Hand of the Mist
Committed
Roleplay posts: 57
Registered: Mar 26, 2021 0:51:23 GMT -5
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Post by Hand of the Mist on Nov 22, 2021 21:16:39 GMT -5
Here, the trees shiver and rustle in the quiet breeze, the noise so quiet it sounds like a whisper. It seems as though a fire swept through here many years ago, as many of the trees are young and the brush ample and healthy. Occasionally, the blackened corpse of an old giant stands hollow and tall, waiting to return to the earth.
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Maribel Correa
Established
Roleplay posts: 22
Appearance: Maribel is a towering, broad-shouldered woman with skin as pale as polished ivory. Though she has a square jaw and sharp, piercing features, there is a way about her movements that retains a soft, delicate manner.
She has yellow eyes like a cat's with impressively large pupils, becoming pitch black in the absence of light or when she spots something particularly fascinating. Her hair is predominantly white with a few strands of black beneath the layers, similar to how hair changes as humans age.
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Equipment: A bladed whip is the last surviving weapon in Maribel's repertoire after the great flood. Other than that, she has the crystal ball, which is little more than a toy now in the mists.
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Skills and Abilities: Transformation:
Maribel's vampiric curse can allow her to change her form into several distinct shapes: a shaggy black dog, a humanoid bat creature, and an oily snake, none of which are smaller than Maribel's human form.
Her senses and natural strength are heightened considerably at night and gutter just as significantly during the day. She has excellent night vision that causes her to be blinded completely in the presence of the sun. If in direct contact with sunlight, she burns.
The Correa family's shared ability is that which to create loyal thralls without having to sire them into vampires. Thralls are created with a bite, and sired vampires are created with a bite that doesn't kill the victim, and then feeding the victim the vampire's blood. Thralls share a portion of the vampire's strength and can still walk freely in the sun, though with a newly found disdain for it.
Registered: Mar 21, 2021 14:42:37 GMT -5
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Post by Maribel Correa on Nov 23, 2021 3:28:27 GMT -5
Its feet galloped. How far it carried them, she did not know. Curled up within its belly, she was plagued by the screams of her children. Huey, Astrid, Lazslo... Vasco. They called out to her in their little voices, pleading for her to save them from the floodwaters that engulfed the castle walls, rushed through the hallways, filled their rooms, and snuffed out their cries. She groped through the darkness as she tried to find them, but alas the deluge found her and swept her away, down, down, down into the darkness, far away from the cries, the castle, and the children.
She awoke with a gasp. Her hand flew to her chest as she sat up, trying to calm her beating heart. The woman's brow furrowed then, as she remembered there was no such thing aflutter beneath her ribcage. It was her breath, shallow and quick, that feigned the memory of it, but alas. She pressed her hands against the soil and closed her eyes, steadying her mind. What transpired in moments past that lead her here, and what was she to do now? There were waters, certainly. A flood much like her dream, but there was also a boat. Yes! The Desmodus and the mist. There was Vasco and the thralls, perhaps Alvaro and Maha? And what of her sister, Elena? And then what of herself? What name was that? It started... started with an M. Maribel. The vampire opened her eyes, black as pits, and gazed out into the field of flowers around her. They bloomed in the light of the moon, mimicked its glow, and yet were dampened by the splatter of a dark, rusty grime. She clamped a petal in her thumb and rubbed at the substance, and at once the smell hit her: iron and rot, sickly sweet and sharp. Something caught her eye beneath the flower, and she moved it aside gently to observe it, revealing the clouded whites of a beast's eyes. Maribel sneered. As she continued to collect herself, the woman arched up onto her feet and ran her hands over her skin. No clothes, no family, no flood, and no memory of getting here. In the throughs of starvation, her gloomy friend must have taken over, keeping her in hibernation until they found land. It was evident it hunted and relinquished its hold, leaving them here in this field together. The explanation was sufficient, but where was she to find her family? The crystal ball was in her robes and she certainly didn't have those. To walk across the field and into the forest was her only answer, and as she took her first step, she heard a scream. It was no one she recognized, but ah, it was a start. Before the vampire knew it, she broke out into a sprint, and all the forest knew of her was the wind through their leaves, leaving them to whisper of things to come.
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Belladonna Atropa
Established
Roleplay posts: 44
Appearance: Belladonna has Dark straight black hair that ends just passed her jaw, aside for a long braid. She has ivory skin, dark painted lips and heterochromia with her right eye being a medium grey and the left a deep blue.
There is no color on Belladonna's clothing. She tends to wear long corseted dresses that go from her neck down and leaves everything to the imagination while also not hiding away her charms. She also wears her black fur shawl in colder weather, but if the weather is particularly warm she might go without. Her shoes are calf-height sturdy low-heeled boots.
Equipment: Vials of poison
Small potions bottles
Spool of Red string
Dark red lip paint
Basket
Knife
wooden Staff
Herbology book
Tome of Curses and hexes
Skills and Abilities: Potions, poisons, medicine and drugs. Anything from curses to cures is where Belladonna's (Bella for the privileged few) expertise lies. With the right payment, no work is morally too low for her and no cause too great.
Chemistry: Allows her to isolate plant components and increase their potency on a rudimentary level, however consumes more resources and time to accomplish. Medicine of that caliber can also create highly corrosive or toxic fumes. Mistakes may cause fires or explosions of mundane of magical nature.
Arcane investigation: Bella is in tune with magic, but only senses it in form of intuition or "gut feeling", since her power and senses are muted on the isles. She is also knowledgeable in matters of the arcane and given enough time can decipher occult texts and inscriptions, at least based on her best guess of the meaning, depending how ancient it is and the context evidence is found in.
