AISTHESIS
THE AISTHESIS COLLECTIVE LIST OF MY CHARACTERS WHICH INCLUDES THOSE ON AURABOUND AND AURALOST
SORTED IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
I have a total of 22 characters D:
SORTED IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER
I have a total of 22 characters D:
Acris Aegis Pendragon
theia
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/3620097.jpg?392)
Acris Pendragon
CCAA55
Strength: 11
Speed: 20
Agility: 19
Accuracy: 12
Flexibility: 19
Stamina: 23
Luck: 10
Intellect: 17
Charisma: 9
Colton (father), Exeo (brother)
He's silent, but bold. Fearless, but cautious. Though not much can be said for a fifteen year old who supposedly has not yet experienced the world, Acris has been through enough as it is, and he would prefer that all his trials be made to end. He and his baby brother were stolen from their family, their home, and dragged off to the Venantium's depths where they would wait out their fates. Fortune seemed to smile on them though. The GRAIL corporation pulled a few strings and managed to buy off the Pendragon boys. While they were being taken into the city, one stormy night, the van they were in swerved and crashed. Acris fled, carrying his baby brother to safe harbor within the city of Gildargen. They are lost, alone, afraid, and always on the run, but Acris prefers this to being trapped inside the GRAIL, or worse, back with the Venantium. Neither of them know quite how to get home, but Acris is determined. He and his baby brother, Exeo, are nigh inseparable, bonded through all the things they had to face together and the love they have for one another. Acris doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's pretty much always on something important. He isn't one for small talk, preferring to get to the heart of the matter or the point of everything. He's smart and calculative, always alert and on his toes. He has to be. He and his brother seem happy and okay, but they have it pretty rough. Acris does what he can to just try and keep the two of them alive. Acris is fifteen years old. He has fair, blonde hair, light skin, and metallic golden eyes. His aura is a dull, yellow-brown and smells like hickory smoke. He is a Theia, but has not yet awoken his powers if he possesses any.
CCAA55
Strength: 11
Speed: 20
Agility: 19
Accuracy: 12
Flexibility: 19
Stamina: 23
Luck: 10
Intellect: 17
Charisma: 9
Colton (father), Exeo (brother)
He's silent, but bold. Fearless, but cautious. Though not much can be said for a fifteen year old who supposedly has not yet experienced the world, Acris has been through enough as it is, and he would prefer that all his trials be made to end. He and his baby brother were stolen from their family, their home, and dragged off to the Venantium's depths where they would wait out their fates. Fortune seemed to smile on them though. The GRAIL corporation pulled a few strings and managed to buy off the Pendragon boys. While they were being taken into the city, one stormy night, the van they were in swerved and crashed. Acris fled, carrying his baby brother to safe harbor within the city of Gildargen. They are lost, alone, afraid, and always on the run, but Acris prefers this to being trapped inside the GRAIL, or worse, back with the Venantium. Neither of them know quite how to get home, but Acris is determined. He and his baby brother, Exeo, are nigh inseparable, bonded through all the things they had to face together and the love they have for one another. Acris doesn't talk much, but when he does, it's pretty much always on something important. He isn't one for small talk, preferring to get to the heart of the matter or the point of everything. He's smart and calculative, always alert and on his toes. He has to be. He and his brother seem happy and okay, but they have it pretty rough. Acris does what he can to just try and keep the two of them alive. Acris is fifteen years old. He has fair, blonde hair, light skin, and metallic golden eyes. His aura is a dull, yellow-brown and smells like hickory smoke. He is a Theia, but has not yet awoken his powers if he possesses any.
Agamemnon Straits
ravenscroft family
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/3731015.jpg?429)
Agamemnon Lucius Straits
#
STATS
Kin
Agamemnon
#
STATS
Kin
Agamemnon
Alpha
void
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/4161257.jpg?349)
Alpha
Castiel
Stats Are Unknown
His aura has gone completely white and doesn't smell like anything.
LOST LETTER WRITTEN BY EDGAR ALLEN POE. RECOVERED FROM AN UNUSED BANK VAULT IN BALTIMORE, MARYLAND AND ADDRESSED TO A CERTAIN DR. JOSEPH E. SNODGRASS. THE RETRIEVABLE CONTENTS ARE AS FOLLOWS:
To My Dear Friend Dr. Snodgrass,
Forgive me my dear friend for coming to you with such terrible burdens as are my afflictions, but I cannot possibly condone myself to cease in telling you all that is happening to me. You think me mad, and rightfully so. I thought myself to have passed all sanity when those frightful words left my lips, but please, please my dear friend, do not stopper your ears to my voice. I beg you hearken and take into account what I am recording for you here in my letter. I pray you understand that I have never been insane. I have not the madness of hatters, though I am indisposed to become mad should this nightmare never cease to plague me. I am close to the end, my dear friend. It is only a matter of time, I know that now. So I write to you in earnest and with a pleading heart that you will be open to all that I shall now tell you.
It started three summers ago in June. You remember do you not? I daresay I hope you do. That day has stuck with me so long. It was the summer we journeyed to visit the strange ring of stones in Stonehendge. And you were so cross with Virginia for giving water to the horses right after our ride. Remember? I'm sure you will, as you shall remember it was the start of all these horrors.
I had gone off alone, don't you remember? I followed the winding road by that lovely green hill, the one I pointed out to you on our first ride. I followed that path all the way down to the bottom of the hill, and there it was. There was Stonehedge. I walked all the way there without stopping to take in the morning air and observe all that nature could unbind in such early hours of the day. I walked betwixt those stone columns, marveling at what hands could fashion such a creation. And there it was. Oh god, why did I have to see it! I'm sorry, dear friend, I write with passion and emotion. Do know I write sober.
I saw the writing on the rocks. I know now it must have been writing. Long, spindly, shadowed scrawl that dipped and weaved between the cracks and crevices. I saw that forbidden, unearthly writing and I felt drawn. Drawn to it! I felt an indescribable hold on my heart that dragged my soul screaming from within me and into those rocks. And a voice from somewhere dark and foul, for where else could such a voice come from, whispered to me quietly and mournfully. It whispered to me in a language I did not know but did not have to, for the meaning of those archaic words were so clear, engraved inside my very skull. Come! A terrible impulse swept over me and I threw myself to the rocks. All things rational abandoned me. I clawed at the rocks with my bare hands. I pounded and hit and clawed, as if I were digging into golden grains of sand and not solid, immovable earth. I do not remember much of that, for as I said, all things rational escaped me, and for a moment, my mind must have escaped me as well.
What I do remember is after my madness. I awoke to shadows and darkness. Fearful, I rose and surveyed my surroundings, but no eye could breach that oppressive black. I felt cold, hard earth under my hands and began crawling across it, hands and knees. I felt along the passage, my fingers grazing against stone. I perceived myself to be in some sort of cave or equally deep bowel of the earth. How I happened upon it I know not, though my confused mind began scrambling to put the pieces together and come to terms with a suitable explanation.
Then there was a soft, heavenly glow. So subtle and dim it truly was, but after the darkness it was more blinding than the sun. I shielded my gaze, almost afraid to look upon it. But momentarily my sight accustomed to the light. I looked about, relief flooding my body at the prospect I had found some form of exit to the surface. Those feelings despaired and died when I found that no such exit had opened to me. I had blundered into a large cavern. Before me was a pool of water most blue. The rock rippled with the shadows and reflections of that pool's odd light. Indeed, the pool was the source of light. I do not lie or make pretenses. I tell you, my dear friend, that pool was glowing with light.
And this my dear friend is where even I fall to confusion, for my memory of the dealings hereafter are so muddled and troubled that I can scarcely write them illegibly even now as I dare to recall it. In that strange pool, I found a boy. Not a child, but he seemed so like a boy that it is the only way I can place him. He had such a gentle face. A face that could not hold all the darkness that he really was. He was crouched in the middle of that pool. Crouched there, staring at me. He looked unnatural, but beautiful. I never describe living creatures as beautiful except perhaps the animals or my sweet wife, but he had such an unnatural beauty about him. He was strange, oh yes. His skin was pale like a rich lady and his face devoid of any conceivable blemish. His shoulders, the only other visible part of his body were disturbing. Flesh that was knotted and roped with scars. His ears were pointed. His hair was like lavendar. But his eyes! His frightful, terrible eyes. I shall never forget them. They were made of death. Death! I am rambling, I am talking foolishness. No, no I am not. I am frightened and passionate but I am not mad. I am only afraid. I cannot think of those eyes. Oh god, those horrible eyes. Those eyes wanted me. They wanted to tear me apart. Those eyes wanted to kill and they wanted to die. Death! Death! They were made of death I tell you!
And then he stood. He stood from the water and approached me. He was whispering to me. Whispering unending. A single word, no two, but they were one. His voice was so soft and sweet that I felt tears rise in me. That word. That word that has haunted me for so many years. "Nevermore" That is what he said. Over and over again. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. He kept whispering and approaching. He reached out to me as he came closer, and those hands; they ended in claws! The claws of beasts, the claws of things that are not men. And I was so frozen in fear, I could only cower there in awe and in pure, abject terror. My blood had turned cold, my heart refused to beat properly. He came to me! He came to me and, oh god, he-
THE REST OF THIS LETTER HAS BEEN LOST. MANY HISTORIANS HAVE LONG SINCE PROPOSED DIFFERENT THEORIES AS TO THE CREDIBILITY OF THIS LETTER. SOME SAY IT WAS ACTUALLY THE BEGINNING OF AN UNPUBLISHED SHORT STORY. MOST BELIEVED HE HAD GONE MAD. THIS LETTER HAS BEEN STORED IN THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS AT THE DISPOSAL OF PROFESSORS AND STUDENTS FROM THE UNIVERSITY OF THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA.
Castiel
Stats Are Unknown
His aura has gone completely white and doesn't smell like anything.
LOST LETTER WRITTEN BY EDGAR ALLEN POE. RECOVERED FROM AN UNUSED BANK VAULT IN BALTIMORE, MARYLAND AND ADDRESSED TO A CERTAIN DR. JOSEPH E. SNODGRASS. THE RETRIEVABLE CONTENTS ARE AS FOLLOWS:
To My Dear Friend Dr. Snodgrass,
Forgive me my dear friend for coming to you with such terrible burdens as are my afflictions, but I cannot possibly condone myself to cease in telling you all that is happening to me. You think me mad, and rightfully so. I thought myself to have passed all sanity when those frightful words left my lips, but please, please my dear friend, do not stopper your ears to my voice. I beg you hearken and take into account what I am recording for you here in my letter. I pray you understand that I have never been insane. I have not the madness of hatters, though I am indisposed to become mad should this nightmare never cease to plague me. I am close to the end, my dear friend. It is only a matter of time, I know that now. So I write to you in earnest and with a pleading heart that you will be open to all that I shall now tell you.
It started three summers ago in June. You remember do you not? I daresay I hope you do. That day has stuck with me so long. It was the summer we journeyed to visit the strange ring of stones in Stonehendge. And you were so cross with Virginia for giving water to the horses right after our ride. Remember? I'm sure you will, as you shall remember it was the start of all these horrors.
I had gone off alone, don't you remember? I followed the winding road by that lovely green hill, the one I pointed out to you on our first ride. I followed that path all the way down to the bottom of the hill, and there it was. There was Stonehedge. I walked all the way there without stopping to take in the morning air and observe all that nature could unbind in such early hours of the day. I walked betwixt those stone columns, marveling at what hands could fashion such a creation. And there it was. Oh god, why did I have to see it! I'm sorry, dear friend, I write with passion and emotion. Do know I write sober.
I saw the writing on the rocks. I know now it must have been writing. Long, spindly, shadowed scrawl that dipped and weaved between the cracks and crevices. I saw that forbidden, unearthly writing and I felt drawn. Drawn to it! I felt an indescribable hold on my heart that dragged my soul screaming from within me and into those rocks. And a voice from somewhere dark and foul, for where else could such a voice come from, whispered to me quietly and mournfully. It whispered to me in a language I did not know but did not have to, for the meaning of those archaic words were so clear, engraved inside my very skull. Come! A terrible impulse swept over me and I threw myself to the rocks. All things rational abandoned me. I clawed at the rocks with my bare hands. I pounded and hit and clawed, as if I were digging into golden grains of sand and not solid, immovable earth. I do not remember much of that, for as I said, all things rational escaped me, and for a moment, my mind must have escaped me as well.
