ᴄᴏʟᴅ ʙᴇ ʜᴀɴᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ғᴏᴏᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʙᴏɴᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏʟᴅ ʙᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴠᴇʟᴇʀ ғᴀʀ ғʀᴏᴍ ʜᴏᴍᴇ
ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ sᴇᴇ ωʜᴀᴛ ʟɪᴇs ᴀʜᴇᴀᴅ ωʜᴇɴ sᴜɴ ʜᴀs ғᴀɪʟᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴏᴏɴ ɪs ᴅᴇᴀᴅ.
ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ʀɪɴɢs ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇʟᴠᴇɴ ᴋɪɴɢs ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ sᴋʏ, sᴇᴠᴇɴ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅωᴀʀғ ʟᴏʀᴅs ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇɪʀ ʜᴀʟʟs ᴏғ sᴛᴏɴᴇ, ɴɪɴᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴍᴏʀᴛᴀʟ ᴍᴇɴ ᴅᴏᴏᴍᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴅɪᴇ, ᴏɴᴇ ғᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋ ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴏɴ ʜɪs ᴅᴀʀᴋ ᴛʜʀᴏɴᴇ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴍᴏʀᴅᴏʀ ωʜᴇʀᴇ sʜᴀᴅᴏωs ʟɪᴇ.
Jai Templar
[Schimba] Fane Lupei
[Priciolici] Erik
[Priciolici] Malachi
[Strigoi] Elohir
[Priciolici]
---ᴏɴᴇ ʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʀᴜʟᴇ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʟʟ, ᴏɴᴇ ʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ғɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ, ᴏɴᴇ ʀɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ʙʀɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ᴀʟʟ ᴀɴᴅ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇss ʙɪɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇᴍ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴀɴᴅ ᴏғ ᴍᴏʀᴅᴏʀ ωʜᴇʀᴇ sʜᴀᴅᴏωs ʟɪᴇ. ---
Jai TemplarHow do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on, when you in your heart, you begin to understand: there is no going back. There are some things that time cannot heal - some hurts that too deep, that have taken hold.
Jai Templar’s life is not a pretty one; it is not a happy one, and it does not have a happy ending – at least, not yet. Jai was born in 1760 to his parents, Marianna and Barnabus – his father was a Schimba and his mother was a human. Though it is rare for Schimba to mate with humans, it does happen. The Schimba population is small, as is the chance of finding your lifemate, and so some Schimba will turn the mortals to repopulate. In Jai’s eyes, Marianna was the most beautiful creature to have ever walked to earth. There isn’t a day that goes by that Jai does not remember his beautiful mother. Thank the Great Spirit that Jai takes after Marianna. His dark, jet black hair is akin to his mother’s soft, rolling locks that once were; his dark, emerald-green eyes so like Marianna’s soft, soulful, loving ones. She knew, of course, that her husband was a Schimba, and knew that her children would most likely be Schimba. The Schimba gene, when bred through the mortal line, is most usually dominant. When Jai was born, Marianna described it as the best day of her life. To Barnabus, he had an heir to the family shipping business.
Jai was born on November 21st, 1760, in the gentle, rolling hills of Scotland. Barnabus’ family was fairly rich in their time – extremely wealthy, in fact; they would be the equivalent of billionaires in the modern age – and that money had passed to Barnabus, allowing them to avoid the persecution of the Scottish later in the years. Marianna doted on her only son, and shielded him from Barnabus’ temper. You see, Jai’s father was not a nice man – he liked the drink much too fiercely for his own good, as well as Marianna and her son. He would fly into fits of rage at the smallest provocation, and Marianna was most often the target. He beat her restlessly, black ugly bruises marring her flawless, beautiful form. Jai once stumbled upon his mother a few moments after his father had stormed off in his fit of rage, presumably to find more alcohol. The tentative voice of Jai startled his mother and she spun around and shrunk away. The sight of the ugly red hand mark on Marianna’s slender throat confused the two-year-old Jai and Marianna pulled her son into the billows of her gown and rocked him back and forth, singing softly to him.
