Cherrywitch

Highschoolers, Fight on!

Name: Raphael “Raph” Offgood
Age: 15
Race: Actually is a changeling from the seelie court of fairies, meaning he was swapped for a human child and grew up in a human’s family, which is where he gets the name “Offgood.” If asked, Raph will swear he is human, because he finds it embarrassing to be called a “fairy.”
Gender: Male
Proficiency/Abilities: Raph is a light magician, able to conduct light into weapons. He has minor healing magic, but he barely knows how to use it. Raph inherited the skill of mind manipulation as well, but at his current level it only works on humans with weakened minds and is more of a suggestion rather than full control over their bodies.
Likewise, Raph suffers from chronic migraine, and if he is put in a place without any form of light, he will becoming weaker and weaker and can eventually even die without it.
Identification: Due to his fae genes, Raph is quite short, barely making it above five feet. He has a very feminine face, with wide beautiful auburn eyes surrounded with thick black-brown eyelashes as well as thin golden eyebrows to match his groomed straight medium length hair. He has a thin nose and thick lips, always seen with some sort of layers of roped bracelets and ear piercings at random. Raph is usually seen in a long green jacket with a white sleeveless undershirt, black skinny jeans and black converse. He is often chewing gum or has a lollipop in his mouth, generally appearing unamused.
Personality: Raph isn’t the most talkative of kids, in fact he usually keeps to himself. He’s quite sarcastic and judge mental, someone easily annoyed by others. He usually doesn’t get his work done and if he does he does it at his own pace when he wants to, often getting distracted easily by minut details. Raph can be temperamental and aggressive if you pester him too much, but he never looks to hurt anyone. Underneath it all he’s not a bad kid, he’s just not friendly.
Backstory: As mentioned previously, Raph is a changeling. The true Offgood son was swapped with him at birth, allowing Raph to grow up in a well off human home. He grew up his entire life believing he was human, though he detested the luxurious lifestyle he was in. Raph was a thief and generally acted out at school, so the Offgoods had to homeschool him.
Recently, his fae mother returned to collect him as his powers emerged, but Raph was furious at her for giving him away. He ran away from home, and stumbled upon the academy, where he took up residency.
Originally, Raph was just a squatter that they repeatedly tried to drive away, but once they found it useless and saw how well adept he was with his powers, they enrolled him as a new student.

Highschoolers, Fight on!

@OliveYou Wondering if this is still open? ^_^

Circus of Hunters

Hider

Jessica Belle Adams

Jezzabell, the lion tamer



A member since around three years ago, contracted on December 31st 2014

Jessica is a pale girl, standing at a petite 5’3” with a slender body and a large chest. She has her blonde hair cut into a straight bob with bangs to frame her soft face. Jezz often wears heavy stage makeup, including rosy cheeks and thick eyeliner to make her wide bright green eyes even more noticeable. Without makeup, her face still has a naturally pinkish tint to her cheeks and lips, with a small narrow nose and chin. When not in her stage outfit (see above), she often wears a long sleeve flowy white off shoulder shirt and jean shorts with knee high black boots.

~The Act~
As her stage name suggests, Jessica or “Jezz” is a lion tamer.
Her main power is the ability to converse with and manipulate animals, especially felines. Much like a siren, she can convince most animals to fight for her. Currently the animals of the circus are under her manipulation, but the one who is most loyal is her lion, Apollo.
Jezza also bears a golden whip. The whip will strike fire wherever the end touches. The whip is immune to physical attacks, and can only be damaged by magic or magically infused weapons such as itself.
Jezza’s compulsion she has sworn to is to never fall in love. She must avoid all relationships, even friendships with males is something she strays away from.

