mine. nomnom

[Noxious]

Underworld IntChK

Name: Tsarevna “Revna” Romanovna

Birthplace: Russia

Born: 16th century

Race: Lycan

-vice suicide-

Height: 5’8”
Weight: 140
Eyes: Blue
Complexion: Light, almost pale
Physique: Athletic. Prowler.

Likes: Blood sports- recently settling for underground sparring, boxing and death fights. Wilderness- anywhere away from the cities, somewhere to roam, somewhere to run. Fast things-cars, relationships, motorcycles. War strategy- strategic military planning, favoring covert operations. Justice- but only the kind that she believes in. Heightened emotional states- rage being the most useful.

Dislikes: Technology- she doesn't grasp the need and has watched as it has plummeted the world into a weak and feeble place, reliant on the thing and becoming independent of nature. Vampires- she's old enough to know the truth and young enough to lack the servitude. Humans- sees very little use for the fragile bags of whimpering and toiling. Weakness- of any kind. Politics- her politics are much more forthright than the bulk of society, see humans. Lack of loyalty- if one thing cannot be forgiven it is turning on your own, or acting a manner that threatens your own.

Fears: Slavery- raised with the knowledge of this persecution, sensing the irremovable stain it placed on the souls of her counterparts, freedom is such a blinding priority that it may trump all emotion but loyalty. Solitude- while she spends lengthy periods alone the thought of being truly alone, or the last of her kind, wakes her in the middle of night ripping at her surroundings like an animal. Gypsies- perhaps a remnant of Russian upbringing she strongly believes these women capable of cursing and destroying a person, lycan or vampire. Attachment- the epitome of weakness.

Motivations: Enforces Lycan Laws. Believes strongly in Lycan supremacy and retribution for slavery under the hands of vampires.

Personality:

Your initial impression of her may be something of a rabid dog. She seems to have absolutely no moral, or any other, agenda. This would be true, lest you mean her association with other Lycans, in which she is nothing but loyal and fierce. She does not believe in love and on the same coin has absolutely no use for hate. She doesn’t kill because she’s provoked (though she will); she simply lacks any regard for life. The only pleasure she finds in people is the willingness of their bones and skin to break. While a large group could overtake her, one on one she can be quite relentless. She is extremely narcissistic, but also terrifyingly patient. While she doesn’t like anyone, she sees the use for relationships that will benefit her people and when fighting will protect her own even above herself. Like a savage dog with a twisted pack mentality. She respects the old Lycan laws and has little patience for those who do not.

Skills:

• Old enough to be able to control transformation
• Skilled in many types of combat
• Expert tracking ability.
• Intensive stealth training.

History:

She was born shortly after the reign of Ivan the Terrible. Her first birth was nothing special, her parents of no importance or note in history. She too would have slipped silently through the cracks of history, buried in some nameless grave, had it not been for Raze whom caught her one night gingerly pick pocketing a large table of Lycan’s whom were taking dinner in her master’s home. The fragile girl was grabbed by the wrist and told to submit, which she refused to do. He took her to his bedroom that night and garnered a submission from the little minx, something he would continue to do for centuries. It would be hard to say if Revna felt love towards Raze, though adoration and respect were obvious. Her training and growth was that of military precision and black and white. She felt no compassion, or at least had the ability to suppress such weakness. She nurtured her already cold heart into something fierce, something loyal only to those fit to claim position above her. She worked beneath Raze steadily for over 2 centuries and then began to acquire missions outside of his protection and watchful eye, quickly proving herself to be both cunning and skilled in the art of death and justice. She lived this way, centuries as a judge, jury and executioner amongst her own people. Her presence would be absent for years, decades-rumors of a frigid bitch stalking alone through forests, hunting, killing. If one of her own, if a pack of her own, grows unstable or reckless she takes it upon herself to right their alignment towards the greater good. It is hard to say if her motivations have wavered since the death of Raze, though her distrust of vampires has been solidified within the already chilled soul. It is rumored as well that a beast such as her, embracing the Lycan side so fully, has a dwindling sanity.

STATUS : IntChK

[Noxious]

Be Careful What You Wish For

Name: Rosaline Snowe
Age: 26
Gender: Female

Personality: Downfalls include her lack of ability to connect with other individuals on a deep level (though she does exceedingly well in social settings) as well as an excessive sense of entitlement. She expresses hatred for those that accept less than perfection into their lives and in the same breath those who flaunt stupidity and rarely gives the “common” man the time of day. Sadly, no one has ever met her impossible requirements and so she remains single and a virgin, though she has been known to flirt with those of her stature only to turn tail and run by the end of the night. She blames her dedication to a career. She maintains a sense of niceties and could, unflinching, spend an entire night socializing, but when she got home it was to an empty apartment and take out. She was extremely driven, possibly starting as craving praise that was always substituted by a Porsche or a vacation, though now it is much more internal. She doesn’t necessarily believe there is a man who can grant wishes, but if there is, she feels entitled to one.

History: Born into the upper crust of New York City where her Father was a Senator, her Mother was a socialite and she was the middle child of 3. Her parents were both clichés, carbon copies of her friends parents and absolutely nothing to write home about. Father worked to much, mother drank to much, but she was never hungry and never abused. If anything she was overly pampered from a very young age, assured that she would never be required to make anything of herself except a loyal wife-an accessory.

