NAME. Nettelia AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Archdruid FACE CLAIM. Anya Chalotra

biography

Dark tresses tied loosely behind her, an eternal sun muddled with the Two Trees where no shadows could hold domain. In the gardens of Eden, roots wove between Nettelia’s fingers,  dirt was pressed under her nails, there was a magic beneath her feet that could be drawn from to those, like she, who knew how to listen. Trees had a language of their own, bushes and flowers too, it was the fey who had taught her this. On the bank of one of the rivers of paradise Nettelia dug up one of these such herbs, pruned away the thorns with little mind to how their sharp points occasionally drove into Nettelia’s fingers. In the years to come they’d say that in Eden there was no such thing as pain or sickness, but even immortality came with a cost, and pain was among the Gods most prolific forms of entertainment. They did not get sick, but not every form was made equal, they could fade and they could wane, and they could be overcome with such grief that they’d petrify once more. 

It was there that she found him, her artisan and the craftsman. Nettelia blamed him at first, if they were his burden to hobble together then there could only be some defect in his design. One of the avariel, her Prometheus, there were things that sat beyond his control. Beyond anything that the two could choose or manipulate, love was among them. Balms to ease passing, to soothe a broken heart, a splint to support a broken limb, this herb worked best on scrapes, while another could be worked into a salve to stave off the rot. Medicine came with a reverence that Nettelia had never expected so when the light of the golden seal descended over her garden - who was she to refuse a God?

Her Promethean husband could not agree. She did not understand the price that she would pay, that power did not come without strings where the Gods were concerned. Through the dim light of their home they fought in their back and forth, but what was done was done and Nettelia would be an archdruid forever more. Guardian and protector, over divine light and the people that were bathed in it she was a safeguard. One who stood alongside her chosen siblings, the family that had been conjured to her side, while a husband, stalwart but resigned, remained. 

Whispers came. Dreams and nightmares that polluted the minds of the people of Eden, they spoke of voices who begged for entrance. They refused, and that was when they came for him. So many years they’d shared together in twin immortality but nothing could have prepared her for what was to follow. The wrath of the Erinyes, the cruel sister, and the banishment that followed. Eden, the doomed garden inevitably fell and Nettelia watched on as she came to understand the truth of their paradise and the fruit that it was to bear. She was as a vessel, waiting to be filled, her siblings no different. Oztalun’s chosen few. 

In the wake of devastation there was nothing to do but to wander and to grieve. So far as Nettelia knew, there was no power that existed that would bring Promethean back to her, that would restore the family that had been so cruelly taken from her. In the garden Nettelia had been a healer and that carried on through her life as an archdruid with magic over the soul and the power to transfer energy from one place to another. At night images of the burning Trees broke in, of her husband dragged away by the seraphim that had been dispatched to take him away. Broken wings of angels, avariels and eladrins in their most profound grief. Nettelia had pleaded with Epimetheus, with Oztalun, with Eve, and with Adam because surely there had to have been something that could be done. 

Some mercy. Gods did not know the word, they knew of slights though, and they knew of retribution. 

This was the shape that had carved her, protector of humanity they came to call her and her siblings. Watchers of mortality that they themselves were doomed to never truly be a part of. In Assyria she found a king, the first that Nettelia deemed worthy. A friend that was a balm, a small measure that soothed some of the ache that had built a home inside of her. Had Nettelia known that there was something rooted inside that would ultimately corrupt her, perhaps she would have tried to stop it. As it happened, the archdruid could never bring herself to believe that to be true because for all that she had come to forsake and destroy, for all the darkness she unleashed on this world, that treachery would see her Promethean freed. 

Transference with its dark secrets allowed her to bring it all into focus. Souls too numerous to count, magic and vitality that stitched its way into dark pages - power lended to her from across the ether that wove its way with her druidic magic. The necronomicon. Book of the infernal, ancient and unyielding, she was its dark author and in it she poured magic of the divine so thoroughly corrupted that it rivalled the Gods themselves. Nettelia called to him now, her architect, her maker, her lover, her husband, and the only one who’d ever tried to warn her of the nature of the Gods. Across the Otherworld she reached for him, and through it she devastated everything that fell within her path. 

They came for her then, Dionaea and Octavian. Sibling archdruids that felt the truth of her dark magic and the breadth of the power that Nettelia had invoked. Driven into madness, her form bent and twisted, reared its heinous jaws and snapped towards them: the first of the chimeras, Nettelia might have destroyed them both but they managed to subdue her. They cut down the form and bound it from returning, but buried within the pages of the necronomicon rest Nettelia’s undying soul. 

Years stretched before her, one into the next as age upon age passed. The necronomicon bled, and from its ichor Nettelia was reborn once more. The chimera had been slain, cleansed, but the archdruid remained. 

personality

+ willful, loyal, pragmatic – stubborn, spiteful, merciless

played by shane. est. she/her.

NAME. Ayi’ig AGE & BIRTH DATE. Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Queen of the Drow FACE CLAIM. Famke Janssen

BIOGRAPHY

In a land of giants and elves, of innovation and divine light, a baby girl came screaming into the world. The fabled elven queen Yidhra had bore two children in secret wedlock, one hideous and one beautiful. Titania appeared wholly elven and was possessed of an unnatural beauty, the very same beauty she inherited from her mother that had moved the King of the Gods to bring her mother to his side and rescue Titania from the realm below. Kthanid saved Yidhra and Titania but left the first of her bastard children to their fate. Where Titania took after their mother, Ayi’ig took after their father, serpentine in appearance atop a writhing mass of independently moving tentacles. Among elven kind there was no such thing as imperfection, before the arrival of Ayi’ig’s father, Yig, they had never known sickness or disease. So, while Yidhra and Titania were ascended into the beautiful realm of the Gods: Elysia, Ayi’ig was cast from elven civilization entirely.

Raised by Yig and her grotesque brothers: cyclops and dragons and writhing ubiquitous masses of decay, Ayi’ig would look towards the elven cities with unending desire. She, too, was divine by blood, but it was her sister who would look down upon the realm from Elysia while Ayi’ig was fated to gaze up at it. Yig was darkness incarnate, chaos and death, his name was not one that he’d been born into, he was as vile as the Gods were divine and the elves came to call him by this moniker for in their old tongue it meant the king of serpents.

Ayi’ig’s birth was the beginning of the end for the elves, she grew up during the pinnacle of their society and after centuries came into maturity watching it fall. Her brothers ran over the mythical giants, they toppled the crystalline spires of the elves and devoured the ancient magics. It was not a battle between good or evil but between life and death. In her heart of hearts Ayi’ig wanted to live, she wanted to be free. At night she would pray to her mother, Yidhra the divine elven paragon of beauty to save her, to raise her up as she had Titania and liberate her from the fate of Hyperborea.

No answer ever came, none but silence. Instead, it was Ayi’ig’s fate to die upon the battlefield, to outlive usefulness in her cruel brothers’ eyes and be struck down for her secret desires. All her life she had been punished for the nature of her blood, too elven to be called eldritch, too eldritch to be called elven. In childhood’s hour the people of Hyperborea ran from her while her brothers cast stones upon her. In Ayi’ig’s final moments it was all she could do to crawl to a cavern and hide her miserable, bleeding body from the harshness of the falling world. In that darkness she prayed once more, but this time it was not to her mother, it was to the deep itself and to whatever creature might be listening within.

Lloth, Goddess and Queen of Spiders answered her call.

Ayi’ig’s prayers would be answered, but first she had to die. When she awoke her visage had changed, she was made beautiful, dark, and terrible all at once with a mastery of shadows that was unrivalled. As Ayi’ig and Titania’s mother died on mortal shores, Lloth had used Ayi’ig’s shared blood to steal the nature of Yidhra’s soul, transforming Ayi’ig in death. Queen of the Drow, she would come to be called as the fate of all eladrins were thus sealed. The many elves that died during the attack on Hyperborea were pulled from the aether, their essences and consciousnesses gave creation to the first lineage of drow. Ayi’is infantry and advisers, the force that she would use to conquer the legions of the dark.

Far below the surface the Underdark came to be her home, the first priestess of Lloth formed the Spider Queen’s cruel edicts and drow society was truly born. The first of their cities, Menzoberranzan would come to serve as their nation’s capital. As the eladrin warred with the mortal realm, the rank and fold of the drow only increased. The first kindling of civilization, then a city, and at last an empire.

Goblins had lived beneath the surface for as long as elves had lived above, their machinations and innovations of metallurgy were conquested by the drow and appropriated into their society as the species were subjugated under Ayi’ig’s cruel order. Nothing was wasted, this was one of her many creeds, even the weakest of the drow could be made to work and labour. They built the spires that crawled through the immense caverns, they farmed the ores and kept her people well-fed and battle ready.

Mindflayers fell next, a society of hive-minded creatures that had controlled the Underdark for so long, the most feared in the realm of the Underdark, but once their central brain was taken under Ayi’ig’s control that infantry fell under her legions as well. At last came the true infernal forces, the aether that had bore creatures like her brothers, like her father, Ayi’ig and her armies conquered evil itself and with their amassed power mastered eldritch monstrosities that would chill the bones of any hardened soldier.

Time crept on and Ayi’ig’s family grew, she was the cruel beauty of the realm and she demanded absolute respect and obedience. None could leave, not so long as she loved them, and she did, in her own way. The only way she knew how. Ayi’ig’s generals hardened the places where her children were soft, her advisors sharpened all that was dull, they were swords and family alike.

All the while Ayi’ig’s gaze was never far from her sister, she and Titania were connected by blood and would always be so. Her beautiful other half whom everything was gifted to on a silver platter, because Titania had a power that was not truly her own, because she was a thief who’d stolen from her own people. The mortal realm was a gem of potential and Ayi’ig looked upon it with hunger, once it had suffered the same fate that Hyperborea suffered now: overrun with eldritch monstrosities, this one had been saved, protected by the Old Gods and their army of seraphim. Titania did not even have to fight for it, she gifted the realm with a race mortality and was permitted to sow the seeds of a future. Ayi’ig screamed.

Titania’s future was bright and beautiful while she was once again relegated to darkness, her people subjected to a life without so much as an evening star to guide them in the night. Ayi’ig vowed then that she would take what was hers, the elder daughter, by rights the crown of the fey should have sat upon her head.

