#takendaemonfey

[senatushq]

NAME. Jonas Olander AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25 & June 7th, 1998 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Daemonfey ( Draegloth ) OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Rainer Dawn

biography

( tw: self harm, attempted suicide, violence, blood ) Even in the modern era, Jonas was brought up in the ways of old his born pack upheld as sacred. Outsiders weren’t allowed for turned lycans or those from diluted bloodlines were inferior. The Olanders were part of a noble and ancient heritage that stretched back to the first Tiber alpha. It had been many generations since his pack had splintered off, but the stories kept the connection alive and burning in Jonas’ heart. He memorized the tales of his prominent forbearers, adopted the customs passed down on him, and found his natural place within pack hierarchy. For weeks they lived within a community, preparing for the four nights the moon they worshipped granted them their true strength. Moon after moon, shift after shift, Jonas became over the years what he was raised to be: a true lycan coexisting with the natural world. Every hunt was a tribute, every howl was a reminder of his heritage. He was proud to be born as he was and happy to serve his pack until the day he died.

However, no pack was above the laws of the wild. Shifting dynamics across the globe caused lycans everywhere to consolidate power. The rise of the Lupo led to an influx in Rome-bound pilgrimages, but the Olanders chose to turn their ears away from the howls. Thrive or perish, that was nature’s way, so a pack that operated on old, isolationist policies would have to pray their old-world strength was enough to combat an onslaught. A distant pack came, eager to usurp Jonas’ alpha and consolidate his pack into something else entirely. His outrage at the initial attack was shared amongst all the lycans of his family. The idea of their noble heritage being tainted by outsiders infuriated them. Still, his first field of battle was where he finally learned that conviction alone was not enough to protect what was cherished.

It was a brutal war and Jonas watched countless faces of those he’d known his entire life cut down before his eyes as he fought. His pack and livelihood were burning around him, forcing him to acknowledge the promises of greatness that had filled his head from birth as lies. The pleading prayers of his dying family were like a curse to his ears. Jonas couldn’t bear it, the sonata of failure shattering across the battlefield his spirit allowing something much darker to sprout in its place. Jonas rejected the death encroaching on his broken body and bit into the heart of the injured packmate clinging to life next to him. Then he did it again, and again, over and over until he devoured any trace of weakness the Olander pack exhibited in their defeat. He rose on his hackles, empowered by the fallen he absorbed despite how doing so disconnected him from the traditions he’d upheld and fought back. The assailants were ill-prepared for a sudden volatile and Jonas managed to slash through scores of enemy lycans before he was brought down, but he was eventually brought down. That was to be it for him, disgracing himself in the name of revenge only to die battered and alone. He cursed his fate, and himself, which made him prime real estate for the dark promise that whispered in his ear. Jonas had only wanted to protect his pack and he gave up his soul in the process, but it was all a waste. Why should he let that be his end though? He rejected death once, so why not again?

Jonas didn’t want to die, that’s all he wanted. But it was a bargain made under the most desperate of circumstances because his first coherent thought on the other side of the agony he endured was how he wished he’d gone out with the rest of his pack. The creature he’d allowed himself to become was vile, disgusting, and so far removed from lycanthropy that his own reflection made him wretch, even when he wasn’t in shifted form. He hated what he had become and hated himself for letting it happen, but there was no way out or through. Jonas had tried to find an out on his own more than a few times, but he traded his soul for power. The kind of power that was not so easily destroyed.

Jonas found salvation at his lowest point at the bottom of a pool of blood. Some of it was whatever unlucky creature he tore to ribbons, some was his own trickling down his flesh after hours of gouging at his immortal hide. He was a mess and that was his pattern, but one flash of an impish smile bearing down on him and Jonas lost the urge entirely. He had nothing, and then out of the blue, he had everything. He was a complete stranger to comfort and opulence. He knew he didn’t deserve an ounce of contentment after disgracing his bloodline. Jonas was prepared to live out the rest of his days in loneliness while he repented for giving himself to darkness. But alongside Napoleon and Carmine he could pretend at the very least. They were alike enough, and they were his pack. Plus, when they smiled Jonas found it hard to hate himself. He would never regain what he’d lost no matter how hard he tried, but maybe if he could keep this new pack of his safe then perhaps one day he’d stop regretting his rejection of death’s hand.

personality

+ uninhibited, pensive, consistent – stubborn, self-loathing, merciless

played by zen. est. he/him.