Ritual curses and Hexes:
All rituals require material and somatic components to work. Due to the influence of the Isles, all curses and hexes are channeled into an item that then needs to be placed on or around the target person. Typically they take form of letters tied with red string, wooden or straw idols or potions/food that need to be consumed by the target.
Arcane knowledge: What is a witch without knowledge on the basics and how to use them?
Biography: All she says is she doesn't remember where she came from, but some have doubts about that statement.
Registered: Apr 10, 2021 9:27:32 GMT -5
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Post by Belladonna Atropa on Jan 21, 2022 8:33:45 GMT -5
The Witch had been called a fool to wander within the Whisperwood by herself. Every time someone discouraged her based on their own fear of the unknown, she merely scoffed in response. If they all remained in their bubble then they'll never find out what was out there. Belladonna walked among the ghost-like atmosphere of the burnt trees and low foliage. Life always did find a way to carry on one way or another. Sometimes it carried on the same, most of the time it carried on irrevocably changed, but carried on nonetheless.
Alas, she wasn't here to wax poetic about her sorry situation. Bella wore thick black fabrics and fur, something others would consider perhaps restrictive for the activity, and yet offered her protection from the elements and thorns she may brush against along the way. IN the crook of her arm, she held a basket that would contain her ounty for whenever she was satisfied enough to return. In all honesty, she chose this place because the foliage was so low. It was accessible, readily available and didn't offer many places for things to hide- or so she thought.
The witch knelt down and set the basket down next to her. The patch she stopped had seemed to have an abundance of variety, no doubt different specimens trying to compete with whatever amount of sunlight they could get. Collecting them at this stage, she could potentially preserve the useful species and propagate them elsewhere with not as robust competition. She reached within the basket and produced a small hand shovel. She got to work, stabbing the earth with the implement and being careful to dig around as much of the roots as possible to leave them intact. The plants were handled with care, like jewels being extracted from the earth. She moved with a practiced hand, after all, this was the root of all of her business. A specimen freed, it was placed in the basket with just enough dirt from its native soil so as to not stress out the plant more than necessary. -
Unbeknownst to the woman, she hadn't been alone in the Whisperwoods. After all, how could they be called Whisperwood without something to whisper within them. Bella thought there was nowhere to hide due to the lack of height in the foliage, but what she didn't account for was the danger waited for her from the top of the ruined trees. Only the faintest noise of bone scratching against the charred wood of the treetops, the charcoal flaking off and falling into the leaves had been enough to give the witch pause. She glanced behind her but didn't see what could have caused such a noise. Experience told her to not discount it outright. Now wary, Bella gripped her shovel more tightly and waited to see if the noise would repeat.
Her patience was rewarded as the noise occurred again, though this time she heard was sounded like a ragged exhale, like a violent wind finding its way within the cracks of a home, somewhere between a long moan and a whistle. Now she knew she wasn't alone. She looked around again but saw nothing. one step back... two steps back..
The creature took its chance to lunge.
It launched itself from the top of the tree on top of Belladonna with a shrill screech. She was knocked down as she hadn't expected the attack to come from the sky. What she came face to face with looked like bones, human bones, held together by melting threads that weren't really melting, it seemed to move and cling to different parts of this skeleton. The creature snapped its jaw, but Bella thought fast and shoved her shovel into the mouth of the creature, preventing it from closing its mouth again.
"Begone foul creature!" She exclaimed and her first instinct was to call upon the forces of the unknown, and the creature was sent flying back off of her, but not before taking a swipe at her. She didn't feel its black claws catch her face lightly, her was more focused on survival. With some distance gained from the creature, Bella gave it a firm kick before scrambling towards her basket to retrieve it. The creature wasn't stunned for long, as it prepared to give chase, not content to let its prey go so easily.
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Sylvester Barclay
New
Roleplay posts: 6
Age: 31
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Appearance: In his human form, Sylvester stands at about 6'03"
He's younger than his rugged, worn looks might suggest, though often is untidy. His loose blond hair is wavy with no real style or form, and his face his only trimmed when he believes his beard is getting in the way. His eyes are an electric blue. He also bears a scar over his face, as well as several over his chest.
In his bestial form, he stands closer to eight feet tall, though few have tried to measure him to any real accuracy. His fur is patterned after that of the timber wolf, yet he retains the scars where he had received them, as well as the blue of his eyes.
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Equipment: Often wearing loose, disposable clothing, Sylvester eschews any sense of fashion for a cobbled together look. After all, color-coordinating your outfits is of little benefit once they're in tatters on the floor. He carries a hand axe when he can keep track of it, and often finds himself forced to scavenge new weapons. He has no valuables or treasures he's been able to keep track of between transformations.
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Skills and Abilities: Raised as a lumberjack, Sylvester was already impressively strong before his transformation, which only enhanced his strength. His durability in addition has increased by several times. Few wounds cause lasting damage, and very few can slow him down. He heals rapidly, though sustained, persistent damage can push that factor to its max.
Unfortunately, he has no actual skill at true battle. He has his fair share of barroom brawls under his belt, but he has no skill in swordplay or any advanced forms of combat, and tends to push through on his strength and durability to outlast or overwhelm his opponent.
In his bestial form, however, he is a force to be reckoned with. Tremendous physical strength, coupled with a potent healing factor make him more than a match for many. He is, however, weak to silver and susceptible to magical attacks and influence. His ability to reason isn't lost, but it is severely limited, making following orders or intricate plans difficult to follow through on.
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Biography: Born on the outskirts of Isra, Sylvester Barclay found his small town besieged by a beast of unknown origin. After tracking and eventually driving the creature away, he was badly wounded. Since then, he has suffered the curse of lycanthropy.
