I'll be adding to this topic regularly through time, as I have a lot of characters to place here.
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Victorian/Historical:
Third child to a second marriage, Elisabeth had always been a quiet girl. Studying music and art, she had been a wallflower in court and at parties, making it difficult to form any bonds. Instead, she was only close with her sisters and her mother and had become attached to a mare her father had gifted her with for her sixteenth birthday.
The plucky Morgan had gotten her out of the manor, finding freedom in riding through the familiar trails of the vast acreage that her father's family had been tending for generations. She had been a natural horsewoman, and many of the tenets on the land had been happy to see her. Often, she had been happy to play with their children or read tales to them, but that life was gone.
In fact, her entire life had been changed so suddenly, so viciously, that she wasn't quite sure how to process it at all.
All that Elisabeth knew was that she woke with horrible wounds, her horse dead in the middle of the forest. A wolf's howl had been heard, the night soon to be upon her. Blood stained the snow all around her, and she couldn't feel her left arm or leg at all. It had only been by instinct that her father and brothers had found her nearly deceased and had brought her home, a doctor called on to see to her wounds. They had been kind enough to bring her mare home to bury her, but the trauma was the least of her worries.
Soon, she had begun to lose time, entire days sometimes - but it was not without realizing that something was very, very wrong. Slashed curtains, ruined mattresses and a feeling of rage and loneliness unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her family drew away, and then, finally, she found herself locked in a place she had only seen a few scant times in her life... the dungeons below the ancient manor. Though small, the cells were in working order and soon the blackouts became fevered dreams of something else.
The visits from her mothers and sister became less and less frequent before they stopped entirely. Her brothers even seemed leery, her father as well, though she still had good food and her books.
It didn't make her any less lonely.
Was this going to be her life now? There was whispers of her being something else, something cursed... but her father wasn't talking. The doctor wasn't talking.
Elisabeth had never felt so hopeless in her life, but somewhere in her, she could feel the fur beneath the flesh.
Born into a lineage of great soldiers and highly educated nobility, Gisele was the fifth child of seven to be born from the union of Richard and Eleanor de Vauex, their first daughter. Unlike her younger sister, it was quickly apparent that, like her brothers and father before her, the girl would not focus on the softer arts of nobility and their politics. Instead, the little hellcat defied every order to remain outside of the lands that housed the barracks to the private army her family had amassed through generations of marching for the glory of the King and their own conquests. Instead, she seemed to bond tightest with the aging Master of Arms and despite numerous attempts to interest her in other aspects of life, Richard soon came to realize that Gisele was no soft girl. She was to become a warrior, like her brothers and her forefathers.
Stubborn though she was, it proved as valuable a trait as it was frustrating for her family - too proud to not master a skill, Gisele would train with her sword until her hands bled and would ride until her thighs were raw to become so comfortable with skills taught to her through multiple cultures within the Black Lions. Court proved another matter entirely, her pride and prowess making her seem almost a bit brash to potential suitors, and even when a brave man might have challenged for her hand, he failed.
By the first time Gisele marched at a mere sixteen, she had lost two of her brothers to a hellish skirmish where their own ego had proven their downfall. The rage manifested from the loss of family had driven the girl to prove she could be just as bloodthirsty as a berserker, avenging her fallen siblings and bringing them home for burial.
That had truly been the beginning of the end, hadn't it?
With Michael and Justin dead, her father had seemed to lose some of his own confidence in battle. Though the man had gone gray in his temples, his broad shoulders had deceived many from knowing just how hard it had been to put two of his children to rest. Called to war again and again, the other three boys had fallen one by one. Alexandre, Corbin, Roland… all given proper rights, their ashes put in the family tombs. Soon, Richard was left marching only with his daughter and the losses had changed the general - his own tactics became reckless, a source of fights with Gisele - and a worry for his wife.