[senatushq]

NAME. Priya Chandra AGE & BIRTH DATE. 339 & June 13th, 1684 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Daemonfey ( Liche ) OCCUPATION. Employee at Blud FACE CLAIM. Sobhita Dhulipala

BIOGRAPHY

In order to survive the Abyss, one had to be the strongest. That’s what her father would repeat over and over again. Bedtime stories rarely revolved around a prince in shining armor or the endless depths of friendship, but rather the cruelties one had to face in order to survive. To become stronger meant sacrifice and the abandonment of moralities. Priya never believed in such things as she considered herself to be a rare defender of individualism within her coven. A sorceress desiring the end of their dog eats dog society. With Hassan being one of the elders, her father put more pressure onto his daughter than necessary. Caving once her father sugarcoated the customs and power struggles that lead to traumatic events within the coven, Priya was sucked into this world, naive enough to put her father’s wishes over her own. What if he was right? An Elder with high ambitions trying to get his daughter to be more powerful and ready to survive surely wouldn’t have any ulterior motives. Instead, the sorceress slowly began to accept her father’s guidance in exchange for power.

Various challenges followed. Much like Herakles before her, the sorceress was tasked to complete dangerous challenges for the sake of enhancing her powers. Seeing as she didn’t have what it took to be as powerful as her father wanted her to be, he specifically pushed her further into this world, cutthroat, ambitious, survivalists of the worst kind. They had ambitions to become immortal, so to honor the coven’s values, Priya put herself in grave danger to find meaning in her sacrifice. Do not cry for the sacrificial lamb; she’s the one sharpening the knife. To be a sorceress means endless sacrifice to achieve one’s ends and Priya desperately tried to please her coven. Following that path, she forced herself through the darkness, conjured dark magic to defeat her unfortunate enemies. The more time she spent challenging herself, the deeper her father forced her down this road of sacrifice and obedience, the more he heart rebelled. Despite what her coven preached, her heart’s own desire was already reserved for someone else. A Vampire of all creatures, someone who’d already achieved immortality.

What was supposed to be a real testament of her own strength turned out to be a nightmare. Once invited, the vampire attacked them, fed and laid waste to their coven like nothing before. Old and wise, he knew how to have them running for the hills to further excite their blood. Priya awoke among the smell of smoke, burning buildings and laughter echoing through the darkness. Her throat burned, her muscles had stopped aching and her reflexes had become much more refined, faster and… stronger. The strength of immortality. Did she succeed? Only her father stood after the vampire fled the scene, his pockets filled with gold and his body almost overflowing with blood. Now a vampire, her father struggled with what should never be. His undead daughter, stronger than ever, lead by her own heart rather than ambitions. And yet, as their eyes met, Priya’s father struggled to find it in him and kill her for good. The coven’s death wouldn’t have to be for nothing if only they used their teachings to reverse her immortality.

Grieving over her entire coven’s death, Priya believed herself to be the culprit, the hungry vampire who had killed them all in a blackout. Nothing remained, but she knew better than to believe her own lies. The vampire who’d turned her, her one time lover, ended up being nothing more than a trickster, an executioner with fangs, corrupt and merciless. So when her father suggested dark alternatives, desperate for her daughter to return, Priya listened, now more than ever. Watching her father’s madness unfold The guilt didn’t stop. Believing to be the cause of his madness, Priya did whatever necessary to revert the curse and rebuild what had been lost. As she tipped the goblet filled with vampiric ichor down her throat, much of what used to be vanished. Drawn closer by the look of blood but cringing at the initial smell, the actual blood tasted much sweeter, smokier, than what she’d expected. Potent and addictive, Priya poured the blood down her throat, to drown in it, to feel nothing but the sinful taste of what would forever change her life. The demon crawled down her throat with its ichor, taking a hold of her body and soul. The blood of an archfiend, a source of great power to revert what had been done. Blood was the answer, revealing what had been hidden within the darkness for so long.

This hadn’t been her chance of freedom, but only a desperate attempt to revert her own death – a sacrificial lamb, her body served as the ultimate vessel for an archfiend. Enraged and starving, the now Liche slit her father’s throat and tasted his blood out of spite. Such cruelty came with a price: the peace loving, kind child feasted on her father like maggots on a corpse: relentlessly, unceremoniously, only to hurt, only to feast. She watched him carefully as her father’s heart stopped beating, eyes glossy from tears. A Liche, that what she was, an undead creature.

Trying to find meaning in her new, damned existence, Priya travelled the world, hoping to regain some of her humanity within. Kind and still naive, she clung onto the nearest group of vampires in hopes of belonging somewhere. An outcast among outcasts, she was neither bad nor entirely good, feeding upon those she should call family. Alas, the archfiend within had made itself comfortable, peeking through every once in a while, demanding blood and violence. While the archfiend within recklessly wreaked havoc upon her core values and soul, Priya became everything her father wanted her to be: powerful, immortal and, above all, doomed to a life of solitude.

