even attempt to reach into the ether and find that old self.
It is rare, but there are times when he can forget this hardened armor that has cemented itself over his soul. He’s not quite Finnick--he could never be, but unprompted authenticity can sweep him away like a tide to the ghost of his past self. It is these rare instances that echo a warning in his mind. “Camaraderie is a weakness”
Opinion on royalty: Against. The word royalty rots in his mouth like something left in the sun to fester and crust over. The behavior of royalty and nobility bring him back to the trauma he strives to cast aside--any semblance of it brings him back to Celine.
Opinion on piracy: He is neutral on piracy, neither for it or against it. Judging pirates for their violence would be like the pot calling the kettle black. While he may frown occasionally at the grey morality of their violence, his own hands are far too stained to speak against it.
- history030201MagnusCeline DowinA wealthy and powerful widow whom Magnus was indebted to. He worked under her as an assassin.Relationshiptbdcoded by natashaFinnick
"Death twitches my ear. 'Live,' he says, 'I am coming'" — Virgil
Magnus divides his life into two parts. Before the fateful Dowin heist, and after. Before the Dowin heist, he was Finnick. A thieving orphan running the streets of Zenith with as much care given to him as a rat loose in the streets. One could say he drew rotten luck to receive the cards he had been dealt-- just another mouth to feed in one of the many underfunded orphanages strewn about the city with no memory of his parents. But Finnick didn’t have rotten luck, he thought it was rather the absence of any kind of it completely that landed him in his station in life. Luck would have made him noble. Rotten luck would have offered the mercy of never having been born into this world at all.
The orphanage was a step up from becoming one of the vicious stray dogs that littered the poorer areas of Zenith, and what a small step it was indeed. In the orphanage’s care Finnick was hungry but not starving, had clothes but only until they fell apart into threads, and was given a bed but one that was shared with rodents and illness. The rest was up to him. So he stole.
In the beginning, the young orphan stuck to petty things. A sweet that looked rather tantalizing in the packed alley of street vendors, a toy that he saw a noble child tugging along with zero care to it at all. But with every successful theft that lacked consequence came the growing notion that if Finnick was a child born without luck, he could simply--steal it.
He wasn’t the only orphan to come to this conclusion. He and a small group of friends began to organize themselves into a band, each successful scheme earning them a step towards freedom and a life they had only dreamed of.
Finnick finally left the orphanage at the age of fourteen. With a complex web of schemes under the belt of their group, their meager earnings afforded them a life that was worlds away from what they had endured in the orphanage. They were a team, a found family, relying on each other and splitting their earnings equally.
Like any successful thieves, the band of orphans pathed their way to joining the Stygian Order. The fangs of their desire sharpened with every successful job, and the real money began to pour in. They were untouchable, and so were their egos. Until the Dowin heist.
It was to be a simple job. Traverse the high, connected buildings of Zenith until they came across the Dowin’s set of apartments within the city. A young widow whose husband left her childless and at the head of his influential estate. With such a massive mansion nestled away from the hustle and bustle of the city, it was hardly expected that she even remembered the city apartments, much less spent any time there. Certainly she wouldn’t miss a few sets of jewels and other gaudy shows of wealth--right?
The heist of Lady Dowin’s apartments was nothing but smooth sailing and the luck Finnick had been missing all of his life. Windows were left unlocked, jewelry worth more money than they had even seen in their short lifetimes were simply left scattered about. It was as if the Universe had finally, finally given Finnick something easy in his life. Something handed to him with an open palm instead of him having to claw it free from a closed fist.
He was to be the last one out of the apartment, keeping watch on the dark and silent hallways while his accomplices climbed a rope they had attached to the roof one story above. It was hard to hide the smile on his face at the loot they had cashed in from this job. Finnick could imagine not only the luxury this would afford them but also the respect their success tonight would generate in the Stygian Order. He was blind to the light that flickered down the hall until it was too late.
A noise, and then--Lady Celine Dowin with an attack dog. Finnick had already been halfway onto the rope, his body half dangling out the window--when a sharp pain blossomed in his ankle. The dog had leaped forward and grabbed hold of him with a gnashing of fangs. His scream of pain floated high up into the cloudless night sky.
Gold and other precious jewels knocked loose from the struggle, raining down in a glittering shower to the damp cobblestone far below. But there was another gleam that caught his attention, this one illuminated by the blue hue of the moon. A knife, drawn and ready to sever the only line Finnick had to salvation. His friends, his accomplices--were cutting their losses.
Before the rope could go slack and send both Finnick and the dog tumbling to the hard stone stories below, Finnick rocked his body backward, back into the Dowin’s apartment. For the first time in his life, he had failed. Finnick had been caught.
“Well, look what we’ve caught here Magnus,” A voice purred in delight. Piercing blue eyes stared down at him, icy in their apathy. “A rat.”
Celine
"My kind of rebirth tasted like blood." — Anna de Noailles
The night of the heist, Celine had Finnick escorted to her private estate on the wealthy outskirts of the city, where he was thrown into a stone cellar deep in the middle of Celine’s elaborate web. He spent days there, left to ruminate and starve, save a stale piece of bread thrown in during the middle of his second day. Like they had suddenly remembered he existed.
The cellar was a small room of damp stone that soaked through his thin clothes and set a chill into his bone that felt like death. It very well may have been.
On the third day, the guards finally retrieved him to be presented before the lady of the house.
“You owe me money,” Celine had drawled, her apathetic gaze burning holes into the shriveled Finnick kneeling before her. “A lot of money.”
Disappointed by the lack of fight in Finnick’s demeanor, she waved a manicured hand with a lazy, “Take him back to the cellar and kill him.”
Finnick knew that being caught had spelled certain death. The Stygian Order had been clear in that when emphasizing the importance of never being caught--but he imagined it was more a side effect of the punishment he would receive, not a direct execution.
He never thought himself to be a violent person. He had never needed it. A certain amount of fight was required to protect what was his in the orphanage--but even that had its limits. Yet something strange happens when a living thing marches towards certain death. Even the most docile creature will lash out in a hot streak of violence. Anything, do anything to survive.
Sticky hands from his years of thieving left Finnick with a dagger in his hand and his escorting guards none the wiser. Clean hallways were soon painted in crimson, and Finnick had a line to a clean escape. But this was Celine’s web, and Finnick nothing but a thrashing insect already beginning to rot.
When he was brought before her again, bloodied and panting, Celine had a different look set into her eyes. One of intrigue.
“How many guards did he manage to take out?”
“Three, my lady,” One of the remaining guards panted out, his voice strained with anger and pain. There was a hunger set into his eyes, one that salivated for the execution of this thieving rat kneeling before him--but Celine’s orders stood firm.
“I’ll tell you what--Finnick.” Celine leaned forward in her chair. “I’m in need of a skill I value far greater than the jewels you and your little friends stole from me.”
Her eyes flickered to the panting dog sat obediently at her feet. “Kill him and take his place as my attack dog.”
Finnick was silent for a moment--shock still freezing his mind into an empty shell. He brought his eyes upward, to the dog that now stood with cream fangs bared in warning. He winced at the thought of tightening his hands around the dog's throat, but steadying his muscles proved easier than allowing its jaws to sink into his flesh.
When it was over, Celine beckoned him forward with lazy fingers. “Good boy, Magnus,” The name gloated from her mouth in a way that made him sick. She placed her fingers underneath his chin, lifting his head upwards. “You’re going to make such an obedient dog.”
Magnus
"I have survived, but I have not been spared." — Catherynne M. Valente
In the years that followed, Magnus honed his skills for violence in a way he never thought possible. Celine had proved correct, his skills as a thief and quick learning of fatal blows made him a near perfect assassin.
Years were spent in her service, the debt he owed her tied around his neck like a leash. In the beginning, obedience was difficult to force into him. Debt alone weighted at the price of his life soon proved not enough to keep Magnus under her thumb, leading the widow to cast out a wide net utilizing the power and influence she stored in volume. Word made its way back of a small group that had hit the street vendors with jewels worth more than their weight in gold. With enough digging, Celine eventually had a list of names that she could hold against Magnus' throat like a knife. It was quite ironic, wasn't it? The very friends who left Magnus to this fate were now the one thing he allowed to chain him to it indefinitely.
Now with a more firm collar around her dog, Magnus led a life that became something to expect. Celine would identify an opponent that posed some kind of threat to her, Magnus would be loosed to kill them, and he edged just that much closer to a life of his own. Or so Celine led him to believe.
Several years passed by in this pattern. Eyes began to turn towards Lady Dowin and the way suspicious deaths seemed to follow in her wake. Gossip began to spread about the widow owning a highly trained assassin, leading Magnus to become more of a liability to her than an asset, and a tough one to kill at that. With the wellbeing of Magnus' previous friends ensuring her safety, Celin decided to cut her losses and simply--let him go under the claim that he had fulfilled his debts to her.
His old life a distant memory under the weight of the trauma he endured for the sake of survival, Magnus turned to the one thing Celine had conditioned him to become. An attack dog. He took to bounty hunting with ease, and when it proved far more lucrative than any respectable endeavor, he never looked back.
Faction: Formerly Stygian Order. After the fateful heist that led to his capture--the Stygian Order believed his past identity of Finnick Madden to be dead.
His capture having happened so long ago, it is unlikely for those not close to him to recognize him. Besides his dead identity being known for its demise during an unfortunate heist--Magnus never made a reputation for himself within the faction.
Magnus doesn’t think of the Stygian Order much. He affiliates it with a past life, something that no longer suits him. But his movements and skills can be recognized by another with experience within the faction.
What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplay are:
I gave Magnus an extremely hard shell and the sort of detachment that’s necessary for his line of work and history, but I’d like to see that shell be challenged, and for people to get under it. I was kind of inspired by Macbeth for his character a bit, he believes himself too far gone to be worth saving or redeemed, it would be fun to have events that change his mind on this, and allow him to see he is more than just his past decisions and conditioned mindset of an “attack dog” Maybe he encounters figures from his past?
I love to make my characters suffer, so bringing back in the very trauma that created his character in the first place: his life being indebted to another (or maybe he didn’t actual break free of the leash Celine kept him on like he believed)
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: Y
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the acrobat
we, half dust, half deity
fc evan evagora
♡coded by uxie♡
- 040302generalpercyfull namePercival GriffinaliasPercyroleThe Acrobatage24p.o.bSirocco SandsStatusLow SocietyFactionsNonefcEvan Evagorawe, half dust, half deityReputation.A talented acrobat and valued member of the Sirocco Sands traveling circus troupe, Percy had begun to make quite a name for himself. Although not a celebrity by any means, Percy was well on his way to brushing his fingers across the esteemed status of star hood. Very often he drew in crowds of his own, audience eager to see the tactical feats of the show stopping acrobat.
- 0403visage01Percyht6'0"wt162hairCurly, chocolate brown hair that’s most often tousled into a messy bed head. He brushes it--he swears, but his whirlwind of movement and sporadic nature tend to be the nemesis of any styling.eyesDeep brown eyes lined with dark circles. He has sculpted, angular brows that aid his animated expressions.bodyA whirlwind of a person, Percy typically instills a strong first impression. Bold colors and a heavy heaping of costume jewelry adorn his person, making him a beacon in any environment. All show and no substance--Percy is a man of showstopping smiles and theatrical gestures. His showmanship precedes him, making it hard to glean how the young man truly feels about anything. His words say one thing while his actions say another--but do not be fooled by him. Percy is a man fluent in lies.
modsVarious piercings on his earsfaceclaimEvan Evagora - 04persona0201Percy
- likes & dislikesmisclikesbusy restaurants, bars and taverns, parties, bright colors, sunny and hot days, thunderstorms, expensive galas, rich fabrics, loud music, anything colorful and shiny, bold prints/fabrics, sickly sweet foodsdislikesplain decorations, gloomy days, winter, old worn down clothes, the restrained manners of polite society, rules, reading, being bored
- likes & dislikesmischobbies
Drinking/partying, performing, exercising to upkeep his skills
habits
Fiddling with any rings or jewelry he has on currently, never sitting still (some part of him is always moving), not finishing sentences
strengths
multi-lingual, athletic, acrobatics, distractions, anything that requires climbing/scaling objects, balance, persuasion, throwing knives/handling daggers, good core and upper body strength
weaknesses
short attention span, not good at hand to hand combat, fickle, not a lot of stamina/not a good long distance runner
fears
being ostracized and forgotten about, falling behind
why did they board The Leviathan?
The projected time of healing stretched further than the troupe's time between shows, leaving Percy's position open and in need of filling. With nothing of value to add, Percy was left behind while the troupe continued onward. With barely any money to get him home, he turned to The Leviathan as a last hope and much needed distraction.
how did they get on board?
Percy was employed by The Leviathan to provide entertainment aboard the ship. He is a one man show, pulling from the various skills he picked up during his time among the Sirocco Sands Troupe to get by.
personalityJust as a bird of paradise is known for its ability to flaunt a colorful show of feathers as a way to mesmerize and distract, so too has Percy developed a personality primed to entrap and dazzle those in his audience. His whimsy and theatrics permeate long after the curtain has closed, leaving him to wonder; is it just an act, or has he simply forgotten who he is under all the makeup and glittering lights?
A man of intense yet fleeting emotions, he is a summer tempest that tears through any person in his path. Percy thrives at the center of attention, a flower that blooms for everyone and no one in particular. He’ll say whatever he needs to woo the object of his attention. Half the words out of his mouth are a lie, the other half full of decoration to distract from the fact that he’s not really saying anything at all.
There is a desperation lining the hollow areas of his body however--a desperate claw for something, anything. He’s been a star for so long he doesn’t know who Percy is. Is Percy even real? Has he ever been? Now torn from the spotlight indefinitely, he takes on the form of a bird with clipped wings, thrashing around in the underbrush in a futile effort of survival.
- history030201PercyRelationshiptbdRelationshiptbdcoded by natashaAmong Sirocco Sand’s sprawling deserts and opulent parties is a glaring class divide that even the heat of the desert struggles to burn away. Percy and his family fell on the other side of this chasm, a group of hardworking artisans that were always one tragedy away from starvation. Every mouth to be fed also put forward hands to work, allowing his family a slight advantage than those who struggled around them.History
Even as the eldest of his siblings, finding work was hard for the young Percy. Artisan shops wouldn’t hire without a practiced trade, and the unskilled positions were hard on such young bodies. Instead, he and his siblings took to the streets as performers in the hopes to entertain the wealthy tourists with their various tricks.
Their act grew in attention and popularity--the main star becoming Percy himself, a talented showman with his various tricks. Their pay began to steady into something to rely on, and the Griffin family began to see small luxuries appear in their life.
The Sirocco Sands Troupe took notice of Percy’s young talent. Aiming to cut the competition of their street performance and increase their own value, they recruited him to the circus. Naive and hungry for adventure, Percy eagerly accepted the offer.
At only ten, he bid his family farwell, and began traveling with the troupe. The formative years of Percy’s life were spent within the realm of performance. Glittering lights and the roar of applause raised him, molded him until the humble boy from Sirocco was no more.
He now finds himself boarding the Leviathan, fractured ankle so newly healed and the darkness inside of him yawning out into a far larger pit than he had ever realized. Who is this person he finds himself trapped within? Where does he go from here? Only one thing remains clear enough to wrap fingers around. There is a destructive rage inside of him--and its sharpening its claws more each day.
Opinion on royalty:
The young acrobat tends to be favorable towards nobility. They’re some of his highest paying clients after all, what was there to hate?
Opinion on piracy:
Percy is neutral against piracy. He doesn’t believe it’s any of his business, really, and the politics that follow it bore him to tears.
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CrimsonInk
Nyx
- 040302generalDAHLIAFull NameAmelia Porter "Dahlia Blackwater"age27genderFemalesexualityUnknown/Leaning to Pansexualdate of birthThird of Mayplace of birthAntares"Pain is an exceptional tutor."ethnicity.English
StrengthsHand-to-Hand Combat, Resourcefulness, Pickpocketing, Lockpicking, and Stamina
WeaknessesHer Anger, Stubbornness, Competitive Drinking, Sweets, and Intrusive Thoughts
Theme:
- 0403visage01DAHLIAht5 ft. 7 in.wt132 lbshairDark BrowneyesDark Brown w/ Hints of GoldbodySlender and Athletic. Training her body and pushing herself to be strong was something she was dedicated to do.roleThe DescendantfcGemma Arterton
- 04persona0201DAHLIA
- likes & dislikesmisclikesApples, A Comfortable Bed, Floral Scents, Fighting (Hand to Hand), Whiskey, Crossbows, and Learning New ThingsdislikesBirds, Honesty, Sarcastic Comments, Drunks, The Cold, and Storms
- likes & dislikesmischobbies
Training/Exercising, Playing Cards/Drinking Games, Listening to Other People and their Conversations, and Daydreaming
habits
Biting Her Nails, Sniffing Her Food/Drink, Biting Her Hair, Slouching, Moving Her Jaw Out of Irritation, and Tapping Her Foot
fears
Abandonment, Snakes, The Red Baron, To Be Thrown into the Ocean, and Losing Herself
Why did they board The Leviathan?:
A job gone wrong when her employer decided to set her up and put her behind bars. While trying to find a way to escape the sights of guards, she uses the docks as a means to slow them down and would find herself sneaking onto 'The Leviathan'.
personality
“I know what I am. What makes you think that you’re any better?”The Descendant – A child born with her heart forged of iron and skin armored in stone rising from the depths of Antares. Navigating a world filled with adversity, she tries to overcome it with determination and resilience. Not allowing the negatives outweigh her want to survive. Surviving an unforgiving youth has honed the woman’s instincts for adaptation and survival. Like how to survey her environment with a sharp eye and to be quick on her feet. This also taught her to be selective about who she chooses to trust as she doesn't open up easily to others. Clearly a stubborn woman who prefers to tackle challenges on her own rather than seek assistance from others. She may also harbor a deep-seated defiance against authority figures, and isn't afraid to challenge those in positions of power. However, the chains of her past bind her still, dragging her into a sea of unyielding misery — a burden she bears with a grim acceptance.
Beneath her outward facade of stoicism and impassiveness, she grapples with inner turmoil of unresolved emotions. Anger serves as her primary emotional outlet, coursing through her veins like a protective shield against the outside world. When faced with adversity or injustice it becomes her default response. She has become adept at concealing her true emotions from others. She sees vulnerability as a weakness and believes that showing any sign of emotion could leave her exposed to potential harm or exploitation.
Despite her inclination to bury her emotions she is capable of letting her guard down in the presence of those she trusts completely. To be more relaxed and authentic, where they witness a gentle touch or a fleeting smile — small gestures that speak volumes of the depth of her love and the strength of her character.
- history030201DAHLIAStatusLow Society || Wanted
Being both poor and on the run isn't anything new. To her it's all the same. The crimes she committed were unforgivable, and they haunt her just as much as the Red Baron.
FactionPast affiliated with the Carmine Corsair. Before she severed ties with them, she never had a true outlook on the crew itself. Most were ill-mannered and obnoxious, but there were a few she only tolerated. Really she never tried to socialize with any of them. It was easier for her to leave that way.
RepuationAn Outlaw and a Traitor. She may be seen as a traitor for leaving the Carmine Corsair's, but not when there is more that meets the eye.coded by natashaBefore ‘Dahlia Blackwater’ was Amelia Porter. A bastard born in the depths of Antares, a dangerous place of vice and sin. Where streets reeked of piss, booze, and shit, but not on the rare occasion when the salty winds from the sea will come by only just for a few moments. Moments where Amelia finds herself breathing in air that doesn’t make her feel like a mutilated rat in the street. From the moment Amelia drew her first breath, she was met with neglect and indifference. She was born and raised in a brothel by a woman named Angela Porter. A diamond in the rough, and a harsh addiction with gambling and alcohol. Amelia was a child who cleaned, obeyed, and did what she could to please her mother. She scavenged for scraps in garbage-strewn alleys and learned to navigate the treacherous streets with a wary gaze. Her only companion was the simmering rage that burned within her, a constant reminder of the injustices of her upbringing. Her mother saw her as nothing more than a servant. She witnessed firsthand the cycle of violence and addiction that consumed her mother's life, yet she clung to the faint hope that one day things might change. Amelia didn’t know any better. Children are easy to manipulate like that after all.History
Any hope was shattered the day Amelia’s world collided with the Red Baron, a devil who ruled Antares with an iron fist. The same man who came to collect a debt, and instead left with a child. “May your bastard be the final payment of my visit.” were the words she remembered from the man. Amelia remembered pleading and kicking the man, no matter how many times he would strike at her to stop. Black, blue, and red were colors she wore being dragged onto that boat. The girl would fight the man tooth and nail, defy his demands, and even tried to stab him. It was when he told her that her mother sold her was the point that she stopped her fight. Disbelief turned to anger, and that anger had caught the Red Baron’s attention. In return, he offered her a chance at redemption. Blinded by her wrath, she made her deal with the devil and joined the Carmine Corsair’s.
Under the Red Baron's mentorship, Amelia shed her former identity and embraced the persona of Dahlia Blackwater. A name whispered in hushed tones throughout the Carmine Corsair. She honed her combat skills with a ferocity that bordered on obsession, mastering the art of the blade with a deadly precision that made it easier to cut down those in her way. Yet, beneath the hardened exterior, Dahlia remained haunted by the ghosts of her past and present. The wounds inflicted by years of neglect and betrayal ran deep, leaving her grappling with a tumultuous whirlwind of emotions she struggled to contain. She couldn’t bear to be the Baron’s shadow and be chained to his prideful reign. The blood she spilled only reminded her of what she was. Property. An untamed beast that mirrors what their master molded her to be. This wasn’t the redemption in life she dreamt of, it was just going from one caged cell to another. No more. She made the fateful decision to sever ties with the Red Baron and the life of piracy that had once defined her existence. So she disappeared in the night, stealing whatever it means necessary to survive her boat ride to the mainland. While also taking a couple of his prized possessions, the Baron’s telescope and compass.
For two long years Dahlia lived in Zenith, a fugitive and traitor on the run from the ghosts of her past. One day when a job went wrong and she was being chased, she booked it to the docking area where her eyes laid upon a ship that she would later find out to be called ‘The Leviathan’.For the GM, I want to see her in shambles. Her hardened shell shattered and finally allowing herself to be vulnerable. Have her make friends and/or find love. To finally feel like she is not all alone either, but I am not too forgiving for such blessings. Surprise me. "Power is Power", and Gao I am giving you that infamous power.What I wish for my character to experience:Yes, please.If not chosen 1st round, contact later?:
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the raven.
scroll
Lucrezia
Cambridge
ㅎㅎ
01.
Full Name
Lucrezia "Looney" Cambridge
02.
Age
Thirty-two
03.
P.O.B.
The Capital, Zenith
Not all ghosts wish to haunt the living.
We simply wish to just coexist in the same thread.
visage
FC
Eva Green
height
5 in 7 ft
hair colour
Dark Brown
eye colour
Blue
description
Sharp blue eyes burrow deep in the skull of an ivory chassis that breathes in the gift of life. Patches of a discolored pink appear on the woman’s lips, under eyes, and fingertips. Somehow there's something delicate about those sharp edges of her jaw that seem to contrast the sharpness of her eyes. The body speaks in a cursive lustful hunger, but remains thin and narrow as the bone is structured to hold no child for her to bear. Dark brown locks wind down like a river against her back and a few straggle around like currents. Lucrezia stands hauntingly graceful with a demeanor hoping to make you quiver with curiosity, but is quite always mistaken with fear.
persona
There is a caliginous air that cautions those who idle and gawk at a woman who was brought back from the dead. Lucrezia Cambridge is a peculiar woman who has embraced the tenebrous side of the world with serendipity. It is said that if you listen to her whispers that death will follow until he claims you as his own. The mystery and abstruseness of her being lies to the gods that somehow created this ominous specimen.
Lucrezia is a keenly observant individual. She preys on the reactions of others by their inability to keep up with her cognitions, and is always interested in the oddities and insecurities of others that define them. Her eyes are everywhere and her thoughts are always running. The voices ingest and consume parts of a person to fill their gluttonous palates. She wants to know everything inside and out of that flesh, tight carcass. Asking for reason only leads those trapped in a labyrinth to an imaginary King who takes babies for ransom. Nevertheless, she somehow maintains an air of refinement and inscrutability among those around her. The woman’s touch is gentle, yet it feels like spiders crawling through your veins. She lurks among society like atraments of liquid spilled over pieces of parchments. A woman who knows everything is dangerous, but a woman who no longer fears almost anything is one you should never fiddle with.
Despite her outward nefarious appearance and abnormal quirks, she isn’t one that is far from friendship or courtesy. Kindness is given like a gracious gift. Empathy is known and taken with motherly care. These acts of virtues have never left. They breathe just as much as her lungs allow, but they are often rejected by those who are xenos creatures. Not many either know this or have forgotten this side of her. After all, how many people do you know come back from the dead?
Likes
Reading poetry
Listening to gossip
The macabre
Mangoes
Traveling
Lavender tea
Red Wine
Visiting the orphanages she volunteers for
Making things (stuffed toys, blankets, etc.)
Dislikes
People who talk too much
Asparagus
Someone talking over her
Rumors about her family
Bad handwriting
The blinding sun early in the morning
Fears
Knowing the truth of how she came back from the dead
Fear of believing how people truly perceive her
Habits
Selective hearing
Using her fingers when speaking
Listening in on conversations she has no business listening to
Staring at people
Hobbies
Volunteering at the orphanages when possible in Zenith
Taking naps during the day
Making different kinds of soups
Reading gothic literature
Traveling when possible
Strengths
Multilingual
Adaptable
Bargaining
Politics
Education
Having connections from everywhere (her little ravens)
Weaknesses
Combat
Alcohol (Wine, especially.)
Reading the room
Children
Animals
Anything dealing with the macabre in other cultures
Her sister (Desdemona)
Jumps topics in conversation like crazy
History
Lore
“Ghosts are sometimes metaphors for things left in the past. Is that what I am to my family? A ghost?”
The Cambridge family is well-known throughout Zenith from their wealth coming from investments, inheritance, and business holdings (Vineyards and Distilleries being their most prominent). It is rumored that their wealth possibly dates back to a lost royal bloodline that shows the crests of swords, or was it swans? However that part of their history remains only to those in the family, along with another secret that they want to eradicate from the papers about a member of the family coming back from the dead.
Lucrezia Amore Cambridge. The family expected great things from her at a young age. The girl was homeschooled by the best teachers, volunteered around to help others, and was like the golden child of the family. Only she didn’t feel the same golden light as they did. She was never interested in the family business or being their puppet. The girl craved for the unknown, she craved to do good with the wealth they had, she craved for all things life offered – yet she wasn’t to be graced with such delicacies. Though it wouldn’t be long for others to find that her image was the only side they needed to see.
The rivalry of siblings is always a tragic one, especially when one is treated better than the other. Her sister, Desdemona, would be another who only sees this image as a way to claw under her skin. Jealousy and envy only encourage her hate she has for Lucrezia. The other sees nothing but beauty and intelligence, and has such admiration for the younger bird that she is blinded by this hateful mask. So much so that she tried to end her. Dripping poison in the girls afternoon tea had done the trick, or that’s what she thought of at the time.
The funeral was small and the papers filled the streets telling the story about the tragedy. The golden child died a mysterious death and woe the family trying to remain strong. A new light, the second child, was now the limelight of her name. All seemed to be going her way. Until in the dead of night that the doors opened and there stood Lucrezia, bathed in the dirt and mud from the graveyard. Alive. Only to them they saw a ghost.
The family couldn’t allow this secret to spill to the public. To them Lucrezia Amore Cambridge was dead. So with that they moved the woman deep in the part of the city allowing her to do as she pleased. All she had to do was to keep her mouth shut and have no contact with the family. Seclusion and loneliness was all Lucrezia felt. This didn’t feel like freedom, but a curse. How did this come to be? Were there other nefarious strings being pulled that she didn’t know? Then it came to her. The Covenant. They must have the answer.
Reputation
Before her ‘death’, she was beloved by many who either did it for social needs or in hopes she would be gracious to be charitable with her wealth. It was a veil she thought that made her good and kind, only after the veil was dropped that the goodness of others were only masks for greed. Her reputation proceeded to find little in likeability, and is often left to be an outcast in the social atmosphere.
Why did they board The Leviathan?
Lucrezia seeks to find her answers with the Covenant. Was it something in the beyond that had breathed life into her again, or was such an idea all in her head? Just a happy accident?
How did they get on board?
By legal means. The woman bought herself a ticket.
Opinion on Royalty
Neutral. There are ways to play the game, but currently she wasn’t a running player in how things are in high society. Not yet anyway.
Opinion on Piracy
Neutral. She actually admires and envies their sense of adventure and bravery. Some of the acts they do she does attest to, but they have their own sense of freedom she wishes she has.
extra
Ora Pro Nobis
Deathless Legacy
connections
misc.
connections
The Cambridge Family
Family must be everything. Darkness hides behind closed doors as they fool the public with their wealth and charitable favors. Lucrezia loves them regardless of them disowning her.
Desdemona Cambridge
The youngest and now the golden child of the family. Blood will always be thicker than water. Idolizing a relationship that was never there is a child's fantasy. Lucrezia seems to still live in that fantasy.
misc.
What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplay
The truth behind her 'death'. Will she ever find it? Or is there other nefarious works in the making when seeking the truth? Maybe drive her to madness. If you want a villain story to happen for the king, make her the Maleficent equivalent of Solas.
♡coded by uxie♡
- good in goodbyemadison beer
01nameYasmine Lavigne02aliasJade Roman03age2904place of birthThe Canals05factionsCarmine Corsair (briefly/no longer affiliated)06sexualitypansexual07statusoutcast || high society (formerly) || privateer08roleThe Ophidian - hair colour / style
Dark brown locks that travel down to her stomach. Jade wears her hair in various styles that compliment the places of the area. Whether it be the Sands or Antares, she needed to blend in with the prey around her.eyes
A very beautiful and vibrant set of blue eyes. They are demanding for your attention. Just don’t stare too long, or you would be victim of yourself falling into her trap.build
She may have a thin, elegant physique but don’t let her curves fool you. Following the strict regiment made by her mentor, she’s strong in ways that are not seen by the naked eye. The muscles of this snake can easily constrict and squeeze their prey.scars / markings
She has a scar across her stomach from a fight in Antares. Luckily for her, she was able to heal well from it. Couldn't say much for the other guy.misc info
weight128 lbs || 58 kgsheight5' 9 ft || 180 cm - virtuesAmbitiousCunningDiplomaticAdaptableDeterminedIntelligent
- vicesCallousObsessiveMaliciousHubristicMegalomaniacHeadstrong
- likesSpring RollsSpring weatherReading history books/war journalsThe fear you see in someone's eyesMeditatingBath houses/saunasOranges/LemonsSpeaking about politics/the KingdislikesPawns who do not know their placeActs of kindness that have no valueCoffeeLosing (aka sore-loser)DrunksBeing underestimatedRats
- strengthsCunning, Manipulative, Diplomatic, Resourceful, Relentless, Combat (hand-to-hand and sword), Climbing, Stealthy/Light-footed, Nature Rules, and Risk AwarenessweaknessesCompassion, Emotional Awareness, Aggravating people on the daily, Her overuse of sarcasm, Stubborn as a bull, Overconfident (“I can take him” attitude), and Can’t aim for shitreputation“Oh Yasmine? A kind soul. She helped the village when she was younger...” - The Canals
“The woman who was wed by that Kingsman? Lucky she was to be a wife. Well, lucky for a fluvian. He was one of the few favorites from the Crown...” - The Sirocco Sands
“Aven’t ‘eard about t'at roach ' yers. 'Ad uh smart mout'. A nice rack. Kicked yer ass too...” – Antares
“Stars be good with that one. Her smile may be kind, but her eyes….there is something not well with that child...” – The Cascades.
Her reputation varies throughout Solas, but in recent years things have come quiet. For good reason.fearsFear of herself.Why did they board ?Precaution is necessary. Trust is a commodity that the King can't so easily afford. His informant must heed to his newest project and constrict the dark secrets disloyal men hold under their breath. A ticket was given and haste was made to board. - habitsBites her lipsFluttering her lashesSmirkingCircling around people when talkingRaising her brows as a sign of annoyanceHumming in deep thought
Do not provoke this reptile, otherwise it could be the cause of your annihilation no matter how small. It is the venom they hold that makes it a quick death.personalityPity that this vessel was born with an algid heart in an endothermic skinsuit. Mirroring those who have warm eyes and a kind smile taught her this detached temptress the act of humility and grace. An act that fueled her awareness of how easily humans can be controlled by simple benevolent acts. A timid and reserved child she was for this awareness, and how it was unknown to her that a deeper unhatched cognition would soon venture from its nest.
Like all things orchestrated by the Gods, those who have tampered with that sanctuary have provoked this one to crack from its humble pure shell.
Slithering out from the cracks, Solas is forced to welcome a new kind of devil that taints life from her vicious venom. The woman you now see before you appears with cunning, arrogance and ruthless mischief. The roots from her birthright seemed to have died shedding into brand new skin; where altruism now lacks in her soul it is replaced with prideful valor. This vipress has shown to have a poisonous wit and a sharp tongue, tempting those to bite the forbidden fruit of false security. She finds herself equating her own cleverness to how she was able to maneuver the ranks from criminal to something more branded. Nothing surpasses the feeling of invincibility when you feel comfortable with skin blessed by the King. It’s an unfortunate thing that her cleverness turned into its sister: manipulation. Such a harsh word for a skill that comes so naturally to her.
However, lessons from such a young age have not been forgotten. Smiles are one of the many ways to make someone be weary or at ease from predators disguised as prey. The woman has many smiles, and with her it’s unpredictable by meaning and action. Do not think for a second that there isn’t some kind of courtesy behind that smile. Mice need to be weary of this mysterious vixen who can easily orchestrate the loyalties of those in politics.- Down By the RiverT/W: Brief mentions of death, grooming (inappropriate relations with a minor), blood, and violence are to be mentioned. Please read at your own desecration.
A child born in The Canals is one that carries a warm heart and compassion. Parents who begged day and night to the stars for a child were finally blessed with one, but it seemed that a wish came with a price. Where the familiar roots were once planted they began to rot. If it were not for those captivating sets of sapphires and skin radiating like the sun, they would have noticed the mischief of fairies swapping their child for a changeling.
Many springs passed and the child grew fond of the solitude. Independence became a normality for this child as her parents didn’t bother to truly nurture the weed. She was left behind to tend the home and help the village, and in doing so found herself alone in the company of many. Company who were cruel to the undisciplined child and showed no mercy to behavior that didn’t align with their own. This left her to wonder what would happen if she did manage to be like them. Studying human behavior came easily, mimicking the gestures and actions of those around her like an exact carbon copy. A revelation that felt like she was playing with dolls, and the world around her was her dollhouse. Soon the image of innocence, purity, and benevolence was what she made the village people believe, and that is when greed conjured the idea that being an ‘outcast’ was no longer a favorable title.
At the age of seventeen, she was able to leave the canals with her parents to be shown the family business. They were merchants who curated rice from the paddy fields of the village to sell all over Solas. Coming to the Sands exhilarated this naive girl, and soon the dangers of the world found her to be a nice meal for their gluttonous bellies. Temptation is the devil's vice, and a man who wore the brand of the Crown was enticed by her purity. With Yasmine, she too found herself hypnotized by the spoils the Sand gave. The Kingsman before her was older and wiser, but that didn’t stop her from falling for him. Grooming a girl so young and ignorant was just so easy.Sun GazerCourting this Kingsman came with complications. Misguided, rebellious youth didn’t understand the dangers of the outside world. Yasmine’s parents voiced their concerns, and in the end were disappointed and hurt by her firm decision. Her Father threatened the man who took the innocence of his daughter, and when threats had gone from verbal to physical the girl had soon realized that another was playing the same game. He was the one who tempted her to bite the forbidden fruit, and in return taught her the consequence for it. Blood was spilled and the blade stained the Crown's property, and thus tore the value of family apart.
“The serpent deceived me, and I ate."
You would think that being a Dame to a man loyal to their King would have its perks. At first it did. For three long years, patience and comprehension of the political reigns came with disciplinary work. Work that provided her with connections and stability that was in arms reach of those in higher parts of the societal hierarchy. Learning the stages of political affairs came to understand the way to orchestrate around those who were deemed loyal to this viper. Deception and manipulation were disguised as empathy and altruism. In return for these perks, weaponizing her body in the act of lust kept the groomer busy. Out of sight and out of mind.
The toxicity of her home grew and so did her patience from the confinements of being a housewife. The facade was tiring and the security she felt was slipping. Her quick-witted tongue was slipping, and soon the veil of innocence would soon be brought to light. She needed to leave. Or he needed to go.
What started out as a simple altercation became a very sticky situation for the impatient serpent. The same blade that took the lives of her parents was now stained once more, and her hands were coated with the familiar crimson ooze that brought memories she never knew she had. 29 times to the chest. Taking a life left a numbing sensation, a sensation she couldn’t register in the time she needed to run away from her mistake. Was it a mistake?
Not wanting to find herself behind bars she took the next boat out to sea. The boat was heading straight for Antares.PlaygroundA dauntless woman in the heart where pirates reside came with curiosity and intrigue. Disgust and vulgarity never waved her to cowardice, and instead enticed this vipress into sinking her venom in the belligerent threads deep in the hells of Antares. Shedding the skin held by the facade of gullibility and kindness allowed her to be cut-throat and malicious. It allowed her to create a new identity, Jade Roman. Jade was a student who needed a teacher to survive this new life, and she knew exactly the man to look for.
Her own naivete though may have caused trouble in some parts, but it was trouble she gladly settled with nothing but a sinister smile. Finding a deserter from the Crown in the pits of self pity wasn’t too hard to find. There with scars nailed deep from years of battle and drunk as hell was Odysseus Sjöberg, the Crown’s hound. That was until he renounced his loyalty from the King, and was given the mercy of banishment to rot here in the pirates playground. Vulnerability paired with one's vice allowed this viper to coax a trade with the abandoned dog.
“Teach me the ways of the blade, and let’s break hell to the King.”
Discipline and patience were tested once more. The hound’s curriculum was never meant to be easy, but it wasn’t impossible either. Determination and stubbornness aided her will to continue in breaking, molding, and contorting her body to be a true weapon. Six years made Jade gain the bellicose spirit of an Antares local, and the thicker skin helped weigh over the doubt that crept in the back of her consciousness.
Although morals may differ from those who were aligned with the Carmen Corsair’s, it was with great pleasure that she gained the attention of the Baron himself. Dealing with certain diplomatic affairs was a way she found herself in close ranks. Giving the man dangerous weapons kept him happy, and in doing so had allowed her to attend other matters. Though not all things can bide well for a serpent who agitates the hand that feeds them. Apparently the Baron's own mutt, Dahlia, had snitched about a deal that she made with another ship, and it almost cost this viper's head. Ill regards were made and an escape from the Baron was no easy task. Lucky she was that they were ported near Zenith, otherwise she would have found herself in the devil's hand.
The ports of the capitol were busy just like any other day. Arriving there she would seek out connections in hopes of sanctuary. A merchant she knew from the Sands was one. Mike, a man who sold spices no one could get their hands on, was a connection she knew well. However, the tables were turned when instead of an ally she was met with an enemy. The tip of the blade nicked the skin deep, and sent a vengeful acid coursing through her veins. Betrayal isn’t fun when it's done to oneself. Shackled by the kingsguard she would be taken and tried for her crimes. Before they were to part ways, the glares she sent his way could turn him to stone.
“Fuck you Mike.”Hail to the KingJade would usually not feel so tense with so many eyes on her, but the only eyes that mattered to her were that of the Kings. Judgment was to be made with citizens of Solas who had tainted themselves in the hands of piracy, and on that day of the trial a face too familiar almost sent her to the edge.
A man who attended her wedding six years prior.
A man she would know as her Father-in-Law.
A man who seemed to have persuaded his royal majesty to give mercy to not a pirate, but a widow.
“Have her prove her loyalty to the Crown and deal with the dogs that are untrained, your grace.”
Thus a privateer was made, and it seemed that her gifts had allowed her to test fields that she had only dedicated herself to. Three years of being the King’s informant had confined the meticulous disorder, and created fear to those who posed to commit treason against him. Men who swore loyalty are now showing their true colors, and have been taking for granted the King's name for their own selfish endeavors. Their disloyalties have allowed her to work closely with the King. It may not be directly with him, but he was just in arms reach. She wouldn’t allow anyone to bereft her of this opportunity. Though she didn’t want to spoil this generous fruit at hand. No. She wanted to relish it. Afterall, maybe even having an “encumbered” opinion may increase her ranks to his table. - galleryThe LoversParents who love their child would do anything for them. Though to her they felt more like strangers who raised her. Unfortunate that their lives ended so soon.The GroomerLove can really change a person. He was looking for a bride and she was a perfect match. A convenience that helped meet his demise. Show no pity to a man that would use love to wed a child.The HoundMen who were built as weapons should be used as one, but the Crown seemed to have allowed this one to slip and be forgotten. The young woman only knew of him through the deeds spread about the papers and the logs historians crafted in his name. Only that 'The Hound' was just a title, and the man who wore it showed great strife in his time. What more could you ask for when asking to be trained as one. Women who forged their bodies as weapons themselves are far more dangerous, that is why men can't fathom the idea or they would lose their seat in the food chain.The KingThe king is a prey this viper wishes to sink her teeth into. His ill wife lays there and gives him no male heir. She could give him one, but his attention is elsewhere and the need to prove herself grows uncaged. It is not the man who wears the crown she is after, but the power he holds.
leftrightcoded by natasha.
