#ALL.

[number1salvisloverbiteme]

I stand up and fucking screech at some stardewvalley fans

[arcandoria]

my toxic trait is imagining all my otps slow dancing with their foreheads touching or with one's head laying on the other's chest even if slow dancing is just swaying softly to the sides

[edengarden]

Drawing session with @lairu got a little unhinged today

[bluedevilsrpg]

UNDEAD BLIGHT

BEAST TAMER. M. ( 35 ) Sen Mitsuji.

HISTORY

YOU HAVE BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS, HOW DO YOU PLEAD? Everything forward backwards read entirely new to you. In the reflection of a mirror you find yourself staring inquisitively, lost in the silhouette of the human that returns the same curious glance. Who are you? What are you? Where are you? The prodding buzz of your mind only uncovers one memory: something godly and unnatural - is this what divinity tastes like? Was it Genesis who returned you back to life? Why is that the only thing you can recover from the chambers of your mind? The past is blotted out in black. And you find yourself crawling through every crevice of your existence in search of answers. The agony of your own mysterium acts as its own chasm of eternal perdition. Was this design made for mercy or for cruelty?   This flesh mask face of yours is recognizable to the upper echelons of society. Whispers are made in awe as they tell you who you are to be. "Don't you know? You're the son of a world council elite." Glowering eyes and hungry fangs exposed - you smell the scent of insidious beasts circling you like hawks to prey. You accept your identity, convinced your feet are in the shoes of the wrong man. The tales that unfold from their lips are grotesque as they are wicked; but they laugh. Beneath the skin that coated your bones was a tremor of fear. They call you terrible and wonderful and you could only bite down on this tongue of yours. Were the eyes that looked back at you a monstrosity? Were you a beast rattling in a forgotten cage? Was this your damnation or your resurrection? 

CONNECTIONS

ATLAS VOID ⌱ I CAN NOT REMEMBER THE KNIFE THAT WAS PLUNGED NOR THE ANGUISH AND TRAGEDY OF US

Several footsteps made in the dirt trailing a path of war and crime, all so unfamiliar to you. And yet while your mind denies, your body remembers the pedantic routine of a trained killer. You see them and you see what grief does - what it eats. A twisted sense of relief unravels from your finger tips, they know all of you and you rejoice at the thought of puzzling together the fragments of your mind. What was the difference between delusion and illusion? This face of yours survived and it comes with a thousand burdens. You recognize the hollowness in your heart as you swallow the sins that "you" made. Would they see you as a terror to cut through once again?  Would they despise the stranger you are? After all, you’re convinced, you were not the one they slaughtered and fed - you are something entirely different, something deranged and severed. Was this not hell itself?

SAINT GUILLOTINE ⌱ FROM THE ABYSS, I RETURN

Your silence ceases to exist now, through the forests, through the darkness - you are no longer in slumber. He buried you beneath the rot of all other murders - a shame when the pair of you had once shared a conjoined history. Is this how you love your friends? with an empty grave and a shovel for the last of your remnants. You look at him, an eery familiarity drawn up on the features of his face - ah so it's fear. But what horror are you that even the monster trembles? Even you can not answer the question. All you know is that in their company, there's an insatiable hunger to gnaw. Devour, kill, the sound of each death toll electrifies all corners of your body - this is intimacy, this is survival.

MADAME MASSACRE ⌱ DEFINE YOUR HURT FOR I AM BUT A DULLED BLADE

Charity cases were common for someone of your caliber - at least, this is what you were told. And she was no exception to the promise of better; the world government decimated and the aftermath was left to its ruined people. But somewhere in the splotched out points of your past, she exists. You are familiar to her voice, something alarmingly comfortable yet foreign. Between the flickers of light, you wonder who the ghost is. You can see there is loss and tragedy. But nothing stirs from the bottom of your concave heart, no matter how much you claw. Between feigned smiles, you flatline, half empty, half pretend as you bare the weight of your null recollection.