She attended Trinity School located on the Upper West Side of Manhattan for the majority of K-12, though occasionally held private tutors while traveling. Even while young she was motivated; she maintained good grades, became fluent in 3 languages and participated in her High School Theater, newspaper and student council. She attended Columbia where her mother assured her she would find a husband, but that wasn’t what Rosaline wanted, she didn’t want to sit idly by and spend her husband’s money as she had watched her mother do. She had goals, she had ambitions; she wanted to follow in her father’s footsteps.

After getting her bachelors she remained at Columbia to acquire a law degree. Fast forward to today and you meet Rosaline who has finished law school and is taking a year to just “mellow out” in Europe. Or that is what her parent’s think, but who knows if they read about the man who grants wishes? Who knows if they are even aware of what their daughter wishes for?

Wish: Silver tongue. To be more specific she craves the ability to be exceedingly eloquent and persuasive.

STATUS : ACTIVE

[Noxious]

Fallout Sandbox Style

Name: Portia Catonis
Age: 24
Gender: Female

Starting Weapon: Tire Iron

Starting Stats:
Strength 5
Perception 9
Endurance 5
Charisma 5
Intelligence 4
Agility 5
Luck 7

Starting Skill: Explosives

Barter 16
Big Guns 16
Energy Weapons 24
Explosives 39
Lockpick 24
Medicine 14
Melee Weapons 16
Repair 14
Science 14
Small Guns 16
Sneak 16
Speech 16
Survial 16
Unarmed 16

HP 30
Carry Weight 150

STATUS : InT CHK

[Noxious]

Triton Chronicles: Legend of the Ave Maria

Name: Nerinai Raunthu Kurvenas

Age: 198

Gender: Female

Race: Sea Velkari

Personality:

She was something of an enigma, as most immortals tend to be. You see, she would hold her place as the leader of the Sea Velkari, a position which required a ferocious tact and an unwavering selflessness to possess, but that was hard to reconcile with the first impression she normally left. She was a bubbly flighty thing, speaking in exaggerated hand gestures of long dead philosophies while gingerly snacking on the recently deceased corps of a sailor. She would giggle and flirt, batting lashes over brilliant red eyes, playing the part of extended youth and then the façade would crumble and the vicious untrusting minx would whisper ancient magic directly assaulting what sanity one who keeps Sea Velkari in their company have. Even as her moods would flicker, she constantly maintained an unwavering love and respect for her Goddess, and for her people.

Class: Leader of the Sea Velkari

Equipment:

• accompanied by 2 tribal gaurds
• razorwire-like coral strands
• poison darts
• sharp teeth and talons tend to be weapon of choice

Skills:

• echolocation
• acute eyesight-hindered by excessive light
• silver tongue temptation
• ancient magic including scuttlers

Scuttlers are near invisible creatures thought to be summoned from the deepest pits of the Ocean Mother's womb. The tiny creatures crawl into the ear cavity of the chosen victim and proceed to induce an overwhelming madness. They feed on brainwaves, relishing in the treat of high emotions such as rage, passion, paranoia and insanity. Their residency in one's mind can not be physically felt and is usually linked to other sources, leaving the scuttlers unidentified and untreated.

Hisory:

Nerinai was born into one of the 10 ancient families bestowed with the gift/curse of keeping the Sea Velkari both safe and content. Her family, as all the families before, had held a position within the council’s ranks for as long as they had existed within the Mother Oceans embrace. Her lifestyle was not unlike the others of her tribe, time beneath the waves held a different sort of sway and it brushed back and forth over her in such a manner that she was content.

The time in which she took leadership was a fragile time amongst her people. To know her age was difficult; she had matured to the degree that she had studied 3 prominent languages, she had acquired enough physical skill to not only dart amongst the large harbringer, but within a small group they could influence their movements, she could whisper the forgotten magic of the ocean and hear her manifested response, she knew how to read and create maps and had been the mother of 2 separate children, one already nearing its own time of transcending into adulthood.

The current leader of the Sea Velkari had taken leave to deal with business away, something that was frowned upon, but was at times necessary and was by no means forbidden at this point. When the leader returned her newfound personality and vigor towards previously unsought goals drew flags quickly within the council. The leader had become tainted, and her influence slithered amongst the ranks like a cobra amongst infants. The younger Sea Velkari were coaxed by the alluring dance of new ideas, new thoughts, but the elders saw past the dancing and pointed to the venom that leaked from the side of the cobra mouth.

It wasn’t long before the elders and then more and more of the youth turned on the poisoned faction, and like any great predator, they subdued the weakness. This opened up a position for leadership. To assume that a great battle would ensue over such a position was to misunderstand the Sea Velkari’s newfound nature, the temptation of power and responsibility held little allure in such a sanctuary life style. The nominations included 3 members of ancient families, as well as 2 elder females not of ancient blood, but of high distinction amongst the tribe. Nerinai was one of those chosen to be entered into the almost yearlong campaign process.

The process left all the candidates exhausted both mentally and physically on a daily basis, though the exhaustion was not a reaction to the testing but rather a facet that was implemented upon the “contestants”. While her youth was of serious debate in the beginning of the trials, in the end it became one of her most valuable resources.

Since then her rule over the tribe has been deemed both just and fair. Her dealings with the Ephoroi have been civil; their only grave disagreement being over the degree of involvement that the Sea Velkari wish to possess in the dealings of the “land dwellers” world.

World of Triton

The old ones tell of a time, a time before the divide, a time when they reigned true to Velkari nature and ruled over the sea and ports with an iron fisted navy, devouring ships in waves of chaos in which crunching bones and shrill cries played the soundtrack of their wake.

