castor, maryland

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: ace of wands, upright

“ the love you give to me will free me. if you don't know the thing you're dealing, oh i can tell you, darling.   ” ―  marvin gaye

species: witch alignment: street beasts

you are: andrei salo

age: twenty-four gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him faceclaim: niko terho occupation: shopkeep at bewixxed, part time sex-ed teacher

the interpretation:

tw: nsfw

While Andrei comes from a long line of proud witches, their family hasn’t always lived in Castor. They were mostly vagabonds, traveling from place to place and selling their magic for a price just to get by. Eventually, Andrei’s ancestors found their way to Castor, a town that was filled with the supernatural. But the town wasn’t plagued by them. In fact, they were mostly protected as the Calder pack fiercely protected what they claimed their own. Without a strong coven of their own, the Salo line of witches swore their allegiance to the Calder pack. That has been the way since before Andrei was born. And it remains to be the Salo’s way now that Andrei’s old enough to be mastering his powers on his own.

Without a place to root their magic in nor traditions to pass down from generation to generation, their magic didn’t grow in power. But they didn’t fear that it would dwindle either. Not when their services were a hit among locals and passerby tourists giving them tons of practice to perfect their craft. The allure of improving one’s sex life with magic (or for the unawares, simple charms, trinkets, and toys) proved to be very marketable, earning them a spot at the Stoneyard Quarter. 

Coming from a family that sold sex toys and practiced sex magic, Andrei, as a kid, was mercilessly teased by his peers once they found out just exactly what his family did. Resentment was natural and even expected by his parents. Resentment then turned into rebellion when Andrei and his peers reached that age when the Salo family business no longer made him an oddity, but rather someone who deserved popularity.  

 Andrei used the infamy to earn the favor of his peers. It got him into trouble, when his school found out that he brought things that weren’t allowed in campus, particularly lewd items from his parent’s shop. But instead of punishing Andrei, his parents only tried harder to teach him that what they do isn’t just sacred. It was also vital. It wans’t easy but their patience was rewarded by the maturity Andrei will eventually possess regarding the matter. As Andrei came of age, he learned how to respect his family’s magic. For what is magic but power? And what is sex but an exchange of power? 

 Once he reached legal age, Andrei started working for his family’s shop as well as practicing his magic without holding back. He proved to be quite talented. He accumulated more responsibilities in the shop while also starting to handle more of the shop’s clients in the long run. 

 The mayor’s death shook the town and the Salos weren’t exempted from the shock. They offered what they can to the pack but it was more out of formality. The Salos weren’t exactly the witches you leaned to when things become hard. Nevertheless, Andrei’s father reaffirmed his loyalty and when he and his wife left town to learn from different practices around the world, Andrei was the one left to answer for his family’s responsibility, both to the shop and to the town’s protectors.

Now that he’s alone in Castor, only Andrei was left to face the possibility of a war. Instead of freedom, Andrei allowed himself to fall unto the  He might just prove how useful he can be. But when it comes to it, will he be able to do what’s asked of him? Even when it defies the very principles he was raised in?

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: five of cups, inverted

“ though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light; i have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night. ” ―  sarah williams

species: witch alignment: night terrors

you are: victor yoon

age: twenty-five gender & pronouns: nonbinary, they/them faceclaim: go tae-seob occupation: owner of the sinister succulent nursery

the interpretation:

tw: death, full metal alchemist style equivalent exchange

"when one borne of light dances with the dark, the coven of light and its head shall fall." a prophecy shared generations before vic's parents, one which instilled a sense of fear for lifetimes to come. elemental magic had always been their focus, a coven of witches who placed respect of nature and revering their gifts above all else. they were lucky, special.

a witch without a coven lives a lonely and dangerous life.

safeguards were put in place to prevent disaster from occurring. any brushes with dark magic were forbidden, books detailing rituals locked away or destroyed. rules grew stricter as time carried on. any who appeared to entertain the darker side of their abilities were condemned, discouraged. children with particularly stubborn or defiant personalities were watched with a close eye.

so much so that the bashful child with a natural affinity for earth-related magic was overlooked for the louder personalities surrounding them. by just about everyone, save for their own parents. coupled with this affinity for plants was something darker -- something vic never fully understood, within their own childish curiosity. vic was four years old when their mother found they'd wandered their coven's cemetery, form curled up and fast asleep as one hand reaching out toward a tombstone.

