#it kind of feels in a way akin to the old belief of vampires

[dvalshock]

I want Jericho to be friends with a little girl who was a former patient of his that always brings him flowers. I want him to be consumed with guilt for killing her and reanimating her body, for lying and saying she is saved. I want it to eat him alive.

[occultusrp]

DANDELION SPHINX.

NAME: THEOPHILUS AMBROSE HARRIS.

OCCUPATION: PRIEST.

AGE: 32.

PRONOUNS: HE/HIM.

FC SUGGESTIONS: Matthew Macfayden*, Aneurin Barnard. *use of younger source material.

DANDELION.

The life of a priest suited your character more than it suited your religious inclination. While you believe in a God, you’re not necessarily conventional in your beliefs which makes for an interesting clergyman. You’ve always preferred the company of books and animals to the one of people, but as you matured so did your love of all things flourished within you. You no longer keep yourself closed off from the rest of the town,  but while you’re kind and polite with them, you’re not inclined to seek out their company of your own volition. When you finally married the woman of your dreams, you were more than happy to just keep tending to the two of you, looking at your modest house like a garden of Eden. When your family grew for one you were beside yourself with glee, and when the old priest of your town died, you succeeded his place by the townsfolk’s vote. It’s been a full year since you’ve worked as the local priest, chatting with your people instead of holding cold, impersonal confessions, and while you didn’t do it for your own benefit, you knew it was one of the reasons why they all loved you so much.

During this year you’ve worked as a priest you’ve never once tied two people in holy matrimony and now you find yourself filled with anxiety. You know you will do it well, but you can’t help being a little stressed out about it. The two lovers you are to wed both belong to prominent, powerful families, and the mother of the Bride is your patron, no less. 

SPHINX.

You always loved the mysteries of nature, the riddles of God. They say you are religious, but your love of the otherworldly secrets has nothing to do with your occupation. You enjoy the subtle presence of the supernatural, a breath of Life contained within every living being. Is life not a riddle in itself? To have the knowledge of existence and of matter that makes Life, is to have the power of ancient Gods - but while it is attainable to you, you’ve never been the greedy sort. 

INVITED TO TEA.

HEMLOCK SIREN. Being married for over three years and graced with a two year old babe you’ve never thought you could be this happy. Your loving wife is your rock and where you are sometimes shy and hesitant, she is brave and audacious. While you seek the otherworldly you also dread it, yet you know what she is and you remain firmly by her side. She never outwardly told you her secret and you don’t ask it of her, but having a witch for a wife brings more blessings than it does damnation.

JESSAMINE DAEMON. They are your patron saint, but you know there’s nothing akin to sainthood within the daemon. An excellent conversationalist and a true host, you enjoy their company whenever they invite you over for tea. You know they are interested in you, in a way they’re interested in all unconventional - but not scandalous - things and you feel flattered knowing they value you.

YARROW HYDRA. The two of you get along really well. They share your love of mysteries and riddles, but their inclination lies within the material world, while you are more attuned to the metaphysical realm. You like to spend time with them and often the conversation exchanged between the two of you leaves you with a thoughtful frown. 

PEONY WEREWOLF. A shepherd should love all of his flock, but you do not hold them in such high regards. Peony Werewolf and their spouse might be the only two truly slimy people you’ve ever met in your life. You can’t put your finger on it, but whenever they drop by for a chat, or a confession, you either want to bolt through the door or bolt the door. Needless to say, whenever they, or Iris Vampire, leave you find your wife cleansing your house with herbs or frankincense. 

AZALEA WYVERN. He returned home from across the sea and while he’s not a foreigner, he’s not a true local either, and so you’ve taken it upon yourself to make him feel welcome, inviting him over for dinner and tea. He’s a smart lad, roughly about the same age as you, and you are delighted to see the two of you have some shared interests, or at least shared ideas. 

DANDELION SPHINX IS PORTRAYED BY ANEURIN BARNARD AND PLAYED BY GREY.

[atendersun-archived]

"People don't love you 'now' because you've 'learned how to be good' or anything like that. You've just finally found people that appreciate you for the person you are and that you've always been. Are you still suffering from trauma and having a hard time really getting to find out who you TRULY are and the person you want to be? Sure. But so are the rest of us. Even if we get mad or frustrated it doesn't mean we're going to stop loving you, or want to hurt you. You are, and always were, deserving of love. Don't forget that."

After all the countless few second long videos he watched on the daily, the terms associated with healing were very familiar to him. Life was much simpler when he lived his everyday life endlessly hoping for the minimum only to accept less than that out of concern of being perceived as either toxic, or too much for not doing so. Being informed by those present in his adult life, or those he listened in on through his cellular device, however, forcibly taught him that he wrongfully tolerated more than he should have for so many years. It was very hurtful to have no choice but face the tragic reality that not only had he missed out on what he desperately wished for as a young man, but that all it should have been provided to him without having to meet other obligations.

For so long, he had just thought that maybe the reason he always seemed to feel like an onlooker of what he ached for instead of being surrounded it in himself was because he may have unknowingly exerted all his chances by crying too frequently as a teenager, or for seeking comfort far too often that there was no more left to give. That was the explanation he provided to himself as to why guilt sometimes lived where forgiveness and communication should have resided instead, and why that did not seem the case for those in his life who were showered in endless affection. Of why he often was left to overanalyze as to why his needs were not being met in the form of jotting down note after note in a notebook who's front cover was fully decorated with stickers, whereas friends of his in the same age bracket were beckoned into open arms for some of the same circumstances that he had to work through on his own.

Perhaps it was because he had been too immature by comparison to them for having a youthful face and interests that bordered on childish more than they did traditional hobbies. Or at least that had been what was told consistently when attempt to build close bonds with people that made it very clear that they didn't want him around nearly as much as he hoped they did. Numerous core memories had been implanted in his brain of instances where he observed from a distance people being treated with kindness by either those that ignored him, or were involved with them by some level of association. One, for example, was how absolutely hurtful the comments and actions directed him by an old friend seemed to be all he was worth receiving, meanwhile a friend who bore a striking resemblance to him had a far different experience with the same vampire. For them, they were fortunate enough to be welcomed into open arms, and presented with kisses to the head from lips he wished provided him with that same level of platonic kindness. Instead, all he received from them were some of the most devastating words that he still carried with him so many years later.

