Rockette

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

_{A R C H A D I A / / E A S T E R N. . . S H O R E L I N E.}

---

Carmen Auset had long abandoned her prey, helm buried within the sand, every follicle and grain parting to welcome a temporary tomb of slumber and malice bidden by silvery claws. She had risen slowly like a demented pursuer of dreams, blades lax, figure poised as she regarded the mortal betwixt her bladed feet sunk deep into slogged sediment. It pinged a fickle memory, a ghost of a past; the figment phantasm of a man knelt before her stance under her pursuit and conclusion.

The Imperial Paddock had not been kind to the souls of the damned, the kind caught and reaped and pillaged for entertainment within the rings of that malformed arena; the most dangerous were used for sport against the lesser offenders.

C'mon pet, we got another one for you. Meaty this time too.

She sweeps the exterior of her claws through sallow threads, dispelling the voice crinkling through the breadth of her mind, where The King growled low in memorial, invading the recesses of her experiences and torture; starved for days, led to the flesh of man by leash, and bidden to tear through fragile barriers by the reaping of her mere teeth.

She didn't even realize the threat looming yonder her perception, leveling a shot towards her, and didn't even become aware until the avid and tantalizing scent of one she found within favourtism bloomed across her wanting lips, summoning a reflex of a pirouette as she turned and met mirth and benevolence. Had he saved her, as anyone could be saved with the enemy thwarted by their intended shot? Did he desire favour and fortune by her grace she wondered swiftly, a wreath of a smile adorning her features, full of teeth and bite and the sultry wink of gratitude that followed hence.

There was no time allowed for a rejoiner, as the air was rife and thick in the coiling temptations of blood and flame, but she could thank him later; her gracious reply and quip would be swift in the execution of travel, she mused briefly and willed her gaze else where. Bodies were dispatched easily, most knocked out cold in the preferred method, but had some had been slain and Carmen's fangs ground against one another.

The objective was to avoid death, now Archadia had bodies to be lain to rest, names to strike from the record and families to inform. Justice for the fallen would be demanded, for there wasn't supposed to be a war, just a mere sentry. They didn't know what SOLDIER was, how were you explain injury by medieval talons and weapons and wounds seared, life siphoned by demented beckon and pull. Carmen watched men fall and pried open her orifice, banshees of the maelstrom wailing aloud, her eyes aglow in terrifying hails of power as winds of ebon colour and intent just as dark descended. Sired from The King at those who were to defy the given task, the court of jesters, knights and advisers falling under their own desires rather than the wants and needs of the true ruler.

And then she screamed.

Whatever men had been left by her comrades that - only some - lacked mercy, fell to their knees, warped and wreathed in blackened winds and silenced by the terrible gale that destroyed their wills and surrendered their weapons to sand and ruin.

The banshees of her maelstrom only then silenced when all had fallen and her wailing command waned, with only fickle whorls of wind remaining by the fluctuating breadth of her heart and The King within her soul. There thrived an eternal wealth and desire of subjugation and she could taste the immortal wrath of wronged rule and might, the lingering touches of madness bidding and demanding until Carmen forcefully tempered down The King by a promise of blood later. She would have to feast later, soon, to placate their terrible appetency.

"Stand down, SOLDIERS." She commanded, rapidly flicking her clawed gauntlets, every flex and digit grinding the blades together and creating an infusion of sparks. Carmen took stock of the air, her tongue falling afar from her lips, tasting beyond flame and blood to gather those who remained. "The Infiltration has moved out, least we haven't failed that." She cast a pointed glower towards the Berseker. "Now we need to move along the shore, take out any more sentries we see. They know we are here, better make use of the attention while we can. The Infiltration needs to secure a route," she gestured yonder, further within the land, where trees loomed and forestry wreathed alive within abundance of coverage.

"We'll follow and meet close to Faelan." Carmen cast a last look towards the canal, where the Shyp had finally met the bottom of the waters and had stilled. There were bodies in the water, possible links to the Govern with the Galbadian wears connecting them to the central influence. She glanced to those of her troupe, dismissive and probing, wondered if they witnessed the dead as well as she had, and then she commanded: "Set fire to the Shyp boys, the flames shall draw attention from our travel, but will also burn away any possible connection we might have to the Govern. We need to salvage what methods of secrecy we can."

