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[deepsharkpastasuitcase]

The Ragnarök Chronicles is a long term roleplay series set in a world of gods, men, and all those in between. Starting with “The Lost Torc”, the series begins with four powerful demigods who embark on a quest to retrieve a stolen ‘necklace’ before Midwinter, an ancient celebration that simultaneously marks the winter solstice, and the first day of Yule.

If they fail in their efforts to reclaim Freyja’s Torc before then, the war that’s been threatened for the past hundreds of years will at last be on their doorstep, and the fragile peace that’s held the realms together will finally shatter.

Now set between a rock and a hard place, these eclectic heroes shall learn what it means to be a champion for the gods and in time will learn the true price of heroism and understand the powers which become them. The Ragnarök Chronicles will show what happens to those who deem to mess with fate and why none of us can escape our destinies— no matter how hard we try.

mentions of dark themes will be brought up throughout this roleplay. if you find yourself sensitive to such subjects, please do not join. (ex. war/war crimes, blood, death/dead bodies/corpses, religious blasphemy, & mild misogyny. )

Rules

i. This is an advanced literate to novella level role-play. If you struggle to hit the word limit continuously, please do not bother applying. This roleplay is intended to be long term, so if you are a rather busy person or are frankly unreliable do not join either.

ii. If roleplaying on discord isn’t to your fancy then this is not the roleplay for you.

iii. Realistic and consistent face claim’s only. No celebrity’s.

iv. WIP’s are accepted, though I will not be accepting wikis without even a semblance of a template nor will I be accepting profile links. All wiki links must come from this amino.

v. No GODMODDING/OP’NESS/MARY-SUES allowed. Only the organizer will be capable of controlling other parties, both npc and oc alike, for purposes of moving the roleplay forward. Please do not control any one else’s characters without the host/other users permission.

vi. Do not wait for an interaction/for someone to interact with your OC. It is not an excuse for you to not write a response.

vii. Do not mini-mod/nor spam the chat.

viii. No 18+ & No discriminatory language.

ix. This roleplay is my interpretation of a Nordic Camp Halfblood, but no further knowledge of PJO or the Magnus Chase series is needed to apply for this roleplay. Having any prior knowledge of Norse mythology (while definitely helpful) is not needed!

x. If you have any lingering questions, please do not be afraid to either comment them down below or pm me. Thank you for reading!

If you find yourself to be interested and want to know more, please submit the following form in my pms through discord at @midsommar #3933

Form:

alias/your name, age & pronouns.

timezone + a writing sample (one that shows your current writing style)

[deepsharkpastasuitcase]

The Ragnarök Chronicles is a long term roleplay series set in a world of gods, men, and all those in between. Starting with “The Lost Torc”, the series begins with four powerful demigods who embark on a quest to retrieve a stolen ‘necklace’ before Midwinter, an ancient celebration that simultaneously marks the winter solstice, and the first day of Yule.

If they fail in their efforts to reclaim Freyja’s Torc before then, the war that’s been threatened for the past hundreds of years will at last be on their doorstep, and the fragile peace that’s held the realms together will finally shatter.

Now set between a rock and a hard place, these eclectic heroes shall learn what it means to be a champion for the gods and in time will learn the true price of heroism and understand the powers which become them. The Ragnarök Chronicles will show what happens to those who deem to mess with fate and why none of us can escape our destinies— no matter how hard we try.

mentions of dark themes will be brought up throughout this roleplay. if you find yourself sensitive to such subjects, please do not join. (ex. war/war crimes, blood, death/dead bodies/corpses, religious blasphemy, & mild misogyny. )

Rules

i. This is an advanced literate to novella level role-play. If you struggle to hit the word limit continuously, please do not bother applying. This roleplay is intended to be long term, so if you are a rather busy person or are frankly unreliable do not join either.

ii. If roleplaying on discord isn’t to your fancy then this is not the roleplay for you.

iii. Realistic and consistent face claim’s only. No celebrity’s.

iv. WIP’s are accepted, though I will not be accepting wikis without even a semblance of a template nor will I be accepting profile links. All wiki links must come from this amino.