Another, though one that he knew he should have moved on from for having been even more years into the past than the previous, was how heart wrenching it was to be denied only touch, but even just a comforting gaze, when approaching the people he put on a pedestal back in his youth with a secret that he hoped they would have made better just as they did in general by just spending time with him. In a logical, more mature way of thinking, he knew that the emotions behind those he believed to be the closest to him would yell at him, or avoid holding him as if he were something disgusting, or bad, were done in the heat of the moment. The hurt child that still lingered with him, however, was still so deeply impacted by the fact that he seemed to be punished more than protected for something he swore he had not wanted to happen was so integrated into him that when similar attacks on his person were made years later, he no one just in case he gave those he wanted to see him as good more of a reason to think ill of him for continuing to be incapable of protecting himself.

What had only made those times worse for the male who wanted so horribly to be saved, was how even though so many of them had let him down, intentionally or otherwise, he played through the motions of calling out the names inside his head of those that he still held onto the belief would someday care about him the same way he cared about them just as long as he proved himself to be deserving of it. Maybe then, he thought, there could have been arms for him to reach out to when something was scary, or made him sad, and there would not have been any worry over how many times he may have been allowed to do so before those arms refused to open at all for him. By then, his dream of never having to endure something that made him feel alone wouldn't have been a possibility because finally people would have loved him enough to want him around.

Aching for what he wished had always been present for him as a young man who could have very seriously benefited from the stability and security offered by having more consistent people in his life to show him he was worth more than he had been made to believe he was, the man clung onto her and wept for a life he had been deserving of long before it finally arrived. To the best of his abilities, he tried to remain coherent through sobs already at risk of being muffled into fabric, the man attempted to work his way through his woes with her to aid him only with her company.

Caught between something akin to regression brought on by allowing the boy of himself he attempted to hide with little success the freedom to feel unseen, and a man made to feel what it was to merge with the sensations that came with mentally granting permission for it to occur with it in the first place, he tried to speak out the emotions brought on by the rapid movements going on inside his skin to the best of his abilities. To not over explain in the hopes of ensuring that his feelings were given enough reference to be accepted, but to also not become so caught in his throat that his frustrations over being misunderstood, or misinterpreted, would have just upset him even more. In few little words with so much weight riding on them, he asked to her, "The whole time, Neffie? No.. no matter what?"

[irwinkitten]

angel with a shotgun | a.i

notes: so the clue is in the title, i got inspired by the song ‘angel with a shotgun’ by the cab and this was born from it. enjoy warnings: none word count: 3.2k

donate to my ko-fi here 

-

I don't care if heaven won't take me back I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe Don't you know you're everything I have?

A millennia was always too much in Ashton’s eyes. 

To be apart of a group so elite, that humans worshipped them. He’d never questioned orders, never fought the flow of the tide. Honey coloured hair shone in the light that their realm basked in as he followed his orders to check through the realms, to report any potential violence, to be the peacekeeper. 

Angels were notorious for staying away from the fights after Archangel Michael had won many wars but found himself desperate for penance, to mourn the souls he had no choice but to take; evil or not. The higher beings made the decision that at any sight of war, they would pull back. They would do nothing but protect and not actively fight. 

Ashton had never questioned these orders for the millennia that he existed. He watched dynasties rise and fall, those involved praying to their chosen deities. He watched how they steadfastly recused themselves. He watched when the gods went to war with one another, their casualties becoming resentful to the angels that hosted their afterlife. 

But it was when he was on the human realms that he spotted a being that had never held his attention before. 

He’d gone through the millennia with partners, with those who could satisfy his base needs, but the way she moved, her eyes sweeping over before dismissing him, Ashton had never felt so insulted and intrigued. But his attention disappeared from her the second a fight broke out and without hesitating, he allowed instinct to come over him, finding the best spots to protect once he eyed that she was crouched behind a wall that would not survive the gunfire with how many bullets were being exchanged.

And he couldn’t let her die.

When he got to her, he watched as her eyes truly took him in and he felt himself grinning as the soft ‘oh’ fell from her lips.

“On three, close your eyes. And don’t fight me, please.” His voice was as sweet as honey as she nodded, allowing him to cradle her body to his. 

“Please don’t die.” She muttered, and he wasn’t too sure if she’d intended to be heard, but he chuckled anyway.

“One, two, three.” Her eyes squeezed shut and he launched out into the gunfire, his enhanced speed getting him to his previous safe spot, the shimmer of his shield deflecting the bullets that were directed to them. Once he stopped, his grip loosened and her eyes opened, the coffee coloured brown staring at him in wonder as she glanced to the spot she was in that buckled under a hail of bullets.

Despite being sat on the floor, Ashton caught her as her eyes rolled back, her torso following. 

“Humans.” He muttered under his breath as he lay her down carefully, his ears picking up the sirens that were at least another mile away. The gun fire hadn’t ceased, despite the sound of the approaching sirens and he tried his hardest not to roll his eyes as he allowed his hands to wave in front of her face gently, the small scan telling him that she was fine, simply suffering from shock. 

And then her eyes snapped open and stunned brown met his amused hazel.

“Sorry.” The words were quiet, but he shook his head regardless. “You saved my life, I didn’t realise how close to death I actually was over there. Thank you.” And he felt part of himself soften for this delicate human that nearly died-that had shut down because of the realisation-thank him for something he’d done for a millennia. 

And that was when his own beliefs began to crack. Not once had he ever been thanked for the protection. He remembered the days when angels were revered with something akin to awe, and worship. But even now, he was met with hostility, or indifference. And that simple show of gratitude made him realise what kind of life he was living. 

And it wasn’t one that looked even remotely good for another millennia. 

When he returned to his realm, despite being greeted by one of his long time friends, he could feel the judgement weighing on his soul, deciphering his actions. And he found himself struggling to shut down the frustration as Archangel Gabriel stood before him, golden eyes holding judgement on what he did.

“You intervened.” Everything in him was pushing him to bow to his superior, to face judgement. But then her eyes looked up at him, shocked and filled with gratitude and he couldn’t.

“She didn’t deserve to die. Not like that.” The older angel frowned.

He didn’t have a chance to step away from the Archangel as his hand came into contact with his skin, the brutal pain ripping through his mind as the older angel witnessed his actions through his eyes. Ashton kept silent as he fought to stay on his feet, the agony ripping through his mind opening his eyes even further.

“She may not have deserved to die like that, but she made her choice.” As the Archangel’s hand pulled away, Ashton collapsed to his knees, honey hair falling in front of his eyes. 

“I live to protect. Not to hide.” He ground out, earning a scoff in return.

“You live to follow the orders of our lord. Don’t forget that.” The threat was as clear as daylight as the Archangel disappeared, his closest friend, Luke, coming to his aid. 

“Don’t fight my help Ashton, you need it.” The blonde whispered, his arms supporting his friend as he took to the air, keeping a firm grip on his friend. 

When they reached the blonde’s small apartment, Ashton could feel everything in his mind, his body and soul questioning the choices and decisions he made in the life that he had lived. Luke could see the turmoil of his friend, only able to offer minor healing to ease the headaches from having everything torn apart in judgement.

