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<div align="center"><div align="center"> Old Characters 2017 - 2018<div align="center">
<div align="center">Title↠<div align="center">Name ↠ Tiamat Shiva(?) Lashgari<div align="center">Age↠ 22<div align="center">Personality↠<div align="center">
<div align="center">I will make headstones out of the rocks they threw at me.<div align="center">In the the deserts of Tiamet's home, where sand shifts like water in the ocean and men drown beneath waves of heat, the most feared predator is the cobra. With scales that glisten, twin transparent fangs that curve into perfect hooks, and dark eyes that glimmer like onyx beads, it's not hard to understand why many of the local legends depict them as the personification of death itself. One bite is enough to send a grown man's soul to the afterlife. Even warriors, with their silver tipped cords of hair to symbolize bravery and their long shamshir blades of gleaming iron, fear the day one wrong step might send two venom tipped needles into their heel.<div align="center">Yet, there are some, who are born to battle death.<div align="center">The mongoose appears to be an unsuspecting creature, with a cat like physique and petite size. <span style="text-align: left;">Yet, this creature is one of the few willing to stand up to the Cobra. Using insane dodges, fast strikes and savage bites, the mongoose not only can hold its own in a fight against the desert's most fearsome creature, it can win.<div align="center">Tiamat has long been compared to those hardly little animals. She doesn't appear to be much. Upon first glance, most would predict she could easily be bested by even the weakest opponent. Like the mongoose, however, she never fails to surprise. And she especially enjoys showing off her prowess by picking fights with the so called cobras of the world - the strong and the tyrannical.<div align="center">
<div align="center">She comes off a bit insincere to some people. Her love of the drink is a little too fierce and her flirtatious nature overbearing. The words that come out of her mouth are mostly warm and inviting - but never believe them to be friendly. There is a method to Tiamat's madness. Having grown up both with her childhood spent in both the harsh wilds and the palace, Tiamat learned one important lesson: Never work against Mother Nature. Work with her. People are pack animals, subjected to instincts and emotions just like a common dog. They are as easily read and deciphered as a child's puzzle. For Tiamat, being a reaper and jumping between bodies and minds has shown her the way people react to different forms and approaches. <span style="text-align: left;">If she wants to stay on top, she knows she has to play the game. Befriend people and win them over. Toy with them, if she must. Her father's fierce and stoic approach did little for him in life - so she's taking a different route. Wine, lust, and politics.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Ability/Power↠ Reaper<div align="center">
<div align="center">Strengths↠<div align="center">
<div align="center">Drench the world in gasoline<div align="center">and let someone else drop the match.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Fear is a four letter word.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Weaknesses↠<div align="center">
<div align="center">Haunted<div align="center">by people<div align="center">that should<div align="center">be dead.<div align="center">Choking<div align="center">on words<div align="center">that should<div align="center">not be said<div align="center">
<div align="center">Text
Edited at May 16, 2019 04:14 PM by Red Queen
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<div align="center"><div align="center">History↠ <div align="center">
<div align="center">It began with a babe, lulled to sleep by the song of rattling bones that hung like criminal corpses from a deadly mobile. The grotesque, whimsical thing was a myriad of gleaming skeletal remains that rolled and clacked gently on the end of strings. With the birth of the sun every morning until its fall at dusk, the babe would stare at it with curious eyes. Unaware. Entranced. At night, they shone with a hint of her power, a rim of gold developing around her otherwise dark, mahogany irises.<div align="center">
<div align="center">The innards of the tent-home, padded with animal skins and rough, wool carpets, glowed an eerie blue whilst dusted by the thread of moonlight that spilled through a slit in the door flap. Passersby of the quaint looking place assumed it was home to a tribe outcast, forced to live in solitude away from his kin.<div align="center">
<div align="center">In reality, it sheltered a fugitive, a baby born wearing a mantle of sin. While she had been innocent then, just a mere babe in a cradle listening to death's lullaby, the world had already anointed her as one of its inevitable evils. A monster born, not made.<div align="center">
<div align="center">A creature<div align="center">who swallowed<div align="center">its own humanity.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Her father, Khalid, was the child's only living kin. He kept watch over her in the form of an elderly shepherd with a gaunt face, jaundiced sickly, who had barely a wisp of white beard on his chin. The real shepherd, who had owned both the body and the tent-home, had met his end against Khalid's shamshir blade. It was too risky for Khalid to retain his natural born skin, which revealed him to be the menacing, muscled assassin of the late Sultan, with a proud face and corded black hair that danced around his shoulder's like writhing snakes. Now that the Sultan was dead, his noble son Ali had called for her father's blood. And by association, her own.<div align="center">The mother that would have completed their trio<div align="center">was already dead<div align="center">her body lost in the sand.<div align="center">