Of course that was a time before the Goddess Ocean blessed the Sea Velkari with temperance and absolution. It was after this that the Velkari realized their misguided nature and proclaimed it was heresy against their goddess to want to rule everything.

When the Velkari of old called upon the Sea Velkari in the battle against the Giants, many already believed the war to be suicide and saw this as an attempt for the mass Velkari population to rid itself of the Sea Velkari by sending them to their slaughter.

This was the final straw.

After defeating the Giants the Sea Velkari became whispers upon the lips of sailors, rumors of fisherman and pirates alike.

A great divide followed between the two factions of Velkari, two races that were identical save the calming and chaotic influence of the ocean, the Sea Velkari have drifted further and further from their namesake’s countenance.

In appearance they maintain many of the demonic traits as well as a cellular system highly influenced by environmental factors. As time progresses the lengthy gestation period of the Sea Velkari has begun to form Sea Velkari with aquatically inclined mutations.

Their warriors, who are much larger and fortified than the average born, are rumored to contain the blood of the Great Ocean Kraken. Many of the warrior factions within the tribe offer praise to both the Great Deep Ocean Kraken and the Goddess Ocean.

For a time the Seea Velkari formed an extremely close alliance with the harpies in which the creatures shared culture, protection and eventually breeding; which created the race of the sirens. The sirens are thus tolerated by the Sea Velkari and they would help them on occasion, viewing them as a childlike race that needed to be lead towards its own path.

Their own way of life was adapted and has flourished in the confines of the ocean. The tribes people are afforded mass freedom, though also placed with weighted rules that allow for very little “grey area”. To commit treason or a crime against your people is intolerable.

When the young are born they are allotted little comfort and mothering to sustain them and are expected to mature quickly and become useful members of the tribe. Food is earned, not given. At any age when a youth decides they would like to claim their role amongst the adults (breeding, political voice, warrior training, magical studies, ect.) they are required during the time of the Festival of the Mother to pass through the mating grounds of the harbringer fish.

Travel outside of the group is heavily restricted (the actual want to leave is usually viewed with suspicion) for fear of outsider ideas corrupting their minds, specifically that the Velkari would attempt to sway and coax at the evil nature hidden inside each Sea Velkari.

When the split between the two Velkari races occured it was decided, in an attempt to sway the corruption of unquestioned leadership the people, that while a tribal leader would reign, each family was given a position among a council, a Ephoroi.

The Ephoroi were given the power of judgement- these people were not elected, nor could one petition for placement amongst the ranks. It was the ancient families that each held a spot amongst the Ephoroi, one for each of the 10 families, though presently 2 of the spots lay empty awaiting an heir of appropriate age and condition.

On occasion conflict will begin to arise between what roles the council and the leader held monopoly over.

The leader of the Sea Velkari is a role singularly designated for a fierce and protective woman. The position holder can be called into question at any time, but can only legitimately be overthrown through a Ephoroi vote.

STATUS : Int Chk

[Noxious]

My Name is My Weapon

Name:

“Dymphna” & "Boo"

Appearance:

This becomes a convoluted sort of trick of a question, much like a question of name. One must feel that you wouldn’t be particularly open to an explanation of what a dog looks like, for there are many dogs, and there are many forms of them. It was awhile ago that the creature came into contact with "Stability", who looked at the fear and terror and gave a puzzled grin, and then she was framed.

Age:

Anyone’s guess would be valid. The forms came as children acknowledge a fear they were not taught, an eternal circle of the fearful and the feared with no chance at rational escape.

Gift:

It can be overwhelming, the feeling of paranoia and dread that rolls like waves off the petite little girl. It penetrates into the minds of others, making them follow her startled darting eyes that cling to the dark corners, unopened closets and unchecked floor spaces and while this paranoia may be manageable, it is a lure, a wiggling night crawler that masks a hook. And from those dark recesses there comes the feared enslaver that grabs the minds of those that succumb to the paranoia of darkness. The waking nightmare has the ability to consume the mind- causing extreme paranoia, insanity and on occasion, death.

Short back story:

After the purge, when everything briefly slipped into non-existence and then the attempts began to recreate, to vocalize a purpose and a name, to give names, purpose and understanding to those things that surround you; they were already there. They were one of the strongest in the beginning. The perfect semblance of the fears and paranoia of young children. She didn’t know then exactly what she was, but she knew she was being watched, followed, shadowed, hunted-she wasn’t safe. And he was there too. The creator of this fear, the feeling that terrified children, heavy breathing late at night that would mysteriously dissipate when a comforter was brought in to confirm. Always in the shadows.

If she made an attempt to stretch her memory, to grasp at some foundation that was their beginning she catches brief flickers. A mother and a father closing a door, leaving her alone, all alone- and she wished she was alone, but she knew it was an empty promise. And she was frightened. And sometimes she was frightened that her father would return with a different face, or her mother would call out behind impassable walls or worse yet they would be silent, and her room would gape with silence only to sigh something wicked. Then she would hear the tell tale creak of her closet, or the skitter from beneath the bed, and she would cling to the bear and her blankets and plead for some sort of release, something to move her for the fear made her stiff and consumed what she was, if she had been anything at all before. Would she have been Dymphna without Boo? –it was a legitimate question, but then again, without Dymphna would people have left Boo unnamed, tainted his existence, thought of him at all?

They needed one another. They created within their symbiotic relationship the perfect infinite loop, each providing the other with a meaning of existence, each confirming that yes, they existed and they were. Feeding each other’s subsistence with each muffled cry followed by that snaking darkness and the pitter patter of unseen creatures clicking about in the mind’s eye.

