Noxious

Voldoa: City of Monsters

Max said
Just putting this up because I feel like it. Working on a drawing of Thomas to put in his profile. Here's the WIP if you guys would like to see what I've got so far.

That looks awesome. You should look into the art groups on RPG.

Voldoa: City of Monsters

Max said
Amazing, Noxious. I'll put it up. Post when you're ready.

*bows* thank you, thank you. I'm pretty pleased with her myself. I totally named her Crescent in latin. It makes me giggle.

Voldoa: City of Monsters

Name: Lunatae

Age: Undetermined, prolific in the Hellenistic Era

Race: Maenad; Bacchae

Gender: Female

Appearance

pic credit: archaical -DA

Personality:

She was something of an enigma, a being that literally emitted frenzy possessed an outlook almost wholly lackadaisical. Perhaps this was owed in part that to simply survive herself was challenge enough. Most things were trivial, some humorous and very few worthy of focused attention. A first impression was hard to reconcile with what most ‘expected’. She had survived the fall of empires and even races. She had watched as the first man gained control over elements and animals, but never over himself. She was a bubbly flighty thing, speaking in exaggerated hand gestures of long dead philosophies and then you would catch her blazing with a drunken fury as she ripped into the flesh of an infant. She would giggle and gossip, batting lashes over brilliant angelically demonic eyes, playing the role of extended youth throwing lavish parties of heightened ecstasy and then the façade would crumble and the vicious untrusting minx would whisper ancient magic directly assaulting what sanity one who keeps the company of such a creature might have. She is not overly intelligent, despite her age, and has a tendency towards trivial grudges that last centuries.

History:

Her beginning clawed into the minds of the earliest humans, breeding the race of maenads as their souls hummed for a means of release from the confines placed by their God. She doesn’t remember her own birth, no more than she remembers the waves of time that have passed over her clouded in an orgy of desecration. Her peak was in the time of the Greeks and Romans; a time in which her God was worshipped amongst the humans and revered in the gluttony of upper class. The maenads were strong then, living in the woods together yet venturing into the cities without fear. They hunted the bulls in the woods, taking them down together. They laid in exhaustion amongst fine pillows, dreaming together. They played music and screamed and howled at the moon, dancing naked together.

The memories of this time still roll over her with a delightful nausea of something truly and utterly lost. Once the humans began to band together against the monsters they ran and it seems as if one day she turned to look about her as she ran and she was alone. They had no way to hide. They were helpless in concealing their abilities. Even when she focused all of her attention on stifling; reaching the point of hysterical sobbing and retracted all love she had for her God, it still trickled from her as inherent to her being as the soft smell of honey. For short bursts of time she would play her part of normality. She hid herself for a year in a rotting yet boisterous whore house in the heart of London. She was tired. Tired of running. Tired of herself. The only happiness she had was the influence she subtly placed upon the house, but this couldn’t last.

The first warning sign came with a shrill scream early in the morning. One of the whores had mistaken her client for a raging bull and she was hysterical. Her naked lithe form twitched in a corner, dripping blood from her pale skin and a dull bed post that she refused to release as she ranted and raved about his intentions to spear her with a horn. The man appeared ordinary to everyone else; save the large gaping hole in his chest where the bed post had been securely lodged. Some even chuckled and shared jokes that incorporated the “spearing” and the “horn” varying in who was giving it to who. The poor disillusioned girl was carted off to an insane asylum while the mistress of the house did everything she could to contain the story and rumors that were sure to affect their business. Then one night the house became a cacophony of sounds that, to this day, are simply described as indescribably wicked. The scene that unfolded before anyone unfortunate enough to bear witness was an elaborate web of debauchery and defilement; limbs scattered about in perverse and precarious situations, simply remnants in comparison to the disjointed forms of their origin. Wine puddles blended seamlessly with the puddles of blood and other excretions; staining a myriad of pillow feathers, glass, flayed flesh, wood and ceramics – anything that was unlucky enough to have been present had ceased to exist outside of this new Frankenstein testimonial to indulgence.

And this is where they found her, those men in fleshy robes. How they knew to come looking is irrelevant now, but they beat the police and the hunters, finding the exhausted minx perched amongst the not yet decaying filth. Had it not been for her lazy arm movements moving cigarette from lips to side, barely dodging the refuse, they would have missed her. She lounged amongst the scene like a bored monarch and only barely raised a brow as they spoke to her. Once they finished she stood, naked and covered in all means of fluids and material, so much so that none of them could have described her skin tone or hair color without referencing the violent cerise tint. She followed them, her demeanor still the bored monarch and as the stepped outside the fire that would consume the place had already begun from that lingering cigarette.

Other:

Her abilities incite a frenzy in those around her. Inebriation, sex, rage and all forms of revelry reach a height beyond gluttony. It is often that the mood will overtake the maenad as well and her appetites will turn to flesh; be it rabbit, deer, werewolf or human child (and everything in between). The influences of her abilities differ depending on a multitude of factors; date proximity to the festival of their God, race, age, mood, predisposition/mental strength, ect.

Voldoa: City of Monsters

I feel obligated to name my character Crescent since you named yours Nox. :D I think I am going to create a Maenad.