“She must’ve been special if Gabriel deemed your actions in need of his judgement.” The tease was gentle, but Ashton could hear his curiosity. 

“I want her. But I can’t. I barely know her, I know her life, but I don’t know her. Luke, I can’t think.” And then he felt Luke’s hands settle on either side of his face, the peace washing through his mind to soothe the damage done.

“I’ve got you. Rest and I’ll swap my patrols with you. Find her.” At this, Ashton’s eyes widened at his best friends words. Luke grinned.

“I could hear everything that Gabriel was tearing through your mind. Correct me if I’m wrong, but for someone to catch your attention in such a way, it deserves a chance?” 

“Luke they could kill you for this.” 

“And you could lose your wings. It’s our choice Ashton, they cannot force our free will to become theirs to control. Rest. I’ll wake you up when we need to leave.” 

But Ashton couldn’t rest. His dreams were disturbed with old choices and judging coffee coloured eyes. He couldn’t bear the disappointment in decisions he’d made, choices he’d refused. It was almost too much when he startled awake, Luke hovering over him in shock.

“Ashton?”

“I’m fine.” No other words were exchanged. But they got ready, heading to their designated patrols. As promised, Luke swapped, giving Ashton the chance to return to the human realm, immediately searching out the girl he’d saved.

It didn’t take much for him to find her as she sat in a coffee shop, her fingers tapping away at a laptop. 

Buying himself the unneeded drink, he slid into the empty seat across from her, the coffee coloured eyes snapping to his in shock before relief spread across her features.

“You are real.” She breathed and Ashton found himself remembering that his participation in saving her had been wiped from the minds that saw too much. But she’d seen nothing, he’d told her to close her eyes. He’d bypassed the one thing that protected them from being found out.

“How can a human girl like you hold so much control over me?” His voice was quiet, her confusion evident as her intelligent eyes began to piece things together.

He was barred from saying the words. He could not physically tell her. But if she worked it out? He could do nothing with that. 

“This isn’t a conversation for public consumption, is it?” Her words were careful and he gave her a wry smile in return.

“Whatever gives you that impression, sweetheart?” The endearment was a surprise to him, but he watched as her eyes dropped from his back to her laptop, his mind realising belatedly that she’d become flustered.

“My place is a block from here. Will you be able to answer my questions?” 

“To an extent. There are things that cannot be spoken by me.” Wide eyes met his before she nodded and held her hand out to him. He stared at it for a second before taking it warily and she smiled at him, the one thing lighting up her entire features.

“Well then. I’m Kira.” And he couldn’t help but laugh at her bold attitude. It was another layer to this woman that held his attention.

“Ashton.” 

And soon they were leaving, her bag tucked into her side as she guided him back to hers. 

When they were ensconced within her place, Ashton took the offered chair, her body throwing itself onto the sofa sat opposite before she finally leaned forwards, her eyes watching him. And despite having felt the raging pain from the forced judgement, it was like soothing balm on his mind and heart as she studied him, her eyes kind and sharp. He could see the wit and intelligence that studied him carefully. 

“You’re not a vampire.” He snorted at that, a smug grin on her lips making him realise she was making it a game for herself.

“What makes you think that?” 

“You saved my life.” She stated simply. This time, his eyes held hers, silently wondering if she’d catch on to how close she was to his actual species. 

“You’re not wrong.” He allowed, his tone careful. She studied his face before moving herself to sit on the coffee table in front of him, her elbows resting on her knees as she studied him.

He was fighting to keep the blush from giving himself away. It felt so whirlwind with her but she seemed to ignore that side, determined.

“Demon is out. Lore dictates they revel in suffering. So the only reasonable-” he snorted, she continued as if he’s made no sound “thought to follow that would be an angel.” 

“Clever girl.” He whispered and her eyes widened in shock as it settled in her mind what he’d just said.

“Well shit.” At this, he laughed before allowing his wings to spread, encasing her momentarily, the tips of his wings brushing her skin, earning an almost delighted giggle from her in return. The giggle made him pause, his heart lifting up at the sound and he realised that maybe after everything he’d done, he could still live.

-

Months passed them by. 

As often as he could get away with, he visited her on his patrols. Kira took it in her stride his erratic times, but she also seemed to accept his heavenly species. 

She became something that stabilised him, that gave him purpose to do his job and to step in when he was needed rather than hide in the shadows, claiming he was protecting. Luke had been the first to notice his change, but made no comments, regularly trading his patrols to give his friend more time with the girl he was clearly in love with.

The Archangel never ripped through his mind like the first time again, but there was still that fear in him every time he returned from the human realm, but part of him couldn’t care. She was worth being thrown onto the front line, she was worth every moment of him questioning what he’d been told to do. 

His attitude seemed to spread amongst the ranks as they neared the year of her being in his life. He’d already admitted his love to her, and she reciprocated. And he’d discovered that humans in bed were far better than the egotistical angels that he’d encountered. 

She knew her body and wasn’t afraid to tell him what she liked. But she gave as good as she got. And every time he got a night with her, the following morning was always one of peace in his eyes, watching as the sun painted her skin beautiful colours as she slept in his arms.

Ashton was in love and he was prepared to give up his place in heaven for her.

What he never expected was to be accosted when he was on a different patrol. It was one thing he’d made sure to do, to keep it secret. He knew that the second his relationship with Kira was found out, he’d be done. 

And as much as he didn’t care, he was still terrified. 

There was no hesitation as Archangel Gabriel forced him to his knees in front of the gates of heaven. He realised he was being made an example of.

The pain that ripped through his mind, it felt like he was going insane. And he had no control as he screamed her name, in defiance, in acceptance, in reverence.

The pain stopped yet it continued. His head was hurting so much that he felt like he couldn’t breathe. Arms wrapped around him, pulling him to his feet as he awaited judgement. 

“Renounce that human. We will exile you from her.” And for a second Ashton worried, he worried about what he would become without her. He worried about how he would never enjoy life like he had with her. 

So he stood, his chin held high as he stared defiantly at the Archangel.

“Never.” 

“Step away Luke.” And Ashton was fully prepared to sag to the ground, to be dropped. But he wasn’t. He turned to see Luke staring at the Archangel, displeasure clearly displayed.

“Is this what we are to be dealt with if we are to fall in love? Because I don’t want a life without it.” Never before had they witnessed the Archangel angry, but it seemed that this moment was it. They could feel the anger, the fury. 

And suddenly Ashton couldn’t breathe, the pain so much as it radiated through his body. He could hear his judgement, his exile. But he couldn’t focus.

The floor was falling, the wind was whipping his hair as he fell. He couldn’t breathe and then everything went black.