Registered: Jan 20, 2022 19:06:21 GMT -5
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Post by Sylvester Barclay on Jan 21, 2022 13:24:09 GMT -5
It was simple. He just needed to go up to the witch, to ask her, surely she'd understand? ...Right, that sounded foolish even from his own limited knowledge. He had heard stories of witches and ancient, sinister deals struck by the gloom of a moonless night, surrounded by the ghastly remains of those who had so foolishly agreed to similar bargains before, strung about in shriveled fetishes. The description hardly matched the idea of a kindly old woman who would gladly remove a curse out of the kindness of her heart. He had followed the rumors since he'd washed up here a week ago, smelling of brine and wet dog. At least, he assumed it had been a week. His sense of time was...messy, when it came to the the Beast. Rumors of a witch who could cure any ailment...for a price. Now it's the word "price" that worried him so, for when it came to gold he had nothing. Not a trinket to his name. The most he had were a set of ratty old clothes he had found drying outside a hut, and a simple woodsman's axe stolen. Stealing had long since last its taboo nature to him.
Yet, upon his arrival to the witch's tent he had to calm himself. For an hour he'd rehearsed things to say, offers he could make, pacing back and forth in the woods, approaching the tent flap and retreating again. When at last he felt he had the crystallization of his efforts (most of which simply included adding the word 'please' somewhere in the conversation) he flung the flap open...
Empty. Well, that was anticlimactic. He could smell within now, the acrid scent of crushed herbs, a cloying arrangement of unknown objects. A scent which, when he closed his eyes, lead away in a swirling trail. If she weren't here, how long would it be until she returned? The scent was still relatively fresh...if she were going to another town, or even a city, she might be gone for days, weeks even. He could feel the shifting Beast within. Like a caged creature the sensation of a captured predator, leaning against the bars of his ribs. Knowing it only had to wait to be free.
No, he couldn't risk waiting. Couldn't risk losing her, couldn't risk if this...thing were freed and found her first. Would it know? Would it try to preserve its own perverse life? No, he had to find her. Rising, he lowered himself primally, securing the axe more firmly to himself to prevent it from rattling as he, half stooping, plunged after the trail. -
These woods were darkened by the ravages of an ancient fire. He could still smell it, could mark those trees that would have been useful in their prime. Yet he hardly allowed himself to slow, his muscles almost felt as if they pulsed not in fatigue, but the sensation of instinct. The begged to be freed. He had to concentrate, had to think. The witch had been here, though the scents of other herbs began t mingle with her own, sharpening it with the fresh sap. She stopped, regularly. All he had to do was-
He stood straight suddenly, his gaze flickering around. A noise. A sudden, sharp crack that-
"Begone foul creature!"
He lunged towards the shout and in moments was upon the scene. Under normal circumstances, he may have hesitated. He likely would have even feared the cataclysmic creaking creature that clawed at her. Yet he had pushed himself beyond what his humanity had offered already. A fevered frenzy that caused his vision to go red as he charged the skeletal being. As it lunged for her again he tackled it from the flank, sending it and him tumbling across the burnt forest floor. Both were on their feet in an instant. Ripping the axe from his makeshift sheath he swung at the creature, cracking skull and embedding it into the cranium of the uncaring skeletal beast.
With a flick of its wrist, his face tore open, sliced by claws he wasn't anticipating. He staggered backwards, leaving the axe firmly lodged in the strange slimy skeleton. Reaching up, the woodcutter felt his face, blood bubbling and pooling around his palm. His vision blurred.
No no no no, not now! Not when he was so close! He grit his teeth so hard he thought they would crumble, trying to bite back the rage, the panic. His heart thundered, each pulse blurring his stinging, blood-filled vision more. Agony pulsed through his body, tortured muscle contracting, sinew thrumming like electricity. He fell to his knees, and the skeleton took its chance, leaping atop him, tearing and biting at flesh. Creating gore that seemingly replaced itself in moments. The figure beneath it expanded, fur bristled through raw skin, limbs elongated with loud, disturbing cracks as if stressing themselves.
Then, with a sudden, final crack the Beast's eyes flew open, locking with the witch. It straightened suddenly, taking the skeleton with it as it snatched it off its back, massive paws like fists curled around the throat and the ribcage of the monster. A roar shook the forest as the werewolf bellowed into the remorseless face of the undead, looming massively in the small clearing.
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Belladonna Atropa
Established
Roleplay posts: 44
Appearance: Belladonna has Dark straight black hair that ends just passed her jaw, aside for a long braid. She has ivory skin, dark painted lips and heterochromia with her right eye being a medium grey and the left a deep blue.
There is no color on Belladonna's clothing. She tends to wear long corseted dresses that go from her neck down and leaves everything to the imagination while also not hiding away her charms. She also wears her black fur shawl in colder weather, but if the weather is particularly warm she might go without. Her shoes are calf-height sturdy low-heeled boots.
Equipment: Vials of poison
Small potions bottles
Spool of Red string
Dark red lip paint
Basket
Knife
wooden Staff
Herbology book
Tome of Curses and hexes
Skills and Abilities: Potions, poisons, medicine and drugs. Anything from curses to cures is where Belladonna's (Bella for the privileged few) expertise lies. With the right payment, no work is morally too low for her and no cause too great.
Chemistry: Allows her to isolate plant components and increase their potency on a rudimentary level, however consumes more resources and time to accomplish. Medicine of that caliber can also create highly corrosive or toxic fumes. Mistakes may cause fires or explosions of mundane of magical nature.
Arcane investigation: Bella is in tune with magic, but only senses it in form of intuition or "gut feeling", since her power and senses are muted on the isles. She is also knowledgeable in matters of the arcane and given enough time can decipher occult texts and inscriptions, at least based on her best guess of the meaning, depending how ancient it is and the context evidence is found in.
