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Post by Cloudy on Mar 3, 2013 16:01:03 GMT -7
ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᵇᵉ ʰᵃᶰᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶠᵒᵒᵗ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵇᵒᶰᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵗʳᵃᵛᵉˡˡᵉʳ ᶠᵃʳ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵒᵐᵉˑ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈᵒ ᶰᵒᵗ ˢᵉᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ˡᶤᵉˢ ᵃʰᵉᵃᵈ˒ ʷʰᵉᶰ ˢᵘᶰ ʰᵃˢ ᶠᵃᶤˡᵉᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵐᵒᵒᶰ ᶤˢ ᵈᵉᵃᵈˑ--ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ʳᶤᶰᵍˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉˡᵛᵉᶰ ᵏᶤᶰᵍˢ ᵘᶰᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵏʸ˒ ˢᵉᵛᵉᶰ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈʷᵃʳᶠ ˡᵒʳᵈˢ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉᶤʳ ʰᵃˡˡˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵗᵒᶰᵉ˒ ᶰᶤᶰᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵒʳᵗᵃˡ ᵐᵉᶰ ᵈᵒᵒᵐᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵈᶤᵉ˒ ᵒᶰᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ˡᵒʳᵈ ᵒᶰ ʰᶤˢ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ᵗʰʳᵒᶰᵉ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃᶰᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵒʳᵈᵒʳ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷˢ ˡᶤᵉ--
♂ Jai Templar [Schimba]
♂ Fane Lupei [Priciolici]
♂ Erik [Priciolici]
♂ Malachi [Strigoi]
♀ Elohir [Priciolici]---ᵒᶰᵉ ʳᶤᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ʳᵘˡᵉ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵃˡˡ˒ ᵒᶰᵉ ʳᶤᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ᶠᶤᶰᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐˑ ᵒᶰᵉ ʳᶤᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇʳᶤᶰᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵃˡˡ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵏᶰᵉˢˢ ᵇᶤᶰᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐˑ---Jai Templar How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when you in your heart, you begin to understand: there is no going back. There are some things that time cannot heal - some hurts that too deep, that have taken hold. Jai Templar’s life is not a pretty one; it is not a happy one, and it does not have a happy ending – at least, not yet. Jai was born in 1760 to his parents, Marianna and Barnabus – his father was a Schimba and his mother was a human. Though it is rare for Schimba to mate with humans, it does happen. The Schimba population is small, as is the chance of finding your lifemate, and so some Schimba will turn the mortals to repopulate. In Jai’s eyes, Marianna was the most beautiful creature to have ever walked to earth. There isn’t a day that goes by that Jai does not remember his beautiful mother. Thank the Great Spirit that Jai takes after Marianna. His dark, jet black hair is akin to his mother’s soft, rolling locks that once were; his dark, emerald-green eyes so like Marianna’s soft, soulful, loving ones. She knew, of course, that her husband was a Schimba, and knew that her children would most likely be Schimba. The Schimba gene, when bred through the mortal line, is most usually dominant. When Jai was born, Marianna described it as the best day of her life. To Barnabus, he had an heir to the family shipping business.
Jai was born on November 21st, 1760, in the gentle, rolling hills of Scotland. Barnabus’ family was fairly rich in their time – extremely wealthy, in fact; they would be the equivalent of billionaires in the modern age – and that money had passed to Barnabus, allowing them to avoid the persecution of the Scottish later in the years. Marianna doted on her only son, and shielded him from Barnabus’ temper. You see, Jai’s father was not a nice man – he liked the drink much too fiercely for his own good, as well as Marianna and her son. He would fly into fits of rage at the smallest provocation, and Marianna was most often the target. He beat her restlessly, black ugly bruises marring her flawless, beautiful form. Jai once stumbled upon his mother a few moments after his father had stormed off in his fit of rage, presumably to find more alcohol. The tentative voice of Jai startled his mother and she spun around and shrunk away. The sight of the ugly red hand mark on Marianna’s slender throat confused the two-year-old Jai and Marianna pulled her son into the billows of her gown and rocked him back and forth, singing softly to him.
“If I could give you three things, I would give you these:
Song and laughter and wooden home on the shining seas.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.
Sleep now the wind is warm and the moon is high.
Give sadness to the stars, sorrow to the sky.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.
Do you hear what the sails are saying in the wind’s dark song?
Give sadness to the wind, blown alee and gone.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.
Sleep now the moon is high and the wind is cold
For you are young and sad and the sea is old.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.
If I could give you three things, I would give you these:
Song and laughter and a wooden home in the shining seas.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.”
Marianna sang the song softly to her son, watching as Jai’s soft, green eyes slowly closed, and ruffled his silky black hair. When she was satisfied that Jai was deeply asleep, she pressed her lips against his forehead and whispered, “You’ll always be in my heart.”