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Harrowhark
Yeah, I'm a gamer *plays solitaire for 5 hours*
Blade
Dutchess Aurelia Keiran of Solas
Runaway
AURORA
-
-
Alias
Blade Longsword
age
twenty-four
gender
Male (allegedly)
p.o.b.
Sirocco Sands
d.o.b.
November 29th
-
height
5'9
weight
140
Status
Royalty
Faction
Carmine Corsair
Role
The Scribe
fc
Amita Suman
Destiny
Do you ever want to run away and start over? Wipe the slate clean. Begin all over again with a blank canvas? It's okay, we all feel that way sometimes. It doesn't mean you don't love your life or the people in it. It doesn't mean you wouldn't give your last breath to see them happy. Sometimes when we yearn to be selfish, it means we have been selfless for far too long.
Visage
Build: Thin and lithe. An entire lack of muscle tone only achievable through living life without a care. While tall for a woman of her status, it hardly aids in her disguise. Against even the smallest seamen, her size stands out. While her alleged title may explain this, it will still be uncomfortably obvious that she does not belong at sea.
Eyes: Black as the night sky, when light hits them it looks like shining stars. Still filled with innocence and life. Her eyes are wide as she gazes upon the world for the first time.
Hair: Never been cut. Dark strands go all the way down to her waist when down. However, now she is sure to hide it, inside a hood or hat, it doesn't matter, as long as it is kept away.
Distinguishing: Smooth skin, completely free of scars and blemishes. Not a single callus or sun spot. A lifetime of shelter has left her weak. Incredibly regal and elegant, her straight posture and smooth movement is a clear red flag to any scoundrel that she is associated with the crown. Perhaps, someone of noble enough prestige could recognize her face. It would only be a matter of time before they realized from where.
PERSONA
Impatient, Overzealous, Impulsive, Disobedient, Authoritative, Perceptive, Bold, Persistent, Decisive, Conformist, Naive
Virtues
Authoritative- Aurelia is used to commanding. While not everyone is a fan, at the end of the day, she can get things done. If a group is in need of a leader, she'll rule with an iron fist. What does it matter if people don't respond well to demands? She hardly notices the resentment.
Bold- Possibly out of a complete lack of experience, Aurelia is not afraid to jump into situations when she wants something. For better or for worse, she is living her life with little caution.
Persistent- In the same way, she won't stop until she gets what she wants. Never being told no will do that to someone. In her mind, nothing is unattainable.
Decisive- Decisions come naturally to those in complete control over their whole lives. While she is often left out of large political decisions, her words do have a level of influence that most do not.
Vices
Impatient- Aurelia is used to getting her way. Again, never being told no will do that to someone. All her life, she's had her every whim fulfilled. Life at sea will be a rude awakening.
Overzealous- Far too eager to see the world, this will be her downfall. Everything is brand new and exciting. She can't help but look upon it with the awe of a child.
Impulsive- Spoiled youngest child behavior. She does what she wants instantly without a thought to the consequences. Nothing has ever gone bad for her before, why would it now?
Disobedient- How many times do I have to tell you this bitch is spoiled? The only person she listens to is her father. Even now, she has found herself listening less and less as the years go on.
Conformist- Even within the realm of her rebellion, Aurelia has become used to following the rules and fitting the image of a noble. She would never try to stand out or go against societal standards. She doesn't understand why others would not do the same.
Naive- Born with a silver spoon full of propaganda in her mouth, Aurelia sees the king's way as the right way. She has never even heard another point of view, only that those against them are evil and not to be trusted. Having never seen the world from outside of rich or royal perspectives, she lacks an understanding of even the most mundane things.
LIKES
Thunderstorms, Birds, Massages, Competition, Tea, Ballgowns, Gardens, Purple, Rock Skipping, People Watching, recently killing a man apparently
DISLIKES
Sunrise, Wind Chimes, Scarecrows, Itchy clothes, Fairies, Fog, Bugs, Mess, Breaking the Law, Uneven Ground, Multitasking
FEARS
Being burned alive, Babies, Bears, Magic, Deep, Dark Water and Marrying a man
EXTRAS
HABITS
Chewing her Hair, Bowing, Formalities, Demanding, Frivolous Spending, Sleeping in
HOBBIES
Ballroom dancing, Drinking a little too much at formal dinners, Stargazing, Hunting, Pottery, Chess, Flute
STRENGTHS
Leadership, Sneaking by without being noticed, Ambition, Optimism, Perfect pitch, Appealing to world leaders, Aim
WEAKNESSES
Inexperience, Any type of fighting, Maintaining a lie, Deep sleeper, Fire damage, Pretty women
HEADCANONS
- Doesn't do "goodbyes"
- Wears boots that are too big, stuffs them to fit
- Can beat anyone and everyone in chess
- Does not know a single shanty
- Is a decent artist
- Sleeps better at high tide
- Often pushes romance to the side lines
- Forgets its an option all together and that flirting is a thing all together (TLDR: oblivious)
- Does, however, get very distracted by dancing women
- Really any woman doing anything vaguely attractive
- Thinks swords are just for cool fights wdym you kill people with those
- Really bad actor
- Has multiple Fairy Tales memorized word for word (Like this kid with shrek)
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
Frigid and unlovable. Married to the only man in Solas who was stupid enough to look past her years of rejecting every man in sight.
This mysterious scribe though, carries several rumors to his name. One of which being he writes against the crown under a psudonem, something of which, if true, could put a target on his back.
FACTION
Obviously, her loyalty will remain to the crown. Aurelia would never dream of thinking any different. Carmine Corsair is the only faction she would ever dream of identifying with. For now.
STATUS
Aurelia may be a dutchess, but the scribe was of low social class. Something she will never get used to or understand fully.
MOTIVE
Running away baby! A little adventure, a little spice, and very out of her element. Life has never felt so freeing as killing a man and fleeing the scene of the crime.
BOARDING
Stolen itinerary from the pocket of Mr. Scribey himself. Convenient that the ship is leaving right when she needs it!
ROYALTY OPINION
Good! They are our kind, benevolent leaders! The princess's biggest stan!
PIRACY OPINION
New and forbidden. Aurelia has idolized pirates as the explorers of the world, the people who get to go on endless adventures. She does not know that pirates are #cancelled for their crimes against humanity.
EXTRAS
Only character I dont have a playlist for sorry!
history
A Child is Born
Born the youngest of three children, Aurelia was given all she could want in this world. Even without the care of her parents, several nannies often watched over her, giving her all of their attention. With age, they turned into tutors, filling her mind with history, literature, and politics. What more in this world could a girl want?
Even in being molded into the eventual, perfect wife, Aurelia never despised this shaping of her character. As a child, she lived for the attention royalty garnered, the cheers a small wave could bring. She didn't know any other way of living, so how could she long for more?
Even more so, she longed for the day when, if lucky, she’d marry a prince. Solas may have no male heirs, but surely, Aurelia would have her happily ever after. With a royal merman or the princess’s long lost brother, she would fall in love and live her life as queen (delulu fr). Her childhood days were spent daydreaming of when perfect would begin.
In contrast, her brothers never once thought of their future wives. Their days were filled with horseback riding, hunting, culture, and experience. Unequal in only what was done in public. In more private affairs, the boys reveled in the mischief that was teaching their sister inappropriate lessons for a woman.
By ten, Aurelia could hunt duck like the best of them, swear like a sailor, and bet on horse races with generous accuracy. While knowing these behaviors must be kept in secret, Aurelia could hardly imagine why. Why would a man not want his wife to share in his hobbies? To come home after a long day of shooting and have twice the duck to feast on, to speak freely as his equal, and to perfect one’s gamble; were these all not desirable outcomes for the union of a match?
Coming of Age
At some point, every young girl must make her transition into adulthood. When the time came, she was more than happy to start taking the calls of suitors. While there are no princes in the Sirocco Sands, one must always start somewhere and work their way up. Barons and Earls can easily be switched out for Viscounts and Dukes when a young lady reveals herself to be a desirable wife.
It seemed Aurelia was quite the popular conquest. Callers lined down the halls on the best days of the marriage season, yet none of them her prince. It wasn’t about the title, not anymore, but about love and fairy tales. She wanted what those in the storybooks had, true love. Rejecting countless men in the span of a year, she was starting to lose hope.
But most women spend more than a year looking for the one, it was hardly unusual. However, as a year turned to two, her reputation amongst the men of the sands began to sour. Now regarded as a tease, a gold digger, a woman only looking to waste their time. How could they not see, she wasn’t the problem, they were.
No man could keep her interest for long. Even if entertaining for the fleeting beginnings of courtship, once they knew the real Aurelia, the one who shared in their interests, they weren’t as pleased as she might hope. If a man could not accept her, how could she call him a true love?
Summer
At the dawn of the fourth year, her mother made her promise she would accept a proposal by the end. With neither of her brothers married, Aurelia saw no reason to rush, but the number of eligible men was dwindling.
As luck would have it, this year was different. Instead of continuing the same search in Sirocco, her family would spend the courting season in Zenith, her father being a special guest of the king’s. With such proximity to the royal family, Aurelia couldn’t help but feel that this year, she would find her true love.
After days in the carriage, they had made it. That moment, seeing the castle under the moonlight, it made her heart pound. She didn’t need an oracle to tell her that this was her destiny.
This hope quickly dwindled over the next week, suitors here being no different from those in Sirocco. Still, she chose to attend the first ball of the season with an optimistic mind. Someone here had to be different. Anyone at all-
The Princess.
Aurelia’s breath caught in her throat as she laid eyes upon silk and jewels, finding herself starstruck in a way she had never been.
Oftentimes, Aurelia would tell other women what wonderful wives they would make. In her mind, this was the highest form of compliment, being the main goal of a noble woman.
In this moment, she needed something better to say, something better than being the perfect wife, for the princess was far more than that. Her beauty, her grace, it all exceeded that of anyone she had ever seen. In this moment, Aurelia knew she was not the one who deserved a happily ever after as a queen, that right belonged to no one but the Princess of Solas.
If she were anyone else, Aurelia would be at a loss for words, but years of talking to royal men left her at ease in introducing herself to a princess, even if none of those men were anywhere near as beautiful.
What should have been a summer of looking for a husband became the summer of a beautiful friendship. Secret sleepovers, hours of gossip over tea, and countless balls spent ignoring men in favor of dancing with each other, Aurelia had never known friendship like this. She spent weeks at a time without speaking to anyone else.
But all summers must end.
Without having made the decision herself, her mother found a duke who was not put off by Aurelia’s tendency to ignore him. The wedding was all too soon, but at least the princess was by her side, a comforting bridesmaid in this marriage to a stranger.
That night, it was not her husband who called on her, but the princess. One more garden walk between friends. It was always going to end like this. Silent tears and fingers intertwined, they couldn’t stay out long, lest her new husband get tired of waiting.
Try as she might, Aurelia couldn’t bring herself to say goodbye. For this summer, she had found her true love, she had spent the months courting and wooing one person. Perhaps not a prince, but a princess.
That night under the full moon, the stars fell into place, and when their lips touched, it was more magical than the kiss she’d shared with her husband. She understood then what the women in those fairy tales must’ve felt.
How could she stay with her husband after this?
In the night, Aurelia fled. Living the rest of her life with a husband she doesn’t love is not her destiny. Perhaps, being queen is not either. With enough money to stay in an inn for a week and her father’s pistol, she would let this roll over, and find a new identity that will keep her close to the princess. It is the only way.
This Week
Unfortunately for an unchaperoned, young woman, it is difficult to avoid the king’s guard. When rumors of a kidnapping start swirling, the country must be kept safe from whatever criminal could take a woman of royal blood.
Aurelia, while trying her best to avoid leaving the inn and keeping her face hidden, was found within a matter of days. A reporter from the castle, heavily associated with the king’s guard. They’d only known each other in passing, but it was enough that he would recognize her face.
Like when hunting, there was a moment where Aurelia knew she had been spotted. In that moment, one must act swiftly or their prey will fly away.
But the scribe was not a duck, he didn’t have the chance to spread his wings and fly.
It was only instinct, but it seemed most of Aurelia’s instincts were betraying her these days.
She could no longer hide in the city, her crime making her stay far more risky. Aurelia did what she must; raided the scribe’s pockets and went back for her things from the inn.
By the morning, she will be gone. Hopefully one day, she will have her fairy tale ending.
Future
I would like Aurelia to be HUMBLED. Woah, people in the world suffer? Thats so sad. Her ass needs a little hardship. I also would like her to question her loyalty for the crown and question if there is a world where she could return. Worldview shifting shit. Perhaps, if we get far enough, I'd like to see her given the opportunity to make worthwhile change for someone on a personal level and grow to realize that the royals aren't the ones making those changes for most people (if that makes since idk how to write).
Open to any character relationships anyone proposes. Personally, I would like her to experience betrayal of a close friend. For some spice.
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: Y
gallery
rel.
Princess
Friend? Mistress
Best friends to lovers. Pretty woman wow!
Duke
Husband unfortunately
Probably an okay guy. It's not you, it's me type feeling.
freedom at last
Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to the silence. To have no yesterday, and no tomorrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace. From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them, and that is eternity.
nine lives
Elera
The Crusader
Ribs
The Crane Wives
-
-
name
Elera Korey
age
twenty-two
gender
Female
p.o.b.
The Cascades
d.o.b.
September 3rd
-
height
4'11
weight
115
Status
High Society
Faction
Covenant of Aethera
Role
The Crusader
fc
Hannah New
Convert
The gods envy us. They envy us because we are mortal, because any moment may be our last. Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.
Visage
Build: Short, but not to be underestimated. While Elera might not be able to hold her own against the strongest pirates, she isn't easily made vulnerable.
Eyes: Light blue, like the sky of the lands of day light.
Hair: Often worn up or styled in a braid. For the most part, Elera keeps it up and out of the way.
Distinguishing: gao idk what people look like, my head is empty. Look at the picture thats what it's there for.
PERSONA
Responsible, Faithful, Mature, Organized, Righteous, Hostile, Uptight, Self assured, Stressed, Skeptical
Virtues
Responsible
Elera is tightly strung at all times. 15 minutes early is on time, and anything less is late. All deadlines are "I wouldn't be caught dead finishing something this late" lines. Being put together is a reliable staple for her.
Faithful
Loyalty is unwavering and more importantly unchanging. It takes a lot to earn or lose her trust. People who have it will keep her on their side through their best and worst. This also applies to larger concepts such as interests and opinions.
Mature
Elera handles things with poise and dignity. Everything can be talked out, there's no need to yell or fight or cry about it. She's an adult, and she is going to act like one.
Organized
Everything has it's spot and must always be there unless in use. If not, she will be the first to notice.
Self Assured
Confident in her own capabilities, Elera isn't one to question if she is doing something right. If you tell her she is, you are the one who is wrong and incompetent.
Vices
Righteous
Some people believe they must always be right. Elera is one of those. Once she's decided on something, it is the only right way. Changing her opinion is almost impossible, and quite frankly, she's already decided you're the one in the wrong.
Hostile
Maturity only goes so far. When people fail to understand and convert to her side, she gets a bit passive aggressive. She'd never throw the first punch, but Elera can be bitter and is known for her ability to keep a grudge.
Uptight
A little snobby, a little set in her ways. Elera does believe she is better than certain people and that her way of doing things is the right way. Call her a prude all you want, but there is a way one must manage one's self in order to be taken seriously.
Stressed
Right, so you can't believe the fate of the world belongs in the hands of teaching heathens to follow the way of the oracles and not get anxiety about it. RIP, L, Cope, etc etc. Idk get like a martyr complex about it girlboss.
Skeptical
Unfortunately not in the way of needing to be convinced of a higher power. Instead in the way that no one can convince her that she's in a cult! Yippee!
LIKES
Glamour, Classical Music, Prophecies, Bears (animal), Macarons, Silver, Lavenders, Waterfalls, Wards
DISLIKES
Pants, Physical Labor, Monotony, People Without Strong Opinions, Heathens, Infidels, Heretics, Poor People (derogatory), Umbra
FEARS
Goo, Supernatural Entities, Not Knowing What To Do
EXTRAS
HABITS
Praying, Keeping Wards, Consulting the Oracles, Humming, Rambling
HOBBIES
Poetry, Star Charting, Reading Religious Texts, Nagging, Cross Stitching
STRENGTHS
Talking about Nothing, Not Giving Up, Persuasion, Conflict Resolution Skills (?)
WEAKNESSES
Cult Mentality, Exhausting to be Around, Gross Conditions, Stubbornness, Ignorance, Lack of Survival Instincts
HEADCANONS
-Never swears
-Is probably taking everything way too seriously
-Thinks you aren’t taking this seriously enough
-Has a very strong set of morals (unfortunately cult aligning)
-Tea with a borderline inedible amount of sugar
-One of those people who has to constantly narrate everything they do
-RIP Elera Korey you would have loved playing Hot To Go on church bells for pride month
-Horse girl as a kid
-Mean lesbian who, unfortunately, is still centering men in her life so sad
-That girl that knits a sweater in your 8am lecture
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
You know that person you meet and you find out they're in a cult and you say "oh, it all makes sense now." A little too culty for your average cult member.
FACTION
Covenant Of Aethera
STATUS
High Society as she grew up heavily involved with the covenant and close to the Oracles.
MOTIVE
Protecting the oracle and spreading the word of the covenant! So fun!
BOARDING
Legally. Her companion however... We're going to need a plan!
ROYALTY OPINION
Fine. Well, the king paid for this boat and for the spreading of the holy word so thats good. Neither positive or negative.
PIRACY OPINION
Literally clutching her pearls at the thought people would steal regularly.
EXTRAS
Not vibing with half of this rn so will be updated
history
Childhood
Elera was born a middle child, the only girl between two boys. Born and raised in the Cascades in a family very close to the Covenant, her two dads would watch her and her siblings while her mother served as a personal guard for the Oracles. While her job was highly secretive, it did mean that Elera was often close to them, watching them from an acceptable distance.
In the land of eternal night, her family remained dedicated to the Covenant. Every event and festival was thoroughly enjoyed throughout her childhood. This period of her life is filled with the most warmth, surrounded by the people who loved her most. Her mind, while shaped by the covenant, would never know of its evils. To her, the Cascades have always been a welcoming home.
As Elera grew older, she began being enrolled in the academies, learning all of the best truths of the Cascades. While information was heavily censored, she thrived in academics. All the best minds in the Cascades weren’t enough to satisfy her. Although it took years, she finally got her mother to take her to a bookshop in the land of light.
The first time she saw the sun, Elera could have stared at it for hours. Luckily for her, her eyes were yanked away, forced to look away by her mother. What ever reason her mother had to pay attention to her for once in her life, Elera didn’t know, but she treasured those books in secret, read by candlelight when she was supposed to be asleep.
Adolecence
As she got older, those trips became more common. Elera tended to pick out poetry books among the rest, but tales of the other lands, their cultures, and the mysterious creatures in them were also widely valuable. Trying to speak of any of the knowledge she had wasn’t allowed, but the urge to correct people was often undeniable. Fortunately for Elera, hearsay amongst other teenagers only gets you bullied.
Life was lived without many friends, something of which she was almost grateful for. There were very few she could converse with without wanting to strangle them. Most of her conversations consisted of those with superiors. Elera found those conversations tended to be more constructive.
When the Oracles announced their successors, she was in awe of how someone her age could have such a strong destiny. It made sense, destinies are with you from the day you are born, but she had never felt so insignificant in this world than that moment. She would never be as important as him.
For years of course, she would try to matter, to be, at the very least, a blip on the map. Elera would do her best to be polite and kind to strangers, to help those in need, but in the Cascades, that is nothing. Especially when she couldn’t change what mattered most.
When her older brother was publicly executed, Elera never knew why. The shame brought onto her family for a crime unknown was unavoidable. Secrets only make events like this worse, for if they knew what he had done, maybe they would not blame the living for his deeds.
What was worse, when she got home, the books that she had gotten on the latest trip were gone. A possession Elera would never get back. Her mother never took her to get books again.
Adulthood
Year after year spent trying to gain back their reputation proved worth it as the family was slowly accepted back into high society life. While things were never the same between the remaining siblings, Elera took further responsibility as the oldest. In a way, she felt the need to make up for her brother’s sins.
Day after day, life can grow boring if every year brings the same events. Stability is a privilege, but sometimes a young soul yearns for something more. Although it is not their place to interfere with world events, perhaps the world can be brought some peace by the Covenant’s views. While most people in the Cascades stay there for their whole lives, Elera felt a calling in the land of the light, to spread their gospel and bring peace of mind to those on the outside.
Fate may be set in stone, but if more outsiders could be told the word of the stars, they would be able to understand the truths of this world. While Elera had planned to leave alone, at the last minute, her mother shoved a man in her carriage.
The young heir. For years, Elera had envied him, but now they were face to face, their fates connecting. Perhaps, her purpose in this world was greater than she realized. For now, his identity and life will lie in her hands.
Future
While I do eventually want her to realize that the Oracles are lying and terrible, I really want to see how far I can push her arrogance first. I really want that good cult time. Then she can have her Barbie realizes the real world sucks moment yk. I think it would be challenging to test her loyalty in that way, especially if its coming from people she trusts. Or she can get shot. Whatever happens!
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Nightengale
Super Secret Mission Besties
Elera must've been chosen by the stars for a mission this important! To protect the future oracle on his journey and spread the word of the covenant is no simple task. If fate has deemed their fates to cross like this, then she must not fail. If only she knew...
Mother
The Great Betrayer
Long able to see a glimmer of herself reflected back, if Elera knew what was happening in the covenant now, would she still be able to see her reflection in the mirror? For now she lives in ignorant bliss, viewing the world as she always has.
Faith in Him
"Trust me," you say. Okay, I'll trust you. I'll trust you with my heart, though it's aching and heavy, bearing the scars of falsehoods past. I'll trust you with my soul even after you've set it ablaze. I'll trust you until I'm a pile of ash, unfulfilled promises, drifting in a smokey haze.
nine lives
Jack
The Bard
Moth Man
Dirty Bynum
-
-
name
Jackson Belrose
age
twenty-six
gender
Male
p.o.b.
The Canals
d.o.b.
April 20th
-
height
5'3
weight
120
Status
Outcast
Faction
N/A
Role
The Bard
fc
Milo Manheim
swamp
xxxxxxxxxxxgnaw on me, bigfoot. kiss the gash xxxxxxxxxxxlin my neck and call it romance. xxxxxxxxxxxlfeed on my organs and call it lust. xxxxxxxxxxxi am your animal. bring me to xxxxxxxxxlslaughter. i will only love you more, xxxxxxxxbigfoot. they asked "do you love bigfoot xxxxxto death?" I said "speak of him over my grave and watch how he brings me back to life."
Visage
Build: Short, with lean muscle.
Eyes: Hazel
Hair: Dark brown, never groomed
Distinguishing: That's the thing. He just looks like a guy. Helps keep him from getting identified when he gets into trouble.
PERSONA
Observant, Relaxed, Capable, Dependable, Uncaring, Messy, Corruptor, Blameless
Virtues
Observant
Jackson has a keen eye. This isn’t to say there’s nothing he can miss, but he assesses his surroundings well. Stay down near guards, shut up when someone gives you “the look,” give her some space if she gives you “the other look,” ect. It is entirely possible that he’ll decide to ignore his better judgment, but what can you do?
Relaxed
Problems? Oh no, haven’t you heard we ignore those now? Overall, Jackson doesn’t let things get to him. Inconveniences roll right off his back, usually right down to bite him in the ass. It’s fine though, if you keep ignoring something it’ll go away, right?
Capable
For most things, Jackson doesn’t need help. He might want someone by his side, but he doesn’t need anyone to do things for him. He’s got two perfectly useful hands, and he will use them to carry all the groceries in on one trip.
Dependable
In fact, he’ll even lend you those two hands. No matter what you need help with, holding the door open or hiding a body, you can count on him. He will even, albeit not while sitting still, listen to any problems you might have. Don’t expect sound advice or useful feedback though, he can only promise you the listening part.
Vices
Uncaring
Jackson lacks passion. He often comes across as lazy or insensitive, but he just doesn’t often find that emotional investment. It might be a bummer if he fails or someone insults him, but that’s temporary. Isn’t it all temporary? So, nothing matters, but in a nihilistic way.
Messy
Jackson hasn’t seen his bedroom floor in years. Frankly, he’s not sure it exists anymore. If he picks up all the water bottles and dirty socks, what’s stopping him from falling right through? It’s not like anyone else goes in there anyway.
Corruptor
It’s due to his criminal behaviors that he’s usually regarded as “bad news.” “Come on, tag a building just this once, you’ll love it.” “There’s nothing wrong with stealing from rich people, bro.” “I swear, no one’s gonna know.”
Blameless
Responsibility who? Jackson’s never heard of the word. Don’t expect an apology out of him, as far as he’s concerned, he did nothing wrong. It’s called having fun actually, you should try it. This man has never felt an ounce of guilt in his life.
LIKES
Nature, Hammocks, Pomegranates, Iced Tea, Cryptids, Dirt, Gardening, Crime
DISLIKES
Sweets, Winter, Sports, Authority, Aphids, Being Told What To Do
FEARS
Birds, Dark Water, Dying Alone
EXTRAS
HABITS
Fidgeting, Physical Touch, Looking Over His Shoulder, Big Facial Expressions, Pointing
HOBBIES
Gardening, Street Art, Banjo, Staring at the Ceiling, Bothering You, Cryptozoology, Crop Circles
STRENGTHS
Hand to Hand Combat, Relaxing, Diversions, Speed
WEAKNESSES
Illiterate, Blind Trust, Lack of Self Preservation, Nomadic Lifestyle
HEADCANONS
-Major green thumb
-Zones out half way through anything
-Scheming always
-Work smarter not harder
-Nothing beats daydreaming in a hammock
-Always has his hands dirty
-Allergic to authority
-All animals are free if you're brave enough
-Grabs your face when saying something important
-Very touchy in general
-Rarely sober
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
Generally bad all around. There's very few people in The Canals he hasn't wronged at some point.
FACTION
Jackson is not associated with any organizations currently.
STATUS
Outcast
MOTIVE
Finally going home.
BOARDING
Illegally. Yeah, that lady is my wife. She showed you two tickets. You must be forgetting. Sir, she's pregnant, thats my pregnant wife. Let me on! You cant separate me from my wife and baby! You want my baby to grow up without a dad? You want to leave my wife and child penniless and alone, abandoned on the street? You'd do that to a family? You're sick!
Oh, you'll let me on? Thank you, sir! Wife?! Wife! Wife, wait for me, wife.
ROYALTY OPINION
Hate. Loathe. Would attack on sight.
PIRACY OPINION
Just some dudes having a good time stealing shit. He loves that!
EXTRAS
Pinterest? If ur lucky
history
Childhood
Jackson grew up, for the most part in a small shack in The Canals with his moms. The two herbalists always told him they grew him from the ground like a seed. While his mothers ran their shop, selling herbal remedies for sickness and the occasional unwanted husband, he often played in the background, enjoying the company of any stray cat or rat running around. Sometimes, he was even able to train them to do tricks for food.
It was a good, relaxed life. Even though the Canals were filled with violence and crime, their family always came out on the other side, closer than ever. But as soon as he was old enough to develop a sense of self, Jackson would always want more.
Venturing out in the swamps was often dangerous, alligators, tigers, and anacondas (oh my!) were always afoot. However, even when he was young, Jack was never perturbed. He’d gather frogs and moss for his mothers’ remedies til sundown. He’d dip his toes in the water when he couldn’t sleep at night, letting the crickets ease his mind.
Of course, it wasn’t long before the culture of the marsh infected him. Kids are impressionable, and ever moldable. It only takes one wrong role model to suck them in. What started at petty theft and minor vandalism only snowballed into larger vices. No one in the Canals was a saint, but he had his fair share of sins.
Joining a gang was one of the only ways to stay safe. Guaranteed protection and loyalty from others was hard to come by. With his younger sister coming into the picture, he had a family to look out for, now more than ever.
Adolecence
Despite everything, Jackson would always view his time in the Canals as “the good ole days.” Every chicken has to flee the coop eventually. So, with the assurance his family would be kept safe, the fifteen year old set sail to greener pastures. Traveling the world must start with the river.
Kestyr days were unforgiving, their nights ominous. The people are far less friendly than the ones at home. Doors are locked, their homes unlit. They are unwelcoming to strangers, let alone a Fluvian.
While living was hard, the food was enough to keep Jack within its borders for longer than necessary. Hidden gems of their nightlife were a find he learned to savor. Eventually, recognizing the signals he had overstayed his welcome, he floated onward, to wherever the current would take him.
Antares, while more fast paced than the Canals, proved to offer him more comfort and familiarity. The crime was frequent and the women… oh the women. Even when they had him tied up and beaten, he only wanted them more.
Jackson stayed in Antares for as long as the city could take him. With the constant movement of people, there was always someone to trick or exploit. There was no lack of chaos, endless excitement at his fingertips. The city would chew him up and spit him out, and he would still come crawling back for more.
After years, Jack was finally chased out, with only the scars to remember the city by. Parts of him were callous and cold, changed by the city. Yet, he was always grateful for the friends he made along the way. Laughing and making music were where his soul belonged. So part of his soul always stayed soft, welcoming to anyone in need.
Adulthood
Zenith was Jackson’s first experience in a law-abiding land, its people unforgiving to sticky fingers and loose lips. Here, he was never running from a fellow trouble maker, but instead, street pigs who couldn’t keep their nose out of his business.
Still, in the night, there was fun to be had, just as there was anywhere else. Jacks even learned a couple more legal trades. People here will give coin as appreciation for entertainment, no pickpocketing required. A small street band can earn good money.
Working the docks or warehouses was harder work that Jackson could seldom keep. Life wasn’t meant to be wasted away doing hard labor. However, when he did have legal revenue, it was enough that he could spare some for others. While the orphanages offered a bed to sleep on, their children often went hungry, only the strongest and fastest able to secure the little food provided for them.
Jacks earned himself his own little fanclub that way, but they all made it harder to ignore his homesickness. How were his mothers? His little sister? His friends who stayed behind? After ten long years, the weight was finally too much to bear. He bought a ticket for a ship, setting sail that evening, but he’d never make it.
The past catches up to you at the most inopportune times. Finally Jackson had found himself in cuffs. It didn’t matter how his life had turned round, only that once, he had been a criminal. Prison wasn’t so bad. He survived in the way he had back home, the only way he could.
The months passed, he lived the same day over and over again, nothing changed. Nothing, until the cell across from him was filled. One of the few people he had known in Kestyr, his only friend from those nights in the spice town.
Together they plotted, eager for change, filled with the thrill of being known. Together, along with a few other men, they were able to make a bomb, blowing a wall wide open. Not all of them made it, the king’s guard relentless, but Jackson ran well into the night, not stopping until he reached the city’s border. That night, he poured one out for everyone who had ever helped him on the way, before walking away and never looking back.
Jackson boarded the first ship at port that he could. Even if it takes months, even if it takes years, he will make it home.
Future
He's just hanging out, being silly. Could he develop as a person, why sure! But he'd need proper motivations. Like love and community. Perhaps a lil romance. I might get more specific as time goes on. I really want him to be in situations!
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Bigfoot
Lover (alleged)
Oh what can be said to justify how Jackson feels about bigfoot. Truly there is not a word in the English language that could possibly be romantic enough to summarize his burning desire. There is nothing better in this world than coming home to be wraped in a warm, tender, hairy embrace. Oh bigfoot...
Mothman
Lover (alleged)
Jackson never knew a love so strong before Mothman came along. First love runs deep, and he can never seem to let go. Being apart is agonizing. Never a day goes by where he does not think of him. When they are reunited, the spark is just as strong as ever.
mothman or bigfoot...
how can i choose?
mothman is the first person i felt both x.wildly unsure and unwaveringly xx.certain of. that was the scariest xxx.part of falling for mothman: the xxx..fact that i had no idea what i was xxxdoing, but at the same time, i knew xx'exactly why i had to.
nine lives
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Wyll
Senior Member
Luc Cardin
Full Name: Luc Cardin
Alias: Gallin Forestson
Role: The Gemini
Age: 28
Place of Birth: The Cascades
Appearance
Height: 6” 0’
Eyes: His eyes are a deep chestnut brown (ironic as the poor lad is allergic to chestnut). If the sunlight strikes his eyes just right, they actually appear to me more of a golden brown. His eyes typically don't carry much expression; neither disdain nor excitement. His gaze always moving; his eye lids never quite fully open; the best way to describe his eyes would be bored and watchful.
Hair: Short and black, sometimes braided. How he looks is half of his lie and his hair is half of how he looks and so he goes to great lengths to take care of it. The curls must be curling at all times; the hairline must be as sharp as a needle point. When braided, it is a single, thick, tight braid on each side, running from front to back and finished up in a ponytail, which is actually a "warrior's wolf tail" but is also definitely a ponytail.
Distinguishing features: Always seen with a pen on his ear and a notebook is sure to be somewhere on his person at all times. After all, a scribe must be ready to scribe at all times because one never knows when inspiration will hit or anew story will develop.
Detailed Description:
Luc is a 6-foot man who sits at 185 pounds and has dark skin. His frame is fit but far from intimidating or muscular, such that he doesn't command much presence. Most people could bump into him and barely stagger. The boy was clearly built more for endurance and stamina more than he was built for strength and power. His muscles are small but firm, not likely to dish out much damage but capable of taking in a lot.
His eyes are chestnut brown but lighten up to an almost golden-brown when hit directly by the sun and he styles his hair in a typical burst fade, usually braiding his hair when the top gets long enough. His outfits will typically have oranges or yellows in them, complemented by blues or blacks. He is a fan of the open shirt look and so one can just assume that all his shirts will have buttons ad he will use a total of zero of them. The abdominal muscles that peek out as a result are not large or attention-grabbing, but are well-defined nonetheless.
Should he speak, his accent and tone suggest high-class upbring, an accent he picked up from his schooling. It is the same practiced cadence, a soft yet projected voice, with all sounds expertly enunciated. His speech is honey and his whispers are nectar and shouting? He knows no such word.
"Happiness always comes at a price; I am what happens when you get happiness you can't afford ”
Likes:
- Watching performances
- Being quiet and still
- Swimming
- Learning
- Writing
- Music
- Travel
Dislikes:
- Crowded places
- Loud noises
- Spicy food
- The cold
- Rushing
- Nobility
Fears:
- Getting close to people
- Death, straight up
- Happiness
- Change
Habits:
- When cornered, he defaults to taking attention away from him, even if he has to lie
- He tends to twirl his pen around whenever deep in though and/or anxious
- Physical confrontation is always the very last resort for him
Hobbies:
- Writing stories and poems
- People watching
- Card games
- Deep diving
- Star gazing
Strengths:
- Resourcefulness
- Debating
- Planning
- Tenacity
- Writing
- Stealth
Weaknesses:
- Traitorous sweet tooth
- Direct combat
- Self-loathing
- Trust issues
- Closed-off
Personality Details:
Inwardly - simply put - Luc is a walking ball of trust issues. However, there is none he trusts less than himself. He grew up hating liars and wanting to fight for truth, only for his life to play out in such a way that he had to become chief of liars in order to survive. This creates a personal dynamic where Luc takes no pleasure in his lies; takes even less pleasure in the lives he has to take to protect that lie; yet fears his own death so much that he will protect it at all costs. He does, however, occasionally question what's the point of fighting so hard for a life when all he uses that life to do is the one thing he hates.
The biggest indication of his trust issues is how he suddenly gets deeply and, perhaps, illogically skeptical and uncomfortable when something good happens to him. He's been happy before and has seen what happens when fate comes to collect the bill. That bill left him alone, scared and a shell of his past self. In his mind, that will always be the cost of happiness; pain. And if that is the case, he has chosen to live a dull life. If he never allows himself be happy, then perhaps he can avoid experiencing the same hurt and confusion he once did.
Outwardly, for starters, he puts on the name of Gallin. As Gallin, Luc puts on a facade of confidence. As his father once said, "You can look like anything you want, as long as you don't look like your problems." And so, despite the internal battle, he still carries himself as a generally friendly person - although, the keen-eyed will notice that his smile is always late, as if he has to think about it and that he is never one to start conversations, but will engage with you if you come talk to him. He can be described as charismatic, friendly and smart. However, above all other virtues he has, he is one loyal son of a gun. He may have the worst case of trust issues ever recorded, but for the few - very few - that manage to break through that wall, he will protect and defend them even harder than he protects himself. These are the people that know him as Luc. Everybody that isn't on that exclusive list of people, however, will report that Gallin is a genuine sweetheart but they don't know much about him. And that's just the way he wants it.
He is the type to hold grudges and wait for the right time to enact his revenge. In combat, he is more likely to run and hide, then attack from the shadows. He knows he is not the strongest or the fastest, but is smart enough to analyze his attacker and either figure out a way to win or a way to escape if winning isn't an option. Often times, he is not able to outmatch his opponent, but he is likely able to at last them. Or at least keep getting up until they just get tired of fighting him. On the rare occasion that you evoke enough emotion from Luc to actually get him upset, a good apple pie will likely absolve you of most, if not all of your sins.
Please read his history first, the answers to the questions on the left will make much more sense if you do
Reputation:
Luc Cardin seemingly fell off the face of the Earth. Nobody has heard from him or heard his name since he so embarrassingly lost that fight over the girl who had his heart. Many presume him dead. Few know he live and know that to keep him alive, they must never utter his name.
Gallin Foretson, on the other hand, is a prolific reporter. His name is well known, even occasionally being invited into noble circles. His papers, articles and stories are most common within Zenith, where he resides, and The Cascades, where he is from.
Why did they board The Leviathan?:
Luc firmly believes that there is something out there, maybe even someone out there, that will make all the difficulty he has faced in his life worth it. He knew he wouldn't find it in one place, however. And so, when he heard about The Leviathan, he figured "what better way to find what I'm looking for than travel the seas in search for it?" So he used his persona as Gallin to gain a spot on the ship. After all, it only made sense for one of the capital's most beloved reporters to tell the story of this legendary vessel.
Faction:
None
Status:
High Society
Currently residing in Zenith and often mixes and mingles with nobility, occasionally being slipped coin to make them sound oh so noble and strong in his stories and articles.
He hates The Game, yet, must play it in order to survive.
Opinion on Royalty:
Against. He is living this detestable life because of a noble. Has mixed and mingled with nobles enough to know that most - not all - have no bone of truth in them
Opinion on Piracy:
Neutral. Hasn't had much encounter with them but is fascinated by the life of adventure they seem to have - it's the writer in him.
History:
The story of Luc Cardin begin in one of the many academies in The Cascades. He was a promising young writer, full of talent and creativity and would often use his stories to inspire hope in classmates that he noticed needed the pick-me-up. Many would have described him as a beacon of positivity. And there was one daughter of nobility that found Luc's positivity attractive enough for the two to start dating.
Her father, of course, none-the-wiser, because God forbid his daughter get married to some nameless, faceless nobody from some nameless, faceless neck of the woods. However, he was smart enough to know she was hiding something from him. And, so, her father asked one of her friends to watch her. That boy, in his watching, caught her sharing a kiss with Luc. However, Luc also caught him watching.
The two fought.
Life was lost.
The girl ran.
Luc walked out of that encounter a different man, the blood of somebody else on his hands. He'd never seen that side of himself before. He'd never taken a life before.
As luck would have it, Luc and the boy looked similar enough that it would be possible to mix the two up. And so the story was sold that Luc and the boy fought over the girl. Luc lost, and left the academy out of embarrassment. And the boy, Gallin Forestson, walked out victorious. This was the first lie in the series. The Cascades had strict laws, and he knew what the punishment for taking a life would be. And so it was clear what he had to do. He had to bury Luc Cardin, and rise as Gallin Forestson.
Luc was now living somebody else's life and he hated it. He hated the lying, he hated that he'd taken another's life, he hated that he could never be truly real with anyone again. However, he hadn't given up all hope. He went back to his love, the girl he had been found with, wanting to cling to the one thing in his life that was good...and she walked by him like they were perfect strangers. Now, he gave up all hope.
He accepted his fate; cursed to walk this earth as another man; unable to trust lest he kill or be heartbroken again; so distant from who he really is that he is slowly starting to forget; truly appalled by who he had become yet to scared of death to give it up. So he would live this fake life; walk this cruel Earth, because surely, somewhere out there, there was something that would make all this suffering worth it. And he swore that he would find it.
What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplay are:
He's going to be salty, but put him in situations where he has to trust others; let's work on that closed heart of his
If possible, would be cool to see someone (maybe from the academy) that knows Luc, knows Gallin and immediately calls him out.
Ultimately - potentially separate from the last point - I'd like to get to a point where he has to drop the act and be Luc again, consequences be damned.
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:
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Mypilot
Crow Person
— Antarin "Tarin" Estor
req.
#CROWN'S SPEAKER
⮚ rolethe ambassador
⮚ age31
⮚ gendermale
⮚ pronounshe/him
faction: kingsman
status: none
fc: enrico ravenna
- nickname(s)Blade (to the King)
- height6ft 1in
- buildlean, less muscle than he has known before
- eye colourabyssal blue
- hair colourbrown near black
- birthplacezenith
- reputationHe is known in the certain circles. Some respect him for his continual loyalty to the crown, his devotion to their fine kingdom. Others whisper that he is without autonomy, just some puppet to parrot what the King’s ideals are. And others, for their own reasons, might despise him for working for the crown.
