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.
Here you'll find a church that promises lasting life by embracing the eternal curse of the vampire. There are groups of humans who have risen up to create hate groups to destroy the supernatural. 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?
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Posted on: Oct 15 2017, 01:49 PM
The first thing about her that is usually noticed from a distance is her height. She is short, standing at 5’1” much shorter than your average model type woman. Because of her small size, it’s difficult for her to find the right clothes. Her go to when at home is over-sized sweaters and shorts. She doesn’t mind these sweaters in warmer weather, enjoying the feeling of being warm and comfy. She doesn’t feel the need to impress anyone.
Her hair is long, reaching down to the middle of her back with long cut layers that she has given herself. Usually, it is worn in loose large waves that are the natural texture of her hair. The locks of her hair aren’t usually fussed with unless it gets in her way, at which point she throws it up into a ponytail. Being forced to focus on her training she never learned the skills other women had in freedom. If her hair is styled it was probably done by someone else.
Her face is round and young. Full lips that can reveal a bright and welcoming smile. Though when set, and paired with unforgiving eyes she can look intimidating. Nakoma has the ultimate resting bitch face, and though in her past it never got her into trouble, in this new life she would soon be thrown into it just might. Her eyes are dark and remain that way until you get close enough to see they are actually green and blue(heterochromia). The only makeup that frames them is a mascara….another trait she isn’t well versed in.
The rest of her body is well proportioned with her size. Slim mostly, but thicker in the thighs. She has wide hips that widen further into a pert bottom. Her chest is nothing remarkable, but enough to push up and get a little cleavage. (a full B in size)
She has two scars that were nothing life-threatening. A burn on the top of her left shoulder from when she pressed up against an iron stove on accident while roasting peanuts. And small knick on the bottom of her foot where she stepped on broken glass. Only about a half inch long
Nakoma was raised to be reserved. That her opinions didn’t particularly matter, and that what was ordered of her was to be expected in a precise amount of time. Of all the things she had to learn, this was the one she took to the quickest. Being a child she was easily molded. And it helped that she wanted to please anyone in her life that showed her a bit of kindness. Nakoma prides herself on listening to rules, and orders that are given, and doing them all right the first time. She doesn’t care to be scolded and it takes her back into a place of darkness that she would rather not be.
While quite as a church mouse when it comes to voicing her opinions, she has a harder time controlling her facial expressions. Not vocal about her feelings she hides them by not speaking about them, but they are clearly seen on her face. Inwardly she is snarky, with a hint of sarcasm, something that never left her wild years as a child. Hardly punished for her expression by her adoptive father she was allowed to get away with them. Graham wasn’t fond it in the slightest, but he saw it more as a quip from a teen than a rebellious gesture from his daugher, knowing how sweet she can be.
An attribute that makes her a bit weaker than the rest is her dependency. Raised in a world where she had little to no freedom she didn't know what to do when she was given some. There is an underlying fear that she will be tossed out like an unwanted stray and forced to fend for herself. Nakoma has never had a job at least one that paid, and she really went anyone on her own. She was even homeschooled, so had no friends. Her safe space is her room or the backyard of her home. The only things that she has ever been taught are basic chores duties, and those are just the basic cleaning and cooking type stuff. She was mainly trained as a shaman to better help Graham.
With her hopeless dependency on her father, and close friends comes loyalty and admiration. There is a entrusted respect for her close network of people and all that they wish. Whether or not she likes it doesn’t matter, she will do it to please him/her. The word no doesn’t exist for Nakoma. She doesn’t take anything for granted, grateful for all that is given to her, whether it be a nice comfy bed or a blanket to cuddle with on the floor of a concrete cell. She has the mindset that it could always be worse, and nothing could be worse than your own mother abandoning you at the age of seven.
With all of her, quietness Nakoma has a brilliant sense of humor. She enjoys laughing though it doesn’t happen often. She finds joy in simple things in the world, mostly anything dealing with nature and the outside world. The flapping of a birds wings, the rustle of the leaves blowing on a tree, or a butterfly landing upon a spring flower. She finds beauty in nearly everything she sees, and always assumes there is good for everyone. She is hopeful and optimistic that it will always turn out ok...as long as she has someone to assure her it will.