The shores of Arcahdia fell in line with the forest, the banks consumed of roots and vile tangles of deadened reeds and various flora, all in suffrage from the Maridum sea that banked to the East; the coldest and darkest of the oceans Viera possessed. The paths to Faelan were usually traversed by Shyp ways and transports from the outer establishments, as the land was best suited to thwart those attempting ill-fortune to the city. These shores were, at best, forgotten and gone without tending or civilization, no domiciles were within sight or refuge, and perhaps - Carmen personally speculated - purposely left to the wiles of nature that teemed these sands and waters.

The thick, arched claws of her footwear easily sliced through the deadened reeds attempting to tangle themselves amidst her swagger, and perched easily on roots rising high from the sand, snaking their paths towards the forest bordering alone their trek. The canopy here was consumed of an emerald green that darkened and shifted to bruised violets, thick and teeming and adapted to the coldness that swept Eastward by the wind and wiles of the sea. The tide was out, at least, allowing them to traverse with mild secrecy, any of the Archadian militia wouldn't dare come across here, not with the bank infested as it was, but would skirt across the forest when the tide would come back by the pull and manipulation of the Viera moons.

Every so often Carmen would pause, perched and reclining, claws embedded and impaled within deadened wood and plants and carefully gauge the air with parted lips and flickering eyes, gathering scent and visual. The winds were ripe and full of salt and the teeming life of unfurling growth, mingling with deadened blood from the others and the constant flavour of her favourite. She had almost forgotten about him, she reflected, when she had found a new odor to canter after with baited smile and want, and opted for a quick glance in his direction. To distract didn't mean to sneak across the lines of the border, but so long as Corbyn and the others secured their route, the plan would commence without flaw.

"Nothing so far, Archadia doesn't drift out this far it seems. Let's cause some more fires," she lashed out with her claws, hammering down with the blades of her footwear to break pieces of the root serving as her temporary perch. "We can use these, start small, lots of smoke. If we can draw their attention to the fires, it'll prevent any from finding the others."

The Ardent Progeny - A Shadowhunters RP (Pre-Game Sign-Ups)

Sweet, thanks guys.
Should I post them within the character tab section or wait until all GM characters are submitted?
I know how I am about that sort of thing. So.

➤ c o l l i d e. // ashes & dust.

Mm, this week has been so off for me. Has it been the same for you?

Anyways, yeah, I wouldn't out right describe as Danny being obsessive over her, but definitely bordering such. It's like a twisted dependency, he's the parasite to her wounds and heart, and if she's honest with herself, she can't really leave him entirely. Danny is bound to her in numerous ways and shapes, despite where her love and affections lie, there is no denying that Danny has shaped her past, thus effecting her life. In that reflection, I feel like the Church - you know the one - is in shambles, disbanded, the orphanage now gone, to go along with the fallen bridge and everything else.

So, a form of a crush, too young to know what it really means, but enough to know that there was-is something there that draws them to the other person. I envision Gabby a bit perplexed with the idea of Evans having such a thing for her, until it was dawned upon her that she shared mutual affections, but allowed them to drift and wane - never forgotten - to preserve friendship because Evans is from her childhood, her only friend - one that isn't a psycho lolita, a former drug abuser, and a twisted seller - and thus she considers their bond precious beyond normal perspective. But she can't fight her real feelings, as they continue to grow.

Well Danny will certainly be within the background, flitting about, causing trouble in indirect and shady forms. I imagine Alex wants to find out what happened too, she wants to leave the Badlands behind, find a life to live without the constant pain of home bringing her down. So this will be a wonderful descent for the lot of them.

So, I think we have the details worked out to finally start. Would you like me to? I don't mind of course, build the setting, and whatnot. I imagine I'll be able to work up something after this weekend, making notes in between, I don't know my schedule for next week just yet but I will keep you updated!

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

This week has been entirely dysfunctional - I blame the weather. The day brings about heat and at night I feel like there's a cold coming on. I feel like this current seven day period is just deformed, thus I haven't been writing like I've wanted to. Anyways, busy weekend, as usual, but expect my post within that time frame.