- purpose on LeviathanHe boarded the ship with legal means, appointed by the King to spread peace and good will around to those beyond Zenith. This is what is written on paper. Antarin wonders if perhaps he is more so intended to make sure that those who need to stay in line, do. And to be the king's ears as well as his voice.
pers.
likes
morality
purpose
strong ideals
freedom
dislikes
indecisiveness
tomfoolery
selfishness
meniality
fears
failure
disappointment
loss
...frogs
- personality
His hand on his sword, the king's hand on his heart—protector, preacher, puppet. His is the knife-point of duty pierced clear through to bone. Antarin is the word he speaks, the truth he tells, he is Orpheus unable to turn around to see if Eurydice is still there, if she trusts him. If he trusts himself. (Does he trust himself?)
Antarin finds that duty is a blade gripped with a white-knuckled hand. Expectation is a weight he bears, because it is his to bear. It cannot be anyone elses, he cannot allow it to be anyone elses. If this task he has is not his, then he has nothing. So stand straight, Antarin. Know thyself, Antarin. The king has his eyes, his faith, his weight on you. You are Atlas, holding up the world (a kingdom only), you are the lock over the city gates (do they really need your everlasting protection?), you are black adamant, unyielding (do not let the doubt in, do not let the doubt in). Loyalty is his god, justice is his blood, and what is he if not his job, his role? What is his purpose if not to speak the words of the King?
Perhaps to some there is a difference between the work and the heart, but Antarin finds that both are sewn as one in his chest. He has been fed from the hand of obligation all his young life, fed a healthy mix of lies and truth so that he might grow trusting but intelligent, proud of his kingdom but proud to be in the inner circle of knowledge too. See how beautiful our nation is, Antarin? But there is danger lurking, only you shall see it, only you shall tend to it, carry it in your palm like this and share the burden of the crown. What pride you should take in this!
Antarin believes, fundamentally, that he cannot complain or find true issue with how his life had been laid out. How could he, when he has seen worse things for others? It is an unassailable truth that not all of the king's realm is living in peace and prosperity, yes, and so there can be no other option than to show gratitude for what he has. Honour binds him, keeps him steady. He finds strength in purpose, and finds purpose in others. In truth, he has very little drive to bring any sort of benefit to himself, yet believes it is his due to serve his community. His price to pay simply for living on the right side of the economy.
This war of doubt and duty are a thick coat smeared across his skin, a hard-dried outer layer that even he cannot scrub away. But beneath it, binding and blue, is a desire for absolute serenity. Beyond the weight of his burden, his responsibility, his guilt, there is only a single unbeating line that hums a near silent note in his heart.
Antarin desires silence. He desires stillness. He finds peace in a calm sea, in a sky covered by cool clouds, in the soft patter of rain on stone and wood. He dreams of a simple house in a simple town, quiet and alone. He fantasizes of having the strength to sever all ties to the throne, those golden threads that bind him. He imagines the peace that would come in simply allowing himself not to care if others lived and died.
But that is not him.
No, he will always wear that top layer. He will always be hard angles, cutting edges, the straight-backed pride in a job well done. He must be the working man, the loyal guard, the easy-to-approach diplomat who will ease your fears and settle your anger. He must. He must.
hist.
the kingsman says:
❝
Hold still, let me look at you. Are you alright?
❞
- history
On a surface level, his is a story that tells itself neatly and well: a child of a loyal noble family, a bright home in Zenith, and a rope that guides him neatly into King Rowan’s hand. Antarin cannot look back on his youth with anything but softness, for it was his and it was enough.
Antarin was certainly not lacking in central male figures in his life; his father, a lordling of moderate repute, played a constant role in Zenith’s politics. Outspoken and willful, it was not uncommon for Antarin's father to be one of many beating hearts in the political hive of the capital. To young Antarin—small, impressionable, so like his father in looks—it was a life he could see in such beautiful light. He imagined his father as a generous hand, passing wisdom that would lead to the betterment of their peers, which in turn would lead to the prosperity of the kingdom itself.
Antarin's father was a blueprint for his ideals and, like any firstborn son, he sought to become the very man his father was. In his adolescence, this took flame in a fiery passion for justice, for crown and kingdom, in holding their city high above him in adoration (a blade he had tied willingly over his head) with a ceaseless sense of nationalism. It was all the itching obsession of growing up funneled directly in the direction of his father’s ideals. What more could his family want?
And the years carried on. As he reached a point of adulthood, his zeal for his kingdom was turned into a knifepoint—fight for your kingdom, guard it with your life—and his twenties became a tumult of combat. Duty and honour bound him, his blood is the kingdom’s blood, and his hand was it’s blade. His passion had simmered into something cool and molten, a unyielding certainty that this was his purpose.
Yes, his militaristic ability brought his father pride, and certainly the family could not complain. And yet… Through his family’s will, Antarin was guided into King Rowan’s good graces. It was a subtle thing at first, simply meetings with those in positions of power and up and up, gaining favour for his strong will, his clever thinking, his desire for diplomacy after seeing so much needless violence and poverty in the streets and outskirts of their kingdom. Look how good his heart is, see how much he cares. Isn't it charming?
Before Antarin knew it, he was in King Rowan’s own council, one of many smiling bright faces to aid their king who was invariably busy with the care of his wife and maintaining a strong face for their nation. Antarin was made to put his sword away, figuratively speaking. (In actuality, they could never take it from him.)
Antarin desires peace—his morals make it so. Becoming so relied on by the King is good work, becoming an ambassador to broker good will even more so. He brings honour to his father and he knows he should find happiness in this, even if the work does not make his heart sing all of the time. Antarin understands the importance in what he does, happily tolerates the weight and responsibility even as it wears him down, down, down with each visit to an impoverished district, each dark and miserable meeting with people who have suffered enough but do not get the care they need from the kingdom. He would do anything for the well-being of his kingdom, it’s people, but what does that look like with such carefully observed influence as his?
King Rowan is a good man. Many would agree with this, and that must make it fact. His reign is agreeable, it is peaceful, it does not enact any strong changes that pushes too much in any “wrong” direction. But does that make it right simply because it is not tyranny? Not falling into civil strife? King Rowan makes choices that are safe, are favourable. And Antarin is the hand he guides, the mouth he uses to speak. If this means that he must be the one to face those in need and tell them there is no money for their family, no protection from the thieves in the night, no chance of the lower caste to shorten the gap in wealth between themselves and wealthy members of society, then that is simply his job as the king wills it. Isn’t it?
misc.
- detailed appearanceAntarin has a striking and intense face he has been told (much to his embarrassment at the time, for he still is not sure if that is a compliment). His eyes are deeply set in his face, with strong well-defined eyebrows to add to what he assumes is an “intense” gaze. His nose is straight and prominent, adding a degree of symmetry to his face. Antarin prefers a fine beard and mustache, well-groomed when he is able, and not too unruly or long. He has an angular, but strong, jawline that is softened by a mouth set in a constant neutral expression. His skin tone is sun-warmed hues and quite brown when in too much sun, and his shoulder-length wavy hair frames his face—often loose, although he has been known to tie it back when working.
- detailed likesAntarin is made warm by a sense of morality, people who strike with purpose. He is charmed by certainty in one's ideals, even if they do not align with his own. He enjoys the freedom of the sea, the smell of salt and brine.
- detailed dislikesAntarin is annoyed by indecisiveness, by tomfoolery. He cannot tolerate a lack of good will, of selfishness, of brutality in the face of innocence. He despises busywork, being given some menial task that any fool can do.
- detailed fearsFailure, disappointment, crushing defeat. He holds his King’s faith in one hand, his strict morality in the other. He is afraid of a time when his King’s will might have him loosen his other hand.
- habitsPacing, talking in his sleep, counting on his fingers when he has nothing else to do. He cannot stand partially open doors, he will close them or open them fully always. He constantly checks the weather. He rubs his wrists when he is nervous and unsure. He hums when doing physical work, some songs that might be known and others that sound entirely made up.
- hobbiesWork is his craft, his purpose. He has little time for anything else, but finds joy in tasks that require his hands. Labor is not unfamiliar to him, and the wood of a ship always needs tending.
- strengthsCarrying a tune (but he will not sing), wielding a blade, balance (perhaps more so in body than mind), woodcraft, quick-learning of physical tasks. A quick reader, a fast thinker.
- weaknessesIndividuality, a sense of self. Dancing, which might be ironic as swordplay is seen by many as a dance. Small talk, card and dice games (any luck he might have seems to vanish when he plays).
- opinion on royalty?…loyal. Yes, always loyal.
- opinion on piracy?On a level that aligns with his duty, he feels obligated to be opposed to piracy. On a moral level, he finds his personal views depend on the pirate. On a level of allure a pirate has? Well…who can be sure?
- pinterestlink
- spotifylink
- for gao: character goalsBREAK THE MAN. Loyalty to the crown unto death? BEGONE. Let him watch the duty he clings to crumble to BITS around him. I want him so attached to the crew that he would bleed himself dry for them, every last little lawless rat. As for injury, to quote a show: “You can punch me, kick me, pull my hair, I am a-ok being stabbed, biting and scratching are on the table, you can use fire.”
I want him to go from hesitation, uncertainty in himself and his role, doubt in his past and every single one of his "accomplishments," to pure devotion towards this ragtag crew. His devout belief in his king and nation will crumble, and the singular love for the members of the Leviathan will take its place so completely, so utterly, that he would ruin the world for them. He would become a creature of wrath to defend them, a beacon of love to cherish them, and the antithesis of everything he has ever known to take whatever form he thinks they need to not only live but live well.
Antarin spent his whole youth with gold-tinted glasses, believing that the crown is everything and his king is his guide. He used that belief to help others, but always with limitations because of what he was told was the right and wrong way to do things in King Rowan's name. He will learn that there are ways to help others that does not have him confined to another man's rules, that so much has been swept under the rug amongst their people, and that he can do so much more if he simply stopped holding on to someone elses ideals.
- for gao: y/n questionY E S. Can and will adjust anything about Tarin to make him work.
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♡coded by uxie♡
— Bec
req.
#LITTLE WHISPER
⮚ rolethe urchin
⮚ age22
⮚ gendermale
⮚ pronounshe/him
faction: none
status: low society
- nickname(s)Boy; Bird
- height5ft 4in
- buildbone thin, all long legs and arms
- eye colourolive green
- hair colourashy brown
- birthplacekestyr
- reputationHe is unknown, a nothing creature who had to give himself a name. He could vanish and not a soul would know he has gone.
- purpose on LeviathanBec snuck his way aboard hiding in the storage and supply crates. He follows the Leviathan because a whisper told him he should, and he is half whisper himself. It is not divine faith that guides him, but simple curiosity.
pers.
likes
music
conversation (observing)
touch
sin
dislikes
speeches
organized religion
his face
endless time
fears
soldiers
still water
raised fists
strong emotion
- personality
Bec the nobody, the unknown. He has always belonged to nothing, a mere breath away from nonexistence. He is familiar with the dullness of day-to-day survival, finds drudgery in scrambling for the scraps to stay alive. Utterly disenchanted with his life, with his home, he simply exists because...well, there is nothing else to do, is there?
Kestyr is kind enough not to ostracize him as an outsider, to exist as "one of them" even if he cannot live truly among them. Not one of them is willing to feed him, to love him as their own, to give him a hand calloused from work. Bec cannot blame them, for he images he would not do so either. Kindness is not a common trait in Kestyr. And is it really their fault that he learned to flinch, to cower, and to fear? Those are traits ingrained in any street rat. But even the rat wishes to be fed.
It is a strange contradiction to dream of a hand held lovingly against ones cheek and yet to be so repelled at the idea of that much proximity to others, the horror of the intimacy in being known. There is comfort in being alone because it is easy, it is familiar. Yet there is that undeniable draw of belonging somewhere, even if it is as a seed in the heart of another. To be a brother, a son. To be able to bear the weight of seeing your reflection in another's eyes and finding that you are known.
But what is there to know, really? He twists his personality little by little in several direction depending on what he finds is necessary to stay alive, unseen, at an arm's length. He isn't really sure what lies beneath if one scrubs away the layers of pretense and survival. Does he have a personality worth sharing? Is there anything to him at all, or is he just a waif of a boy stubbornly clinging to the arid ground?
One can tug and tug on Bec like a weed, and they will see how ungiving he is. Do not get too close, do not show too much of your heart, he cannot bear it. He cannot help but shy away, a lick of shadow repelled by the sun of another's soul. He is translucent, transparent, fading away. He is as silent as a whisper, as quiet as a ghost. He is half in the grave, cold to the touch, hungry for warmth that he can never have.lick of shadow repelled by the sun of another's soul.
hist.
a whisper:
❝
(do you see that golden, molten purpose?)
❞
- history
Bec was not born into a family he knows of. His mother was a brief swipe of paint on the canvas of his life, a presence best described as “sort of there until not.” However, her brief participation in the start of his life is the only reason he is alive at all, so in some way that accounts for something. What made her decide to care for her child just long enough to allow him to continue living, Bec will never know, because at some point he was abandoned to the unforgiving streets of Kestyr.
A second miracle of life, then, for the residents of the port town are not known for their pity and selflessness. Bec was scraped up, tended to by some aged matron who perhaps simply didn’t care for an empty nest. This was not a relationship of love, far from it, but of simple companionship. Bec, barely able to speak yet, knew to care for his guardian in little ways: cleaning, finding food, making himself scarce when she grew tired of his presence.
Her age played its timely part, and in a few scant years she passed. Bec was ousted from a home that was, really, never his, and thus became a creature of the streets. This was his favourite part. Recognized as someone who had existed in Kestyr since childhood, he was not outwardly ostracized, but old enough to effectively fight for his own survival, he was neither welcomed anywhere with open arms.
Because they did not know him in youth, and because really no one did, he was called ‘Boy’ because that was what they saw him as, and cared not to learn his actual name—although he did not have one at that time. He was not called Boy because of his actual gender, for in his youth he had no defining physical characteristics to reveal him as belonging to either group, and by the time those physical characteristics began to show, Bec was far more comfortable being Boy than that alien alternative.
Childhood, adolescence, and that first burst of adulthood smeared by in a haze of petty theft, rotten food, obsession with the animals he knew better than his fellow man, the horrible self-teaching of his own body and mind, and the sudden appearance of a self-given name that was hardly a name at all: Bec. He weakly learned the language of Kestyr from sheer will, eavesdropping and creeping and being a general nuisance in places where he shouldn’t be. He was nimble, both because the starvation made him light and because climbing in Kestyr was a superior way to travel than walking blindly in the mists. Notably, somewhere in this he lost an eye, although you would be hard-pressed to ever learn how.
And then a whisper came to him one day, a soft pitiful noise. A sound unlike any other. The mist hid its speaker, and Bec does not know if anyone was even there. But it spoke of a city of balance, of royalty, of cobblestone and politics. It spoke of the ship that waited to be filled, but not of the purpose that ship. It whispered to Bec to go, and because Bec believed in the knowledge of the mists and the secrets of the world, he went.
misc.
- detailed appearanceBec’s appearance is observed in small moments. He makes it alarmingly difficult to see all of him at once, hiding some portion or other, and will make odd wincing faces if he knows someone is able to see more of him than he wants. His clothes are loose and comfortable and certainly not of any value. He has a hawkish nose, an angular chin and a face shaped like a diamond. His remaining eye is an olive green that looks a bit feverish in his sallow, pale skin, and the other eye is a rather quality replacement that looks suspiciously expensive for a street urchin. His hair is an ashen brown that looks threaded through with streaks of silver despite his otherwise youthful appearance, and it hands at his ears in loose untended locks. His fingers are like a pianists, long and perhaps the only part of his body that can be considered elegant.
- detailed likesIn Kestyr, there was such silence from the mist that smothered all things, but it was infused with the sweet music its people created. Even now, Bec is drawn to string and chord, to a song sung or a note hummed. He enjoys that melody that is made from a soft conversation, the sound voices make when they carry to his ears. He loves (the idea of) a touch, of (the thought of) a hand gentle on his face. And he loves the way people sin: glut themselves on food when there is plenty, use skin and warmth as a tool for joy, take and hoard and use recklessly and with abandon. It is a miracle to see others live.
- detailed dislikesThere is so much boredom in a speech, where all the joys of soft conversation get whittled away to some dialogue if ideologies. Similarly, he despises organized religion for the same reason (faith is like him—small, slight, hard to spot—and should be loved the way he wants to be loved, which is to say with quiet, distant reverence). And then there is the distaste that comes from within: the reflection of his own face bearing down on him, and the horror of endless time alone with his thoughts, his future, his beating heart.
- detailed fearsIt is a smart thing to fear a soldier. They are not led by their own mind, and instead are led by a leader’s thoughts, and the problem with that is those thoughts can seldom be changed when put in a different head. It is less of a smart thing to fear still water, it’s mirror-like reflection and the creeping feeling it produces. Or the emotions of another person, their confusing array of rage, of terror, of adoration or exaltation. These things are difficult to predict, and are best left alone like a wandering bear. Bec is also afraid of raised fists, fast hands, quick movements, because of the implication of what follows.
- habitsHe might stare at nothing a little too hard, he might speak as if every conversation is a secret, he might look in every which way except in your eye. He will tap a medley against a beam, a door, a railing, his bone-thin thighs. He will whistle at the birds, he will lean a little too far over the railing, he might look like he will let himself fall right down.
- hobbiesHis hobbies are few and they are his. Bec can and will befriend every bird in the area, although he favors those of carrion: vultures, crows, condors, hawks. He likes the intelligence in them. He likes to study little things, like the way a leaf bends a little in a certain wind, or the pattern the rain might drop into a puddle one two three one two three. He would draw these things, if he had the talent or the time or the materials. Bec collects shiny and missing things, first because the crows brought them to him once, and now because they are his meager possessions. His current collection is a shiny little silver brooch with some strange green opaline rock at its center, a large nail bent at its center, four buttons of various sizes, two bits of bone (one a tooth, the other just a darkened shard), and an earring missing it’s jewel.
- strengthsDespite his aversion for any real intimacy, Bec has a good knack for altering himself to appease individual people. Mostly he will stay the same, quiet boy, but he finds that certain words sound better in certain ears and he doesn’t mind a bit of pretty, false speech for a chance at better treatment. Bec is quick on his feet, agile and able to jump a good distance, as well as climb and run with surprising speed and grace. He likes the ropes, climbing and seeing as high as he can go. He has very little fear for his own life when it comes down to it; death does not frighten him, only the pain of a beating.
- weaknessesThere are, frankly, a lot of weaknesses in Bec’s heart. He is unable to look anyone in the eye for longer than a second, he is incapable of prolonged physical contact, he is unwilling to put forth any real effort in maintaining a relationship. He trusts others very little even as he enjoys them very much. He is odd, he finds himself ugly, he finds his speaking strange. He cannot hold his own in a fight, and in truth he would not even try, simply lie still like a dog and wait.
- opinion on royalty?Not worth the spit.
- opinion on piracy?Fear them, oh yes, for they are not his ally either. But respect them, for they are the raised fist.
- pinterestlink
- spotifylink
- for gao: character goalsHonestly, I just want him to have a good time. Unlike Antarin who I want SHATTERED AND BROKEN AHAHAHAH, Bec is a good boy who needs a little sunlight and water and he will grow into a big strong fern. Maybe. Optimistically.
- for gao: y/n questionI am still presenting my freshly peeled flesh as payment, so yes.
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♡coded by uxie♡
Last edited:
lucenti
oOo
the advisor.
scroll
Yuudai
Hagino
ㅎㅎ
01.
full name
Yuudai Hagino
02.
role
The Advisor
03.
age
Twenty-Eight
04.
p.o.b
The Capital
we do not see eye to eye.
but that is fine. i will witness you from afar.
visage
faceclaim
tatsuya kitani
height
5'7
hair colour
black
eye colour
brown
desc.
Bloodshot eyes, sunken cheeks, bitten fingernails. Yuudai had always taken meticulous care of his appearance. It was a given, an unavoidable duty that came with representing the crown. Being in the public eye always meant exposing himself to scrutiny, and any flaws discovered were ultimately not his own, but his lord's. Yet now, on the brink of boarding the Leviathan, all those worries seem to have faded, to have vanished into the billowing waves below. Overshadowed, perhaps, by something far more troubling.
Even then, despite the slight, easily overlooked change, it is impossible to ignore the grace with which Yuudai continues to carry himself. One that had been hammered into his posture since childhood, leaving no room for anything but dignified elegance. Broad shoulders pulled back, a sharp chin tucked in, hands always neatly folded at the level of his hips.
A particular kind of tidiness that is easily spoilt by the unruly curls of his dark hair. They had always been a source of trouble over the years. Wild, with a mind of their own. Although Yuudai loves the curls that fall to his shoulders, he is also the one who complains about them the most. At least they frame his oval face and complement the colours of his brown eyes.
As for his clothes, Yuudai usually wears the style that is common in the regions he visits, always modified to be suitable for longer journeys. For the most part, he chooses neutral colours that would not attract attention or distract. Only the purple lapel pin, which Yuudai adorns whenever he is on duty, adds a touch of life to his outfit.
persona
In the great act of uniting opposing parties, there's not much left to be desired from a single individual. Somewhere in the pursuit of his duty, Yuudai's identity bled and spilled like ink on wet paper. Where did his own worth begin when the firmly glued mask of an ambassador was so much more important?
Docility runs through his veins, forcing a thin smile where an indignant snarl should have taken its place. "Avoid eye contact, relax your body, kneel without actually kneeling. You're in the presence of royalty and nobility, and though you represent one, never forget who you really are." His parents meant well when they crushed his young fantasies where bright stars still made up most of his world, but at the same time they could never fathom what it meant to constantly submit to a larger ego. It helped a great deal when it came to avoiding unwarranted aggression from nobles or closing a long overdue treaty, but it also left much to be desired in terms of his personal development. Even now, with no obligations to bear, no royal eyes to search for flaws, and the possibility of his own selfish desires to take root, Yuudai can't help but opt out and instead continues to slowly stir in his stifling passivity.
Whispers speak of a coward, a doormat, nothing more than a fanatical follower of the crown, and while they are not entirely wrong, they miss the part where this behaviour works to his advantage. Yuudai appears to most as no threat, at best a wet puppy following in the footsteps of the first to show him kindness. Pathetic, miserable and yet pitiful. 'How could someone like him be harmful to me?' He lowers their defences, their guard, and so not many hold their tongue in his presence. A fact that has served him well in his long career. It would be wrong to say that Yuudai is a manipulator, acting to siphon off false pity points, because he is not. This is his painfully honest self, laid bare and stripped down to its innermost layer, something cultivated since childhood and which he can't escape now. Still, it's a weakness turned into a strength, perhaps a testament to his resourcefulness - or a sign of his desperation to be completely and undeniably useful.
Yuudai's life has always revolved around the needs of others - his family, his King, the citizens of the capital - so it's no wonder he finds his purpose in their satisfaction. He lives to serve a cause, a dedication so strong that he is likely to die for it. Selfless is one way to describe this trait, though it's less by choice than by circumstance. It is also for the sake of the crown that he finds his resolve, his only backbone. The royal wishes are his commands, and Yuudai will see that they are fulfilled, no matter what the cost.
Jaded by years of trudging through the muddy ground of royal politics, Yuudai knows to take every sentence and action with a pinch of hidden agenda. He has learned to get used to being reduced to a mere cog in a larger scheme, and the bitter taste in his mouth that came with that realisation soon turned trite. In fact, there aren't many verbal insults left to upset him - he's heard them all, and even then, if someone manages to hit a nerve, Yuudai's reaction is neatly sorted away. To the inside, where it slowly simmers to an end.
There are times when Yuudai feels too much. His passion for doing good is genuine, and his compassion for the suffering fills his heart to the brim. He knows what the world could be, what working together could achieve, but time and again he has come up against barriers that have taught him to expect less. When lives are reduced to numbers on a piece of paper, calculating how much they can subtract and add to keep their profits high, he knows there's something wrong, even if he can't fix it. Disappointment hits harder when expectations are already high, so it's better to bury hopes deeper until they never rise again.
A lesson that applies not only to his work, but also to his personal life. A painful one.
likes
fairytales
myths
campfires
ballroom music
gold
newborns
chess
silk and satin
sheep
waltz
biscuits
dislikes
the smell of sickness
excessive drinking
rodents
hail
leather
bodily harm
raw fish
uncomfortable lodgings
fears
A lonely death, a silent one. Extinguished in a single breath, with no one to mourn the memory. Is it selfish to wish for another's grief in order to prove one's own importance in the world? If so, perhaps it's the only thing Yuudai could willingly indulge in, knowing full well that it was a wish for his own sake.
The next one is a bit arbitrary, even hilarious to some. Yuudai has always feared the depths of the forest, the spiky dangers that lurk just a stone's throw away. The unknown is never something comfortable, and for him it manifested itself in the shadows cast by the lush forests on their land. Too many armed robberies while traversing its paved roads can do that to you.
Heights were never his favourite either, or rather that what could fall from above. Even the smallest pebble hurts when it is thrown from a roof, and Yuudai had to experience this all too often in his childhood.
habits
Staring off into the distance, completely unfocused on the present when a conversation turns sour. However, when spoken to, he still manages to respond perfectly or remember everything that has been said.
Folding the corner of a book to mark the page on which he has paused. There have been attempts to persuade him to use proper bookmarks, all of which have been rather unsuccessful.
Will deliberately lose any game he plays.
When he eats a slice of bread, he will go for the crust before enjoying the softer middle.
Has a slight obsession with smells. It's the first thing he tends to notice when he meets someone new, and usually leaves a stronger impression than any feeble words they might exchange.
Attempts to take up as little space as possible, maintaining an appropriate distance from anyone's personal space. Becomes increasingly uncomfortable when breached.
If his hands are out of sight, he WILL fidget with them in distress. Also a master at noticing when someone is paying attention to him.
hobbies
He has many different collections, from coins to stones to simple leaves. Little souvenirs he has collected on his many travels. Yuudai has decided to take some with him on the Leviathan, although he is worried about whether they will survive the journey.
A passionate dancer. Partner dances are where his heart blossoms.
Had calligraphy lessons and enjoyed them immensely. Owns a notebook filled with pointless sentences so Yuudai could practise his handwriting.
Not surprisingly, a bit of a bookworm. Has spent hours doing nothing but reading and will gladly do so again.
strengths
socialising
unassuming presence
well-connected
falsifying handwriting
lockpicking
great potential for blackmailing
weaknesses
combat
passivity
lack of drive
unconditional obedience
pessimism
lore
history
It was written in your legacy, handed down from generation to generation, binding you to the malevolent post at the royal feet. Fighting was futile, not against the iron grip of your own blood. Merciless, as if they were not prey like you. Not that rebellion was even on your mind. Wasted effort, really. In your bright eyes, there was nothing greater than working for the golden crown. To serve the country and its men, to make your family proud.
Your peers did not understand the importance or the duty you carried. They saw your rigid posture as a joke, and your obedience as an invitation to have their own fun. This did not make your childhood the most pleasant experience, nor was it a great first impression of High Society, but it was the best introduction you could ever have received. Dogs eating dogs. A feeling that would not change even as you grew older.
『••✎••』
Entering your service was everything you ever dreamed of, and then some. The nobles never changed, no matter what city border you crossed, nor did the streets get any nicer, but the fulfilment you found in your position would soon make up for the shortcomings. Being needed was pleasant.
The King was anything but what the dirty rumours of the streets whispered, or what your family promised you. You could see the genuine kindness and care in his actions, the wisdom in his eyes, the will festering in his bones. He was understanding of your mistakes, holding your hand as you settled into your duties, offering advice and guidance at first despite it being your duty. Your time together was plentiful. You were his left hand, the mind he turned to in uncertain and doubtful times. You've seen him more than your own family, and yet that still didn't diminish the quality of your interactions. In fact, you couldn't help but feel a tinge of something every time your eyes met, a silent spark of knowledge exchanged when the council turned to your favour. Like two children sharing the same secret.
『••✎••』
What was this treacherous emotion circulating in the depths of your consciousness? The one that raised your temperature, made your fingers tingle, and made you long for someone beyond your reach?
Secretly, you knew what it was, and so did he. Only a blind man could miss the literal stars you would bring down for your lord, and even then, the vibration of unfiltered admiration in your voice would be more than enough to expose you.
Who do you think you were? A mere street dog seeking the comfort of a lap? The flames should be extinguished when they are young, snuffed out before they can ignite a wildfire. But your heart dared none of that. For others, you returned to what was normal for a king and his servant, the proper distance, the proper looks, but you both knew that this was not the end.
『••✎••』
With a sick wife, the King's mind grew weary with each passing day. The court turned hostile, the public's remarks stung a little more. None of the doctors you see entering her abode left with a face that promised her recovery, and you could see his temper shaking like a building on the verge of collapse. He resigned himself to the privacy of his isolated chambers, far away where the sickness induced moans of his love could not reach. His duties continued to be carried out with dignity, but his presence among his own people waned. You could see the public's faith faltering, and you knew something had to be done. So turning, heavy-footed, you knocked at your lord's door.
『••✎••』
You did not know what it was that finally made him look at you. To see who was standing before him, who had served him faithfully since you were just a little boy. You know that it had nothing to do with your looks or your unwavering loyalty to his cause. Perhaps it was that unfiltered source of unconditional admiration that you provided. The absolute care you were prepared to give to anyone who even remotely acknowledged your undying love for them.
He was not serious about you, not at all. Lingering touches were the furthest he would go, but that was more than enough. You were already gone, polishing the ground beneath his feet to gold and diamond. The lines you walked were dangerous and the consequences damning, but couldn't it be all right to be selfish just once?
『••✎••』
Oh, what a mistake it was. What a fool you were. How did an innocent conversation turn into last night's disaster? This was not what you wanted. You could see regret matching yours in his eyes as he realised who the real person in his sheets was. How the figure beneath him did not match the appearance of his memory. Now the lingering whispers of a false name, spoken in fiery passion, did not seem like a fleeting mistake of his.
You were thrown out as quickly as you had been let in. His downcast lips were the last images imprinted on your mind. It would be the final time you would see him before the sudden order to board the Leviathan arrived, and when you saw the cold letter you knew that the story was over.
reputation
Wherever the King's feet bless the land, Yuudai will follow his step, like a dog to a call. The upper echelons of Zenith know him by heart, while in cities such as the Cascades or Sirocco Sands, only those in power may have heard of him. Those who do know him tend to see him as a simple extension of the King, and thus dictate their opinion of him based on how favourable the royal blood appears in their eyes. More often than not, this earns him a superficial show of respect, though Yuudai has also experienced his fair share of nasty taunts and thinly-veiled dislike.
about the leviathan
On paper, appointed by the grace of the King. In truth, it seems more like an exile. Out of sight, out of mind. Yuudai knows he has no say in the matter, and yet he can't stop longing for another place. Boarding felt final, perhaps, because it was foolish to believe in anything else. But an order is an order, no matter how unjust it felt, so Yuudai will do his best to prevent the ship from sinking.
status
Kingsman by choice, High Society by birth.
opinion on royalty
Unwavering loyalty, no doubt. Recent events have not swayed his position, as Yuudai believes himself to be solely responsible for the incident. In his eyes, the King's vest remains clean and polished to perfection. If they were ever to meet again, Yuudai would see to it that his feelings were buried deep in the seabed, locked away and forgotten, to wither away.
opinion on piracy
Those who oppose His rule and direct law might as well have denied themselves the right to live in Yuudai's polarised mind. They could have held him at gunpoint before, and he would have thought better of them than witnessing whatever foolish performance they would commit as pirates.
extra
fairytale
alexander rybak
connections
misc.
connections
King Rowan
What was left to say in a relationship as unbalanced as theirs? Love may have cloaked Yuudai's gaze, while loss did his. Something never meant to be indulged, yet he still tried to grasp a fragment of what might have been under different lives. Now Yuudai pays the price with nothing but a broken bond(did it ever exist?)to begin a long journey.
misc.
gm
for my character:
either yuudai will end up with a worse codependency @ someone other than king rowan, or he will turn around 180 degrees and find the first piece of true happiness. either way, will it be a fucking rollercoaster of emotions? hell, please. maybe some little public scandals to fuel the rails? don't think everyone would be happy if they knew their king was cheating on his wife. if it happened once, who's to say it hasn't happened before? how could they trust someone who wasn't even loyal to his own love? what if a certain someone was essentially fired for this mishap? i mean, as long as his life and purpose didn't revolve around this job, he'd be fine. right? (definitely not)
willing to be contacted at a later point? yes, please.
♡coded by uxie♡
Last edited:
floralmoon
pushing the gay agenda
XI.
Armağan Kaplan
Armağan Kaplan
the soothsayer.
coded by xayah.ღ
the soothsayer
— basics
full name
ARMAĞAN KAPLANalias
KADERage
27gender
they/themsexuality
bisexual— visage
height
5'2" / 157.48 cmhair
bald / shoulder length black wavy haireyes
pale sea greenassertive
visonary
temperate
stubborn
blunt
vengeful
— description
Whispers of a historical storm swirled around the Cascades, many people began boarding up their houses or seeking shelter, but one family was preparing for the arrival of their child. The Kaplan's had no time to prepare for the monstrous waves and winds that were heading towards them, the two bunkered down in their small home, Deniz Kaplan lie on the floor, screaming in pain, but nobody would be the wiser as they were deafened with the sounds of thunder. After many hours of labor, Armaǧan was born, and at the same moment, lightning struck the home.Years later, Armaǧan's father, Ahmet, accepted a job under the King, while in this position, he overheard two members of the Covenant speaking about "the children". He tried to gather as much information without being caught, but alas he did. He was given two options, quit & stay quiet, or lose his life. His only reasonable option was to leave the position as he had a family to protect.
As Armaǧan grew older, they began showing signs of divinity, being able to predict things in the near future, and on occasion receiving messages from unseen forces, this concerned their father, as they did not want to risk their child being abducted by the Covenant, or worse. So, Deniz & Ahmet decided that it would be best to keep the existence of Armaǧan and their powers a secret. Regardless of living a sheltered life, the child grew and blossomed into a beautiful & intelligent human.
In the days leading up to the Leviathan leaving the port, Armaǧan's parents decided that it would be safer to board their child onto the ship, allowing them to leave the Cascades and be protected from any harm due to word getting out about their powers. The only condition that had to be followed was that Armaǧan could no longer use their family's name, the must adopt the identity of Kader, a nomad with no substantial history.
reveriee ©
Last edited:
peachpuff
w i t c h y
scroll
scroll
❝
We are all just sinners judging other sinners for sinning differently.
Sui Ishida
The Navigator
"Louise"
full name
Lora Rover
alias
Louise Fletcher
age
33 yrs old
p.o.b.
Antares
status
Low Society
faction
Pirate
My Mother Told Me
The Hound + Fox FT. Adam Chance
01.
visage
height
182.88 cm
weight
59.8 Kg
hair c.
dark reddish-brown
eye c.
blue
faceclaim
Clara Paget as Anne Bonney
02.
psyche
A true daughter of the sea, she's free as the waves. Calm, but can erupt like a fierce tide. To put it bluntly, she's got a mouth on her for sure. She gives off a laid-back calm vibe until you piss her off. Then it's like trying to steer a boat during a huge storm - violent and unforgiving. She's confident and refuses to let anyone put her down. Those who try are met with a string of harsh words and sometimes a punch to the face.
Foul-mouthed but kind hearted when you get past her harsh tone.
Down to earth and laid back most the time, but when needed she's actually quite reliable and hard-working. She enjoys her work and so long as she's not under strict rules, will perform with her maximum ability. She takes charting the seas very seriously and has never led a crew astray. Trustworthy, even if she has no bonds of loyalty.
Confident and quite a bit of a flirt. Tends to flirt as if it were second nature when she gets close to people. Speaking of getting close to people, she has 0 concept of personal space and will wrap her arm around others as if 'best of buds'. This often ends with some confrontations.
Foul-mouthed but kind hearted when you get past her harsh tone.
Down to earth and laid back most the time, but when needed she's actually quite reliable and hard-working. She enjoys her work and so long as she's not under strict rules, will perform with her maximum ability. She takes charting the seas very seriously and has never led a crew astray. Trustworthy, even if she has no bonds of loyalty.
Confident and quite a bit of a flirt. Tends to flirt as if it were second nature when she gets close to people. Speaking of getting close to people, she has 0 concept of personal space and will wrap her arm around others as if 'best of buds'. This often ends with some confrontations.
virtues
Adventurous. Clever. Intelligent. Brave. Daring. Fun-Loving. Hard-Working. Down-to-Earth. Charismatic.
vices
Foul- Mouthed. Stubborn. Outspoken. Blunt. Unmannered. Provocative. Petty. Impulsive. Disobedient. No concept of personal space.
likes
The stars and sea. Sailing. Drawing maps. Smell of the sea. Anything apple flavored (a fast way to win her friendship). Swords. Guns. Her father. Storms.
dislikes
Royalty. Being told she can't do something. People who cry often. Alcohol. Sour foods. Peas. Being on land for too long. Her brothers. Horses. Rats. Being confined.
fears
Dying on land, if she goes she wants to go at sea. Making a mistake and getting innocent people lost at sea. Going blind. Dogs.
habits
Hands fall to her dagger when upset. Cracks her knuckles anytime she gets into a fight. Grinds her teeth.
Hobbies
Star gazing. Sparring. Cleaning her gun regularly. Star gazing. Sketching maps. Wood carvings. Whistling. Card games. Swimming.
strengths
Maps. Sailing. Swordsmanship. Honest when needed to be. Scaling heights. Knot tying. Fishing. Reliable. Protective.
weaknesses
Horse-back riding. Light weight/Drunk easily. Informal, often offensive to nobles. Provokes people for reactions sometimes. Un-loyal.
03.
history
this scrolls if you add enough content.
Lora's birth had been harsh. Though the ship should have been docked safely in Antares, they found themself a few days behind their projected course. Seas rocky with the promise of an impending storm, and the muffled screams of the captain's wife in labor. They were completely unprepared for the situation playing before them. The ship doctor was no mid wife. Probably only witnessing 1 birth ever in his career and this was it. Some how. Some miracle of the Sea, the baby girl was born safely and the mother made it through. Those with boarded this ship were fighters. That included Cecillia and the now new life she held. Lora Rover.
Perhaps the very moment of her birth was embedded into Lora's veins because she loved the sea. Every time the ship would dock at a port, young Lora threw fits. Ending with her being left on the ship with a trusted crew member so her mother could handle errands.
As Lora grew, the more she and her older brothers fought. Harlan and Hadden were twins, and they were greedy and jealous things. Their parents favored her, giving her attention more than they gave the twins. It caused a rift between them that never mended, only worsened with time. She was 10 when her mother died of illness. Some drunken gunman whispered that Lora's birth had weakened her and was why she passed so suddenly. The boys took it to heart. Blaming Lora for their mother's death and Lora never stopped blaming herself for it over time.
She dedicated herself to being helpful. Whatever the crew needed help with, she did. But the hole left by her mother's passing still lingered. Her dad was her only beacon of light. She listened to his stories of the stars. The sea's harsh tales. His tales with lessons hidden in them. Her mind memorized every last one. Through him, she learned not to let her brothers get to her. She learned to turn to the stars and sea when she needed comfort. Under his guidance, she took up the sword. Learning swordsmanship was her confidence boost. One she desperately had needed. Gifted with a blade, and darn good with a pistol. Sparring and target practice became some of her favorite past times.
By her late teens, she was someone who couldn't be walked over. She would bend to no one's will. Lora began putting her focus in maps, wanting to be the ship's navigator since they never had a stable one. She found her calling and studied every map she could find, drawing her own when they were damaged. Piecing together the torn papers to create clear pictures. It took her time, a lot of learning and asking questions, but eventually she became very knowledgeable. She still can recall the look of shock on her father's face when she started leaving the ship when they anchored at port. Her? Leaving the ship willingly? Unheard of. But if she was to expand her knowledge, it was best to learn from people who knew more. Lora would bother anyone she could about navigating the seas. Some would give her useful information, maybe a spare map even. Though most would ramble and boast of their adventures at sea.
Lora's ideal future crashed in front of her eyes when she turned 23. A scuffle between pirates. A battle long fought. The crew of the Ole Rover won, but at the cost of their captain. Given Harlan has been her father's right hand, it wasn't much of a vote among the crew when they elected him as captain. His first order of business as the new captain had been hiring a navigator. Lora could tell he was doing it to keep her in check in some weird game of jealously. She didn't take well to it. She let words fly that day, and left the crew then and there. She had no desire for her brothers' petty games. Not when their father had just passed.
Lora jumped crew to crew, never really devoting her loyalty to any one. Usually would leave port in one ship , and would choose a new one at the next. She took whatever jobs she could to expand her knowledge of the seas. Traveling with a compass, collection of maps, and the dagger her father had given her. She didn't need much more. She just wanted to stay moving at sea.
Recently after stopping at Zenith port, she struggled getting in contact with a crew that would need a navigator. So, low on money, she took a gamble and applied to a job offer for the Leviathan. Somehow she manage to lie about her identity without getting caught. Or perhaps they knew and didn't care due to her knowledge. She wasn't sure, but at least she's got a job for now.
Lora's birth had been harsh. Though the ship should have been docked safely in Antares, they found themself a few days behind their projected course. Seas rocky with the promise of an impending storm, and the muffled screams of the captain's wife in labor. They were completely unprepared for the situation playing before them. The ship doctor was no mid wife. Probably only witnessing 1 birth ever in his career and this was it. Some how. Some miracle of the Sea, the baby girl was born safely and the mother made it through. Those with boarded this ship were fighters. That included Cecillia and the now new life she held. Lora Rover.
Perhaps the very moment of her birth was embedded into Lora's veins because she loved the sea. Every time the ship would dock at a port, young Lora threw fits. Ending with her being left on the ship with a trusted crew member so her mother could handle errands.
