In a world you thought you knew, secrets remained hidden in the shrouds of time and destiny. In the age of the internet and television, the characters of your childhood fairy tales, your favorite movies, or even your wildest desires are all reality. Humanity has found itself no longer alone. The monsters are out of the closet. Magic is real. Society has found itself divided into those who have accepted the 'others', and those who wish to send these creatures into a fiery grave. A church that teach the ever lasting life by embracing vampires' eternity. Humans who have risen up to create hate groups against them. An eternal struggle between angels and demons amidst it all, threatening destruction of the entire world in the cross-fire. All the while, most of society works, lives, breathes, right along side monsters and beautiful creatures from their dreams. Who are you among them? Welcome to Savannah, Georgia.
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Posted on: Jun 28 2017, 07:50 PM
Character Name: Alessander Grigori Thanos
Alias: Zander Thane
Face Claim: Zach McGowan
Title: The Kimmerioi
Race: Necromancer / Vampire
Power Rank: Master (But seen as Adult)
Eyes: Light Golden Brown
Appearing Age: Mid thirties.
Chronological Age: 964 years old.
Profession: Historian and Antique Dealer
Group/Bloodline: The Dragon turned Azaleani
Built like a soldier, mind of a scholar, he had always been a foreboding figure. He towered easily over most, seeming more a mountain, and yet holds a swift nature born from years of swimming. Born off the coast of Greece, the salt and harsh wind calloused his skin while the sun tanned his body. And though he no longer carries the weight of heavy beard and long dreaded hair, cleaning down to a slim shave and medium hair slicked back - that life, the mortal one lived so long ago, was one he cannot deny.
Dressed in comfort, though casual, there is still a rough edge around him. He may clean up nicely but do not be deceived by appearances when he will always be one to embrace the ugly grime and dirt. That truth hides in the coarse deep rumble of his voice, betraying the Laconian roots to something far more wild and savage. For only a savage would have tattoos like he does, spread across his body from thighs, stomach, to shoulders. Scarred marking etched with ink into the flesh, making him seem like the very savages his father went to fight those many years ago. For it was in the act of death, from father to mother, that his own was born upon his hands.
He needs no alter and foolish Christian myth of witches to prove himself. No, his deeds aren’t in the tales of witches that brought him into the world of death. For death was never an abomination or an act to fear, as many Christian perceive it. It is that which is a part of everything. Without death, there would be no life. All the more reason that over the centuries, beyond mortal and into immortality, that he has found interests in cultures and their various artifacts of death.
Nekromanteía was a part of him as he, it. Death of the most earthly possession. Shamanism, Voodoo, to even early studies of Christianity. Around the world, he would go. Nothing would stop his thirst for the knowledge of Death. Not even his own soul.
Quiet in many forms, though intimidating without needing to be physically. He is pretentious and conceited, never hiding his intellect. It is what makes him cold and in many ways, dangerous. He is a calculating man with very little wild impulse. But to claim that he is not controlled on impulse, would be a lie. In those eerie pale golden eyes of his rests a soul as wild and savage as the ocean itself, full of fire and brimstone just as it can be as calming as water. It is a conundrum there in the depths of his soul and one he has spent several lifetimes learning.
Yet, where he is clever and quick, he is also secretive. For the world of Death is not meant for others without the gift and he is not one to share so easily. Manipulative to a fault, he is a man willing to do what he needs to do to reach his goals - regardless the deed. This fact alone makes him more savage, even one cloaked under the clothing of sheep. Because at the very center of what he is, is a monster. Even one with the warming charm of a good smile.
But in secret, he remains. Growing in his studies of the dark arts that is twisted between both Necromancy and Vampiric powers, seeing him a student and master of the abomination set within his ambition. For in the shadows he stays, not daring to step away from the lie he set to the world around him. This makes him dangerous. A man with no motive, is a man no one suspects. Always keeping his foes confused. If they are not certain who he is or what he wants, they cannot know what he will do next.
Touch death and never come back from it. From the very beginning, death was in reach of the boy made man. And regardless of the thoughts of others, the very definition of death, it was always a dirty and foul thing. There was nothing beautiful about death. Alessander Thanos was the true means to show this. If his direct and golden pale gaze didn’t make one question life’s question, he could easily take it with his own two hands. Mind, clever and sharp, like a scholar but there is no doubt that he was born of brutal work. Built like a soldier, standing like a tower and moving like the wolf many would call him by - he made a perfect bringer of death. And this was before he was given his own death, that which saw to twist him further into the bowels of his immortal endeavour.