Across the Otherworld and through the Underdark there came a whisper at first, a voice that came as a distant relative, a dragon to her serpentine father. Tiamat. Where Yig ruled Hyperborea, Tiamat had once ruled the mortal realm, now she lay imprisoned far below: she could not be destroyed by the seraphim, only sealed away. Her influence was felt in the Otherworld still, where she could draw up power and inflict it upon the spirits that were not of either world. Tiamat knew of Yig’s unhappiness and together with Leviathan they formed a plan to take what they had been denied for so long.

A place in the Otherworld for Ayi’ig, so her army could spread out and envelope it all, a legion from Hell for Leviathan, so they and their siblings could kill Ulthar on his divine throne, and the mortal realm for Tiamat where she would rule it all.

PERSONALITY

+ determined, patient, careful – dogmatic, vengeful, cruel

AYI’IG IS A NPC

NAME. Titania AGE & BIRTH DATE. 8,000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Archfey  OCCUPATION. Queen of the Fey FACE CLAIM. Morfydd Clark

BIOGRAPHY.

( tw: war, death, mental health, loss ) By human expectations, princess Titania was a woman grown when she arrived in the mortal world thousands of years ago. Born to the promise of change, to rising flowers and crisp sunrises, the princess was a spring eladrin long before she was ever the queen of all seasons. In the eyes of the fey, she was only a child, just passed a century when she along with her kind arrived through the Otherworld as refugees - guided by her mother and leaving behind any other family she might have known. The cost of this voyage was great, Titania’s mother gave her life to ensure the safe passage of her people through the realm that ran in between all others. Though she was too young to carry the burden of rule, it was thrust upon Titania just the same as she accepted the mantle and took the gift that her mother left for her: a chance to start over. 

The Earth was a bountiful realm, recently won before her people’s arrival, it was she with the combined magic of the God Ulthar that first breathed life into the human race. As other races would find when they arrived on mortal soil, this realm teemed with potential; fixed and prosperous, the future looked bright in the eyes of the fey. Humans were young, ignorant, naive, they barely mastered wheels, fires, and spears on their own when the fey took pity on their children and gifted them the knowledge of metallurgy and architecture. The future had been the final gift of Titania’s mother, the last words of wisdom to pass from her lips were uttered through the wind and lived in the heart of each surviving eladrin. It was this promise that Titania swore to uphold, she would build the future for them that her mother had dreamt of. 

For years that wish was fulfilled, the fey lived within the mortal world alongside humans, witches, and druids alike, willfully sharing their arcane secrets with those that they’d come to think of as their children. To Titania, the lives of humans were short, a few blinks of treasured memories that she’d squirrel away and cherish until another came to take their place. Friends, companions, lovers, as queen Titania saw the union of the fey and mortal blood as a thing to be celebrated. The power that bloomed as a result was a testament to this and for a time, all was well. The permanence of any romantic situation was brief up to a point, Titania was queen, and she had to make her mother’s sacrifice matter, but there was one who managed to capture her heart. An eladrin of the Summer season, Titania’s warder, a woman named Nalwyn. Together they had a son, prince Aegnor. 

Aegnor was the future that she’d worked so hard for. Happiness made Titania complacent, the normally watchful queen did not see the net that was slowly falling around them, and the treachery that had bloomed in the hearts of greedy humans. Influenced by things beyond her control, humans descended upon an eladrin settlement, plundering homes, sacred groves, taking whatever they could and slaughtering those that were left behind. Were the humans alone in this treason then Titania’s retaliation might have been swift, but they were aided by others who wanted what the fey had - for the power in their blood, for the wisdom in their tomes. Magic. In the end the eladrins’ abundance of it painted them the target by too many. While few in number, Titania was stubborn, too stubborn to heed the wisdom of her council, and admittedly still too young to feel the true cost of war until it fell upon her. 

Titania was targeted, but it was Nalwyn who was found. The warder’s death was one that Titania felt as keenly as if the blade had pierced her own chest. Butchered and discovered by Titania and Aegnor, it was only then that the queen could see that this was a war they were losing - and even if they won the cost would be too great. The future that her mother had given so much for would not be lost here, Titania refused. So, from the mortal world the powerful all-seasons eladrin retreated and to the Otherworld she created a realm of her own. A pale mirror tied intrinsically to Titania’s magic, an ephemeral reflection of the mortal world she modelled it after. The queen’s placement of the faerie court was deliberate, it was here that she was closest to the power she drew from, and here that she was at her strongest. While Titania would have preferred her people remain within the court, she would never force them to do so, their lives were their own, but that did not mean she did not push them in small ways to value their own safety over the safety of mortals. Humans came and went, a few blinks of the eye and they were gone, the faimen were no different. Powerful though they were, Titania saw the union of humans and eladrins as simply another loss, another generation of children born absent the immortality they were owed. 

Aegnor was perhaps her one saving grace, he was strong, willful, and one of the most capable warriors in their rank and fold. It was he who wanted to continue to fight for the mortal world they had left behind. To so many of her kind that had been born in the humans’ realm, that was their home first, not the domain that Titania had built for them with nothing but willpower and magic. Despite the heartache she had suffered, Titania too could not help but consort among the people she’d once nurtured in their infancy. In some ways they were still her children, though they’d long turned their backs on her there were some who were worth noting. Who were worth protecting, so often her hopes ended in disappointment, but humans were nothing if not entertaining. Still, Titania could no longer remain in the mortal realm for more than a few days, the faerie court depended upon her presence there. Her visits would be brief, fleeting, and then she would be gone. A few blinks, and any she met grew old and died; when she returned to visit them she’d find gravestones, monuments, and piles of stones where her friends had once been. 

From her throne came the scratching at the door, a knock between worlds as another’s story who was not unlike her own beseeched the queen’s great power. Titania remembered what it was to navigate the Otherworld, to spend decades being pursued by a power so grim, and so dark, it would chill the hearts of the greatest warriors. She knew what it was to try and start over, to create a life for oneself and a future free of the past. This was how Titania and Venus became acquainted, though that was a name she came to carry later, sometimes Aphrodite, first she was Inanna. Third born original child, the word vampire did not yet exist but would come to pollute the known world as Inanna and her siblings descended into the mortal realm. Titania kept her involvement a secret, even from her closest advisors, even from her son Aegnor, but were they born into different circumstances then it may have been Inanna who was the first to come to the mortal world, not Titania. 

It was a descendant of Inanna’s that fractured their relationship, one of the vampire’s progeny became curious, drawn into a frenzy by the insanely potent allure of eladrin blood, they bit into them and before they could be stopped drained the creature dry. Titania demanded retribution, and when the terms were returned she was unsatisfied. By then the vampires had grown, Inanna’s siblings had a foothold over the world and while they were still warring among themselves, Titania could not rise against them alone. Instead she resigned herself to her court, encouraging her people once more to abandon the mortal realm entirely, feigning ignorance at the pestilence she’d had a hand in stoking, the loss of each fey creature at the hands of the vampires was one that she felt personal responsibility for. Still, a few blinks away, and the opportunity to strike back would appear before her, all she needed was to be patient. 

Patience was rewarded in the form of the young upstart, the future king Romulus. Titania willfully aligned with the vampire, if only to get revenge for those of her kind that had been killed at the hands of a rogue magistrate. The senate that followed was something that she cared little for, the affairs of the mortal world were beneath her now, but she had a number of fey in the mortal world that did concern her. Even then Titania could see the writing on the wall, to remain absent from this senate was to paint her people an enemy and an unprotected target. Though whatever accountability it was supposed to have, Titania came to understand that there was nothing that would protect her from tragedy. 

Farenduil came at a time when Titania needed him most. Unlike other births, her autumn son did not come wailing and crying into the world. He was quiet until the moment when Titania first held him in her arms. To an eladrin, all life was a gift, and Farenduil was no exception. A cherished blessing that she promised the world, and that she promised a future. For a time that promise seemed possible, Titania was already ancient by the time Farenduil came into the world, but her capacity to love him had never waned in the slightest. At night she’d find him and tuck him safely in, while Aegnor would fight for the home that he’d once known, she was blessed that Farenduil had been born into the faerie court. This could be his home, and here, where Titania was at her most powerful, he would always be safe. 

Still, just as the others, Titania would not keep him from venturing off when he chose. The faerie court would always be his home, so long as he returned she could not begrudge her son for frequenting the place that so many spoke about. That did not make it any easier when he left, the more she had, then the more there was to lose. Titania had enemies, and too many of them would see a young prince as the perfect opportunity to strike at the faerie queen’s heart. 

Aegnor’s death came with the surge of Christ, with the insistence that angels were benevolent creatures, that the figure the humans came to refer to as God was a righteous one, and that fey were somehow equated to demons. Foolish notions brought forth by people who knew nothing of the truth of the Inferno, of the many hellike or angelic realms of the Otherworld. His passing shook Titania to her core, another death, another loss at the hands of the fools of Horus. Lost within the clashing of blades in a fight he had no place being in, it was too easy to blame his warder, to place the fault on the grieving fey who should have rightfully died in the prince’s place. But she couldn’t, because if there was anyone to blame it was her, she’d allowed Aegnor to throw himself into conflict after conflict. For thousands of years she’d fought at his side, and for thousands more he persisted after she retreated to the court. 

This was the part where Titania would never truly recover, a mind so extensive, years so long, all her lives began to fracture at the edges as they slowly muddled with the source of her magic. The lines between realms blurred and Titania was left with memories that made even her begin to buckle. None remained that she had known in her youth, she was the oldest, she was the most powerful, and in this she felt truly and definitively alone. Titania distracted herself however she could, though she never left the court anymore. The mortals were to their own devices. So profound was her grief that the arrival of her third and final child, Meryasek was one that she could hardly celebrate. Pain echoed in her chest at every turn; wherever Titania looked she saw the son that had been taken from her, the countless fey that had been lost or hunted over the years. 

She thought of the future her mother had given up everything for and wondered if this was what the former queen had aspired towards. Failure would be the defining notion of Titania’s reign, but she first had to prepare the sons who still lived to someday take her place. To her Mery she was sure to instil the importance of his own life, his survival was worth the death of every human in the mortal realm - even more. Fey life was too precious, too rare, she owed him the future that she’d failed to provide and drew a quiet hope from the circumstances that surrounded his birth. A spring eladrin, not unlike herself at one point, a new hope, a second chance at life. Meryasek still believed the human world was worth breaking into, so to the senate she appointed him, he would have to learn as she did that there was nothing for them there. 

