r e s e r v e d
3 Guests
viewing this page
[CHAR] {Casual - High Casual} Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts
- Romance
- Large Group
- Modern
- Casual
- 18+
- Slice of Life
- GM Silent Whispers Co-GM Themerlinhawk Co-GM ArenaSnow
Join Status:
Apply
Eovald Ornn
{ "Only death can finish the fight, everything else only interrupts the fighting." }
Hunted || Black and White || Doing what must be Done
| {Full Name} |
Eovald Thomas Ornn
| {Nickname} |
The Witcher Hunter
| {Date of Birth} |
November/11
| {Age} |
123
| {Gender} |
Male
| {Sexuality} |
Hetero
| {Relationship Status} |
It is...complicated
| {Role} |
Werewolf-Hunter
| {Occupation} |
Scamming, stealing
| {Face Claim} |
Geralt of Rivia
| {Dialogue Color} |
708090
| {Appearance} |
Grey slick hair thrown back. Grey eyes that turn black when he is in werewolf or wolf form and loses his restraining tattoo enchantments. His body is riddled with scars. Bullet scars, knife cuts but the most noticeable is the cut in his eye. A permanent reminder of his past mistakes. That one scar is present even when he transforms while the others are mostly covered by fur and not very noticeable.
His attire consists of formal clothing. Shirt, jacket, coat, pants, shoes, those are his usual clothes. Many times he has worn different wears to better blend in with the crowd of a specific place. Even with the coat on you can see his defined musculature and bigger than average body, both in height and size.
His partial transformation greatly enhances his size. The muscle size multiples showing his true strength, bringing it to the surface.
His legs change shape as the ankle part bends backwards with long paws ending in long sharp claws, same as in his hands. His face elongates becoming more canine with the jaw drastically widening and the teeth are pushed out as they become bigger, longer and sharper. His whole head transforms into that of an wolf's with little to no resemblance of the human anatomy. Dark grey fur comes out and covers his entire body from head to toe, also with a tail emerging in his hind, an extension of his spine. What little resemblance is left to his previous human body mask can only bee seen by how the beast can stand on 2 paws and still possessing mostly human arms but even those are longer.
His attire consists of formal clothing. Shirt, jacket, coat, pants, shoes, those are his usual clothes. Many times he has worn different wears to better blend in with the crowd of a specific place. Even with the coat on you can see his defined musculature and bigger than average body, both in height and size.
His partial transformation greatly enhances his size. The muscle size multiples showing his true strength, bringing it to the surface.
His legs change shape as the ankle part bends backwards with long paws ending in long sharp claws, same as in his hands. His face elongates becoming more canine with the jaw drastically widening and the teeth are pushed out as they become bigger, longer and sharper. His whole head transforms into that of an wolf's with little to no resemblance of the human anatomy. Dark grey fur comes out and covers his entire body from head to toe, also with a tail emerging in his hind, an extension of his spine. What little resemblance is left to his previous human body mask can only bee seen by how the beast can stand on 2 paws and still possessing mostly human arms but even those are longer.
| {Habits & Quirks} |
Too dominant in a relationship
Gets unhinged when the target escapes
Finishing inside
Gets unhinged when the target escapes
Finishing inside
| {Hobbies} |
Travelling
Hunting for sport
Hunting other things besides witches
Hunting for sport
Hunting other things besides witches
| {Likes} |
Hunting witches
Burning magical books
Innocence
Honesty
Good food
Good liquor
Good sex
Burning magical books
Innocence
Honesty
Good food
Good liquor
Good sex
| {Dislikes} |
Oath breakers
Liars
Schemers
Death of the innocent
Witches
Magic
Manipulative people
Liars
Schemers
Death of the innocent
Witches
Magic
Manipulative people
| {Fears} |
Losing his way
Not being able to find the target
Not being able to kill the target
Not being able to find the target
Not being able to kill the target
| {Secrets} |
A secret that even he doesn't know. His lover and life partner raise didn't really die. Indeed there was a body there but it wasn't of the real Raise, it was the witches. In fact, raise didn't even exist, a ritual to drink your opponents blood has never been practiced by their tribe of wolfs. He never spent hours on end with his lover in his arms. All false memories. And the cherry on top, he didn't really kill the witch. He killed his own sister who was away during the ritual. He was but just a killing machine with the reins belonging to the witch.
| {Abilities} |
-Tracking his targets. He has a keen mind and gut instinct to pin point where the person of interest has gone. After years spent working in forensic science in Homicide he can get a pretty clear playback of what happened at a crime scene. Which is usually what he comes across while hunting vampires, other stray werewolves and young witches who decided to perform a ritualistic sacrifice some fine night and leave the dead corpse behind.
-Healing factor, supernatural strength, speed, senses.
-Healing factor, supernatural strength, speed, senses.
| {Limitations} |
While his tracking skills have honed with the years, his other physical capabilities have diminished. His nose isn't as sharp as it used to be and that comes with sensory memory also. He needs to take a whiff of that blood more frequently to stay on track of his prey. He is bigger than your average werewolf, rivaling even the most fearsome Alphas but as it comes with age he has become slower, taking some tenths of a second longer to respond, a thing which is quite deadly while in a hostile environment. If it ever reached a full second of delay he might as well start digging his grave. Not only his reaction time, but also his running speed, stamina and the healing factor a bit.
| {Personality} |
♦ Trustworthy ♦ Merciless ♦ Calm ♦ Unstable ♦
He has gone through many trials to arrive where he is. Everything that he passed has served as a lesson to him. Honor, an oath,
the traditions of a race/country/people are to be treated as sacred. They are what makes that people and straying from that culture is to betray your people and most of all betray yourself. He has an utmost despise for people who treat different cultures with disrespect or berate their holidays and traditions. More so for people who have forsaken their own culture and lineage. But he isn't a hypocrite. He has fixed his ways and for the last 100 years has never gone back on his set path. They are more than humans, he is more than a human. Werewolves have a set of rules and codes that must be ultimately followed. Only death awaits those who undermine them.
He is logical and calculative. He has to be to see clearly, to analyze a crime scene and see the connections between the murders and the perpetrator. An art form which he has mastered to the highest degree. Most don't have the lifetime and the senses of an werewolf to truly perfect a profession but he has had a fully century and more to master his trade. He enters and leaves a place as a passerby since his profession requires him to travel all across the states. Nobody knows his true identity, nobody knows his true purpose or the real him under that human guise and that's for the best. If someone laid eyes upon his full unmasked form they would leave their sanity behind with the horror that they witnessed.
the traditions of a race/country/people are to be treated as sacred. They are what makes that people and straying from that culture is to betray your people and most of all betray yourself. He has an utmost despise for people who treat different cultures with disrespect or berate their holidays and traditions. More so for people who have forsaken their own culture and lineage. But he isn't a hypocrite. He has fixed his ways and for the last 100 years has never gone back on his set path. They are more than humans, he is more than a human. Werewolves have a set of rules and codes that must be ultimately followed. Only death awaits those who undermine them.
He is logical and calculative. He has to be to see clearly, to analyze a crime scene and see the connections between the murders and the perpetrator. An art form which he has mastered to the highest degree. Most don't have the lifetime and the senses of an werewolf to truly perfect a profession but he has had a fully century and more to master his trade. He enters and leaves a place as a passerby since his profession requires him to travel all across the states. Nobody knows his true identity, nobody knows his true purpose or the real him under that human guise and that's for the best. If someone laid eyes upon his full unmasked form they would leave their sanity behind with the horror that they witnessed.
| {Place of Origin} |
England, North Yorkshire. Migrated to the U.S. after W.W.II
| {Background} |
As long as he can remember he was always part of the pack. There were always people that he could count on, people like him,
his family. They taught him how to track his prey hunt when he was 7, that's when he caught his first rabbit. They taught him how to vet humans when he was 10. They taught him to study their agenda, their every move, writing everything down. They showed him how to make someone disappear and who to pick. He didn't quite understand why they had to hide and cower, operating from the shadows like they were inferior to humans until he was 13. They gave him a sleeping solution and a piece of cloth in order to neutralize his target. He failed spectacularly to say the least. His first mistake was lack of study. They were supposed to study their targets for weeks but he cut the corner and only followed him for a couple of days. If he was more patient he would have known that the target wouldn't be alone this night as all his family would be joining over. He was caught by the other members dragging his body away towards the forest. He was attacked, he got enraged, he transformed, he killed everyone there. It was a lot easier to just hunt people who entered the woods in their wolf forms. People would just blame these attacks to wild beasts. But there weren't enough humans that traveled in to the woods or to better put it, killing everyone who stepped into the woods would lead to a mob hunt of whatever beasts lay there. He did just that. Ripped apart 7 people.
At least the Olympic Games would be held in London that year. He knew he could run faster than any of those hairless monkeys.
Turning 18 he was a fully accomplished adult werewolf. He had learned from his past mistakes and gotten the hang of the "Vanishing Act". Others were starting to see potential in him. His size for one which was bigger than those his age and his dominant personality, all showed promise for him to serve as a challenger to the current Alpha. Schemes started plotting and before long the group was split in 2 as it always did when a challenger emerged. There were those who placed their bets on him and those who "predicted" his fantastical failure resulting in his death. Not long before this started in 4 August 1914 the British Empire went to war with Germany. This however didn't affect the werewolves. What humans did with their time was of no concern to them, more so since the enlistment was voluntary. That all changed when he turned 20. He was conscripted. Just kidding. He claimed a form of exemption and didn't end up going anyway. It could compromise his origin and all that blood would be too over simulating. The loud ear deafening noise wouldn't help either. But not going to war was the least of his problems...
Not only a year after an inner war among the pack members had formed. They had been in a state of unrest with the pack leader for decades now. They wanted a change and they gave in to temptation. They made the first move and poisoned the pack leader. The most dishonorable thing they could do but the worst was yet to come. They asked the young now-Alpha werewolf to desecrate the dead body in order to fake battle scars. He knew how wrong it was but like a cog in a more complicated machine he did his part. And to add the final touches they gave him a deep cut on the left side of his head, running to his eye. For all the grandeur tittle of Alpha, he really had no power on running the pack. But the position came with its perks. He had married the daughter of the previous leader, Raise. A white haired beauty who turned into a white werewolf, same lineage as her father. Every time he laid eyes on her he felt guilt, guilt of breaking the customs, guilt of betrayal. She saw this as guilt for just killing her father in an honorable duel and took it as a sign of caring...all the more reason to feel guilty. There comes a point where tribal customs cross paths with more intricate behavior and scheming that is more akin to human customs. Now they were more humans than werewolves. A frightening thought indeed. Their plans? Why, for werewolves to replace humans as the ruling race of course. In the next 5 years they made all the necessary plans to begin the large mass conversions. Until then they had turned high ranking officials, people of interest who had influence and now they had to make their army by turning the most physically capable, strong and healthy people to werewolves. It was called project "New Moon".
The operation was due this month. Some awaited it impatiently, others feared the outcome while others wanted nothing to do with the pack anymore. The Alpha was part of the latter. He didn't want this but at the same time he also had no say in this. Now more than ever he was kept under tight supervision, keeping him in line. If he wanted to do something he had to kill his own family who was constantly watching over him. As I said, he had no say in this. To mark the new beginning they were planning to perform one last old tribal ritual. Drinking the blood of your fallen enemy to mark a new beginning. The old Alpha was dead, what old blood? His wife's, Raise's. He blacked out upon learning this fact, only to be awoken in the middle of a graveyard. Glasses of her blood in the ground and dripping from their mouths. The pale girl now paler than ever lay above the stone table, hanging by her feet with her throat open and her blood completely drained out. They schemed like humans, drank blood like vampires, when did they forget what it meant to be a werewolf? The blood reeked. There was something off about the smell,it...it felt wrong and it made his hair stand on end. Magic. What could it be else? He had never met or faced a witch before but he had knowledge of his pack dealing with them. But the witch didn't set him up, the witch wasn't responsible for killing his wife. The witch wasn't about to bring the end of human civilization in Britain as we know it. But the witch was the only thing left alive from this ordeal and although it wasn't responsible for most of it, it was the main cause of his family dying. Rather than explain what happened to the rest of the pack he just left. The main leaders gone, the plan wouldn't go through anymore. Most of who were left still supported the last Alpha. He had no place there but he had one last thing to do. Hunt the witch and kill it.
It took him 3 years to find the corrupted thing and after an excruciating battle it was dead. Funny how it acted like a friend at first, trying to get to his good side. It just made it easier for him to throw the first slash. A few years later WW2 started and with nothing else to do in that country he conscripted to the war. Battles after battles with campaigns taking him from one front to the other, it all went in a blur. He wasn't present for the distribution of the medals and honorary titles. He had long since gone past the point of being honorable and valiant. After the war he went overseas to the U.S. Since then he has been hunting witch after witch. With time diluting his memory of what happened blaming the witches for everything that took place that night. They were the ones influencing his family to behave like that, they were the ones putting charms and spells to stop him from putting an end to that madness. And he would hunt each and every last one of them.
his family. They taught him how to track his prey hunt when he was 7, that's when he caught his first rabbit. They taught him how to vet humans when he was 10. They taught him to study their agenda, their every move, writing everything down. They showed him how to make someone disappear and who to pick. He didn't quite understand why they had to hide and cower, operating from the shadows like they were inferior to humans until he was 13. They gave him a sleeping solution and a piece of cloth in order to neutralize his target. He failed spectacularly to say the least. His first mistake was lack of study. They were supposed to study their targets for weeks but he cut the corner and only followed him for a couple of days. If he was more patient he would have known that the target wouldn't be alone this night as all his family would be joining over. He was caught by the other members dragging his body away towards the forest. He was attacked, he got enraged, he transformed, he killed everyone there. It was a lot easier to just hunt people who entered the woods in their wolf forms. People would just blame these attacks to wild beasts. But there weren't enough humans that traveled in to the woods or to better put it, killing everyone who stepped into the woods would lead to a mob hunt of whatever beasts lay there. He did just that. Ripped apart 7 people.
At least the Olympic Games would be held in London that year. He knew he could run faster than any of those hairless monkeys.
Turning 18 he was a fully accomplished adult werewolf. He had learned from his past mistakes and gotten the hang of the "Vanishing Act". Others were starting to see potential in him. His size for one which was bigger than those his age and his dominant personality, all showed promise for him to serve as a challenger to the current Alpha. Schemes started plotting and before long the group was split in 2 as it always did when a challenger emerged. There were those who placed their bets on him and those who "predicted" his fantastical failure resulting in his death. Not long before this started in 4 August 1914 the British Empire went to war with Germany. This however didn't affect the werewolves. What humans did with their time was of no concern to them, more so since the enlistment was voluntary. That all changed when he turned 20. He was conscripted. Just kidding. He claimed a form of exemption and didn't end up going anyway. It could compromise his origin and all that blood would be too over simulating. The loud ear deafening noise wouldn't help either. But not going to war was the least of his problems...
Not only a year after an inner war among the pack members had formed. They had been in a state of unrest with the pack leader for decades now. They wanted a change and they gave in to temptation. They made the first move and poisoned the pack leader. The most dishonorable thing they could do but the worst was yet to come. They asked the young now-Alpha werewolf to desecrate the dead body in order to fake battle scars. He knew how wrong it was but like a cog in a more complicated machine he did his part. And to add the final touches they gave him a deep cut on the left side of his head, running to his eye. For all the grandeur tittle of Alpha, he really had no power on running the pack. But the position came with its perks. He had married the daughter of the previous leader, Raise. A white haired beauty who turned into a white werewolf, same lineage as her father. Every time he laid eyes on her he felt guilt, guilt of breaking the customs, guilt of betrayal. She saw this as guilt for just killing her father in an honorable duel and took it as a sign of caring...all the more reason to feel guilty. There comes a point where tribal customs cross paths with more intricate behavior and scheming that is more akin to human customs. Now they were more humans than werewolves. A frightening thought indeed. Their plans? Why, for werewolves to replace humans as the ruling race of course. In the next 5 years they made all the necessary plans to begin the large mass conversions. Until then they had turned high ranking officials, people of interest who had influence and now they had to make their army by turning the most physically capable, strong and healthy people to werewolves. It was called project "New Moon".
The operation was due this month. Some awaited it impatiently, others feared the outcome while others wanted nothing to do with the pack anymore. The Alpha was part of the latter. He didn't want this but at the same time he also had no say in this. Now more than ever he was kept under tight supervision, keeping him in line. If he wanted to do something he had to kill his own family who was constantly watching over him. As I said, he had no say in this. To mark the new beginning they were planning to perform one last old tribal ritual. Drinking the blood of your fallen enemy to mark a new beginning. The old Alpha was dead, what old blood? His wife's, Raise's. He blacked out upon learning this fact, only to be awoken in the middle of a graveyard. Glasses of her blood in the ground and dripping from their mouths. The pale girl now paler than ever lay above the stone table, hanging by her feet with her throat open and her blood completely drained out. They schemed like humans, drank blood like vampires, when did they forget what it meant to be a werewolf? The blood reeked. There was something off about the smell,it...it felt wrong and it made his hair stand on end. Magic. What could it be else? He had never met or faced a witch before but he had knowledge of his pack dealing with them. But the witch didn't set him up, the witch wasn't responsible for killing his wife. The witch wasn't about to bring the end of human civilization in Britain as we know it. But the witch was the only thing left alive from this ordeal and although it wasn't responsible for most of it, it was the main cause of his family dying. Rather than explain what happened to the rest of the pack he just left. The main leaders gone, the plan wouldn't go through anymore. Most of who were left still supported the last Alpha. He had no place there but he had one last thing to do. Hunt the witch and kill it.
It took him 3 years to find the corrupted thing and after an excruciating battle it was dead. Funny how it acted like a friend at first, trying to get to his good side. It just made it easier for him to throw the first slash. A few years later WW2 started and with nothing else to do in that country he conscripted to the war. Battles after battles with campaigns taking him from one front to the other, it all went in a blur. He wasn't present for the distribution of the medals and honorary titles. He had long since gone past the point of being honorable and valiant. After the war he went overseas to the U.S. Since then he has been hunting witch after witch. With time diluting his memory of what happened blaming the witches for everything that took place that night. They were the ones influencing his family to behave like that, they were the ones putting charms and spells to stop him from putting an end to that madness. And he would hunt each and every last one of them.
| {Extra} |
Speaks fluent English and German. Can recognize some words from tens of different languages, even ancient ones. A necessary skill to have to know the origin of the spell.
{ "Is it really worth the hassle, your gonna lose anyways." }
Calvin Harris- Hard to Love || GoldLink - Fall in Love ft. Ciscero || The Weeknd - Wanderlust (Remix)
| {Full Name} |
Dante Anani Maganti
| {Nickname} |
Annie (A feminine play of his middle name, kind of how people call Lucifer "Lucy")
| {Date of Birth} |
August/22
| {Age} |
26
| {Gender} |
Male
| {Sexuality} |
Bisexual
| {Relationship Status} |
Divorced
| {Role} |
Voodoo Warlock
| {Occupation} |
Botanist at The Grand Regal Botanical Gardens, a local state owned area that strives to preserve plant life not only in the magical world but in the mundane as well. On the side Dante grows and sells weed too.
| {Face Claim} |
Steven Chevrin
| {Dialogue Color} |
9966CC
| {Appearance} |
Most might say that Dante is materialistic and a trend follower, but its just not true. He likes to look nice and be comfortable in what he wears despite the price tag it came with. He stands at six foot, two inches, with a muscular build. He has two tattoos both on his wrist and both are black. The one on his right wrist is a flower tattoo he got because of a bet he lost, and the left one is a feather. Dante enjoys wearing jewelry, like watches, necklaces, and piercings (both earlobe). There is always little things you can find in his out fits, whether it be in his hats, shirts, shoes, or even the backpack he has on.
Dante's style is random and sporadic but for some reason it always works. On a day to day basis he can be seen wearing designer print outfits - to a cotton hoodie and some jeans, always accompanied by his Jansport bag filled with drugs, water, lighters, his mix tapes (if he has one), wallet, and his phone. His head can either be seen styled up or covered by some kind of hat/beanie. When he is out working in some club or another he sticks to a simple joggers or jeans, t-shirt and a hoodie. In the feet department he likes his kicks to be fresh, Jordans, Nikes, the works but on a lazy day can been seen in some sandals.
Dante's style is random and sporadic but for some reason it always works. On a day to day basis he can be seen wearing designer print outfits - to a cotton hoodie and some jeans, always accompanied by his Jansport bag filled with drugs, water, lighters, his mix tapes (if he has one), wallet, and his phone. His head can either be seen styled up or covered by some kind of hat/beanie. When he is out working in some club or another he sticks to a simple joggers or jeans, t-shirt and a hoodie. In the feet department he likes his kicks to be fresh, Jordans, Nikes, the works but on a lazy day can been seen in some sandals.
| {Habits & Quirks} |
When he is in a corner, flustered, nervous, or annoyed, he messes with his hair a lot. The more negative emotions cause him to pull and tug lightly, while being flustered or nervous he tends to run through multiple times to calm himself. He will also hair pull as a way to help him get through a long day, close friends and family know that sometimes (if its not shown otherwise) that this is a sign he has had a long day and is just trying to find his bed.
Date also likes to bite his lip. its not because of arousal but more so deep thought and when he is in pain. Its an unconscious action that he gets called out for on a daily but he still does it, something he picked up from his dead husband. It started with sec but grew into something more and soon became apart of him, whether he was doing drug math in his head or making sure he got everything on the grocery list, Dante would be caught biting one side (right or left) of his bottom lip.
When he holds his blunts it is usually with the thumb and index finger and not in between the index and middle finger. For some reason he just can't hold it as most cigarette smokers do because he feels like he is one of them. Even before his husbands death it was still something he could not do and it always felt weird when he tired.
Date also likes to bite his lip. its not because of arousal but more so deep thought and when he is in pain. Its an unconscious action that he gets called out for on a daily but he still does it, something he picked up from his dead husband. It started with sec but grew into something more and soon became apart of him, whether he was doing drug math in his head or making sure he got everything on the grocery list, Dante would be caught biting one side (right or left) of his bottom lip.
When he holds his blunts it is usually with the thumb and index finger and not in between the index and middle finger. For some reason he just can't hold it as most cigarette smokers do because he feels like he is one of them. Even before his husbands death it was still something he could not do and it always felt weird when he tired.
| {Hobbies} |
🔹Making Music
🔹Smoking Weed
🔹Wrestling
🔹Gardening
🔹Partying
🔹Smoking Weed
🔹Wrestling
🔹Gardening
🔹Partying
| {Likes} |
✔Music
✔Dancing
✔Marijuana
✔Reading
✔Sports
✔Nature
✔Progressive Use of Magic
✔Food (of all kinds, he is never afraid to try something new)
✔Wise
✔Dancing
✔Marijuana
✔Reading
✔Sports
✔Nature
✔Progressive Use of Magic
✔Food (of all kinds, he is never afraid to try something new)
✔Wise
| {Dislikes} |
🔽Werewolves (they scare him like clowns would normal people)
🔽3-5 year old children (can't stand kids at this age)
🔽Judgmental People
🔽His Family (father)
🔽Super Spicy Foods
🔽Introverts
🔽Birds
🔽Dating
🔽Pain
🔽3-5 year old children (can't stand kids at this age)
🔽Judgmental People
🔽His Family (father)
🔽Super Spicy Foods
🔽Introverts
🔽Birds
🔽Dating
🔽Pain
| {Fears} |
🔸Dante fears responsibility. He fears the responsibility he has to his people and his family as well. Dante has great fear for the responsibility that comes with being a warlock and what others might think of him if he does not accept that responsibility.
🔸Dante fears love, well falling in love again. He does not want to chance experiencing that pain and hardship all over again (no matter how good it feels). So you can assume he has a fear of commitment as well, but this boy falls hard and fast so he plays into this fear more than any other. He fears not just the word love but all that it means, not just to him but the other persona as well.
🔸Dante has a fear of Death. He fears what dying actually is and what it holds. While most do not recognize the fear of death that they have, Dante does and that drives him to be selfish sometimes. His fear of death, what it can bring, and how it comes about, can drive him up the roof.
🔸Dante fears love, well falling in love again. He does not want to chance experiencing that pain and hardship all over again (no matter how good it feels). So you can assume he has a fear of commitment as well, but this boy falls hard and fast so he plays into this fear more than any other. He fears not just the word love but all that it means, not just to him but the other persona as well.
🔸Dante has a fear of Death. He fears what dying actually is and what it holds. While most do not recognize the fear of death that they have, Dante does and that drives him to be selfish sometimes. His fear of death, what it can bring, and how it comes about, can drive him up the roof.
| {Secrets} |
🗨Dante, unlike most of his kind, actually likes "normal" witches.
🗨It's only know by a few important people, but his husband was a "normal" witch.
🗨No longer believes in love, after the death he just does one night stands and superficial dates set up by his friends.
🗨He once went on a perma-high back in high school.
🗨He has 3 siblings that are hunters.
🗨It's only know by a few important people, but his husband was a "normal" witch.
🗨No longer believes in love, after the death he just does one night stands and superficial dates set up by his friends.
🗨He once went on a perma-high back in high school.
🗨He has 3 siblings that are hunters.
| {Abilities} |
Dante specializes in illusion magic and simulacrums. He uses special pouches filled with dust, the dust is a mixture of different plants that when mixed together have a different affect. The spells he uses when preparing the pouches along with the base ingredients can have many different effects. He can cause you to see your fears, nightmares, happiest hopes, make you think your experiencing great pain, etc. Dante cannot directly control what you see (what fears you have or what might make your character happy), he just simply uses his magic to manipulate what is already there and amplifies the image. His voodoo dolls are of high quality and when prepared correctly can have different effects. Some act as a totem and bring good or bad fortune to the focus of the simulacrum, while others directly control or affect them. Due to the nature of his spells is well versed in alchemy and potions.
| {Limitations} |
Due to the power of his magic, both take extensive preparation and time. His illusions are literally in the size of those pouches you put wedding rings in, so he mostly carries 5 around at a time,
plus they don't always work. His intended target has to come ingest the powder inside and hear the words for the spell to work. The target can smell, drink, or ingest it but the magic words still have to be heard clearly in order for it to work, half hearing the spell means half ass illusion.
The simulacrums, or voodoo dolls, have to have specific ingredients. If your making one to enhance someones love life, you would need them to sacrifice something they love to the doll for it to take effect. For the more concrete dolls, Dante would require actual pieces of their body, you want to control an arm, I need bone, muscle tissue, fresh blood, from that part of the body to make it work. Full control voodoo dolls are hard to make and take time, plus if you don't have the popper materials or it won't work.
plus they don't always work. His intended target has to come ingest the powder inside and hear the words for the spell to work. The target can smell, drink, or ingest it but the magic words still have to be heard clearly in order for it to work, half hearing the spell means half ass illusion.
The simulacrums, or voodoo dolls, have to have specific ingredients. If your making one to enhance someones love life, you would need them to sacrifice something they love to the doll for it to take effect. For the more concrete dolls, Dante would require actual pieces of their body, you want to control an arm, I need bone, muscle tissue, fresh blood, from that part of the body to make it work. Full control voodoo dolls are hard to make and take time, plus if you don't have the popper materials or it won't work.
| {Personality} |
♦ Attentive ♦ Pessimistic ♦ Chill ♦ Selfish ♦
Dante is negative Nancy at heart, he is always look at he dark side first and expecting the worst so that he can be surprised when something good actually happens. He is friendly and never turns down the opportunity for companionship, but puts himself first in any situation. He takes care of himself first before worrying about the issues and problems of others. Most of the time will be the first to remind you of your faults, is it because he wants to push you to do better, or is he just an ass like that? Who knows, but above all else he is not one to hold his tongue and make you "feel good".
Dante can be seen as mean but and uninterested but he really is paying attention and makes sure to understand all side. He is a good listener and pays attention to those surrounding him. He is laid back above all else, not one to lose his temper or shed tears over the dead (anymore), most can be greeted with a lazy smile and words that (if in the right situation) cut like a burning knife. Dante is not some cold bastard, he is just the chill turtle who understands that your not always gonna beat the hare.
Dante can be seen as mean but and uninterested but he really is paying attention and makes sure to understand all side. He is a good listener and pays attention to those surrounding him. He is laid back above all else, not one to lose his temper or shed tears over the dead (anymore), most can be greeted with a lazy smile and words that (if in the right situation) cut like a burning knife. Dante is not some cold bastard, he is just the chill turtle who understands that your not always gonna beat the hare.
| {Place of Origin} |
New York City
| {Background} |
Dante's early life begins with his birth in New York and going to grades school there. His mother was a creole woman who was raised in New Orleans. She was the voodoo witch who taught him everything he knows and moved to New York to branch out on her own. Unbeknownst to her she would fall in love with Martin Anani, and soon after their year long relationship they would merry and start trying to have a family. Dante was born and he would be the only one his mother could carry. This only made him a spoiled child that grew up with his mothers love times ten. With all the love and joy of his childhood mixed with two strong parents, he was growing up to be a bright young man.
Things got rough for his family when he started middle school, his parents where arguing, his father was never home always away on long trips. Dante was his mothers best friend, so when she started to think that he might be cheating and was in great pain, Dante sneaked into his mothers library and found her spell book. He easily put her under a joy filled illusion and when she exited it hours later she was surprised he could do such strong magic with ease and began teach him everything about voodoo witches and magic. His learning period would be all through out middle school, and it was the only moments of he and his mother had that were filled with happiness and not the pain of betrayal. He was overjoyed to find out about his heritage and gifts (or at least one part of it), he was a sponge for knowledge and wanted to learn more and more so that he could hopefully find a way to help his mom.
