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antondevlaux · 4 months

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Anton Devlaux's Ascension.

The Cursed: Self Para. Flashback: His 21st birthday.

For a moment, it quietened, eerily so. Something in the air was different.

Some liked to say this day was akin to hallows eve, the way it was worshipped by their people, the way the ascension rippled through the earth, a living, breathing thing. Made before the others had ever terrorised the earth. Embedded into the soil, into the rock, infecting the earth with its power. It waited, and brewed. The witches rose, from dirt and ash and elements. Fire, water, wind, earth and spirit: they were to wield and ascend — to become their most powerful self.

But what happens when that power becomes too much?

Rushing, racing and consuming. When it entered their veins, that power, into their very being it was as if their first self was lost. The magic was so strong, it took a hold and squeezed, it tested and tried; if the witch wasn’t the right fit…

They ceased to exist.

As if they’d never been, the magic returned to earth as the soul ascended.

“Are you nervous?” A laughable question, coming from a man that‘d never cared. Why would he now? It was questionable, at best. His power could be used in small amounts, if that. And he hoped his father, Marshall, wasn’t power hungry enough to drain him or make him…

He couldn’t bare that thought, not yet.

“About being powerful? No. Being like her? Yes.”

Anton Devlaux didn’t know what to expect. All he knew was what his dad's hunter friends had told him over the years. Never his father. That was a step too far. Nothing Anton did was ever good enough. Had never been. Even now, on the cusp of achieving what few ever could, he could still hear the derisive comments, feel the sting of disapproval.

"Why can't you just be happy for me? Support me? Isn't that what a father is supposed to do?" Anton asked himself, though he already knew the answer. His father wasn't like other fathers. He was a tyrant, a true manipulator — not in the way that the others were, but a hunter who was brutally unforgiving, a man who saw emotions as weaknesses and emotion as chains to be yanked at his whim.

He couldn’t help the urge to dissect every word that left his mouth now, as Anton grew older he’d become aware, able to analyse the way his father slurred when he spoke, or the smell of alcohol that constantly lingers on his breath.

Water rushing, heavy in his ears, suddenly had brows bunching together. What the fuck. Startled, his face flushing a furious red, gulping thickly as he tried to get a grip of himself, of this reality. He knew of these flashes, he’d heard one may experience this phenomenon just before an untethered ascension: and he could feel his father's eyes on his.

That loathing. The detestment. And while he understood it, had seen it in his kind, and had felt the abandonment at one of their hands — Anton wished he could change it, but he couldn’t, so he’d done everything he could to be just like his dad. Until he saw through him. Human he may have been, but his soul was as rancid as the Satan witches worshipped.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, boy.” Marshall sounded like he’d smoked fifty a day for forty years. The cough that followed told aching bones, a grunt ripping from his lips. He ached from a recent hunt, as much as Anton wished that would have deterred him from looking too much at his son. For once, he craved for the avoidance of his gaze, pretending he no longer existed. However, when he heard a clink of his alcohol bottle, one that Anton hadn’t previously seen, it clicked. Marshall Devlaux didn’t care, he was just drunk.

The potentially biggest day of Anton’s life, and he was to do it alone. He could feel it creeping in, it was something his father had promised. That when the day came, regardless of their indifference, he’d find a way to see him through it. Those promises had been made so long ago, he now realised that it was a promise he’d no longer keep. Anton was to do this alone, and there was nothing, and no one, who would be there with him when his life changed forever. An abomination in the hunter's eyes, and a traitor amongst witches – he fit nowhere, he never had. Not even in his own home.

The rasp of knuckles on the wooden framework of their home drew both heads in the general direction, a grunt beckoning from between his father’s lips. They didn’t need to look to know who that would be at this time of night, Wesley often found himself at Anton’s home, and while he never questioned it, a part of him knew it was to escape whatever was going on in his own home. There was an unspoken rule between the two lads, that they didn’t discuss home life. Their time together was about freedom, and forgetting the hell holes they both came from. Outcasts, wallflowers, the fucking invisible kids. There were so many nicknames that could describe them, and yet, no one noticed.