With Aegnor gone, someday soon Farenduil would take her place. He’d need to be ready for that day, she’d been young when she took the crown, too young to truly understand its weight, his mistakes could not be hers. 

PERSONALITY.

+ strategic, sincere, energetic - dogmatic, aloof, jaded

Titania is a NPC

NAME. Pandora AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/her. SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Worker at Woven & Volunteer at Porus FACE CLAIM. Zorzo Natharuetai Akkharakitwattanakul

biography

Pandora’s existence begins amidst the flames of the Abyss. 

Born from Vulcan’s forge, she is a prototype for mankind but not one of them.

Never one of them. 

The blueprint to Lilith, Eve, and every woman that came after, and yet she cannot be counted amidst their numbers. 

She was never expected to be anything else than the first masterpiece, the first creation that leads to a thousand future vessels for the gods, meant to be set on the shelf and be left alone forever more. Not a true mortal, not a true daughter of the Gods, yet all gifted nonetheless. A lifelong companion in the shape of an avariel that understood animals better than people, a beauty to compare to the gods and a jar of wonders that she was asked— no tasked— to never open. 

Created, not born, Pandora was an unnatural distillation of the cosmos and as such held a great curiosity by what was natural, what was meant in a way that she was not. Not a denizen of the light, nor one who walks the dark, she found forever at the borders between both, never quite belonging to either, neither quite fitting in. Curious by creation and akin to her godly creator, her intelligence shone in a way no other talents except those gifted by the gods did. 

Not a warrior, but a lifelong learner, not a dancer but a patient weaver. 

Entirely unlike the Gods, but far too precious to be discarded for her very existence held the key to the creation of humanity. 

Pandora came into being under Vulcan’s careful hands and dedication. Outside of Vulcan’s forges as the sanguine elf elevated to god worked on his creation, outside of Elysia as disinterested gods mulled around and prepared for a new realm and the new vessels that would come with it, seraphim fought against the Great Old Ones residing on the realm Ulthar had chosen to conquer. Pandora was not made for that realm, no, the pleasure would fall to her successors, to the complete masterpieces given free will by Prometheus’ rebellion. 

Pandora was not made for the mortal realm. 

She wasn’t made for anywhere, never meant to go anywhere but the forge she was created in. And yet, she was given a privilege like no other: she was allowed to watch what would never be hers. 

She was far too young to understand the seeds of bitterness and resentment planted upon her chest as she watched Laurelin and Telperion grow. Too young and ignorant to understand the mockery hidden behind the gifts given to her by the gods.

Pandora was too young to understand that one should never trust the gift of the gods. 

Until she did, far too late for it to matter. 

Created and thrown into Eden without any experience to hold to her name and with nothing but what she was taught to guide her, Pandora took to this new world with a sense of childish wonder as she went off to explore, arms always wrapped around her jar as if it was her lifeline. 

She doesn’t know how true that is. 

Through it all, her only constant was the jar she felt an enduring attachment to, the jar gifted to her by Vulcan — the man that she would grow to see as a distant father as she discovered the meaning to the word —, the jar that picked and prodded at her ever curious nature as she fought the urge to do as she was asked and not open it. 

In the end, she lasted longer than she thought she would, keeping the jar closed even as Eden’s destiny fell upon it and she stood at the edges, waiting, watching. 

Pandora stayed as Eden fell, as humanity died under the rebellion, all too curious to see the progress, all too curious and wanting to understand why would anyone do such a thing as the fallen did. She didn’t understand then, what it meant to hold fury against the gods in her heart, didn’t understand what it meant to be tricked and set aside by those that stood above.

With time, she would learn. 

With time, she would see the unfairness of the gods and their games. 

Pandora is just barely an adult, not yet grown unto herself, when Eden falls. She watches it fall, watches it burn, eyes curious and bright and yet pained at the misery she can see as the garden falls. Pandora is barely beyond a child, when she realizes she is one of the last Elysian left on the mortal realm.

She is alone. 

Alone with her jar. 

The jar she had wanted to open for so very long. 

Curiosity wins, and the lid comes off. 

Pandora opens her pithos.

 Pandora opens the jar she was told to never open. 

Pandora opens the box that contains all of humanity’s evils within.

The world is never the same. 

Not when in this universe, in this life, there is no hope left behind. 

Pandora opens her pithos, and with it, she loses the last vestiges of the innocence of her youth. 

Open and quickly sealed once more, that means nothing in the face of famine, plagues, curses and disease. These curses upon the universe had existed before she did, but it was by her hand she had returned them to Earth, by hers alone. 

It’s a burden she never forgets, not even as she takes her pithos and flees back to her father’s forge. 

A forge that she finds empty, the flames gone and the man she had seen as a father gone. 

She has no one to turn to with Prometheus bound and punished, Vulcan packed and gone. 

Pandora is left alone, given just enough to keep her complacent, given just enough to ensure their precious blueprint does not leave. 

But a house is not a home, when there is only one person to haunt its halls. 

Elysia is awfully lonely, when you don’t belong amidst the gods nor their chosen lovers. 

Elysia is awfully lonely, when you inherited your father’s  creator’s curiosity, but none of his skills on creation.

Elysia is awfully lonely, when your only place is on the shelf; like a forgotten porcelain doll left alone to gather dust. 

personality

+ Curious. Imaginative. Intelligent. – Insecure. Cynical. Resentful. 

played by ori. est. She/her.

NAME. Hyrsam AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Aspect / Archsatyr OCCUPATION. Mayor & Employed Everywhere FACE CLAIM. Carloto Cotta

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: cannibalism, death, violence, theatricality, emotion, performance, art ) At the feet of Corellon Lathander, Sehanine Moonbow bequeathed to him an oracle that would foretell the undoing of the Seldarine. A day would come when the blood of the green flames of Azathoth would fall upon Faerûn once more, and Corellon Lathander would be slain.

Vel'drav dúr híril thalran ilta ouhyll lu'l'Rraun fyshname ssark, vel'drav l'asse ithil lu'l'vlos drathir beleg; l'fa'la zatoast rosin d'vlos, d'diz'jalqunn lu'eldalie flames orn ku'lam. L'zhennu lorug withers, l'zhuanth tresk'ri tu'kath, l'xuz d'Seldarine lu'l'Kre'jin d'uss.

From this they divined that the promised son of Oberon would be responsible for bringing about the doom of the Seldarine. That the infant would grow into manhood, and he would raise an army from the court of the Dawn that would rebel against the Seldarine’s empire. As Ada laboured with her son; cataclysms fell across the realm and every curse accessible to the great forces of Corellon Lathander were lobbed at the realm of the elves who’d long taken Oberon as their patron over the Seldarine. The archfey, fearsome, powerful, and indomitable even in the face of an army of divinity, rose to defend his labouring mistress.

From her bowels the unborn child devoured, hungry, cursed, and spurned by the Gods above. Despite the efforts of the Seldarine, Hyrsam was born.

Clip. Clop.

Cloven hooves hit the earth, or at least the realm that would someday be called earth and from that day forth Hyrsam was born. Back when the world was new and the realm was down on its luck, Oberon’s perfect, red faced, screaming satyr came into the world. At his back was the gory mess that he’d devoured from the inside out, Ada was dead, but as an infant he hadn’t known any better. From the moment he was born, Hyrsam stood at full height, wobbly legs got him started, but soon after he was clopping after Oberon everywhere he went.

Hyrsam, twice born, adopted many names over the years but Dimetor was most often used when he was in his youth. Named for the curse that the Gods placed on him; just as Dimetor had consumed his mother on the way out, he himself would have to be devoured at the anniversary of his birth every year. A potent spell woven in blood and cast by Corellon Lathander himself, the assumption was that no father would ever be able to stomach the taste of their own son’s flesh. Unfortunately and not for the first or last time, Corellon Lathander had underestimated Oberon. Stubborn to the bone, he decreed that a great feast would be held every year, a celebration of celebrations, the Bacchanalia.

Year after year the young archsatyr grew and with it his power did as well, Oberon’s flames of creation flowed through his veins and at the height of the world he felt powerful. A mischievous trickster, he traipsed through the realms of the Gods and melded himself within the company of satyrs, nymphs and more. He lay with spouses, hosted orgies, incensed Gods into foolish and humiliating behaviour and then disappeared once more without a trace. He’d have the grandest feasts where he’d encourage mothers to eat their crying babies - no, he didn’t do that. Unless?

Tales of Dimetor’s exploits were rarely uttered; few Gods or nobles wanted to confess that they’d fallen for his tricks. Among the common elves across the Faerûn revered Dimetor as a cultural hero, a champion of the common plight that showed the evidence of the fallacy of divinity. His parties were not limited to the noble houses or the divine realms, he was found in the forests of the Otherworld, in the swamps of murkwood, and Dimetor or his many epithets came to be whispered to over every cup of drink or substance.

In time the Seldarine worked to beat Oberon and Dimetor at their own game, while Oberon took great amusement from his son’s exploits, he never acknowledged this outright. He preferred battles and upfront confrontation to illusions and deception. Spies from the Gods worked their weaves through the Dawn Court and eventually had the people who once worshipped Oberon turn their backs on him. The archfey lost their patronage and he was exiled from the realm before he could be given Titania’s hand in marriage. Furious at this loss, Oberon and Dimetor departed to a fallen realm that had been cast into the Astral Sea with the rising spellplague.

Again and again Dimetor would return though, like genital warts he proved to be difficult to get rid of. The Seldarine fought against the Great Old Ones, the spellplague rose, and inevitably they were chased from Arvandor as well. Absent Oberon and his forces to help them in their fight, their prophecy seemingly self fulfilled as Dimetor followed the tribe of elves from Hyperborea to the land that would be the mortal realm once more. Masquerading as a simple satyr who now served the stinky, false satyr King, Silenus. It was here that he found himself in Eden where he fornicated frequently and ate people rarely. True to his needs, in secret Dimetor established the Bacchic Mysteries, a cult of worship that pervaded the first people and would follow them into the ancient world.