~Biography~
Jessica came from a fairly well-off family who restricted themselves to the mountains. She had no friends when she was little, her mother was always in the mirror and her father was always on business trips. The only one who she could talk to was her older brother, James.
James was the only parental figure and friend Jessica could rely on. He fed her, played with her, talked to her. Jessica loved him dearly, and was always by his side.
However, James was in with a bad crowd, or rather— the circus. She was curious as to where he was going every night, so Jessica followed him silently through the dark streets. She hid behind a building and watched in frightened awe as he and a couple of people she hadn’t recognized defeated this monstrous figure, a daemon. But, this one was special, where there were two who fought together. The second daemon has clutched the girl and held her hostage, James going into a panic. With his erratic moves he had saved his sister and vanquished the demon, but he had faced death. Jessica was of course hysterical. It was her fault. She couldn’t lose him. She couldn’t!
The young girl returned with the other two members to the circus, and made a deal with the ring leader to bring back her brother’s soul. For as long as she held the contract and stayed alive, James would live happily and without memory of his days in the circus. The only catch was he would not remember Jessica either.

~Why would she join?~
Jezza joined the circus in order to revive her late brother, James. She devoted her soul to the circus just so he could live, even if he didn’t even know who she was anymore.

~A Connection~
James used to be one of the main leaders of the hunts when he was a part of the circus, and was a well respected member. Everyone knew him. Because she had taken his place, Jessica is now one of the top hunters in the circus. She knew that this was something her brother cared about, so now she does her best to fight in his stead.

~The Audition~
The tent was warm and cramped as you wade your way inside through the throng of people attempting to get a better look at the two figures in the center of the stage. Unlike the other tents, this one was not so happy go lucky. There was a stiff, suffocating tense feeling that hung low in the air. People were nervous, nipping their nails and holding their breaths.
You have to squint in the dim lighting to see exactly what was stirring such strange emotions among the circus goers. In the ring was a girl, slender and of no great stature wrapped up in red, white and gold. She was fairly pretty, but her face was blunt and almost harsh. The second in the ring was something much more frightening. It was the largest lion you had ever seen, so large it towered above the girl only a few feet away. It’s mane was golden and long, and it’s fangs were critically sharp.
A sick feeling wells in you heart as you clench your fists in anticipation, licking your lips with worry. The only one who didn’t appear frightened was the blonde girl who stood beside the beast itself.
Slowly, the girl raised her arm, you noticing the long white whip that it held. ”Yah!” The whip cracked down and everyone simultaneously gasped as flame bursted off the sandy ground, the lion leaping to the side with its powerful muscles. ”Hyah!” The whip cracked down again, the lion leaping over the girl to the other side of her, gradually circling her with low growls.
Rings dropped from above and sprouted from the ground out of seemingly no where. The tamer took the whip’s rope and tugged tight, before slashing it back out at a ring by the lion. Right on cue the lion bounded through the now flaming circle, majestically landing before leaping again as the whip cracked another, and another. Soon every ring was crackling with bright flames, illuminating the entire tent and making sweat drip off the viewers faces.
The rings fell from the top into a line on the floor, the tamer readying herself. With a snap of the whip, the giant lion bowed to her as she climbed upon its broad back, leaning down low against the soft golden fur. The lion crouched down before the row of flaming rings. The tamer and the lion almost looked like the same person for a moment, eyes piercing with determination, bodies rigid. Then, like a flash and with a loud shouting cue from the girl, the lion sprang into the flaming rings accompanied by a choir of shouts and cries from the worried audience. The two seemed to fly through the tight space, and landed gently on the other side of the rings. Neither had a single scratch upon them.
Both the lion and the tamer gave a beautiful and elegant bow, the crowd whooping and clapping in amazement. The tamer stood straight, and for the first time the entire evening flashed a gentle smile to the admirers. ”Thank you... and please come again.”

@Aleranicus That took way longer than it should have, but it’s done. ^_^

"Welcome to H̶e̶l̶l̶!̶ the Underworld!" A Comedy Fantasy rp!

@bmxbrat484 lol, weird I was thinking about that earlier of how hilarious it would be if Underworld yaoi fangirls just started asking Sloth these questions about the non-existant relationship and he's just innocently confused.

But, yeah, it kinda just died. I could attempt a reboot, but I dunno if anyone would be interested..

_Project: P.H.O.B.I.A._ [CLOSED]

Thirteen

---

"I... I want to be useful."