It was a scant three years later that Marianna’s strength broke. Barnabus’ muddy, ugly, soulless brown eyes were wide and bloodshot with drink and rage, and he snarled hatefully at his wife, striking her hard against the face. Marianna made not a sound as she staggered and slammed against the wall, turning her head to the right. When her emerald eyes opened again, she met her son’s terrified gaze. ‘Hide,’ she mouthed and Jai, to his credit, shook his head fiercely. The five-year-old puffed out his chest and released a fearsome cry, hurtling himself at his father. Barnabus staggered, and stumbled away from Marianna. She wept, clawing her way towards Jai, begging Barnabus not to hurt him, not to hurt the heir to his fortune. Barnabus ignored him and tangled his hand in Jai’s hair, throwing his five-year-old roughly to the ground. Jai grunted and cried out, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Though it was nearly three hundred years ago, Jai remembers every word his father said to him.
“You think yourself brave?” Barnabus snarled, towering over the smaller Jai. “You think yourself strong? You are a fool, just like your whore of a mother.” Marianna let out a strangled cry and clenched her hands into fists. She knew that she could not reach her son in time, but to hear her beloved husband call her a whore in front of her son cut deep.
“N-No,” Jai responded, his voice shaking a bit, “but I’m brave enough not to hurt a lady.” He scrambled to his feet, puffing out his chest and standing before his gentle mother protectively. Barnabus laughed, the sound cold and heartless, his eyes flaring with rage.
“It is a pity you took after your mother.” The flippant words cut deep, and Jai’s world ended that night. He still remembered his mother’s horrified scream as his father changed, lunging for his mother. He still remembered Marianna’s horrific gurgle as his father jerked her head back roughly, sinking his teeth into her throat. He watched, frozen with fear, as his father murdered Marianna. The once vibrant green eyes that had been Marianna’s focused on her son’s, and she stretched out a single hand to caress Jai’s cheek once. Jai heard screaming, over and over and over again, as the life in his mother faded away with the last drop of her blood, and it was not until his father struck him full on the mouth that he realized the agonized screams were his. Barnabus towered over his heir, his once brown eyes now black, his blood-slicked teeth bared, and sank his teeth into Jai’s shoulder. The five-year-old crumpled instantly from shock and grief and Barnabus sold the useless child into slavery to a Strigoi. Jai later found out what the price Barnabus has offered was.
Jai’s father hated emotion. He hated the fact that he loved, he hated it all. And when he met Costin, he knew it was his way out. Costin took an interest in Jai and asked for the child as a slave. Barnabus agreed, but on one term: change him. A cruel light entered Costin’s eyes and he did, thus turning Barnabus into the first Strigoi-Schimba hybrid.
Jai’s past is not pretty, and his life is not happy. When he was sixteen, he was rescued by the gentlest soul aside from his mother. Unole. The Schimba King took Jai under his wing and trained him, instantly noticing the young shifter’s fighting spirit. Jai swore he’d find Costin, and Barnabus, and kill them both.
Jai can often seem stand-offish, with his hard, pained green eyes and his jet black hair. Jai thinks it a blessing that he looks solely like his mum; he is tall, standing almost six-feet-tall. He prefers to watch, acting when he deems in necessary. Though Jai does not often allow himself to tangle in emotions, as love has killed him before, he would not hesitate to protect someone he knows has placed their trust in Jai’s protection. Fane LupeiAnd neither the angels in heaven above or the demons down under the sea can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee. [/color] Fane Lupei is quite possibly the most pure soul who has ever walked the earth. He is easy going, and is one of the most easy people to get along with – simply because he’s fun. He likes to make awful jokes, twang awful puns, and snicker at overly-dramatic movies. He has an odd habit of bursting into dramatic death scenes. His favorite is to drop to his knees, release a horrific gurgle, and cry, “A plague upon both your houses!” before falling face-first to the earth, tongue lolling. It’s quite comical to see. Fane is quite attractive, with his tall, muscular form, silky black hair, and stark, amber, almost pure gold eyes. He moves with a sweeping ease, an unerring grace, a feral touch. He stands about 6’1”, and so towers over many of his fellow Priciolici, who tend to run on the shorter side. Fane is the epitome of the ‘free spirit.’ He loves running through the woods; the sound of his paws drumming against freshly-dampened earth and the smell of the woods just after a rain-storm is the most beautiful feeling to him.
Ah, the speed of the wolf is an amazing thing. Though not the fastest animal, the wolf still packs a punch when he runs at full speed. Wolves are generally built for stamina, however; the ability to chase down prey until it collapses from exhaustion us one of the wolf’s advantages. Fane is no different – he is just half-human. His speed is about double the average wolf, and is faster than any other Priciolici – almost faster than Doru himself. Fane’s heart generally beats at a slower rate, allowing his blood to stay oxygenated over long runs or quick sprints. As he is larger than those of his pack in human form, Fane towers over all of them in wolf form. His fur is a jet black, as though every ounce of color had been sucked away from Fane’s coat. His coat is rather fluffy, keeping him safe from the cold, but also giving him a comical look. It’s Fane’s amber-gold eyes that cause the intimidation factor. It’s also his sheer size. The average Priciolici, in wolf form, stands at Fane’s shoulder. Crazy, right? It’s like he was on the ‘roids, the juice, all that good stuff, but he wasn’t. He’s just an enigma of nature. Go Fane!