LITTLE MISS RED ⌱ OUR HISTORIES ARE TIED IN A COMPLICATED TANGLE OF WEBS

Her family and yours were connected - the details in which your blood were the same was never made clear. But the mafioso baron family had always been loyal to the interests of your family's in particular. The prestige of being a part of the world council elite had guaranteed a beneficial relationship built on blood, gold and insipid corruption. She is the key to the other half of your identity that you know so little about. But you also wonder what kind of childhood you two shared that spawned two feral anomalies. There's something particular about the way she carries herself - her underhanded lethality admirable. But in the back of your mind, you can sense a desperation for help. Will it be yours to offer this time?

UNDEAD BLIGHT IS CLOSED & THEIR SPECIAL STAT IS AGILITY.

[glitteringrp]

⧼   barbara palvin, artista viajante, auracinese, ESMERALDA   ⧽     —     Eu, MIHAELA ZOGRAF, 25 anos, vinda de BALANQUA, me comprometo a realizar o requerido junto à Corte de Luz, deixando minha antiga vida para trás, e assumindo, desde já, os encargos deste serviço, nos termos deste contrato.

𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑      —

Mihaela Zograf nasceu em uma família de artistas viajantes em uma época em que as crenças religiosas eram tão importantes quanto a habilidade artística. Desde muito jovem, ela foi incentivada pelos pais a realizar pequenos roubos durante as apresentações, como forma de garantir a sobrevivência da família. Aos oito anos, descobriu que tinha o dom de ver a aura das pessoas, o que a tornava uma excelente mentirosa e manipuladora. Seus pais eram alanzanos em segredo e, quando descobertos, foram detidos e Mihaela, enviada para a Corte de Luz, onde seria treinada para ser uma verdadeira dama da sociedade. Não foi uma adaptação fácil, contudo, as tragédias de sua vida a haviam lhe ensinado a ser resiliente e se preocupar consigo mesma; queria o melhor para si mesma, uma vida sem dificuldades. E, determinada a se destacar e garantir sua própria sobrevivência, ela foi além do que era esperado de uma jovem dama da época.

Mihaela se tornou uma estudante exemplar, dominando várias línguas, música e etiqueta, além de se destacar em outras habilidades consideradas apropriadas para uma dama. Além de sua excelência, é conhecida pela elegância, delicadeza e cuidado com os demais  ——  mas não se engane! Esta última não é nada mais do que uma máscara que ela própria criou; Mika não deseja o mal alheio, no entanto, é muito egocêntrica, e tampouco tem pudores de usar seus poderes para manipular aqueles ao seu redor para atender às suas próprias necessidades. Embora Mihaela aparente ser delicada e cuidadosa com os demais, ela sempre colocava a si mesma em primeiro lugar. Ela não hesita em pisar nos outros para alcançar seus objetivos.

Não se preocupa muito com que tipo de homem será pareada, somente que seja o melhor. De preferência, fácil de manipular.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄      —

Mihaela é uma personagem que passou por muitas dificuldades em sua vida e, em vez de enfrentá-las diretamente, aprendeu a ser mais dissimulada e estratégica. Ela prefere se fingir de boa e obediente, acreditando que pode manipular as situações de forma mais eficaz por trás das cortinas. Seu passado difícil a tornou astuta e manipuladora, mas ela não é tão resistente ou corajosa quanto gostaria de ser. Ela ainda mantém traços de sua personalidade anterior como parte da trupe de artistas, como a alegria e a criatividade, mas esses traços muitas vezes são mascarados por sua necessidade de sobreviver. Ela sabe que precisa cuidar de si mesma e que não pode contar com ninguém, o que a torna cautelosa e reservada. Seu dom de ver as auras das pessoas a torna mais sensível e empática, mas ela muitas vezes usa esse dom para obter vantagem sobre os outros. Ela não confia facilmente em ninguém e é cuidadosa em suas relações interpessoais. No geral, Mihaela é uma personagem complexa que aprendeu a se adaptar a situações difíceis, mas que não é tão forte quanto gostaria de ser. Ela pode ser tanto gentil e alegre como amarga e manipuladora, e suas características muitas vezes entram em conflito. Sua necessidade de sobrevivência e adaptação pode ser um ponto fraco, mas também pode torná-la uma personagem interessante e imprevisível. 