It was while the Black Lions had been facing a horde of tribal warriors when Gisele was nineteen that her life had changed for the worse yet again.
One wrong move had taken the general from them, an axe to the neck meaning sure death. For the young warrior, it had been a haze of leaping from her horse and cleaving a man apart before she had held her dying father in her arms. That night, she had keened high and wept among the carnage, unable to bring herself to let him go until the Master of Arms had come to collect his body.
The next day, Gisele had killed them all. There had been no mercy, every warrior under her command soaked in their blood. While most had celebrated, the young woman had felt like her world was falling apart behind the privacy of her tent flaps. Bringing her father home for proper funeral rites had been a solemn affair for some, but the singing of war tunes within the ranks had nearly brought her to tears.
It was only at the pyre that Gisele had wept once more, her head turned towards the sky with the drumbeats and voices of the men and women whom had once followed her late father's command around her. Sending his spirit to the next world had been a soul-crushing night for her, one that had changed her.
A fortnight later, her mother suffered from a heart attack as well, as if she had been too lost without her husband. She, like Richard, was given to the skies and the tombs.
With her younger sister Amelia as the last of her family, Gisele had married the bright girl to a man she fancied to find herself alone by the age of twenty. Hardening herself into the general she would become, it had not come without sacrifice and vice. Even still, before she was thirty, no one could laugh at an army and control of multiple ports, towns, and trading routes.
Elisabeth Anne Brighton
Ad vitam aeternam un lupum.
Savaged. Bitten. Imprisoned. Feared.
- . Essentials .
- Age: Nineteen
- Height: 5'1" (human); 29" (lupine, shoulder)
- Weight: 102 (human); 59 (lupine)
- Build: Slim
- Skin Tone: Fair
- Hair Color/Coat Tone: Brunette (human); brown tones (lupine)
- Eye Color: Brown (human), golden (lupine)
Third child to a second marriage, Elisabeth had always been a quiet girl. Studying music and art, she had been a wallflower in court and at parties, making it difficult to form any bonds. Instead, she was only close with her sisters and her mother and had become attached to a mare her father had gifted her with for her sixteenth birthday.
The plucky Morgan had gotten her out of the manor, finding freedom in riding through the familiar trails of the vast acreage that her father's family had been tending for generations. She had been a natural horsewoman, and many of the tenets on the land had been happy to see her. Often, she had been happy to play with their children or read tales to them, but that life was gone.
In fact, her entire life had been changed so suddenly, so viciously, that she wasn't quite sure how to process it at all.
All that Elisabeth knew was that she woke with horrible wounds, her horse dead in the middle of the forest. A wolf's howl had been heard, the night soon to be upon her. Blood stained the snow all around her, and she couldn't feel her left arm or leg at all. It had only been by instinct that her father and brothers had found her nearly deceased and had brought her home, a doctor called on to see to her wounds. They had been kind enough to bring her mare home to bury her, but the trauma was the least of her worries.
Soon, she had begun to lose time, entire days sometimes - but it was not without realizing that something was very, very wrong. Slashed curtains, ruined mattresses and a feeling of rage and loneliness unlike anything she had ever experienced. Her family drew away, and then, finally, she found herself locked in a place she had only seen a few scant times in her life... the dungeons below the ancient manor. Though small, the cells were in working order and soon the blackouts became fevered dreams of something else.
The visits from her mothers and sister became less and less frequent before they stopped entirely. Her brothers even seemed leery, her father as well, though she still had good food and her books.
It didn't make her any less lonely.
Was this going to be her life now? There was whispers of her being something else, something cursed... but her father wasn't talking. The doctor wasn't talking.
Elisabeth had never felt so hopeless in her life, but somewhere in her, she could feel the fur beneath the flesh.
Duchess Gisele Marie de Vauex
Les Lions noirs ne faibliront jamais.
General. Fearless. Accomplished. The Last.
- . Essentials .