---

Name: Unknown, simply called "Thirteen" or "Triska" by some
Age: 19
Description: A small boy at maybe 5'4", Thirteen is someone easily lost in a crowd. He has fairly pale skin with a sweet heart shaped face adorning a small nose and girlish lips. In fact, Thirteen is often mistaken for a girl at first introductions, which he highly distastes. He appears to be Eurasian, given away by his large slanted cat like black eyes, thin eyebrows, and short yet slightly curly black hair. Thirteen is thin, which he is embarrassed about, considering how slight his body structure is. He often wears black jeans and a long black coat with a white scarf— if anyone tries to take it, he'll go berserk. He the Roman numeral for thirteen tattooed under his left eye.
Phobi-Ability: Triskaidekaphobia, the fear of the number 13
Personality: Thirteen is commonly seen as strange. He keeps away from others and isn't very good with social interaction. In fact, Thirteen doesn't talk very much at all, and getting him to is a pretty big success. If you try to touch him, he'll flinch away with scared eyes and if you try to befriend him he'll blow you off. People say he's an antisocial jerk, but really he's just frightened.
He's scared that he is a bad luck charm, and that everyone who got close to him will only get hurt. Thirteen distances himself so as not to get attached to anyone anymore, so neither party experiences pain. He thinks he is better off alone, so his curse of bad luck doesn't affect people around him he cares about.
Thirteen is actually pretty superstitious, and if you try to do something like shatter a mirror or open an umbrella inside he'll hit you upside the head so fast you wouldn't see it coming. Sadly, though, he does happen to attract a lot of bad luck and has since he was younger— black cats always followed him, he'd accidentally walk under ladders and the worst was the number 13... but I'll save that for the background.
However, Thirteen does have a soft side. He likes cute things, though he doesn't admit it, and his room actually has many adorable stuffed toys that's he's embarrassed of. If he finds something cute, Thirteen has trouble brushing it aside and will want it desperately. He's also quite bashful if you hit the right nerve, and truly... he's always wanted to be hugged, but he's just afraid of the consequences to the other party.
Relations: He doesn't know his real family. His "brother" and his "grandma" both died, and somehow he blamed himself for their deaths.
Backstory: As early as he could remember, Thirteen was a nameless street rat who stole food to get by. He was apathetic of others, as seemingly emotionless as he is now, and only cared for himself and surviving.
When he was around nine, he stumbled upon another street rat like himself, one caught for stealing bologna and bread from a local shop. Thirteen would usually have just passed by, but there was something about the kid... he couldn't leave him.
Thirteen rushed in, snatching the boy up and racing off, far too fast on his feet for the group to catch. The boy thanked him, and shared the food with Thirteen as a gift for saving him. For a few years, they were brothers, and a menace to the small shopkeepers of the area.
One day while they were running away from a group of angry shopkeepers, they made a wrong turn into a construction site. Thirteen was running ahead, and only heard a loud clutter that sounded as if a bomb had gone off. It seemed time had slowed as he looked over his shoulder, and saw his brother crushed under a huge slab of wood, with a printed number "13" on the side.
Thirteen didn't cry, and it tore him up inside that he couldn't even mourn. A few months later, he was sitting in an alleyway passing time when the backslid opened. Thirteen didn't make a move to run, quietly raising his eyes to the woman who peeked out.
The woman took him in, he referring to her as "grandma" while he helped around the restaurant. Thirteen knew that the restaurant was just a cover, and that this store was something else entirely, but he didn't question what that was. Someone kind enough to take him in and care for him, how could he not trust her?
Then, one day a group of men came in. They seemed suspicious but Thirteen didn't mention it. Before he knew it, a bullet was fired right through grandma's head. Later, Thirteen found out she was a sort of mafia boss, but at the time he was so confused and horrified. And what date did he see on the calendar but the 13th? Thirteen wrapped the scarf she had made for him around his neck, the one so lovingly sewed because he was always cold, and left in silence. Again, he couldn't bring himself to cry.
The traumatized boy was said to have walked up to the building of research, holding out a small flyer he had found advertising the PHOBIA project. Quietly, he asked "I... I want to be useful. Please make me strong." Thirteen didn't want to lose anyone again because he wasn't strong enough to protect them. He wanted to be strong.
Theme:

The number 13? Not on his watch!