Across the realms Dimetor travelled, different shapes and different forms, his father’s power over the green flames of creation at his fingertips. In one guise or another, the Underdark, Arvandor, Elysia, the Inferno, Elysium, Skyhome, and so many more. Collector of stories and lies, it was in the depths of Menzoberranzan’s royal court that he met the wyvern revenant, the hand of the Queen that was a conquest first and then a lover second. It wasn’t in Dimetor’s nature to love, and yet the stoic riddle maker captivated him; the truth of his identity revealed: Sehanine’s predictions clear, Dimetor travelled between the Underdark and the mortal realm as he gleefully paraded about the annals of history.

The beauty of Dimetor’s worship was that he was just another face in the crowd, fennel wands with tipped pine cones dipped in honey, pan flutes, feathers, and the hides of animals: leopard was a favourite. His followers were everywhere, people from the lowest classes loved him first but in time Dimetor was considered fashionable as Dionysus was adopted into the noble and the ruling classes. Soon he pervaded the many spaces of the rising classical world before falling out of vogue once more.

Embarrassment at Rome saw Dimetor replaced; when he returned to Oberon’s domain, he’d chosen a new heir. A second son, one who didn’t fornicate with every creature that held the mental capacity of something humanoid or greater. One born without a curse over his name or an oracle hanging over his head; it was no matter though, Dimetor and Oberon had once lost the faith of the Dawn Court; he’s take their favor for himself and then use it to devour his father just as he’d done his mother. Now that would be hilarious. First, Dimetor would need an assistant, Elmas was between jobs and came highly recommended. The Assistant was incredibly skilled, and in short order, he claimed the title of Mayor of Rome - and next? The world… Or something like that.

Clip. Clop. Hyrsam would never stop.

PERSONALITY

+ charismatic, charming, entrepreneurial – deceitful, cannibalistic, hedonistic

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST . He/Him.

NAME. Ganymede AGE & BIRTH DATE. 5648 & April / 1st / 3625 BCE GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Nick Jonas

BIOGRAPHY

Born beautiful, Ganymede’s birth was heralded by the courts of men and fey alike. The spare to the heir, the expectations placed upon Ganymede’s shoulders were few and far between. Someday he’d marry and someday he and his bride would be King and Queen of Dardania while his elder brother went off to found Troy. It wasn’t like ruling was particularly hard, his father, Tros always made it look incredibly easy; it certainly helped that few people ever really argued with Ganymede. Not only was he a prince but he was a beauty so rare that the Gods themselves turned their heads to watch him as he walked on by. Accompanied him in the breeze that filtered by as he wandered up Mount Ida, looked up from the stones below as Ganymede danced and twirled ashen spears with the meiliai. Overhead oversized, enchanted eagles named rocs circled and watched while the prince among the nymphs twirled and somersaulted in his chiton.

Supreme in his appeal, Ganymede’s natural charm and allure attracted both mortals and supernaturals from far and wide. Many approached King Tros for his son’s hand, for the chance to rule over Dardania alongside the future King, but no matter who Ganymede was affectionate towards, no one was ever good enough. His father demanded the perfect match, but as the prince grew he wistfully hoped for the sort of love that would rewrite the stars. Fey sang of unending yearning, friends that told him the rich stories of the past - particularly the great romances of the ages. Ganymede wanted so badly to have the chance to choose for himself, but the decision and the power was always in Tros’ hands.

Ida was where the prince spent his days, the lazy summers upon the summit were where he would look across the horizon and confess all the things that he was too afraid to say to his father. Or to anyone who, despite their obvious affection for Ganymede, would immediately go running to tattle on the prince’s true heart. He spoke to the sky and to the wind, to the birds that circled overhead until one roc seemed to take particular interest. It grew closer each day as if the young prince was earning its trust, in the canopy of a tree, on a lower branch, on a rock nearby. Eventually the full form of the great Zeus, King of the Gods stood in front of him. The weight of his divinity was blinding to look upon and it was all Ganymede could do to avert his eyes before they were burned from his skull. All too quickly the prince fell to his knees in subjugation, worshipping at the altar of the divine.

For King Tros, no one had ever been good enough for his youngest son, but who was he to deny the will of a God? If not Zeus, then who? Taken by the roc, Ganymede left Ida and Dardania behind as his new life started in the realm of the divine, splayed beneath the weight of a God who now introduced himself as Ulthar. His children, the stuff of biblical legends were now Ganymede’s children, the new King of the divine realm, the former prince of Dardania was filled with Ulthar’s divinity. Taken and blessed, their passionate love affair was biblical in essence, unyielding as Ganymede took to his new role of house-husband and stay-at-home-father with great vigour. His story was a love story for the ages, deified by the Greeks as the God of homosexual male love, he would look down from the clouds as Ulthar had all those years ago and discreetly conspire to make lovers what they needed to be in any given moment. A little bit kinder, a little bit more patient, love was the answer to all life’s struggles and he wanted everyone to be as overcome with it as Ulthar had made him.

Loneliness returned in the form of discontent, an empty nest that used to be so full of children that Ganymede hardly knew what to do with them all. With all their eyes and all their wings, their absence made the divine realm feel cold, and very very boring. Left in charge by Ulthar, the potent stepfather decided he would take it upon himself to heal the broken family through the most powerful force in the universe: love. He would love these seraphim so hard that they’d have no choice but to get together again.

PERSONALITY

+ giving, taking, switch – submissive, breedable, needy

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST . He/Him.

NAME. Níðhöggr AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Queensguard�� FACE CLAIM. Charles Michael Davis

biography

( tw death, blood, gore, corpses ) A story of inherited darkness, Nidhogg is the omen told of malice and misfortune, his is the story which commands those who hear it to stray from evil and cherish goodness within. Lies spread of his history, misconstruing the malice striker as one who was born and raised upon the shores of Nastrond, when in reality he was once a mere dark elf, living alongside the other denizens of Álfheimr. The realm of the dark elves was associated with duty and Nidhoggr learned quickly how monotonous life could come when one’s only company was the slumbering Gods and the few dark elves that were left to enact guardianship over them. The frigid environs of Álfheim were where souls were cast as nourishment for Yggdrasil. Life was a balancing act, and it was Thanatos who ordered if they would be cast to the aether or if they would be at the mercy to slumber under Hypnos’ prowess. 

Nidhogg was warden of these creatures, a step below Hypnos who oversaw their Uthenera for both Gods and those of infernal upbringing. Thanatos and Hypnos were respective in their duty that was cast upon them by the Graeae, but Nidhoggr grew restless at their decree. It is a story of inherited darkness and as Hypnos wandered in the land of dreams, Nidhoggr feasted upon a slumbering Old One, enacting his betrayal. His fall was foretold by the Graeae and Nidhoggr, restless in his watchmanship over the slumbering Gods, the dark elf did not resist this fate of temptation and damnation; he drank the ichor with greed. 

Imbued with serpentine strength but banished to the roots of Yggdrasil, Nidhoggr writhed under and gnawed upon the tree with the same willful determination that convinced him to steal the ichor of a slumbering god. He would not wane under the test of time again but as his serpentine form writhed and twisted beneath the tree, so did his soul. Gnawing at its roots, if Thanatos and Hypnos were meant to garner balance for the realms with their decisions, then Nidhoggr would chew up the roots in the hopes that what the three wasted their lives upon would lead to chaos and imbalance. The shores of Nastrond were riddled with darkness, if Alfheim once cast a lightless sky, Nastrond was an obsidian apparition; nothing could compare to it nor the creatures it unearthed upon its shores.  

Treachery and betrayal wrought Nidhoggr's companions, but they were not meant for eternity on the shores as the dracaenae devoured creatures of shadow and light and spat them from his maw, heralding power and rulership over the Shore of Corpses. Malice striker and omen of a fall from grace, his mind was ravaged by the cyclical feasting upon the treacherous souls that found their ways to Nastrond. He was a relic as he writhed beneath Yggdrasil, unaware of the legend told of his fall, his loss of honor as oath breaker, and his punishment to chew upon the corpses of fellow oath breakers, too. 

Reclamation came at the order of Lloth, at the hands of Ayi’ig, as the spider goddess slipped into the shores of Nastrond and plucked out what creatures she saw best to do her bidding. The drow were considered maleficent creatures, riddled with evil and darkness, but to Nidhogg Ayi’ig was a healer, and most importantly, a friend. The dark elves of Alfheim had been bound together by duty, but Ayi’ig had set her sights upon the mindless monster beneath the world tree and sought to heal his mind, releasing him from invisible chains which had kept him gnawing upon its roots. The Graeae had foretold of his downfall but they had not garnered whispers of his rebirth. It was one thing to devote his time to an intangible belief, guarding over sleeping Gods beneath the command of ‘sacred oaths’. The Elder Gods held no ownership upon him, but Ayi’ig had released the serpentine dragon from his chains and a new oath and path was forged. 

Healing his fragmented mind imbued loyalty above all else in the dracaenae. Ayi’ig would ascend to a Queen and as a spider crafted their web, Lloth sent Ayi’ig the kindling to resurrect the slain elves of Hyperborea. They would be her advisers, serve as her infantry, but Nidhogg would be her dutiful queensguard. He watched as an empire was constructed of nothing, as darkness bled into chasms of exquisite power. Darkness that once lorded over him upon the shores of Nastrond became magnificent under the freewill given to the dracaenae in the Underdark. Ayi’ig was Queen and though he was ushered power from the ichor of a Great Old One, bolstered by the corpses he’d gluttoned upon, Nidhoggr kneeled dutifully to the Queen of the Drow, molded by her image. 

She conquered legions, constructed a city capital, commanded the drow under her guide and Nidhoggr served as her right hand, dutifully enacting that which she asked of him. Though the world crafted in the Underdark was clouded by ruthlessness, reverence of what was constructed before Nidhoggr’s eyes came naturally to the dracaenae. Crystalline structures jutted from darkness, limitless caverns stretching out far past what the eye could see; but Ayi’ig and her legions, Nidhogg included, descended upon the golems and mindflayers, commanded them to obey the Queen of Drow. Those who were not privileged to be directly under Ayi’ig perhaps could not romanticize the Underdark, nor the drow capital, but Nidhoggr had been used to constructing a home out of nothing. Alfheim had housed a restless dark elf, Nastrond had housed a mindless writhing beast, but Menzoberranzan homed a beast turned divine. 