[radio-charlie]

One day when we’ve made it through, lets all go to an all-day breakfast place, sit down, point at the menu and say: all.

[projectorpheus]

SAGAN ⋅𖥔⋅ 28, NB ⋅𖥔⋅ CONFIDENTIAL

trigger warnings: human experimentation, implied violence, gore

Running. You are always running. You run from a story that is faster than you. It nips at your heels, drags you off to sea — or maybe your body is the sea, and you're washed upon the shores of it. Crashing waves, bones bleached death-white, eyelids cut open until the world is nothing but a kaleidoscope of red, of pain — of your open mouth with no throat attached, trying to scream WHY, WHY. And only silence as an answer.

Endless time. White walls, white sheets, white pills. You remember nothing but this endless labyrinth. Some nights you swear that if you press your ear to the ground, you can hear the delicate breathing of the minotaur. SOME NIGHTS YOU SWEAR THAT IF YOU THINK JUST THINK HARD ENOUGH, YOU CAN REMEMBER THE SOUND OF YOUR OWN NAME. They call you by a string of numbers and letters here but you've long lost the combination.

Your ribs are full of rabbits and they've taught you how to hide. Not even in your dreams are you safe — your eyes sunken and set in an expression you don't recognize. Your hands upon cool metal, heart beating to a song on the speakers that plays over and over — there's a language to be learned somewhere in there, but your reflection in the mirror puts a finger over their mouth and grins, jaw opening like a snake about to swallow you whole. You alone the prey, the hunter, and the forest.

[ note: Sagan's history has been hidden for plot purposes. Players interested in this skeleton should contact the main for undisclosed details. ]

DYNAMICS

ATLAS  ⋅𖥔⋅ BLOOD DRIPS FROM YOUR CHIN & I KNOW IT IS MY OWN

Sometimes, you remember them. Peering at you through a glass window muscle memory tells you is thick to shatter with your bare fists. They have many faces, morphing into beasts; into sirens; into gods — but there is only one that has stuck with you. Sometimes, when you sit upon your bed and stare at the walls, their image comes back to you. Downturned mouth, furrowed brows — it's an expression you turn around and around in your mind until their eyes are nothing but the fragments of a tiered chandelier, crashing into your consciousness and cutting your chest open little by little, a thousand tiny paper cuts, raw and bloody until your organs peek through. In this dream, you laugh. Hurry, hurry, you whisper in a voice that you aren't sure belongs to you. Hurry and tell me what you've found inside.

NAIAD  ⋅𖥔⋅ I CLUNG TO YOUR HANDS SO THAT SOMETHING HUMAN MIGHT EXIST IN THE CHAOS

A lifetime ago — or maybe just yesterday — it doesn't matter, anyway; you escaped. For once, you stopped running. If only because the world around you was no longer white, no longer sterile — but rather, warm. Buildings steeped in the sun's blood; air that scratched at your lungs like flies buzzing to mangled flesh. They found you sprawled on the ground, watching the world as dust settled on rusted metal. They took you in — baptizing you with words; with stories — and for once, you felt your mind quiet. You wanted to stay in that haloed glow forever. You wanted to peel their skin away from its membrane, if only to live within them and know how it feels to be full. To have a beginning end. Is this another dream? you almost ask them, but before you can part your lips, you are staring back at the wall and tapping your feet together. Three clicks. JUST THREE CLICKS, AND MAYBE YOU CAN GO BACK.

VOYAGER  ⋅𖥔⋅ I DELVE INTO WORDS AS IF I WERE PAINTING NOT JUST AN OBJECT BUT ITS SHADOW

There are times when his voice escapes the crack between your door and the floor. Cheerful. Laughing. Far away somehow, as if transmitted through another world. You don't connect it to any of the faces that blend together in your memory. Not his voice — his voice can't belong to any of those cold eyes, analytical and disappointed. You've taught yourself to imitate him. To sound happy. To make jokes and laugh; use your fingers to curl the corners of your mouth upwards. It makes those other faces shift uncomfortably; to scurry away and leave you alone. But somehow, you are sure he won't. He's different. HE HAS TO BE.

