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Immortes OFFLINE   Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Fri, 21/01/2022 22:50 (3 Years ago) |
 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ role with: emotions: ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ 𝒂 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒆 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ words
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[size=8][color=#0D223B]▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄[/color] [color=black]role with: emotions:[/color] [color=#0D223B]▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄[/color] [color=black]𝒂 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒆[/color] [color=#0D223B]▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄[/color] [/size][/center][/right][left]words[/left] [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Fri, 21/01/2022 22:47 (3 Years ago) |
 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ role with: emotions: ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ 𝙤𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙡 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙖𝙡 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ words
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[size=8][color=#6D2723]▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄[/color] [color=black]role with: emotions:[/color] [color=#6D2723]▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄[/color] [color=black]𝙤𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙡 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙖𝙡[/color] [color=#6D2723]▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄[/color] [/size][/center][/right][left]words[/left] [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Fri, 21/01/2022 16:16 (3 Years ago) |
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▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ the werewolf with: darren on edge, wary, brooding ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ 𝙤𝙝 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙙𝙖𝙧𝙠𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙮 𝙨𝙤𝙪𝙡 𝙞𝙩 𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙞𝙩𝙚𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚 𝙖𝙣 𝙚𝙢𝙗𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙘𝙤𝙖𝙡 ▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄▄ Darren had never been one to be laughed at
or trifled with, the sheer breadth
of his shoulders and muscles squashing such impulses like an elephant squa— shing a grape. He was a veritable force of nature, though familiar, seeming at once alien and different. Staring into his depthlessly empty gaze was like wi— tnessing a natural disaster, wild and untamed and ferocious. She had no dou— bt that Darren possessed significant mental fortitude and acuity, but much of his impressions that were forced roughly upon the senses were of his signific— ant physical prowess. The brute was aptly built for his purpose, with looming shoulders and honed jowls packed with muscle, the faintest hint of ivory inci— sors always glinting like hidden blades. His scales reflected the waning light with no real lustre, rot and decay peeking up from behind its gilded shell. W— well, no it wasn't the light that was moving, actually. [wip] [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Tue, 11/01/2022 00:11 (3 Years ago) |
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chapter 2 : all of that goodness (is going with you now) Summary: inden.writing sample here indent/ / indentOr, themes to be explored. [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Mon, 10/01/2022 23:35 (3 Years ago) |
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it would be a cool revamp to rping too - especially if you want to remind users that they were mentioned in a thread! [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Mon, 10/01/2022 17:40 (3 Years ago) |
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chapter 1 : the words hung above (but never would form) Summary: inden.Lorcan was prolific, and in the nights where he could not sleep, he drew upon the walls the shadows of his mind. Rich inden.black ink danced like shadows, beasts and birds waiting for their master to come home. indent/ / indentOr, the discordance of expectation and reality, the memories of loss and losing again. With a short huff, the Red Sith turned to the keypad, and keyed in the sequence that signified enter. There was no need for memory, not really. Even if Lorcan changed his code, which he often did to avoid being bothered, it made no difference to the Force. He might as well have printed the code outside his door with big bold letters: open the door like so. The door slid open — or it tried to. Rusty from disuse, the hinges to the door only allowed the door to open partway. The angry clash of metal on metal and rust assaulted his ears like the cry of a crow. “Crows gather around carrion a lot. Ravens are the