One day after school, Dante came home fro school and found his house in ruin, and his two bloodied parents with scratches bruises and large open wounds sitting on what used to be their living room couch but was just springs and loose fabric. His father got up, and went into their destroyed bedroom packed a bag and hugged Dante and said saying "Goodbye." After the incident, Dante and his mom moved to Salem, Massachusetts to live with his grandmother (who was also a voodoo witch). His mom never spoke about what happened until he graduated, and would not answer any questions or inquiries, so Dante learned to just drop it.
He would start high school in Salem, trying to make new friends while finding his place in the towns already confusing dynamic, between the "normal" witches, vampires, werewolves, and hunters he had a lot to look out for, back in NY his mom shielded all of this stuff form him but now it was out in the open. Because of his sheltered upbringing he did not carry a planted hated for the "normies" (normal witches) like his grandmother had, and even though his mom said she was not judgmental she still turned he nose up at them when she got the chance.
Though he did it in secret, he fell in love with one, Marco Blackwell. Their relationship was only known by the boys' mothers and it stayed that way all throughout high school and college. They were both madly in love and even went to NYC for college after their high school graduation marriage. Everything was going well, until Marco's father found out about them and demanded they break up, and when they refused Dante's grandmother got involved (via Blackwell Seniors request). She worked his his father to do a spell that would kill their "love", and make one of them lose all feelings for the other. The spell worked and Marco filed for divorce soon after they graduated and immediately moved back to Salem. Dante on the other hand was the one left with the pain and feelings, his mother tried to warn him, but it was to late. Dante graduated with his degree, Bachelors in Plant Science, and went to work around the world.
He returned to Salem a year ago when the woman who ruined everything fell ill. His grandmother is due to die soon and he wants to be there when it happens. So he has been playing hide and go seek with Marco since he got back while praying day after day that the old woman finally kicks it. Dante's "love" was murdered in front of his eyes, so he came back to watch the grand author of its death get what she deserves.
Things got rough for his family when he started middle school, his parents where arguing, his father was never home always away on long trips. Dante was his mothers best friend, so when she started to think that he might be cheating and was in great pain, Dante sneaked into his mothers library and found her spell book. He easily put her under a joy filled illusion and when she exited it hours later she was surprised he could do such strong magic with ease and began teach him everything about voodoo witches and magic. His learning period would be all through out middle school, and it was the only moments of he and his mother had that were filled with happiness and not the pain of betrayal. He was overjoyed to find out about his heritage and gifts (or at least one part of it), he was a sponge for knowledge and wanted to learn more and more so that he could hopefully find a way to help his mom.
One day after school, Dante came home fro school and found his house in ruin, and his two bloodied parents with scratches bruises and large open wounds sitting on what used to be their living room couch but was just springs and loose fabric. His father got up, and went into their destroyed bedroom packed a bag and hugged Dante and said saying "Goodbye." After the incident, Dante and his mom moved to Salem, Massachusetts to live with his grandmother (who was also a voodoo witch). His mom never spoke about what happened until he graduated, and would not answer any questions or inquiries, so Dante learned to just drop it.
He would start high school in Salem, trying to make new friends while finding his place in the towns already confusing dynamic, between the "normal" witches, vampires, werewolves, and hunters he had a lot to look out for, back in NY his mom shielded all of this stuff form him but now it was out in the open. Because of his sheltered upbringing he did not carry a planted hated for the "normies" (normal witches) like his grandmother had, and even though his mom said she was not judgmental she still turned he nose up at them when she got the chance.
Though he did it in secret, he fell in love with one, Marco Blackwell. Their relationship was only known by the boys' mothers and it stayed that way all throughout high school and college. They were both madly in love and even went to NYC for college after their high school graduation marriage. Everything was going well, until Marco's father found out about them and demanded they break up, and when they refused Dante's grandmother got involved (via Blackwell Seniors request). She worked his his father to do a spell that would kill their "love", and make one of them lose all feelings for the other. The spell worked and Marco filed for divorce soon after they graduated and immediately moved back to Salem. Dante on the other hand was the one left with the pain and feelings, his mother tried to warn him, but it was to late. Dante graduated with his degree, Bachelors in Plant Science, and went to work around the world.
He returned to Salem a year ago when the woman who ruined everything fell ill. His grandmother is due to die soon and he wants to be there when it happens. So he has been playing hide and go seek with Marco since he got back while praying day after day that the old woman finally kicks it. Dante's "love" was murdered in front of his eyes, so he came back to watch the grand author of its death get what she deserves.
| {Extra} |
Anastasia Maganti (his mother), told Dante what happened to her and Martin Anani (his father):
When they both started to date, they were hiding big secrets. Dante's mother was a voodoo witch, and his father was from the famous Anani hunter family from Italy. They both hid things from each other, and it caught up to them in the worst way. Martin was given a job to kill Dante's grandmother (who he had met more than once) and brought it home to confront his wife. They decided to fight to the death and whichever one was left alive when Dante got home from school had the responsibility to take care of him, but by the time he was due home they had only succeeded in wounding each other and wrecking every room in their condo. So he spilled the beans about how his life was not a secret and her and Dante were his real "secret." He went on to confess that he had three other children, all older than Dante, who were hunter, and about how he was already married too. So they decided to split, she would take Dante back to Salem and he would go stay with his "real" family and only ever come back if he wanted to help his son.
When they both started to date, they were hiding big secrets. Dante's mother was a voodoo witch, and his father was from the famous Anani hunter family from Italy. They both hid things from each other, and it caught up to them in the worst way. Martin was given a job to kill Dante's grandmother (who he had met more than once) and brought it home to confront his wife. They decided to fight to the death and whichever one was left alive when Dante got home from school had the responsibility to take care of him, but by the time he was due home they had only succeeded in wounding each other and wrecking every room in their condo. So he spilled the beans about how his life was not a secret and her and Dante were his real "secret." He went on to confess that he had three other children, all older than Dante, who were hunter, and about how he was already married too. So they decided to split, she would take Dante back to Salem and he would go stay with his "real" family and only ever come back if he wanted to help his son.
Blaine Moore
{ "We are all children of Mother Earth. We are all equal when she takes us back into her bosom." }
Of Wolf and Man || All Along The Watchtower || Forever More
| {Full Name} |
Blaine Moore
| {Nickname} |
None that she’s aware of
| {Date of Birth} |
August/26
| {Age} |
41
| {Gender} |
Female
| {Sexuality} |
Prefers women
| {Relationship Status} |
Widowed
| {Role} |
Were Alpha
| {Occupation} |
Woodcarver/Carpenter
| {Face Claim} |
Bridget Regan
| {Dialogue Color} |
009900
| {Appearance} |
Blaine is not among the shortest of women at 5’9. Her years in the Coast Guard, working as a rescue swimmer, had conditioned her body. She is fit and strong, but far from bulky. Some might consider her masculine looking, but it's all in the eye of the beholder really. She is no bodybuilder that’s for sure. Her Irish ancestry on her mother’s side granted her a fair complexion that contrasts quite well with her long dark hair and bright blue eyes topped by long, beautifully curved eyebrows. She takes after her mother in her facial features as well, with her high cheekbones, straight nose and pointed chin, crowned by soft, yet generous cupid’s bow lips. Her quirky smile reveals her slightly longer than usual canines.
Blaine’s body is littered with scars, big and small. Some werewolf related, others received during her years of service. She has no tattoos or piercings as in her opinion neither lends itself too well to shifting. Although she would have liked to be able to pierce her nipples. As it stands she just enjoys tasteful tattoos on other people and women with pierced nipples are kind of a turn on for her.
Blaine is a practical dresser. After years spent in uniform, she is all about comfort. Jeans, shirts, tees, tank tops, boots, sneakers. She’s not particularly picky. Solid colors mostly, reds, blues, whites and blacks as she is not too good at color coordination. Her individuality in dressing is evident in her quirky taste for underwear and socks, and the funny, funky prints on her T-shirts. As a werewolf her body temp is higher than average and as such she doesn’t need jackets much, but when she does wear them, it’s usually leather ones.
In her completely shifted form Blaine is a snow-white wolf with blazing blue eyes.
Whenever she manages to partially shift the effects differ. Most often her eyes would shift and the Were glow would become more evident. Her hands transform as well with pronounced claws. She’s managed to partially shift her ears and teeth.
Blaine’s body is littered with scars, big and small. Some werewolf related, others received during her years of service. She has no tattoos or piercings as in her opinion neither lends itself too well to shifting. Although she would have liked to be able to pierce her nipples. As it stands she just enjoys tasteful tattoos on other people and women with pierced nipples are kind of a turn on for her.
Blaine is a practical dresser. After years spent in uniform, she is all about comfort. Jeans, shirts, tees, tank tops, boots, sneakers. She’s not particularly picky. Solid colors mostly, reds, blues, whites and blacks as she is not too good at color coordination. Her individuality in dressing is evident in her quirky taste for underwear and socks, and the funny, funky prints on her T-shirts. As a werewolf her body temp is higher than average and as such she doesn’t need jackets much, but when she does wear them, it’s usually leather ones.
In her completely shifted form Blaine is a snow-white wolf with blazing blue eyes.
Whenever she manages to partially shift the effects differ. Most often her eyes would shift and the Were glow would become more evident. Her hands transform as well with pronounced claws. She’s managed to partially shift her ears and teeth.
| {Habits & Quirks} |
When she’s going out she counts out loud while locking the door, otherwise she’s never really sure if she did.
She likes to cuddle. To that end she sleeps with numerous hug pillows in her bed.
Whenever she’s making a salad she likes to take a few sips of vinegar. She prefers balsamic vinegar to all other.
She is a bit particular about the locations of certain items in her home and especially her workshop. She gets very OCD when they are not in the correct place and position.
She likes to read lesbian romance novels and erotica and at this point is not sure if it’s a guilty pleasure or simply a pleasure.
| {Hobbies} |
Origami. The art of paper folding calms her down like nothing else. The attention required to fold the paper or paper modules for the 3D origami models, engulfs her completely and at the same time has become a sort of reflex allowing her to watch movies for example while folding her 3D origami modules. As for the single paper origami folding. That requires her complete attention as some models are quite complex and can take up to an hour to fold.
Likes to collect queer mugs.
Collects fridge magnets.
Rock balancing. As with origami, the art of rock balancing is a sort of dzen experience for Blaine. The sense of achievement once you finish the rock pyramid is a very unique feeling that keeps her coming back to rock balancing day after day.
| {Likes} |
Irish music
Stargazing
Considerate people
Japanese cuisine
Thunder storms and walking in the rain
Dahlia flowers
Dimples
Cooking
Anime and manga
Honesty, loyalty and integrity
To read/watch sci-fi and fantasy
Spicy food
| {Dislikes} |
Dill, she’s actually allergic to it and the aroma of it is one of the smells that can hinder her sense of smell.
Waking up early in the morning
Inconsiderate people
Sea food /fish is ok/
Injustice
Closedmindedness
Horror books/movies
Unpunctuality
Unwelcomed invasion of her personal space
Bigotry
Crowds and crowded spaces
Excessive heat
| {Fears} |
Blaine is a pack animal. Moreover, she’s an Alpha. The fear of losing her packmates to violent death is a constant in her heart. She is a very protective Alpha and goes far and beyond to protect her pack from harm.
Even stronger is her fear of losing family to preventable circumstances. Sadly it is a fear that has already come true twice for her upon losing her Aunt, who raised her, and her mate to Katrina.
Blaine has an irrational fear of falling or more precisely fear of precipices, or cremnophobia. She cannot stand near unprotected ledges or walk on simple rope bridges. Transparent elevators are also a thing for her. In short, she needs to feel safe near a ledge, not able to easily fall, to be able to stand there.
| {Secrets} |
Blaine has a daughter she gave birth to when she was 17 years old. A young outside beta had been accepted into the New Orleans pack. The boy was insolent, rude and downright mean. He'd taken a shine to Blaine and Loup-garou had not been quick enough to stop him from raping the girl. Elizabet never knew about this as she had been called to work abroad for nearly a year and had left her niece in the capable care of the pack. Neither Loup-garou or Blaine had the heart to tell her so they kept the secret. Blaine carried the baby to term and the Alpha arranged for it to be adopted into a suitable family. Blaine knows nothing about her daughter except that she should be around twenty-four years old.
| {Abilities} |
As any werewolf Blaine is gifted with enhanced strength, speed, reflexes and senses. As well as with faster healing and regeneration.
Blaine is particularly good at tracking. Her sense of smell while not overly better than that of other werewolves is honed to perfection. She has a vast arsenal of known smells and scents and is able to recognize even the most ambiguous of aromas, making attempts of scent masking almost futile.
After a life-threatening incident during her service as a Coast Guard rescue swimmer Blaine has acquired the ability to partially shift in addition to her almost instantaneous shifting to full wolf form. Most often than not she shifts either her eyes, ears, hands and fingers, and her teeth as well. She can’t do all at once and the partial shifting requires a concentrated effort as she needs to lower her core temperature to be able to partially shift. Extreme situations may also help her achieve a partial shift, as well as some very strong emotions.
Blaine is a skilled swimmer and rescue swimmer in even the worst of conditions. She is also an accomplished hand-to-hand specialist. She’s also been trained in providing emergency first aid.
Blaine is particularly good at tracking. Her sense of smell while not overly better than that of other werewolves is honed to perfection. She has a vast arsenal of known smells and scents and is able to recognize even the most ambiguous of aromas, making attempts of scent masking almost futile.
After a life-threatening incident during her service as a Coast Guard rescue swimmer Blaine has acquired the ability to partially shift in addition to her almost instantaneous shifting to full wolf form. Most often than not she shifts either her eyes, ears, hands and fingers, and her teeth as well. She can’t do all at once and the partial shifting requires a concentrated effort as she needs to lower her core temperature to be able to partially shift. Extreme situations may also help her achieve a partial shift, as well as some very strong emotions.
Blaine is a skilled swimmer and rescue swimmer in even the worst of conditions. She is also an accomplished hand-to-hand specialist. She’s also been trained in providing emergency first aid.
| {Limitations} |
Blaine’s cremnophobia is a sort of an Achilles' heel for her. The fear is crippling and paralyzing, interfering with her reasoning and shifting abilities.
Her highly honed sense of smell is also a sort of a double edged sword. Too many and too intense smells could overwhelm her to the point of lightheadedness. Quite like certain frequencies can render creatures with sensitive hearing unconscious. However this weakness of hers is known only by few trusted individuals.
She has discovered she lacks the other supernaturals’ resilience towards the vampiric compulsion. She is just as exposed to this ability as any normal human would be. She doesn’t know why, but she uses talismans and such to overcome this deficiency.
Her highly honed sense of smell is also a sort of a double edged sword. Too many and too intense smells could overwhelm her to the point of lightheadedness. Quite like certain frequencies can render creatures with sensitive hearing unconscious. However this weakness of hers is known only by few trusted individuals.
She has discovered she lacks the other supernaturals’ resilience towards the vampiric compulsion. She is just as exposed to this ability as any normal human would be. She doesn’t know why, but she uses talismans and such to overcome this deficiency.
| {Personality} |
♦ Steadfast ♦ Withdrawn ♦ Caring ♦ Hypersensitive ♦
Blaine is somewhat of an oddity for a werewolf. For a creature with a pack mentality she can be withdrawn and reclusive and will often times seek solitude. She is far from a recluse however. She is well aware of her withdrawn nature and takes measures not to sequester herself too much or for lengthy periods of time.
Otherwise she is a strong and steadfast individual forged in the cold waters of the world’s seas and oceans and tempered by the misfortunes that plagued her early childhood. She is calm and collected and unwavering under pressure, save for those few weaknesses afforded to all living creatures. She is a person who believes in self-improvement and actively seeks it. Be it physical, emotional, mental or spiritual.
Blaine possesses a strong sense of justice, coupled with her moral values and spiritual beliefs. She is caring and giving and will most often than not afford a person the benefit of the doubt. She tries to be open-minded and reserves judgement until after she is well acquainted with a situation. She is a good listener and tries to understand people and their motivations as it also helps her and her self-improvement.
As any artist, Blaine is very sensitive and can be quite temperamental and at times even eccentric. She views her hypersensitivity as both a gift and a curse of sorts. When dealing with the troubles and problems of her packmates her extreme empathy is indispensable. It allows her to pick up on cues and signals that even the person across from her is not aware of transmitting. Her heightened sensitivity however can also be a hindrance. The smallest things can offend or anger her. Well aware of this she tries to temper those impulses.
Otherwise she is a strong and steadfast individual forged in the cold waters of the world’s seas and oceans and tempered by the misfortunes that plagued her early childhood. She is calm and collected and unwavering under pressure, save for those few weaknesses afforded to all living creatures. She is a person who believes in self-improvement and actively seeks it. Be it physical, emotional, mental or spiritual.
Blaine possesses a strong sense of justice, coupled with her moral values and spiritual beliefs. She is caring and giving and will most often than not afford a person the benefit of the doubt. She tries to be open-minded and reserves judgement until after she is well acquainted with a situation. She is a good listener and tries to understand people and their motivations as it also helps her and her self-improvement.
As any artist, Blaine is very sensitive and can be quite temperamental and at times even eccentric. She views her hypersensitivity as both a gift and a curse of sorts. When dealing with the troubles and problems of her packmates her extreme empathy is indispensable. It allows her to pick up on cues and signals that even the person across from her is not aware of transmitting. Her heightened sensitivity however can also be a hindrance. The smallest things can offend or anger her. Well aware of this she tries to temper those impulses.
| {Place of Origin} |
Killarney, Co. Kerry, Ireland
| {Background} |
Born to mother Maura Moore nee Sullivan and father Daniel Moore. Her mother, born and raised in Killarney married an American-born of Irish descent botanist. Blaine’s father had come to Killarney to study mosses and liverworts and lichens in Killarney National Park. He’d met Blaine’s mother during the Killarney Regatta. He as a spectator, and her as a participant. They’d felt an immediate connection and had become fast friends. What followed, as her parents liked to say, was history.
Unfortunately for little Blaine the family’s history was short-lived. When Blaine was nine, her family had gone camping at Killarney National Park where her dad worked. She, her parents and Blaine’s two-year older sister Shannon.
One night, not a couple of days into the camping, the family was attacked by a berserk werewolf. Although they had no way of knowing that. To them it was a rabid wolf that tore through them. Killing Maura and Blaine’s sister almost in an instance. Daniel had watched helpless and in horror as the wild animal gored his beloved wife and first-born. The only thing he could do was wrap himself protectively around his little girl and hope the animal would be satisfied with his flesh and leave his precious little girl alone.
But the werewolf was feral and beyond sane thought. It tore through the father and managed to sink his teeth into Blaine before it was put down by a group of hunters. At the time of course Blaine couldn’t have known any of this. She had been just an ordinary kid with no knowledge of the supernatural. Of werewolves, witches and vampires beyond what she watched in moves and read in books. The hunters had brought her to the hospital and after the authorities had managed to establish her identity had called her Aunt, her father’s sister, who lived in New Orleans, as the child’s only surviving relative.
When Blaine had woken up in the hospital she’d been confused, disoriented and scared. She hadn’t immediately remembered the attack. She didn’t know her family was gone. Moreover, she didn’t know that while she’d slept and fought a virulent fever, a change had occurred within her. A change that would mark her life from this moment onward.
And then the memories had flooded her. The camping trip, the beastly wolf, her mother and big sister falling prey to gnashing teeth right before her very eyes. Her father trying desperately to shield her from the wolf’s hunger with his own body and ultimately failing. And then nothing. She’d begun crying then waking up her Aunt in the process. Elizabeth Moore had rushed to the girl and wrapped her in her arms, rocking her gently whispering comforting nothings in her ear.
When Blaine was released from the hospital and given permission to travel, her Aunt took her to New Orleans with her. It was there that Blaine's transformation started to truly manifest itself. It started with hyperesthesia. All her five senses were on the fritz and the nine ear old was overwhelmed. Sudden bouts of abnormal strength manifested soon after. Her most common victims - all the door knobs in the house. Her canines started to itch and even hurt. Blaine's aunt took her to all sorts of doctors, but none were able to determine the cause of her symptoms. Finally, instead of admitting they didn't know squat, they chalked it all up to early onset of puberty. Desperate to help her niece Elizabeth brought little Blaine to a witchdoctor recommended to her by one of her more eccentric colleagues.
Luckily for her, and for Blaine, it turned out to be an actual witch, or rather, warlock, who recognized the little girl's condition immediately. He spent the better part of the day explaining to Elizabeth what she needed to know. When she'd exited his office she was shell-shocked. But the witchdoctor had provided her with a referral to a man, known as Loup-garou. Hesitant, but determined to find out what was happening with her niece Elizabeth brought her to the address provided by the warlock. It was the smartest thing she'd ever done.
It turned out Loup-garou was the pack Alpha for the New Orleans werewolf pack. He took Blaine and Elizabeth in like one of his own. The pack helped Elizabeth deal with the trials of raising a juvenile werewolf. They also helped Blaine's aunt deal with the discovery of the existence of supernatural beings. Elizabeth, who was sufficiently well off, thanks to her work as a games and software developer, bought a house close to the packs compound. Both for security and for convenience. Whenever little Blaine was not at school or doing school homework, she was with the pack. Training, learning, preparing to live her life as a werewolf hidden among the normal humans.
She took in to Loup-garou like wild fire to dry wood and the two of them became fast friends. So much so that the old Alpha even taught the girl his trade - carpentry.
Blaine was good with her hands and the craft came easily to her. Soon enough she developed interest not only in carpentry but woodcarving and Loup-garou encouraged her. He talked with Elizabeth and advised her to help Blaine hone her skills. She'd done so enrolling the young girl in woodcarving courses, while allowing her to work together with Loup-garou on his carpentry projects. By the time Blaine turned 21 years, she already had a solid six years of experience as a carpenter and had sold some small carvings of hers in local arts and crafts shops.
One evening she'd come home from working on a project with her Alpha. She'd called her aunt, sat her down and said they'd needed to talk. She told Elizabeth she'd had a sort of epiphany or felt a kind of a call. And then had handed her a recruitment brochure for the Coast Guard. Elizabeth had told her that she'd always trusted Blaine's instincts and that if that's what her heart was telling her she needed to do, than she had her blessing. And then had proceeded to tell her that she would worry about her none the less, as Blaine was the last bit she had from her brother and at the same time she herself was the last bit the young woman had from her family and the two of them needed to take care of each other. It was an emotional moment for them.
Coast Guard boot camp was a harrowing experience even for a young and strong werewolf like Blaine. But she got through the two months of training. And just like with her enlistment, when she was asked a couple of weeks into boot camp to consider her choice of career within the Coast Guard, she selected rescue swimmer without even hesitating. It was where she wanted, no, needed to be. The feeling was so strong that it helped her through the next five months of rescue swimmer training which made boot camp look like a literal walk in the park.
Being a werewolf and having a natural resistance to temperature amplitudes Blaine was uniquely suited to the role, but even so she'd barely managed to finish the training by the skin of her teeth at the rank of Petty Officer 3rd Class.
About seven years into her service, with numerous rescue missions under her belt, a solid experience and a rank of Senior Chief Petty Officer earned based on merit and distinguished service, including commendations and a silver and gold lifesaving medals, Blaine finally came face to face with the reason she was called to enlist in the Coast Guard. A yacht had been caught in a particularly nasty storm and the Coast Guard had stopped receiving them on the radio. Two helos were dispatched to perform search and rescue. Blaine's unit was one of them. They'd managed to locate one of the survivors and Blaine was dropped into the water seconds before a lightning had struck their helo. She'd watched in horror as the machine went down and exploded upon contact with the churning ocean. But grief was not an option for her right then. She'd needed to find the survivor and keep them alive long enough for the other helo to find them.
Near exhaustion and on the last of her strength she'd found the young woman clinging to a flimsy lifebelt, severely hypothermic to the point Blaire had barely managed to find a pulse. From then on all she had left in terms of strength and power she'd given to save her life. And it was then that it had happened. In her human form, even more resistant to the cold than the average human being, even with all her equipment and gear, Blaine's body temperature began to drop slowly, but surely. Her strength flowing into the ocean with her body heat. She fought tooth and nail to stay awake, keep moving, keep her blood pumping and flowing, pouring every ounce of werewolf spirit, strength and ability into the fight for survival. It had happened then and there, unbeknownst to her. Just as the second helo'd spotted them and dropped their own rescue swimmers.
And as the two of them were fished out of the ocean Blaine had met her. Clea Devaux. The woman who would become her wife, serving as the doctor aboard the second helo.
Later, in the hospital, after they'd managed to bring Blaine's temperature up enough to let her go Clea had come to check up on her. And when they had found themselves alone in a hidden corner of the hospital she'd asked Blaine. "Now tell me what is a strapping wolf like yourself doing jumping into the drink day in and day out?" Apparently when they'd brought her on board the helo Blaine's eyes were glowing as if she had partially shifted. Which she'd never been able to do. She had always been a full shifter. It had turned out Clea had just returned to her native New Orleans from a stint with Doctors Without Borders. And she was a part of Loup-garou's pack.
The two had quickly fallen in like and even faster in love. Elizabeth was happy for them, the pack was happy for them. They were happy. And then about a year after they'd met, on August 29, 2005 Katrina hit and once again Blaine lost everything. Her unit was dispatched immediately. And when the storm had calmed it had claimed the life of her aunt Elizabeth and of her mate - Clea. The pack had also suffered heavy losses, but thankfully Loup-garou had survived. Small mercies and all. During the first couple of months following Elizabeth and Clea's deaths Blaine was nearly inconsolable.
The pack tried to close its ranks around her to help her through this difficult period, but something was wrong. The younger betas felt unsettled around her, aggressive even. It took all of Loup-garou's influence to calm them and keep them in check.
One day he took her aside and told her what he thought was the reason for the betas' response to her presence. It was something that remained overlooked when Clea was still alive, because she was tempering some of the effects simply by being with Blaine. "You came back changed after that rescue mission when you met Clea." Loup-garou had told her. He'd said he'd felt it too. A new power within her. Flowing from her. And the betas were feeling it too. "They think you mean to challenge me. And so they react the way they do." Blaine had insisted she did not mean to challenge him and he'd ensured her he knew as much. He'd told her that even if she means not to challenge, her power was beyond that of a beta now. And even if she meant no challenge, her strength itself was a sort of a challenge.
So Blaine knew there was only one thing to do. Nothing was holding her in New Orleans anymore. Her last blood relative was dead. Her mate was dead. There was no place for her in the New Orleans pack. So she left deciding it was high time to find out more about her family's accident and the feral wolf that had killed them and turned her. Since her commission with the Coast Guard was up, she transferred to the Reserves and headed for her native Ireland.
She spent nearly two years in Ireland investigating. The most she managed to ascertain was that the werewolf was probably cursed by a magic practitioner to act so feral not on full moon. And that it was not regular hunters that had saved her. She wasn't able to determine the identity of the witch or warlock that had cursed the werewolf, nor the identities of any of the hunters. With no more leads to follow and stones to turn she'd decided to go back to the source. Or the next best thing in this modern day and age. Namely - Salem, Massachusetts.
She's been a resident of Salem for ten years now from two thousand and seven. Working as a carpenter in order to pay the bills, but selling more and more of her carvings for larger and larger amounts. Just as Loup-garou had warned her, the power she'd received during that rescue mission had become a beacon to all werewolves in Salem as soon as she'd arrived. She'd wanted to start a quiet life, but Salem's Alpha had felt compelled to challenge her even when she'd told him she didn't want his title. But she hadn't been able to persuade him to back down, so she'd accepted. And he'd lost. And so Blaire had become Alpha.
Unfortunately for little Blaine the family’s history was short-lived. When Blaine was nine, her family had gone camping at Killarney National Park where her dad worked. She, her parents and Blaine’s two-year older sister Shannon.
One night, not a couple of days into the camping, the family was attacked by a berserk werewolf. Although they had no way of knowing that. To them it was a rabid wolf that tore through them. Killing Maura and Blaine’s sister almost in an instance. Daniel had watched helpless and in horror as the wild animal gored his beloved wife and first-born. The only thing he could do was wrap himself protectively around his little girl and hope the animal would be satisfied with his flesh and leave his precious little girl alone.
But the werewolf was feral and beyond sane thought. It tore through the father and managed to sink his teeth into Blaine before it was put down by a group of hunters. At the time of course Blaine couldn’t have known any of this. She had been just an ordinary kid with no knowledge of the supernatural. Of werewolves, witches and vampires beyond what she watched in moves and read in books. The hunters had brought her to the hospital and after the authorities had managed to establish her identity had called her Aunt, her father’s sister, who lived in New Orleans, as the child’s only surviving relative.
When Blaine had woken up in the hospital she’d been confused, disoriented and scared. She hadn’t immediately remembered the attack. She didn’t know her family was gone. Moreover, she didn’t know that while she’d slept and fought a virulent fever, a change had occurred within her. A change that would mark her life from this moment onward.