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

Great job everyone!
Distraction team will wrap up the current flux of Archadia troops before we move out and take a slight detour that'll lead us up along the shore, causing trouble, so the Infiltration team can move along without trouble. I'll explain more within my post - got a nice plan to cause a big bang that'll keep everyone busy - in which I'll begin tonight and wrap it up into tomorrow. Stay tuned!

[♛] 𝓡equiem. // the rise of soldier.

No worries, Icky is doing the plot post this week, I didn't have the day off to do so and I work tomorrow as well. Will be off Tuesday, though, that'll be nice.

The Ardent Progeny - A Shadowhunters RP (Pre-Game Sign-Ups)

@BCTheEntity - Purple, huh. Haven't heard that in a long while. In my personal perspective this is moderately tame to what I'm familiar with in concerns to "purple prose." But hey, it's all fine in the end, just tell me where it's confusing and I'll happily substitute and apply a simple and more straight forward approach. I didn't have time to proof read this morning, as by the time I was finished with usual errands, I had to leave for work.

Anyways, I'm conducting such now and will make the proper changes in where needed and due.

Yes, they were born Shadowhunters, hence the mention of the particular Sigil [partially inspired by book sources, you know, bloodlines and all that] and the means of legacy and rumour that is slowly waning and falling due to their small numbers. They're not a large family, thus that mention of rarity - being twins - and how their parents devoted attention to one and not the other. I did mention their induction into being Shadowhunters, I know, but I will expand and flesh out the mention of family and such to magnify this and to clarify.

You know, just now I've noted that particular thing about the surnames, it really didn't register through the books [ but again I haven't read them in so long since the sixth one of the Mortal Instrument series ], and I don't watch the television show because - shudder. I'll come up with something more befitting in regards to that particular point. Though, looking through the link you've provided, it only seems a majority of them are that way. But for the sake of keeping peace, I'll stick to tradition.

Thanks for the feedback. ♥

edit.
Made changes; took away words, shortened a few things, changed the Bukater name to Lunadale [ Luna for the aspect of the moon present within their family, the name Nyx is derived from Greek Mythology, if you're curious and Nox is my male version of such a name and Dale means for a valley, a broad one like a ravine or gully to stand for the means of descent ] and mentioned within their Biographies that their family is one of Shadowhunters and thus they were born such.

The Ardent Progeny - A Shadowhunters RP (Pre-Game Sign-Ups)

one.

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N. . ʏ. . x. . ʟ. . ᴜ. . ɴ. . ᴀ. . ᴅ. . ᴀ. . ʟ. . E

^{Shadowhunter. ◆ Twenty. ◆ Female.}

. . .

a p p e a r a n c e.

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With eyes gilded in the colour of rose quartz with blooming wreaths of near diluted flame panning outward, Nyx, like many of her lineage, is a creature of many visual flaws and flaxen statures, instead of willowy tall and imposing, they stand with chins notched up high - to distract and remain noticeable - and brows fixated in brooding exteriors of all-knowing glean. The sort that peer yonder flesh and bone to glimmer and glance at the soul and heart lain within. Nyx is diminutive for her age, and thus easily misguided within battle, compacted with near translucently that gives way to a waif impression that is assumed eternally waning. Though, when impressed and validated by the Mundane eye, Nyx is entirely unassuming, a delicate creature blanketed in cloth of mediocre affairs that interchange between spools of violet and silver. When not enveloped by a well donned glamour, Nyx dons for typical threads of Shadowhunter traditions; various shades of monotonous black and grey with only a silver locket donned thrice around her neck, emblazoned with the descending moon of the Lunadale homage that falls unto the rich lore of her given name. However, Nyx is a carefree and almost lazy sort, the lackadaisical woman that shuffles thin, pale scarred gestures through haphazardly willed waves of sallow hair that is almost white, the infliction of the bloodline draining colour and palour of mortal hue from skin and hair alike. Feathers of gold wreath outward through the hidden layers within her hair, darkened slowly to the roots at her nape were a curious mark eternally lays as a silvery patch of impaled tissue, scars of varying thickness and pain lie and envelop over the other and lay as a constant reminder to the work of her kith and kin.