Nakoma has become rather desensitized in her short life. Seeing the pain of someone else doesn’t affect her in the same way as a normal person. In her eyes, she can’t connect with it on a personal level unless it’s happening to her. She doesn’t feel sympathy toward rape, tortured, or murder victims. It helps her get passed her feeling and do the work required of her by her teachers. Morally she knows that such things are bad, and shouldn’t be done. But shedding a tear or giving a kind word to such victims is hard for her. She can never find the right things to say, and instead ignores it completely or gives a generic response with little to no feeling, and can appear cold. With more exposure to people and correct emotions, this will change and Nakoma will flower into a compassionate being.
The beginning of her life was pretty much normal at least as far as family life was concerned. She had a mother, who was divorced. An absent father for the most part until he wasn’t, and a single sister. Nakoma’s father was in and out of her life, for no other reason than his selfish needs. He didn’t come back because of her, or her sister. She didn’t even believe he came back for their mother in the way that said he loved her. Robert was controlling, and when he felt like he was losing his grip on his family was when he would slink back like the demon spawn he was.
In the beginning, her mother was tentative, often coming into her room at night and doing all the things a mother did for her child. Play pretend tea party on the floor, with pretend food. Read her a bedtime story after brushing her damp hair so it wouldn’t be crazy in the morning. Nakoma distinctly remembers kisses on her forehead, right between the eyes before her mother would sneak out of her room. Lifting a hand to turn on her carousel night light before shutting the door.
The youth of her children were cut short the day her father reappeared back into their lives when she was six. He took one look at her sister, and even as young as she was could tell something was off. Her mother quit being so attentive, and started shouting things at her like “It’s time for you to grow up.” or “Fuck off brat.”. The drugs her father shoved down Nalla’s throat didn’t help much with her attitude. In the space of a year, she had become as absent as her father had been, leaving Nakoma to take care of herself.
The little girl had started looking forward to going to school. To be out of the house that was slowly becoming a pigsty, and would have been worse if it hadn’t been for Robert and the maids he hired...or rather enslaved off the streets. For a year Nakoma watched her father abuse her mother and lived in a home where she entertained herself alone. Ani was gone most of the time, something about a park with a boy she had met there. When Nakoma asked to go just to escape the house, her sister scoffed and slammed the door in her face.
Nakoma lived in a world that she dreaded, but she was wrong when she thought it could get any worse.
A year later, she was sold. Sold by her own parents. Her sister had gone first, and she had watched with tears as Ani was torn away from her. It had only taken an hour for her own car to come. A man old enough to be her father had stepped out. He was polished, with a cane in his hand for his limp. She remembered more than anything the navy pinstriped suit he had been wearing and the distinct smell of cigars on his hands. He hadn’t come inside. He simply exchanged money for her documents (Socail security card, birth certificate, ect) with Robert for his daughter and removed himself from the driveway. Guards carried the girl by her arms. The tips of her shoes scraping the pavement, as she wailed. Nakoma had thought she had done something wrong and blamed herself for the days that would follow.
Locked in a cell in some drafty basement, with nothing to keep her warm beside the little frilly dress she had been wearing. Her hair had been up in a french braid at first, the picture of perfection. It hadn’t taken her long to throw her fingers in her locks to rip it out. She cried in the corner, her feet tucked neatly under her bottom until an old woman called her name.
The sound had been sweet, appealing and kind. Her arm was through the bars holding the reddest strawberry she had ever seen. Nakoma wiped the tears from her eyes as she not only studied the woman but the fruit she held out.
“It’s okay dear. Come.” She beckoned, bending her fingers in a come hither gesture. Behind her, stood a tall shadow. He was quiet, the man she would come to know as Graham, her father.
The hunger for food beat her fright and confusion. Slowly she crawled over to the cage door, reaching out slowly. The tips of her fingers skimmed the woman’s palms as she picked up the berry, holding it to her chest, before taking a small bite.
“What did you say her mother’s maiden name was?” She asked, tilting her head toward the man but her black eyes never left the small child.