<div align="center">In that tent was where Tiamat's life took root. Where she grew up. As she changed, from babe to toddler, she'd sit on the floor, playing with crude wooden carvings shaped by her father's hand. Once in a while, she'd toddle out of the tent and into the open desert, loving the feel of the sand sinking beneath her feet. But then her father would find her, pick her up, and carry her back to the round room that had become her prison. During the night, when the winds howled and her eyes glowed, the weathered man would tell her stories of her origin. Their origin. The Reapers.<div align="center">
<div align="center">He would show her with a smile, swapping bodies, his form flickering as it changed from man to woman, old to young, light to dark. So many faces. So many shapes. It made her giggle and she clapped her hands together in wonder.<div align="center">
<div align="center">"Again! Again!"<div align="center">
<div align="center">And he would show her again.<div align="center">
<div align="center">At the time, she had no idea how he obtained so many interesting shapes. She assumed, with naivety, that every human being could look however they wanted, like him.<div align="center">
<div align="center">It wasn't until the age of seven when her illusion was shattered.<div align="center">
<div align="center">A man had come into her tent at midnight, the blade of his dagger gleaming in the moonlight. She'd heard his heavy footfalls in the sand and woke with a start, only to be greeted by his shadow looming over her bedside. With a scream, she'd roused her father, who acted upon instinct immediately, unsheathing his weapon and striking in one fluid motion.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Tiamat had watched with wide eyes as the tip of the sword pushed through the man's back with a wet thunk and protruded from beneath his sternum, slick and dripping with gore.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Then, he'd crumpled to the ground as her father pulled the blade loose. His corpse was twitching, disturbing the sand and looking like some overturned insect waving its legs wildly in the air. She wasn't horrified or afraid. Just shocked, her gaze glued to the scene. But then, her demeanor changed when she saw her father.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Blood bloomed,<div align="center">like a crimson rose,<div align="center">on his chest.<div align="center">
<div align="center">In rivulets the liquid oozed from his wound. And before her eyes,<div align="center">the only person she had ever known, loved, or cared for, died.<div align="center">Falling over the body of his victim, his whole form shaking.<div align="center">
<div align="center">This time, she screamed not in surprise, but pure grief. The wail that escaped her mouth split the desert air, so loud and heavy it brought her to her knees. With tears obscuring her vision she crawled over to him, reaching out, her tiny hands getting sticky with his blood as she pressed them against his back, shaking him, calling him back to her.<div align="center">
<div align="center">And then,<div align="center">like she had brought him<div align="center">back from the dead,<div align="center">he stirred.<div align="center">
<div align="center">He sat up with a groan, his eyes peeling open. The gaping hole in his chest began to mend itself. The flesh came together and the bleeding stopped. The glaring red tissue faded into the light pink of a scar, and then disappeared entirely.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Tiamat sat there, her hands frozen in the air, still coated with red. "Aba?" She whispered, fat tears beginning to role down his face. "Aba?"<div align="center">
<div align="center">"Yes, dear child," he said, his voice hoarse. And then, he gathered her in his arms. She sobbed.<div align="center">
<div align="center">That was the day she learned that being a Reaper came with an ugly price. Every life they took, every death blow they dealt, they felt as if it was their own. The pain, the horror of dying - they experienced it all. It was their curse. The curse of stealing another's soul.<div align="center">
<div align="center">The curse of<div align="center">wearing<div align="center">another's skin.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Tiamat grew older still. The days became darker. She became taller, lankier. At age twelve, she and her father finally left their tent home. Sultan Ali had died. murdered in his bed by assassins, and his uncle came to power. Khalid was welcomed back to the palace.<div align="center">
<div align="center">It was there she first discovered love<div align="center">and death.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Having grown up in such miserable solitude, Tiamat was immediately lost in the bliss of people. Everywhere she looked they swept across her vision. Swirling, dancing, talking, laughing, screaming.<div align="center">
<div align="center">
<div align="center">End Part One
Edited at May 16, 2019 04:10 PM by Red Queen
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<div align="center"><div align="center">History ↠ <div align="center">
<div align="center">The huntress<div align="center">made my soul<div align="center">take flight.<div align="center">And then, she knocked<div align="center">an arrow,<div align="center">aimed high,<div align="center">and smiled.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Her father warned her not to grow too fond of anyone she met.<div align="center">