v. No GODMODDING/OP’NESS/MARY-SUES allowed. Only the organizer will be capable of controlling other parties, both npc and oc alike, for purposes of moving the roleplay forward. Please do not control any one else’s characters without the host/other users permission.

vi. Do not wait for an interaction/for someone to interact with your OC. It is not an excuse for you to not write a response.

vii. Do not mini-mod/nor spam the chat.

viii. No 18+ & No discriminatory language.

ix. This roleplay is my interpretation of a Nordic Camp Halfblood, but no further knowledge of PJO or the Magnus Chase series is needed to apply for this roleplay. Having any prior knowledge of Norse mythology (while definitely helpful) is not needed!

x. If you have any lingering questions, please do not be afraid to either comment them down below or pm me. Thank you for reading!

If you find yourself to be interested and want to know more, please submit the following form in my pms through discord at @midsommar #3933

Form:

alias/your name, age & pronouns.

timezone + a writing sample (one that shows your current writing style)

[deepsharkpastasuitcase]

𝕭𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 pooled onto the wooden floorboards, seeping it’s dark crimson shade down into whatever lay beneath its stained surface. It was only one of the many horrifying spectacles someone would notice the minute they first walked into the large foyer; the first being the dead bodies. Multiple Guardian’s flooded into the mansion’s living room in groups of fives, blessed silver stakes in hand as they assessed the scene of the crime. There were ten bodies to be exact, all of them thrown around the room, almost as if they were nothing but Raggedy Anne dolls. These weren’t just any “regular” bodies, though. Among the litter of the deceased were Moroi and dhampir Guardians alike. These moroi were different compared to the many of their vampiric kind. They had been, prior to this very night, of royal descent: happening to hail from one of the eldest and most influential line of House Dragomir.

A crowd of Guardians formed around the living room, hovering over the recently murdered moroi royals. All of the dhampirs appeared to be in great shock, each of their eyes absorbing the massacre of the formerly esteemed Dragomir Clan. Some of the guards were quite ashamed of their reactions, truthfully. They were all taught from such an early age in the cruel ways of the Strigoi, so they ought to have some iron grip on their emotions; to never show weakness in the face of adversity. But for a few of the guardians, this was their first ever example of the undead immortals utter savagery. Brutally torn limbs hung limp a few feet away from the victims, and the Dhampir took notice of the jagged tears ripped into the porcelain skin of the moroi. The Dragomir’s were once declared as one of the purest, strongest even, out of all the bloodlines from the original twelve. Now these were simply prophecies of the past. The Dragomir line was reduced to nothing but their shared spilt blood and decaying bones. If even the best of them had fallen to the strigoi, how would the rest of the moroi and dhampir fare off?

To think that only one or two strigoi were able to pull this off by their lonesome… Calix didn’t want to imagine what would happen to someone if they faced an entire horde of those merciless bloodsuckers. The thought only aroused the closest thing to fear Calix would ever be able to feel, while simultaneously dawning an expression of concern woven into the muscles of his well-defined face. In the dhampir’s guts, he felt the situation required more of a hands on approach, a deep evidential cleaning that would end up leaving the place spotless: nothing would be overlooked.

Calix’s left hand absentmindedly stroked the scruff on his chiseled chin, his mind desperately trying to connect the dots. Something felt weird about this incident, and the Head Guardian didn’t quite know what to make of it yet. Calix knelt down on his right knee, near one of the deceased. He rolled them over onto their back, nudging them softly with his calloused palm. Before he even saw her face, he recognized the skewed tiara, and knew it to be the recently crowned baroness of the moroi, Lady Silvia Lorena Dragomir. His hand fell over her disturbingly peaceful face— even in death the Moroi were beautifully sculpted creatures— shutting her eyes completely closed.