“Blackhawk. If you fail this time Matilda...I will kill you.” Nakoma’s eyes widened at the threat, dropping her gaze from the man who wouldn’t even look at her.
“I won’t my love...she is young. The others were too old, and set in their ways to learn anything from me.” At this Matilda gave Nakoma a smile. It was mysterious, and Nakoma didn’t care for it one bit.
Over the years, Nakoma was trained as a shaman. Learning the ins and outs of what it took to be a ritual medicine woman. Graham had tried to keep his distance from the child, but she reminded him so much of the daughter he had lost twenty years ago. He brought her gifts, special things to eat that he knew she liked. A journal with a key was her most prized possession. Still, despite his affection, he hardly spoke to her, but eventually moved her from the drafty basement to a room upstairs. To Graham, she was like a doll, tucked away in the toy box until he decided that he wanted to play (innocently) with her.
The older she grew the stricter he became. He stopped hiding the things from her eyes, and slowly the innocent child he had once known began to fade. More experiments entered the basement, the homeless and whores mostly. Sex, or anything intimate for his special little raven was forbidden. He made it well known among the others he hired around the house. Should he even catch them looking upon the girl in such a manner, Graham would have taken care of the problem. Non dared test their employer and began to avoid the young shaman at all cost. Leaving the room when she walked into it, turning their heads away when she spoke to them. The only form of company she had was Graham or Matilda.
It was that way until she was grown. Nineteen years old, and all she had seen was the inside of this house, and occasionally the backyard. She was never allowed out of eyesight. Matilda was always there watching from a distance as if she expected something to happen. Nothing ever did. She didn’t try to run away or attack her parents. She stayed because she didn’t know anything else.
There had been a night long when she had overheard a conversation between Graham and one of his nightly visitors. A place the woman had only returned. Faris, or something similar. The blond had talked about the city, how big it was. The lights, and the attractions, and of course the food. Instead of being intrigued by the idea of such an adventure Nakoma cringed.
It wasn’t long before her world was flipped upside down. She had awoken early in the morning to an explosion. The sheer force of it knocking her from her bed. Dust fell from the ceiling in large clouds, that caused her to lift a hand and cough. Her door stood open, but there was no one standing there. She called out loudly, her hand holding onto the frame in a death grip. No one answered her.
Relunctly she moved down the stairs. The house shaking with another explosion, this one sounding closer but not inside the house. It sounded like the tanks Graham kept in the barn, but she had never known what any of them contained. Matilda had often talked about them, but she never let it slip what Graham was doing with them, only that they had a foul-smelling odor.
Grabbing on the railing, she swung her body around the corner, meeting the gaze of Graham. He laid upon the floor in his own blood, his neck sliced from ear to ear, and so violently that he was nearly decapitated. Horror painted her face as she dropped to her knees, sliding over to him across the slick and wet floor. Hands went to his face, shaking him demanding that he wake up and help her. In just a few second and separated by nothing by a wooden door her world had been destroyed. Without Graham, she suddenly became frozen in terror. A terror that she herself couldn’t have explained. Her heart was in her throat, the dinner she had eaten earlier threatening to make a reappearance. Her voice was loud as she screamed, calling the attention of the intruders in the house.
Most of the employees had fled, Matilda, pushing them out the door. She had told one of the young women to gather up Nakoma, but she had forgotten in her own panic. Nakoma was alone in her despair, the thieves turning their heads to look at the girl who was left behind.
With wicked smiles that gathered her up, her legs kicking out much how they had done when as a child. One kneeled, fishing the car keys out of Graham front jacket pocket, and slamming it into his own. They all wore masks, their skin of their necks varying in shades of blush and caramel. Their hands were not gentle as they threw her into the car between them. Holding her face hard enough to make her teeth split the sensitive tissue in her mouth.
Nakoma was scared, but she kept her mouth closed. Somewhere deep inside of her, she knew she needed them to survive. Slowly her mind wandered. The pictures of Graham haunting her mind until the anger could no longer be contained. Graham had always been there for her, and now they had taken him from her. They destroyed her life out of selfishness that reminded her of Robert. Nakoma eyes glazed as if looking off into a far unknown.