Well, Fane’s history is rather pleasant, though his dad was never really in the picture [No, I swear, I don’t have daddy problems. I don’t know why all my characters’ dads are douchebags. o3o]. His mommy raised him right and Fane’s the perfect little gentlemen. He won’t hesitate to hold the door open for a lady, or drape his jacket over a puddle – though he hasn’t had to do that much yet. Ugh. Ruin a perfect jacket? Why? Oh, the cruelty! Anyway, Fane is quite protective when it comes to his family. He won’t hesitate to rip out throats or break hearts if it means keeping his loved ones safe.ErikA horse! A horse! My Kingdom for a horse! The son of Doru is a good position to be in, and Erik relishes it. He is heir to the Priciolici throne, and thinks himself flawless. In reality, he is a good pack leader; he cares for the wolves under his control and takes care of the taxes and business transactions to make sure they are cared for, provided with health insurance, and fed. Though some Priciolici prefer to purchase their own health insurance, there is a policy with which any pack member can enroll. Erik runs this policy in North America. Erik is average looking for a Priciolici; he is about 5’7”, average height, and has dark brown hair that is slightly curly and drapes in his eyes a bit. Erik is best described as ambitious; he wants what he wants and will do near anything to get it. He’s not afraid to break some people to get his way; but he is overall a nice person. His tragic flaw is his jealousy; even the smallest object or idea that Erik does not possess and wants can through the Priciolici prince into a fit of rage and passion.
Little does the Priciolici know that he has a pureblooded sister, though her whereabouts are unknown and Doru rarely mentions his mother. Doru’s mate died a little while after Erik’s sister was born and Doru does not speak of her; the pain that floods his gaze is heartbreak enough to Erik, though he has never known his mum. Erik was born in Romania, but remarkably does not speak with an accent. He does speak Romanian fluently, as do Doru and a few other pack members. Erik’s wolf form is a large, silvery-gray, muscularly built creature. He his fast, though nowhere near as fast as Fane or Doru. His Alpha will is powerful; his power is strong. He does not take well to insubordination. Should any Priciolici live in North America, Erik will demand their allegiance or force them from the country. North America is his. No one is going to take Erik’s chance at being the Priciolici King one day. Not. A. Single. Person.
Erik’s history is rather pleasant, though his mother was not in the picture. About a year after his was born – around the year 1885 – his mother was attacked, as it was around the time that the Raven-kind were discovered. She was murdered; she was abused violently, beaten, hung upside-down, and then her throat was slashed ear to ear. As an insult, a silver stake was plunged through her chest, missing her heart, with a note that read, And may the servants of the Devil be slain. Doru’s anguished howl ripped through the night with fervor, and those who murdered Lauren felt true fear stir in their hearts. You do not mess with the alpha’s mate; he will kill you. It is as simple as that. When Doru discovered Lauren, she clung to life – barely. He sobbed, took her from the tree that she was suspended by, and cradled her. She asked him to live and take care of Erik. The worst part? Lauren was pregnant; her pregnancy had lasted about three months, which was average. Doru rushed her home and their daughter was born as Lauren gasped her dying breaths. When Erik’s mother died, she whispered, “Live for me.” Doru swore to do so, and raised his son and daughter as best he could. Unfortunately, his daughter looked so much like Lauren that he feared for her safety. He feared that Lauren’s murderers would believe his daughter a reincarnation of his mate, and so he sent her away – to North America, borne by the arms of a young Priciolici couple. He gave them strict orders. “You are not to inform her of her heritage,” Doru ordered, “or what she can shift into. I will do so when I meet her.”
Erik, of course, remembers nothing of this; he only remembers the wrestling matches with his dad, and the runs through the woods as a swift wolf. He enjoyed his childhood to the umpteenth degree. Malachi“Look down, look down, don’t look him in the eye. Look down, look down, you’re here until you die… look down, look down, you’ll always be a slave. Look down, look down, you’re standing in your grave…” [/blockquote][/b][/color] The cold, flat gaze of Malachi’s black eyes has stirred much fear in hearts of mortals, though Malachi himself loathes that he is intimidating. He was not always such. He had a mortal family once, and his life was good. Until Costin came along, of course. The very name of the Strigoi lord sends rage piercing Malachi’s heart and causes his jaw to clench, his hands to curl, and his eyes to flash madly. He hates Costin more than he hates himself, and that is saying something. The Strigoi Lord is pompous, taking what he pleases as he has done for over two-thousand-years, since the birth of Christ. And when he spotted the strong young Malachi, whose name was Ryland then, he saw his new subject coming to life. When Ryland was walking home from his job at the nearby law office, he was attacked.