<div align="center">But the first time she saw<div align="center">the girl that changed her life<div align="center">there was no stopping it.<div align="center">She was already<div align="center">impossibly in love.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Sarah was princess with smooth black hair<div align="center">like a captured piece of night sky.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Tiamat ran into her first in the royal garden. She was laughing. Such a joyous sound it was, purling across the marble and alabaster stone, capturing Tiamat completely. In a trance, she approached the other girl. They talked, picking persimmons together and swapping stories. Sarah had been everywhere, it seemed. She'd traveled beyond the vast desert, to a place where there was more water than land. She'd seen trees taller than three buildings stacked together. She'd heard stories of nations Tiamat didn't even know had existed. Suddenly the world was wider than sand and blood. It was big and wondrous and reflected in Sarah's soft caramel eyes.<div align="center">
<div align="center">They kept meeting together, in that garden, underneath the shade of the persimmon tree. Tiamat would sneak away between swordplay lessons and droning history lectures to see her. Not all girls learned as Tiamat did. In fact, she found out that because of her Reaper blood, she was the exception to an ancient rule.<div align="center">
<div align="center">So she and Sarah made a deal. In exchange for stories, Tiamat taught her how to spar. Like a dance, they memorized steps together. Jabs, punches and whirls. Day in and day out, they practiced and giggled and collapsed to the ground with salty sweat stinging their eyes.<div align="center">
<div align="center">And then, months after their first encounter with each other<div align="center">Tiamat leaned over<div align="center">and kissed her.<div align="center">
<div align="center">The world cracked open.<div align="center">The universe spilled around her.<div align="center">The horizon spun on its axis.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Everything felt so right it was almost wrong.<div align="center">And when Sarah kissed her back<div align="center">a thousand butterflies<div align="center">took flight in her gut.<div align="center">
<div align="center">This was happiness<div align="center">like she'd never felt.<div align="center">Joy that shouldn't<div align="center">even be possible.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Months bled into years and friends changed to lovers. Tiamat and Sarah, nearly grown now, with their lives threatening to go in different directions, conspired together to change their fates. Khalid was training Tiamat to follow in his footsteps and be a servant to the King, but she had yet to reap a single life. Sarah's hand in marriage was being offered to dozens of nobleman across the land, but had yet to be taken .<div align="center">
<div align="center">There was still time<div align="center">but it was slipping<div align="center">like sand between<div align="center">their fingers.<div align="center">
<div align="center">They talked and they packed, stealing dried rations and gathering supplies. By candlelight, in the safety of Tiamat's quarters, they traced their fingers along trade routes and rivers, plotting the best ways to escape. And then, they finally did it, slipping out like shadows in the night, the palace lost to haze of the distance, already fading from memory.The first three weeks they spent on the run were perfect. Blissful. Just the two of them standing in the ocean of sand, their silhouettes against the sapphire sky. For the first time, they dared to talk about the future beyond their escape. Where they would go. What they would do. Sarah wanted to adopt a child. Tiamat wanted to train girls how to defend themselves. Spread out before them, life seemed to be full of promise and hope.<div align="center">
<div align="center">But those who dare to dream<div align="center">risk crossing over<div align="center">into the realm of nightmares<div align="center">
<div align="center">It happened at the first light of dawn. The sky was a deep crimson, casting its hues on the ground below and covering the world in blood colored splendor. Tiamat was asleep in their bedroll, her curly brown hair covering her face as she breathed softly. Sarah had wandered off to the nearby oasis to collect water.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Tiamat stirred, stretched and stood up, wiping the sleep from her eyes. As she waited for Sarah to return, she packed up their things, fed the horses and took inventory. The sun floated in the sky now, above the horizon line. Sarah still did not come.<div align="center">
<div align="center">At noon, Tiamat went in search of her, anxiety creeping into the corners of her mind. She brushed those worries away, unwilling to even harbor the notion that something had befallen her love. The oasis was a good five miles away. It had been marked on their maps as a midway point in between populated areas. Her feet burned on the hot sand, like splashes of boiling water against her skin, with every step she took. Soon, in the distance, the oasis took form, a hazy shape in the distant distoryed by waves of heat.<div align="center">
<div align="center">When she arrived, the beautiful Sarah was no where to be found. Tiamat bent over the bank of the water, with light dancing across its surface like sparkling jewels.<div align="center">
<div align="center">- - -<div align="center">
<div align="center">It began with a babe, lulled to sleep by the song of rattling death.<div align="center">It ended with a monster, haunted by the screams of her lover's last breath.
Edited at May 16, 2019 04:11 PM by Red Queen
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Old Characters 2017 - 2018 <div style="text-align: center;"> .:Melinoe:.
