Grimoire Gaming

✡ Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts ✡

Possible interest in a voodoo warlock

[Canceled]

---

---

_{Time: 9:40
Location: The Grand Hall
Interactions: Ambrosia ^@Hoekage & Seraphina ^@Legion02}

---

---

Béatrix observed the King’s speech with mild curiosity. Cold, porcelain white fingers gripped a steaming mug, which did little to thaw the frost within them. The vampiress sat with a posture echoing the noble upbringing of her human years, poise fit for a woman who was raised to attend events with kings and princes. Wouldn’t her mother and father be proud to see her now, attending such an event. The frenchwoman chuckled to herself. Hardly, they would roll in their graves to see the feminist undead head hunter that their perfect, subservient little girl had become.

She was subservient once, and it left a bad taste in her mouth. Bowing before authority, bowing before men on the basis of patriarchy alone just wasn’t in her blood. As such, her listening to the King’s speech was nothing more than the previously stated mild curiosity. She had no doubt that she was among the eldest of the vampires on this floating rock, and had at least double their body count under her belt. No one truly ruled over her, but perhaps what he had to say would provide some entertainment in the tedious monotony of eternity.

In the moments after Dmitri Tepes finished his speech, the detective death dealer did what she does best. Observe them, gauge their reactions, read the surface thoughts of the minds of the vampires weaker than she. This was entertaining, indeed. Her cool blue eyes went first to the young prince, who looked as though his father had just publicly gutted him. Then to the radiant princess, who attempted to discreetly remind the boy of his role to play. The other Tepes family members hardly reacted at all, no doubt they knew of these plans beforehand. Some of the more independent vampires appeared to be reacting positively to this turn of events. This was their shot at glory, after all.

Une tête couronnée ne trouve pas de repos.

This was nothing more than a game that Dmitri was playing. There was no real power to be gained here, a cocksure ruler such as himself, so young in his reign, would never relinquish any of his control. Disgusting, but unsurprising at the same time. She was not sure of Dmitri’s age, but once vampires reached a couple of centuries, they often grew… bored. And where would Dmitri’s boredom leave the city of New York? Decimated, like so many other historical towns in the aftermath of bored, old vampires playing their games?

To put it lightly, Trixy was annoyed. Not fearful, no, never. While she is firmly aligned with the Artois family, she is not of their bloodline. She has her own wealth, accrued over main centuries of bloodshed, and she has a job and a place to live and her many global connections. She had been playing this “game” for years. No, Trixy was annoyed because this would make her job — both of her jobs — much more difficult. How could she protect all of the Artois children when they were scattered in different homes? This game put the young visionaries especially at risk to their more battle-hardened, aged counterparts. Secondly, this little royal amusement would wreak havoc on humanity. This was going to cause chaos. There would be increased murders, crimes, and rogue vampires running around after failed Turnings. The head detective of NYPD’s supernatural crimes division was about to get a whole lot busier — she might even have to take day shifts.

T'es rien qu'un connard Tepes.

As if on cue, her work phone buzzed with an incoming text regarding a situation that had occurred at Central Park last night. Fantastic, so it begins. Trixy scanned the contents of the message and tucked the phone back away. The detectives on duty could handle the clean up and questioning, informing her was merely courtesy. Focusing back on the action in the room, the frenchwoman’s eyes fell upon the leader of her found family. She could not be sure if Ambrosia had any part or say in the decision that Dmitri made, but Béatrix would give her assurance just the same.

The ebony haired femme fatale stood up and gracefully made her way to the blonde artist. Placing a gentle hand on Ambrosia’s shoulder, she spoke quietly in french. “My protection of you and your family is not a luxury of your birth. I was never bought, it is a choice that I make gladly every day. I promise to do everything in my means to ensure the safety of your children during these… times of trial.” She said with a genuine smile that was surprisingly warm in comparison to the ice queen’s usual expressions.

Béatrix took her leave having said all that she had meant to. Her intentions were clear and unwavering. Now that all of the pomp and circumstance had concluded, she wished to retire in her room until sunset. As she passed by the table to retrieve her emptied mug, the most unexpected thing happened. A large black bird flew down from the rafters and fetched a letter from one of the female vampires in the room. Trixy didn’t recognize her. Some independent, young, unimportant vampire (unless she started stirring up trouble). But… sending ravens like that… that was an old practice, one that not many vampires did these days. So, who was she?

The raven then took flight for what Trixy assumed would be the nearest open window. Probably off to tell tale of the news that had just been announced. Instead of following that prediction, the large corvid flapped its wings in Trixy’s direction, deftly dropping the parchment in its talons on the table beside her place setting. Trixy squinted down at the letter curiously as the bird made its way back up to the rafters. The seal on the back looked familiar in a way that she couldn’t quite place. She’d seen it somewhere, stamped on some document or another… but… where? And when?

Trixy retrieved the parcel and flipped it over, as if she had to confirm that it was truly for her. It was addressed in elegant, decorative script. The ink was a shimmering gold color, but one word in particular sounded off red alerts in her mind. Mrs. Béatrix de la Croix. No one in this city knew that she had once been married. And no one would consider her married still. The vaguely familiar seal, the strange newcomer, the trick with the ravens, and the knowledge of her marriage... Who was this girl, and who did she think she was? Without opening the letter, Béatrix raised her icy gaze to the dark-haired woman with centuries worth of scrutinizing suspicion in her eyes.

[Canceled]

^{𝓣𝐢𝐦𝐞 ✦ Around 9:40 𝒜ℳ
𝓛𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 ✦ The Grand Hall at the Island
𝓘𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ✦ All vampires
@TootsiePop@GhostMami@Hoekage}

With a thin paper cigarette between his lips — lips that were made for kissing — Emiliano Esposito strode to the left of Niklaus Tepes, while Octavius Zeno took to the right. A friend of young royals, it seemed. Any other day, his shirt would be pressed and tucked in. Any other day, his hair would be slicked and combed. Any other day, he wouldn’t look like walking death.

