JFK

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

Gregori

Feb. 6th 5:37AM
St. Pancras Train Station

The shadows ran deep in the station this time of year. Gregori hardly noticed. He ambled along with his pack, in a haze. He looked unkempt, tired. His thoughts were overcome by the urge he had been following since Prague. It was stronger now, he had expected that. He didn't know where he was going, but he was overcome with the compulsion. The idea of going to this place was like a north star in his mind. At one point in his journey, around Spain, he had considered stopping. After three luxurious days he could know longer resist the urge. It must be the pull of fate, why stop it? His mother had taught him to trust his intuition. So if he must walk to the ends of the earth to satiate his urge, he will.

He doesn't know where he is going. But he knows it isn't far now. He is buzzing with anticipation, what little energy he can spare. It's probably most of what is keeping him on his feet as he navigates the early morning sprawl of London. He doesn't navigate, he just follows his feet. He keeps walking, for a while. The sun is rising. He doesn't know what time it is, he barely noticed the urban sprawl fall away into sleepy residential backstreets. He finds himself on a street with more empty plots on it than most; the pavement is chipped and dated. There is no activity.

He imagined a buzzing, somewhere in his head. Maybe his jaw. The anticipation is building to a precipice. He can feel he is near. He half stumbles, half marches down the road. No cars pass. He feels the nagging fizzle away, an itch being scratched after bothering him for months. Hundreds of miles to end up here. He looked placidly on his destination. A decrepit mansion, on an empty sidestreet, on the outskirts of London. Something important must have led him here. Something powerful. He slumped his travelling pack off his shoulders, heaving a sigh as it slithers to the ground. He hesitates on the wild lawn, unsure what he should do next. The place seems empty. He searches the window, no lights are on. Except one. With a sharp inhale, Gregori approaches the front door.

He lifts the door knocker, it's held by a grotesque face leering at him. He raps the door twice sharply. He can here the sharp knocks rattle down the hallway inside. Gregori took the few moments while waiting for an answer to recollect himself, to reflect, and to prepare for whatever awaited him on the other side. After a few deep breaths, his body is relaxed. His mind is ready, despite his tiredness. A smile creeps into the corners of his mouth.

The heavy door opens. Every second felt like it dragged on. This was one of the powers of anticipation. His patience lasted until morning light broke through into the hallway, illuminating the face of the woman who had opened the door with a knowing look on her face. Something about her made him feel more settled than he had been for a long time. "Hello. I'm Gregori. You've been expecting me?

Austin Is Dead

Chris Miller

Name: Chris R. Miller (A.K.A. Sheriff Podunk)

Age: 26½

Appearance: Those who know him would say he's very average looking. If a bit goofy or gormless. Overall Chris is on the larger side of medium, dark hair and dark eyes with a light tan. He keeps himself well turned out, and he doesn't stick out in a crowd. The only notable thing about his appearance is his athletic physique, he was obviously a very athletic teenager and has grown into a large fit man.

Background: Chris grew up on his family farm. He had three siblings. His father had three siblings. He had a big family. His brothers and his father taught him hard work, lit his passion for sports, and his large family helped him develop social skills quickly. He managed academically, once he knuckled down he passed everything he needed to. He was well liked and spent highschool driving around and drifting between a handful of girlfriends. He's managed to hang onto the woman he met at the end of highschool. His whole life is in Elysian Heights and apart from the occasional sojourn, he's never really had a reason to leave.

After highschool he immediately got a job in a factory, but after a month he couldn't take it and trained to become a police office at the suggestion of an aunt. He settled into the police well and flourished in this role. As a deputy, he's a respected member of the community and generally takes pride in his work, doing the best of his ability and treating people fairly.

We all have skeletons though, as a man without powers he can harbour suspicion towards those with powers. He also has a hidden bitterness about being overshadowed by his super powered peers. Part of his mind wonders how much more successful he would've been if he didn't have to compete with this new strain of people.

At A Glance: He's usually pretty smiley. He's got his shit together. He's about 6 foot tall, stronger than he is fast. He's quickly developing into prime dad material. It's pretty obvious he's a cop, even when he's not in uniform. He's obviously well known, and outwardly, well liked.

Relationship to Austin: Chris and Austin went to school together. When they were small, they were thick as thieves. But they had their fair share of feuds. They even got into a fistfight in middle school before Austin developed powers. It was all water under the bridge though. They had drifted apart steadily as they aged, the feuds mattered just as little as the good bits, as the distance grew.
In general they got on but hadn't been close in a long time. Of course they knew eachother, Chris knew everyone who was anyone in Elysian Heights. When it was revealed Austin had powers, Chris quietly sidelined himself out of Austin's life. Given how busy he was saving the world, Austin didn't notice too much. Throughout his senior year, Chris would secretly grapple with feelings of jealousy towards Austin.