What I do remember is after my madness. I awoke to shadows and darkness. Fearful, I rose and surveyed my surroundings, but no eye could breach that oppressive black. I felt cold, hard earth under my hands and began crawling across it, hands and knees. I felt along the passage, my fingers grazing against stone. I perceived myself to be in some sort of cave or equally deep bowel of the earth. How I happened upon it I know not, though my confused mind began scrambling to put the pieces together and come to terms with a suitable explanation.
Then there was a soft, heavenly glow. So subtle and dim it truly was, but after the darkness it was more blinding than the sun. I shielded my gaze, almost afraid to look upon it. But momentarily my sight accustomed to the light. I looked about, relief flooding my body at the prospect I had found some form of exit to the surface. Those feelings despaired and died when I found that no such exit had opened to me. I had blundered into a large cavern. Before me was a pool of water most blue. The rock rippled with the shadows and reflections of that pool's odd light. Indeed, the pool was the source of light. I do not lie or make pretenses. I tell you, my dear friend, that pool was glowing with light.
And this my dear friend is where even I fall to confusion, for my memory of the dealings hereafter are so muddled and troubled that I can scarcely write them illegibly even now as I dare to recall it. In that strange pool, I found a boy. Not a child, but he seemed so like a boy that it is the only way I can place him. He had such a gentle face. A face that could not hold all the darkness that he really was. He was crouched in the middle of that pool. Crouched there, staring at me. He looked unnatural, but beautiful. I never describe living creatures as beautiful except perhaps the animals or my sweet wife, but he had such an unnatural beauty about him. He was strange, oh yes. His skin was pale like a rich lady and his face devoid of any conceivable blemish. His shoulders, the only other visible part of his body were disturbing. Flesh that was knotted and roped with scars. His ears were pointed. His hair was like lavendar. But his eyes! His frightful, terrible eyes. I shall never forget them. They were made of death. Death! I am rambling, I am talking foolishness. No, no I am not. I am frightened and passionate but I am not mad. I am only afraid. I cannot think of those eyes. Oh god, those horrible eyes. Those eyes wanted me. They wanted to tear me apart. Those eyes wanted to kill and they wanted to die. Death! Death! They were made of death I tell you!
And then he stood. He stood from the water and approached me. He was whispering to me. Whispering unending. A single word, no two, but they were one. His voice was so soft and sweet that I felt tears rise in me. That word. That word that has haunted me for so many years. "Nevermore" That is what he said. Over and over again. Nevermore. Nevermore. Nevermore. He kept whispering and approaching. He reached out to me as he came closer, and those hands; they ended in claws! The claws of beasts, the claws of things that are not men. And I was so frozen in fear, I could only cower there in awe and in pure, abject terror. My blood had turned cold, my heart refused to beat properly. He came to me! He came to me and, oh god, he-
THE REST OF THIS LETTER HAS BEEN LOST. MANY HISTORIANS HAVE LONG SINCE PROPOSED DIFFERENT THEORIES AS TO THE CREDIBILITY OF THIS LETTER. SOME SAY IT WAS ACTUALLY THE BEGINNING OF AN UNPUBLISHED SHORT STORY. MOST BELIEVED HE HAD GONE MAD. THIS LETTER HAS BEEN STORED IN THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS AT THE DISPOSAL OF PROFESSORS AND STUDENTS FROM THE UNIVERSITY OF THE DISTRICT OF COLUMBIA.
Angel Reese Ravenscroft
ravenscroft
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/4182067.jpg?420)
Angel Reese Ravenscroft
990044
Strength: 32
Speed: 34
Agility: 30
Accuracy: 32
Flexibility: 29
Stamina: 26
Luck: 18
Intellect: 30
Charisma: 19
Azrael (m grandfather), Sauron (father), Reina (mother), Aeletheia (adopted sister), Viserys (uncle), __ (aunt), Sora (cousin)
Angel. Many would see such a name as feminine or weak. Do not think such things nor attribute the pretty name to mean he is a pretty, girlish thing himself. He was born as Azrael, named after his grandfather who was a notorious assassin. Only after his grandfather's disgrace was his name changed to Angel. The boy is a killer at heart. If he is to be any angel at all, then it truly is Azrael; the angel of death. The smell of freshly shed blood is ever present on his skin, the cold fire of malice in his gleaming eyes, the desire and intent to steal the very breath from the living radiating off him in cold flashes. For all that is crafty and snakelike of the Ravenscroft, Angel strays out of those bounds. He is a bloodthirsty and warmongering young man, with only a love for the Family he now reigns over. He is dangerous. More than dangerous, perhaps he's a little psychotic. As his family says, "Thank God his parents did not live to see him now." They would never know the godless freak their son had transformed into, though it is known and often whispered of that Angel's road to darkness began long ago. There was a time when the family faced a terrible horror that swept through their hotel. The bodies of dead animals would be found strewn about the rooms and halls, their limbs and faces twisted to nauseating angles, most of them too disfigured and mutilated to recognize. A family member found the cause and put an end to it, though it was never known what the cause was. Suffice to say, if it hasn't been guessed already, the culprit was Angel. The member had chanced upon Angel one night as he forced a dog to eat itself alive. Fortunately, Angel's ability to puppeteer people and animals had not yet progressed to the human phase. However, a strange, unrecognizable human corpse was found in one of the hotel's dumpsters a few years later and the member remains unaccounted for. Angel did not show his dark nature to any of the family until after the death of his parents and his ascension to the throne. Then, they all learned quickly of his malice, his cruelty, and his hungering for absolute power and control over all. He used his ability often to force and threaten. He ruled his people with fear rather than the traditional bonds of brotherhood they all shared. If ever he felt opposed by someone or threatened in any way, he would kill. No holds barred. He is a man with a very finite amount of mercy. A trifling, minuscule snippet of it. Hardly bears any mentioning at all. He is more partial to the Ravenscrofts, but they will not be exempt from anything. Angel is a manipulator. He can play any mind game or perform any sort of facade, so long as the end he seeks is reached. He is the scent of blood as well as the color of wine. He can trap others into false senses of security and weasel the hidden truths out of them yet. He can have all the appearances of normal and naivety without bearing either of those characteristics. While others throw their trust implicitly into his care, he stifles his laughter, basks in his triumph, then plots his next maneuver without them ever knowing until it's too late. He is a master of disguise, a master of the stage that is the world, and he plays the people within like pieces on a board. That's all the world is to him: a stage, a game, entertainment, amusement. A lovely little world with all the curiosities of life and death that he has both the power and abhorrent will to tear apart and play with. He cares not for people's feelings and makes no discernment among them. He calls few his friends and even fewer his family. These he may trust and show to them what little excuses of mercy he has, but to all others, they are as dispensable as carbon dioxide. He has a strong taste for brutality and torture. He likes to make others suffer.
Angel has black hair, a bit messy and spiked, with the soft texture of velvet. His left eye pulses a cold and frightful blue, while the other swirls in thick, blood red. When his power activates, one of his eyes glows.He has a long tribal tattoo over his heart. He can only control one person or animal at a time.
990044
Strength: 32
Speed: 34
Agility: 30
Accuracy: 32
Flexibility: 29
Stamina: 26
Luck: 18
Intellect: 30
Charisma: 19
Azrael (m grandfather), Sauron (father), Reina (mother), Aeletheia (adopted sister), Viserys (uncle), __ (aunt), Sora (cousin)
Angel. Many would see such a name as feminine or weak. Do not think such things nor attribute the pretty name to mean he is a pretty, girlish thing himself. He was born as Azrael, named after his grandfather who was a notorious assassin. Only after his grandfather's disgrace was his name changed to Angel. The boy is a killer at heart. If he is to be any angel at all, then it truly is Azrael; the angel of death. The smell of freshly shed blood is ever present on his skin, the cold fire of malice in his gleaming eyes, the desire and intent to steal the very breath from the living radiating off him in cold flashes. For all that is crafty and snakelike of the Ravenscroft, Angel strays out of those bounds. He is a bloodthirsty and warmongering young man, with only a love for the Family he now reigns over. He is dangerous. More than dangerous, perhaps he's a little psychotic. As his family says, "Thank God his parents did not live to see him now." They would never know the godless freak their son had transformed into, though it is known and often whispered of that Angel's road to darkness began long ago. There was a time when the family faced a terrible horror that swept through their hotel. The bodies of dead animals would be found strewn about the rooms and halls, their limbs and faces twisted to nauseating angles, most of them too disfigured and mutilated to recognize. A family member found the cause and put an end to it, though it was never known what the cause was. Suffice to say, if it hasn't been guessed already, the culprit was Angel. The member had chanced upon Angel one night as he forced a dog to eat itself alive. Fortunately, Angel's ability to puppeteer people and animals had not yet progressed to the human phase. However, a strange, unrecognizable human corpse was found in one of the hotel's dumpsters a few years later and the member remains unaccounted for. Angel did not show his dark nature to any of the family until after the death of his parents and his ascension to the throne. Then, they all learned quickly of his malice, his cruelty, and his hungering for absolute power and control over all. He used his ability often to force and threaten. He ruled his people with fear rather than the traditional bonds of brotherhood they all shared. If ever he felt opposed by someone or threatened in any way, he would kill. No holds barred. He is a man with a very finite amount of mercy. A trifling, minuscule snippet of it. Hardly bears any mentioning at all. He is more partial to the Ravenscrofts, but they will not be exempt from anything. Angel is a manipulator. He can play any mind game or perform any sort of facade, so long as the end he seeks is reached. He is the scent of blood as well as the color of wine. He can trap others into false senses of security and weasel the hidden truths out of them yet. He can have all the appearances of normal and naivety without bearing either of those characteristics. While others throw their trust implicitly into his care, he stifles his laughter, basks in his triumph, then plots his next maneuver without them ever knowing until it's too late. He is a master of disguise, a master of the stage that is the world, and he plays the people within like pieces on a board. That's all the world is to him: a stage, a game, entertainment, amusement. A lovely little world with all the curiosities of life and death that he has both the power and abhorrent will to tear apart and play with. He cares not for people's feelings and makes no discernment among them. He calls few his friends and even fewer his family. These he may trust and show to them what little excuses of mercy he has, but to all others, they are as dispensable as carbon dioxide. He has a strong taste for brutality and torture. He likes to make others suffer.
Angel has black hair, a bit messy and spiked, with the soft texture of velvet. His left eye pulses a cold and frightful blue, while the other swirls in thick, blood red. When his power activates, one of his eyes glows.He has a long tribal tattoo over his heart. He can only control one person or animal at a time.
Balthazar Taghvaei
theia
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/1315077.jpg)
Balthazar Alistair Taghvaei
993333
Strength: 34
Speed: 20
Agility: 26
Accuracy: 21
Flexibility: 28
Stamina: 25
Luck: 16
Intellect: 19
Charisma: 35
Melchior and Caspar (brothers)
Balthazar is a very brazen, bold young man. Rough around the edges and as dangerous as a two headed snake, he can easily be called "creepy", "odd", or downright "scary". Suffice to say, a lot of people get bad vibes from him upon first encounter. He's rather sweet really, just misunderstood and a bit conflicted. He's neither a loner or a socialite, something that flits over the bonds of both sides. He can fade in and out like the volume on a radio. He doesn't believe in sharing his feelings, heart-on-my-sleeve stuff -or crap as he calls it- but is never loathe to listen to others spill their souls. He listens, he advises, he comforts. That's what he does. On the other side of the coin, he won't take crap, speaks for what he believes is right, and willingly throws himself into danger all for the love of a challenge. He's bittersweet and rather melancholy, a bit nostalgic with a serving of daydreaming. He's a very deep thinker when he wants to be one, and can come to some good conclusions from his little ponderings. He's not considered to be very smart though, boasting a bland average of an IQ and just graduating with a GED, he gets by with knowing the minimum. He prefers to stick to a single mindset, unwavering. He has only one motivation, one purpose in life: to protect his brothers; Melchior and Caspar. About a year ago in good ol' 2012, he and his brothers were abducted by GRAIL. They suffered, as all who pass into that deadly dungeon suffer. He managed to escape through the pure luck of unleashing his powers: the ability to increase pheromone in the area. When it reaches high levels, it causes crowds to turn insane and literally beat each other to death. In the confusion, he got out and forgot his brothers, leaving them to their fates. He doubts they are alive, but out in the outside, he is determined to break them out and whisk them away somewhere where GRAIL cannot touch any of them. Being the oldest at twenty-two, he is both father and brother to the boys and takes on full responsibility for everything. They are his blood, and he will shed all of his own to right the wrong he committed and the heartless betrayal he made. He has never forgiven himself for that, and it is the one and only thing he really angsts over. Balthazar is a tall and thin young man. A little too thin. The years in GRAIL were not particularly kind to him, and he is still recovering. He doesn't bear many outward scars, but that means little compared to the scars in his mind. He has coppery skin, making him appear a little foreign. He is indeed of Arabic blood, if the name wasn't a give away already. Balthazar has very brilliant eyes: a fiery, amber color ringed in a somewhat glimmering brown color, like bronze. His hair is also a brown color, with varying red and golden browns mingled in with the primarily rich chocolate color. It's straight but can go awry and look shaggy. Darn stuff gets messed up no matter what he does. His features are a bit of a mix of rough and angular, giving him a sort of wolfish appearance: what with the narrowed eyes, strong jaw and nose, high cheekbones, and relaxed mouth. His soul is a medley of his personality, as usual. The brazen color of burnt amber with the sweet and inviting scent of apple pie. He won't take advantage of you if you let your guard down around him, which can be apt to happen, but don't expect him to return the favor.