Today was not that day.

While his eyes were a well of jet black ink, showing little to no soul, his token jester smirk never faded. Last night was eventful in the sense that, yes, he did have a good fuck, but boring because — no one died. At least not on the island. It was unfortunate that the only real thing that brought him pleasure nowadays was violence and blood. Without it, what was the point of living such a long, tedious life? He hadn’t even hit one hundred and fifty yet, and here he was: bored out of his mind and giving zero fucks.

A small trail of smoke slithered out from the corner of his mouth as it coiled its way to the wood ceiling. He recalled a conversation with his father the day prior, before he got intoxicated with some random vampiress, whose name he purposely chose to forget. A conversation that led to a manila envelope filled with his new assignments being turned into ash in the music room fireplace. Jobs that surrounded a few faces that he needed to investigate. For the family, but truly? For the Mob. Always remember, burn after reading. That was neither here nor there. He was famished and he could imagine his friends were too. With a side glance, he silently observed their expressions, as they continued onward to the meeting hall.

At the center of the trio stood the youngest Tepes royal, looking much more like the prince of drunken regrets than one of a vampiric legacy. The gods only knew why his father had gathered them all on this island, might as well enjoy it before shit got boring. Or weird. Probably a little bit of both, knowing daddio’s crusty-ass traditions. While he might look like he just rolled out of bed from a one night stand, the clothes he wore were designer and cut slim in all the right places. If you asked him, the wrinkles and slightly dishevelled appearance added a certain amount of mysterious sex appeal.

His nose twitched at the scent of smoke as Niko turned his mismatched gaze to his left. “Filthy habit…” He said judgmentally, clearly feeling a bit grumpy from his hangover. “Makes you smell like ass, bro.” After adding insult to injury, he turned his eyes to Tavi and smirked. “Any bets on why my kingly father has gathered every vampire and their mother here?” Bets were a common theme among the three, as they were all gambling men. What better way to pass the endless time than to feign taking risks?

The oldest of the Trio of Perpetual Regrets could only supply a boyish smirk as he glanced over to the bitching prince on his left. A chuckle left Octavius’ lips as he slung a lazy arm over Niko’s shoulder, “Lighten up, pretty boy, it’s not our fault you can’t hold your liquor.” The tease was light and aimed at his obvious sour mood as a fat cheek was pinched and Tavi was dancing away to dodge any rich boy limbs thrown his way.

With stretched arms overhead, the disheveled designer shirt from last night lifted over the waistband of his equally wrinkled, and expensive, jeans. The party last night was everything the gluttons for all things sinful could have ever hoped for, that much was evident in the way all three of them trudged down the hallways in all their ‘hot-mess’ glory. The French doors to the dining room were before them, and Octavius found himself already searching through the glass panes for the princess he had snuck away with in the close of the wild night. Instead his green eyes found the unamused face of the missing part of the Tepes family disappointment duo.

“My bet is on our favorite little Princess knowing something.”

“That’s gay, dude. That bitch always knows something.” Milo scoffed at the vague, open-ended ‘guess’. Tavi, my man, you can do better. Blowing smoke enthusiastically, and on purpose, in front of Niko, just so he would walk right into it, the Italian Dog shrugged, “Watch. It’ll be something with becoming more cordial with humans, since, y’know, they’re our greatest resource.”

With a deadpan glare, he reached for the knobs to open the door for the princes (or well, throw it open), “How much you want to bet we’ll have to educate them and make them ‘less afraid’?” The most recent years Dmitri Tepes, also known as ‘The King’, and his council had revised the treaty, so it wasn’t unlikely that this meeting focused on the weaker race.

“Nah…” Niklaus dismissed the notion whilst shaking his head. He continued as Milo dramatically flew upon the doors. “He’d never want that.” Niko confirmed under his breath, as a subject matter expert on things that Dmitri Tepes did not want. Speaking of which, if looks could kill, Niko would have a spear between his eyes from his father’s disappointed gaze. Ah yes, just another day in paradise, disappointing daddy… business as usual. Klaus proudly made his way to the seat reserved for him beside the rest of his timely family and kissed his gorgeous looking sister on her cheek before sitting down.

The King’s eyes weren’t the only ones that settled on the rebel prince and his band of merry men. The whole damn room was watching the spectacle, and all of the combined centuries and millennia worth of vampiric judgement sitting around the table weighed down on the boys. Among these elders was a french ebony-haired femme fatale. Béatrix de la Croix sipped at a steaming mug of blood-spiked coffee — it’s the only way she could stomach the human beverage — her icy gaze watching Niklaus. It was bad enough that his insensitive father decided to have this particular meetup long after the sun had risen, but of course the prodigal son had to show up tardy as well. No consideration for the Turned, even if they could be twice the age and thrice the wisdom of Purebloods. The heavens only know why she was called here in the first place, surely Dmitri would move on now that the delinquents had arrived.

While the ice queen assessed the trios’ etiquette, beside her with crossed legs, a slim fit floral blazer jacket, that had a crisp pattern as well as the finest premium, polyester-cotton, Sebastian Tepes, one of two brothers to Dmitri, scrutinized their presentation and mien. Intentionally, he lifted his shades to look them up and down. Their physiques. Their walk. Their attire.