Ashen Marches

Awww hell yeah. Thinking of making a forsaken dead warrior.

Austin Is Dead

I am going to work on a OOC I'm going to assume everyone here is still interested. If there are any other questions let me know, I'm still open to accepting other players if anyone is lurking.

@LanaStorm

I am interested :)

Forgotten Sands: A Divine Journey into the Unknown

Gutch's Joyous Offering:
Gutch scuttled to the backdoor. He peered out. When focusing on the sky, it is fairly easy to spot the twin moons of the world. Though they were somewhat old, Gutch had only been a young man when they appeared. He had greatly enjoyed the first eclipse, and was actually disappointed when the Sun came back so quickly. By now he was used to them, and had actually spent long nights enjoying their company and studying how they behaved.

He figured tonight would be the night he had about half the day to prepare the offering and trappings to justify his word. He knew what he must get until then. He would steal what he needs from the steady flow of travellers entering the valley. Gutch looked around in the field behind Gatehouse. The winning cockerel had been ushered out and tethered. Good. Gutch was rapidly scheming.

He matched away from the Gate, away from the edge of the valley. The field transitioned into a shady forest with a main road cut through it. One side was dense and wild, and the other quickly gave way to a sheer drop and unknown world. He watched the road. No one was coming. He waited. Sound. He did not move. When the cart was in his view, almost in the meadow. He glanced at what it was carrying. People, supplies. Not what he cared for, too many people. He waited again.

He looked around him, some mushrooms. He took them. Various herbal plants. He recognised most. He took some. In a tree above him he saw a clump of vines hanging. He climbed up and picked some vines with white berries. He dropped them into his pile of forage below him. He looked out of the tree and down the road.

A cart. This cart had people following it on foot. No good. The shadow hung still in the tree till the cart had long passed. One of the men pointed it out to the other in passing.

Another, longer wait. He moved his pile of forage into the edge of the meadow.

Darkness was nearly falling and a mist was quickly drawing from the wood. This cart. Two people. One turned to Gutch. He was busy lighting a lantern. The simple cart had a ground cloth tied onto the bed. Gutch let the humble wagon pass. He got up, nearly silently. The bored duo chatted about how close there were. A shadow slunk behind them, no one noticed the silent hooded figure. A sliver of the night-time cut the rope and the ground cloth was snatched from the back of the cart before Gutch melted back into the dusk meadow. Wrapping his forage up in the ground cloth.

Tonight was the night. It was a fortunate coincidence that it seemed today was a busy day in the valley and people were getting to bed on time. Only the busiest parts of the valley were making any degree of noise. Still the Gatehouse was alive with some chatter. It wasn't too late yet. Gutch looked at the moon. It was obvious the smaller white one would cross the pale sister tonight. Excellent. Some people on foot had passed the gatehouse. No wagons in sight on the road. He laid out the ground cloth.

Gutch went into the Gatehouse. Though the crowd wasn't as busy at night, men travellers were spending their evening here at least. He approved a pair of slightly drunken men, chatting, leaning over a pair of large skin drums. One of the many implements he had seen to make noise. Gutch had seen that people liked it and how it could draw a gathering. He nudged the pair of men and shook his large pouch of coin. He beckoned them. They didn't consider they hadn't seen his face under the large hood.

They followed him out with their drums and turned into the road. Gutch was holding the sack of coin, standing in the middle of the road and pointing up. The men looked up and noticed the white moon beginning to cross the larger moon. They heard Gutch hiss "Our joyous offering, play." The men walked to Gutch, setting their drums down. Gutch began to produce a gravelly chat which was quickly followed by a lively drumbeat. Gutch poured the sack of coins between the three of them. A few people looked into the street to see what was going on. They walked up. One man shouted to the others "The Offering!" The newcomers nodded. One reached out his hand-drum. They continued Gutch's simply droning chant in time with the drums.

Gutch scuttled off behind the Gatehouse, the group continued. A few more people trickled out. Gutch grabbed the sleeping cockerel. It squawked but couldn't escape the firm arm crook it was trapped in. Gutch returned to the pile of coins, a larger group, a slightly larger pile of coins. The chant was nearly as loud as the drums. The flow of people into the small crowd was steadily increasing. As they joined the crowd, the only explanation required was someone saying "The Offering!" Some would toss coins into the pile, a few had drums, all of them joined the monotonous chant. Gutch forced the stunned rooster to eat a handful of the berries and some other woodland forage. He himself consumed a handful of the unknown, and then passed out the remainder to some members of the central crowd.

The large gathering occupied the center of the road, the drumming and the Charing continued gathering more and more people. When asked faced with explanation members of the crowd simply answered: "The Offering." Some people threw coins into the steadily expanding pile. Gutch stood motionless, resting the cockerel under one arm as he resonated the chant in the center of the crowd.