The more the archfiend took over, the less Priya’s body tried to fight them. Mentally she remained on guard, losing control every once in a while, Their ambitions became her own: power, albeit put to good use, a monster with morals, a damned creature of warmth and love despite her cold skin. Still, as she looked in the mirror, her appearance skeletal and frightening, the archfiend within tasked her with the never ending battle for power and influence while her heart remained stoic: the sacrificial lamb, the sorceress who’d never ceased to love, would always remain.

PERSONALITY

+ kind, witty, devoted – tormented, stubborn, naive

PLAYED BY SASKIA. GMT+1. She/Her.

[senatushq]

NAME. Nashoba Albrecht AGE & BIRTH DATE. 503 & May 24th, 1520 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Daemonfey ( Draegloth ) OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Kiowa Gordon

biography

Nashoba had not always been the way he was now. Born in Bedburg, Germany, his parents had given him whatever they could afford and more. There wasn’t much he felt that he lacked and that meant there had never been a reason for him to lash out towards anyone. He had never truly been angry or felt the pain of loss. His life had been nothing short of perfect. If anyone were to look at Nash, they would only ever see him with a smile on his face. He had always been the kind of boy that wanted to help others or tell a joke to make sure someone else was happy before he ever was. Perhaps that was why it was so easy for him to find someone to love when he grew older.

The woman he ended up with had been the love of his life. Nashoba had been ecstatic about the thought of spending the rest of his life with her. The only thing that had put a damper on his plans was that one night. It always seemed that, throughout all of history, there was always one thing that changed everything for one person. Supernatural beings were not something that he had ever been aware of before he had gotten bitten. Left for dead in an alley, he was sure the beast that had bitten him had not expected him to turn. In all honesty, neither had Nashoba.

When he had awoken with strength and power that he had not had before, he could just feel that something was different. At the time, he had paid it no mind because there was nothing that would ever stop him from marrying the love of his life. It had been a full moon the night of the wedding and, from first sight, the sky looked beautiful. Everything had went according to plan. Until it didn’t. Once the vows came, the night was a blur for Nashoba. One second, he was smiling and, in the next, there seemed to be nothing but bloodshed. He had shifted in the middle of the wedding, but there had been no recollection for him of what had actually happened. All he could ever really remember from that night was the sight he had seen when he finally came to.

The sight of his wife, his family, everyone he ever loved torn to pieces had done something to him. Nashoba couldn’t turn back from this. He couldn’t get forgiveness from anyone because there was nobody left to get it from. All he could remember feeling as he held her body in his hands, blood coating the clothing on his frame, was that he would get revenge for this. Whoever had done this to him would pay and he would make sure they never did something like this to anyone ever again. It had seemed too easy to find the man. Maybe it was some sort of connection they had, he wasn’t even sure. The rage he had felt was nothing short of blinding. In one moment, he was in control and, in the next, he was losing it. Perhaps that had been another downside to being this…thing.

Nash had felt it though. The crunch of bones within his maw and the heart that slid down his throat. When he had come to, he felt stronger than he could have imagined. Just one taste and he had become addicted. Anger had taken over his very being and all he could think of was the fact that there were other beasts like the one that had turned him. There were other beasts like him out there, too. Nashoba would eradicate them every time he saw any of them. He would only learn what they were called after running into an aspect. She had held him within her hands as if there was nothing he had ever done wrong, but she had told him of lycans. He had learned of what happened when he ate those hearts. Immortality as long as he kept doing it, as long as he kept ingesting those lycans that had never done anything but hurt people. It was easy to lose control, but he would make sure the rest of them suffered more than he ever could.

All of it would have been so easy if he hadn’t been caught by the Senate. The Lycan of Bedburg was what they had called him and it seemed that his reputation had preceded him. Once they got a hold of him, he was thrown into the Catacombs within Rome. It was a place he was unfamiliar with, but he assumed he would run out of the life he had before he was able to get out of there. Luckily, for him, he had eaten just enough lycan hearts to survive until Halloween of 2022. Once those doors swung open, he had sprung on the lycans that were keeping watch and made them his next meal. And then he was out onto the streets of Rome looking for blood.

personality

+ persistent, realist, independent – vengeful, abrasive, judgmental

played by kenyer. est. she/her.

