Name: Alisdair Gindwin Age: 25 Race: Luce Primani Scholar Appearance:
Though Alisdair's eyes are the fully black, coal like orbs as the many other scholars of Luce Prima. Personality: Alisdair is inquisitive, instinctively ponderous and willing to go to any length for the pursuit of his own betterment. Some would go as far as saying that his aloof behavior is almost creepy and unnerving but he is gentle enough that most will not be hateful or disruptive of his curiosity. History:
"Tell me boy, what is it you wish to learn today?" An older scholar asked the small boy, his dark hair peeking from under the hood of his robe.
"I want to hear the story about the dragons again! Please Grandpa." The boy shouted with enthusiasm, the older man laughed aloud and pulled a book from the shelf nearby. The story was Alisdair's favorite before bed, he loved the stories of dragons, knights, and valiant quests. The Humans were an interesting bunch, some loved dragons, some hunted them, some fought many great beasts, Hercules killed a hydra, but Alisdair kept one as a pet, how odd it seemed that the people of the Dawn were so blind, they couldn't see the benefits of being around others.
"Alright Dairn, time for bed, you have more lessons tomorrow, and these one will be harder, your true talents will be put to the test, time for you to be the hero, yeah?" the grandfather ruffled the boys hair before stepping out of the room to leave the boy to sleep.
Alisdair turned to his mentor, the man held out a magic tool, something in the shape of a shard of ice, and as he spoke an old phrase the shard let out a frosted wind that covered Alisdair in snow, the mound encased him completely and the other man put his hands to his sides triumphantly.
"Come now Dairn, is that really going to be the way you go out? Head to toe in the frost?" the man jabbed, but as he said the words he could tell that there was a stirring beneath the snow. A light started to come from below the ice, and soon, flame poured from within alongside a roar, Alisdair stood with steam all around him as his necklace, a bright red scale glowed at his neck. The man was not able to dodge the flames entirely and managed to get a bit singed, "Dragons fire? What on earth have you been up to lately?" The man laughed as the two came together and shook hands, their match decidedly over. The man was a dear friend and mentor of Alisdairs, he had taught him the method for enchanting and the need of it, however Alisdair proved again and again, he had a knack.
Alisdair took to the meeting room to hear the councils anouncement, they had been batting around the idea of coming out of hiding, letting the people of the world know who they are and to be a part of the world again, Alisdair was for the motion, it was something that he wanted desperately, having so many people of so many races within reach would further his research greatly. As Alisdair reached the chamber and met with the other Scholars the debates began, those for and those against railed the opposition for whatever they could and the council let them do so as long as they felt no fights would break out. Soon, the Chairman stood, Alisdairs grandfather, Mirros Gindwin held out his hands and brought them together, a feather from a bracelet glowing faintly until dissolving as a loud shockwave brought attention back to him.
"The decision has been made, after listening to the words of the collected, we have decided. Luce Prima, the Academy of Daybreak, will open its doors, accepting all who wish to come." the words boomed with might, and the crowd cheered, even those that had warned against it, for even if they believed it to not be the best decision, they trust the judgement of the council, and so, with no delay, the first of the letters were dispatched, it was an odd method, but they felt it was better than appearing as a projection, or trying to call them all.
Other: The scholars of Luce Prima are masters of the lost art of enchanting, the art of infusing objects with magic, and then using them later. Alisdair is one of few that can make permanent tools, items that hold the magic and use it without fading.
Birthday: December 18th, 1216 Turn Date: August 26th, 1237
Race: Vampire, Turned
Appearance:
Viktor hails from a poor 1200s farming village in the North Eastern areas of what is now known as Russia. Considering his background, Viktor never had the chance to escape the scrawny frame his life forced him into. Grey eyes and blond hair would normally go a long way for those of Russian heritage but his eyes are slightly sunken in and lanky frame always seems just slightly underfed, no matter how recently he has eaten. Standing a solid 5' 10”, Viktor still moves with the unnatural grace his cursed life affords him despite his seemingly malnourished appearance. Viktor wears simple clothes, T-shirts and jeans and sneakers, decidedly uninterested in mortal concepts of fashion. This is likely a result of his self imposed isolation at the beginning of the 16th century.
Personality:
Despite appearances, Viktor's personality reflects his age. With a focus only those who have lived too long possess, Viktor moves a his own pace. This often leads him to situations in which he comes off as cool or aloof but really he is merely taking the time to process and change. When you've lived one way for five hundred years, that is a slow and painful process. Though once it has processed, Viktor often latches on with the desperation of a dying man. Indeed, the vampire has an obsessive personality born of centuries of repression. Coffee for example. Once a delicacy, the concoction spread like wildfire through the world and yet only once he came to Luna Prima did he realize it even existed. Since then, he applied to the Academy of Luca Prima's kinetic magic division and applied for a job at a small coffee shop that specializes in the use of kinetic magic to craft specialty coffees.
I came into this world as I expected I would leave it, hunted and hated, loathed and feared. My skein, once smooth and silky, turned tangled and knotted through the unfathomable quirks of Fate. My first memories of my existence were of lust and longing. Of a terrible thirst for that which pumped through mortal veins. I remember prowling through small settlements dotting the tundra, snow underfoot muffling the inevitable. I remember the crying, the begging, the screaming. I remember how none of it mattered.
Before that, I remember nothing but hunger and fear and anger. I remember the blistering pain as I turned against my will, as my humanity burned beneath my skin. I fail to remember who turned me or exactly why they chose to do so. Though I suppose it matters not for whether it is a blessing or curse, the inevitable results will not vary. I remember hunting night after night, impatiently awaiting the softness of my once kin's flesh beneath my teeth. I remember a part of me struggled against my desires, the small bastion of humanity left untouched by the turn. Though even that succumbed to the new reality of my life. And so my memory of that time fades to little more than an insatiable appetite.
As best as I can recollect, it took the better part of a century before my memories returned. I awoke chained in the basement of a cozy home. I could say I awoke imprisoned. And while such an observation may by all technical accounts be true, it was cozier than anything I could remember. Strange patterns adorned the bare patches of the walls and faded tapestries concealed the rest. A comfortable bed took up a small portion and a desk and book shelf adorned the rest. A small silver bell that seemed to glow in the dim lighting caught my attention and unspeakable urge to ring it came across me. And, with the same weakness I indulged my base urges with, I rang it.
Алла. A witch forced to hunt the monster indiscriminately slaughtering the impoverished of Kievan Rus'. A witch who originally knew nothing more that rudimentary healing magics and a few obscure scrying spells. A witch who saved a man from death, only to have him turn her in for supposed justice. And humanity turned away from one of their own in their fanatical skepticism, demanding that a child who just stepped over the threshold into womanhood hunt a beast they were too afraid to find. Her desire to spite those who wronged her drove her out of civilization and into the broken and beaten villages. Drove her to succeed where they hoped she failed, or at the very least died after killing the beast.
This, I now realize, is the very moment from which my overwhelming disgust of the Children of Dawn stems. The damnable irony is that despite their best efforts to strip her of her humanity and her grace, she instead strip them of theirs when she chose to teach that monster control and restraint, when she chose to give it back his sanity and purpose, instead of obliterating it as they demanded. The Children of the Dawn who know nothing of the Night see more black and white than do those who see nothing but black and white. Their absolute dedication to the concept of absolutes, of right and wrong and nothing more, sickens me to my very core and leaves me hating those of the Dawn because of the fear. For my existence, and all those of the Dusk, hangs as precarious as our namesake, for the Dusk has no place near the Dawn in their eyes and they would snuff it out to avoid the shattering of their twisted truths.