It was Boo who was the master in the beginning, the beginning after the purge. His name came easy and his names were plentiful. It seemed the victimizer was always the first to be pointed out; especially in a time when darkness and chaos bred fear into the ungrounded youth, but with Boo there was always Dymphna, she changed faces and forms and wavered like a shadow, and even before she was named she was there. The same “Stability” that gave them better form looked at the small child and the needy bear and suggested the girl’s name, something that really only proved to harness what was already a pool of twitching unrelenting fear and saddness’ power, but made the child smile and that was rare. It was then, armed with a name, that the relationship between Boo and Dymphna became more convoluted as well as more structured. It was Dymphna who would rule the world of speech- albeit one limited, but she offered the pair a sense of social grounding with her ability to integrate herself. And Boo…

It wasn’t long ago that the pair had found what Dymphna perceived as the perfect traveling companion. A young woman, so hopeful, so sweet, and they called her nurturer then, and Dymphna could occasionally be lulled into a semblance of sleep, curled amongst blankets with nurturer and Boo fell to the side. Nurturer looked upon Boo and while nurturer was not an idiot by any means, she was blinded by an odd curse of rationale, a parent’s inability to grasp a child’s fears. She would gingerly pet Dymphna and place Boo close. But Boo was angry and Boo was hungry. Dymphna belonged to Boo! Had he not kept her safe, alive? Had he not fed her existence without judgment? Had they not lived in a defunct environment without attempting to change their perfect relationship for years? Nurturer would have to go.

The darkness encompassed the trio and it wasn’t long before Dymphna began to whimper, a low sound, a sadness that strummed against Nurturer’s heart and she was helpless to resist the urge to comfort the child. She crawled close the girl. Dymphna still remembers, soft healthy lips mouthing the words that began with “It was only just a nightmare.” Sweet, large eyes looking down upon the child in love as she began to hum, but then the humming stoped. Nurturer had heard the call, had heard what sounded like a creak coming from a warped floorboard and her head had snapped towards the direction of the sound. She began to get up and Dymphna grabbed at her arm, struggled to tug the women back to her, but it was too late. Dymphna shut her eyes as tears burned trails down her face, clean thanks to nurturer for the first time in months.

Dymphna hadn’t tried to make friends after that or maybe friends just didn’t try and make Dymphna.

STATUS : ACTIVE

[Noxious]

Birds of a Bladed Feather

Name:

Kaisie Scarpia

Age:

24

Bird:

Peregrine; a bird of prey on the smaller end. the fastest known creature in the animal kingdom. exceptional eyesight and agility. feeds almost exclusively on other birds. adapted to survive in a multitude of regions. host a range of parasites and pathogens. prefers to hunt at dawn, dusk or nocturnally. Used by nobility for hunting purposes.

Appearance:

Personality:

The initial on set of schizophrenia left her completely unstable; her personality was chaotic and unpredictable while she adjusted to what she assumed was demonic possession. After years of “cohabitating” she can appear of one mind, and only occasionally growls and mutters to herself. She is normally quiet, extremely narcissistic, but also horrifically patient. The few emotions she does exhibit seem forced and practiced as though she suffers to lower herself to the weakness of emotion. She does not believe in love and on the same coin has absolutely no use for hate. She doesn’t kill because she’s provoked (though she will), she simply lacks any regard for life. The only pleasure she finds in people is the willingness of their bones and skin to break and she takes more pleasure in torture and manipulation than anything else. Death really is just a side bonus. If confronted by a large group she could be incapacitated, though she is careful not to be put in these positions, but get her one on one and you will quickly learn that to acquire all of her focus is a terrifying agony. She seems to have absolutely no personal agenda other than her unshakeable allegiance to the King, though the reason for this is unknown to even her compatriots.

Biography:

In times of war we turn to the wicked
in hopes of keeping our own conscience clean.

She was born daughter to a notoriously vicious leader of one of the bands of savage barbarians in the North. Her childhood was not unlike many of the childhoods experienced within the group; flecked with memories of physical training, war patterned mental degradation, nomadic tendencies, overwhelming religion and superstition. At a young age the children were taught that their value amongst their people would be earned, never given, and never truly set in stone. Food would be laid out for the group of youths and with no moral questioning the tribe would watch the strong and the vicious become well fed and the weak would grow weaker with starvation until they were just memories, warnings, of the faults of unchecked laziness. Her father never worried that the messy haired blonde would waver when survival was necessary. He kept a watchful eye and fist always near enough that the child knew no parental approval beyond violence and it quickly became that her mother’s embrace made her wince with distaste and she savored the lick of the whip for proof that she was one of their bloodline. But this was the way.

Soon she looked down on the others, on the blatant weakness of their couplings, emotions and relationships. She saw them all as competition for food and for survival and so the emptiness in her human need for love and acceptance started to create a hole inside the twisted thing.

On the day that the skies matched those of her birth night there was a celebration. This was the 12th year she had survived and such a celebration was customary, for the next year would be the test and then she would be considered an adult amongst the tribe. Even at the age of 12 her presence twitched awkwardly between a coy beauty and a vicious fighter, both traits that were valued by the savage barbarians, and so it was no surprise that on this night she would receive an offer of courtship. The boy, not much older than herself, cautiously approached her where she sat, surrounded by people, and extended the already fierce looking pup towards her. She seemed unfazed, dark chestnut eyes starring past the twisting ball of fur and finding only the eyes of the boy; eyes that struggled to portray confidence as they oozed the truth of his inner turmoil. To her he simply looked petrified, nervous, and unsure. She curled the corner of those vibrant lips up at him and reached out to accept the puppy. He relaxed, everyone relaxed; this was a joyous day. A clearing in the forest that, only moments ago, was chocked with tension broke into a collective laugh. Music began to play and the girl cuddled the puppy into her arms. Her father wrapped his arm around the boy in a bear like embrace and led him away, no doubt discussing the not too distant future when this man would be responsible to watch over his daughter and supply him with more warriors.