While some prayed to spare a few moments in quiet and peace. Those two boys craved to be seen, to be heard. Anton didn’t stay around to hear the grumbles of his father, nor did he bother to check if he’d protested when he walked away. Swinging open the flimsy oak door, his ginger, slightly rounded friend stood there with that cheesy grin he’d had since he was a young lad. Not that they were much older these days, somewhat wise, more all the more immature at the ripe age of twenty-one, or Anton would be at midnight. He knew little of what he’d go through tonight, just that something bigger than himself would consume him and deliver him as whole: a full witch. He thought it a dirty thing, to be riddled with a power he didn’t want. But some small part of him, the young boy who still wished for his mother, hoped that he might be able to do some good with the so-called gift he was about to receive.

Wesley knew about his magic and had three years into their friendship. And not once had he treated him any differently. He was exactly the kind of friend that Anton had needed while being stuck with his father. His own family becoming like his own, he’d never felt a place so filled with love and warmth. Kindness. It was seen as a rarity in the life he’d led, and still, they’d bestowed it upon a boy who had known little manners or social etiquette. They’d treated him like he was one of them.

“You know, every time I see you, you get skinnier.” Wesley said, brow lifting. Most would’ve seen it as rude, such an off-handed comment, but he meant every word he said with love. It was true. Eating had never been his strong suit as a boy, often forgetting. Whenever he was over Wesley's, his parents piled his plate as high as they could mount it: like they were trying to put meat on his bones. Anton had never said it, but it was those times around the dinner table that had meant the most to him. Quiet moments when no one would speak, or loud boisterous laughter that filled every corner of the room. It’d filled him with love, and it was a memory he’d hold on to the rest of his life. He often revisited them, playing them over and over when he felt lonely. When he remembered what he’d come to lose.

Being a witch was something he’d never wanted, forced upon him simply for being alive…but it’d taken the most.

“The old man asleep? Or are we gonna’ go and do this thing.” Wesley prompted, causing a boyish grin to spread across Anton’s youthful features, tugging at the corners of his eyes as they crinkled. Such happiness, and childish wander that hadn’t yet been beaten out of him.

“He’s awake, but…swaying.” mimicking with a choke of laughter, which he quickly bit down when the sound of his father grumbled in the car not too far, Wesley matching it, as he knocked his head in the direction of the dirt path of his home. They lived in a farmhouse, some two miles down the road from Wesley. Between were fields, and woodlands. As boys they’d spent many days exploring, tree climbing and playing make believe with each other.

“Then what are we waiting for,” using his arm to gesture. “Let’s go, Ant.”

It didn’t take them long to close the door behind them, the two in tow with each other as they talked nonsense.

“I heard Elaine has a crush on Timmy Martin.” Wesley said, a loud snort following. Anton cast a weary side eye to his friend at the mention of Elaine, a woman who was notorious for having a new boyfriend every fortnight.

“Wasn’t it Luke Brunt…like a week ago?” Anton questioned, hands buried deep in his pockets. He felt nothing yet, no sign of change within his body or a surging of magic coursing through his veins. He felt the same, normal. And just for a moment, he thought maybe it was blown out of proportion. Maybe he was the exception.

“What can I say, the girls got a hungry appetite.” dropping his voice to a whisper, as if there was anyone else out there. “Did you hear that someone posted a note through her locker that said ‘Elaine the stain’” It didn't take more than a second before Anton’s eyes were bulging out of his sockets.

Laughter quickly followed, the clock ticking closer to midnight every second.

One hour has passed.

Then a second.

And then the final hour.

Stood in a clearing, he began to feel the change. At first, it’d felt like something akin to a whisper. There, but never truly heard or seen. Like he was being called to some invisible force. Only minutes later did he truly feel the weight of what was about to happen to him. Searing hot, like cast iron being shoved deep into his chest, he was brought to his knees. He felt completely untethered.

And just like that it was gone.

Panting, braced, Wesley stood just a couple of feet away, his hand came to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

“...Are you done? Was that it?” Wesley asked, unable to keep the excitement from lacing every word. In his eyes, something that Anton might have even called proud remained. And as he looked at his friend, he thought of how he would’ve never wanted anybody else with him at that moment.

“I think I might –” his words cutting off, choking on smoke.

But he wasn’t done, and the moments that followed would destroy who Anton Devlaux was forever.

That fire from moments ago spread through his fingertips until it embedded itself into his nail beds, coursing through every vein and artery until it seared its mark. The fire element.