A soft breath ghosted over the ink, drying the letters quickly. Viktor gently closed the journal and leaned back into the chair. An odd, uncomfortable feeling stirred in his stomach and he stubbornly shoved it to the back of his mind. His employer, Valencia, suggested this as a method of self reflection, a way to analyze himself and become better. A few details of his life had escaped after seven centuries and with the existence of this City, it may be time to find ways to overcome his prejudices. Or rather she threatened to fire him if he didn't start getting along with the Children of the Dawn and smack him upside the head with the journal. Repeatedly. The alchemist who ran Valencia's Caffeinated Concoctions didn't mince words or use eloquent phrases like most Elves he had encountered. She spoke bluntly, her opinions always harsh but fair. And despite avoiding civilization like the plague for the past five centuries (excluding enough time to pick up enough of the vernacular that a moments passing wouldn't reveal the extend of his unlife), he found himself unwilling to disappoint the woman.
He thought back to the blind panic that had settled in as haven after haven was torn down be the encroaching Children of Dawn and how that simple letter sparked a desire in him he though stolen by immortality. The desire to change and learn, grow and adapt. Watching the endless cycle of time tended to cement your life into a series of inescapable ruts. He resigned himself to solitude. He resigned himself to stagnation. That letter appeared on his doorstep as he concluded it was time to give up his immortality for good. It was his saving grace, like Алла all those years ago.
He smiled at the though and gently placed the journal away. There was plenty of time for self reflection later. For now, it was time to focus on The Regulations and Responsibilities of Kinetic Mages. As much as he enjoyed learning, this one was worse than watching love struck fools serenade empty balconies back in the 15th centuries. Those voices still haunted his nightmares.
Viktor sighed but a small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. This world gave him a hope he had lost and now he had it, he wouldn't let it go anytime soon.
Other:
Despite his age, Viktor lived in solitude for so long he has very little functional knowledge of the outside world. He practically loathes the Children of the Dawn, believing them to be barbarians and murderers who know little more than their own greed. He finds the concept of religion revolting. He has watched it turned kin against kin and justify the senseless torture and death of millions. He has no problem laughing in any poor soul's face about it if it comes up in conversation. His connection to the other races are tenuous at best, although he gets along with mages of every society except Goblins and Orcs. He finds them disgusting to the eyes and judges them harshly for it. He rather enjoys the presence of Elves and the Fey but wildly distrusts dwarves and their close ties to the Children of Dawn. He speaks to them quietly and with reservation, afraid whatever he says will travel to the hellish humans and end with him dead.
The biggest issue Viktor struggles with as a turned Vampire is the hunger. The all consuming need to devour every last drop of blood out of any humanoid possible. He keeps it in check through a very strict set of rules:
1) Feed only once a week. 2) Attempt to feed from blood bags only. 3) Always screen potential meals if a blood bag cannot be found, including sexual history and blood type. 4) Never under any circumstance drink blood type AB. The hunger will turn into a frenzy.
Viktor doesn't care to have a last name. If something would require him to have one, he writes the letter A.
Alder is built lean with long legs and broad shoulders and stands around 5"8, weighing in around 143 pounds. His skin tone is very pale, though it always kind of was, even without vampirism. He's not built muscular though there is some hardness to his arms and stomach. His body is considerably light, making it easy for him to move soundlessly. With a fairly handsome face, a sharp jawline, a Roman nose and eyes as blue as the sky above, Alder is someone who's hard not to notice.
He has a gruesome pale scar that cuts through the skin of one shoulder and almost looks knotted in appearance, he has another scar that slices jaggedly up from his stomach to the middle of his chest. It's hard to tell where he gained these scars but there seems to be many of them, tiny ones that fleck the skin of his arms, thin pale ones that dapple his neck and jaw and many, many others.
He seems proud of his many scars and can be found in black tank tops often, preferring to pair them with black jeans. Depending on the weather or how he's feeling about fashion, he can be caught in leather jackets.
Personality.
Honest and friendly, Alder is the kind of person who wears his heart on his sleeve and is willing to help wherever he can. Naturally the type of person who exudes charisma, he easily makes friends and seems to enjoy doing it. He has a passion for people and he's a born conversationalist with a seemingly endless fuel to talk. Though he's not without his flaws, he has a bit of a temper and it tends to flare up when it's least expected. He has trouble apologizing when he says something rude and will usually try to reason why he's done it.
Alder can never seem to focus, almost to an irritating extent. It's as if things slip in one ear and straight out the other. He finds it extremely hard to stay on one task and will often multi task through things. He never slows down, trying to cover as many things at once as he possibly can and often ends up overwhelming himself in tasks.
The First Part.
Alder was born April fifth of 1909 in New York City to a fairly well off family. He grew up surrounded in the finer things, eating with a silver spoon. His mother was a doting woman who treated him like a little prince and his father was a stern but kind man that taught him to care for all living things. He spent his days with his younger sister, Amaranth Emilie Reynolds, together they got into all kinds of trouble. They were the kind of kids that tip toed from their bedroom late at night to find the sweets that their parents kept hidden for special occasions. They grew up inseperable and they always backed each other up.
"I'll always be here to protect you, I promise." he had said, so young and so earnest.
She had been scared that night, the lightening making the window flash like large glowing eyes. The thunder made the house tremble and the rain sounded like pounding feet.
She had looked at him, her brown hair hanging in her pale blue eyes and a bright smile appearing on her lips. "Momma says that you make more promises than you know what to do with. She says that you can't possibly keep all of those promises."
"I do not!" he said indignantly. "I'd swear on this. If the old man that lives in the clouds came down right now, I'd well. . . I'd tell him to stop this nonsense!"
"Well then father would tell you to mind your manners. He'd say it in that grumpy way." though he could see that she was in awe of his bravery, the proclamation that he'd fight an unseen foe like that had made her strangely proud of him. "Alder, he'd say, mind your manners or else you'll be going to bed with no desert!"
"Let him. At least I will have stopped the rain for you, Ama."
As they grew, they kept helping each other in every way that they could. They studied together, they played together, they shared jokes and secrets. By the time they were teenagers, Amaranth had met a young man that she avoided introducing to Alder. It wasn't like his sister to keep secrets from him, so he became extremely curious about who this mystery man could be. Through some prodding and a little bit of guilting, his sister finally told him about the man that she had began courting. At first, he found himself somewhat scared that this man would marry his sister and move her somewhere far away though this fear turned into concern as she explained what he was.
"Alder, it's not that I don't want to tell you about him but. . . He's different."
She was looking faraway, her blue eyes fixed on some point in the distance. She kept tugging at the corner of her skirt, he could feel his own tension rising at the revelation that her secret was a man.
"You're not planning to elope, are you? You can't just leave like this, Ama. I need someone to talk to."
"No, no, Alder. He's just. . Oh, Alder. I don't know what to do." she sighed, looking up at him with anxiety ridden eyes. "I don't know if I should tell you."
"Is he hurting you? Has he threatened you?" he could feel his voice raising. "Ama, if he's done anything to you-"
"He's a vampire, Alder."
To his shock and outrage, his sister revealed to him that the man she had started to love was a vampire. He demanded that he meet the man and she arranged it. An argument broke out between them almost instantly and she tried to break it up, trying to explain to her enraged brother that the man wasn't a villain just because he was a vampire. Alder turned his harsh words on her, criticizing her choices and insulting the man that she was willing to throw her future away to pursue. They ended up locked in an argument of their own where she began to tear apart the fact that he couldn't follow her around like a lost puppy for his entire life.
"How could you expect me to just accept this, Ama? He's a monster! He drinks blood, for the love of all that's holy, can't you see this? This isn't a man, this is a creature!"
His voice was furious and loud, he was practically seeing red. This thing was masquerading as if he were normal and courting his sister, this thing was standing there, arm and arm with his sister and staring at him with dark eyes.
Her cheeks flushed pink with irritation, her blue eyes blazing furiously. "His name is Hammond!"
"I don't care if the damned have a name, Ama! Can't you see what he's doing?" he shot a glare pointedly at the sloe eyed man. "He feeds on stupid girls like you, girls that are utterly idiotic enough to believe that he doesn't want to hurt them. Can't you see that?"
"Oh, I'm the stupid one? At least I'm willing to see past my own nose, Alder. He's a person. He's just like me and you." her gaze softened a moment. "I'd prefer if you two didn't fight."