For those who did know Sebastian, he was the Madonna of the vampire world. He did what he wanted, he said what he needed to, and he looked good while doing both. He may be ancient, but he was fine as hell. Octavius looked like he was a frat boy on spring break, Emiliano looked like he was roadkill, and his nephew, well, at least he was wearing Chanel. Still, for two princes and their trusted, future consultant, they were: “Rubbish. Absolute trash.” Sebastian was never one to be quiet about his opinion. “Was it forgotten that as Royals, and as associates to the leading families, that their faces not only affect themselves?” He wasn’t asking anyone in particular.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance, while his sunglasses dropped and covered his eyes once more, he reached for his blood induced Mimosa and lifted it up toward a most respected Tepes princess, “Thank you, Kasania, for being the true beauty this morning.”

Kasania’s eyes hadn’t moved from the trio since they made their lesser-than-grand entrance, unfashionably late. Whether the three of them didn’t care, or were just idiots, she had her bets on both, they only added insult to injury in their unbecoming appearances. The warmth and playful island breeze of their location seemed to have inspired Octavius’ and her own fashion choices, though in very opposite ways. Octavius looked the part of a tourist, while she looked every bit the princess in a white chiffon dress that garnered the high praise from the King of Fashion beside her.

The judgemental gaze had finished its trip over the ‘Tourist’ and shifted to the last, and very much not the least, he’d remind you of that, to enter the dining room. The first thing she noticed was the cigarette in his mouth and exhaled an audible sigh, “Seeing as how you were already late, you didn’t think to perhaps take an extra few minutes to look more put together?” The question was aimed at the three of them but she couldn’t help the amusement that pulled at the corners of her mouth at how bad Milo looked, “You look like shit.” she mouthed out of sight of Dmitri’s clearly annoyed gaze. Milo chose to respond with a shrug. He was given a day off for once, of course he was going to look like shit the next morning.

“It’s more than faces that matter, Uncle.” Niklaus retorted to the sassy elder turncoat. Sebastian preferred the pretty as a picture ideals of the Artois enough to turn away his own family. Niko might be a rebel, but at least he wasn’t a blood traitor. What did the words of such a man mean anyway? Nothing… “But if they did, I think mine looks just fine.” Clearly it meant enough to inspire a salty response, though…

It did but Sebastian bit his tongue to refrain from disrupting the morning peace, or was incapable of opening his mouth. He immediately darted a glare toward his brother, Viktor. That bastard. Almost criminal with how powerful and cruel he looked, Viktor Tepes strode from the bar, holding a brandy, and with prominent steps, made his way to the podium, disregarding the three boys as he coldly passed them. With his back facing the crowd, he leaned in close to the King and whispered something inaudible to anyone else. The two men looked at each other knowingly and then Viktor proceeded to stand to the side of his brother, facing the others, composed and calm. A mysterious wind forced the doors closed, locking everyone inside. All those that couldn’t make it would be dealt with personally, later.

The unamused gaze of Dmitri lingered on the table where his youngest children and poor choice of friends sat before scanning over the rest of the room. There were vampires from all over New York City in attendance this morning. If the time and size of this particular private island had allowed, he would have called on a more expansive crowd. But for the sake of this experiment, the vampires of New York would do just fine.

A cleared throat precursored the deep booming voice of their King as he finally addressed them all.

“Good morning, I must first extend my gratitude to all of you for making time in your busy schedules to accept my humble invitation. From the way some of you look this morning I can assume the festivities last night were more than enjoyable.” Dmitri’s mouth pulled into a slight grin that did not reach his eyes, an expression Kasania was all too familiar with and knew she would hear all of his complaints later.

The King stepped around the podium and gestured to the room, ”As you all know, I ascended to the throne after successfully negotiating terms for peaceful coexistence with the humans. A change that was not won without long days and hard fights, and still faces some issues today, but has since greatly benefited our society. I am aware of the influence my family, and the other two royal families, have on the success of our children and the children of our loyalists. While no parent ever wants to see a child of theirs struggle, and definitely not in the case of an endless life, I see great potential in allowing one to learn from their failures. As such, I have gathered the blessings from the elders and current leaders of the houses to present you all with this challenge. Starting from the time you leave this island, whether it be tonight or sometime tomorrow, you will no longer reap the benefits of the luxury you were born into. Instead, you will be building your own houses as potential rulers, attracting your own followers and navigating through your failures and successes. I am not a man to ignore the achievements of another, as such, the house that hosts the most impressive achievements shall be recognized as a true household and have a place among the Royal Houses. The laws and traditions of our society have remained mostly unchanged for millennia, I was the first to enact a change, and now I extend the chance to you all. Create partnerships, teams, alliances amongst yourselves and with whomever you believe will help pave the way to success. I look forward to seeing all that you will come to accomplish. Now, please, enjoy your breakfasts and the rest of your time here. I have business I need to attend to, thank you.” The King gave a short bow to the silent room before making a brisk exit, leaving them all to digest the information. Viktor followed after.

“Waht.” Milo dropped his cigarette into a glass of water, trying to comprehend not the information that was given, but his personal dilemma. He was literally given a set of new assignments yesterday. Did they expect him to do this and that without a place to crash at?! His phone vibrated, as if someone was reading his thoughts but it was just his fuck buddy.

To: Whore
Busy.

Soon after, he received another text, on his other phone, his business phone, from his father which indeed confirmed he was homeless, he still had to work for the Mob, getting a monthly allowance, and that this was his opportunity to make changes.

“Ah fuck me.”

Niklaus had been leaning back in his chair luxuriously as his father went about giving one of his token monologue-esque speeches. While he was doing a good job of giving off the air of not giving a fuck, he was very much so listening. Once King Dmitri got to the climax of his point, Niko’s back stiffened. His eyes shot wide in shock, meeting with his sister’s, giving away that in the grand scheme of things… he was just a child. A spoiled child. “Even… us?” He whispered, his tone cut with the pain of the abandonment he’d always feared. Did he just get cut off? Where was he going to LIVE?!

The Island: A Murder Mystery | Currently Accepting 1-2 More Players!