As Lora grew, the more she and her older brothers fought. Harlan and Hadden were twins, and they were greedy and jealous things. Their parents favored her, giving her attention more than they gave the twins. It caused a rift between them that never mended, only worsened with time. She was 10 when her mother died of illness. Some drunken gunman whispered that Lora's birth had weakened her and was why she passed so suddenly. The boys took it to heart. Blaming Lora for their mother's death and Lora never stopped blaming herself for it over time.
She dedicated herself to being helpful. Whatever the crew needed help with, she did. But the hole left by her mother's passing still lingered. Her dad was her only beacon of light. She listened to his stories of the stars. The sea's harsh tales. His tales with lessons hidden in them. Her mind memorized every last one. Through him, she learned not to let her brothers get to her. She learned to turn to the stars and sea when she needed comfort. Under his guidance, she took up the sword. Learning swordsmanship was her confidence boost. One she desperately had needed. Gifted with a blade, and darn good with a pistol. Sparring and target practice became some of her favorite past times.
By her late teens, she was someone who couldn't be walked over. She would bend to no one's will. Lora began putting her focus in maps, wanting to be the ship's navigator since they never had a stable one. She found her calling and studied every map she could find, drawing her own when they were damaged. Piecing together the torn papers to create clear pictures. It took her time, a lot of learning and asking questions, but eventually she became very knowledgeable. She still can recall the look of shock on her father's face when she started leaving the ship when they anchored at port. Her? Leaving the ship willingly? Unheard of. But if she was to expand her knowledge, it was best to learn from people who knew more. Lora would bother anyone she could about navigating the seas. Some would give her useful information, maybe a spare map even. Though most would ramble and boast of their adventures at sea.
Lora's ideal future crashed in front of her eyes when she turned 23. A scuffle between pirates. A battle long fought. The crew of the Ole Rover won, but at the cost of their captain. Given Harlan has been her father's right hand, it wasn't much of a vote among the crew when they elected him as captain. His first order of business as the new captain had been hiring a navigator. Lora could tell he was doing it to keep her in check in some weird game of jealously. She didn't take well to it. She let words fly that day, and left the crew then and there. She had no desire for her brothers' petty games. Not when their father had just passed.
Lora jumped crew to crew, never really devoting her loyalty to any one. Usually would leave port in one ship , and would choose a new one at the next. She took whatever jobs she could to expand her knowledge of the seas. Traveling with a compass, collection of maps, and the dagger her father had given her. She didn't need much more. She just wanted to stay moving at sea.
Recently after stopping at Zenith port, she struggled getting in contact with a crew that would need a navigator. So, low on money, she took a gamble and applied to a job offer for the Leviathan. Somehow she manage to lie about her identity without getting caught. Or perhaps they knew and didn't care due to her knowledge. She wasn't sure, but at least she's got a job for now.
04.
gallery
05.
connections
Eric Rover
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.
Harlan Rover
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.
Hadden Rover
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.
Cecillia Rover
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Suspendisse finibus erat mi, vel consectetur neque ultrices a. Nulla facilisi. Fusce at quam ut sem pharetra posuere nec nec enim. Mauris rhoncus fermentum sapien, ac finibus mi tempus sed.
06.
miscellaneous
Royalty?
"Superficial and bunch of cowards locked in their castle. Don't hate them, but I don't like nor trust them either."
Pirates??
"That a trick question? Asking a pirate their opinions on pirates?? Of course I don't mind them. "
The Leviathan
"I needed a job. No pirate crews have docked in port for a while now. So when I heard they were hiring a navigator for this big fancy ship, I gave it a try. Surprised they accepted me....it was so awkward coming up with lies on the spot. I mean...."Louise Fletcher? What kind of name is that? Well they believed it and hired me, that's on them. Job is a job. I'll jump ship if they try to shackle me though. "
Reputation
"The Ole Rover is a well known ship. Well....known enough among fellow pirates and the royal guard I guess. We were no Corsairs, but I imagine theres a few storys out there about my family's ship. It's been captained by my grandfather, father, and now my brothers.
Most pirates will know me, I'm sure my brothers have spread word not to trust me due to my "unloyalty". My loyalty was to my dad, and will belong to no other captain. Hence why I jump ship to ship. Their opinions of me likely vary based on how much they believe my brother's words.
Most pirates will know me, I'm sure my brothers have spread word not to trust me due to my "unloyalty". My loyalty was to my dad, and will belong to no other captain. Hence why I jump ship to ship. Their opinions of me likely vary based on how much they believe my brother's words.
♡coded by uxie♡
scroll
scroll
❝
When you believe in something, you give it power over you.
Zaira
The Unfaithful
Zaira
full name
Zaira Sezen
alias
Kadri (Formerly), Zaira, The Oracles Hand (Formerly)
age
29 yrs old
p.o.b.
Cascades
status
Low Society, Criminal (In The Cascades Only)
faction
Covenant Of Aethera (Formerly)
ANTI-HERO
Sekai no owari
01.
visage
height
165.3 cm
weight
60.32 Kg
hair c.
Raven black.
eye c.
A mix of brown and grey
faceclaim
Merve Boluğu
02.
psyche
She's the whisper in the dark, telling you to doubt everything you know. Zaira is not a person of faith, despite growing up serving the Oracles every order. In fact, she despises them and the so called Stars. Though, she's only ever shown it too people of alike minds. To most of those who followed the belief, she was a devoted follower. The kind hand of the Oracles, doing the tasks they gave her. Something like an assistant to them. A servant of their will.
She's cunning. Always looking for opportunities that benefit her or allow her to spite the Oracles. Spite is her driving factor. Everything she's done up to this point was in spite. A bitter heart directed toward those who blindly follow the Oracles or the Stars. That said, she can be an extremely loyal friend or ally. Zaira would die to protect her friends. She take secrets to the grave for them. To her, friends are her family.
She's an adaptable person, always prepared to improvise when her plans go awry. It's what got her this far. She enjoys challenging authority as well as pushing the limits of what's allowed. Can be vain or materialistic. Her words can also come off as hurtful, condescending, or full of sarcasm.
She's cunning. Always looking for opportunities that benefit her or allow her to spite the Oracles. Spite is her driving factor. Everything she's done up to this point was in spite. A bitter heart directed toward those who blindly follow the Oracles or the Stars. That said, she can be an extremely loyal friend or ally. Zaira would die to protect her friends. She take secrets to the grave for them. To her, friends are her family.
She's an adaptable person, always prepared to improvise when her plans go awry. It's what got her this far. She enjoys challenging authority as well as pushing the limits of what's allowed. Can be vain or materialistic. Her words can also come off as hurtful, condescending, or full of sarcasm.
virtues
Charismatic. Loyal. Cunning. Calm. Methodical. Adaptable.
vices
Sarcastic. Skeptical. Deceitful. Amoral. Faithless. Money-minded. Challenges Authority.
likes
Children. Peaches. Stormy weather. Money. Jewelry. Anyone who doesn't like the Covenant. Black cats. Card games. Planning. Traveling.
dislikes
Authority. The Stars. People who follow orders blindly. The Oracles. Anything to do with fate. Being given orders. Ugly dresses. Insects. Gun shots.
fears
She fears a painful death, but not death it's self. Falling ill. Disease.
habits
Will run to a child if they cry, she can't help it. "Piano fingers"; moves her fingers as if playing a piano when thinking. Eye-rolling.
Hobbies
Card games. Drinking contests. Sewing. Challenging authority figures. Styling hair. Lockpicking. Provoking those who follow the Oracles. Climbing.
strengths
Loyal. Good at keeping secrets. Adaptable. Cunning. Lockpicking. Scaling walls/Climbing. Styling hair. Sewing. Calming children. A good liar.
weaknesses
Sarcastic. Vain. Provokes others for reaction. Challenges authority. Condescending. Judgmental. No idea how to wield any weapon. Stubborn. Doesn't follow orders. Will bite you if you try restraining her.
03.
history
Followers of the Stars are rampant within the Cascades. Zaira's parents were no different. A family with many mouths to feed, they gave up their child to the Covenant at the mere age of eight years old. They told her that is was "the Stars will" and she took it to heart. Though, not the way they were expecting her too. Zaira at that age took it as the Stars told her parents to get rid of her. Out of 5 siblings, they choose her. She wasn't a bad child, so in her eyes that meant one thing. The Stars didn't like her. The Stars least favorite. She took this as a slight. Resenting the Stars and her parents both. They made their choice, and the young girl made hers. If they were too disown her, she would disown them. From that moment on, she never believed in the Stars words people claimed to hear. She didn't believe in the things the Oracles claimed. After all, the moment you start believing in something, you gave it power. Including power over you.
Despite her inner hatred for the faith, she let the Oracles give her a new name. Kadri. Pure. This began her new life learning to handle chores and running errands. Eventually being appointed as a caretaker over the children the Oracles took in. The ones that could hear the Stars. She swallowed her spite for the Stars each time she heard that name. Zaira gave the image of a devoted and kind caretaker when working with the children. After all, she couldn't say anything reckless. Who knows what the children would tell her employers?
It was during this time she met the Nightingale, assigned to be an assistant and handle their care. Zaira could tell they knew of her dislike of the Stars, but they never said anything. So, she felt she could be more open around them. Leading to a sort of ally like bond.
As she grew older, she gained more free time. By the time she was a young adult, she was secretly conducting what would be called scams. Selling charms she sewed to followers of the Stars. Taking money from followers in exchange for promising to give their words to the Oracles. Zaira managed to keep these scams secret, pocketing the money and keeping it hidden. Well hidden. Never spending any of it.
One faithful day, the Nightingale announced to her they were leaving. It was the first time she was ever surprised by someone's actions. Despite them giving her a chance to leave with them, she stayed. Covering up their tracks and bidding time. The Oracles found out and their was much disorder within the Covenant. Zaira prepared, organizing her grand plan. The Oracles found the clues she left that lead to her assistance in the escape.
A private interrogation was held. It was then Zaira felt truly afraid. Everything was going to her plan, but it could go awry. When they pressed her for details, she claimed innocence. That she was fooled by the Nightingale. They believed her or pretended too. She wasn't entirely sure. They agreed to give her a mission instead of punishment; bring back the Nightingale. She accepted. Backing her belongings; including her hidden wealth. She left the Cascades the next day. Leaving behind the name Kadri.
Despite her inner hatred for the faith, she let the Oracles give her a new name. Kadri. Pure. This began her new life learning to handle chores and running errands. Eventually being appointed as a caretaker over the children the Oracles took in. The ones that could hear the Stars. She swallowed her spite for the Stars each time she heard that name. Zaira gave the image of a devoted and kind caretaker when working with the children. After all, she couldn't say anything reckless. Who knows what the children would tell her employers?
It was during this time she met the Nightingale, assigned to be an assistant and handle their care. Zaira could tell they knew of her dislike of the Stars, but they never said anything. So, she felt she could be more open around them. Leading to a sort of ally like bond.
As she grew older, she gained more free time. By the time she was a young adult, she was secretly conducting what would be called scams. Selling charms she sewed to followers of the Stars. Taking money from followers in exchange for promising to give their words to the Oracles. Zaira managed to keep these scams secret, pocketing the money and keeping it hidden. Well hidden. Never spending any of it.
One faithful day, the Nightingale announced to her they were leaving. It was the first time she was ever surprised by someone's actions. Despite them giving her a chance to leave with them, she stayed. Covering up their tracks and bidding time. The Oracles found out and their was much disorder within the Covenant. Zaira prepared, organizing her grand plan. The Oracles found the clues she left that lead to her assistance in the escape.
A private interrogation was held. It was then Zaira felt truly afraid. Everything was going to her plan, but it could go awry. When they pressed her for details, she claimed innocence. That she was fooled by the Nightingale. They believed her or pretended too. She wasn't entirely sure. They agreed to give her a mission instead of punishment; bring back the Nightingale. She accepted. Backing her belongings; including her hidden wealth. She left the Cascades the next day. Leaving behind the name Kadri.
04.
gallery
05.
connections
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06.
miscellaneous
Royalty?
"Ahh...nobility. How I envy their little cushiony lives and wealth. Must be soooo nice. As long as they aren't in my face giving orders, I don't care. Don't expect me to respect their so called power or the King's commands. I have had enough of following orders."
Pirates??
"They mind their own, I mind my own. Simple put; don't care long as they leave me alone."
The Leviathan
"A giant boat full of people. A cruise of a life time. It sounded too thrilling to pass up. Besides being on a boat keeps me moving without having to actually walk or find travel. Gives me a perfect opportunity to find a quiet place to settle down and live in comfort with the wealth I've taken. Oh my mission? Could care less. Let the Oracles solve their own damned problems for once. Do tell the madam I'm sorry for stealing her ticket, but she shouldn't have left it unattended. How foolish. "
Reputation
In the Cascades she was know as the Oracles hand. Trusted for her devoted faith and kind image. Though it was all an act. Most till think of her fondly if they met her within the places of faith. The Oracles called her Kadri; pure.
When it was discovered she aided in the escape of the nightingale, she pleaded her innocence. Claiming to be fooled. The Oracles believed her, and wanting to handle the matter quietly; sent her to hunt them down. People were told she was serving somewhere else, rewarded for her contributions. Truth was they were likely happy to get rid of her quietly without drawing attention to the missing nightingale.
When it was discovered she aided in the escape of the nightingale, she pleaded her innocence. Claiming to be fooled. The Oracles believed her, and wanting to handle the matter quietly; sent her to hunt them down. People were told she was serving somewhere else, rewarded for her contributions. Truth was they were likely happy to get rid of her quietly without drawing attention to the missing nightingale.
♡coded by uxie♡
[/QUOTE]
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Nifty
ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ
➳❥ 𝕯𝖔𝖑𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘 𝕿𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖓𝖊
𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖊: 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖌𝖊
𝕱𝕮: 𝕯𝖎𝖓𝖆 𝕯𝖊𝖓𝖔𝖎𝖗𝖊
♡coded by uxie♡
the scourge.
scroll
Dolores
Thorne
ㅎㅎ
01.
full name
Dolores Thorne
02.
alias
Dol, Lori or Res.
03.
age
Twenty-six (26 years old)
04.
gender
Female (She/Her/Hers)
05.
P.O.B
The Cascades
06.
Status
Privateer
07.
Role
The Scourge
Death
is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.
visage
height
5’7” or 170cm
weight
55kg or 121 lbs
hair colour
Ebony Black.
eye colour
Dark Chocolate.
hair
Dolores's sculpted face is framed with an uncontrollably elegant wave of thick, ebony curls. Every ringlet is unique, spiralling down in glossy waves with a rich, black sheen when they catch the light. Her hair has a lively and bouncy texture that beautifully combines tenacity and softness. It is like an untamable mane she has to subdue with a fabric headband.
eyes
Large, seductive doe eyes surrounded by thick, black lashes that softly stroke her cheeks as she blinks. A set of deep, umber eyes with the appearance of having been covered in rich, dark chocolate. Beneath her innocent stare is the eye of a killer capable of far more pleasant things, like revenge.
skin
She has a soft, sunkissed copper complexion with a warm, bronze undertone. Looking closely, you can see the tiny freckles dappling around her nose and cheeks, adding a charm to her overall appearance. Like specks of cinnamon, they fabricate a lovely glow to her smooth and youthful skin.
build
Her body is gracefully proportioned despite her small stature. She is blessed with narrow shoulders that slope gently, leading to slender arms and hands that seem almost fragile but surprisingly strong. With a cinched waist that accentuates her lithe figure, her hips subtly flare, giving her a soft, feminine silhouette. Her legs are well-shaped and slim, and she has an air of lightness and daintiness when she moves. Despite her delicate size, her presence was the sort to captivate others through poise and grace.
body mods.
Despite the fierce air of independence that surrounds her, the branded mark on her wrist tells a story of binding allegiance. Dolores carries a clear sign of the King’s pardon—a double-edged sword of freedom and servitude.
face claim
Dina Denoire
persona
Cynic. Calculative. Cruel.
These are the words that would describe Dolores Thorne the best. In the eyes of others, she delivers absolute judgement with cold and ruthless accuracy. When the crown has numerous swords under its command, Dolores is its dagger, small, precise and lethal.
A cold and guarded individual. She refuses to let anybody in her thoughts and heart, not because she fears them but because she has grown weary of human connection. Everybody is out to get her, and it is up to her whether or not the weakness of being emotionally vulnerable is worth it for that one moment of understanding. In her eyes, it is a risk she is still unprepared to take.
This young maiden isn’t as unemotional as you might think. Agitation is the most extreme expression she can express. Piss her off; she won’t opt for immediate death. No, she will simply fling a dagger at a tendon with lethal precision, just enough for you to shut up and enough for you to suffer.
Dolores is fully capable of delivering the type of action that would hinder the saints of the group. She could produce a different perspective on a few situations that demand a decisive and unflinching resolve. In some scenarios where others might hesitate due to ethical concerns, the maiden with the curly mane would step in if needed with a ruthless efficiency that leaves no room for doubt. This could either make her a formidable asset or a complete nightmare to work with.
likes
Knives
Blood
Sea shanties
A hot bath
Targets
Darts
The night and the stars
Cleaning and proper hygiene
Lavender-scented stuff
Flowers
dislikes
Tall people
Fur and feathers
Diseases
Coldness
Liars
Thieves
Hypocrites
Mud
Loud noises
Affection
Children
Lusty and abusive men
strengths
Singing
Accurate aim
Lie detection
Following orders
Dextrous body
Unbreakable fighting spirit
How to hide a body
Intimate knowledge of the human psyche and anatomy, specifically how to break them. (This is a fancy way of me saying torture for interrogation.)
weaknesses
Emotional vulnerability
Deep and honest conversations
Cooking
Shitty hair products
Team-work
Skin-to-skin contact
Shelves, she’s short (She puts the short in shawty.)
Pet Allergy (Feathers and furs should be enough to have her in a sneezing fit.)
Lifting or any activities using muscle, so she’s shit at close combat too.
fears
➳❥ Being taken advantage of. Used and discarded like an unfeeling piece of flesh.
➳❥ Being tickled. Try, and you’ll get a dagger to the throat.
➳❥ Re-living the worst parts of her past. Dolores doesn’t want to admit it, but the next time something traumatic happens to her, she will be pushed to the brink of insanity, which will cause her to break in all aspects, mentally, physically and spiritually. And she doesn’t want that.
➳❥ Being emotionally vulnerable with someone.
habits
➳❥ A clear sign of agitation is with foot or finger tapping. Lip biting is for anxiety.
➳❥ Whenever she sneezes, she always assumes there’s an animal around. She will always pinch her nose and inspect the area fervently when this happens. And if an animal is around, she’ll wave a middle finger at it while moving away.
➳❥ When a sea shanty is being sung, she will definitely join in.
hobbies
➳❥ Journaling in her spare time. There are also some sketches in addition to every entry, and they’re pretty decent.
➳❥ Maintaining her daggers in a perfect condition.
➳❥ Cleaning: She thrives in a clean space, so expect her to keep the ship and its canons tidy and cared for. No barnacles are safe.
headcanons
➳❥ “What’s my body count? It should be in the triple digits now… Wait. What does sex have to do with it? Yes, I’m still a virgin… Consensually, at least.”
➳❥ She puts the fatal in femme fatale.
➳❥ A firm non-believer of romance. Cupid is dead, and you can’t change her mind. But when she’s ‘in love’ with someone, she will deny it until it becomes more of a manic obsession.
➳❥ She has a particular dislike towards people taller than her, which is almost everybody. She sometimes envies them when she sees them, ideally reaching the top shelf.
➳❥ Blood and guts don’t make them flinch. But mud? “Ew, get that shit away from me.”
➳❥ Mobwifehusband energy.
➳❥ She has a resting ‘I don’t give a fuck’ face. She also has a relatively good poker face.
➳❥ Proper personal hygiene is essential to her. Dolores has an extensive hair routine, including olive oil and lavender drops that leave her smelling like lavender.
playlist
history
Choice
T.W. This section is particularly heavy on violence and blood. There are also topics of heavily implied pedophilia and sexual abuse. So please read at your own discretion.
When a blacksmith forges a new blade, first, a thought of a design bubbles through their head; this is followed by choice—a choice between the metals that are to be used to craft the blade itself. With too much ferrite, the blade breaks, and with too little steel, the blade dulls. Each minuscule decision or mistake will have an everlasting effect, forging resilience or fragility (I suppose you could say the same thing when taking responsibility for a child.) Every birth of a new weapon must always begin with a choice. It is simply a beginning stage that would sprout many outcomes with one correct path.
The path that Omar Thorne took changed the life of a young and lost girl, for better or worse. In one fateful night outside the towering spires and ivory walls of the Cascades, a young girl, barely clinging to life, bore the clear and horrid outline of her bones beneath her pale, sallow skin. Besides the origami lantern that clung to her shaking and vulnerable hands, the girl had nothing, no personal items, no identity and no memories.
Later on, this entry was found when Omar’s journal was found: “It’s a somewhat off-putting day for me today. Nothing in particular was worth noting down until I met… her. I was just going on about my day, dumping the newly executed bodies outside the walls; the things out there are much better at cleaning up the bodies than our cremation centres, to be honest. I’ve never had the pleasure of exploring beyond, so seeing them just standing there with those lifeless eyes of hers was quite unsettling.
I’ve seen and caused the most gruesome sights any human eyes have ever witnessed, and yet that little girl managed to slither an eerie chill throughout my spine. As she emerged before me, it was as if the shadows themselves birthed this girl.
I don’t know what came over me, but I wanted to bring her to the light, into this bright city. So that’s exactly what I did. Perhaps the people can finally see that I’m not the monster they want me to be.”
Omar Thorne is the infamous executioner of the Cascades. He has served as the government’s axe with ruthless efficiency and an imposing presence. He was a figure who sternly commanded fear and respect in equal measure. His reputation was built on the unflinching justice he delivered, which is far from the image of a saviour who approached the ghoulish child. Something in him stirred; perhaps it was the flicker of humanity long buried beneath his stoic exterior.
The union of the executioner’s firm hand and the girl’s potential hinted at the paradox of creation that could emerge from destruction, revealing that even in the harshest places, enveloped in darkness, the seed of compassion could take root and flourish. As he lifted the girl’s frail body into his arms, her head rested against the cold metal of his executioner’s armour, a stark contrast to the warmth and life he silently vowed to restore in her.
From that single choice of compassion grew a girl with a mild spark of humanity in her eyes. The once gloomy girl looked less… ghoulish and flourished under Omar’s fatherly care and love. Under his guidance, she learned how to read, write and look after herself. From that moment forward, the little girl was named Dolores Thorne, the adoptive daughter of Cascades’ infamous hangman.
Forge
In order for a raw piece of unshaped and untamed metal to properly form its destined shape, it must endure gruelling periods of blistering heat from the forge’s relentless inferno. Even though this process is a brutal endeavour, it is essential for transforming a simple alloy into a weapon of precision and power. In this process, the metal is heated until it glows brightly, nearly on the verge of crying, only to be beaten into submission by the blacksmith’s hammer. This relentless cycle of heating and beating ensures that the metal becomes capable of withstanding the demands of battle without breaking. I suppose you could say the same thing in this gruelling phase of Dolores’ teenhood.
There enters Quinlan Wright, whose outward appearance of stern authority masks a far darker reality. Quinlan held a significant position within the Cascades as its judge; the people saw him as the human embodiment of order and discipline whose decisions were unquestioned and justified. He commands respect and obedience from those around him, including Omar Thorne.
Together, they would make the most unlikely friends; one embodies lawfulness and purity, while the other is death and blighted. These people couldn’t be wrong anymore about who the real monster between them was.
When Omar would leave the young girl, Dolores, under his care, the atmosphere would often ominously shift. Quinlan, the supposed protector in Omar’s absence, transformed into a hunter. Quinlan’s predatory gaze would fix upon her, and how she wished it remained as a mere gaze. These horrific encounters of cruelty and exploitation scarred her body, mind and soul, filling her with a sense of dread and helplessness each time she found herself alone with him. The scars he left her may be invisible, yet they profoundly impacted her shattered innocence.
When Omar Thorne started catching on, the rage that bubbled inside him wasn’t the only emotion he felt. However, before he could take action and in an act of cruel twist of fate, Omar found himself trapped in a web of more deceit and betrayal. A stoke of misfortune for Omar and luck for Quinlan. He was wrongfully accused of a crime he is so adamant that he did not commit. In the last entries of his diary, he even accused Quinlan of orchestrating this whole conspiracy to get his dirty hands on Dolores.
The very system he had served so faithfully turned against him. The accusations of his crime were meticulously fabricated, leaving little room for doubt in the minds of the jury and the judge, Quinlan Wright. His trial was swift and decisive, and the verdict was determined before the trial started. As the final judgement proceeded, the same cold efficiency he delivered was now used against him. He was sentenced to death, but the bitter irony was not lost on him. And in his final moments, his mind was filled with thoughts of Dolores, the child he found without a parent. He regretted being in a position where he had no power to help the little girl he had failed to protect.
As the blade descended, he died, knowing that the pure white wolves would feast on the girl he found within the umbrage that engulfed the ivory city. He wondered if she would’ve been safer within the shadow’s embrace.
His death would serve as a stark reminder of the flaws within the very system he had upheld. It became a testament to the dangers of power one person held.
Quinlan Wright remained to be the source of Dolores’ misery as she soon found herself under his care after Omar’s execution. While some saw this as an act of kindness, Dolores perceived this as a death sentence. It was a much more gruesome and soul-depleting verdict even Omar wouldn’t have been able to execute.
Sharpen
Sharpening a newly forged blade is one of the most crucial periods in the process of creating an efficient tool for violence. It is the stage where the blade lacks a precise edge, and with proper care, even the dullest blade can be honed to perfection and purpose. In this stage of Dolores’ life, she’s slowly entering adulthood, much like a forged dagger. Her raw potential needed direction and refinement to become lethal and precise.
Using the hardships she endured as a grindstone, her will to survive and flee from the wolves sharpened as well. In a desperate attempt to escape the nightmarish household that had become her prisoner, Dolores boldly decided to follow in her late adoptive father’s footsteps and become Cascade’s next executioner.
As she dove deeper into her new profession, she uncovered the unsettling additions behind Omar’s occupation. His role not only involved delivering justice through executions but also included the lost art of interrogation. She was given her late father’s journals, which meticulously documented his methods, guiding Dolores to the precise techniques for execution with cold and calculated efficiency.
Through those journals, she felt closer to her father’s spirit and in her darkest times, when she found herself in desperate need of comfort, she would often be found reading the item. Despite the horror of her late father’s methods, a small part of her found a twisted admiration for his expertise and dedication. Determined to utilise every advantage she has, Dolores studied Omar’s guide fervently. Whenever the opportunity arose, she practised these methods on the prisoners, her unwilling participants, and picturing Quinlan’s face made her job much more bearable for her.
Taking a life became more routine for her, as if she was a simple cog in a mechanical system known as justice. With each execution she performed, no matter how cruel, the boundaries of her morality blurred, and the distinction between right and wrong grew fainter. The clearest sign of her complete detachment is her abandonment of her late father’s journal. She became so desensitised to the violence that her actions were guided more by muscle memory than a conscious thought. This marks a dark evolution in Dolores, transforming her into an efficient instrument of death and the symphony of information her victims played under her cruelty even caught the eye of a particular King and a Cascade Judge.
As Dolores slowly rose as the executioner, it disturbed the judge greatly. Driven by his twisted desire for control and lust, he found himself once again crawling uninvited towards Dolores’ bed. But he was quickly met by a fearless woman who drew a dagger against his… manhood.
A tense pause filled the room.
After the sound of rippling fabric shattered the silence between them, the sharp blade sliced through Quinlan’s… parts with an agonising precision. For once, she finally felt justice coursing through her veins as a chorus of fear and pained screams echoed through the room.
With a menacing grin plastered on her face, she asked him a simple question, her voice dripping with venom. “What’s the matter? Has the blade grown too sharp for you?” She taunted.
With eyes so empty, she proved the saying ‘eyes are the windows to the soul’ to be false. They either haven’t seen Dolores’ eyes, or Dolores’ soul has wholly left her.
Sheathe
Every blade needs its sheathe; without it, it remains a dangerous hazard. In this stage, Dolores desperately needs a sheathe, a protective covering that gives her deadly skills purpose and direction. And this surprisingly came in the form of a crown.
In the aftermath of her act of defiance, Dolores attempted to flee, but she only managed to evade for less than three days. She eventually got caught and was brought before the King himself. The King himself weighed the circumstances; despite the gravity of her actions, there had been no loss of life, a factor that played in her favour. This ultimately led her to be pardoned and be marked as a privateer. This new status offered a semblance of legitimacy as well as a path away from the nightmarish memories of her past.
From the early moments, the brand settled on her wrist; she was no longer Cascade’s executioner but a sanctioned agent of the crown.
For the past two years, Dolores has acted under the crown’s orders as its blade and expert informant. Even though her skill set is situational, she still finds purpose in them through her ability to deal with knives and death.
The King sheathes another tool in his arsenal: Dolores Thorne, the mistress of daggers and interrogation.
TL ; DR
➳❥ Dolores’ parents remain unknown, and she was found outside the walls of the Cascades by its very executioner, Omar Thorne.
➳❥ Teenhood is where her trauma arc begins—abused in the worst ways? Tick! Loss of parental figure twice in a lifetime? Double check! Lived with your worst enemy? Triple that thing!
➳❥ Dolores’ training arc. When she was at the proper age to make an appropriate living, she immediately said, “Aight bet, you want an executioner? I gotcha, fam.” This is the stage where she learnt all sorts of interrogation techniques.
➳❥ Oh! And she also neutered a Cascades Judge. This led to the king’s pardon, branding her as a pirate and a kingsman by contract. She has been roaming around Solas for the past two years under royalty orders.
➳❥ Fun Fact: The stages of her life mimic the appropriate process of making a dagger—her weapon of choice. A witty nudge to what she is, just another tool within the king’s gigantic arsenal.
extra
Lethal Woman
Dove Cameron
connections
misc.
connections
Omar Thorne
“I miss you, dad…”
Known for his unwavering hand as an excecutioner, he found his life irrevocably altered the day he saw a young girl outside the ivory walls of The Cascades. When he took Dolores in under his wing, he hoped the people would finally see him as a kind and gentle person, but they still saw him as the cold and calculating hangman. Little did the people know the worst thoughts they harboured for Omar manifested themselves in the form of Dolores later on.
Despite what the people may think, Omar was a fantastic father figure. Dolores grieved heavily when the justice system he worked for took his life. In his final thoughts, he regretted failing her as a father and protector.
In Dolores’ solemn and quiet moments, she may be seen whispering a prayer for her father’s spirit. Whether for her health or some spare guidance, she will always remain grounded through her father’s spirit.
Quinlan Wright
“I hope you go through all the circles in hell with your entrails sagging behind you. Touch me again, and I will make that your reality.”
In every trial, there is the jury, judge, and executioner. Quinlan is Cascades’ most beloved judge, but in Dolores’ eyes, he is the executioner of her innocence and virtue. After Omar’s death, Quinlan took in Dolores, and people saw this as an act of kindness; unbeknownst to them, death would have treated her more kindly than Quinlan’s company.
Extra
QUOTE 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
“Some say she tortured people in their cells for fun.”
“Gruesome woman with an even more gruesome of a father.”
“That brute had a daughter? Poor thing to be influenced by a monster like that.”
“Death surrounds her like a plague wherever she goes. She’s the human embodiment of a scourge.”
Within the purifying gates of the Cascades, she is known by the people as the executioner who taints their hands red within their pearly white walls. In a more recent gossip about her, she is known as the executioner who mutilated the righteous Judge Quinlan. If she were to revisit her homeland, she would have her eyes peeled for Quinlan Wright.
Dolores is a relatively well-known individual who caused scandalous rumours two years ago, leading to her being a privateer. She has made a name for herself by delivering precise executions to most thieves and criminals who challenged Cascades’ justice system. The stench of death around her continues to sour the tastes of some people.
As for the other places she has visited, she has remained civil and mindful, remaining only as a traveller to some.
motivation
“Must there always be meaning and purpose?”
In this stage of Dolores’ journey, she is simply drifting and mindlessly pursuing the King’s requests. She lives her life day by day, hoping she will eventually find her true purpose. She has yet to find her personal motivation, and every year that ticks past, her heart grows heavier. Nobody wants to feel like a void of uselessness.
boarding
“As per King Rowan’s orders, I’m obliged to board the Leviathan. I suppose a smooth sailing will be too much to ask for if he intends to place me there.”
Dolores will board the Leviathan by the King’s orders and papers. As the voyage sets, she will represent the King’s wishes and keep the ship from sinking metaphorically and literally.
faction
“No.”
None. Dolores is a Privateer. For the past two years, after receiving the brand for her crime, she has lived her life as such, a pardoned criminal who is now being used at the King’s discretion. She’s neither related to pirates nor royalty.
opinion on royalty
“I’ve been told by so many I should love them. Will I? Fuck no. But the fine print in my contract says I have to obey them or else I ☐☐☐ ☐☐☐ ☐☐☐, so here I am. (¬_¬)”
Despite being pardoned by the King, Dolores feels no attachment or appreciation to the king and nobility. Her loyalty to them simply quells her purposelessness. Within their service, Dolores can keep going through her life with purpose. However, her loyalty to them remains a distant thread that can easily be broken under the correct circumstances.
Dolores takes a neutral stand when it comes to royalty.
opinion on piracy
“Hey, if executioner can be a career option, anything is possible. Though, as long as they don’t trouble me specifically or get close to me with their nasty teeth, then I suppose they’re alright.”
As long as it doesn’t affect or bother her specifically, she has no issues with it. She believes that people are free to do whatever they want, and she deeply admires the freedom and courage of piracy. People who don’t fear the guillotine are something she can respect. However, if a pirate ever crosses her personally, she won’t be afraid to skin them alive.
Dolores takes a neutral stand when it comes to piracy.
dolores' development
“I want… What do I want?”
At this point, Dolores doesn’t know what she wants from her life. She remains an aimless servant to the crown. But as my baby, I would like her to have a good ending, a suitable purpose for her to strive and settle for. But I would want her to earn that, whether it would be through cruel lessons or a reminder of her father. I’m most definitely down to anything for her to achieve that. She is a rather deadly individual who is capable of actual murder, but I would want her to mellow out near the end. This is where the found family trope will be critical for her development.
Dolores is the type of character who has nothing left to lose, so for her adventure, I would want her to finally find something worth living for. So basically, it's a redemption and healing arc for my girl.
Traumatic encounters are very welcome as well. However, the best way to do this is by revisiting the final boss of her trauma, Quinlan Wright. She could either kill him or expose him for the true monster that he is; either of those options will work delightfully for her and me!
Oh! And perhaps Dolores finds her birth parents. Her amnesia leaves a multitude of possibilities that can be utilised at the GM’s discretion. This will definitely need some work, but I’ll flesh this out if and when accepted.
availability
Yes! Definitely! Absolutely! This character, in particular, is an absolute exclusive for a scrumptious Gao RP. So if they’re not accepted, feel free to always get in touch with me! ♡♡♡
♡coded by uxie♡
⪼ 𝕮𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖁𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊
𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖊: 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖉𝖎𝖌𝖆𝖑
𝕱𝕮: 𝕬𝖓𝖞𝖆 𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖔𝖙𝖗𝖆
♡coded by uxie♡
the prodigal.
scroll
Cadence
Valiente
ㅎㅎ
01.
full name
Cadence Valiente
02.
alias
Cady or DidiBrat By Tiberius
03.
age
Twenty-one (21 years old)
04.
gender
Female (She/Her/Hers)
05.
P.O.B
Sirroco Sands
06.
Status
High Society
07.
Role
The Prodigal
Dance
is your pulse, your heartbeat, your breathing. It’s the rhythm of your life. It’s the expression in time and movement, in happiness, joy, sadness and envy.
visage
height
5’6” or 170cm
weight
58kg or 127lbs
hair colour
Wavy Black
eye colour
Rare Violet
hair
Smooth and soft as the silent waves of the sea in the inky night, her hair cascades right down in the middle of her small back when straightened. However, its natural waves give it a playful, rebellious curl that mirrors her energetic spirit. Since Cadence is one to hop around sprightly, her locks would often add to her already vibrant nature. Each strand bounces with enough whimsy and enthusiasm when she adds a skip to her walk.
eyes
A signature trait for the Valiente bloodline. Those born with bright amethyst eyes are known to be from the Valiente family. A ticket to their luxurious legacy as the builders of Coliseo de Valiente.
Some believe Valiente’s violet eyes resulted from a mystical union between a human and a beast, while others claim that the lineage's distinctive gaze is a witch's work. Since the truth has been passed down from one voice to another throughout history, no one knows the complete explanation for their violet eyes—except for the lone and often overlooked fact that the Valientes are excellent swimmers.
skin
Saved from the scorching sun of Sirocco, her skin remained flawless and pearl-like. With the most extravagant and soothing facial routine money can buy, her skin remained smooth and well-maintained. Each step of her meticulous skincare regimen is designed to nourish and preserve her skin in Sirocco’s harsh elements.
build
Tall, lithe, and graceful—the perfect physique for aspiring ballerinas. With the expert guidance she received from her mother, a former ballerina of Zenith, she was meticulously trained to mould her body into the ideal form she desired. Every drop of sweat, blood, and tears was her to own and to be proud of. Her body alone captures elegance from her waist to her lithe limbs; she exudes a natural elegance that took years of disciplined practice to refine.
body mods.
Her ears are pierced for any extravagant earrings she wishes to wear. Expensive Cascadian gemstones, preferably.
face claim
Anya Chalotra as Yennefer of Vengerberg
persona
VIRTUES
⪼ BUBBLY —Enthusiasm flows through her veins like an electrifying sensation. Cadence has always been an exciteful companion to gain, the type to liven up a dull room. Her energy becomes bottomless the moment she enters a social function. She is always talking and entertaining. A skill she eagerly developed as a noble whose family trade is entertainment.
Whimsical? Yes!
Annoying? Definitely!!
Chihuahua? Absolutely!!!
⪼ RESILIENT —While she lacks the muscle to be strong, strength comes in other ways. Cadence's strength lies in being resilient, whether from a venomous comment or a failed attempt. Cadence will always find herself standing back up no matter what. Even though her flesh and bones are fragile, she will always find a way to nourish her spirit. The art of ballet taught her that. She was composed, beautiful and enduring. Even if your feet bleed, you continue dancing.
⪼ OPTIMIST —Call it fool’s hope, or whatever you desire. Cadence has a handful of them. This goes for her relationships with other people. She hasn’t experienced anything traumatic, so learning her lesson will take her time. But whatever situation she finds herself in, Cadence will always be able to see the good in any scenario. Except when the situation ruins her dress, jewels, or anything she treasures most. She will only put on an unserious and overdramatic act, even though it can simply be fixed by stitching or polishing.
⪼ HUMOUROUS —No matter the time of day, Cadence will always pop a joke or two. She thinks she’s funny, though her humour is not for everyone. She could watch sliced bread succumb to gravity, making her burst into uncontrollable laughter as if the finest jesters of Solas had tickled a bone in her body. Simply put, her humour is broken, and she giggles at anything silly or simple. This also makes her appear approachable and open to conversations, which she is most of the time.
VICES
⪼ RECKLESS —Cadence may find herself in trouble due to her callous nature and loud mouth. While she can carry some sort of decorum due to the etiquette lessons she has engraved in herself when she was a child, Cadence can also find herself slipping away from that the more distance she puts from her home. Cadence is also prone to making mistakes and perhaps even pissing off the wrong people. But hey, that’s what Tiberius is for.
⪼ NAIVE —The little ballerina doesn’t have much experience with the real world, so she might as well be prone to lies and manipulations. She also lacks experience with the necessities to take care of herself. Does she know how to warm her milk? How to turn the stove on? No, she’s clueless and helpless in those departments. Cadence still has much to learn about the world; I doubt she’ll love it.
⪼ LAZY —Being surrounded by servants has allowed her to be highly dependant on them. While she lounges in luxury, focusing only on maintaining her appearance, her servants attend to her every need, handling all the tasks that require genuine effort. Despite her otherwise leisurely existence, filled with frequent naps and moments of carefree relaxation, ballet remains the one activity she approaches with genuine commitment and passion. Other than that, she can be seen napping most of the time.
⪼ SPOILED —A trait she developed in a privileged household. She has acclimatised to having her every whim catered to without question. Her upbringing as the viscount's daughter instilled an expectation of unwavering attention from those around her, especially those who are ‘beneath’ her. This could result in a few foul first impressions of her from lower society.
likes
Nap
Ballet
Violet
Drama
Shopping
Games
Orange juice
Luxury items
Shiny things
Gladiatorial tournaments
Jewelry, specifically the Cascadian gemstones
dislikes
Sand
Silence
Frugality
Snitches
Sore feet
Sweating
Beggars
Boredom
Reading
Ugly things
Shadowed areas
Cheap drinks
Physical labour
Dull colours
strengths
Dancing
Yapping
Swimming
Quick feet
Spending money
High society connections
Tiberius, he’s her scary dog privilege
weaknesses
Chores
Terrible morality
Lack of money
Lack of muscle
Nyctophobia, extreme fear of the dark
Lack of basic survival instincts
fears
⪼ Being poor forever.
⪼ Being alone forever.
⪼ Being left alone in a peasant’s home… forever.
⪼ If she lost everything she held dear, like her parents and her ability to dance, expect her to be at the lowest point in her life. She rarely faced any hardships throughout her life, so facing one as real and as tragic as this is something she always thinks about. That one ‘what if’ that lingers at the back of her mind.
habits
⪼ When something displeases her, she immediately goes to daddy. Yes, her father will hear about this. (Dracocore)
⪼ If she doesn't get what she wants, she will pout and silently curse whoever didn't bring her those things.