And then the memories had flooded her. The camping trip, the beastly wolf, her mother and big sister falling prey to gnashing teeth right before her very eyes. Her father trying desperately to shield her from the wolf’s hunger with his own body and ultimately failing. And then nothing. She’d begun crying then waking up her Aunt in the process. Elizabeth Moore had rushed to the girl and wrapped her in her arms, rocking her gently whispering comforting nothings in her ear.
When Blaine was released from the hospital and given permission to travel, her Aunt took her to New Orleans with her. It was there that Blaine's transformation started to truly manifest itself. It started with hyperesthesia. All her five senses were on the fritz and the nine ear old was overwhelmed. Sudden bouts of abnormal strength manifested soon after. Her most common victims - all the door knobs in the house. Her canines started to itch and even hurt. Blaine's aunt took her to all sorts of doctors, but none were able to determine the cause of her symptoms. Finally, instead of admitting they didn't know squat, they chalked it all up to early onset of puberty. Desperate to help her niece Elizabeth brought little Blaine to a witchdoctor recommended to her by one of her more eccentric colleagues.
Luckily for her, and for Blaine, it turned out to be an actual witch, or rather, warlock, who recognized the little girl's condition immediately. He spent the better part of the day explaining to Elizabeth what she needed to know. When she'd exited his office she was shell-shocked. But the witchdoctor had provided her with a referral to a man, known as Loup-garou. Hesitant, but determined to find out what was happening with her niece Elizabeth brought her to the address provided by the warlock. It was the smartest thing she'd ever done.
It turned out Loup-garou was the pack Alpha for the New Orleans werewolf pack. He took Blaine and Elizabeth in like one of his own. The pack helped Elizabeth deal with the trials of raising a juvenile werewolf. They also helped Blaine's aunt deal with the discovery of the existence of supernatural beings. Elizabeth, who was sufficiently well off, thanks to her work as a games and software developer, bought a house close to the packs compound. Both for security and for convenience. Whenever little Blaine was not at school or doing school homework, she was with the pack. Training, learning, preparing to live her life as a werewolf hidden among the normal humans.
She took in to Loup-garou like wild fire to dry wood and the two of them became fast friends. So much so that the old Alpha even taught the girl his trade - carpentry.
Blaine was good with her hands and the craft came easily to her. Soon enough she developed interest not only in carpentry but woodcarving and Loup-garou encouraged her. He talked with Elizabeth and advised her to help Blaine hone her skills. She'd done so enrolling the young girl in woodcarving courses, while allowing her to work together with Loup-garou on his carpentry projects. By the time Blaine turned 21 years, she already had a solid six years of experience as a carpenter and had sold some small carvings of hers in local arts and crafts shops.
One evening she'd come home from working on a project with her Alpha. She'd called her aunt, sat her down and said they'd needed to talk. She told Elizabeth she'd had a sort of epiphany or felt a kind of a call. And then had handed her a recruitment brochure for the Coast Guard. Elizabeth had told her that she'd always trusted Blaine's instincts and that if that's what her heart was telling her she needed to do, than she had her blessing. And then had proceeded to tell her that she would worry about her none the less, as Blaine was the last bit she had from her brother and at the same time she herself was the last bit the young woman had from her family and the two of them needed to take care of each other. It was an emotional moment for them.
Coast Guard boot camp was a harrowing experience even for a young and strong werewolf like Blaine. But she got through the two months of training. And just like with her enlistment, when she was asked a couple of weeks into boot camp to consider her choice of career within the Coast Guard, she selected rescue swimmer without even hesitating. It was where she wanted, no, needed to be. The feeling was so strong that it helped her through the next five months of rescue swimmer training which made boot camp look like a literal walk in the park.
Being a werewolf and having a natural resistance to temperature amplitudes Blaine was uniquely suited to the role, but even so she'd barely managed to finish the training by the skin of her teeth at the rank of Petty Officer 3rd Class.
About seven years into her service, with numerous rescue missions under her belt, a solid experience and a rank of Senior Chief Petty Officer earned based on merit and distinguished service, including commendations and a silver and gold lifesaving medals, Blaine finally came face to face with the reason she was called to enlist in the Coast Guard. A yacht had been caught in a particularly nasty storm and the Coast Guard had stopped receiving them on the radio. Two helos were dispatched to perform search and rescue. Blaine's unit was one of them. They'd managed to locate one of the survivors and Blaine was dropped into the water seconds before a lightning had struck their helo. She'd watched in horror as the machine went down and exploded upon contact with the churning ocean. But grief was not an option for her right then. She'd needed to find the survivor and keep them alive long enough for the other helo to find them.
Near exhaustion and on the last of her strength she'd found the young woman clinging to a flimsy lifebelt, severely hypothermic to the point Blaire had barely managed to find a pulse. From then on all she had left in terms of strength and power she'd given to save her life. And it was then that it had happened. In her human form, even more resistant to the cold than the average human being, even with all her equipment and gear, Blaine's body temperature began to drop slowly, but surely. Her strength flowing into the ocean with her body heat. She fought tooth and nail to stay awake, keep moving, keep her blood pumping and flowing, pouring every ounce of werewolf spirit, strength and ability into the fight for survival. It had happened then and there, unbeknownst to her. Just as the second helo'd spotted them and dropped their own rescue swimmers.
And as the two of them were fished out of the ocean Blaine had met her. Clea Devaux. The woman who would become her wife, serving as the doctor aboard the second helo.
Later, in the hospital, after they'd managed to bring Blaine's temperature up enough to let her go Clea had come to check up on her. And when they had found themselves alone in a hidden corner of the hospital she'd asked Blaine. "Now tell me what is a strapping wolf like yourself doing jumping into the drink day in and day out?" Apparently when they'd brought her on board the helo Blaine's eyes were glowing as if she had partially shifted. Which she'd never been able to do. She had always been a full shifter. It had turned out Clea had just returned to her native New Orleans from a stint with Doctors Without Borders. And she was a part of Loup-garou's pack.
The two had quickly fallen in like and even faster in love. Elizabeth was happy for them, the pack was happy for them. They were happy. And then about a year after they'd met, on August 29, 2005 Katrina hit and once again Blaine lost everything. Her unit was dispatched immediately. And when the storm had calmed it had claimed the life of her aunt Elizabeth and of her mate - Clea. The pack had also suffered heavy losses, but thankfully Loup-garou had survived. Small mercies and all. During the first couple of months following Elizabeth and Clea's deaths Blaine was nearly inconsolable.
The pack tried to close its ranks around her to help her through this difficult period, but something was wrong. The younger betas felt unsettled around her, aggressive even. It took all of Loup-garou's influence to calm them and keep them in check.
One day he took her aside and told her what he thought was the reason for the betas' response to her presence. It was something that remained overlooked when Clea was still alive, because she was tempering some of the effects simply by being with Blaine. "You came back changed after that rescue mission when you met Clea." Loup-garou had told her. He'd said he'd felt it too. A new power within her. Flowing from her. And the betas were feeling it too. "They think you mean to challenge me. And so they react the way they do." Blaine had insisted she did not mean to challenge him and he'd ensured her he knew as much. He'd told her that even if she means not to challenge, her power was beyond that of a beta now. And even if she meant no challenge, her strength itself was a sort of a challenge.
So Blaine knew there was only one thing to do. Nothing was holding her in New Orleans anymore. Her last blood relative was dead. Her mate was dead. There was no place for her in the New Orleans pack. So she left deciding it was high time to find out more about her family's accident and the feral wolf that had killed them and turned her. Since her commission with the Coast Guard was up, she transferred to the Reserves and headed for her native Ireland.
She spent nearly two years in Ireland investigating. The most she managed to ascertain was that the werewolf was probably cursed by a magic practitioner to act so feral not on full moon. And that it was not regular hunters that had saved her. She wasn't able to determine the identity of the witch or warlock that had cursed the werewolf, nor the identities of any of the hunters. With no more leads to follow and stones to turn she'd decided to go back to the source. Or the next best thing in this modern day and age. Namely - Salem, Massachusetts.
She's been a resident of Salem for ten years now from two thousand and seven. Working as a carpenter in order to pay the bills, but selling more and more of her carvings for larger and larger amounts. Just as Loup-garou had warned her, the power she'd received during that rescue mission had become a beacon to all werewolves in Salem as soon as she'd arrived. She'd wanted to start a quiet life, but Salem's Alpha had felt compelled to challenge her even when she'd told him she didn't want his title. But she hadn't been able to persuade him to back down, so she'd accepted. And he'd lost. And so Blaire had become Alpha.
| {Extra} |
She loves to sing and is actually not bad at it. But she generally doesn’t believe people when they tell her as much. She just thinks they are being polite.
Doesn’t drink.
Doesn’t drink.
Alfhedil What do you see Kaneda?
Member
Seen
2 hrs ago
Genevieve Alleron
{ "That's it? You really want those to be your last words?" }
"Breathless bodies raise their fists into the air, these circles of hatred is all we will ever see. A curse given to the willing. Forever remember this, for our time is upon us. Apologies are for the weak." || "Her skin is crawling with regret, the feeling of nothing. Is this all she ever wanted?" || "My heart's an artifice, a decoy soul, who knew the emptiness could be so cold? I've lost the pieces that could make me whole. I am the darkness, I'm the monster"
| {Full Name} |
Genevieve Marie Alleron
| {Nickname} |
Jen for those in a working relationship, Vi for anyone that happens to become more than acquaintances, and Marie for those with a deathwish.
| {Date of Birth} |
September 3rd, 1981
| {Age} |
36
| {Gender} |
Female
| {Sexuality} |
"No."
| {Relationship Status} |
Single
| {Role} |
Hunter
| {Occupation} |
When she's not shooting stray werewolves or ambitious vampires, she's publicly an asset protection associate with the local Target. Most of the time she simply walks the store in plain clothes, casually blending in as just another guest while keeping an eye on potential shoplifters or problem associates. Occasionally she can be found in her actual office, face slowly melting from staring into a camera feed for hours on end and trying desperately not to die from boredom while simultaneously focusing on the people walking the aisles. She's also known to be reserve duty Navy, putting in her twelve weekends and two weeks with extra as any dedicated soldier would. Outside the dullness of the store, and the rote of reserve exercises however, she still active-duty Special Operations Group with the CIA. That's her true occupation, and in the event they do call on her for an operation, she would simply ship out as if the Navy had called her back to duty.
| {Face Claim} |
Jun Hyo Seong
| {Dialogue Color} |
662d91
| {Appearance} |
At first not quite the imposing woman, her lithe yet generous figure hides quite well years of training and a bit of clothing does the same for the scars of her past. Standing at an easy 5'9" she's usually neither the tallest or shortest in a room, and is quite comfortable with her average height. Even her greenish/hazel eyes, normally the windows to the soul, are disarming in how little about her they communicate. Truly only her distinctly east-asian facial features and porcelain skin make her stand out, as she takes after her mother the most in those regards. Of late she has allowed her hair to grow out just a bit more, resulting in a shoulder-length ginger bob. Despite having the countenance suited to a beautiful smile, Genevieve is known for her usual expression that has lovingly been referred to as a "resting bitch face" by her coworkers.
When it comes to dress, she rarely wears one, instead preferring some kind of jeans or long pants preferably with pockets. She's not about that bullshit of pants with tiny pockets. Casual clothes in general is her style when on personal time, or on the clock in plain clothes, usually taking to the aforementioned jeans and modest shirts with the occasional hoodie or jacket. On the weekends she will usually be seen in her NWU digis, though on the occasion she's at work in her uniform she tries to keep to the office. She does also keep the dress uniform in pristine condition if ever the necessity arises, but tries desperately to avoid such times. Other than rank pins and the occasional watch, she doesn't usually favor jewelry, keeping to small earrings and the occasional necklace that can easily be obscured by her shirt. Of course, due to her own paranoia and occupation as a hunter, they are always silver.
Underneath the uniforms, the casual jeans, and shirts however, is a woman who has refined her body into a weapon in more than one way. Well toned muscle shows her rigorous physical training, and the smooth skin that she takes extensive care of her appearance as well. Yet her form is not quite as flawless as she puts on, as despite the quite compelling view from the front, her back still bears the scars of her first encounter with the supernatural. Long distinct claw marks run from her shoulders down to her hips in jagged lines, showing where she was nearly ripped open. Beyond that one, she bears few imperfections, only light marks here and there where she cut it a little too close and a couple scorch marks that have been healing since she made a slight miscalculation in Chechnya.
When it comes to dress, she rarely wears one, instead preferring some kind of jeans or long pants preferably with pockets. She's not about that bullshit of pants with tiny pockets. Casual clothes in general is her style when on personal time, or on the clock in plain clothes, usually taking to the aforementioned jeans and modest shirts with the occasional hoodie or jacket. On the weekends she will usually be seen in her NWU digis, though on the occasion she's at work in her uniform she tries to keep to the office. She does also keep the dress uniform in pristine condition if ever the necessity arises, but tries desperately to avoid such times. Other than rank pins and the occasional watch, she doesn't usually favor jewelry, keeping to small earrings and the occasional necklace that can easily be obscured by her shirt. Of course, due to her own paranoia and occupation as a hunter, they are always silver.
Underneath the uniforms, the casual jeans, and shirts however, is a woman who has refined her body into a weapon in more than one way. Well toned muscle shows her rigorous physical training, and the smooth skin that she takes extensive care of her appearance as well. Yet her form is not quite as flawless as she puts on, as despite the quite compelling view from the front, her back still bears the scars of her first encounter with the supernatural. Long distinct claw marks run from her shoulders down to her hips in jagged lines, showing where she was nearly ripped open. Beyond that one, she bears few imperfections, only light marks here and there where she cut it a little too close and a couple scorch marks that have been healing since she made a slight miscalculation in Chechnya.
| {Habits & Quirks} |
- She has a tendency to zero in on things with an almost zealous focus, never picking up something else until her current task has been finished. Most of the time this is simply down to her desire to complete a task, but she has been prone to tunnel-vision in the past.
- Cleaning her guns is something that she will do whenever she feels troubled over something, unsure of herself, bored or feels they just need to be cleaned. She'll go for the field-strip for most of them, but some of the rifles she'll strip down completely and clean everything.
- Occasionally she'll drift between languages without realizing it, mixing up French, English and Korean into some verbal abomination that only she really understands. Basically imagine GoogleTranslate repeating broken sentences that make no sense in any of the languages. It's not an often occurrence, actually somewhat rare for her since she has to be somewhat distracted for it to happen, but it's still one of the weird quirks of being raised in a home with three languages.
- Cleaning her guns is something that she will do whenever she feels troubled over something, unsure of herself, bored or feels they just need to be cleaned. She'll go for the field-strip for most of them, but some of the rifles she'll strip down completely and clean everything.
- Occasionally she'll drift between languages without realizing it, mixing up French, English and Korean into some verbal abomination that only she really understands. Basically imagine GoogleTranslate repeating broken sentences that make no sense in any of the languages. It's not an often occurrence, actually somewhat rare for her since she has to be somewhat distracted for it to happen, but it's still one of the weird quirks of being raised in a home with three languages.
| {Hobbies} |
- At least once a week she'll head down to the range to put some rounds on target. Part of it is to keep them zero'd, but she does derive a decent amount of enjoyment out of the short trips, enough to balance out the rest of the work week.
- Though it may not seem like it, and she'll never admit to it, she's an absolute geek in the privacy of her own home. She has never missed an episode of the current SyFy originals, keeps up to date on the Arrowverse shows, and has every season of Stargate on bluray. Though heretical it may be, she also thinks Janeway was a good captain and does not comment on Kirk vs Picard. No matter what though, never try to convince her that Han didn't shoot first.
- More often than she should, she goes down to the local bar to have a drink and play some pool. While she doesn't play especially well, it is better than just sitting at the bar and staring into a glass of scotch.
- Though it may not seem like it, and she'll never admit to it, she's an absolute geek in the privacy of her own home. She has never missed an episode of the current SyFy originals, keeps up to date on the Arrowverse shows, and has every season of Stargate on bluray. Though heretical it may be, she also thinks Janeway was a good captain and does not comment on Kirk vs Picard. No matter what though, never try to convince her that Han didn't shoot first.
- More often than she should, she goes down to the local bar to have a drink and play some pool. While she doesn't play especially well, it is better than just sitting at the bar and staring into a glass of scotch.
| {Likes} |
- Snow and cold weather in general. Winter is one of the few times of year that she seems to be in a good mood.
- Music, though she's got a few particular tastes she really just enjoys listening to anything and carries around at least a couple hours' worth of whatever she's into at the moment on her phone. Usually she'll have some form of hard rock on her, though it's not out of the question to find her listening to KPop.
- Terrible romance novels. Yes, like the ones with the topless men on the cover and go by titles that you couldn't possibly read aloud with a straight face, much less repeat to anyone and retain a shred of dignity.
- She also likes books that are actually good, mainly in the lines of science fiction but will on occasion take up a good military fiction novel.
- Generally speaking, she does enjoy people who have a sense of humor even if she doesn't show it immediately.
- If it wasn't evident by the way she wears one on her hip at nearly all times, she has a love for all things firearms.
- She has a love for hawaiian shirts, as they remind her of someone she was particularly close to.
-Alcohol. She's an alcoholic.
- Music, though she's got a few particular tastes she really just enjoys listening to anything and carries around at least a couple hours' worth of whatever she's into at the moment on her phone. Usually she'll have some form of hard rock on her, though it's not out of the question to find her listening to KPop.
- Terrible romance novels. Yes, like the ones with the topless men on the cover and go by titles that you couldn't possibly read aloud with a straight face, much less repeat to anyone and retain a shred of dignity.
- She also likes books that are actually good, mainly in the lines of science fiction but will on occasion take up a good military fiction novel.
- Generally speaking, she does enjoy people who have a sense of humor even if she doesn't show it immediately.
- If it wasn't evident by the way she wears one on her hip at nearly all times, she has a love for all things firearms.
- She has a love for hawaiian shirts, as they remind her of someone she was particularly close to.
-Alcohol. She's an alcoholic.
| {Dislikes} |
- Animals, though more specifically dogs. She can tolerate small toy breeds, but that's about as far as she's willing to go.
- Morning people. No one should be that cheerful at any time of day, much less at six in the morning.
- Anyone who has ever uttered the words "Looks like someone has a case of the mondays!"
- Alarm clocks.
- Hot weather, she was raised in northern climates and lived in them for most of her life.
- Rude and inconsiderate people really rub her the wrong way, and it's a quick way to earn her disapproval.
- On the same note, she's not fond of arrogance. Grandstanding and overconfidence is one thing, but it's something else entirely to take it to the point where other people's opinions don't matter.
- While she does enjoy a good sense of humor or a joke or two, she does not care for snark or sarcasm.
-Improper care of firearms. Probably the fastest way to get her talking to you, is to mishandle a gun or treat it as something less than a deadly weapon.
-Alcohol. She's an alcoholic and she's aware of it.
- Morning people. No one should be that cheerful at any time of day, much less at six in the morning.
- Anyone who has ever uttered the words "Looks like someone has a case of the mondays!"
- Alarm clocks.
- Hot weather, she was raised in northern climates and lived in them for most of her life.
- Rude and inconsiderate people really rub her the wrong way, and it's a quick way to earn her disapproval.
- On the same note, she's not fond of arrogance. Grandstanding and overconfidence is one thing, but it's something else entirely to take it to the point where other people's opinions don't matter.
- While she does enjoy a good sense of humor or a joke or two, she does not care for snark or sarcasm.
-Improper care of firearms. Probably the fastest way to get her talking to you, is to mishandle a gun or treat it as something less than a deadly weapon.
-Alcohol. She's an alcoholic and she's aware of it.
| {Fears} |
Though commonly believed otherwise, the military does not train people to get rid of their fears, not even the special forces that Genevieve spent sixteen years in. All it does is teach someone how to suppress them and fight through it, and she has quite a few that she has to face on a near daily basis. Of the most mundane, she has incredible arachnophobia and is not above the adage of "kill it with fire". Probably more relatable, and for good reason as detailed in her background, she also has a deep-seated fear of losing people close to her. While she can work around the whole spider-issue for the most part, she's taken extreme measures to assuage the latter.
Finally, something incredibly inconvenient for someone who is supposed to be hunting them, she has a crippling fear of werewolves. Partially transformed or human-form lycanthropes can be handled, but the sight of a full manifestation is one that brings back memories of her first encounter.
Finally, something incredibly inconvenient for someone who is supposed to be hunting them, she has a crippling fear of werewolves. Partially transformed or human-form lycanthropes can be handled, but the sight of a full manifestation is one that brings back memories of her first encounter.
| {Secrets} |
A woman to whom secrecy is her entire life, she has two major secrets that if ever revealed could change everything about her from that moment onward. The first, and one that she has always kept hidden is that she had been in love with one of her squadmates. It's something that she has hated herself for not admitting to, and the driving force for why she cuts herself off from forming new connections. She feels strongly that if she had only told him before that fateful mission, that they could have been together and he could have survived.
Perhaps the most damning, and something that she doesn't even know herself, is that she was born a witch. Both of her parents were of magic blood, and they passed their gift onto her without ever telling her. They believed at the time that it would be better for her to grow up without knowing in the hope that she wouldn't become involved with the covens and their feuds. Of course, the latent magic in her blood has done its part to make her life miserable all the same, being what drew a werewolf to her in Columbus, and passively screwing up her life in other more subtle ways along the way.
Perhaps the most damning, and something that she doesn't even know herself, is that she was born a witch. Both of her parents were of magic blood, and they passed their gift onto her without ever telling her. They believed at the time that it would be better for her to grow up without knowing in the hope that she wouldn't become involved with the covens and their feuds. Of course, the latent magic in her blood has done its part to make her life miserable all the same, being what drew a werewolf to her in Columbus, and passively screwing up her life in other more subtle ways along the way.
| {Abilities} |
Infiltration - Due mostly to her athletic and lithe build, as well as specialized training, Genevieve has a certain knack for getting into places where she shouldn't be. This comes mainly in her ability to scale and navigate obstacles both urban and otherwise, as well as blending into the background when she doesn't want to be seen.
Close Quarters Specialist - Most recently acquiring E1 in Krav Maga, up close is where Genevieve is deadliest as it allows her to make maximum use of her dexterity in melee combat. Both armed and unarmed techniques are familiar to her, though she'll always have a preference for bladed weapons or pistol work. This speciality does extend to shorter ranged firearms as well, as she does have a marksmanship ribbon from the Navy for her pistol work, and is quite good with an SMG or shotgun.
Survivalist - A skill that she is always working on, the ability to adequately survive in foreign landscapes was essential in her SOG training. With basic recon and limited resources she can find and acquire shelter, determine routes of egress, food and water sources, and potential hostile elements. Of course, most of this training is meant to be applied to operating in the wilds of other countries, but she has found that it works equally as well on home soil.
Close Quarters Specialist - Most recently acquiring E1 in Krav Maga, up close is where Genevieve is deadliest as it allows her to make maximum use of her dexterity in melee combat. Both armed and unarmed techniques are familiar to her, though she'll always have a preference for bladed weapons or pistol work. This speciality does extend to shorter ranged firearms as well, as she does have a marksmanship ribbon from the Navy for her pistol work, and is quite good with an SMG or shotgun.
Survivalist - A skill that she is always working on, the ability to adequately survive in foreign landscapes was essential in her SOG training. With basic recon and limited resources she can find and acquire shelter, determine routes of egress, food and water sources, and potential hostile elements. Of course, most of this training is meant to be applied to operating in the wilds of other countries, but she has found that it works equally as well on home soil.
| {Limitations} |
As mentioned above, Genevieve has an intense fear of fully-transformed werewolves, to the point that it is entirely possible she could freeze on the sight of them. It's something she's struggled with for years after the incident, but has made no reasonable progress in any sense of the word. More troubling is when this is combined with her preference for close-quarters engagements, making it only a matter of time until she finds her luck has run out. Among other things, she is also fairly inept at any kind of medic duties. She knows many ways to put bullets and sharp objects into people, but couldn't safely pull one out if she tried. After the third time she failed the Navy's combat-triage course, they gave up and told her to just focus on shooting the enemy.
| {Personality} |
♦ Reliable ♦ Cold ♦ Patient ♦ Unstable ♦
For most people, their first and last impression of Genevieve Alleron is of an ice queen quite content to ignore those around her and keep to herself. This is quite true when it comes to her interactions with new people, and even work acquaintances. She greatly prefers for people to just leave her be and keep to themselves, doing her best to prevent any possible ties to others despite their best efforts. Those persistent, charming, or just agreeable enough to her can see a slight thaw, but she will always be averse to forming close relations to others. That being said, she is found to be reliable and patient when working together with others, taking her time to ensure the job is done. She is calm in such situations, stoically enduring the social interactions with her coworkers and always making herself available to assist when needed. For some that's enough to look past her impersonal attitude and reluctance to make friends, as she is at least easy to work with as long as someone isn't purposefully provoking her.
Outside of work of course, she is back to keeping everyone at arm's length, and can often enough be far more blunt about it. She won't shy away from giving someone a handful of sharp words if they try pushing her when she's trying to have a drink, and has been kindly asked to not break any more pool cues over people at the local bar. Usually her typical expression keeps people away, though one can't fault the occasional brave soul for trying.
All of this runs contrary to her true character however, in that buried under that layer of ice, is a woman who despite her fear of losing anyone close to her, still desire the closeness of friends or a relationship of any kind. Deep down, she still carries the scars of a life that has slowly gone downhill at nearly every opportunity, of the years she struggled through a failing dream and the loss of perhaps the one person she cared the most for. She has convinced herself that by never allowing anyone to get close enough to form a bond, that she will never lose anyone again. This line of thinking has protected her in the short term, letting her live a somewhat content life since settling back in the states, but it has also drastically weakened her overall mental state, one that was already suffering. Without close relations of any kind, she has only herself to pick her up when she's fallen, to cheer herself up when down, or to help push through a generally shit time. That combined with the literal wolves at the door, recurring nightmares of past trauma and the ever conflicting need to form bonds and desire to keep everyone away, she is one incident away from a full emotional breakdown.
Outside of work of course, she is back to keeping everyone at arm's length, and can often enough be far more blunt about it. She won't shy away from giving someone a handful of sharp words if they try pushing her when she's trying to have a drink, and has been kindly asked to not break any more pool cues over people at the local bar. Usually her typical expression keeps people away, though one can't fault the occasional brave soul for trying.
All of this runs contrary to her true character however, in that buried under that layer of ice, is a woman who despite her fear of losing anyone close to her, still desire the closeness of friends or a relationship of any kind. Deep down, she still carries the scars of a life that has slowly gone downhill at nearly every opportunity, of the years she struggled through a failing dream and the loss of perhaps the one person she cared the most for. She has convinced herself that by never allowing anyone to get close enough to form a bond, that she will never lose anyone again. This line of thinking has protected her in the short term, letting her live a somewhat content life since settling back in the states, but it has also drastically weakened her overall mental state, one that was already suffering. Without close relations of any kind, she has only herself to pick her up when she's fallen, to cheer herself up when down, or to help push through a generally shit time. That combined with the literal wolves at the door, recurring nightmares of past trauma and the ever conflicting need to form bonds and desire to keep everyone away, she is one incident away from a full emotional breakdown.
| {Place of Origin} |
The answer no one ever expects, she was born and raised for much of her early life in the city of Helena, Montana. It was never intended to be her home, as her parents were only supposed to be staying in the area for a couple weeks before heading to Portland where her mother intended to have her. Nothing ever goes to plan of course, and so when it became clear they weren't quite going to make it past city limits, her father made the decision to not even try and to instead head back to St. Peter's Hospital. At the time, Gerard Alleron had been a traveling priest with the Orthodox Church in America filling in for resident priests where and when he could as best he could. That had been how he had met her mother, a Korean refugee struggling to learn english almost as much as he had been. Of course, Kim Alleron had insisted they remain in Helena after she had her, stating firmly that she didn't want her daughter knowing a dozen homes and not a childhood between as she had.
| {Background} |
Quite the opposite of her current life and demeanor, Genevieve Alleron had a vibrant and supportive childhood, the perks of being an only child and the first of her family to be born an American citizen. Aside from learning three languages from an early age, her school years were quite unremarkable. Neither parent had ever pushed her to hit excellent marks, her father having been driven to do so by his parents and only retaining bad memories from it, while her mother was simply proud of her for whatever achievements she came home with. Nor was she ever pressured to set ambitions, leaving it to her to decide what she wanted to be when she grew up. In the end her free spirited youth drove her to find a passion in dancing, at first just the spritely numbers all children do when they've got too much energy to burn, but steadily growing into a love for the art. It was a love that became a driving force for her, inspiring her to push herself in school more than she ever had, and eventually earning a scholarship with Columbus State University's Liberal Arts program.
With dreams of her future and the support of her loving parents, she set off for first time out of her home state of Montana and to the city of Columbus. There she found everything she had been looking forward to, a bright and lively city full of artistic and driven people, a group she wanted to be part of since taking up her passion. So it was that she had started her first day of college with bells on her shoes, almost literally, eager to learn and further herself with the help of experienced tutors. What she got was a whole lot of disappointment.