At first, it started with one of the men in the back directly to her right. Blood pouring from his nose. He lifted a hand and held it out mystified. Then his body went limp as his brain seized. He convulsed beside her, without so much as a sideways look. Blood seeping out of his ears and eyes in even lines. Like the plague it passed to the rest of the men, the third being the driver. His hands slipped from the steering wheel, sending the vehicle veering off to the left. The wheel struck a curb, up and over the median and rolled. The sound of shattering glass and twisting metal awoke the shaman from her dream-like state, throwing her hands up and over her head in defense.
Unknown to her the men had been headed on their way to the city, crossing into it ten miles back. Both sides of the road still contained forest, but it was only a half mile before all that would give away to homes, and businesses. Nakoma pulled herself from the wreckage, as best she could, her mind in a state of shock. She was confused, unsure of what had happened until she looked back at the mangled car, one of the men laying at her feet thrown from the windshield. Barefoot, one of her arms dislocated, and broken she walked aimlessly toward town. Blood covered most of her skin as she limped like a zombie, turned around delirious toward town.
It wasn't long before someone stumbled upon her, dropping her off at the hospital. Shortly the police arrived, taking her statements, and examining the gruesome scene back at the house. They had found Matilda and the workers who had hid out in the barn...well pieces of them. Dental records had to be tracked down, but in the end, they were all identified and accounted for. In the coming months, Nakoma healed and found she had been the beneficiary on Grahams will and was awarded everything from his estate to the money in his bank account. She sold the house, never wanting to see it again. She tried to take control of the life she had left, enrolling in college and finding a place where she wouldn't be alone.
Air Manipulation: Can create it out of nothing, even if there is no wind. She can make it as light as a touch or as tough as a hurricane. Extends to Gases as well. Having this ability is what makes her able to do her other air-based things. This is the heart of her power, and it has taken her many years to become skilled at using it. When extremely upset she can lose control. Wind can be a direct reflection of her emotions. This power is not limitless and wears down her energy excessively the more she uses it.
Air Walking: Can walk on air treating it like a solid matter. She can only go about twenty feet in the air, She cannot fly
Air pressure Generation: Can create crushing atmospheric pressure, or balance it out. It's a direct link to her rupturing ability. This extends to rooms. This doesn’t work outside, only closed spaces, like a jar, tank, or sealed room.
Enhanced Hearing: Can focus on a single sound up to a couple of blocks away. Multiple loud noises can make it hard to pinpoint a specific one unless extremely focused.
Enhanced Speed: Reducing air resistance and using pressurized air for propulsion
Internal Rupturing: can inflict internal injuries, such as rupturing internal organs, upon an intended victim, often leaving no sign of outward damage with the exception of blood coming from the orifices. One victim at a time and they have to be within her line of sight and no more than 100 yards away. *Disclaimer, this will need the other rpers permission if used. Mainly used for defense only.*
Spiritual Healing: Can heal simple or fatal wounds. Scars will be left behind for major wounds. Taking energy not only from herself but from the earth, and all the elements including its inhabitants. Nakoma can even reverse death itself, though, for such a great feat, something or someone of equal value will have to take their place. A soul for a soul. Incredibly taxing on her own energy.
Mediumship: Can converse with entities of the dead, many her own ancestors by channeling them.
Memory Reading: Can read the target’s memory to learn their history, discover lost memories and help the person remember, learn a memory that the target is unaware of but could be useful. Can also erase memories, hide them away or replace images of that memory with another. (Example of the last one. A memory holding a red balloon, she can make it so that target remembers the balloon as blue, or was holding something else entirely.) This ability needs touch. When she is remembering a memory of her own, or seeing one from another, whatever smells accompany that specific memory fill the room she is standing in. (Example, If she is remembering a memory of blood, the room will smell like blood. However, if she is seeing a memory of kids playing in a freshly mowed lawn, the smell of cut grass fills the room.
Telekinesis: Can move things with her mind. Limited to 150lbs or less
Knowledge of herbs: She is well versed in knowing the differences in plants, and herbs. She knows which are poison and which are not. What their properties are, and how they will affect magic or a potion.