Born in Gytheio, Greece in the year of , he was a boy that enjoyed the salty sea air. His skin held the tan of years spent in the sun and the lean muscle of a natural born swimmer. And though his father was only a fisherman, it did not lessen the boy’s gaze when local patrol and soldier when march by. But it wasn’t he that was to join their ranks, not when the Emperor Alexios Komnenos saw to raise an army for the great Crusade. Still to this day, he can remember seeing the sullen fear in his father’s eyes as he, a simple fisherman, was escorted away from him and his mother. Two years later, his mother was given a letter and four silver coins. That had been the weight of his father’s death and his mother’s ruin. He never forgot that day. It was that day in which greeted him with Death, that would soon mark his flesh in its path, and pave the way into ambition.
But that is the story of a mortal man. This is the story of the monster he became.
From threat to the very creature he had once saw to control and learn, it was those that sought to take from him which made him. From mortal Necromancer to vampire of The Dragon, death was not to stop him. Quite the opposite, it empowered him. It was in his unlife that he saw his truest potential - and truest goal. He saw his future and his past, and nothing was to stop him to gaining access to this new found knowledge. Nor the power that came with it.
For over seven hundred, he was of The Dragon. He murdered, raped, and spread the stain that became that moniker gained. Kimmerioi. Cimmerian. The very Greek name of the people of the dark lands - and he was it. In those centuries he gained and gathered what knowledge there was, studied and twisted his dark arts to fit his needs, and apologized for none of it. Everyone is a monster to someone and in a world that wished to make him one, he would become one. He would be that monster for them, that necessary evil. With each year to pass, each century to tick by, this remained the one truth he could offer. That and the pursuit of knowledge. He was hungry for the different worlds and cultures around him, traveling across to each strange and dark world. Because that is what they were - different worlds, each one different from the last. And within those worlds, he became more than a man - more than a vampire - when embraced by the secrets they held. For with each mark left across his flesh, within his mind, that hungry soul gained power inside him. That voice would never stop.
Born the year of 1053 and died year of 1089. It was only in the thick of line of slaves within the American states in the year of 1826 that found him facing change once more. The death of a Dragon and reborn an Azaleani. In the southern heat of summer, the Kimmerioi became the Serpent of Death among the Azaleani. Death has found him again and he has embraced it.
**Custom Abilities Only Allowed with the Use of Player’s Permission**
**Also Each Spell's Duration and Effect Depends on the Agreement of Writers Involved**
With a casting of the spell and spreading of grave soil across one’s brow, eyes flash an eerie pale glow and sees into the spirit world. It also allows one to see auras of individuals. This can last minimum of an hour or all night, depending on the time spent concentrating on the spell. But if spent an entire night, the next night could leave his sight more sensitive to light and movement.
The power to summon souls/spirits from beyond the grave to command, interact with, and combat. This allows him to find the last moment of a corpse's life, summon a wraith and force it to his bidding, and even damage a spirit. Seeing the moment of ghost's death takes a moment but to damage a spirit, sundering it from existence, will leave him drained for two or more nights - depending on the power and type of spirit.
This allows the necromancer to animate and control the dead corpses of animals and people, letting him/her create zombies. This includes making the flesh of a corpse shift, allowing the dead to rise and taking command of them, while the rarest ability in this path is to remove one’s soul from the body or to force a soul into a corpse - this includes that of a vampire. The duration of this can be instant or be permanent but to remove one's soul would leave him drained for a few nights - depending on the soul/person. Also forcing a soul into a corpse or vampire can last a night or remain until the victim gains the willpower to fight the possession.
A Necromancer knows the dead, he/she can reanimate a corpse, but this ability allows for the very manipulation of the flesh. This allows the Necromancy to speed of decomposition of a fresh corpse or even cause the limb touched of a vampire to begin to rot. (This causes aggravated damage but can be healed over time.) Using this spell on a simple corpse would render it to ash and rotting debris, leaving it permanently changed. But against an individual with control of themselves all depends on the power of the other. If the individual can heal completely, it would only be aggravated damage that would heal a lot slower. Those without healing abilities can be permanently scarred or even lose a limb. This ability can also leave the caster drained for an hour or two, depending on the damage intended.