I'm around!

[Canceled]

@sempis

Here you go!

[Canceled]

Room for one more?

@sempis

Certainly!

Due North

@AtomicNut Planted far from the edible plants, I hope! XD

Due North

@Scarescrow The herb garden would probably have a wide variety: basil, chives, mint, oregano, coriander, dill, fennel, parsley, rosemary, sage, thyme, cardamom, and garlic. I imagine they have a basic vegetable garden as well with carrots, peas, potatoes, onions, cucumbers, and tomatoes.

[Canceled]

Niklaus Aleksander Tepes

^{FC: Dominic Sherwood DC: AA91D2}

63 yrs (~18) ♔ Male ♔ Pansexual Polyamorous ♔ Single ♔ American ♔ Pureblood Prince

♔ Niko
♔ Klaus

Niklaus was born a Tepes prince, the youngest of the brood, so of course his loyalty lies with his family. He may not always agree with his father’s traditional sentiments, but there is strength and power in the pureblood of his royal family that Niko wouldn’t trade for the world. The young prince loves interacting with other vampires and, unlike his father, he doesn't care if they are pureblood, turned, or halfblood. He even has best friends in other families, some not even royal. It doesn’t matter, they all share the same superior bloodline, just in different quantities. Due to Niko’s… peculiarities... he has an interesting attitude towards humans. He sees them as toys or playthings, a resource not only for food, but for entertainment to pass the endless time of an immortal lifespan.

Being born into vampire royalty has many perks, among those is inherent wealth. Truth be told, Niklaus doesn’t need to work, but he does so to keep himself busy. Niko assists in the family business, primarily using his charm to sell some of the houses and apartments that his father has used the family funds to acquire. With a bit of an aggressive streak, Niko also likes to join in on the demolition aspect of some of their renovation projects. There's nothing like swinging a massive sledgehammer around and destroying shit… or just punching it with your vampire strength-powered bare hands. Although Klaus does have somewhat of a work ethic, he does tend to fall on the lazier side of the spectrum. As stated, he doesn’t need to work, so he hardly does it consistently. It’s more of a hobby that he jumps into and out of depending on his mood or level of boredom. The family real estate business could keep itself afloat just fine without him.

Niklaus has lived a life where he has wanted for very little in terms of material things, and in that aspect he could be considered spoiled. However, he has struggled since childhood with his feelings of self-worth. While his father might have doted on him, his mother never did. Sometimes she just neglected him, other times she was blatantly cruel. For whatever reason, he was forced to feel like less than his other siblings. An accident. An unwanted child. A mistake. Because of this, Niko began to challenge authority. He questioned everything and resisted the traditional values of his family — if this was what it meant to be a Tepes, he would make sure his voice was heard speaking against it. Klaus can be quite argumentative and frequently gets in disagreements with his father, which on the outside might color the young prince as being ungrateful of the privilege he was born into. But to Niko, being born with a silver spoon in his mouth wasn’t worth shit if it left such a bad taste on his tongue. Niklaus is determined to right what he sees as wrong, to call out what he disagrees with, and to strive towards perfection. While others might simply see him as a naive, rebellious 'teenage' vampire, Klaus believes himself to be nobly bold. He’s fighting for what he believes is right, after all.

Lastly, whether it be a fluke or a result of his mixed pureblood heritage (royals used to practice inbreeding), Niko was born a bit… touched. Niko frequently finds himself a slave to his deranged obsessions — habits, thoughts, sounds, and people. The last is the most notable, as Klaus has a penchant for latching onto interesting traits of people, particularly humans, and going so far as to stalk them from the shadows to learn everything there is to know about them. In this aspect, one might consider Niklaus a bit of a mad scientist. Humanity is his to study and toy with and only the best will survive to ascend to a place by his side. Although Niko might be one crazy motherfucker, ‘by his side’ is quite a good place to be, as he is loyal to the core. Klaus would stop at nothing to protect those he cares for, that very select few.

Dmitri Tepes is a proud man whose legacy means everything to him. Years before he became the king of New York, he had been grooming his family for such a position. He took a beautiful pureblood vampire as a wife. He had two strong sons and a gorgeous daughter. Despite her beauty and own innate strengths, the latter was a disappointment to Dmitri. There was no familial honor to be gained in having daughters. Only sons could pass on the Tepes name. Only sons could grow Dmitri’s empire and secure his family’s rule. The closer he got to ascending to the head of the Tepes family and to kingship, Dmitri became even more obsessed with having male heirs. Fearing that procreating with his wife would result in yet another daughter, the king-to-be began to look elsewhere.

Not just any concubine would do for Dmitri, however. If a woman was to bear him a son, she would have to be perfect. Pure of blood and strong. Dmitri didn’t have to look very far to find her, Jezebel was right in his city. A princess, the daughter of the ruler of house Drakuli. He courted the beautiful royal, treating her with all the kindness of a perfect gentleman. In time, she became with child, and birthed Dmitri his third son — Niklaus Tepes. Aside from Dmitri, his wife, and the Drakuli’s themselves, Niklaus’ heritage has remained a royal secret.

Although most of the family was none the wiser, from the first moment that Niklaus’ cries pierced the halls of the Tepes estate, he was different. While his parents and siblings all had dark brown hair, his was fair, verging on blond in certain lights — especially as a young child. He did have the Tepes blue eyes, but the secrets of his bastard heritage could be found in the creeping brown of his heterochromia. He was a beautiful baby that grew into an even more charming boy. Charming or not, there was one member of the Tepes family that could not stand his presence. His ‘mother’. She loathed that Dmitri’s adulterous affair had bore fruit, and she took it out on Niklaus himself. Even after she had secretly ordered an assassination of Jezebel Drakuli, her jealousy never waned.