- Age: Twenty seven
- Height: 5'7"
- Weight: 132
- Build: Toned
- Skin Tone: Sunkissed
- Hair Color: Brunette
- Eye Color: Brown
- Martial Status: Unmarried, uncourted, no offspring
- . Extensive .
- Spoken languages: French (mother tongue), English (fluent), German (fluent), Russian (proficient), Italian (proficient)
- Notable Skills: Horsemanship, archery, swordsmanship, cartography, business, politics.
- Favored Weapon/s: Arming sword, misericorde, long bow.
- Mount/s: Recken; 18hh black stallion of unknown breeding, draft cross type [active]. Philippe; 16.2hh gray stallion of her family's own Boulonnais bloodlines [semi-retired].
- . The Black Lions .
- Status: Private military regiments under command of the de Vauex family and the King.
- Size: 4,400 and growing.
- Origins: Mixed; both genders and multiple countries serving within the ranks.
Born into a lineage of great soldiers and highly educated nobility, Gisele was the fifth child of seven to be born from the union of Richard and Eleanor de Vauex, their first daughter. Unlike her younger sister, it was quickly apparent that, like her brothers and father before her, the girl would not focus on the softer arts of nobility and their politics. Instead, the little hellcat defied every order to remain outside of the lands that housed the barracks to the private army her family had amassed through generations of marching for the glory of the King and their own conquests. Instead, she seemed to bond tightest with the aging Master of Arms and despite numerous attempts to interest her in other aspects of life, Richard soon came to realize that Gisele was no soft girl. She was to become a warrior, like her brothers and her forefathers.
Stubborn though she was, it proved as valuable a trait as it was frustrating for her family - too proud to not master a skill, Gisele would train with her sword until her hands bled and would ride until her thighs were raw to become so comfortable with skills taught to her through multiple cultures within the Black Lions. Court proved another matter entirely, her pride and prowess making her seem almost a bit brash to potential suitors, and even when a brave man might have challenged for her hand, he failed.
By the first time Gisele marched at a mere sixteen, she had lost two of her brothers to a hellish skirmish where their own ego had proven their downfall. The rage manifested from the loss of family had driven the girl to prove she could be just as bloodthirsty as a berserker, avenging her fallen siblings and bringing them home for burial.
That had truly been the beginning of the end, hadn't it?
With Michael and Justin dead, her father had seemed to lose some of his own confidence in battle. Though the man had gone gray in his temples, his broad shoulders had deceived many from knowing just how hard it had been to put two of his children to rest. Called to war again and again, the other three boys had fallen one by one. Alexandre, Corbin, Roland… all given proper rights, their ashes put in the family tombs. Soon, Richard was left marching only with his daughter and the losses had changed the general - his own tactics became reckless, a source of fights with Gisele - and a worry for his wife.
It was while the Black Lions had been facing a horde of tribal warriors when Gisele was nineteen that her life had changed for the worse yet again.
One wrong move had taken the general from them, an axe to the neck meaning sure death. For the young warrior, it had been a haze of leaping from her horse and cleaving a man apart before she had held her dying father in her arms. That night, she had keened high and wept among the carnage, unable to bring herself to let him go until the Master of Arms had come to collect his body.
The next day, Gisele had killed them all. There had been no mercy, every warrior under her command soaked in their blood. While most had celebrated, the young woman had felt like her world was falling apart behind the privacy of her tent flaps. Bringing her father home for proper funeral rites had been a solemn affair for some, but the singing of war tunes within the ranks had nearly brought her to tears.
It was only at the pyre that Gisele had wept once more, her head turned towards the sky with the drumbeats and voices of the men and women whom had once followed her late father's command around her. Sending his spirit to the next world had been a soul-crushing night for her, one that had changed her.
A fortnight later, her mother suffered from a heart attack as well, as if she had been too lost without her husband. She, like Richard, was given to the skies and the tombs.