Cost drug Ryland into the shadows and buried his teeth in the lawyer’s neck. Ryland’s cries of pain were muffled by Costin’s hand over his mouth, and the fangs in his neck. Once the poison hit his bloodstream, the change happened. Costin laughed and dropped Ryland, watching the transformation. Foam burbled at Ryland’s lips, his throat convulsing as he struggled to breath past the barrier in his lungs. His eyes rolled back, wordless screams ripping themselves from his throat. In the back of Ryland’s panic-filled mind, he wondered why no one came to help. He has yet to learn that Costin’s power blocked off his screams from mortal ears. When the death throes clasped Ryland’s form, he convulsed and flailed wildly, his body throwing in a last ditch effort to live. Energy reserves were destroyed, and Ryland’s mortal life ended. When his eyes opened again, blackened by his mortal death, Costin spoke a single word.
“Malachi.” And thus Costin’s most powerful child was born.
Malachi hates himself. He hates how Costin has damned his soul, and he hates how he is forced to watch his family grieve his loss from afar. Oh, how he wants to go there, to go to them, to bundle his wife and his two daughters into his arms and weep at the loss of his mortal life with him. But he can’t. He knows that his wife, Jennifer, will never understand. She will fear him, think him a ghost; she believes him dead, though his body was never found. It was his own doing. He went back to the place where Costin had murdered him, looking at the splattered blood and signs of a struggle, and called 911. Malachi was gone before they arrived, but they identified the blood as Ryland’s and informed his family.
Malachi’s appearance is rather handsome, and he was quite attractive when he was mortal. His jet-black hair is kept neatly trimmed, though he has let it grow out a bit since death. His eyes, once a stark, bright, loving green are now a flat, bottom-less black. He is tall, standing about 5’9”, with a fairly muscular body. It is his mind that gives him his power, however; he is second only to Costin when it comes to powerful Strigoi.
Malachi believes himself forever damned. Can he be saved? Can he become Ryland once more?Elohir“You see me, I’m pleading for you to stop my bleeding.” Poor little Elohir has never had it easy. Oh, her adoptive parents were amazing; they loved her until the ends of the earth. But she never really fit in anywhere. At school, everyone seemed to be afraid of her, though she could never figure out why. And when she asked her parents, they would share this look between them and say, “It’s just a phase, Elo.” Such an answer satisfied a kindergartener, but it does not satisfy the seventeen-year-old Elohir now. There’s always been something wrong with her; she’s always had this… presence stirring in the back of her mind, growling and speaking roughly as a wolf would, and it’s always felt… right, and that fact scares Elohir more than she’d admit. She’s had dreams of a pure white wolf, with strange, glowing green eyes loping powerfully alongside a gray wolf who seems so familiar; part of her recognizes him, the subconscious part of Elohir’s mind. She does not realize the other wolf in her dreams in Doru, Lord of the Priciolici, and that she is his daughter. She is so much like her mother; she has the same sweeping step, the feral grace, the easy confidence; she has the same jet black hair that falls in loose waves to her waist; the same, sparkling, emerald eyes. She is the spitting image of the late Lauren.
Elohir is much like her mother in personality, too. She is authoritative, taking the lead role in group projects that are forced in school. Most students steer clear of her; it seems their very instincts tell them to stay away. She is confident, a true alpha, as her blood commands. She has a habit of pulling her hair over one shoulder, and letting it drape downward. When concentrating, Elohir will gently press her teeth into her bottom lip or stick her tongue out. She is unable to sit still; it is possibly the result of never shifting, but Elohir is always moving, whether it be tapping her legs or drumming her fingers or tapping her foot. It’s always something, and it’s gotten Elohir in trouble before. Her teachers have written her off as the “ADD kid” and it makes Elohir furious, though no one would ever believe the soft murmurs in her mind.
Elohir is Erik’s pure-blooded sister, and Doru’s royal daughter, though she does not know it. Because she looked so much like her murdered mother, Doru feared for his daughter’s safety and sent her, in the care of a trusted couple, to North America to be raised. She cannot speak Romanian very well; she took French in high school. Deep inside the powerful Elohir is the wolf, straining to be released. Doru comes; will she accept him as her father and accept her fate? Or write him off as another non-believer of her potential?
