Avalon RP

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NAME. Yvain Le Fay AGE & BIRTH DATE. 38 & March 18th, 752 CE GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him RACE & CLASS. Wolf of Ossory OCCUPATION. Knight of the Round Table FACE CLAIM. Henry Cavill

BIOGRAPHY

His birth came in early spring, the middle of March, and it's said the night he came into this world, the wolves in the woods howled in chorus welcoming him. Whether or not thats true, it's part of the mystery of a man who is the offspring of Morgan Le Fey. 

He and his mother did not live in any town, though it was walking distance from necessities when needed. His mother always sent him to the town with lists of items to pick up, she often claimed of her head hurting being the reason why she didn't go. He had no idea that in truth she was the villain in many people's tales. She teaches the ole ways and ancient traditions, he sees her wield magic like a Druid and would sometimes steal words he'd hear her say under her breath attemping to light fire as she did so effortlessly. Wouldn't he to be a druid? But the magic never worked and childhood had barely slipped away when he was told the secret of his true heirtage.

His father was a Wolf of Ossory, Yvaine knows the tale of those that turn from man to wolf as its one his mother his fond to tell. He understands now why she did; he is his father's son. But there is another secret that comes to light, why they live away in the woods and not in the village - Morgan le Fey is a traitor, the sister of the great King Arthur, and she was banished for her part. She is the villian at the end of the story and his anger towards his mother lasts but a day, he loves her and what is done is done. They continue to live their lives as they always have.

The day finally comes as his childhood is left behind; the fullmoon rises and awful pain overcomes his entire body. It's like every bone is breaking and he can't hold back the screams. His mother doesn't come to his side to aid him and as the moon gros higher in the sky, there's an animal nature set with in his mind telling him to run. He flees into the night and as his bones crack and the agony takes over, he leaves behind his human facade and becomes a four legged wolf. It's his first change and his human mind is gone, the animal has control as it hunts the night. When the sun rises in the east the next morning he wakes and is stark naked in a grove in the woods surrounded by dead carcus of bunny and deer. He wipes his mouth to the blood that's on his lips, which ones had been a muzzle. His mother steps forward and offers out a blanket to cover himself.

This is his life now. He begins to try and learn control, in his human form, he's stronger, faster, and his senses are like no other. He grows into his tall and athletic body; hunts the woods for food for his mother and himself, gather's firewood and has no reason to worry himself about wars going on somewhere else.

The year is 775, he's a young man now, when war breaks out and Anglo-Saxons make their way towards Avalon. he'd be happy to go about his simple life, but his begs him to to Avalon and help her brother, King Arthur. He doesn't understand the encoruagment for it, the man banished her from his kingdom, let her be cast as the villain; somehow through all of that, she still loves him. Yvaine gives in and anwsers the call to banners.

He fights in the war, side by side, with many other species and that of his uncle who doesn't know who Yvaine truely is. The king has to prove his worth to his nephew; they fight together and victory comes. Yvaine is asked to bend the knee, before he does he reveals his lineage to his uncle, asks him to see him for his deeds and not that of his mother. He is knighted by excalibur, made a knight of the round table and has served loyally by his king's side since. 

Now his uncle is sick and dying, it's something he cannot protect the king from. He's unsure of what will come next, but knows the whispers around and those that seek the power of the sword.

PERSONALITY

+ loyal, cunning, independent – stubborn, reserved, dauntless

NAME. Aneiren Urilee AGE & BIRTH DATE. 21 & June 14th, 769 CE GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her RACE & CLASS. Wolf of Ossory OCCUPATION. Physician’s Assistant & Candle Maker FACE CLAIM. Emily Alyn Lind

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: body horror, death ) Her life was once terribly average. 

Terribly average, and to come perhaps terribly boring. A middle child, Aneirin was not rebellious, she was not loud, not in the traditional sense. Her mouth was closed, but it can be found painted with just a smattering of rouge to bring color to it. While her hands remained soft, adept with a needle and thread, her mind was as sharp as a sword. At least when it could be expanded upon. Her world was small and when new things were introduced into it, she devoured them. All the while she was bustled from lesson to lesson with her older sister on everything from cooking to reading while her brother learned swordwork, for he’d long ago been promised to House Epos, her father a friend of a friend of Fergus. Her and her sister, they were meant to marry well, strengthen status, gain favor. 