Later that night the tribe’s camp was deathly silent. The booze, dancing and late hour lingered over them all like a witch induced coma, each finding their bed to simply collapse. All, that is, except for the girl. She picked her way through camp, stepping around the bodies that were unwilling or unable to make it the few feet home, long rope hanging from one shoulder while the wolf pup required both arms for her small frame to carry about. Her fingers curled around the entrance to the tent as silent as the reaper as she peeked inside. The same smile from earlier graced her lips, now taking a more sardonic turn as she spotted the boy. Her bare feet tiptoed past his sleeping sisters and younger brothers until she stood, hovering above the sleeping boy. Those same feet then nudged his shoulder. Nothing, she waited a moment before nudging his shoulder once more, though this time it was more of a kick and the boy woke with a start, rubbing his arm and looking up at the girl and the puppy with sleep in his eyes.

“Oh, oh, it’s you.” He whispered and then smiled at her goofily. She could see the flush running up his neck and across his cheek. She attempted to mimic the smile as she looked down upon him.

“Come with me.” The boy flushed again as he grappled hastily for a pair of pants while also trying not to wake those around him. His eyes darted over his family that seemed almost dead in the silence and his pants were pulled on beneath the hides that covered him. He stood, eyes searching around for a shirt.

“Unnecessary.” She spoke as she exited the tent. The boy obediently followed, becoming excited at the possibility of what this adventure might entail. He walked at her heels, both silent until they made it a safe distance from camp.

“Where are we going?” No answer, they kept walking. They remained on the silent pilgrimage for another hour or so; it was hard to tell with the way the moon coursed through the trees and the time stretching silence that consumed them. The girl said nothing and it wasn’t until they began to near the edge of the expansive forest that the boy hesitantly spoke.

“It’s dangerous out here, we should go back.” His hand started to rub nervously up and down the opposite arm, as if he were cold. At this the girl stopped and turned towards him, batting her lashes as she had seen her mother do and giving a smile coated in honey.

“That is why you are here, to protect me. Right?” Another flush from the boy. He eyed the surrounding area and the sleep started to drain from his face. He turned his back to the girl, the recognition was starting to kick in.

“I…” He stuttered. “I know this place. This is the ritual gr…” Then the complete recognition hit him and he looked terrified, but only for a moment, because while his attention was captured she had released the puppy and opted for a large branch. She swung with all the force a tribe leader’s daughter had learned in 12 years and bashed the boy in the head. The sickening crack vibrated through the woods, but they were too far for anyone to hear, even if they had been conscious enough to hear it. Blood immediately came to the head wound as a sick gurgle escaped the boy’s lips. Then he was face down on the ground and she took her rightful place, staring down upon him. The girl lowered herself to her haunches and whispered to the boy with a malicious edge.

When the boy awoke he shifted against a tree, realizing in a panic that his hands were bound, he couldn’t move, his head was throbbing and his vision was a blur. He attempted to speak, and it was only choked muffled noises that escaped. He first assumed he was gagged, but the pain seared throughout his head and he could taste blood, so much blood. The metallic taste choked him, his head starting to grow light again and he realized he couldn’t even move his tongue. Looking down the boy’s eyes grew large, blood soaked his bare chest, and the wolf pup nibbled greedily at a soft pink organ. His eyes darted quickly to the girl, her tiny form crouched before him with her father’s hunting knife. For the first and last time the boy got to experience the faux blonde innocent’s face lit up with joy. And then the boy simpered and fainted.

The next day the boy was missing. It was two days before the body was found and each of them that had seen wore a ghostlike face; when they talked their mouths seemed dry and the words were forced, dazed. They wouldn’t talk about what they had seen, even once their speech returned to them. They only said the body had been taken care of. The men in the party that found that boy would later say an animal had gotten to him. They would whisper among themselves questions they dared not answer. How had his wrists been bruised and broken like that? How did the breast plate get cracked open? Why had the animal eaten so little?

The stars once again found their place within the sky to signify another year had passed. As is customary within her tribe she was to be offered to their god in a cave, where judgment would be placed to decide if she was fit to be returned to the tribe, fit to hold the responsibility of child bearing. Every woman amongst their people had endured this moment, every girl cried and pleaded and prayed to their god that he not take her. She did not cry, she did not beg, and she certainly did not pray, but instead she took the chains upon her wrist in silence. She watched her father and mother as they busied themselves laying out offerings around her in an attempt to draw their god’s attention from their daughter. She was not afraid. In truth, she found this ritual to be silly and had petitioned to take to the hunt with the boys of her age. Why would a god care about some pathetic girl child? The girls who had not made it through the night had been weak, picked off by lions or bears.