their parents were immediately concerned. no, they were told. the darkness was not to be toyed with. there were consequences, and witches in their coven who had in the past had been cast out to live lonely and harsh lives. a close eye had been kept on vic after this. it was not enough to draw them away, however -- in fact, the insistence otherwise caused them to grow more curious than ever. at the age of 13 vic's father found them with a forbidden book of spells that they had no real intention to use. simply a curiosity. but, that was enough. it was far from a good look for the family.

the child was kept away save for special events. all the while, questions continued to bubble, along with frustration: was this what the other witches had gone through? how was any of this, in the name of fear, fair? and yet.. the only person with answers was buried in the ground.

and then, came an idea. to get answers from someone else who'd had a similar experience. this was not magic they had dabbled with in the past, but answers were something they craved. the ritual was not easy, but they couldn't help their fascination. until things went very, very awry.

a pair of footsteps had followed behind them.

the head of the coven had kept a quiet eye on them after all, despite their parents' attempts to keep their concerns surrounding their child quiet. the creature that appeared was not the witch vic expected, no. contorted and inhuman was the creature that appeared. a nightmare before their very eyes, one with a vaguely human voice despite it all. vic turned to the elder beside them for a solution, a scolding.. something -- anything. but the sight that befell them left their throat dry.

when one borne of light dances with the dark, the coven of light and its head shall fall. time and time again, they had heard of equivalent exchange. their coven had impressed upon respecting the earth, their gifts. never taking more than they needed, more than they could replenish.

the body of their leader lying in the grass of the cemetery was perhaps, their final lesson.

familiar footsteps soon entered the vicinity, hurtling toward the fallen leader and the witch-- no, undead creature which appeared to have absorbed the power of the most powerful of them all. panic, fear, and shame rose within them, and the 16 year old did the first thing that crossed their mind. they ran from the chaos they'd created, cries of pain echoing in their mind in a chorus they'd hear in their nightmares for years to come. and yet somehow, it wasn't anywhere close to as terrifying as what they returned to.

a witch without a coven lives a lonely and dangerous life.

after months of running, shortly after their 17th birthday, vic arrived in a town where whispers of magic were commonplace. by now the news of a coven which had fallen at the hands of a child had traveled. a past they were terrified to confront came head to head with a longing for companionship. stop for a few months, gather their bearings. months soon turned into years, the lost teen finding themselves a new coven of sorts within castor. this one consisting of more than simply witches, but revered all the same.

once shy, panicked, and bashful, vic grew into their own over the years, further developing their elemental abilities and remain conservative with their use of other magic aside from wards and charms. the itch to explore other aspects of their abilities remained, but the event that brought them to castor has not been forgotten. happy-go-lucky and whimsical, vic grows and supplies greenery and herbs of all sorts as their main stream of income. they've grown nervous as tensions have increased, but just about anyone knows how quickly greenery can catch flame: vic has lost a family before (albeit by their own hand), and will fight tooth and nail before allowing it to happen again.

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: knight of wands, upright

“ give me the strength to be what i was, and forgive me for what i am. ” ―  antonio banderas

species: vampire alignment: neutral

you are: oriel

age: twenty-eight one hundred forty-one gender & pronouns: demigirl, she/they faceclaim: kiki layne occupation: security at the polis

the interpretation:

tw: death, violence

the vampire known only as oriel originally hails from denver, colorado, a stop on the drive from texas to wyoming.

the year was 1880. her father was a cow hand running cattle on the goodnight-loving trail, and her mother was waiting tables when they met. despite the affection the couple had for each other, he never stayed long—not even the birth of a child, who they named minnie rose adams.

her mother taught her that just getting through the day wasn’t anything to be ashamed of, but rather something to be proud of. hard work and holding fast to what really mattered—those were the bedrocks instilled in her upbringing. she married at 23, and was well into building her own family, much as her mother had, when bad luck took it all away.

one hot summer night in 1908, minnie rose (five years wed to the love of her life, with two young children of her own) was pulled down a path she never could’ve anticipated. a drifter by the name of waites wandered into town, and massacred the family—her mother, her husband, and even her children. minnie woke too late to save them, but she fought back fiercely. the vampire, impressed by her spirit in the face of what were clearly terrible odds, offered her an alternative to death, and an existence far beyond five points. she had seen his power, his strength and the way he used it. the light went out of her eyes, facing the ruin of her entire life. she accepted, and he turned her.

