#skeletonrp

Yes we do!

I believe the general consensus of all in the RP is that we would like more of the characters on Hayden Master’s side of things. I.E. Violet Hollis, Camelia Rockingham, and Phoebe Creon. Similarly, we would all appreciate having more male characters in the RP. Oliver Martin and Kahele Alamana have great plot potential, and our resident puppy/pizza boy, Lance Johnson, would be a wonderful way to liven up our dashboard!Please also note that we will consider faceclaim changes on any of these characters.

We would also love if people submitted OCs! We are open to accepting them and simply want you to come join and stretch your roleplaying legs through our plot!

Aurora de Neves (Bruna Marquezine) is looking for her DESCENDANT. Please contact Dany here if you’re interested in this connection.

NAME. Marisol Velasco AGE & BIRTH DATE. 147 & November 2nd, 1873 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Spirit VARIANT. Reaper OCCUPATION. Nurse FACE CLAIM. Justina Machado

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: war, death, violence ) Born two years before Porifirio Diaz’s coup in a farmer family, Marisol grew up in the exploitative environment of the Porfiriato. Under the orders of the Mexican government, her family was forced to stop cultivating the sort of crops that sustained them, focusing instead on goods meant for exportation. 

Marisol’s family had not been rich by any means, but they had had the resources to feed a sprawling family unit composed of cousins, aunts, uncles, siblings and grandparents. The Porfiriato policies changed that. Little by little, they had to cut back, the family spreading thin and moving to cities or other haciendas in hopes of earning enough to feed each other. 

The sprawling family of Marisol’s childhood saw itself diminished over the years, and yet, she was a happy child. Loud and unafraid of the world, she spent her time exploring the crops and the town. Her brightness and her smiles made her popular with her neighbors, and she enjoyed playing with other children. Marisol was popular and loved, and yet, no one could deny there was something odd about the child. 

It came in stages, her oddness. 

First, it was the way she understood the meaning of death much faster than any child her age. Then, it was the easy way in which she accepted the deaths of those around her, her unique perspective on the nature of death and determination to tend to the sick and contagious despite the risk that it presented. 

Marisol was considered odd by her town, but by no means did that make her any less popular. There was something about her that comforted them, that reminded them of the joy that came with remembering those who were gone. 

Marisol was a reminder for them to celebrate life, even after death. A reminder of that despite being gone, the people they loved would not be forgotten. Perhaps it was odd that she spent most of her free time in the town’s cemetery. Perhaps it was odd that crows and ravens seemed to circle her when she was out on the field. 

Perhaps, she was odd, but she was never hated for it. 

She grew up surrounded by people who considered her odd, but loved her all the same. Marisol grew up happy. Despite her oddness, Marisol’s life was as normal as any. She grew up, married and had two sons. Her life followed the recipe for average, then she turned thirty-five and Francisco I. Madero called for an armed insurrection against Porfirio Diaz, prompting the beginning of the Mexican Revolutionary War. Disgruntled by the government’s treatment of farmers and peasants, her sons left to join the Constitutionalist Army, leaving her husband and her to wonder about their fate after every battle. 

Marisol and her husband could not do much to help, they were only farmers, after all. But what they could, they did. From shelter, to food, they provided the revolutionary forces with anything they could, and they paid for it. 

It was the night of December 31st, 1915, when a group of Porfiriato soldiers attacked their farm. Marisol’s husband was the first to die, but Marisol had hidden herself. She almost survived the night, almost avoiding detection.

Almost. 

The soldiers found her mere minutes before New Year’s, and Marisol Velasco died at the same time the year 1915 did. 

Only, unlike her husband, Marisol woke up. 

Only, she was no longer human, but a Reaper. 

Perhaps, if she had died earlier, she would have made a good Reaper. Perhaps, if she had not experienced a cruel and fearful death, she could have retained her easy understanding of death. Perhaps, if she hadn’t been made to watch the life drain from her husband’s eyes and his body cool in their home, she would be as welcoming of death as she had been as a child. Perhaps if she could find out her children’s fate, her words to those she ferries to the Otherworld would be less blunt. 

Maybe, if she had died at age 57, surrounded by her children as she had meant to do, she would have been the Reaper she was meant to be. 

Sadly, that did not happen. 

She tries, truly. Tries to guide souls to the Otherworld as she is told, tries to help them come to terms with dying. But her words come out too abrasive, too blunt, too honest. Marisol knows the pain of death, and tries to soften the blow, but the worry for her children’s fate stops and the reality of her husband's death stops her from pulling her words. 

She tries, but she has far too many unfinished businesses to be the Reaper she is meant to be. 

It weighs her, the realization that she could have been a great Reaper, beyond what she is. It weighs her, the understanding that she could do better but she is letting her pain get in the way. It weighs her, that she has caused pain and sorrow to the souls she is meant to her. 

It weighs her so much she has taken to wander the mortal realm to try and find a way to do better. Find the reason why the God of the Death chose her as their own, find why she as much as she worries she is not meant to be a Reaper, she has never truly believed this fear to be true. Find out why she knows she is where she is meant to be, and yet cannot do what is meant to be done. And yet, somehow, no matter where she tries to go, her steps always take her to Rome. To the souls that whisper of something coming, foretelling dangers her short life does not allow her to understand. 