993333
Strength: 34
Speed: 20
Agility: 26
Accuracy: 21
Flexibility: 28
Stamina: 25
Luck: 16
Intellect: 19
Charisma: 35
Melchior and Caspar (brothers)
Balthazar is a very brazen, bold young man. Rough around the edges and as dangerous as a two headed snake, he can easily be called "creepy", "odd", or downright "scary". Suffice to say, a lot of people get bad vibes from him upon first encounter. He's rather sweet really, just misunderstood and a bit conflicted. He's neither a loner or a socialite, something that flits over the bonds of both sides. He can fade in and out like the volume on a radio. He doesn't believe in sharing his feelings, heart-on-my-sleeve stuff -or crap as he calls it- but is never loathe to listen to others spill their souls. He listens, he advises, he comforts. That's what he does. On the other side of the coin, he won't take crap, speaks for what he believes is right, and willingly throws himself into danger all for the love of a challenge. He's bittersweet and rather melancholy, a bit nostalgic with a serving of daydreaming. He's a very deep thinker when he wants to be one, and can come to some good conclusions from his little ponderings. He's not considered to be very smart though, boasting a bland average of an IQ and just graduating with a GED, he gets by with knowing the minimum. He prefers to stick to a single mindset, unwavering. He has only one motivation, one purpose in life: to protect his brothers; Melchior and Caspar. About a year ago in good ol' 2012, he and his brothers were abducted by GRAIL. They suffered, as all who pass into that deadly dungeon suffer. He managed to escape through the pure luck of unleashing his powers: the ability to increase pheromone in the area. When it reaches high levels, it causes crowds to turn insane and literally beat each other to death. In the confusion, he got out and forgot his brothers, leaving them to their fates. He doubts they are alive, but out in the outside, he is determined to break them out and whisk them away somewhere where GRAIL cannot touch any of them. Being the oldest at twenty-two, he is both father and brother to the boys and takes on full responsibility for everything. They are his blood, and he will shed all of his own to right the wrong he committed and the heartless betrayal he made. He has never forgiven himself for that, and it is the one and only thing he really angsts over. Balthazar is a tall and thin young man. A little too thin. The years in GRAIL were not particularly kind to him, and he is still recovering. He doesn't bear many outward scars, but that means little compared to the scars in his mind. He has coppery skin, making him appear a little foreign. He is indeed of Arabic blood, if the name wasn't a give away already. Balthazar has very brilliant eyes: a fiery, amber color ringed in a somewhat glimmering brown color, like bronze. His hair is also a brown color, with varying red and golden browns mingled in with the primarily rich chocolate color. It's straight but can go awry and look shaggy. Darn stuff gets messed up no matter what he does. His features are a bit of a mix of rough and angular, giving him a sort of wolfish appearance: what with the narrowed eyes, strong jaw and nose, high cheekbones, and relaxed mouth. His soul is a medley of his personality, as usual. The brazen color of burnt amber with the sweet and inviting scent of apple pie. He won't take advantage of you if you let your guard down around him, which can be apt to happen, but don't expect him to return the favor.
Caspar Taghvaei
subject
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/1480986.jpg?304)
Caspar _ Taghvaei
#
Strength: 14
Speed: 20
Agility: 18
Accuracy: 26
Flexibility: 28
Stamina: 29
Luck: 17
Intellect: 23
Charisma: 22
Balthazar and Melchior (brothers)
Caspar is
Caspar has the ability to control dreams. He can enter others' dreams, manipulate them, cause nightmares to become dreams and vice versa, and even affect a dreaming person mentally, physically, or emotionally.
coming soon
#
Strength: 14
Speed: 20
Agility: 18
Accuracy: 26
Flexibility: 28
Stamina: 29
Luck: 17
Intellect: 23
Charisma: 22
Balthazar and Melchior (brothers)
Caspar is
Caspar has the ability to control dreams. He can enter others' dreams, manipulate them, cause nightmares to become dreams and vice versa, and even affect a dreaming person mentally, physically, or emotionally.
coming soon
Ciel Norcross
theia
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/744098.jpg?468)
Ciel Everette Norcross
66AAFF
Strength: 38
Speed: 37
Agility: 29
Accuracy: 30
Flexibility: 31
Stamina: 31
Luck: 34
Intellect: 32
Charisma: 33
Kin
Ciel Everett Norcross: no one knows what to make of him. He's a puzzle. A big puzzle with tiny pieces, maybe a thousand of them. They make a pretty big picture. The box says there's no age limit, only a reccomandation that your IQ is over 120. The picture itself seems far too complex to complete, and when you look at how many pieces there are, you might just give up hope already. But if you choose to strive forward, then maybe you can finish off a small section or two, but never the whole thing. One little section is his age. Sadly all the pieces have odd little corners and shapes, so even if you did manage to get parts of that section together, you'd only be confused. A young man of possibly sixteen or seventeen years of age, he not only acts older than he really is, but if anyone bothered to ask, he'd just lie. His appearance is the easy part. The pieces in that section start off large with perfectly matching adjoiners. He is male. He has tan skin. He has spiky red hair that hangs down close to his shoulders. His soul piercing eyes are a ghostly golden hue, faded at first glance, but if one looks long enough, they seem to flash and flicker like the flame of a candle. But then the pieces of that side of the puzzle get small and oddly shaped again. A mystical blue color that fades and flickers, and there is a scent there; a faint smell of warm fur and cold grass. He has a mask on his face. Not the striking mask of a samurai warrior, or the shadowy face covering of an expert ninja assassin, but rather the cumbersome and disheartening breathing mask that you'd normally find in a post-apocalypse movie. What lies underneath? And his body? He's always wearing long sleeved shirts and jackets, long legged pants and tall boots. Is it to hide scars? is he simply insecure about his body? Covering up strange tattoos? Those pieces won't fit and don't even appear to belong together, so you abandon that section and try another one. Ahh, yes. This section is most complicated; his personality. The pieces are all wrong and have the strangest color combinations, lines, and shapes. One of the pieces looks like an eye: he is insightful, clever, and very observant. A book: he is curious, studious, and enjoys reading, literature, history, and the sciences. Black pieces: he is a loner, antisocial, he prefers solitude. A red handprint? How curious. He is dangerous maybe, untrustworthy. Perhaps he is capable of killing. Several pieces fit together, though it is difficult putting them together; they make up a bird in a cage. What could that mean? He's trapped, scared, enslaved? Afraid? Of what? Why is there a bird trapped in a cage? It looks so sad and lonely in there. Is that how he feels? Is he that bird? Or... or is he the cage? Trapping the bird, causing it pain and misery, taking away its freedom and its desire to sing. Move on. There's no more you want to see there. Yes, yes, you want to see more, but who knows what you will find. Go back to it later. Wait, what's this? What is all this? This is a mess! His history. There's really nothing you can do about it is there. And why does a leopard keep appearing? There are lots of leopards, even in the other places of the puzzle. What could leopards possibly have to do with him? He is around them a lot to be sure. Are they protecting him? Is he protecting them? Are they friends? Enemies? Animal guides? Spirit guides even? Do they merely represent something of him in a symbolic manner? Are they another part of him? Or are they just plain old leopards? He has abilities. How strange. This part of the puzzle seems quite intriguing. Sadly, the pieces aren't fitting together properly. Well that is very frustrating. We know he has some kind of powers, but what are they exactly? Maybe they have something to do with the leopards...
66AAFF
Strength: 38
Speed: 37
Agility: 29
Accuracy: 30
Flexibility: 31
Stamina: 31
Luck: 34
Intellect: 32
Charisma: 33
Kin
Ciel Everett Norcross: no one knows what to make of him. He's a puzzle. A big puzzle with tiny pieces, maybe a thousand of them. They make a pretty big picture. The box says there's no age limit, only a reccomandation that your IQ is over 120. The picture itself seems far too complex to complete, and when you look at how many pieces there are, you might just give up hope already. But if you choose to strive forward, then maybe you can finish off a small section or two, but never the whole thing. One little section is his age. Sadly all the pieces have odd little corners and shapes, so even if you did manage to get parts of that section together, you'd only be confused. A young man of possibly sixteen or seventeen years of age, he not only acts older than he really is, but if anyone bothered to ask, he'd just lie. His appearance is the easy part. The pieces in that section start off large with perfectly matching adjoiners. He is male. He has tan skin. He has spiky red hair that hangs down close to his shoulders. His soul piercing eyes are a ghostly golden hue, faded at first glance, but if one looks long enough, they seem to flash and flicker like the flame of a candle. But then the pieces of that side of the puzzle get small and oddly shaped again. A mystical blue color that fades and flickers, and there is a scent there; a faint smell of warm fur and cold grass. He has a mask on his face. Not the striking mask of a samurai warrior, or the shadowy face covering of an expert ninja assassin, but rather the cumbersome and disheartening breathing mask that you'd normally find in a post-apocalypse movie. What lies underneath? And his body? He's always wearing long sleeved shirts and jackets, long legged pants and tall boots. Is it to hide scars? is he simply insecure about his body? Covering up strange tattoos? Those pieces won't fit and don't even appear to belong together, so you abandon that section and try another one. Ahh, yes. This section is most complicated; his personality. The pieces are all wrong and have the strangest color combinations, lines, and shapes. One of the pieces looks like an eye: he is insightful, clever, and very observant. A book: he is curious, studious, and enjoys reading, literature, history, and the sciences. Black pieces: he is a loner, antisocial, he prefers solitude. A red handprint? How curious. He is dangerous maybe, untrustworthy. Perhaps he is capable of killing. Several pieces fit together, though it is difficult putting them together; they make up a bird in a cage. What could that mean? He's trapped, scared, enslaved? Afraid? Of what? Why is there a bird trapped in a cage? It looks so sad and lonely in there. Is that how he feels? Is he that bird? Or... or is he the cage? Trapping the bird, causing it pain and misery, taking away its freedom and its desire to sing. Move on. There's no more you want to see there. Yes, yes, you want to see more, but who knows what you will find. Go back to it later. Wait, what's this? What is all this? This is a mess! His history. There's really nothing you can do about it is there. And why does a leopard keep appearing? There are lots of leopards, even in the other places of the puzzle. What could leopards possibly have to do with him? He is around them a lot to be sure. Are they protecting him? Is he protecting them? Are they friends? Enemies? Animal guides? Spirit guides even? Do they merely represent something of him in a symbolic manner? Are they another part of him? Or are they just plain old leopards? He has abilities. How strange. This part of the puzzle seems quite intriguing. Sadly, the pieces aren't fitting together properly. Well that is very frustrating. We know he has some kind of powers, but what are they exactly? Maybe they have something to do with the leopards...