⪼ She firmly believes that there is no problem that money can’t solve. So she’ll just throw her money carelessly if something inconveniences her.
hobbies
⪼ Dancing. It ranges from a silly and random jig to a few graceful ballet movements. You’ll never know with her.
⪼ Talking about her interests or just talking a lot. She can’t handle being alone.
⪼ Napping. Her favourite.
headcanons
⪼ She can't girlboss without her fucking coffee! (Brittany Broski Coded)
⪼ Please, someone play mermaid with her. She promises not to be too overpowered this time. By the way, her tail has crystals, and she is the princess of everything, so you have to obey her.
⪼ She gives off, “Father! When can I leave to be on my own? I have the wholeworldtussy~world to see!”
⪼ Do you know that type of energy when you sing in the shower? No? Just me? Okay, anyway, imagine that, except in a human form. Yeah, that’s Cadence Valiente for you.
playlist
history
Plié
T.W. Spoiled child.
To bend is to obey.
From the moment she entered the world, Cadence Valiente was enveloped in luxury, with the finest silks Sirocco could offer brushing against her delicate skin. As the first-born daughter of the prestigious Valiente line, her life was destined to be one of privilege and influence. Her father, Viscount Cornelius Valiente, realised the depth of his love and devotion when her tiny hands wrapped around his finger. In that precious moment, he knew that his little girl was not just an heir to a grand legacy but the centre of his universe.
As if his love for his daughter couldn’t flourish further, he proved himself wrong after she opened her eyes, revealing a pair of beautiful orchid orbs.
Coliseo de Valiente stands as the crown jewel of Sirocco’s entertainment industry. It is a grand edifice embodying the essence of exceptional architecture, gallant showmanship, and captivating performances. The Valiente bloodline is as ancient and authentic as the coliseum they helped to build and refine; it is the sole testament of the Valiente’s enduring legacy. Each generation of Valiente has meticulously honed a piece of the coliseum, cementing their legacy through each stone block of the structure.
And Cadence Valiente is the next Valiente to carve her destiny.
Her earliest memories are filled with the typical schedule for a noble child. From the most luxurious school Sirocco could offer to the most influential circle of friends, she has only been given the best of the best. Cadence tasted luxury from her golden spoon without any cost. For a child from a noble family, she sat in the highest and most affluent seat suited for her position. A mere child, Cadence Valiente had more opportunities to grow than the oldest and wisest peasant. That was the societal structure of Sirocco, and this alone shaped her ravenous and spoiled appetite for opulence.
One fateful afternoon, Cadence witnessed a moment that would forever shape her life—her mother, a vision of grace, dancing with a fluidity that seemed almost otherworldly. Every eloquent movement captivated her young heart, each step resonating deep within her, igniting a spark she had never felt before. In that instant, Cadence knew what her heart and soul truly desired. Now alight with newfound passion, her eyes were fixed on her mother, determined to emulate the elegance and mastery she saw before her. In this moment, Cadence discovered the true meaning of obedience, understanding that to achieve such perfection, she would need to dedicate herself fully, with unwavering discipline, to the art of dance.
Relevé
To rise is to fly.
As Cadence grew older, her appetite for luxury expanded beyond the simple desires of childhood. What began as a longing for the latest toys evolved into a craving for the most exquisite dresses and the finest jewels that money could buy. The viscount's daughter quickly became a familiar and even notorious figure among Sirocco's high-end boutiques and jewellers, her name whispered with admiration and envy. Among the nobles, she was admired for her impeccable style. Meanwhile, the less fortunate looked upon her with resentment and longing, their eyes reflecting the unattainable luxury she so effortlessly flaunted. This attention, whether adoring or envious, brought Cadence a twisted satisfaction as she revelled in the power and influence her lavish tastes afforded her.
One faithful night, while Cadence was going to show her father what she had bought that day, her steps halted as her mother’s venomous words reached her ears.
“Our daughter is always out there satiating on her greedy impulses, Cornelius. We–” Her breath sharply seized as if a thought prevented her from speaking. “You have to cease answering her every beck and call. What sort of parents are we if our child walks all over us like this? What would the other great families think? She’s supposed to be the beacon of our house. Does none of this worry you?” Cadence’s steps faltered at her mother’s tone of voice. Within the confines of her spacious home, the walls suddenly began closing in on her, and she found breathing difficult.
“Of course it does, my love.” A sigh escaped her father’s lips. “But I believe in her. She’s just a little girl an–”
Cornelius’s speech was cut off by her mother. “You’re a fool, husband!” Magnolia growled, and frustration bubbled within her. “She’s going to drain the family’s wealth if you continue to indulge her.”
"You speak as if it's your own family name. You merely borrowed it. Don't you dare forget that." The venom in his voice struck Cadence like a blow, making her stomach churn with a sickness she had never felt before. At that moment, the comforting illusion she had held onto—that her family was untroubled, secure in its unity—came crashing down around her. The harsh words left her reeling, forcing her to confront a painful new reality: she was nothing but a problem for them.
“I can’t speak to you right now, Cornelius. I just can’t.” With her mother’s growing footsteps nearing, Cadence found that as her cue to leave.
After overhearing that unsettling conversation produced by her parents, Cadence began to distance herself from them, withdrawing deep into her thoughts to reevaluate her place within the family. The uncomfortable realisation that she might be a source of tension between her parents led her to consider her options more seriously than ever. No longer content with existing in the shadow of her family's name, she took her role as her father's heiress seriously. This newfound determination marked a turning point in her life as she began to channel her energy into becoming the daughter and heir her family needed her to be.
Cadence was by her father’s side each step, diligently studying and taking notes. Her presence initially surprised the viscount, who had never expected her to show such interest. However, it filled him with pride as he saw his daughter take her role more seriously. Slowly, his confidence in her grew stronger. As for Cadence, she was understandably scared and hesitant at first. The weight of the responsibilities she assumed felt overwhelming, and she questioned whether she was prepared for such a significant role. But as time passed, she grew more accustomed to it, finding a sense of satisfaction and enjoyment in her growing influence and the skills she was slowly developing.
During these times, Cadence also tried to balance her responsibilities as an heiress with her passion for ballet. The relentless pursuit of both paths left her increasingly exhausted, and as the years wore on, it became clear that she could no longer sustain both. Faced with this impossible choice, Cadence found herself at a crossroads, forced to decide between her duty to her family and her dream of becoming a ballerina.
Will she chain her feet on the ground as her father's heiress? Or will she let them fly on Solas’ grandest stage, just like her mother once did?
Sautés
To jump is to be free.
After years of working and taking her responsibilities seriously, Cadence desperately craved rest and time to be herself. She simply needed a vacation, and then she came up with a brilliant idea.
Cadence approached her parents with a carefully crafted request: She wanted to take a full year to “figure things out” and “find herself.” She emphasised the need to be out there and exposed to the world before making a final decision about her future. A part of Cadence was honest and genuine. At the same time, her other, more devious side wanted a free vacation away from the stress of being a heiress—a chance to escape the weighty responsibilities that had been wearing her down. She dreamed of a free vacation to indulge in her missed pleasures and freedom. She perfectly balanced her honest intentions with this hidden desire for respite.
When she presented her idea, her overprotective father immediately said no. The thought of his only daughter venturing into the world alone filled him with dread; he imagined all the dangers that could befall her. But when Cadence looked at her mother, her smile said it all; she approved. Her mother believed it would be a learning experience for her. With conflicting views, her parents reached a compromise. Her parents will financially support her with every expense, but on one condition: she will be accompanied by someone of their choosing.
It was then that she met Tiberius Sanctus, Coliseo de Valiente’s prized champion. Cadence was excited to be travelling with her newservantfriend. The viscountess knew her daughter well, so on the dawn, when the two were about to depart. Cadence was given strict orders not to treat Tiberius like a servant but as a friend. The spoiled heiress could only roll her eyes at that statement. On the other hand, her father hugged her tight and promised that whatever decision she made, he would always be proud of her.
Cadence took those words lightly as she sprinted away from her father’s protective arms and her mother’s wise words. At that moment, her feet carried her away from the warmth and safety of her home and towards the freedom the whole world offered. With each step and distance she created, the little ballerina chipped each chain link of the responsibility away and ran head-first towards her complete liberation.
TL ; DR
⪼ Plié: This is her childhood, filled with a mixture of luxurious wishes and bloody footsteps as she discovered the art of ballet through her mother. She was bent and moulded through ballet as her mother's little ballerina.
⪼ Relevé: Her teenhood. This is where her senses pushed her towards the responsibility and expectations of her family. This is where she learns that even her family name has weight. And it is time for her to rise through the occasion.
⪼ Sautés: This is her jumping (to conclusions) out of her parents' care and onto the world’s most extraordinary horizons. The girl worked her ass off, and she wanted out. She is on her way to discovering what she wants in life. It is a luxurious and glorified gap year.
⪼ Fun Fact: Plié means ‘to bend.’ Relevé means ‘to rise.’ Sautés means ‘to jump.’ These are just some terms used for ballet.
extra
Neath The Grove Is a Heart
Yaelokre
connections
misc.
connections
Cornelius Valiente
“Father, can I have my allowance right now?! There’s a new dress on sale that would go perfectly with these new earrings I got!”
Cornelius Valiente bears an astounding resemblance to Jensen Ackles (except with purple eyes.) The viscount is a reasonable man who values his family deeply. Protective, powerful and wealthy. That’s the type of man Cornelius is. After inheriting the Colosseum his ancestors built, along with its profits, Cornelius remained as its guardian, polishing its reputation as the most thrilling and heart-racing sort of entertainment that can be found in all of Solas.
As for his only daughter, Cornelius is willing to do anything to satiate her appetite for luxurious items. He thinks it is only sensible, for what sort of father will he be in his daughter’s eyes if he’s not going to provide what she needs?
Magnolia Valiente
“I want tomake you proudbe like you, mum!”
Magnolia Valiente bears an astounding resemblance to Wendy Beauchamp. She is a renowned ballerina worldwide, famous for her flawless stage movements. At the peak of her career, Magnolia even had the pleasure of performing for Solas' royalty. However, her career became a second priority the moment she met Cornelius. She later became a viscountess and bore him a daughter. Magnolia took her responsibility as a noble lady and a mother as seriously as the art of ballet.
As for Cadence, she aspires to be just as phenomenal in ballet as her mother. Cadence loves her mother, and Magnolia loves her daughter. However, Cadence’s spoiled attitude prevents her from being closer and forming a meaningful relationship with her daughter. The viscountess can be seen as the stricter parent.
Tiberius Sanctus
“Come on, Teddy! Let’s go on an adventure!” [grumbled noises can be heard from the distance]
Tiberius Sanctus bears an astounding resemblance to Joe Anoa’i. While Cadence is the kid who has everything, this gladiator wants everything. Born from the city's lowest slums, he rose from the dirt and mud to be hailed as the most prized champion in the gladiator ring. Tiberius has never lost a fight, making him a prized possession in the Valiente family. The Valientes see him as a mere dog to be tamed, commanded, and profited, so he is tasked to look after Cadence.
As for Cadence, she sees him as a genuine friend. However, she can’t take the hint sometimes and would end up annoying Tiberius.
misc.
reputation
“A Valiente? Like the Coliseum de Valiente? Those Valientes? With the violet eyes?”
“The viscount's daughter is normal at best. She’s nothing special.”
“Oh! She looks like the prima ballerina from back then!”
Cadence is still young and has yet to make a name for herself. Her reputation has only extended to the popularity of her parents. But she is known for her stylish and extravagant lifestyle.
motivation
“I want… I want to see the Queen’s collection of jewels! Imagine how extravagant they are!”
LIE! Her true motivation lies in making her parents proud. Cadence is not an idiot; she knows her mother is ashamed of her spending habits. Late at night, she would catch her parents arguing about the sort of viscountess she would be, and it never fails to make Cadence inadequate. She wants to be a good daughter and meet those expectations, but it would mean she would have to abandon her luxurious lifestyle.
She fails to admit that change is challenging and requires genuine work. And that scares her. Unlike ballet, where you can physically work to be perfect, her psyche is not as strong. Growing up in an indulgent lifestyle has made her hesitant to leave it. But she will if she’s genuinely determined to make her parents proud.
boarding
“Here’s my ticket. Take my bags while you’re at it, too.” [Tosses you about ten bags filled with dresses, jewellery, and shoes.]
Cadence will be boarding legally. She’ll be boarding from Sirocco’s port along with Tiberius.
faction
“Erm, do they have a club for sweet little ladies?”
No, she’s not part of any factions.
opinion on royalty
[dreamy sigh]
Cadence dreams of royalty's lifestyle. Despite her privileged life, this woman still yearns for more. And to sustain her current lifestyle, royalty and the system today must be maintained and protected. The king and his family must be protected. If anything were to happen to them, high society would crumble at the hands of low society. This is what her hyperactive mind would conclude.
Cadence is for royalty.
opinion on piracy
“Blergh! Get those freaks out!”
She thinks she’s way too good for them. If you’re a pirate, she will badmouth you. And when she’s caught, she will cower behind Tiberius. She thinks piracy is completely uncivilised and that if you are a part of this organisation, you are as bad as that Bloody Baron.
Cadence is heavily against piracy.
cadence's development
“Hello!!!? What is this about?! Oh my god, you’re going to make me miserable! I hate you… Okay, I take it back. Can I have my prince charming now?” [eyelashes start fluttering]
Cadence will be one of your typical nobles who initially disregard a peasant’s life. She’ll be your typical spoiled noble who will hopefully learn her lesson throughout this chill voyage. I want her to be more mindful of how she spends money in the future, from someone who uses her money for self-indulgence to someone who uses her money for the good of the people. But she’s going to struggle first before that.
I also want her to eventually take her place as the future viscountess and owner of the Colosseum de Valiente. Whatever lesson she learned from being in the Leviathan, I want her to carry that onto whatever legacy she’s about to make. I like that the experience will shape her as a person. So that when she finally gets dropped back at Sirocco, she knows she’s ready to take her place as her father’s heir. I want her to dance her heart before finally settling down with the life she wants.
♡coded by uxie♡
➺ 𝕿𝖎𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝕾𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖙𝖚𝖘
𝕽𝖔𝖑𝖊: 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕲𝖑𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖆𝖙𝖔𝖗
𝕱𝕮: 𝕵𝖔𝖊 𝕬𝖓𝖔𝖆ʻ𝖎
♡coded by uxie♡
the gladiator.
scroll
tiberius
Sanctus
ㅎㅎ
01.
full name
Tiberius Sanctus
02.
alias
Rusticus (Past Name)Teddy by Cadence
03.
age
Twenty-nine (29 years old)
04.
gender
Male (He/Him/His)
05.
P.O.B
Sirocco Sands
06.
Status
Low Society to Celebrity
07.
Role
The Gladiator
Dream
as if you’ll live forever. Live as you’ll die today.
visage
height
6’4” or 193cm
weight
99.8kg or 220lbs
hair colour
Oily Black.
eye colour
Austere Azure.
hair
Long, dripping with ink and would often flow to his mid-back. Each wavy strand was sheened as if dipped in greasy oil. Most of the time, Tiberius let his hair hang loose, allowing its natural waves to cascade freely. However, there were moments when he would gather it into a low ponytail or fashion it into a man bun, adding a touch of practicality to his otherwise wild mane. On special occasions, particularly when he was called to make a grand appearance or lead a parade, he would adorn his mane with Cascadian jewels. An illusion of opulence and power, an image he never truly achieved because, at the end of the day, he is still a low-born but with a flashier name.
eyes
With the intensity they carry, a striking and electrifying pair of bright sapphire orbs can captivate anyone who meets his gaze. Framed with thick, ebony eyelashes, it casts a subtle shadow on his cheeks, which sometimes would be flushed in embarrassment if blessed with enough compliments. As for his eyebrows, he is equipped with a deep raven shade, arching subtly that only enhances his rugged appearance.
skin
Under the relentless sun of Sirocco, its scorching rays burnished his complexion to a golden crisp. His skin also has a warm undertone and a subtle glow that captures the essence of the sun-soaked land he calls home.
build
Tiberius is a tall and sinewy man. From his continuous and rigorous physical training, he has built himself a relatively strong and formidable body. Tiberius’s physique is a necessary element of his identity, a physical manifestation of his inner resolve and unyielding determination.
body mods.
A full-on sleeve of tattoos on his right arm slithering up to his shoulders and swirling around his right pectorals, stopping right above his ribs. Everyone he competed against has drawn at least a line in this tattoo so that those who lost their souls in the ring have carved their miniature legacy through Tiberius. And through that piece of art in his body, they will live on. It is a symbol of camaraderie and respect Tiberius has for his competitors.
face claim
Joe Anoaʻi as Roman Reigns from WWE
persona
VIRTUES
➺ ROMANTIC —A lover and fighter at heart. He fights for what he believes in, and one of the main principles he extremely believes in is love. Tiberius firmly believes that love is not just some mere emotion but a driving and guiding force that must be cherished no matter what. He romanticises every encounter with every stranger he finds interesting. It takes only one person to capture his heart and its fluctuating fountain of adoration. He merely waits for the right person to be with. And when that time comes, he'll know when to pour his heart out without reservation.
➺ DEVOTED —Like a dog, he is loyal. He feels indebted to the people who helped him through many of his struggles, whether mentally or financially, and he will always promise loyalty to them. His devotion to those he deems worthy is one of his greatest virtues. He goes above and beyond for the people he deeply cares about and recognises them as his family, blood or not. In a way, he craves that sort of familiarity. That sense of belonging drives him, and as he boards the Leviathan, he wonders if he will find what he’s looking for.
➺ COMPETITIVE —His competitive spirit is what made him thrive as a champion in the first place. Tiberius would go to great lengths to secure that victory. No matter what. With his impeccable physique, he’s confident in his skills to win any fight when it comes down to it. He knows his strengths and abilities well, and this sort of belief and pride fuels his determination to be victorious and stay as the people’s champion.
➺ ALTRUISTIC —Within his very core, he has always been kind. The cruelties around him have shaped him into an honourable yet altruistic man. The world taught him that kindness is free, as well as the value compassion holds. Tiberius holds on to the belief that when you offer kindness without expecting anything in return, the universe has a way of repaying that generosity a thousandfold. This lone belief is the main driving factor of how he treats others with kindness and compassion. In a way, this is his method for atoning for what he has done in the coliseum and all the lives he took from humans and animals.
VICES
➺ SERIOUS —Tiberius is a man of unwavering seriousness, for him there is no room for playfulness or frivolity. His stern demeanour will be shown throughout his voyage on board the Leviathan, as his main priority will be to keep his boss’ daughter away from danger. During his time on board the Leviathan, there will be no distractions or diversions for Tiberius, only the task viscount Valiente bestowed upon him. For him to fail would mean the end of his title as champion. Therefore, his will to survive and other motivations he may have.
➺ GREEDY —No, he will not be sharing his bread smothered with honey and butter. Get your greasy hands away from it. Coming from a poverty-stricken background, Tiberius finds it difficult to share what he has; even the little luxuries, like bread, are something he will greedily defend like a dragon defends his trinkets.
➺ DENSE —Tiberius is a little… special in the thinking department. Don’t expect him to answer immediately; he needs more time to process it and respond. He has to use all his brain power to not act like a total dumbass but ends up being a dumbass anyway. He could be a little dense sometimes; please excuse his brain.
➺ STUBBORN —Tiberius truly is a driven person, it is hard to make him move through words, he prefers actions. Only then will he be moved, whether it be physically or mentally; nothing speaks louder to him than simple movements. However, even then, he will remain obstinate to a fault. ‘Stubborn as a mule’ would insult all the mules in the world if that term was ever used on the gladiator; his resolve comes above all else, especially when he firmly believes when he knows best.
likes
Bread
Whiskey
Meditation
Winning
Parades
Flowers
Feasts
Medals
CuteSmall animals
Siroccan silk
Myths and legends
Friendly competition
All sorts of weapons
All types of food.
dislikes
Some nobles
Pranks
Tomato
Snakes
Sharing
Entitlement
Lazy people
Unnecessary violence
Nosy people
Spoiled children
Rotten fruits
Rusted blades
strengths
Brawn
Fighting experience
Close combat
Ambidextrous
Beast-slaying (Summer Edition)
Good morals
Good sportsmanship
Proficient in any sort of weapons except ranged weapons
weaknesses
Compliments
Weak accuracy
Rigged weapons
Short-sightedness
Closed and restricted spaces
Lack of wit
Uneducated, can't read or write
fears
➺ Losing his worth. For him, his worth means everything. Without his ability to fight or entertain, he will be nothing. His gauge for his worthiness is the Viscount. If he so much as expresses a brief moment of dissatisfaction, it is enough to get him to spiral into anxiety and inadequacy.
➺ Losing his eyesight. If he suddenly went blind, he would be unable to see the beauty in the world, like picturesque sunsets or magnificent waterfalls. This would make him depressed because he wouldn't get to enjoy life's little blessings.
➺ The world suddenly running out of bread, honey and butter. He will be inconsolable.
➺ People thinking he’s dumb just because he can’t read.
habits
➺ He will do the rock face when something puzzles him.
➺ When he hugs you, he lifts you off the ground and hugs you super tightly. He gives the best hugs. This only occurs when he knows you exceptionally well. But if not, the awkward side hug will do.
hobbies
➺ He works on his physique and maintains a strict schedule that he follows every day: wake up, work out, eat breakfast, make sure Cadence is alive, have lunch, practice with [insert ‘weapon he hasn't mastered yet’ here], relax or listen to Cadence yap for the 100th time, have dinner while she yaps more, and then finally sleep.
➺ Maintaining his weapons. He handles and takes care of his weapons daily, ensuring they are deadly and optimally functioning.
➺ Challenging people to arm-wrestles.
➺ Daydreaming.
➺ Meditating.
➺ Winning.
headcanons
➺ An ambidextrous king.
➺ Literally just a big softie.
➺ He got that dog in him, the dog in question: LINK
➺ Oh, Tiberius, you would’ve loved Shonen manga.And also Taylor Swift.
➺ His favourite snack is freshly baked bread with a honey and butter spread.
➺ A nerd when it comes to weaponry. He gives off, “Well, Erm… Ackshually!” Vibes.
➺ If social media existed, he’d be the type to send you: “What if we held hands as cute little mice?” Accompanied by a super cute image of two mice holding hands behind a pretty house or something. And that’s only if he likes you.
playlist
history
Rusticus
T.W. Depictions of extreme poverty, child labour, gore and blood can be found here, but not that heavy in detail the details.
Rusticus is a name bestowed upon a child born into poverty without parents amidst the long golden sands of Sirocco. As an unwanted child, all Rusticuses would grow up in the depths of indigence, eternally glaring towards the highest and most prosperous seat, reaching for something they can never attain. Long before the rise of Tiberius Sanctus, the celebrated golden champion of the Coliseo de Valiente, there was Rusticus, a beggar boy mired in mud and filth.
A babe with bright blue eyes was left alone in the arenaceous streets of the undercity. Birthed from the lowest part of Sirocco, its golden sands have already etched themselves between his tiny, fragile fingers before his mother could. Left alone in dirt, blood and grime, he was found by a woman who nursed him back to health.
The woman who brought him within the confines of her home brought him under the roof of a brothel, where most of the Rusticus would gather and be put under their care in exchange for their service. Thanks to the women who worked hard to provide for the other poor children, the children of the undercity lived a comfortable life—or at least as comfortable as they could provide.
Among a sea of Rusticuses, the blue-eyed boy seemed to be in a match set among those whom he called his brothers and sisters. However, as a child, he never really enjoyed his childhood. From his earliest memories, all he remembers is the smell of soap and the ache of his muscles after a hard day of lifting. Labour honed his ability to follow orders and strengthened his brawn.
But at night, when the night sky is clear, and the moonlight dances upon his face through a hole in the roof, he often finds himself gazing longingly in the distance, dreaming of the man he aspires to become.
A beggar by day and a dreamer by night.
Venator
A true hunter hunts for survival, not for the fun of it. Even nature declares it so: the strongest and at the top of the food chains are the apex predators, those who grip at their chances of survival and claw on it as if it'll bring them another day. Another opportunity to live.
For survival, he hunted and killed animals to feed the slowly declining wealth of the brothel. While the newest and pompous brothels rose and attracted new hosts, the poorer ones were left behind. Amid the dirty undercity of Sirocco, there grows a minor sickness, a fever that takes hold of its host until death takes their final, shivering breath. Slowly, the brothel couldn't afford to take in orphans, resulting in other unsavoury dealings with the Stygian Order to keep their business afloat for a few months. Still, even they ran out of use for the sick and washed-up courtesans of the undercity.
With no penny left in their pockets, others in good health left before their health declined further. Those unfortunate enough to stay slowly succumbed to the sickness. With nowhere else to go, the blue-eyed boy chose to stay and help out in any way he could.
From scorpions and wild camels, he learned how to tame and kill. He and another green-eyed Rusticus were the only ones who chose to stay and provide for the sick. The urge to survive and live spurred them to learn from their mistakes and hone their skills as hunters.
However, their attempt to provide and take care of those who were weak became futile as, one by one, children and women succumbed to the fever and died with knotted lungs. And soon, there was only one. As the last viridescent specks of life leave his friend's once hopeful eyes, the boy with the blue eyes wept; his eyes shone with crystal tears. And he never looked at the shade of green the same ever again.
The little hunter forgot to dream that night.
Bestiarii
Every aspiring Gladiator must start somewhere. While some train in prestigious academies that boost their survivability, some are less fortunate enough to simply be tossed in the Colosseum without proper survival training as their punishment by law. A few extreme thinkers would deliberately participate without training, a final attempt to seize the glory and opportunity they are given. For the small folk of Sirocco, this is the golden ticket to paradise, the oasis they long desired.
With everyone around him dead and only left with himself, the blue-eyed boy did everything in his diminishing power to keep himself alive. But as days passed, he was left wanting and yearning for more. A purpose. And that's when a golden opportunity dropped into his hands.
While the poorest women found themselves in brothels in exchange for their flesh, the poorest men in Sirocco found themselves in the arena in exchange for blood and broken bones. I suppose it’s not that different.
Coliseo de Valiente, the pride and joy of the entertainment business in the bristling sands of Sirocco. While a few bother with the theatre, puppetry, and concerts, Sirocco holds the grandest fighting arena in Solas. Renowned for its architecture and function, it is a place where winners are shaped by their choices. What do these players gamble? Their life, that's what makes it so entertaining. As a new season began for new players to take the ring and the title of “champion”, along with its riches and fame, it lured the poorest orphans and the richest killers like a moth into a flame.
When a certain blue-eyed Rusticus heard of this, he spent no second to spare and was among the first few who signed up.
Among the sea of muddy peasants and silver-tongued nobles selected to fight and entertain, only he caught the eye of a powerful viscount. During that time, he was known as the underdog, the skinny kid for whom nobody betted for; however, the one thing that genuinely drives people is a surprise. The kind that moves you out of your seat to lean forward, anticipating more of that adrenaline. And when that boy did precisely that by slaying a large lion triple his size, the viscount knew he had found the star of his show.
The viscount knew the crowd had grown tired of the violent butchering in his arena; what the people crave more than ever is a hero and an underdog. Someone the people can genuinely root for and love. In his first year, all the boy fought was lions, bulls and all sorts of beasts, earning him the title of beast-slayer. After having experience with hunting animals, the boy had a slight advantage and combined with an impeccable amount of luck; he survived the brutality the Colisseum had laid out for him. However, the other competitors weren’t so lucky. Round after round, each of the competitors withered away like the petals from a wilted rose.
Through his sheer determination and perseverance, he earned the viscount’s approving eyes, along with a hundred more.
The beast slayer started to dream once more.
Vindex
After his first year winning the hearts of those who frequent the arena, the once skinny and muddy child, rusticus, donned a new name and was called Tiberius Sanctus. His name was given by the viscount, the same viscount who owned the fortune and wealth that the Colosseum made, the Viscount Cornelius Valiente. In the viscount's words, this is how he described the young man he saw:
“There was a certain ferocity in him that I've never seen before. And that sort of spark must be nurtured at once. Skinny, with bones nearly etched in every crook of his skin, I was sure he wouldn't last long, but he surprisingly did. The people have seen the richest, the strongest, and the most advantageous people win and slay each other on every challenge I’ve put before them. Perhaps this is the new player I need to invigorate the people again.”
And that is precisely what Tiberius did in the arena. Those who went to watch every single one of his matches brought the audience with him. Every rise and every fall crafted an elaborate story of him. With the Viscount shining his silver spotlight on Tiberius, the people adored him. So when he finally climbed up that mountain of bodies and attained the champion title, the people still celebrated.
His second year pitted him against people, the third year combined both beasts and people, and the fourth featured a deadly obstacle that almost took his own life if it weren’t for another kind soul aiding him on his feet. Unfortunately, that same person didn’t survive that same year. The fifth year was the most brutal and recent one. All seasoned warriors and fighters of all of Solas were beckoned to participate, bringing a brand new challenge for Tiberius. As he emerged as the victor that year, he wept tears of salt just as much as the blood he spilled.
His empathy for his competitors touched the hearts of his audience and fans, and it was at that point he was grateful for the adoration he received. And yet, a minuscule part of him remained to be bothered by the number of bodies that he dumped in the arena. A small price he paid for the luxury that continued to follow him. And now, as the reigning champion of the stadium, he has earned his bit of peace. The oasis he dreamed of daily as a grime-faced boy came true. In achieving his dreams, Tiberius sacrificed a part of himself, leaving behind a legacy tainted by the bloodshed that paved his path to glory.
Today, the viscount asked him a favour, which he could not refuse. Not that Tiberius would refuse a favour for the man who lifted his feet off poverty and slipped the shoes of opportunity upon his feet on bent knees. Tiberius feels indebted to the viscount, so whatever he wishes, he will grant with no additional costs. However, when he met Cadence Valiente, he knew he should've asked for at least some payment.
Tiberius is tasked with Cadence's protection and well-being while she goes on a journey of “self-discovery.” He knew it was a bunch of bullshit from the moment the two were left alone, but what could he do now that she was thinking of boarding Leviathan?
Until this day, Tiberius dreams of a life he’s finally satisfied and at peace with, a life where his heart doesn't lurch out of guilt. For now, he will be the champion of Coliseo de Valiente; that should be enough. Right?
TL ; DR
➺ Rusticus: No father. No mother. He was found as a babe by a brothel worker. Just a bunch of prostitutes with a bunch of other Rusticuses as his siblings. He was known as the “blue-eyed Rusty.” (Note: Rusticus is a name given to Sirocco's homeless kids, basically kids without parents.)
➺ Venator: To keep alive, he learned how to hunt wild animals for food—the little hunter of the brothel. However, it wasn’t enough, as his family succumbed to a terrible fever that took their lives.
➺ Bestiarii: With nothing left to lose, he threw himself in Coliseo de Valiente. He earned himself an underdog reputation, and after luck favoured him, he survived his first round by killing a lion, catching the eye of a particular viscount.
➺ Vindex: With viscount Valiente’s help, Tiberius was born. Fight after fight, cheer after cheer; the people grew to love Tiberius and the spectacles he produced under the guidance of Valiente. And soon, he was crowned as a champion, but at what cost?
➺ Rusticus is just another word for poor/peasant. Venator is another word for hunter. Bestiarii is a word for a beast fighter. Vindex is another word for champion. All these words are associated with Latin.
➺ Also, the titles are in Latin, and I am not a fluent Latin speaker, so I'd like to know how accurate those words are. I chose them because they sounded badass. Please take them with a grain of salt, but if you know how to word them properly, I'd be more than happy to tweak them!
extra
The Last Of The Real Ones
Fall Out Boy
connections
misc.
connections
Viscount Valiente
“I owe all I have to this man. And for that, I will be forever indebted to him.”
For Tiberius, he sees the viscount as a father figure. Unfortunately, the viscount only sees his daughter as his only child. Tiberius respects this man at an unbelievable level. Due to his guidance, he survived the arena for five years; Tiberius owes the man his very life and the air he breathes in. So when he was tasked to safeguard his most precious jewel, his daughter, Tiberius took that task with an unwavering amount of seriousness.
He secretly wants to take Cadence’s spot as his child.
Cadence Valiente
“A constant pain in my ass is what she is. How can she be so energetic? She's like a spritzy mouse who drank a whole mug of ale. And it's like that All. The. Damn. Time!”
Daughter of the owner of the gladiatorial ring he fights and entertains for. Tiberius is tasked with looking after her and ensuring no harm comes to her. As an experienced fighter, the viscount expects him to be the best bodyguard for his only daughter. If any harm comes to her, his back will be met by torturous whips. This is a known fact to him.
Cadence is driving him crazy. Give this poor man a break. He’s tired of carrying her bags.
misc.
reputation
“Oh my god! It’s Tiberius! Sign my shirt, please!”
A faded memory: “Rusticus! Time for dinner.” [small pitter patters of children’s footsteps followed]
“Boy, you sure know how to subdue a beast. How you handled that tiger was one of the BEST spectacles I’ve seen in all ages!”
Only one stage in Coliseo de Valiente is worth noting: one made of flesh and bones. Tiberius was one of the lucky few who emerged as the victor. Some may adore him for his show of strength and humanity, while some may see him nothing as but a mere killer. Through his past performances, he has accumulated enough fans throughout Solas to attain celebrity status. And it is known that he is currently on board the Leviathan, making his appearances on each dock it may land upon. However, this is a mere disguise to his true purpose: to look after Cadence Valiente.
motivation
“I want to keep living. Enjoy the little things.”
At the moment, he wants to make hisfather figureboss proud and ensure that he accomplishes the task he was given flawlessly, as he has been doing before. But his motive will change. [Refer to Tiberius’ Development for more.]
boarding
[Grunts]
He’s boarding through legal means. He will accompany Cadence Valiente when they board on Siroc’s docks.
faction
[More grunts]
The brothels he was raised in had dealings with the Stygian Order. But he has no affiliations besides the High Nobilities, who associate themselves with the Valientes. But he does carry a relatively strong opinion of those who associate themselves with factions who are notorious for killing, stealing or causing violence.
opinion on royalty
“Not all nobilities are awful.”
There’s a layer of truth in that statement. While he is thankful for the viscount for the opportunity, the same can not be said for the other nobles. From his time as a beggar boy, he has had terrible experiences with nobles, viewing them as serpents to tread carefully for. And royalty is no different. Even though he will give them the respect and ass-kissing they deem necessary, he will still try his best to tread carefully in their presence.
He firmly believes that if the sovereign does their job, no child in Siroc will starve, and no woman will be undermined for their femininity. He must hide his hate for one of Solas's most powerful men.
Tiberius is internally against royalty, but outwardly, he is for royalty.
opinion on piracy
“They… disgust me.”
The gladiator understands their hardships on a certain level. He is genuinely against them stealing and causing unnecessary violence, but just like royalty, he is willing to give them the benefit of the doubt. He’s optimistic enough to think that not all pirates are evil, but he will not give them his trust easily; he will simply treat them like ordinary people until they do something horrid that could warrant a weary and mistrustful expression. Being surrounded by the nobility, he must mimic their opinions, so he must be against piracy whenever he is around their company.
Tiberius is internally for piracy, but outwardly, he is against piracy.
tiberius' development
“[More grunts] (Terrified)”
I want this man to succumb to his guilt in the most excruciating way. As feasts in the grand halls of Leviathan rattle with excitement and cheers, I want him to remember how the people cheered for the amount of violence and blood his hands made. He’s going to be sulkily drinking his whiskey in the corner, brooding his heart out.
If there is someone I want dead, it’s this man. I’m kidding… But let’s just say that he’s part of that self-sacrificing club a few seem to be in.
I want him to sever his connection to that ruthless gladiator life and finally belong to a genuine family instead of an artificial and uncaring one. After everything he experienced, I want him to find a connection to the sea. All his life, he’s been trying to wash away the dirty sands of Siroc and the blood of his friends, so I think it would be rather poetic for him to cleanse himself of all that if he turned his life as someone who loves the ocean, kind of like a baptism of sorts.
♡coded by uxie♡
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escapist
New Member
The Old-timer
Maltke Cycek
Rain
Sleep Token
Known as
One-eyed Maltke
Age
fourty-five
Gender
Male
p.o.b.
City of Umbra
d.o.b.
February 22th
height
6.0'
weight
181 lbs
Status
Wanted
Faction
Disorganized piracy
Role
The Old-timer
fc
Mads Mikkelsen
Visage
Build: If there's a part about his body, that Maltke can be proud of, that's his physique. Years of baking his skin under the sun, working on the decks and having his flesh thorn in the battles are paid off; despite his slightly crooked posture and the fat what have been grown on his otherwise firm muscles, his presence still exudes remnants of the power and strength his younger self owned. Even if his bones cry silently, his stocky, tall frame is easy to notice and recognize.
Face: Speaking of recognizable features, Maltke's face wears the signs of his eventful past. Both in Umbra and among the pirates having visible scars cause respect among men who have weapon hanging from their belts. The diagonal slash on his left cheek only underlines and highlights the pitch-black eyepatch which is covering and hiding the remaining pus droplets in his eye socket. The restless gaze of the other eye however mirrors just enough emotions. Similar to his stubbles, his rarely ever washed hair started turn into greyish already. Under his mustache that he grew as the only part of his camouflage, his lips are usually twisted in a bitter smirk regardless what he feels.
Clothing: Maltke wears dirty and worn clothes, prefering practicality and simplicity. Boots, trousers and a loose shirt are the trinity of his wardrobe and the one fragment above all: his coat. The old, body-length cloth is made of black fur and by caring, practiced hands. It looks heavy and warm but Maltke wears them most of the time, even under the scorching sun. He seems to be really attached to it somewhy.
PERSONA
Amusing, Amicable, Bitter, Dramatic, Equable, 'Instinctive', Opportunist, Pathetic, Rude, Stubborn, Superstitious
Personality in detail
It's hard to decide if the defeatist mentality made his body sick or his aging body caused the melancholy but in any ways, after the defeat Maltke felt himself more miserable and worthless than ever. Years have been soothing the denial into acceptance even if the tart flavour has never stopped lingering in his mouth. He perfectly represents Bergson's snowball, keep rolling, rolling and the more layers of years are around its core the harder is to keep the growing snowball together. The layers influence and fight with each other, yet the desire of the snowball's innermost part stays what determines his fate: that child, full with ambitions and adventurousness, wanted to be a pirate. The other layers on the other hand make the dream come true, ruthlessly.
Being born in Umbra, where legends and myths fill the air, Maltke's quite superstitious. Ironically enough, he believes in nothing above him and believes in everything what lurks below. It's hard to distinguish his beliefs from the 'whims of the old man' especially because Maltke holds onto both with remarkable and comical stubbornness. He finds the subject of his faith only natural and about his whims, well...they serve another, greater purpose.
He has never been enough to be a captain but he has a special power what made him that good of a second(?) mate: the way he affects to a company that he is the part of. He seems to be always there, always having an opinion or a rude comment, when he's around probably something amusing will happen...it happens so imperceptible that even Maltke himself don't notice that he is a naturally comical character. He slowly blends into the company and becomes "that annoying old fart", "that weird Maltke", "the tale-teller Maltke", "barking Maltke", until the moment he becomes "our Maltke". His secret is simple. After he accepted his own lack of worth, it was much easier to connect with others. Hating himself and adoring others' company make Maltke the sort of pathetic side-kick who lives for others instead of himself. How could such an existence end?
LIKES
The sea's smell, The waves' rocking, Card games, Drinking-Eating-Smoking trinity, Company, Banter, Clouds, Friendly brar brawls, Rain
DISLIKES
Carmine Corsair, Drinking water, Unknown food, Working, Pride, Fog, Luxury, Courtesy, Redheads, Perfumes, Rain
FEARS
Drowning, Bottomless water and everything what can lurk bellow, The Red Baron, The thought of getting weaker, Failure
EXTRAS
HABITS
Smoking and doing it very aggressively until he doesn't start coughing from the fourth drag, Spitting on the ground, Whining about everything, Munching loudly, Presenting a whole palette of inhuman sounds of amusement: he snorts, coughs, spits, shrieks, gurgles, Scratching his face
HOBBIES
Doing physical training, Scanning the horizon and the water for danger, playing card games, mostly terribly, Wasting time with so-called fishing, Doing favors (he won't admit though)
STRENGTHS
Experienced in close combat, Exceptionally dangerous with knives, Good in taking advantage of the environment during a brawl, Candor, He isn't paranoid but will always keep one eye open, connecting with people
WEAKNESSES
Old wounds still hurt - hit his right knee and he'll on the ground, His missing eye provides a big blank spot, Can be predicted and outsmarted in a fight, Can't say no to do any innocent favor, Defeatist mentality, Bad ballance, Dangerously bad aim
HEADCANONS
- Thinks that peeing in the sea from a boat is the epithome of freedom
- When he doesn't find a joke funny, he lets out a loud, forced laugh then suddenly gets deadly serious and stares blankly to thefunny guy until they would be ashamed of themselves - his blank stare's world champion
- Always apologizes after he sneezed in the air or into someone's face
- Not like he's quiet but he' especially loud when he sucks in cardgames - and he isn't a good player
- He swears he once kissed a siren [I mean I know the RP has fantasy elements but look at him. Would you believe to that guy?]
- If you want to make him confused and silent for a few second, just compliment him.
- Never ask him about what lives in the water: he has a whole book of sea monsters in his mind
- Always has a story from his past to share
- He insults himself as naturally as he takes a breath but if anyone else dare to do it... "who do you think you are, brat?!"
- I know I already mention this but he is such an annoying whiner; he won't do anything against what he's whining about though
- As fast as he can get upset, he'll cool down and forgive to almost anyone
- "I don't want to act like I know everything 'cause I'm older and want to give an advice but..." - Yes, he does give advices. Some are good, some are worse.