"I can't approve of this, Ama. He's not like us, he doesn't care about you and I'm not going to stand by idly while you fratinize with this creature." he spat the words like curses. "You need me, Ama. You won't have me around as long as you keep this monster by your side."
She looked up, her eyes narrowing. "You need me more than I need you, Alder and as long as you're going to continue to act in this childish manner, I'm not going to stick around either."
"Ha!" he snorted. "Try to go one day without me-"
"Alder, I have a life without you. I've proven that with Hammond, haven't I? What have you been doing for just about all of your life? Following me around as if you were lost." her words bit into his skin and and yet she continued with relentless venom. "You've never had a partner, you've never really had friends. All you do is spend your time following me around and God, Alder. I know you care about me but do I have to be with you constantly? Can you even think for yourself without me?
He blanched, blinking at her in astonishment and feeling himself reel back from her jagged words. "I-" he swallowed thickly and turned to the man, he even seemed startled. "This is your fault, you leech."
The insult fell weak and he left in a hurry.
Hurt by her words and unable to find a rebuttal, he spat a last insult at her beau and left in a fury. He spent that night on the streets, unable to bring himself to go home and face his sister. He didn't want to have to apologize to her for how he'd acted. It was around midnight when he ran into the man again, he was quick to tell him that he had only gotten so angry because Amaranth was his best friend as well as his sister. The man didn't seem to have the time to listen to him, so he became pushier. This time he stated that he wouldn't have gotten so angry if the man had just backed off from the argument. He realized that the man didn't seem to be responding to him at all and he grabbed him by the arm which made the man stop swiftly.
The man turned to him with a peculiar expression, his fangs sharp and bared to Alder. It was then that the man struck, it was then that fate decided he would become one of the Dusk. Time stretched for Alder as the man fed from him, the event would be one that would haunt him for years. The event would become one he'd never speak of again. His sister's beau only chose to save him because he feared that it would anger the one that he loved so dearly.
Alder rose a vampire and his sister was absolutely frantic, desperately trying to figure out what had happened. Alder wasted no time in angrily indicating the man that she loved had done this. Though the news startled his sister, she didn't seem angry. Alder was too overwhelmed in the change to fault her in that. The change caused unsettling sensations, a hunger that burned deep inside of him and a strange kind of hatred towards his changer. He grew to hate pure blooded vampires with something absolutely furious inside of him.
His sister tried to settle the situation, trying to make amends between two angry vampires proved nearly impossible. The three of them bickered and squabbled for what seemed like hours to the starving new vampire. Finally, with some angry parting words, Alder left them both. He set out on his own and never knew what had become of his younger sister and her Pure Blooded beau.
The Second Part.
After Alder left his sister, he was in something of a confused state. Hungry and haggard, he searched for something to satiate his growing thirst. It burned inside of him, it almost hurt not to be feeding and he didn't know what to do. Every human he passed carried a smell that made him nearly lose control and yet, he waited. He waited and watched, his entire body alight with the pain of fresh hunger that he couldn't satisfy. He waited and watched and thought about what he should do to fix this growing issue.
He would not allow himself to be a monster, he would not allow himself to sink his fangs into any of the children of the Dawn. He restrained himself, growing weaker than expected, growing more and more miserable with each moment that he didn't feed. He passed out in a very public square, pale, and sweating. It was only luck that another changed vampire found him instead of a human that might be inclined to take him to a hospital. A woman, a compassionate woman took him in. He would forget her name over many years, just another person lost in time but she nursed him back to health.
"Monsters, that's what we are, aren't we? We feed off the normal people. We're like leeches."
He remembered how she'd taken his hand and looked him in the face, the great depth of sadness in her eyes. "We don't have to be, Alder. I know you're angry that you were changed but that doesn't mean that you have to give up on your humanity. You were a Child of the Dawn once too."
"But I'm not anymore, I'm not human-" he began to sputter out, his temper flaring needlessly. "I'm a fucking-"
"That's our advantage, don't you think?" she asked, smiling until she dimpled. "We were humans once. We know what it's like, there's no need for an us against them attitude or a them against us attitude. We can learn from each other. We can help each other."
"How?"
So, she taught him. She taught him how to coexist amongst the children of the Dawn, how to befriend them. It was amazing how friends were willing to let you feed on them as long as you were careful. She taught him a lot of things, acted as a mentor to him. She was the whole reason that he learned restraint and control, she was the whole reason that he went from monster to just another child of the Dusk. They spent every moment together, she became like a replacement for the sister that he left behind.
Five years were spent in her home, sharing laughter and stories. They spoke of their families and their pasts, they spoke of their secrets and their grudges. She was eventually killed by a child of the Dawn. Her killer was a young man who looked shaken at his own actions, he stood over her body for hours, seemingly panicking. Alder, unable to act and very, very, confused, watched as this young man leaned down next to her body. He watched as the young man began to cry and that was when he revealed himself. The boy rushed him with the stake almost immediately, the end still stained with her blood.
Alder stumbled back, the wood just barely cutting the skin of his defensive arm. They faced off, the boy was trembling and Alder was overwhelmed in a rising grief.
"Why did you kill her?" he heard his voice, barely above a whisper. "She never hurt one of your kind, she was a good person."
"You're- You're all dangerous. Every single one of you. If we don't stop you then- then you'll take over everything. You'll kill us all." he spat, his eyes wild with fear. "One of you killed my sister, she's gone now. If I don't stop you-"
His voice was breaking, tears streaming down his cheeks. Alder felt strangely tender, stepping towards him with his hands out stretched to prove that he didn't intend to attack. "You had a sister? Was she younger than you?"
The boy tensed, holding the stake out defensively. "Yes. One of you killed her. Drained the blood from her body, I saw it."
"I don't doubt it," he said grimly, "What was your sister like? You can tell me about her, I'd really like to hear."
And they spoke for some time, Alder listened carefully as the boy told him about his sister. He even held him when he started to cry, the boy clung to him and Alder rubbed his back. It was an odd experience but it was one that stuck with him. In his home of five years, next to the body of his best friend, Alder held a child of the Dawn while he sobbed into his chest. He never forgot it, even after he left the boy, hoping that he'd left him with a different impression of the children of the Dusk. Even in his grieving, he thought of that confused, scared boy and realized how hard it was to truly be a child of the Dawn in a world full of monsters.
Being on his own again was like an unwelcome friend, he spent his days in the shadows. Almost always set into flight mode, his enemy became both children of the Dawn and Dusk because he'd seen the bad and good in both of them. He learned to fight over the years, battling his way out of anything that he could, even being responsible for the death of a few Pure Bloods. Mostly he kept to himself, holding friendly conversation with whoever would hear him.
When he got the letter from Luce Prima, he was excited for the chance to finally do something and eagerly made his way there.
Other.
He hates pure blooded vampires with a burning passion. He misses his sister a lot. He can't remember the name of the man his sister fell in love with, which is generally why he will only refer to him as that man or that creature.That creature's real name is Hammond Cartwright.
Appearance: First and foremost she is, at present, a spider centaur. Being a shapeshifter this could change in the future. Standing at an average of 6 feet she is not much taller than a human. But lack of height does not mean she is not a large creature. The top half of her body is reminiscent to that of a human in their late teens. Her skin is a pale almost white color. Raven black locks reach down to the small of her back. Her eyes are a striking green with three slitted pupil each. While not often on display she has two long fangs used to bite pray. Her front is covered by an exoskeleton that shield her chest and abdomen.
Her waist is where the human similarities end. Below that point is the black thorax of a spider that is easily twice the size of her upper body. Where the two halves meet protrude the eight legs of an enormous spider. The segments have spurs that can be used to grab and hold with each leg coming down to a narrow point. Tougher than the abdomen her legs are quite strong and durable as they must to be able to carry not only Lila but any pray she should snare. Her exoskeleton has a sheen in direct light despite being covered by tiny, sensitive hairs.
Personality: Being a young Jorogumo she is still wrestling with her identity as a creature of the depths. Unlike most of her kind that prefer to stay out of sight and where it is comfortable, Lila is somewhat adventurous and inquisitive. This has gotten her into trouble on more than one occasion both on the surface and deeper underground.