same. Carrion’s sometimes all you’ll see them eat too.” The Shaliz’na’s voice echoed in his ears, drawing Cal back to the first time when he pointed out, with a smooth ebony talon, the charcoal colored birds gathered around the fallen form of a beast. A murder of crows, as the Shaliz’na had told him. “Though others sometimes call them a conspiracy.” The corpse was at least a day old, but these crows were voracious, and did not hesitate to gorge their fill. Bone glinted coldly under the midmorning sun. Lorcan didn’t so much as bat an eye at the sight while he continued to explain to his friend. “They’re not primarily hunters. Yes, they have predatory behaviors, but this—.” He nodded to the scene below, “Is a bit more common. It’s only when the prey has fallen, when the predators have come and gone, that the crows come and pick up what’s left.” “So they’re scavengers?” His brow furrowed with distaste as he watched their shiny black bodies and glittering eyes. “Yes. Of a sort. I don’t like to think of them as such.” Lorcan cast a meaningful glance at Calverus briefly, unintentionally ruffling his wings for emphasis. “Y’know, since I’m, like, named after them.” He chuckled lightly, his eyes going back to the ravens below, “Don’t get me wrong, they’ve got the reputation for it. I guess it’s more so a transitioning point. Like, moving out of a house, or closing a chapter on a part of your life. You throw out all your things, or you pack it up. In the end, all of its memories.” Lorcan’s eye were the most unusual shade of yellow. It wasn’t the closely-confused hazel, or chartreuse or olive. No, they were gold. And it wasn’t the shade that reminded Calverus of credit chips or of the vicious diabolical glow of Sith eyes — the Shaliz’na’s eye became the absolute most unnerving shade of amber when he really got into it — but the gold that reminded Cal of faraway plains, of eagles that swooped among mountaintops wreathed in mist, of cold wind that slapped his cheeks raw with the cold shards of freedom. With a shard of regret, he was reminded that one of Locan’s eyes was pale as mist, sealed shut forever. My fault. Just another example of how Lorcan paid the price for something he had no responsibility for. The doors groaned up at last, and Cal was greeted with the sight of empty quarters and clean, bare, floor. He didn’t know what hit him first, the cold or the emptiness, the sight of all this new space staring blankly up at him. Confusion set in - Am I in the wrong room? No, but he was here recently, wasn’t he? This is his room. Actually, the Red Sith thought himself a bit too smart to have been misdirected. He knew the compound backwards and forwards So why is nothing…here? The room was picked clean of everything that pointed towards the Shaliz’na living here. Clean as crow-picked bones. He shook despite himself, driving the image from his mind. But, there were still memories littered around, the little things that no one was going to erase. Lorcan’s art was prolific, and in the nights where he could not sleep, he drew upon the walls the shadows of his mind. Rich black ink danced upon the walls like shadows, various beasts and birds waiting for their master to come home. Many of them resembled crows, with darting eyes, sharp beaks, and great black wings. On another note, it seemed those eyes were following him. He took two steps to the left, and then to the right to test his theory. Yes, they followed him indeed, as if Lorcan had drawn them to be sentient. It was a surprise to some that Lorcan could recount these things with such detail. After all, what was the last time he had gone home? But an artist remembered. And crows never forgot. “Oh, that. Well, of course I remember. It’s my home, how could I forget it? And you know what?” Lorcan’s breath caught with excitement, his eyes glowing topaz. They were standing reconnaissance on one of the higher treetops, exchanging words in hushed whispers while they waited for Anthony to return. “Sometimes, I think I’m flying, or I’m dreaming it. Among them I mean. It’s been confirmed that crows have great memory, for good or for worse. And to that, I say better to be friend than foe. It’s no pleasant feeling to be driven out of their homes by their beaks and talons…” Where was he, anyhow? Calverus glanced through the hall, but there was no whisper of big black wings across durasteel, no shiny black talons on hands, no unusual golden eye. ‘It’s nearly oh nine-hundred hours, where in the Name of the Empire is he?’ With an irritated huff, he decided to make his way to the bridge. ‘But say he’s not here at all? Say … you’re not the one that’s lost.’ ‘Am I lost?’ Maybe this search itself was futile. Maybe there was no point looking at all. But the Red Sith wasn’t always driven by the voice of common sense, and thus, his route to the bridge went undeterred. Undeniably, there was an urgency to his steps, like the thing that he was looking for was some sort of necessity. Lorcan was not on the bridge, either. Saffron hues scanned the scene, searching for those big black wings. So intent was he in his task that he easily dismissed the various crew members that glanced at him curiously or warily. Others merely ignored his presence, leaving Cal to feel like the student who had wandered into the wrong classroom. His eyes wandered over the sea of olive green uniforms, never really snagging on a single one. So plain and uniform. There’s really nothing unique, nothing that stands out about anyone. He remembered how Lorcan used to complain about it in the passive-aggressive way that he complained. Lorcan’s career had been stunted for a long time since he got here, hindered from reaching its apex. Calverus believed, wholeheartedly, that the Shaliz’na would’ve made a fine captain, or even a commander, but such things were not meant to be. A senior lieutenant would be the highest his friend would ever be. “You know, I once dreamed that I tasted power, real power. Good loads of it too, pooling at my fingertips, clustering in my veins. It’s like adrenaline, if you know what I mean. Sometimes, I wonder if that is what it is like to be Sith.” The Shaliz’na gazed at his calloused palms, his gaze so intent that it seemed he was watching the midichlorians all clustered beneath. “But, every actions demands a reaction. I can’t help but remember what these things demand. What it requires.” He grimaced, despite himself, “And I know we’re both Sith, but you know what? I don’t want to pay that much attention to that side of myself. I can trick myself into believing that I don’t need it. That I’m just a normal lieutenant.” Only then did Cal realize that he really didn’t know where his friend was anymore. It bothered him more than he would like to admit. The Sith did not like unanswerable questions. The sharp chime of a comlink jarred through the white noise of his thoughts, nearly making him jump. What the—? With fumbling fingers, he pulled it from his belt and accepted its message. He got so far as reconnaissance before the usual words flowed past his tongue without him even realizing it. “I’ll be right there, Calverus out.” ‘Oh nine hundred hours. That’s soon, that’s in - less than ten minutes.’ Lorcan’s sudden absence haunted Cal incessantly. He did not like leaving questions unanswered. ‘Or say you do know.’ Abruptly, he turned on his heels to leave, heading towards Anthony’s office on swift strides that seemed almost mechanical. The sudden jolt from past to present left him emotionally reeling, with habit guiding his steps like a puppetmaster. His thoughts chased him with every step. The crows on the wall seemed to be haunting him again. [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Mon, 10/01/2022 17:40 (3 Years ago) |
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index Master List: inden.one | the words hung above (but never would form) inden.two | all of that goodness (is going with you now) indent/ / indentall lyrics from shrike, written by hozier. [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Mon, 10/01/2022 16:31 (3 Years ago) |
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[ abattoir ] (isd hydraverse) 
 Summary: indentRemember me, love, when I'm reborn indentAs the shrike to your sharp and glorious thorn indent// indentwc; 1612 words Notes: indentgeneral tw of mourning and death; gonna try to do all five stages to the best of my ability. [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Sat, 08/01/2022 02:24 (3 Years ago) |
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The Hawk - Sokolov The Heron - Lorcan Voronova The Crane - Sarandiel Swan The Nightingale - Soleil Aaralyn The Vulture - Fallon Lassiter [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Thu, 06/01/2022 03:21 (3 Years ago) |
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⯮ ──────── 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐎𝐍
𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐑 ──────── ⯮
Up in the treetops, nursing her mildly
lukewarm mug of bergamot tea, the daughter of Hecate gazed upon the
unmoving evergreen boughs that surrounded Camp Half Blood’s with a
dull gaze, icy eyes worn empty by a fatigue she refused to
acknowledge. Part of her boredom aroused from the general
assumption that there was nothing to look for, that no matter how
many times she ascended the ladder, she would find nothing. This
day proved to be no different. The air was ripe with the promise of
autumn on the horizon, and the leaves around her were still clad in
their summertime gowns of luscious emerald; nevertheless, it was
brisk enough to allow short sleeves and looser fabrics which flowed
loosely around her form. She glanced down at her hands as she bent
to take another sip. Wan skin, calloused and coarse from weapons
and fighting, stared back up at her. Muted melancholy of citrus,
lemon and a slight dash of cream burst over her tongue, laying like
a heavy blanket over her conscience. Fallon would always have those
times when she couldn’t repress her brooding thoughts, the
memories. Sometimes, it haunted her in the morning, or at night.