A scream alerted him to the fact that despite the agony he was in, he was alive.

“Ashton!” His soul practically sang in relief at his name, the way it fell from Kira’s lips despite the fact it was in fear.

Her hands were all over him, checking for the damage. And it did more for him than anything could have ever done. He couldn’t open his eyes, the pain was still too great, but then a second voice made him want to cry from relief.

“Let me help you. I’m his friend-”

“You’re Luke.” She breathed in shock before he felt his body being moved and he finally cried out in agony. 

Just being moved, the pain radiated through his body as they got him on her bed. He could feel the way it sank down beneath his weight; as it often did. It was familiar and comforting as he was rolled onto his front.

A startled gasp escaped Kira as his shirt was pulled from his body.

“L-Luke.” Her voice was trembling and he could see the tears that would’ve been in her eyes. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort and reassure her, but he couldn’t.

“They-they tore his wings off. There are so many kinds of ways for this punishment. Normally it’s painless but shameful. He-they made an example of him. Tore his wings out. It’s why he’s in so much pain. They ripped through his mind as well. They-it was judgement.” 

“They hurt him?” Her voice was horrified as he felt her hands touch where the pain radiated the most. It receded and a soft sigh left his lips.

“There’s been unrest. The angels aren’t happy with how things have been going. Ashton-he defied them, I guess. He began stepping in instead of hiding away. He became a protector, fighting if he needed to. The other angels, they noticed and began questioning.” Her hand moved away from his back and he couldn’t stop the pain filled whine escaping him.

“Oh Ash.” She whispered as her hands returned to his back and his body relaxed.

“The unrest was finally pinpointed to Ashton. They took him from a different patrol. It was to make an example of those that are in the unrest stage of their thoughts and decisions. They’re too comfortable with the status quo and don’t want rogue angels protecting. So they made an example of him. And me I guess, but I didn’t break the rule as badly. I’m just in the crossfire by choice.” He whispered and Ashton blindly reached his arm out.

Luke seemed to understand, his hand grasping Ashton’s and Ashton squeezed it in return. 

“Best friend. Lucky.” He muttered and Luke let out a weak chuckle.

“I’m the lucky one Ash. They took my wings from me, but I saw the change in you, thanks to Kira. I wasn’t about to let them take that from you too.” The blonde whispered and he could only hum in response.

“Do you need anything Luke?” Kira’s voice sounded so far away to Ashton, but then he realised that he was drifting off, unable to fight his exhaustion.

“No. You stay with him. I’ll take the couch. If he starts to display any fever, call me in immediately.” She must’ve nodded as he disappeared from the room and her body settled next to his, curling up against his side. It took a few seconds to readjust themselves, but he curled around her and she held him as he fell asleep. 

When he woke up, the reality of what happened hit him like a freight train. But Kira’s arms tightened around him in response, and he could not allow himself to sink into that as he allowed her touch to sooth him, his eyes remaining shut until he was on the verge of sleep once more.

“You defied them, for me.” Her voice was a shocked whisper, something akin to awe. His eyes and body felt heavy. 

“You gave me a reason to stand for those that needed to be protected. Loving you was just the tip of the iceberg. I refused to deny myself your love. Once I followed their orders without question. But now? I’d follow you without hesitation.” His voice was tired, the pain in his torso drawing a pained whimper from his lips. 

“My sweet angel.” Her voice was tired and concerned, but content. And he finally opened his eyes to see the relief etched into her skin as she leaned down to kiss him soundly. 

And in that moment, despite losing his status, he still retained it with her and in his heart, he could live with that.

-

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[thebastardgreenlady]

Lmfao so because I’m the big dumb, we’ll make it a post instead 

In response to @fyrealchemage​​‘s ask (that I hecking screwed up xD)

I was doing Amaryllis and Mirthadra’sa (Bosmer), Cilorinwe and Aurelia (Altmer), Esmeray and Erebserethi (House Dunmer) and Mercia (Khajiit) and Sorrow (Imperial)

Not sure colour coding is worth it, since there’s gonna be alot of writing, also it’s gonna be long, so I’ll make a cut.

B. Opinions of their ‘Homeland’

Amaryllis is a strange one to ask such a question of; She is a Bosmer, so you’d expect some kind of story about love for the Green, but she was taken from Valenwood before she had even opened her eyes and raised in Summerset for most of her life, before being sent to Morrowind for the next half of it as it is now. She only went back to experience Valenwood when she wanted to learn more of it herself. All that said, she loves all of her Homelands, Summerset, Morrowind and Valenwood, equally, and is very proud to come from them, even if some of the residents don’t agree with her. 

Mirthadra'Sa is a pure bred Green Bosmer, and is very protective of Valenwood as such; He isn’t against outsiders, provided they respect the ways of the Wood Elves and don’t cause trouble. 

Cilorinwe is 50/50 with her old home Lillandril; Whilst she adores the Summering Isles, and all the beauty that comes with them, she has a very heavy distaste for the rampant classism, forced, almost cult-like religious grooming and racist ideologies that are forced upon Altmer from childhood well into adulthood within it. As she is now, she wanders where she pleases, and so long as those around her don’t try to cause her any trouble, she’s happy to be there.

Aurelia once adored Summerset, but she didn’t take to the ideologies that most other Altmer from the Isles do, very much akin to her Niece. And the wider that margin she made, the more distant her homeland became to her. She didn’t think outsiders were awful, she thought they had insightful things to teach, and the more she tried to change those around her, the harder the Summering Isles rejected her. When the Psijics removed her from Summerset, she was upset to leave, but she is all the happier living on Artaeum, where other Altmer share the same views as her and she isn’t shunned for it.

Esmeray is a very interesting Dunmer. Born into House Telvanni, in a tower that’s now long gone, she was raised in Morrowind, but never really in one place; the Telvanni Magister she worked beneath was travelling more than was regular for Telvanni, so she saw well outside of a tower than many others did. She likes Morrowind, but desires to see more of the world when she’s finally able to go about doing so by herself.

Erebserethi, being an Overseer of House Dres, is very rooted in traditional ways, but unlike his fellow Dres, doesn’t believe entirely that tradition will forever hold up a House name on it’s own. He takes pride in being a House Dunmer, and to come from what he claims to be “The very Heart of All of Morrowind” (it isn’t, he’s just a pompous ass about it) and will ramble on for hours about how Morrowind is a sacred land created only for The Worthy, which he is adamant isn’t only Dark Elves, even if his House Kin hate him for it.

Mercia thinks Elsweyr can be quite hot from time to time, having a thick coat of fur isn’t all that great when in hot places, but she likes the feeling of sand under her paws. She says it always smells sweet, and reminds her of fresh Sweetrolls. Being raised in Skyrim, she loves Skyrim more, she says she loves the soft crunch of snow under her feet, and watching her breath in the air in the early morning.