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Post by Cloudy on Mar 5, 2013 17:09:54 GMT -7
ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᵇᵉ ʰᵃᶰᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶠᵒᵒᵗ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵇᵒᶰᵉ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶜᵒˡᵈ ᵇᵉ ᵗʳᵃᵛᵉˡˡᵉʳ ᶠᵃʳ ᶠʳᵒᵐ ʰᵒᵐᵉˑ ᵗʰᵉʸ ᵈᵒ ᶰᵒᵗ ˢᵉᵉ ʷʰᵃᵗ ˡᶤᵉˢ ᵃʰᵉᵃᵈ˒ ʷʰᵉᶰ ˢᵘᶰ ʰᵃˢ ᶠᵃᶤˡᵉᵈ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵐᵒᵒᶰ ᶤˢ ᵈᵉᵃᵈˑ--ᵗʰʳᵉᵉ ʳᶤᶰᵍˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵉˡᵛᵉᶰ ᵏᶤᶰᵍˢ ᵘᶰᵈᵉʳ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵏʸ˒ ˢᵉᵛᵉᶰ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈʷᵃʳᶠ ˡᵒʳᵈˢ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉᶤʳ ʰᵃˡˡˢ ᵒᶠ ˢᵗᵒᶰᵉ˒ ᶰᶤᶰᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵐᵒʳᵗᵃˡ ᵐᵉᶰ ᵈᵒᵒᵐᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵈᶤᵉ˒ ᵒᶰᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ˡᵒʳᵈ ᵒᶰ ʰᶤˢ ᵈᵃʳᵏ ᵗʰʳᵒᶰᵉ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ˡᵃᶰᵈ ᵒᶠ ᵐᵒʳᵈᵒʳ ʷʰᵉʳᵉ ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷˢ ˡᶤᵉ--
---ᵒᶰᵉ ʳᶤᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ʳᵘˡᵉ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵃˡˡ˒ ᵒᶰᵉ ʳᶤᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ᶠᶤᶰᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐˑ ᵒᶰᵉ ʳᶤᶰᵍ ᵗᵒ ᵇʳᶤᶰᵍ ᵗʰᵉᵐ ᵃˡˡ ᵃᶰᵈ ᶤᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᵃʳᵏᶰᵉˢˢ ᵇᶤᶰᵈ ᵗʰᵉᵐˑ---Costin, Lord of the StrigoiPower corrupts. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. [/blockquote][/color][/b] The mortal life of Costin was fairly decent; he was wealthy and nearly controlled the medieval government.. He held much sway over the members, but he yearned for more. He yearned for complete control of everyone and everything. He wanted to be king, though he wasn’t stupid enough to believe he’d ever be a monarch. He did not have royal blood or enough power. The true nature of Costin’s rise to power was lost to history, but I shall tell you what happened.
Costin performed a ritual to summon Satan himself. Before the dark lord Lucifer, he made a deal. Absolute power for his immortal soul. Some say he wanted money; some say he was escaping persecution. They are all wrong, of course. Costin wanted nothing but power; absolute, complete power. Lucifer agreed, and built his ultimate weapon; he gave Costin the strength to lift something a thousand times his size with little effort; he gave Costin the speed to become a colorless blur to the mortal eye; he gave Costin the eyesight to see through the darkest days and nights; he gave Costin the teeth to feast on mortal essence; and he gave Costin immortal life. No one knows how to kill Costin, but I shall inform you: Costin can only be killed by a weapon blessed by God himself. As Costin is Lucifer’s first, and most powerful, creation, he is more or less the Devil’s Right Hand man. Now, when God found out about this ‘pact’, he was furious. He went to Costin and said: “You have made a deal with Satan and so you must pay for it. You and your children will never know the beauty of Heaven or Purgatory. You are cursed to wander the shadows, the holy light of my sun burning your flesh and mind should you walk through its rays. You will know constant hunger for release, and you shall never cease to exist. You will survive off the theft of blood, the very essence of my creation's soul. But you will not find blood so easily found. My creations will learn of your secrets and hunt you down without fail, staking you in the light of my sun. This is your curse, your punishment, for consorting with Satan. May he have mercy on you, for I will not.”
When good ol’ Lucifer realized God had cursed his creation, he went to Costin and said: “God has cursed you but I bless you. Your footsteps will be so silent as to be inaudible to the mortal's ears. Your senses will be far superior to that of your victims. You will move with blinding speed and will be able to lift things a thousand times your size. You will be able to take the form of the raven to meld into the night, your wings as silent as the skies.”
With his pact complete, Costin began the Strigoi. Unole, Lord of the Schimba“Tell General Howard I know his heart. What he told me before, I have it in my heart. I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed; Looking Glass is dead, Too-hul-hul-sote is dead. The old men are all dead. It is the young men who say yes or no. He who led on the young men is dead. It is cold, and we have no blankets; the little children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away to the hills, and have no blankets, no food. No one knows where they are—perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children, and see how many of them I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead. Hear me, my chiefs! I am tired; my heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.” [/sub][/blockquote][/color][/b] Unole might be the kindest spirit that has ever walked this earth. He is gentle, and cares for every single creature who needs it, regardless of what they may be, mortal or Raven-kind. He seems to be imbued with the very spirit of the Wild, the very power of the Great Spirit. Though he is not the most powerful of the Raven-kind, he is in close second. There are legends of how the Schimba came to be, though most of them are lost to history. Unole himself keeps it a secret. However, I shall tell you. Here is what happened:
Long before the first Europeans came to North America, Unole was the leader of the Cherokee tribe who resided in the mountains of North Carolina. Though fiercely prideful, his tribe was peaceful beneath Unole’s reign. Legend – and history – state that on a hunting trip, Unole was separated from his tribe-members and found himself alone, wandering through a part of the mountains about a mile-and-a-half from his camp. Whilst walking home, he stumbled across the dying body of a powerful white stag. It was clear that the innocent animal was suffering, though Unole could not observe any open or bleeding wounds on the stag’s pure white coat. The creature’s twelve point antlers were tangled with weeds and netting – Unole recognized the net as a different tribe’s; the needlework was not of the Cherokee. Deeply saddened at the suffering of the poor creature, Unole took his ornate dagger and sang the gentle Death Song of the Cherokee. He took the dagger, sweeping his arm upward, and plunging it downward in a swift arc. The knife bit through skin and bone, plunging deep into the stag’s heart. It gave one violent spasm, before its dark brown eyes met Unole’s gaze. The stag gave a soft, relieved sigh and the life faded from its eyes. Before Unole could respond, an explosion of pure green energy erupted around him and Unole found himself pulled into the realm of the dead. Before him stood the white stag in its full glory, its coat shining lightly, his antlers rising to the sky with pride.