All her childhood she had been told to simply let the music move her, to feel it out and find a rhythm. That works well enough for someone just having a bit of fun, dancing around their house as a hobby or to burn off some extra energy. It did not work for the professionals who were faced with everyone from the spirited enthusiasts to people simply packing their portfolio with "easy" degrees. Her and the ever dwindling class she attended were drilled with each particular form, taught the core moves by rote and made to repeat them over and over again until they could execute it flawlessly by the book. It was weeks of the same classical dance forms, weeks of books on how they came to be developed, weeks of pioneers in the field, weeks of stale repetition. Finally, halfway through the course, she had enough. College had dulled her passion, made what she loved into sterilized and stiff routine. It had slowly made her cynical of not just the professors, but of the entire arts and the way creativity had been killed in order to shadow past innovators. With that sentiment on her lips on the way out of the class, she called them on the irony of it all and dropped out entirely.
Of course, being 19 and no longer in school made things quite complicated for her in terms of securing a place to live in the city. She had the option to pack everything up and head back to Helena to shack up with her parents once more, but after everything she had worked for so far, it felt like giving up to do so. Few options remained, and of them staying in the dorms wasn't one of them, so she did what she could to make some cash while she sorted out everything. A job painting here, a little bit of lawncare there, and she slowly made her way towards the northern outskirts of the city into a more permanent apartment and a job bartending. Not being of the age to drink made things a little difficult, but she devoted herself to doing the best she could off what she knew and about eight hours of "mixology".
Yet even with a modicum of stability to her life, things never quite took off the way she intended. Her nights alternated between the slow week days where she barely made tip to pay her basic utilities and eat on, and the busy weekends that were only given to her when the bar needed another pretty face. She didn't so much mind the attention, and found quickly that a charming smile and offer of another drink tended to earn her more and distract the less eager. For those who couldn't be persuaded otherwise, she had befriended their regular bouncer by the name of "Theodore" and with just a look in his direction someone would find themselves on the pavement in short order.
For a time it was enough to have the job and a place to live, even if she was living quite modestly and more than once missed a payment on the utilities. To Genevieve, it just meant that she needed to work harder. She picked up extra shifts when she could, even taking up a second job with a convenience store during the days. Sleep started to become harder to come by, even as she had been catching up on her bills. At least she had a home to call her own, an apartment though it was, and she could say she was providing for herself.
Everything changed for her once again in the winter of 2000 however, as the snows began to set in on the city. It had been just another night of bartending, a particularly good one since she had gotten a few more tips than usual and the regulars took to congratulating her for sticking with it for six months. With keeping the lights on and a roof over her head it had been hard enough for her, and even more so without a vehicle to drive between the apartment and the bar. She had gotten to know the route home pretty well in her time in Columbus, and relied on the quite unreliable bus system when she could, but on that night it had been late again and she decided to just walk the rest of the way. It was quite rare for her to ever run across any trouble, advantages of living on the north end of the city where crime was low. So it was doubly unnerving when she felt someone shadowing her down the main road, looking back to see a man purposefully striding directly for her. In the snow neither could hide from the other, nor mask their intentions, and she could see there was a strangeness in the way he was looking at her.
It was not the same glance she received from someone a little too deep in their drink, or ambitious in their courting attempts, no this was a feral hunger that she felt. The eyes on her felt like those of a predator smelling fresh blood, and the moment she stopped to try and figure out why, he was on the move right for her. With a man running straight for her with what she swore was the intent to run her down, she did the first thing that came into her mind. Genevieve screamed and ran the opposite direction as fast as she could. Her running shoes kicked up snow with every step, but above her pounding heart she could hear heavier footfalls quickly gaining on her.
When she was knocked to the ground she had at first thought it was about to be the worst night of her life, until she rolled over to try and defend herself and saw her predator. Standing over her was not a man, or at least not any normal human. Its eyes pierced hers and pinned her to the ground through fear alone as moonlight glinted off snarling teeth and canine-like claws bared and ready to shred flesh. Even paralyzed as she was, she instinctively raised her arms to fend off the first swipe, crying out as bones broke and she was tossed across the snow-covered pavement like a ragdoll. Despite the pain of the attack, she struggled to find a way to escape, managing to get to her feet and start running before claws opened up her back and she went down face-first back to the ground. The rest of that night was a haze of her own cries for help, mixed with the feral snarls of the man-beast attacking her, but one thing she remembered clearly before slipping into unconsciousness was someone coming to fight it off, and another man's voice telling her to hang on.
Two months later she awoke at Saint Ann's Hospital dazed from a steady morphine drip and looking up at an incredulous nurse. It had taken a few attempts since she kept slipping in and out of sleep, but eventually she found a doctor talking slowly to her, explaining what had happened. A volunteer EMT had been walking down that same road when he had seen a couple stray dogs go after her, doing what he could to run them off and keep her stable until an ambulance arrived to bring her to the hospital and tend her wounds. Her jaw struggled to work, her confusion quite apparent at that version of the story, but all she got was an increase to the drip and a swift trip back to dreamland.
It troubled her because she knew what she had seen, and it was rather hard to explain both arms and multiple ribs broken as well as severe lacerations across the torso. Yet that was what everyone told her had happened for a week as she steadily regained movement and started walking around. That was, until she happened across an EMT on break. She decided asking about that night directly was pointless at the time, so went about another route. With just a couple pointers, she managed to track down the man who had rescued her, someone who was immediately familiar to her and didn't seem as happy to see her as she was to see him. Despite being somewhat friends at work, she had never known much about Theodore, and as she started talking answers out of him, she found out why.
The quiet and attentive bouncer was what he called a "Hunter", a person dedicated to tracking down and killing the supernatural. Things like the werewolf that very nearly had her for a snack two months prior. Before that, she would have likely laughed at the idea of hunting down vampires, witches and werewolves, having relegated them to myth like most normal people. It was kind of hard to deny the existence of something when it tries to take your face off, however. Genevieve tried to get more from him on what happened, but the more she asked of him, the less he wanted to answer until finally he had enough and told her to just go home. It hit her pretty hard, more so than she initially thought as she accepted and backed away, discharging herself a day later to head back to her apartment.
As if things weren't bad enough, an eviction notice hung on her door and her utilities had been cut off while she was hospitalized, apparently they hadn't gotten the memo or simply didn't care. Bills lay stacked on the floor in front of her door, and her bag hung heavily on her shoulders as she collapsed onto the couch and let it all out in the darkness of her home. For hours she laid there and cried as she went over everything that had happened since she left to pursue her dream up until that moment. The more she thought about it all, the more she felt it all coming down around her and eventually passed out from the exertion of going through it all over again.
For a week she locked herself within the apartment, finding on the first day that the bar had fired her after she didn't show up the second day, and that the gas station had done the same the day after. Both bosses said they were terribly sorry about what happened, and offered to rehire her as soon as they had an opening, but it would be at least a month. The electric company was less empathetic, just offering condolences and standing firm on their policy that she needed to pay the past due and shut-off charges. Shut-off charges that were more than what she had, and a bill that was three months of past-due payments. At least she found solace in having running water, though only for a week unless she found a way to pay them as well.
All told, she had thought before that things had been pretty rough and it had been slowly chipping away at her normally cheerful and bright self. Now she no longer had anything to her name that said she was at least doing okay, other than a dull throb of sore ribs in her chest that let her know she was still alive. It was over, her attempt at living on her own without relying on her parents had come to a disastrous close and she was one step away from making the call and finally giving in when she noticed a letter standing out in the pile of old mail.
Months ago she had been approached by a recruiter for the military, telling the usual story of how they could help her earn her way through college with service to the nation. She politely declined at the time, though allowed them to send her information largely to just get them off her back. Now a directory of recruitment offices and enlistment requirements sat on the table before her with a way out. She had been broken down already, worn away by the grind of shit jobs, a wasted dream and some freak taking a literal bite out of her. There was little else for the military to do to her other than build her back up, and so she decided that she wasn't done fighting for herself yet.
The Army was her first stop, talking nearly all day with a rather charming man who tried to talk her into going into a support role until she had made it clear that she wanted a combat-role. Regardless of there not being a conflict to deploy into, they were hesitant to put a woman on the frontlines, but told her if she changed her mind to come back and they could get her into basic within the week. She had briefly considered the Air Force, but didn't quite relish the idea of staying put on a base and watching planes take off while she gave directions. At least, that was until she spoke with the Marine recruiter, and then she only considered giving directions to the same place she directed him. In the end she had only the Navy left, or to relent and head back to the Army offices.
While the idea of a Navy recruitment office in Ohio seemed odd to her at first, she supposed it didn't matter in the end where someone came from as long as they wanted to serve, the sentiment that was expressed to her when she sat down with a master sergeant on the verge of retirement. He took his time explaining the process to her, going over what roles she could expect to serve and which ones weren't open to women. At first she was less than amused, but the idea of being on a submarine was even less amusing, a reaction that the recruiter shared with her. Eventually she found what she was looking for, though told she would have to work hard to earn her place for it, and a day later she managed to acquire a ride off to basic where she would begin her new life.
Early March saw the beginning of what was both a far rougher, yet altogether easier road for Genevieve. Basic training was just as rigorous as her recruiter had promised, weeks of intense physical training in order to get her and the other recruits up to peak physical shape and ensure their skills were up to snuff. She pushed herself hard every day, harder than the instructors and shut out the jeering of the men assigned to the same barrack. At first the coed training had her rolling her eyes over the comments she received, but as they slowed in trying to break her down and everyone suffered equally under the DI, she found her edge and used it to push herself to be better than she was. It wasn't enough to meet the bar, to be merely acceptable to the Navy, she had to exceed it. First she just packed a little extra weight in her pack for the endurance runs, then she set her own speed goals for the obstacle courses, and adjusted her physical training in the gym to be more demanding.
All the while her instructors observed, at first finding it amusing that a college girl was taking it so seriously, and then using her as an excuse to verbally flog the others for not following her example. That brought down more discontent on her from her fellow recruits, but the other women in her barrack silently approved even if they made a show otherwise. For Genevieve all it did was inspire her further. Before she had joined into the Navy, she had simply accepted what life deigned to serve her, but now she could dish it back and be better. She had the chance to correct the shitty hand she had been dealt, and she wasn't going to let anything bring her down or tell her she wasn't good enough anymore.
So it was that in mid-June when their group survived to the end of basic training, they all did so with pride and Genevieve was among those eagerly looking forward to consignment. To her pleasant surprise, she had found herself assigned to the nuclear carrier USS John C. Stennis as part of their combat detachment. For her commanding officer, it was less of a pleasant surprise, but to his credit he accepted her as part of the team and gave her the same ground rules as everyone else. Two months passed by relatively quietly, her life aboard the ship going well as she worked rotating drills with the rest of the team and did what she could to assist aboard the ship. Then came that one fateful day in September, and what had before merely been training for a "just in case" was now daily combat drills and an ever present eye on radar.
Her orders came along with everyone else's. A new conflict had erupted in the middle east, and her ship as well as the escort group assigned to it were to remain in the Persian Gulf to provide support for the army and marines deploying under Operation Enduring Freedom. Tension was high and it felt like at any moment she would hear the call for general quarters and it would be the time to act. Yet, it never happened. Jets took off on a daily basis to provide air support, and occasionally she would see the trails of TLAMs flying off to strike a land target, but her ship was safe and it seemed that she wouldn't see combat. That was until hostile forces took hold of a coastal port and command needed a strike team to go in and remove them. As the closest ship with a reasonable detachment, her SO got the order from the captain to take the rib out and get it done.
Alongside a dozen other operators Genevieve was about to taste combat for the first time, to set foot on foreign soil with hostile intentions. She wasn't sure of what to expect, even with all of the training beforehand, her heart pounded in her chest and she followed it by rote as her and her team swept the small dockyard building by building. Sporadic fire was exchanged over the course of an hour, and before she had even realized it she had killed three and they had taken the port. It was not all smoke and blood as she had heard from countless others, not some traumatizing experience, and it did not take an extreme force of will to stare down the irons and put two bullets in the heart of a man who wanted her and her people dead. For her that was the part that shook her the most, that it had been easy for her to do it. She had thought countless times that it was going to take an effort to take that first life, but when the time came, she did so with a clinical efficiency that chilled her. Three people had died at the other end of her gun, and it came effortlessly to her.
Later that night the ship's chaplain had come to speak with her, as he did for the others who had experienced combat for the first time, and his words confirmed for her what she had been thinking in the hours since. He had attempted to tell her that it was okay to be apprehensive and even troubled by the first kill, but by his own admission, it was simply easier for some more so than others. There were no doubts, she had been drawn to the military not because it was a way to find purpose after losing everything, but because it had been her purpose all along.
The rest of that year and the next passed quickly, a few minor engagements like the first kept her sharp and earned a promotion to Warrant Officer by the time she had reached the end of her tour of duty. It wasn't quite enough for her though, and already she was looking at the next opportunity. She could have easily re-enlisted for another tour and shipped back out to serve on either the Stennis or perhaps another warship, but she had a need to challenge herself and strive for better. Word had reached her of the Navy SEALs getting ready to collect the first batch of recruits for the year, but almost as soon as she poked her head into the conversation, she was dismissed because they didn't recruit women. Again, she had felt blocked by the military simply because she was female, and again she felt the stares that almost said she wouldn't have made it anyways. Once again, she set out to prove them all wrong.
She stayed on the reserve, but was on base every day training harder than before. Just a few hours of research and information gathering had given her everything she needed to know about their requirements, the training before and after making SEAL and the final test itself. Even if they wouldn't give her the chance to prove it officially, she would make damn sure they knew she could make the cut. For every week of training the new recruits went through down at Little Creek, she matched their regime with her own at the base in San Diego. Though she didn't quite know it at the time, her efforts were not unnoticed. At first it was just the local drill instructor admiring her dedication, then it extended to the commodore who though he approved, thought it was a waste of effort. Word spread up the chain and laterally as well as the weeks drove on, until one day late in 2004.
It had been the last exercise she had planned, one of the dive tests required for all SEALs in order to become part of the force, and she came up with perfect marks to see a man that was not overtly military observing. Genevieve wondered about him for a moment, thinking perhaps it was another official there to speak with the commodore, but a light wave and gesture to come over to speak had said otherwise. She was curious, but cautious, as she knew that with the increased military presence overseas there was a focus on acquiring experienced personnel for the private sector. The man led her back inside the base and into the commodore's office where he sat behind the desk with a look she had only seen once when someone had stolen the bottle of whiskey he kept in the filing cabinet.
As she found out quite quickly, the man who had been observing her had been doing so for the last three weeks and would only reveal himself as "Prometheus" and that he worked for the Special Activities Division of the CIA. Normally him and his comrades in the bureau would take this time of the year to acquire operatives for their own internal paramilitary teams, selecting those they felt would prove useful in certain activities both foreign and domestic. The commodore explained that command would greatly prefer that he keep a few SEALs this year instead of handing them over to SOG, and so that was where she came in. It was a bit ironic she felt, that when she had been openly dismissed as a potential SEAL, she had an opportunity before her that would not otherwise have been available. Of course, she didn't miss that she was being offered up as a way to keep people directly with the Navy, but for once she didn't she thanked the military's dogged bias as something other than a reason to push herself harder.
Being selected for the CIA's paramilitary branch did not mean that she was done proving herself however, as almost as soon as she accepted the offer she was off on a bus across the country with everything she could put in a bag. It wouldn't do for her to just pick up a rifle and be told to be quiet out there, they knew she was a little rough around the edges but had the beginnings of what they needed out of an operative. Once more she was put through courses and tested on her abilities and knowledge of various subjects that slowly deviated from typical operations. There was an increasing focus on unarmed combat training, as often enough their operatives would be sent into areas where carrying a firearm was not feasible. She took to it well enough, her years of dance study lending well to the motions of the Krav Maga course taught at the Academy.
Perhaps the one thing that surprised and disappointed her the most was that while she spent her days down at Foggy Bottom, she would be spending her nights in text books earning her degree. She had thought her college days were behind her, but it was a hard requirement within Special Activities Division, and that was one of the few things they would not bend on. Business was the shortest term available, and after her first attempt she was loathe to try another arts degree, so after just a year of study she was not only a full-fledged member of the Agency, but also finally had a degree to her name. Almost immediately after being badged as a full operative she was sent back to Prometheus, where five others waited in the office with a stack of papers.
Names were exchanged between the newly minted squad, the others pulled from actual special forces divisions and bearing the haughty attitude of people who knew they were better than her. She took it in stride though, gave them a smile and shook their hands in turn. Introductions were short as their handler had a mission lined up already, and within moments of entering the office they had their codenames and were directed to the armory to collect their equipment and be off.
[[TOP SECRET//Central Intelligence Agency//ORCON/50X6]]
On July first, 2006, six operatives were tasked with infiltrating Brazil at the request of their government in order to remove rogue elements loyal to foreign terror cells. Codenamed "Operation Still Waters", they were to first reconnoiter the areas of the Amazon in which the targets were suspected to operate in. Once there, operatives "Thanatos", "Hyperion", "Charon" and "Cytherea" would infiltrate and eliminate all hostile entities within while operatives "Erebus" and "Kronos" would provide overwatch.
Genevieve("Cytherea") Alleron and her team deployed as planned via stealth helicopters on the night of July first, quietly inserting deep into the Amazon rainforest near one of many small settlements in the region. Once on the ground they advanced through the brush for thirty miles until reaching the town, where Diego("Hyperion") Ramirez and Ivan("Kronos") Valinova acquired information from the locals in the internationally recognized fashion. While she didn't quite approve of getting drunk while on mission, the results were as they hoped. Since the war in Afghanistan and Iraq, things had been getting heated among the more nationalistic elements of the Brazilian government, and a coup had been attempted several months prior. It had failed spectacularly, but as many of the rebels had escaped the President covered it up so as not to jeopardize their spot for the summer olympics of 2016. After repeated failures from his own people, he had called on the US to quietly solve his problem under the auspices that it would ensure a democratic country in the Americas remained loyal and stable. With information on the rebel hideout gathered, the team withdrew back into the forest before dawn and set up camp a mile from the river.
Resting during the day allowed them to keep watch on their surroundings, and once the sun set again they could approach without being seen. It took them only a few hours to reach the old military garrison by foot, surveilling it from afar via infrared and night-vision scopes. From their first recon of the camp, they knew already that they couldn't take it on directly, as they were far outnumbered and significantly outgunned since the rebels had stolen military hardware. Still, they had a mission and they had the ingenuity to complete with the information and tools they had available to them. Genevieve took first watch that night as they headed back to the village to gather more intel and some long-term supplies, the team fabricating a story that they were anthropologists with an American university doing field work.
It had taken well enough, as Diego's portuguese was enough to pass when the locals didn't understand his english, but it was only temporary and they all knew it. A week passed as they simply laid low and tracked the movements of the rebels, seeing which towns they had control over and where their supplies went in the forest. Their first sign of trouble was when Gregori"Charon" Slattery and Raymond"Thanatos" Desrosiers ran into difficulty with a local shop owner, and they attempted to withdraw. Right as the rest of the team arrived to pull them out, rebel trucks entered the town firing on them and gunning down any civilians who got in the way. Genevieve took up shelter in the bar with Diego and provided fire support while Ivan and Geoffrey"Erebus" Irving assisted a wounded Gregori across the street to their position.
A rough fifteen minute exchange ended with the team back across the river and assessing their situation, as the rebels collected the bodies of their fallen men and quickly set the blame on the Americans for the dead civilians. That had made their mission a trite more difficult from that point, forcing them to keep their distance from towns they were unsure of, and raiding supply convoys between garrisons. For six weeks they lived in the rain forest of the Amazon, harassing the rebels at every opportunity and silently removing any head of leadership that dared poke out from their forts. When they had finally whittled them down enough to seize a fort, the rebels had thrown down their guns without a shot fired. After the third colonel died of "mysterious circumstances", the general who led the coup had taken responsibility for the entire affair and surrendered to the Brazilian military.
Genevieve and the team had returned to the US once the job was done, a well deserved rest in order, but not in line with what their handler had waiting for them. While commended for their efforts, Prometheus had them right back on the ranges and sharpening their skills. Of course, they did just complete a mission and did manage to squeeze in a celebration. As she was a lightweight compared to the rest of them, Genevieve had only a few drinks, watching Ivan drink them all under the table and make a show of lifting the other patrons of the bar in pairs. It was different than what she had expected of this life, but it was good. She felt something she hadn't in a long time, and could actually feel the smile on her face as Diego tried to show off for her in pool, but only managed to lose a lot of money and earn the mockery of the team. Times were good, and in between training down at base she began to join them more and more at the bar, enjoying the personal time and bonding with her team-mates.
A cold night in November of 2007 had seen her more alive than she had ever been, accepted fully as a skilled operator by the others months ago, and even friends with all of them. She still couldn't hold her drink like Ivan, but she raised the glass with them every week without reservation. It was this night that she first felt something different about one in particular though. He had never quite given up on trying to win her over, making it a game as to if he could convince a smile over his antics as he inevitably lost one bet or another. She found it endearing, Raymond thought it was sexual harassment, and Gregori was just jealous that he always found a way with that charming smile. Once more the team had gathered in the pub near base, Diego regaling them with a tale his mother had supposedly told him of his great-grandfather and the Napoleonic wars.
Snow had been falling at a constant, and his Spanish pride had seen him in one of his usual hawaiian shirts, refusing to show just how cold he was. She had always made a show of disapproving of his bravado, making a fool out of him more than once in the bar, but something about him that night had shifted her thinking just a little bit. There was a certain charm to him that she couldn't deny, and she knew he was just playing at being a rogue when he hit on her and the other women in the bar. For not the first time, when he turned to wink at her as he usually did at the end of one of his ballads, she smiled and raised a glass with the rest of them. It was the first time she lingered in the bar however, waiting until the others had left and Diego was getting ready to head back as well. In that moment, she finally relented and walked back to base with him, letting him know he had his chance to win her over.
That night in November had also been the night when new orders were received. The ongoing war efforts overseas had need of a recon team to infiltrate and survey the Khyber Pass for potential assault teams and to determine if enemy command elements were within. Her and the rest of the team geared up before they had even slept off the alcohol, and a glance between herself and Diego was all that was needed to communicate that they would pick back up when they returned home. Afghanistan was a short C-130 ride away, where in the dead of a moonless night they parachuted in a dozen miles from the range and with instructions to check back in once they were in mission area.
It was a long hike over rough terrain, and unlike Brazil there wasn't a possibility of friendly locals this time. To everyone in the region they were the enemy, and it wouldn't be safe for any of them to attempt contact. Instead they had to rely on agents already within coming to predesignated spots, and the occasional overnight air-drop. The team stuck with it though, quietly scouting out the pass and surrounding villages in both Afghanistan and Pakistan, marking the occasional target for drone strikes and eating MREs by the light of their NVGs. One year passed, slowly progress being made in the theater and the new President taking office with promises to start winding down the war efforts. Ivan cussed at the radio, but Diego seemed optimistic about the whole thing so she couldn't help but find herself looking towards withdrawal and being back home. The second year passed and even though they promised to wait until back in Virginia, neither could truly resist going back on it. None of the team could resist the occasional break, surrounded as they were by sand and rocks, dependent on air-drops and the occasional local working with the US government.
While on mission, though she omitted such in the official reports, Genevieve encountered the supernatural once more. She had known since that first brutal introduction, that creatures hid in plain sight, and preyed upon the weak. What she hadn't realized was just how widespread they were, and almost lost it when she had gone to meet their contact and discovered he was a vampire. Of course, he hadn't said as much at first, it was her keen eye that noticed the strange look in his eye and more so the way he didn't reflect off the mirror she kept attached to her sleeve. At first, she was going to gun him down and get the team to relocate before others would find them, but once more the man surprised her. He explained quickly that the small coven he was part of lived peacefully with the people of the Khyber Pass, and that agreements had been made between them long ago. There were no prey and no predators, just mutual coexistence.
Yet, as they made the exchange of supplies for her team and information for the local troops, she found that not all agreed to the compacts. Some had gone rogue and were drawing undue attention because of it. She felt conflicted over the matter, as on one had the rogue vampires were a danger to not only the local villages, but also her team. On the other hand, they had a mission and could not afford to interfere. Genevieve had a choice, but it was not one she would make on her own.
Later that night she told the others of what she discovered, leaving out the part about vampires, and even though they did have the mission to worry about the others agreed that something had to be done. Diego needed a little more convincing, but it wasn't because he didn't believe it was the right thing to do. He had a feeling when she talked about the village that she was leaving something out, and confronted her in private about it, where she quietly told him about the vampires. To her surprise he believed her, calmly agreeing with the plan and getting the team together draw up routes of attack.
On the morning of March 10th 2010, the team infiltrated the village with the rising sun at their backs and began to sweep through each building. As they progressed the feeling of something wrong increasingly began to gnaw at Genevieve, and it was only when the body of their contact had been found chained to a wall with the word "traitor" carved into his chest, that they knew they had walked into a trap. Shots rang out before they could exit the ramshackle town hall, pinning them in a poor position to return fire. They knew the longer they stayed there, that the greater the chances enemy forces from nearby towns and mountain hideouts would come to surround them even further. Diego made the plan, having himself and Raymond stay in the building to put down suppressing fire while the rest of them would make a quick exit and find better ground.
Enemy fire came from every direction as the team fought desperately in the center of the village, running slowly out of time and ammunition the longer they tried to work their way out. Finally it came down to desperation as Raymond took a bullet in the leg and went down in the street. Before anyone could get to him he was shot repeatedly in the back, managing to pull the trigger of his rifle long enough to force the enemy's heads down and allow his team a chance to escape. Already reinforcements were arriving from the western and southern approaches, mortars hitting the surrounding buildings and very clearly forcing their retreat along a specific corridor. They were down to picking up discarded and weapons to fire back at their attackers now, Genevieve and Ivan both taking hits and having to duck into an alley as Diego covered for them.
That was when it happened. In one single moment all she could hear was him telling her to keep going, not to look back, and then he went down. Her screams echoed through the town, barely drowned out by mortars and automatic weapons fire, Ivan physically hauling her away despite his own injury and Geoffrey covering them as best they could while Gregori navigated a path out of the killbox.
An hour later the four of them were back at camp, the sat-radio chattering with incoming from command and Ivan shouting at them over all the noise. Genevieve just sat through it all, tears drying on her face as she slowly numbed to the reality of it all, and what had just been taken from her. Once more she felt cold and bitter, and this time there wasn't a smile and a laugh at her side to draw her out of it. All she could feel was a hole where her heart should be, and the chilling need to make things right. Something that couldn't be done by just the four of them, and not when they were being given orders to withdraw.
[[End of Classified Information]]
In January of 2014, she finally returned to base and was put on leave. The events of the last few years had begun to wear on her, and command was skeptical on sending her on yet another mission without rest. She said goodbye to her friends, both still alive and lost, and quietly left Virginia for something different. Again the thought of going to see her parents entertained her for just a brief moment, but she dismissed it as she had always done in order to follow a lead on affairs she still needed to settle.
While overseas she had encountered a man who claimed to be a hunter of the supernatural, talking of a meeting of his people in Salem. She had the feeling he wasn't telling the entire truth, as he was a bit twitchy around her, but it was something to follow up on anyways. Enough of her life had been spent walking away from what hid in the shadows, and she was pissed at being left to do nothing for so long. At least, she was once she pulled herself out of the bottle enough to sort out a trip up north.
When she arrived she wasn't quite sure what she was hoping to find, though the thought of a bunch of people in trenchcoats with crossbows had briefly crossed her mind. It was quiet the first couple, and she took that time to sort out a place to live as well as employment in the area. With her background it was easy to get something with flexible hours and taking up asset-protection also allowed her to observe the locals a little bit. Genevieve's first encounter with the hunters of the area was when she found herself on the wrong end of a gun one night, staring down the barrel at an old man with smoker's cough. He had babbled on something about witches, and started in on trying to "purge" her when she grabbed the pistol and broke his nose with the grip in a single move. There were few things she didn't have the patience for, and crazy old men with a witch fetish were up there near the top.
She cleared up the confusion after a short conversation about how a kneecap is supposed to bend, and got a name to speak to. As she had been told, there were several hunters active in Salem, each doing their best to hunt down the supernatural and put an end to them in their own way. The name she acquired was one of the elder members of their order, one who generally kept to themselves but occasionally took on a young face to keep the profession alive.
Her interaction with the old man had gone about the way as the first encounter had gone, a short conflict that turned into her holding the gun and asking the questions. Patience was running thin, and she told him as bluntly as she could that she wasn't an enemy. She wanted to put an end to people being hunted openly in the street as prey for these creatures. All she needed was the knowledge to take the fight to them. It helped a little more when she handed back the old man's gun, though she cautioned against trying anything stupid anymore. To her relief the hunter relented and gave her some books to read from himself and a few others. It was one of the oldest professions in the world, he had explained, and it was his duty to pass it on even if he didn't personally approve of some of those taking on the mantle. She parted ways afterwards, asking for her name to be placed among their order partly so they would stop drawing on her, and because she wanted it clear she was doing this for the right reasons.
A few years have passed since then, Genevieve making a name for herself in her own way, taking down a couple vampires who strayed a little too far from their covens, and occasionally a werewolf who got caught gnawing on a person. Trust was hard to gain with the hunters, always something between her and them making it difficult to work together with any of them, and so she was forced to go her own way as best she could. She found an uneasy partnership with some of the more low key vampires and witches of Salem, unwittingly acting to keep the truce together while trying to make something of this new life. Every now and then she gets a call from her old squad mates, and even took a break a month ago to take on a mission with them to Chechnya. It wasn't the same though, and they all knew it never would be. For her, all that was left was Salem and trying to keep people safe from the horrors that lurked in the darkness.