Sorrow doesn’t really have a homeland to have an opinion of anymore, as Peryite destroyed it when she was much younger. If you ask her of her opinion on Cyrodiil as a whole, she’ll tell you it is a war ravaged wasteland that she has no interest in, a place where old memories are left behind so new ones can be made elsewhere. As she is constantly travelling, she doesn’t really have a proper place to stay, but considering she spends most of her time in Apocrypha, I suppose that would count? She thinks Apocrypha is the most charming place, as her thirst for knowledge is endless and it provides to her every answer to every question she could conceive. She’s found an odd sort of safety and comfort in a place many would consider more dangerous than a war zone. C. Do the worship the Divines, Daedra or Tribunal? If so, why?

Amaryllis tends to be a bit fluid in her beliefs. She loves learning about how each different race defines their religion, deriving from similar points of history, and taking them on many different turns and changes to fit their own race and homeland, but she herself mostly pays tribute to the Tribunal, namely Vivec, because of his huge part in her life. She will give praise to Ayem and Seht occasionally, but most of her love and affection go to her Lord Vehk. She tends to give thanks to Hircine, on account of her Lycanthropy, from time to time as well.

Mirthadra’Sa gives praise to Y’ffre for all that he has, and his home of Valenwood, sometimes the other Divines. Despite the fact he’s a Vampire, he does not praise Molag Bal.

Cilorinwe gives her praise and worship to one Daedric Prince of Hedonism; Sanguine. She is, as such, his Champion and happily goes around wielding his Rose and drinking herself to the bottom of every barrel, cup, bottle or crate she can get her hands on. Despite the fact she is a Vampire, she does not praise Molag Bal; quite the contrary. She’s faced him once before and told him that if he wanted her to ‘praise him for his gifts to her’ he’d have to pry it from her cold dead body with his crusty ass claws. Suffice to say, she is no longer allowed to go to Cold Harbour.

Aurelia doesn’t really follow religion, so much as study them. She adores obscure and obsolete traditions or cultures, and desires nothing more than to learn everything she can about them.  

Esmeray is aware of higher powers, but she doesn’t follow any of them. She is of the belief that one is to be divine by one’s own making.

Erebserethi claims to be an atheist, but has taken upon himself to privately worship the Divines due to his.. Preferences.

Mercia loves Jone and Jode. That’s.. pretty much all she’s got going for her. She’s not very bright. 

Sorrow is a faithful Hermaeus Mora follower, and a very important one at that. They saved her life from Peryite, seeing in her something valuable, and have since continued to save her from an otherwise Mortal disease Peryite would otherwise claim her with. She owes everything she has to Mora, and she will forever praise them for the part they had in keeping her alive, even if their reasons were selfish.

[majingojira]

Introducing Recent Supernatural Fauna into the Dresden Files

As time goes on, new supernatural monsters are added to the bestiaries of fantasy lore when there was no folklore or belief around them.  Some spawned from famous stories (Tolkein being the obvious influence), others from recently developed folklore (cryptids, the Slender Man), and others just because they’re “Weird Ideas Some Nerds had in the 70s for D&D” (The Gelatinous Cube, Beholder, & Mind Flayer). 

Here are four such creatures of the first kind and how I’d think they’d work were they incorporated into the Dresden Files mythology.

I may do more if asked (or if I can) because I like cross-pollinating like this.

Slayers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Slayers in the Dresden Files were created by Ancient Sorcerers, a group of them even older than the White Council, but still similar to them.  They called themselves the Shadow Men.  They wished to create a guardian for humanity against the various supernatural predators out there.  What they performed was similar to an ascension rite, and similar to the creature of a spirit of intellect like the Archive.  This time, it created an atypical supernatural lineage.  Over time, the Slayer mostly came under the purview of the Venatori Umbromum and was known as a “Verum Venator” or “True Venator” after regular use of Latin fell out of favor.  After the turn of the millennium, as there was a spike in supernatural activities, so to was there an uptick in Slayers.  So much so that for the first time in about 2000 years there was a significant number of them to form their own organization and rebel against the Venatori.

Slayers are empowered by a connection to what can only be called a Goddess.  What it is, is unknown, but many have claimed they draw their strength from many deities.  While it is claimed the Amazons were descendants of Ares, aspects of their abilities tie them more to the Egyptian Goddess of Justice: Ammit the Devourer. 

Through the empowerment, they first receive knowledge – the most potent power of all.  Parts of past slayers lives and experiences are transferred into them.  Not directly or fully, but instinctively.  Like the difference between muscle memory and knowledge memory. Their bodies, in effect, remember how to fight, how to train, and where to strike all sorts of nasties.  And with what.  They may not be able to put it into words easily, but it’s there

The second gift is more mystical.  All that knowledge helps them in practising the craft, but their talents seem to be limited.  They can perform a ritual as anyone can, but they show aptitude in Kinetomancy.  They incorporate this into their martial arts and make the stronger ones truly potent.  They also have a gift of prophecy.  This comes to them in the form of dreams.  Some take the shape of the memories of past Slayers should an old threat return.  Mostly, however, it comes in the form of annoyingly vague dreams that often do little more than simply alert them to something happening.  This works similar to Cassandra’s Tears, but instead of no one believing them few people can decipher their meaning until after the fact beyond “Keep an eye on this person” or “Something bad is coming, and it’s probably a demon/vampire/fae/demigod/dragon.”

The next gift they receive is to their senses.  Slayer senses are sharper than those of normal humans.  While still within the range of mortal animals, they are impressive nonetheless when compared to a normal human.  Most potent of these is their vision and hearing, both very important for beings that hunt at night.  They also receive an extra sense against danger or ‘violent intent’, a true “Spider-Sense” as Harry would put it.  This allows them to detect predatory or aggressive acts against them, even while blind or in complete darkness.  Being aware and reacting in time is, of course, two different things, but if a Slayer is attentive, they cannot be fooled easily.

The fourth gift is the most obvious, their physical abilities.  The Strength, Speed, Stamina, Recovery, and Durability of Slayers are truly supernatural.  They were made to go toe-to-toe against Vampires primarily, after all, so they were made tough. Weaker slayers (mostly those just starting out) are able to perform on the level of Olympic athletes across the board while being able to fully heal from a stab wound overnight.  Stronger Slayers can bend prison bars, snatch crossbow bolts out of the air at point-blank range, survive multistory falls with little more than a limp afterwards, run at highway speeds, and do that for hours. Recovery wise, they can block a superhuman cleaver strike with their bare arm and . . .  have the bone stop it.  It’s an odd vulnerability.  Against blunt force trauma, they’re extremely tough but introduce a piercing weapon and things become tougher.  Still, the best way to be sure one has been killed is to aim for a spot on a human that would be instantly lethal.  A gutted slayer can recover given time, as can a paralyzed one, or one that has lost a limb would regrow it in a few years.  But it’s hard to recover from a destroyed head, heart, or a properly snapped neck.  Fully draining them of blood also works.  