[senatushq]

NAME. Evanuris AGE & BIRTH DATE. Ancient & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Daemonfey ( Drider ) OCCUPATION. HandmaidenFACE CLAIM. Natalie Kelley

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, violence, war ) The silver sands of the Evermeet Isles were where Evanuris was raised, the shores of this tropical paradise were the pinnacle of elven innovation. Home of the Miyetari’s Royal Empire, the proud Sun Elves were among the most expansive, their Celestial father Saelethil had hoarded power for generations. Evanuris was the youngest of Saelethil’s twelve daughters, of the Sun Elves the Miyetari were at the pinnacle of achievement, blessed patrons of Hemera and Aether, their glories were without bounds. When Evanuris was small her sister took her to the docks, to watch the fleet sail away to achieve more success in the Miyetari name; an endless point of pride, Evanuris imagined the sort of stories that her father would tell her—romantic notions of battle, conquest, intrigue, and mystery.

There were few differences between Evanuris and her sisters, at least physically. Beauty was everyday on Evermeet Isles, among the Miyetari and the noble houses beneath them, Evanuris was doted on and given every advantage. The condition for this was politeness and manners, sitting perfectly still, speaking only when spoken to, and always smiling without being prompted. Architecturally the illustrious isles had been raised from the sea via magic, the structures were of the purest crystalline design and carved from raw aether itself. Her Kingly father was magnanimous and generous, the nobility of the isles wanted for nothing and were free to travel to and from as they saw fit. Evanuris was raised on their successes and tales of their lessers, the noble houses beneath them, and the rivals within their own Sun Court. The Miyetari Empire was vast, but they weren’t without enemies—the house of Vyshaan among them, with the celestial Queen Sune at its illustrious head. The Vyshaanti were their greatest competitors, though Evanuris’ youth consisted of diplomatic exchanges, playful interactions, and events hosted by the Evermeet Isles so that Saelethil could lord his power over the House of Vyshaan.

Evanuris’ grew in posterity and strength, a curious mind who lived between the endless stacks of books that doted the great house. Within them was filled with the rich history of the elves, a more fanciful story that painted the illustrious Seldarine as the greatest of noble heroes. Their power was their inheritance. Evanuris watched, and her sisters occasionally sneaked out to the barracks to watch the royal guards as they practiced their great magic or potent techniques. Neither Evanuris, her sisters, nor their mother were permitted to train in such matters; their royal birth and status prevented it. Made the entire notion quite foolish, why would they ever need to learn how to fight when the Isles and Saelethil provided them with so much protection?

Elsewhere from distant realms under the Miyetari’s Sun empire were great vessels, new inventions, and potent new spells. Revenants and subjugated spirits. Guarded at all hours by Protectorate Aasimar, even in solitude Evanuris was never alone; in her daydreams, though she would be worlds away. She’d be in a laboratory welding bright and shiny new concepts together, or at the depths of the sea discovering new species of fey life. Evanuris’ mind would transport across the Astral Sea, to a faraway world that was entirely new. A battlefield somewhere, something romantic where Evanuris would be the heroine of her story or perhaps another’s story.

Evanuris was still shy of her prime when she met a noble son of a family upon the isle, he was kind, and generous, and the pair enjoyed each other’s company. Klaerwyn, was her friend and nothing more but Evanuris’ father wouldn’t tolerate this; like with so many things she was forbidden from spending time with him. She would someday enter a marriage that was political in nature, something that furthered their position and further solidified the strength of the Miyetari Empire. Saelethil had designs on the Seldarine, he wished to deify himself and the breadth of his power had brought him so close to achieving a goal that was tens of thousands of years in the making.

Over the years Evanuris continued to see Klaerwyn in secret, she’d bribed the aasimar, Ashryn, charged with her protection and appealed to whatever humanity rested within the loyal and dignified soldier who’d followed her since birth. Evanuris watched as the eldest of her sisters married a woman that she did not even like, then next was made to marry a man that was more boar than person. The youngest of twelve, the final jewel in Saelethil’s perfect, matched set, there was no appeal to her mother, Imryll, there was no appeal to anyone. They were resolved to obey the edicts of the Empire, and Evanuris, too, was resigned to her fate.

Yet, Evanuris continued to rebel in some small way until Klaerwyn and Ashryn were gone one day. Saelethil arranged for Evanuris to serve as a Handmaiden, he presented it as a gift; this great boon was an opportunity for her to travel to another realm. Not even at her first century, Evanuris was still a child and could not see the sentencing for what it was. She was to be sent away from her family, friends, mentors, and everything she’d ever known in the wake of the sudden vanishment of those closest to her. Saelethil said that this was the nature of things; truly, Evanuris was inclined to believe him. She’d grown up knowing that there were many duties in their great empire and that serving elsewhere could be nothing but a privilege.

Evanuris boarded the vessel, unaware that she’d never see the silver sands of her home again. Her mother, Imryll, wept, and the sisters who remained behind darkened with a somber air that Evanuris could not place. This image would be ingrained in her mind, until she finally saw Saelethil again, and then for many more years to follow.