Dragur Viscous
theia
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/8870158.jpg?411)
Dragur Vicious
990000
Strength: 23
Speed: 34
Agility: 20
Accuracy: 21
Flexibility: 20
Stamina: 16
Luck: 12
Intellect: 38
Charisma: 20
Alec Vicious (brother)
A Theia. Being one of power can be so intriguing, so amazing, but not for Dragur. For Dragur it has been a terrible burden to bear. Born in hatred, in the nightmarish hell of the Venantium's halls, he was taken from his mother and raised to become a Bloodhound. He never took to it. There was just something within him that they couldn't break. When he finally escaped from that place, he was probably the most helpless and forlorn child on the earth. He had never seen anything except the inside of the hunters' prisons. He had never known anything save the feel of harsh blows and instruments of torture. He had felt nothing except pain and loneliness that shook him to his very soul. Now he has been tossed into a world that cares as much for him as he cared for the pains of his birthworld: that is to say, not at all. His own hatred is directed fully at the hunters, though he buries it all inside himself. He knows he can't act on that hatred. It would be reckless. Stupid. He looks down on most Theias, considering everyone to be inferior to himself, and he couldn't give a damn about humans. He's mostly a quiet, reserved loner, but very, outstandingly observant and intelligent. He notices minute details and the most obscure of things. Exceptionally bright, most talents come to him rather effortlessly. He's a bit reckless since he does see himself as a superior being, even going so far as to challenge certain Theias to duels. He has a brother, Alec Viscous, whom he considers his eternal enemy. The reason for this is all covered up in clever conspiracy and lies. Dragur doesn't talk about himself at all really, and always directs attention away from himself. Since it's not that common for Bloodhounds to ever escape the hunters' clutches, it's hard for him to really be on the same level with anyone. They just can't understand him or his way of thinking. This also increases his need to hate and push people away. Dragur cares for very few people, so if he does care for someone, it is a huge and very serious commitment he is making and should not be taken lightly. He is rather ruthless, cruel, and inconsiderate. He prefers working others to his advantage and is an incredible liar. Dragur travels around a lot and has picked up on a lot of things. Coupled with what he learned while a Bloodhound, he's quite a jack-of-all-trades. He can speak twelve languages: English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, Hebrew, Arabic, Turkish, Russian, Mandarin Chinese, Mongolian and Irish Gaelic. He can play the violin, duduk, and kaito drums. He can paint very well but doesn't care to, though his preferred mediums are water colors and inks. He has a knack for history, chemistry, and english. He has marvelous stamina, speed, and agility with a fair amount of strength. Dragur has a thin body with light tanned, near flawless skin. He seems rather young for his sixteen years. He has lifeless, nearly white eyes, an after affect of spending ten years in pitch black darkness. His eyes are ringed in black. His hair comes down to his shoulders. It is is soft as velvet and the color of deathly night. In certain lighting, red highlights shine amidst the black. He isn't sure exactly where his powers lie. He seems to be able to control darkness. Not the darkness of shadows or night, but the darkness inside other people: everything that's evil and twisted about them. He can control their hatred. He can plant ideas in their head through inception that leads them to dark deeds. He can bind them to oaths in exchange for their soul or the souls of others. He is drawn to those who are evil or up to no good. He can do a little bit of everything evil. It's not an ability or a gift, it's like a curse, and he hates it. He hates it as much as he hates the hunters, as much as he hates himself. If that is not enough, his very soul makes him sick. It smells of thunder and sin: vetivert, honeysuckle, and black opium. And the color is a devilish red, thick and bloody. He's not a Void. He knows that. And though he's sick and tired of hating and making others hate, he sees no salvation for himself.
990000
Strength: 23
Speed: 34
Agility: 20
Accuracy: 21
Flexibility: 20
Stamina: 16
Luck: 12
Intellect: 38
Charisma: 20
Alec Vicious (brother)
A Theia. Being one of power can be so intriguing, so amazing, but not for Dragur. For Dragur it has been a terrible burden to bear. Born in hatred, in the nightmarish hell of the Venantium's halls, he was taken from his mother and raised to become a Bloodhound. He never took to it. There was just something within him that they couldn't break. When he finally escaped from that place, he was probably the most helpless and forlorn child on the earth. He had never seen anything except the inside of the hunters' prisons. He had never known anything save the feel of harsh blows and instruments of torture. He had felt nothing except pain and loneliness that shook him to his very soul. Now he has been tossed into a world that cares as much for him as he cared for the pains of his birthworld: that is to say, not at all. His own hatred is directed fully at the hunters, though he buries it all inside himself. He knows he can't act on that hatred. It would be reckless. Stupid. He looks down on most Theias, considering everyone to be inferior to himself, and he couldn't give a damn about humans. He's mostly a quiet, reserved loner, but very, outstandingly observant and intelligent. He notices minute details and the most obscure of things. Exceptionally bright, most talents come to him rather effortlessly. He's a bit reckless since he does see himself as a superior being, even going so far as to challenge certain Theias to duels. He has a brother, Alec Viscous, whom he considers his eternal enemy. The reason for this is all covered up in clever conspiracy and lies. Dragur doesn't talk about himself at all really, and always directs attention away from himself. Since it's not that common for Bloodhounds to ever escape the hunters' clutches, it's hard for him to really be on the same level with anyone. They just can't understand him or his way of thinking. This also increases his need to hate and push people away. Dragur cares for very few people, so if he does care for someone, it is a huge and very serious commitment he is making and should not be taken lightly. He is rather ruthless, cruel, and inconsiderate. He prefers working others to his advantage and is an incredible liar. Dragur travels around a lot and has picked up on a lot of things. Coupled with what he learned while a Bloodhound, he's quite a jack-of-all-trades. He can speak twelve languages: English, French, Spanish, Italian, German, Hebrew, Arabic, Turkish, Russian, Mandarin Chinese, Mongolian and Irish Gaelic. He can play the violin, duduk, and kaito drums. He can paint very well but doesn't care to, though his preferred mediums are water colors and inks. He has a knack for history, chemistry, and english. He has marvelous stamina, speed, and agility with a fair amount of strength. Dragur has a thin body with light tanned, near flawless skin. He seems rather young for his sixteen years. He has lifeless, nearly white eyes, an after affect of spending ten years in pitch black darkness. His eyes are ringed in black. His hair comes down to his shoulders. It is is soft as velvet and the color of deathly night. In certain lighting, red highlights shine amidst the black. He isn't sure exactly where his powers lie. He seems to be able to control darkness. Not the darkness of shadows or night, but the darkness inside other people: everything that's evil and twisted about them. He can control their hatred. He can plant ideas in their head through inception that leads them to dark deeds. He can bind them to oaths in exchange for their soul or the souls of others. He is drawn to those who are evil or up to no good. He can do a little bit of everything evil. It's not an ability or a gift, it's like a curse, and he hates it. He hates it as much as he hates the hunters, as much as he hates himself. If that is not enough, his very soul makes him sick. It smells of thunder and sin: vetivert, honeysuckle, and black opium. And the color is a devilish red, thick and bloody. He's not a Void. He knows that. And though he's sick and tired of hating and making others hate, he sees no salvation for himself.
Easter Sergio Hawthorne
hawthorne
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/5072894.jpg?428)
Easter Sergio Hawthorne
CC99FF
Strength: 31
Speed: 23
Agility: 28
Accuracy: 22
Flexibility: 25
Stamina: 20
Luck: 29
Intellect: 30
Charisma: 27
Eddard (father), Mion (mother), Galaxy (sister) [ 5 sibling spots open]
Easter is a young man, recently turned nineteen and made Godfather of the Hawthorne Family. He is swift and very surefooted with impeccable balance and the body of a gymnast. He has soft, silky black hair that has a blue and purple sheen to it in certain lighting. His eyes are an abyssal navy color, rather depthless and a little surreal. His aura is a purple sky of the dawn and smells like fresh linen. He can gain another person's abilities and stats by drinking their blood or eating their flesh. The person does not have to be alive for this to work. When he gains their abilities and stats, it is for a limited time only. What he gains does not replace what he already has, rather he gains it alongside what he already has, giving him a boost. He has dark, blocky tribal tattoos running up and down both arms. Easter Sergio Hawthorne is the rather zealous Hawthorne Godfather. He doesn't seem like much at first, but at a second glance, he is quite the character and a rather dangerous individual. Easter was born a rather weak and sickly child and wasn't expected to live for very long. His brother, born a year after him, was taught and raised to one day take over the family, and Easter was pretty much forgotten about. He hated his parent's treatment of him and their exceptionally low expectations, so he forced himself to become stronger. Throughout his life, he would bear a terrible resentment for his father that would eventually become hatred. When he was ten years old, it was rather apparent that he was no longer the weak and sickly thing he had been, but the family was a little hesitant to allow him to be reared up for the godfather role. Easter came into fierce competition with his younger brother for the role and they became rivals. They didn't hate each other or anything, so it would be better to say they were friendly rivals. Easter was never close to his brother or any of his other siblings and continues to keep them at a distance to this day. As soon as Easter turned nineteen, he openly challenged his father to a duel. Eddard Hawthorne eventually died of shock from blood loss when Easter ate him alive after overpowering him. Mion Hawthorne, Easter's mother and the godmother at the time, declared Easter the victor and rightful heir to the family. It was announced officially a short time after and she resigned the next day. The entire duel and the true nature of the godfather's death has been kept a secret from the entire family and its members. Only Easter and Mion know the truth. The other witnesses of the duel have "mysteriously disappeared" with their families. Easter is cold, calculative, and brutal. He is known by all as blunt, derisive, and rather controlling. Everything had to be done a certain way. Everyone had to follow his orders to the letter. He never took no for an answer from any of his subordinates and he definitley hated disobedience. He sees all people as simply tools that provide a means to an end. He relies strongly on the strength of the whole, but also relies on the cunning and potential of the individual. He may not be as brute and berserk as the rest of his hot-headed family heritage, but he has all the craftiness of a Ravenscroft going for him.
CC99FF
Strength: 31
Speed: 23
Agility: 28
Accuracy: 22
Flexibility: 25
Stamina: 20
Luck: 29
Intellect: 30
Charisma: 27
Eddard (father), Mion (mother), Galaxy (sister) [ 5 sibling spots open]
Easter is a young man, recently turned nineteen and made Godfather of the Hawthorne Family. He is swift and very surefooted with impeccable balance and the body of a gymnast. He has soft, silky black hair that has a blue and purple sheen to it in certain lighting. His eyes are an abyssal navy color, rather depthless and a little surreal. His aura is a purple sky of the dawn and smells like fresh linen. He can gain another person's abilities and stats by drinking their blood or eating their flesh. The person does not have to be alive for this to work. When he gains their abilities and stats, it is for a limited time only. What he gains does not replace what he already has, rather he gains it alongside what he already has, giving him a boost. He has dark, blocky tribal tattoos running up and down both arms. Easter Sergio Hawthorne is the rather zealous Hawthorne Godfather. He doesn't seem like much at first, but at a second glance, he is quite the character and a rather dangerous individual. Easter was born a rather weak and sickly child and wasn't expected to live for very long. His brother, born a year after him, was taught and raised to one day take over the family, and Easter was pretty much forgotten about. He hated his parent's treatment of him and their exceptionally low expectations, so he forced himself to become stronger. Throughout his life, he would bear a terrible resentment for his father that would eventually become hatred. When he was ten years old, it was rather apparent that he was no longer the weak and sickly thing he had been, but the family was a little hesitant to allow him to be reared up for the godfather role. Easter came into fierce competition with his younger brother for the role and they became rivals. They didn't hate each other or anything, so it would be better to say they were friendly rivals. Easter was never close to his brother or any of his other siblings and continues to keep them at a distance to this day. As soon as Easter turned nineteen, he openly challenged his father to a duel. Eddard Hawthorne eventually died of shock from blood loss when Easter ate him alive after overpowering him. Mion Hawthorne, Easter's mother and the godmother at the time, declared Easter the victor and rightful heir to the family. It was announced officially a short time after and she resigned the next day. The entire duel and the true nature of the godfather's death has been kept a secret from the entire family and its members. Only Easter and Mion know the truth. The other witnesses of the duel have "mysteriously disappeared" with their families. Easter is cold, calculative, and brutal. He is known by all as blunt, derisive, and rather controlling. Everything had to be done a certain way. Everyone had to follow his orders to the letter. He never took no for an answer from any of his subordinates and he definitley hated disobedience. He sees all people as simply tools that provide a means to an end. He relies strongly on the strength of the whole, but also relies on the cunning and potential of the individual. He may not be as brute and berserk as the rest of his hot-headed family heritage, but he has all the craftiness of a Ravenscroft going for him.