Had Niklaus not grown into a strong young vampire, always closely watched over by his proud father, the jealous queen might have tried to kill him too. Instead, she did the only thing she was capable of: she treated him like yesterday’s garbage. She was neglectful and cruel to him, ensuring that he never believed that he was better than her own children, despite what Dmitri might think. His Drakuli blood meant nothing. He meant nothing. If not for the loving heart of his sister, who just so happened to overhear her father and mother arguing about Niko’s bastardry one night, Niklaus might have grown up to believe those horrible things his mother thought about him to be true.

Kasania was his guardian angel. Niko’s older sister shielded him from mother’s cruelty and offered the maternal support that he needed to not fall too deep into his madness in these past few decades. With her support and his father’s rigid combat training, Klaus grew himself a backbone. In recent years, he now feels the confidence to speak out against the injustice that he has felt being a part of the Tepes family. Both he and Kasania have been taught to know what it feels like to be considered less than, albeit by the opposite parents, so together they stand with their hands held in the shadows of rebellion. Nia stood up for him when he was young and weak, and now he will fight to protect her from the consequences of her biggest secret. It’s only a matter of time before it gets out, and father will not be pleased.

Being just a baby in the grand scheme of the vampire world, Klaus is still trying to figure out what he wants to accomplish with his eternal life. On the short term, he has been on the hunt for a perfect human specimen. His intention is to find this human and to create his very first turned vampire. His desire is to then continue this process until he has surrounded himself with a collection of powerful, perfect creatures. A family of his own creation. On the long term, Niklaus hopes to one day ascend as king and rewrite all of the traditions that he disagrees with and build upon a created vampire culture that he deems as perfect in his own twisted mind.

♔ Sword fighting — Niko thinks it is one of the most useless, outdated combat skills, but Dmitri insisted that all of his children learn and master the art of the blade.
♔ Good looks and a silver tongue — So far, there’s not a single lick of trouble that Niko has gotten himself into and not been able to charm his way out of. How could you say no to such a handsome prince? With practice and focus, this could be wielded as a powerful form of compulsion.
♔ Speed and Strength — Although Klaus has no idea why, he is much faster and stronger than his siblings. Whenever he spars or wrestles with his older brothers, he almost always comes out the victor, much to their chagrin and his father’s pride. The reason behind these heightened abilities is held within the secret of his blood — he is not only Tepes, but half Drakuli, an older and far more potent vampire bloodline.

Surprisingly enough, Niklaus has many fears. He is well aware of the fact that his mind works differently from most, and he fears completely losing himself to his madness. Although he is constantly bickering with his kingly father, Niko fears one day pushing it too far and losing the support of his family. He fears the cruelty and endless disappointment of his mother. He fears failure, weakness, and his death. He fears his friends dying or turning their backs on him. Above all, he fears losing his sister, who is his conscience and his rock in this wild world and, in his words, ‘the only cool member of the Tepes family aside from myself.’

Béatrix de la Croix

^{FC: Kate Beckinsale DC: 8FD8EF}

630 yrs (early 20s) ❄ Female ❄ Heterosexual ❄ Single ❄ French ❄ Turned (Royal French Pureblood Sire)

❄ Trixy
❄ Wolfsbane
❄ Madame Vengeance

Works with the Artois family serving as an advisor to the royal family due to her age and experience. She also makes it a personal duty to protect the somewhat naive, but morally noble, family of visionaries from anyone who might do them harm, by any means necessary. Her skills as a supernatural huntress are sometimes put to good use by the family’s leaders if it is deemed necessary. Bėatrix values and protects humanity, especially now that she has reconnected with the current generation of her own human family. She is mistrustful of other supernatural creatures, particularly werewolves, although those are less of a problem now that she resides in a city of the New World.

By day, Trixy works with the NYPD as a detective working in the relatively new division of supernatural crimes. By night, she is a professional supernatural hitwoman, a murderous career which she has held for centuries, although she has calmed down on the senseless killing in recent years. The only creatures who make it on her ”list” these days are rapists, murderers, and other high profile criminals.

Years of being a self-employed hitwoman have taken a toll on Béatrix, and her senses are those of a cold-hearted killer. In the first years of her vampire life, Béatrix made many rash decisions and could hardly keep her emotions in check. These days, a serene calm can be found in her face, the mask of a true actress. Béatrix has her vampiric urges and emotions under complete control, although she does enjoy giving in to her bloodlust – humans could have their vices, why not the supernatural as well? Although Trixy can come off as flirtatious and friendly, she has built an icy wall around herself. If you don’t get too attached to somebody, it doesn’t mean that much when they are ripped away.

The end of the 14th century in Europe was a time of revolution and crisis… There was the Hundred Years' War between the English and the French for Western France, the Black Death decimating the continent, and famine afflicting the poor. Béatrix de Le Croix was born to a noble French family in the winter of 1367. She lived a life of luxury for a time, as her family was one of wealth and power.

In the year of 1385, Béatrix had reached an age where her marriage was the talk of the entire town, let alone the family. Back in those days, women had little choice in the matters of marriage, especially nobles who married for power and prestige. Béatrix’ parents had suitors lined up at the door for her, but everyone knew it for the ruse it was, her future husband was already chosen for her. The groom-to-be was the ideal political match, and the complete opposite of a love connection. The man was portly, red-faced and smelled of soured milk… on a good day.

Fortunately for Béatrix (although others at the time may have disagreed with that sentiment) the Black Death had fallen upon her like a war hammer. It was on one of the nights when Béatrix’ sickly coughing had her up late into evening, that a soft rapping came at her window. Recognizing the face of one of the suitors that she had taken quite a fondness for, Béatrix let Francis into her home. Before all else, Francis planted a hungry kiss on her lips. If she hadn’t been so sick, blood would have rushed to her cheeks in waves.