minnie learned much from waites, but he underestimated her. thinking the tragedy had broken her spirit, he treated her much like a novelty rather than an equal or apprentice. but she hadn’t gone mad, at all. she had accepted his offer with one specific purpose in mind—to rid the world of him, and those like him. not ten years later in new orleans, she slew her own sire, and chose a new name to commemorate the occasion—oriel, a reminder of the city as well as her purpose.

over the years, oriel travelled from place to place, never settling, always drifting, assuming much of the same identity that her sire had. he’d carried with him a book of contacts that he’d made over the years since he came over from england, and oriel arrived at their doorstep with the sob story ready—waites had died at the hands of hunters, and she was his legacy. she would feed with them, learn about them, and in the end, if they proved to be without honour, dispatch them and move on. it was easier as a vampire than as a human—changing her name, her appearance, and relying on her surprising strength to take whatever job didn’t ask too many questions. mostly she worked as muscle for whoever would pay, but sometimes returning to her roots and working with animals as a farm hand, a laborer.

as times changed, so did oriel. wild places became scarcer, the hunt more dangerous, their presence easier to track. they never stayed out of touch, preferring to spend the long nights in bars and listening to stories. as the information age dawned, they found themself more often in libraries and then in internet cafes instead of taverns and saloons, scanning and absorbing this new era’s ways, trying to stay one step ahead of it. they only ever took what they could carry, eventually trading in their horse for a motorcycle. following the trail of a particularly bloodthirsty group of vampires, they made their way to south america in the 1990s, where they endeared themself to the clan, and then began picking off the worst of them, as usual. the rumours of hunters in the region, they would later claim when asked, drove them back to the united states by the mid-2000s.

though they’ve never had much in the way of material wealth, they’re savvy and a very quick study when it comes to technology, enough that they feel confident that they won’t be found out easily. she has built herself a small a network of immortal acquaintances who lend her a hand once in a while when she asks, and keeps an eye out for when they might need to be eradicated. while she does believe that many vampires are victims like she was, and they aren’t all given to committing monstrous acts, those who do eventually find their way into her sights. oriel is patient and resilient. word of a murdered alpha werewolf peaked her interest in castor. perhaps it’s nothing, but she trusts her instincts. she intends to stay hidden in plain sight long enough to determine whether she will once again fulfill her true purpose here.

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: five of wands, upright

“ such an unexpected will to survive from someone who has nothing to live for. ” ―  nora sakavik

species: werewolf  alignment: street beasts

you are: eduardo moreno rivera

age: twenty-three gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him faceclaim: jan luis castellanos occupation: cashier at the vault

the interpretation:

tw: death, violence, homophobia (brief), being buried alive, murder??? (manslaughter!)

edo never really knew his parents, not even a year old when his mother died and barely two when his father passed. Maybe if he knew them things would have been different, or maybe everything was always going to end up exactly as fucked up as it did.

foster home to foster home to foster home is how edo spent his childhood mostly in philadelphia and delaware. he didn’t know anything about himself, except that there was never going to be anyone who was going to look out for him but himself. the only person edo could rely on was himself, and holy fuck was he a disapointment. 

he had gotten into more than a fair share of fights in his life, a quick temper always leading to violence. there was always something boiling beneath his skin, anger or maybe bitterness, the want to leash out, to make other people hurt like he did. but in his eyes they always deserved it, not on some cosmic level, he wasn’t some avenging angel. But he was a loyal follower of the church Talk Shit Get Hit.

he wasn’t a bully, he didn’t get off on taking his anger out on people with less power than him. edo liked to think of himself as some kind of dark protector, a “cooler gayer” antihero than any of the characters from the comics stashed beneath his mattress. It only took a few years for him to realize that no one wants to see the underdog story when they don’t play by the rules.

it had been a party, edo had seen the guy’s sneer towards two girls just dancing, later heard that three letter slur called towards him as edo left the stranger he was draped around . it had been a party, he followed him down to the river, he just wanted to get the dickhead to say it to his face, to see if he was brave face to face. maybe give him a black eye or two first but he wasn’t supposed to trip. it had been a party.

no one had seen him, and even if they had, no one knew his name, he was just some guy. even still he ran, left the state, crossing into maryland. landing in castor had been an accident, the cheapest bus ticket that wasn’t a city. 

it ended up being a pretty sweet town to completely start over in, working at the vault, moving his comic collection out from under his mattress. things were finally starting to settle. so of course edo was due for the universes ‘fuck you’.

he just didn’t think he’d be crawling out of his own grave. 