Eriacu Notus St. Cerveaux
st. cerveaux
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/3947331.jpg?375)
Eriacu Notus St. Cerveaux
99AAFF
Strength: 12
Speed: 24
Agility: 14
Accuracy: 10
Flexibility: 19
Stamina: 28
Luck: 4
Intellect: 18
Charisma: 22
Diablo (father), Evelyn (mother), Anat (sister), Zeinken, Dilgan and Luca (brothers)
Eriacu Notus St. Cerveaux was born the fifth and final child of the St. Cerveaux family. He is rather reserved and a bit hard around the edges, but he has a very sweet, gentle side that he shows pretty much only for his siblings. He doesn't trust easily which is a little odd considering his age and his disposition. Eriacu isn't a very predictable child. Just by looking at him, he seems soft, mellow, and perhaps even weak. Those who have actually met him and gotten to know him wouldn't dare say such things. They know better. He seems sweet and soft, for that is his true nature. But it is a suppressed one, and the nature that he shows is more restrained. He loves his siblings openly and acts upon it, but even so, he is not as attached to them as he could be. He distances himself from them, throwing up emotional barriers so that he will not become too attached. Both his parents died, and he doesn't feel he can handle losing the rest of his family too. So he separates himself from them. Not physically or anything, purely in an emotional sense. His aura is a soft, blue-purple and smells like cherry wood. He has a tattoo of a decaying, serpentine creature. It wraps about his left ribcage to the lower side of his left hip. He has the power to make it snow an acidic snow. Whatever it lands on will slowly be eaten away. The process speeds up as more snow builds.
99AAFF
Strength: 12
Speed: 24
Agility: 14
Accuracy: 10
Flexibility: 19
Stamina: 28
Luck: 4
Intellect: 18
Charisma: 22
Diablo (father), Evelyn (mother), Anat (sister), Zeinken, Dilgan and Luca (brothers)
Eriacu Notus St. Cerveaux was born the fifth and final child of the St. Cerveaux family. He is rather reserved and a bit hard around the edges, but he has a very sweet, gentle side that he shows pretty much only for his siblings. He doesn't trust easily which is a little odd considering his age and his disposition. Eriacu isn't a very predictable child. Just by looking at him, he seems soft, mellow, and perhaps even weak. Those who have actually met him and gotten to know him wouldn't dare say such things. They know better. He seems sweet and soft, for that is his true nature. But it is a suppressed one, and the nature that he shows is more restrained. He loves his siblings openly and acts upon it, but even so, he is not as attached to them as he could be. He distances himself from them, throwing up emotional barriers so that he will not become too attached. Both his parents died, and he doesn't feel he can handle losing the rest of his family too. So he separates himself from them. Not physically or anything, purely in an emotional sense. His aura is a soft, blue-purple and smells like cherry wood. He has a tattoo of a decaying, serpentine creature. It wraps about his left ribcage to the lower side of his left hip. He has the power to make it snow an acidic snow. Whatever it lands on will slowly be eaten away. The process speeds up as more snow builds.
Exeo Pendragon
theia
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6088522.jpg?411)
Exeo Vitreus Pendragon
FF9911
Strength: 1
Speed: 1
Agility: 1
Accuracy: 1
Flexibility: 1
Stamina: 1
Luck: 1
Intellect: 2
Charisma: 3
Acris (brother)
Innocent of the world and having no hope but to simply take everything that comes his way, Exeo Pendragon is rather resilient for a three year old. He's quite cheerful and optimistic about most things, but has normal three year old tendencies, like crying when he's upset and the like. He doesn't understand everything nor pretends to, but he tries. He has very fair blonde hair, like his brother Acris did when Acris was his age, and bright golden eyes. His aura is the color of tangerines and smells like fresh spring air with a hint of lavender. He has the ability to unheal: the reverse of healing and also imprint others with his own injuries. He seems surprisingly adept at this ability despite his age.
FF9911
Strength: 1
Speed: 1
Agility: 1
Accuracy: 1
Flexibility: 1
Stamina: 1
Luck: 1
Intellect: 2
Charisma: 3
Acris (brother)
Innocent of the world and having no hope but to simply take everything that comes his way, Exeo Pendragon is rather resilient for a three year old. He's quite cheerful and optimistic about most things, but has normal three year old tendencies, like crying when he's upset and the like. He doesn't understand everything nor pretends to, but he tries. He has very fair blonde hair, like his brother Acris did when Acris was his age, and bright golden eyes. His aura is the color of tangerines and smells like fresh spring air with a hint of lavender. He has the ability to unheal: the reverse of healing and also imprint others with his own injuries. He seems surprisingly adept at this ability despite his age.
Galen Sorabella
bloodhound
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/181344.jpg?447)
Galen Sorabella
665555
Strength: 172
Speed: 36
Agility: 43
Accuracy: 42
Flexibility: 37
Stamina: 38
Luck: 27
Intellect: 50
Charisma: 12
Kin
His aura is a gravelly, drab purple. It smells like deep herbs and apple with black amber. It suits him. His ability is that he wields super strength. At times, his strength of power overbears his physical limits and he can cause himself severe physical damage as a result. Over time though, his body physically adapts to his strength.
Galen has no personality. He has no emotion or real thought. He only knows the desperate will to survive and obey his masters' whims.
665555
Strength: 172
Speed: 36
Agility: 43
Accuracy: 42
Flexibility: 37
Stamina: 38
Luck: 27
Intellect: 50
Charisma: 12
Kin
His aura is a gravelly, drab purple. It smells like deep herbs and apple with black amber. It suits him. His ability is that he wields super strength. At times, his strength of power overbears his physical limits and he can cause himself severe physical damage as a result. Over time though, his body physically adapts to his strength.
Galen has no personality. He has no emotion or real thought. He only knows the desperate will to survive and obey his masters' whims.
Helseth Arvel
constantine
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/1369674839.jpg)
Helseth Arvel
335566
Bodyguard
Strength: 32
Speed: 29
Agility: 30
Accuracy: 32
Flexibility: 32
Stamina: 43
Luck: 30
Intellect: 34
Charisma: 32
Kin
coming soon
Helseth is a rather devious fellow for being one in the Constantine Family. He has his daring, impulsive side that shows on and off. He has an innate desire to help others, and has become a bodyguard despite many misgivings that he was not fit for any sort of role in that category. He has proved quite useful over time. His aura smells of wild plum, night-blooming jasmine, and indigo musk, and the color is a cold, timber wolf blue-gray. He has the ability to create and focus supersonic waves that he releases vocally. At high, explosive frequencies, he could shatter buildings. At high pitched, concentrated frequencies with specific people targeted, he can stop their hearts from beating.
335566
Bodyguard
Strength: 32
Speed: 29
Agility: 30
Accuracy: 32
Flexibility: 32
Stamina: 43
Luck: 30
Intellect: 34
Charisma: 32
Kin
coming soon
Helseth is a rather devious fellow for being one in the Constantine Family. He has his daring, impulsive side that shows on and off. He has an innate desire to help others, and has become a bodyguard despite many misgivings that he was not fit for any sort of role in that category. He has proved quite useful over time. His aura smells of wild plum, night-blooming jasmine, and indigo musk, and the color is a cold, timber wolf blue-gray. He has the ability to create and focus supersonic waves that he releases vocally. At high, explosive frequencies, he could shatter buildings. At high pitched, concentrated frequencies with specific people targeted, he can stop their hearts from beating.
Logan Shield
pendragon
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/8213049.jpg?369)
Logan Avdimi Shield
FF0055
Strength: 9
Speed: 9
Agility: 5
Accuracy: 10
Flexibility: 2
Stamina: 3
Luck: 9
Intellect: 12
Charisma: 8
Nathaniel Shield (father), Aethelu Pendragon-Shield (mother), Colton Pendragon (uncle), Acris and Exeo Pendragon (cousins)
Small. Fragile. A young mind deformed by the atrocity this world unleashed in the form of hell spawn. Such a life should not be tainted as such. Only standing on this Earth for eight years, Logan Avdimi Shield is one of the world's undeserving victims. For so long he has believed everything to be nothing more than a bad dream, and that is the only way he is able to cope. When the hunters first began to wreck havoc unabashed, a concentrated force of them came right to Logan's unsuspecting hometown and began to savage every Theia they laid eyes on. The boy could only watch as they were picked off one by one. His mother, a daughter of the noble Pendragon family, fought them ruthlessly. His mother and father fought them with everything they had, but it wasn't enough. And then they came for him. They came for him and he begged unseen forces to save him. But nothing could save him but himself. He did. At a single touch, he reached to the hunters drawing closer around him, and when their hands met his gentle fingers, a thought came to mind. A thought born of an instinct he never knew he could possess. That thought was Novo. It wasn't simply a word that passed his mind, it was a desire. A terrible, horrible instinct to completely wipe from the Earth that which touched his outstretched hand. Novo, which means change in the Latin language, became a signal. A signal to activate his inborn ability of transforming the subject. Transform. Change. Once he thinks that word with that very instinctive desire, and once he has touched something, the living creature under his touch will violently turn itself inside out. He should have been relieved the hunters were rendered no more, but all he could think of was the horrible images. The blood, the bones, the muscles and organs and tissues and fabrications of ligament and sinew all churning and melding, while raucous cries of unbearable agony shattered the heavens. The memories of his ability are ingrained in his brain for all eternity. So how does he manage to appear so normal? It's all a dream, he says. It's all a long, scary dream and someday he will wake up and all will be right with the world. His parents won't be dead. The hunters won't exist. The Families won't be in danger. Everything will be right with the world. Logan is a small, lean boy of eight years old. He has wide, curious eyes the color of dark amethysts and shaggy hair that reaches to his shoulders, the color of untainted snow. His soul is tainted innocence and the sweetness of wondrous youth, it's scent of amber and honey with a drop of vanilla. And then he is passion and fire and energy, his shimmering aura a violent shade of a neon raspberry color. He's shy, usually hiding in the presence of others wether they mean him harm or not. He's quiet and not very outspoken. Imaginative and bright, Logan is always on the hunt for a good book to read. He likes books; the feel and weight of them and the stories they tell. He will often read them to himself every evening by the light of a campfire if he makes one. He also loves animals, and soon found a couple animals that were friendly enough to befriend. He's usually seen in the company of mice. He likes mice because they are small, curious, and shy; just like him. Logan finds the city to be one big adventure, a giant play world in his dreams, a place for playing and exploring and having fun. If someone won't attack him, he becomes recklessly trustworthy with all the innocence of a child. He's an easy target and he knows it, but he cannot help his nature. He has a very big, gentle heart, and he loves fiercley. If you hurt a friend of his, he will do everything in his power to hurt you back. He'd rather not fight though, that's why he is always running and hiding and keeping to himself. He'd rather not fight because he doesn't want to think of change. He doesn't want to think of Novo.
FF0055
Strength: 9
Speed: 9
Agility: 5
Accuracy: 10
Flexibility: 2
Stamina: 3
Luck: 9
Intellect: 12
Charisma: 8
Nathaniel Shield (father), Aethelu Pendragon-Shield (mother), Colton Pendragon (uncle), Acris and Exeo Pendragon (cousins)
Small. Fragile. A young mind deformed by the atrocity this world unleashed in the form of hell spawn. Such a life should not be tainted as such. Only standing on this Earth for eight years, Logan Avdimi Shield is one of the world's undeserving victims. For so long he has believed everything to be nothing more than a bad dream, and that is the only way he is able to cope. When the hunters first began to wreck havoc unabashed, a concentrated force of them came right to Logan's unsuspecting hometown and began to savage every Theia they laid eyes on. The boy could only watch as they were picked off one by one. His mother, a daughter of the noble Pendragon family, fought them ruthlessly. His mother and father fought them with everything they had, but it wasn't enough. And then they came for him. They came for him and he begged unseen forces to save him. But nothing could save him but himself. He did. At a single touch, he reached to the hunters drawing closer around him, and when their hands met his gentle fingers, a thought came to mind. A thought born of an instinct he never knew he could possess. That thought was Novo. It wasn't simply a word that passed his mind, it was a desire. A terrible, horrible instinct to completely wipe from the Earth that which touched his outstretched hand. Novo, which means change in the Latin language, became a signal. A signal to activate his inborn ability of transforming the subject. Transform. Change. Once he thinks that word with that very instinctive desire, and once he has touched something, the living creature under his touch will violently turn itself inside out. He should have been relieved the hunters were rendered no more, but all he could think of was the horrible images. The blood, the bones, the muscles and organs and tissues and fabrications of ligament and sinew all churning and melding, while raucous cries of unbearable agony shattered the heavens. The memories of his ability are ingrained in his brain for all eternity. So how does he manage to appear so normal? It's all a dream, he says. It's all a long, scary dream and someday he will wake up and all will be right with the world. His parents won't be dead. The hunters won't exist. The Families won't be in danger. Everything will be right with the world. Logan is a small, lean boy of eight years old. He has wide, curious eyes the color of dark amethysts and shaggy hair that reaches to his shoulders, the color of untainted snow. His soul is tainted innocence and the sweetness of wondrous youth, it's scent of amber and honey with a drop of vanilla. And then he is passion and fire and energy, his shimmering aura a violent shade of a neon raspberry color. He's shy, usually hiding in the presence of others wether they mean him harm or not. He's quiet and not very outspoken. Imaginative and bright, Logan is always on the hunt for a good book to read. He likes books; the feel and weight of them and the stories they tell. He will often read them to himself every evening by the light of a campfire if he makes one. He also loves animals, and soon found a couple animals that were friendly enough to befriend. He's usually seen in the company of mice. He likes mice because they are small, curious, and shy; just like him. Logan finds the city to be one big adventure, a giant play world in his dreams, a place for playing and exploring and having fun. If someone won't attack him, he becomes recklessly trustworthy with all the innocence of a child. He's an easy target and he knows it, but he cannot help his nature. He has a very big, gentle heart, and he loves fiercley. If you hurt a friend of his, he will do everything in his power to hurt you back. He'd rather not fight though, that's why he is always running and hiding and keeping to himself. He'd rather not fight because he doesn't want to think of change. He doesn't want to think of Novo.