And somewhere between the birth of a younger sibling and the death of her older sister in what was deemed a tragic accident far from the house, she realized what a responsibility that was. The death of her sister marked a move to Caiseal, officially, it made her the eldest girl and put a heavy weight on her shoulders. She grew not only complacent, but quiet as she watched her warm family unravel. There was no time to mourn the best friend she’d been born knowing, she had a job to do. And so she became her deceased sibling for her younger sister, tried to bring about her wisdom, her light. 

The two girls grew closer, we’re hardly seen without the other, but their brother withdrew, their mother fell apart in private. It was up to Aneiren to keep her remaining sister safe from harm, kept in their world of lessons and gowns. She filled her head with the same fluff her own was full of. They were coveted, all three children, by their parents, and so their beautiful home, their lofty estate, that’d all once felt so big, made her feel claustrophobic. 

But she carried on with her head held high anyways, someone had to. Their brother was away and training, her younger sister grew restless. Someone had to not make a fuss, someone needed to be rational. It seemed to make all the difference, was a way to tether her mother to the present. They began talking about securing her a marriage and while House Epos was the goal, her mother had been convinced any noble house was a goal. 

They were late home from an outing, mother and daughter, the carriage ride long and chilly, the wind outside whipping. It was so loud, the sign of an incoming storm, that they didn’t hear the howls until they were too close. The horses went first, knocking the carriage off course and onto its side. Jostled and terrified, both women in the carriage are too shocked to speak as they hear the sounds of the driver being torn apart. 

There’s silence. And then they are both screaming as claws and teeth break glass and wood and she hears her mother, she feels a searing pain shoot up her shoulder. Everything is sharp, hot pain and adrenaline, the sight of fur and fangs, her mother bloody and unconscious. There’s more screaming, there’s kicking, there’s wood splintering and cutting into her skin. 

Fleeing the overturned carriage in a panicked daze, she’s not followed, or if she is, she doesn’t look back to check. Wolves, there’d been wolves, she was bleeding as she hurried down the path until she came across a carriage that had slowed down at the sight of her. Aneiren remembered the worried face of a woman, and then nothing. Ossory, she was to go to Ossory where the wolves were, they could help her. That’s what the woman, a druid, told her. She’d taken her back to her home, she’d tried to explain what had happened, and being a person of rational mind, Aneiren thought she was toying with her. But magic happened before her very eyes and while it was hard to accept, as a rational mind, she had to consider the possibility that she’d indeed been bitten by a werewolf. The goal was clear, get to Ossory before the full moon. On paper, on the little map she had been given, it seemed simple enough. But she’d never been on her own before and the road ahead was difficult and foreign to her. How could she ever be quick enough? How could she outsmart the moon? She couldn’t. 

And so, somewhere between Caiseal and Ossory, her body twists and breaks her into something new, something wild and unruly. It’s terrifying, she awakes the morning after beside a dead animal, naked, and covered in blood. It’s not something she recognizes, her reflection in the water of the river as she washes away the sins of the night prior. It was terrifying, but she was terrifying, she was a force to be reckoned with. Her entire life she’d done everything right, what was expected of her, and while she mourned for the life she’d leave behind, for whatever became of her mother, she knew she could only go forward. 

Onwards to Ossory.

PERSONALITY

+ rational, compassionate, trusting – gullible, dependent, naive

As the last of the Yule log burns away to embers, so too does the last of the Yuletide’s festivities come to an end. The darkest night of winter is behind them now, but as the days get longer the people of Avalon must still contend with brutal conditions that are the worst in any living memory. Drifts pile high enough to bury trees, to bury homes, and many are forgoing their fields in favour of the high walls, and warm hearths of places like Caiseal, Maum, Seascann, Tearman, and Camelot. Storms punctuate the landscape as the weather has only worsened since the burning of the wicker man and the False King over the solstice, unusual thunderclouds said to carry riders on beast-like mounts roam over the Gray Tops and the borders of the Hartwood, bringing with them a chill so brutal that everything the storm touches is frozen through. The passage through to Essetir has become impassable, and more and more of the secret pathways to the Otherworld have been buried or sealed. Most notable, the pathways at the Dowth. 