Ayi’ig’s ambitions were infectious; though she had dominated upon the Underdark, crafted a society from what Lloth had gifted to her, it was the Otherworld that was her true sight. Under Ayi’ig’s command, Nidhoggr had come to learn of the truth that lay beneath her ambitions. The Otherworld was hers to rightfully rule and Nidhoggr, oath breaker no more, would come to his Queen’s aid to deliver what was rightfully hers to reign over. 

personality

+ Steadfast, dutiful, forthright  – Vindictive, merciless, myopic

played by gia. est. she/her.

NAME. Aytaç Durmaz ( Circe ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Owner of Çiçek FACE CLAIM. Hande Ercel

biography

Within the great halls of Elysia sat an obsidian throne, whose owner bore a power that was unmatched by so many, and a magnetism that seemed to draw in any who wished to hear stories of great wars waged within the mortal realm. None more so than a small child, whose eyes sparkled with wonder and excitement whenever those stories were shouted into the great halls, repeated again and again for any who might wish to listen, or whoever so happened to be caught within that orbit the man of divinity seemed to cast around him. It was within the shadows of that throne the small child hovered, an uncertainty that had her near but distant as she listened to her father, with a want nestled so deep within her that perhaps his command or allure may break apart and lend a small piece to her.

There had been nothing overtly special about Circe when she had been born within the proverbial halls of Elysia. Her beauty could not be whispered in songs or tales, her power no more so than any other that walked beside her, for perhaps the only thing that made her any fraction of special was that she had been born as Helios’ daughter. It had been through the ambrosia fed to her during infancy that found the ichor of the gods within her veins, an immortality that would see her through the changing of the realms and the rebellion of the angels. It had been a gift that Circe had treasured within those early years, finding solace in the notion that she was just as divine as those whose shadows she walked within, of her father, who kept her at his side through many different excursions.

It was one, however, that tainted the taste the ambrosia had left upon her tongue. Young only by certain standards, Circe had been made to watch as a judgment was dealt to a would-be titan, who had thought himself daring, or perhaps a savior, and the subsequent punishment that followed it. As blood spilled against the ground, again and again, a daughter of divinity came to understand that none were impervious of being flawed. Which followed the young elf throughout the years, from those that had found her within the shadow of her father’s throne, to the sides of her siblings as she watched them perform pharmakis intently. To even the moment as she watched Pasiphaë and Aeëtes follow Queen Yidhra to the moral realm, a place that she had visited only so seldom. For stories of war had kept her within Elysia, with a sharp gaze that wished only to admire the mortals from a distance, afraid of what may happen if she were to truly engage with any of them. 

Soon, it would be a distance that she would not be able to keep, for her punishment came swiftly upon the heel of her brother’s destruction. It had been in hushed tones that Perses had confided to her, of a flower that had grown from the blood of the titan that had been spilled by the Erinyes, one that was capable of turning any such creature into that of another. And it was with this flower that Perses had done the unthinkable, to a God nonetheless. The outrage had come in a blink of an eye, and before Circe could have uttered even the smallest of noises, she had watched as her brother had been destroyed. Ripped apart into nothingness, as if he had never truly existed by her side. And to ensure the understanding that no God could be crossed, Circe had been dealt an exile from the only home that she had ever known.

Into the mortal realm she had been cast, amongst a time that she had not been familiar with. The angels had rebelled, their punishments dealt and the Inferno created for those that wronged their fellow man or committed the unspeakable crimes that mortals feared so wholly. It was in this new age that Circe was forced to adapt, to understand the way of the mortals so that she may live peacefully amongst them, within her exile that would last until all the realms crashed in upon themselves. Separated from her father, and her mother, and all those that she had considered friends dealt a blow unlike anything that Circe had ever experienced. Yet, that cavern that had been created within her chest had soon been filled with the love that she had fallen into with a mortal man. One who had whispered of his wants of becoming a God, if only so that he may spend eternity by her side. 

Though powerful in her own respects, Circe had been foolish to love, to the ways of mortals and the feelings that had been too strong. It was with the knowledge of the flower that Perses had once used that found her love transformed into a light elf, just as she, so that they may spend eternity together. Or so she had thought. For divinity had always been flawed, and the moment divinity entered his blood, it was not she who he had run to, but instead Scylla. With a rage that she had inherited from her father, Circe enacted her revenge. It was to Scylla that she had bound the blood of an old god, it was to Scylla that she had transformed into a monster out of anger, out of jealousy, and out of hurt. And it was a punishment dealt by the soldiers of Ulthar that Circe had taken with a solemn look upon her features.

The island had been her prison, but it was her magic that made it her sanctuary, hidden away from the prying eyes of mortal men, save for those that she lured to its shores. And it was to those that chanced upon her throne that she gave her test. Tales of what men were capable of had flitted through history long before she had touched upon the mortal realm, and it was to those travelers that she baited. Were they honest men, or were they as untrustworthy as the one that she had given her heart to? And it had been those that failed her test that found themselves either killed with the potions she crafted, or as permanent fixtures upon her lands as the very swine that they were.

Year after year, more and more men traveled to the beaches of her shores, only to find themselves transformed into the very pigs that they had seen scattered about the beaches and the forest. Even a god or two found themselves intrigued enough to land upon her island, to see if the rumors of Circe, the exiled sorceress, had been true. It had been harsh and vile words that continued to scare off those that wished only to gossip, save perhaps for Hermes, who instead wished only to bring her news of Elysia, and the other realms that had remained hidden from her for all those years of exile. And gifts, in the form of a loom constructed by Vulcan himself, and a stave that had been imbued with the very flower that had seen her dear brother destroyed. And her own exile to the mortal realm.

To that island that had become her home, her sanctuary, until the necessity arose for her to step off of its shores. A promise had been made to return promptly, if Circe were granted the chance to help her sister deliver a baby, and granted she had been, before she had traveled to Crete, before she had helped to welcome in the little eladrin to the world. Yet it had not been enough time that she had received with her sister, with the one that would be her nephew, or with the simple notion of spending time anywhere other than Aeaea. Within the seemingly blink of an eye, Circe was back to those familiar shores, to that familiar forest, and to all those familiar little piglets that roamed the island’s expanse.

The years once more continued to pass by in blurs, with news of her brother’s dominion over Colchis, to the arrival of Medea and Jason, along with each of his Argonauts and the Golden Fleece. It would be familiar ties that had the pair cleansed of their crimes, and a warning from Circe in the ear of her niece. Yet just as soon as they had come, they were gone once more, leaving the elf to her avocations yet again. Until Odysseus arrived, with his men in tow, and he rivaled her in ways that she had not yet seen from a mortal man thus far. And so she had kept him at her side, educated him on all things divinity, from the Gods to the plants within her gardens, and what each one would be capable of. A decade soon passed, and with it, came the necessity to bid her newfound lover goodbye. Circe could not keep him any longer within her grasp, for while her years would be infinite, his would be numbered. And it was not with her that he belonged.

So to loneliness she returned, as the years yet again began to pass her by, until the seraphim became fewer and fewer, and the power behind the exile that had kept her rooted to the island weakened. As those numbers become scarce, Circe took her opportunity to finally be rid of the island that had been her prison, her sanctuary, her home. It was back into the world that she fled, hidden among the mortals that had progressed with the changing of the times, where she adapted to her new way of life. 

personality

+ Methodical, knowledgeable, humble – Calculating, spiteful, venomous

played by c. cst. she/her.

NAME. Tisiphone AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Enforcer FACE CLAIM. Megan Fox

biography

( tw war, blood ) And in the beginning, there was blood. Blood had been the source of her very existence and strength. With Tiamat’s blood being the answer to her creation, Tisiphone entered this world ready for it. Screaming, wrathful and prepared, Tisiphone, along with her two sisters Alecto and Megara, fought the old Gods without hesitation. Nothing could stop them for all Tisiphone knew was war. 

War, war, war, bloodshed in its entirety a necessary evil for the welfare of her divine Father Ulthar and the Elders. She crushed skulls underneath her feet, forced Gods onto their knees as the avenger of murder, that’s how they named her - Tisiphone. She gladly struck Gods down with her might, never once questioning the actual reason for it. To Tisiphone the world presented itself in black and white terms, allies and enemies with nothing in between. In a world of war, Tisiphone clung to her siblings and covered both their left and right flanks, completing the iconic trio, the Erinyes. 

The executioner, the one to carry out vengeance and punishments, Tisiphone performed her duties without any love nor guilt. Devotion, love for her sisters, yes, but her own pleasures remained within the confines of war, of blood and hearing her enemies scream for mercy. And when the Old Gods had been defeated, Tisiphone could only wait. Waiting for a misstep, disobedience, was easier said than done, but humanity didn’t disappoint. She’d expected as much. It had been just a matter of time until they’d eat the fruit of the Gods and receive free will, going against the wishes of Ulthar. She answered disobedience with justified cruelty, once again wetting her hands with the blood of those at her mercy. Alas, yet again peace wouldn’t last, forcing Tisiphone into action. 

Lucifer, her sibling, refused to follow Ulthar’s command any longer, which ultimately confused her. To go against Ulthar was to choose a fate worse than death. Their betrayal hurt, forcing Tisiphone to feel hurt, possibly for the first time in her existence. To be confronted with her own ability to feel ultimately bothered her. Rage and vengeance weren’t things she ever had to dial down or channel. They’d come so natural to her, without even thinking, but this? Fear followed as she thought about the possibility of her sisters choosing Lucifer over her. The Executioner, how good could you be for them, anyway? Death followed her wherever she went while Ulthar’s hands remained dry and spotless. She’d have to be the one to fight her own siblings if needed - so she blindly accepted her new fate, sealing away her own emotions – everything, but rage. The damage was done. Punishing her siblings brought her nothing but joy, an emotion she could barely hide. Their own rebellion had done nothing but further Tisiphone’s affinity for war and bloodshed, to aid Ulthar in keeping peace and order. 

To guard the gates of the city of Dis, Tisiphone and her sisters descended beneath the fifth circle. It didn’t take long for the Seraphim-blooded to be corrupted. The inferno, Sathanas’ presence and them whispering into her ear ultimately uncovered what had been hidden for so long: the beast, the Executioner ready to strike her foes down once again.  