The stag spoke in a voice of the ages. “I am the Spirit of the Wild, and you have ended my suffering.”
“That must mean the natural world will wither away.”
“No, my little chief, it will not. Another guardian will be born, but for you, I have a gift. You have shown the compassion of the gentle soul; you saved my from an eternity of suffering by ending my mortal life, and I thank you for that. It surprises me. Why did you do it?”
“You were in pain, and suffering,” Unole responded, confused, as if that answered it all. “I could not let you live in such pain.”
The stag smiled. “Unto you, Unole, I bestow the Spirit of the Wild within you. You will take on the form of any animal or creature at will, and will be able to mimic your tribesmen at will also. But there is a price to pay for such a power. As the Spirit of Wild lives within you, Unole, chieftain of the Cherokee tribe, you, too, will be tasked with guarding the Natural World.”
To Unole's surprise, the stag stepped forward and touched his forehead to Unole's. The second the stag's head touched the head of the human, there was once more an explosion of green energy and Unole found himself in the forests of his homelands again. The body of the white stag once gone, taken into the embrace of Mother Earth once more.
That is how the Schimba were born. They are the guardians of the natural world and are the loyal followers of the Great Spirit.Kayrin, Lord of the Nephilim“You are not prepared.” [/b] Kayrin, Lord of the Nephilim, is quite possible one of the most powerful beings on the earth. He does not hold a candle to the Witch-King, but he is a formidable opponent. He is quick and agile, and his large, raven-black wings are simply an extension of his mind. He uses them without thought, as if they had their own mind. They are his defense; they are all he needs. But make no mistake: Kayrin wouldn’t let out come close to sticking a dagger in his back. He becomes a blur on the battle field. But he is not the only Nephilim; their race numbers about three-hundred. They are rare, but extremely powerful. Shall I tell you how the Nephilim came to be? I suppose. The history of the Nephilim is shrouded in legend, as is most of the history of the Raven-kind.
Nephilim are created by the 'mating' of a demon with an angel. Such a union is rare, and shunned by Heaven, but it happens none the less. As of the last known counting of the Nephilim in the world, the population stands at less than 300. Stories of old passed down through the ages state that the Nephilim were created when Satan came to an angel in the form of a beautiful male. The angel fell head-over-heels for him, and the two engaged in a mating ceremony. Of this ceremony, the first Nephilim was born. Satan's wish produced, he withdrew his guise to reveal his true form to the angel who had born the first mix of demon and angel. Horrified at the twisted being she'd created, the angel fled to Heaven once more to beg for God's forgiveness. The Nephilim was a twisted being, with malformed limbs and jaws, but was second only to Satan and God in its power. As time bore on the Nephilim gradually took on the form of a human instead of the twisted beings of old. Their powers are envied by many of the races, as the Nephilim have the distinct ability to control human minds, alter the human perception of them (ie, how they are viewed to the outside world) and fly.
And that’s how the Nephilim were born. Creepy, right?The Witch-King, Lord of the Dead “The way is shut. It was made by the dead, and the dead guard it. The way is shut. [/sub][/blockquote][/color][/b] There is no being in all the Raven-kind or mortal-kind that outweighs the Witch-King in power. He is known by many names: The Witch-King, the Wraith-King, Lord of the Damned, King of the Dead, Jailor of the Damned. As you may have guessed, he rules over the dead; his realm is vast, stretching to unknown ends. The Witch-King has no history; he simply is. He has been here since the beginning of time. His appearance is a bit disturbing, though. His skin seems see-through, his skeleton easily seen behind it. Mist curls about his feet and body, forming a crown. His hair is black, but decayed-looking. He often rides a jet-black steed, its legs and hooves seemingly soaked in blood, foam dotting around its mouth.
As stated before, there is no being that rivals the Witch-King in power. He lords over the dead; his enemies become his servants. No one can truly defeat him.Doru, Lord of the PricioliciThe call of the wild is a hard one to resist. Doru’s life is sad at some parts, but he has struggled through the heartbreak and restarted his life more than once. Born in Romania before the coming of Christ, Doru’s small, familial group – a tribe, some might call it – wandered the sweeping lands of the far green country, bound by no law. Doru was the head of the family and led them well. Of all the Raven-kind races, the Priciolici’s origins are the most clear, though they are still shrouded in mystery and emotion. Doru does not speak of these times; he refuses, as it brings him a deep, heart-felt sadness. His tribe was murdered and destroyed long ago, by a fellow tribe who learned of what they had become. For the first time, it seemed, jealousy stirred.