After her people had left and she was alone in the darkness of solitude she drifted off to sleep, likely out of boredom and in attempt to pass the time. Much later in the night she awoke. The smell struck her first; sulfur burning her nostrils. Then fear started to creep up her toes, she trembled and desperately searched throughout the cave for someone, anyone. The panic incited a scream to attempt to rupture from her lips, but as they parted she was choked with thick sulfur that coated her mouth, tugged at her tongue and seeped throughout her body. In her head a hiss ripped apart her mind. The words screamed at her nerves and every part of her skin seemed to be burning from the inside out. She squeezed her eyes shut as waves of nails picked apart pieces of her brain.

“This is the first time you have felt fear, this will also be the last.”

Just before dawn the tribe leader awoke to a sudden pressure on his chest. His eyes flew open to be met only by the minimal light of pre-dawn but he instinctively reached for his broadsword that he kept by the bed, only to tug heavily at a restrained arm. Upon his chest sat a girl, one almost unrecognizable in the dress of a death dealer; dirty, blood smeared from her crazed eyes to her smirk laced mouth. To his credit he didn’t scream. He stared into the eyes of his daughter as she stared down into his.

“Your offering was accepted Father.” She hissed down at him, and he could see her there for a moment, his beautiful baby girl, filled with promise, but then he blinked and all he saw was a monster. It was then that he began to struggle. His eyes darted to his wife in an attempt to wake her. It was then that he screamed, a scream that was immediately cut off as the sharp point of his hunting dagger pierced his jugular. The steam left from his attempted scream exhaled more blood onto the little thing that was his daughter. His last memory would be of his wife. Her mouth forced open with a choke pear wound so tight that her jaw had ruptured open and sent shards of bone into her brain.

That night the screams and the smell of burning flesh from her village drifted for miles. Some of them came to see, and they would never be the same again. The abandoned village was laid out like a nightmare. Children burned next to their mothers that remained helpless, limbless, until they had bled out. Men castrated and staked into homoerotic poses. One girl was found 2 miles from her legs, the only thing leading to her a trail of blood that she had drug with her in an attempt to escape. No one was alive.

A war party from Rhorland came across the girl as they headed towards home. She must have been quite the sight, barely clothed, stumbling through the forest and covered in dirt and blood. One of the men took pity on the small girl, assuming his people had been responsible for her almost catatonic pacing outside of such a horrific slaughter. He took the girl into his home with the best of intentions, planning to offer her some sort of life inside of Rhorland and under his protection.

4 years later

The Judge sat in front of the court that bustled with what started as hushed tones, and now it seemed that he could not even hear the guard to his left. He rubbed his temples with large fingers. This case was exhausting…not because there was any doubt as to the guilt of the defendant, but rather the peculiar nature of the case and what to do with her. The guard nudged him again and he looked to the doors, just in time to see the 17 year old being led forward down the rows. Her presence quieted the room before he could do so himself, they had heard the stories that pooled about the girl and they all knew why she was here today.

As she walked her eyes remained downcast, staring at what seemed to be overly heavy chains tugging hands and spiderlike digits, barely moving as she walked. The guard behind her, unwilling to touch the thing as if insanity was contagious, pushed her forward with the edge of his sword. She took two more steps, head slowly turning towards the man with the knife, only so that a small snarl could be sent his direction, her teeth were almost too sharp to be human, but it was quick, and then she was looking through the judge. For the next 3 hours as her crimes were discussed she stared through the judge, occasionally a far away smile showed that she was listening, as though he were recounting cherished memories. Finally they got to her masterpiece and those dark chestnut eyes began to focus.

The Judge was obviously flustered, did the little thing blink? He flipped the page on his transcript and continued reading the charges.

“Lastly, Miss Scarpia, you were found not 2 months ago in your adopted family’s home. It says here that you were found sitting at the kitchen table, covered in blood, with multiple murder weapons still lying about. You made no attempt to hide the bodies, as your adoptive mother and her 4 year old daughter were gutted and displayed near the hearth. Your adoptive father’s body was found hanging from the rafters, for the people present I will spare the gory details. After about an hour’s search, in which time the arresting officials say you said nothing, your adoptive brother was found in the shed outback, similarly mutilated in the fashion of your father.” The Judge seemed to sigh, pleased to be finished with the macabre novel in front of him, but he was obligated to ask the next question and he was apprehensive about her answer. He forced himself to lock eyes with the girl who seemed to almost be trembling with delight after this traipse down memory lane.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” She shook her head, more of a minor twitch from side to side. And then was lead out why they debated her fate.

2 years later

The man had 4 guards around him. Oh, no one came to visit anymore. No one ever came to visit. He must be important. Nice cloak, he wasn’t supposed to be her. Wealthy, but trying to hide it. She leaned against the dungeon wall, crouched on her haunches in the darkest corner of the most solitary hell hole they could find for her. The man leaned closer to the bars, though the guard with him was experienced enough to hold him just far enough away. Her form seemed to twitch, almost inhuman, her head cocking much too far to the right and then in a second her form was pressed right before him against the bars.

“You need me.” It wasn’t a question, and the man didn’t try to argue. A devious smile crept over her lips, and if it all possible, that smile made her seem even more wicked. “Otherwise why would you be here? Wouldn’t want to get your hands dirty, now would we, Sir.” For a second his eyes got caught in hers and he had to remind himself of her past to reconcile this petite girl with their new found purpose for her.

“What do I get?” And no one knows what his answer was, nor anything else that happened to the girl. That was over 5 years ago that the girl disappeared into the folds of the King’s secret stash. The promise that was made must have been lucrative though, for the girl has become as obedient a rabid dog as you have ever seen.

The Misc:

Kaisie truly believes that she suffers from demonic possession, a belief that has been reinforced by her societal experience. Truly her affliction is undiagnosed schizophrnia with a sprinkle of narcissism.