it was a blur of snarling teeth and claws, what kind of beast had that many claws, that many teeth. he wondered who lied about dying not hurting, he felt each nail each tug, he felt everything, pure agony, pain beyond what he had ever felt before, until he felt nothing the world going black.

he woke up surrounded by dirt, suffocating him, filling his mouth and nose and eyes, there was nothing but panic as he dug his nails in. except the dirt was so tight he couldn’t move, it took agonizing minutes that felt like hours for him to pull himself free. finally he broke the surface, vomiting dirt besides the disturbed grave. except it wasn’t a grave, no it was the forest, it was a fucking hole in the middle of the woods. panicked hands found his heart, checking that it was there. his stomach and lungs turned, he was still coughing up dirt. he had died, hadn’t he?

maybe being turned into a werewolf should have shocked him more, but it certainly made a hell of a lot more sense than coming back to life. but it wasn’t until his first full moon that it really clicked that he had been changed.

edo has a pack, the closest thing to a family, but with 23 years of watching his own back how close could anyone expect him to be?

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: ten of swords, upright

“the mind is its own place, and in itself can make a heaven of hell, a hell of heaven...” ― john milton

species: human alignment: neutral

you are: dante robert moore

age: twenty-four gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him faceclaim: gabriel darku occupation: journalist for the hallowed herald

the interpretation:

Dante wasn't surprised by the news of Connor Springer's murder, but not because he already knew about the dark secrets of the town or of its people. The news barely fazed him because a very similar incident happened to his own biological parents, leaving him orphaned at the young age of 9. Ever since then, Dante stopped seeing Castor as the utopia most residents pretend it to be. Sure, the town was mostly quiescent, a surprise to many outsiders due to its lack of police presence, but once in a blue moon, acts that were so horrendous would slip through the cracks and keep the bulbs in Castor homes burning bright until the wee hours of the night. Eventually, the rest of the town would move on, but not those who were left behind. Not Dante.

After spending two years in a group home outside of Castor, Dante eventually found his way back when he was adopted by a couple who were both teachers at a nearby campus. They treated him like any loving parents would treat a child, but even they couldn't coax the once energetic young boy to come out again.

It's impossible to recreate what he used to have with his old parents, but if there was anything that Dante learned from them, it was how to be grateful. Unlike a few of his peers, Dante stayed within the lines. He was an excellent student and an even more excellent son. He even joined the school's basketball team with the encouragement of his adopted father. Dante cemented his place in the hallways of that campus by winning them awards. You'd think people would know him by the way people told his story but what they don't see are newspaper clippings of peculiar incidents that has been happening in Castor as far back as he can find, hidden deep in his closet. They don't see the public documents he kept of his parents and reports about their timely demise, scanned, photocopied, and wrinkled from reading it over and over again. They don't see Dante's medications to keep himself focused and motivated whenever a new game nears or tests come up.

After his parents' deaths, Dante had to keep a carefully manufactured image, curated from traits that were expected of him, only deviating when he finally admitted to his parents that he didn't want to pursue a future based on collegiate sports. They took the news better than he thought they would but it wasn't going to stop the intrusive thoughts that he was disappointing the people who took a chance on him. That's the first and last time he'll ever be selfish, he told himself.

Years later, Dante eventually returned to Castor with a degree in journalism under his belt and found a job under the town's quaint newspaper, Hallowed Herald. In a town where nothing's supposed to happen, a story like the mayor's desk can fall under anyone's lap and sure enough, Dante threw his name in the hat to shoot his shot.

Months later, the story is far from being over. People might not speak of it but Dante's keen eye can notice the tight tension growing around Castor and its people, especially those who were helped by Connor the most. Dante still has a lot of things to learn. About the town, the mayor's untimely death, how it relates back to his parents, and most importantly, himself. That is... if the truth doesn't break him first.