INTERVIEW
REPUTATION
As the second mate of the Bastards' Company, One-eyed Maltke has the same reputation as an old story. Some seasoned pirates might remember to the rumors about his younger self, maybe in some tavern his face still hangs under the shabby wanted caption and some night the pirates of the Carmine Corsair might tell the tale of how they destroyed the notorious Bastards' Company but overall, the story of One-eyed Maltke became forgotten already.
FACTION
Nothing have changed, despite the passed years Maltke still identifies himself as a pirate of freedom and probably will until he dies. Being part of the disorganized piracy, even just nominally, is a matter pride.
STATUS
Since he has a bounty on his head and he is still alive, he technically wanted but over the past ten years he didn't get attacked even once and not because he could disappear so perfectly; even the bounty hunters forgot about his existence.
MOTIVE
"Being on the mainlands isn't for me...I tried, I really did but bloody hell, I can't stay caged through my whole damn life! A pirate needs adventure, treasures, women...firstly I gotta find a ship that makes my weary bones excited again and then I'll figure out the rest."
BOARDING
[Now we reached the most uncertain part of the sheet. Either he just sneaked up the night before the departure or asked a favor from an old friend, I'm even open for cooperation with other characters to get my character on the ship - the 'how' depends on what kind of conflict you prefer]
ROYALTY OPINION
"Royalty my ass!" *He shifted in the chair and spat a substantial amount on the ground.* "You think at the beginning of time there were equal people on the world? Not at all! Much less and thus I think me and His Highness are from the same, very-very old mother. I mean someone has to maintain the order but the nobles don't deserve...the hell are you doing?! Don't write that down I don't have that much of a death wish!"
PIRACY OPINION
"Look, I won't say that pirates are the beacons of light or some shit. Let's take me, I stole, cheated, lied, killed, tortured...I'm pretty much a scum yet the sins are the tools for my kind to be free on the endless seas instead of getting rotten and forgotten on the mainlands...freedom has its own price. Pirates don't deserve any dreamy gaze of a kid, any flirty look from women, any polite nod or handshake from man, just a slipknot around our necks..."
FUTURE
So, I imagined that this journey would be Maltke's last journey. I want him to be the part of a company again, making his heart warm up again and once he finally accepted/realized how cruelly beautiful life is, he dies. Tragic, right, however I aim to shade the tragedy of his story with firstly, my own optimism which I can't get rid of somewhy and secondly, with the fact that Maltke is pathetic. I want the 'reader' to feel sorry for him but also to maybe laugh on him and then feel themself a bit bad or to feel pity - I'm not sure if I can express myself enough but I think this way Maltke Cycek would be an interesting character and playing as him would be a great challenge for me as a 'writer'. In case Maltke can get on the boat *wink-wink*, we can discuss the time and the event in which he dies.
history
A Child is Born
The city of Umbra. Cold, rude, true enough for his family too. Maltke was born as the seventh child even if he had only four living siblings. He listened his mother' fairy tails and learned speaking, played with his siblings and learned to walk, his dad, according to the traditions after Maltke passed his eighth year, gradually teached him the art of tracking, hunting, preparing the meat, chopping wood, defend himself - everything a man had to do. His childhood wasn't worse than anyone else's: a few slap on the face or harsh words but despite all that, Maltke Cycek grew up in a cold, yet loving environment that he still can call home. However as always, the adolescence brought its problems with itself.
From youngster to pirate
Maltke has never been actually good in anything that he could useful to his family who had less and less enough food on the table. Instead of working he rather spent his time at the port, watching the arriving and departing boats, his eyes lighted up when he saw the rugged seamen, imagining the adventures they had experienced on the endless sea. The more he argued with his parents the more he was listening at the port if any boat needed swabbie. When he found a simple merchant ship, he fleed from home and didn't return for a decade. Years passed and Maltke learned to live on the seas. He moved from ship to ship until he finally stumbled in a pirate at a bar, called Dalton. The only occasion Maltke Cycak made a good first impression ironically during a bar fight, but in any ways, Dalton invited Maltke in his crew and with that, the most chaotic and adventurous period of his life.
Failure
Maltke quickly got used to the lifestyle of a pirate: with every battle he got more experienced, he lost his eye and gained respect among the crew, friendships forged. His twenties was all about money, blood and women, he lived the life he always wanted. The name of One-eyed Maltke became well-known and feared, the ship became his home, the crew became his family. When he reached his thirties, Maltke finally got bored of the pointless wasting of his life a bit and wanted to do something greater. Around this time, Dalton came up with the idea of destroying the Carmine Corsair. During the preparation Maltke's blood was boiling and the whole crew was ready for the battle of their life - the arrogance and the loyalty towards each other took their mind, leading the Bastards towards an inevitable doom. The day of the highly anticipated sea battle and the destruction Bastards' Company came and passed quickly. The water had never burned with such intensity than on that day. A few ship was already flowing broken in the water, painted with pirates' blood who gave their life for their freedom even if it wasn't necessery. Maltke remembers back to the bloody battle like the most beautiful and touching event of his life. Both side fought with all they've got but as the sun slowly disappeared behind the horizon, something happened that determined the outcome of the battle: The Red Baron outsmarted, overpowered and defeated the famous Dalton 'Bastard' Morgan. His friend lifeless body just touched the wooden deck and Maltke was already attacking the Baron. Maybe because of his lack of focus but he was no match for the King's dog. During their quick fight, the gravely injured Maltke fell in the sea but somehow he managed to survive and float away with a plank. On that day, Maltke Cycak lost the battle of his life and yet, he was alive.
gallery
rel.
Dalton 'Bastard' Morgan
friend/captain | dead
A ruthless and infamous pirate who ruled the part of the see which is now within the borders of the Carmine Corsair. The Bastard, similar to other legends of that era before the Carmine Corsair[I just want to sound cool, not actually manipulate the lore/history.] built a strong crew out of nothing and started an endless campaign. This was when Maltke joined to the crew. Besides the successes of the Bastards' Company what made them famous was their relative honor to other pirates, rarely attacking the 'colleagues'. The exception was the see battle with the Red Baron.
nine lives
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floral
Magic Consultant
Evelynne
The Canary.
01.
02.
03.
01.
01
name.
Evelynne Clair "Lovett"
02
a.k.a.
doesn't mind Eve or Lynne.
03
age.
25.
04
gender.
female.
05
p.o.b
the canals.
06
faction.
n/a
07
status.
high society (formerly), outcast
visage.
height.
5'5
appearance.
now that she is leaving the Lovett family she slowly taking back things they controlled. such as her appearance. she doesn't bother with make-up anymore. doesn't don a bunch of jewelry, nor wear clothes that draw the eye. simplistic. that is what she was back then, and what she desires to be now. she's brought jewelry with her with plans to sell it. if the Lovett's were so willing to toss it just because she wore it, then they wouldn't mind if she sold it off. right? she has wild, red hair as free as she once was running through the uncharted lands of the canals. it's long, cascading far down her back. when she has the energy, she may work it into a braid. other wise, she maintains it just enough to keep it healthy and clean. some may call it unkept, but it reminds her of her childhood. (she also just doesn't have the drive to style it currently. who cares how their hair looks when they are focused on getting back what was taken?) kind green eyes, that seem to radiate both gentleness and a glance of pain. eyes that always seem to be looking through you as if she's lost somewhere far away. and maybe she is just that. lost in another place. she's grown quite weak from malnutrition and poor care after the birth of her son. she looks frail and often pale in the face.
faceclaim.
eleanor tomlinson.
02.
psyche.
one may describe her as song without a soul. just like the one's she sings when demanded too. that's what she has become while in the Lovett house hold. Evelynne once carried herself with such carefree passion, running through forests and along rivers. now in the lands full of cobblestone paths and carriages, she's lost that carefree spirit. and it's only become worse since her son is being kept from her. she's grown weary of people approaching her. especially those whose first words are compliments to her looks. she thinks they will be just like the young Lord that's held her captive all these years.
Evelynne at heart is just a kind soul that needs to heal. she's loyal to those she trusts. willing to protect them even if she can't protect herself. she has a soft spot for kids of all ages. the younger they are the more likely she is to baby them. smothering them with care that if often met with annoyance and irritation of the receiver. she finds herself unable to stop even when they lash out at her. maybe it's her way of dealing with the fact she cannot see her own child.
she hates being in the spotlight or put on the spot. preferring to withdrawn into herself or people she's close with. she isn't a leader type and doesn't know how to guide or instruct others. if put into a stressful situation where she must take control, she will panic. unable to make decision for herself, let alone others. she will second guess any choice she makes and fear her choice will end in a bad result. anxious. if things do end result she will feel hopeless for days on end. isolating herself in guilt.
the Lovett's have oppressed a lot of her free-sprit and confident personality. her years under their roof have left her tense and easily started. whether someone crushes by her or just walks near her, she will flinch. no matter how hard she tries to hold it in. perhaps the ship will do her some good in helping her reclaim who she once was. free from the Lovett's control, she can finally find herself again.
virtues.
kind, loyal, playful, free-spirited, modest, imaginative, honest, resourceful
vices.
easily startled, nervous, hesitant, feeling hopeless, timid, tense, oppressed.
fears.
tall men. yelling. chains. sounds of glass crashing. death. being trapped. being alone.
likes.
trees. rivers. the sea. nature. flowers. singing. the color green. butterflies. sweets. children.
dislikes.
sudden noises. being cornered. jewelry on her wrists or neck. being called "Miss Lovett". alcohol. talking about the Lovett family. being alone.
hobbies.
tsinging. swimming. sewing. running through nature. horse-back riding.
strengths.
knowledge of nature. horse-back riding. climbing trees. singing. patient. understanding. honest. balance. sea/ship experience. light footed.
weakness.
timid. anxious around men. skittish. easily startled. horrid liar. discourage. feelings of hopelessness. lost. weak.
habits.
sleep walking. mumbling. pulling at her hair. tugging at the sleeves of her dresses. closing her eyes and counting in her head when intimidated or scared.
❛❛❜❜the caged bird sings with a fearful thrill, of things unknown but longed for still.
03.
history.
TW: mentions of kidnapping, glossed over SA (it's implied but never directly mentioned descriptively. ), traumatic childbirth experience, forced into giving child up/has child taken from her.
the sound of light laugher and rustling leaves. the sight of red hair full of twigs and flowers. a pair of boots caked in mud. a dress stained from grass and dirt alike. the voice of a scolding, but kind mother. that was the life of Evelynne Clair. her child hood. born a child of the canals, she was a child who soared high. soon as she learned to walk you would find making way for nature. a playful, whimsical child that could not be contained to a room.
Evelynne was a child of a one night fling. a hushed promise for more. though that more never came. her father never came back after boarding back on the ship he came. her mother always had hoped he would return. always looked to the sea with expectant gaze. though by the time Evelynne was 5, her mother seemed to accept the reality he would never return. the didn't stop her from raising Evelynne with all the love she could give. Evelynne was her joy. in return, her mother was her whole world. it was the two of them against the world.
her childhood was uneventful truly. she spent her days exploring the nature of the canals, feeling the sun on her face and grass at her feet. the evenings she returned home and helped her mother with cooking, chores, whatever needed to be done. they would sleep and the next day would come, a repeat of the day before. it truly was a peaceful life and Evelynne would never have traded it for anything. no fortune or promise. no title or land.
the evening of her mother's birthday had been the turning point in their lives. the two were walking along the water line, singing as they often did. a melody sweet to the ear. songs of joy and charm. their voices carried along the wind, reaching the ears of nearby men. those men being rather infamous pirates. her mother told her to run. and she did, hand in hand with her mother. until her mother fell. her mother kept yelling for her to go. to keep running. she couldn't bring her feet to move. how could she leave her mother behind? the group that had taken them was small, and used the the women as tribute to a larger pirate group. apparently having owed them a debt. a new life for Evelynne began that day.
she had just turned 15 that year.
life on the ship was not as bad as it could have been. her and her mother were treated better under them than under their kidnappers. that doesn't mean they were pampered. they were put to work just as if they were part of the crew. they were viewed as such, just another part of the crew. no special treatment, nor was their cruel treatment. they simply just became workers on the ship.
time passed and while she craved the touch of land beneath her feet, Evelynne found she didn't mind the sea to much. she still woke at dawn to the ray of sunlight on her face, and wind in her hair. she worked hard as any other on the ship. it had, in a way, become her second home. weeks blended into months, and months into years. her mother seemed to adjust to the change as well. falling in love with a man on the ship. if her mom was happy, she found that she too was happy. no matter how much she might have missed the nature of the canals.
she was 19 when their ship, their home, fell under siege of the royal navy. a long tiresome battle ended with the pirate's loss. many passed on in the battle, those that lived were taken prisoner. more died on the navy ship. her mother had been on of those few that passed. it broke her. she didn't have time to grieve. she wasn't allowed that. it wasn't long that they arrived to Zenith. their arrival to the capital had been a spectacle. the guards boasted of the capture. showing off the prisoners like some proof of victory against piracy. like trophies. prizes to display.
as it happened, a wealthy man who had just become a Lord, took interest in Evelynne. bribed first bribed the guards for a moment alone with her. asked her name to which she only gave her first. she would never let anyone take the name her mother and she shared from her. he made himself seem like a savior. she was a fool that let herself believe it. he ended up paying the guards a lot of coin to have them 'let her go into his care.'
he had promised her freedom. truly he had moved her from a cage of rust to a cage of gold. he claimed her as the new Miss Lovett. his mistress. a wife. his family protested but to no avail. they claimed her be a witch. a siren. truth be told she was neither a witch nor siren. a song bird at best. a canary that sang at the command of others. much like the ones that miners used in caves. she lost the heart of her songs the moment her mother died.
the young Lord tried to get her to fall in love with him. he was kind in his own way. she saw him as nothing more as her captor. the more she rejected his 'kindness and love' the more out bursts he had. the Lovett family treated her horribly and the members of high society always hurled sugar coated venom her way. she had no one to rely on.
6. long. years. that's how long she was trapped there. yanked around at the whim of a young lord, having learned to either put up with his wishes or suffering worse. when he wasn't around she was either ignored or commanded like a servant. she felt trapped in that house and wished everyday for freedom.
when news arrived that there had been an accident she never held her breath more. the news of the young lord's death was a wave of relief to her. she knew the Lovett's wouldn't keep her anymore with their son gone. she felt she would finally be free. until she fell ill the next day. suspected of being with child, the Lovett's ordered a doctor. when it was announced she indeed, was pregnant, the Lovett's had her locked into her room. they made it clear that she wasn't allowed to leave until the child was born. half 'bastard' it might be, but it was still their only son's child too.
Evelynne fought day and night with them. wanting to have the child as her own. she may have resented the father of the child, cut she knew how much her mother loved her. she wanted to be the same kind of mother to her baby too. the Lovett's didn't change their mind. they were adamant they would keep the child and "would be so kind as to give her the freedom she had wanted so bad".
given she was already far along, it wasn't much longer till it was time. the doctors cared little about her well-being. only the baby boy. soon as he was born, he was taken away. even despite Evelynne's cries of protest. it was a miracle both the boy and mother survived. even more so that Evelynne managed to recover from it. they had treated her like an animal. maybe even worse. she had rope marks on her wrists for days after the childbirth.
they kept her in that same room as she recovered before giving her a ultimatum. she would board the leviathan with the ticket the young Lord had planned to give her as a 'gift' or she would be thrown to the streets of Zenith. where she disappear like smoke. she got the message plain as day. board the ship or be disposed of. she chose the ship. hoping to gather the resources and power to one day take back her son from the cruel Lovett's.
-
extra.
click -
misc.
head canons.
✧ favorite flower is lavender.
✧ relaxes when given a 'peace offer' of a sweet treat. particularly small sweets such as cookies.
✧ will not wear bracelets or anything around her wrists.
✧ grimaces every time she is called 'Evelynne Lovett' or 'Miss Lovett'
✧ sleep walks often. it's gotten worse after the child birth. she may sleep walk around the ship muttering to herself about 'they took my son'. people think she has gone crazy.
✧ tba
reputation.
high society may know her as the mistress of young Lord Lovett. they either do not care about her, or drag her name through mud. words such as "Lord Lovett could do so much better than a criminal." it doesn't bother her anymore and she doesn't try to correct them. she learned her lesson the first time.
why did she board? Is she aboard legally?
a ticket shoved into her hand, she has no choice really. it's either board the ship or risk being killed in the capital. as much as she wants to stay and try to take back her son, she can't do so if she's dead. her ticket is real, not faked nor stolen. the late young Lord Lovett had bought two tickets. hoping to woo her with a trip. even if she told him she didn't want to be on the boat. even now, she's being forced onto the ship by her 'parents-in-law', at least now she doesn't have to board with unwanted company.
opinion on royalty?
resents them. royalty. the cruel nobles. high society. all of them. how they have treated her since capture has left her wounded and taught her that she is not as forgiving as she thought herself to be. while there are some kind nobles she will make exceptions for, the crown is not one. neither is the Lovett family. If they were pronounced tomorrow, she would not care one bit.
opinion on piracy?
call it doubles standards all you want, but she is actually okay with piracy within reason. she loathes the crew that kidnapped her and her mother. though besides the kidnapping, the pirates treated her better than nobles ever did.
what do the cards speak of for her future?
i would love for her to grow back into the person she was. learn how to grieve and process all that she has lost. perhaps learn the strength to stand on her own feet. to form meaningful relationships built on trust. both friendships and found family. overall want her to finally learn how to be free again and have hope. hopefully gather the strength she needs to get back her son.
bag of bones
mitski
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♡coded by uxie♡
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erzulie
cheers for spring; for life; for a growing soul
SHE WOULD WRITE STRANGE DREAMS UPON THE BRAIN
— DOSSIER
FULL NAME: devana ludmilla acindius
ALIAS: lady devana of house acindius, the dark maiden, the cursed blood
AGE: 28 years old
GENDER: cisfemale
SEXUALITY: bisexual
PLACE OF BIRTH: umbra
STATUS: “high society”
— VISAGE
a haunting presence, the glimpse of dark fabric before it disappears around a corner. eyes made of pure shadow and precious onyx stones. she holds the typical coloring of her bloodline. midnight blue hair flows like crashing waves. the wild curls nearly sweeping the floor if not for styling to keep it from doing so. darkness is a common theme with house acindius.
her skin speaks of a deepness often seen when looking at a clear night skin. a brown so concentrated that it reflects blue in the moonlight. she is no picturesque lady. no devana ludmilla acindius is something more. her scars speak of mistakes made and lessons learned. she wears each mark proudly, unperturbed as “proper” ladies and men eye her with barely concealed contempt. but there be a strength in her. beneath her layers of fur and armor is a body cut from stone, carefully carved and crafted to protect and defend. muscles cut from stone, gained from years of intense training and fighting have left her as solid as an oak tree.
amongst the whispers there are often mentions of her face. since a mere babe her face as been covered, first with a veil and then with a mask of her own. a face protected by broken porcelain lined with gold would surely draw attention. some believe her to be disfigured while others believe that she is truly a hideous monster. she has little intention to prove them right or wrong. those closest to her have seen her without her layer of protection and that is enough for her.
it is not known why her kin took to adorning mask but underneath the porcelain devana is something far too different to be traditionally beautiful beautiful. no, the word feels quite unfitting on the tongue. instead she is elegant, sensual in the way that a predator is. she has a face that some deem hard to look at yet they find themselves entranced all the same. there is something vaguely unnerving…otherworldly hidden in her features she is sharp angles and unblinking stares.
— PERSONA
IN DETAIL: a blank expression that gives off the impression of something untouchable, something inhuman even. there is something about lady devana that seem to set most on edge. she seems completely unaware of this or perhaps she just doesn’t care.
it would be safe to assume that a lady of her nature is unreceptive when it comes to the company of others. yes, she is as secretive as any northerner and then some perhaps. her lips may very well be sewn together with how tight she is with personal information, however devana is not antisocial in the slightest.
her rather…odd mannerism are typically what tend to keep people away from her and the topic of her mad blood of course. devana is the cackle at a funeral, the loan figure that watches you from a corner as you lay paralyzed in bed. she speaks of dark matters as plainly as speaking about the weather. those dark eyes narrow in amusement at matters deemed unseemly by polite society. its rather off putting when the discussions of torture and death are met with bright, eager eyes and a too sharp smile. whispers of madness roll off her back like water on seal skin. her eyes twinkle with the barest hint of something feral, some malicious.
some speak of her northern blood as if it is something dirty, something tainted. she has little care for the opinions of others. devana cherishes her blood, it is even safe to say that she worships it. with each monster slain she prays to mysterious forces and ancestors, each kill done in their names. devana is deeply spiritual and holds a deep love for her culture. her tight lips are an act of survival, a way to make sure that said culture stays alive.
LIKES: rare & forbidden tomes, sitting by the fire, folklore, training, children, starry nights, spooking others
DISLIKES: northern slander, pretentious individuals, the monarchy, wastefulness
STRENGTHS: a skilled fighter with fast reflexes and deadly accuracy, a heavy hitter due both slaying monster and rigorous physical training and labor, knowledge of scavenging and healing, survivalist, can blend into the background, reading others and discovering bad intentions
WEAKNESSES: tends to push wounds and pain to the back of her mind in favor of fighting, her nature makes it hard to form connections with outsiders, blunt to a fault and has no use for pleasantries, trusting outsiders
FEARS: devana has a very intense fear of umbra falling under the monarchy’s thumb. she fear her home being forced to lift their walls so to speak for she knows it could mean ruin for them.
— MISC
REPUTATION: a madwoman who hails from a clan of the deranged and the strange. behind closed door they are mocked for the simple way in which they live and the strangeness of their ways. it can be counted on hand, the number of time that she has been to the capital and which each time the rumors only stretched and warped.
REASON FOR PASSAGE: the king says that with a member of the acindius clan on board, they would be able to face any monster that came their way. devana can see through the lies as well as her family clan. she knows that the tension between her family and the ruling family have come to a head. and what better way to flaunt one’s power than to send a house’s heir on a potentially dangerous journey.
FACTION: none
ROYALTY: she would like to see them spout their superiority when stripped of their riches and influence. devana cares little for royals, their delicate sensibilities bore her and their entitlement makes her sword hand twitch.
PIRACY: devana has heard the stories of pirate, more bad than good. she can see the appeal in the concept of freedom, yet she knows better than to glamorize the lifestyle.
CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT: baby throw whatever at her-
— HISTORY
devana of house acindius, the noble daughter of casimir acindius and agata acindius. she grew up on tales of her great house and their refusal to bend the knee to the monarchy. though no official authority reigned in umbra, their ancient house had earned the respect from their countrymen long ago. for it was them who braved the wilds and reduced the threat of monsters that dwelled there.
it never once occurred to her that her ways were seen as strange to the outside world. how was she to know that other children were not taught to bite the hand that fed them on occasion? that it was not common for them to wander the hall of their ancient halls lined with weapons and paintings of terrifying ancestors that mounted nightmarish war horses, carrying the head of their enemies in their hand? devana grew up within a household of ancient knowledge passed down and dark forces revered under the cover of night.
she took to the dark with gleaming black eyes and childish giggles, learning knowledge often seen as too unseemly for children along with her siblings. it was common knowledge that the acindius family were an odd bunch, but a close one nevertheless. they were known to help those who sought their help and those who held dark intentions towards them…some say that they were forever lost to the cold and what dwelled beneath the ice and within the wilds.
sadly she could not hide within umbra forever. her parents had told her long ago how the outside world viewed them, how they disrespected their ways. her mother had smiled lovingly, her wicked laughter bouncing off the walls as devana snarled a curse at them. meetings outside of their home were always unpleasant. young devana wanted to do nothing more than sick their bears on all who wished to subdue and suppress them. she soon learned that the visits were little more than displays of power to keep the north in check. devana would welcome the biting cold once they returned home.
as time passed and she grew into herself devana developed into a fine heir, learning all the ways to look after her family and home from her father. it was under her mother that she learned to fight, to survive with her eyes blindfolded and without weapons. with each brush and death and each task passed, she only proved to be the leader that her house deserved.
DEVANA.
code by birth of venus.
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Wyll
Senior Member
Anon Keep
Full Name: Anon Keep
Alias: Forge
Role: The Anvil
Age: 32
Place of Birth: Antares
Appearance
Height: 6” 2’
Eyes: A deep sea blue, bright like the sun shining through a stained glass window. They are gentle eyes, innately kind. However, they are also the type of eyes that seem to bore into you and stare right through you. The kind of eyes that always have dozens of thoughts running behind them at any given second and somehow able to focus on every one.
Hair: A long, dirty blond. If he feels like he is going somewhere fancy (hardly ever) and wants to dress up a little bit, he will go through the additional effort of styling it neatly back. Otherwise, he lets it fall loosely around him wherever it wants. For as care-free as he is with his hair, he takes surprisingly good care of his beard: always neat, always perfectly groomed.
Distinguishing Features: Celtic arm tattoo on his right arm and a large one across his back.
Detailed Description:
Anon comes in at 6 feet 2 inches and 252 pounds. He is by no means a small person and he knows that. It is clear in the way he walks and carries himself. For his large stature, all his features are surprisingly gentle. His eyes are kind yet contemplative, his face hardly ever wrinkles and he walks around with the slightest of smiles, albeit a notably smug one.
He makes himself presentable but doesn't necessarily fuss over appearances. He chooses comfort and functionality over anything else and has been known, on more than one occasion, to rip off his sleeves if he's wearing a particularly formal outfit and he gets uncomfortable.
Most of his weight comes from muscle and so, while not particularly "bulking", his well-defined muscles still manage to make themselves known through any clothing that isn't considered thick winter clothing. In any case,, his wardrobe mainly consists of thick or heavy clothing as he's gotten rather used to being warm and/or in the heat.
"Stop talking a wee second, will you, love? You're taking away from the moment.”
Likes:
- Working with his hands
- The little moments
- A friendly spar
- Climbing
- Reading
- Honey
Dislikes:
- Drama and/or conflict
- Being told what to do
- Loud people
- Loud place
- Disorder
- Messes
Fears:
- Being unprepared
- His own strength
- Holding babies
- Death
Habits:
- Stopping absolutely everything when he sees something/someone he likes
- Will smile and put his hands behind his back when mad/upset
- Picking up random pieces of wood and stone for sculpting
- Taking other people's food
Strengths:
- Making weapons and sculptures
- Armed and Unarmed combat
- If confidence was a person
- Art and Tinkering
- Endurance
Weaknesses:
- Very very easily distracted
- Perfectionist tendencies
- Speaks before he thinks
- Borderline arrogant
- Impulsive
Personality Details:
Anon is the quintessential gentle giant. He simply wants a good time, in whatever form it comes and has learned that a good time can come from something as simple as taking a moment to feel the wind tickle and sing through the strands of your hair. He also does his best to share these good times with those around him. Random compliments and acts of kindness; gifting sculptures to strangers because they looked like they needed it; striking up conversation by stealing your food and somehow getting you to laugh about it. He's made it his mission to find joy in every situation and, where there is none, to be the joy.
To be very clear, despite his alignment towards positivity, he is still a walking intrusive thought. Because he believes very much in "living in the moment", that philosophy means that he goes through with almost any thought that crosses his mind. Therefore, on more than one occasion, he's ended up in less than ideal situations because he got carried away by the moment. And he, unfortunately, wasn't able to charm his way out of all of them but you bet your lucky stars he tried the best he could.
The belief that he can sweet talk his way in or out of any situation is just one of the things that hints at the enormous amount of confidence he walks around with. This confidence comes from knowing the amount of work he has done on himself and knowing the life he has lived that has brought him to where he is today. Whether it is in his skills, his combat ability, or in his own worth, there is almost nothing someone can say that he hasn't heard before and chosen to overcome. As a result, he walks around, talking and acting like he's untouchable because, at least at a subconscious level, he believes that he is.
Despite his innate unpredictability, he also really enjoys order, it scratches a little itch in his brain in just the right way. With his craft, precision is key and that desire for precision has spilled over into other aspects of his life. As a result, when he notices that a place or a situation is getting out of hand, he tried his best to intervene and fix it, more for his own pace of mind than anything else. It has also resulted in some perfectionist tendencies that lead to tunnel-vision. When tinkering or working on a new weapon, nothing else matters to him - not even his own health. He is the type to work for days on a project, barely remembering food, water or sleep, and then wonder why he feels so out of it once he's done. In those moments, it isn't that he has forgotten to enjoy the moment, it's just that the work he's doing is his favourite moment and he's enjoying every last second of it.
Please read his history first, the answers to the questions on the left will make much more sense if you do
Key Events:
- Born in Antares
- Bullied as a kid
- Taught to fight by his dad
- Beat up bullied
- Became a smithy apprentice
- Tragically lost his mentor in a fire and believes that his mentor died disappointed in him
- Decided to continue his mentor's legacy, first in Antares, then in Zenith
- Was hired as one of the people to work on the building of The Leviathan due to his skill
Why did they board the Leviathan: He didn't "board" per se. He was one of the people that put in a lot of work into building the Leviathan itself and, like the perfectionist that he is, even at the last minute, he was walking around making sure everything was flawless. Satisfied, he decided to take a little nap and woke up to the loud music and rocking...the kind of rocking that happens when a ship is out on open water...
Faction: None.
Status: Low society. His skill alone is the only thing that got him drafted as one of those that would have the honor of working on The Leviathan, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
Opinion on royalty: His appreciation for order yields an appreciation for hierarchy and so while he may not always agree with certain things the king does or how the kingdom is being ruled, he respects the office of the kind enough to give his allegiance.
History:
As a child of Antares, his parents drilled it into him from a very young age that he had to be careful out in the world. The world was a place of kill or be killed. You went where you were going; you kept your head down; you minded your own business; you walked as fast as you can and then maybe, maybe you make it to your destination safely. That was how he had lived life.
Despite all that though, he was a runt of a child and so, even at his fastest, even with minding his own business, trouble always managed to find him somehow. Or, rather, he could never quite run away from trouble fast enough. Tired of seeing his son come home with bruises after being used as a punching bag, his father started teaching Anon how to defend himself. Bullying turned into mugging when they realised words weren't enough to intimidate him. Mugging turned into fights when he started standing up for himself and fighting back. Fights turned into batterings when he finally got strong enough to overpower his oppressors. At the age of sixteen, there wasn't a single person in Antares that Anon had to be afraid of. Even if he couldn't win the fight, he'd make sure the other person walked away with a lesson they wouldn't soon forget.
However, he stayed humble, largely thanks to the teachings of his parents. Rather than becoming a street bully like those he grew up with, he found apprenticeship under the town blacksmith. The days and nights spent in that smithy are what shaped the man Anon is today. At this point, he had started reaching the peak of his height but it was the hours and hours hammering away that really built his muscle. In that shop, everything was perfect. Frustration melted away as iron me iron and steel met steel. Every drop of sweat he shed in that smithy was another emotional weight dropped off him.
It wasn't long until he started dreaming of things he could do and would wake up in the middle of the night to sketch his ideas. needless to say, he had found his passion and he was obsessed. not only obsessed though, the boy was a prodigy. he and the anvil sang their song in perfect harmony and his mentor looked on in pride. eventually, anon would learn how to make models by carving wood and stone to show his mentor before they would work on the steel. because he was modelling so much, he got into the habit of simply pocketing any choice piece of wood or interesting stone he found so that he could carve it later.
it was on one of these collecting days that disaster fell. he'd been out collecting for what must have been hours. however, he returned to a store in flames. He ran in, scrambling around to search for his mentor and saw the older man lying in the middle of the wreck, bleeding out as the flames kissed the wood around him. Without regard for his life, Anon rushed in and started shaking his mentor, crying out for him to get up. in what was barely more than a whisper, his mentor spoke up, "Hush now, Anon. You're taking away from the moment. When was the last time you saw such beautiful flames?" Anon looked around and all he saw was destruction. He couldn't find this beauty that his master spoke of. "If I am to go, at least let me enjoy their warmth and their beauty". Anon was confused. The old man was about to die yet he looked more at peace than Anon had ever been in his life.
Unsure what else to do, Anon turned and laid beside the man, looking up, hoping that maybe he would see the beauty in this destruction that the man was also seeing. Flaming beams of wood crashed around them and the fire grew. However, almost in respect of the moment, no wood fell on them, neither did any flames touch them.
"Do you see the beauty yet, Anon?"
"No master"
"Then, I fear I have taught you nothing."
"Are you having one, old man?" he asked with a laugh, trying to lighten the mood. "You've taught me all that I know, nary a job you could give me now that I couldnae do." No response. The master, his mentor, his friend was gone. And his last words were those of a heartbroken master who had failed to pass the greatest gift to his disciple.
Anon held the man and sobbed deeply as the store continued to fall around them, grief overwhelming him in that not only had he lost his master and friend, but he had also let him pass with a broken heart.
"Master, I swear to you, this idiot disciple of yours will learn to see the beauty you see. I swear it!" he bellowed between sobs.
When the sun rose, Anon and his master sat alone in the shop, covered in ash but otherwise unharmed. A new Anon was born in those fires; forged in those flames. He had a mission now and he wholeheartedly believed that the peace of the old man's soul rested on the success of the mission. From there, he continued the old man's legacy. Not just in running the shop, but in giving the people of Antares a reason to smile, even a reason to laugh. Eventually, his skill and creativity would lead him to Zenith where he continued to do the same. Eventually, he became well known enough that when they were searching for skilled workers to build the grandest vessel history had seen, his name was one of the ones at the top of that list.
What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplay are:
A humbling. I love and respect and am proud of Anon and the confidence he has gained in himself and I, by no means, want or wish to take away from his sunshine tendencies. However, I would like him to come to a realization of "Hey, maybe I'm not so invincible after all" and have to work through that.
Dude has essentially been fighting as a one-man-army against negativity and once...just once...I'd like to see him lose that battle. To be put in a situation where there is just a little too much negativity to charm away and he has to actually walk through it and keep himself moving until he comes out on the other side.
sollie
Member
saar ennes
the mutineer
seize power. seize control.
♡coded by uxie♡
XI.
the mutineer
scroll.
words
Gregory Alan Isakov
saar ennes —
the mutineer, played by sollie
A silent prayer slipped from the cracked lips of a manic woman. Hands clasped together, soaked in blood, sweat, and stained with dirt. Perfectly porcelain skin looked dull and lacking in the grey moonlight, stars twinkling with pity down at the perishing woman. Saar’s ears begged her to listen closer to the manic words of her mother, seeking solace from the familiar prayer. Crimson snaked through grooves in cobblestone, staining Saar’s hands which kissed the stone. Blood seeped into the grooves of her hands, traveling through the creases of her palms, and soaking into the delicate, thick skin of her fingers until her hands were stained red.
The prayer ceased, but the noise of the port never did. The ocean taunted her, the harsh waves crashing ashore like laughter from the belly of her tormentor. She wondered silently if the stars were her tormentor, that they predestined tragedy to strike her so suddenly, and tarnish her so permanently. The limp body of a woman Saar once recognized laid motionless only a few feet from her unmoving form. Dark eyes pierced through her blood soaked palms, begging for direction in the red abyss.
GENERAL
name — Saar Ennes
aliases — The Blood Warden
role — The Mutineer
age — Twenty-five
place of birth — Antares
APPEARANCE
height — 5'2”
weight — 120 lbs
sexuality — bisexual
eyes & hair — black
scars/markings — saar is riddled with countless scars, too many to name their origin or their story. every thin or thick line on her body she wears with pride and dignity. they are proof of her survival.
appearance —A shadow looms in the face of Saar Ennes. Light dares not linger in her presence. Deep eyes, sharp, keen, and piercing are framed by thick eyebrows, which often are flat or furrowed, inexpressive in her calm. Color is lacking in the woman's face, pale skin and dark hair contrasting light and dark in her features. Pink lips bring soft saturation to the picture, though they do not brighten it at all as an unamused expression often wears itself in place of a grin, snarl, or even frown. Stillness lives in even features of Saar Ennes. Calamity lies dormant in each shift of an expression.
The lithe woman has no physical standing, and makes up for the unimpressive physical stature with a keen awareness and an incredible agility. Light on her feet, she is a feather in the wind when she wishes to be. An anchor for those around her, she acts as a supposed beacon for calm and tranquility.
PSYCHE
personality — Saar is a beacon of religious piety. Raised at a young age by a devout and delirious mother, Saar was instilled with extreme beliefs at a very young age. With a. skewed moral compass, Saar believes it is her duty to spread the will of the cosmos to all those she encounters, though she strays from traditional methods typically used by those from The Cascades and belonging to the Covenant of Aethera. She is still in her beliefs, and quick acting. Saar lacks large reactions, or fuss over simple things. The grand scheme of salvation for sinners seemed to weigh heavily on her heart and it influences everything she does. In her stillness, she finds herself often at the side of a Captain in her sea voyages. With a gift for controlling others, she finds ease in commanding and influencing. She is strange, but there is something alluring about her peculiar nature. Like an enigma, there is much more to be learned about the strange woman.
Often closed off and secretive, it is rare for Saar to reveal her true intentions, her history, or her devotions to others. She believes fully in her cause and will has not been swayed yet. Her skin is tough and leathery, withstanding even the harshest of foes. This steely, often aloof woman has created a certain charisma around her and interacts easily with others. Once the mask if off, however, on lookers will be displeased to witness the woman Saar actually is. And if they aren't displeased... perhaps Saar has finally found an individual worthy of her true friendship and companionship.
VICES— rigid
— spiteful
—judgmental
— unwavering beliefs
— violent
— aloof
— unemotional
VIRTUES — confident
— charismatic
— purpose-driven
— charming
— quiet
— amicable
— intelligent/knowledgeable
— hyper-vigilant
LIKES — thunder storms & rainy mornings
— reading her mother's scriptures
— quiet mornings
— praying
— the ocean
— sweets
— stars
— heavenly bodies
DISLIKES — extravagance
— over indulgence (or indulgence of any kind really)
— alcohol
— brothels
— pirates
— Antares
— debauchery, filth, lies, dishonesty, unholiness
FEARS — Despite her beliefs, Saar has a deep fear of death and judgement. Through her righteous quest, she feels she has been guided by the deities to enact their will. However, in the back of her mind, lying in wait... the thought of her mother's fate and sins and madness lead her to question her journey at times. She remains steadfast in her devotion, but fears she will be caught and sentenced to death for her virtuous acts of justice and judgement. Also being underground for extended periods of times-- Saar is plagued with repetitive nightmares of two things; dead doves falling into a black abyss, and being buried alive.
HABITS — Aside for her dedication to reading her mother's scriptures (once in the morning and once in the evening), she also engages in self-repentance when the deities to compel her to do so.
STRENGTHS — Saar's work with a blade is deadly. She is incredibly accurate, and with an adequate knowledge of the human body (and the bodies of many animals) she can manage a butchering of a creature with skill and ease. She finds ease in diplomatic affairs, accommodating and shifting herself to fit a palatable mold of herself. Agility and speed are on her side, she is light on her feet and quick in a fight, using strategy over brute force to overcome an adversary.
WEAKNESSES — Physical strength is not where she succeeds-- lacking in the stature to intimidate any being larger than her, her hand-to-hand combat skills are confined to defensive tactics only. Saar is loyal only to the deities at this point in the time-- she has no dedication to any creed or faction aside from the cosmos. She won't risk her life to save others unless she is compelled to do so on instruction of said deities. She can be unnecessarily violent in some situations and has a silent and secret bloodlust at times.
HISTORY
REPUTATION — While Saar Ennes is known only as a reliable sailor with a strong sense for justice and little patience for unsavory individuals, The Blood Warden in infamous in corners of Solas, particularly Antares. With a pretty penny for the Blood Warden's head, those that known the name and rumors surrounding the loathsome creature know how poorly thought of the Blood Warden is. In particular, The Red Baron has a bone to pick with the Blood Warden after the massacre of several Carmine Corsairs. Saar, however, is respectable and well liked in Zenith. She is generous with her time and money, and cares deeply for those around her, making her amicable and well received by civilians.
STATUS — WANTED; The Blood Warden wanted for violent murders in the port city of Antares and assassinations in Zenith. Posters depict a small statured individual cloaked in black.
FACTIONS — COVENANT OF AETHERA; Though not formally apart of the Covenant of Aethera, Saar feels she could reconstruct the covenant to align with the holy teaching of the prophet and saint of the stars, Ilja Ennis. She would not be formally recognized, despite her kinship with the pious covenant.
So much of Saar’s life was spent in complete darkness, totally ignorant to the bliss and enlightenment brought on by belief. Despite this darkness that came before the awakening, the memories exist, despite her best wishes to push them away. These dim memories serve as nothing more than a reminder of what awaits her should she stray too far from the light.
—
Antares was harsh to those who wished to stray from her corruption. The hostile conditions were cruel and unforgiving to the children of the patrons and unscrupulous scum that had the misfortune of procreating in the port city. While Antares operated as a stop for many wayfaring travelers, the unlucky few that inhabited the city year round suffered in the wickedness of the city.
Ilja Ennes was a woman desperate to get by. Despite her age, any semblance of youth had been sapped from the woman through years of work as an escort for the sleezy sailors that washed ashore. Opium laced her blood, and sin spelled her name. Through some fault of her own, after a drunken night at a tavern or an inn– even she isn’t certain of the story herself– and a night of ecstasy and debauchery, she eventually came to be with child. To her merit, Ilja tried with all her might to spare a child the curse of being born in Antares. But when she failed at sparing the child’s life, she attempted to improve her own.