Even across the Veil the storms are felt, where the Otherworld is subject to constant seasonal change, winter has fallen even there as well. Deserts of sand have turned to a white blanket of tundra, eternally churning seas have frozen solid, villages in the skies have crystallized as the sun itself has grown cold. No fair folk have emerged from Titania’s realm, and any who once knew the path to it have since come to lose their way as the Queen of the Fairy Realm has shut her gates. 

The king also remains shut tight within his hold while Gwydre and his men linger in the countryside; hunting man and beast alike. Rumours of the prince’s practices run amuck, in the name of the king, Gwydre is looking for anyone with connections to Doyle ó Murchadha, or anyone with knowledge of his whereabouts. The druid was accused over Samhain of attempting to assassinate the king, and several other high ranking members of the court. A member of each great noble house accompanies Gwydre,  a ranger, a bard, a paladin, and a berserker. With Excalibur’s blessing, they can wander freely through the druids’ wards, through the secret passages of the Otherworld, and with the king’s authority have razed whole villages in their pursuits. 

ooc information below the cut:

NAME. Archimedes AGE & BIRTH DATE. 305 & August 28th, 485 CE GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him RACE & CLASS. Stars Druid OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Avan Jogia

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: body horror, death ) His life had been a string of events that could either make them laugh or seethe depending on the day. He grew up happy, he liked to think, surrounded by magic, surrounded by knowledge and he took to all of it. Because he’d been a child and like any child, he often asked ‘why?’ and his questions were met with more books, he was told to find the answers himself. There were others like him, young druids with bright minds who asked why and they were friends.

Until they weren’t.

Green painted the vision of another, someone who’d always evenly matched him. While they were both skilled, there was more to him than just magic and knowledge, there was a charisma to him, a light that didn’t seem to ever leave his eyes. And how could it when he had them set on the stars. He memorized the groupings of constellations, specific stars within them, but he was not the only one. He was not the only one and yet those older than him told him, told them, that they’d only send one of their own to the Otherworld.

He remembered being before a map, his fingers sliding over stars, and then for the longest time, there was a hole. There was a black hole where the memory could be but it was illuminated by blinding pain, hot and white as his very bones broke down and reshaped. Eyes wider, flesh covered in feathers, he opened his mouth and he did not utter a scream, but a screech. It pierced the air but it was brief, his too bright world was plunged back into darkness. When he awoke, he was in a gilded cage, face to face with another young druid, another up to the challenge of going the distance to the Otherworld. Attempts to flee were futile, for the cage was cramped and he wouldn’t know how to use his wings if he tried. A noble without magic was who he was presented to, inside Camelot and away from home and it didn’t matter how much he screeched or batted his wings against the bars of his prison. Cries for help became shrill cries of mourning for his magic, for his home. He didn’t know how long he sat there watched and prodded by the humans but he knew that this could not be the end. An owl, that was what he was, a bird of prey, still a wild thing and if magic had put him in such a state, surely magic could undo it. And so with a well placed bite to a hand during feeding time one day, he half fluttered, half stumbled toward a window. Home, he was to find home except when he got there, when he approached, he was swatted at, shooed, for he was just an owl. He was just an owl who could not speak and so how could they know who he was?

He mourned again. It would not be the last time such a thing occurred. Because years went by and he still had his precious stars, his constellations as a comfort even without his magic and he stuck by his home as time went on he continued to mourn as his kind went from being in hiding to being hunted down.

There was nothing he could do. There was nothing he could do and time passed and he’d peck at mortals as they passed through the forest, swoop upon them under the light of the moon. It was all he could do and he hated them for fearing his kind enough to seek to destroy them. And maybe as time continued to pass, in his frustration, perhaps he grew to hate his own kind for their cowardice. The once bright young druid confined to his new form had all but given up hope that he could be anything but what he was. A bitter bird, an angry one, but he still has sensitive ears open and he catches word of another promising druid, not too far from home and he takes to the skies, taking with him whatever hope he had left. Merlin was indeed promising, he watched from the trees, windows, clambering to see what circle he would choose. Except it would seem Merlin had been watching him as well, surely amused by the antics of a bird and tentatively, he began to move in physical proximity to him. He would rest on stacks of books, footboards, chests, and shelves and he would watch Merlin’s magic affix itself to one circle after another.