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: ace of swords, inverted

“there is meaning in all things. but, are you paying attention?” ― yasmin mogahed

species: human alignment: neutral

you are: sydney rahim

age: twenty-three gender & pronouns: cis female, she/her faceclaim: alisha boe occupation: server at the emerald cafe

the interpretation:

sydney rahim's mother could have sworn that a gust of wind had accompanied her daughter's birth. the second youngest of four, sydney somehow managed to ensure she'd never experienced the turmoils of middle child syndrome. hardly one to back down when an injustice (or bad attitude) was present before her during childhood, sydney has always marched to the beat of her own drum. it was rare, if ever, to see syd simply standing still.

after her parents divorce at the age of three, sydney's mother packed up and moved their family to maryland. a small town called castor, in specific. it was certainly a shift from city life, but they quickly grew roots. a majority of syd's first conscious memories are of autumn in castor, of leaves of orange melting into red -- of laughter and promise as she tugged at her mother's hand during a walk through town. this was her home, eccentric as it may have been.

that was, until the sudden disappearance of a close family friend. the details were blurry at best, but within weeks it was announced that they were moving. that the town was unsafe, somehow. how could someone just disappear? this question led sydney down a rabbit hole of sorts over the years, one consisting of unsolved cold cases and mythical creatures. she was fascinated. and maybe, just maybe.. if one of these stories could be proven true or solved, the friend she'd lost had hope as well.

that was, save for a specific genre of supernatural. vampires and werewolves were self-indulgent human fantasies, far too popularized by media. snore. the mothman, lochness monster, aliens, or bigfoot on the other hand? these were exciting possibilities, albeit far fetched. months after graduating with a degree in journalism, sydney found her way back to castor yet again. a pit stop of sorts to visit old friends and save up cash before she continues her grand plans of exploration (and investigation). given her childhood memories of town and new return, sydney is oblivious to the supernatural beings in town. and frankly, she doesn't believe in their existence. there are clear tensions at play in town, fascinating but mysterious in their own right. syd keeps a vigilant, albeit clouded eye.

in the meantime, she'll continue working on a mystery-themed podcast and do her own exploration close to home. a 'keep out' sign or fence has never stopped sydney -- she's not about to start now. and maybe, just maybe, see if she can find any information on the disappearance of the person she'd lost years ago. curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.. right?

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: knight of swords, upright

“maintain in your heart all that makes you who you are.” ―  bert v. royal

species: werewolf alignment: street beasts

you are: rafi parviz

age: twenty-one gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him faceclaim: anthony keyvan occupation: barista at grounds zero

the interpretation:

  rafi parviz was born just a few towns over from castor, maryland. ever the product of suburbia, castor was always a town they passed through on their way somewhere else. never to be stopped in, his father white knuckling the steering wheel until they went beyond city limits. to rafi it was just another town en route to the beach, but to his father it was a place he was running from. but they lived as normal as could be for the first part of rafi’s life. sure, his dad had a weird work schedule, and would always be gone for a couple days every month, but other than that, all was well. his parents loved each other, and him, even if they tended to show it by being a little too overbearing. around the age of thirteen, though, things changed. what appeared to be standard teen angst and growing pains turned out to be anything but. his father has hoped and prayed it would skip a generation, but that simply wasn’t how lycanthropy worked. rafi was a werewolf, like his father, and his father, and plenty of members of the parviz family before them. 

this reveal answered a lot of questions rafi didn’t even know he didn’t know the answers to, but it didn’t exactly make things easier. every month he had to miss school for a different excuse, sitting out of games, canceling plans or needing to reschedule for an emergency. carefully crafted lies to keep up appearances — it was almost as exhausting as turning. almost. he longed for normalcy, and sought it out as often as he could. in his senior year, rafi and a couple friends drove out to castor for a night out. his dad was away, and rafi sort of . . . forgot when the full moon was. it was at arcadia when a local recognized the signs of a wolf about to turn and got him to safety. 

the calder pack had mistaken him for someone who’d just been turned — who else would be so irresponsible? — and it was only then that rafi discovered there were other werewolves out there. his father had always made it sound like they were the only ones, and rafi had no reason not to believe him. this revelation blew up into a huge fight. rafi was a childish fool who could’ve hurt someone or gotten himself killed, and his father was a liar and keeping secrets from his son. they didn’t speak for days, and over the summer, rafi decided to move to castor. he enrolled in classes at the nearest campus, but since then it’s been a semester by semester basis for if he can actually afford it all. 

now, he spends his time perfecting his latte art at grounds zero, though he can often be found frequenting the divine bovine to annoy the staff and hang out with his pack. ever since discovering more like him, rafi’s broken out of his shell, thriving in the camaraderie of pack life. they’ve been there for him like nobody else, helping him when he was struggling in class and supporting him when he came out. around the calder pack he can be his truest self — boisterous, energetic, and as curious as can be. when he’s with strangers or people he doesn’t know well, he can come off a bit more reserved, though he’s just as stubborn. he’s a people pleaser at heart, which can sometimes interfere with his need to always be right. it’s a fine line, and rafi tiptoes it with all the grace of a drunk linebacker. 