With her younger sister Amelia as the last of her family, Gisele had married the bright girl to a man she fancied to find herself alone by the age of twenty. Hardening herself into the general she would become, it had not come without sacrifice and vice. Even still, before she was thirty, no one could laugh at an army and control of multiple ports, towns, and trading routes.
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Vixere l'appel du vide
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0-24 hrs ago
Modern:
As a child, Lylith never knew why she could hear the whispers - just as much as she didn't know why she could see the hazy visions of souls stuck in Limbo. The failed result of a ritual between an occultist and one of his lovers, the girl had been given up from his home in London by the time she was a young child to his brother in America when she had not shown the promise of being tethered to demonic forces as they had hoped for.
Very quickly, odd things had begun to happen around the child; there was objects moved, growling out of thin air, and figures fading in and out of the edges of her uncle's vision. He had soon become unnerved enough that he had given her up into the foster system, where she spent the next fourteen years changing hands and slipping in and out of psych wards in thanks to her "strange" behavior and the mysterious circumstances of many of her caretakers either becoming injured or committing suicide. As she got older, things got worse; often, those that found her wanted her for more sinister purposes than a home. More than once, she had endured the unspeakable, though she had managed to avoid pregnancy by some miracle.
By the time Lyli aged out, she had no skills and no job, finding herself wandering and homeless. Worse yet, when the weather grew cold and she couldn't get south, she found that it was easier to give her body to those that wanted a punching bag or a semi-willing partner instead of freezing to death or suffering painful frostbite or hypothermia when the shelters were full. Hell, sometimes it also meant a hot meal when she finally had the desire to eat.
Her way of living helped to hide the precarious way that Lyli was forced to live: she could hear those that hadn't moved on, see the spectres that haunted the world and the demons had lurked to fetch souls from their world. Even after she had once carved runes into herself, trying to block it all out, little had changed her birthright.
Lylith Vasser
Appel du vide.
Haunted. Scarred. Untrusting. Narcissistic.
- . Essentials .
- Age: Eighteen
- Height: 4'11"
- Weight: 89
- Build: Waifish
- Skin Tone: Pale
- Hair Color: Silvery blonde
- Eye Color: Gray
- Martial Status: Unmarried, unattached, no offspring
- . Extensive .
- Spoken languages: English (fluent), Latin (proficient)
- Notable Skills: Survival, rune work, acting.
- Living Situation: Homeless and hopeless.
As a child, Lylith never knew why she could hear the whispers - just as much as she didn't know why she could see the hazy visions of souls stuck in Limbo. The failed result of a ritual between an occultist and one of his lovers, the girl had been given up from his home in London by the time she was a young child to his brother in America when she had not shown the promise of being tethered to demonic forces as they had hoped for.
Very quickly, odd things had begun to happen around the child; there was objects moved, growling out of thin air, and figures fading in and out of the edges of her uncle's vision. He had soon become unnerved enough that he had given her up into the foster system, where she spent the next fourteen years changing hands and slipping in and out of psych wards in thanks to her "strange" behavior and the mysterious circumstances of many of her caretakers either becoming injured or committing suicide. As she got older, things got worse; often, those that found her wanted her for more sinister purposes than a home. More than once, she had endured the unspeakable, though she had managed to avoid pregnancy by some miracle.
By the time Lyli aged out, she had no skills and no job, finding herself wandering and homeless. Worse yet, when the weather grew cold and she couldn't get south, she found that it was easier to give her body to those that wanted a punching bag or a semi-willing partner instead of freezing to death or suffering painful frostbite or hypothermia when the shelters were full. Hell, sometimes it also meant a hot meal when she finally had the desire to eat.
Her way of living helped to hide the precarious way that Lyli was forced to live: she could hear those that hadn't moved on, see the spectres that haunted the world and the demons had lurked to fetch souls from their world. Even after she had once carved runes into herself, trying to block it all out, little had changed her birthright.
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