It’s magnificent to see and he is in such awe of the other that he does not mind that the druid seems to regard him fondly enough to give him a name that’s not his own. Archimedes is what he is called and he answers to it in hopes it shows that he can understand, he has seen what Merlin’s magic can do, and spells can be undone.

It is a surprise the day it happens, Merlin is hardly a boy anymore when he addresses him. It is with quiet confidence that he asks his old friend, him, the bitter bird, if he can come down from the bookcase. After cracking an eye open and stepping a talon off of the shelf, wings at the ready to swoop down, he touches the floor a man and not a bird. A young man, no longer the boy he’d been and for all his bitterness, for all his years watching, he immediately embraces Merlin, for the curse has been broken.

At some point the young druid, wiser than his years, had figured that there was more to him and in private, he had figured out a spell to undo what had been done to him. He’d freed him from his literal birdcage and because of that, he owed him his life. They spoke of magic, they spoke of the stars, the things he’d seen happen to his home, his true name, and yet Archimedes stuck.

The name and the person, he remained at Merlin’s side as a trusted companion up until the great druid took his leave.

PERSONALITY

+ devoted, wise, charismatic – guarded, suspicious, overbearing 

Welcome to Avalon –

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We who are old, old and gay, O so old! Thousands of years, thousands of years, If all were told: Give to these children, new from the world, Silence and love; And the long dew-dropping hours of the night, And the stars above

In Camelot, the king’s men have spent the Yuletide festival hard at work. For the last six days and six nights they’ve harvested willow, stripping, treating, and weaving it into these strands like cords that they later used to construct an effigy made in the image of King Arthur. Christians praise this tradition as an homage to Christ, the son of God who was crucified and died for their sins. Constructed in the courtyard of Pendragon Hold, the wicker king overlooks the city as was before in age old tradition as the city streets below spill wine into gutters, drunk on merriment and foreboding fear that winter’s due is upon them. 

Adornments are brought forth, just as they decorated their trees with symbols of evergreen - so too do they adorn the wicker man with trinkets to be carried over into the next world. The Christians praise these tokens as gifts meant for God, the twinkling celestial artifacts likened to the stars that shone over Bethlehem at the birth of their savior - and as is the Yuletide tradition, with death comes the promise of new life. The ash tree that serves at their yule log has burned all the while, keeping at bay the malignancies of the world 

At long last their Yule King is brought forward, the false king who has spent the last six days and six nights treated as a rule king. Kept too drunk to stand, force fed hordes of fresh meat and yule treats, Breas Ó Croidheagan is pushed towards the wicker king. It’s hinged door swings wide as he is deposited inside of the wicker man while the people of Camelot sing age-old hymns that have roots far older than the Christian’s Christ. Words of praise long adopted by the foreign religion, only druids and those who have kept the old ways all this time see themselves reflected in this blatantly pagan tradition. 

While the priests attending the festival praise their lord and savior, Jesus Christ and use this as a moment to commemorate both his birth and death, the druids see an effigy of the Green Man, built high and tall and towering over the city. As the fires are lit the cries of Breas Ó Croidheagan can be heard for miles, the smell of his burning flesh cuts through the evergreens, the willow, and the offerings tossed upon the blaze. King Arthur remains in his hold, but Gwydre is front and center for the celebration, his voice the loudest before the audience, declaring the beginning of a great hunt. The prince is gathering the best hunters in the realm and promising them glory, at the conclusion of the burning, Gwydre will depart from the capital. Those sensitive to the veil hear horses calling out from the sky, the cackle of three, and feel the cutting chill that inches frost against burning wicker. 

ooc info below the cut:

Welcome to Avalon –

The following applicants have been accepted! You have 24 hours to create your character account and send it to the main ( if you need more time, please let us know as soon as you can ). Please follow all items on the checklist before interacting on the dash! We are looking forward to interacting with all of you!

"Snow was falling, so much like stars filling the dark trees that one could easily imagine its reason for being was nothing more than prettiness.”

In Avalon, the Yuletide festival has begun.

For twelve days and twelve nights the sun stands still and the yule log burns. Christians, Druids, and Pagans of all kinds mark the death of the year with their long standing traditions. Druidic practices that date back thousands of years muddle with the more recent coming of Christ as the fresh meat and year-long fermented wine is made readily available to the masses. In the wilds druids harvest mistletoe and holly with golden scythes as maidens dance around the center, catching sprigs and branches before they can touch the ground. Divided among them, the symbolic elements of the evergreen are used to decorate their homes and hovels as a means of embodying both the Mother Goddess, and the Oak King. Their protection wards off malignant spirits and evil elements: flood, fire, and lightning. 