Mariano Celestine
valentine
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6933193.jpg)
Mariano Valentino Celestine
664499
Michael Valentine's Bodyguard
Strength: 38
Speed: 39
Agility: 32
Accuracy: 38
Flexibility: 32
Stamina: 34
Luck: 29
Intellect: 32
Charisma: 27
Luciano Celestine (father), Abelie Celestine (mother)
His aura is the color of nightshade, and smells like crushed roses. There are many rumors as to the nature of his powers, but no one can quite say for sure. Some believe he has none. Others believe it is either so subtle or weak he does not use them as they are useless. Still more say the Valentine Godmother, who gave him his tattoo, had made it specifically to subdue his ability, or perhaps a member had been ordered to take it from him. His tattoo is a pair of wings that cover his back, starting from his shoulder blades. They feature feathers as well a the delicate wings of insects all melded together in a sort of nature-esque design. Mariano is a subliminal threat and a force to be reckoned with. He doesn't talk a big talk, but he has the skill and battle prowess to back himself up should he need to. He is highly skilled with the blade, as well as the craft of poisons and other unnoticed techniques. He's a silent killer. An assassin. And he is also a near perfect bodyguard. He is loyal to a fault with this strange 'ability' of always being where he's needed at the right time. He's a brilliant strategist, cunning, a critical thinker, and a formidable opponent in any sort of battles. He will only ever follow Michael Valentine to whatever end. When asked if h would protect the new Godfather as efficiently, he says he will, but doubts it himself. He grew up protecting Michael and has been tailored to fit his charge. He doubts he could ever find such a bond ever again. Mariano was given the second name of Valentino to prove to him and all around him that he was indeed destined from birth to be the Valentine Godfather's bodyguard. He neither knows nor wants any other life. Despite these things that would make him the ideal or even epitome of a bodyguard, he has his flaws. He is obsessive, perhaps too obsessive. This behavior can cause him to act a little too rashly, sometimes getting himself or others in trouble or injured. He also seems to share a very small, minuscule touch of Michael's paranoia. Then again, it could very well be the simple fact that all Valentine are untrustworthy, and in that his paranoia is justified. It can cause many foreseeable issues.
664499
Michael Valentine's Bodyguard
Strength: 38
Speed: 39
Agility: 32
Accuracy: 38
Flexibility: 32
Stamina: 34
Luck: 29
Intellect: 32
Charisma: 27
Luciano Celestine (father), Abelie Celestine (mother)
His aura is the color of nightshade, and smells like crushed roses. There are many rumors as to the nature of his powers, but no one can quite say for sure. Some believe he has none. Others believe it is either so subtle or weak he does not use them as they are useless. Still more say the Valentine Godmother, who gave him his tattoo, had made it specifically to subdue his ability, or perhaps a member had been ordered to take it from him. His tattoo is a pair of wings that cover his back, starting from his shoulder blades. They feature feathers as well a the delicate wings of insects all melded together in a sort of nature-esque design. Mariano is a subliminal threat and a force to be reckoned with. He doesn't talk a big talk, but he has the skill and battle prowess to back himself up should he need to. He is highly skilled with the blade, as well as the craft of poisons and other unnoticed techniques. He's a silent killer. An assassin. And he is also a near perfect bodyguard. He is loyal to a fault with this strange 'ability' of always being where he's needed at the right time. He's a brilliant strategist, cunning, a critical thinker, and a formidable opponent in any sort of battles. He will only ever follow Michael Valentine to whatever end. When asked if h would protect the new Godfather as efficiently, he says he will, but doubts it himself. He grew up protecting Michael and has been tailored to fit his charge. He doubts he could ever find such a bond ever again. Mariano was given the second name of Valentino to prove to him and all around him that he was indeed destined from birth to be the Valentine Godfather's bodyguard. He neither knows nor wants any other life. Despite these things that would make him the ideal or even epitome of a bodyguard, he has his flaws. He is obsessive, perhaps too obsessive. This behavior can cause him to act a little too rashly, sometimes getting himself or others in trouble or injured. He also seems to share a very small, minuscule touch of Michael's paranoia. Then again, it could very well be the simple fact that all Valentine are untrustworthy, and in that his paranoia is justified. It can cause many foreseeable issues.
Marius Ruin Nightingale
nightingale
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/5500328.jpg?404)
Marius Ruin Nightingale
3366BB
Strength: 38
Speed: 42
Agility: 38
Accuracy: 33
Flexibility: 38
Stamina: 33
Luck: 37
Intellect: 49
Charisma: 39
Firo (brother), __three other siblings open for joining_
Those who speak to Marius officially call him Ruin, for a prophetic Theia foretold that he would bring all he spoke with to utter ruin. And hence the name was given to him. At first, his parents took it as a warning: that their son would be a curse to them and their family. They kept him mostly isolated, despite many suggested he ought to die for their sakes. But the Nightingales are clever and not so easily swayed. His father would often quell such talk by saying they ought to wait and see. It was his parent's love for him that saved him. Soon enough, they discovered that this ruin he brought was merely his gift. With simply a word, a phrase, a look, or a touch, he could utterly and absolutley break a person's spirit and will. That was when he became a passive threat to a useful weapon. From the time his power was discovered at age eight, he was raised and trained in the arts of the assassins that are the essence of the family. He was, finally, considered to be one of them. All aversion or fear turned to respect. After that, it was as though nothing had ever really happened. He came to know his family and love them as well. He and his older brother, Firo, the heir of the family, were inseparable. When he turned fifteen, he was named as Firo's bodyguard. They were together wherever they went, always at each others' sides. They became thick as thieves, and often carried out missions together. Even got thrown in jail together at one point. But then, disaster struck. The godmother was assassinated. It triggered a year of vigorous investigating and a lot of backstabbing. The godfather died during that time as well: reasons unknown to this day. Firo was named godfather and the family slowly began to piece itself together. Marius was seventeen. He and all the rest of the family had grown hard and cold during those two years. No one was an exception. Hostilities between the other families were rife as word spread of the disappearance of the two Pendragon children. Things were once again in disarray. There was no order to the chaos. The Nightingales were determined to stand strong while the world seemed to shatter and crumble around them, but their strength was not to last. Fights broke out. People were murdered in their beds. One night, a dark and cold, winter night, Firo and Marius were gunned down while returning from a mission. When help arrived, Firo was dead: Marius had mercifully ended him. He was made the godfather, but he does not care for the position. He does the godfather's duty, but for the longest time, he would not let anyone treat him or refer to him as the godfather. Even to this day, he has slight reservations. He takes no throne and will not act with superiority over anyone. He rules over all as a bodyguard, intent on protecting and serving his family rather than make decrees. He considers himself a sacrifice to his people, and would not see himself any other way. Some would call him stupid for not taking the throne already, but others deem it a wise act. Now nineteen, he is shouldering the burden with much more ease, having quickly adapted to his new rank, but there are still his misgivings and the incessant self-criticism for not saving his brother. His aura is that of darkness and despair: a prelude to the troubled soul within, a soul forever plagued by its failures and despairing for what it shall never gain. The scent of darkness clings to him: blackest opium, narcissus, and deep myrrh. And his aura: a shimmering, wintery cold, the color of frost and chills and ice that lasts forever. A white world, a cold world: such is in the pit of his heart, where nothing can grow and no warmth can ever come.
3366BB
Strength: 38
Speed: 42
Agility: 38
Accuracy: 33
Flexibility: 38
Stamina: 33
Luck: 37
Intellect: 49
Charisma: 39
Firo (brother), __three other siblings open for joining_
Those who speak to Marius officially call him Ruin, for a prophetic Theia foretold that he would bring all he spoke with to utter ruin. And hence the name was given to him. At first, his parents took it as a warning: that their son would be a curse to them and their family. They kept him mostly isolated, despite many suggested he ought to die for their sakes. But the Nightingales are clever and not so easily swayed. His father would often quell such talk by saying they ought to wait and see. It was his parent's love for him that saved him. Soon enough, they discovered that this ruin he brought was merely his gift. With simply a word, a phrase, a look, or a touch, he could utterly and absolutley break a person's spirit and will. That was when he became a passive threat to a useful weapon. From the time his power was discovered at age eight, he was raised and trained in the arts of the assassins that are the essence of the family. He was, finally, considered to be one of them. All aversion or fear turned to respect. After that, it was as though nothing had ever really happened. He came to know his family and love them as well. He and his older brother, Firo, the heir of the family, were inseparable. When he turned fifteen, he was named as Firo's bodyguard. They were together wherever they went, always at each others' sides. They became thick as thieves, and often carried out missions together. Even got thrown in jail together at one point. But then, disaster struck. The godmother was assassinated. It triggered a year of vigorous investigating and a lot of backstabbing. The godfather died during that time as well: reasons unknown to this day. Firo was named godfather and the family slowly began to piece itself together. Marius was seventeen. He and all the rest of the family had grown hard and cold during those two years. No one was an exception. Hostilities between the other families were rife as word spread of the disappearance of the two Pendragon children. Things were once again in disarray. There was no order to the chaos. The Nightingales were determined to stand strong while the world seemed to shatter and crumble around them, but their strength was not to last. Fights broke out. People were murdered in their beds. One night, a dark and cold, winter night, Firo and Marius were gunned down while returning from a mission. When help arrived, Firo was dead: Marius had mercifully ended him. He was made the godfather, but he does not care for the position. He does the godfather's duty, but for the longest time, he would not let anyone treat him or refer to him as the godfather. Even to this day, he has slight reservations. He takes no throne and will not act with superiority over anyone. He rules over all as a bodyguard, intent on protecting and serving his family rather than make decrees. He considers himself a sacrifice to his people, and would not see himself any other way. Some would call him stupid for not taking the throne already, but others deem it a wise act. Now nineteen, he is shouldering the burden with much more ease, having quickly adapted to his new rank, but there are still his misgivings and the incessant self-criticism for not saving his brother. His aura is that of darkness and despair: a prelude to the troubled soul within, a soul forever plagued by its failures and despairing for what it shall never gain. The scent of darkness clings to him: blackest opium, narcissus, and deep myrrh. And his aura: a shimmering, wintery cold, the color of frost and chills and ice that lasts forever. A white world, a cold world: such is in the pit of his heart, where nothing can grow and no warmth can ever come.
Melchior Taghvaei
subject
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/6045396.jpg)
Melchior _ Taghvaei
#
Strength: 12
Speed: 22
Agility: 23
Accuracy: 29
Flexibility: 29
Stamina: 18
Luck: 10
Intellect: 27
Charisma: 12
Caspar and Balthazar Taghvaei (brothers)
Melchior's ability remains unknown. He has one, he knows he does, but he refuses to let anyone know what it is. This frustrates GRAIL to no end, and he enjoys causing them strife.
(he has the ability to manipulate shadows. he has no shadow of his own)
#
Strength: 12
Speed: 22
Agility: 23
Accuracy: 29
Flexibility: 29
Stamina: 18
Luck: 10
Intellect: 27
Charisma: 12
Caspar and Balthazar Taghvaei (brothers)
Melchior's ability remains unknown. He has one, he knows he does, but he refuses to let anyone know what it is. This frustrates GRAIL to no end, and he enjoys causing them strife.