TAKEN BY TARYN ⋅𖥔⋅ TAMIKA FAWCETT

[marlborohq]

INTRODUCING  ...  SUN BLEACHED FLY.

UTP PREAKER  AS PORTRAYED BY  UTP,  MUST RESEMBLE RAMI MALEK   /   30+,  MUST BE FEMME PRESENTING.

NARRATIVE

(  cw:  mentions of grief,  teeth,  substance abuse,  mental illness,  childhood illness.  )

you had always been a spindly little rose,  luscious from first glance but when people were close enough to touch you they could feel that dry,  hollowness you exude even now.  the withering bud your ma had managed to overwater in the dry season.  even with a pink teddy perpetually tucked beneath an arm you were still all teeth.

of all the preaker children,  you were thought to be just about the finest.  your mother had mulled through you with a fine tooth comb,  ensuring that you and you alone would be the one she would pour all her efforts into.  there is little care for your elder brother and the smaller one who would soon proceed you.  rather,  you would be doted:  the one better loved from the top shelf of ma’s china cabinet  ---  she thought life was too abbrasive for you so you were kept tucked away.   you are the startling difference between your sibling’s extremes:  the soft one and the wild one.  always too sickly to grant any true promise,  you happen as the median between their obtuseness  ---  the pageant-queen-to-be strung up with all of your gilded trinkets.  little had your folks known that you had taken your brother’s peach fuzz softness and casted it over the vile bits you would go on to pass down to your little sister.  too many teeth where they shouldn’t be,  and too sharp to be just that.  even in a childhood turned crime scene,  you were the rabid thing that had been tied up in the powder blue bow.

CONNECTIONS

PRAIRIE DOG   /   OLDER BROTHER.

the one to tend your mother wounds and hold your hand at the dinner table when you spilled your milk at breakfast.  PRAIRIE DOG is your brother,  and once he had dug graves for the both of you.  because even when covered in dirt,  and especially with something still bleeding and mangled in your teeth PRAIRIE DOG is the one who loved you enough to clean up your messes.  the only thing he asks of you in turn is not quite forgiveness,  but that you erase the mar of this grief from yourself and allow him to shoulder it.  you bid his wishes and become the untrustworthy narrator,  the unsightly source detached from a reality you can hardly call your own.

MOURNING DOVE   /   EX-CHILDHOOD BEST FRIEND.

the one who knew you before you went all sour.  it’s hard to think of the niceties of such a short-lived childhood when all you’ve harbored is grief.  this loss was merely another skeleton to bury behind ma’s tomato patch in the backyard.  you convince yourself that this is how you will flourish:  by nourishing yourself with all the ugly things.  but all you did was rot, inside and out.  it didn’t take much for MOURNING DOVE to notice, even now.  she’s always noticed.  especially now,  in this town that seems to have only become two sizes too small the longer you stayed.  at one time or another, you were one of the same.  knowing that whatever had been wrong with you, had also been wrong with MOURNING DOVE. you’d like to think that is what had attracted to you to MOURNING DOVE, swiftly you had become the wild thing she’d thrown steaks to from the comfort of her porch.  it was only a matter a time before all you allowed her to do to you had been flipped on it’s back.

SWEET NOTHING   /   UNLIKELY ACQUAINTANCE.

you are not only a prisoner of self,  but one of nostalgia.  as it happens,  SWEET NOTHING is the one who has unknowingly freed you.  or at the very least,  you have allowed them to see you for what you really are.  nothing more than a slate begging to be scrubbed clean.  you ignore each other’s bad parts because you both have the same taste in pills,  and the forest is awfully quiet when you’re not wading through it alone.  your brother warns you that they’re no good,  but you both know you’re no better and isn’t that nice somehow?

THIS SKELETON IS OPEN.