With dreams of her future and the support of her loving parents, she set off for first time out of her home state of Montana and to the city of Columbus. There she found everything she had been looking forward to, a bright and lively city full of artistic and driven people, a group she wanted to be part of since taking up her passion. So it was that she had started her first day of college with bells on her shoes, almost literally, eager to learn and further herself with the help of experienced tutors. What she got was a whole lot of disappointment.
All her childhood she had been told to simply let the music move her, to feel it out and find a rhythm. That works well enough for someone just having a bit of fun, dancing around their house as a hobby or to burn off some extra energy. It did not work for the professionals who were faced with everyone from the spirited enthusiasts to people simply packing their portfolio with "easy" degrees. Her and the ever dwindling class she attended were drilled with each particular form, taught the core moves by rote and made to repeat them over and over again until they could execute it flawlessly by the book. It was weeks of the same classical dance forms, weeks of books on how they came to be developed, weeks of pioneers in the field, weeks of stale repetition. Finally, halfway through the course, she had enough. College had dulled her passion, made what she loved into sterilized and stiff routine. It had slowly made her cynical of not just the professors, but of the entire arts and the way creativity had been killed in order to shadow past innovators. With that sentiment on her lips on the way out of the class, she called them on the irony of it all and dropped out entirely.
Of course, being 19 and no longer in school made things quite complicated for her in terms of securing a place to live in the city. She had the option to pack everything up and head back to Helena to shack up with her parents once more, but after everything she had worked for so far, it felt like giving up to do so. Few options remained, and of them staying in the dorms wasn't one of them, so she did what she could to make some cash while she sorted out everything. A job painting here, a little bit of lawncare there, and she slowly made her way towards the northern outskirts of the city into a more permanent apartment and a job bartending. Not being of the age to drink made things a little difficult, but she devoted herself to doing the best she could off what she knew and about eight hours of "mixology".
Yet even with a modicum of stability to her life, things never quite took off the way she intended. Her nights alternated between the slow week days where she barely made tip to pay her basic utilities and eat on, and the busy weekends that were only given to her when the bar needed another pretty face. She didn't so much mind the attention, and found quickly that a charming smile and offer of another drink tended to earn her more and distract the less eager. For those who couldn't be persuaded otherwise, she had befriended their regular bouncer by the name of "Theodore" and with just a look in his direction someone would find themselves on the pavement in short order.
For a time it was enough to have the job and a place to live, even if she was living quite modestly and more than once missed a payment on the utilities. To Genevieve, it just meant that she needed to work harder. She picked up extra shifts when she could, even taking up a second job with a convenience store during the days. Sleep started to become harder to come by, even as she had been catching up on her bills. At least she had a home to call her own, an apartment though it was, and she could say she was providing for herself.
Everything changed for her once again in the winter of 2000 however, as the snows began to set in on the city. It had been just another night of bartending, a particularly good one since she had gotten a few more tips than usual and the regulars took to congratulating her for sticking with it for six months. With keeping the lights on and a roof over her head it had been hard enough for her, and even more so without a vehicle to drive between the apartment and the bar. She had gotten to know the route home pretty well in her time in Columbus, and relied on the quite unreliable bus system when she could, but on that night it had been late again and she decided to just walk the rest of the way. It was quite rare for her to ever run across any trouble, advantages of living on the north end of the city where crime was low. So it was doubly unnerving when she felt someone shadowing her down the main road, looking back to see a man purposefully striding directly for her. In the snow neither could hide from the other, nor mask their intentions, and she could see there was a strangeness in the way he was looking at her.
It was not the same glance she received from someone a little too deep in their drink, or ambitious in their courting attempts, no this was a feral hunger that she felt. The eyes on her felt like those of a predator smelling fresh blood, and the moment she stopped to try and figure out why, he was on the move right for her. With a man running straight for her with what she swore was the intent to run her down, she did the first thing that came into her mind. Genevieve screamed and ran the opposite direction as fast as she could. Her running shoes kicked up snow with every step, but above her pounding heart she could hear heavier footfalls quickly gaining on her.
When she was knocked to the ground she had at first thought it was about to be the worst night of her life, until she rolled over to try and defend herself and saw her predator. Standing over her was not a man, or at least not any normal human. Its eyes pierced hers and pinned her to the ground through fear alone as moonlight glinted off snarling teeth and canine-like claws bared and ready to shred flesh. Even paralyzed as she was, she instinctively raised her arms to fend off the first swipe, crying out as bones broke and she was tossed across the snow-covered pavement like a ragdoll. Despite the pain of the attack, she struggled to find a way to escape, managing to get to her feet and start running before claws opened up her back and she went down face-first back to the ground. The rest of that night was a haze of her own cries for help, mixed with the feral snarls of the man-beast attacking her, but one thing she remembered clearly before slipping into unconsciousness was someone coming to fight it off, and another man's voice telling her to hang on.
Two months later she awoke at Saint Ann's Hospital dazed from a steady morphine drip and looking up at an incredulous nurse. It had taken a few attempts since she kept slipping in and out of sleep, but eventually she found a doctor talking slowly to her, explaining what had happened. A volunteer EMT had been walking down that same road when he had seen a couple stray dogs go after her, doing what he could to run them off and keep her stable until an ambulance arrived to bring her to the hospital and tend her wounds. Her jaw struggled to work, her confusion quite apparent at that version of the story, but all she got was an increase to the drip and a swift trip back to dreamland.
It troubled her because she knew what she had seen, and it was rather hard to explain both arms and multiple ribs broken as well as severe lacerations across the torso. Yet that was what everyone told her had happened for a week as she steadily regained movement and started walking around. That was, until she happened across an EMT on break. She decided asking about that night directly was pointless at the time, so went about another route. With just a couple pointers, she managed to track down the man who had rescued her, someone who was immediately familiar to her and didn't seem as happy to see her as she was to see him. Despite being somewhat friends at work, she had never known much about Theodore, and as she started talking answers out of him, she found out why.
The quiet and attentive bouncer was what he called a "Hunter", a person dedicated to tracking down and killing the supernatural. Things like the werewolf that very nearly had her for a snack two months prior. Before that, she would have likely laughed at the idea of hunting down vampires, witches and werewolves, having relegated them to myth like most normal people. It was kind of hard to deny the existence of something when it tries to take your face off, however. Genevieve tried to get more from him on what happened, but the more she asked of him, the less he wanted to answer until finally he had enough and told her to just go home. It hit her pretty hard, more so than she initially thought as she accepted and backed away, discharging herself a day later to head back to her apartment.
As if things weren't bad enough, an eviction notice hung on her door and her utilities had been cut off while she was hospitalized, apparently they hadn't gotten the memo or simply didn't care. Bills lay stacked on the floor in front of her door, and her bag hung heavily on her shoulders as she collapsed onto the couch and let it all out in the darkness of her home. For hours she laid there and cried as she went over everything that had happened since she left to pursue her dream up until that moment. The more she thought about it all, the more she felt it all coming down around her and eventually passed out from the exertion of going through it all over again.
For a week she locked herself within the apartment, finding on the first day that the bar had fired her after she didn't show up the second day, and that the gas station had done the same the day after. Both bosses said they were terribly sorry about what happened, and offered to rehire her as soon as they had an opening, but it would be at least a month. The electric company was less empathetic, just offering condolences and standing firm on their policy that she needed to pay the past due and shut-off charges. Shut-off charges that were more than what she had, and a bill that was three months of past-due payments. At least she found solace in having running water, though only for a week unless she found a way to pay them as well.
All told, she had thought before that things had been pretty rough and it had been slowly chipping away at her normally cheerful and bright self. Now she no longer had anything to her name that said she was at least doing okay, other than a dull throb of sore ribs in her chest that let her know she was still alive. It was over, her attempt at living on her own without relying on her parents had come to a disastrous close and she was one step away from making the call and finally giving in when she noticed a letter standing out in the pile of old mail.
Months ago she had been approached by a recruiter for the military, telling the usual story of how they could help her earn her way through college with service to the nation. She politely declined at the time, though allowed them to send her information largely to just get them off her back. Now a directory of recruitment offices and enlistment requirements sat on the table before her with a way out. She had been broken down already, worn away by the grind of shit jobs, a wasted dream and some freak taking a literal bite out of her. There was little else for the military to do to her other than build her back up, and so she decided that she wasn't done fighting for herself yet.
The Army was her first stop, talking nearly all day with a rather charming man who tried to talk her into going into a support role until she had made it clear that she wanted a combat-role. Regardless of there not being a conflict to deploy into, they were hesitant to put a woman on the frontlines, but told her if she changed her mind to come back and they could get her into basic within the week. She had briefly considered the Air Force, but didn't quite relish the idea of staying put on a base and watching planes take off while she gave directions. At least, that was until she spoke with the Marine recruiter, and then she only considered giving directions to the same place she directed him. In the end she had only the Navy left, or to relent and head back to the Army offices.
While the idea of a Navy recruitment office in Ohio seemed odd to her at first, she supposed it didn't matter in the end where someone came from as long as they wanted to serve, the sentiment that was expressed to her when she sat down with a master sergeant on the verge of retirement. He took his time explaining the process to her, going over what roles she could expect to serve and which ones weren't open to women. At first she was less than amused, but the idea of being on a submarine was even less amusing, a reaction that the recruiter shared with her. Eventually she found what she was looking for, though told she would have to work hard to earn her place for it, and a day later she managed to acquire a ride off to basic where she would begin her new life.
Early March saw the beginning of what was both a far rougher, yet altogether easier road for Genevieve. Basic training was just as rigorous as her recruiter had promised, weeks of intense physical training in order to get her and the other recruits up to peak physical shape and ensure their skills were up to snuff. She pushed herself hard every day, harder than the instructors and shut out the jeering of the men assigned to the same barrack. At first the coed training had her rolling her eyes over the comments she received, but as they slowed in trying to break her down and everyone suffered equally under the DI, she found her edge and used it to push herself to be better than she was. It wasn't enough to meet the bar, to be merely acceptable to the Navy, she had to exceed it. First she just packed a little extra weight in her pack for the endurance runs, then she set her own speed goals for the obstacle courses, and adjusted her physical training in the gym to be more demanding.
All the while her instructors observed, at first finding it amusing that a college girl was taking it so seriously, and then using her as an excuse to verbally flog the others for not following her example. That brought down more discontent on her from her fellow recruits, but the other women in her barrack silently approved even if they made a show otherwise. For Genevieve all it did was inspire her further. Before she had joined into the Navy, she had simply accepted what life deigned to serve her, but now she could dish it back and be better. She had the chance to correct the shitty hand she had been dealt, and she wasn't going to let anything bring her down or tell her she wasn't good enough anymore.
So it was that in mid-June when their group survived to the end of basic training, they all did so with pride and Genevieve was among those eagerly looking forward to consignment. To her pleasant surprise, she had found herself assigned to the nuclear carrier USS John C. Stennis as part of their combat detachment. For her commanding officer, it was less of a pleasant surprise, but to his credit he accepted her as part of the team and gave her the same ground rules as everyone else. Two months passed by relatively quietly, her life aboard the ship going well as she worked rotating drills with the rest of the team and did what she could to assist aboard the ship. Then came that one fateful day in September, and what had before merely been training for a "just in case" was now daily combat drills and an ever present eye on radar.
Her orders came along with everyone else's. A new conflict had erupted in the middle east, and her ship as well as the escort group assigned to it were to remain in the Persian Gulf to provide support for the army and marines deploying under Operation Enduring Freedom. Tension was high and it felt like at any moment she would hear the call for general quarters and it would be the time to act. Yet, it never happened. Jets took off on a daily basis to provide air support, and occasionally she would see the trails of TLAMs flying off to strike a land target, but her ship was safe and it seemed that she wouldn't see combat. That was until hostile forces took hold of a coastal port and command needed a strike team to go in and remove them. As the closest ship with a reasonable detachment, her SO got the order from the captain to take the rib out and get it done.
Alongside a dozen other operators Genevieve was about to taste combat for the first time, to set foot on foreign soil with hostile intentions. She wasn't sure of what to expect, even with all of the training beforehand, her heart pounded in her chest and she followed it by rote as her and her team swept the small dockyard building by building. Sporadic fire was exchanged over the course of an hour, and before she had even realized it she had killed three and they had taken the port. It was not all smoke and blood as she had heard from countless others, not some traumatizing experience, and it did not take an extreme force of will to stare down the irons and put two bullets in the heart of a man who wanted her and her people dead. For her that was the part that shook her the most, that it had been easy for her to do it. She had thought countless times that it was going to take an effort to take that first life, but when the time came, she did so with a clinical efficiency that chilled her. Three people had died at the other end of her gun, and it came effortlessly to her.
Later that night the ship's chaplain had come to speak with her, as he did for the others who had experienced combat for the first time, and his words confirmed for her what she had been thinking in the hours since. He had attempted to tell her that it was okay to be apprehensive and even troubled by the first kill, but by his own admission, it was simply easier for some more so than others. There were no doubts, she had been drawn to the military not because it was a way to find purpose after losing everything, but because it had been her purpose all along.
The rest of that year and the next passed quickly, a few minor engagements like the first kept her sharp and earned a promotion to Warrant Officer by the time she had reached the end of her tour of duty. It wasn't quite enough for her though, and already she was looking at the next opportunity. She could have easily re-enlisted for another tour and shipped back out to serve on either the Stennis or perhaps another warship, but she had a need to challenge herself and strive for better. Word had reached her of the Navy SEALs getting ready to collect the first batch of recruits for the year, but almost as soon as she poked her head into the conversation, she was dismissed because they didn't recruit women. Again, she had felt blocked by the military simply because she was female, and again she felt the stares that almost said she wouldn't have made it anyways. Once again, she set out to prove them all wrong.
She stayed on the reserve, but was on base every day training harder than before. Just a few hours of research and information gathering had given her everything she needed to know about their requirements, the training before and after making SEAL and the final test itself. Even if they wouldn't give her the chance to prove it officially, she would make damn sure they knew she could make the cut. For every week of training the new recruits went through down at Little Creek, she matched their regime with her own at the base in San Diego. Though she didn't quite know it at the time, her efforts were not unnoticed. At first it was just the local drill instructor admiring her dedication, then it extended to the commodore who though he approved, thought it was a waste of effort. Word spread up the chain and laterally as well as the weeks drove on, until one day late in 2004.
It had been the last exercise she had planned, one of the dive tests required for all SEALs in order to become part of the force, and she came up with perfect marks to see a man that was not overtly military observing. Genevieve wondered about him for a moment, thinking perhaps it was another official there to speak with the commodore, but a light wave and gesture to come over to speak had said otherwise. She was curious, but cautious, as she knew that with the increased military presence overseas there was a focus on acquiring experienced personnel for the private sector. The man led her back inside the base and into the commodore's office where he sat behind the desk with a look she had only seen once when someone had stolen the bottle of whiskey he kept in the filing cabinet.
As she found out quite quickly, the man who had been observing her had been doing so for the last three weeks and would only reveal himself as "Prometheus" and that he worked for the Special Activities Division of the CIA. Normally him and his comrades in the bureau would take this time of the year to acquire operatives for their own internal paramilitary teams, selecting those they felt would prove useful in certain activities both foreign and domestic. The commodore explained that command would greatly prefer that he keep a few SEALs this year instead of handing them over to SOG, and so that was where she came in. It was a bit ironic she felt, that when she had been openly dismissed as a potential SEAL, she had an opportunity before her that would not otherwise have been available. Of course, she didn't miss that she was being offered up as a way to keep people directly with the Navy, but for once she didn't she thanked the military's dogged bias as something other than a reason to push herself harder.
Being selected for the CIA's paramilitary branch did not mean that she was done proving herself however, as almost as soon as she accepted the offer she was off on a bus across the country with everything she could put in a bag. It wouldn't do for her to just pick up a rifle and be told to be quiet out there, they knew she was a little rough around the edges but had the beginnings of what they needed out of an operative. Once more she was put through courses and tested on her abilities and knowledge of various subjects that slowly deviated from typical operations. There was an increasing focus on unarmed combat training, as often enough their operatives would be sent into areas where carrying a firearm was not feasible. She took to it well enough, her years of dance study lending well to the motions of the Krav Maga course taught at the Academy.
Perhaps the one thing that surprised and disappointed her the most was that while she spent her days down at Foggy Bottom, she would be spending her nights in text books earning her degree. She had thought her college days were behind her, but it was a hard requirement within Special Activities Division, and that was one of the few things they would not bend on. Business was the shortest term available, and after her first attempt she was loathe to try another arts degree, so after just a year of study she was not only a full-fledged member of the Agency, but also finally had a degree to her name. Almost immediately after being badged as a full operative she was sent back to Prometheus, where five others waited in the office with a stack of papers.
Names were exchanged between the newly minted squad, the others pulled from actual special forces divisions and bearing the haughty attitude of people who knew they were better than her. She took it in stride though, gave them a smile and shook their hands in turn. Introductions were short as their handler had a mission lined up already, and within moments of entering the office they had their codenames and were directed to the armory to collect their equipment and be off.
[[TOP SECRET//Central Intelligence Agency//ORCON/50X6]]
On July first, 2006, six operatives were tasked with infiltrating Brazil at the request of their government in order to remove rogue elements loyal to foreign terror cells. Codenamed "Operation Still Waters", they were to first reconnoiter the areas of the Amazon in which the targets were suspected to operate in. Once there, operatives "Thanatos", "Hyperion", "Charon" and "Cytherea" would infiltrate and eliminate all hostile entities within while operatives "Erebus" and "Kronos" would provide overwatch.
Genevieve("Cytherea") Alleron and her team deployed as planned via stealth helicopters on the night of July first, quietly inserting deep into the Amazon rainforest near one of many small settlements in the region. Once on the ground they advanced through the brush for thirty miles until reaching the town, where Diego("Hyperion") Ramirez and Ivan("Kronos") Valinova acquired information from the locals in the internationally recognized fashion. While she didn't quite approve of getting drunk while on mission, the results were as they hoped. Since the war in Afghanistan and Iraq, things had been getting heated among the more nationalistic elements of the Brazilian government, and a coup had been attempted several months prior. It had failed spectacularly, but as many of the rebels had escaped the President covered it up so as not to jeopardize their spot for the summer olympics of 2016. After repeated failures from his own people, he had called on the US to quietly solve his problem under the auspices that it would ensure a democratic country in the Americas remained loyal and stable. With information on the rebel hideout gathered, the team withdrew back into the forest before dawn and set up camp a mile from the river.
Resting during the day allowed them to keep watch on their surroundings, and once the sun set again they could approach without being seen. It took them only a few hours to reach the old military garrison by foot, surveilling it from afar via infrared and night-vision scopes. From their first recon of the camp, they knew already that they couldn't take it on directly, as they were far outnumbered and significantly outgunned since the rebels had stolen military hardware. Still, they had a mission and they had the ingenuity to complete with the information and tools they had available to them. Genevieve took first watch that night as they headed back to the village to gather more intel and some long-term supplies, the team fabricating a story that they were anthropologists with an American university doing field work.
It had taken well enough, as Diego's portuguese was enough to pass when the locals didn't understand his english, but it was only temporary and they all knew it. A week passed as they simply laid low and tracked the movements of the rebels, seeing which towns they had control over and where their supplies went in the forest. Their first sign of trouble was when Gregori"Charon" Slattery and Raymond"Thanatos" Desrosiers ran into difficulty with a local shop owner, and they attempted to withdraw. Right as the rest of the team arrived to pull them out, rebel trucks entered the town firing on them and gunning down any civilians who got in the way. Genevieve took up shelter in the bar with Diego and provided fire support while Ivan and Geoffrey"Erebus" Irving assisted a wounded Gregori across the street to their position.
A rough fifteen minute exchange ended with the team back across the river and assessing their situation, as the rebels collected the bodies of their fallen men and quickly set the blame on the Americans for the dead civilians. That had made their mission a trite more difficult from that point, forcing them to keep their distance from towns they were unsure of, and raiding supply convoys between garrisons. For six weeks they lived in the rain forest of the Amazon, harassing the rebels at every opportunity and silently removing any head of leadership that dared poke out from their forts. When they had finally whittled them down enough to seize a fort, the rebels had thrown down their guns without a shot fired. After the third colonel died of "mysterious circumstances", the general who led the coup had taken responsibility for the entire affair and surrendered to the Brazilian military.
Genevieve and the team had returned to the US once the job was done, a well deserved rest in order, but not in line with what their handler had waiting for them. While commended for their efforts, Prometheus had them right back on the ranges and sharpening their skills. Of course, they did just complete a mission and did manage to squeeze in a celebration. As she was a lightweight compared to the rest of them, Genevieve had only a few drinks, watching Ivan drink them all under the table and make a show of lifting the other patrons of the bar in pairs. It was different than what she had expected of this life, but it was good. She felt something she hadn't in a long time, and could actually feel the smile on her face as Diego tried to show off for her in pool, but only managed to lose a lot of money and earn the mockery of the team. Times were good, and in between training down at base she began to join them more and more at the bar, enjoying the personal time and bonding with her team-mates.
A cold night in November of 2007 had seen her more alive than she had ever been, accepted fully as a skilled operator by the others months ago, and even friends with all of them. She still couldn't hold her drink like Ivan, but she raised the glass with them every week without reservation. It was this night that she first felt something different about one in particular though. He had never quite given up on trying to win her over, making it a game as to if he could convince a smile over his antics as he inevitably lost one bet or another. She found it endearing, Raymond thought it was sexual harassment, and Gregori was just jealous that he always found a way with that charming smile. Once more the team had gathered in the pub near base, Diego regaling them with a tale his mother had supposedly told him of his great-grandfather and the Napoleonic wars.
Snow had been falling at a constant, and his Spanish pride had seen him in one of his usual hawaiian shirts, refusing to show just how cold he was. She had always made a show of disapproving of his bravado, making a fool out of him more than once in the bar, but something about him that night had shifted her thinking just a little bit. There was a certain charm to him that she couldn't deny, and she knew he was just playing at being a rogue when he hit on her and the other women in the bar. For not the first time, when he turned to wink at her as he usually did at the end of one of his ballads, she smiled and raised a glass with the rest of them. It was the first time she lingered in the bar however, waiting until the others had left and Diego was getting ready to head back as well. In that moment, she finally relented and walked back to base with him, letting him know he had his chance to win her over.
That night in November had also been the night when new orders were received. The ongoing war efforts overseas had need of a recon team to infiltrate and survey the Khyber Pass for potential assault teams and to determine if enemy command elements were within. Her and the rest of the team geared up before they had even slept off the alcohol, and a glance between herself and Diego was all that was needed to communicate that they would pick back up when they returned home. Afghanistan was a short C-130 ride away, where in the dead of a moonless night they parachuted in a dozen miles from the range and with instructions to check back in once they were in mission area.
It was a long hike over rough terrain, and unlike Brazil there wasn't a possibility of friendly locals this time. To everyone in the region they were the enemy, and it wouldn't be safe for any of them to attempt contact. Instead they had to rely on agents already within coming to predesignated spots, and the occasional overnight air-drop. The team stuck with it though, quietly scouting out the pass and surrounding villages in both Afghanistan and Pakistan, marking the occasional target for drone strikes and eating MREs by the light of their NVGs. One year passed, slowly progress being made in the theater and the new President taking office with promises to start winding down the war efforts. Ivan cussed at the radio, but Diego seemed optimistic about the whole thing so she couldn't help but find herself looking towards withdrawal and being back home. The second year passed and even though they promised to wait until back in Virginia, neither could truly resist going back on it. None of the team could resist the occasional break, surrounded as they were by sand and rocks, dependent on air-drops and the occasional local working with the US government.
While on mission, though she omitted such in the official reports, Genevieve encountered the supernatural once more. She had known since that first brutal introduction, that creatures hid in plain sight, and preyed upon the weak. What she hadn't realized was just how widespread they were, and almost lost it when she had gone to meet their contact and discovered he was a vampire. Of course, he hadn't said as much at first, it was her keen eye that noticed the strange look in his eye and more so the way he didn't reflect off the mirror she kept attached to her sleeve. At first, she was going to gun him down and get the team to relocate before others would find them, but once more the man surprised her. He explained quickly that the small coven he was part of lived peacefully with the people of the Khyber Pass, and that agreements had been made between them long ago. There were no prey and no predators, just mutual coexistence.
Yet, as they made the exchange of supplies for her team and information for the local troops, she found that not all agreed to the compacts. Some had gone rogue and were drawing undue attention because of it. She felt conflicted over the matter, as on one had the rogue vampires were a danger to not only the local villages, but also her team. On the other hand, they had a mission and could not afford to interfere. Genevieve had a choice, but it was not one she would make on her own.
Later that night she told the others of what she discovered, leaving out the part about vampires, and even though they did have the mission to worry about the others agreed that something had to be done. Diego needed a little more convincing, but it wasn't because he didn't believe it was the right thing to do. He had a feeling when she talked about the village that she was leaving something out, and confronted her in private about it, where she quietly told him about the vampires. To her surprise he believed her, calmly agreeing with the plan and getting the team together draw up routes of attack.
On the morning of March 10th 2010, the team infiltrated the village with the rising sun at their backs and began to sweep through each building. As they progressed the feeling of something wrong increasingly began to gnaw at Genevieve, and it was only when the body of their contact had been found chained to a wall with the word "traitor" carved into his chest, that they knew they had walked into a trap. Shots rang out before they could exit the ramshackle town hall, pinning them in a poor position to return fire. They knew the longer they stayed there, that the greater the chances enemy forces from nearby towns and mountain hideouts would come to surround them even further. Diego made the plan, having himself and Raymond stay in the building to put down suppressing fire while the rest of them would make a quick exit and find better ground.
Enemy fire came from every direction as the team fought desperately in the center of the village, running slowly out of time and ammunition the longer they tried to work their way out. Finally it came down to desperation as Raymond took a bullet in the leg and went down in the street. Before anyone could get to him he was shot repeatedly in the back, managing to pull the trigger of his rifle long enough to force the enemy's heads down and allow his team a chance to escape. Already reinforcements were arriving from the western and southern approaches, mortars hitting the surrounding buildings and very clearly forcing their retreat along a specific corridor. They were down to picking up discarded and weapons to fire back at their attackers now, Genevieve and Ivan both taking hits and having to duck into an alley as Diego covered for them.
That was when it happened. In one single moment all she could hear was him telling her to keep going, not to look back, and then he went down. Her screams echoed through the town, barely drowned out by mortars and automatic weapons fire, Ivan physically hauling her away despite his own injury and Geoffrey covering them as best they could while Gregori navigated a path out of the killbox.
An hour later the four of them were back at camp, the sat-radio chattering with incoming from command and Ivan shouting at them over all the noise. Genevieve just sat through it all, tears drying on her face as she slowly numbed to the reality of it all, and what had just been taken from her. Once more she felt cold and bitter, and this time there wasn't a smile and a laugh at her side to draw her out of it. All she could feel was a hole where her heart should be, and the chilling need to make things right. Something that couldn't be done by just the four of them, and not when they were being given orders to withdraw.
[[End of Classified Information]]
In January of 2014, she finally returned to base and was put on leave. The events of the last few years had begun to wear on her, and command was skeptical on sending her on yet another mission without rest. She said goodbye to her friends, both still alive and lost, and quietly left Virginia for something different. Again the thought of going to see her parents entertained her for just a brief moment, but she dismissed it as she had always done in order to follow a lead on affairs she still needed to settle.
While overseas she had encountered a man who claimed to be a hunter of the supernatural, talking of a meeting of his people in Salem. She had the feeling he wasn't telling the entire truth, as he was a bit twitchy around her, but it was something to follow up on anyways. Enough of her life had been spent walking away from what hid in the shadows, and she was pissed at being left to do nothing for so long. At least, she was once she pulled herself out of the bottle enough to sort out a trip up north.
When she arrived she wasn't quite sure what she was hoping to find, though the thought of a bunch of people in trenchcoats with crossbows had briefly crossed her mind. It was quiet the first couple, and she took that time to sort out a place to live as well as employment in the area. With her background it was easy to get something with flexible hours and taking up asset-protection also allowed her to observe the locals a little bit. Genevieve's first encounter with the hunters of the area was when she found herself on the wrong end of a gun one night, staring down the barrel at an old man with smoker's cough. He had babbled on something about witches, and started in on trying to "purge" her when she grabbed the pistol and broke his nose with the grip in a single move. There were few things she didn't have the patience for, and crazy old men with a witch fetish were up there near the top.
She cleared up the confusion after a short conversation about how a kneecap is supposed to bend, and got a name to speak to. As she had been told, there were several hunters active in Salem, each doing their best to hunt down the supernatural and put an end to them in their own way. The name she acquired was one of the elder members of their order, one who generally kept to themselves but occasionally took on a young face to keep the profession alive.
Her interaction with the old man had gone about the way as the first encounter had gone, a short conflict that turned into her holding the gun and asking the questions. Patience was running thin, and she told him as bluntly as she could that she wasn't an enemy. She wanted to put an end to people being hunted openly in the street as prey for these creatures. All she needed was the knowledge to take the fight to them. It helped a little more when she handed back the old man's gun, though she cautioned against trying anything stupid anymore. To her relief the hunter relented and gave her some books to read from himself and a few others. It was one of the oldest professions in the world, he had explained, and it was his duty to pass it on even if he didn't personally approve of some of those taking on the mantle. She parted ways afterwards, asking for her name to be placed among their order partly so they would stop drawing on her, and because she wanted it clear she was doing this for the right reasons.