With a touch, the Necromancer can touch a dying individual and stable their their health, keeping them from dying. This allows them to be healed. This spell has no effect on the undead, however.
During the casting of the spell, the Necromancer’s eyes become an inky void imbued with dread power. If any individual becomes locked in the Necromancer’s gaze, they are cast under the spell of either sleep, sickness, or terror. Under the spell of sleep, the victim falls unconscious but can wake if the individual takes damage or if the Necromancer wakes them by breaking the spell. If under the spell of terror, the victim falls to a wild panic and becomes frightened of the Necromancer. If the victim flees to the point that the spell caster loses sight, then the effect wears off. Under the spell of sickness, the victim is infected by nauseous feeling, during which time any ability attempted can have a great chance of failing.
Voodoo Necromancy Rituals
By bleeding himself and painting the name on a stone, the Necromancer can see where the soul of a person currently resides after petitioning the loas (Voodoo spirits) by chanting in front of the stone in a trance. This ritual takes up to an hour or two full nights, depending if the target is easy to track or warded.
In a ceremony where the Necromancer dances and chants to attract the right spirit, while scattering colored sands and ocean salt on the ground in a complex sigil, the Necromancer can summon the wraith of a relative of a present living person. This ritual lasts up to an hour or all night, depending on the strength and power of the wraith.
The Necromancer smears grave soil across the subject's eyes, lips, and forehead over the course of an hour. This guards the Necromancer of possession from a ghost, spirit, or wraith. This last a single night.
Ritual of Kalfou
The Necromancer draws a vampire to the summit of an alter of Kalfu. Four loyal ghouls hold the limbs, while the Necromancer cuts open the chest with an obsidian dagger dipped in rum infused gunpowder.. He then tears out the heart and puts the heart in a specially prepared vessel, to do with it as he sees fit (either eating it and drawing on the power of the vampire it or presenting it someone else to devour it). The vampire on whom the rite is practiced meets his final death. Preparing for this can take weeks or months in advance and if the ritual is botched, it can drain the caster to the point of death. So this ritual isn't something to be taken lightly. (It is also the ritual that killed Zander before he was turned into a vampire.)
The vampire take energy from intended target. Must be in the same range as their target in order to drain them. They sustain themselves - especially when the energy is heightened by emotion, they can take more. By taking however, they are on the receiving end of the energy's influence. The vampire can lose a part of themselves in the process when they take too much from another target - be they a vampire, human, preternatural.
The vampire can make a shield out of energy or blood, that soaks a portion of any damage inflicted. After absorbing a certain amount of damage the shield will wear off. Using their own blood will make the shield stronger, but also drains the vampire of their blood supply. The same goes with energy - they could either siphon energy from another host to strengthen their shield.
This ability grants the vampire the power of telekinesis, allowing him to move matter at a distance and at higher levels, allowing flight and levitation for short periods. The user can control and manipulate various objects, even people, to the point of being able to force a target’s body to move as the caster desires or have the ability to lift up an object up to a single ton. Moving a simple object is near to nothing to the vampire but to hold up something weighing a ton or forcing the movement of a powerful being can be costly. After using such magic, it would leave the vampire vulnerable to attack and drained until he/she feeds next.
Saporem Sanguinis (Twisted mutation of Blood Boil)
One can capture or siphon a blood sample and by doing so, able to gather a variety of information from the target’s blood. With enough concentration, the vampire can steal blood from a distance and gain - for a moment - an ability from the target. Or worse, cause the victim’s blood to burn them from within. Using this spell to learn or gather information is fledging play but to burn a victim from the inside takes far more magic. Depending on the willpower and strength of the victim, it can leave the vampire drained until his/her next feeding. This ability can either kill or greatly maim a person too. To an usual human, it can kill them. To a master vampire? Aggravated damage meant to cripple them for chunk of time, be it an hour or a night. But one can counter or ward this spell if done wisely.
With this ability, it allows a vampire to detect and counter other magic. This also includes being able to sense wards or magical items within twenty yards of the vampire. This ability all depends on the individual or object. Wards and guards make it a lot harder to concentrate and detect magic. To counter all depends on the skill and strength of the other.