As a spider Lila's kind were left to fend for themselves as early as a few months, meaning there was little upbringing to speak of. Through care and cunning she survived and grew for hundreds of years until gaining her transformative powers. Relying on instinct kept are what kept a Jorogumo alive. For whatever reason Lila lacked the same instinctive traits. Even early on she would venture near the mouth of caves to look out at the world above. There wasn't much in the way of a system for education among her kind, she was a rarity after all. So knowledge only came from what she could see and acquire.
On the occasion where she would go out where she was visible most creatures would run and hide. However she has also been attacked before, mostly by humans, despite her attempts at peaceful conversation. Hard to get past the stigma that she was simply trying to lure people in to kill and eat them. Her curiosity did at times prompt her to act more like her instincts would drive her, catching humans and stringing them up. However, much to her captives dismay, she would not eat them, but talk with them and ask questions. Through these interactions she has learned to read and has a scattered mess of other knowledge. Due to lack of experience she is not yet able to take a fully human form but she chooses to have a human torse from the waist up.
Divided as a Dusk from the rest of the world, when the invitation came from the Academy of Luce Prima it was nearly dismissed by the whole of the Jorogumo race. Having caught wind of the invitation the youngling managed to get her hands on one. Despite warnings against meeting with humans she responded and made the journey the the academy where new discoveries awaited her.
Other: According to legend a Jorogumo is a spider that, after living for 400 years, gains the magical ability to shapeshift. Taking on a human appearance to lure prey in they are malevolent in nature. Rare and seclusive even to other subterranean dwellers. Many are wary to avoid the den of a Jorogumo because even when one cannot see the creature it is sure that they are nearby.
Name: Himari Watanabe Age: Looks in her twenties but is actually 132 Race: Kitsune
Appearance:
Her default form is one of a human that naturally has fox ears and three fox tails. She can also look like a simple human or a red fox.
Personality: Himari is a woman who's aura calls attention to herself as soon as she enters a room. Her head held high and walking with a purpose, she is a strong woman who takes crap from no one. She is independent and naturally does not want to rely on anyone. This is especially true for men as she does not want to end up as most kitsune women.
History:
Born to a Kitsune mother, Himari did not know her father. She heard that her father had been a human and her kitsune mother had tricked him into making her into his wife. When Himari's mother was found out to be a kitsune she ran off with her young child. This is a common story for many Kitsune women. Leaving her to be expected to follow the footsteps of the other Kitsune women in her hidden community. She lived in the normal human world, hiding her kitsune traits and pretending to be just another child of dawn. She was expected to become just another Kitsune bride not marrying for love and hoping to never be found as a non-human. She hated that this is what life had been expected of her and that's all she would be able to be. She wanted to make something of herself and not just be waiting till she was found out for being just who she is. She wants to be able to rely on herself and be proud of who and what she is.
Being born with supernatural beauty (a kitsune trait), she decided to use it to become a model. Appearing in ads around the country, she became someone could be proud of. She didn't depend on anyone in her kitsune community or any men. No matter who approached her with compliments and expensive gifts, she ignored them all as if they were just background noise. Instead she stood up tall and proud, not letting anyone use her and instead relied on her own strength to do all she could to make sure to get the best pictures possible.
Even though she didn't age past looking like someone in their twenties, she had to leave the modelling business as she couldn't let it be known she was a non-human. Angry at the fact that she had to hide who she was, she decided to find some way to make a difference in the way people view kitsune.
This is what led her to the Academy of Luce Prima. Here she is hoping to happily find a new life for herself and no longer hide who she is. So she left her tight knit community of Kitsune women and children that hid as humans within the city and made her long journey towards the academy.
Other: Kitsune are shapeshifters that are known to be able to control different elements. She controls fire. Himari has a soft spot for alcohol as since she was told to never drink in case her tails might appear, she now really enjoys being able to drink sake.
Seorsa's appearance could only be described by what the mortals call “passing.” Unlike many other wood elves whose skin tone tends to be copper in nature, Seorsa's is fair like the bark of a birch tree giving him a more cool toned appearance than that of his warmer skinned brethren. His hair follows his cool skinned tone being a beautiful pale autumnal red. It's in a medium length bushy style that gives off an almost innocent vibe to Seorsa, helps cover the tips of his ears, and is typically adorned with a flower crown consisting of jasmine vine, ranunculus, hellebore, and viburnum berries which are interwoven through each other and his hair using magic (though the flowers may change depending on season). Seorsa stands at a mere five feet eight inches sporting a slender frame as many elves do. His face is be-speckled across his cheeks and nose only, helping to not only accentuate the pale skin beneath but also the forest green eyes that tend to entrance most who stare into them. A good portion of his clothing is hempen if not leather or pure cotton and would typically consist of an asymmetrically cut jacket with a hood, a plain loose fitting shirt that falls mid thigh, and well fitting pants, president styled boots, and an assortment of bracelets, and necklaces.
Personality:
Seorsa's appearance lends to the idea that he is what is typically referred to as a “cinnamon roll” and although he argues that he isn't a baked delicacy, they would be correct for the most part in the assumption. He tries to be a healer above all else and can be naive at times when it comes to how people treat him. Seorsa is a friendly and compassionate person who believes there is some good to everyone even when they don't know it themselves. His love for nature is almost unmatched and is one of the few reasons why he sees humans with both pity and disdain for the atrocities they have committed to the planet. Just like belladonna, one must take for how they treat Seorsa for not only is he capable of using his herbology and magic to heal and help but he is also well versed in how to use it to both fight, defend, and poison those who wish to vex him or his friends.
History:
At a young age Seorsa began to exhibit his potential for magic as well as his interest in nature. What better place to be raised in then then the ancient forests where most wood elves dwelled, hidden away from a variety of creatures most of all humans. It was in these forests that he called home and was gifted the name of Seorsa Atar which in his native tongue translated roughly to “Natures Father.” He began his training with other elven mages in order to hone his skills and bring them to new heights; this training took a good portion of his years as he was skilled in elemancy including phosphoromancy, cultivating these skills to better help nature and grow a variety of herbs, flowers, and so on. He opened up his own herbal shop in his elven village which consisted of many homeopathic rememdies, as well as teas, herbs used for cooking, sages for burning and many more useful botanical beauties all grown right in the shop by Seorsa himself.
As Seorsa's magic began to grow, as well as his love for nature, he began to form a strong connection to the life that pulsated within each piece of natures splendor which only served to divide him from those who sought to bring harm to it. Many years passed that the elves could live in peace, though hidden away, they never had to fear the ruthlessness of man nor endure the pollution they brought with them. Seorsa knew this pollution as “the blight of man” and viewed it as a dark curse that would soon destroy all life that inhabited the planet. It came as a huge surprise when one day a missive arrived at the pleasant village and informed the villagers that the land no longer belonged to them and would have to be forfeited within the next lunar cycle to make way for the new cities that were to be built. A commotion broke out as cries and pleas flew out of elven tongues saying that this was their home and that the humans should reconsider what it is they asked of them. It was then that the village elder came forth and placed his hand up silencing the crowd and reminded them who they were, what a proud race they are and that no matter where they venture they will always find home in nature. Seorsa's heart broke at the news that not only would his home and shop be demolished but that the blight had reached their forests and would soon leave it a desolate waste of concrete and smog as humans tend to create and it was at this moment that he realized that perhaps the humans were as cold as the stone they laid down.