She entered this world not knowing what to expect. Vengeance followed everywhere she went, forcing supernatural creatures into getting confronted with their wrongdoings, unable to ignore its presence. Peace had always been the answer, her peace, Ulthar’s peace. It’s only a matter of time until her corruption fully takes over. She’s the enforcer, the executioner, an Aspect tasked with bringing justice into this world - No, punishment, vengeance and bloodshed.  

personality

+ vehement, dauntless, pragmatic – destructive, corrupt, sadistic

played by saskia. gmt. she/her.

NAME. Harlow Daniels AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Venus Magister FACE CLAIM. Suki Waterhouse

biography

History marched on, wars happened, economies tanked, but she was a self made woman, she always had a full stomach and bed. In a way, she was above it all, the tragedies of mortals, free to be frivolous and have fun. In a way she did, she has lived what feels like a thousand lives. Each one is a little different, has her taking on a new name, a new identity, going to a new place. It is much like the world has become a stage and she is constantly parading herself upon it as someone new every couple of decades. She’d been a barmaid, she’d been a dancer, a seamstress, a shopkeep, a nurse, whatever she liked and so she never got bored. Lonely sure, she’d also been the wife, lover, girlfriend, ‘side piece’, best friend, confidant, trusted advisor, shoulder to cry on, mortal enemy, she has held many a title, forged many a relationship, played many roles. Sent many a gift to Titania’s children that they’ll never receive. At present she’s in a band that plays small clubs around the UK, affectionately called ‘Huntress’ and it’s possibly the most fun she’s had in years. The goings on in Rome, the pain felt by her fellow Venus vampires at the death of Elmira Kent, it was all something she couldn’t look away from, but didn’t yet intervene aside from consoling the queen.

It was a very long time ago that she was just a woman standing behind a man and rolling her eyes. Growing up without a father and with an ailing mother, she married quite young to a fellow dreamer and off they went into the world much too cruel to mortals. Taking a shortcut through the forest, their wagon was attacked by something that couldn’t have been human. It was there on the beaten path, bloodied and bruised that Harlow met Venus. A beautiful woman offered them not just the power of her bite, but a home with her, a place in her family and the young couple was eager to accept it. They traveled under the cover of night towards Rome where they made a home for themselves with her, with other’s of their kind. They were a family, bonded by the blood of Venus that was shared between them and from her they learned to move in and out of states of being, how to disappear into the fog, the mist, they’re elusive. And yet Harlow cannot escape the man she’s shackled to. Once a dreamer like her who aspired to have a better life, he became distant after they settled into their new life and she assumed he was restless, longed to venture out again. So she let him be, focused on the teachings of Venus, on this new and extravagant home near the forest. She learned the world was not just full of vampires and mortals, that there were others there in that very place. The fey had offered a proverbial hand to her creator, they already had an order, they had a monarchy and were led by a beautiful and powerful woman that the Venus vampire’s could do nothing but watch in awe, befriend her people as they came and went. Humans were often their focus, those whose spirits seemed free and wistful. Venus gave them a gift truly mysterious and with no locked door in their way, the world was open to them. But even with that, she desired to keep them close and so she made a home because while Venus had never quite required structure, she did crave companionship and if her family was so busy going about their own business, she’d simply reshape one of her own. And Harlow wanted to be a part of it, even if her lover grew restless. It was there in the forest that she finally caught the attention of the fey queen and while most seemed to shrink away from the woman aside from their creator, Harlow couldn’t bring herself to keep away, her affectionate nature making it nigh impossible. The woman might have been a queen, but she was still a person, sought companionship and to be understood. The leader of the fey was far more whimsical than one would think and they became fast friends, both girls at heart in awe of magic and the world, their kind. 

Friendship aside, years came and went and she longed for more, as there was so much love inside her to give and so began the hunt to find someone to give it to. Her life with her lover was eternal now, that was something she’d once dreamed of and yet the man was still distant and her heart too soft to up and leave despite how unhappy she grew. But it was a cruel fate that ended their marriage and for the man whose head had once been full of dreams had been caught in the crossfire of a battle, hadn’t been quick enough to disappear into the air. It said a lot about what she wound up thinking of him that she was more concerned for a fallen mortal. They were already dead, already gifted immortality, but this fallen soldier she ran into was just a boy and she couldn’t just let him die there. And so she bestowed Venus’s gifts upon him after pulling him to safety. But the fighting did not stop and while she was far stronger than any man, she was forced to flee the scene and hope for the best for him. 

While she wondered what became of her progeny, she was free now and so seeking love and adventure she moved through the world. Many a lover was taken, a progeny made, but she always returned to Venus, always returned home to the woman who had given her this gift and importantly, she returned to Titania, for she was a space for the queen to set her crown down for a while and just be a friend. It was these connections, her love and loyalty for her bloodline, that had Venus asking her to become a magister when the original’s wished to go about their own business. In those days, she’d gone from being sure of her identity to scrabbling to find where she fit in the world. For not all the magisters were war heroes or scholars, the most prevalent one was Amulius and the man had become a menace to be put down by a prophecy. Harlow had never desired to see vampires at the top of the food chain, had held strong to her bloodlines alliance with the fey and she’d sheltered mortal and supernatural alike from his onslaught. Which is why she was devastated to return to hear that it had finally happened, that a vampire had fed from the fey and it was their own bloodline. They had literally bit the hand that fed them and imagine her shock when the man who had sank fangs into an Eladrin was the very one she’d saved all those years ago. Conflicted, she wanted to go to him not just to comfort him, but to take responsibility and ease the guilt that plagued her. Centuries of friendship, of what little harmony they could have, destroyed by one bite. 

Romulus and the man had united them all against Amulius, had killed the man and then his brother. It wasn’t the end of it, they weren’t out of the woods yet and love made a fighter of her, her kindness was not to be mistaken for weakness. When the disputes over territories and nests and resources broke out she was frantically trying to hold down the fort near what would become England. The originals had left them to their fight, deserved their own peace and so when Romulus founded the senate, had united them, she had to support him. 

History marched on, wars happened, economies tanked, but she was a self made woman, she always had a full stomach and bed. In a way, she was above it all, the tragedies of mortals, free to be frivolous and have fun. In a way she did, she has lived what feels like a thousand lives. Each one is a little different, has her taking on a new name, a new identity, going to a new place. It is much like the world has become a stage and she is constantly parading herself upon it as someone new every couple of decades. She’d been a barmaid, she’d been a dancer, a seamstress, a shopkeep, a nurse, whatever she liked and so she never got bored. Lonely sure, she’d also been the wife, lover, girlfriend, ‘side piece’, best friend, confidant, trusted advisor, shoulder to cry on, mortal enemy, she has held many a title, forged many a relationship, played many roles. Sent many a gift to Titania’s children that they’ll never receive.

At present she’s in a band that plays small clubs around the UK, affectionately called ‘Huntress’ and it’s possibly the most fun she’s had in years. The goings on in Rome, the pain felt by her fellow Venus vampires at the death of Elmira Kent, it was all something she couldn’t look away from, but didn’t yet intervene aside from consoling the queen. 

Now that Romulus is gone, she thinks the senate needs far more help than just weeding out corrupt forces. 

personality

+ whimsical, compassionate, cunning – neurotic, unpredictable, fawning

played by m. cst. she/her.

NAME. Diana AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Tristin Mays

biography

First born to a king of creation, emerging only seconds before her brother, their twin light was the radiance to quell all the darkness around them. Artemis would dance among the cosmos, the stars tangling in her essence, divinity’s touch leaving a platinum light in her wake. Where Ulthar’s daughter danced, Titan ichor spilled as her joyful steps turned purposeful. But as darkness bows to light, so does light bow to darkness and even the twin light of Artemis and Apollo would be smothered by the great war of the Titanomachy. So when she awoke again, Artemis baptized her new high elven body in the blood of the enemies of the divine. Her family were gods, and there would never be anything that the goddess would not do to usher in an era of peace and prosperity for the divinity and their kin. It seemed as though that era was finally upon them when the Titanomachy finally ended. Elysia, Hyperborea and even the Otherworld seemed tranquil enough that Artemis might’ve put down her weapons if she so desired. But weapons and warcraft had become the goddess’ first purpose and so she took to it by honing her skills with the seraphim and teaching the high elves what it meant to hunt and battle outside the peace of their home. Then Eden was created.

With the emergence of both demigods and immortal humanity, there would be no shortage of vessels for her and her family to take. For them, Artemis took great care of the precious demigods and humans and kept a close eye on them by making her home in the paradise lands of Eden. It was there that she found many new purposes among the humans: protecting and empowering the females and female-presenting among them, particularly Lilith and Eve, as well as falling in love with the call of the wild. Artemis would also run through the forests and mountains in pursuit of Epimetheus and Oztalun’s creatures, both learning to hunt them and keeping her most treasured among them as friends. Prometheus’ crime and gift to humanity would be an obstacle that would present itself in ways such as Lilith’s rebellion and free-spirited humans that would refuse the Gods, but there wasn’t yet cause to worry for the abundance of willing vessels that still lived peacefully. Then, when Lucifer’s rebellion launched conflict between the seraphim, Artemis’ hunting bow and leathers were put down to be replaced by her armor and metal once more. The Goddess took to a great divine war for the second time in her life and fought on the side of the Blessed Seraphim, fiercely protecting Eve with every intention of using her as her own new vessel one day. When the conflict ended, humanity had lost its viability as divine vessels and the number of demigods had vastly depleted. For Artemis, there was no choice but to travel the new world in search for the remaining demigods and any bodies that might become viable vessels one day. Once found, they had to be protected and kept safe in Elysia. 

Unlike many Gods who remained sequestered in Elysia or slumbering in uthenera, Artemis made many names for herself among the mortals. Her truest purpose remained to bring her divine family as many demigods as she could find, even when it became nearly impossible to sense them. The Goddess had found other ways of contenting herself as well: protecting women, warriors and wildlife alike. Loneliness did not plague her immortal life once she had taken to finding women of both fey and human offshoot species to partake in her hunts and her journeys, wise and talented women that would one day by called valkyries. With her valkyries, Artemis searched the endless wars and battlefields for warriors who were worthy of her favor. Some would be unstoppable with her blessing and others, unfortunate men or women who had fallen, would be deemed worthy enough for their souls to be granted eternal rest in a paradise realm of their choosing. The huntress goddess was worshipped and honored for millennia, but Artemis had grown weary of failing to find more vessels for her family in the vastness of the mortal realm’s space and time. Artemis and the few of her valkyries that remained took their hunts to the Otherworld until word reached her of the Necronomicon’s impending war and the awakening of her godly family. Artemis returns to the mortal realm as Diana, once more poised to fight for the victory of the divine. Demigods are no longer hidden from her gaze. When victory is called for her side once more, Artemis intends to bring Oztalun’s murderers to justice and then bring the potential vessels home to Elysia.

personality

+ dutiful, loyal, inspirational – illogical, spiteful, inconsiderate

played by dany. est. she/her.