While money from “The Gilded House” (those familiar with port in Antares fondly recounted “all roads lead home… or to a house at the least.”) was steady, Ilja’s carefree and immoral lifestyle was unbeffitting of a child. Clawing tooth and nail from the pits of impurity, Ilja found solace in the teachings of an older woman formerly associated with Covenant of Aethera. Delirious as this woman may have been, Ilja listened with open ears and open heart, desperate for a better future for the child that laid in wait.
Through the nine months it took, Ilja changed her life– as best as she could. No longer did her skin feel cold and calmly, her body felt healthy and rejuvinated, and her mind, for the first time since she could remember being a child, felt hopeful and clear.
—
Antares was contempetous and sordid landscape transformed by the verbal teaching of a skewed religion. Ilja loved Saar more than she’d loved a being in her life. Her child was bright, full of life and expectations. Even at eight pounds, Saar was a symbol of optimism in the den Ilja had been stuck in her whole life.
For the first two years of Saar’s life, Ilja walked the straight and narrow, somehow managing to protect her child inside a den of sacrilege. The Gilded House provided shelter for the mother and daughter, but the brothel was rank with danger. Ilja heard stories of stolen babies, of sailors tossing the bastard children of prostitues into the murky waters of ports, thinking in their drunken stupor that drowning was more merciful than coming to age in a place like that. Saar was walking and talking before temptation called Ilja’s name again.
The older Saar grew to be, the more she saw, and the more she remembered about her mother’s deteriorating condition. Ilja was the picture of piety, dedicating her time to teaching Saar the altered teachings of the Covenant of Aethera. Though the words likely strayed from the teachings in The Cascades, Ilja’s conviction guided her to speak, as if she was a prophet relaying the words of the deities. She was a vessel for holy information to be obtained. But as her condition deteriorated, her obsession with piety and her devotion to the deities intensified.
Ilja began writing Aethera’s Manifesto when Saar was four years old and never finished. The last text was written the day of her passing. The page was written and stained with blood and tears, the writings of a woman on the brink of reuniting with the cosmos. Her soul would be redeemed, and the mistakes of herself and her forefathers would be forgiven. Or, at least, that is what she conveyed through her writings.
The day Ilja took her own life, Saar remembers a horrible storm. Rain beat down on the roof of The Gilded House, escaping through small holes in the thatch ceiling and dripping rhythmically into buckets positioned strategically throughout the open living quarters. Her hands worked dutifully to fold the few clothing items she and Ilja shared. Despite her age, three and ten, and in spite of her mother’s endless inebriation, she felt safe in The Gilded House. Ilja, alongside the other women that inhabited The Gilded House, looked out for Saar as she grew and learned.
“It is a beautiful day.” Ilja uttered, a strange smile plastered on her face as she scribbled down more words. “Are you still writing, mother?” Saar asked, pressing her hand into a fold she’d just created.
Ilja stayed silent, only increasing the pace of her writing until finishing moments later and abruptly rising. “Let’s go out today.” She said, snatching the clothing piece out of Saar’s hand. “I’d like to go out to the docks today. Let’s go.”
Saar was hesitant to allow her mother to go out in this state– as she’d learned, the docks were a dangerous place. Not only due to the incoming sailors and travelers, but in any state it could be easy to fall off the side and perish in the murky waters below. But something propitious glimmered in the tired eyes of her mother. It was difficult to refuse her, especially when she loved her so. Saar silently scorned her hesitance– the deties would allow them to meet their end when it was time. She couldn’t prevent anything, she could only push back the inevitable.
“Let’s go.” Saar responded, extending a hand to her mother. The older woman graciously took it, embracing her daughter as they took to the streets of Antares, soaked in rain but blissful in their experience of others.
“Mother I was thinking…” A young Saar began as they neared a tavern rowdy with another barfight. “Could we go to The Cascades? I am certain the Covenant of Aethera would accept us with open arms. Your scripture is beautiful, mother, and I think you should share it with those that will listen. Even those that don’t.” She held Ilja’s hand tighter. “The deities would want you to share your writing with the world– it is the only way they will know the light and love we do.”
—
When Ilja’s life ended, Saar’s life began. The world became very clear to her after Ilja’s death. With her hands stained with blood, clothing soaked with red and rain, and mind fully clear, Saar’s purpose in this world seemed to be given to her. As if the deities themselves blessed her with the gift of knowledge as they took her mother from her.
Antares was a city riddled with unholiness. They turned from the cosmos and disparaged others in the name of lust, pleasure and sin. All the years of teachings and ramblings came to fruition when Saar completed her readings of the Aethera Manifesto her mother written. Hundreds of pages of text, scriptures that were holy and rare to have. Divine intervention blessed Saar with her purpose in life– to purge the world of the impurities it was cursed with and return the natural order.
The Aethera Manifesto was riddled with falsehoods, the writing of a woman inspired by alcohol, drugs, and madness. They strayed far from the words of the Oracles. But The Cascades were a holy land Saar could never reach, no matter how hard she tried. And regardless, she’d been deemed as a warrior for the deities. She extended her arm as their blade.
Without Ilja, she lacked prospect and security. But what she didn’t lack was the ability to learn and teach herself. She poured over the writings of her mother day in and day out, working to survive and working where she could. She worked on the docks, tying ships off, ushering sailors in, studying the scum that crawled to Antares. She worked in The Gilded House restoring the den of sin to it’s original states, washing the floors clean of their infernal footsteps. And she worked with the blade that Ilja ended her life with, sharpening her skills and becoming one with the sacred blade. A sword of stars, she’d called it as a child. In her older adolescence, she knew the blade was a mere dagger, but it did the job.
She studied matters of the body, the internal workings of man– if she had a mind for it, she might have made a good doctor, but her aim was straight as an arrow. The will of the deities would be carried out by her hands, influence by the writings of the Saint Ilja.
At only six and ten, Saar set out on her quest of purging Antares of the vermin that called themselves patrons. Six and ten, lacking in physical intimidation, but making up for it in agility and alertness. Though, that was not always the case. Mistakes were easily made, especially at the hands of a young girl enacting justice in the horrible place.
The black night masked her intentions, the blade of stars held tightly behind her back. “Sir.. Sir– Could you help me?” She called, sweet voice tantalizing the ears of a drunk man– Henrik, he was called. Henrik was Captain of a ship known for smuggling cargo in and out of Antares. He’d visited her mother several times. Saar remembered the marks he left. “Sir, please. I’m lost.. And scared and…”
“Don’t worry little lady… I’m coming! I’m coming…”
The mess afterwards was unseemingly and impure to Saar. Her hands were blessed with the blood of her mother, she could not taint them with a sinners blood. But Henrik’s demise taught her many things about her destiny.
Gloves, to purify. A clean entry wound to purge. And a sinner on their way to salvation to show.
Antares masked her work easily. The crime of the port city was hard to track for many, but Saar’s sights were not set on low status individuals. She felt a holy duty to rectify the wrongs of these individuals, and pray only for their salvation after she carried out the will of her deities. The more she purified, the more renown she gathered. Known only as the The Blood Warden, fear surronded her name and being. Caution was used when alone at night in particular areas. But Saar worked around these obstacles with ease and skill.
The Red Baron did not appreciate her holy work.
After an attempted attack on her life did she draw back to the shadows, retiring the blade momentarily. The Blood Warden was a wanted criminal, with a hefty price on her head. She’d been unable to eliminate the man sent to kill her, and he’d seen her face. The only man that could name the woman behind The Blood Warden was alive, with breath in his lungs, and a scar reminding him of Saar’s ability. Antares had been purged partially of it’s corruption, but more work was to be had. Unfortunately, it was impossible to do so with killers lurking around every corner. If Saar were to carry out her holy purpose, she might as well put a blade to her throat and end her life. Lying low would provide her cover to continue her righteous quest.
—
The Cascades were an impossible dream, one Saar convinced herself would be too difficult to reach. The Cascades also held no true knowledge of the prophetical text of her mother– she feared ostracization for her work. Unfortunately, a place she felt called to could not harbor her. She searched for a city in need of her services and eventually found herself stowed away in the cargo of a ship headed to Zenith.
The Capital of Solas would become a landing place when Saar wasn’t at sea– the ocean offered a unique opportunity for her. No one could track her if she was in the middle of nowhere. Spending years on a ship, learning the operations, the ins and outs, the intricacies, without running for her life… Well, it only strengthened her conviction in her faith. The Ocean became her home, and Zenith became her port. And greed began to infect her mind– greed for power. For influence. For station. If she were able to take the helm of a ship and pass Saint Ilja’s words down, the world could be changed. Solas could see a great reckoning from the deities above. And Saar’s hands would be the one to facilitate it, no matter the cost.
EXTRAS
THE LEVIATHAN? — As a seasoned sailor, Saar has served as second and third mate on other ships. With her experience and ability to lead and aid the Captain, she boarded the Leviathan with the purpose of aiding and assisting the Captain first-mate. However her own ambitions of usurping power from the Captain and turning the Leviathan into a tool for the cosmos is her true intentions behind boarding or even acting as first-mate.
OPINIONS ON ROYALY? — Royalty, in any capacity, are sinful beings that attempt to take power from the real divine beings. They should be dealt justice and eliminated for attempting to be false deities.
OPINIONS ON PIRARCY? — Pirates operate with only sinful ambitions of stealing and pillaging. Similarly to royalty, a swift and merciless death should met them as punishments of their crimes against nature and their fellow man.
FOR GAO
WHAT I WOULD LIKE MY CHARACTER TO ENCOUNTER/EXPERIENCE/DEVELOP IN THIS ROLEPLAY ARE — I'm very interested in introducing to Saar the idea that her entire life has been built on the foundation of madness. That her mother was insane and that the bloodlust that comes with her religious dedication is inherently wrong. Making her face the moral decision between being right and being wrong (and also her obsession with reshaping the Covenant of Aethera) would be so interesting! And/or introducing her to individuals that might make her question her beliefs or even stray from her beliefs. Right now, if someone is going to die, she will let them in a heartbeat. I would love for her to feel an urge to save someone and question her entire beliefs and life and have a crisis. I would love a total change in perspective and goals for Saar. (Because right now she wants to take over the Leviathan and mass murder sinners so...)
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
saar ennes.
designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ
nina molotov
the chameleon
milly brady.
♡coded by uxie♡
XI.
the chameleon
scroll.
words
Gregory Alan Isakov
nina molotov —
the chameleon, played by sollie
“Miss. Valeria, if you will please sit still for one more moment… The portrait is almost complete…” The gentle voice of Ada Molotov chided the small girl to stay where she sat as she added small details to the already magnificently detailed painting. The colors were vibrant and distinctive and while it resembled the blonde little girl sitting in the emerald chair, it had a touch of originality. It was more than a study of life, it was a piece of artwork.
Nina could remember sitting on a small stool behind her mother, watching as she washed the canvas with warm tones to create the underpainting. Layering skin, hair, textures of fabric, lighting, all to create a scene worthy of displaying in the Baron’s home. Their youngest daughter, Valeria, was closest in age with Nina, though the little Molotov daughter thought they were nothing alike. But she sat for days as her mother painted the snooty little girl, observing each stroke and trying to ignore the whines and complaint filled moans of the youngest Moretti child. Nina sat and watched and learned day in and day out.
That was her destiny, it seemed, while her older siblings attended classes, she sat next to her mother, learning the art of painting.
GENERAL
name — Nina Molotov
aliases — The Bomb (Only she calls herself this.)
role — The chameleon
age — Twenty-Two
place of birth — Valdioro
APPEARANCE
height — 5'7”
weight — 145 lbs
sexuality — bisexual
eyes & hair — brown hair & sapphire eyes
scars/markings — nina doesn't have any battle scars-- most of her bumps and bruises are sustained from her general clumsy. a hip bumped into a counter, a skin with a mysterious cut, a slice of a finger from cutting an apple. she does however have a two beauty marks on her face, one left of her right eyebrow and the other on her cheek.
appearance —Nina is well groomed and well maintained. She has lived a lifestyle of comfort and her physical appearance reflects that. Silky, perfectly healthy, brown tresses flow down in gentle waves framing her face. it is often worn in ornate styles when she has assistance, but most often it is braided away from her face and kept loose. Thick eyebrows express easily. Pale skin is more often than not tainted with flushed pink color.,Dark, rich, ocean eyes and a pink smile tugged into a mischievous smile pull together her facade, Nina is beautifully forgettable. She'll smile at you and disappear before you can remember the features of her face. A decently pretty girl, and certainly using it to her advantage, there is an extent to the charm of her plain visage. Warmth is easily radiated from Nina's person, and she appears approachable and kind. She looks to be the kind of person to help someone that has fallen, or find a child's mother.
PSYCHE
personality — The mouth in the middle is always the hungriest and the last to be fed. Like a vulture scalping off the remains of a carcass, Nina ate the rotten meat of success from those around her. This parasitic behavior wasn't intentional, but one that she adapted to in the home of Barone Moretti, taught by her mother as a harmless way to get by. This might all sound bad, as though Nina was never able to find who she was as a person and forced to adopt the traits of others... But a chameleon is no less a chameleon simply because it takes on the color of a different material. A chameleon has a gift, rather, and a chance to take shape of what it wants to be. For survival, for entertainment, or for whatever reason it wishes. Nina is a sponge for information, for interests, for those that adore a certain kind of person. She captivates attention, and yet remains unforgettable in ones mind. She is cunning, and unspecific. She is charming, but doesn't stand out. Nina weaves through socialites like a snake gliding through murky water. She won't bite, because she's never provoked. The river she slithered down provides no resistant and she likes it this way.
She is a woman that enjoys fun, and indulges. She likes drinking, and smiling. She likes flirting and playing. Nina loves games and will find any opportunity to play them. If this is dressing up for deceit or playing hide and seek with an armed guard. At her core, however, Nina is deeply cowardly. She wants what is best for her, and thinks of others only when it will save her own neck. It's a fault, she admits, but the shame and fear she has for abandonment and the need to protect herself over any other being is a direct result of her insignificance to her family. All in all, she's either a jester or a charmer, but either way when you meet her you're sure to be missing some money and have a smile plastered on your face.
VICES— deceptive
— manipulative
— selfish
— stubborn
— sort of a kleptomaniac
— cocky
— cowardly
VIRTUES — crafty
— confident
— daring
— cunning
— adaptable
— quick on her feet
— street smarts
— straight-forward
LIKES — cows
— money
— painting
— playing violin & music
— literature
— poker or any kind of gambling
— high adrenaline activites
— LIKES
DISLIKES — extravagance
— dislikes
— winter, ice or snow
— hard manual labor
— being poor
— authority figures
— rules/restrictions/yellow tape
FEARS — Being insignificant. Someone calling her out on her cowardly acts. Drowning, or more specifically swimming-- (she cannot swim at all.)
HABITS — Nail bitter extraordinary. She taps her feet like she's tap dancing (despite not knowing how to tap-dance.) Sucks her teeth whenever she's mildly annoyed.
STRENGTHS — She can change shape and form for any occasion, metaphorically speaking. She has a very dynamic personality and is quick to adapt to the needs of a situation. She is the perfect float for any team, as she can quickly learn how to do something adequately enough to carry out a job. She's quick on her feet, and very sneaky. She's got fast hands and can steal well. She holds up well in a fist fight.
WEAKNESSES — She's selfish, so she'll probably save her neck over yours unless she knows you give a damn about her. She's incredibly clumsy and bad with a knife or any kind of blade. Horrible swimmer, even worse climber. She's also quite picky about what she eats and is generally too high maintenance for a criminal.
HISTORY
REPUTATION — Nina appears to be a good-spirited kind young woman from a nice home. She doesn't ring any alarm bells, she doesn't raise suspicion. She has good manners, a kind smile, and an incredible ability to make others forget her significance. She could stand out if she wanted to, but she doesn't even get to wear the title of wallflower for she's more like a ghost among a crowd, a footnote in history with her pockets full and her eyes bigger than her stomach.
STATUS — WANTED; Unbeknownst to the run away art thief, she's got a price on her head after her friends sold her out.
FACTIONS — Formerly/Tentatively Stygian Order
The Molotov family prospered in Valdioro. Ada Moltov worked as a painter for the Baron, capturing images of the family to document for history and aesthetic purposes. A portrait as children aged. A landscape of the new additions to the Moretti estate. A commemorative painting each time the Baron allocated funds to improvement on the city. And tucked at her side, a young Nina, watching and learning like the shadow of her mother.
When she came of age, her time tucked at her mother’s side was quickly ended. Becoming Ada Moretti’s handmaiden was a miserable life sentence. The only benefit was her time at Ada’s side, learning along with her and coming into the education her older siblings had been afforded. Luca was far older than Nina– by 17 years. Their relationship was strange, as he prospered on a far, tending to cattle and keeping to himself. Maria, his wife, was a strange woman. Secretive and scarcely seen. Luca promised she was a good woman, but Nina only found herself scorned that Luca never cared to spend time with her, Marco, and Sofia.
Marco remained in Valdioro for a few more years as Nina grew into her adolescent– but he too disappeared without care for staying behind for Nina or her family. Her selfish brother’s left both her and their mother to take care of Enzo Molotov, who after years working in the mines, was paralyzed after being crushed in an accident.
Nina was a restless and troublesome child, quickly bored by the lessons she and Ada sat through. She worked, and she studied, and she took care of her father, and she rinsed and repeated every day of her life. Slowly, the mundanity was killing her. Minute by minute that the Baron’s daughter stole of her life, the less eager she was to serve and be useful. She continued painting, though without much time to be creative, her studies consisted of duplicating artwork hanging about the Baron’s house. She was quite good at replicating, matching the brush stroke and technique of each painting, creating the style flawlessly. But she was only a girl and creating copies of expensive paintings had no practical uses.
Nina spent years with Ada, listening to her endless, boring, self-absorbed blathering. The Baron was a kind man, though a bit boastful, but his daughter was a little beastie. By the time Nina turned thirteen, she was desperate to find ways to escape Ada’s endless chatter.
The stables were often unoccupied, as riders were constantly training and galavanting the alpine escape with their steads. Though it smelled of muck and horrible things, she decided that a few moments alone with a foul smell was better than any more time spent at Ada’s side that day.
Her shoes were not to be worn in the stables, they would certainly suffer if she misstepped even the slightest. Thankfully, Nina was using the utmost care in where she stepped as she traversed the unfamiliar space. Hands quickly caught her by the shirt, tugging her back as she stumbled away from a pitchfork.
“Sorry,” Squeaked a meek voice, the owner of the hands, as he quickly moved back, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. He was a stableboy– she could tell by his clothing. But he was so young. He was her age. “You were going to get hurt. You shouldn’t be in here, you know. Your dress might get dirty.”
Nina snorted and waved her hand, offering a crooked smile to the curly haired boy. “I’m not worried about my dress. Who are you? You work here? You shouldn’t tell anyone I’m here if you don’t. I know people. So I can be here.”
The boy threw his hands up as Nina’s mouth ran endlessly, waiting for her questions and statements to cease. “My names Louise. Your secret's safe with me– I don’t tattle on no one, miss.”
Louise was a kind boy with a kind heart. He quickly became Nina’s friend, the girl slipping away to practice painting horse portraiture, among other things. It was nice to have a friend like him– he cared for her, and made her feel as though she was the most brightly painted canvas in the world. She was no longer invisible to Louise.
Louise introduced Nina to Edith in the summer of the next year, and the girls were fast friends as they both tended to Ada’s every need and knew of her irritating demeanor. The girls laughed over their shared frustrations. The fourth and final member of the strange group of children was Aoife Greer, the stubborn cousin of the Baron’s who had come to live with Ada and accompany her through the tumblings of being a teenager, came upon the group during one of their “secret meetings”.
These meetings were in fact NOT secret, but Edith did snatch treats from the kitchen for them all to share once a month. So they were discreet about their meetings. While Aoife was stubborn and annoying at times, she had an envy of the Baron’s wealth that proved useful and together, the four dreamed of a better life for all of them. They could move to Zenith and live in a mansion and do whatever they wanted. They could replace the Baron, and become rulers of his estate! But these were all childish dreams quickly squashed by their age and their reality.
Nina turned fourteen alongside the scruffy staff of the Moretti family and their eyes began to grow hungry for their futures.
“What do they have that we don’t?” Nina huffed, kicking up dirt as she gazed into the flickering family. A small hike from the city was a thick clearing of woods. A makeshift fort had been constructed by the group and a fire ring served as their warmth in the cooler months. “We work way harder. We’re smarter. We have more ambition. I don’t get it.”
“They have money.” Louise said, throwing a stick he’d been twisting into the fire. “And money gets you power and influence. Money gets you nice houses and servants. Money gets you anything you could ever want.”
“Well we definitely can’t get money here,” Aoife said dejected, hands propping her head up. The other three shot Aoife a soft look, as they all knew her bed was far softer than there’s at the end of the day.
“Well then how do we get money? There has to be some way. Can we start working on my brother’s farm? Or sell my paintings?”
Aoife scoffed, rolling her eyes. “Your paintings are fakes. They’re just rip offs of the original ones. Who’s gonna buy that? You couldn’t sell that in the worst of places.”
Louise’s eyes ignited in the firelight, turning to his companions with a sudden realization. “You couldn’t sell the fake… But you could sell the original. Replace the original with your fake… And no one would be any the wiser.”
“Louise,” Nina pointed her shocked tone at him. They’d been friends for the longest and absurd ideas were his speciality. “Are you suggesting we steal a painting?” She snorted a laugh but Louise’s face remained serious. “Lou, there’s no way. The Baron would notice.”
“No, Nina, he wouldn’t. Your paintings are replications. They’re almost perfect copies– He wouldn’t know!”
“Where would we sell them? People would start turning heads if they noticed the Baron’s personal art gallery floating around the market?” Nina’s skepticism was just and necessary.
“I.. I have some connections in Zenith. If you get me the painting, I’ll get you the money.”
Stealing artwork hurts no one. The Baron was already rich. He wouldn’t miss one small painting. Nina carried out the crazy plan and Louise actually managed to get it sold– And gods was it more money than either of them had seen in their entire life. Louise insisted she keep it all, but considering the team effort, Nina halved it. And so they became a pair, slowly replacing the fine paintings the Baron kept in his home with replicas and pocketing the price. Aoife and Edith aided, Aoife with providing the location of more expensive, more secure paintings and Edith for providing keys, and distractions. They were a perfect team completing a victimless crime.
From the time the kids were fourteen to the time they were sixteen, they had replaced over half of the Baron’s collection but their stomachs were growing hungry for something bigger. Louise’s ambitions had grown larger than a few paintings. Louise wanted the grand jewel of the Baron’s collection– a priceless landscape of Zenith, valued at a price so high none of the teenagers could grasp it.
The plan was simple, but not well thought out. And after a failed attempt at replacing the painting, they’d been caught by the Baron. Staying in Valdioro risked her life, as she would certainly be arrested if she was caught. The choice was simple– staying in Valdioro for the promise she would get out before she rot or escaping and prospering. She chose to preserve the rest of her life, alongside the misfit thieves.
Stowing away on a shipment of precious minerals, the group of thieves barred through the cold and brutal journey to Zenith, through freezing mountains and treacherous roads before ending up in the capital of Solas.
Zenith boasted gilded streets and stoney facades, a jarring difference to the plush fields and picturesque mountains of Valdioro. It lacked life, it lacked peace, and most of all, it lacked comfort. Nina, while living a life of service to the Baron, lived a comfortable life. A full stomach, clean skin, clean clothing, a safe home to return to at the end of the day… But in Zenith, she was a stolen coin purse away from being an urchin on the street. And Nina refused to let that happen to herself.
Her skill with the paintbrush served her well. Disbanded from the misfit thieves, she took up residency at a noblewoman's estate, serving as her painter, as her mother once did for the Baron. Through her time with the noblewoman Cassandra, she grew very close with her daughter, Hailara. Cassandra’s daughter was kind, albeit a bit closed off. She was wonderful with a blade, charming when she wanted to be, and would often tease Nina more than the others. And for two years, the secret affair persisted, sneaking away late at night to see the dashing Hailara and be wooed by her gruff exterior.
Thoughts of thieves and heists were far out of her mind when Louise contacted her again. She was growing bored of her stale life with the noblewoman and while Hailara ignited her passions, she could not fulfill the desire for wealth that fueled Nina. Hailara thought Nina to be a fun secret, but nothing more…
She agreed to help Louise, and the misfit thieves were reunited yet again, pulling off small fabrications and gaining capital slowly but surely. The jobs grew larger and larger, until they caught the attention of the Stygian Order. Aoife had pickpocketed a member and enticed them to forgive her if she offered up the best thieves in the city to join their ranks.
Their time with the Stygian Order was limited, as Louise’s eyes grew larger than his belly. King Rowan surely housed magnificently expensive paintings and jewels. If they could simply steal one… They would be set for life. After that, they could continue alongside the Stygian Order and never look back.
But Louise was overcome with greed, he was sloppy and the heist fell through, Louise, Aoife and Edith being caught by the King’s Guard.
“You cannot leave us!” He pleaded as he was dragged away. “She’s in here too!” His voice was hoarse from rage and desperation. Nina cowered as they dragged the three away, pleading and crying, begging for them to catch her too. She was too cowardly to rescue her friends, but vengeful that they’d wished her the same fate as them. But Nina wasn’t sloppy and she wasn’t going to get caught in Zenith too. Under the cloak of darkness, she tucked herself away inside a passenger ship set to sail away from Zenith in the morning. But the bounty had already been put on her head, by decree of the king. Unbeknownst to her, Nina Molotov was to be caught and brought to justice for her crimes against the crown. .
EXTRAS
THE LEVIATHAN? — Nina, after barely escaping from a heist gone wrong, escaped and snuck onto the Leviathan in hopes to escape a conviction.
OPINIONS ON ROYALY? — Stuck-up and annoying but people nonetheless. If Nina were royalty, she would be living her best life.
OPINIONS ON PIRARCY? — Will they help her out? If so, she LOVES pirates.
FOR GAO
WHAT I WOULD LIKE MY CHARACTER TO ENCOUNTER/EXPERIENCE/DEVELOP IN THIS ROLEPLAY ARE — I want her to be forced out of her selfish tendencies and have some experiences with actual peril. She's a clumsy thief that blends in wherever she goes. If she were to have to face something actually scary, it might scare some sense into her. I would also LOVE if she could eventually face justice and escape it? I'm all for women's wrongs and Louise was a bitch for ratting her out... I need cat and mouse...
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
nina molotov.
designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ
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eebeevee
eve <3
the shaman.
scroll
Rivi
kolit
ㅎㅎ
01.
full name
Nerrivik Kolit
02.
alias
Curer, Witch Doctor, Rivi
03.
age
twenty six
04.
gender + pronouns
female [she/her]
05.
place of birth
Umbra (Village of the Firja)
06.
role
the shaman
healing
I do not need these books, I have Hri, and that will be enough to aid those in need.
visage
height
1.74 m
weight
57.15 kg
hair colour
Jet Black
eye colour
Deep dark brown
in detail
Hair
Rivi's hair has a jet black color that falls straight down her back stopping short to her low back, it appears to be sleek and has a shiny gloss to it as she keeps her hair in extreme care especially when traveling as she does not want to damage her hair in any way. The front part of her hair she cuts so it frames her face naturally with side bangs the flow behind her hair to create the illusion of volume on the top of her hair.
Eyes
Her eyes are a rich dark chocolate hue that has flecks of gold close to the edges to allow her eyes to appear as almost a lighter almost honey brown color when hit with the right amount and angle of sunlight Some have said her eyes feel very warm and a deep sense of home to them when looking into her eyes.
Build
A light bronze tone skin that can easily become darker when Rivi is allowed to bathe in the sunlight without the freezing temperatures of her homeland, reaching to 5’7” she was considered on the taller side of her tribe as the average height for women tended to be around the 5’4 to 5’5 range but thanks to her father massive height she got some good tall genes in her. Her body is relatively quite fit as she is constantly forging and walking long trails and expeditions to get her needed plants and herbs and whatnot for her remedies that she creates so her limbs have a decent amount of muscle and isn’t afraid to use some of it if someone tries to hurt her now.
persona
At first glance, those who have come seeking for helping from the Witch Doctor always seem to have the impression that a much older and colder woman who can seem a bit off putting will doing them a service as that’s what the tales from others had told them but soon enough they are met with the opposite of their expectations as they face a warm and down to earth woman who simply wants the best for those who want aid.
From her upbringing, Rivi has a strong head on her shoulders as she was taught the way to be a real helper and understanding that the real nurture for the soul and body is of the things that mother earth have given to us on this planet. Even to those who listen to her rambling as she mixes up the recipes to their illness, they are able to see that she is quite knowledgeable in her field as well as being very educated with her presentation of speak which she taught by her mother to learn both her native tongue and English as it was one of the more common languages those who came to her from the outside.
But due to her lack of knowledge of the real world, She may come off as native to some as she truly does not understand a lot of the things from the other lands have to offer but is always open to expanding her learnings and understanding of people. Though do not think that her nativeness is a weak as she is not afraid to be blunt with her words when needed, Rivi understands the importance of her being and does not like when people think lowly of her simply because of the way she was taught without the so called necessary classes and books that other talk her ears off about.
Part of Rivi believes that the man who killed her mother is still out there so her mind often plays tricks on her making her believe he will come for her and the Frija one day to complete the job. Her mental state is a bit off because of it as she truly thinks she is being hunted and her only thing she thinks she can do is hunt him back, so at times Rivi thinks she spots the criminal when in reality, it is just a man who shares similar features to the culprit.
virtues
Honesty
Mature
Resourceful
Sympathetic
Independent
vices
Blunt
Compulsive
Native
Paranoid
Secretive
strengths
advance knowledge of herbs & plants
good understanding of illnesses and cures
performing rituals
weaknesses
Physical Combat
Very judgmental towards people
not liking people who have a licenses or official medics
likes
forging
climbing trees
Light Snow
Fishing
Planting
Candle making
Her pet snow fox (Evio)
helping others
Creating remedies
Cranberries
Performing rituals
dislikes
Extreme heat
Hunting
Non-believers (of her abilities)
Professional medics & doctors
fears
Failing at her job
Unable to cure someone
Not having herself or work being taken seriously
Losing her remaining love ones
habits
Rivi stares. a lot. If someone is interested in her, she will look at them and study their facial features. She may even give you a small reading of your past life if you’re lucky.
Sometimes Rivi will talk to animals like her pet Evoi as if they will answer back. Do they? Only she knows what they’re thinking and saying to her.
She’ll pretend to mutter random phrases of her native tongue to scare people off if she thinks they are bothering. Some people think she placed a curse on them when in all honesty, she just called them dumb over and over till they left her radius.
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history
Most travelers who are not residents of Umbra aren’t too aware of the existence of the natives who live beyond the outskirts of the city limits, through the rather dangerous voyage of forest and mountains. The Firja or as the Umbra call them ‘The People of Snow’ have lived on the land far beyond the records of Umbra, many people they are the true natives of the Umbra as they have said to have been here for hundreds of years. Firja weren’t much travelers as only a few individuals would truly sent their journey out to sea to explore the outside world that laid ahead of them, coming back with new supplies that could never be found at home otherwise.
Those who live in Umbra don’t have much of a fuss nor issue with The Firja as they don’t frequent the city unless to do their occasion trades of their hunting and forging that they had collected that weren’t much harder for those in Umbra to archive without going to extreme measures to get an reasonable amount but for the Firja, it was a day to day task as they had a better understanding of the land and what it could give to them. To the ones who are fortunate enough to be invited to travel back with them to their tribe, come back with stories of their way of life, their rich culture that was heavily rooted to nature and the love towards it, as well as their equally strong bond with their religious background with mother nature. The tale tells of the foreigners who tell of a doctor within the village who normally would always be the first born daughter of the Kolit family who would be taught the skills and teachings of healing and rituals that helped the village with their worships or problems that would stir at times.
As for Nerrivik, she already knew what her role was before she could fully read out her full name. Her mother was the shaman of her people, able to cure them whenever illness creeped over the village and would aid travelers who would seek for her remedies as traditional medicine was not saving them from their end. From a young age, she watched as her mother would almost magically heal these sickly individuals back to their health and wondered if she could truly do the same. Seeing how caring and gentle her mother was to everyone in the village regardless if they were Firja or not was something she truly admired most about her mother as Nerrivik always believed balanced out her father's much harder shell of a personality. Being their second child but first born daughter, her childhood was very different to her older and yonder brother as their role was geared towards hunting and fishing, learning the ways of the land and how to view the world as their hunting ground. To her mother and Nerrivik, their role was much unique to the regular role the women played in the village as they were seen as the single most important people besides the chef and his family as they were the only one who were seen to be highly connected to their mother, Hri, the goddess of life and healing who was also the mother of all the other gods and goddesses of their belief.
Her childhood was one she was extremely grateful for as most of her time was spent out in the wilderness and taking care of animals that her mother would often pick up and eventually keep as their household pets that traveled with them at times out to Umba. During one of her first solo forging expeditions when she was around 15, she was able to connect with an injured snow fox that had been caught in one of the traps that she knew was not of her people. After freeing it and tending to its wounds, she kept it around till she believed it was time for it to return to its rightful locations but the little creature kept close to her, not wanting to leave her side. Feeling the bond and the sudden fall of snow, she decided to take the fox under her wing and named it Evio which meant snow angel in her native tongue.
Life for the Firja was peaceful and no real conflict came to them as they weren’t ones to outwardly put themselves in situations that could create problems amongst others. That was before he came along. When Rivi was around 25, ready to take charge of the role that was previously held by her mother, a young man from a land she wasn’t too sure of its existence was seeking out a cure for his ill state. He was fragile and death was practically wrapping his arms around him so without a second thought, she helped him and cared for him. She wasn’t aware of what exactly he had as he was presenting symptoms that even her mother wasn’t sure either. Nonetheless, she started her work and went out to collect the needed herbs and supplies out in the forest, keeping her mother behind to tend him while her momentary leave.
After a hard scavenging plants that Rivi believed would help at least ease the pain the man was going through, walking inside her mother’s healing tent to see her face down in a pool of what Narrivik could assume was her own and the man standing in front of her with a sword only mere inches away from her neck. Her mind ran in circles trying to figure out how things would come to this as the last time she checked the body of the man, he had no weapon of this kind. Noticing the frozen state the man rushed out the tent, leaving her along with the body of her mother. Only reality snapped in for her, she dropped the items at hand and fell to the ground to aid her mother but it was far too late. The cut to the chest was far too deep and who knew how long she had been bleeding out. Rivi’s screaming of pain was the only alert her father or anyone knew that something had happened, the village grieved the loss of their best curer as Rivi grieve the lost of her mother, her teacher, her guide, her everything.
That grieve would soon become rage as the people wanted to know who this man was and what his motive was to kill the single most important person for the Firja, this created heavy tension between them and Umbra as they assumed that they would have only known of their existence had to be from someone within the city or told by them. Rivi couldn’t take the pressure and the cold war the two groups were having as all she wanted was her old life back, her mother back. Her mother mentioned the dark crafts that she would be forbidden to touch as if the chef knew was being performed, Nerrivik would be banished regardless of her noble role. She didn’t care as if this ritual worked, her mother would be back and she could flee with her. The ritual only works for a bit, able to speak to the spirit of her mother before it faded away into nothing. To her misfortune, a child of the village saw her rush to the woods and immediately told the chef who had to shamefully ask her to leave as she had broken the one rule that was placed since the beginning of their people.
With a heavy heart and a low head, Rivi left the one place she knew and now being thrown out to a world she had no knowledge of but all she knew was that she would keep her people in honor as well as continue her practices, never wanting to leave the idea and teachings of her mother behind, no matter where she went. Using her healing as a way of trade to get food and shelter as well as income, something she had to learn about fast after her departure from the Firja. Most people don’t call her shaman and would often spread her name of “The Witch Doctor”, never telling the people who her real name nor origin was, making those who came to receive aid from her believe she escaped from hell to create good to the world with her ‘witchcraft healing powers’.
extra
I Bet On Loosing Dogs
Mitski
connections
misc.
connections
Hri
Her connection to Hri is strong as she knows that without her, there would be no reason for her talent that has been passed down for many generations of her bloodline. Without Hri, she would be nothing right now. Rivi would have no purpose, and no real reason to be here on the world.
Orenda
Rivi will often get lost in thoughts thinking about her mother, espically when she is crafting a remedie for a patient. Thinking of her gentle words and teachings, how loving she was not only to Rivi but to anyone who came entering her tent for aid. She always wonder how her life would have been if she was still here, would she still be living in the village? Or was she always doomed to die? To be murdered?
misc.
Reputation
Rivi’s reputation varies depending on the person you speak to. For the commoners who have fallen ill, she is a guardian angel to them who cured them back to health when traditional medicine had failed her. Now for the other side, some have even gone as far to say that she should be killed, burned, tortured for being such a witch who in reality is simply taking the souls of the innocent. Rivi doesn’t quite care about that side that people have created about her as she knows she’s doing more good without truly hurting anyone in the process.
Why did they board The Leviathan?
She needs to find the man who killed her mother, even if it is the last thing she does in her lifetime. Another part of her wants her to forget about the man and do what her goddess has intended for her, which is to continue to heal those who seek her abilities.
GM Questions
What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplay are:
I would want Rivi to truly see the world and meet new people as she has never left Umbra and only meet a few others from different lands. I would honestly love the idea of someone on the ship actually being the killer or at least know of someone who COULD be the killer just to add drama maybe? I can definitely see her fighting the “true medics” on the ship and prove to them that what she does is equally if not MORE important in comparison to their work.
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, Of course
♡coded by uxie♡
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picklemouse
It's that me, Antonio
Cassandra Isabella Flores
#The Bride
#On Board
#Catherine Zeta-Jones
♡coded by uxie♡
Knox Hood
#The Archer
#Coming Soon
# Barry Keoghan
♡coded by uxie♡
XIX
the bride
scroll.
doomsday
lizzy mcalpine
"I'd like to plan out my part in this
But you're such a narcissist
You'll probably do it next week
I don't get a choice in the matter
Why would I? It's only the death of me
Only the death of me"
BASICS
Full Name
Cassandra Isabella Flores
Alias
Flora Fitchner
Role
The Bride
Age
27
Place of Birth
The Canals, A small fruit farming village inland
Face-claim
Catherine Zeta-Jones (especially from The Mask of Zorro)
Height
5’5”
Eye & Hair Colour
Brown & Brown
Written description of appearance
Cassandra keeps her hair long, often styled in its natural state of loose waves. She’ll often pin it back and away from her face, sometimes in a half back, or braided style. The warm brown tones are tinted with slight reds, especially after spending time in the sun.
As for her clothing style, Cassandra tends to wear long skirts and light tops. Easy for working, and walking around her village, while also staying cool in the sun. She’s not opposed to pants, and in fact has a few pairs. That said, Cassandra basically has nothing by the time she boards The Leviathan, wearing only her wedding dress.
Her style will be determined by what she finds along her travels. Cassandra is drawn to strong colours, and will find muted dark tones “boring”.
PERSONALITY
POSITIVES
Generous
In Cassandra’s mind, she owns nothing, so giving is easy for her. She could have nothing and still give her last coin to someone who needs it most. She doesn’t understand greed, considering it to be the great ruiner of man. Her generosity applies to all, even those who wish to exploit this quality in her.
Strategic
Cassandra is strategic, in a way that she is able to dissect the possibilities of a problem. Not only that, she is unafraid to throw out an idea to try something new. Inheriting her fathers skill for negotiation, Cassandra is unafraid to get into a problem to solve it.
Steadfast
Strong in her convictions, Cassandra hasn’t yet had to challenge her morals and world view. She believes wholeheartedly in community and interpersonal care. This is how things work at home. No matter what the world outside of her home throws at her, she’s determined to be unshakable. That being said, she’s already well on her way through the hardest test of this she’s ever faced.
NEGATIVES
Naive
Call her trusting, Cassandra isn’t one to assume the worst in anyone. At home, it's not been proven that people have bad intentions. River pirates are one thing, but men in society have quickly taught her how much she doesn’t understand.
Headstrong
Cassandra is used to saying how she feels and what she thinks. Unfortunately, outside of her home, this is seen as a negative quality. She is headstrong, and used to being listened to when she speaks. There’s no doubt she is stubborn, but in a world such as this, it’s not a bad quality to have.
Emotional
No stranger to expressing her feelings, Cassandra is struggling to manage her emotions. From the nastiness she’s experienced lately, she’s noticing her usual even temper is running hotter than usual. She is prone to outbursts, especially when she is feeling challenged or doubted. The good part of this quality (though could be interpreted otherwise) is she will confront a conflict head on and open the channels of communication, whether the other wants to communicate or not.
A LITTLE DEEPER
Likes
Flowers; Fresh Fruit; Dipping her feet in to the river; Laying in the sun; Mornings and Sunrises; Long walks full of deep thoughts; More tba
Dislikes
Being cold; Being forced to do something she doesn’t believe in; Unnecessary violence; More tba
Fears
Cassandra fears for the safety of her family and her home; She fears the consequences of her running away, but more so fears what her life would be if she were forced to live in The Cascades with Quinlan as her husband. She also fears being found out to be in disguise, and what that would mean for herself and for Adrius.
Habits
Wakes up early naturally; Candor/Speaks directly; As her life has dramatically shifted in the last few weeks, Cassandra has been thrown out of her normal routine. Adjusting to the wide world will be difficult for her.
Strengths
Swimming (she is fairly good, but is used to swimming in rivers); Hiking; Way-finding and orientation (on land); Determination; Herbalism; Puzzles
Weaknesses
Not a lot of self defense training; Emotional; Doesn’t understand high societal social cues; Will be wary around people from The Cascades, and will find grow trust slower with them; More tba
HISTORYIdeas are in point form as I continue building her story
EARLY YEARS
- The Fluvian people of The Cascades have always been peaceful.