Next came the beginning of a cool breeze, air. Cooling where the fire had once been, licking his skin as if there were physical wounds, wrapping and compressing. Until the breeze thickened into gusts, leaves and debris whipped through the air with no sense of direction or coercion.

The ground beneath him, the grass in which his feet stood planted to the ground grew, died and re-grew: as if he was generating the cycle of life itself, twisting and turning, roots forming beneath his feet, wrapping and ripping soil. Destroying, to create something new. Earth, mother nature, she went by many names, began to infect him too.

In this wind, whispers, intelligible voices spoke, multiple, incohesive and growing louder as the wind only intensified. The ghosts of previous witches, his father had one told him when he’d asked as a young boy. The spirits had come to see him, untethered, spiralling, unable to control the power that was free flowing through his blood. Unbond, he was falling, faster and faster – if he hit rock bottom…he’d succumb and explode. Power scattering, and him with it.

Anton took a minute to find Weasley, crouched to the ground with his hands over his head. Fear replaced where pride had been not long ago: and he wondered if this would change it. Would he be terrified of him now? Would he hate him?

And finally came water. At first the ground beneath his feet became sodden, squidgy, quickly forming into something close to quick-sand. No longer able to concentrate on Wesley, he tried to focus on one spot, to root himself in for whatever was coming next. It was the most powerful of them all. Water consumed him whole, turning his very blood to the liquid in his veins, flushing out every other element, as if pathing a way for its future. Rushing towards the finishing line.

It cleansed Anton, until he felt the calmest he had through the whole process. Time had been forgotten, unsure of how long he’d been in this state of being: an ascension to becoming a full-blooded witch. A man, as his mother had once said to him as a young boy. And an abomination as his father had called him in the following years. It ripped through him, once more, like a tidal wave finally crashing back to land, caving in on itself. Anton’s head fell backwards, mouth ajar, as a wholly unnatural sound broke free from between his lips, choking, gurgling, fighting from the bottom of the ocean floor to keep his head above water.

Control it, he heard, like your ancestors did before you.

The ghosts, the spirits, his ancestors.

Anton had spent so long hating his mother for leaving, the idea of his ancestors watching over him had never crossed his mind. And just for a moment, he believed he might survive this. With a final push, like he was kicking up to the surface, Anton pushed through the drowning and pushed it outwards. Away from himself. Anything to get away from the drowning that was attacking his body. The water would not consume him, not today, he chanted.

He pushed, and pushed…until he sucked in a gasp of fresh air, eyes opening to find the storm finally calming. Settling as if the worst of the weather was open, a horizon finally appearing.

He took another breath.

And then another.

His hammering heart began to slow as he looked up to find Wesley staring at him, wide eyed, and stunned. It was like he didn’t dare move, until he noticed the small flowers that had grown and wilted around him stood vibrant and beautiful. Like a welcome gift had been presented.

Anton had survived the ascension, a laugh breaking from between his lips.

And Wesley opened his mouth to respond, until he choked. Once, then twice, hands coming up to claw at his neck.

“Wes…” Anton’s wary voice called out, taking one step, then two.

Water flew out of Wesley’s mouth, like someone who’d drown in a lake and was brought back to life after CPR. But this water came out in bucket waves, over and over. Wes was trying to gasp for a breath. And Anton, aware if he used his powers would age, stood completely still. Unmoving, eyes wide.

Watching as his best friend fought against the very thing that had almost killed him moments ago. Anton knew that when he’d pushed that power off himself, he’d flung it onto Wesley and now…there was no stopping.

Finally a scream broke through as his legs began to work again. Feet pounding into the sodden grass. The water, finally stopping, gave him momentary hope before he began choking again. “Wesley – Wesley,” what was he going to do? Tell him to fucking breath. Oh god, he was drowning, literally before his eyes. “No, no, no, no, no,” Anton began begging. But who would he ask? God? Satan? The mysterious ancestors who’d guided him….

Or had they known?

“Is this part of some sick plan?” Anton screamed, Wesley dropping to his knees with a thud. Still clawing, still fighting. And just like that…the lights went out as he slumped forward, head smacking against the earth as he lay bloated and motionless.

Wesley was dead, and it was all Anton’s doing.