NAME. Circe AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Owner of Çiçek FACE CLAIM. Hazal Filiz Küçükköse

biography

Within the great halls of Elysia sat an obsidian throne, whose owner bore a power that was unmatched by so many, and a magnetism that seemed to draw in any who wished to hear stories of great wars waged within the mortal realm. None more so than a small child, whose eyes sparkled with wonder and excitement whenever those stories were shouted into the great halls, repeated again and again for any who might wish to listen, or whoever so happened to be caught within that orbit the man of divinity seemed to cast around him. It was within the shadows of that throne the small child hovered, an uncertainty that had her near but distant as she listened to her father, with a want nestled so deep within her that perhaps his command or allure may break apart and lend a small piece to her.

There had been nothing overtly special about Circe when she had been born within the proverbial halls of Elysia. Her beauty could not be whispered in songs or tales, her power no more so than any other that walked beside her, for perhaps the only thing that made her any fraction of special was that she had been born as Helios’ daughter. It had been through the ambrosia fed to her during infancy that found the ichor of the gods within her veins, an immortality that would see her through the changing of the realms and the rebellion of the angels. It had been a gift that Circe had treasured within those early years, finding solace in the notion that she was just as divine as those whose shadows she walked within, of her father, who kept her at his side through many different excursions.

It was one, however, that tainted the taste the ambrosia had left upon her tongue. Young only by certain standards, Circe had been made to watch as a judgment was dealt to a would-be titan, who had thought himself daring, or perhaps a savior, and the subsequent punishment that followed it. As blood spilled against the ground, again and again, a daughter of divinity came to understand that none were impervious of being flawed. Which followed the young elf throughout the years, from those that had found her within the shadow of her father’s throne, to the sides of her siblings as she watched them perform pharmakis intently. To even the moment as she watched Pasiphaë and Aeëtes follow Queen Yidhra to the moral realm, a place that she had visited only so seldom. For stories of war had kept her within Elysia, with a sharp gaze that wished only to admire the mortals from a distance, afraid of what may happen if she were to truly engage with any of them. 

Soon, it would be a distance that she would not be able to keep, for her punishment came swiftly upon the heel of her brother’s destruction. It had been in hushed tones that Perses had confided to her, of a flower that had grown from the blood of the titan that had been spilled by the Erinyes, one that was capable of turning any such creature into that of another. And it was with this flower that Perses had done the unthinkable, to a God nonetheless. The outrage had come in a blink of an eye, and before Circe could have uttered even the smallest of noises, she had watched as her brother had been destroyed. Ripped apart into nothingness, as if he had never truly existed by her side. And to ensure the understanding that no God could be crossed, Circe had been dealt an exile from the only home that she had ever known.

Into the mortal realm she had been cast, amongst a time that she had not been familiar with. The angels had rebelled, their punishments dealt and the Inferno created for those that wronged their fellow man or committed the unspeakable crimes that mortals feared so wholly. It was in this new age that Circe was forced to adapt, to understand the way of the mortals so that she may live peacefully amongst them, within her exile that would last until all the realms crashed in upon themselves. Separated from her father, and her mother, and all those that she had considered friends dealt a blow unlike anything that Circe had ever experienced. Yet, that cavern that had been created within her chest had soon been filled with the love that she had fallen into with a mortal man. One who had whispered of his wants of becoming a God, if only so that he may spend eternity by her side. 

Though powerful in her own respects, Circe had been foolish to love, to the ways of mortals and the feelings that had been too strong. It was with the knowledge of the flower that Perses had once used that found her love transformed into a light elf, just as she, so that they may spend eternity together. Or so she had thought. For divinity had always been flawed, and the moment divinity entered his blood, it was not she who he had run to, but instead Scylla. With a rage that she had inherited from her father, Circe enacted her revenge. It was to Scylla that she had bound the blood of an old god, it was to Scylla that she had transformed into a monster out of anger, out of jealousy, and out of hurt. And it was a punishment dealt by the soldiers of Ulthar that Circe had taken with a solemn look upon her features.

The island had been her prison, but it was her magic that made it her sanctuary, hidden away from the prying eyes of mortal men, save for those that she lured to its shores. And it was to those that chanced upon her throne that she gave her test. Tales of what men were capable of had flitted through history long before she had touched upon the mortal realm, and it was to those travelers that she baited. Were they honest men, or were they as untrustworthy as the one that she had given her heart to? And it had been those that failed her test that found themselves either killed with the potions she crafted, or as permanent fixtures upon her lands as the very swine that they were.

Year after year, more and more men traveled to the beaches of her shores, only to find themselves transformed into the very pigs that they had seen scattered about the beaches and the forest. Even a god or two found themselves intrigued enough to land upon her island, to see if the rumors of Circe, the exiled sorceress, had been true. It had been harsh and vile words that continued to scare off those that wished only to gossip, save perhaps for Hermes, who instead wished only to bring her news of Elysia, and the other realms that had remained hidden from her for all those years of exile. And gifts, in the form of a loom constructed by Vulcan himself, and a stave that had been imbued with the very flower that had seen her dear brother destroyed. And her own exile to the mortal realm.

To that island that had become her home, her sanctuary, until the necessity arose for her to step off of its shores. A promise had been made to return promptly, if Circe were granted the chance to help her sister deliver a baby, and granted she had been, before she had traveled to Crete, before she had helped to welcome in the little eladrin to the world. Yet it had not been enough time that she had received with her sister, with the one that would be her nephew, or with the simple notion of spending time anywhere other than Aeaea. Within the seemingly blink of an eye, Circe was back to those familiar shores, to that familiar forest, and to all those familiar little piglets that roamed the island’s expanse.

The years once more continued to pass by in blurs, with news of her brother’s dominion over Colchis, to the arrival of Medea and Jason, along with each of his Argonauts and the Golden Fleece. It would be familiar ties that had the pair cleansed of their crimes, and a warning from Circe in the ear of her niece. Yet just as soon as they had come, they were gone once more, leaving the elf to her avocations yet again. Until Odysseus arrived, with his men in tow, and he rivaled her in ways that she had not yet seen from a mortal man thus far. And so she had kept him at her side, educated him on all things divinity, from the Gods to the plants within her gardens, and what each one would be capable of. A decade soon passed, and with it, came the necessity to bid her newfound lover goodbye. Circe could not keep him any longer within her grasp, for while her years would be infinite, his would be numbered. And it was not with her that he belonged.

So to loneliness she returned, as the years yet again began to pass her by, until the seraphim became fewer and fewer, and the power behind the exile that had kept her rooted to the island weakened. As those numbers become scarce, Circe took her opportunity to finally be rid of the island that had been her prison, her sanctuary, her home. It was back into the world that she fled, hidden among the mortals that had progressed with the changing of the times, where she adapted to her new way of life. 

personality

+ methodical, knowledgable, humble – calculating, spiteful, venomous

played by cheryl. cst. she/her.

NAME. Dionaeia AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Diane Guerrero

biography

A young woman plays on the street outside her parents’ apartment. She is twenty-one years old and already knows she is supposed to be important. It had brought tears of joy to her parents’ eyes, the information the old Keeper had given them, and something about the sight had made her feel strange. She is only twenty-one years old, but she is told she is an Archdruid. Only twenty-one, and she is told she is a warrior meant to be feared. 

No one asked her if she wanted to be feared. 

All she ever wants is to be herself, to ensure her family is happy and they never go hungry again. But her future is out of her hands for she is too young to make a smart choice according to her elders. An adult by law, but not quite on the eyes of those around her. Twenty-one years old, and her parents are deciding her future with a Keeper inside their tiny little apartment. Twenty-one years old, supposedly much older, but not allowed to be present when others decide her future. 

A young woman plays on the street outside her parents’ apartment, wishing they would call her by her name, Valeria, instead of the name that had begun to haunt her footsteps after they had been told she is an Archdruid. She doesn’t know who this Dionaeia, but it isn’t her.

Valeria Cabrera plays on the street outside her parents’ apartment, waiting for her future to be decided for her, when the choice is taken from her parents and the Keeper’s hands by a watchful Eye. She is bouncing a little rubber ball against the floor, a bit of humming leaving her lips, when she hears a scream that shakes her to her core. A friend is screaming for help, pleading to be heard, and she cannot ignore her cries.

It’s odd.

It’s a friend she doesn’t know yet, a friend she should know.  Valeria has never met the owner of that voice, but instinctively she knows she cannot stand by and let her suffer. It won’t do. She will keep her friend safe, protect her from whatever is making her scream in such agony. 

 A young woman stands on the street outside her parents’ apartment, moving to help a familiar stranger, not knowing she is walking straight into the beak of a starving falcon. Even if she had, she is not sure she would have made any other choice. Not when she is meant to protect her friend, not when she had made an oath she would not break. 

A young woman runs into a dark alley, only to find a group of hunters ready to capture. Her friend is nowhere to be seen. 

A young woman never gets to play again after that. 

A young adult dies at twenty-two in a cold metal table, Valeria Cabrera swept aside by lifetimes of memories her body is in no way prepared to accept. Her heart stops at the shock, only for it to start beating again under the careful ministrations of her torturers. Archdruid Dionaeia opens up her eyes to a world in which her friend had helped lure an innocent into a trap, a world where the human race that she had sworn to protect had betrayed her as a show of gratitude. 

She opens her eyes to a world she no longer sees worth protecting. 

Lighting follows, killing those so callous as to experiment on a young woman whose only wish had been to protect what she had. Dionaeia does not pull the lighting into herself, does not urge it to stop her heart once more. She still has hope, still has faith in her people and her remaining siblings.

She believes they will come for her. 

The next hundred and twenty-two years prove otherwise. 

Dionaeia is reminded that no one will ever save her from her fate, too confident in her strength to remember her weakness. 

She saves herself, but as she looks at the desert, she wonders if surviving the Eye had been worth it. 