- Cassandra Isabella Flores was raised in a community of farmers.
- Her father was affable, caring, and a strong negotiator. He was a part of the negotiations for liberation of the The Canals from the King.
- The community was along one of the rivers, close to the inland.
- While there are waterfalls and cliffs and lush trees, there is a pocket of farmland where beautiful flowers and delicious fruits grow.
- It's like a beautiful utopia, valued for their agricultural contribution to the land.
- She grew up, unafraid to jump into the water, and strong enough to carry baskets of fruit to the market.
- She was smart, and enjoyed riddles and puzzles, even making games that she played with the other children in her community
ADULTHOOD
- Cassandra grew up as a strong thinker and a hard worker.
- She has a zest for life, spending a lot of her time exploring the land around her home.
- there's a township along the canals where they grow fruits and stuff, but they're having issues with trading because they diverted from the crown.
- Times were getting hard. The rise of river piracy threatened the waterways and it became difficult to send their farmed goods down to trade with other communities. As a result, harvested crops would rot as they sat, unable to be shared.
- Cassandra’s father sought assistance from a High Judge with connections to the capitol.
- Proposing a peaceful agreement for trade protection, under the condition that The Canals remain free of the King’s influence.
- Cassandra traveled with her father to The Cascades. Having never ventured from The Canals, she marveled on the open ocean at the vastness of the world she’d never seen
- The Cascades were so unlike the Canals.
- The eternal night was novel, but she remarked silently that she could never be happy here.
- Cassandra and her father met with The High Judge, Quinlan.
- His reputation preceded him as they toured The Cascades. People showed him respect, so Cassandra and her father had no reason not to trust him.
- They stayed for a few days. Quinlan provided clothes and individual rooms for Cassandra and her Father.
- For the first few days, Cassandra’s father sat in on meetings with the judges while Cassandra was sent to view the arts and beauty of The Cascades.
- By the time day three came along, Cassandra demanded her way into the room.
- She commanded the attention of the men, including Quinlan who saw her as an intriguing challenge.
- She was dismissed, and Quinlan met alone with her father for a final negotiation.
- The High Judge agrees, on the condition that he may marry his daughter, Cassandra.
THE HIGH JUDGE, QUINLAN
TW - SA (Alluded to, no description)
- Surprise! Cassandra is arranged to be married to High Judge Quinlan of The Cascades.
- Cassandra’s father was ordered back to The Canals, before giving her the opportunity to say goodbye to her father.
- leaving Cassandra to fulfill her duty as Quinlan’s bride
- They meet for dinner, and Cassandra gets bad vibes.
- Quinlan says, I have a special surprise
- He takes her on a tour of the cellar where prisoners are kept.
- Cassandra connects with Adrius
- Quinlan takes Cassandra to his vip section of the execution square
- Cassandra is not pleased when she sees the barbaric way citizens cheered for violence.
- Someone is executed and Cassandra is obviously uncomfortable.
- Adrius comes out to be executed and Cassandra can’t bear to witness another death and she makes such a scene that Quinlan halts the execution, dismissing Adrius and the other prisoners until after the wedding.
- When confronted by Quinlan about her reaction, she is honest about how uncomfortable it makes her
- Quinlan gets in her face and confronts her
- Talks about how he has his power and reputation for a reason, and that she is a representation of him. She needs to be impressive.
- Story about his old ward/He may be neutered, but there are lots of ways to make a woman behave.
- Quinlan then introduces her to a room of his men. All high status men in The Cascades.
- They spend the rest of the night gawking, and poking; Touching and commenting about her as if she couldn’t hear them.
- Cassandra endured silently until the nightmare was over.
- Quinlan takes her to her bedchambers, praising her for her fortitude, but that he expects a better performance tomorrow night.
- Unable to sleep, Cassandra plans her escape.
THE WEDDING DAY
- Cassandra awakes to a parade of servants entering her room.
- Attendants began washing and dressing her. Putting on makeup, doing her hair, and preparing her for the big event.
- Everything was so hectic, she couldn’t find her opportunity to sneak out. She wasn’t even given time alone to eat.
- More tba
Reputation
She’s most definitely wanted for treason for running from her arranged marriage with a sadistic High Judge Quinlan in The Cascades. Otherwise, she’s a sweet woman with a normally cheery outlook on life. She does have a bit of a temper and will speak her mind, but she’s used to living peacefully.
On the ship, she is known as Flora, new bride of Ivan Fitchner. She doesn’t leave his side much the first few weeks on board.
Why did she board The Leviathan?
Running away from a marriage to a horrible man in a land that is not her home. Cassandra hopes to find her way back to her home in The Canals, safely.
How did she board?
Cassandra and Adrius escaped on board, disguised as newly wed couple Ivan and Flora Fitchner. Neither of them had money, so Cassandra traded an ornate diamond necklace Quinlan gave her for the ceremony.
Faction
N/A
Status
Wanted (Alive) by order of High Judge Quinlan of The Cascades
Opinion on royalty
Neutral to Against; The people should be able to take care of themselves and their land. She hasn’t met much royalty, but if politics and the royal line are full of men like that, she doesn’t care for the idea one bit.
Opinion on piracy
Cassandra has not encountered many pirates in her life. She’s heard of river pirates in The Canals, but hasn’t witnessed them in person. She needs to consider them with more information.
Extras
Pinterest Board
For Gao
What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplay are:
- She wants to go home, but doesn’t yet realize that she can never just go home anymore.
- She is also developing this allyship with Adrius. The thing connecting them is the fact that they’re both wanted by Quinlan. Them being disguised as newlyweds gives us a lot of fodder for some silliness and intrigue.
- Adrius teaches Cassandra to be tough - Extra hilarious when we realize they take advantage of their “Honeymoon Phase” to stay in their room and do fight training.
- I want Cassandra to struggle to adjust. Not only is she not used to being on a ship, but her life has completely changed 3 times over the last few weeks. More to it, she’s not used to being around “civilized” people - This is to say, she’s not used to being around people who live in the King’s society. So there are cues she will miss and things she may not know or understand.
- Most likely to get captured by pirates because she believes they’re really selling bananas or something.
- I want to see how she develops organically. I wonder what will trigger her bloodlust, and how far she would go to protect the safety of her and Adrius.
- Where is Cassandra’s father? Did he make it home to The Canals?
- Did Quinlan hire river pirates to follow him to the village and destroy the farms?
- Yes. Yes he did.
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:
Absolutely!
RELATIONSHIPS
VALERIAN CAIUS FLORES
Cassandra’s father; Farmer and Spokesperson for his community in The Canals.
QUINLAN WRIGHT
High Judge of The Cascades; Abandoned Fiance from an arranged marriage; Tormentor and enemy.
ADRIUS BLACKWOOD
AKA Ivan Fitchner, "Husband"
A prisoner of Quinlan in The Cascades; First meeting while Cassandra was on a tour of Quinlan’s property. Adrius was the prisoner who was about to be executed when Cassandra stopped the ax. Later, when Cassandra was escaping, she crashed into Adrius who was also escaping. They quickly teamed up, knowing they were both done if they were caught. They board The Leviathan together under the alias’ Ivan and Flora Fitchner, a newlywed couple on their honeymoon.
GALLERY
Cassandra Isabella Flores
designed by bad ending. & coded by xayah.ღ
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ComplexDragon
I'm fine. I'm just being dramatic. It's what I do.
Tallulah Azzarà
# The Magpie
# Gratiela Brancusi
♡coded by uxie♡
Cosette Martel
# The Erudite
# Tamika Fawcett
♡coded by uxie♡
There is some music in the fourth tab. The vibes are absolutely PERFECT for Tallulah. So go ahead and press play on that while you read through
the magpie.
scroll
tallulah
azzara
ㅎㅎ
01.
full name
tallulah giovanella azzara
02.
alias
La Sicaria (Lula, Lulu, Lala, Tully)
03.
age
29
04.
sexuality
bisexual
05.
p.o.b
sirocco sands
actress.
We all eat lies when our heart is hungry
visage
height
5'7
hair colour
Brown with natural highlights
eye colour
Deep brown
face claim
Gratiela Brancusi
hair
A curtain of curly dark tresses. If you look closely, you’ll find a myriad of shades, ranging from rusty red to deep brown. It’s often tied back or covered, and perpetually frizzy. But she’s proud of it. While it’s distinctive, it belongs to countless women from her lineage, and is her act of defiance to care for it and let it grow untamed.
eyes
Striking eyes like silky sweet chocolate. Don’t be fooled by the softness hiding in their depths. They have been used to manipulate and murder, to suffocate and silence. They shift and morph based on need. And often hold a fiery inferno of rage and frustration. But, if you’re lucky, you’ll see them alight with the brilliance of a clear night sky. Reserved for those she holds dearest, or moments of pure hope.
build
On the more slender side, having been underfed most of her life. Her face and arms are often covered in a layer of grime and dirt that she’s never been quite able to shed. She’s learned to wear it as armor; a reminder of where she came from and where she’s going.
scars
A few scars on her lower legs, and across her forearms. One silvery strand across her right cheek, from where Carrow nicked her when they first met.
persona
There’s a reason that Tallulah Azzara is often compared to a magpie. She’s a flamboyant, boisterous, and lively person, who is only quiet if it serves her needs. At her core she is a performer. She loves to tell stories and show people worlds they can only imagine. She’ll talk your ear off, sometimes about nonsense, but does it in a way that you can’t help but sit and listen. She’s the master of distraction and disguise. While she’s not very good at tact, diplomacy or negotiation, she can spin stories and tales and tell you exactly what you want to hear. It’s manipulation more than anything, but it works to keep people sedated and happy.
Tallulah has an almost compulsive desire for adventure, adrenaline and shiny objects. She is a skilled thief and conwoman, and has no qualms about fleecing down an innocent bystander for a trinket that could make her terribly wealthy. Or even for a cheap piece of gold that would look good on her neck. She’s reckless, impulsive, and jumps into things without thinking. Life is not truly life without a little danger to quicken the pulse. But it results in her getting into situations she could have avoided, or creating enemies where she should have made a friend.
While she is fiercely loyal to those she cares about, and has a bit of a romantic streak, necessity and survival have squashed those traits down. Instead, she’s left with a tendency to avoid attachment, and distance herself from anyone who might become a liability, or worse a threat. She is very self sufficient and can take care of herself, to the point where she lacks an ability to ask for or take help. Why let someone else do it when she can and should do it herself? She is ever confident, curious, and intelligent. Displaying much out of the box thinking, and enjoying a challenge.
However, she can be very uncooperative, stubborn, and self centered. She’s used to being alone, so she’s always looking out for number one. If someone else gets hurt, well then, darling, that’s just the way it goes. The need to look out for her own interests first often comes into conflict with her desire to defend those who cannot or who she cares for. It’s anyone’s guess whether or not the better part of herself will win out. She’s also horrible at listening to anyone in charge, or cooperating with others. That requires trust, and she does not trust anyone as far as she can throw them. She’s been controlled and followed orders, and all it did was weaken her. Everyone is only looking out for themselves, and therefore, that’s what she should do too. Doing anything else is practically suicide.
The question remains whether or not this magpie will ever recover the kinder girl she once was. Or, if she’ll turn into the ruthless monster time and circumstance is begging her to be.
likes
Stealing
dancing
singing
bright colors
hair accessories
hoop earrings
bangles
adventure
travel
swimming
hair care
alcohol
knives
skirts with multiple layers
dark nights
sweet fruits
long naps
fires
smell of smoke
performing
close calls
collecting trinkets
dislikes
brothels
mute colors
chocolate
coffee
bitter foods
anything spicy
perfume
small critters
sleeping exposed
heavy armor
sand
royalty
people born into privilege
pda
people coming up on her from behind
small children
being restricted
being told what to do
snow
chilly weather
gloves
people taking from her
fears
being betrayed
losing control
getting caught
losing control
being forced to return to her former life
being locked in a room
strengths
Excellent pickpocket and thief
agile
quick
perceptive
intelligent
stealthy
master of disguise
distraction
weaknesses
Combat skills
uneducated
working with others
weak swimmer
brute strength
following directions
auditory processing
following rules and commands
history
Grow Wild...
- Tallulah was born in Sirocco Sands in the lower class. Her mother worked as a serving wench in one of the various establishments, and Tallulah was the result of a one-night mistake.
- She spent her early childhood roaming the streets or in a room upstairs. She was never allowed inside the establishment, for fear of deterring customers with the sight of a young girl. However, that didn’t stop her from sneaking downstairs to get a look at the festivities in the evening. She also liked to play pretend. It was easier to deal with her problems if she pretended she was someone new every day. On a new adventure or quest.
- Her penchant for stealing started early. She was always attracted to shiny objects. Even things of no value. There was almost a compulsory need to take them.
- When her mother learned of her stealing, she taught the girl which things were valuable and which were not. So, Tallulah started swiping things every night while her mother made the rounds.
- Unfortunately, she was caught one night. Her mother tried to take the blame, but her boss wouldn’t hear of it. So, reluctantly, she allowed Tallulah to be thrown out. Not without tying a bit of the stolen gold to the inside of the girl’s dress.
- Tallulah found herself roaming the streets as a feral child, stealing what she could. She returned to the establishment, but her mother turned her away. She quickly learned she was on her own and would have to make her own way.
- A few weeks later, she noticed a band of traveling performers. They were nomads, and people enjoyed their songs and dances. However, Tallulah merely saw an opportunity. The jewelry and costumes they had were unlike anything she had ever seen. She wanted desperately to know where it was from. So that night she snuck into their wagon. She was caught again, but instead of being thrown out, the performers took pity on the small, grimy child and kept her. They nicknamed her ‘magpie’, because of her attraction to shiny objects.
- Her life took a turn for the better. She began singing and dancing with the traveling troupe. She had a natural talent for acting, performance, and lying. She loved reinventing herself over and over. Being someone new everywhere she went.
- But she was also used to picking people’s pockets. Steal a couple of extra coins here and there, and bat her eyelashes real nice so that people would donate even more (though they didn’t know they were being swindled too).
- This continued for a few years. Tallulah honed her craft and became a performer in her own right.
- But soon enough, she was caught. And her troupe left her behind. Solidifying the idea that Tallulah had absolutely no one to rely on. She had to take care of herself.
- She freed herself (through methods she’s not proud of), and became a performer again. Taking up a new name and persona. She got so good at swiping things that she could do both at the same time. She was well known for her mesmerizing performances. The Starling, they called her. However, she believed magpie was still more appropriate.
...And when they try to cage you...
- When Tallulah was just shy of twenty years old, she was caught again. After a successful evening, she was cornered in the hallway by a young man perhaps five or six years her senior. He realized she had stolen from him.
- There was a back-and-forth. But instead of hurting her, the young man encouraged her to join the Stygian Guild. He happened to be a thief as well and believed that Tallulah could shoot even higher. And Tallulah found herself entranced by him.
- But, still wary, she refused and fled. However, the young man, Carrow Brollot, was persistent. And they played a game of cat and mouse for nearly a year. Carrow did his best to earn her trust. Until, against her will, she found herself falling for him. As he would find himself at all her performances. Over and over.
- She was caught again and realized her identity as the Starling had come to an end. Carrow came to her rescue, and she finally caved.
- She quickly became involved in the Stygian Guild and climbed the ranks as a known thief. She and Carrow were a match made in heaven. Tallulah was quick and stealthy and Carrow was ruthless. Where one was found the other was not far off.
- They were known for traveling throughout Solas. Pretending to be new people everywhere they went. It was necessary, especially as they grew in notoriety.
- At first, they were close. Lovers even. But soon Carrow grew angry and restless. Perhaps it was madness. Perhaps it was greed. Perhaps he was threatened because Tallulah was quickly becoming a better thief than he. The young woman couldn’t tell you which. But the man she was once so fond of quickly turned his wrath on her.
- She was a captive. A pawn in his ever-increasingly dangerous schemes. Gone was the suave, charming man, and in his place was a monster more terrifying than any she had seen. He only wanted her to be his little pet. To retrieve what he wanted without question.
- He refused to even touch her anymore. Unless it was to slap her.
- She had no one to call for help. Even those who knew turned a blind eye. She was utterly alone, just like before. And this time, there were no magical performers to save her.
...Grow Wings
- There was a large-scale heist Carrow wanted to pull off. Tallulah was an important piece of it. And she took a risk. She sabotaged the heist. Taking the items with her, and leaving Carrow to rot.
- Carrow was furious with her. Vowing to hunt her down and kill her.
- Instead, Tallulah took everything she could and fled. A wanted criminal in numerous cities, she forged new papers and a new identity.
- But she has many enemies, very few friends, and no real place to hide. And there are only so many lives you can take on before one of them catches up with you.
extra
thieves
sammy rae
connections
misc.
connections
Carrow Brollot
A vicious flame. Carrow and Tallulah were passionate, reckless, and explosive. At first, Carrow was a devoted, charming, and loyal lover. He practically worshipped the ground that Tallulah walked on. Meanwhile, Tallulah found him infuriating, and wonderful. She felt truly safe for the first time. So much so that she was able to overlook some of his more violent tendencies. Until he turned on her and became her living nightmare. She got the best of him for now, but she's still reeling from his betrayal, and wondering if she'd ever really be able to get rid of him if it came down to it.
Seraphine Azzara
The woman who made a mistake that led to Tallulah's entire existence. They now have an estranged relationship, with Tallulah not having seen her mother in over two decades. She holds deep resentment and anger towards the woman who kicked her out to keep her job, but she still quotes things her mother said to her.
misc.
Faction
Currently a member of the Stygian Order. She joined via Carrow Brollot, who put his name in the ring to get her in. She hoped to have access to more information, better victims, and more adventure. She’s still tied to the faction, but she’s gone undercover now that Carrow is out for her head. The faction would recognize her even today, and that makes her nervous. Any one of them could rat her out.
Status
In order from past to present. Tallulah was born into low society and spent much of her early childhood slumming in the streets of Sirocco Sands. She learned most of her skills in the backwaters. Self-taught, as well as taught by life itself. When she became more prolific, she evolved into a wanted criminal, and it’s the status she has lived in for over a decade.
Opinion On Royalty
Tallulah is firmly against royalty. It has been the source of her misery for her entire existence, and she would be happy to see all of them burn into a fiery pile of ash. In fact, that’s next on her list once she takes out slimy Carrow Brollot.
Opinion On Piracy
Sword swinging is very sexy. And Tallulah is well acquainted with piracy. She has spent most of her life thieving to get by and has no interest in doing things differently. Perhaps it’s the thrill she gets from taking things that aren’t hers, or maybe it’s just that she doesn’t know how to do anything else.
Arc Ideas
- Tallulah is very unmoored. I’d love to see her forced to work with others and learn to trust them. She’s used to handling things alone, and believing she cannot rely on anyone.
- She’s done a lot of shady things in her life. I definitely feel like at some point Tallulah’s past may catch up with her. Either in the form of Carrow or one of the other numerous people who happened to be a victim of her skilled fingers.
- I think her being captured again would be her worst fear. I’m not saying it should necessarily happen, but she’s also wanted almost everywhere. So I wouldn’t be surprised if a bounty hunter tried to turn her in for a big prize.
- Maybe having to confront her past. Her mother or the troupe that left her behind.
- I’m definitely more of a… I like to see what happens as the plot progresses. So these are some thoughts but I swear I’ll have so many more fun ideas as we get farther in the process.
Further Communication
Yes, of course! I'm super fascinated by this roleplay, so I'd be happy to join later, or even come up with another character if needed.
♡coded by uxie♡
Coming soon to a ship near you
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floralmoon
pushing the gay agenda
calanthe de braose
- The Perfumist
Full Name : Lady Calanthe de Braose
Nickname : none
Age : 23
Date of birth : The Nineteenth day of the Fifth month - May 19th
Place of birth : Sirocco Sands
- Personality:
Vices : conceited, heartless, merciless, pitiless
Virtues : equanimous, inventive, precise, thorough
Deepest Fear : being caught and put on trial
Motivations : to advance or protect herself by all means necessary
Quirks/Habits : twirling her hair, picking at her nail beds, absentmindedly tapping, has RBF
- Background:
Calanthe always dreamed of taking her mother's spot on the throne, but she was born with a disadvantage, an older sister. As a child, she would spend majority of her time frolicking around the garden, learning about the various flora that lived there from the gardener. He advised her what plants to stay away from, and which ones smelled the best. In the years she spent being taught, her interest in using the scents to create perfumes for her family and anyone else who may be interested.
While her sister would be spending her time doing some sort of royal training, Calanthe was mixing plants & oils, hoping to find the perfect combination. She would take the product as the family traveled across the city for meetings and things alike. Much of the attention would be on the Duke & Duchess, and then moved on to her sister. Calanthe spent most of her time being overlooked, occasionally being dismissed by others as just another commoner.
As time went on, Calanthe's jealousy and hatred towards her sister grew, festering inside, creating a monster. Yes, she was older, but why wouldn't they have trained them both for taking the throne in the event that her sister passed away? What if something awful happened? That could never occur though, security was every where and there was no way that they'd let something so devastating happen. But maybe, just maybe someone on the inside could take down her older sister.
Many nights, she spent locked in her room, perfecting the sweetest smelling perfume, one that her sister could not refuse. She used the knowledge over the years from the gardener of what pairings worked the best, and thought of one last ingredient that would make the scent to die for.
White Oleander.
The flower was locked away along with many other poisonous plants to prevent them landing in the wrong hands, but nobody would've thought the hands would come from inside the castle. Accessing this part of the garden wouldn't be very difficult, the gardener left the keys hanging on the wall inside the shed. After retrieving them and entering the forbidden garden, Calanthe cautiously clipped two of the flowers off the vine, placing them into a cloth bag, and headed back inside.
In the morning, the family woke, a celebration was in order for the eldest sister as it was her birthday, turning 28 was a big deal apparently. As the family smiled and laughed, they moved to the living room where many presents awaited for her sister. A scowl formed across Calanthe's face, she never received anything of these proportions for her birthday, but that might change when she becomes an only child.
Calanthe gifts her sister the perfume, giving her a warm smile, "I created this scent just for you, one of a kind." With a step back, she watches as her sister spritz the perfume on herself, raising her wrists to her nose in order to get a deep sniff. "It is absolutely divine, Calan-" Her voice cuts off, as she begins coughing, "It's a tad strong though... Of course, there had to be some sort of insult to a creation from Calanthe. In a huff, she takes off to her room, it wouldn't matter much longer though, she would never have to hear from her sister again.
As night falls, the de Braose parents stand at the side of the eldest sister's bed, she had fallen extremely ill, the two think about what could've caused this when Calanthe entered the room. "You. You did this." Her mother charges towards her, eyes narrowed, finger pointed straight at her. She stands there, had her plan actually worked? Would she now be the heir to the throne? She gives her mother a shrug, "It was the only option. Her face rests in a cold & callous position, showing absolutely no remorse. Her mother continued to berate her when the family doctor spoke up,
"She's gone.
The news broke of the passing not soon after, this caused an uproar amongst the commoners who found the de Braose's favorable, many formed a mob and approached the estate. Calanthe’s parents rushed around, trying to figure out what to do and how to calm their people down. The people outside the doors chant her name, she stands at her window staring down on the townsfolk, with a smile on her face, "They love me." She quietly said to herself.
The next day, her parents barged into her room, immediately they disowned her, claiming that she had ruined everything. Her father hands her a ticket, "You will board this ship and never come back. If you do, you will be killed." Calanthe wraps her hand around the ticket, with a smile on her face, it was so nice of them to consider her safety despite the crime she had committed. Her bags were waiting for her at the back door, as she grabs them and walks out, she sees the gardener, and gives him a smile and wave. The man had nothing to say, and just shook his head at her in pure disappointment.
code: @s e v e n
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M4R5
𝗉𝗌𝗒𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗇𝖺𝗎𝗍
Adrius Blackwood
#the oathbreaker
#tom hardy
♡coded by uxie♡
- 040302generalAdriusfull nameAdrius BlackwoodageThirty ThreegenderMalesexualityHeterosexualdate of birthDecember twenty-secondplace of birthGossvein, KestyrThe Oathbreakeralias.Ivan Fitchner
pronouns.He/Him
occupation.Former Guard for The High Judge Quinlan
known languages.English, Latin, Basic Gaelic
statusLow Society and Wanted, has a warrant out for his arrest by The High Judge Quinlan
reputationIn the Cascades, he's deemed as just another cog in the machine among the ranks of his fellow guards. However, back home in Kestyr, he is viewed as an outcast and an omen alongside his family
factionNone
- 0403visage01Adriusht6'0"wt185 lbs.hairBrunette - His hair is dark brown, nearly black and typically kept at a medium length. Often tousled or pulled back to keep it out of his face during work or battle. Though, while plotting his escape, in efforts to help hide his identity - Adrius took a crude knife to his locks and half hazardly chopped away at its length, leaving it in uneven disarray.eyesGrey Blue - His gaze is withdrawn, often unsettling those who meet it, as if he’s peering into the very depths of their soul in search of hidden truths or weaknesses. A prominent scar runs vertically across Adrius’ left eye, a deep, jagged mark that begins just above his eyebrow and ends on his cheekbone. The wound did not blind him but it left the skin around it slightly puckered and discolored.bodyAdrius' face is angular, with sharp cheekbones, a strong jawline, and a slightly hooked nose that adds to his intense and somewhat intimidating appearance. Standing at around 6'0", his frame is tall and solid, with broad shoulders and a well-defined musculature that comes from years of working the land, hunting, and engaging in physical challenges. Adrius Blackwood possesses a lean, muscular build that speaks to a life of physical labor and survival in the harsh environment of Kestyr paired with the overwhelming work assigned to him during his enslavement to Quinlan.modsAdorned with intricate, ceremonial tattoos, each representing a rune or blessing tied to his family's schismatic beliefs. The tattoos are primarily black with organic patterns that flow across his chest, back, arms, and legs. These designs include symbols of protection, strength, and spiritual connection, with some elements appearing almost ancient in their style. A distinctive ritualistic brand on his back that takes the form of a large bird, often interpreted as a raven or a crow. The bird's wings are spread wide, with the tips reaching near the edges of his shoulders. However, the scar is more than just a mark; it carries deep spiritual and cultural significance.fcTom Hardy (Taboo)
- 04persona0201Adrius
- likes & dislikesmisclikesNature, wilderness, herbalism, family bonds, silence, hot stew, brandy, hare or venison, the smell of campfire and spices, sparring, rainy days, liturgical music, tobacco or opiates, and a hot bath with herbsdislikesOutsiders, authority, dishonesty, deception, crowded places, sailing, the ocean, the royals, unnecessary cruelty, cats (he doesn't trust them), strong perfumes/colognes, and satin fabrics
- likes & dislikesmischobbies
Adrius' free time was stripped from him the moment he was forced to join Quinlan's ranks, however he found small comforts in things such as whittling (carving small runes and totems from wood), meditation, studying runes and ancient texts regarding his family's beliefs, storytelling, and hunting
habits
Praying to the old gods, he has ritualistic routines in the morning and evening to keep in touch with his beliefs, speaking to the fire (though, it never responds), and people watching
fears
Drowning, Quinlan capturing Cassandra, The Royals and the power they hold on society, and losing his freedom
strengths
⧾ Being a survivalist, Adrius retained the sharp instincts and heightened senses from living off the land in Kestyr.
⧾ An unyielding resilience that allows him to withstand hardship and bounce back from adversity.
⧾ His resourcefulness makes him skilled at making the most of limited resources, whether it's crafting tools from the natural environment, using herbs for ailments, or finding unconventional solutions to problems.
⧾ His physical prowess from his muscular build allows him to endure long hours of strenuous work, engage in combat with skill and ferocity, and navigate difficult terrain.
weaknesses
⧾ Does not know how to swim
⧾ Basic reading comprehension with English
⧾ Adrius' self-imposed isolation and deep-seated distrust of others limit his ability to form new alliances or seek out help when he needs it.
⧾ His emotional repression leads to periods of intense internal struggle and emotional outbursts, which can cloud his judgment and make him vulnerable in situations that require a clear mind.
Opinions
Adrius harbors a deep-seated disdain for royalty and those in positions of power. Growing up in the harsh environment of Kestyr, where survival is a daily struggle, he has little respect for those who are born into privilege and luxury without having to work for it. To him, royalty represents the worst kind of arrogance—those who rule from afar, detached from the realities of the common folk, imposing their will on others without understanding their struggles. Adrius has a complex view of piracy, his opinions are influenced by the practical realities of survival and the blurred lines between legality and morality in his world. He has minor admiration for pirates due to their adaptability parallels his weariness of their unpredictable savagery.
Gao's Questions
What I would like my character to encounter/experience/develop in this roleplay are: I'm very open to just about anything, the grittier the better.
⧾ Adrius isn't necessarily a vengeful person, but he would gladly sacrifice his own self for the sake of ending Quinlan's tyranny. Thus, sparing others the same fate he's been dealt and for those who have been wronged by Quinlan.
⧾ I'd like to see how Adrius would fair around various members of society, as he was essentially a feral with his family in Kestyr, but forced to reshape himself to stay under Quinlan's radar.
⧾ Cassandra and Adrius' dynamic of two escapists, whom are from very opposing spectrums of society trying to survive together offers plenty of opportunity for serious and comical interactions with others. Especially with the two pretending to be newlyweds.
⧾ With Quinlan being a hateful man, he's bound to make Adrius out to be the 'kidnapper who stole his bride'. Trying to have Adrius their tracks and sleeping with one eye open is bound to push him to the brink of insanity.
⧾ I wouldn't even be opposed to Quinlan finally getting his hands on Adrius and making him suffer for his treason.
⧾ Adrius is aware of Quinlan's plan to murder Valerian Flores, though he's not had confirmation whether or not Quinlan had successfully done so. But he chooses to keep this knowledge to himself and doesn't share it with Cassandra.
⧾ With Adrius' unorthodox religious beliefs, I'd like to see how it would play out with the Covenant of Aethera's followers - would they condemn him?
⧾ If Adrius somehow manages to have a happy ending, I'd assume he would never return home out of fear that his family was exterminated by Quinlan's forces, but find home with a group of close comrades that he considers family.
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: Absolutely, yes.
personality
Adrius Blackwood is a complex and multifaceted personality shaped by the harsh realities of his upbringing and the traumas he has endured. His demeanor is often apathetic and guarded, creating a man who has learned to keep his emotions in check and trust sparingly.
Stoic and Reserved: A man of few words, often keeping his thoughts and feelings to himself. He rarely shows vulnerability, preferring to maintain a calm and composed exterior, even in the face of danger or emotional turmoil.
Loyal and Protective: Beneath his reserved exterior, Adrius is fiercely loyal to those he cares about. His protective nature is most evident in his relationship with his family, particularly his siblings, and now Cassandra. He will go to great lengths to safeguard those he loves, even if it means making personal sacrifices or engaging in violence.
Morally Complex: Adrius’s moral compass is not black and white. While he has a strong sense of duty and honor, he is willing to blur ethical lines when necessary. His actions are guided more by pragmatism and the need to survive than by strict adherence to moral principles.
Haunted and Guilt-Ridden: Being deeply haunted by the death of his twin brother, Tactus, the guilt weighs heavily on him, affecting his interactions with others and his self-perception. He often grapples with feelings of self-loathing and regret, which can lead to moments of introspection and inner conflict.
- history030201AdriusThe BlackwoodsThe relationship with his family may be strained but it is deeply rooted in love, loyalty, and the burdens of responsibility. As the eldest of six children, Adrius and Tactus had always felt a strong sense of duty toward their siblings and parents, especially given the hardships they faced as outsiders in their village. Losing Tactus felt as if he had lost a part of himself and Adrius has never felt whole since.Cassandra FloresAlias: Flora Fitchner, "Wife"
Adrius is apprehensive of Cassandra with initial distrust, but there is a growing respect for her with their unspoken bond forged through shared adversity. He feels a sense protectiveness towards her, being in her debt from inadvertently saving his life. Now, boarding The Leviathan with the façade of being honeymooners, he finds the idea of sharing such an intimate space with Cassandra unsettling. Yet, he understands the necessity of their arrangement - this voyage is their only chance at freedom. It will be a true test of their companionship.Quinlan WrightAdrius' servitude to Quinlan was built on power dynamics, fear, and manipulation - with Quinlan holding the upper hand and Adrius forced into a position of reluctant subservience. Despite finally escaping Quinlan's clutches, Adrius regrets not having made more of an effort in ending Quinlan's cruel reign over the judicial system. But he also fearing the mad Judge's inevitable retribution for Adrius' betrayal.coded by natashaThe Ritualists
The Blackwood family is a large and enigmatic clan, known for their deep-rooted unorthodox beliefs and the eerie aura that surrounds them. Consisting of about six children, with Adrius as the eldest and his twin brother Tactus by his side, they live on the outskirts of their village in Kestyr, physically and socially removed from the rest of the community. Their home is a modest, weathered structure surrounded by a dense farm land that brims with herbs, spices, and plants of mysterious origin. The family is self-sufficient, tending to their land and relying on the natural resources of the swampy region.
The Blackwoods are marked by their ceremonial tattoos, which each member receives upon reaching adulthood. These tattoos are not mere decorations but are believed to hold the power of ancient runes and blessings, connecting each family member to their ancestors and the natural world around them. The intricate designs of these tattoos tell stories of their lineage, their beliefs, and the blessings they seek to carry with them throughout their lives. Outsiders in their own village, the Blackwoods are viewed with suspicion and fear. Rumors of black magic swirl around them and their practices set them apart from the more conventional villagers. They rarely participate in the communal activities of the village, and when they do, their presence is met with a mix of curiosity and unease.
Despite the isolation and the whispers of dark powers, the Blackwood family is close-knit and fiercely protective of one another. Their bond is forged not only by blood but also by the shared burden of being different in a world that doesn't understand them. Each member of the family plays a vital role in maintaining their way of life, contributing to the family’s survival in the harsh, unforgiving environment of Kestyr.The Sacrifice
The arrival of Quinlan’s men was not heralded by fanfare or commotion but by a quiet and unsettling presence. Clad in dark, imposing uniforms, the recruiters moved with a cold andcalculated efficiency. Their faces obscured by the brims of their hats and the shadows cast by the setting sun. The village of Kestyr, already quiet and withdrawn, seemed to hold its breath as the men made their way to the village center, their boots sinking into the damp earth with each step. Adrius and Tactus stood proudly at attention, hardy arms folded behind them with unyielding stances. The sight of the recruiters sent a chill down their spines, their instincts telling them that nothing good could come of this visit. The twins exchanged a glance, a silent understanding passing between them—whatever was about to happen, they would face it together.
The leader of the recruiters stepped forward, his voice cold and authoritative as he informed the brothers of their selection. Quinlan had ordered the recruitment of one young man from the village and they had chosen the Blackwood twins. But there was a cruel twist: only one of them could go. The other would have to die. The air seemed to grow thicker with tension as the reality of the situation sank in. The twins’ mother, a woman of quiet strength and resilience, stood in the crowd, her face pale but resolute. She knew better than to intervene; Quinlan’s men were not to be trifled with. The other siblings watched from the shadows, their wide eyes filled with fear and disbelief. Adrius and Tactus stood facing each other, their hearts heavy with the weight of what was about to unfold. They had been inseparable since birth and their bond forged in the shared hardships of their family’s life in Kestyr. But now, that bond would be shattered by the cruel hand of fate.
Tactus fought with all the strength he could muster, his movements driven by fear and desperation. Adrius, though equally skilled, moved with a grim determination, his mind racing as he tried to find a way to end the fight without killing his brother. But the reality of their situation left no room for mercy or compromise.
The fight was brutal and heart-wrenching, the sounds of their struggle echoing through the stillness of the swamp. Bloodied and exhausted, the twins fought on, their bodies pushed to their limits. But in the end, it was Adrius who gained the upper hand. With a final, agonizing blow, he overpowered Tactus, his heart shattering as he delivered the fatal strike. Tactus fell to the ground, his eyes wide with shock and pain. Adrius knelt beside him, cradling his brother’s head in his hands, tears streaming down his face as he whispered a final, tearful goodbye - adamant on gifting his twin a merciful death. His jaw clenched and his muscles tensed as he wrapped his hands around Tactus’ throat. Time seemed to slow as Adrius applied pressure, fingers trembling with the force of his grip. Tactus' breath hitched and his body convulsed in a desperate attempt to draw in air until there was a sudden uneasy silence enveloping the two and surrounding onlookers.
The recruiters looked on with cold indifference. The village remained eerily silent, the weight of the tragedy hanging heavy in the air. The Blackwood family gathered around their fallen son, as they mourned the loss of Tactus. Adrius, now marked by the blood of his own brother, stood over Tactus’s body, his heart hardened by the cruelty of the world. He had won the fight, but the victory felt hollow, leaving him with nothing but the bitter taste of loss and the burden of survival.From the moment he is forced into Quinlan's service, Adrius is thrown into a world where morality is twisted and survival means becoming a tool for a tyrant's ambitions. For the next eight years, Adrius had not just been any guard - he is Quinlan's enforcer, driven by his unflinching loyalty built on the harsh reality that disobedience or failure will result in a fate far worse than death. The burdened weight on his shoulders shapes him to becoming a reformed feral, but an adept right hand to be taken advantage of, in the eyes of Quinlan. With the threat of unimaginable consequences looming over his head, Adrius is tasked with carrying out orders that most of his brethren can't stomach, such as interrogation and torture, suppressing potential rebellions, and even murder in cold blood. While Adrius excels in his duties, the weight of the work takes a heavy toll on his psyche. He knows that each task further binds him to Quinlan’s service, stripping away pieces of his humanity. But his loyalty is exhausted and his obedience has been tested to its limits when Quinlan orders Adrius to have an overpopulated orphanage accidentally go up in flames. His reasoning being that there will be less mouths to feed and the real estate would be better suited for his business endeavors. Adrius boldly refuses the demand. This ultimately lands him on the ballot for the next group of executions.The Servitude
Though, it was no surprise to hear Quinlan's ramblings in the belly of the cells. Often visiting his prisoners for a quick fix to satiate his sadistic desires, whether it be to torture or force them to fight for his own entertainment. But the woman trailing behind him was unusual and unfamiliar to the captives. The prisoners clung to the bars of their cells, their faces twisted in fear and pleading. Crying for mercy and please for a fair trial as their hands reached through the iron bars at the woman and Quinlan. But Adrius stands apart from the rest, sitting in the shadows at the back of his cell. He does not beg nor plead. He does not reach out. Instead, he sits quietly like a dog beaten into submission, his fate seemingly accepted. The woman approaches his cell, taking an interest in him. Whether she shared Quinlan's cruel ways or she took pity on him, Adrius didn't move in the slightest, only to raise his gaze to the two silhouettes peering into his cage. "And what of him?" she asks, her voice soft but firm. Quinlan smirked, ready to spin his web of lies, "Ah, that one," he begins, "is a traitor of the highest order. A spy, no doubt, sent to undermine our efforts. He’s guilty of crimes beyond measure." Before Quinlan can continue, from the shadows, Adrius spits in Quinlan's direction. His defiance clear despite his dire situation. But Cassandra is is intrigued and sensing there's more than what's being let on, insisting that Adrius speaks for himself. Adrius remains silent with a clenched jaw. He knows that whatever he says will only lead to more fuel for Quinlan to set him ablaze later. But Cassandra’s insistence cracks his resolve. "I am here because I defied Quinlan’s cause," Adrius finally says, his voice low and steady. "Nothing more, nothing less."
The following morning, the atmosphere is heavy with anticipation. A crowd has gathered to witness the executions, their murmurs filling the air as the first condemned man is led to the block. As the axe falls on the first prisoner, no doubt another innocent man whose thwarted Quinlan, Cassandra watches with uneasiness forming a weight in her stomach. When Adrius is brought forward, her discomfort turns to dread. Just as the executioner swings the blade, Cassandra cries out. Her voice rings out with authority, cutting through the noise of the crowd. The executioner hesitates, caught off guard by her command and Adrius, sensing the moment, flinches - the axe grazes his face. Instead of delivering a clean blow it leaves a deep, vertical gash across his left eye. Blood begins to fiercely pour from the wound and Adrius stumbles back, pain flashing across his face, as he's palming at the laceration in a desperate effort to cease the bleeding. The crowd gasps and Quinlan’s face contorts with fury, demanding the executions be postponed while he berates his bride to be into submission.
That evening, while Cassandra quietly begins to formulate her escape, Adrius is nursing his fresh wound and contemplates his own fate. He knows he has to escape, but his thoughts are clouded by the events of the day and the throbbing pain in his eye. He doesn’t expect to survive the night. But as luck would have it, despite the fitful rest, he sees the light of day peering through his barred window. The plans are in motion, on either side of Quinlan's residence, both Cassandra and Adrius are risking the first opportunity to escape and to their surprise, they cross paths.
Cassandra's first instinct is to demand his help -knowing she won’t get far without him. Adrius, initially reluctant, knows she’s right. Though, he doubts his ability to protect her, the spark of defiance in her eyes stirs something within him. Knowing the ins and outs of Quinlan's compound, Adrius hurriedly guides them through servants' corridors, weaving through the what once were his colleagues and ignoring their whispered concerns.The Leviathan
The pair make their way to the bustling market, blending into the crowd as they steal clothes from numerous vendors. Adrius greedily snatching fabrics off tables and tossing them to Cassandra. For his self, a black wool long coat that hangs loosely down to his ankles. To compliment the coat, he crowns himself with a felt top hot, securing it lowly to aid in hiding his identity. They don new identities - Flora and Ivan Fitchner, two newlyweds embarking on their honeymoon as a guise to secure passage on The Leviathan, a ship bound for freedom.
left
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