Her mind whispered of what she had done, like a strung-up
marionette, a puppet on strings. Stop it. Fallon shifted restlessly on
her cot, strands of her ebony hair occasionally falling in front of
her face. I don't care about what
happened in the past - that’s irrelevant. She forcibly
returned her attention to the boughs below, body nearly swaying
from the force of exhaustion weighing on her. Her eyebrows were
very heavy, almost as if they were laden with molasses,> location; night watch tower, dining pavilion > tags; alaparos, cassandra, dezerae > mentioned; quinn > godly parent; hecate > wc; 2,073 ⯮ ─────────────────────────────── ⯮ix That was, of course, the crux of the matter, as well as the one-size-fits-all answer. For the past few weeks, she had been trying to sort through the facts and separate them from mere rumor. Given how much sleep she got on most nights, however, it was no easy task. Fallon was already convinced that this monster, whatever or whoever it may be, did not come in through the borders of the camp. Otherwise, there would’ve surely been more witnesses, more campers hurt, more noticeable damage. If there was something out there, something coming, she would deal with it. But the only damn thing anyone found was a crack in between the floorboards, as if that was enough to go by. They might as well consort with ghosts. Perhaps everything bad came in threes: missing camper, no flame, and Chiron’s silence. It’s like he’s hiding something from us- on purpose. The thought didn’t comfort her, especially because whenever the underworld got involved, trouble tended to follow on its heels like an obedient dog. With a sardonic twist of the mouth downwards, she decided that her night watch was at an end. Fallon’s abilities waxed and wane with the tides of the night. The stroke of midnight had long passed - leaving her nearly mortal in the daylight. She strode towards the ladder that led to the ground, floorboards creaking under her step. Swinging her body with practiced grace that indicated she had done this a many times before, she moved down the rungs, her hands and feet moving with easy tandem. Landing gracefully on her feet, she took a moment to stifle a yawn before beginning her trek towards the center of camp. Night watch, and the vigilance it demanded, was draining. But if there was truly something out there, Fallon wanted to be among the first to know about it. As she made her presence known, she was met with dozens of gazes fixating on her, most of them hostile. When the hearth went out, everyone had started pointing fingers. She’d seen this before, of course. With the current lack of information, it was impossible to put a finger on the culprit. Fallon tried not to look like it was bothering her - she had always been a bit of an outcast since she came to this camp. The other campers were only becoming vocal about it now. She strode through the whispers hissing like snakes around her — Oh look who it is…You think she had anything to do with it? What, of course, she did - didn’ja hear…she, and that other one…daughter of hecate, it’s all witchcraft you know? She’s just bad luck…stay away from her — and filtered them out. There were too many rumors for her to feel annoyed anymore. It was simply too much effort. Judging by the time, it was clearly long past waking time. The crowd was thinning out, most making their way to the dining pavilion. For lack of a better thing to do, she followed. Never mind the fact that she usually took her meals in her quarters. Fallon sought out Alaparaos, and it wasn’t too hard to find him in the middle of the dining pavillion, ever bound to his wheelchair. Anyone would mistake his expression for pure serenity, but she knew that he was taking this harder than ever. The camper who had disappeared - Ilmatar, a child of Apollo - had been close to Al, so it was understandable that this quest seemed almost personal. Fallon grimaced slightly when he turned to face her, a welcoming smile on his lips. He was always unconditionally kind, a trait that endeared him to many of the newer campers. "There’s nothing out of the ordinary.” Fallon reported dryly. “Not a speck of movement unless you count the wildlife.” She couldn’t bear long the emptiness in his eyes, the disappointment, so she left him where he was after he murmured a soft affirmation, as well as a reminder to get some more sleep. Oh, hark who’s talking. If I’m not getting enough sleep, then what does that make you? Fallon grumbled sarcastically to herself, meaning the