[stoney-baloney-with-cheese]

Do not let them erase this. Do not let them tell you he meant "my heart goes out for you."

This man is the grandson of a Canadian Nazi sympathizer who moved to South Africa BECAUSE he thought the apartheid was just the coolest.

He has a gaggle of kids specifically because he believes his genes are superior and need to be spread to improve humanity.

He has thrown his support behind the neonazi party in Germany and the far right party in the UK, not to mention how far he's wormed up the ass of the Republican party.

He threw two sieg heil salutes back to back at the inauguration of the president of the United States and is trying to scrub the evidence off the internet.

Elon Reeve Musk is a fucking Nazi.

[biggest-gaudiest-patronuses]

now that trump has tiktok, twitter, facebook and insta in his pocket, get ready for a massive wave of internet censorship. one of trump's greatest weapons has always been misinformation; it's going to become harder and harder to spread facts and criticism going forward. posts that aren't made invisible will be magically ignored by the algorithm. dissidents will have their accounts deleted and voices erased.

this is a suppression tactic. this is another stage of fascism.

[never-quite-buried]

Nope now it’s at the point that i’m shocked that people off tt don’t know what’s going down. I have no reach but i’ll sum it up anyway.

SCOTUS is hearing on the constitutionality of the ban as tiktok and creators are arguing that it is a violation of our first amendment rights to free speech, freedom of the press and freedom to assemble.

SCOTUS: tiktok bad, big security concern because china bad!

Tiktok lawyers: if china is such a concern why are you singling us out? Why not SHEIN or temu which collect far more information and are less transparent with their users?

SCOTUS (out loud): well you see we don’t like how users are communicating with each other, it’s making them more anti-american and china could disseminate pro china propaganda (get it? They literally said they do not like how we Speak or how we Assemble. Independent journalists reach their audience on tt meaning they have Press they want to suppress)

Tiktok users: this is fucking bullshit i don’t want to lose this community what should we do? We don’t want to go to meta or x because they both lobbied congress to ban tiktok (free market capitalism amirite? Paying off your local congressmen to suppress the competition is totally what the free market is about) but nothing else is like TikTok

A few users: what about xiaohongshu? It’s the Chinese version of tiktok (not quite, douyin is the chinese tiktok but it’s primarily for younger users so xiaohongshu was chosen)

16 hours later:

Tiktok as a community has chosen to collectively migrate TO a chinese owned app that is purely in Chinese out of utter spite and contempt for meta/x and the gov that is backing them.

My fyp is a mix of “i would rather mail memes to my friends than ever return to instagram reels” and “i will xerox my data to xi jinping myself i do not care i share my ss# with 5 other people anyway” and “im just getting ready for my day with my chinese made coffee maker and my Chinese made blowdryer and my chinese made clothing and listening to a podcast on my chinese made phone and get in my car running on chinese manufactured microchips but logging into a chinese social media? Too much for our gov!” etc.

So the government was scared that tiktok was creating a sense of class consciousness and tried to kill it but by doing so they sent us all to xiaohongshu. And now? Oh it’s adorable seeing this gov-manufactured divide be crossed in such a way.

This is adorable and so not what they were expecting. Im sure they were expecting a reluctant return to reels and shorts to fill the void but tiktokers said fuck that, we will forge connections across the world. Who you tell me is my enemy i will make my friend. That’s pretty damn cool.

[bixels]

As gen-AI becomes more normalized (Chappell Roan encouraging it, grifters on the rise, young artists using it), I wanna express how I will never turn to it because it fundamentally bores me to my core. There is no reason for me to want to use gen-AI because I will never want to give up my autonomy in creating art. I never want to become reliant on an inhuman object for expression, least of all if that object is created and controlled by tech companies. I draw not because I want a drawing but because I love the process of drawing. So even in a future where everyone’s accepted it, I’m never gonna sway on this.

[bluedevilsrpg]

CHEMICAL PEARL

MUNITION MANAGER. W. ( 31 ) Ting Chen.