(he has the ability to manipulate shadows. he has no shadow of his own)
Omicron
void
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/8207761.jpg?457)
Omicron
Kazimierz Lief Stryker
His aura was a chocolate brown and smelled like allspice. Now it fades into the darkness of oblivion...
His powers are unverified.
Strength: 39
Speed: 39
Agility: 32
Accuracy: 20
Flexibility: 23
Stamina: 31
Luck: 25
Intellect: 28
Charisma: 30
Dark chocolate hair, eyes the color of allspice, skin as smooth as newly spun silk, and a face flawless of any markings or blemishes; Kazimierz Lief Stryker is not nearly as ordinary as he looks. He is completely aware of the presence of any and all Theia and Void beings that inhabit the surface and shadowed workings of the world he is a part of. In the heart of the city, a poor boy commoner and one with the crowds of lowly lives that dwell in the festering sewers and streets of the proud city's inhospitality, he is well acquainted with the crime and conspiracy that taint the hearts of hundreds. His own tainted heart has long tasted the black and bitter satisfaction of anarchy, murder, and sin. He is not pure by any stretch of imagination and though many can claim innocence at young ages, he cannot. He is a wandering soul, without a purpose and searching for a calling. He has partaken of many human indulgences, particularly those dealing with the bedding of women and the acquiring of wealth. He ceased in both activities entirely not too long after his sixteenth birthday. Nearing seventeen, his life had taken an unfortunate turn of events, events he will not name. They ended in his self discovery of being a Void. Not a Void enough that it is obvious, but he can see and sense himself losing his soul. Desperate, he sought the aid of the Families. Such a foolish act. The Norcross Family has their eyes set on him, hunting and chasing him down wherever he goes. He is alone in this world. He doesn't even bother seeking out the other Families really, feeling it is not worth the risk. He isn't afraid of his changing. He can't remember the last time he was ever afraid. He does feel different. Losing himself and becoming steadily more powerful are the two most obvious things. But now, now he has reverted. Having returned to his killing, thieving ways, it appears that the young man, now seventeen, hasn't changed all that much from the way he was before he began changing, but he has. He really has. It's what's on the inside that has transformed so drastically, not the outside facade he parades in. Kazimierz has a strange symbol on the back of his neck, right where the first vertebrae can be felt. He keeps it hidden by wearing collared shirts or jackets. Occasionally a choker, collar, or scarf. It is quite possibly a tattoo.
Kazimierz Lief Stryker
His aura was a chocolate brown and smelled like allspice. Now it fades into the darkness of oblivion...
His powers are unverified.
Strength: 39
Speed: 39
Agility: 32
Accuracy: 20
Flexibility: 23
Stamina: 31
Luck: 25
Intellect: 28
Charisma: 30
Dark chocolate hair, eyes the color of allspice, skin as smooth as newly spun silk, and a face flawless of any markings or blemishes; Kazimierz Lief Stryker is not nearly as ordinary as he looks. He is completely aware of the presence of any and all Theia and Void beings that inhabit the surface and shadowed workings of the world he is a part of. In the heart of the city, a poor boy commoner and one with the crowds of lowly lives that dwell in the festering sewers and streets of the proud city's inhospitality, he is well acquainted with the crime and conspiracy that taint the hearts of hundreds. His own tainted heart has long tasted the black and bitter satisfaction of anarchy, murder, and sin. He is not pure by any stretch of imagination and though many can claim innocence at young ages, he cannot. He is a wandering soul, without a purpose and searching for a calling. He has partaken of many human indulgences, particularly those dealing with the bedding of women and the acquiring of wealth. He ceased in both activities entirely not too long after his sixteenth birthday. Nearing seventeen, his life had taken an unfortunate turn of events, events he will not name. They ended in his self discovery of being a Void. Not a Void enough that it is obvious, but he can see and sense himself losing his soul. Desperate, he sought the aid of the Families. Such a foolish act. The Norcross Family has their eyes set on him, hunting and chasing him down wherever he goes. He is alone in this world. He doesn't even bother seeking out the other Families really, feeling it is not worth the risk. He isn't afraid of his changing. He can't remember the last time he was ever afraid. He does feel different. Losing himself and becoming steadily more powerful are the two most obvious things. But now, now he has reverted. Having returned to his killing, thieving ways, it appears that the young man, now seventeen, hasn't changed all that much from the way he was before he began changing, but he has. He really has. It's what's on the inside that has transformed so drastically, not the outside facade he parades in. Kazimierz has a strange symbol on the back of his neck, right where the first vertebrae can be felt. He keeps it hidden by wearing collared shirts or jackets. Occasionally a choker, collar, or scarf. It is quite possibly a tattoo.
Osric Ward
human
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/9147134.jpg)
Osric Brevyn Ward
001155
Orphan
Strength: 10
Speed: 19
Agility: 29
Accuracy: 21
Flexibility: 21
Stamina: 9
Luck: 18
Intellect: 20
Charisma: 18
Osric is a mischievous young boy of fourteen. He showed up on the orphanage doorstep when he was four, with nothing save what he was wearing and a piece of paper pinned to his shirt sleeve with the name Osric written on it. Since no one has been able to track down his relatives or origins, he was kept at Orphanage #42 with the governmentally allotted surname Ward. He's not necessarily a loner or very introverted per se, but he prefers not fitting in with anyone. He's a rule breaker and a trouble maker. The Orphanage is hoping he gets adopted sooner than later but it seems unlikely, considering he scares most potential parents off. He acts with the whole mentality of "I never want to grow up" or "Rules were made to be broken". He's often caught sneaking off or staying out past curfew, but he always comes back to the orphanage and has an odd sense of attachment to the place. He's not a bad or wicked child, just a rebellious one. He doesn't harbor grudges much, so this rebellion isn't an act of hatred towards anyone or anything in particular. Osric is a boy of many tastes. He likes language, history and poetry. He wants to travel the world. He loves a little bit of every style of music. He likes dark colors mixed with vibrant ones, like the combination of black and red. He actually knows about Theias and would love to actually meet one. He's also interested in the Families and often spreads crazy stories and rumors of his own about them based on whatever theories he invents. Osric has a vibrant, navy colored soul that smells of frosty morning air and willow bark. He has raven black hair that shimmers navy in certain lighting. His eyes are a very odd, amber color that look red most of the time. He is rather thin, perhaps in an unhealthy way and is rather weak despite all his appearances of strength. He talks a big game, but really, he's afraid for himself.
001155
Orphan
Strength: 10
Speed: 19
Agility: 29
Accuracy: 21
Flexibility: 21
Stamina: 9
Luck: 18
Intellect: 20
Charisma: 18
Osric is a mischievous young boy of fourteen. He showed up on the orphanage doorstep when he was four, with nothing save what he was wearing and a piece of paper pinned to his shirt sleeve with the name Osric written on it. Since no one has been able to track down his relatives or origins, he was kept at Orphanage #42 with the governmentally allotted surname Ward. He's not necessarily a loner or very introverted per se, but he prefers not fitting in with anyone. He's a rule breaker and a trouble maker. The Orphanage is hoping he gets adopted sooner than later but it seems unlikely, considering he scares most potential parents off. He acts with the whole mentality of "I never want to grow up" or "Rules were made to be broken". He's often caught sneaking off or staying out past curfew, but he always comes back to the orphanage and has an odd sense of attachment to the place. He's not a bad or wicked child, just a rebellious one. He doesn't harbor grudges much, so this rebellion isn't an act of hatred towards anyone or anything in particular. Osric is a boy of many tastes. He likes language, history and poetry. He wants to travel the world. He loves a little bit of every style of music. He likes dark colors mixed with vibrant ones, like the combination of black and red. He actually knows about Theias and would love to actually meet one. He's also interested in the Families and often spreads crazy stories and rumors of his own about them based on whatever theories he invents. Osric has a vibrant, navy colored soul that smells of frosty morning air and willow bark. He has raven black hair that shimmers navy in certain lighting. His eyes are a very odd, amber color that look red most of the time. He is rather thin, perhaps in an unhealthy way and is rather weak despite all his appearances of strength. He talks a big game, but really, he's afraid for himself.
Ouranos Fairweather
venantium
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/5766332.jpg?348)
Ouranos Gaius Fairweather
#
Strength: 37
Speed: 28
Agility: 32
Accuracy: 29
Flexibility: 27
Stamina: 27
Luck: 23
Intellect: 40
Charisma: 23
Kin
Ouranos Gaius Fairweather is a young man, between the ages of sixteen and seventeen. He has a cruel and demanding career. How strange, that a young teen like him should be so advanced into a career already. This particular career is a family tradition. Passed down through the generations were the skills, abilities, and traits necesary to make him the perfect search and destroy weapon against a foul plague that sweeps the Earth: the Theias. Through brutal training, long nights lying under open sky waiting for death to claim him, and hard days of endless turmoil, he has finally become the skilled hunter he is today. Ouranos can now proudly stand among the ranks of the other hunters and prove his worth to them. They said he wouldn't amount to much, but he has surpassed many in determination and perseverance. Not to mention he has survived for this long. Most who start out at a young age, barely make it two years. But he is testament against that. He has paved the way for other young hunters. Ouranos carries the striking resemblance of the Fairweather family. His shaggy hair is pure, snowy white. His cruel, angry eyes are a silvery purple. He has a lean, fair skinned body, contoured with compact muscle. He wears the telltale blue-black robe of the hunters, along with the shoulder length, leather gloves. His companion is his pistol. Gaia is her name, for just as Uranus, the sky, was eternal companion to Gaia the earth, in love, so Ouranos and Gaia are companions in battle. Made of gold, silver, and consecrated iron, she is one of the most deadly and durable weapons known to hunters. It was passed down through his family for many years, and it is still a valuable, treasured, and well used weapon. He guards it, respects it, and carries it with him everywhere he goes. It has felled many a foe, and he is more than willing to carry on its role.
#
Strength: 37
Speed: 28
Agility: 32
Accuracy: 29
Flexibility: 27
Stamina: 27
Luck: 23
Intellect: 40
Charisma: 23
Kin
Ouranos Gaius Fairweather is a young man, between the ages of sixteen and seventeen. He has a cruel and demanding career. How strange, that a young teen like him should be so advanced into a career already. This particular career is a family tradition. Passed down through the generations were the skills, abilities, and traits necesary to make him the perfect search and destroy weapon against a foul plague that sweeps the Earth: the Theias. Through brutal training, long nights lying under open sky waiting for death to claim him, and hard days of endless turmoil, he has finally become the skilled hunter he is today. Ouranos can now proudly stand among the ranks of the other hunters and prove his worth to them. They said he wouldn't amount to much, but he has surpassed many in determination and perseverance. Not to mention he has survived for this long. Most who start out at a young age, barely make it two years. But he is testament against that. He has paved the way for other young hunters. Ouranos carries the striking resemblance of the Fairweather family. His shaggy hair is pure, snowy white. His cruel, angry eyes are a silvery purple. He has a lean, fair skinned body, contoured with compact muscle. He wears the telltale blue-black robe of the hunters, along with the shoulder length, leather gloves. His companion is his pistol. Gaia is her name, for just as Uranus, the sky, was eternal companion to Gaia the earth, in love, so Ouranos and Gaia are companions in battle. Made of gold, silver, and consecrated iron, she is one of the most deadly and durable weapons known to hunters. It was passed down through his family for many years, and it is still a valuable, treasured, and well used weapon. He guards it, respects it, and carries it with him everywhere he goes. It has felled many a foe, and he is more than willing to carry on its role.