Their final gift is indeed why they are called Slayers and why Ammit the Devourer is seen as their patron. Slayers absorb ambient mystical energy around them, and when they attack supernatural or spiritual beings, they can rip them apart.  This primarily occurs when they do enough damage to destroy their mortal shell.  As the spirit flees, the ‘devourer’ takes a big bite out of the spirit and the energy used to create or maintain their physical form.  This can be so damaging that the spirit unravels, being effectively destroyed. The bodies of beings like vampires, fae, and demons often burst into dust or melt into ooze after being slain by a slayer as the Devourer takes its fee.  This is, along with the connection to the goddess, allows them to have such supernatural powers without needing to feed on flesh, blood, or other ugliness.

For some reason, this does not work on fully incorporeal spirits such as ghosts.  It is theorized that, unless they manifest, there is nothing for the slayer to ‘grab on’ to. 

Slayers generally appear as attractive young women, few have lived past the age of twenty until recently, so little is know how long their youthful appearance holds, but it matches their M.O.  They appear as helpless young women ripe with vitality to most supernatural predators.  They are in for a rude shock when the prey turns out to be the predator. 

(Demoniac) Vampires (BtVS)

Undead corpses animated by a demonic spirit?  More common than you think.  They are known mostly as the Demon Court.  They are found throughout the Americas, Europe, Africa, and Asia, but the idea of them being a full ‘court’ is a misnomer as they rarely form large organizations.  Sure, mobs of up to 20 or 30 can form around powerful and charismatic individuals, but there is little to no inter-group activity beyond posturing like packs of wolves. So, mostly, they form gangs of 4 to 10.

A demoniac vampire are born through infection.  A victim is brought to near-death via bloodloss and infected with the Vampiric Spirit.  Once the victim dies, the spirit takes control.  It animates the corpse in a few days and gives it a semblance of life.  The heart doesn’t beat and it doesn’t need the organs to function, but aside from feeling room temperature, it’s hard to tell that they are anything but a normal human.

Until it’s time to feed. Then it shifts the face into a horrible mask and grows out its teeth.  Not just fangs, but premolars and incisors become sharp and biting.

The spirit also grants them superhuman strength and speed.  They have the durability of a corpse but retain a sense of stamina as the spirit needs to be fueled regularly with blood in order to keep going. A Demoniac vampire that hasn’t fed in ages becomes more akin to a Black Court vampire visually, and an old one at that. It debilitates the mind and makes them savage.  Well, more savage than normal and feral to boot.  

The vampiric spirit gains potency over time, but beyond an increase in physical powers, they are usually minor but still noteworthy.  Some can grow claws as well as fangs or turn their hands into bludgeons.  Others display hypnotic, illusion, or enthralling abilities, but these are thankfully rare.  

Like anything bore from humans, it can have the potential abilities of a human: Sorcerers, talents, and other powers can crop up on occasion.  The Vampire Spirit retains the knowledge and experiences of the being whose corpse it now inhabits, exploiting the ‘residue’ of the soul left behind in the corpse.  This also grants the creature the passions the host body had in life, albeit twisted through the ravenous, sadistic carnivore.  

Which means those who are aimless in life and have no wants or desires beyond basic hedonism make for the most horrifyingly inhuman demoniac vampires.  

They can breed fast, but thankfully are easier to kill than the Black Court.  Destroy the brain/decapitate severs the spirit (which nests in the head) from the body.  Jamming a wooden or bone stake forces symbolic life into the un-life of the vampire and destroys it completely.  Sufficient damage through fire also burns away the animating spirit (and they are highly flammable).  And despite being in a body, the animating spirit is still pushed away by sunlight (which also sets the body on fire).  When the creature is truly destroyed, it runs back into the Nevernever with such force it disintegrates the body, rendering it into dust.  

They also show a repulsion to holy symbols, and contact with holy or blessed items causes them to burn.

Gargoyles (Disney’s Gargoyles)

Gargoyles are a name provided to a mortal, but magically influenced species that has gone by many names over the years, and across cultures.  In Japan, they are Tengu, Shisa, and Otoroshi.  In Greece, they are furies, harpies, and Sphinx.  India’s Garuda is one of their number. Babylonian Lamasi.  The hummingbirds of Huitzilopochtli.  China too has its gargoyles, a tribe of which lives at the corners of their known lands and eat mostly fish.  Even in the modern United States, Leeds Devil, and the Mothman are thought to be Gargoyles.  

Gargoyles are mortal, in that they have free will, choice, and thus a ‘soul’ as humans understand it. They are fully sentient, sapient species that happen to have a very variable, monstrous look.  

Physically, Gargoyles are supernaturally strong and durable.  While they can still be cut and bleed, it’s a lot harder to do.  They resist cold and heat better than humans, able to walk around in subzero temperatures with little more than what amounts to shorts and a t-shirt in sub-zero temperatures to no ill effect.  Their strength is great enough to bend steel but is mostly used as a vector for their powerful talons.  They usually claw their way up walls, punching through stone and concrete easily.  They do this in order to fly.  Though they claim they can only glide on their wings, their problem is the initial lift. Once in the air, they have been known to hover, and flap to gain altitude.  Some kinetomancy is suspected to achieve this, but their power is subconscious and unrealized.  They also have a fully prehensile tail.

One truly supernatural ability comes in a form of inspiring fear.  Sure, part of it is the fact that a 300-pound fanged horror is growling at you, but the supernatural element is present in their actively glowing eyes. White in males, red in females. This glow is surprisingly bright, as much as a low flashlight.  While this blinds them temporarily, it is a wonderful threat display.

Gargoyles do not eat much either despite this.  The price for all this power comes from their stone sleep.  When the sun rises, they turn to stone.  Artificial sunlight does not have such an effect, but oddly they can get ‘jet lag’.  The transformation turns them into a stone-like substance (calcium based), and when the sun sets, they change back, but a layer of stone is ejected in a wonderfully cool display.  

Until you learn that’s how they excrete waste.  Then it becomes hilarious.  

This sleep keeps them immobile and vulnerable to anyone wielding a sledgehammer, which is why they usually perch on tall, out of the way places.  It does have three benefits: one, it slows down the aging process (gargoyles age at roughly one half the speed of humans); two, it allows them to heal from many forms of injury overnight; and three, it allows them to absorb solar energy in order to fuel their active lifestyles and supernatural power.