Aside from the scar of battle and descent, Nyx is typically wreathed in smaller applications from the Marks graced to her skin often, as is every individual of her particular niche and kind. The Mark that wills her eyes open and all-seeing, is blazoned onto her left hand, as is most - if not all - of her nightly gifted family. Her visual, with deeply set eyes and heavy lids of somber observation and charming glances, is not a traditional sort, being constantly speculated that something else lurks within her veins and lays down in the past of her family.

. . .

p e r s o n a l i t y.

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Nyx is lax; unbound, un-willed, and often a creature of freeing spirits and wants. She heralds a whimsical candor of sorts, rising and falling late within the hours, always drifting yonder boundaries and venturing into places usually ill-advised. She's assumed almost careless and lazy in her endeavors, trading blows of sarcasm and wit with lilted phrases and chortles of a bell like cadence. Her applications of socializing are usually granted to her brother, who excels more so in his attempts to help forgive her oft-lacking methods of tact. Nyx observes and speculates on her fellow warriors in a sort of playful camaraderie, that they all advocate for the same benefit and dream of a peaceful existence, and woefully hopeless in their endeavors, despite all successful hunts and missions perfectly executed. Her belief of Downworlders borders a too curious mindset, easily befriending those she comes across with a swift banter that is perhaps a tad too suggestive and open, willingly allowing her glamour to fall and shed whenever she encounters them. Her uttered explanation falls onto that they are the same; half-breeds influenced by forces beyond their comprehension and control, thus uniquely of the same plight.

She enjoys slight affairs, never going beyond the extra mile or attempt, performing actions at a simplistic pace, never within a rush or a hurry. The idea of urgency never inflicting her actions, Nyx does things at her owns whims and wants, all within the binds of the Covenant, but there are loop holes, and sometimes she exploits these to her own benefit and enjoyment, much to the constant dismay of her peers and family. But, Nyx is not blasphemous or disrespectful to the Clave, and now considered an adult, she's aware of the burdens of such a life and eagerly tries to remain beneath the radar with skill and power alone. As if hiding behind intentional laziness and listlessness to avoid some sort of offset responsibility.

Curiously, Nyx is rumoured to harbour a form of a demented death wish, the kind that translates to a manic method of battle, in that she purposely propels herself within the line of injury and welcomes pain eagerly with a queer sort of anticipation to the awaiting blow. It's always at last minute that she reacts and responds, as if jerked within action and her reactions sudden and fierce in reflection to her every day life and performances.

. . .

s k i l l s & a b i l i t i e s.

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Like all Shadowhunters, Nyx was bourne and trained for a life of battle, constant scars and constant hardships and raised to meet them head on. She can peer yonder glamours and wills extraordinary strength in comparison to Mundane creatures, but there is always the hidden layer or mortality in her blows, even with Marks laced and written over her skin to ensure victory. Her specialty lies in close quarter blows, using her diminutive figure to sweep in low and hard, undermining the opponent by their stance and often aims for the legs first, before engaging them further. She wields a myriad of throwing knives, her preferred tool blended with the common use of Seraph blades and wire twined with electrum.

Her Marks are a usually a blend of attempts to increase her speed and empower her usual fearlessness, to bring strength and power amidst her blows and ensure she does not fall or falter. She enhances her dexterity along side these, to implement her trained use of the throwing knives to keep her aim true and her reflexes fluid. While usually planting these marks upon herself, her brother is the one to usually do so, who bears a knack for quick rune application.

. . .

b i o g r a p h y.

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The Lunadale family falls under legacy and rumour within the Shadowhunter realm, the sort that heralds a dark past but tends to never deny or explain such and allows others to believe and think what they will. Their family is slight, not quite large - at least compared to some - but holding enough influence to be heard of on a few occasions. Mostly in reflection to their eerie similarity upon all of their featurettes; all pale skin, nearly white hair and eyes of bright, worn out colours of rose quartz; varying in shade and intensity. Typically, one generation produced one child, considered well enough in terms of means and continuing the family line, so long as they too became Shadowhunters like all before them. It implanted a sensation and practice of legacy, to live up to predetermined standards and fate to ensure that the Lunadale sigil of the descending moon beneath clouds of night would not wane beneath other lines that sired might and further strength.