“
If I could give you three things, I would give you these:
Song and laughter and wooden home on the shining seas.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.
Sleep now the wind is warm and the moon is high.
Give sadness to the stars, sorrow to the sky.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.
Do you hear what the sails are saying in the wind’s dark song?
Give sadness to the wind, blown alee and gone.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.
Sleep now the moon is high and the wind is cold
For you are young and sad and the sea is old.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.
If I could give you three things, I would give you these:
Song and laughter and a wooden home in the shining seas.
When you see old Isle au Haut, rising in the dawn
You will play in yellow fields in the morning sun.”
Marianna sang the song softly to her son, watching as Jai’s soft, green eyes slowly closed, and ruffled his silky black hair. When she was satisfied that Jai was deeply asleep, she pressed her lips against his forehead and whispered, “You’ll always be in my heart.”
It was a scant three years later that Marianna’s strength broke. Barnabus’ muddy, ugly, soulless brown eyes were wide and bloodshot with drink and rage, and he snarled hatefully at his wife, striking her hard against the face. Marianna made not a sound as she staggered and slammed against the wall, turning her head to the right. When her emerald eyes opened again, she met her son’s terrified gaze. ‘Hide,’ she mouthed and Jai, to his credit, shook his head fiercely. The five-year-old puffed out his chest and released a fearsome cry, hurtling himself at his father. Barnabus staggered, and stumbled away from Marianna. She wept, clawing her way towards Jai, begging Barnabus not to hurt him, not to hurt the heir to his fortune. Barnabus ignored him and tangled his hand in Jai’s hair, throwing his five-year-old roughly to the ground. Jai grunted and cried out, his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. Though it was nearly three hundred years ago, Jai remembers every word his father said to him.
“You think yourself brave?” Barnabus snarled, towering over the smaller Jai. “You think yourself strong? You are a fool, just like your whore of a mother.” Marianna let out a strangled cry and clenched her hands into fists. She knew that she could not reach her son in time, but to hear her beloved husband call her a whore in front of her son cut deep.
“N-No,” Jai responded, his voice shaking a bit, “but I’m brave enough not to hurt a lady.” He scrambled to his feet, puffing out his chest and standing before his gentle mother protectively. Barnabus laughed, the sound cold and heartless, his eyes flaring with rage.
“It is a pity you took after your mother.” The flippant words cut deep, and Jai’s world ended that night. He still remembered his mother’s horrified scream as his father changed, lunging for his mother. He still remembered Marianna’s horrific gurgle as his father jerked her head back roughly, sinking his teeth into her throat. He watched, frozen with fear, as his father murdered Marianna. The once vibrant green eyes that had been Marianna’s focused on her son’s, and she stretched out a single hand to caress Jai’s cheek once. Jai heard screaming, over and over and over again, as the life in his mother faded away with the last drop of her blood, and it was not until his father struck him full on the mouth that he realized the agonized screams were his. Barnabus towered over his heir, his once brown eyes now black, his blood-slicked teeth bared, and sank his teeth into Jai’s shoulder. The five-year-old crumpled instantly from shock and grief and Barnabus sold the useless child into slavery to a Strigoi. Jai later found out what the price Barnabus has offered was.
Jai’s father hated emotion. He hated the fact that he loved, he hated it all. And when he met Costin, he knew it was his way out. Costin took an interest in Jai and asked for the child as a slave. Barnabus agreed, but on one term: change him. A cruel light entered Costin’s eyes and he did, thus turning Barnabus into the first Strigoi-Schimba hybrid.
Jai’s past is not pretty, and his life is not happy. When he was sixteen, he was rescued by the gentlest soul aside from his mother. Unole. The Schimba King took Jai under his wing and trained him, instantly noticing the young shifter’s fighting spirit. Jai swore he’d find Costin, and Barnabus, and kill them both.