Ritual curses and Hexes:
All rituals require material and somatic components to work. Due to the influence of the Isles, all curses and hexes are channeled into an item that then needs to be placed on or around the target person. Typically they take form of letters tied with red string, wooden or straw idols or potions/food that need to be consumed by the target.
Arcane knowledge: What is a witch without knowledge on the basics and how to use them?
Biography: All she says is she doesn't remember where she came from, but some have doubts about that statement.
Registered: Apr 10, 2021 9:27:32 GMT -5
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Post by Belladonna Atropa on Jan 21, 2022 14:42:52 GMT -5
Whether by luck or fate, Bella was able to seize her basket. A glance over her shoulder allowed her to see a larger shape tackle the undead pursuer, though there was only really dim light to witness the events with. At first it felt like her feet were stuck getting sucked down in mud as she stared as the limbs wrestling for dominance over the other. A mess of limbs and violent instincts, Bella could still make out the one who'd in the end come to her aid. It was some kind of man, muscled and tall, someone who didn't look like they were from this corner of the new world.
The shift in the mana was a familiar sight, but from a time that felt so long ago. Some kind of lycanthrope creature, it worked in ways similar to what she was familiar with given the way his skin shifted. It was also that knowledge that had her brace herself as she and the new beast made eye contact. No matter how many years passed, there was always something about staring into the eye of death that never failed to send a shiver down her spine..
And also invigorated her.
While the Werewolf roared and bellowed, Bella opted instead to abscond. The witch took off running, her basket sitting on the crook of her arm. She ran until her lungs burned, where she would hide behind the trunk of a charred tree. She hoped the hiding spot would at least be enough to buy her precious few second before this Beast could take its turn trying to cut her down. The skeleton with the gelatinous substance, perhaps she could dispatch on her own. Something that size might be a bit beyond her capabilities considering the state of her magic.
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Sylvester Barclay
New
Roleplay posts: 6
Age: 31
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Appearance: In his human form, Sylvester stands at about 6'03"
He's younger than his rugged, worn looks might suggest, though often is untidy. His loose blond hair is wavy with no real style or form, and his face his only trimmed when he believes his beard is getting in the way. His eyes are an electric blue. He also bears a scar over his face, as well as several over his chest.
In his bestial form, he stands closer to eight feet tall, though few have tried to measure him to any real accuracy. His fur is patterned after that of the timber wolf, yet he retains the scars where he had received them, as well as the blue of his eyes.
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Equipment: Often wearing loose, disposable clothing, Sylvester eschews any sense of fashion for a cobbled together look. After all, color-coordinating your outfits is of little benefit once they're in tatters on the floor. He carries a hand axe when he can keep track of it, and often finds himself forced to scavenge new weapons. He has no valuables or treasures he's been able to keep track of between transformations.
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Skills and Abilities: Raised as a lumberjack, Sylvester was already impressively strong before his transformation, which only enhanced his strength. His durability in addition has increased by several times. Few wounds cause lasting damage, and very few can slow him down. He heals rapidly, though sustained, persistent damage can push that factor to its max.
Unfortunately, he has no actual skill at true battle. He has his fair share of barroom brawls under his belt, but he has no skill in swordplay or any advanced forms of combat, and tends to push through on his strength and durability to outlast or overwhelm his opponent.
In his bestial form, however, he is a force to be reckoned with. Tremendous physical strength, coupled with a potent healing factor make him more than a match for many. He is, however, weak to silver and susceptible to magical attacks and influence. His ability to reason isn't lost, but it is severely limited, making following orders or intricate plans difficult to follow through on.
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Biography: Born on the outskirts of Isra, Sylvester Barclay found his small town besieged by a beast of unknown origin. After tracking and eventually driving the creature away, he was badly wounded. Since then, he has suffered the curse of lycanthropy.
Registered: Jan 20, 2022 19:06:21 GMT -5
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Post by Sylvester Barclay on Jan 21, 2022 15:10:59 GMT -5
The aberrant undead had no sense of whether or not it could hope to succeed in a combat of such scale. It gnashed teeth, ripped and shredded with claws, attempting in some fashion to free itself from the grip of its savage interloper both unaware that their original prey had exfiltrated the scene by some moments. The Beast raised the skeletal figure, slamming it into the earth with a cracking of bone. The skeleton reached out, digging its claws into the side of his face, dragging across it and leaving trails of boiling blood in their wake. The Beast grabbed the axe handle, still partially embedded, using it for leverage to jerk the biting skull to the side so it could stoop. Its jaws opened, closing around bare bone and digging partially into the ground as he closed his jaws around the thin, exposed spine.
With a crunch, it severed the connection, sitting back as the headless body still fought for dominance. Then, without much in the way of precision or care, the werewolf slammed and crushed, snarling and roaring as it bypassed any sense of a clean kill and opting instead to simply pulverize bone, rendering to meal. The Beast staggered back, spying as the red ooze crawled up its arms. It was like a fungus, attempting to consume a damp stump, fleeing from its now-useless host.
The werewolf freed itself, not even attempting to carefully prise the gel from its arms, rather gouging out the entire chunks of flesh the blood spread to, tossing them side until it could stagger back, steam rising from its freshly mauled arms. Already the flesh was growing back as the curious, vampiric ooze was left with nothing but deadening flesh to cling to. It took a short time to heal and already it was on the trail of its initial quarry.
As the courser predator the beast emulated, it ran primarily on all fours, only slowing as the scent became thick. Then, with a surprising display of stealth it prowled around the wood, circling rather than directly running after the witch. It sought to catch her unawares, though it was easy to underestimate a being of her particular caliber.
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Belladonna Atropa
Established
Roleplay posts: 44
Appearance: Belladonna has Dark straight black hair that ends just passed her jaw, aside for a long braid. She has ivory skin, dark painted lips and heterochromia with her right eye being a medium grey and the left a deep blue.
