#closedwitch

the offering~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Witch Coven & Rank. Lupercal Emissary OCCUPATION. UTO

An ancestor within the Asphodel, a loyalist from the Dark Goddesses’ temple of night; for a love that you had lost you pledged yourself eternally, and to his ghoulish figure you returned every night until war saw your body destroyed and your soul bound. Between vessels when necromanteion’s call went out, it was only when magic stuttered that the binding placed over you was broken. From the bindings that covered your earthen tomb, your soul slipped out once more and leapt into the body of the first witch that was available to you. Worming through their veins and burning through their soul, it wasn’t perfect, but it would certainly work for now. Through the dark you could hear the call of another name, Oztalun had risen from the book at long last. His priest and his devotee, the dragon with three heads, were brought out from his slumber. To Lupercal you anointed yourself, stood beside the council of lycans, a friend, an ally, a helpful word in the ears of those whose laws were separate from Rome. An emissary of magic, an advocate for change, and the advantage of a place amidst a crowd of monsters.

The Burnout ~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ & UTP SPECIES. Witch AFFILIATION. Amaranthus Coven OCCUPATION. Watcher

They said that pressure either made diamonds, you might never know what you could have been because when the going got tough you ended up as useless coal. You walked away from your responsibilities and from your family, for you there was never much choice in the matter because when The Crown told you to rise to the occasion you decided that it wasn’t for you. Shed skin but there were some lessons that couldn’t be forgotten, place to place you thought the world you left would stay behind you. A legacy and a history that didn’t fit you was stripped away in one tragic night, the coven you’d known and the family you left behind. A broken crown sat upon your head and when you came back to Rome and the ruins that were the life you’d known that it was only a matter of time before somehow, someway, The Crown pulled you back in. From beyond the grave you can almost hear them laughing, all that time running and you were always headed home.

The Forgotten~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ & UTP SPECIES. Witch AFFILIATION. Amaranthus Coven OCCUPATION. UTP

You were raised in a shrine to a dying age, old magic compounded over ages of careful breeding. The strongest and the most powerful, your coven stood above the others but you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if you pushed it just a little bit more. Your mark kept you and the rest of your coven from Pythia invocation, free from possession but also stopped from ever performing blood magic. In altering your witch’s brand you were successful, but the consequences of this brought the wrath of The Crown down upon you. For your crime you were exiled, your tongue bound from ever revealing your family’s secrets and to the world you were turned to. Blood muddled with the power that had always flown through your veins and the world waited to kneel before you - but what you craved was change and reform. The old guard died off and rumblings of the Amaranthus’ destruction reached you, so to Rome you returned if only to stand over the gravestones of your former family yourself. Something new, came The Tower’s offer, so the newly-minted sovereign unbound your tongue and to the Amaranthus you pledged yourself once more.

The Released~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 30+ & UTP SPECIES. Witch AFFILIATION. Amaranthus Coven OCCUPATION. UTP

A cell was what your crimes earned you, but you were a watcher and so The Crown had always held you to a higher regard. You had to be perfect, you had to be strong, and you had to do everything by the book. All that pressure could break anyone and when you crumbled it was to a glorious resolution. Your sovereign grabbed you by your hands and told you that were this another age, then they’d be taken from you. Instead the Amaranthus mark was turned against you, modified to seal your magic away so that you could harm no one else, not even yourself. Below senate grounds you sat in your penance, the bars swung open but chaos was on the other side - without your power you stood no chance. So in the safety of your cell you remained, until the doors closed once more and you were left to live out your sentence. It opened once more but The Crown was now dead, The Tower stood in their place and when they offered you a deal: freedom and the return of your power with the chance to redeem yourself - you took it.

The Ivy~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 30+ & UTP SPECIES. Witch AFFILIATION. Ivy Coven OCCUPATION. Ivy Sovereign FACECLAIM. Must be Black POC

There was a legacy for you to uphold, a seat that was waiting for you at the table. Most covens cleared a sacred space and put down roots, but your vines grew over boardrooms and oval offices, sank into the foundation and broke stones apart. Being second best was never an option, heavy was the head so while other kids were skipping stones you were running the numbers and hitting the books. Excellence and nothing short of, when it came time for power to trade hands the vultures were circling - they’d pick apart any faults that they came across so you had to make sure there were none. Cutthroat when you had no choice, ruthless if it was necessary, and willing to work with the unsavory because that’s what was expected of you. That was the legacy that had run the length of your vines, ivy that crept and crawled, latched onto the strongest and destroyed the weakest. One room to another, another crime and another sentence - balance was your family’s creed and in Rome the scales had been irrevocably tipped.

The Hearth~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ & UTP SPECIES. Witch AFFILIATION. Dahlia Coven OCCUPATION. Cook

Mother sauces and fresh herbs, a pinch of this and a dash of that. Your mother never got the respect that she deserved, Silas valued power and blood and in your youth the Dahlia was a force to be reckoned with. A dark vestige for those who, like your previous sovereign, took to strength with ease. By her side you’d press magic and intention into a boil, whispered words of affirmation and devotion into fresh pasta. A plate to replenish magic, another to fortify it, for the final course came the sort of dedication that inspired the hard work Dahlia was known for. Each dish seasoned with love, she used to say that there weren’t many disputes that couldn’t be settled over a table. She died without appreciation, but you never forgot, never dimmed despite how hard Silas tried. Every magical death was a tragedy, but when the Oracle dethroned him you did not shed any tears over his grave. Instead you went into the kitchen, and you put to test every lesson that he’d despised and built. As the outcasts and the wayward, wandering witches flocked to Rome’s beacon of hope - you built a longer table.