Age ↠ 4½ Gender ↠ Female Sexuality ↠ Bisexual
Appearance:
Magic and madness
wound tightinto cords of muscle and ropes of tendons
Melinoe is disfigured - not by nature's choice or by any will of her own, but by the wolf that she might have called father, had he given her a chance.
There was no mercy in him that day
No way he would spare even the litter of his beloved mate - newborn pups - from his stained teeth
His eyes, clouded by rage and blood, tore into her flesh before her eyelids had even peeled open to take in the sight of the world around her. Despite the fact that she was so horrendously wounded, barely surviving the ordeal and the following trials, she was the lucky one. All of her litter mates perished between his crushing jaws.
But is the lucky one
truly lucky? Sometimes Melinoe wishe sshe could be rid of this world and fly with the souls of her fallen siblings.
Some wounds never heal beneath the surface, and the scars that disfigure the left side of her face are the least of what remains of her injury. Her father's rage, as if injected into her like poison, through his own violent fangs, have been passed down to her. She is angry - livid, even. Her chance at beauty and love was stripped away from her so young. She never even got to see what she truly looked like. Instead, what she gets to see in her reflection is a cruel monster that hints at what might have been, and if she squints hard enough, her disfigurement seems to blur out of existence. Until it comes back when she opens her eyes again. Her left ear is nearly torn off. Her left eye, thankfully, is as bright and all-seeing as her right, but the skin around it is mottled with veiny scars that look like dried worms pressing from beneath her skin and dents and patches were the fur just won't grow. These blemishes travel half way down her neck, a stripe of ugliness amongst faded beauty.
Her fur is a silvery white, stark and ghostly, with only her toes and the tips of her ears dipped in a creamy brown. Her brown eyes are slanted, keen, and always watching, sharper than the edge of a blade. Their enigmatic glint alludes to her darker side, that twisted part of her that her mother's mate created when he destroyed her kin and her face, knotting up her soul inside of her and setting her on a doomed path.
Bones and bloody pulp
-globs of gore - paint glittering fangs and extended claws.
There are inevitable stains - on her chin, on her teeth, on the soft fur of her underbelly - from the grime of her work. These stains make her fur look pinkish most days. Sometimes though, when the stain is renewed, repainted as she harvests another kill, they're as red as a glittering ruby.
Personality:
Darkness and Danger
spin ghostly tendrils as the spirit train passes by with a blink of dark eyes.
Melinoe is sophisticated and serene. Like a phantom. She speaks very little and yet she absorbs all, every word uttered, every comment directed at her, every flash of teeth - it is all catalogued in her mind and never forgotten. Forgiveness is not a word she even acknowledges as existing and her whole life is one quest of revenge. Not for someone else, but for herself. She kills and she does it beautifully. With every life she takes, she feels a little less angry about her whole life being ruined. Why should other bask in the glory of their existence when hers is so miserable?
Kill. Kill them all. Avenge yourself.
She is a very skilled murderer. Having honed her ability as a young juvenile, her patience, strength and persistence is commendable. Once she locks onto a target she will not settle until it is dead and its flesh has been ripped by the sharpened edge of her fangs. At the longest, she has tracked her prey for five months before killing him - he was a large brute of a male, with inky black fur and a mouth that had once hurled insults at her. She destroyed it, and the rest of him, until he looked less like a wolf and more like a bloody pile of mangled flesh. Who was ugly now? At the shortest, mere seconds. A quick leap, sharp jerk to the neck, then that wet snap that assures Melinoe her victim is dead.
Melinoe knows that killing is a game of patience. When prey catches onto her, tracking them, hunting them, they often hide. In caves or in burrows. Sure, she could follow them in, but it is much more fun to wait. She can sit without moving, without breaking her concentration, for over seventy-two hours straight, her mind using a tactic to keep itself single mindedly fixated on the poor soul she wants to reap. She'll simply imagine her and them together, creating an elaborate scenario, so their image never leaves her memory. In her head, she'll speak to them. Get to know them.
And then, when they finally emerge, tired, restless and thirsty, she shatters her own illusion and goes in for the kill.
The shades of your dreams,the phantoms of your past,the faces of your dead loved ones,forced out of your mindand intoterrible reality
She feels them on her, the weight of the spirits shes killed. They cling to her, out of anger, out of a desire for warmth, as if she is the only living thing they can touch without falling through. She knows each of them by name, their eyes flashing in her mind before she goes to sleep. Echoes of their death cries waking her in the middle of the night. Is she sorry? No. But they plague her mind still.
Melinoe, knowing this, knowing the weight that taking a life - that delivering a death - can bring, is skilled at torturing poor souls like her. If she doesn't want to kill she can always bring up those painful wolves laying on the conscience. With her fellow killers, the scum and the assassins of the world, she likes to, uh, help them, revisit the deaths they've caused when they dare insult her. She makes it her business to know them and their kills, and then, when they comment on her face or her lack of direction, she's ready.