Legend foretells that the Great Spirit appeared to Doru in a dream – he bore the form of the great White Wolf, the Lup de Alb. Though most have forgotten the legendary words that left the wolf’s muzzle, Doru remembers – as do I. I shall inform you. This is what the Great Spirit said:
“You would destroy my creation, whom I bestowed upon this earth to be your brother and your partner, whom I bestowed upon this earth to be your companion for your many travels and adventures. You would destroy that which you should embrace: the wolf. Too many of mine have been wiped out due to your spear and scythe. And you must know the consequences of your actions. Upon you, Doru, I bestow the Duhul lui Lup so that you will know the ferocity of the brother wolf, but also the compassion and need to protect loved ones. Upon the night of the first full moon, you shall take on the form of your brother and will know his life and his worries. This gift, which is also a curse, shall be passed down through your lines and that of your tribe.” [/i] Upon the next full moon, as the Great Spirit said, Doru changed. He became the wolf, imbued with the spirit of the wild, as did his family. Over two-thousand-years later, Doru remains as he was when he first changed, though aged by experience. [/sub] Vetyl, Lord of the CibariumWe are betrayed. [/i] Of all the races, the Cibarium might be the most complex. They are the priests of old, of the ancient Aztec civilization that fell to the greed of Hernan Cortes, the conquistador of Spain. Vetyl was the head priest when the Aztecs fell, and he remains the Cibarium King to this day. The Cibarium were borne of the winged serpent god, Quetzalcoatl. In Romanian, their name means ‘feeder.’ The Cibarium function much like the Strigoi; they feed off of human essence, but in the case of the fallen Aztec priests, they consume the human’s soul. While the Strigoi cannot cloak themselves to the outside world unless they take the form of the raven, the Cibarium are impossible to detect or see unless one is trained to recognize the signatures. Have you ever heard of the succubus? The mortal legend was borne of the Cibarium; occasionally, out of spite for the Europeans or boredom – even I do not know – the Cibarium would peel back the layers of the illusions that surrounded them and reveal themselves to mortal eyes. The result was the legend of the succubus; seductive, evil demons that fed on the emotions of the human they attacked.
The Cibarium are a vengeful race; should you affront them, run. Run away and never return; run away and whatever you do, do not look back. After the complete destruction of the Aztec civilization, the men of Hernan Cortes reaped the gold and riches of the dead city and whilst waiting for ships to come and pick them up, an odd disease struck them. One by one, the soldiers would gain this glassy-eyed smile on their face and sort of slump over, as if falling into the arms of a lover. A mark would appear on their skin, just above the heart, in the form of a winged serpent, though it was small and unassuming. Without warning, the soldier would fall into a fit of epileptic seizures with odd words and chants flying from spittle-covered lips. The mark on his chest would burn hotly, turning to a sickening black, before the soldier would scream, “¡ La venganza de Moctezuma me ha reclamado!” before he fell into the arms of death.
What did the soldiers blame the odd disease on? Montezuma’s Revenge – a so-called curse, uttered by the last Aztec Emperor with his dying breath. But what really struck the men of Cortes? The Cibarium, of course; they achieved their ‘just’ and agonizing revenge.---- Who am I - this voice, this consciousness, who has told you the history of every Raven-kind -you ask? I am known by many names. I have existed since the beginning of time; since the Earth was first created in a flash of fire and rock. And I will exist until the end of time. Mortals fear me; they fear my finality and my unpredictability; and they fear the fact that I am unescapable. The Raven-kind fear me, though they may be above the mortals. All beings on Earth fear me, and within good reason. Who am I?
I am the Witch-King; the Wraith-Lord; the Wraith-King; Jailer of the Damned; Lord of the Dead. I am Death itself.
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Post by Goldie on Mar 5, 2013 17:37:22 GMT -7
Orenda Templar
Jaci Larson
Janie Mai Larson
Josephine Rai Larson
Terrah Coal
Lark Coal______________________________________________________________________________________ Orenda TemplarDon't be a fool. Don't give up something important to hold onto someone who can't even say they love you. Orenda, or Renda as she is sometimes called, is Jai Templar's younger sister and the current Healer for all Raven kind. She was born in 1763, three years after Jai. She was a cute toddler, always running around barefoot with her long wavy black hair hanging loose at her waist. She looked much like her mother, with the same pitch black and soft wavy hair, except that Orenda's eyes are a soft lilac color. She is somewhat tall, standing at 5'7 now and has soft feminine curves. She has long tanned legs and and slender arms.