words a lot less than it may seem. Al looked terrible in his eyes, his usually vibrant sun-given glow muted and sickly-looking. Cassandra, who had been positioned near Alaparos’s wheelchair, glanced up, but she quickly looked away after mumbling something about being fine and simply going to grab a bite. Being open was not one of her strengths, and this was something she had no intention of fixing. Her pickings from the food weren’t extravagant by any means, but it was indeed suitably substantial. Sitting herself down on a bench and tucking into the food, she allowed herself a soft sigh of pleasure. Say what you may about Alaparos’s physical state, his cooking remained as rich as ever. (Or maybe it was because she was absolutely starving.) In between bites, she snuck glances at the Oracle, watching mostly for unusual behavior. Chatter flowed and ebbed in her presence, most of the other campers trying to pay as little attention to her as possible. It had only been two weeks since the hearth went out, so suspicion was high. Fallon focused on her food. The sooner she finished, the sooner she could leave. A loud crash drew her attention from her food, sending a sharp shock through the air and making her jump. At first, she assumed that it was just a clumsy camper, but the source of the noise eliminated that option. Her posture became ramrod straight when she saw Cassandra being levitated in the air by some invisible force, her distinctive optic features drowned out by a green haze. Fallon nearly jumped when the mist spread all around the cabin, covering the floor, hiding her ankles from view. The oracle was completely hidden from view, not even revealing the contours of her silhouette. Fallon had never been witness to such a sight, but in her bones, she knew almost instinctively what this meant. Finally...a prophecy. "To seek what has been lost Cassandra wheezed, as if her very lungs were failing her for sharing such a burden with the campers. Nevertheless, she continued. The Sun will be your cost, With Wisdom on your heel. Strife and Luck be your wheel. And craft with Fire and Spell. The Hearth will lead to Hell. Before winter's final kiss. Deny blinding love's bliss. Lest we take our final rest. When Dawn fades without protest. Poisoned by frozen Storge." Oh...That's a lot to unpack. Before she forgot, Fallon took out a leather-bound tome, the same with which she used to inscribe notes about the night watch, and wrote it down. Strangely, she found that she was strangely inclined to capitalize certain words, namely those mentioned in the way of subjects. It was no accident. Her ideas regarding the meaning of the prophecy were ... quite vague. Her prophecy delivered, Cassandra was released from that strange hold, her body coming to rest none too gently on the ground with a loud thud. But Fallon didn't see the Oracle's rather pathetic state. What she did see was about a fifth of the campers present staring directly at her. Others were fixated on Quinn — which made sense, given that he was the son of Tyche, goddess of luck. Craft with Fire and Spell. Was Spell referring to her, or the children of Hecate with whom she shared her cabin? Or just the mist-walkers alone? Fallon's skin crawled uncomfortably under all the attention, especially when she heard gossip springing up again. Alaparos had been jolted out of his stupor when the strange episode began, and he was quick to take charge. Addressing the camp as a whole, he ordered them to bring Cassandra to the infirmary, his strong voice giving him a distinctive bearing of authority. Swallowing gratefully at the opportunity to take her leave, Fallon seized the opportunity to assist the girl, despite not possessing an altruistic bone in her body. Before she had even taken a few paces, someone else moved in front of her, taking charge of the opportunity. Striking indigo hair that was very nearly garish flashed in front of her eyes, and she recognized her cousin Dezerae - son of Eris. She grimaced at his enthusiasm, knowing full well that trouble tended to follow eagerly on his heels like his shadow. He didn't go looking for trouble, obviously, but trouble always found him. We don't need any more surprises today. Turning on her heels, she addressed Alaparos, "I better go with him. Don't worry, I'll clean up my stuff when I get back." Without even waiting for an affirmation, she yanked open the door after the fast-retreating form of her cousin, his conspicuous hair-color giving him away easily. In a few swift bounds, she caught up