The Guardian gave himself a second to pay his respects to the fallen royals, honoring their memory by murmuring an old hymn he learned back in his youth. No survivors, the black-haired dhampir guessed silently, his coal-like eyes flickering over the pile of bodies. Some of the guardians were bringing in the other victims into the main room; however these corpses were shown to be only dhampir, and not moroi, the pink flush of pigment a clear indicator. Calix lifted his hands, signalling for the rest of the other young guardians to stop. ❝ 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐛𝐚𝐠𝐬, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐫’𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐆𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐧’𝐬. 𝐎𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐯𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐭 𝐒𝐭. 𝐕𝐥𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐫’𝐬. ❞ Calix ordered in an authoritative tone, his expression almost as sour as the tragedy. All of the Guardian’s stopped their gawking and quickly got to work, bustling around the mansion in an efficient manner. ❝ 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐤, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞. 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐧𝐨 𝐫𝐮𝐠 𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐝, 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝. 𝐋𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 ‘ 𝙖𝙨𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙚𝙙’ 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝, 𝐨𝐫… 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝.❞ He added for good measure, earning questionable glances from his peers, omitting his hidden beliefs.

Of the moroi he only counted five of the original six: Stefan Aurel Dragomir III, Aurora Monet Dragomir, Alexandru Eduard Dragomir, Silvia Lorena Dragomir, and the youngest of the line, Fiammetta Dragomir— the other Lady of House Dragomir was nowhere to be seen so far. Maybe her body was yet to be recovered? Maybe she was lost in the bags of limbs the Guardian’s were having a hard time reconstructing? Or… maybe her body was taken, maybe she was stolen by the culprits? He hoped he was wrong— because if there was any semblance of truth into what he thought up, there was a very possible outcome that the Lady of House Dragomir could have been turned into strigoi. Terribles flashes of red-eyed pupils, a monstrous snarl, and bloodthirsty strigoi popped into the dhampir’s mind. Shivers dribbled down his muscular back, leaving a prickly sensation in its wake that wormed its way down to the soles of his feet. The Head Guardian crossed his arms together, folding them over his chest, his thick black eyebrows furrowed together— a sign that he was thinking quietly to himself.

Accompanied by three dhampir, Calix took the side staircase up into the higher levels of the Dragomir’s estate. He, along with his proteges, gripped their silver stakes tightly to their persons in the case of any surprise strigoi attack. But with each room they stripped clean for clues and branded ‘clean’, his anxiety threatened to ooze out of his body— ruining his stoic composure. The dhampir paced up and down the main hallway of the fifth floor, the last floor of the Dragomir’s mansion; yet the sixth body remained to be recovered. His eyes hardened at the idea of the last missing child of the Dragomir line, alive though strigoi; a terrible fate indeed. Relinquishing himself to his own pessimism, Calix bitterly exhaled through his strained lips and pinched the bridge of his nose. He threw his head back in defeat when he saw the claw marks on the ceiling: the hidden entryway that led directly to the attic. The dhampir reached up to grab the torn handle bar and yanked the polished wooden ladder down with one tug. He turned around before ascending, nodding his head firmly to his fellow dhampir guards. Stake in hand, Calix carefully climbed the ladder and went into the ominous room.

Darkness greeted him instantly.

Calix whisked out his flashlight and lit up his surroundings. He treaded carefully through the maze of priceless antiques, and other important items. His smoldering onyx eyes caught sight of a blood trail, though it wasn’t simple droplets of blood that spilled from a small wound. Someone was dragged, or was in the act of dragging themselves to something quite important. Or perhaps, someone. He followed the trail blindly, until his light illuminated strands of silver hair. ❝ 𝐎𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐬! ❞ The dhampir gasped in shock, his eyes growing wider at their discovery. He paused briefly, reaching his hand over to touch the young Moroi’s neck for any trace of life. Her skin was ice cold to the touch. Her pulse, faint, but awfully weak. He motioned for a young ginger-haired dhampir to usher forward. Calix leaned in, his whisper inaudible to the other dhampir guardians. ❝ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐐𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞. ❞ Viktoria briskly nodded her head, her viridian green eyes followed the obscured outlines of the moroi body. ❝ What do you want me to tell her, Calix? ❞ Her voice didn’t waver, nor did her face shift to show her curiosity. Calix’s expression remained unreadable, choosing his next words carefully. 

❝ Tell her that…. Princess Sapphira Anneliese Dragomir… is alive. ❞