She was fated to serve at the hand of a woman her age, a young girl named Araushnee who, like her, was the heir to a celestial elve and his chosen patron. Aran was the starborn son of celestial parentage in the court of ascended Lunar Elves; their cold exterior was opposite to the nature of the Miyetari and her home on the Evermeet Isles. Their patron Sehanine Moonbow was a sacred patron, ancient and ephemeral, the Seldarine doted upon this particular house and wove a prophecy that someday it would be this great house that sparked the downfall of an empire. Araushnee was born from the union of the celestial Aran and the lover he’d married in secret, Iavas. Even in those early days, Evanuris saw the spark of what was more, the beginning of a spirit so different from that she’d known.

Araushnee and Evanuris were fast friends, in the quiet of the night they walked the world of a lunar empire. A moon that orbited a crystalline world below, cold and desolate, for all its beauty Evanuris thought that it appeared to be little more than a dead thing. When she’d ask after it, the generals would go quiet, but in the short hours, Araushnee whispered what she’d overheard her father speaking of. Death was the inheritance of the elves, that one did not ascend without the fall of not just a few, but many. Naturally, Evanuris did not believe it. Saelethil had achieved his power as a celestial by way of victory in wartime, she recited the noble passages of their history with an eagerness and a vigor that was indicative of a religious fervor.

The two grew into their maturity and Araushnee’s handmaidens each became friends, yet, when Evanuris sent word to her father for the chance to revisit her home, she was refused. Moon Gates connected the many realms together and for the elves they were free to travel; Araushnee was not raised in the same manner of Evanuris and when she was old enough, and with a proper escort, she had the agency to see the world as she wished. Evanuris spoke often of the prosperity of the Sun Court, their great empire was the product of virtues, hard work, and belief in a greater purpose. Araushnee introduced Evanuris to a different life.

Together, in secret, they traveled to a dying world. Under the guise of ordinary elven women without any virtuous name behind them, they were nothing more than refugees with tattered cloaks and worn clothes, they ventured towards the fringes of one of the Sun Empires’ many colonies. There was nothing illustrious about it, Evanuris saw her people living in squalor, she saw the airships and weapons of war bearing her house’s crest above; the next destination of their pilgrimage had them traveling a short way through the Astral, to a realm under the Sun Empire that had exhausted any use or purpose. Telperion towered into the sky, withered and dead, fruitless and stripped bare. What was once the ground was dead aetherite, pale, and crystalline; within were the bones of a realm’s worth of elven blood. Evanuris had known the name of this domain, though she’d not known that it had simply fallen from the world tree. Araushnee explained that in time, a new realm would grow in its place, a new home for elves to dwell upon, cultivate, grow, thrive, and pour their song into. Evanuris knew this name because it had been where Saelethal had sent her oldest sister; a bargaining chip for a lesser house—a veiled promise of prosperity. Alongside her bones were that of Klaerwyn, her dear friend who’d been sentenced to die, and Ashryn, the aasimar who’d dared to disobey.

There was a reason why Araushnee was privy to this when so many Elves lived in ignorance, these secrets of the Seldarine were safely guarded and reserved for only the most ambitious and those that Corellon Larethian deemed worthy. Over the many years, there would be many rebellions as the truth of how to achieve godhood eventually spread, but Aran and Iavas’ uprising was the first. The Lunar Palace was their home, the first that was taken, and Evanuris stood excitedly at Araushnee’s side as a promised change swept over them. Hope was a dangerous thing though and the House of Vyshaan came to meet the rebels. Spirited away, Evanuris, Araushnee, and the handmaidens were not privy to what happened next, but in the years to follow they heard that the uprising was put down with brutal force. The moon they’d called home disappeared, and the aetherite realm below drifted into the Astral Sea.

It was Aran who’d encouraged Araushnee to wield a blade and to use the magic within her veins, Evanuris too, learned that there was significant power within her royal blood. All her life she’d believed herself unfit for battle beyond the idle dreams she’d had in her childhood, but the blade curved through the air like an extension of her being. Fire spilled from her tongue like she’d been born part dragon rather than the delicate porcelain doll her father labeled her as. Evanuris longed to return to Evermeet and to see her sisters again, to break her mother out of a marriage she only remained within for obligation’s sake. Where Aran’s rebellion had been brought down for its presence and sheer force, Araushnee was more cunning, and all the seeds she planted were to bring her closer and closer to the serpent’s head: Corellon Larethian and his pantheon were responsible for the deaths of so many. Some like Aran were born into divinity, others were chosen, and others like the Vyshaanti were fed it from birth, but those like the Miyetari stepped on countless to achieve it.