That night, Francis studied her sickly condition and made her an offer: he would cure her of this disease and save her life, if she promised to run away with him and leave this life of nobility and fame behind. Her new life would have to be a secret… and they would have to get the vampiric council’s approval as well. Being young and in love, Béatrix made the decision any flowered girl would make, she chose a life of freedom with this overwhelmingly handsome man – her soul mate. Young love with the promise of beauty and an eternity together was enough to keep any secret. Francis turned her into a vampire that very night and prepared her for a new life to come. First though, they had to stage her death which, of course, is an easy thing to do when you no longer have a pulse and the Black Death is already upon you. Believing that their only heir had passed away in her youth, Béatrix’ parents never came looking for her.

Béatrix and Francis were happy together for quite a while, they traveled the world, new and old, and made love in all of the most beautiful places. Béatrix enjoyed her newfound strength and powers, and she felt untouchable. Unfortunately for Francis, Béatrix thought wrong. One fateful night, Béatrix awoke alone in their bed. Francis frequently went out of town for meetings that Béatrix asked little questions about, it wasn’t really a woman’s place to pry – even in the vampiric community. But the night before, Francis hadn’t mentioned any meetings. Béatrix did know one thing about her lover’s dealings, and that was that they were very dangerous.

Béatrix scrambled out of bed in fear and ran out into the living area. A scream burst from her chest as she took in the scene of her lover splayed out across the floor. Savage claw marks were raked into Francis’ chest and his heart was absent. Béatrix crumpled to her knees at the realization of what had happened. Francis’ job came with dangers, it came with enemies – enemies like werewolves who would come into your house in the middle of the day, wake you from your slumber, and murder you.

From that fateful day and forward, Béatrix picked up where Francis had left off. She would avenge Francis’ death and slay every crooked supernatural being that she came across, especially the wolves. Béatrix knew enough about werewolves to know that she couldn’t beat them in strength, but she could outwit them, deceive them, and catch them by surprise. Over the years, Béatrix honed her skills in vampire mental manipulation, deception, and investigation. As technologies and weapons changed, so did she, trying to stay one step ahead of the enemy. Rumors and tales spread in the supernatural community of this fearsome self-claimed hitwoman, but few knew the name and face to match the stories… almost none who recognized her for who and what she was survived to tell the tale.

Trixy found her way to the New World seeking adventure and new enemies to hunt. In being there, she found someone whom she started to fall for romantically. Surprisingly enough, he was a werewolf, because fate was a cruel mistress. It turned out that he was created by the alpha who murdered Francis. In one of the darkest days of Trixy’s life, she turned off her humanity and murdered the wolf and all of his pack members and associates, including the man who she was weak enough to have fallen for. Since then, Trixy has found a home for herself and she is currently in NYC on a new kind of mission: to find peace and strength in a vampire community. She believes that aligning herself with the Artois may be the best path towards a better and brighter future.

Bėatrix has spent hundreds of years working towards her greatest goal in life: to avenge Francis’ death. For years, she killed hundreds of lycans in her search for the werewolf that murdered her husband, earning her first alias, Wolfsbane. For years, her only aspiration was vengeance, which earned her another alias, Madame Vengeance. Half a decade ago, however, Trixy achieved that goal. But, as it turns out, vengeance doesn’t solve your problems. It doesn’t bring back what you lost, and it doesn’t alleviate the pain. So now? Trixy’s ultimate goal is peace. She wants to live a cleaner life, to create a better world where vampires and humans can live together in balance.

❄ Gifted pianist
❄ Talented painter
❄ Stealth
❄ Deception
❄ Fast healing
❄ Finely tuned compulsion abilities, easily able to manipulate/influence the minds of humans and weaker vampires (purebloods and elder vampires still elude her)
❄ Precise marksman aim, pistols are her weapon of choice
❄ Close quarters combat with tooth and nail and/or daggers
❄ A killer smile

When you reach a certain age, fears mean less and less… even death doesn’t seem all to unwelcome. One fear remains for Béatrix, however: the fear of losing a loved one — a fear easily avoided if you choose not to love.

Wolfrik Bastian Wasserman

^{FC: Remington Leith DC: 50565A}

24 yrs ✘ Male ✘ Bisexual ✘ Single ✘ German ✘ Halfblood

✘ Wolf
✘ Wolfie (only if you’re special)

Wolfrik knows next to nothing about the vampire world. All that he knows is what his mother told him before she died. He knows what he is (to an extent) and now that she is gone he has no one to be loyal to but himself. That might sound selfish, but Wolf is the furthest thing from it. It is just that he only has himself in this world now, himself, and a father he’s never met. At one time, familial bond meant everything to Wolfrik, but is a mystery man who would be so cruel to his mother worthy of Wolf’s loyalty? Only time will tell...

Prior to flying to NYC, Wolfrik worked as a tattoo artist in a shop called Tätowierhandwerk in Düsseldorf, Germany. Wolf gained his artistic talent from his late mother and has been tattooing for the past five years. He plans to continue this work in the states, as his immigration to the country is dependent on the work visa he has to work as an artist in an established shop in lower manhattan.

Everything about Wolfrik is unapologetic, from the way that he speaks, to his style choices, and especially his attitude. He inherited his free-spirited nature from his mother, as he was always encouraged to vocalize his emotions while he was growing up. “Use your words.” She had told him, and he hasn’t stopped doing just that since. This behavior has only been magnified by his discovery of what he is, and what it means to be a halfblood — at least in his special case. Wolfrik now has something worthwhile to fight for: an explanation, and a cure to this supernatural sickness that has plagued him since childhood. While he dabbles in his own form of activism, Wolfie has also embraced the “you only live once” lifestyle of his affliction — including some taboo coping mechanisms, like drug use and alcoholism. That said, he hasn’t lost his humanity, it’s one of the few things that he has left of his mother, and it would crush him to relinquish it. No matter how intense the pain gets, he refuses to drink human blood to alleviate it. There are other forms of escape, they might be ugly, but at least they aren’t cannibalistic.