with him, a stern but not unkind look on her face. "Dezerae, slow down, I'm coming with. You're going to get lost." The intent behind her words greatly reduced the prominent sting of her words. She wasn't known for being nice after all. Around her family, she had no problem using their deity-given names instead of the mortal ones. Taking his shoulder, she steered him firmly towards the left hallway, not wanting him to get turned around. If there was one thing that Fallon had learned through and through from her father, it was that family is the only consistency you can have in life. "You don't get to pick your family, but you do get to choose how you treat them. Sometimes, you may not agree with your family. You squabble, you bicker, you fight. You'll see many things pass out of your life. Items will break, friends and coworkers will be taken down diverging paths... Family isn't one of the things that goes away. Those people who share your blood, they're there for life, whether you like it or not. You might as well treat them well, or tolerate them at least. They're one of the things you can always go back to, because they know you would do the same for them." Unconsciously, her gaze drifted to the rune marking on her left forearm, a permanent marking of her mortal family and allegiances. Part of her wondered what her father did when she was away. Who took her position? Did he even remember her? "So, where were you this morning? I didn't see you or Cataneme when I came back." Fallon asked when she was sure he was going in the right direction. Cataneme was one of her other cousins, the daughter of Achlys who didn't nearly posses the right attitude befitting her parentage. "Were you hiding in your cabin again?" [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Wed, 05/01/2022 00:14 (3 Years ago) |
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Character Name: Age: Gender, Pronouns: Appearance: ( image or description is fine ) Personality: ( strengths, weaknesses, etc ) Other: ( any additional info not covered by the above ) Team ( copy & paste for additional Pokémon if needed ) reserving ice type elite four? possible change to flying? [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Tue, 04/01/2022 15:39 (3 Years ago) |
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— son of Eos | Goddess of Dawn, dew, and wind. — mortal name: Lysander Adler — photokinesis, flight w/ wings (xxx) [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Mon, 03/01/2022 03:45 (3 Years ago) |
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and yes for PP [Read more] |
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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Mon, 03/01/2022 03:30 (3 Years ago) |
 blood in the water   𝒓𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒈𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒉 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒅 ╘═════════════════════════════╛ ✞ - [
Birth Name ] Vaermina Chiaroscuro
✞ - [ Mortal name ] Fallon Lassiter ✞ - [ Godly Parent ] Hecate | Goddess of magic, necromancy, night & mist. ✞ - [ Age
] 18 years
x✞ - [ Gender ] Female ✞ - [ Sexuality ] Ace/Aromantic x x x ⸸ 𝐅𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 - she was born with the name: vaermina chiaroscuro, given by her mother hecate, and she prefers to introduce herself as such, but all people usually walk away from in the way of names is fallon lassiter. fine. she's fallon to some, but those who truly know her know her as vaermina. powers: mystiokinesis & mist-control ⸸ 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘 Show
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She knew
not of a mother's warmth, a soft caress on the soft face of a babe
- these things were not meant for her. The world she grew up in was
a cold, somber place, where the unfortunate scraped and groveled at
the feet of the mighty, who turned up their noses and walked away.
She knew not of warmth and closeness with siblings: only herself
dumped ungraciously on the doorstep of a home, with only a note.
The hands that held her were scarred, rough, but uncertain,
confused by this bundle presented to him. The small babe poured
forth a loud wail in protest to the cold, eliciting a wince from
the brute that held her as the sound assaulted his ears. No
children did he have, and yet here was one now on his doorstep and
already so very upset. It was not his strength nor his role to take
care of this bundle, but she was here wasn't she?