There is no color on Belladonna's clothing. She tends to wear long corseted dresses that go from her neck down and leaves everything to the imagination while also not hiding away her charms. She also wears her black fur shawl in colder weather, but if the weather is particularly warm she might go without. Her shoes are calf-height sturdy low-heeled boots.
Equipment: Vials of poison
Small potions bottles
Spool of Red string
Dark red lip paint
Basket
Knife
wooden Staff
Herbology book
Tome of Curses and hexes
Skills and Abilities: Potions, poisons, medicine and drugs. Anything from curses to cures is where Belladonna's (Bella for the privileged few) expertise lies. With the right payment, no work is morally too low for her and no cause too great.
Chemistry: Allows her to isolate plant components and increase their potency on a rudimentary level, however consumes more resources and time to accomplish. Medicine of that caliber can also create highly corrosive or toxic fumes. Mistakes may cause fires or explosions of mundane of magical nature.
Arcane investigation: Bella is in tune with magic, but only senses it in form of intuition or "gut feeling", since her power and senses are muted on the isles. She is also knowledgeable in matters of the arcane and given enough time can decipher occult texts and inscriptions, at least based on her best guess of the meaning, depending how ancient it is and the context evidence is found in.
Ritual curses and Hexes:
All rituals require material and somatic components to work. Due to the influence of the Isles, all curses and hexes are channeled into an item that then needs to be placed on or around the target person. Typically they take form of letters tied with red string, wooden or straw idols or potions/food that need to be consumed by the target.
Arcane knowledge: What is a witch without knowledge on the basics and how to use them?
Biography: All she says is she doesn't remember where she came from, but some have doubts about that statement.
Registered: Apr 10, 2021 9:27:32 GMT -5
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Post by Belladonna Atropa on Jan 21, 2022 19:25:10 GMT -5
Bella was still well alert to her environment when the Beast had traced her general direction. She listened to the way the massive creature's limbs thumped against the foliage, how it slowed down, and then became nearly undetectable. She hazard a glance out towards the werewolf, and saw that it was right on the other side of the trunk she hid behind. She held her breath, and tried to exhale as quietly as possible. Her heart beat loudly like a drum in her ears as they sought to fill the panic silence. Every second felt like its own eternity, tense moments between predator and prey. But who was the predator, and who was the prey in the end?
This was going to be a complicated dance from the start. As the Werewolf began to circle around, the witch hugged the trunk of the tree and with careful steps she stepped around the trunk to stay just out of view.
There had to be something that could offer a distraction. Silvery eyes glanced to the side and picked a spot far enough away from her side. Discreetly she raised her hand and just for a moment it was as if space warped ever so slight around her hand, a force that she launched forward like she had with the creature previously. The power she had to work with wasn't enough to assemble a tent anymore, but it was plenty to rustle the leaves in the distance. That would hopefully distract him enough so she could book it once again when she had the chance.
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Sylvester Barclay
New
Roleplay posts: 6
Age: 31
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Appearance: In his human form, Sylvester stands at about 6'03"
He's younger than his rugged, worn looks might suggest, though often is untidy. His loose blond hair is wavy with no real style or form, and his face his only trimmed when he believes his beard is getting in the way. His eyes are an electric blue. He also bears a scar over his face, as well as several over his chest.
In his bestial form, he stands closer to eight feet tall, though few have tried to measure him to any real accuracy. His fur is patterned after that of the timber wolf, yet he retains the scars where he had received them, as well as the blue of his eyes.
---
Equipment: Often wearing loose, disposable clothing, Sylvester eschews any sense of fashion for a cobbled together look. After all, color-coordinating your outfits is of little benefit once they're in tatters on the floor. He carries a hand axe when he can keep track of it, and often finds himself forced to scavenge new weapons. He has no valuables or treasures he's been able to keep track of between transformations.
---
Skills and Abilities: Raised as a lumberjack, Sylvester was already impressively strong before his transformation, which only enhanced his strength. His durability in addition has increased by several times. Few wounds cause lasting damage, and very few can slow him down. He heals rapidly, though sustained, persistent damage can push that factor to its max.
Unfortunately, he has no actual skill at true battle. He has his fair share of barroom brawls under his belt, but he has no skill in swordplay or any advanced forms of combat, and tends to push through on his strength and durability to outlast or overwhelm his opponent.
In his bestial form, however, he is a force to be reckoned with. Tremendous physical strength, coupled with a potent healing factor make him more than a match for many. He is, however, weak to silver and susceptible to magical attacks and influence. His ability to reason isn't lost, but it is severely limited, making following orders or intricate plans difficult to follow through on.
---
Biography: Born on the outskirts of Isra, Sylvester Barclay found his small town besieged by a beast of unknown origin. After tracking and eventually driving the creature away, he was badly wounded. Since then, he has suffered the curse of lycanthropy.
Registered: Jan 20, 2022 19:06:21 GMT -5
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Post by Sylvester Barclay on Jan 21, 2022 20:06:32 GMT -5
Don't kill her, don't kill her, don't kill her.
Like a far-off vibration, the most errant ache, the Man within struggled. The Beast ignored it. As it approached the tree it carefully stalked a circle around it, ears flicking each time even the subtlest of noises were made. With each heavy breath a soft growl filled the all-too quiet forest. If there had been any wildlife before, it certainly was masking its presence now. There was a predator here, now, and they all knew it. At one point the werewolf swung a paw around the tree, three-inch claws embedding in the wood, only just missing its unseen target as it scraped along the bark, scattering it in charcoal and chips.