So, it was with quite a shock when Nyx and Nox were born, Lunadale twins - unheard of, thus rare - and successfully inducted through test and ceremony in receiving their first Marks and training to each of their strengths; within meres days of one another with results identical to every point and observation.

However, it was evident that they were different. A sort of skewed perspective, only slight, like a gentle, sloping axis that came with the unique kinship of two that were so alike within youth and candor. Nyx was oft silent, she refused to speak, or simply lacked the capability to do so. She communicated through wide stares and probing gestures that bid Nox to respond for her, who, even within youth, spoke eloquently and with a wide, wreathed smile of jovial wonder and intent. It was noticeable that Nyx was a wandering sort, the kind that often found herself lost but always would Nox be able to find her, they bore that sort of connection, and trouble and mischief seemed to canter after the young child; impish like and delicate. It was difficult to imagine such a slight creature to be donned within the blackest of runes and wielding knives of a fierce gleam and sharpness, slick and silver with ebony hilts and emblazoned with runes of fell intent and purpose of strength. However she soon learned to wield that implied disadvantage to her benefit, for what better way than to lure a demon into darkened alley ways and depths than by the bait of a fair girl with bright eyes and snow-hued hair.

Nyx, through acute body language, muttered her first words with accentuated sighs and groans, until hunts forced the twins apart, and she was left to own devices. She spoke her first words during a solo endeavor, one that required an immediate back up against a ravenous pack of vampires gone rouge and manic, a manipulated hunt that saw her coming unto a trap. An eloquent, worn down flair of the mundane slur: "Well, shit."

Since that time, she has often been preferred to participate in hunts with another to shadow her, one that requires two to be partnered and paired and watch out for another. While Nyx has killed and slain more demons than her brother, it has not gone without payment to flesh and bone. She developed a Death Wish; a demented desire of release, a slave to the rush and method of victory. One that would see her mad and manipulated. After her near demise by the hands of pale-skinned deviants, the twins were sent on a hunt - under Nox's stern suggestion to see them paired - to bring down a stray creature that appeared lycanthropic, not one of the Moon Children, but a demon warped of fur and skin and a vicious set of tooth and claw that had brought down a fellow Shadowhunter in a feral rage. It was a true test to their capabilities, and whilst they brought the beast down, the both of them bore scars in reminder of their struggle; by nape and shoulder, skin flayed and marred.

Nox developed a protective nature of Nyx from then on, more so than before, even going as far as to undermine her hunts and take them upon his self, to see that she does not receive the end she so suddenly craves. One would assume that it would frustrate the woman to no ends, however she has delegated Nox to do what he pleases and has curiously optioned to remain within the backdrop of his sudden rise of talent and purpose. She could care less for the legacy of the Lunadale family and its' small numbers, her family and her estranged, thus placing a slight and increasingly ill strain onto Nyx, Nox and their family.

two.

&

N. . ᴏ. . x. . ʟ. . ᴜ. . ɴ. . ᴀ. . ᴅ. . ᴀ. . ʟ. . E

^{Shadowhunter. ◆ Twenty. ◆ Male.}

. . .

a p p e a r a n c e.

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In common consensus to the Lunadale heritage, Nox, like all his kith and kin is composed of near translucent flesh and sallow hair of a near bleached like quality, the colours devoid of his debut aside from a light feathering of gold that dusts from the roots of his hair, starting at the nape and spanning upward. Unlike most of his family, however, Nox maintains the threads of his tresses shorn, usually close to the crown with longer strands falling into his eyes of a crinkling, eerily glimmering sea of blue, the sides shaven. Silvery scars pan from his temples, sweeping back and curling down his ears along the right plane of his veneer, a smattering of claw like deformities that descends down onto his shoulder, skipping briefly over his neck and clavicle in a bygone reminder of vicious battle. The sharp and formation of these scars lies in familiarity to the same ones his sister maintains, giving a curious wonder if such was caused by the same creature.