Orenda was always stuck to Jai's side or in her mother's shadow. She was very soft spoken and meek, being quite shy. She always hid behind her mother's legs or under her skirt when the small family had company over until she was around 5, when her mother was killed. She inherited her father's Schimba blood and was able to shift at an early age, though it was mostly just small animals at first like a mouse or a kitten or a little bird. She was always following her mother around, so she often got hit or slapped as well when her father was in a drunken fit. Her mother always made her wear long sleeved dresses so that other people couldn't see the purple hand prints on her arms where her father grabbed her and jerked her around. On the night her mother was killed she ran away with Jai, but not before her father scratched her ribs and left three angry cuts. She still has those marks, though they are three white scars on her side. She stuck to Jai's side constantly, so that means she was also sold to Costin as a little slave at the age of 5 years old. She learned the ways of medicine and of the spirit relm from Unole, taking great interest in it and showing healing powers. She also had prophecies in her dreams, though they are sometimes small matters, they can often also be very important. Jaci LarsonAnyone can hide. Facing up to things, working through them, that's what makes you strong. Jaci is the mother of Janie Mai and Josephine Rai Larson. She is full blooded Pricolici, her parents some of Doru's early pack members. She has short, thin, dark chocolate brown hair and a pair of bright blue eyes surrounded by pitch black lashes. Freckles cover her face but don't stray down to her neck or back, though some do sprinkle her arms. She has pale skin and a tiny frame, only standing at about 5'2 and weighing roughly 95 pounds. She is skinny, to say the least, with slender legs and arms and a narrow waist.
Jaci is a fighter, brave even if she isn't very strong. She is a swift runner do to her light frame and is often one to carry messages Doru assigns. She is sometimes defiant though, being very stubborn. She always listens to Doru, but will more than often ignore high ranked pack members unless the task is of extreme importance. She can be snappy and has a short temper but is one of the best mothers around. Her two twin girls are half blooded Pricolici, which means their father was a human.
His name was Cal Jones, a friend of Jaci's brother. He had sandy blond hair and green eyes the color of clover and mint swirled together. He was a kind young man, taking a liking to 21 year old Jaci when her brother first introduced them a few monthes before. One night at a party the two ended up getting drunk and going to bed, Jaci loosing her virginity and getting pregnant the same night. He was still buzzed but drove Jaci home anyways. After dropping her off he tried driving to his house, but a sharp curve prevented him from doing so. The small truck rolled 13 times and landed in a ditch. Cal died instantly from the impact. A week or so after his funeral, Jaci learned she was pregnant with his baby, or babies at it turned out. The twin girls were born in the pack house. She is very protective of her girls, doing anything in her power to keep them safe.Janie Mai LarsonI'm tough, I'm ambitious, and I know exactly what I want. If that makes me a bitch, okay. Josephine Rai LarsonThe things you do for yorself are gone when you are gone, but the things you do for others remains as your legacy. |
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Post by Spotify on Mar 17, 2013 13:51:55 GMT -7
Schimba;;
Ember
I knew you were trouble when you walked in...
Ember is a beautiful, young, Schimba female. Her father is Unole, the king of their kind, but even though he has major responsibilities, he still always manages to have time for his little girl. Ember is a total daddy's girl, but even so she looks nothing like her father and instead is the spitting image of her mother. Like her mother, she has the same icy blue eyes that seem like they are able to look into your very soul and jet back curly hair that falls to past the small of her back. Not only did Ember inherit her mother's eyes, but her figure as well. She has pretty curves just as her mother did and though her mother was short, she got a bit of her father's height. The one feature she has that is strongly her father's is her high cheek bones which compliment her big doe-like eyes. All in all, Ember is a fit young Schimba teenager that is rather pretty and has a fierce attitude.
Ember is a spitfire to say the least. Her temper easily flares, but that does not mean she doesn't have a heart. She is actually one of the sweetest people around as long as you treat her right. A warning, don't get on her bad side or you'll be there pretty much forever. Her trust is hard to come by and once you have it you have it for life, but if you break it, you're done for. Her people come before anything including herself. She knows how to be poised and regal when needed be and often is.
Ember's life was not that of an average's human. While for the most part Ember had a rather sheltered life not everything was what it seemed. At a young age, her mother was cruelly taken away from her by her now sworn enemies, the evil creatures of night, the Strigoi. Young Ember's pain didn't cease for years and still she continues to mourn her mother's sudden death. Also, sadly, her pain didn't stop with her mother's death. Exactly one year after the tragedy that rocked her family to its core the abuse began. Her brother took his pain out on her every time their father was looking and it didn't stop with physical abuse either, he constantly messed with her head, and he still continues to abuse her every chance he gets...
Alec
Bump in the night..
Looks..Pending..
Personality..pending..
History..pending..
Pricolici;;
Barrow
That is all your strength and none of mine..
Looks..pending..
Personality..pending..
History..pending..
Strigoi;;
Sarafina
Imperfection is beauty, madness is genius and it's better to be absolutely ridiculous than absolutely boring....
Sarafina was beautiful as a regular mundane girl, but than she was reborn and she was no longer beautiful. She was and is exquisite. The first thing you notice about Sarafina is her exotic golden eyes. They sparkle like melted gold and when they gaze upon you it's like they can see into your vary soul. Though her eyes are not the only thing that is exquisite about her. The second thing they noticed about Sarafina is hair. It's a wild mess of copper curls. They're the lightest red and infact they're almost blonde. Her body is fit and no ounce of body fat plagues her body. Not since her rebirth. She is tall and has thin torso. Her whole body can be summoned up in one word and that's delicate. She's delicate from head to toe or at least that's how she looks. In reality she is a lethal weapon.
Personality..pending..
History..pending.. [/center] |
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