Despite his somewhat intimidating appearance, Wolfrik is not a monster. He hopes that he never will be. Wolfie is the type of soul that would give up his umbrella in a rainstorm, take the shirt off his back, or donate the last bit of the food in his cupboards to a person that seemed like they needed more than himself. Years of sitting on the other side of the tattoo artist’s chair has also made him a good listener, he loves hearing other people’s stories, and it often can improve the quality of their tattoos if he truly hears them out. He’s selfless, and he has a hell of a lot of love to give, with very few people left to give it to. Wolfrik breathes his emotional states into his artwork, whether it be in the form of spray paint on brick walls, or the ink under one’s skin, this is his legacy. Without a cure, Wolfrik may not live much longer, but through his living artwork… he can be confident that at least some part of him will.

Born and raised in Düsseldorf, Germany, Wolfrik lived a simple and content life. Although his mother raised him as a single parent on a starving artist’s dime, he wanted for nothing. Having inherited Ilse’s creativity, the refrigerator of the Wasserman household was often plastered with the young boy’s pencil sketches and crayon drawings. His mother would proudly boast to her friends and colleagues about his gifts, fully believing that he would surpass her own artistic abilities one day. He was a talented kid, never very studious, but talented enough to make up for it, at least that was his mother’s hope.

The pair had a bond like none other. While Ilse had a decent sized family in Germany, having a child out of wedlock as a university student had unintentionally distanced her from them. Instead of letting her family’s cruelty depress her, Ilse poured all of her familial love into her only child. Wolfie was her rock just as much as she was his. This made keeping the truth of his heritage hidden from him difficult, and as the years progressed, keeping this secret grew even harder. Unfortunately for the both of them, the time for honesty came in the most brutal of ways.

Wolfrik was sick, but his mother was sicker. His brief, mysterious bouts of pain were nothing in comparison to the way that cancer had tore through her body. Wolfie was seventeen years old when he dropped out of school to support himself and his mother. Ilse hated this choice, but even she could not deny that him picking up work would ensure that the rent and medical bills got paid on time. Isle still struggled with how to admit the secrets she had been keeping from Wolfrik. Thankfully for her, she didn’t have to yet, as the treatments Ilse received were surprisingly effective, and she was soon in remission.

During this time, Wolfrik became established as a tattoo artist. He truly found himself in this profession. He was passionate about art, dedicated to his craft, and — despite his undiagnosed medical condition — he thrived. Although he could have afforded to strike out on his own, Wolf continued to live with his mother. He’d almost lost her once, and he’d be damned if he was going to leave her side. Fate disagreed with this sentiment, however, as Ilse’s cancer returned. She knew her days were numbered this time, so she finally told Wolfrik everything. Ilse admitted that his father was not some meaningless one night stand, as he had been led to believe up until then. His father was an anatomy professor at the university where Ilse had studied, whom she had fallen in love with. He had left town without notice before Ilse could tell him that she was pregnant with his child. It was as if he had died, gone like a ghost in the night, without any way for Ilse to contact him. Wolfrik’s father had broken her heart, he had changed her life, and... he was a vampire.

That last part was the hardest piece of information to swallow. Wolfrik might have attributed her tales to nothing more than the ramblings of a dying woman, if there wasn’t something within him that resonated with this truth. He had to believe her, she was his mother, and there was no other explanation for his condition to date. When Ilse passed away soon after this revelation, it was both a devastation and a relief, for she was only living half a life towards the end. The loss of her broke Wolfrik, but not enough to keep him down forever. Ilse had left him with a drawing and a name, and that was all that Wolfrik needed to begin the investigation of his paternity. For years, it was nothing more than dead-end searches and rabbit holes. Wolf discovered the term halfblood, and what it meant for him, but his father remained a mystery. It wasn’t until the mass outing of the vampire world that Wolfrik got any real leads. It was much easier to find the whereabouts of old vampires with the sudden rise of halfblood groups online to join and discuss his paternal search with, especially when he had a hand drawn picture of the man to reference. Wolfrik now finds himself with a name, a one-way plane ticket to JFK, and an indescribable amount of emotions swirling within himself.

Wolfrik is searching for both an explanation and a cure to his mysterious illness. He hopes that meeting his birth father will provide answers to both. The other halfbloods that Wolf has connected with do not share his affliction, but that hasn’t convinced him that this sickness is not supernatural. Although the medical tests showed no known abnormalities, Wolf believes that the plague is in his blood. His father’s blood. And he’s going to get his father to fix the mess that he gave birth to nearly twenty five years ago. At least… that’s the goal.

✘ Multilingual — Having been born in Germany, Wolf speaks the native language fluently, in addition to a bit of the neighboring dutch language. He also attended a school whose lessons were taught in English, so he is equally as fluent in that as a second language — although his accent is quite thick. Being able to speak english is an asset that he is proud of, because he’s always wanted to travel the world as a tattoo artist, and english is a far more universal language than german.
✘ Artist’s Eye — Wolfrik has a creative mind, always thinking and imagining new creations. Having been raised in an art-filled environment, Wolf has grown accustomed to seeing the deeper meanings in abstract thoughts and words that others might overlook. In addition to having a figurative eye for art, his physical eyesight and hand-eye coordination is also quite good, with the exception of when he is incredibly high… or having one of his episodes.
✘ Good Listener — Yet another tool of the trade, Wolf’s years as a tattoo artist helped him to grow into a good listener. People have such fascinating stories if you care to take the time to listen. There are lessons to be gained in listening, even from those younger than himself. Everyone has different experiences to learn from, and Wolf is happy to be a student.