"That she-wolf was so pretty, wasn't she? What was her name? Azure? Too bad she couldn't be faithful. Too bad she had to meet her end in your jaws. First loves never last anyway, dear. You'll find another, and then you can kill them too." Then she'll smile and walk away. Words hurt, don't they? And so do old memories when their scabs are ripped away.
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Good or Evil?:Drifting through the grey divide between good and evil.
<div style="text-align: center;">History:<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Maybe Melinoe's mother committed a grievous crime. That part is subjective and the view is different from each set of eyes that witnessed the tragedy. Whether she did or whether she didn't, the outcome doesn't change. A litter was conceived by a wolf that was not her mate. Mumblings of love and madness. A falling out between her and the white wolf that she once loved but had now abandoned for another against the pack rules and against the Alpha's dire warning.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">His name was Eurus. Melinoe will never forget his name, even if she barely remembers anything but that pain. Eurus was her mother's mate, maddened by rage, gnawed from the inside out by jealousy. Just days after Melinoe and her six siblings were born, he burst into the den and committed the unforgivable crime. Melinoe's dam, Nymph, a small, sweet, and passionate wolf, tried her best to protect her offspring but ultimately could do nothing except witness the whole bloody ordeal. The third male, Shade, who had stolen Nymph away from Eurus, came back too late from the hunt, finding his all children gone from his world except one. A fight ensued between the two males. Only Shade came out alive. But the damage was done already and the fight did not save, but avenge.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Melinoe grew up in shame. She was the product of sin, the reason why a perfectly respectable pack member like Eurus lost his mind and was ushered into the next life. And she was also ugly - that was the worst of her crimes. Other wolves her age shied away from her scars or mocked her for them. She learned quickly the only way to survive was to become stronger and better than they. So she did. She trained. She honed her skill. She sharpened her teeth on bone and she hunted obsessively until she could make a near perfect kill. Her rage and her loneliness drove her onward. When she'd fall down, bloody and battered, she refused to give in to those who thought her a failure and a mistake. She refused to believe them. And so, she'd stand back up again, no matter how painfully. Soon, the blood that covered her was not her own.
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Old Characters Cont.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Gender: Female<div style="text-align: center;">Age: 848<div style="text-align: center;">Sexuality: Bisexual<div style="text-align: center;">Rank: Princess<div style="text-align: center;">Appearance:<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Lilith is the demon of Beauty, Love and Seduction, and her appearance reflects her power in the Kingdom of Hell.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">There is something alluring, yet deadly about her. Her figure is willowy and elegant, with her olive skin smooth and soft. Her face is heart shaped, framed by waves of long cascading waves of golden brown hair that nearly brushes her thighs. The humanoid demoness is not skinny, nor is she fat. Her figure is curvaceous, with all its dips and rises in the right places. Intelligence and cunning shine through her bright green eyes, which are sheltered by thick, lashes and accentuated by dark kohl. Like a crisp apple, her lips are full and bright red and beckoning, whether they are pulled tight into a frown or curled up in a smile.<div style="text-align: center;">On her back, twin appendages sprout from her shoulder blades, unfurling into large, glossy blue butterfly wings.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">But sometimesher form flickers<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Love is a strange thing. It can be beautiful. It can be twisted. It can be both. Lilith bears these burdens, and when her mood shifts from fair to foul, she has the ability to manipulate herself to appear menacing. During this episodes, her skin appears drained of all life and pigment - becoming a stark alabaster white. The beautiful wings on her back wither into bloody, protruding bones. Her hair turns darker than a piece of captured night sky and her eyes become solid red, without any pupil showing through. Glistening fangs will shine through her smile. Then, in a snap, she'll flicker back to normal and all will be as it once was.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Personality:<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">How dreadfully<div style="text-align: center;">Sinful<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Lilith is a demon who cares little about the politics and protocols of the royal court. Born as one of the elder children and forced to witness her family's ceaseless power struggles her whole life, she's distanced herself from that world, becoming the 'wild one' of the family. Because she isn't particularly close to her siblings or parents, it was quite easy to create that distance. Now, she cares little about what they're up to or what they might think of her and her dramatic flare. Lilith holds no aspirations of power and she's rather disgusted by killings and brutal punishments. That isn't to say she isn't smart or intelligent. She's been raised in a palace, with its tumult of allies, enemies and scandals. She knows how to play the games, bribe the guards, and work things in her favor, and she mostly uses this knowledge to get people to leave her alone. She's far more interested in what she might refer to as the important aspects of life: Emotions and Behavior. She is adept at reading people and is charismatic to the core, enjoying meeting new demons and navigating the dance of relationships.