Listening: A great listener, and not just because she likes to hear people talk. She has a way of reading between the lines to see a hidden meaning. She also eavesdrops and can be a bit nosy.
Menatally strong She relies on her brain to get her out of sticky situations if she ever finds herself in them. She might not be the sharpest tool in the shed, but when it comes to magic she is definitely gifted.
Artist She loves to draw, but it also extends to taking pictures and singing. She tends to sing more native American vibe songs that were taught to her through her training. She hums almost constantly.
She is wealthy do to the will of her"father" but she doesn't act like it. She doesn't need material items, and is fine with only buying things she needs. She doesn't have a car and opts for the bus, or simply to walk around town. She has a good size wardrobe, but nothing too expensive or flashy. Mainly spends money on her books she needs for school and coffee.
None that are important
did you read the rules? [yes]
your age 
years of RP experience [11-12 years]
RP SAMPLE -
He drove. The landscape of Feneria laid out before him like a game board. To his left shone the yellow lights of the city. Dotted along the street were intermittent glows of red or green. They flickered every once and awhile to a dull yellow, reflecting on the side of his simple black Chevelle like small beacons.
Yet to his right, there were no lights. Instead, a wall of forest rose from its trenches of the terrain in harsh, and ominous looking pines. Their tops swayed with the breeze, whose fingers ran through the branches like mother earth combing her hair. Nestled deeply beyond those thin pines stood great oaks. Trees who had buried their roots into the heart of the earth long before the city had become just that. Before it was even a small village, where people built fires instead of pushing a button on their remote control. Those elder oaks and wide spruces had watched the land morph and change. Had spread their branches to provide refuge for the many animals forced from their burrows and thickets, to make way for skyscrapers and strip clubs.
Nate had always preferred the quiet life of the forest (or sea) compared to the bustling city life. Had he been able to have his way, he most likely would have never returned. Feneria had changed much since the last time he had romped its dirt roads and shopped in its marketplaces. Among reminding him of things he would rather forget. Back then he had even been a different man. He hadn’t carried an arsenal in his trunk wherever he went, frankly because then he hadn’t needed them. Back then he hadn’t had the same profession he had today. His job, or career, however you wanted to look at it, had been stumbled upon by accident.
That night had been filled with booze and cold women. Drunks playing cards in the corner, while the harlots stood at the bar eyeing the man who was the winner of each round. One of the patrons had complained simply enough about a local worker, who had stolen a few things from his business that he had raised alone from the ground up. Under the guise of a joke, and a laugh that pushed the smell of whiskey up Nate’s nose, he offered him well over a twenty-thousand if the werewolf would take care of his problem. Of course at the time, the drunk with the patchy beard hadn't known what exactly the man was who sat next to him, but it mattered little. They laughed, exchanged ideas, neither too serious in the beginning, until more spirits were poured down their throats and swam among their bloodstreams.
All it had taken was a simple picture, and a name: Phil. The man who now acquired a bounty on his family-oriented head wasn’t that hard to find. And he hadn’t been that hard to kill either. Nate had gotten off luckily enough. Phil’s family had decided to go on a small vacation before school started up again for the little ones. His wife and children had gone ahead in their mini-van. The house hadn’t had an alarm, and the man’s home was nothing short of a gun-free zone.
There was no blood or broken bones left in his wake. Nothing that would have said an intruder had stumbled inside the home at all. Phil had simply looked up to the lurking shadow of a creature he had only seen in movies or read in books. The fur that covered the wolf’s body was dark, and (according to the victim should he had been asked) much more primal than anything that could have been described in a horror novel. Nate had remembered Phil's chest expanding, readying his body to give a scream that would have surely woken the neighbors, but his body failed him. His throat closed up, his lungs deflated, as his brain fuzzed over and shut off. Inside the tub his body slumped, his feet that had been holding up his weight lost their purchase, his mouth and nose sliding just beneath the water’s surface.