A sound. His head snapped to the side as on instinct the monster leapt, closing the distance to the source of her magical disturbance in moments. Casting about with a snarl, it sought the target of its predation. Fur prickled, its heart thumped, pumping boiling blood through it. It could smell the heavy stench of herbs around it, masking the witch who had busied herself plucking them not long ago. Yet scent wasn't the only tool at a wolf's arsenal. His triangular bears pricked up, turning almost independently of his head as he searched.
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Belladonna Atropa
Established
Roleplay posts: 44
Appearance: Belladonna has Dark straight black hair that ends just passed her jaw, aside for a long braid. She has ivory skin, dark painted lips and heterochromia with her right eye being a medium grey and the left a deep blue.
There is no color on Belladonna's clothing. She tends to wear long corseted dresses that go from her neck down and leaves everything to the imagination while also not hiding away her charms. She also wears her black fur shawl in colder weather, but if the weather is particularly warm she might go without. Her shoes are calf-height sturdy low-heeled boots.
Equipment: Vials of poison
Small potions bottles
Spool of Red string
Dark red lip paint
Basket
Knife
wooden Staff
Herbology book
Tome of Curses and hexes
Skills and Abilities: Potions, poisons, medicine and drugs. Anything from curses to cures is where Belladonna's (Bella for the privileged few) expertise lies. With the right payment, no work is morally too low for her and no cause too great.
Chemistry: Allows her to isolate plant components and increase their potency on a rudimentary level, however consumes more resources and time to accomplish. Medicine of that caliber can also create highly corrosive or toxic fumes. Mistakes may cause fires or explosions of mundane of magical nature.
Arcane investigation: Bella is in tune with magic, but only senses it in form of intuition or "gut feeling", since her power and senses are muted on the isles. She is also knowledgeable in matters of the arcane and given enough time can decipher occult texts and inscriptions, at least based on her best guess of the meaning, depending how ancient it is and the context evidence is found in.
Ritual curses and Hexes:
All rituals require material and somatic components to work. Due to the influence of the Isles, all curses and hexes are channeled into an item that then needs to be placed on or around the target person. Typically they take form of letters tied with red string, wooden or straw idols or potions/food that need to be consumed by the target.
Arcane knowledge: What is a witch without knowledge on the basics and how to use them?
Biography: All she says is she doesn't remember where she came from, but some have doubts about that statement.
Registered: Apr 10, 2021 9:27:32 GMT -5
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Post by Belladonna Atropa on Jan 22, 2022 9:49:24 GMT -5
If it hadn't been for Bella's cool head and many years of experience, the claws merely inches from her face embedded in the wood would have likely made anyone lose composure. A chunk of charcoal the werewolf had clawed dropped onto her shoulder, a piece that she gathered and hid in her palm for later. Thankfully, the Beast was suddenly more interested in the distraction she created. The distance offered the Witch her window of opportunity, and like any good business woman she took it. The witch had ever been the most athletic, and with the suppressing force of the New World she couldn't rely on a spell or two to make things easier. Alas where physical prowess wasn't her weapon of choice, her wits were a far more sharpened edge.
In her hand might be the key as she looked at the piece of charcoal and thinking on the best application. Further up her path she found it. That same distortion from before coalesced tighter in her palm as the energy gathered and began heating up the charcoal. She blew air in her closed fist frantically to get it to ignite proper and something akin to a fireball appeared within. Just in time Bella slipped in between the wedge of two similarly charred trees that at one point had grown close together like siblings, and barely having crossed their threshold, she launched the fireball in her palm into the burned base of the two trees, and set it alight. The thickness of charcoal along the burned trunks caused the magical fire to consume it rapidly. On one hand, the fire might deter the beast slightly, on the other the smoke could alarm the camp to send help in time.
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Sylvester Barclay
New
Roleplay posts: 6
Age: 31
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Appearance: In his human form, Sylvester stands at about 6'03"
He's younger than his rugged, worn looks might suggest, though often is untidy. His loose blond hair is wavy with no real style or form, and his face his only trimmed when he believes his beard is getting in the way. His eyes are an electric blue. He also bears a scar over his face, as well as several over his chest.
In his bestial form, he stands closer to eight feet tall, though few have tried to measure him to any real accuracy. His fur is patterned after that of the timber wolf, yet he retains the scars where he had received them, as well as the blue of his eyes.
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Equipment: Often wearing loose, disposable clothing, Sylvester eschews any sense of fashion for a cobbled together look. After all, color-coordinating your outfits is of little benefit once they're in tatters on the floor. He carries a hand axe when he can keep track of it, and often finds himself forced to scavenge new weapons. He has no valuables or treasures he's been able to keep track of between transformations.
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Skills and Abilities: Raised as a lumberjack, Sylvester was already impressively strong before his transformation, which only enhanced his strength. His durability in addition has increased by several times. Few wounds cause lasting damage, and very few can slow him down. He heals rapidly, though sustained, persistent damage can push that factor to its max.
Unfortunately, he has no actual skill at true battle. He has his fair share of barroom brawls under his belt, but he has no skill in swordplay or any advanced forms of combat, and tends to push through on his strength and durability to outlast or overwhelm his opponent.
In his bestial form, however, he is a force to be reckoned with. Tremendous physical strength, coupled with a potent healing factor make him more than a match for many. He is, however, weak to silver and susceptible to magical attacks and influence. His ability to reason isn't lost, but it is severely limited, making following orders or intricate plans difficult to follow through on.
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Biography: Born on the outskirts of Isra, Sylvester Barclay found his small town besieged by a beast of unknown origin. After tracking and eventually driving the creature away, he was badly wounded. Since then, he has suffered the curse of lycanthropy.