He looked up. The moons were at the apex of the convergence. The drumming sped up, so did the chanting. Gutch raised the bird above him and cut it's throat. The noise collapsed into cacophony. The blood spilled onto the coins. He hissed out three wretched words. "Wealth over justice." Three matching symbols glowed with embers across his long tongue. He screeched as he brought the deceitful bond into the world. He had collated the right influences in the right way at the right time, and he had made his word true.

As the rooster blood landed on the coins it sizzled away, leaving rust splattered permanently across the pile of coins. The crowd imploded on the pile, a massive of hands smashing and clawing and tearing at eachother to get a handful of coins. Gutch slipped away from the melee, discarding the dead rooster. He skulked around for long enough to witness the initial chaos, the large crowd fighting for whatever of the stained pile they could.

A malicious grin crossed his face. No one had taken notice of the hooded figure that slipped off into the night. He wandered down the forest path, away from the invisible force in the valley.

Summary

Gutch gathered a small fortune of coins and stained them with blood in a ritual. He used the energy from the ritual to cast a magic spell meaning that wealth holds more value to the people than justice. The coins used in the ritual are stained with a foreboding rust and are highly coveted by all.

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

G. Musinovic

๑ Gregori Musinovic ๑

☾ Student of the School of Life ☽

۞ Celestial Witch ۞

❦ Personality & History ❦

Gregori is curious to a fault, he may seem shy or disinterested at first but he has the capacity to be lively. He can be surprisingly perceptive or charming when he wants to be, but that requires him not being preoccupied with his active internal world. He is an avid practitioner of meditation.

Gregori has a large family. He is the seventh son of his father, with a handful of sisters and a vast choir of cousins. His beginning was crowded and lively, his large family travelled across europe. Their unusual life was touched with mysticism and shadowy happenings went on in the background of his sunny and grounded upbringing. His mother was versed in the arts of intuition and divination, and she took a specific interest in Gregori when she recognised signs of her child's latent ability.

By age 8 the stability of his large group of relatives was eroding and the party was rapidly declining. Gregori's mother acted on a spontaneous premonition and sought a Czech Practitioner who agreed to taking the young Gregori in an apprenticeship. The fellow was a wizened alchemist impressed with the boy's natural affinity. He employed Gregori, introduced him to Prague, and introduced him to the stars.

Upon taking up his new role, Gregori showed his talents as an impressive learner and took a keen interest in telescopes, lens, and observing and charting celestial bodies. In the process he would also pick up some knowledge in the arts, physical alchemy, and philosophy.

He spent a comfortable decade delving delving into academia, and living a comfortable urban life funded by his and his mentor's findings. They took a variety of trips to hunt for special artefacts. Hot air balloon sojourning a handful of adventures. During their friendship his mentor taught him to focus his internal energy into the world. By the time he had turned 18 his mentor was satisfied, and he shortly passed on. The cushion of guardianship slipped out from under him. As soon as the man died his estate was chopped up and divided amongst several distant strangers and Gregori was left with nothing but the clothes on his back and the skills he had cultivated.

Fortunately he had studied the old ways. And despite being afforded luxuries for a time, Gregori had never forgotten how raw life could be. He spent another 2 years wandering as a hermit, a vagabond, a merchant, a labourer, however he could survive while drifting. Learning what he could, refining his skills but trying to maintain secrecy and privacy while also maintaining a life on the road. By this point, the man is exhausted, but the spark of motivation remains lit within him. By the point our story catches up with him he has just been found in London. He had stayed too long and had told a little too much. Fortunately the Corinthia Coven were the ones who found him. Could this be the sanctuary of learning he has been seeking to hone his pursuit of the ultimate discipline?

❦ High Initiate/Coven Witch ❦

Gregori is well studied in the stars and interpreting signs of intuition. By age 20 he is capable of summoning an ethereal pair of hands to manipulate that which he can see physically. If he focuses he can summon just one hand that is very difficult for people to perceive. He believes if he can refine his lifestyle via experimental changes he can push this limit and summon more hands or even stronger Celestial powers.

๑ ❝ 𝕮 𝔥 𝔞 𝔯 𝔪 𝔢 𝔡 , 𝕴‘𝔪 𝖘𝔲𝔯𝔢 ❞ ๑ { A Witch’s Tale - RP }

Hello folks. Much love. About to post my Celestial witch

Walled World: Prepare to Die

(Don't) Look Outside - small-scale survival horror in a mutagenic apocalypse

<Snipped quote by JFK>

It's not really a need, just another element of horror thrown in to the mix.

@Lugubrious

In my mind the body horror of having an apartment complex strewn about with Inhuman beasts is enough. But it's up to you. Would I have to have a physically infectious infector or is it enough for one of her main goals being to spread the blessing of witnessing onto others?