Morlocks/CHUD (The Time Machine, C.H.U.D.)

Little is known about this species.  They are hulking carnivores that live deep underground in both the Nevernever and in parts of the mortal world.  They crave flesh but seem to be able to do without for decades or even centuries without any ill effects.  It’s thought that they hibernate or otherwise go into a state to stave off starvation for long periods and gorge themselves when the opportunity arises.  

Roughly humanoid in shape, Morlocks have powerful claws, supernatural strength, and are slightly more durable than a mortal human, though the same things which can kill a human will end them.  They are, however, almost completely invulnerable to poisons and toxins.  Or, if there are such chemicals that can affect them, they are not found in squalid places or deep underground (which, given what they’ve been found in, might just be chlorophyll).  The only known aversion they have is too bright lights.   Flashes of light can blind and stun them for a time, allowing for escape.  

Unless they get clever, and they are moderately intelligent at least.  They are able to create ambushes and use tools, but are savage and have little hierarchy known.

But because they also smell foul, no one has taken the time to study them.  Until about a hundred years ago, they were thought to be a species of ghoul.  And they might be, but it is clear they are quite distinct from Ghouls.  Same family rather than the same genus.

[ophiniaonistecua]

((Why not s’more))

She’d seen these buildings before, usually from a safe distance. Police stations were more easily hassled and molested, given the circumstances, but these places were built to operate above it all. The idea, as she heard it, was to promote a healthy relationship by handing power and authority to the new class, instead of enforcing it themselves.

She was told it was a facade of power, where dogs were trained to sit on command, while also being told that it was all on them. Simultaneously exerting control while washing their hands of responsibility. A cake that is had and eaten all at once. From a distance, such things are easier to say. Few things survive a closer analysis, and that included her own views.

It was such a rich structure, with glass and steel, and brickwork on the side. Meant to inspire the familiar, the modern, the accepting, the new.

Or so she heard. She really didn’t know much about human history.

T-Rex, however, was less appreciative of her analysis. To him, it was akin to a bank robber callously walking straight into a bank, flipping every desk to find every alarm. Admittedly, this metaphor wasn’t appropriate. He was more upset that she was beating around the bush. The outside was not the reason she was here.

“Miss Liz, I’d like to remind you that your bag would better be placed inside. Your room is ready and waiting, after all.” He said with a polite cough. “And perhaps you can dress into something less provocative? The vibrant orange and reflective strips are not complimenting your appearance, if you’ll excuse my language.”

Her crossed arms tightened as she provided him with a dismissive glare. With a chuckle he reached for her bag instead, offering to carry it. Liz provided not rebuttal, even as he entered without her. 

“Not going to hold the door!?” She shouted, finally relenting to enter the place. A wash of cooler air brought her off balance.

“You’ve shown not interest in manners. And nothing more insulting than to continue with manners when someone prefers otherwise.” T-Rex, despite being quite large, and speaking with a hefty voice, had a curious gentleness to his intonation. He chose his words carefully, or at least with more care than she was used to.

“Now then, shall we get to business?”

“What business?”

“The business of telling you where your room is, and what needs to be taken care of. Miss Liz, I can’t help but get the feeling you’re not taking this situation with the kind of seriousness I had in mind when I suggested it.” His voice sounded disappointed, as did the lowering of his brows.

“Then you shouldn’t look for recruits in a prison.” She snidely remarked, her rear bumping the door closed. Instead of heading along, she remained leaning against it.

“I can’t claim to be psychic, miss Liz. I only believe that people in prison simply need guidance. Especially with a background as your own.”

“And what if I just hoof it?”

“I’d question your logic of running while wearing your prison garment, instead of at least changing into something less suspicious. Following that, I’d wonder how interested your old friends would be in you, given that this deal wasn’t exactly done under cloak and dagger circumstances.” He placed her bag on the table and, figuring she wasn’t going to budge, waved his hand a few pictures on and besides the refridgerator.

“That one is Lilly. A little younger than you. Holds beliefs like my own, though too zealous for her own good. I requested she be moved to another district, but they insisted I fluff out my squad before making requests.” He started off, aiming at a picture of an orange-scaled lady. Liz knew that kind of build; the bulky kind, bound to try and meet human standards.”Or was it Lucy? I’m quite sure she flips a coin on that.”

“And that’s Terry. A thrill-seeker. Plenty of those each year. Similar to Lilly, with the type of parents to push him to the safer spots so he doesn’t get too hurt.” The bright orange, slender head had such a wide grin she almost felt like she’d met him before. 

“And then there’s me. But there’s nothing to be said about me. Just a big old softy who thinks that everyone has good in them.”

“Would you kill a man to save another?” Liz asked with a straight face.

“Miss Liz, if you’re asking questions like those, you’ve never considered the importance of context.” He replied with a healthy chuckle. 

“Are you going to keep calling me ‘miss Liz’ then?”

“I’d call you Elizabeth, or Lizard, but I’d rather not create any undue animosity. Respect is earned, after all.”

“But.” She sighed and rolled her eyes. She shifted from the door only to take a glass and drink from it. The open kitchen saved her the awkwardness of having to ask. “You’re in charge.”

“You believe that power comes with exceptions?”

“Wha?” 

T-Rex seemed to lose it as he covered his nose in confined snickers. Liz was not as happy, if only because she didn’t fully understand the comedy. She asked again and again, before he recovered and answered properly.

“You know, my father had a good saying to live by. The king holds not the keys, only the favor of the ones that do. At the end of the day, abusing my power for petty entertainment wouldn’t help anyone, would it? Or, how does that other saying go: 'Any man who must say I am the king is no true king?' Pah, listen to me, going on. Do tell me when I’m babbling too much, I’d rather not stink the place with an air of pompous book clubbery.” His chuckling had not ended.

By this point, Liz just gave him a cold stare. He laughed at his own jokes, he talked like some librarian who read books purely for the quotes, and seemed oblivious to his own position in life. With another sip, she stilled her mind.

“They’re out on a little stint. Groceries, I mean.” His eyes darted to the clock. “If you’re fast, you can get to your room and change. Not to imply I have anything against it. I just have the feeling you’re dressed like this to provoke.”

The yellow lady plopped her glass down with a heavy thud and shrugged. Even as T-Rex grabbed her bag and headed to the oddly placed spiral staircase, she refused to move. “What about it?”

“How about another saying? ‘You can’t bury the past you’re carrying with you?’ I’m sorry, that’s a little too direct. If you want your bag, I’ll leave it upstairs, second room on the... only wall on the upper floor.”