Jai can often seem stand-offish, with his hard, pained green eyes and his jet black hair. Jai thinks it a blessing that he looks solely like his mum; he is tall, standing almost six-feet-tall. He prefers to watch, acting when he deems in necessary. Though Jai does not often allow himself to tangle in emotions, as love has killed him before, he would not hesitate to protect someone he knows has placed their trust in Jai’s protection.
Fane LupeiAnd neither the angels in heaven above or the demons down under the sea can ever dissever my soul from the soul of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
Fane Lupei is quite possibly the most pure soul who has ever walked the earth. He is easy going, and is one of the most easy people to get along with – simply because he’s
fun. He likes to make awful jokes, twang awful puns, and snicker at overly-dramatic movies. He has an odd habit of bursting into dramatic death scenes. His favorite is to drop to his knees, release a horrific gurgle, and cry,
“A plague upon both your houses!” before falling face-first to the earth, tongue lolling. It’s quite comical to see. Fane is quite attractive, with his tall, muscular form, silky black hair, and stark, amber, almost pure gold eyes. He moves with a sweeping ease, an unerring grace, a feral touch. He stands about 6’1”, and so towers over many of his fellow Priciolici, who tend to run on the shorter side. Fane is the epitome of the ‘free spirit.’ He loves running through the woods; the sound of his paws drumming against freshly-dampened earth and the smell of the woods just after a rain-storm is the most beautiful feeling to him.
Ah, the speed of the wolf is an amazing thing. Though not the fastest animal, the wolf still packs a punch when he runs at full speed. Wolves are generally built for stamina, however; the ability to chase down prey until it collapses from exhaustion us one of the wolf’s advantages. Fane is no different – he is just half-human. His speed is about double the average wolf, and is faster than any other Priciolici – almost faster than Doru himself. Fane’s heart generally beats at a slower rate, allowing his blood to stay oxygenated over long runs or quick sprints. As he is larger than those of his pack in human form, Fane towers over all of them in wolf form. His fur is a jet black, as though every ounce of color had been sucked away from Fane’s coat. His coat is rather fluffy, keeping him safe from the cold, but also giving him a comical look. It’s Fane’s amber-gold eyes that cause the intimidation factor. It’s also his sheer size. The average Priciolici, in wolf form, stands at Fane’s shoulder. Crazy, right? It’s like he was on the ‘roids, the juice, all that good stuff, but he wasn’t. He’s just an enigma of nature. Go Fane!
Well, Fane’s history is rather pleasant, though his dad was never really in the picture [No, I swear, I don’t have daddy problems. I don’t know why all my characters’ dads are douchebags. o3o]. His mommy raised him right and Fane’s the perfect little gentlemen. He won’t hesitate to hold the door open for a lady, or drape his jacket over a puddle – though he hasn’t had to do that much yet. Ugh. Ruin a perfect jacket? Why? Oh, the cruelty! Anyway, Fane is quite protective when it comes to his family. He won’t hesitate to rip out throats or break hearts if it means keeping his loved ones safe.
ErikA horse! A horse! My Kingdom for a horse!
The son of Doru is a good position to be in, and Erik relishes it. He is heir to the Priciolici throne, and thinks himself flawless. In reality, he is a good pack leader; he cares for the wolves under his control and takes care of the taxes and business transactions to make sure they are cared for, provided with health insurance, and fed. Though some Priciolici prefer to purchase their own health insurance, there is a policy with which any pack member can enroll. Erik runs this policy in North America. Erik is average looking for a Priciolici; he is about 5’7”, average height, and has dark brown hair that is slightly curly and drapes in his eyes a bit. Erik is best described as ambitious; he wants what he wants and will do near anything to get it. He’s not afraid to break some people to get his way; but he is overall a nice person. His tragic flaw is his jealousy; even the smallest object or idea that Erik does not possess and wants can through the Priciolici prince into a fit of rage and passion.