Now in his century Seorsa has put up a new shop selling the same form of wares but in the slums of a human city. His people ran out of places to hide and were forced to live in the slums of the city with hair disheveled and hidden ears, their tongue barely spoken unless in secret in order to hide their heritage so as to quell the disdain that humans held for the children of the dusk. His prices were more than reasonable for he realized that those who lived in this area whether children of the dusk or dawn, were all looked down upon as the scum slathered on the bottom of a heel. He aided any who needed healing using his tonics and potions as best he could to cure the many diseases that continuously popped up due to the horrid living conditions. If not for his ability to grow his family and many others would have starved many years ago. Though Seorsa held some darkness in his heart towards humans he knew and recognized that those that surrounded him and the children whose smiles would appear when he would aid them were not the same monsters that tore down his home and most likely had no idea of the vile actions those men did. It was in the back of his shop one day as the doors were closed for the evening that he received the letter as he was working on growing a new crop of Echinicea to help with the growing spread of fevers across the slums. He was unsure of how to feel at the notion but knew that if there was knowledge that he could attain on how best to serve these people and to show these humans what natures values are, then he would do what it takes to acquire it and so he set forth.
Sierra weighs approximately 130lbs and stands at a staggering 5'3. She's solidly built, with a well-muscled body, the result of an active lifestyle. Her features seem somewhat mixed in ethnicity, though clear features such as a wide nose, olive skin, almond-shaped eyes and a short, round face hint at mixed Inuit heritage. Her hair is black and cropped messily short (like this), and her eyes are golden brown.
Sierra sports scars like bumper stickers. The most noticeable is a set of three long, jagged lines which rip from below her right ear, over the corner of her jawbone and down to the crook of her collar bone. She also has a little, jagged wedge missing from her left ear, and lots of little nicks around her throat and ankles. These are more noticeable in her humanoid form, and covered by her thick fur when transformed (although the nicks around her ankles and cut in her ear are visible).
Upon her arrival at Luce Prima, Sierra is a little skinnier than normal, and her hair has grown out to more of a messy bob. When transformed, her coat is shabby and in relatively poor condition.
Personality
Sierra lived a secluded life with very little exposure to people other than her own kind. As such, some of the intricacies of human and other cultures are lost on her. She can carry on a conversation pretty normally, but when it comes to sensitive or impolite topics, Sierra doesn't really know when to stop. Honestly, it just doesn't occur to her that not everyone may want to hear about the subtle art of breaking a rabbit's neck in graphic detail.
Having lived a very structured life, Sierra always subconsciously searches for her "place" in new relationships. She is very apprehensive of strangers, having been taught not to trust them. While she wants to become more self-sufficient, Sierra is generally more comfortable when someone else is calling the shots. Her life until now had very clear roles, and as such Sierra is very sensitive to authority, and very unlikely to challenge it.
This structure continues on an emotional level. Sierra has a very thick skin and instead of getting angry, she is far more likely to take her lumps and laugh it off with eyes downcast. She'll fight if cornered, but flight is normally her preferred option. To her, "normal" is being the butt of every joke and the outlet of frustration, and as such has trouble asserting herself. However, under the submissive exterior one can see a wild spirit with no mean bone in her body.
Sierra was, in fact, raised by wolves. Perhaps even more literally than others of her kind. While many other werewolves live among humans and hide themselves, or try to coexist, Sierra was raised exclusively around other werewolves in a remote village in the expansive forests of northern British Columbia. Her pack consisted of her immediate family (herself and her father) and the families of her uncle and aunt, who each had several children, of which Sierra was the youngest. The parents loathed humans, drawing on stories told to them by their elders of how the humans forced the Children of Dusk into exile. As such, the children never saw the world beyond the many hectares of forest they called theirs, though the adults sparingly (and grudgingly) traded with humans of the nearest towns, selling furs to buy what they couldn't provide for themselves.
Sierra's family pack was very close, however that didn't mean things were all fun all the time. No, her father, aunt and uncle (leaders with their own inner hierarchy) ran a tight ship, with Sierra's father at the helm. Insolence and disobedience was met with swift and painful correction. They didn't arrange themselves into ranks (aside from her father's traditional title of Alpha) but rather, a pecking order formed as the children grew older and stronger - a pecking order with Sierra decidedly at the bottom. Sierra became a lightning rod for the frustrations of her larger, stronger cousins, frequently finding herself at the sharp end of a snap or last in line to eat.
When she was younger, and just gaining her ability to transform, the pecking order bothered her. However, as she grew, she came to realize that her role in the pack was essential; without her, they would turn on each other. Perhaps, she concluded, it was her role in life to absorb the tension and keep the peace.
However, werewolves are not the same as wolves. They still have human wants and needs, no matter how much they deny it. So it would come as no surprise to an outsider that Sierra's position in her family wore on her nonetheless. On the surface, she was content with the strict life she led, with any important decisions made for her. Once she grew out of the obligatory rebellious phase (one she grew out of very quickly) she never even thought to question the authority of her father, uncle or aunt. She even obeyed her cousins, knowing it was best to get along. She really felt content with that. However, deep down, the suppressed human side of her was wilting. Thoughts began to worm her way into her mind: that she belonged at the bottom of the heap because the others were better than her, that she was too stupid to call the shots, too weak to challenge anyone. That this was her place because she wasn't enough to be any more. She thought these feelings were normal and even accepted them, but something continued to knaw at her.
It was a few years before she realized her unhappiness. She couldn't tell what it was; she thought she was happy where she was, that she belonged here. With her family, away from humans. The humans she'd been taught to hate. But she had never felt the hate burn inside her like it did in her father; to her, humans were little more than a folk tale. So when a mysterious letter somehow, impossibly, found its way to her home, she was intrigued. She hid the letter from her father (for she knew he would burn it) and read the thing over at least a hundred times. For weeks she deliberated, until finally her newfound longing to see the world beyond the trees overcame her fear of leaving. Turning away from her pack felt deeply wrong, and many times on her journey she almost turned back. If not for fear of getting caught, she probably would have.
Other Sierra has a basic level of reading comprehension, but no formal education.
She met a human once, a lost hiker. It was freaky. Of course, the hiker wasn't a big fan of it either.
I've been known to tweak sheets after I post them, but this is the gist.
Name: Jacques "Jack" Laveau Age: 20 Race: Human Witch (He hates being called a Warlock. Warlocks make deals with demons and he does not.) Appearance:
Being raised in a family of mostly women, Jacques is very interested in his looks. Despite being raised mostly in the swamps, he tends to wear nice clothing whenever he can. When he is in the shop, Jacques wears a nice three piece suit since his Grandmother taught him to always look his best when doing a job. People remember the witch in the three piece suit more than one wearing twigs and sticks.
He tends to work out almost every day. It pays to be able to run away from the werewolf hot on your heels. Some Children of Dusk are stronger than him but it pays to keep them at bay. On his chest, he has a Enochian Tattoo on his chest that his Grandmother put on his chest.
Personality
Jacques has always been a child of two worlds. His family, the Laveaus, have always been a part of the two worlds. They try to keep the peace in New Orleans and offer whatever they need for a price. Due to this, Jacques never had a hatred of humans. His grandmother taught him that they were just confused creatures that were fighting back since that was all they could do. People would always try to fight off the monster wolf thing eating their kids. Thus, Jacques seems to almost care for people if they treat him well. He was raised in the chaos of the French Quarter surrounded by all kinds of people and that lead to his feelings towards others. He does have issues with bigots though. If anyone thinks that their species is the best, then there will be issues.
Jacques never turns anyone down if they need his help for a good reason. He's cheerful but can change his mood in a second. One minute he could be laughing and joking and the next he could be angrily casting some sort of spell against his target. He tends to hit on anyone regardless of gender though he does prefer men over women. He tends to have issues with commitment unless he can find the right person.
History
To understand Jacques Laveau, you need to look at his history. It all begins with with his great great great (He forgot how many great) grandmother Marie Laveau being born in the French Quarter of New Orleans. Over the years Marie Laveau became one of the most powerful people in the City. People of all walks of life would come to her little shop on Bourbon Street. It became the center of the magic in the Southern United States with people traveling from as far as the capital to speak to the Queen. She would help those that needed it and bring down the proud and the mighty. Slave owners were a preferred target with curses being leveled on their fortunes. Over the years, more outcasts were drawn to the French Quarter and the promise of protection. Marie knew how to hide certain groups from the ever watchful eyes of the humans. As all people must do, Marie Laveau died June 16, 1881. Before her death, she made her children swear to keep her laws and raise their children in the right way. She was buried at the Saint Louis No. 1 Cemetery where her descendants would be brought right before learning the family magics.