A few years have passed since then, Genevieve making a name for herself in her own way, taking down a couple vampires who strayed a little too far from their covens, and occasionally a werewolf who got caught gnawing on a person. Trust was hard to gain with the hunters, always something between her and them making it difficult to work together with any of them, and so she was forced to go her own way as best she could. She found an uneasy partnership with some of the more low key vampires and witches of Salem, unwittingly acting to keep the truce together while trying to make something of this new life. Every now and then she gets a call from her old squad mates, and even took a break a month ago to take on a mission with them to Chechnya. It wasn't the same though, and they all knew it never would be. For her, all that was left was Salem and trying to keep people safe from the horrors that lurked in the darkness.
| {Extra} |
As a hunter, Genevieve stands as the very image of the modern re imagining of the old profession. Instead of carved stakes and silver tipped arrows to do battle with the enemies of man, she has a reloading bench to press cast silver hollow points into nine-millimeter brass casings, and flasks of holy water to dip each bullet into before loading it into the designated magazine. Her armament may be tailored to kill and maim the supernatural, but it is all modified from instruments of modern warfare. Among those she keeps maintained and ready for use are as follows:
- Beretta M9 chambered in 9x19mm parabellum
- HK416 D14.5RS in 5.56x45mm NATO with folding stock, ACOG sight, pistol-grip, and non-standard trigger group
- HK416 A5 11", 16.5" and 20" barrels
- HK MP5SD-N in 9x19mm parabellum with a Navy four position trigger group
- 9x19mm parabellum suppressor with shroud
- 5.56x45mm NATO suppressor with shroud
- Modified KA-BAR knives with serrated silver edges
- E-Tool, because tactical shovel
- Beretta M9 chambered in 9x19mm parabellum
- HK416 D14.5RS in 5.56x45mm NATO with folding stock, ACOG sight, pistol-grip, and non-standard trigger group
- HK416 A5 11", 16.5" and 20" barrels
- HK MP5SD-N in 9x19mm parabellum with a Navy four position trigger group
- 9x19mm parabellum suppressor with shroud
- 5.56x45mm NATO suppressor with shroud
- Modified KA-BAR knives with serrated silver edges
- E-Tool, because tactical shovel
coGM
Themerlinhawk Aegis Kai Doru
Member
Seen
3 yrs ago
Character Name
{ "I built this and I will burn it if I must" }
Blood on my Name || Beat the Devil’s Tattoo || Only Human
| {Full Name} |
Thomas James Finch
| {Nickname} |
Tom
| {Date of Birth} |
October 23rd.
| {Age} |
176
| {Gender} |
Male
| {Sexuality} |
Are you sleeping with me? Not your business.
| {Relationship Status} |
Widowed
| {Role} |
Warlock
| {Occupation} |
Contractor
| {Face Claim} |
Joe Manganiello
| {Dialogue Color} |
Skyblue
| {Appearance} |
Tom dresses the part of the working man that he tries to be. Complete with steel toed work boots, blue jeans or tan cargo pants, and a worn leather jacket, few could mistake him for much else. Beyond this Tom rarely is clean shaven and maintains his rough around the edges appearance quite well. Longer dark brown hair, pale skin and the beginning streaks of grey complete his appearance as a hardworking man who has been through plenty in his life.
On a handful of occasions Tom has been know to clean himself up quite well. When he feels the need to dress the part Tom favors dark slacks, grey button ups and thigh length dark over coats. More often than not this is in response to a need for him the look the part of the almost two century old Warlock that he is. Though the occasion rarely calls for it.
On a handful of occasions Tom has been know to clean himself up quite well. When he feels the need to dress the part Tom favors dark slacks, grey button ups and thigh length dark over coats. More often than not this is in response to a need for him the look the part of the almost two century old Warlock that he is. Though the occasion rarely calls for it.
| {Habits & Quirks} |
A master pencil spinner, the skill comes from his constant work with drafting tables and the need for large wood pencils for marking boards on the job. Consequently, he is quite good at it, much to the annoyance of those around him.
Patently refuses to speak to anyone before his first cup of tea. Don’t bother he will ignore you.
Will not drive automatic cars on principle, he will ride in them but he refuses to drive them
Compulsive locker. Tom checks the locks on his home and vehicle twice before leaving them and twice when returning.
Writes in all capital letters. A holdover from an earlier time in his life, Tom’s handwriting is always in capital letters regardless of what he is writing.
Patently refuses to speak to anyone before his first cup of tea. Don’t bother he will ignore you.
Will not drive automatic cars on principle, he will ride in them but he refuses to drive them
Compulsive locker. Tom checks the locks on his home and vehicle twice before leaving them and twice when returning.
Writes in all capital letters. A holdover from an earlier time in his life, Tom’s handwriting is always in capital letters regardless of what he is writing.
| {Hobbies} |
Painting, for all his potentially destructive and self destructive behaviors Tom is an excellent painter.
Music, another strange hobby of the Warlock, Tom plays the violin and quite well though his voices is questionable at best. A student of the classics Tom is not prone to playing anything newer than Berstein for whom he makes an exception. Beyond that the only sheet music to be found in his household is from the classics Bach, Beethoven, and so forth.
Native American artifact collecting is Tom’s hoarder hobby of choice though his home is more museum than anything else sorting objects from: Cree, Kiowa, Blackfoot, Cherokee, Choctaw, Piqua, Ma-chis and his favorites; Navajo.
Fishing and hunting, a strange hold over from Tom’s early years he has maintained his skills as a hunter over the years out of habit.
Chess, both playing and the collection of Chess boards. While not a Grand Master, Tom is quite good at the game.
Music, another strange hobby of the Warlock, Tom plays the violin and quite well though his voices is questionable at best. A student of the classics Tom is not prone to playing anything newer than Berstein for whom he makes an exception. Beyond that the only sheet music to be found in his household is from the classics Bach, Beethoven, and so forth.
Native American artifact collecting is Tom’s hoarder hobby of choice though his home is more museum than anything else sorting objects from: Cree, Kiowa, Blackfoot, Cherokee, Choctaw, Piqua, Ma-chis and his favorites; Navajo.
Fishing and hunting, a strange hold over from Tom’s early years he has maintained his skills as a hunter over the years out of habit.
Chess, both playing and the collection of Chess boards. While not a Grand Master, Tom is quite good at the game.
| {Likes} |
Drinking, an unfortunate taste that has haunted him for many years
Autumn.
Historical documentaries, he has a fascination with depictions of what has happened throughout history, especially when it pertains to his own life.
His cabin up the coast in Maine where he use to spend his time when it was too cold or too snowed in to manage construction.
Reading, Tom has read libraries in his lifetime and shows no sign of stopping anytime soon.
Magic, some say that power can be addictive and in Tom’s case it certainly borders on the edge. No one could accuse him of being a slacker in practice or experimentation. Though he swore off petty use of magic when Claire died almost forty years ago. Now he turns his mind to seeking out new spells and new uses for the Art.
Listening, one of the few things good that has come of his time sitting in bars is that Tom is excellent at listening to those who need to pour their heart out to someone who will listen.
Autumn.
Historical documentaries, he has a fascination with depictions of what has happened throughout history, especially when it pertains to his own life.
His cabin up the coast in Maine where he use to spend his time when it was too cold or too snowed in to manage construction.
Reading, Tom has read libraries in his lifetime and shows no sign of stopping anytime soon.
Magic, some say that power can be addictive and in Tom’s case it certainly borders on the edge. No one could accuse him of being a slacker in practice or experimentation. Though he swore off petty use of magic when Claire died almost forty years ago. Now he turns his mind to seeking out new spells and new uses for the Art.
Listening, one of the few things good that has come of his time sitting in bars is that Tom is excellent at listening to those who need to pour their heart out to someone who will listen.
| {Dislikes} |
Ignorance.
Over indulgent men, while this might be rather hypocritical of Tom it explains some of his own self loathing.
Oathbreakers, Tom cannot stand people who break their promises.
Poor leaders, these are the people that get people killed.
Racists
Philistines, please think for yourselves for the purpose of thinking. Just use your brain.
Joy and happiness Swarms of insects, hates them. Truly hates them.
Over indulgent men, while this might be rather hypocritical of Tom it explains some of his own self loathing.
Oathbreakers, Tom cannot stand people who break their promises.
Poor leaders, these are the people that get people killed.
Racists
Philistines, please think for yourselves for the purpose of thinking. Just use your brain.
Joy and happiness Swarms of insects, hates them. Truly hates them.
| {Fears} |
The loss of a loved one. There is nothing more terrifying to Tom than losing someone he loves.
Spiders, bloody spiders. Insects he hates, spiders scare him witless.
Failure. An extension of his fear of losing a loved one but in the end Tom fears failure most of all.
Spiders, bloody spiders. Insects he hates, spiders scare him witless.
Failure. An extension of his fear of losing a loved one but in the end Tom fears failure most of all.
| {Secrets} |
Tom is well versed in Dark Magic. Much to the horror of anyone who has had the unfortunate experience of witnessing it.
He is one the only living members of the Lowry Gang.
He served as a Pinkerton for several years after Reconstruction though he left the Agency soon thereafter to move north.
Whispered by those old enough to have heard of it supposedly Tom has plumbed the depths of the blackest magic.
Tom has sworn off another romance after Claire, though his heart wavers.
He is one the only living members of the Lowry Gang.
He served as a Pinkerton for several years after Reconstruction though he left the Agency soon thereafter to move north.
Whispered by those old enough to have heard of it supposedly Tom has plumbed the depths of the blackest magic.
Tom has sworn off another romance after Claire, though his heart wavers.
| {Abilities} |
A savant with fire and kinetic magic Tom is a user of magic that is born once in an age when it comes to this kind of magic. Beyond this Tom is a reader capable of taking imprints from rooms left by their previous occupants.
His grasp of Dark Magic is undocumented at best though it would appear extensive.
His grasp of Dark Magic is undocumented at best though it would appear extensive.
| {Limitations} |
Tom’s ability to read rooms is limited by time constraints, more than a few hours and the trail runs cold quickly. Beyond this Tom’s more powerful manifestations of magic can take a physical toll on his body through repeated use; which is why he does his best to refrain from grand displays of magic.
| {Personality} |
♦ Hard working ♦ Self Medicating ♦ Protector ♦ Vengeful ♦
Thomas can be accused of a handful of things, being concise and rude are two of them. Among the others can be counted arrogant, honest, and caring. Shaped by the last seventeen decades and more than enough violence to fill several life times most find Thomas to be an acquired taste. To those who do acquire the taste for Mr. Finch they discover and intelligent creative man lost to grief from four decades prior. A life fighting someone else's battles has caused Tom to become the sort of man to have on your side when the night closes in. One of the Hive’s protectors Tom will stop at nothing to keep safe the handful of things left to him that he cares about and the members of the Hive fall into that group; even if some may find him distasteful.
Once Tom was a kind, strong man; a soldier and a man driven by a pursuit of a greater good and a higher calling. Those who knew him then knew him as a reserved but happy man and at times even playful. Though those days are gone now, sometimes the way Thomas use to be can be seen in how he interacts with his few friends. Never one to hurt those who does not deserve it and not nearly so quick to anger as he once might have been. Time has aged and tempered Tom making him into the beginnings of a bitter old man with a slowly hardening heart.
Once Tom was a kind, strong man; a soldier and a man driven by a pursuit of a greater good and a higher calling. Those who knew him then knew him as a reserved but happy man and at times even playful. Though those days are gone now, sometimes the way Thomas use to be can be seen in how he interacts with his few friends. Never one to hurt those who does not deserve it and not nearly so quick to anger as he once might have been. Time has aged and tempered Tom making him into the beginnings of a bitter old man with a slowly hardening heart.
| {Place of Origin} |
Wilmington, North Carolina.
| {Background} |
Born twenty years before the start of the Civil War in America Tom Finch was a confederate defector early in the war. Two years prior the young man had discovered his powers of magic and come to learn that one of his Ancestors had been an Irish druid. With her death centuries before the blood line had gone dormant. Tom’s birth had heralded an awakening of magic in his blood line that had not been seen since his great great great Grandmother. At first the young boy had been thrilled by the power. With each day that his powers grew he practiced more, until one day it finally got out of hand. While practicing near his family's home he had caught an entire field on fire. The resulting blaze killed the entire family that were their neighbors, including his intended.
For the next two years Tom swore off the use of magic. With the start of the war of Northern Aggression Tom did his best to stay out of the fighting and protect his family and his home. Such things are not meant to last however as the Confederacy came for the family’s crops and livestock. In the end Thomas was forced to use his powers again, this time he did so knowing full well what would happen. When the flames died and every soldier had been burned to a crisp the young Warlock saw nothing but fear and loathing in his family’s eyes. From that day forth Thomas set out on his own and never looked back. Six months later what remained of his family was killed by looters. During the course of the war Thomas did his best to help where he could but he soon realized that this was not his war.
With the end of the civil war Thomas moved home to Wilmington, however his peace was not to last. In 1864 Tom Finch joined a group known as the Lowry Gang. A group of outlaws who stole from the Reconstruction era soldiers and lawmen in and around Robeson County. Tom Finch ran with the gang until Henry Berry Lowry disappeared in 1872. On the heels of the man who had helped him to find a purpose once again. Traveling west the next years of Thomas’ life are not well documented and he never speaks of them but many suspect that it was during this period that he learned to better control his magic from the Shamans and medicine men of the native tribes he crossed paths with. When Tom finally returned to the east coast he was fluent in a half dozen native languages including Navajo.
Following this period Tom finally moved further North along the Eastern seaboard where he was destined to meet Claire. Some say that all people are destined to meet a single person who is to be their other half in this life. If that is the case then Tom found that in Claire on the coast of Maine while he was building home along the coast, well away from the pains of his past.
Like so many things in Thomas’ life this too was destined to pass. After five long years of happiness Claire passed from a fever in the winter of 1977. Much of Thomas current life can be attributed to the passing of Claire. It was at this time that Thomas abandoned any restraint he might have had in a mad self destructive dive into the depths of Dark Magics. Two years later Tom would visit Claire's gravesite one last time to enact a ritual which would haunt him for the rest of his days. The day after, Tom packed the remains of his home and moved south to Salem Massachusetts. There are few who remember much of Tom’s induction into the Salem Hive as it was swift and few questions were asked by the previous leader. Within a year Salem had a new contractor, architect and carpenter. And the Hive had a new watch dog, though many question how rabid he might be.
For the next two years Tom swore off the use of magic. With the start of the war of Northern Aggression Tom did his best to stay out of the fighting and protect his family and his home. Such things are not meant to last however as the Confederacy came for the family’s crops and livestock. In the end Thomas was forced to use his powers again, this time he did so knowing full well what would happen. When the flames died and every soldier had been burned to a crisp the young Warlock saw nothing but fear and loathing in his family’s eyes. From that day forth Thomas set out on his own and never looked back. Six months later what remained of his family was killed by looters. During the course of the war Thomas did his best to help where he could but he soon realized that this was not his war.
With the end of the civil war Thomas moved home to Wilmington, however his peace was not to last. In 1864 Tom Finch joined a group known as the Lowry Gang. A group of outlaws who stole from the Reconstruction era soldiers and lawmen in and around Robeson County. Tom Finch ran with the gang until Henry Berry Lowry disappeared in 1872. On the heels of the man who had helped him to find a purpose once again. Traveling west the next years of Thomas’ life are not well documented and he never speaks of them but many suspect that it was during this period that he learned to better control his magic from the Shamans and medicine men of the native tribes he crossed paths with. When Tom finally returned to the east coast he was fluent in a half dozen native languages including Navajo.
Following this period Tom finally moved further North along the Eastern seaboard where he was destined to meet Claire. Some say that all people are destined to meet a single person who is to be their other half in this life. If that is the case then Tom found that in Claire on the coast of Maine while he was building home along the coast, well away from the pains of his past.
Like so many things in Thomas’ life this too was destined to pass. After five long years of happiness Claire passed from a fever in the winter of 1977. Much of Thomas current life can be attributed to the passing of Claire. It was at this time that Thomas abandoned any restraint he might have had in a mad self destructive dive into the depths of Dark Magics. Two years later Tom would visit Claire's gravesite one last time to enact a ritual which would haunt him for the rest of his days. The day after, Tom packed the remains of his home and moved south to Salem Massachusetts. There are few who remember much of Tom’s induction into the Salem Hive as it was swift and few questions were asked by the previous leader. Within a year Salem had a new contractor, architect and carpenter. And the Hive had a new watch dog, though many question how rabid he might be.
| {Extra} |
Thomas speaks one of most difficult languages for a native English speaker to learn and speaks another five which are all but extinct. Tom’s CCW includes the Griswold revolver he used in the Civil War.
Lionhearted ♡
Member
Seen
11 days ago
{ ”Nobody looks back in life and remembers the nights they got plenty of sleep.” }
|| You’ll never know if you don’t go, you’ll never shine if you don’t glow ||
|| When you see my face, hope it gives you hell ||
|| Oh, my, god. Becky, look at her butt ||
✙| {Full Name} |
Lucas Travis Myers Jr.
✙| {Nickname} |
Introduces himself as Luke, though doesn’t care when people refer to him as Lucas. Close relatives call him Travis so they don’t mix him up with his father.
✙| {Date of Birth} |
April, 24th
✙| {Age} |
27
✙| {Gender} |
Male
✙| {Sexuality} |
Bisexual
✙| {Relationship Status} |
Single and readily mingling
✙| {Role} |
Warlock of the Northeast Massachusetts Coven
✙| {Occupation} |
College-student || Intern at Salem Hospital
✙| {Face Claim} |
✙| {Dialogue Color} |
80C48D
✙| {Appearance} |
A tanned, brunette with big brown eyes and a cheeky smile make for a perfect member to a popular fraternity. Blessed with a body that doesn’t require strenuous exercising to maintain a toned, masculine figure, he styles his body with nice, trendy clothes to accommodate for his preppy style. Although his face holds a youthful, clear complexion that is free of acne, small scars can be seen from past fist fights with high school rivals and angry, drunken fights. Lucas shows expression very well subconsciously, hold With dimples that sit below his prominent cheekbones and beside his soft lips, he easily creates a nerdy cute persona. Lucas keeps his hair well-groomed and nicely styled nearly all the time, feeling awkward if he goes into public with unkempt hair.
Lucas has a masculine, yet boyish, charm to him, finding it easy to woo the girls, save for the struggle he has for the ladies that are taller and/or bigger in size. Though standing at 5’7” has it’s perks, whether it be fitting into the high school crowd at local parties, or not standing out when running from cops at a busted party. As an avid party-goer, Lucas also sometimes bears dark circles from the lack of sleep he gets.
Lucas has a masculine, yet boyish, charm to him, finding it easy to woo the girls, save for the struggle he has for the ladies that are taller and/or bigger in size. Though standing at 5’7” has it’s perks, whether it be fitting into the high school crowd at local parties, or not standing out when running from cops at a busted party. As an avid party-goer, Lucas also sometimes bears dark circles from the lack of sleep he gets.
✙| {Habits & Quirks} |
- Shaking his knee from restlessness
- Fidgeting with his hands due to social anxiety during interactions with new people
- Cracking his knuckles before telling a story
- Talking with his hands
- Constantly touching someone or getting too close during conversations
- Letting out loud noises while stretching or when flustered
- Singing songs loudly that are stuck in his head
✙| {Hobbies} |
- Performing magic successfully
- Going out to parties with his fraternity
- Crashing local high school parties
- Meeting new people
- Seducing people
- Singing and playing guitar
- Romance movies
- Helping those in need
- Saving lives
✙| {Likes} |
- The attention from others
- Proving people wrong, especially those that doubt his abilities
- Being the top of his class
- Being a smart ass
- Getting what he wants
- Being honored for his hard work
- Big parties
- Loud music
- Driving in the fast lane
- Being all that and a bag of chips
✙| {Dislikes} |
- Snobby people
- Being turned down
- Being doubted
- Insects
- Being stood up
- Fake people
- People that don’t keep to their word
- People that belittle him
- Being hungover
- Slow drivers
✙| {Fears} |
- The ocean
- Being alone in life
- Losing his friends and family
- Being the cause of a patient’s death
✙| {Secrets} |
Call it cheating, call it whatever you like, at least the job is done. Lucas brings magic to the doctor’s table, the surgeon’s table, hell, even to the kitchen table. Nowadays, Lucas treats injuries primarily through magic, rather than first aid and medical doctor practice. Although his skill with medical practice is adequate, the quickness and the shortcut through magic gives him his title of ‘The Best Medical Intern from Salem Massachusetts’. This secret not only gives him his title, but it is hastening his progress through medical school which will save time and money in the long run as well as ensuring great career opportunities post-graduation.
Aside from what could be a harmless secret, Luke also bears another secret despite his attempts at being an open book. Just starting medical school, at one of the biggest parties not too far from campus, it would seem as if there was a contest on who could get the highest high. As things were taken too far, a close friend’s girlfriend began to have a severe reaction between a mix of various drugs and potent alcohol. Afraid to get assistance from cops, Luke attempted his magic once he brought her to a quiet place with nobody around, but his own high clouded his focus and reversed the effects of a difficult spell meant to be a detoxification. The girl became poisoned and her blood ran black and thick with only seconds left to live in which was only filled with screams from a burst of pain. The door flung open as people crowded around the body in horror. Luke had to continue his life knowing the blood that was on his hands, blaming the drugs for the terrible incident.
Aside from what could be a harmless secret, Luke also bears another secret despite his attempts at being an open book. Just starting medical school, at one of the biggest parties not too far from campus, it would seem as if there was a contest on who could get the highest high. As things were taken too far, a close friend’s girlfriend began to have a severe reaction between a mix of various drugs and potent alcohol. Afraid to get assistance from cops, Luke attempted his magic once he brought her to a quiet place with nobody around, but his own high clouded his focus and reversed the effects of a difficult spell meant to be a detoxification. The girl became poisoned and her blood ran black and thick with only seconds left to live in which was only filled with screams from a burst of pain. The door flung open as people crowded around the body in horror. Luke had to continue his life knowing the blood that was on his hands, blaming the drugs for the terrible incident.
✙| {Abilities} |
Luke excels in what he calls ‘green’ magic. Joining medical school and learning the human anatomy helps him understand which spells would be good in certain situations. Luke can get a rough analysis on the condition of a given body through the touch of his skin upon theirs.
Along these lines, Luke can:
While Luke specializes and often practices with wounds and already established injuries, he is going further into green magic and learning of boons, protections, and wards.
Along these lines, Luke can:
- Seal minor cuts and wounds
- Disinfect certain wounds
- Detoxify tainted blood or cause the body to expel infectious substances, depending on the severity
- Numb the symptoms of an illness
- Hasten the recovery of severe wounds
- Cure certain poisons or toxins
- Stop the bleeding of specific wounds
- Extinguish fires without water or smothering
- Cures to smaller wounds such as calluses, pink eye, headaches, etc.
While Luke specializes and often practices with wounds and already established injuries, he is going further into green magic and learning of boons, protections, and wards.
✙| {Limitations} |
While green magic is very effective and beneficial, it requires heavy focus and a still patient. Recovery magic is difficult to indulge in due to the high percentages of failures, nulls/duds, or even reverse effects. For green magic, the effectiveness of the given spell is determined by proper diagnosis of the individual. Healing an individual correctly requires the correct spell for the correct injury/illness. To add, Luke has no knowledge of offensive magic and is incapable of fighting off other supernaturals or hunters respectively.
✙| {Personality} |
♦ Intelligent ♦ Gullible ♦ Determined ♦ Competitive ♦
Luke grew up with a brain that easily retains information, especially with subjects that he has interest in. Thus, Luke excelled in school and maintained high scores while going out to party with friends nearly every night. Being the guy to cheat from in school and the guy to down shots with, he was pretty likable by most. Although, Luke’s kind nature and befriending personality makes him gullible and naive to those that intend to use him, often leading to him with a depressed mood. Although, that mood is very short-lived from him being outgoing and optimistic in nature.
Luke enjoys helping people and making others happy, mixing this enjoyment with his interest in human anatomy and medical practices. Thus, he attended undergraduate school and quickly went on into medical school, whilst partying with friends along the way. Luke has a competitive nature and seeks to be at the top, especially in fields where he is known to excel in. Due to this trait, he finds himself being a dare devil a lot of the times from trying to prove others wrong when they doubt him.
Luke enjoys helping people and making others happy, mixing this enjoyment with his interest in human anatomy and medical practices. Thus, he attended undergraduate school and quickly went on into medical school, whilst partying with friends along the way. Luke has a competitive nature and seeks to be at the top, especially in fields where he is known to excel in. Due to this trait, he finds himself being a dare devil a lot of the times from trying to prove others wrong when they doubt him.
✙| {Place of Origin} |
Dallas, Texas
✙| {Background} |
Luke grew up with a big family, which was common for a Texan. He was easily liked by most, but wasn’t the favorited child between the 6 of them. Luke, being the 4th child born, bore his childish, smart-ass personality at a very young age, and still keeps it to this day. Thus, Luke was found getting paddled more often than most, and getting into things that he shouldn’t. With a full house and busy parents, the farm animals were maintained by all the children and their chores were extra strenuous from the upkeep of everything. Pressingly, Luke attended school as your average popular student, though he never fit the term of jock since he never really delved in sports as much as the title required.
Life was ordinary, save for the big family, large celebrations, and the mix of personalities from each of the siblings. During his first year of middle school, he began to notice small inhumane abilities forming. Whether it be moving an object slightly from the thought of his mind, or strengthening the flames of a fire, he knew he was the cause. Not wanting to feel like a fool, Luke kept this peculiar change to himself easily, finding fun ways to exercise the possibility of manipulating magic. Although the magic was incredibly minor, the presence of it was known by his mother who held the gene of having potential magic-using offspring. Without excitement, nor hate, she confronted him about the situation and offered him a thick book titled ‘The Pow-Wow’s’. Luke held a sense of excitement while she explained their heritage and their capabilities. Their German ancestors bore the specializing gene in, what they called, ‘green’ magic. The Hohmann’s were the first family to indulge in it’s broad range of spells, creating a book that was passed down from generation to generation to continue the legacy. Though the story was intriguing and the title was honorable, fear was clearly reciprocated from her expression.
Green magic is great to indulge in since it does more good than harm, but they are made easy targets for those that hunt their kind. As Luke’s mother explained to him, his broad range of magic went away and he began to specialize only in green magic — causing flames to grow and moving things with his mind were now out of the picture. The book contained several spells, incantations, artwork, reagents for spells and higher success rates, and even rituals. Some sections of the book even went in-depth towards necromancy, though Luke never found that type of magic to interest him since it was more ritualistic and creepy.
The secret didn’t last, spilling the news to the rest of the family which caused minor jealousy of his siblings, but also higher expectations of Luke. Adjoining his passion for learning, medical practice, and green magic, he decided to join medical school. Though, Luke noticed his family becoming more and more distant. The distance was caused from fear of attacks and blamed him for taking their safety away just from his presence.
The location was perfect for an attack, but tricky to find since they lived within a very woodsy area. As he became more and more of a fully-fletched warlock, his scent was easier to pick up. An attack by a hunter would’ve been the best possible scenario, but instead, an attack from a vampire thirsting for witch’s blood. It could be blamed upon Luke’s mother for not warning him of the precautions he should take and what realm he was forcibly entering, but the woman worked so much.
The vampire tore through doors, rooms and cabinets as the family hid in various places around he house. Luke, stationed in his bedroom located in the attic, scrambled through his book to try to find some sort of spell that wasn’t relating to healing. Without luck, Luke threw the book aside and held a dull, pocket knife in his hand awaiting for the intruder. Storming footsteps made it’s way upstairs only to be faced with his mother's distressed face shouting for him, tears streaming down her face. Luke faced her, panicking, as she quickly explained her escape plan for him and the family. The moments were so rushed, and the distant intruder was clearly heard approaching them. Luke’s mother cleared the floor and began to throw different reagents on the ground and sprinkled some sort of pattern on the ground. Luke fled underneath his bed, peaking out to watch the scene as the vampire sped up the stairs nearly instantaneously. A quick incantation was recited and a bright light was formed, causing Luke to get a clear look at the vampire’s face before the two of them vanished. The teleportation spell was successful.
The family fled to a relative’s home deep within the busy streets of Dallas, and it was then described that Luke’s mother was a full-fletched witch that didn’t intend to procreate more of her being, though it was inevitable. The fear in her eyes was formed because she knew what was to come. Hopelessly trying to disguise their scent on a day to day basis, the scent of two witches could be assumed to be a growing coven, resulting in the attack.
Without much time to grieve, Luke graduated early and fled to Salem, Massachusetts to pursue medical school and adjoin with Tracy Winnow and her established coven to live in a place where he fits in and where he has protection from reoccurring attacks. It was there that Luke began lessons on the supernatural realm and what to expect by Tracy herself. They grew closer and she began to fill that motherly figure spot that was taken away from Luke. Thankful for her guidance and for accepting him to live within her ranks, he looks up to her, goes to her for advice, and respects her highly as if she were his own mother.