Her eyes peeked up a minute. The staircase went to an elevated walkway. Indeed, it’d be strange if her room was over the railing. A soft snort came from her nostrils, the only acknowledgement that T-Rex had a proper sense of humor. With a heavy steps, she moved forward. Not so much to change, moreso to get her stuff out before he got in it, and maybe put on some shoes.

And he wasn’t kidding. Ascending the stairs, she saw the rooms and nameplates. Somehow, Lilly was also labelled Lucy. On a small spinning rail. Giving it a twirl, either name ended on top, left or right. A lot of work for no gain. 

And from up here, she could enjoy the rather opulant room. Big couches, nice tables, big glass wall. This place felt more like the penthouse suite to a fine hotel than any sort of mission base. Only the briefest second did she not find this suspicious. An alliance born from bribery, is what she’d call it.

“Your room, miss Liz. There’s a short questionairre on the desk. Mostly for personal accouterments and what have you. As well as sizes for your field gear.” T-Rex leaned in close and whispered. “There’s a measuring tape and a size-conversion sheet as well.” 

“You could just check my clothes. Or whatever FBI document the parole hearing provided.” 

“It might be the FBI’s business to snoop around in your clothing labels, but not mine, miss Liz. Your bag, your key, and most importantly, your file.” 

Her eyes bulged. His hand produced a filled folder, with her name on it. It quantly mentioned “Classified” on it. It would’ve been believable if it didn’t smell of fresh ink.

“It’s not the only copy. It wouldn’t be right for me to hold onto it either. After all, if I have questions, you’re right here.”

She snatched the keys, bag and file out of his hands, juggling them between her own. He didn’t produce any particularly cute or overwhelming smile, only a simple polite one. Even cashiers put on more insulting grins than this. 

Even when she closed the door, he just kinda walked off. Her eyes trailed him, part of her hoping he’d suddenly turn into a vampire or something equally exciting. 

Subsequently she figured that the situation was just getting better. Either he was a trusting oaf, or she just found her way into a nice cozy place. She was going to play this one for every thing she could get. It could’ve been much worse....

[tancelot]

speaking of can u make a list with descriptions/pics of ur ocs?

IM CRYIN… I DIDNT THINK SOMEONE WOULD ACTUALLY ASK ABOUT MY OCS…

I have SO MANY I’M NOT SURE WHERE I’D START TBH?

i just realized after writing a few of these that you probably didn’t want their background story but fsdg oops

Cyrus Durant - You can get his personality from this tag, honestly. As chaotic neutral as they come, he only lives for himself, as he’s hyper aware of how little time he has to live thanks to his illness. This tends to make him reckless, though he seems to get out of most situations unharmed, through some stroke of luck. He’s a mortician in most settings, but in a few he’s a necromancer– though no matter what setting he’s put into, his number one interest is the subject of mortality. He has few friends, and heavily guards himself due to his upbringing (his father had expectations that were far too high and unattainable, which led Cyrus to grow up feeling frustrated with knowing he would never be good enough– lots of depression and anxiety in this one, thanks to his father). 

Fun fact, if you’re into GW2, he was a former Aetherblade in that setting if only because he wanted to use his alliance with them to travel the world and see Orr. 

Marshall Amsel - Another necromancer (a lich, technically) of mine, but this guy’s a pirate to boot. A hulking beast of a man, he’s supposed to look as threatening as a lich ought to be, but I’m a little weak in that department when it comes to my art, haha. The father of three, and the captain of an undead crew. He sails the seas in search of trouble, as well as a safe place to store his phylactery (a ‘lucky’ gold coin he’d pocketed behind his former captain’s back on one of his first heists) after almost losing it to his ex-wife.

Lumina Reed - The ex-wife in question. A powerful witch and pirate captain in her own right, Lumina sought a relationship with Marshall for nothing more than his ship (as the ship held the ability to sail between realms). She bore three children of his in the time she was alive and with him, before she finally managed to get a hold of the captain’s phylactery. She was unsuccessful in destroying the artifact, and lost her life as a result, thrown overboard by the mindless crew that was set to protect their captain from harm. Or rather, she only lost that particular body, as her spirit wouldn’t accept the failure, lest of all her children being left with that atrocity, so she possessed a large doll found in a sunken ship. She now sails the sea seeking revenge (and still that damn ship). 

Keiran Amsel - Eldest son of Marshall and Lumina. He was gifted the ability to manipulate shadows. With no tutor to teach him the right and wrong way to use his power, he used it to escape and leave his family and life behind, pursuing his own life, as well as someone who could help him better understand his gift. He’s a free spirit, though a little misguided. You could say he’s chaotic good, everything he does in life is for the sake of the cause he believes is right. 

Briggan Amsel - The middle son. A wendigo of sorts, his constant inner battles and attempts at keeping the voice in his head from dictating his life causes him to be easily irritated and aggressive. He faced the worst of his father’s wrath, and fought back on several occasions, earning himself a nasty scar across his nose. There came a point where he could no longer stand the company of his father, and he hopped ship, taking his younger brother with him. He works as a sellsword to provide food and shelter for his brother, but will take any job concerning pirates for free.

Horace Amsel - (The picture would lead you to believe he’s the smallest, but he’s actually the tallest of the three, his oldest brother being the shortest). The youngest Amsel. The traumatic passing of his mother when he was just barely a few years old caused the young boy to go mute. During his time on his father’s ship, he worked as the crew’s medic, having a natural talent for combining medicines and caring for wounds. Despite his upbringing, he’s a kind soul who wants nothing more than to help and heal others.

Wallace Tracey - A sickly prince who sought to do whatever he could not to die. He struck a deal with a witch, trading the lives of his parents for immortality. This didn’t go without punishment for his selfishness, and in return he was gained a dependency for blood akin to a vampire, though his body is unable to handle the consumed blood and he’s often left as sick as the day he made the deal. His parent’s deaths left him the throne, and he made a real mess of the kingdom. Outlawing magic and spouting the belief that it was corrupt and that it would do more harm than good. The helpless masses could do nothing but believe him out of fear. 

aFTER THIS point itll be pictures and i;l l write somE STUFF ON THEM LATER IF THERES STILL ANY INTEREST

Markus Hale 

Beatrix Folke 

Hektor Kurtz

Theodore Sterling

Labrys Hackett

Luka Hackett (this one i never finished oops) 

Meryl

Thea 

Cedric

Estelle

Porter

and those are just for my main story…

mY OTHERS ARE

Logos Hewett

Caitlyn Fischer

Rosette

Fahrenheit

Wilhelm Heinrich

there;’s even more than that, i have so many ocs i swear iTS A PROBLEM BUT I MEANFEEL FREE TO ASK QUESTIONS PLEASE I LOVE TALKING ABOUT THEM