Standing in the doorway, Nate hadn’t moved. The curled lip that had flashed over his pearly whites, had only lowered as his head turned to the side curious. Air bubbles clung to the outer edges of the man’s nostrils, slowly disembarking and popping at the surface. Before long his body convulsed as if trying to wake Phil from his slumber, but was unsuccessful. Nate had only reached out his hand, and with his index finger lowered the victim even further and held him there until he was still, and the sound of his heartbeat had faded. The easiest twenty grand Nate had ever made.
It had been from that moment on he dove head first into fixing other people's problems, and found that he enjoyed it. Of course, if you asked him, he wouldn’t have denied doing it more for himself than for the people who hired him. Nathaniel enjoyed the money sure, what man wouldn’t have, but it was much more than that. In short, he felt like God. His weapons (no matter which he chose) were his gavel, and his judgment had no mercy.
Tonight, he had worn gloves, coverings on his shoes, and a beanie snuggly placed under the jacket hood he wore. There were socks, pants with zip ties at the ankles, and a jacket that covered his arms though it was unneeded considering his arms were shaven. All this was removed as soon as he had returned to the car, deposited them in the trunk along with the pistol he also hadn’t needed. The only thing that could connect him to the victim of the week at all was the blood spatter on his t-shirt. Dots of blood lingered on his chest and stomach in varying sizes, but he paid them no mind until he pulled into what appeared to be a small dive bar.
It was on the opposite side of town from the Ainsworth mansion, but closest to the home of the man he was getting paid for. The engine purred as he pulled into a front row spot, a couple of paces from the double door where a neon hung from the upper left corner of one. He slumped in his seat, reaching for the android that sat in the cup holder and pulled up his bank statement. The number in his checking account had grown by another thirty-thousand, but you would have never known from the expression on the beta’s face. Who, appeared as if he was looking up nothing but the weather.
By the time he had walked in a whole five minutes had passed and the front of his jacket was zipped, hiding what was underneath. The door squeaked, hitting a bell the hung just about the doorframe to alert the patrons and the workers of his arrival. Heads turned out of nothing more than curiosity, but none apparently seem to recognize him. Yet, they wouldn’t, would they? He was a ghost among these parts, a man that was simply passing through to reach the town further down the hill. They all had seen countless like himself, and quickly, in turn, went back to their business.
All except for one. The only person in the room that seemed intrigued by his presence. Granted they were also the only person getting paid to wait, and serve on him. Without giving them so much as a friendly flick of his eyes he found a stool on the corner where the bar rounded toward the wall. There was only one other man who shared the bar with him, and that man was old and nearly blind from the looks of it. Nate gave him a quick look over before the high voice of a woman pulled him to attention.
“What will ya have sweetie?” She chewed a piece of gum, and the smell of floral perfume moved between the expanse of space between them. She had one hand on her hip, the other on the bar, and her red hair was in loosely braided pigtails. Like the countryside she worked in, she was the typical stereotype. A Southern drawl, tanned skinned, with the freckles along the bridge of her nose. Her shirt was plaid, mostly red, with daisy duke cutoffs that her ass fell out of when she turned to walk away. Her legs were long, but thick in the thighs, and ended in the usual boots covered in dust the color of a pinkish rose.
He gathered the intel on the woman within a couple of seconds, her face still turned toward him giving him a more than a friendly smile. “I don’t care, as long as it’s strong.” Nate lifted a hand as if to shoo her away, but she didn’t take it as an insult.
“Whatevah ya want honey.” She spoke sweetly and winked. The sound of her voice nearly caused Nate to wrinkle his nose, but he was still coming down from the adrenaline rush of the evening’s events.
“In here…right in front of me.” He spoke loudly as she reached for a glass further down the bar. His own hand pulling a short well made crystal one out of his pocket. It made a beautiful sound when he set it down, his index finger pointing inside, indicating she would pour whatever she had chosen right in front of him. It was only then that mask of perfect bliss on her face faltered, replaced by confusion. Her boring amber eyes moved from the glass he had brought, to the bottle she held, back to the man ending on his dark blue ones. What she saw there prickled her skin, causing her to hesitate, and nearly refuse the man service altogether.
Posted on: Oct 15 2017, 02:24 PM
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