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">There's a quirky side of her - one that is obsessed the arts. On a good day, you'll find her lounging by a fountain, biting into a plump apple and deep into a book. Literature. Dance. Painting. Plays. Music. All of these forms of expression captivate her completely. Her love for them is second to none and her quarters is littered with old scrolls, ink paintings and ancient instruments in disrepair.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">It is also in her nature to be rash. She likes to jump into things, to throw herself into situations and see how things work out, especially when it comes to romantic relationships. The demoness has been known to flirt even with members of the low, scorned classes of demons and she has been scolded for it profusely, but she never listens. Her past is littered with old lovers and while she has yet to find someone to become a permanent soul mate, she isn't exactly looking. But these things tend to sneak up on you.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Abilities/Strengths:<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Lilith is the demoness of beauty, but sometimes, beauty can be a burden. Perhaps it is a defense mechanism, perhaps it is something more, but for whatever reason, Lilith can shift her appearance from gorgeous to ghoulish, especially when she is feeling threatened. Back in her regular form, though, she is by far one of the fairest demons, with her domain being Beauty, Love, and Seduction. She can cause lower ranking demons to become infatuated with things for small increments of time, but otherwise relies on looks and wiles to navigate through the muddy mire of politics and life.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Weaknesses:<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Lilith, while extremely charismatic, having a veritable silver tongue, still manages to ruffle feathers in court with her general lack of restraint and propriety. Rules be damned. If she wants to do something, she will, and it has and continues to cause a multitude of problems and awkward situations.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Even though she has no problems with quick, passionate relationships, Lilith can be prone to jealousy. She dislikes being broken up with - she'd rather be the one to break it off - but nothing makes her more livid than being cheated on. Still, even after relationships are dissolved, she tends to watch out for her past loves, helping them get a leg up in life. Insulting her or rejecting her in a condescending way brings out a dark side of Lilith, one of the rare occasions she'll bare her teeth and draw blood. If you say no, fine. Just do it tactfully.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Good or Evil?: While Lilith isn't a definitive good or evil, she certainly leans more towards the light side of things. She doesn't have a fondness for gore or violence, she enjoys other demons, and she'd rather not dirty her hands. However, there are sparks of darkness in her.<div style="text-align: center;">Significant Other: <div style="text-align: center;">Other:<div style="text-align: center;">Has been in a past relationship with "A".<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Old Characters cont.<div style="text-align: center;"> |
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<div align="center"> Old Characters Cont
<div align="center"><div align="center">Name: Iris<div align="center">Age: 4<div align="center">Gender: Female<div align="center">Rank Desired: Delta<div align="center">Love Interest: None yet ~<div align="center">Mate: -<div align="center">Pups: -<div align="center">
<div align="center">Appearance:<div align="center">
<div align="center">Iris is a lithe Belgian Malinois mix with a short, honey brown pelt and black tipped ears and paws. She is strong and well muscled, her legs are long but sturdy, and despite being a dog built for work, she looks more elegant than hardy. Her muzzle is pointed and her ears are always pricked forward at attention. There is a distinctive feminine look to her, with her sloping curves and her soft, golden eyes. They're keen and bright and always watching. Always watching. Iris rarely misses anything. She has a smattering of criss crossed scars on her back left leg and underbelly, from an unfortunate tangle with barbed wire. Her right ear is notched. Beneath the fur, around her neck, a scar circles around the whole length from where a collar once dug into her skin.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Personality:<div align="center">
<div align="center">Ｔｈｅ Ｍｅｓｓｅｎｇｅｒ<div align="center">
<div align="center">Iris is a mediator. Since the time she was a small pup, with folded ears and milky eyes, she's always had a serene, calculated disposition. Easing tensions is her specialty and she has a way with words, which she uses to calm potentially dangerous situations down. Iris is, of course, loyal to her pack. Her agenda is the Alpha's agenda and, on a professional level, she has unwavering loyalty to him (or her). While on the outside she is almost always composed, there is a certain measure of conflict in her eyes. She often will neglect her own emotions and solving problems in her personal life is much harder for her than solving problems for the pack. The dog is touchy about the subject of herself and can be driven to snap if someone pushes it on her.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Iris has been called cold and manipulative before, as well as some other choice words, because of her tendency to maneuver situations in her favor. Especially when working with enemy packs, Iris has no issues with being underhanded.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Ｎｉｐｐｉｎｇ ａｔ ｔｈｅ Ｈｅｅｌｓ ｏｆ ｔｈｅ Ｓｕｎ<div align="center">