Sora Abendroth
engelkönig
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/5113707.jpg?481)
Sora Briareos Abendroth
006688
Strength: 23
Speed: 54
Agility: 39
Accuracy: 27
Flexibility: 27
Stamina: 30
Luck: 18
Intellect: 40
Charisma: 29
Kin
Neither good nor evil, neither kind nor cruel, Sora is one of those people you can't quite forget yet won't always remember. He always seems to be on the edge of things, never in the middle. His only allegiance is to his family, and not by choice. He'll willingly die for anything and everything. Sora doesn't know who he is or what he wants to be. He has no goals, dreams, or future prospects. His life seems to just be a big black hole that he's endlessly spinning in. Without direction or purpose, he's always seeking for some orders to follow and role to play. He's often putting himself in danger and won't take any help in getting out of it. He despises being seen as weak, but in all honesty, he's not very strong. Sora wasn't always this way. His conflicted spirit and state of mind didn't arise till he was about fifteen, during the Engelkonig's final stand against the Venantium. In those days, the Engelkönig family was well established and fortified well in what could only be described as 'their stronghold'. When the Venantium came, they came with an unbridled ferocity and fury. They fought the Engelkönig's into exhaustion for twelve years. And then, when Sora was fifteen, the family's defenses finally gave way. The Venantium slaughtered everyone they came across: men, women, children. None of the families could ever really remember so much blood being shed (and they never saw a bloodier day until the same thing happened to the Pendragons). Quite an inexperienced warrior, Sora didn't stand much of a chance as he faced down a horde of Venantium. He was the only one standing between the hunters and the godfather's children. Even with his power, it wasn't enough to stop the force. He was defeated and the children were killed. All except one, the oldest, the heir. But even so, he had failed. He had failed the godfather and he had failed those who had been his duty to care for. Sora was rescued and healed, but there was more lasting damage than just the physical. Ever since that time, he has seemed to have lost his mind. Not lost enough to be a danger to others, but lost enough to be a danger to himself. Since he keeps it all to himself, no one has ever confronted him about his problem, though there are a few that have a sense of what might be wrong with him. Sora is strong and brave, but his past has given him an odd mix of sides, varying between gentle and cruel. He treats those he cares for as if they were fragile, glass sculptures. But to his enemies, he will attack them as brutally and viscously as he can. Often times, he will completely desecrate his enemy until they are unrecognizable. The hunters have come to know his art of mutilations to the point where every mutilated body he leaves behind is instantly accredited to him. Whatever the reason for it, most likely his way of revenge, the family does not approve of his actions. He doesn't really care what they think or wish of him anymore. He feels too far gone to turn back now. Sora is twenty years old with shaggy black hair and electric blue eyes that occasionally flash purple when he uses his powers. One eye is not so electric, but rather pale and a softer blue due to partial blindness. He is tall and strong, his fair skin marred with numerous scars from the years. His aura bears the scent of oak, blue chamomile, rhubarb, and fig leaf. A very odd combination that give a sort of essence to the more logical side of him that he lost long ago. The murky blue color of his aura sets him apart from that logical side. It's the color of storm tossed seas, of the tumultuous thoughts raging through his troubled mind. His aura is as conflicted as he is. As for Sora's power, it is a marvelous, broad power. He has the power of bugs. He can control them, create them, even imitate them to the point where he can climb walls, lift ten times his body weight and even possess a poisonous bite, depending which bug he imitates. So far, he cannot fly though.
006688
Strength: 23
Speed: 54
Agility: 39
Accuracy: 27
Flexibility: 27
Stamina: 30
Luck: 18
Intellect: 40
Charisma: 29
Kin
Neither good nor evil, neither kind nor cruel, Sora is one of those people you can't quite forget yet won't always remember. He always seems to be on the edge of things, never in the middle. His only allegiance is to his family, and not by choice. He'll willingly die for anything and everything. Sora doesn't know who he is or what he wants to be. He has no goals, dreams, or future prospects. His life seems to just be a big black hole that he's endlessly spinning in. Without direction or purpose, he's always seeking for some orders to follow and role to play. He's often putting himself in danger and won't take any help in getting out of it. He despises being seen as weak, but in all honesty, he's not very strong. Sora wasn't always this way. His conflicted spirit and state of mind didn't arise till he was about fifteen, during the Engelkonig's final stand against the Venantium. In those days, the Engelkönig family was well established and fortified well in what could only be described as 'their stronghold'. When the Venantium came, they came with an unbridled ferocity and fury. They fought the Engelkönig's into exhaustion for twelve years. And then, when Sora was fifteen, the family's defenses finally gave way. The Venantium slaughtered everyone they came across: men, women, children. None of the families could ever really remember so much blood being shed (and they never saw a bloodier day until the same thing happened to the Pendragons). Quite an inexperienced warrior, Sora didn't stand much of a chance as he faced down a horde of Venantium. He was the only one standing between the hunters and the godfather's children. Even with his power, it wasn't enough to stop the force. He was defeated and the children were killed. All except one, the oldest, the heir. But even so, he had failed. He had failed the godfather and he had failed those who had been his duty to care for. Sora was rescued and healed, but there was more lasting damage than just the physical. Ever since that time, he has seemed to have lost his mind. Not lost enough to be a danger to others, but lost enough to be a danger to himself. Since he keeps it all to himself, no one has ever confronted him about his problem, though there are a few that have a sense of what might be wrong with him. Sora is strong and brave, but his past has given him an odd mix of sides, varying between gentle and cruel. He treats those he cares for as if they were fragile, glass sculptures. But to his enemies, he will attack them as brutally and viscously as he can. Often times, he will completely desecrate his enemy until they are unrecognizable. The hunters have come to know his art of mutilations to the point where every mutilated body he leaves behind is instantly accredited to him. Whatever the reason for it, most likely his way of revenge, the family does not approve of his actions. He doesn't really care what they think or wish of him anymore. He feels too far gone to turn back now. Sora is twenty years old with shaggy black hair and electric blue eyes that occasionally flash purple when he uses his powers. One eye is not so electric, but rather pale and a softer blue due to partial blindness. He is tall and strong, his fair skin marred with numerous scars from the years. His aura bears the scent of oak, blue chamomile, rhubarb, and fig leaf. A very odd combination that give a sort of essence to the more logical side of him that he lost long ago. The murky blue color of his aura sets him apart from that logical side. It's the color of storm tossed seas, of the tumultuous thoughts raging through his troubled mind. His aura is as conflicted as he is. As for Sora's power, it is a marvelous, broad power. He has the power of bugs. He can control them, create them, even imitate them to the point where he can climb walls, lift ten times his body weight and even possess a poisonous bite, depending which bug he imitates. So far, he cannot fly though.
Taikatalvi Norcross
bloodhound
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/1128614.jpg?402)
Taikatalvi Caradhras Norcross
33FFBB
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
Agility: 2
Accuracy: 3
Flexibility: 4
Stamina: 4
Luck: 3
Intellect: 10
Charisma: 8
Loki (father), Berlin (mother, uk)
Silence. To his own ears, the world was silence. Faded. To his own eyes, the world was faded. Dreary. The world doesn’t look the same to his eyes. He takes a step. The sound echoes in his ears, and before his eyes, a burst of color. Red. Red like blood. A bird chirps, and a streak of blue strikes through the air. A car’s horn blares and his vision is filled with yellow. A man shouts to another, and there are small lights of soft, red orange filling the sky. Now it charms him, entertains him. But it never ends. It can overwhelm him. Hurt him. Taikatalvi suffers in silence, both the literal and the metaphorical sort. He is battered and betrayed by his own body and bears it quietly, by himself. He was born with sound-to-image synesthesia, a mental condition that turns what he hears into images, colors, pictures that he sees. He hears with his eyes, and the nosier it gets, the more he sees. It feeds him. It moves him. He lives and breathes it. When he is alone and trapped in his own silence, he will play music with unbridled joy. He has a talent for it. Every song he ever hears need only be heard once before he can play and sing it perfectly. Every instrument he ever touches comes alive under his talented hands. He has such a strong bond with the music he plays. In the solitude and silence that is his life, his dreary world soon becomes shifting, dancing, living colors and images that fill his mind and take him to unbelievable heights of ecstasy. In his home he is kept safe, nurtured. Everything is predominantly quiet. He is trained how to cope with the stresses a little at a time, steadily building on the amount of noise he hears at a time so as to make him used to it. Like a smaller image of his father, he has Loki's white hair. It lies flowing yet downy on his head, always in a pleasantly ruffled, tousled style that seems to suit his youthful age without making him appear too wild. His eyes are electric, powerful. Neon oculars of an opalescent blue-green color, more green than blue really. His eyes speak more than he ever will, always swirling with torrential floods of unexpressed thoughts, feelings, hopes, and fears. He is everything cold and winter, from those eyes and hair to his soft, pale skin. It is not a sickly pale that whitens his entire body, rather a frosty, delicate pale that compliments rather than disgusts. His skin seems rather flawless at first, but here and there, one might find scars. Dreadful for one his age to possess them, but he does. Just small ones. Hardly noticeable at first. He happens to have been born with CIPA: a defect that prevents the user from feeling or registering any pain. Therefore he can be injured by the smallest or largest of things and won’t even notice until someone points it out, or perhaps later if he notices blood or if something seems out of place. Truly then, he won’t know where he received most of his scars. Taikatalvi is the heir to the Norcross Family, but behind his back and his father's, there is much controversy on the proper claim to the title. Some believe he does not deserve it as his mother was not an official godmother. He does not have a tattoo yet and his abilities have not surfaced. His aura is a soft, angelic green-blue color and his aura smells of blackberry and bay.
33FFBB
Strength: 2
Speed: 3
Agility: 2
Accuracy: 3
Flexibility: 4
Stamina: 4
Luck: 3
Intellect: 10
Charisma: 8
Loki (father), Berlin (mother, uk)
Silence. To his own ears, the world was silence. Faded. To his own eyes, the world was faded. Dreary. The world doesn’t look the same to his eyes. He takes a step. The sound echoes in his ears, and before his eyes, a burst of color. Red. Red like blood. A bird chirps, and a streak of blue strikes through the air. A car’s horn blares and his vision is filled with yellow. A man shouts to another, and there are small lights of soft, red orange filling the sky. Now it charms him, entertains him. But it never ends. It can overwhelm him. Hurt him. Taikatalvi suffers in silence, both the literal and the metaphorical sort. He is battered and betrayed by his own body and bears it quietly, by himself. He was born with sound-to-image synesthesia, a mental condition that turns what he hears into images, colors, pictures that he sees. He hears with his eyes, and the nosier it gets, the more he sees. It feeds him. It moves him. He lives and breathes it. When he is alone and trapped in his own silence, he will play music with unbridled joy. He has a talent for it. Every song he ever hears need only be heard once before he can play and sing it perfectly. Every instrument he ever touches comes alive under his talented hands. He has such a strong bond with the music he plays. In the solitude and silence that is his life, his dreary world soon becomes shifting, dancing, living colors and images that fill his mind and take him to unbelievable heights of ecstasy. In his home he is kept safe, nurtured. Everything is predominantly quiet. He is trained how to cope with the stresses a little at a time, steadily building on the amount of noise he hears at a time so as to make him used to it. Like a smaller image of his father, he has Loki's white hair. It lies flowing yet downy on his head, always in a pleasantly ruffled, tousled style that seems to suit his youthful age without making him appear too wild. His eyes are electric, powerful. Neon oculars of an opalescent blue-green color, more green than blue really. His eyes speak more than he ever will, always swirling with torrential floods of unexpressed thoughts, feelings, hopes, and fears. He is everything cold and winter, from those eyes and hair to his soft, pale skin. It is not a sickly pale that whitens his entire body, rather a frosty, delicate pale that compliments rather than disgusts. His skin seems rather flawless at first, but here and there, one might find scars. Dreadful for one his age to possess them, but he does. Just small ones. Hardly noticeable at first. He happens to have been born with CIPA: a defect that prevents the user from feeling or registering any pain. Therefore he can be injured by the smallest or largest of things and won’t even notice until someone points it out, or perhaps later if he notices blood or if something seems out of place. Truly then, he won’t know where he received most of his scars. Taikatalvi is the heir to the Norcross Family, but behind his back and his father's, there is much controversy on the proper claim to the title. Some believe he does not deserve it as his mother was not an official godmother. He does not have a tattoo yet and his abilities have not surfaced. His aura is a soft, angelic green-blue color and his aura smells of blackberry and bay.
Zeta
void
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/9200281.jpg?506)
Zeta
The Zeta Void has forgotten his real name, so he sticks by Zeta. Demented by the people whose lives he has stolen, and suffering in fear for his life, he has turned to the savage and sacrilegious art of consuming the souls of others.
He has the ability to manifest himself inside of others, either physically, mentally, or spiritually.
The Zeta Void has forgotten his real name, so he sticks by Zeta. Demented by the people whose lives he has stolen, and suffering in fear for his life, he has turned to the savage and sacrilegious art of consuming the souls of others.
He has the ability to manifest himself inside of others, either physically, mentally, or spiritually.
Iratian
![Picture](/uploads/1/4/5/9/14590338/2788491.jpg)