In the wilds of the world pine trees are decorated with stellar objects, pinecones, and berries, adopted too by the many people who live in the cities and villages of Avalon. The pine never loses its green and represents the ability of everlasting life, ordained with symbols of the sun, the stars, and the moon - elements that each remain sacred to the druids. The cairns of the druids capture the last, dwindling light of the sun and release the souls that have made their way to the sacred passages of the world - sending them unto the Gods and Goddesses for their final judgment. 

Originating first on Tearmann, the tradition of the yule log has its roots in Viking tradition. A large ash tree is felled and the log set ablaze, stoked and kept alive for the duration of the yule festival in the hopes that the sun will return and warm the world once more. Gifts are given among the people of imitation fruit representing fertility, dolls, the long standing tradition of sacrifice, and candles to represent the bonfires set about Avalon. 

In Camelot, a false king is chosen and celebrated through the duration of the festival, brought forward the night of the winter solstice and in his drunken stupor offered before the Gods as a tribute to end the longest, coldest night of the year.

ooc information below the cut.

NAME. Liliwen Flint AGE & BIRTH DATE. 31 & November 12th, 759 CE GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/her RACE & CLASS. Halfblooded ( Fire Manipulation ) OCCUPATION. Courtesan FACE CLAIM. Adelaide Kane

BIOGRAPHY

(tw: child birth, abandonment, persecution, death, sex) Liliwen came into this world, unwanted and unloved. Her father was a human who had laid with her fey mother after a chance encounter and fled early in the morning, they had met during a Samhain festival thirty-two years ago when the veil between the worlds were the thinnest. Her mother carried her to full-term only to have any affection she kept for the newborn child completely diminished when the child was birthed and their half-fey identity was discovered. Titania the queen of the fey court cast the child out and her mother was only too happy to comply, leaving Liliwen behind in the forest on a stump of an old growth tree, believing that either the wolves or the frost would kill the baby before the new year.

As luck would have it,  the Mathanachs came upon the baby that had been left to fend for its own and as was their ways, they took the child into their home and raised Liliwen as one of the adopted children. She grew and so did her beauty, Casper was a great friend to her throughout her years and her loyalty to her mischievous brother never faltered. In fact they often got into trouble together but using Liliwen’s charm and Casper’s nature for storytelling, they got out of most situations and managed to settle any adult’s temperament that was raised against them. Liliwen transitioned from youth to adulthood and her hair that was black as a winter’s night tumbled down her back, her lips were a natural ruby red and she turned heads wherever she went.

When she discovered that she could conjure fire in her own hand, it was from a night where she had taken a stray path and became lost far in the woods in which she was once abandoned. Believing her death would come for her that night, she shivered within the cold and felt the frost begin to creep into her bones. A desperate desire to become warm overtook her and when she closed her eyes, she put all her power into imagining the roar of a rich fire burning in the hearth. Looking over those that gathered around and burning anyone that dared to touch. When she opened her eyes, it was to herself becoming flame. She burned as if she was a wick and she refused to let it go out that night, the moon passed in the sky and still she burned.

Even in an era of magic users and humans living in peace, could the history of those that were halfblooded not be covered up. She poured over books, read the horrors that had happened to people like her, how they were persecuted and burned alive in village squares. She took a deep vow to keep her secrets, even from those she trusted the most. Each day that passes, she dreams of sharing with Casper but fears persecution and the fear is what keeps her from feeling as if she truly belongs. Knowing that no opportunities will be given freely to her despite the Matanach’s kindness, she will protect herself and survive until the end. Promising that she will burn those to the ground that come for her long before they are allowed to touch her, she keeps herself warm.

Wishing for a better station in life, to experience riches and glory but to never promise herself to anyone completely so she can keep herself protected, she enjoys the life of a Courtesan. Getting to live life in the castle and to keep the company of nobles, she has no problem warming their beds when it is desired as the fire is within herself and can never be extinguished.

PERSONALITY

+  resilient, loyal, workstrong –  headstrong, stubborn, insecure

Welcome to Avalon –

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