She is not sure. 

personality

+ observant, protective, resourceful – grumpy, withdrawn, resentful

played by ori. est. she/her.

NAME. Pluto AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Manny Montana

biography

King, God, Aspect. They’d found a thousand names for Pluto, but none of them really did him justice. Raised in a world of chaos, he knew nothing but blood, screams and wrath, following him everywhere. The screams turned into a melody over time, a symphony for his father, Nyarlathotep. Pluto grew up believing terror and power to be a useful tool to push others away, as seen with his father. An heir of sorts, Pluto tried to learn as much as possible from his father, not because he wanted to, but because he dreaded to end up just like him. So he studied every move of Nyarlathotep to outsmart him in the end. To keep his siblings safe, to play the protector and sacrifice himself for them by learning more and more about terror and chaos, seemed to be his calling. A destiny he didn’t question. 

Fleeing was the best option. Running away from the most feared through the Otherworld offered Pluto and his siblings a better life. It not only offered shelter from a life in chaos, but also a new opportunity to conquer. Alas, the moment Pluto stepped into the mortal realm, he could barely focus. A thirst, so volatile and fetting, he couldn’t focus on anything but his shapeless existence. Lured by its sweet scent, Pluto willingly surrendered himself to its taste. Breaking through the first mortal’s skin was easy enough, his teeth tearing through their skin like a blade cutting paper in half. Life filled his mouth, an experience he can recall to this day. Like a snake shedding its skin, Pluto was reborn. An original vampire, a creature of the night, a plague on this Earth. 

His siblings were the first to blend in, the first to find ways to become more powerful. Having spent his whole life in the midst of such power struggles and war, Pluto gladly retreated, unwilling to blend in after helping with the creation of the monarchy. Instead, he used his time to get drunk on blood, continuing his bloodline to plague this Earth in his stead. 

Ruling, although enticing at first, had made him tired. The more time he spent in this realm, the more he began to care for it. History would repeat itself, so he chose to explore. That’s where he met her, somebody who didn’t flinch at his touch but rather embraced the inevitable end. Immortality didn’t feel like such a burden anymore, isolation a construct he’d rather leave behind for the sake of his Beloved. A mere human, Pluto stole her away and turned her so they’d have all eternity together. Alas, eternity wouldn’t last. 

Ironically, he’d never felt more alive while the two of them laid waste to entire towns and generations, feeding until they’d end up as worthy sacrifices for his Beloved. Tragically, Pluto had never felt more devastated and hollow the moment canines tore her apart, ripping out whatever shred of hope he’d left. His revenge followed in no time, but did little to satisfy him nor mend his heart. Only grief remained, slowly eating him alive from the inside out. And thus a new type of monster was born – a heartbroken immortal, an original vampire trapped with his own mind and memories for all eternity. Much like an Omen, Pluto devastated entire towns on his own, alarming all others nearby, hoping they’d acknowledge his warning and flee, giving him an opportunity to chase.  

Hopeless, Pluto went to the Otherworld in need of something he could cling onto. As if history repeated itself, Pluto found another Queen able to enrapture his exhausted heart. Loving again had seemed to be impossible, but to be loved and love again only made sense to him as he laid eyes on her. He followed Kore’s soul to the realm that ran in between, towards a lone tree bearing a single pomegranate, ripe and red in color. He’d never tasted anything similar. Tasting the pomegranate seeds pushed all former thoughts of blood aside, even deeming it to be inferior. Kore would be the safest inside of him, until he finds a suitable vessel for his Queen.

Pluto returned to his siblings in an attempt to regain strength and numbers. Together they’d conquer and establish a new world order. Secrets, power and death were powerful tools to use and eventually reunite him with his Kore. And for the first time in forever, Pluto felt truly powerful. With a goal in mind he’d remain unstoppable, like a plague, like an Omen waiting to be fulfilled.

personality

+ persuasive, protective, alluring – vindictive, decadent, self-serving

played by saskia. gmt+1. she/her.

NAME. Thanatos AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Aspect OCCUPATION. God of the Dead FACE CLAIM. Mena Massoud

biography

Divine shears snapped a thread, and Thanatos first opened his eyes. A lightless sky hung above, this is Álfheimr, his mother told him. This is our home. Nyx pressed ambrosia to his lips before she faded into the night, and in time the first of the divine passed through the world tree and landed at its roots, the shifting sands and obsidian fjords that defined the landscape. Thanatos weighed the significance of their deeds against Yggdrasil’s needs, and he would decide if they were to be sent across his blackened sands into the aether, or if they would rest to restore their power. If given Uthenera, Hypnos, his brother, would rise next to him, press elven hands upon the creature’s spirit, shush them into a slumber and then send them on their way. When they awoke with their power restored, they would return to find a vessel - one of the elves, either dark or light.  

From his lightless cave, Thanatos watched with ire as the wheel continued to turn. He could see the end of all things, saw the manner in which the Gods that would visit him would die once more, and would decide if it were necessary for them to return at all. Down a seemingly endless road there was an absence of all, the end of Uthenera, the end of sleep, and the end of death himself. The Gods were prolific in their wars, the elves expanded and conquered and attempted to subvert fate, but for every attempt they only managed to wind the noose tighter around their neck. Gods crafted seraphim and dragons, wyrms and all manner of creatures and machines to fight, die, and suffer. By the time Hyperborea collapsed, the elven empire had been dying for millennia. 

The elves of Álfheimr, the land of the dead, were not so ambitious as their counterparts. The unnecessary lives that found Thanatos were fed to the Duat, tossed into the blackened sands to sink into the roots of the world tree - nourishment for the realm of shadows far below, food for the soil that would keep it fertile. Those that remained were wardens of the deceased and the slumbering, Nidhogg betrayed their sacred oaths and consumed the ichor of a slumbering Old One. Twisted and powerful, his fate was to meet the sands and the darkness that awaited below - cast upon Náströnd where the dracaenic creature was doomed to gnarl on the roots of the tree that he’d betrayed. 

For much of Thanatos’ existence he was waiting for the end, weighing the lives of divine and immortal creatures, tossing some to safety, others to sands, and more to his brother. A planeswalker and interloper found his way into his home, an avariel born to be a vessel who was completely unaware of the destiny that had been placed in front of him. Thanatos could see the end already, yet, the God of peaceful death fell in love with Hermes anyways. A traveller who could slip between the tree as he wished, a wanderer who never failed to return to him. Time and time again, with each visit he stayed longer, laughed harder, and brought life to the long-dead God’s features. 

Eden’s garden was built, but Thanatos was barred from entering. The Gods wished to keep the rot from their fruit, so death was not permitted to enter. He had other agents though, a peaceful seraphim with a gift for the end, who would look kindly upon those who died from mortal means and shepherded them into his waiting arms. It was the most that he could do until rebellion rose, fighting was not in the dark elf’s nature, not when he already knew the outcome. Battle wasn’t the reason why Thanatos had been born, but Hermes’ dedication spurred him to action as the avariel lay mutilated and broken, peaceful death welcomed him into his arms once more. Kept from the sands, from the ship, and from the stars above, Thanatos helped men what was broken but he could not give Hermes back what had been taken from him. Rome was dying, the mortal realm was a withering branch, and the wheel’s turning was at last coming to an end. To the city at the centre of it all, Thanatos travelled alongside Hermes - he had cats to save. 

personality

+ deadpan, careless, quiet – patient, understanding, reserved

played by shane. est. she/her.

NAME. Marzia Bianchi AGE & BIRTH DATE. Prehistoric & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Archfey OCCUPATION. Mayor of Rome and PR Representative for The Eye FACE CLAIM. Jennifer Coolidge

biography

The thing about free will was that it was an easy thing to take away, there were some fairly ridiculous rules that had been imposed upon all Gods across the entirety of the cosmos: choice. No God could take control of a vessel without that person’s say so. There were some ways around this, at least for Marzia. From her home in the Far Realms beyond the branches of the Otherworld, the deity dispatched her Assistant to find a suitable vessel. Some place nice that could host her while she cooked up her plan, a view would have been good but Marzia didn’t have high expectations for the mortal realm. 

Vice dropped one of Marzia’s slugs in Eve’s ear while the first wife of Adam slept, by now Eden had already burned and one of her sons had already bashed in the brains of the other. Broken minds were always easiest to manipulate, but what was unexpected was just how much Eve would ultimately resist. Marzia’s psionic powers were unmatched across the cosmos, and since it was not just space that the deity was made to traverse she could only do so much. This would have been so much easier had that meddling avariel not given humanity all this control - that flame was something of divine origin, magical, but still divine so Marzia’s slug couldn’t touch it, not directly. 

Instead, her creation curled its way around it and Marzia managed to take control. Eve’s resolve kept the God’s divine power from manifesting fully, but that was fine, how long could one person really hold out? The will of Adam’s wife was neatly boxed away and left to endure the great suffering that came with being strapped to the Eldritch being’s unbridled strength. 

What came next was where things got interesting. 

Possessed with a natural charm and allure, Marzia took advantage of Eve’s natural ability to understand the many strengths and weaknesses of this budding supernatural world. Some she knew well, others were new: products of the meddling of the Elder Gods that had claimed this domain from the Great Old Ones. Vice kept her punctual, well, as punctual as she could be but gathering together individuals who felt wronged by the many creatures of this domain was incredibly easy. Those she met barely remembered her face, another aspect of her power, Eve was a name that stuck out and was one that Marzia clung to for a while. She left it behind after Egypt, when Keket’s body burned behind her and she could move on elsewhere.

Hunters took on a mind of their own, scientists and free-thinkers only needed a couple nudges to go in the right direction. From there Marzia got to take a vacation, every so often when her organisation got too big, she’d have to appear again, reminding everyone to play nice or not to worry - or that the big scary Eye everyone was so worried about was just a silly urban legend. People would believe just about anything when you said it with enough conviction. 

Over the years Marzia had her fun, she got to pose for Da Vinci and learned how to play the lyre from Nero. She watched lions eat men inside of a coliseum and saw firsthand how one little apple could do so much damage. So-called Gods came, deified by the world that didn’t know any better - that was especially entertaining. 

Self-loathing supernaturals joined too and eventually The Eye’s technologies started to catch up to where Marzia needed them to be. A world without magic, how perfect.

personality

+ responsible, brilliant, charismatic – unfeeling, eldritch, dogmatic

marzia is a npc