This is a secret craft that allows the true manipulation and mutation of a vampire’s own blood and taking traits from the most deadliest of creatures - the serpent. This allows the vampire to shift their eyes to pointed slits, like a snake’s, and see in the dark or to harden their flesh to scales to ward against heavy physical blows. With this ability to manipulate one’s own form also allows the vampire to shift a limb like it was a body of a viper, letting the caster slip through spaces he/she normally wouldn’t be able to fit through. But with this twisted blood magic comes the ability to transform the vampire’s own vitae and saliva into a deadly poison capable of blinding eyes and causing momentary paralysis if the vampire bites or spits like a cobra.
Semita Umbra (Mutation of Shadowplay, Gnomon, and Tsalmaveth)
The vampire uses the shadows as their own playground, traveling from shadow to shadow. But with the manipulation of this ability, the vampire gains the ability to play with the realm of shadows. The vampire can dim or extinguish lights for a period to cast more shadows or make the form of a shadow mimic his/her movements. But by manipulating shadows, the vampire can also cover himself, making it harder to be seen or even extend a shadow so that it creates an area of night in daylight.
The Ferryman's Recall (only for turning other Kindred)
This is a painful process for which the Azaleani will find their Kindred candidate to bring over to their clan. With their tremendously painful bite, they will drain the kindred's body of their blood and cleanse it. In the climax of this rite, the Azaleani will pour their vitae into the throat of the kindred that is near Final Death. The candidate will then fall into a torpor like slumber for three nights. There is a half chance that the kindred will awake with the newly bestowed gift and vitae, or the vampire will wake as nothing less than a ghoul. This ability requires typist permission. This is why the Azaleani are a hidden and rare clan.
Draco Scriptor Vires - The Dragon’s Strength
Stretching across the center of his back, the Dragon is a symbol of both power and time for many. For Zander however, it has becomes so much more. With both time and power weaved into the ancient tribal symbol of the Dragon - and the very name of the Bloodline he once held - the vampire is able to harness true focus. Nothing shall break the concentration of a Dragon when a spell is cast or a ritual done. This greatly helps when around those that would see to weaken the willpower of the vampire and keeps away the influence - magic or otherwise - from invading the vampire’s thoughts.
Mors In Spiram - Death’s Coil
Deception speaks loudly in the use of this ward, for that is exactly what it is. Wrapped around his shoulder and biceps, the weave of this pattern of both old and powerful from the Ewe tribe in Africa. Voodoo lives strongly there and with it, the world of spirits. It is here that the spirit of deception has found itself home. The vampire carries no scent or touch of death on his person to the human and supernatural senses. Further, with a touch, one might be deceived into believing a heart beat where there is none or to even hear it. But this tattoo also shrouds the vampire from abilities or spells that would detect him as anything other than human. However, one with the ability to see auras may glimpse at the distortion of this trapped spirit wrapped about the vampire’s own. But the seers of this aura can only tell that the individual is something more and never the true species of the vampire.
This tattoo, however, comes with a price. To appease the spirit trapped within the ritual of the tattoo, he must feed more than what would be needed. For with each feeding, the blood serves to empower him as it does the spirit. If he does not feed regularly, the ward and strength of the spirit begins to wane, allowing others to see past the deception.
Swordplay and Styles
Xiphos, heavy Greek sword.
Siccae, curved Greek scimitar.
Dimachaerus fighting style. (Was a duel wielding sword style used by gladiators.)
Master with longsword (falcon style), sabers (foil and epée fencing), and pole arms.
Hand to Hand Combat
Pankration, an ancient Greek martial art that mixes wrestling and boxing.
Krav Maga, a self-defense martial arts from the Israel Defense Forces.
PhD in Cultural Anthropology
PhD in Archaeology
PhD in Forensic Anthropology
M.A. in Mythological Studies
M.A. in History
Crafts & Hobbies
Personal Possessions / Lifestyle
A collection of ancient Greek and Roman artifacts, from pottery to weaponry. A library of scrolls, tomes, and books of Syrian, Greek, Roman, and Byzantine literature and history. Old 1977 Harley-Davidson FXS Low Rider that he keeps running, stored in a large storage until.
These are the things that Zander Thane prizes most, beyond his private practice of antique dealing of cherished goods. He is by appointment only. Beyond that, he lives an extremely private life with deep rooted investments throughout the US and Europe. This allows him to live comfortably and without worry of gaining too much attention within the spot light.
Descended from a Spartan King, Lysandros I. (Reincarnation of Lysandros)
Hunger. It is the appetite which each animal, if every organism, to strive in survival. A hunger. An action which all humans and creatures knew, be it for the means of good or that which drew upon darker ambitions. Everyone knew some form of hunger but for a Redcap, it was something else entirely. They knew it to their very making, every fiber within them was created to know it, and it became the meaning to define them. By this nature alone, it is what made them so frightening and dangerous.