HISTORY

THE BODY OF SAINTS ARE BROKEN APART FOR WORSHIP; REMADE FOR THE REVERENCE OF HUMAN DESIRE. Hailing from a house that thrives upon innovation and skilled invention, you were born into a family who's pride was glorified in their own self made image and the celestial touch of their hands.The creation myth of humans playing God reached the ears of the rich and powerful and no less, the interest of the World Government. It wasn't long before a deal was struck and the humble kingdom was honored to serve under a united front - the development of magic infused with living things was praised to be the path to divinity. Your eyes glittered in wonder as you were at the forefront of a new burgeoning era. With this, history will remember you all for the achieving the impossible; from machinery to gold - your family would be unstoppable. 

But man made folly and hubris leads to nothing but devastation. The bloodshed of your brother was a project offered as sacrifice to monsters who could never sate their appetite. You remember the smell of death wafting through the place you called home. Where there once was beauty; all that is left is a new regime that topples the old empire. You stand at the center of the storm; your soul crushed and your mind shattered in fragments. There is nothing left for you but to busy your hands in the way which you were taught. A rebellion begins from the roots of the kingdom lost - a vengeance to annihilate the behemoth council that dictates the world. You inhale the billows of smoke that light across the skies obliterating one head after another. A madness coats your skin as you dance to the sound of chaos, footsteps in tune with each combustion; your lips are strewn into a maniacal smile. 

CONNECTIONS

THREE EYED OMEN  ⌱ IF IT IS INDEED YOU WHOM THE FATES ARE CALLING, IT WILL COME WILLINGLY AND EASILY

The history of your peoples are tightly woven, one story written completely over the other — or so the story goes. THREE EYED OMEN is everything you and your family have repented, a figure of the old days, created by magic and belief and gods. As the daughter of technology and innovation, it is in the grooves of your bones to take every sweet word that comes from their lips as nothing more than a lie, but superstition possesses you as sharply as doubt does. You know of magic and its potential, of what it did to your own flesh and blood. most of all, you know the length people will go for magic  and belief — so, despite being raised to value knowledge over blind faith, you find yourself questioning the things you believe versus the things you know.

MASTER OF DEATH ⌱ ONE WHO CRAVES DEATH CANNOT ATTAIN EVEN THAT WISH

There is a madness that has long since settled into your bones, an infection of your own doing that still rests beneath the fine skin on your head. But, to seek a remedy is to be a fool, and you, a beast of invention, possess more fascination between your teeth than a desperation to be fixed. MASTER OF DEATH has honed his control on death as one does a blade, a skill that piques the interest of a scientist as mad as you. His hold over the metaphysical and the wicked, bodily flesh of the physical is one that you are hungry to learn about at any cost—not to master yourself, but to use it for the future of your creations and your people.

PHANTOM MERCY ⌱ NOT TOO LITTLE, NOT TOO MUCH; THERE SAFETY LIES

Try as you might, but you can never escape the role that was always yours. There have always been footsteps for you to follow, a path that someone else’s hands have so neatly laid in the sand for you, and you may think you have learned to walk on your own, but you have always been more part of someone else than wholly yourself. PHANTOM MERCY is a hand that does not reach for you, but you have taken it anyway. This is how they remind you of who you used to have: you have a question, they have an answer, you have an idea, they have an execution, you’ve a gap of quiet to share, and they take the words you use to fill up the space. In the back of your mind, you may know that your companionship is neither needed or wanted, but this is a character you have never outgrown and never will.

GOD KILLER ⌱ I WILL SUFFER NOTHING AS GREAT AS DEATH WITHOUT GLORY

Remember the scene in which you are aimless, your feet aboard a ship that is as much ocean as it is land — a completely foreign life that you have been thrusted into without any say. revenge is the dirt beneath your nails that you cannot reach, a thing you can see but you cannot conceptualize for you know what burden you carry with you and you see the eyes of the thing you killed to get here in everyone. There is a wicked something in your head and everyone knows it, hindering you until GOD KILLER is by your side, asking you if it is not blood that you wish to paint yourself with. you take his words as both permission and reminder, a pivotal point in your career of piracy — and when he comes with a plan, who are you to say no?