Life was ordinary, save for the big family, large celebrations, and the mix of personalities from each of the siblings. During his first year of middle school, he began to notice small inhumane abilities forming. Whether it be moving an object slightly from the thought of his mind, or strengthening the flames of a fire, he knew he was the cause. Not wanting to feel like a fool, Luke kept this peculiar change to himself easily, finding fun ways to exercise the possibility of manipulating magic. Although the magic was incredibly minor, the presence of it was known by his mother who held the gene of having potential magic-using offspring. Without excitement, nor hate, she confronted him about the situation and offered him a thick book titled ‘The Pow-Wow’s’. Luke held a sense of excitement while she explained their heritage and their capabilities. Their German ancestors bore the specializing gene in, what they called, ‘green’ magic. The Hohmann’s were the first family to indulge in it’s broad range of spells, creating a book that was passed down from generation to generation to continue the legacy. Though the story was intriguing and the title was honorable, fear was clearly reciprocated from her expression.
Green magic is great to indulge in since it does more good than harm, but they are made easy targets for those that hunt their kind. As Luke’s mother explained to him, his broad range of magic went away and he began to specialize only in green magic — causing flames to grow and moving things with his mind were now out of the picture. The book contained several spells, incantations, artwork, reagents for spells and higher success rates, and even rituals. Some sections of the book even went in-depth towards necromancy, though Luke never found that type of magic to interest him since it was more ritualistic and creepy.
The secret didn’t last, spilling the news to the rest of the family which caused minor jealousy of his siblings, but also higher expectations of Luke. Adjoining his passion for learning, medical practice, and green magic, he decided to join medical school. Though, Luke noticed his family becoming more and more distant. The distance was caused from fear of attacks and blamed him for taking their safety away just from his presence.
The location was perfect for an attack, but tricky to find since they lived within a very woodsy area. As he became more and more of a fully-fletched warlock, his scent was easier to pick up. An attack by a hunter would’ve been the best possible scenario, but instead, an attack from a vampire thirsting for witch’s blood. It could be blamed upon Luke’s mother for not warning him of the precautions he should take and what realm he was forcibly entering, but the woman worked so much.
The vampire tore through doors, rooms and cabinets as the family hid in various places around he house. Luke, stationed in his bedroom located in the attic, scrambled through his book to try to find some sort of spell that wasn’t relating to healing. Without luck, Luke threw the book aside and held a dull, pocket knife in his hand awaiting for the intruder. Storming footsteps made it’s way upstairs only to be faced with his mother's distressed face shouting for him, tears streaming down her face. Luke faced her, panicking, as she quickly explained her escape plan for him and the family. The moments were so rushed, and the distant intruder was clearly heard approaching them. Luke’s mother cleared the floor and began to throw different reagents on the ground and sprinkled some sort of pattern on the ground. Luke fled underneath his bed, peaking out to watch the scene as the vampire sped up the stairs nearly instantaneously. A quick incantation was recited and a bright light was formed, causing Luke to get a clear look at the vampire’s face before the two of them vanished. The teleportation spell was successful.
The family fled to a relative’s home deep within the busy streets of Dallas, and it was then described that Luke’s mother was a full-fletched witch that didn’t intend to procreate more of her being, though it was inevitable. The fear in her eyes was formed because she knew what was to come. Hopelessly trying to disguise their scent on a day to day basis, the scent of two witches could be assumed to be a growing coven, resulting in the attack.
Without much time to grieve, Luke graduated early and fled to Salem, Massachusetts to pursue medical school and adjoin with Tracy Winnow and her established coven to live in a place where he fits in and where he has protection from reoccurring attacks. It was there that Luke began lessons on the supernatural realm and what to expect by Tracy herself. They grew closer and she began to fill that motherly figure spot that was taken away from Luke. Thankful for her guidance and for accepting him to live within her ranks, he looks up to her, goes to her for advice, and respects her highly as if she were his own mother.
✙| {Extra} |
Luke is smart and an incredibly fast learner when it comes to textbooks and subjects relating to science and mathematics, thus resulting in his young age while interning at a hospital. He performs several medical procedures but only observes surgeries since he is not permitted to participate in that specific practice.
Has a faint southern drawl still.
Has a faint southern drawl still.
coGM
ArenaSnow Devourer of Souls
Banned
Seen
4 yrs ago
Tracy Winnow
{ "Did you know I once considered marrying an old vampire? So silly of me. He was at least four centuries older." }
| {Full Name} |
Tracy Elaine Winnow
| {Nickname} |
"The Death Witch" in Africa
*Not associated with her current name, unless someone can pin down the similarities of her underlying magic. A note for some OOC discussion.
| {Date of Birth} |
December 8th, 1842
| {Age} |
True age, 175 years; preservation spells and potions for her appearance make her look to be in her 20’s to early 30’s.
| {Gender} |
Female
| {Sexuality} |
Heterosexual; it’s not a particularly big or relevant part of her life, so she may experiment in the right circumstances.
| {Relationship Status} |
Single
| {Role} |
Witch; Head of the Northeast Massachusetts Coven
| {Occupation} |
Publicly, shopkeeper at a small boutique.
| {Face Claim} |
Meryem Uzerli
| {Dialogue Color} |
Here we go.
| {Appearance} |
Her normal appearance in public is to wear simple, one piece white dresses that follow her idea of fashion, most of which are fairly similar to each other. Her upkeep is largely her hair and her face; both are important, though not critical, for her to maintain. She is always clean, though she doesn’t mind minor indications that she doesn’t just sit in a chair all day. though if there is a risk of a particularly dirty task, she opts for black outfits and matching gloves. She has long blonde hair that catches a reddish tint in the sunlight and dark blue eyes that are often intently focused on the individual she speaks to. She finds clothes a restrictive necessity, and when walking around her home without company will frequently walk barefoot and in light clothes. She often wears bug-themed earrings.
| {Habits & Quirks} |
♦ Bathes frequently. She insists upon baths, and if she doesn’t have an easy source of water, she’s inclined to make her own.
♦ Toys with her hair when she thinks.
♦ Whenever faced with stress or bad memories, she has a tendency to try and lean on things. This does not normally occur.
♦ If small snappable objects are in her fingers, she snaps them unless she’s paying attention to something important. One can find many halves and thirds of toothpicks if they’re inclined to search her garbage.
♦ Occasionally flat out ignores people if she is concentrated on a single task or conversation.
♦ Toys with her hair when she thinks.
♦ Whenever faced with stress or bad memories, she has a tendency to try and lean on things. This does not normally occur.
♦ If small snappable objects are in her fingers, she snaps them unless she’s paying attention to something important. One can find many halves and thirds of toothpicks if they’re inclined to search her garbage.
♦ Occasionally flat out ignores people if she is concentrated on a single task or conversation.
| {Hobbies} |
♦ Toothpick genocide.
♦ Collecting stones. They don’t have to be fancy, just little rocks that she can place into nooks and crannies when she’s not otherwise busy. There’s a lot of stones in her house, and there’s a fine row of stones trailing around the edges of her house. Some may suspect some spell is involved, and she does a poor job saying what they’re for – but ultimately, they’re just her hobby. There’s a little spot in the back she hasn’t quite filled yet...
♦ Studying earthworms. They have no magical value, it’s simply interesting after she gardens.
♦ Gardening. Her lawn must be well kept.
♦ Reading. Though, instead of the educational literature one such as her should probably be reading at her age, she tends to opt for the latest sappy romance novel.
♦ Gaming. That’s right. She’s murderous if you run across her in an FPS at 8’o in the evening.
♦ Collecting stones. They don’t have to be fancy, just little rocks that she can place into nooks and crannies when she’s not otherwise busy. There’s a lot of stones in her house, and there’s a fine row of stones trailing around the edges of her house. Some may suspect some spell is involved, and she does a poor job saying what they’re for – but ultimately, they’re just her hobby. There’s a little spot in the back she hasn’t quite filled yet...
♦ Studying earthworms. They have no magical value, it’s simply interesting after she gardens.
♦ Gardening. Her lawn must be well kept.
♦ Reading. Though, instead of the educational literature one such as her should probably be reading at her age, she tends to opt for the latest sappy romance novel.
♦ Gaming. That’s right. She’s murderous if you run across her in an FPS at 8’o in the evening.
| {Likes} |
♦ Baths.
♦ Gardening.
♦ Looking into her neighbor’s windows when she thinks nobody’s looking at her.
♦ People with socially underwhelming jobs. Fast food workers and the gentleman picking up her garbage every week have her respect.
♦ Effort. While she prefers people know what they’re doing, she’ll settle with a good effort if she can easily handle whatever is lacking.
♦ Toothpick genocide. This wasn’t mentioned yet, was it? She doesn’t really think about it, it’s just a good feeling...
♦ Small trickery. She’s a good sport if someone nails her with a joke or trick, so long as she gets to do it back.
♦ Puzzles. Some would say she has a million boxes. She only has 263 of them in the basement.
♦ Gardening.
♦ Looking into her neighbor’s windows when she thinks nobody’s looking at her.
♦ People with socially underwhelming jobs. Fast food workers and the gentleman picking up her garbage every week have her respect.
♦ Effort. While she prefers people know what they’re doing, she’ll settle with a good effort if she can easily handle whatever is lacking.
♦ Toothpick genocide. This wasn’t mentioned yet, was it? She doesn’t really think about it, it’s just a good feeling...
♦ Small trickery. She’s a good sport if someone nails her with a joke or trick, so long as she gets to do it back.
♦ Puzzles. Some would say she has a million boxes. She only has 263 of them in the basement.
| {Dislikes} |
♦ Drama. how ironic
♦ Voodoo witches, magic, hair, footprints. She can’t stand the bitches. She’d flay one with pleasure if she was pissed off far enough.
♦ Hunters. Ignorant fools who should join voodoo witches in an underwater cage with electric eels.
♦ Dark magic man, the irony is leaking all over today
♦ Large tricks. If she’s bamboozled, she’s pissed.
♦ Young witches presenting themselves as better than her or otherwise being cocky, without knowing what they're talking about.
♦ Blood-based rituals.
♦ Most tulips.
♦ Being in the dark about a certain topic or issue.
♦ Voodoo witches, magic, hair, footprints. She can’t stand the bitches. She’d flay one with pleasure if she was pissed off far enough.
♦ Hunters. Ignorant fools who should join voodoo witches in an underwater cage with electric eels.
♦ Dark magic man, the irony is leaking all over today
♦ Large tricks. If she’s bamboozled, she’s pissed.
♦ Young witches presenting themselves as better than her or otherwise being cocky, without knowing what they're talking about.
♦ Blood-based rituals.
♦ Most tulips.
♦ Being in the dark about a certain topic or issue.
| {Fears} |
♦ Fire, above all.
♦ Death.
♦ Any scenario she can think of with her ending up dead.
♦ Vampires, though she hides it well.
♦ Exposure of her true appearance and past in her community.
♦ Death.
♦ Any scenario she can think of with her ending up dead.
♦ Vampires, though she hides it well.
♦ Exposure of her true appearance and past in her community.
| {Secrets} |
♦ She may have had a rather extensive run-in with dark magic in her earlier years that made her a very wanted witch in Africa.
♦ Her preservation spells and small potions save her from looking the way she really does. Her real form is, simply put, terrifying and demonic.
♦ Every so often, a little piece of the aforementioned form shows up.
♦ Her blood while inside her body appears normal. However, outside of her body, it is a thick black substance.
♦ She has a daughter somewhere in the world.
♦ Her preservation spells and small potions save her from looking the way she really does. Her real form is, simply put, terrifying and demonic.
♦ Every so often, a little piece of the aforementioned form shows up.
♦ Her blood while inside her body appears normal. However, outside of her body, it is a thick black substance.
♦ She has a daughter somewhere in the world.
| {Abilities} |
Tracy specializes in manipulating water and electricity to an advanced degree. She is also capable of masking her scent and her pure appearance with a minimal degree of exertion. Her blood is very potent, making it quite useful for blood related magics; as those are typically relative to voodoo spells, she doesn't use it often. Instead, it serves as a boon to her existing abilities. She is quite knowledgeable about a variety of magical topics.
She also has a very good handle on dark magic, which she avoids using, and especially revealing how she learned of it.
She also has a very good handle on dark magic, which she avoids using, and especially revealing how she learned of it.
| {Limitations} |
Tracy specializes in manipulation. An existing electric current or water source must be present for her powers to have much use. She is, however, able to use a limited degree of water manipulation due to the inherent moisture in the air (though with difficulty), and it is possible for her to manipulate water inside living beings, though it is quite difficult on normal humans, and next to impossible to do on supernatural entities. Her masking of the potency of her blood is not impervious and only protects against simple detection used by hunters. It has virtually no effect on vampires, werewolves and other witches, to whom she is in fact a little more noticeable than usual. A spell designed to pierce illusions used on her can reveal a very different appearance, one that very few truly know even exists.
| {Personality} |
♦ Focused on her tasks♦ Overtly paranoid ♦ Caring for fellow witches of her type♦ Xenophobic, both to other supernatural types and voodoo witches ♦
Tracy has experience with every race and hunters, including bad experiences. Her earlier years are a haunting influence, and she works daily to push them out of mind. Yet they always come back, especially when interacting with other supernaturals. She has a burning hatred for voodoo witches and hunters; she is patient enough not to strike them directly, but doesn’t need much encouragement to work however she can to undermine both groups. She has difficulty forgiving and truly trusting other individuals; the exception, and her weakness, is witches of the “normal” variety. For them she is willing to go a far distance, and she does not stand for any acts committed against them. They are even welcome to stay in her house if necessary.
Typically, Tracy is outwardly patient and an understanding individual, who is especially empathetic with fellow witches (that aren’t voodoo). She treats her customers well, even if she knows some are more than they appear to be. Inside she has a struggle to control her old memories and darker inclinations, both of which would be horrifying to any normal witch were they exposed. They have not, as of yet, and she is considered a pillar of leadership to the regular witch community – the face at odds with the lead of the voodoo witches, who she is more than willing to paint as the epitome of evil.
Typically, Tracy is outwardly patient and an understanding individual, who is especially empathetic with fellow witches (that aren’t voodoo). She treats her customers well, even if she knows some are more than they appear to be. Inside she has a struggle to control her old memories and darker inclinations, both of which would be horrifying to any normal witch were they exposed. They have not, as of yet, and she is considered a pillar of leadership to the regular witch community – the face at odds with the lead of the voodoo witches, who she is more than willing to paint as the epitome of evil.
| {Place of Origin} |
Paris, France.
| {Background} |
Tracy was born as Katherine Myagi in Paris, 1842 to a foreign head coven witch and a well off local merchant in the midst of a chaotic political period. Her family held itself together for years in the heart of the city, though her earliest days mostly saw her indoors and sheltered from the near constant state of war just outside their front door. She was raised with the expectation that she would have abilities. Her mother was not disappointed. Her daughter showed signs of potent powers, and her mother believed she would go on to perhaps lead her own coven one day. Katherine was pushed hard as a young girl to learn as much as her mother could force into her head, and her father, fully aware of what kind of wife he had, was a passive early influence. His greatest contribution was hiring guards to provide security that wouldn’t bring the sort of attention as witchcraft. When a wave of riots moved through the city when Katherine was 11, the family, as well as most of the coven, moved away to avoid losing their homes and to throw off the scent of regional hunters.
They settled in the southern French countryside. Her father had enough finances – with some help from coven members and friends – to purchase a sizable home, the size of a small mansion. Katherine’s mother was accustomed to the best in life, and she would impress the value into her daughter one way or another. Her daughter wasn’t as inclined to listen. She frequently escaped the house, using one of her newly developed abilities to mask her potent energies. Her mother was constant in pursuit of her troublesome daughter, as was most of the coven some days. That was the time of a pair of powerful hunter groups making a bloody swathe across the north, exterminating witches left and right. Katherine’s mother was convinced they wouldn’t make it to the south and that they could be handled, and so Katherine grew up in relative peace for several years. She tamed, though only a little; at least, she wasn’t as inclined to wander the forest as often. Perhaps it was maturity; perhaps it was an old creepy vampire she insisted she met in a cave. Her mother thoroughly searched the cave and found nothing, and the story was considered a figment of Katherine’s imagination. Eventually, Katherine believed it too, though her phobia of vampires would never fade.
On Katherine’s 20th birthday, four hunters arrived in a nearby town and burned a witch from a neighboring coven. Katherine’s mother immediately prepared for emergency, and heavily warded the house. The kneejerk reaction served to bring the hunters, and several more, straight to their doorstep. The next events were pressed into Katherine’s memory. First her father, armed with a pistol, was slain by one of the hunters. Katherine remembers blonde hair, a slim figure, and dark green eyes. Her mother fought viciously, but was eventually decapitated, a vision she clearly saw from an upstairs railing. Then they chased after her. She was able to escape the house and make it to a nearby stream, yet a crossbow bolt in the leg ensured she could go no further. She was dragged to the house, and promptly sentenced to burning by the leading hunter.
The fires began to consume her before she was doused by the magic of one of her mother’s remaining coven members, who was able to severely injure three hunters and temporarily drive off the rest. Katherine was freed and taken far away to a coven in Germany, one friendly to her mother. There Katherine was healed, taught more of her magic and educated on every detail of her mother’s early life by a witch called Tasnia. Tasnia knew Katherine’s mother from many years ago, and was also a powerful coven leader. Unlike the covens in France, Tasnia quickly and ruthlessly exterminated hunters rising from the local region, and destroyed one of the French groups that attempted to finish loose ends with Katherine. Katherine learned to despise all hunters and treat regular humans as inferior; and she was taught that the one thing her mother failed in was her decision to trust a human. It was the human that killed her. She spent two decades in Germany, with most of her time spent on research and assisting her ‘stepmother’.
She fell out with Tasnia after being directed to sacrifice an entire human family with ties to a hunter group in Austria. Katherine’s searches indicated only a partial connection at best, to the wife of one of the more recent hunters. Tasnia, furious at the ‘weakness’ of the witch, attempted to strike Katherine. Katherine’s reply was to use a nearby cup of water and nearly choke her mistress until Tasnia’s close family and other coven members restrained and severely beat Katherine. Typically, Tasnia brought death to those who she felt betrayed her. For her past and her family line, Katherine was banished instead.
The forty year old woman spent decades exploring. Previous years had been a little boring in their own right; she was cooped in a single neighborhood and never strayed much farther than a few miles in any direction. She traveled to Denmark, the Netherlands, England, Scotland, Ireland, Spain, and Italy, never spending more than a year in each country, and using that time to see as much as she could. Much of her power was spent in the effort to restrain her energies and avoid the supernatural groups of each nation. Her blood was extremely potent, and an immediate beacon to all supernatural entities. She moved to Austria in 1889, intending to stay on the far eastern side and perhaps settle down. A small group of new hunters put an end to that quickly. Somehow, a werewolf caught her scent, and determined she was a German witch. The German witches, with Tasnia still the leading figure, were infamous and hated by many hunters, but they had a special place of loathing with the werewolves of Austria after a short and bloody war that started shortly after Katherine’s banishment. The werewolf immediately relayed her location to a band of hunters – he couldn’t disturb the peace agreement, could he? – and three young hunters arrived at her doorstep. Swords drawn and torches raised, they made it to her front porch before she popped the first assailant like a melon using the waters in his body. The other two quickly fled; Katherine herself fell unconscious from the exertion. She awoke staring an old man in the face, who smiled to reveal his sharp, vampiric teeth. The terrified woman tried to beat him off, but the apparition vanished seconds later. At least she was healthy again. Still, she couldn’t stay.
Her next attempted move was to Russia, where she was able to find an old abandoned hut in the woods where she could recuperate in peace. Her first visit to a nearby village indicated she was living about half a mile away from a pack of Russian werewolves. She promptly packed up and left, and left quickly. She knew she was being pursued, at least clear until she arrived in Greece. What she didn’t quite know was that the pack was planning to kill her the evening that she left. They eventually left her alone as the distance became too great. She changed courses and moved to southern Egypt.
The community included very few supernatural beings. What it did have was a small coven of three witches, with a far larger coven several miles up the Nile. Though she was biased against them, she was able to mostly dismiss her concerns due to their origins; namely, the influences of her mother and Tasnia. The witches appeared friendly, and it only took a couple of months before they seemed best of friends. One night, they guided her to the river, where a stake was prepared for her. The three witches knocked her senseless and secured her to the stake, and prepared a ritual to try and extract her energies. They were not common voodoo witches; they heavily dabbled in dark magic, and planned to use her energies to support their efforts. Their corruption was unknown to the northern witches, who considered them a little eccentric, but as much sisters as any other practitioner of voodoo. Katherine awakened as they prepared one of the important portions of the spell, which included burning the subject of the spell. Katherine’s pyre was lit aflame, and basic protections were set in place to stop the casual use of a spell to douse them; specifically, the use of the water in her body to undo the flames. The witches underestimated her ability to control water of nearby sources. Katherine was partially burned, but she had the energy and sheer desperation to work past the sloppy execution of the restraint spell to use the vast quantity of nearby water to douse her fire and topple the stake in the process. The voodoo witches were also tossed back by the flames and rendered unconscious. Katherine was able to locate the book they used for their spells and used it to conduct a smaller, similar spell that involved executing the three of them with a special dagger to the heart. Her unfamiliarity with dark magic did not stop her from finishing the spell, even though she wasn’t quite sure what it would do. Her taste for vengeance was too great to care, and all she learned of Dark Magic amounted to “don’t use it, just because”. Pieces of the pyre were strategically arranged around Katherine’s assailants, in a design as per the instructions, and she killed the three of them as they were waking.
The spell was of course wrongly initiated, sloppy, hastily done, and the result of a momentarily deranged mind. The spell sucked the three witches dry and channeled the twisted resulting energy into Katherine. Her skin hardened, cracked, and mostly fell off in the first few seconds. Her muscles became twisted, physically, and her blood became a sticky tar attached to her body that dripped in thick chunks. Then a new skin formed, a charred black material. Her body elongated, and as she fell to her knees, her appearance looked more demonic than anyone could have imagined. She was still human; yet the transformation made her a cross between a zombie and some satanic creature. Her blood turned red again, yet her heart began to pump out a replacing black substance rapidly. The substance forced her red blood through the cracks of her body, a procedure even more painful than what she had already endured. Her hair was sticky white strings, and her eyes had a red and purple glow. At the end of the transformation, she shrunk slightly to be more human in scale. The cost of her spell left her body deformed. Her powers did not change much, though she gained an innate ability to use dark magic, should she decide to. Such magic could only come at a price. Said magic empowered her and removed all inhibitions from her mind, almost like alcohol, except with no weaknesses to her ability to cause damage. She caused damage in the form of two massacred villages. She didn’t remember a thing at the time as well as immediately after she destroyed them to the last living being. When she finally collapsed from exhaustion and awakened late into the next day was when she remembered every detail. She was a rampaging monster, tearing people apart with magic and clawed fingers that felt no pain, even as they were partially opened and bleeding. The thoughts sickened her. She swore to never use it again, but it was far too late for that. Her antics were discovered the very next day by the northern voodoo witches, and they saw a witch that used dark magic to slay three of their sisters and over a hundred innocents.
She was hunted for miles, all the way down to South Africa, where she killed two of her pursuers by suffocation using water that was not associated with her darker powers. She felt she deserved to die, yet every time she thought that, a will to live made itself stronger. She was eventually able to escape to a remote location in East Africa and shield herself so that even voodoo would have trouble finding her. In the few years she managed to hide, she was able to put together a potion that accurately restored her outside figure to an illusion of what it was before – the form of a young woman, her appearance when she was in her thirties. It was thankfully simple enough for her to create without too much trouble. Each lasted a week, with the chance of small deformities temporarily showing in random places. It was effective enough to hide her darker side. Her blood returned to normal slowly, though it would always be tinged with something ‘different’. It was still carried enough of a ‘scent’ to necessitate additional spells to obscure it. Now the spells would also obscure her other side.
She journeyed across Africa with the aid of an old local vampire - different to the one in her earlier years - to finally make her way to a ship planning to travel to South America. For once, her journey was not interrupted, and she was able to go to South America and immediately begin moving north. In the 1920’s, she arrived in Texas, using the name Tracy Winnow. She stayed only for a short time until moving higher to the north. After years of wandering, she settled in Salem, three years before America’s entry into World War 2. Her integration was fairly easy; she became a librarian. She was convincingly human to hunters, yet her scent was still noticeable by other supernaturals, and it wasn’t long before she was approached by the local coven. She joined without complaints, and dedicated her efforts to the ailing coven leader, helping her and being a partner through her final decade of life.
Much to the indignation of her actual daughter, the coven leader declared Tracy the leader of the regional coven. Tracy even received the old witch's house. At first, her coven was mistrusting of the foreign witch; yet they trusted their former leader’s judgment, and most of them gave her a chance. The others split off or moved away. The majority that remained found her as a sort of motherly figure, one defensive of her flock and witches in general (though not voodoo, and not those of darker interests). She is considered quite knowledgeable about magic, and is known to influential coven leaders that are scattered across the continent. Two decades ago, she left the library and opened a shop for a change in pace, which may have also included shifting away from some supernaturals and hunters who frequented that same library.
Northeast Massachusetts Coven (to the ire of her daughter), and Tracy Winnows has peacefully been the spiritual leader of her coven for 37 years.
They settled in the southern French countryside. Her father had enough finances – with some help from coven members and friends – to purchase a sizable home, the size of a small mansion. Katherine’s mother was accustomed to the best in life, and she would impress the value into her daughter one way or another. Her daughter wasn’t as inclined to listen. She frequently escaped the house, using one of her newly developed abilities to mask her potent energies. Her mother was constant in pursuit of her troublesome daughter, as was most of the coven some days. That was the time of a pair of powerful hunter groups making a bloody swathe across the north, exterminating witches left and right. Katherine’s mother was convinced they wouldn’t make it to the south and that they could be handled, and so Katherine grew up in relative peace for several years. She tamed, though only a little; at least, she wasn’t as inclined to wander the forest as often. Perhaps it was maturity; perhaps it was an old creepy vampire she insisted she met in a cave. Her mother thoroughly searched the cave and found nothing, and the story was considered a figment of Katherine’s imagination. Eventually, Katherine believed it too, though her phobia of vampires would never fade.
On Katherine’s 20th birthday, four hunters arrived in a nearby town and burned a witch from a neighboring coven. Katherine’s mother immediately prepared for emergency, and heavily warded the house. The kneejerk reaction served to bring the hunters, and several more, straight to their doorstep. The next events were pressed into Katherine’s memory. First her father, armed with a pistol, was slain by one of the hunters. Katherine remembers blonde hair, a slim figure, and dark green eyes. Her mother fought viciously, but was eventually decapitated, a vision she clearly saw from an upstairs railing. Then they chased after her. She was able to escape the house and make it to a nearby stream, yet a crossbow bolt in the leg ensured she could go no further. She was dragged to the house, and promptly sentenced to burning by the leading hunter.
The fires began to consume her before she was doused by the magic of one of her mother’s remaining coven members, who was able to severely injure three hunters and temporarily drive off the rest. Katherine was freed and taken far away to a coven in Germany, one friendly to her mother. There Katherine was healed, taught more of her magic and educated on every detail of her mother’s early life by a witch called Tasnia. Tasnia knew Katherine’s mother from many years ago, and was also a powerful coven leader. Unlike the covens in France, Tasnia quickly and ruthlessly exterminated hunters rising from the local region, and destroyed one of the French groups that attempted to finish loose ends with Katherine. Katherine learned to despise all hunters and treat regular humans as inferior; and she was taught that the one thing her mother failed in was her decision to trust a human. It was the human that killed her. She spent two decades in Germany, with most of her time spent on research and assisting her ‘stepmother’.
She fell out with Tasnia after being directed to sacrifice an entire human family with ties to a hunter group in Austria. Katherine’s searches indicated only a partial connection at best, to the wife of one of the more recent hunters. Tasnia, furious at the ‘weakness’ of the witch, attempted to strike Katherine. Katherine’s reply was to use a nearby cup of water and nearly choke her mistress until Tasnia’s close family and other coven members restrained and severely beat Katherine. Typically, Tasnia brought death to those who she felt betrayed her. For her past and her family line, Katherine was banished instead.
The forty year old woman spent decades exploring. Previous years had been a little boring in their own right; she was cooped in a single neighborhood and never strayed much farther than a few miles in any direction. She traveled to Denmark, the Netherlands, England, Scotland, Ireland, Spain, and Italy, never spending more than a year in each country, and using that time to see as much as she could. Much of her power was spent in the effort to restrain her energies and avoid the supernatural groups of each nation. Her blood was extremely potent, and an immediate beacon to all supernatural entities. She moved to Austria in 1889, intending to stay on the far eastern side and perhaps settle down. A small group of new hunters put an end to that quickly. Somehow, a werewolf caught her scent, and determined she was a German witch. The German witches, with Tasnia still the leading figure, were infamous and hated by many hunters, but they had a special place of loathing with the werewolves of Austria after a short and bloody war that started shortly after Katherine’s banishment. The werewolf immediately relayed her location to a band of hunters – he couldn’t disturb the peace agreement, could he? – and three young hunters arrived at her doorstep. Swords drawn and torches raised, they made it to her front porch before she popped the first assailant like a melon using the waters in his body. The other two quickly fled; Katherine herself fell unconscious from the exertion. She awoke staring an old man in the face, who smiled to reveal his sharp, vampiric teeth. The terrified woman tried to beat him off, but the apparition vanished seconds later. At least she was healthy again. Still, she couldn’t stay.