In further comparison to his family, Nox is taller than most, careening over six feet, capping at two inches above and looming over his kin with a endearing smile, all laced charm and benevolent qualities, his brooding brow and deeply set eyes wreathed in a lingering sort of kindness and belief. His visage remains eternally expressive, his emotions easily illustrated and thus giving way to his thoughts, never own to withhold tongue and emote from his regular routines and days. Under the flicker of a Mundane eye, his glamour cloaks him within an unassuming visual, a man clothed in reds and violets, akin to his sister, or simply passes into being unseen. Due to the eerie quality of his eyes, Nox tends to allow the longest reaches of his hair to pass over them, his fringe coating the brightness of his eyes that seem to glimmer even with light and appear more pronounced and sever within shadow.

His tastes of fashion and appeal are maintained through finery, with blouses of button down likeness and black silks, the sort of man that prides himself upon upkeep of a gentry sort. Nox wears the same silver pendant wound thrice around his neck that Nyx always wears, the sigil much the same, in respect to their names and family.

. . .

p e r s o n a l i t y.

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Nox is an incredibly emotional creature, a profound advocate for the wealth of heart and following instinct in comparison to critical thought and processes. His heart is adorned to his sleeve and flames bright and true to his expressive nature of incredible taste of humanity. Nox believes wholeheartedly to the flavours of humanity to Mundanes and Downworlders and shares the skewed perspective of his sister that everyone is generally one and the same; all holding similar origins and thus must pay homage and respect to their beginnings of life. He lives to the full capacity of his soul and life, never wasting an opportunity and flares bright and true like a eternally rising bonfire within the gloom. Oft this assumes his candor to be reckless and unbound, the sort that responds on pure empathy instead of calculating his responses properly, especially to the methods of battle basic life.

Such would be considered true if not for his over protective nature in regards to his sister, Nox tends to struggle over the listlessness of Nyx with a frustrated method of affection, being a near opposite to her careless and un-wanting nature of lax and lazy qualms and actions. Whilst they adore one another, as siblings will oft do, there is a sort of mutual strain due to their conflicting natures despite holding similar views and gains to their united cause. Nox flourishes more so in social situations, laughing easily with comrades, encouraging their lives and actions to ensure that everyone rises to their full potential.

Nox doesn't falter beyond regiment and rule, and holds the method and searing of the Clave and their Covenant true to heart and soul, and wields his emotion within battle like a near weapon on its own. While he lacks the same, apparent death wish of his sister, Nox does herald a sort of critical violence against demonic foes, nearly undone by his demented conclusion of shadowed justice.

. . .

s k i l l s & a b i l i t i e s.

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Like all of their hidden realm, Nox holds unique reflexes and strength and the all-seeing eye to peer yonder barriers and particular glamours set within place. His aptitude though lies within Mark application, as with the swift flick of his wrist and grasp, he pours all his emotions and thought into his Stele, producing Runes of a unique capability, more so for his sister who often requires his assistance to apply them to her own skin. He believes his expressive nature plays into their result, viewing each Mark with pride and a wealth of protection and purpose.

With his natural aptitude, Nox employs the use of Seraph blades like most of his brethren, but heralds them in a dual-wielder fashion, usually short bladed tools rather than elongated swords of short daggers. His ambidextrous quality enhances this unique method, with the Rune of his opening sight and eye scrawled over his left - his dominant one - much like his sister and all of his family have. His Marks consist of ones utilized for strength and speed, his blows coming down hard and fast, always allowing his opponents to see him coming in swift and merciless, his performances of battle brutal in comparison to his eternal-emotional state.

. . .

b i o g r a p h y.

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Nox was always an emotional mortal, as a child he was loud, charming, living life to the brim of possibility despite all manners of ill-fate and awaiting pain by receiving his first Runes and training nearly every day. His development was swift and gladly assumed, the legacy of his Shadowhunter family and their desires never once causing him to suffer. Nox eagerly took his sister under his wing during their training, speaking for her, able to becoming in-tune with her simple stares and slight gestures, becoming her literal voice until she learned to speak for herself.