CHEMICAL PEARL IS CLOSED & THEIR SPECIAL STAT IS INTELLIGENCE.

[glitteringrp]

⧼   henry cavill, mercenário, manipulação das sombras, COMPRADOR   ⧽     —     Eu, DANTE MORTIS BLOODMOURNE, 35 anos, vindo de SALTIK, tenho interesse na aquisição de uma esposa da Corte de Luz, deixando minhas ocupações habituais pelo período mínimo de seis meses para me hospedar em Wisteria Hollow, nos termos deste contrato.

Influência junto a nobreza: Muito se especula sobre os poderes do legado Bloodmourne, isso fez com que a família de Dante fosse completamente rejeitada pela nobreza. É fato que muitos contrataram os seus serviços como mercenário e assassino de aluguel, mas ninguém ousava questionar seus métodos altamente eficazes. Os Bloodmourne vivem nas sombras, possuem influência sobre alguns nobres por estes deverem favores, mas aos olhos da sociedade não passam de um sangue sujo.

𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐑      —

A esposa do lorde Hathen ficou completamente desnorteada ao vislumbrar um espírito brincando com seu filho mais velho, por mais que acreditasse nos Gloriosos, lady Arielle sempre se questionou sobre a real existência de almas. Não conseguia compreender se o que via era real e a confirmação veio quando o garotinho de 9 anos olhou para sua mãe e sorriu. "Mamãe, eu chamei um amigo para brincar." Era difícil de aceitar, mas seu filho havia sido abençoado por Hadriel com poderes de necromante. A família então seguiu por longos anos tentando suprimir os poderes do filho, escondê-lo da sociedade a todo custo. Quando questionado sobre quem havia abençoado o jovem, seus pais davam uma resposta evasiva mudando completamente o assunto. Quando o garotinho Marcus completou seus 16 anos, ele foi pego por seu pai praticando as artes ocultas da necromancia. Isto despertou a ira do devoto homem, que acreditou que seu filho havia sido possuído pelo mal. O jovem foi deserdado e expulso, perdendo qualquer título ou influência que o nome Hathen pudesse trazer. Logo a história se espalhou e os boatos sobre um jovem lorde com poderes das trevas começou a circular. Marcus virou andarilho e nunca era bem recebido nos lugares quando se apresentava como um Hathen, pois assim descobriam que era ele quem havia sido deserdado. Foi assim que o legado Bloodmourne nasceu.

Desde o ritual que havia performado as 16 anos, o cabelo de Marcus se tornou branco por completo, o que o fazia ser reconhecido facilmente em Osfro. O jovem precisou sair do país para evitar uma retaliação, passando por diversos povos diferentes até se instalar em Saltik. Foi em meio a uma nova cultura que o primeiro Bloodmourne enxergou uma chance de reconstruir o respeito e poder que havia perdido. Estudando as artes ocultas de Hadriel, seus poderes de necromante foram muito requisitados para trabalhos nada ortodoxos. Desde o contato com os mortos com entes queridos ainda vivos até assassinato, Marcos era capaz de utilizar a morte ao seu favor. O homem não confiava em ninguém e este traço foi passado para suas gerações futuras. Muitas mulheres com quem se deitava apareciam meses mais tarde com bebês alegando ser o pai, mas foi apenas quando um menino, após o ter negado por anos, que o convenceu de que era legítimo. O garotinho tinha cabelos tão brancos quanto o do pai e, aos 7 anos, demonstrou ser abençoado por Hadriel também. O filho de Marcus, Osman, foi agraciado com o poder da absorção de almas. Sugava a energia vital das pessoas ao seu redor se curando e, caso tocasse na pessoa, absorvia por completo sua alma, matando-o.