#anton devlaux #thecursed-roleplay #supernatural rp #oc rp #dark rp #tw: death by forced drowning #tw: alcoholism #self par a #ascension #ft. wesley

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meridakrawczyk · 4 months

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Character Name: Merida Dinah Krawczyk-Wiśniewski

Appearance: Twenty-Four Years Old.

Age: 188 years old.

Born: 19th September, 1800.

Turned: 24 years old. 1824.

Current Location: New York City

Affiliation: Borgias

Occupation: Krawczyk Casting Agency Owner.

What ties them to Salem?: She visits from time to time to see an old friend, who happens to be a witch she’d met in the early 19th century. She mainly resides in New York City, but finds that Salem often draws her back.

Good traits: Intuitive, Perfect Recall and Romantic.

Bad traits: Sly, Emotionally Void, Manipulative and Gluttonous.

TIMELINE

tw: forced turning, infedility, murder, death of children, blood trafficking.

Merida Dinah Krawczyk-Wiśniewski, born into the respectable upper-class Krawczyk family in Poland during the early 1800s. With a conventional upbringing for that time, she was well-educated, set on a path that left her with little voice to choose. Marrying a wealthy merchant, known as Krzysztof Wiśniewski of whom her father had neatly paid for such a blessing and two children who would follow consecutively a year after their vows were made before God. Till death do us part, they’d said on that holy day. But there’d been nothing holy about the act that would follow. Love was but a bitter taste upon the tongue of a foolish woman who’d once believed she deserved it. Her life, though comfortable, often felt confined by societal expectations and domestic responsibilities, and that ever-growing hole in her chest for something that was missing.

Merida had always yearned for more, needed it, even.

Married, she found herself bored but content. Though every day felt like the same tired routine of false smiles and house duties, she still enjoyed the luxuries that others could not afford. Still, as the first couple of years passed, and she bore two children, their life grew to be something worthy of her attention. And slowly, she developed feelings for her husband that only deepened on both ends as time passed. He wasn’t a knight in shining armour as she’d dreamed of as a child, but he was kind and thoughtful. Coming from money, events and social seasons were all the rage.

Not long after her twenty-fourth birthday, Merida attended a Beethoven concert, a favourite experience for her, given her refined taste for classical music. Captivated in her private box accompanied by her maid, she was unaware of the predatory gaze of a man. If that’s what you could call a dead-man walking. A member of the Boregais vampire clan, a powerful and ancient family that had held reign and prestige. The man, an elite member within the clan, was struck by Mer's beauty and her intense, profound adoration for the music. Not once did she look away, tears lighting those rounded eyes.

Like a doe waiting in a clearing, out in the open for all to see. And this time the predator was hunting her, and she had no idea. The introduction was quick, a kiss on either cheek, a flash of that well-perfected, poised smile. An exclusive after-party. Here, she encountered a man with eyes she’d never forget. Startling, but captivating. Still, Merida didn’t know he’d been watching her. Assessing and drinking her in. (Not quite, yet, though.) It didn’t take long for her to find herself engaging in a deep, intense conversation with him. Slowly gravitating away from those she’d come with. Her husband and children – forgotten. Merida found herself drawn to him, like a silent siren call sang to her. Beckoning her close. Go to him, it’d almost seemed to whisper. To this day, she wasn’t sure if that had been Satan guiding her. Had she been foolish?

Tonight, yes. And the consequences would be great. During this conversation, the man made an offer that gave her pause: eternal life. Intrigued and yearning for an escape from a mundane, ordinary existence, Mer accepted without hesitation, naively unaware of the true nature of the offer. Of how the life she sought would end, and although she may live, there were parts of her that would never truly be the same. Human nature was altered, perception changed.

The second his teeth tore into her skin, and the screams erupted from her lips: she regretted it.

Sometime later, lay on an expensive sofa, dying as her body, completely drained of her life's blood, humanity slipping away piece by piece. The man completed the ritual that turned her into a vampire. The swapping of blood, the ritual. In haste, she’d weakly attempted to push him away, but as his skin touched her lips. She drank deeply, gluttonously. Like there would never be enough in the world as it surged through her. And just like that, a Boregias sired Vampire she became.

The following hours, Merida wasn’t quite sure how to explain what became of her. Altered, she was, but the newfound perception of reality was skewed, especially as she let the man unlace her corset and have his way with her. Not once, or twice, but thrice. It’d been exhilarating, a release like none she’d ever experienced before. Blood-fuelled and hazed. And when the night ended, sat there, her maid redoing her laces—he was gone. Like he’d never been there.