Voldoa: City of Monsters (Victorian, Dark Fantasy)

I'd like to know more. Consider me interested.

The Heavens Aflame - A Civil War Amongst the Deities

here. finished reading the OOC, woohoo. NOW I'm going to try and jump into the IC, but it will probably take me another hour or so just to read all of that.

Rum and Madness

So I didn't force anyone to meet up, but I gave you the option of having the boy approach you. He works for the Mambo (voodoo priestess) that rules over the 3 snakes. Assume he knows how to find people. ALSO, he could tell people where to find Marie because we will just assume that Café Bonswa is a regular haunt and the boy is used to tracking her down.

Rum and Madness

An unguiculate set of fingertips pressed on a thick Catalpa wood door and allowed the room to sigh outward into a cobblestone alley. The door appeared ancient and foreign even amongst the cultural orgy breeding in the streets, and the door in fact was. It had arrived with her family from Haiti four generations ago, but that was only a murmur of the historic relevance. What exuded from the door, both wicked and ethereal, was not one dimensional like the cookie cutter doors of the newly arriving French quartiers. It splayed itself to all of the senses willing to partake. The wood weaved in intricate patterns combined with metal that appeared to have a synergetic juxtaposition. She knew more stories about the door than she did about her own Grandfather, but that was expected in her matriarchal line.

Her lips pursed around some no bullshit rolled tobacco, inhaling smoke almost as thick as the humid New Orleans air. It crawled across skin and strangled the soul with thick putrid smell, sin and debauchery that tickled a sense of dread buried deep down in the average perception. Her perception wasn’t average so she physically cringed in the open space. Her head pounded a rhythm of penance for last night’s bottle and she contemplated stepping back inside, but it was the same feeling that had initially urged her outside and she hated second guessing herself. She leaned against the hard brick, allowing the sharp points to scratch the surface of her skin and prickle some awareness of her shell, a practice of grounding her spirit. As she leaned against the wall she pulled her eyes shut tight allowing the murmurs of the city to lap at her consciousness like waves on the harbor that fueled free form hand me down lore; a bunch of half-truths and outrageous claims lingered until brushed aside by a more exciting addition. All of this for a sunken ship? But she could feel it, and deep down, they could feel it to. Something wasn’t right.

As if to confirm the utterly proven facts on her mind a small boy tugged at her loose lace shirt. She forced heavy lids to raise and find the child’s face; recognition clicked in and she offered the boy as dazzling a smile her listless body would part with, before her gaze wandered towards the skyline. Her eyes traced the edge of the alley for some frame of reference on time, but the sun was neither here nor there for her to gauge. That wasn’t an odd occurrence, not in this alley and not for her. She’d never been good at judging light and time, even before all the nicks and loses on her bound human form. Her attention returned to the boy. He was a radiating caramel color, much lighter than her own, and kissed with a million freckles that appeared like constellations swirling around the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. Initially the eyes has stunned her, and even now their overly giddy knowledge confounded her.

“Bi’ early fah summons?” Those sharpened nails flicked the glowing cigarette into an unlit corner that quickly devoured the light. She knelt down and picked up the boy; small? Yes. Young? Yes. But touching the boy gave no qualms to his spiritual resonance.

“Nah dat early Missus Marie. De calls, we go.” The boy didn’t seemed disturbed about being hoisted from his feet, but he was abuzz with energy and his squirming hinted at restless errands so she simply hugged him instead of getting him comfortable on her hip. He smelled strongly of lemongrass, red cedar, thyme and a few other herbs that had her raising an eyebrow.

“Newcomers?” A chirping oui, oui sound accompanied the boys nodding head as his bare feet were placed back on the ground, less vandalized with filth in the alley, but only the spirits knew what the boy carried with him on those soles.

“She tells it like de ‘ere to ‘elp, some of dem.” The boy smiled while he shrugged his shoulders, but his eyes were tracing the peripherals and she could tell he had other places to be.

“tcht, tcht,” Her hand pressed at his back as if she would push him into a quick pace jetting into the bowels of the city, “G’on witcha den. You watch dem crossroads, de breathin’ somethin’ toxic tonight.”

“Yes’m Missus Marie. We be seein’ you tonight.” Her eyes kept a close watch on the boy as he made his way down the alley, presumably to find the newcomers they were prepping for. Here to help hmmm? The three snakes barely worked with others, but most of the cult hunters kept to their own sections of the world, spiritually and geographically, so this must be something big. That was troubling. She needed her mind to be clearer than the fuzzy feeling prickling off the stale alcohol. She needed a drink, a fresh one. She lit up another cigarette and started to make her way to Café Bonswa. It would be a couple of hours more before she would need to start making her way into the bayou where the Mambo reigned and the lines of fate where sticky tricky webs that latched and released with a will of their own. Yes, she would definitely be needing a drink.

Rum and Madness

Should I try and unite people? o.O; I'm typing up my post now and I can drag everybody together...or start to. Hellis darling? You going to do the unite in your next post> I guess it doesn't matter to much.

Also, I love all the players so far. :D

"Nar Mat Kordh-Ishi" - Orcish Mercenary RP

So Limey, Imagination - whatchu lovely people want to do with the wounded Warg? We're going to have to watch it once we pull into the city. Confined, wounded, surrounded by people.