Little does the Priciolici know that he has a pureblooded sister, though her whereabouts are unknown and Doru rarely mentions his mother. Doru’s mate died a little while after Erik’s sister was born and Doru does not speak of her; the pain that floods his gaze is heartbreak enough to Erik, though he has never known his mum. Erik was born in Romania, but remarkably does not speak with an accent. He does speak Romanian fluently, as do Doru and a few other pack members. Erik’s wolf form is a large, silvery-gray, muscularly built creature. He his fast, though nowhere near as fast as Fane or Doru. His Alpha will is powerful; his power is strong. He does not take well to insubordination. Should any Priciolici live in North America, Erik will demand their allegiance or force them from the country. North America is
his. No one is going to take Erik’s chance at being the Priciolici King one day. Not. A. Single. Person.
Erik’s history is rather pleasant, though his mother was not in the picture. About a year after his was born – around the year 1885 – his mother was attacked, as it was around the time that the Raven-kind were discovered. She was murdered; she was abused violently, beaten, hung upside-down, and then her throat was slashed ear to ear. As an insult, a silver stake was plunged through her chest, missing her heart, with a note that read,
And may the servants of the Devil be slain. Doru’s anguished howl ripped through the night with fervor, and those who murdered Lauren felt true fear stir in their hearts. You do not mess with the alpha’s mate; he will kill you. It is as simple as that. When Doru discovered Lauren, she clung to life – barely. He sobbed, took her from the tree that she was suspended by, and cradled her. She asked him to live and take care of Erik. The worst part? Lauren was pregnant; her pregnancy had lasted about three months, which was average. Doru rushed her home and their daughter was born as Lauren gasped her dying breaths. When Erik’s mother died, she whispered, “Live for me.” Doru swore to do so, and raised his son and daughter as best he could. Unfortunately, his daughter looked so much like Lauren that he feared for her safety. He feared that Lauren’s murderers would believe his daughter a reincarnation of his mate, and so he sent her away – to North America, borne by the arms of a young Priciolici couple. He gave them strict orders. “You are not to inform her of her heritage,” Doru ordered, “or what she can shift into.
I will do so when I meet her.”
Erik, of course, remembers nothing of this; he only remembers the wrestling matches with his dad, and the runs through the woods as a swift wolf. He enjoyed his childhood to the umpteenth degree.
Malachi“Look down, look down, don’t look him in the eye. Look down, look down, you’re here until you die… look down, look down, you’ll always be a slave. Look down, look down, you’re standing in your grave…”
The cold, flat gaze of Malachi’s black eyes has stirred much fear in hearts of mortals, though Malachi himself loathes that he is intimidating. He was not always such. He had a mortal family once, and his life was good. Until Costin came along, of course. The very name of the Strigoi lord sends rage piercing Malachi’s heart and causes his jaw to clench, his hands to curl, and his eyes to flash madly. He hates Costin more than he hates himself, and that is saying something. The Strigoi Lord is pompous, taking what he pleases as he has done for over two-thousand-years, since the birth of Christ. And when he spotted the strong young Malachi, whose name was Ryland then, he saw his new subject coming to life. When Ryland was walking home from his job at the nearby law office, he was attacked.
Cost drug Ryland into the shadows and buried his teeth in the lawyer’s neck. Ryland’s cries of pain were muffled by Costin’s hand over his mouth, and the fangs in his neck. Once the poison hit his bloodstream, the change happened. Costin laughed and dropped Ryland, watching the transformation. Foam burbled at Ryland’s lips, his throat convulsing as he struggled to breath past the barrier in his lungs. His eyes rolled back, wordless screams ripping themselves from his throat. In the back of Ryland’s panic-filled mind, he wondered why no one came to help. He has yet to learn that Costin’s power blocked off his screams from mortal ears. When the death throes clasped Ryland’s form, he convulsed and flailed wildly, his body throwing in a last ditch effort to live. Energy reserves were destroyed, and Ryland’s mortal life ended. When his eyes opened again, blackened by his mortal death, Costin spoke a single word.