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: king of pentacles, upright

“what returns is not the past, but a present that has distant roots.” ―  luigina sgarro

species: witch alignment: neutral

you are: blaze somsak chanthotri

age: twenty-five gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him faceclaim: nine naphat siangsomboon occupation: owner & manager of cat’s eye occult

the interpretation:

the complications of magic were never a new concept for blaze. he was just a toddler when his parents had disappeared in a flash of blinding light. no one could find any evidence that they'd done anything besides disappear-- so his parents were simply missing, leaving him the care of his maternal grandparents. his grandparents were mistrustful of what they could not understand. no one left behind seemed to want to speak about what had happened that fateful night, so blaze was largely left to his own devices in a stuffy, creaking old house on the outskirts of castor.

memories of his mother's short documented life rested on every surface, graced every wall. he grew to understand why his grandparents were so strict, but they still stifled him. blaze did what he could to keep them satisfied, make them proud. he did well in sports, in school, in the small social circle that was available in town. when his abilities began to manifest as a teen, in small elemental bursts, he felt real fear. somehow blaze had become exactly someone he knew his remaining family could never tolerate. his mind worked feverishly, trying to concoct some scheme he could use to get as far away from his grandparents as possible. the easiest way out was school, so he took the opportunity.

he broke away, as best he could, heading to university in sunny california. he still answered his grandmother's every call no matter the time difference, still came home every break. on the outside, blaze was exactly the person his grandparents dreamed he'd be. but he was a different person on the west coast. there, with far less suspicion falling on his extracurricular activities, blaze grew to master his magic, finding countless resources mixed in with the hokey things ordinary people considered magic.

part of him never wanted to leave the west coast, but he'd known all along that the happiness he felt there was temporary. the connections between blaze and the town of castor started to feel like a noose tightening around his neck. when he returned, blaze found his footing back home as an adult instead of a child, testing the boundaries of his grandparents' tolerance by spending part of the trust he'd aged into to buy cat's eye occult. they'd always hated the place-- but he reassured them, who better to run the shop than someone who was more aware than just about anyone, the dangers of the occult? reluctantly, they acquiesced. he even moved into the town proper, stating the commute was too difficult in the winter for him to keep the store running its best.

the town's recent upheaval interested blaze greatly. he'd always suspected there were others who weren't quite what they seemed in castor. perhaps his time away had sharpened his gaze, or he'd just realized what had been staring him in the face all along. his shop was certainly seeing more sales at the influx of new residents, and blaze could easily fill in the gaps as to why. either way, with a storm on the horizon and a power vacuum surrounding the town's mayoral seat, blaze is set to do what he's always done-- get exactly what he wants.

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: king of cups, upright

“ you don’t have to be a child to be naive; just have too much of a good heart.” ―  unknown

species: werewolf (newly turned) alignment: neutral

you are: quinton beauregard-santos

age: twenty-four gender & pronouns: cis male, he/him faceclaim: tommy martinez occupation: cook at aldwin’s soda fountain

the interpretation:

tw: injury, depression, death, and bite

quinton was born as one half of a pair on a sunny afternoon in the spring. his mother miraculously had twins, after years and years of trying for a child with no avail. he and his sister were brought back to a loving home in the heart of castor. his parents had moved there nearly a decade ago, looking for a quaint town outside of baltimore to start their family.

it took some time, but once quinton and his sister came into the world, their family was finally complete. quinton grew up with his mother, father, and sister in one of the cabins on the outer edges of town. he'd always been fascinated by the outdoors, and was a shoe-in for most local sports teams. it was baseball though, that really stuck to him.

throughout highschool he was a star player. he lead their team to state and nationals every year, and became somewhat of a local legend. he was popular, well liked, and a hard worker. a gem in his family's eye. things only seemed to be getting better when he got a full-ride baseball scholarship to his dream school several states away. he took it without a second thought, and his senior year was filled with preparations and excitement from himself and his family. and the first two years were fantastic. he was studying sports medicine and ended up as first baseman for the college's team. he was soaring through achievements, taking wins left and right and feeling on top of the world. that was, until a fastball hit his left kneecap dead on. it shattered on impact. he had to be carried out of the pit on gurneys, screaming in pain the entire time.