The Laveaus were known for being champions of the downtrodden turning the French Quarter and made the area a haven for all kinds of people. Children of the Dusk and Dawn were all welcome in the Quarter as long as they kept to the rules. No one was allowed to spill blood in the Quarter or else they would suffer the consequences. No one wanted to get on the bad side of the family so they kept to the rules. The main rule was to always keep hidden from the outside world. They were forbidden from using their powers in the sight of a human since that usually would lead to torch wielding mobs descending on the Quarter. Since it was the only sanctuary in the area, most would just accept the rules. For years, there would be a Queen of the Quarter until the current generation.
Jacques' mother, Jean , had always been a wild child. She would fight with her mother, the current Queen, all the time. During one of these fights she met Him (Jacques' Grandmother always called the man Him) and eventually she got pregnant. The only thing Jacques knew about him was that he was not a witch and that was why his Grandmother hated the man so much. Despite her hatred of the man, she still cared for her daughter and did everything to read her grandchild's future as custom stated. She discovered two things. One was that she was going to have a magically gifted grandson (which was rare in the family) and that her daughter would not live to see his first sunrise. Despite the cost, Jean accepted her fate and life moved on.
On June 16, at 2 am., she gave birth to Jacques. Just as the vision had shown, she died at 5:59 am a minute before sunrise. Before she died, she made her mother swear to raise Jacques as a proper member of the family. The elder Laveau kept her promise to her daughter and raised her grandson in the ways of magic. Despite Jacques constant questions, she would never talk about his father and his "aunts" (fellow Quarter witches) kept quiet as well.His life was an interesting one. From the time he was eight years old, his grandmother used to take him into the shop to help her. Jacques knew that some day the shop would be his and that meant that he had to learn how to control his magic. That seemed difficult when he nearly destroyed a classroom after throwing a tantrum. After that moment, his grandmother put a control mark on his chest to keep him under control. It seemingly worked since he did not have another outburst like that.
His life was relatively normal as he followed her teachings. One day, his grandmother decided that her grandson was going to be sent Luce Prima and the academy there. He needed to learn more about the world outside NOLA and the city was a great place to learn.
Other
His family's shop in the city. The shop is haunted by the ghost of a young girl, name Anna Marie, who is bound to a book in the store. Despite her non living status, the ghost is knowledgeable in the many magical methods. Then there is Tommy,a haunted doll, hidden on the shelf. It tries to go through the motions of being an evil doll but always seems to fail. Crayon writing on the wall is not exactly terrifying and Jack learned a long time ago to ignore his attempts. He is a useful security method since most people would be terrified of a knife wielding doll.
The Shop sells everything from acne cures, gris-gris bags, voodoo dolls (for the gullible), actual hex dolls (for those in the know), and other magical needs. The shop is designed to supply whatever magical you need at a cost of course. Jacques knows what he is doing when it comes to selling goods. He does magical spells for a price but always tries to give the customer what they want. If a lovelorn girl asks for a love spell, her love will love her if she can pay the price. Jacques learned how to run a shop watching his grandmother run the family shop in New Orleans. The sign above the door reads :"Magic Man in Shop. Curses, Spells, and Talismans for Sale. Whatever you need for a price.".
A Family Heirloom handed down through the generations.. Jacques can use the spells without the book but having the book makes the spell work better. They mostly revolve around binding spells, curses, summoning spells, and other voodoo spells.
His Grandmother taught him the Rules of the Family. They were made by the original Mama Laveau.
"Never ever try to raise the dead, child. Them gods of death like to keep their own and exact a high price for their prisoners' return to the Land of the Living."
"People will come for what they need of you if you stay just out of sight but not hidden."
"Always do as you promise. If you are paid to do something, you do it. "
"There is a price for everything, ma cher. Remember that price."
Jacques is fluent in: English, French, Haitian Creole, Latin, and Greek. He tends to speak with a slight Creole twang.
He learned how to fight with his fists more than his magic. He had to be able to fight if he wanted to survive in New Orleans.
It was put on him when he was young and nearly destroyed his preschool class. The tattoo is a binding spell of sorts that seems to be written in Enochian (the language of the Angels) and describes the angels of heaven.
Personality - Leofrick Entoris has seen many of his friends and family perish over the years to both Children of Dusk and Children of Dawn, this in turn has made him wary of any and all races. Secluding himself and cutting all interactions with people to a bare minimum, Leofrick spent most of his days training, surviving or meditating, only interacting when absolutely needed. He believes that no one race is greater than another, but more that a persons actions or attitude define them as an individual. He harbors no ill intent for any race, but instead tries to asses from a far.
History -
Leofrick was born into a family of hunters, his tribe, The Entoris, were skilled archers, trappers and such. At a young age, he was taught all about animals, nature, setting traps, tracking and everything else that made them true hunters. His father, Nuvian, was the best hunter of the tribe and quickly became the chief. His skill in leadership and unwavering courage seemed to spread like a wild fire through the souls of the tribe. The tribe was to prosper in life, to outlast the war between man and creature by staying away, however, two key events caused not only the extinction of the tribe, but also journey Leofrick would undertake.
It was just after Leofrick turned the age of 10, his uncle, Venalia, had gone missing from the tribes land. Search party after search party went sent passed the tribes borders to find him, but alas, nothing. It wasn't until a human was caught wondering into the sacred forest, caught in one of the traps set for pigs, he was brought back to the main huts. He was only a young boy, no older than Leofrick, he told the story of how his people found a strange man with pointy ears, and they captured the creature and hold it in one of the towns on the border. An uproar began among the tribe, many wanted to burn the town down in search for Venalia, others were unsure. The boys name was Bruce, and he had left his family as he feared the war would be the end of his life, it was decided he would live with the chief and his son until a decision could be made at a later date. Nuvian, however, put aside his personal needs and put the tribe first, saying that no Elf will attack the humans, less they be sucked up into an endless war, this decision, as pure of heart it was, was the first sign of extinction.
Many of the more arrogant Entori's began to question the chiefs ability to lead the tribe. Whispers of cowardliness and weakness bounced from mouth to ear. The tribe grew restless, the kids began to bully Leofrick for being with the human, however, to Leofrick, the human had done nothing wrong, his family however, were the ones who caused this.
A week had passed since Venalia's location had been discovered and the tribe was at an end, a divide arose, and through divide, emerged conflict. Tensions began to boil, what was once a happy tribe, began to turn to hatred. When hope for prosperity began to become nothing but a fleeting memory, a figure emerged from the dense forest, Venalia, beaten and bloody. Once treated, he spoke of how he was captured and tortured by the humans, and the only stopping him from spilling all of the tribes secrets such as locations, strategy's or skills, is that he knew, his big brother, the chief of the skilled hunters, would come for him, but he never did. After finally getting loose and slaughtering the whole town in a bloody brawl, he only wanted one thing, for his brother to know that he... understood why he didn't come for him, why putting the tribe in the cross hairs of war was not an option. This however... was all but a lie.
Learning of the tension that surfaced in his absence, he rallied those who challenged the chiefs authority and threw a coup. Those who remained loyal to Nuvian fought back, creating a civil war in the tribe. Family against family, friends against friends and in the end, brother against brother. As Nuvian and Venalia fought on equal grounds, trading blows and cuts, Leofrick watched from a distance with the young human, sheltering and protecting him. The coup ended the moment Venalia impaled his brother, a twisted smile etching across his face as he did so. Those who remained loyal were executed, and the handful of traitors who survived were ordered to find his nephew. Leofrick, shocked, scared and confused moved on instinct alone, grabbing the boys hand, he ran deeper into the forest.
Quickly being pursued, Leofrick made his way through the forest with the boy, dodging traps and avoiding known hunting grounds, until he was out in the open. Making it only halfway through an oval clearing, an arrow penetrated his knee, forcing him to drop hard and quick, bringing the boy down with him. They were quickly surrounded, no way to run, the end of the loyalists of Entori's. Venalia stepped forward from the group, his expression twisted with madness, a clear unwavering sign that this wasn't acted on whim or moment of bad judgement, this was a plan that had just been executed perfectly. This was the next crucial event that changed Leofrick's life.