Registered: Jan 20, 2022 19:06:21 GMT -5
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Post by Sylvester Barclay on Jan 22, 2022 10:17:37 GMT -5
The witch was clever, but the Beast was quicker. As she fled it turned, watching for a moment as it spotted her dark form blending well with the darkened foliage. Dropping to all fours he ran, again eschewing the direct route for a circular one yet her magic once again reared its head. As the nearby wood burst into flame, the werewolf was given little pause. It had no desire to feel the tongues of flames, but that pulsing, primal heat still coursed through its veins. She was clever, but he was quicker.
Stealth had failed it where speed rarely would. Lunging forward the beast threw itself against the two trees she had fled through and for a moment its form disappeared behind the sheet of flame. The beat of a heart passed before a suddenly explosion of force, one of the trees collapsing to the side as the monster forced itself through gripping flame, cinders embedded into its fur as it pursued her. With bulk and speed it lunged, attempting to grab her, to drag her down beneath overwhelming force.
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Belladonna Atropa
Established
Roleplay posts: 44
Appearance: Belladonna has Dark straight black hair that ends just passed her jaw, aside for a long braid. She has ivory skin, dark painted lips and heterochromia with her right eye being a medium grey and the left a deep blue.
There is no color on Belladonna's clothing. She tends to wear long corseted dresses that go from her neck down and leaves everything to the imagination while also not hiding away her charms. She also wears her black fur shawl in colder weather, but if the weather is particularly warm she might go without. Her shoes are calf-height sturdy low-heeled boots.
Equipment: Vials of poison
Small potions bottles
Spool of Red string
Dark red lip paint
Basket
Knife
wooden Staff
Herbology book
Tome of Curses and hexes
Skills and Abilities: Potions, poisons, medicine and drugs. Anything from curses to cures is where Belladonna's (Bella for the privileged few) expertise lies. With the right payment, no work is morally too low for her and no cause too great.
Chemistry: Allows her to isolate plant components and increase their potency on a rudimentary level, however consumes more resources and time to accomplish. Medicine of that caliber can also create highly corrosive or toxic fumes. Mistakes may cause fires or explosions of mundane of magical nature.
Arcane investigation: Bella is in tune with magic, but only senses it in form of intuition or "gut feeling", since her power and senses are muted on the isles. She is also knowledgeable in matters of the arcane and given enough time can decipher occult texts and inscriptions, at least based on her best guess of the meaning, depending how ancient it is and the context evidence is found in.
Ritual curses and Hexes:
All rituals require material and somatic components to work. Due to the influence of the Isles, all curses and hexes are channeled into an item that then needs to be placed on or around the target person. Typically they take form of letters tied with red string, wooden or straw idols or potions/food that need to be consumed by the target.
Arcane knowledge: What is a witch without knowledge on the basics and how to use them?
Biography: All she says is she doesn't remember where she came from, but some have doubts about that statement.
Registered: Apr 10, 2021 9:27:32 GMT -5
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Post by Belladonna Atropa on Jan 22, 2022 16:09:33 GMT -5
Athleticism had never quite been the Witch's forte, and in spite of her wits they wouldn't save her here it seemed. She flinched as the now burning tree blew apart from the mere strength of the Beast chasing at her heels. The Monster who's shadow loomed ever so closer like the shadow eclipsing over a moon. No matter how fast she ran, there was no way for her to prevent the Strong and massive hand that grabbed and tripped the Witch down. The basket she'd brought fell to the forest floor with her and tipped open. While the wind was knocked out of her she tried gripping the foliage to find some kind of resistance to the force dragging her back. When she found none she flipped herself onto her back and stared the Beast in the eye.
The heart in her chest thumped loudly, her lungs burned from the exertion, and yet this was the last ditch effort she could give in this dire situation. Bella firmly planted her palm on the Beast's chest and spoke with a firm and commanding voice: "Fight it! Fight your instincts, fight your bloodlust, fight your hunger! Fight, as only the strength of your will decides if you are to be a Monster or a Man."
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Sylvester Barclay
New
Roleplay posts: 6
Age: 31
---
Appearance: In his human form, Sylvester stands at about 6'03"
He's younger than his rugged, worn looks might suggest, though often is untidy. His loose blond hair is wavy with no real style or form, and his face his only trimmed when he believes his beard is getting in the way. His eyes are an electric blue. He also bears a scar over his face, as well as several over his chest.
In his bestial form, he stands closer to eight feet tall, though few have tried to measure him to any real accuracy. His fur is patterned after that of the timber wolf, yet he retains the scars where he had received them, as well as the blue of his eyes.
---
Equipment: Often wearing loose, disposable clothing, Sylvester eschews any sense of fashion for a cobbled together look. After all, color-coordinating your outfits is of little benefit once they're in tatters on the floor. He carries a hand axe when he can keep track of it, and often finds himself forced to scavenge new weapons. He has no valuables or treasures he's been able to keep track of between transformations.
---
Skills and Abilities: Raised as a lumberjack, Sylvester was already impressively strong before his transformation, which only enhanced his strength. His durability in addition has increased by several times. Few wounds cause lasting damage, and very few can slow him down. He heals rapidly, though sustained, persistent damage can push that factor to its max.
Unfortunately, he has no actual skill at true battle. He has his fair share of barroom brawls under his belt, but he has no skill in swordplay or any advanced forms of combat, and tends to push through on his strength and durability to outlast or overwhelm his opponent.
In his bestial form, however, he is a force to be reckoned with. Tremendous physical strength, coupled with a potent healing factor make him more than a match for many. He is, however, weak to silver and susceptible to magical attacks and influence. His ability to reason isn't lost, but it is severely limited, making following orders or intricate plans difficult to follow through on.
---
Biography: Born on the outskirts of Isra, Sylvester Barclay found his small town besieged by a beast of unknown origin. After tracking and eventually driving the creature away, he was badly wounded. Since then, he has suffered the curse of lycanthropy.