_Project: P.H.O.B.I.A_ [Clear your data?: Yes < No]

@Majoras End Oof, that pun is terrible.. I looked one up because finding one for the number 13 is hard, and... oof... -_-"

_Project: P.H.O.B.I.A_ [Clear your data?: Yes < No]

Thirteen

---

"I... I want to be useful."

---

Name: Unknown, simply called "Thirteen" or "Triska" by some
Age: 19
Description: A small boy at maybe 5'4", Thirteen is someone easily lost in a crowd. He has fairly pale skin with a sweet heart shaped face adorning a small nose and girlish lips. In fact, Thirteen is often mistaken for a girl at first introductions, which he highly distastes. He appears to be Eurasian, given away by his large slanted cat like black eyes, thin eyebrows, and short yet slightly curly black hair. Thirteen is thin, which he is embarrassed about, considering how slight his body structure is. He often wears black jeans and a long black coat with a white scarf— if anyone tries to take it, he'll go berserk. He the Roman numeral for thirteen tattooed under his left eye.
Phobi-Ability: Triskaidekaphobia, the fear of the number 13
Personality: Thirteen is commonly seen as strange. He keeps away from others and isn't very good with social interaction. In fact, Thirteen doesn't talk very much at all, and getting him to is a pretty big success. If you try to touch him, he'll flinch away with scared eyes and if you try to befriend him he'll blow you off. People say he's an antisocial jerk, but really he's just frightened.
He's scared that he is a bad luck charm, and that everyone who got close to him will only get hurt. Thirteen distances himself so as not to get attached to anyone anymore, so neither party experiences pain. He thinks he is better off alone, so his curse of bad luck doesn't affect people around him he cares about.
Thirteen is actually pretty superstitious, and if you try to do something like shatter a mirror or open an umbrella inside he'll hit you upside the head so fast you wouldn't see it coming. Sadly, though, he does happen to attract a lot of bad luck and has since he was younger— black cats always followed him, he'd accidentally walk under ladders and the worst was the number 13... but I'll save that for the background.
However, Thirteen does have a soft side. He likes cute things, though he doesn't admit it, and his room actually has many adorable stuffed toys that's he's embarrassed of. If he finds something cute, Thirteen has trouble brushing it aside and will want it desperately. He's also quite bashful if you hit the right nerve, and truly... he's always wanted to be hugged, but he's just afraid of the consequences to the other party.
Relations: He doesn't know his real family. His "brother" and his "grandma" both died, and somehow he blamed himself for their deaths.
Backstory: As early as he could remember, Thirteen was a nameless street rat who stole food to get by. He was apathetic of others, as seemingly emotionless as he is now, and only cared for himself and surviving.
When he was around nine, he stumbled upon another street rat like himself, one caught for stealing bologna and bread from a local shop. Thirteen would usually have just passed by, but there was something about the kid... he couldn't leave him.
Thirteen rushed in, snatching the boy up and racing off, far too fast on his feet for the group to catch. The boy thanked him, and shared the food with Thirteen as a gift for saving him. For a few years, they were brothers, and a menace to the small shopkeepers of the area.
One day while they were running away from a group of angry shopkeepers, they made a wrong turn into a construction site. Thirteen was running ahead, and only heard a loud clutter that sounded as if a bomb had gone off. It seemed time had slowed as he looked over his shoulder, and saw his brother crushed under a huge slab of wood, with a printed number "13" on the side.
Thirteen didn't cry, and it tore him up inside that he couldn't even mourn. A few months later, he was sitting in an alleyway passing time when the backslid opened. Thirteen didn't make a move to run, quietly raising his eyes to the woman who peeked out.
The woman took him in, he referring to her as "grandma" while he helped around the restaurant. Thirteen knew that the restaurant was just a cover, and that this store was something else entirely, but he didn't question what that was. Someone kind enough to take him in and care for him, how could he not trust her?
Then, one day a group of men came in. They seemed suspicious but Thirteen didn't mention it. Before he knew it, a bullet was fired right through grandma's head. Later, Thirteen found out she was a sort of mafia boss, but at the time he was so confused and horrified. And what date did he see on the calendar but the 13th? Thirteen wrapped the scarf she had made for him around his neck, the one so lovingly sewed because he was always cold, and left in silence. Again, he couldn't bring himself to cry.
The traumatized boy was said to have walked up to the building of research, holding out a small flyer he had found advertising the PHOBIA project. Quietly, he asked "I... I want to be useful. Please make me strong." Thirteen didn't want to lose anyone again because he wasn't strong enough to protect them. He wanted to be strong.
Theme:

The number 13? Not on his watch!