Together alongside Araushnee’s handmaidens, Evanuris weakened the Miyetari and fed the flames of rebellion as the young elve blossomed from celestial to divinity. A remarkable beauty, Corellon Larethian was taken by Araushnee; her grace, strength, and the celestial power that flowed through her veins. Among the Seldarine stood Saelethil and when Evanuris graced the shores of Arvandor she greeted him like the godly father that he was; offered him fealty and worship to feed the ego of the creature who was just arrogant enough to believe her. Many centuries divided Evanuris from her family now but her father appeared unchanged, if nothing else, he seemed all the more youthful. From Arvandor she could peer in on the many realms below and when the opportunity arose she turned her gaze towards the Evermeet Isles. With fresh, matured eyes, the silver sands seemed less illustrious; now when Evanuris gazed upon the realm she did not see the wonder that had built an empire, but the backs that her royal family stood upon. She pitied her sisters and motherless and hated her father even more.

Still, Evanuris had learned long ago to smile in the face of despair and to walk as if she were the very sun itself. Araushnee’s plot was quite simple, she’d risen into the ranks of the Seldarine and now permitted Corellon’s courtship; all that remained was for her to bring others to her side as well. Evanuris was at Araushnee’s bedside when Eilistraee was welcomed into the world, young and screaming, born with silver hair, she was a Godling that would someday come to be a protector of both women and the dark elves who sought freedom—a rebel after Araushnee’s own heart. Conspiratorial and resolved to whatever means were necessary, Evanuris followed Araushnee with religious fervor, alongside the other Handmaidens they aided in opening the doors of Arvandor to foreign Gods—ancient enemies in the form of The Great Old Ones and Elder Evils.

While Araushnee failed to kill Corellon Larethian, Evanuris did not fail to kill Saelethil. Her father was butchered in his bath, left in a pool of accursed ichor before Evanuris fed his essence to Araushnee as a tribute to the Weaver who’d done so much for her. Their rebellion sparked countless more across the continent, and the empires of the Lunar, Dawn, Sun, and Dusk courts began to quake as they trembled beneath the flames of uprising. Aasimar revolted, and the lesser species that had been subjugated began to break free as Giants and many more joined in rattling the foundations of the elven regime. With Saelethil’s death and Hemera’s departure from patronage, the Miyetari fell under the press of the House of Vyshaan and their patron of love, Sune.

Within the Abyss, Evanuris awoke. Her features changed as she stood as a dark elve; her loyalty to her Weaver had saved her from the sands of Death’s Duat and the fate of the Void that awaited her essence. Araushnee was abandoned, and a new deity stood in her place; dark, beautiful, and absolute. Lloth’s decree was organized chaos, where some saw her as evil, Evanuris saw her as the opportunist who would someday topple the Seldarine. A patron of dark elves, a Weaver of Fates, when Lloth leaned towards the Graeae, the Three Sisters listened.

Lloth gathered those jilted by the Gods, elves who swore vengeance in life came to stand among the proto-drow. Evanuris and her fellow handmaidens spoke the dogma from the demonweb pitts of the Abyss, they drew upon infernal magics and used them to wage war; though as the spellplague encroached across the continent it ravaged their forces. The blight would have returned to Lloth if the Handmaidens had not acted appropriately. Their army was culled, and Evanuris stood among the carnage and blood of it all. Daughter of an Emperor, daughter of a God, there was nothing romantic about the battle; that was a lesson she’d come to learn long ago. Evanuris watched men drown in their armor in fields of blood, and saw seasoned soldiers soil themselves as they went face to face with a towering giant. The vicious, cunning, and ambitious survived. Whatever was left of Evanuris that had been innocent had died when she’d resolved to butcher her father, when she’d committed patricide, and then deicide.

For her victory, Evanuris was given a boon; Lloth’s flesh saw the dark elve ascended as her royal blood married with the infernal power of the abyss. A daemonfey and a drider, a Handmaiden to serve at Lloth’s side as she descended into a self-induced Uthenera to protect herself. Evanuris never saw her sisters or the Evermeet Isles again; the Miyetari Empire crumbled and faded into obscurity, she was the last of her dead family line.

PERSONALITY

+ dogmatic, uncaring, fanatical – thoughtful, patient, sophisticated

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. She/Her.