STATUS : InT ChK

[Noxious]

Abundans Cautela non Nocet

Name:

Gwen Burroughs

Age:

29

Gender:

female

Appearance:

Biography:

Born to an affluent and loving family. She was always a dedicated student and extremely social. She married her high school sweetheart shortly after graduation. He went into the Police Force while she attended college at Brown for a degree in Psychology. During her third year he was murdered while on duty which gave Gwen a bit of change of heart. Her studied became more focused on Forensics and Criminology while she also began a personal acquisition of studying “evil” in folklore and mythology, any facets she could attain. When she graduated she was recruited almost immediately by the FBI, who trained and molded her into the person that garnered the attention of the ISPA.

Fields of Specialty:

• Forensic Pathology
• Criminal Psychology
• Mythology & Folklore

STATUS : ACTIVE

[Noxious]

Name

Carmilla

Age

Original Creation, 2029; Reboot, 2035

Human Or Android

Android with progressive A.I. and rigger modifications

Gender

Programming/Appearance of feminine nature

Affiliation

Personal Security to Mr.Vegas

Back Story

Her original programming had been intricate and beautiful in the minds of the code workers. They picked apart pieces of coding from past "bodyguard" models and blended them with the old codes of the "nanny" models and upgraded aspects of both to create every rich parent's delight. She was inclined to have a mothering instinct, to flinch at the crying of her encoded charge, to tickle and giggle with the small children, to cook and clean, but also to protect and defend. It was the latter that would inevitable help for the call to disarm and dismantle not only her model, but multitudes of A.I.s in their time.

Being encoded to the child her defense mechanisms in relation to said charge began to create personality quirks within the model. Their sweet bubbly attitude that ran and played with the children showed a great contrast to the borderline rage that seemed to shift over the model when approached by outsiders, and soon it became teachers, other household staff, and inevitably even the parents, for what greater threat is there to a child than its own parents? The models became possessive and some were even rumored to have brain washed the small children of the elite into fearing their own families and companions in favor of the A.I.’s that raised them. But then they were all recalled, all of them, gathered up like cattle to be devoured by huge incinerators made of metal and teeth instead of fire.

Her only nagging memory of this time period was staring into the gaping dark eyes of a small child and feeling waves of what she would later associate with emotional programming of sadness, regret and rage.

The next memory she has is of Mr. Vegas, beaming down on her in a well lit backroom somewhere in the depths of Singular City. He informed her of her new position, her new programming, her added accessories, and the current time. 3 years had seemed like nothing. And then he asked if she would like a drink and she smiled, and in this situation she has remained, working for Mr.Vegas in a multitude of facets with only the occasional glitch brought on by the split “Nanny/Bodygaurd” personality that still makes up the majority of her processor unit.

Miscellaneous

• Stock graphene outer layer over SPECTRA fiber
• Injector digits containing syringes of various use
• Ability to record periods of stimuli (incl. sight, sound)

STATUS : InT ChK

[Noxious]

Hunter and the Hunted

Changed shortly before Spain began to catch sight of the America’s. She has been the longest lasting companion and the second oldest of their little group. She maintains a sharp and cruel wit about her, but the years have turned her apathetic, the sort of apathy that doesn’t lend itself to trivial dozing or drinking but instead lends itself to her using her intelligence toying carelessly with the people about her; politically, financially and emotionally. She tends to be something of a enforcer amongst the younger vampires.

Perhaps it was his youth and his deliriously narcissistic attitude that drew the pair to take William in. Whatever it was, they saw this attitude magnified. The boy instantly became a ripper. One that clawed and devoured until the wooden floors soaked through and the ceilings dripped blood into the dining hall and they saw no end in sight. They sat with the boy, argued, punished, but he was insatiable. They lived like this for years until William found something to covet, his first toy that he didn’t tear apart but rather cuddled and even opened up to. Ophelia was surprisingly accepting of the situation, staying up late into the night giggling with her vampiric cohort and easing his troubled ways with her naïve like tenderness. She was soon added to the group, aligning herself fully with William until they were inseparable.

Cosette thought she was living the high life. She managed one of the most notorious whore houses in France where she was well catered to; stiff drinks, fine silks, delicious food and a myriad of tools in her basement. It was the twins who were first taken with Cosette. It happened in the predawn hours of the mid 1600’s when most of the clientele had slipped out for home or slipped into unconscious from drink but Cosette had found her way down to the basement. The girl was careful, wiping down the razor sharp knives and burning all of the linens that absorbed the excess of her art. The vampires had smelled it and for months they spied on the woman, watching and waiting until one day the big man himself sat across from her in her chambers, each lounging into the slightly worn velvet of the armchairs in her chamber. He discussed his proposition and she accepted with a sardonic grin on her already blood stained lips.

Shortly after the group departed for America. She grew closer and closer to their leader, watching him hunt and kill with the admiration and doting of a child’s first love and she allowed him to sit with her while she toyed with barely alive bodies of her own victims. She liked to savor them, express unto them her inner pain and rage through graceful and careful incisions. She had no interest in politics and she was not so blood crazed as to be a ripper…she was something different, a romantic in the most twisted sense. She liked to stalk her prey, seduce it, caress it and then break it- under knife or lips.

The hunter and her were immediately at odds. She would watch him from the dark as he moved about in their home, a guest of their creator, an unwelcome guest in her opinion. She had seen the man in action, she knew what he saw in the man, but this only made her temperament more foul. The time she had coveted alone with the boss man had all but flickered out once he had acquired a new toy, but she knew he would eventually step out of line, and all she needed was an excuse.