Registered: Jan 20, 2022 19:06:21 GMT -5
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Post by Sylvester Barclay on Jan 25, 2022 21:01:29 GMT -5
Elation. A satisfying thrill of energy coursed through him. A hunt, successful. He dragged her towards him, as she flipped herself over and lunged, placing a massive hand on her shoulder, overlapping much of her chest as the massive, ravenous form loomed over fangs flashing white as the Pale Rider on a moonlit night. The other hand gripped her leg, encircling it with its sheer size as that broad head dipped, maw dripping with saliva as it made to partake in its quarry. Her hand flew to his chest, the last flailing of a creature fighting for its life.
Her words rang out, fighting the air for the volume over a savage growl. His jaws opened, bearing down, each fang like a dagger. He stopped. Her heart thumping rang out in his ears, each heavy pant for breath, his own heartrate increasing as he pulled back. It was agony. He needed to eat, he needed to kill, he needed to- he needed but he couldn't. It was like struggling underwater, two creatures trying to get purchase, to surface before the other. To breach for those breaths of air that would clear the mind, give them resolve. The Beast's eyes widened as it leaned back, looking down upon the witch beneath it. Its prey, his salvation, its meal, his hope.
A sudden crack filled the air and the werewolf snarled in defiance of some unseen foe. Another crack, its body seeming to fold in on itself, the fur sinking back into its body, its face a long, agonizing shift inwards until the weight almost left her body. Rather than a beast pinning her down, Sylvester kneeled, leg on either side of her body, steam rising from his body as his snarls of fury were replaced by the groan of agony of a man. His eyes flew open once more, grabbing her and pinning her, a wild light in them that suggested a final act of a Beast caged. Then the light faded, and his eyes lost the harsh glare of need and replaced with the exhausted gaze of their true owner.
He leaned forward, placing a hand either side of her head, panting trying to catch his breath and staring down at this witch. Gulping a breath he managed to choke out the words, ignoring the face that his nude form was practically prone atop hers.
"Help me."
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Belladonna Atropa
Established
Roleplay posts: 44
Appearance: Belladonna has Dark straight black hair that ends just passed her jaw, aside for a long braid. She has ivory skin, dark painted lips and heterochromia with her right eye being a medium grey and the left a deep blue.
There is no color on Belladonna's clothing. She tends to wear long corseted dresses that go from her neck down and leaves everything to the imagination while also not hiding away her charms. She also wears her black fur shawl in colder weather, but if the weather is particularly warm she might go without. Her shoes are calf-height sturdy low-heeled boots.
Equipment: Vials of poison
Small potions bottles
Spool of Red string
Dark red lip paint
Basket
Knife
wooden Staff
Herbology book
Tome of Curses and hexes
Skills and Abilities: Potions, poisons, medicine and drugs. Anything from curses to cures is where Belladonna's (Bella for the privileged few) expertise lies. With the right payment, no work is morally too low for her and no cause too great.
Chemistry: Allows her to isolate plant components and increase their potency on a rudimentary level, however consumes more resources and time to accomplish. Medicine of that caliber can also create highly corrosive or toxic fumes. Mistakes may cause fires or explosions of mundane of magical nature.
Arcane investigation: Bella is in tune with magic, but only senses it in form of intuition or "gut feeling", since her power and senses are muted on the isles. She is also knowledgeable in matters of the arcane and given enough time can decipher occult texts and inscriptions, at least based on her best guess of the meaning, depending how ancient it is and the context evidence is found in.
Ritual curses and Hexes:
All rituals require material and somatic components to work. Due to the influence of the Isles, all curses and hexes are channeled into an item that then needs to be placed on or around the target person. Typically they take form of letters tied with red string, wooden or straw idols or potions/food that need to be consumed by the target.
Arcane knowledge: What is a witch without knowledge on the basics and how to use them?
Biography: All she says is she doesn't remember where she came from, but some have doubts about that statement.
Registered: Apr 10, 2021 9:27:32 GMT -5
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Post by Belladonna Atropa on Jan 26, 2022 8:28:27 GMT -5
It was hard to breathe under the heavy weight of the beast's hand pinning her down over her chest. She could feel its sheer strength against her leg as she was thoroughly trapped under it, her skirt had ridden up as the best had dragged her closer. She'd closed her eyes only for that moment where she'd seen that maw full of dagger-like teeth lower down. She felt its hot labored breath brush against her skin, its saliva dripping down over her collarbone. Thankfully, her attempts to coax the man within the beast seemed to have resonated just right as it seemed to struggle internally. The beast pulled away from her her just in time to not take that final bite. The battle raged within the creature, logic versus instinct, want versus need, Man versus Beast. The whole time, the witch merely looked up as she laid there still and silent. Any movement on her part could be enough to bring its attention firmly back on her, and so she waited.
Finally, it seemed the Beast was beginning to give way to the Man. The fur receded, and the shape of the man who first came to her aid revealed itself again, but this time exhausted. The massive weight that pinned her down lessened, but did not leave fully. Even her cold jaded heart felt a twinge of pity for him. Werewolves were afflicted with a particularly nasty fate, hardly the master of their own destinies but more so slaves to their beastial instincts if they did not have the means to tame themselves. Case in point, the Beast, now a man, resumed pinning her down with a look she'd seldom see in people, but even that, too, faded away.
He asked for her help. Considering the circumstances, how close she'd been to being reduced to a meal, adrenaline clouded her mind as her heart still beat a hundred miles a minute. Such thrill and Exhilaration were rare, just as rare was a feeling she rarely experienced. the witch felt... Alive. Only a moment passed between them before she nodded with a quiet "Yes... Yes, I'll help you."
There were more ways than one to satiate a beast, and hopefully she could redirect the hunger. As if guided by her own instincts, she embraced the naked man tightly in her arms.
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