Her next attempted move was to Russia, where she was able to find an old abandoned hut in the woods where she could recuperate in peace. Her first visit to a nearby village indicated she was living about half a mile away from a pack of Russian werewolves. She promptly packed up and left, and left quickly. She knew she was being pursued, at least clear until she arrived in Greece. What she didn’t quite know was that the pack was planning to kill her the evening that she left. They eventually left her alone as the distance became too great. She changed courses and moved to southern Egypt.
The community included very few supernatural beings. What it did have was a small coven of three witches, with a far larger coven several miles up the Nile. Though she was biased against them, she was able to mostly dismiss her concerns due to their origins; namely, the influences of her mother and Tasnia. The witches appeared friendly, and it only took a couple of months before they seemed best of friends. One night, they guided her to the river, where a stake was prepared for her. The three witches knocked her senseless and secured her to the stake, and prepared a ritual to try and extract her energies. They were not common voodoo witches; they heavily dabbled in dark magic, and planned to use her energies to support their efforts. Their corruption was unknown to the northern witches, who considered them a little eccentric, but as much sisters as any other practitioner of voodoo. Katherine awakened as they prepared one of the important portions of the spell, which included burning the subject of the spell. Katherine’s pyre was lit aflame, and basic protections were set in place to stop the casual use of a spell to douse them; specifically, the use of the water in her body to undo the flames. The witches underestimated her ability to control water of nearby sources. Katherine was partially burned, but she had the energy and sheer desperation to work past the sloppy execution of the restraint spell to use the vast quantity of nearby water to douse her fire and topple the stake in the process. The voodoo witches were also tossed back by the flames and rendered unconscious. Katherine was able to locate the book they used for their spells and used it to conduct a smaller, similar spell that involved executing the three of them with a special dagger to the heart. Her unfamiliarity with dark magic did not stop her from finishing the spell, even though she wasn’t quite sure what it would do. Her taste for vengeance was too great to care, and all she learned of Dark Magic amounted to “don’t use it, just because”. Pieces of the pyre were strategically arranged around Katherine’s assailants, in a design as per the instructions, and she killed the three of them as they were waking.
The spell was of course wrongly initiated, sloppy, hastily done, and the result of a momentarily deranged mind. The spell sucked the three witches dry and channeled the twisted resulting energy into Katherine. Her skin hardened, cracked, and mostly fell off in the first few seconds. Her muscles became twisted, physically, and her blood became a sticky tar attached to her body that dripped in thick chunks. Then a new skin formed, a charred black material. Her body elongated, and as she fell to her knees, her appearance looked more demonic than anyone could have imagined. She was still human; yet the transformation made her a cross between a zombie and some satanic creature. Her blood turned red again, yet her heart began to pump out a replacing black substance rapidly. The substance forced her red blood through the cracks of her body, a procedure even more painful than what she had already endured. Her hair was sticky white strings, and her eyes had a red and purple glow. At the end of the transformation, she shrunk slightly to be more human in scale. The cost of her spell left her body deformed. Her powers did not change much, though she gained an innate ability to use dark magic, should she decide to. Such magic could only come at a price. Said magic empowered her and removed all inhibitions from her mind, almost like alcohol, except with no weaknesses to her ability to cause damage. She caused damage in the form of two massacred villages. She didn’t remember a thing at the time as well as immediately after she destroyed them to the last living being. When she finally collapsed from exhaustion and awakened late into the next day was when she remembered every detail. She was a rampaging monster, tearing people apart with magic and clawed fingers that felt no pain, even as they were partially opened and bleeding. The thoughts sickened her. She swore to never use it again, but it was far too late for that. Her antics were discovered the very next day by the northern voodoo witches, and they saw a witch that used dark magic to slay three of their sisters and over a hundred innocents.
She was hunted for miles, all the way down to South Africa, where she killed two of her pursuers by suffocation using water that was not associated with her darker powers. She felt she deserved to die, yet every time she thought that, a will to live made itself stronger. She was eventually able to escape to a remote location in East Africa and shield herself so that even voodoo would have trouble finding her. In the few years she managed to hide, she was able to put together a potion that accurately restored her outside figure to an illusion of what it was before – the form of a young woman, her appearance when she was in her thirties. It was thankfully simple enough for her to create without too much trouble. Each lasted a week, with the chance of small deformities temporarily showing in random places. It was effective enough to hide her darker side. Her blood returned to normal slowly, though it would always be tinged with something ‘different’. It was still carried enough of a ‘scent’ to necessitate additional spells to obscure it. Now the spells would also obscure her other side.
She journeyed across Africa with the aid of an old local vampire - different to the one in her earlier years - to finally make her way to a ship planning to travel to South America. For once, her journey was not interrupted, and she was able to go to South America and immediately begin moving north. In the 1920’s, she arrived in Texas, using the name Tracy Winnow. She stayed only for a short time until moving higher to the north. After years of wandering, she settled in Salem, three years before America’s entry into World War 2. Her integration was fairly easy; she became a librarian. She was convincingly human to hunters, yet her scent was still noticeable by other supernaturals, and it wasn’t long before she was approached by the local coven. She joined without complaints, and dedicated her efforts to the ailing coven leader, helping her and being a partner through her final decade of life.
Much to the indignation of her actual daughter, the coven leader declared Tracy the leader of the regional coven. Tracy even received the old witch's house. At first, her coven was mistrusting of the foreign witch; yet they trusted their former leader’s judgment, and most of them gave her a chance. The others split off or moved away. The majority that remained found her as a sort of motherly figure, one defensive of her flock and witches in general (though not voodoo, and not those of darker interests). She is considered quite knowledgeable about magic, and is known to influential coven leaders that are scattered across the continent. Two decades ago, she left the library and opened a shop for a change in pace, which may have also included shifting away from some supernaturals and hunters who frequented that same library.
Northeast Massachusetts Coven (to the ire of her daughter), and Tracy Winnows has peacefully been the spiritual leader of her coven for 37 years.
| {Extra} |
Tracy often carries an enchanted knife that is lined on the blade with an electrical current that allows her to use that form of her magic anywhere she takes it. Deep in her basement, she also keeps the old voodoo knife that was the source of her sorrows in Africa, as well as the dark magic spellbook.
Fabricant451 Queen of Hearts
Member
Seen
2 mos ago
{ "I have nothing against respecting people who lived before, but we have no responsibility toward them." }
Got heart, got style, got a lot of mouth. Do ya, do ya? Lock & load, fire. Cause life's a vicious cycle, as toddlers, played with Tyco; Now we robbers goin' psycho and shootin' at our rivals || Nobody speak, nobody get choked. I just want the bread and bologna bundles to tuck away. I don't work for free, I am barely giving a fuck away || I need someone else To look into my eyes and tell me "Girl, you know you've got to watch your health". See you on a dark night.
| {Full Name} |
Raini Ren Yilmaz
| {Nickname} |
"Rainy". It's an intentional mispronunciation of her name, which is 'Rain-eye'. It was originally assumed by Raini to be done simply to annoy her; it was only recently that she realized it was a term of endearment. She would prefer people not using it.
| {Date of Birth} |
November 14.
| {Age} |
35
| {Gender} |
Female
| {Sexuality} |
Bisexual
| {Relationship Status} |
Recently Single
| {Role} |
Hunter. Head Hunter.
| {Occupation} |
Phlebotomist
| {Face Claim} |
Dichen Lachman
| {Dialogue Color} |
It's this color
| {Appearance} |
Raini doesn't stand out much at all and that is clearly by design. Drawing attention to yourself is what inexperienced people do, and that extends to the hunters just as much as it does their prey. Of course, her standing out happens often enough due to her more...exotic features, though with enough diversity comes the ability to blend. Raini's of an average height, standing at just shy of five-nine, with a build that is athletic in tone. Muscles need not be bulging to be present, nor does the lack of them from a glance mean a lack of strength or stamina. Rarely does Raini dabble in cosmetics other than for blemishes or if she's out to impress someone with her awkward feminine wiles.
The exception to that rule is in how she treats her hair, dirty blonde in color and soft to the touch, it's the one aspect of her, other than keeping in shape, that she takes an excessive amount of care in. She won't berate someone for 'messing up' her hair, but she believes she has earned a little bit of vanity in her life every now and then. With how often things get messy...it's mostly something to keep her grounded.
In her day to day, when she isn't wearing the white coat in the doctor's office, skews more casual than anything else. Jeans for walking. Boots for stepping. White shirts for comfort and always a black jacket for completion of the outfit. In warmer weather the jacket will be left at home and she'll favor shorter sleeved shirts but never shorts or skirts. Anything other than pants would show the scars she's accrued over the years; most have healed, but scars linger and questions get asked. She goes for more neutral clothing in her day-to-day. Blues and whites, neutrals, all a part of looking the part. It's a lot harder than she ever thought to intentionally make herself look ordinary.
Harder, still, because of her background - She has the features of her mother, the pronounced cheekbones and almond eyes, and the skin tone of her mixed heritage - she's on a short list of people that come from similar backgrounds.
She had a tattoo once, on her right arm, but it's been removed, The tattoo was of a rain cloud, an inside joke that stopped being funny.
The exception to that rule is in how she treats her hair, dirty blonde in color and soft to the touch, it's the one aspect of her, other than keeping in shape, that she takes an excessive amount of care in. She won't berate someone for 'messing up' her hair, but she believes she has earned a little bit of vanity in her life every now and then. With how often things get messy...it's mostly something to keep her grounded.
In her day to day, when she isn't wearing the white coat in the doctor's office, skews more casual than anything else. Jeans for walking. Boots for stepping. White shirts for comfort and always a black jacket for completion of the outfit. In warmer weather the jacket will be left at home and she'll favor shorter sleeved shirts but never shorts or skirts. Anything other than pants would show the scars she's accrued over the years; most have healed, but scars linger and questions get asked. She goes for more neutral clothing in her day-to-day. Blues and whites, neutrals, all a part of looking the part. It's a lot harder than she ever thought to intentionally make herself look ordinary.
Harder, still, because of her background - She has the features of her mother, the pronounced cheekbones and almond eyes, and the skin tone of her mixed heritage - she's on a short list of people that come from similar backgrounds.
She had a tattoo once, on her right arm, but it's been removed, The tattoo was of a rain cloud, an inside joke that stopped being funny.
| {Habits & Quirks} |
When faced with downtime, Raini will observe herself in a compact to ensure that the day's stress hasn't ruined her hair. Which is to say she'll often straighten it out or fix it up as the day goes on. Again, she believes her little trip to vanity avenue is well earned, even if it's something she believes that only younger people should do.
Whenever she uses profanity, which is more often than she'd care to admit, she only does so in Arabic. It's one of the three languages she speaks and it's the only one she can be certain that most people she uses it around won't understand. 'Ya Ibn el Sharmouta' is a particular favorite of hers but they're all so colorful and varied, as language typically is.
Raini intentionally mispronounces people's names (though gets upset when others do it to her). It's a quirk she picked up from someone important to her. However, it's not something she does to everyone at first. People know that they have Raini's respect when she starts saying their name incorrectly. Until then, she'll always be asking for their name or calling them things like 'kid'.
Whenever she uses profanity, which is more often than she'd care to admit, she only does so in Arabic. It's one of the three languages she speaks and it's the only one she can be certain that most people she uses it around won't understand. 'Ya Ibn el Sharmouta' is a particular favorite of hers but they're all so colorful and varied, as language typically is.
Raini intentionally mispronounces people's names (though gets upset when others do it to her). It's a quirk she picked up from someone important to her. However, it's not something she does to everyone at first. People know that they have Raini's respect when she starts saying their name incorrectly. Until then, she'll always be asking for their name or calling them things like 'kid'.
| {Hobbies} |
Raini has a bit of a soft spot for jazz music and has quite the collection of vinyl and albums. She'll listen to it to unwind or to prepare for a fight/patrol/whatnot. Her regret in life was never learning to play an instrument and jazz is sort of an escape.
Candle Making. Something she learned from her mother as a child, Raini enjoys making candles when she has free time. She sells them through Etsy and at a corner store in Salem that gives her a cut of profits from her sales. Nothing relaxes her more than putting on Dave Brubeck and making an order of candles as the sun goes down. It's zen-like at times. That her candles can also be beneficial in her rela job doesn't hurt.
Cooking. Raini isn't exactly a master chef as she can barely handle making a prepared meal in the microwave. But she likes making the attempt either way. It's almost a right of passage for hunters in her charge to endure a dinner cooked by Raini; if they can survive that they can survive whatever comes their way.
Candle Making. Something she learned from her mother as a child, Raini enjoys making candles when she has free time. She sells them through Etsy and at a corner store in Salem that gives her a cut of profits from her sales. Nothing relaxes her more than putting on Dave Brubeck and making an order of candles as the sun goes down. It's zen-like at times. That her candles can also be beneficial in her rela job doesn't hurt.
Cooking. Raini isn't exactly a master chef as she can barely handle making a prepared meal in the microwave. But she likes making the attempt either way. It's almost a right of passage for hunters in her charge to endure a dinner cooked by Raini; if they can survive that they can survive whatever comes their way.
| {Likes} |
☑ Though she doesn't make them, she does enjoy candle wax figures, such as people who make cats or people and put a wick in them. There's shelf space in her place that is reserved for ones she liked enough to buy.
☑ Spicy food. She's not yet found a place in town that can really hit that sweet spot of spicy. She'd make her own but cooking is not something she's particularly great at.
☑ Long winters. She grew up in warm weather and had enough of it to fill a lifetime. Winters are welcome and snow still makes her smile when its fresh.
☑ Seafood. Sometimes she wishes she was located on the coast just to get fresher fish on the regular, but she'll take a grilled salmon or some ahi tuna no matter how it comes.
☑ People that listen. She's constantly amazed in her daily life the number of people who can't fill out a simple form in the blood lab. "Please stick out your right hand", a request she makes often, is often followed up with "Your OTHER right" or "Please stick out your right hand". But she might be projecting, since not listening has led some people she knew to their early end.
☑ Spicy food. She's not yet found a place in town that can really hit that sweet spot of spicy. She'd make her own but cooking is not something she's particularly great at.
☑ Long winters. She grew up in warm weather and had enough of it to fill a lifetime. Winters are welcome and snow still makes her smile when its fresh.
☑ Seafood. Sometimes she wishes she was located on the coast just to get fresher fish on the regular, but she'll take a grilled salmon or some ahi tuna no matter how it comes.
☑ People that listen. She's constantly amazed in her daily life the number of people who can't fill out a simple form in the blood lab. "Please stick out your right hand", a request she makes often, is often followed up with "Your OTHER right" or "Please stick out your right hand". But she might be projecting, since not listening has led some people she knew to their early end.
☑ Crossword puzzles. It's something to do during shifts that also has the benefit of keeping her mind sharp.
☑ Jazz Music.
| {Dislikes} |
☒ People that DON'T listen, to follow up on a like.
☒ Summer. The warmth and the more relaxed atmosphere doesn't sit well with her. Plus she gets real hot in her jeans which is just uncomfortable.
☒ Coffee. She hates the taste. Really caffeine does nothing for her other than make her want to spit it into the nearest drain.
☒ Rain clouds. More often than not they signal rain or worse.
☒ Games of chance. She doesn't gamble with anything, from money down to her life, preferring to do things that she at least has some modicum of control over.
☒ Sweets. She never much cared for pastries or cakes or things like that. Even as a child her idea of a dessert was more along the lines of a simple pudding or fruit.
☒ Museums. It's a bit odd but she just has a strong dislike for museums. It probably has something to do with her dislike of focusing on the past as well as the misinformation present in certain specialist museums.
☒ Summer. The warmth and the more relaxed atmosphere doesn't sit well with her. Plus she gets real hot in her jeans which is just uncomfortable.
☒ Coffee. She hates the taste. Really caffeine does nothing for her other than make her want to spit it into the nearest drain.
☒ Rain clouds. More often than not they signal rain or worse.
☒ Games of chance. She doesn't gamble with anything, from money down to her life, preferring to do things that she at least has some modicum of control over.
☒ Sweets. She never much cared for pastries or cakes or things like that. Even as a child her idea of a dessert was more along the lines of a simple pudding or fruit.
☒ Museums. It's a bit odd but she just has a strong dislike for museums. It probably has something to do with her dislike of focusing on the past as well as the misinformation present in certain specialist museums.
| {Fears} |
Raini hates the rain, specifically she hates thunderstorms. Even into her thirties stormy weather makes her have difficulty sleeping or functioning. It's a fear, a phobia if you will.
While she doesn't fear her own death she does fear others she works with dying under her watch or else being converted to the ranks of the ones they hunt. A loss of a hunter under her care is a failure in her command. In that way, perhaps it's better to say that she fears failure.
Which also means a fear of death, not her own, but preventable ones. Survivor's guilt is a hell of a thing.
While she doesn't fear her own death she does fear others she works with dying under her watch or else being converted to the ranks of the ones they hunt. A loss of a hunter under her care is a failure in her command. In that way, perhaps it's better to say that she fears failure.
Which also means a fear of death, not her own, but preventable ones. Survivor's guilt is a hell of a thing.
| {Secrets} |
Her mother was a witch and it's something Raini's never quite forgiven. Raini can't use magic which she sees as the final mocking laugh from her mom. She keeps this information to herself.
Might have a blood disease that she treats with constant transfusions - thanks to her profession she is able to keep it mostly under wraps. But she's well aware she's been on borrowed time for years.
Might have a blood disease that she treats with constant transfusions - thanks to her profession she is able to keep it mostly under wraps. But she's well aware she's been on borrowed time for years.
| {Abilities} |
Raini is quite agile and physically capable even still; while she isn't capable of superhuman feats of strength, she does use her weapons of choice (a special knife and a blessed sidearm - in addition to various traps and tools) with a honed precision only possible after years of dedication.
Having been a hunter for half of her life, Raini is well versed in the tactics and movements of the supernatural with a specialty in dealing with those with an affinity for blood. While not always correct in her hunches, Raini's knowledge of the supernatural is nothing to scoff at.
Having been a hunter for half of her life, Raini is well versed in the tactics and movements of the supernatural with a specialty in dealing with those with an affinity for blood. While not always correct in her hunches, Raini's knowledge of the supernatural is nothing to scoff at.
| {Limitations} |
The limitations of being a human trying to deal with a blood disease and age. While thirty five might seem young, it's a rough thirty five for a hunter given that the lifespan of theirs is often so brief. Though she tries to hide it, Raini is losing speed in pursuits and she worries that her mind or eyesight will soon follow.
| {Personality} |
♦ Patient ♦ Disaffected ♦ Motherly ♦ Hard ♦
Though Raini hates people that don't listen, she puts up with them in the hope that they'll learn sooner or later. On that same token, Raini is someone that will wait and wait until the moment is right before springing into action. Patience is a virtue that gets rewarded. Impatience gets people injured or worse. While losing someone among her ranks gets her where it counts, after the things she's experienced and done nothing really concerns her anymore. Yes, she obviously doesn't like it when innocents die due to the supernatural, but the news of a death or the sight of blood or bodies doesn't fuel her into action. She's desensitized and cautions others to hold onto their strong feelings on the matter.
Raini had a strong bond with her mother for the short time they were a family and she found a father figure in her training days. As such, any hunter that works with her is seen as something close to family, not all that dissimilar to wolves and their pack or vampires and their brood or a witch and her coven.
Raini, despite her motherly tendencies, is still a hard person to bond with. But in her mind, she doesn't have to be liked so long as she has respect. The fact that getting her to 'remember' your name is a rite of passage shows how difficult it is to earn her trust and friendship. Ostensibly it's so she can feel less on the off chance that one of them dies, but there's sure to be a deeper reason.
To hear Raini describe it, she's a hunter second and a person first, but that doesn't stop elements of who she is in the 'fight' from seeping into her attempts to be a more 'ordinary' citizen. Around children and the like, such as those who come to the lab for shots or blood work, she's always friendly and smiling, like a motherly sort would be, but she rarely, if ever, speaks to adult patients about anything other than the reason for their visit to the lab. Few would describe her as 'friendly' but many would consider her 'nice'. Raini isn't a mean person and doesn't have near the outright hatred towards the hunter's prey as some do.
Once someone has earned her respect she treats them no differently than she expects them to treat her. Everyone, once proven they can hang in the hunters of Salem, is seen as equals. It is, to her, the best way to foster camaraderie and instill the notion that no one is expendable. Raini may take a while to consider someone, but even those whose name she hasn't said are still part of the team. Raini is practical when making decisions and often will opt to take less favorable choices rather than the more immediate 'positive' ones. She won't be the one to rush in and help someone in danger and she'd be willing to let innocents die if it meant it would lead to something more substantial in the long run. Her casual disregard for the lives of innocents - or the seeming disregard - makes some believe her to be emotionless, heartless, cruel.
But she isn't. She just understands that not everyone can be saved. The more moral people around her are people she trusts to keep her in check. Raini doesn't want other hunters to lose their humanity and empathy and encourages them to 'remain as innocent as possible'.
Anyone who knows Raini, be it a fellow hunter or a friend in Salem, knows that she is there in case someone needs an ear to vent their problems. Raini wants very much to be seen as something of a motherly presence among her charges, loving and caring but also willing to lay down the law and take control of a situation. She might be strict, but if it keeps people alive it's worth it in the end.
Just don't ACTUALLY call her mom.
Raini had a strong bond with her mother for the short time they were a family and she found a father figure in her training days. As such, any hunter that works with her is seen as something close to family, not all that dissimilar to wolves and their pack or vampires and their brood or a witch and her coven.
Raini, despite her motherly tendencies, is still a hard person to bond with. But in her mind, she doesn't have to be liked so long as she has respect. The fact that getting her to 'remember' your name is a rite of passage shows how difficult it is to earn her trust and friendship. Ostensibly it's so she can feel less on the off chance that one of them dies, but there's sure to be a deeper reason.
To hear Raini describe it, she's a hunter second and a person first, but that doesn't stop elements of who she is in the 'fight' from seeping into her attempts to be a more 'ordinary' citizen. Around children and the like, such as those who come to the lab for shots or blood work, she's always friendly and smiling, like a motherly sort would be, but she rarely, if ever, speaks to adult patients about anything other than the reason for their visit to the lab. Few would describe her as 'friendly' but many would consider her 'nice'. Raini isn't a mean person and doesn't have near the outright hatred towards the hunter's prey as some do.
Once someone has earned her respect she treats them no differently than she expects them to treat her. Everyone, once proven they can hang in the hunters of Salem, is seen as equals. It is, to her, the best way to foster camaraderie and instill the notion that no one is expendable. Raini may take a while to consider someone, but even those whose name she hasn't said are still part of the team. Raini is practical when making decisions and often will opt to take less favorable choices rather than the more immediate 'positive' ones. She won't be the one to rush in and help someone in danger and she'd be willing to let innocents die if it meant it would lead to something more substantial in the long run. Her casual disregard for the lives of innocents - or the seeming disregard - makes some believe her to be emotionless, heartless, cruel.
But she isn't. She just understands that not everyone can be saved. The more moral people around her are people she trusts to keep her in check. Raini doesn't want other hunters to lose their humanity and empathy and encourages them to 'remain as innocent as possible'.
Anyone who knows Raini, be it a fellow hunter or a friend in Salem, knows that she is there in case someone needs an ear to vent their problems. Raini wants very much to be seen as something of a motherly presence among her charges, loving and caring but also willing to lay down the law and take control of a situation. She might be strict, but if it keeps people alive it's worth it in the end.
Just don't ACTUALLY call her mom.
| {Place of Origin} |
Thimphu, Bhutan
| {Background} |
Raini was born in Bhutan to a father of South Asian heritage and a mother from China. Though Bhutan is where she was born it wasn't where she lived; at a young age, before Raini could walk, she and her parents settled in Egypt, in Cairo. Raini bonded with her mother, who she remembered being incredibly affectionate and caring which was in direct contrast to her father, who was aloof and worked abnormal hours which meant Raini rarely got to spend time with him. As Raini grew into a child, she noticed that her father was often talking of relocation, of staying mobile, but her mother wanted a home. A permanent one. Her parents spoke in whispers often.
Raini's mother was also her educator, teaching her both Arabic and Mandarin and how to read the written word. She never felt coddled, but it was obvious that Raini was fond of her mother. When she was thirteen she started to notice more oddities with her father. He always seemed to be on edge, nervous, and would often lash out against his wife. Any attempt to find out what was wrong was met with anger from her father and near sobs from her mother.
At age fourteen, Raini lost both of her parents.
It happened slowly, building up over the course of months. Suddenly Raini had a new family member, an Uncle Jabari that made frequent trips to the family home. Jabari was a man of few words but always came with a gift for Raini, some trinket or bauble, one time a cool pocket knife, but he didn't say a word to the girl otherwise. One week after Raini's fourteenth birthday, their home was broken into at night. Raini hid in a cupboard and watched as a strange figure accused her mother of 'betrayal'. The figure snapped her father's neck and Raini was forced to watch a different side of her mother.
The mother she loved shrieked and attacked the mysterious figure, a fight that stopped after her mother summoned forth burning magic to sear the figure to ash. Of course Raini screamed, what person wouldn't after witnessing such a thing? But before her bloody, ashen mother could reveal her true nature to her daughter, Uncle Jabari arrived and delivered a similar fate: immolating Raini's mother. "Your mother was on the run from her coven," Jabari went on to explain as he introduced Raini to the world of hunters and the supernatural.
Jabari was a hunter named Eric and he was hunting the one that was hunting Raini's mother at the request of her mother's former coven, arriving too late to save her father. Eric, against his better judgment, took Raini along to be trained as a hunter, which took some convincing on his end as Raini was still in shock over the sudden loss of her mother. Of her parents. Studying under Eric became the replacement of studying languages with her mom. Eric started calling her Rainy as she started taking her training more seriously. When she became a full fledged hunter, Eric was there to welcome her to the fold. She requested to serve with him but he refused, saying that she had to become her own person now. Eric went off to his own posting. News of his death reached her three months after the fact. Werewolf attack.
Raini models a lot of herself after Eric, keeping the little nickname mispronunciation thing alive as sort of a tribute to his memory. As he requested, Raini has become her own hunter, even being assigned to Salem where she's integrated herself into the community as a phlebotomist, working in the blood work lab at a doctor's office. The job is one way she monitors the activity of supernatural beings, and it allows her to keep tabs on the blood supply in case some hungry sorts get a little bold in their quest for human blood.
To the residents of Salem, Raini is the blood doctor who gives the children coming for shots a lollipop if they don't squirm. To others, she's a threat. A hunter through and through.
Raini's mother was also her educator, teaching her both Arabic and Mandarin and how to read the written word. She never felt coddled, but it was obvious that Raini was fond of her mother. When she was thirteen she started to notice more oddities with her father. He always seemed to be on edge, nervous, and would often lash out against his wife. Any attempt to find out what was wrong was met with anger from her father and near sobs from her mother.
At age fourteen, Raini lost both of her parents.
It happened slowly, building up over the course of months. Suddenly Raini had a new family member, an Uncle Jabari that made frequent trips to the family home. Jabari was a man of few words but always came with a gift for Raini, some trinket or bauble, one time a cool pocket knife, but he didn't say a word to the girl otherwise. One week after Raini's fourteenth birthday, their home was broken into at night. Raini hid in a cupboard and watched as a strange figure accused her mother of 'betrayal'. The figure snapped her father's neck and Raini was forced to watch a different side of her mother.
The mother she loved shrieked and attacked the mysterious figure, a fight that stopped after her mother summoned forth burning magic to sear the figure to ash. Of course Raini screamed, what person wouldn't after witnessing such a thing? But before her bloody, ashen mother could reveal her true nature to her daughter, Uncle Jabari arrived and delivered a similar fate: immolating Raini's mother. "Your mother was on the run from her coven," Jabari went on to explain as he introduced Raini to the world of hunters and the supernatural.
Jabari was a hunter named Eric and he was hunting the one that was hunting Raini's mother at the request of her mother's former coven, arriving too late to save her father. Eric, against his better judgment, took Raini along to be trained as a hunter, which took some convincing on his end as Raini was still in shock over the sudden loss of her mother. Of her parents. Studying under Eric became the replacement of studying languages with her mom. Eric started calling her Rainy as she started taking her training more seriously. When she became a full fledged hunter, Eric was there to welcome her to the fold. She requested to serve with him but he refused, saying that she had to become her own person now. Eric went off to his own posting. News of his death reached her three months after the fact. Werewolf attack.
Raini models a lot of herself after Eric, keeping the little nickname mispronunciation thing alive as sort of a tribute to his memory. As he requested, Raini has become her own hunter, even being assigned to Salem where she's integrated herself into the community as a phlebotomist, working in the blood work lab at a doctor's office. The job is one way she monitors the activity of supernatural beings, and it allows her to keep tabs on the blood supply in case some hungry sorts get a little bold in their quest for human blood.
To the residents of Salem, Raini is the blood doctor who gives the children coming for shots a lollipop if they don't squirm. To others, she's a threat. A hunter through and through.
| {Extra} |
She speaks English, Arabic, and Mandarin. She speaks with a noticeable accent though it's not as heavy these days.
1x Thank
3 Guests
viewing this page
© 2007-2024