[senatushq]

NAME. Meryasek AGE & BIRTH DATE. 612 & November 4th, 1410 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Daemonfey ( Fey’ri ) OCCUPATION. Court Chancellor FACE CLAIM. Richard Madden

BIOGRAPHY

The son of royalty was not supposed to live beneath a shadow. Yet, that’s where Meryasek found himself throughout most of his childhood. He was Titania’s youngest son, the last child she would ever have, and considered a blessing to the fey realm. His eldest sibling, Aegnor, was an enigma to Meryasek, though he’d heard enough about Aegnor through stories from the other fey. Titania had never gotten over his death, and carried that sorrow through the birth of her last child nearly a thousand years later. A prince of the sea was Meryasek’s name’s meaning, though when his element came to show itself, it was not the winter sorrow that Titania had assumed it would be, but spring. With spring was new life, and that was what he symbolized. To Mery, however, it seemed to do nothing for Titania. It wasn’t recognizable to him, though, until he was old enough to understand why his mother carried herself with enough sorrow to make those around her feel it. 

Titania was not loving, yet she was not neglectful, either. As Meryasek grew like the flora at his fingertips, so did his curious nature. He was not a rambunctious child, but he did find a way to insert himself into anything he came across. As a royal, he was given a pass amongst the others, and it did nothing but remind Meryasek that he would forever be the son of a royal. He would sit at Titania’s left side, speaking of every which thing that he had learned that day. His mother would listen, but her absence would still fill the room even as she sat with her youngest. It took Mery a few years to realize that while she gave him the time of her day, it was nothing compared to what grief she held for Aegnor.

And Aegnor’s shadow only made Meryasek wilt.

It was from then on that his resentment grew. Centuries separated him from both of his brothers, yet the one who carried the weight of the crown now was never the focus of his wrath. Meryasek never had to beg for anyone’s attention. As the youngest, he got what he wanted, and he was always ensured protection. But that didn’t stop him from pushing at Farenduil. More training, more anything to make him feel like he wasn’t overshadowed by the golden child that only the other had known. 

Meryasek’s anger kept him from enjoying the world of his mother’s kingdom. Eladrins were now resolved to this domain, safe from the humans and creatures that had killed them for years on end. Meryasek could only find his solace on the greenest shore of the otherworld. It bloomed his favorite flowers, while the waves crashed against the cliffs. His music was his own, nothing he would share with anyone he met. After all, there was no one he could call “friend” outside of his brother. The Eladrins left held nothing but their memories, and that kept them busy enough.

These wars that others spoke off, the trophies that littered the pristine halls of Titania’s palace, another memory that Meryasek found he could not connect with. These memories did not contain him, and while it perhaps seemed like yesterday to his mother that Aegnor had passed, Meryasek felt like the only one living in the present. He knew Farenduil was one of the few that held his trust, but his older brother had his own mantle, now. Mery had followed him for years and years, until eventually, he knew that he would have to carve his own path. He would not be a ruler, however, and he did not wish for Farenduil’s death in order to make that a possibility. No, he’d find his own way of doing things. 

Perhaps the greatest strength of his species was the fact that they were unable to tell a lie. It’s what formed most of Meryasek’s intuition. The easiest slip of a half truth, or yet, a truth that had nothing to do with the question being asked. Words became his greatest ally yet again. Sliding around the truth became second nature, and there was a world that awaited him. A very human world that would only be easier to manipulate than those that had grown accustomed to him in the otherworld. Meryasek was still considered a youth to most Eladrins, though as he passed six hundred years in the fey world, his life in the human world began in the 1920’s. 

There was a new yet different weight set upon his shoulders. Gone were the days of Aegnor’s greatness. His brother was dead, and he wasn’t coming back. At first, Meryasek idly wondered if his mother wanted to punish him by lumping him with the rest of the creatures within Rome. They knew nothing of the world and how it used to be, and while Mery knew his place was respected, it was simply because of his title. No, there was no love in respect; little loyalty to be had when it was just required. So as Titania beckoned him into her throne room, bestowing the title Senator on her youngest son, Meryasek began to plan. He’d spent decades speaking with Titania; but his patient conversations did nothing to pull his mother from her reverie. Yet she always placed her hand on his in silent conversation, and always removed it to grieve what she had lost. 

Another aspect of what he thought was a punishment was his attachment to a Warder. Not only that, but one that had been close to the brother he’d never known. It was a push and pull at first, Dirthara-Ma had been tied to Aegnor, and here Mery was with yet another relic of the past. Meryasek would push, even though Dirth was simply doing what had been asked of him. The feelings hit the prince slowly, considering at one time, he’d thought there’d never be a waking moment where the Warder would mean more to him. Mery had never given his heart to anyone; resolved as a royal in ensuring he would pave some sort of way forward. But Dirth was ever present, and never treated him like he was less than Aegnor.