“Malachi.” And thus Costin’s most powerful child was born.
Malachi hates himself. He hates how Costin has damned his soul, and he hates how he is forced to watch his family grieve his loss from afar. Oh, how he wants to go there, to go to them, to bundle his wife and his two daughters into his arms and weep at the loss of his mortal life with him. But he can’t. He knows that his wife, Jennifer, will never understand. She will fear him, think him a ghost; she believes him dead, though his body was never found. It was his own doing. He went back to the place where Costin had murdered him, looking at the splattered blood and signs of a struggle, and called 911. Malachi was gone before they arrived, but they identified the blood as Ryland’s and informed his family.
Malachi’s appearance is rather handsome, and he was quite attractive when he was mortal. His jet-black hair is kept neatly trimmed, though he has let it grow out a bit since death. His eyes, once a stark, bright, loving green are now a flat, bottom-less black. He is tall, standing about 5’9”, with a fairly muscular body. It is his mind that gives him his power, however; he is second only to Costin when it comes to powerful Strigoi.
Malachi believes himself forever damned. Can he be saved? Can he become Ryland once more?
Elohir“You see me, I’m pleading for you to stop my bleeding.”
Poor little Elohir has never had it easy. Oh, her adoptive parents were amazing; they loved her until the ends of the earth. But she never really fit in anywhere. At school, everyone seemed to be afraid of her, though she could never figure out why. And when she asked her parents, they would share this look between them and say, “It’s just a phase, Elo.” Such an answer satisfied a kindergartener, but it does not satisfy the seventeen-year-old Elohir now. There’s always been something wrong with her; she’s always had this… presence stirring in the back of her mind, growling and speaking roughly as a wolf would, and it’s always felt… right, and that fact scares Elohir more than she’d admit. She’s had dreams of a pure white wolf, with strange, glowing green eyes loping powerfully alongside a gray wolf who seems so familiar; part of her recognizes him, the subconscious part of Elohir’s mind. She does not realize the other wolf in her dreams in Doru, Lord of the Priciolici, and that she is his daughter. She is so much like her mother; she has the same sweeping step, the feral grace, the easy confidence; she has the same jet black hair that falls in loose waves to her waist; the same, sparkling, emerald eyes. She is the spitting image of the late Lauren.
Elohir is much like her mother in personality, too. She is authoritative, taking the lead role in group projects that are forced in school. Most students steer clear of her; it seems their very instincts tell them to stay away. She is confident, a true alpha, as her blood commands. She has a habit of pulling her hair over one shoulder, and letting it drape downward. When concentrating, Elohir will gently press her teeth into her bottom lip or stick her tongue out. She is unable to sit still; it is possibly the result of never shifting, but Elohir is always moving, whether it be tapping her legs or drumming her fingers or tapping her foot. It’s always something, and it’s gotten Elohir in trouble before. Her teachers have written her off as the “ADD kid” and it makes Elohir furious, though no one would ever believe the soft murmurs in her mind.
Elohir is Erik’s pure-blooded sister, and Doru’s royal daughter, though she does not know it. Because she looked so much like her murdered mother, Doru feared for his daughter’s safety and sent her, in the care of a trusted couple, to North America to be raised. She cannot speak Romanian very well; she took French in high school. Deep inside the powerful Elohir is the wolf, straining to be released. Doru comes; will she accept him as her father and accept her fate? Or write him off as another non-believer of her potential?
ᴀsʜ ɴᴀᴢɢ ᴅᴜʀʙᴀᴛᴜʟᴜᴋ, ᴀsʜ ɴᴀᴢɢ ɢɪᴍʙᴀᴛᴜʟ, ᴀsʜ ɴᴀᴢɢ ᴛʜʀᴀᴋᴀᴛᴜᴋ, ᴀsɢ ʙᴜʀᴢᴜᴍ ɪsʜɪ ᴋʀɪᴍᴘᴀᴛᴜʟ.