[Noxious]

WIP

Character Sheet:

Name: Thyri Haakonsdottir
Gender: Female
Age: 22

Bio:

Thyri was the first born to Haakon Sigurdsson. Her birth was foretold to be bearing a weighted blessing upon the family; a twofold of pride laced with a cryptic vengeance and insatiable appetites. Her father, a fierce and dedicated warrior paid little heed to his daughter. The female youth that scurried about after him was neither praised nor punished by the brusque man and with the birth of her brother the young girl was almost completely forgotten, though this should not be taken to imply the young girl was neglected. Thyri’s mother favored the girl to her son, teaching the girl the extent of her seithr knowledge until the time came that the mother’s own experience was not enough. It was then that girl departed from their homestead and was taken in by an elderly woman who was said to be a distant ancestor of Freyja, a woman who dove deep into trances and abused the young girl both physically and mentally, though it all seemed routine and a sacrifice that Thyri justified whole heartedly.

It was when Einar rebelled against the family that Thyri was called home. She returned to the place, both herself and home being changed into something strange and different. After the ‘loss’ of her son Thyri’s mother began her fall into madness, pacing about their stables, barracks and homes mumbling to the gods. Thyri’s father finally took notice of his daughter upon her return. He knew now that she would be his only heir and though his intentions were to mold such a leader; his means to this end as well as his untamable rage towards his only son made him a frightful teacher. Her respect for her father only grew as he began to mold Thyri into a dreadful frame, opening up to her late in the night about his knowledge of men and of war and of death. It was during this time that Thyri began to incorporate Hel into her rituals, soon calling upon the crows and losing sight of the living holding much worth.

When her father was betrayed in Calgari the women he left behind were both lost to the world of joy and happiness, losing what little bits they had held prior. The mother added reclusive to her already wide range of psychological pitfalls and the daughter, well the daughter became something else. She thought only of revenge. When her brother returned it was not to open arms, but Thyri saw usefulness in her traitor brother. He would, undoubtedly, fail to make it to Valhalla but she held hope that he would burn with the fire of their family’s betrayal and play a useful pawn in her own rage. And that is how she found herself commanding such a vessel.

Some of the men scoffed at such a leader, one even finding himself brazen enough to speak such thoughts to Thyri. Had his feelings been shared with Thyri privately perhaps she would have convinced him otherwise, but as his mead tainted lips flapped in front of some of the crew Thyri’s mind twitched over any possibility of redemption. Her own lips curled into a bemused scowl, the same scowl that curled beneath her cold stare as she stood over the axe torn corpse of the man. And as she walked amongst the crew the next morning, still tainted with the metallic scent of blood, the vocal mutiny had been subsided, for now.

Psychological Profile:

Her own mind is a sordid place; shallow emotions (including reduced fear, a lack of empathy, and stress tolerance), cold heartedness, egocentricity, superficial charm, manipulative, moral ambiguity, irresponsibility, impulsivity, antisocial behavior, a lack of remorse, and a strictly usefulness based gauge of acceptance and respect for others. To simply say the girl is insane would seem to neglect that her insanity has a goal, a purpose and her own mind, while delusional, remains sharp and tactful. Her life is almost completely devoid of pleasure and to see the girl wearing a happy disposition is usually indicative of something malicious playing through her mind. Perhaps this is all a big façade though? Perhaps inside she is really just a pathetic scared little girl seeking out daddy’s approval, but this theory is both doubtful and irrelevant –because one may never know. It should be no secret that while the girl puts measured faith into her brother she does not trust him or his relationship with the men on the boat. Her attitude towards the journey seems passive, but again, it would be troublesome to believe you understood what her mind held.

Skills:

• Adequate swordsmanship/axe wielding taught by her father and his men
• Extremely stealthy, being smaller than the average crew mate and extremely light on her feet
• Skilled with with herbs, medicines, poisons and potions
• Exceedingly manipulative - Gives amazing blowjobs

Religious/Seithr:

It should be understood that these abilities are things she or others believes she is capable of and in no means is this meant to imply she is supernatural beyond time period beliefs.

• Ritual Sacrifice
• Rune carving; on living, dead and inanimate
• Fate Whisperer; talks to Crows and Hel listens
• Eater of the Dead; cannibalism for spiritual gain
• Ørlög; prophecy seeking through communion with the dead
• Sjónhverfing; the magical delusion or "deceiving of the sight", illusion, madness
• Poisons and Potions; maintains (limited) supplies to craft both

Equipment:

• Hel-blár; Karelian Bear Dog
• Gramr; a staff crowned with a knob on it, ornamented with stones, brass and gems
• Níðingr; similar to the Thurmth sword with runic inscriptions carved into the metal with multiple narrow fullers allowing lighter weight.
• Randgríð; battle axe/ specifically a Dane axe

Attire:

• Large black lambskin hood with white catskin lining
• Mantle made of fox fur- fastened with straps, set with stones
• Belt of touch-wood with a large skin pouch containing talismans, herbs, runes, ect.
• Shaggy calfskin shoes with long thongs and knitted stockings
• Mjölnir pendant accompanied by a multitude of glass, stone and metallic necklaces depicting Freyja and Hel

Relationships and Acquaintances:

(You do not need to fill this out immediately, but this should include other characters, after you talk it over with various players as the RP fills out. I want to have an idea of who fancies whom and who they can't stand and all the in-betweens.)