Era inegável que os Bloodmourne tinham poderes extraordinários para aquilo em que se especializaram. Osman era o assassino de aluguel perfeito, enquanto Marcus mantinha suas atividades como necromante. Possuíam uma extensa coleção de artefatos raros que conseguiram de modo duvidoso, bom, tudo o que conquistaram foi por meios duvidosos. A fama da família não era tão boa assim em Saltik, muitos os viam como demônios, mas ninguém era capaz de afirmar nada sobre seus poderes. Os Bloodmourne se tornaram cada vez mais ricos e influentes em Saltik, tendo muitas posses e dinheiro, mas acima de tudo, eram respeitados e temidos. Qualquer um que pagasse bem o suficiente poderia ter um serviço realizado por eles, e isto incluía a nobreza. Logo tinham nobres devendo favores e entregando posses para os abençoados por Hadriel. Um desses acordos rendeu a união da família Bloodmourne com a abastada família Demir, onde Osman se casou com a filha do nobre. Estranhamete, o homem faleceu poucos anos depois quando seu único neto nasceu, Dante. Isto gerou uma intriga grande entre os pais de Dante, pois sua mãe acreditava que havia sido seu marido o responsável pela morte do pai. Mesmo que este fosse o caso, não havia muito mais a ser feito toda sua herança havia sido incorporada a enorme fortuna dos Bloodmourne.

Dante nasceu, assim como seu pai, com cabelos brancos herdados do avô. Não demorou muito apara apresentar os primeiros sinais da benção de Hadriel. Sua mãe, Ayla, se assustava muito com a obscuridade dos homens da família, mas sempre foi muito respeitada e protegida. Seus poderes se iniciam na manipulação de sombras, onde propaga a ausência da luz absorvendo a vitalidade de qualquer ser vivo, causando pânico e desespero em quem se encontra em meio as trevas. Conforme foi crescendo e se aprimorando, Dante se tornou capaz de usar as sombras para identificar qualquer sinal de energia vital que tocasse as escuridão que propagava. Era um poder formidável, mas foi quando suas sombras absorveram a vida de um homem que a extensão de seu poder se mostrou realmente obscura. Diferente de seu pai, que conseguia sugar as almas com mais facilidade, Dante se sentia drenado quando matava alguém com suas sombras, mas isto não o impedia de usar o poder. Fora ensinado desde jovem a ser um lutador e sobrevivente, conseguia ser furtivo e completar os serviços de maneira excepcional, sendo muito temido em Saltik.

Foi em sua sede por mais poder que Dante decidiu adquirir uma dama da corte de luz. Não se importava com amor ou conexão emocional, mas queria alguém que fosse leal a sua família. Diferente de seu pai e avô, que se relacionaram com mulheres comuns e sem poderes, o Bloodmourne mais novo queria ao seu lado alguém que fosse tão poderoso como ele. Procurava por uma jovem que tivesse um poder útil para a família e uma personalidade que correspondesse à sua. Sabia que não seria fácil, pois os boatos que cercavam sua família não eram dos melhores, mas em algum momento a dama escolhida ficaria frente a frente à Morte. Levava consigo 1.200 peças de ouro, mas não que quisesse a garota mais cara do local. Dante queria conhecer todas para saber quem realmente encaixaria melhor no papel de uma senhora Bloodmourne, uma verdadeira dama da noite e da morte.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐔𝐈𝐓𝐄      —

Dante é um indivíduo ambicioso e muitas vezes manipulador, que não tem medo de usar sua inteligência para manipular as pessoas em seu próprio benefício. Apesar de seu comportamento muitas vezes frio e calculista, o Bloodmourne é leal e dedicado àqueles que ama e está disposto a fazer sacrifícios pessoais para protegê-los. Sua confiança em seus poderes das sombras às vezes pode levar ao esgotamento de energia, mas sua determinação e lealdade à família nunca vacilam. Ele é uma mistura intrigante de lealdade e crueldade, e suas ações podem ser imprevisíveis.

[tierras]

in los angeles, the historically Black community of altadena has been decimated by the ongoing eaton fire.

afropunk has created a spreadsheet of gofundmes of displaced Black individuals and families affected by the current los angeles fires. the list is constantly being updated.

please donate what you can and share widely.