" " Her infant's wail only grew louder, and becoming more discomfited by the second, he resorted to bouncing her up and down, hoping that the gesture conveyed comfort. Eventually, she quieted the deafening racket upon his ears, and he breathed a relieved sigh into the frigid night air. He tried not to look down upon the small, innocent thing in his rough hands, even as he clasped it to his breast with a tightness foreign to him. 'Who would leave their kid on some random guy's doorstep? Unless this was by accident...?' Minutes gradually turned into a gradient of minutes, but no anxious dame came running up the street, face cast in fear and anxiety. This child, was by all means, abandoned. As he left the warmth and safety of the doorway, a piece of paper announced its presence underfoot. What - He stooped downwards - nearly dropping the babe onto the cold concrete. Oh- silly me. He set her down among the plush trappings of her crib, before proceeding to pick up the object. Seeming to glow under the cheap streetlights, he saw that it was no mere note, but an envelope, plump with letter. And the letter? His eyes widened in shock; written in a finer script than any mortal may ever conceive, was the strangest message. 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙚𝙩𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙙𝙤𝙚𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙘𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙩 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚𝙨, 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙖 𝙝𝙪𝙢𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩. 𝙄 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙣𝙤 𝙙𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙪𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙬𝙝𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙡𝙚 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚, 𝙗𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙖 𝙛𝙚𝙬 𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙝𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙗𝙚𝙚𝙣 𝙙𝙧𝙤𝙥𝙥𝙚𝙙 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙙𝙤𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙥. 𝙌𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙮𝙚𝙨, 𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨 𝙖𝙗𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙙: 𝙛𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙣𝙤𝙩, 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙚𝙭𝙥𝙡𝙞𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙡𝙮 𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙘𝙡𝙤𝙨𝙚𝙙. 𝙄 𝙨𝙪𝙥𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪'𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙬𝙤𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩 𝙤𝙛𝙛, 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙. 𝙄 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙙𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙥𝙧𝙚𝙨𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙡𝙮. 𝙃𝙚𝙧 𝙗𝙞𝙧𝙩𝙝 𝙣𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙞𝙘𝙪𝙡𝙩 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙖𝙡𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙣𝙤𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙚 - 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙛𝙧𝙤𝙢 𝙨𝙤𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙢𝙤𝙨𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙙𝙞𝙖𝙡𝙚𝙘𝙩𝙨. 𝙄𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙪𝙖𝙜𝙚, 𝙑𝙖𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖 𝘾𝙝𝙞𝙖𝙧𝙤𝙨𝙘𝙪𝙧𝙤. 𝙁𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜, 𝙞𝙨𝙣'𝙩 𝙞𝙩? 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙪𝙣𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙟𝙪𝙭𝙩𝙖𝙥𝙤𝙨𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙝𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙬 𝙛𝙖𝙡𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙪𝙥𝙤𝙣 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙙𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙢𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙣𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙚𝙨. 𝙉𝙤𝙬, 𝙖𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧 𝙢𝙮 𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙩𝙮 - 𝙬𝙝𝙞𝙘𝙝 𝙞𝙨 𝙡𝙞𝙠𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙨𝙬𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙨 𝙨𝙤 𝙙𝙚𝙫𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨𝙡𝙮 𝙚𝙡𝙪𝙙𝙚𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝙄 𝙖𝙢 Ἑκατα - 𝙤𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙚, 𝙃𝙚𝙘𝙖𝙩𝙚 - 𝙜𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙖𝙜𝙞𝙘 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙡𝙡𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧-𝙘𝙤𝙢𝙥𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙥𝙝𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙃𝙖𝙞𝙙𝙚𝙨. 𝙄 𝙙𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙗𝙚𝙜𝙧𝙪𝙙𝙜𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙖𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙨𝙢 - 𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙖𝙧𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙩𝙡𝙚𝙙 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙤𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙞𝙤𝙣𝙨, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙞𝙜𝙣𝙤𝙧𝙖𝙣𝙘𝙚. 𝙉𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨, 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙞𝙨 𝙢𝙮 𝙧𝙚𝙦𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙩. 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙗𝙖𝙗𝙚, 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙤𝙛 𝙢𝙮 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙, 𝙄 𝙝𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙧𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙩𝙤 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙚. 