The pain in his back was indescribable, he could feel the warmth of blood flow down his skin, seeping through his shirt and cloak. Leofrick had no idea what happened, his body began to lose control, the ability to turn his head was almost impossible, but he did it. He saw the same twisted smile, but it didn't come from his uncle, no, it came from Bruce. His outstretched arm was lost inside Leofricks back, twisting as he pulled it away, his hand engulfed in crimson red. Leofrick dropped face down to the ground, his body in shock, his vision was fading. The chuckle from his uncle kept him from leaving the plane of the living. With every ounce of his power, Leofrick raised his head to him and muttered only one word... "Why?"
"Your father was a strong warrior, but always failed to make the RIGHT decisions! Staying out of this war? What good did he think that would do? Who ever won, we would've ended up being their slaves. No, he needed to be removed and replaced, but he had all the support, who would dare remove a beloved leader? That's when I met young Bruce here, well, young is a relative turn. Bruce here, is a vampire, and he helped me construct this little coup. Selling the story of humans capturing me, the chiefs own brother! I knew he wouldn't come, I planned on it. I had one or two elves on my side already, sowing the seeds of doubts into the minds of the tribe, while Bruce, observed and reported back to me. It all went to plan my dear nephew, and once you finally kick it, I'll rebuild, we'll take over neighboring lands and WE'LL be the ones who enslave!"
That was it, Leofrick was going to die and his tribes name was going to be forgotten, this was how it was going to end. As his eyes began to fail, his breathing staggering, the last of his control fleeting from him, he felt an unusual feeling, a strange power beginning to grow from deep within his stomach. The power began to run through his whole body, his fingers tingled, his toes wiggled once again, and eventually, the strength to stand on his feet. His uncles smiled dissipated, the elves grew cautious. He could feel the power needing to be released.
He threw his hands at a small group of elves, and in an instant, the very ground beneath them sank quickly, devouring their bodies below. With another flick of his wrist, two more were engulfed in flames. With all but his uncle and Bruce remaining, they lashed at him. Bruce was already in attacking range, swiping for Leofricks throat, however his arm was trapped within a root that seemed to appear from the ground, it continued to grow up his arm until it shot through his heart and back into the ground, his life quickly flickering before finally laying to rest.
His uncle was angered, he drew his sword, dashing for Leofrick. Leofrick could feel all the rage, the pain, the death from his fellow dead tribesman, and in one swift move, he too lunged at his uncle, his hand glowing red and illuminating the world around them. He punched through the sword, shattering into a shower of metal, his arm kept going, until it had finally reached his destination, his chest. His hand laid to rest around his rib cage, blood dripping out of his uncles mouth, his arm resting to his side. Before saying what he wanted, Leofrick felt faint, the power he once felt was no longer strong, and he fell backwards, with his uncle falling to the ground beside him.
Nenetl's appearance is quite something. Wearing a skin tight black shirt to hide her chest and abdomen, which are covered by tribal tattoos, her uncommon ritualistic robes adorned with feathers, beads and decorations made of bone and even a necklace made of the same material give her an incredibly exotic appearance, coupled with her skin tone and the unusual way her hair is tied, with two bronze decorations ending in two crescent blades. The black lipstick and makeup coupled with her unusual eyes make her even more exotic.
Her choice for clothes is certainly unique. Hailing from the deepest parts of the Central American jungle where few dare to go, she favors light clothes and doesn't wear shoes as she prefers to feel the earth with her bare skin. When necessary, she wear shoes made of cloth, similar to bandages.
Standing at 1,68m, Nenetl has a curvaceous and gracious body, but beneath her smooth skin, she hides well toned muscles giving her an exotic beauty.
Personality
Nenetl is a strong woman. The way she walks, her expression... All that contributes to the strong aura she emits. It's undeniable that she had quite an impacting presence. Be it because of her appearance or her personality, its almost impossible to ignore her. Regarding her personality, Nenetl is rarely in a bad mood. Although she is a serious woman when she needs to be, amongst friends, she is rather easygoing and enjoys a good conversation, even though sometimes she might prefer being alone.
Belongings
- Animal Leather Pouch and Bone Dagger: Inside the animal leather pouch on her belt, there is a thin, needle like bone dagger, carved with an intricate pattern. Made of an unusually strong bone, it is used both for rituals and as a backup weapon.
- Crescent Pendulum: Previously, it was the head of a big ritualistic axe, used for executions and blood offerings. Now, she uses it with a strip of silk as a weapon and as a medium for her rituals.
History
The Aztec empire. One of the biggest and bloodiest empires of the pre Colombian civilizations, flourished on a soil bathed by gold and blood, it's safe to say that the amount of blood sacrifices and bloodshed due to the conflicts between empires was enough to alter the flow of magic on that location. The native shamans and mages already knew about that, and often used that abundance of magic due to the favorable geographic location to make their empires prosper even more. In their endless greed for more gold and power, the flow of magic, the souls of the dead and the spirits of the land started getting out of control... Even though all those sensitive enough to the supernatural could tell that, the human greed knows no boundaries... As the blood flowed through the stone steps, bathing their temples and the soil... The very thing that made that empire flourish, was just one small thread away from sending it back to nothing. When other civilizations from beyond the sea came, invading that earth and bringing their greed with them and completely slaughtering the Aztecs, the land could take no more. It was at the brink of catastrophe... Ignoring their own lives and their own kin's, a group of shamans conducted a ritual in one of the last temple that wasn't completely destroyed by the invaders, sacrificing their own lives and a pure child's life to try and contain the huge outburst of magic.
There is where Nenetl's story begins...
Nenetl was the youngest child of a long lineage of shamans. Born and raised in a place teeming with magic, it was only natural for her to have an incredible affinity to it... Even though she was just a child, the fact that she was a shaman gave her much more importance than a common person. Raised in a prospering civilization, everything couldn't be more perfect. The Aztec empire seemed to be unbeatable. But everything changed when the Spaniards invaded. With their powerful guns, the powerful Aztec swords, spears and their mighty warriors were useless... Their cunning tactics and powerful weaponry far surpassed anything the Aztecs could even imagine... Even though the bloodshed was not strange to Nenetl, as she already did blood sacrifices even when young, there was another thing going on that left the powerful Aztec shamans unable to do anything to answer to the Spaniard invasion...
After years and years of blood sacrifices, conflicts and rituals, bathing the earth with blood, the flow of magic became too strong and distorted. In order to contain an outburst of magic, there was only one thing to do... Ignoring their own empire, their own kin and forfeiting their own lives, the shamans opted to do what they should have been doing for a long time... Their negligence in fulfilling their duties of maintaining the balance to favor their own empire was finally taking its toll...
On the day that the ritual would be performed, Nenetl was not afraid, nor sad, instead she displayed no emotions. Now with 18 years, she knew deep down inside that it was time to pay for not only her negligence, but the other shamans as well. As they made their procession to the top of the pyramid, their expressions were of shame and guilt. They were the only ones accountable for that disaster. Blinded and consumed by their own greed, the time to pay the price had finally come...
One by one, the ceremonial axe descended, cutting their heads clean off as their blood bathed the stone steps. From older to younger, they would sacrifice themselves, then the remaining shamans would swiftly take out the deceased's heart, placing it on a bowl together with the others. One after another, they silently fulfilled their duties until Nenetl was the last one remaining.
Nenetl knew that her part was the hardest one. She would have to quickly take out her own heart and place it on the bowl before dying. Ironically enough, the one to pay the heftiest price, was the youngest one, who wasn't nearly as guilty as the older ones...
Holding the ceremonial bone knife pointed to her chest, Nenetl looked up, to the sun shining over their heads, as if it was patiently waiting for the ritual's completion. She was nervous not with her death, but with the ritual. She didn't know if she would be able to deal with the pain and complete the ritual...