<div align="center">Iris is as swift as she is smart. She works fast paced, never ceasing to utilize her time in an orderly and productive fashion, and more than anything she hates wasting time. Around the pack, you'll never find her idle. If she has nothing to do she finds something to do. From dawn until dusk she is ceaseless and some might even find her excessive, or annoying. But it's her survival. It's her coping mechanism, to deal with all the loss around her. If she doesn't have to stand still, she doesn't have to think about her past. She can detach herself from her emotions this way and better assist the pack, which is her single-minded ambition.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Ｉｍｐｏｓｓｉｂｌｅ Ｔｏ Ｓｃａｒｅ<div align="center">
<div align="center">Iris is not easily fazed. She's seen a lot of things and been in a lot of harrowing situations in her life. She's no stranger to bloodshed or pain. when tragic things happen, Iris doesn't react normally. The dog is oddly detached and level-headed, always guided by reason instead of emotions. This aspect of her personality does not make her the most popular. In fact, many believe her to be insensitive or heartless.<div align="center">
<div align="center">Ｐａｔｉｅｎｃｅ ｉｓ Ｍｙ Ｗｅａｐｏｎ<div align="center">
<div align="center">Iris has the patience and determination of a predator stalking their prey. She is not easily shaken, no matter what she's up against, and she will approach the same problem again and again from different angles until she's either solved it or been forced by a higher authority in the pack to stand down. Her determination is quiet, but not meek.<div align="center">
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<div align="center">Other/Plot Ideas?:<div align="center">
<div align="center">I may have some plot ideas :3<div align="center">
<div align="center">If she's not accepted as a Delta, I may tweak a few things
Edited at May 16, 2019 03:56 PM by Red Queen
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Old Character Cont.<div style="text-align: center;"> <div style="text-align: center;">Maven Elenwe <div style="text-align: center;">Age: UnknownGender: FemaleSexuality: Bisexual <div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Maven is, simply, otherworldly. Lissome and ageless, with wild, unruly black hair and deep, luteous eyes. She is beautiful in a way marble statues with empty sockets are beautiful, capturing the fascination of those that chance upon her. She doesn't walk so much as glide, and she doesn't smile so much as grin with all the madness and secrecy of a Sphinx spun to life from myths and tradition.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Hoops and helix piercings ornament her ears. A septum ring hangs from her freckled nose. Her neck is long, her shoulders are broad, and she has the birdlike tendency to cock her head - especially when she is thinking. Her golden brown skin is decorated with art - thin, silvery marks that swirl in a pattern intoxicating to the eyes. There is a shiny divot on her shoulder blade, from the kiss of an arrow's head.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Personality:<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Maven makes herself scarce, rare to be seen when her appearance isn't expected. She likes animals, especially those of the reptilian variety, and she collects bones and teeth like jewels. By her nature, she is not designed to live surrounded by walls and sheltered by a ceiling. The fresh air, the lush forest, the rolling hills - those are the places she longs to be.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Her flamboyant, untamed appearance gives off the impression of a larger than life personality, and that may be true. Maven is as passionate as a sunset catching fire to the earth, as willing to build bridges as she is to burn them. Befriending her is difficult, not just because she doesn't trust easily, but she herself is hard to trust. Her motives are rarely one sided. She's wired to survive, to adapt, to shed and wear different versions of herself like skins. So when one manages to make themselves consequential to her, the woman struggles to make her true self available to them, when she buried it away a long time ago.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Those who know her well have come to expect her strange way of regarding life. Maven has never been in a relationship for long. The wind always changes, and she feels the need to move on. She's never been good at building her foundation on rock, as opposed to sand, but that could change. For now, though, she's content with her position on the council, and she won't easily be swayed off of it by someone's promise of love. Those promises are empty more often than not. She knows this better than most.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Rank: Noble by day, Profiteer by night ^^Power: PhasingRelationships (Love interests, friends, enemies, etc) : PM me :)<div style="text-align: center;">- She finds Quinn Blackwood alluring -- Keith McLean and her have a tenuous alliance -- Dani Deity is a close confidant -<div style="text-align: center;">Boyfriend/Girlfriend: N/A<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">In favor of the Rebellion in secret. Outwardly appears neutral.<div style="text-align: center;">Other: Rebel (Let me know if I need to change anything ^^)