My character again sweetie~!
@Majoras End

Dragons Cry, a Fairy Tail story

@AngelofOctober Either is fine with me!

Adventures of the Blood Rose Irregulars

Phew, that was a lot! I'm doing fine... maybe had a bit too much caffeine today, heheh.

Adventures of the Blood Rose Irregulars

Selva "Mjolnir" Bladecross
Interactions: @Arthanus

"Char...?" Saying his name, Selva almost felt her voice crack. No... he wouldn't have, he was the most loyal of any of them. But her thoughts were sidetracked in disbelief as the white haired man left the shadows, tinged with the evil mark marring his skin. This was like a nightmare that Selva just couldn't bring herself to believe. She stared out at her ex-comrade, the betrayal sharpening her features.

"Don't apologize. Its me who should be sorry for ever thinking you had any morals or loyalty." The poisoned words left her mouth in quiet daggers, eyes a blistering charcoal.

Before Selva could protect her nose and mouth from the powder, it was too late. Her vision grew blurred as the huge woman fell to a knee, and eventually onto her side, the last image of Char and the cultist burning her sight before she blacked out.

Waking up with a throbbing headache, Selva began an attempt to lift her hand to her head in a robotic jerky way, but was cut short by the tight rope binding her. The soldier woman glanced around her frantically, similar to a cornered wild animal trying to assess its surroundings. Selva blinked away the fog over her vision, glaring pointedly at the three before her. If anything, it was more surprising they were able to drag the woman of pure muscle all the way here, never mind tie her up in a chair. The other point of interest was her equipment, Selva making sure to keep an eye on God's Fist warily. If I could just untie myself...

"Now to save you some trouble we have brought you here, I know the Vault is somewhere linked to this room. Char told me each of you had a piece to the puzzle and yours is the last I need. Now you just need to tell me what I need to know."

Her hazel eyes shot to Char hatefully, rolling slowly back to the third cultist. A defiant smirk twitched the corners of her lips, eyes narrowing as she gave her curt response: "Drop. Dead."

Then, everything seemed to happen in a flash. Crashing noises stirred the cultists' attention and drew it away from Selva, the woman already getting ready to pounce. Even without full range of motion or her hands, she figured she could still take on scrawny little punks like this... it was Char she was more hesitant on fighting barehanded- or, rather, barefooted.

Her eyes widened as the flash of silver reflected to her. A blade. So, this was how she died? At least she would never share the secret. Selva closed her eyes, preparing for impact. But, instead, she felt the ropes fall to her ankles. The blonde woman opened her eyes, raising her hands to glance at them in disbelief.

"I'm sorry Ms. Bladecross, I couldn't help the oth...."

Suddenly, the voice stopped. Selva leaped her to feet, knocking over the chair carelessly to kneel by her bleeding comrade, tears pricking her eyes. "I knew you would never... Dammit, Char, don't you dare die on me! Just hold on, I'll get you out of here soon. I can't... lose everyone..." Her fists clenched as she stood, glaring out of the part in her blonde hair. "YoU... YoU bOtH wIlL pAy FoR tHiS."

Selva snatched up God's Fist in fury, the jewels seeming to reflect her passion with their glow brightening. "YoU sCuM!" The hammer fell down on the earth like a quake, the entire cave seeming to shake from the force of the blow and a large crater left in its wake. The hammer lifted again, a ferocious yell leaving the pained woman as the weapon's head swung at the sides of the cultists. If it hit, it would send one flying into the other with inhuman strength, only to end up comically smashed into the wall. Selva readied another hit with the mighty weapon, eyes blazing with hatred.