But was it ever a notion for the ghost of the Phoenix to see the true darkness of that shadow reflected so keenly?
In a moment, control was so easy to forget. In a moment, violence and blood became the reminder of just how hungry he had become. Nevermind the shriek and gargle of pain from the man when Eddard’s jaw withdrew from its holding and unhinged itself. Like a snake, the waiting line of his teeth sunk into flesh, muscle, and waiting bone that saw to only splinter under the force. Crunch and smack in that gnawing that drew the form of the man back, seeking to jerk away, when it was Eddard’s own form that brought the man down. Not even the cry from the woman behind him could take away the muffle of blood and the rush of hunger that overcame him. This was no hunger of appetite. No no, this was of the sheer violence of it. A hunger too long forgotten when that control seemed to snap. For with it came that true nightmare. The true Redcap. The true darkness. This was the real evil in which the kith feared.
He was the predator taking down prey, that bite sinking into the soft muscle of the man’s neck and delighting in the spray of a still beating heart. He near lapped at the carotid artery as if some creature beyond what he was. Blood seeped into everything around the Redcap as he hunched there, fingers a near white knuckle grip onto the body when it was the sound of his teeth tearing into the man that drew the truth of nightmares. And he wasn’t going to stop either. Not really. He didn’t want to.
How long had he kept up with that charade of what many knew of him? Thaddeus, for all his reasoning, knew the heart of the beast which fed there. The little care in how monstrous it would be when became that tool, the very machine, that could clean up anything. Just as he could eat anything. It had been a title as much as it was his defining meaning to this world. And then that definition changed. Eddard met Rosalyn and she had changed everything. She had changed him. She looked beyond the creature defined by so many Kith and instead, looked into the darkened soul of his creation and with that reach of the Phoenix, found light.
But Eddard Thorne had snuffed out that light a long time ago.
A sharp movement found the jerk of the Redcap’s neck as he his attention tore away from the meal made of flesh and bone, to that unknown. The shadow knew the light. He sensed it as much as felt it, that growing flame of the Phoenix that left the scent of burnt flesh smothering itself into the thick air around them. She saw to snuff out the dark and yet, there were two kinds there within that moment. Could she see it? Where the masks of these members of Mephistus represented a darkness of death, this Redcap and those that were summoned at his whim - they reflected a different kind of darkness. So it was in that moment with the twist of his frame, the flash of white in her magic’s fire, that the true self could be revealed.
Shadows played amok in the tendrils of her fire, the Collective reaching out, when brightened the darkness of that nightmare. Never could it hide the truth, though. Not when the soot of those shadowed eyes found the eerie and ghastly loom of red peering out from the death pale touch of his veined flesh. For it was the red which was the fiend, the hair-raising truth that came to a single knowing fact when looking upon him. It was the same color as the blood that now stained him, bright in the fresh life he had just taken to the crimson blackness that it turned across his mouth. There was no denying the horrendous truth from those eyes and the color that stained more than his face and clothes, but that of his namesake of what he was. He was a Redcap, the kith of nightmarish origins.
It became no more true than it did in that moment. Not only for her but those that dared reach her. He felt it, the very cause to that turn of his frame and attention, when the slow drip of that dark blood from his chin was near a drool to his ghoulish perception as those carmine eyes flickered across their surroundings. He did not need to see the connection, to view the reach of magic, when he felt it there even in his wild and beastly state.
He felt the change, that cosmic conversation and fluctuating degrees of magic in the air, while slowly straightening from his crouch to stand over the forgotten and mangled corpse of what used to be a man at his feet. Instead his attention was in the rush he felt as much as he could breathe it in as he heard Ella speak to nothing...and everything. For it was in that conversation that the Phoenix would find the shadow of the Boogeyman. Only a step from her, the reach of a hand, and still that encroaching darkness was seen even in that connection. Because, within it, he reached for what they desired to pull away. Yet, in their perspective, it was never a reach but the blanket of the abyss which saw to wash over the Collective’s light.