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<div style="text-align: center;"> Old Characters cont. <div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Phaedra<div style="text-align: center;">_________________<div style="text-align: center;">Age ⇀ 23<div style="text-align: center;">Gender ⇀ Female<div style="text-align: center;">Sexuality ⇀ Bisexual<div style="text-align: center;">Role ⇀ Band'ar Deserter<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Appearance ⇀<div style="text-align: center;">Phaedra has the looks of one war hardened and war weary, the glimmers of her youth gone from her loam-brown eyes, supplanted with the wide, hollow vacancy of one who has witnessed death over and over again in an unceasing circle.<div style="text-align: center;">Her hair is a lighter shade of brown, a silver blue brown, almost iridescent, as if staring at the bottom silt of a pond through the water. Its tangled mess was once plaited into soldier's braids, but is now let loose and cut choppily at her shoulders. The feathery softness of it is gone, has been gone, for a long while. Her lips are sliced down the middle by a very deliberate scar, which stops halfway down her chin and intersects with another, oxbow shaped mark on the end of her chin that curves upwards with the shape of her face. Her body has suffered from imprisonment - she's as thin as a stem, and the golden brown hues of her skin have lost the warm vibrancy it once had.<div style="text-align: center;">Her long neck has a ring of blotchy marks around it that dip, down to touch the ridges of her collarbone - scars formed by bruises that never quite healed, as if the fingerprints of the enemy that tried to choke the life out of her are permanently seared onto her skin. There is an inward curl to her shoulders, and she shows no signs of the rigid posture she was forced to carry day in and day out during her five years as a soldier. Ribs poke out from underneath her skin, giving her a sharp, undernourished appearance. Her hands, once smooth and painted with designs, are now calloused and hard from wielding a sword she never wanted. Her arms fare no better, littered with silver and pink lines from when the thorn-sharp side of a blade would slice through her skin.<div style="text-align: center;">Personality ⇀<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">History ⇀<div style="text-align: center;">Phaedra was born with a different name, a name chosen by her mother and the village midwife on the crisp, spring day she was born. It was a name full of promise and youthful hope for a better world, a name stripped from her as soon as she was conscripted for the Band'ar military, at the age of eighteen.<div style="text-align: center;">Joining the Band'ar military, she was assigned to a Septum, a group of seven soldiers who bunked, trained, and fought along side each other. She was assigned a sword - a crude, lackluster thing that didn't look as if it was worthy to take human lives. And she was assigned a name: Phaedra. The moniker was picked by the head recruiting officer, who selected it from a long list without much thought. It had just opened up, he explained, pointing to it on the parchment, where it was written in heavy handed scrawl. And the date next to it? A date to mark a death. The last person to be Phaedra, whomever she was, had been slaughtered in battle not a month before.<div style="text-align: center;">The other members of her Septum, the only people she'd get to know over the next several years, all had families they were fighting for. Purposefully assigned together because none of them came from the same conquered state, they'd swap whispered tales at night, each telling of their different versions of home. Phaedra never had much to say.<div style="text-align: center;">She was born to a widow, her father dead and gone months before she was born, and her mother refusing to remarry. Her home village had been small, the people good to the family of two, taking turns caring for them, helping them thatch the roof of their house every summer.<div style="text-align: center;">Phaedra's childhood seemed very far away. The other's would laugh, talk of siblings and lovers and fields of grain that shone like velvet in the sunlight. Phaedra always got a haunted look on her face whenever they inquired about those aspects of her growing up. She'd had no siblings. The only romance she'd ever been swept up in had died at the end of a crescent shaped blade. The crops in her village had shriveled up into stalks of nothing her last few years there. Nearly half of the already small population perished in hunger. And that was before Band'ar had showed up with weapons drawn, so vast in number they looked like a sea from a distance, with light reflected off of the multitudes of silver armor as if it were water.<div style="text-align: center;">A year into her military service, Phaedra was informed her mother had passed away. She was not allowed to return home for the burial. So she lit a fire, she burned their corresponding letters, and she let all that was left of the girl before the war turn into smoke.<div style="text-align: center;">Her mother had begged Phaedra, before she left, not to forget her true name. Not to forget her true home. And Phaedra fulfilled her mother's wishes, up to that point. Every night before the girl would sleep, after a brutal day of training, she'd repeat her original name, her real name, to herself, ten times over. A ritual kept in her head, where her commanding officer would never find it.<div style="text-align: center;">But after her mother perished, she had no reason to hold on to her past self. Someone who was dead and gone. Phaedra stopped her nightly ritual, and her true name slipped from her mind for good.<div style="text-align: center;">Phaedra was who she was now - a mere pawn on a board, a girl who knew nothing but how to survive and kill - at least until she was killed, and the next girl was given the name from that horrid list, with the death date inked in small, messy words. The only sign that anyone had ever known she'd even existed.<div style="text-align: center;">
<div style="text-align: center;">Other ⇀text
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