"Tonatiuh, give me Nanauatzin's determination, help me to complete the ritual..." Nenetl said, in a prayer to the god of sun and the previous god of sun, who had sacrificed himself in a fire so that the sun should continue to shine over the world.
As Nenetl plunged the dagger into her chest, she screamed with pain. She could feel it piercing her chest, forcibly cutting her arteries, carving a path around her heart.
"Just... a... bit... more..." She thought to herself, as she struggled to stay conscious although she was already feeling her arms and legs loosing their strength.
It didn't matter how much she tried, the loss of blood was too much as she found herself without strength to even keep herself standing up, falling on her knees...
She opened her mouth in a silent lament as her voice failed her. Crawling towards the stone bowl where the other hearts were, tears rolled down her face. She failed. She had no strength left to even hold the dagger anymore... As she fell on the ground to her last breath, the bowl fell off the sacrifical table, bathing her with the blood of the other shamans, as their hearts fell over her. The ritual failed. The ensuing magic outburst would be enough to wipe the entire Aztec territory off the map...
Her vision, red with the blood of the very shamans who created her started to become dark. The last thing she could see and hear was the sun on the sky and a thunderous crack as the pyramid opened beneath her, sending her to what would be her cold, stony tomb.
"...failed..." Nenetl thought with her last breath...
A long time passed, the Aztec empire was forgotten, everything that they did, everything that they were was now lost to the ages, together with the ruins of the pyramid Nenetl died... The ruins, forgotten and untouched for centuries, were still there, exactly how they were over four hundred years ago.
Amongst the ruins, covered with plants and skeletons, Nenetl opened her eyes once more, with a panicked gasp. Where the dagger once were on her chest, now was covered with an intricate tattoo, glowing with a faint blood red color and covering all her abdomen. Dizzy and confused, the first thing she did was to get out of the ruins. After a long time moving the stones she was finally out. Surrounded by a forest, she looked up, only to see the sun once more. Exactly the same way it was when she 'died'.
Right at the entrance of the ruins, the ceremonial axe's head stood there, completely untouched by the time, side by side with the ceremonial bone dagger she plunged into her chest centuries ago...
Nenetl didn't know what happened on the day she died, but she was alive once more. Standing over the grass, feeling the sun kissing her skin... She still remembered the pain, the shame and guilt she felt... They were all too real, but even though... she was there, standing up, breathing... alive.
Getting the bone knife and the ceremonial crescent axe head, she stumbled through the forest, wearing the same clothes she was wearing on the day she 'died'... This time, she wouldn't fail...
Abilities/Skills
Shamanism - Nenetl is a shaman, a bridge that links this world to the spiritual world. She is able to sense spirits and see the spiritual world (limited precognition or retrocognition) Using dances and sacrifices (often using a drop of blood, either her own or someone else's), she can conjure minor spirits such as elementals to strengthen her own body and physical capabilities, imbue her weapon with elemental energy and even change the weather.
Nenetl is also able to make spiritual contracts either with spirits. Although spiritual contracts are a hard and lengthy thing to do, requiring some preparation, they cannot be violated by any means. These contracts can do many things, but they need to be accepted by either parties. As a basic rule of any spiritual contract, it cannot create anything out of nothing. It can only link, transfer or bind.
All in all, there are a lot of things that Nenetl can do, but she always need to offer a sacrifice (a drop of blood would suffice for minor spirits such as the ones to strengthen her body, her physical abilities and most elemental spirits) and if she tries to conjure a powerful spirit, she needs to give something more, since the spirit itself will demand an equal exchange. Dealing with powerful spirits (differently from elemental spirits) its incredibly tricky, since they are intelligent and if you do something wrong, including messing up the ritual they can and will possess the shaman.
By projecting her spirit out of her body (her body enters a coma like state) she is able to directly interact with the spiritual realm, and effectively 'spirit walk', going as far as temporarily sealing someone's magic.
While in combat, Nenetl can use this ability when directly touching someone, sending a pulse of spiritual energy from her soul in order to seal a target's magic abilities for a small period of time.
Other
- Nenetl (pronounced Nenet) in Nahuatl means "Doll" or "Idol".
- Part of Nenetl's tattoos can be seen even over the black shirt as they glow with a faint, but noticeable blood red color.
- She loves chocolate, coffee and pepper. She doesn't know exactly why, but those things are certainly her weak spot.
While Akira hides himself in a normal cat's body, he has fully grown into what seems to be as big as a horse on four legs.
Age: 312; doesn't physically age after initially being turned
Race: Bakeneko
Personality: Akira has been and is still a mischievous yokai. He is always seen with a smile and is generally a happy being. His smile turns into a sly smirk whenever he's planning on doing something, but it has been quite rare as of late as he just wants to have a good time. He doesn't seek much from life aside from just finding something to have fun with. Whenever he's not in the mood for pranking, he is friendly and approachable. Akira loves interacting with others - and even mingling with humans. He doesn't have a strong opinion on them. He's grown far too apathetic with what they're doing over the years that he only likes messing everything up for anyone out there - when he chooses to.
Akira is far too easygoing and rarely takes anything seriously. However, he is actually a curious being so he often disguises himself so that he could enter human settlements to read books or find out about their new inventions or whatever. Over the years, he's been a scholastic type of being but often gets hindered by his true nature as a Bakeneko. He doesn't have a short fuse, but when he does snap, he goes absolutely ballistic. It's in his nature to do so.
History:Akira started off as a normal cat. He was adopted by the Igarashi family when he was just a kid and was given the name ‘Akira’. He enjoyed his time there as he was well taken care of. However, his master’s husband had died from old age. The family continued on fine but Akira admits that he missed the guy. The next tragedy that befell the Igarashi family was when his master’s son died because of some sort of lover’s rivalry, the killer being part of the Ueda family. Akira was sad, but it wasn’t really much of a problem to him. Humans tend to die easily, just like him.
But the mother had spiralled into depression and kept talking to Akira, pouring all the sadness, hatred and other negative feelings on the cat. Akira had turned fourteen years old when his master committed suicide. He turned into a yokai, a Bakeneko, after licking lamp oil that had been tossed over during one of his master's wife's tantrums. He began haunting the Ueda household, bringing misfortune and confusing them greatly. They had become a cursed household and they died out. This is also the time when Akira adopted his master’s son’s appearance as his default human form.
Finding no purpose in the world, Akira began travelling all over the country, bringing misfortune on the family that deserves it. He never had a master after the Igarashi family so he was a simply yokai stray, not that many would appreciate having such a cat-yokai in their home. When the fiftieth year passed, Akira had stopped his mischievous rampage and settled down.
Years passed. Wars happened. Akira watched as death and destruction paved its way to peace and prosperity for the human race. He wasn't exactly sure how well they were handling things, or if that they were even doing a good job, but he didn't really care anymore. He was only just more interested in his fellow misfits than those humans who became the 'majority'. More and more years passed and he began toying with his powers, and learning more about everything else. Science and technology, along with magic and the supernatural was very interesting to mess around.
Now that he had gotten the letter that allowed for him to freely practice around the Children of Dawn. Interested, he flew to Luce Prima a bit before it was opened just to talk with the scholars. But now, he decided to stay to act as a researcher along with the scholars because of his keen interest in it.
Other: - Touching his tail will cause a burning sensation on the part that is used to touch it. It will only grow hotter, the longer one holds it. Brushing against it will cause only a very minor irritation that will quickly pass. - Akira detests the consumption of human flesh, but doesn't deny that it actually tastes good. - He actually has quite a number of treasures that he has collected over the years; hence how he was able to afford going to Luce Prima.
Illusion - He is able to cast illusions onto others which he had learned throughout the years. It's what he uses to mainly mess with people. He's been able to make illusions that can trick the five senses - but never actually bring harm to anyone aside from a little fright.
Shapeshifting - He can change his size when on his cat form and also take a human form - this is for mingling with humans.
Stomach of Steel - He's able to eat anything and even prefers eating poisonous things.