𝘾𝙤𝙖𝙧𝙨𝙚 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙛𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙝 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙖𝙮 𝙗𝙚 𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙘𝙘𝙖𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙗𝙪𝙩 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙨𝙤𝙣. 𝙄 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙡𝙪𝙨𝙩 𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙚𝙢𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙮 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙗𝙪𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙙 𝙗𝙚𝙣𝙚𝙖𝙩𝙝, 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙄 𝙞𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙘𝙖𝙡𝙡 𝙩𝙝𝙖𝙩 𝙠𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙣𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙛𝙤𝙧𝙩𝙝. 𝙄 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙩𝙤 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙑𝙖𝙚𝙧𝙢𝙞𝙣𝙖, 𝙖 𝙙𝙚𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙤𝙙𝙙𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙖𝙨 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙢𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙜𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙚𝙙 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙧𝙖𝙞𝙨𝙚 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙛 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨. 𝙄 𝙝𝙤𝙥𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙗𝙚 𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙩𝙚𝙘𝙩 𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙖𝙨 𝙞𝙛 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙬𝙚𝙧𝙚 𝙞𝙣𝙙𝙚𝙚𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧 𝙛𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙝 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙗𝙡𝙤𝙤𝙙, 𝙪𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙡 𝙨𝙝𝙚 𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙣 𝙖𝙙𝙤𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙘𝙚𝙣𝙩. 𝘿𝙤 𝙣𝙤𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙪𝙗𝙩 𝙮𝙤𝙪𝙧𝙨𝙚𝙡𝙛 - 𝙄 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙚𝙫𝙚 𝙞𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪. 𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙩 𝙧𝙚𝙜𝙖𝙧𝙙𝙨, Ἑκατα ⸸ 𝐏𝐒𝐘𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 [ Ennegram ] pending... [ Wing ] pending... [ Triad ] pending... [ Alignment ] pending... [ Zodiac ] pending... historyname is... historyalert, level-headed, intuitive, dedicated. historyloner, cold, secretive, unsatisfied, opportunistic historyhostile, temperamental, bitter, manipulative, vengeful meeting her biological parents has put her on the road to healing, but it's obvious that the road to healing is a long one, and she's just getting started. in fact, she is the product of being raised with a harsh hand, and an even more hateful presence pulling the strings. she's the type to bite first, and ask questions later, pushing a way through life with fire and drive. fallon won't take no for an answer, and if there is a way, she'll get to it by all means possible. the demigoddess is known for having a relentless streak among campers (as well as a mean one as well.) she would rather bite than open up with her issues; her temper has never been the silent kind. her eyes dart around, unable to settle, unable to rest. she focuses on her tasks with a steely focus, readily tackling and clearing the lofty expectations set out for her. aggression is a trait well ingrained in her psyche; not from her dear mother or father, but simply from her own life experiences. there is no waiting around: a restless spirit like her is oft to do well by executing tasks alone. fallon has developed a craftiness of sorts - not necessarily cruel or unjust, but the kind that arises from constant watch and a cunning intuition of how best to take each situation for what its worth, and get every scrap that she can for herself. she isn't what you might call greedy, but the intuition is there. talents fallon might use to turn heads away (or towards, if the situation calls) her unnatural abilities. these are skills she did not have in the beginning, but that she has been more than willing to learn. she desperately clings to them, tenacious as a leech, as she clings to all things. fallon is not an imaginer — she prides herself on being quite realistic — but this isn't always a positive trait. she knows how cruel the world can be, and as such, can become unforgiving company. ⸸ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐒 historywords. statisticsstrength ★★★☆☆ statisticsstamina ★★★★☆ statisticsspeed ★★★☆☆ statisticsagility ★★★☆☆ statisticsintelligence ★★★★☆ statisticsmedical knowledge ★★☆☆☆ statisticscombat knowledge ★★★★☆ statisticssocial skills ★★☆☆☆ statisticsfaith ★★★☆☆ statisticspain tolerance ★★★★☆ statisticsloyalty ★★★☆☆ statisticsmental stability ★★★☆☆ ⸸ 𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐏𝐒 historypanzer rex (father-figure/adoptive father) | ♫ | historyhecate (mother) | ♫ | historycataneme lystsis (maternal cousin) | ♫ | historydezerae thompson (maternal cousin) | ♫ | historyemika (rival/enemy) | ♫ | ⸸ 𝐔𝐍𝐑𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐀 history☆ #34142b text color history☆ playlist - historyhistory☆ song - artist history☆ Daemon is an Andean Condor history☆ Wolf form (if applicable) here history☆ has a tattoo of the rune of frey on her left forearm. history☆ grimoire - collection of each incantation she uses. 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Immortes OFFLINE Forum Posts: 732 |
Posted: Mon, 27/12/2021 21:38 (3 Years ago) |
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of grief, and of getting past it; I feel my boots trying to leave the ground, I feel my heart pumping hard. I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings. — Mary Oliver, from “Starlings in Winter”  [Read more] |