he was in the hospital for a week. it took two surgeries to try and piece his knee back together, but the diagnosis was final. he'd never play again. coupled with the fact their mother was starting to lose her battle to breast cancer, the santos family mourned the loss for both of them.

before he was even out of the hospital, their mother passed.

it wasn't long after that he dropped out of school.

he spiraled after his injury and the death of their mother. school no longer had any meaning, and sports medicine just rubbed salt in too fresh of a wound. he moved back home to be with his sister after enough physical therapy where he was able to walk again, though always with somewhat of a limp. their father had left, too grief stricken to stay in the house their mother loved so much. he moved in with his brother just outside of town and offered a place for the twins. they declined, castor was home. their father gifted the family cabin to them. there he retreated into himself. he had always been somewhat of a quiet and shy boy growing up, but came out of his shell in his popularity. now, he was back to closed off and isolated, spending hours in his head dreaming about his life if he just caught the damn ball, and if their mother was still with them. he managed to get a job at the soda fountain through an old family friend, moving up to one of the head line cooks.

he was content in his home, work, and family routine for the most part. however, one night after walking back form work, he was attacked.

his memory of the event is still fuzzy. all he knew was a pain in his right shoulder, and he hit the ground. when he woke up the next morning, surrounded by someones blood and a few... mysteriously naked people he knew from high school, he feared the worst.

when kai and noah actually explained what happened, it was actually the worst. he was angry, to say the least. not believing the pair as he stormed off. it wasn't until he got home that he realized there was no more pain in his left leg. he was able to stand up straight for the first time in years.

so, he believed them, and officially joined the calder pack (out of necessity more than anything else). he is starting to venture back into his old self. the man of few words starting to speak a little bit more. starting to run again, to jump, maybe to even feel joy. however, all he knew was that his sister couldn't know, it would put her in too much danger with the tensions in the town rising, and she was all he had left.

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: three of swords, inverted

“we never understand how little we need in this world until we know the loss of it.” ― james m barrie

species: vampire alignment: night terrors

you are: audrey ngo

age: twenty-four thirty gender & pronouns: cis female, she/her faceclaim: lana condor occupation: bouncer at the underground, barista at grounds zero

the interpretation:

tw: death mention, drug use mention

audrey grew up as the youngest child in the ngo family in newark, new jersey. their household, spanning three generations, was always bustling with activity. she found herself resenting how easily she could be overlooked, even when directly underfoot. she learned to speak up, speak out, and embrace the swiftest paths to attention that were available.

her cousins dragged her along with them as an afterthought or a scapegoat. her father sent money dutifully, but remained very distant. her mother bounced from one short-term boyfriend to another, pulling her daughter into half-hearted ploys to win her father back from time to time. only her grandmother seemed to find value in her company as-is, the single warm association she held for the house her family called home.

when her grandmother passed away, audrey left home. at fifteen years old she thought she was worldly, and that the spikes she'd sewn into her clothing made her tough. for a short while it seemed to work. she made it into new york city for a whole three hours before she was hauled back to newark and given what her mother thought constituted the grounding of a lifetime. but that didn't hold her back for long. 

audrey's frequent escape attempts got her father's attention, finally, and she was shipped off to a boarding school outside baltimore to languish through her late teens. she escaped with a high school diploma-- barely. despite her father's exerted pressure, she brushed off the idea of attending university and disappeared into the city that held so much of her interest the past few years.

her parents didn't call often, and she didn't expect them to. audrey was perfectly fine to forgo her past life and start a new one. her friends in the city were lively, but strange. for years audrey dove deep into the goth and punk subcultures of new york, finding her place finally among people who insisted they were vampires. she found it amusing, and played along for the bit. 

or maybe it was the bite. when she woke up one morning with her throat aching terribly and the sun stinging her eyes, audrey was born again as a vampire. though her memories were hazy, a little drug-addled, and very painful, she finally knew that her friends had not been lying. it was a betrayal in her mind, and she set off once more to learn as best she could, alone. even now, over half a decade later, audrey is still coming to grips with her powers. 

when word was passed around that vampires were seeking new turf further inland, the idea of quieter living appealed greatly. she tagged along for the descent into castor, wondering just how friendly this town could be towards the supernatural. it would be nice for audrey to pretend that she was normal, again, in any case.