However, it was not eternally meant to be. They passed with nearly the same marks, pride evident within their parents, but their waning hope for Nyx was dwindling and suffering, apparent in their own confusion in how to deal with their mute daughter, much to the dismay of a young Nox who was unable to understand their own plight. He understood her well enough, how could they not? Thus their attention turned onto him, hidden within shadow, so as not to abandoned her entirely, but Nox was young, unable to defy them, so he simply made sure to keep Nyx smiling and happy, to protect her when the Lunadale silently gave up on her.

When hunts led them apart and training for them became slightly different, Nox could only hope that she would see herself safe and from harm. He couldn't have been more wrong.

When Nox came to know how of her near brush with death under the fangs of vampires, he slowly began to disband himself away from their family, attempting to bring Nyx about, to try and salvage what he could and bring his parents back into acknowledging their daughter. For they were twins, a rare conception in their family, shouldn't they both be lauded over and risen to power?

His efforts flagged and failed, much to his incredible heart that swelled and bled often, his emotions broadcast loudly and proudly despite the darker seedlings beginning to take root within his heart and soul. When the rumour of a beast wreathed in black, tainted fur and vicious eyes had taken down a fellow Shadowhunter, Nox knew Nyx would attempt to place herself within line to be selected to bring it down, and immediately suggested that they both be in charge to bring it down. He knew story of her sudden Death Wish, her increasing and alarming slavery to an adrenaline rush that often fixated her in a vice. He'll never forget the terror of those eyes, his swords wielded tightly and the pain of his scars, to this day they ache, a phantom pulse that acts whenever he comes close to a demonic source.

Since that ill night, he has become more protective of her, increasing his hunts, taking hers upon his own shoulders, whilst still struggling to keep the Lunadale family together as he slowly rises to power and strength with his sister fading into shadow.

---

And there they are! Sorry it took so long, I'm still not happy with the coding result, but, I'll tweak and play with it later.
Enjoy. ♥

Edit.
My proof reading skills are shit when I become lost in code tweaking. I'll amend a few details in the morning.

The Ardent Progeny - A Shadowhunters RP (Pre-Game Sign-Ups)

Characters are done, just have to make everything pretty and code it up, hah.
Looking forward to seeing the others.

➤ c o l l i d e. // ashes & dust.

No worries. So a year will have passed since the last play. I envision it has been sort of a lax year, yet strenuous with the adjust of the bridge having collapsed. And we're currently going through a situation of should it be rebuilt or simply left alone, it all depends on who's elected to have that decision lain unto them.

Oh, you think so? Danny is that perfect antagonist, the one that has nothing and thus nothing to lose, is always involved and always bound, and always there. It's such a perfect ending though, being left hopeless and stranded. hah!

Now on the relationship of Gabby and Evan, are we wanting to kind of wing that development. I know that he's meant to be the protector and a long time friend. I haven't included it within my sheet yet, but Gabby currently lives with Alexia in the Badlands - the latter has assumed a new flat and everything, Danny now lives in her old one - and has been for about a couple months after running away from home. Alexia has always opted to live on her own, because there's a strain with her relationship with Cadian - it's hard to accept that sort of emotion when you've been abused for so long, and she's unsure of how to love him - and Danny who is always there, trying to bring her back into his life, and has started working various odd jobs. She's sort of clean, but Gabby views her as a maternal sort of figure, she's always been that way ever since Gabby first ran away to the Badlands and literally ran into her.

Danny, living in Alexia's old place, is still one of the princes of the Badlands, but has been drifting into the background as of late, he isn't as active, other people have attempted to steal his crown and somehow he always manages to be there, still holding reign. He's a bit damaged with Alex no longer constantly there now and has turned sort of manic in his desperation. He utterly despises and envies Cadian and all of Wither and has even attempted to threaten the rest of the band members to try and get Alexia back within his life.

Baby Jinx knows Gabby through Alex, the two being closer in age, Jinx has always been envious of Gabby and her life, translating into a verbal lashing every time they encounter one another. Jinx, knowing how close Gabby is with Evan and some of Wither, openly attempts to attract Evan away from her, in the demented conclusion that she wants everything that she has. She's struggling with her increasing age, as her former patrons have taken notice and don't call on her as much as they used to.