Never could this Redcap know the depth of magic that worked within the Collective and yet, a creature of magic himself, he could never deny his own reflection when within that presence. Not when that blooded hand settled on Ella’s shoulder, even if her thoughts and very soul reached out across various realms. He may not be able to reach out in the same manner and yet, he knew the many ways to travels through such realms. He knew the feeling and this sensation was no different when the others would witnessed the bright Collective darkened by some unforeseen shadow. This is what the two other Duvalls would see. He was not of the Duvalls, he was not of their magic, when his very presence was the black to near shade of a dark cloud that dared to smother out the light of the Collective.
He did not know of the scene that was taking place in realms long from this own and yet, when his hand reached to Ella’s shoulder, it was a moment after that found her near staggering against him as if shoved by some unseen force. And with it, that sensation was gone. Or was it? For when it wasn’t in the air, he felt it there within the very vibration of her form to where that bloody hand rested against her shoulder. Only then did Ella turn to him, the world of nightmares near forgotten even when she pleaded to see them removed from it. For nothing could be forgotten when the truth was him. Not within him or on him, but it was him. It was in the red of his eyes, the smear of blood across his features, to the very stain of gore in his clothing. And yet, for all the abominable reflection of those carmine eyes, there was no fiend in the way they looked at her. The nightmare surrounded them, was upon him, but there was a stripping of it even in something that should be of terror. It wasn’t.
Hunger wasn’t only for the appetite or violence which defined him. It was also for what lacked so much in his existence. For in what Rosalyn gave him, that existence of affection and never the turmoil of the nightmare that birthed him, he found a hunger for it within Ella. And it was defined even in the smallest of gestures that found itself pressed so slight, yet desperately, in the yearning this woman found when there beside this Redcap. It was not fear that touched him in that feminine hand but a want, a compassion, that sought the hope that radiated from the very action. And all he could do was nod.
She wished to leave and without a word, he would allow it with a single raise of his hand. So quickly could the atrocity of that nightmare be forgotten as the rush of cool air washed over them and blew away the gore. But never could it do so with him.
The horror remained as he stepped from her with no glamour to conceal what was seen. Not in the pale of his deathly thick flesh, like a leather patterned with small black veins, when the very curl and point of his ears saw to what he was. But it was those eyes that gave truth to the name - Redcap. For even when that dark hair shared a near auburn touch to it, it was the eyes that stole the attention. It was the soul of the name and in that moment, he dared not hide it from her view. Let her know the truth.
They are coming for me. They will follow me here. My family.
She spoke it and yet, he knew he could not allow any to follow them - even there within his home. But he could bring her to them. It was there in that touch that had remained to her shoulder that sensed the location, felt it there, and drew upon it. It was enough to offer that doorway to them. One that found the removal of his place there and the step away to that door of his office. (Wayfare 3: Portal Passage) With the same hand he had rested over her shoulder, he placed it flat against the wood of the door and with the slight shift in the air, turned his red gaze to Ella.
“You will find them there. You will find your family.” And yet, with those words of the deep rasp of his voice, he offered her a safety beyond him. For so long he had kept her there within his home and though he never made her a captive, both knew the truth of it. But there in the turn of his frame, the side step of his stance, he offered her freedom. He was letting her go. Without him. He was giving her that escape of this nightmare and in the moment of it, found what he could not bring himself to dream. And yet he had.
She did not leave. She did not escape. With a light step and delicate hand, touched not the knob of that door but the stained curve of his ghouled cheek. “Come with me. Stay with me.” And there no was greater truth than the fear he found in his reaction even as he stood frozen there. Like he had been with Rosalyn. “Please.” Never a question to the words but that of an asking still, one that was as hopeful as the notion of what held itself beyond that door. Because within it found the fold of those fingers about his own, regardless of the horror that still stained them - and that of the soul beyond them in memory - as she saw a hopeful tug of his frame. And with a single reach of that door knob, both found a freedom that neither could return from.
With that step through that portal, they sealed a fate that neither could see with the ghost of memory following them. I found you. And you found me.
But beyond the fate set in steps was that of the blinding light of the portal, the wash of cool air like water around them, until the visage of the two figures came into view. A man, a woman, and the truth of the realization both saw when their eyes went from Ella...to the Redcap in the truest of forms and tales.
This was the Boogeyman hand in hand with the Collective.
Cbox name: Aly
Are you over the age of 18? Very much so, sadly. LOL
Years RP experience: 15+ years
How did you find us? Rose’s typist
Did you read the rules? Yes, first thing I did.
Posted on: Jun 28 2017, 09:35 PM
Posted on: Jun 29 2017, 03:39 AM
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