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: ace of pentacles, upright

“let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt.” ― sun tzu

species: human alignment: neutral

you are: sebastian saint valiant

age: twenty-two gender & pronouns: nonbinary, they/them faceclaim: damiano david occupation: polis event coordinator

the interpretation:

sebastian saint valiant is a fucking menace, and they revel in it. with the sheer amount of unrestrained swagger they strut down the street with, one would assume they must belong to the ranks of the overconfident supernatural creatures that dwell within castor—perhaps a witch, or even a vampire? but that assumption could not be further from the truth. saint is painfully, boringly human, their confidence afforded to them merely out of a very human pride in their family and their wealth. the valiants have had ties to all manners of creatures over the years they’ve been stationed in town—a marriage with a wolf here, a vampire sired there. 

saint’s parents even own and run the polis hotel in town, working closely with the calder pack to ensure as much supernatural business as possible can be safely conducted inside the establishment’s walls. saint’s job itself is really nothing more than a product of nepotism, and everyone knows it. saint, however, couldn’t care less about the judgements of others. they have their eyes set on a much bigger prize. why be content with being human when they could be so much more? it’s funny, really, how much some people will let their secrets slip around a mere human like saint. for now, saint is content to remain neutral and sit around collecting those secrets until the right opportunity presents itself. but the moment it does, they’ll offer their services to whoever is ready to offer them a life as a new creature entirely.

now that’s a face with a thousand questions. we could give you some answers, stranger. the oracle requests you draw a card. just focus intently on what you want to know most, and pull from the deck. you won’t need to say any more than that-- we’ll leave it to the fates.

you draw: queen of pentacles, upright

“and when the dust has a settled and they ask me why, i will answer, lord i did it for myself.” ― rook

species: witch alignment: neutral

you are: beatrice cloutier

age: thirty-nine gender & pronouns: femme, she/her faceclaim: caroline dhavernas occupation: high school history teacher

the interpretation:

tw: implied murder, actual murder

Magic had been a part of Beatrice’s world from the moment she drew breath. Inherited from her mother, surrounding her childhood, interwoven in every bedtime story, her aunts and aunts by less than blood filled her entire childhood with rituals and power. Witches in their family going back generations, having made Qubec their home. Beatrice wanted not for love, but the older she grew, the more her keen interest in all forms of magic began to worry her mother.

Beatrice married young, twenty two, still a senior in college, for five years they had a picture perfect marriage, but twenty seven had been a year of positive self change. Clifford, her dear husband, had suffered a terrible ‘accident’ leaving her a widow. The first blood Beatrice ever spilled, but certainly not the last. Rumors spread through her coven, her aunts and aunts by more than blood speaking in hushed whispers, looking at her like there was something off about her.

She quietly formed her own coven, outcasts, the ends of families, misfits. Again things were picture perfect for years. Then, in the shining light of a full moon, Beatrice cut down and killed every member of her coven, sacrificing them for her own power. There was no malice in her actions, she didn’t hold any grudge against them, simply when she weighed the power she would receive versus the value of their lives the magic weighed more every time. This was too much for even her family to turn a blind eye to, exiling her, she was never allowed to step foot in Quebec.

Landing in Castor had been a fresh start, and over the past six years she settled into town well, while she teaches at the high school she also has opened her door to any magic user in town happy to share knowledge of any area of practicing. She owns a small greenhouse where she grows mushrooms and other herbs for spells, as well as keeping tomatoes outside her cabin.

Beatrice is genuinely kind and warm with her neighbours of all species, but there was never a moment where Beatrice wasn’t playing a very long game of coming out on top of any situation she walked into. With the death of the mayor Beatrice is carefully walking the line between factions, with no true reason for a witch to make a stand either way. Whatever the future holds Beatrice is sure to take advantage to become ever more powerful.

maybe it’s unrealistic ( but so is everything here ), but we’re gonna stray away from having p*lice characters. it’s our rp and we get to choose the no c*ps  !

thanks for your understanding!

come home, beautiful.

ask and you shall receive anon! here is a sample app whipped up for ya.

a loaded question anon, but i’ll surely collect our favorites from our skeles and compile them here for you:

sen mitsuji, danna paola, kiowa gordon, quintessa swindell, ana de armas, mena massoud, aubrey joseph, simlay barlas, manny montana, mackenzie davis, ross butler, priscilla quintana, ryan potter, khadijha red thunder, ben levin, leah lewis, javicia leslie, ariela barer, aron piper, devery jacobs, brianne tju, and drew ray tanner! 

checking boxes left and right: he’s right in our approved age range, and that’s definitely a face i would trust with my life savings again and again, even if he did let me down every time. we would love to see john harlan kim as justice!