Meryasek knew that the Eladrin would have to figure out their place once more, and the prince would be the one to do it. Aegon’s place was in their past, Farenduil’s would be their future, but Meryasek would ensure that there was no time for anything but the present.

PERSONALITY

+ creative, ambitious, inquisitive – deceptive, critical, resentful

PLAYED BY LAUREN. PST. She/Her.

[senatushq]

NAME. Tepiltzin ( Seth Lozano ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 1,074 & September 26th, 947 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Daemonfey ( Liche ) OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Danny Ramirez

BIOGRAPHY

The Pyramid of the Morning Star, carved with feathered serpents, prowling coyotes, and eagles garnering human hearts within their talons may have been aged by time, but it is one of Seth Lozano’s earliest memories, the reminder of a life long since passed.

Born in what was previously known as Tula, his father ruled over the Toltec civilization, ingraining his perpetual wanton for power as if it was a preternatural decree. Their tribe and warriors could be related closely to the Etruscan druids, though they had rejected the ancestors' ways, leaning on the damned beliefs of the Necronomicon and its penchant for blood sacrifice. He was given the name Tepiltzin — the privileged son — a mangled imprecation that wrought the perseverance of his own greed. Born with the rare ability to possess two traits, those within the Toltec civilization had already placed the boy on a pedestal, naturally gifted at his own transformation. Power hungry from birth, and keen on overtaking his father’s rule on the throne, Tepiltzin began to snuff out others in his community to absorb their traits for his own success. Though his father may be older than him, Tepiltzin proved stronger, removing his father from the reincarnation process and absorbing his traits and soul.

Tepiltzin clutched onto the deluded grandeur his civilization thrust upon him, bestowing him as Quetzalcóatl, the feathered serpent in which they had long since venerated and worshiped. He promised them eternal power and great rewards, perpetuating the need for human sacrifices to appease their gods. Tepiltzin was an arrogant boy, rather young for the throne, and it wasn’t long before betrayal ran rampant within the civilization. Their kind’s power, in spite of human sacrifice was waning, and a priest came forth to dispel their sanguinary rituals so as not to be rejected by their ancestors. Tepiltzin, though powerful was overthrown by those beneath him, offered as their final sacrifice to sever their ties to the ways of the Necronomicon.

Tepiltzin did not go quietly into the night, and yet it seemed the day was not yet over for him, either. Salvation came to him in the form of another holy man, this one adorned in Roman Catholic robes, promising the Toltec warrior to return to his former prowess and strengths, albeit with some modifications. His sire reasoned that if those would not worship him, at least compulsion would warrant some respect. Tepiltzin, Quetzalcóatl, his Toltec roots were banished as he forged a new identity within the house of Mars. He had read their puerile storybook, The Bible, and plucked a name from its pages that was befitting of worship — Seth. The third son of Adam and Eve, Seth had been sent by God himself to heal the family’s heartbreak and under his own deluded ego, the chimera turned vampire, was content with the very idea that he had been the Mars’ salvation, too.

Seth wasted no time in practicing his newfound capabilities. Compulsion, innate strength… and all without a hopeless plea to fragile gods who had once abandoned him. Seth was simply inebriated on the power which was so effortlessly bestowed upon him, impassioned by the prime traits of the Mars bloodline he was irrevocably ambitious, vengeful and imbued with rage. For a long time, spurred on from the betrayal of his former life, his victims had been druids and he had not shown mercy. He was a prime pedigree of his kind, until a more vulnerable part vied for a more tangible activity. Seth soon began a different hunt overtime, for friends, for a family that held the same penchant for destruction as he.

It was an inevitably calculated task but only the best could serve under the pedigree of Mars and Seth would be keen on constructing a family that could mirror their passion and dedication. He couldn’t say he was a sire built with adoration and love for his progeny, but for those who were able to skirt past hunters and find their way back to their sire, he could muster respect and acceptance; two traits of his which were not to be taken lightly. Survival was not just gifted to anybody and though some who he had turned were warped by privilege, it was their inevitable fight to live among the rank of Mars — Seth’s ranks — that proved their merit. Royal heirs, clergymen, warriors; all befitting of his push to greatness, but Seth would only ever provide the bait. It was up to his progeny to accept the gift headon and claw their way to the pedestal in which he stood. Each little, baby bird was always different from the rest, his hunt for greatness never waning as years tallied on, the hunt always inspiring. Though some may have succumbed to hunters, some to their own fears or mistakes, his charity would always be something those should wanton for and with the power shifting within Rome Seth is dire for a fresh hunt.

PERSONALITY

+ articulate, captivating, purposeful – idealistic, resentful, headstrong

PLAYED BY GIA. EST. She/Her.