Wolf has a very simple and very real fear of dying. He is facing something big and unknown and terrifying, something that the doctors could not explain, no matter how many tests they conducted. The fainting spells and episodes of intense pain began in his early childhood years. At first, the doctors thought they were seizures… or a virus… or maybe it was psychological. Maybe it was simply just a kid with an overactive imagination and severe attention-seeking behavior. But that wasn't the case, not even close. Wolfrik had been a pin cushion and experimental study for years and he still had no answers. Medicine can not explain his malady, so clearly it must be supernatural... Magical…

Whatever it is, it’s getting worse. The pain is becoming unbearable, causing Wolf to turn to harder drugs and higher doses of illegally obtained narcotics just to be able to work through the day and sleep through the night. It gets worse when he exercises — anything that makes his blood pump faster, it sears like fire in his veins. His episodes are growing more frequent, and they’re lasting for longer longer periods of time. Wolfrik stood face to face with death before — he saw it in his mother’s tired eyes — and he feels that somber presence once again. Death is lurking over his shoulder, breathing down his neck, and if Wolf doesn’t find a cure soon… he fears he might not make it to his twenty-fifth year.

Due North

_{Lena interacting with Mary Holly @AtomicNut, Lord Northam @Themerlinhawk & Mrs. Northam @TootsiePop}

Miss Lena van der Meer

---

---

Miss Lena awoke with the sun, as was usual for her. Though, to say that she woke was to say that she was sleeping in the first place, which was hardly true. Lena hadn’t slept a solid night since arriving at the manor decades ago. The spirits are far more active at night and they have always sensed her presence. Whilst Lena is on the cusp of consciousness, a weakened state, they poke and prod at her. Tugging at her hair, pulling the blankets down, sometimes the more benevolent ones tuck her in or even lay beside her. But when dawn arrives, Lena recalls nothing. The lack of sleep and eternal tiredness have become her new normal.

Having already gone about her morning routine, Miss Lena has washed, dressed, and properly made up for the day. Her long ebony locks were pulled up into a smooth bun and her fingers had just finished the task of braiding a final section to wrap around the band holding the rest of her hair up. She used a hairpin to tuck the braid securely in place and took a few moments to examine her reflection in the mirror.

Leaning towards the looking glass, judging the way her face powder was clinging to the fine lines and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, Lena sighed. She had never been a vain woman before now. It wasn’t how she was raised and it wasn’t who she wanted to be, but… these days? She couldn’t help it. Every morning that she looked in the mirror, she could swear that she was starting to look more and more like them. Soon enough she herself would be a grey phantasm gliding up and down these halls, endlessly trapped in peculiar labyrinth that was Manor North.

There was no use dwelling on the inevitable though, not when there was work to be done. The hungry mouths of the manor would not feed themselves. Heaven forbid they feel the weight of picking up a ladle, let alone a pot or a pan. Miss Lena stood up from her simple vanity and put on a fresh apron before heading towards the kitchen. She entered it to find Mary Holly giving Lord Northam some concoction she’d brewed up. The shrew-like woman glared at Mary with a pinched gaze.

“What have I told you about using my best saucepans for your witchery?” The elder staff member scolded as she snuffed out the stove’s flames and used a cloth to lift the pot and bring it towards the wash basin. “You might know how to wash the dishes, but you can’t scrub away the evil, child.” Lena coldly poured the herbal “witches brew” as she saw it down the drain and left the pan to be cleaned before muttering under her breath. _{“The last thing this house needs is more evil…”}

“Well, I do hope you left some of the herbs in the garden for there proper intended uses.” Lena remarked at her usual volume, more calm now. She grabbed a cloak and a basket to head outside and gather herbs for tonight’s dinner. On her way out, she bowed her head slightly towards the master of the house, “We’ll be having stew for supper tonight, Lord Alexander.” It was about as many words as any of the staff members could muster up when speaking to the newly returned heir. For the most part, they were a silent working bunch. There was plenty else to be doing rather than slacking off and sharing unnecessary niceties.

Lena wrapped the cloak more tightly around her shoulders before stepping outside and bracing against the morning chill. There was always a chill in the air on the estate grounds, but it was most noticeable at dawn and dusk. The old woman gripped her gathering basket and headed towards the herb garden. On her journey through the gardens, the sight of a pale phantom caught her eye. Lena turned to see a woman clad in a black night robe exiting the hedge maze.

That was no spirit, it was Mrs. Northam. Briefly forgetting her task, Lena watched the other woman curiously as she appeared to head towards the family crypt in a trance. “God have mercy…” Miss Lena remarked softly and shook her head before following her conscience after Josephine.

There was not much that could have prepared Lena for the sight she was to behold within the crypt. The widowed Mrs. Northam sat humming an eerie tune, clutching a rose as blood dripped from her palm down onto to the resting place of her late husband. Speak of the devil, a tall shadowy figure stood above the mourning woman. The spirit reeked of menace and ill intent and it wore a distorted version of Mortimer Northam’s face. Lena’s gut told her that he — or it — was to blame for the widow’s state. Haven’t you caused her enough pain, you whoring devil? Leave! Lena thought scathingly.

Whether it be Lena’s mental scolding, the morning rays of light creeping into the crypts entrance, or simply the surprise of being spotted, Mortimer’s spirit faded away. Miss Lena dropped her basket then and rushed to Mrs. Northam’s side. “Goodness, dear Lady Josephine, what are you doing out here? Bleeding out and wearing naught but your sleeping robe, you’re gonna catch your death! Come now, let me see your hand.” She said kindly as she knelt down with a linen cloth from her basket ready to clean off the wound.