And she was alone, eyes squinting in the light.

The early hours, when the candle had burned to a stump and the house was silent. Merida returned home. Somewhat traumatised by what had happened and keenly aware that she’d cheated on her husband, not with a man, but someone of the undead. Something she now was. There’d been ghost stories told to her as a child, about those that lurked in the dead of night. Now she was the main character of one of those bedtime stories that had kept her awake as a girl.

As a fledgling vampire, a savage hunger marked Mer's first night. She could barely control it. Avoidance didn’t work, and with it, that insatiable appetite only grew, divided and conquered her very being. Sweats, tossing and turning and the thumbing of her husband's vein in his neck, kept her staring at the ceiling. The smell embedded itself inside of her, choking until she was close to falling over the ledge. She’d never forgive herself, couldn’t. So when she stumbled through the hallways, feeling as if her body was about to set on fire.

Unsure how to placate it. Agnieszka, her first victim, her maid and the lady who’d been with her since she was a girl had come after her, a small candle in her hand, worry etched into those motherly features: but it had only been when . The act horrified and exhilarated her, awakening a new, darker side of her nature.

Driven by an insatiable thirst and a twisted sense of liberation, she found her husband next. He’d begged and pleaded, told her that whatever it was, they’d find a cure. But…did she want to be cured? In her blood rage, she hadn’t listened to sense, hadn’t seen reason. This man, she loved and shared a whole life with, children who slept just a room away: and without any sense of right or wrong, humanity vanishing from her being…she fed, and drank the lifeblood of the only man who would truly ever love her, for her. For who she was before she became a monster, before that last shred of humanity evaporated. Forever severing her ties to her former human life.

It was as she began to sober from his blood that she heard the heartbeats of her children. But even through that haze, she resisted, she pushed, and fought every urge in her body. Motherly instinct and sheer willpower kept her in that room as she barked against pain. Feed, feed, feed. The first was always the worst, the frenzy not like the bedtime stories her mother had read when she was a child. Nothing could compare to this. It felt like childbirth all over again. Screaming silently so as to not alert anyone, begging.

She remembered one whispered fact, from the man she’d met at the after party: avoid the sun. She wasn’t sure if he’d meant it as a joke, or if she truly should fear, as the legends had said. Without a thought, one last glance towards the bedroom door, she ran. As far, and as fast as she could. She did everything she could to save her children that night, but it still wasn’t enough.

News came, not four months later, that a war party travelling through had ravished her house. No survivors. Remaining war fights of the Soviet and Republican fighters. Her children, dead. It didn’t quite hit her at first. The news of her husband's murder, and the wife’s disappearance had been branded a murder, kidnapping. No one would suspect that Merida could have been involved in such a thing. Yelled in the streets: The killer is still at large. A great aunt, Helena, had taken her children in.

But in the end, she had eternity to live with the fact that she was the reason. If she’d been there, she might’ve been able to save them, especially as a vampire. And regret, for eternity, was a lot to swallow.

For many years, she drifted. From place to place, a nomad of sorts, creating connections and befriending her kind. It was there that she secured a reputation, heartless, emotionally-void, and, of course, great when it came to business. After spending ten years alongside a man known as Cain, business savvy and an intellectual freaking genius, she learned a few things.

One being that vampires alike would pay a high price for good blood, especially their preferred blood type. An idea flourished, and with that, she ran with it. Blood trafficking came easily, especially to a woman who had the ability to persuade and promise things she had no intention of delivering, without batting an eyelid.

The company has had many names over the years, Legal Services Unite, EOLC and, last but not least, the modelling agency that was bustling with work. In the past, they’d simply trafficked without much legitimacy, but with people saying the new technology era was upon them, she’d had to think. To scheme.

The modelling agency had real clients, people they sent to jobs. But those that had no family, no connections, nothing: they were the perfect targets. The ones they needed. And that was all it took. Slowly, as business began to boom, so did the blood trade. It started small, and before she knew it, she was in the states and expanding over state lines every day.

But there’s currently something missing. She’s searching for someone, a rumour bringing her out of New York City and back to Salem to find an old friend.

#about #merida krawczyk #oc rp #supernatural rp #taken #thecursed-roleplay

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