PERSONALITY

+ passionate, empathetic, diligent – abrasive, anxious, nagging

NAME. Fen’harel AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/They SPECIES. Druid ( Former Eladrin ) AFFILIATION. Octavian’s Acolyte OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Madelaine Petsch

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: war, death, betrayal ) 

Fen'Harel ma ghilana.

The Dread Wolf guides you.

Born from a lineage older than humanity, Fen’harel came to existence with a bloom of color. The green leaves of summer turning blood red as her birth announced the beginning of Fall.

From a young age, she knew her duty. 

Bestowed a name from beyond the Otherworld, she was crowned with responsibility from birth. Fen’harel, a name given to those willing to break the mold of what it meant to be an Eladrin. She was given a name meant for rebels, liars and tricksters, and from an early age it was shown that she would live up to it. 

Fen’harel had known her role as heir to the chancellorship, and she prepared for it. No study was beneath her as she collected the knowledge necessary to rule and that drive was what led her beyond the settlement walls for the first time.

She was younger than their parents wished her to be, when she first left the safety of the Eladrin settlement in hopes of learning more of the humans her Queen so adored. 

What she found was surprising.

The Trojan War.

It was with rapt attention as she watched the conflict ignite, and her curiosity drove her to see it through. She was both horrified and amazed by what she found. Parents willing to kill their children for power and strangers willing to die for each other.

Humanity was wonderfully complex. 

The Trojan War taught her something no Eladrin could teach her: change was inevitable, and if you fought against it you got swallowed by the current. 

It was a hard lesson to learn, one that her immortal nature rebelled against, for, what use is change if  you will remain through it all? 

The humans taught her that change meant evolution. 

Fen’harel keeps that lesson tucked deep within herself. 

She contented herself to live among those amusing creatures that taught her such a lesson, yet she forgot to account for the human’s need for violence. 

Fen'Harel ma ghilana.

The Dread Wolf guides you.

The Eladrin settlement burned, and with it what remained of her childhood. Amidst the ashes laid her babae,the Fall Chancellor, and what remained of her mamae, his warder,  was a mere shell of an Eladrin. It fell to her to lead the Fall Eladrin as their Queen first waged war.

And led them, she did. 

With no parents, no family, no warder. Fen’harel used all of her clever tricks, all of her ruthlessness to protect her people. 

She had been willing to fight, to found a new settlement beyond human reach but still within the mortal land. She had been willing to use her magic to build defenses, to lead humans into traps and set their settlements ablaze for a change.

Then the call from the Otherworld came, and Fen’harel found herself all but exiled from her home. 

At first, she begged Titania to let her find a place beyond human reach on the mortal realm, to find another home for their people, but her pleading fell to deaf ears.

Fen’harel had never been one to give up on her pursuits, but she could see when Titania’s kind chidings turned to warnings to drop the subject, so she did.

She retreated to her court, with her people, and tried to build them a home in the pale imitation that Titania had created.

For a time, it worked. 

She got time to grieve, to dwell on the injustices administered against her kind. She got time to do as her season did and let go of the pain. She got  time to heal, and turn her gaze away from anger and towards her people. Carefully, she brought her court back to life. 

Fall might be the season of ends, but there is a joy that comes with knowing nothing is permanent. 

For a time, the reminder worked. 

Fen'Harel ma ghilana.

The Dread Wolf guides you.

Centuries had passed since she took up the mantle of Chancellor, and Fen’harel learned to craft her words into weapons as sharp as any swords. She learned how to push just far enough to get what she wanted, and when to pull back from an argument. She learned how to play around the truth, how to mislead and trick even her own kind. For a time, she was content, even when her heart yearned for her people to return to the mortal realm.

Then, Romulus happened. 

Titania helped create the senate. 

A senate for the supernatural, and yet the Eladrin remained exiled from their home.

She took in the new world order with greedy eyes and a sense of wanting buried in her heart. The anger that followed the discovery was all-encompassing, for it was fuelled with a sense of betrayal. 

Titania had helped create a democracy, where the voice of all citizens had power, and yet refused to listen to her Chancellors. 

Refused to listen to Fen’harel. 

Her people had been chased away from their home, and she could not guide them back.

But Titania, Titania gave those who helped humanity chase them away a home while refusing to let the Eladrin return to theirs. 

Loyalty has died for much less.

Fen’harel remained faithful to her role as Fall Chancellor despite her misgivings with Titania. She faked just the right amount of reverence, played the part of loyal follower as she faced the Court. And yet, behind the scenes, she began to extend her influence, reaching for the discontent and playing on their fears. 

She wanted a democracy, a place where her voice would be heard beyond the council chambers. She wanted freedom from the restrictions Titania had placed on your kind. 

She wanted to go home, to see the seasons change due to nature and not Titania’s whim. 

She wanted back what the humans had burned to ashes. 

Fen'Harel ma ghilana.

The Dread Wolf guides you.

She is the Dread Wolf and she will guide her people back home and to the future Titania denied them.

PERSONALITY

+ adaptable, ambitious, patient – ruthless, secretive, devious

The Pyre~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Terror CLASSIFICATION. Strigoi OCCUPATION. UTP

Centuries ago you sought a cure, and a witch possessed of dark magic promised you your resolution. With the secrets of the necronomicon in hand they imbued your old body with life once again, haunting your mind with memories of the Inferno, memories of fire and damnation that your psyche was quick to suppress. Not quite the human you’d been in life, but neither could you walk among the vampires as one of their own. Your existence spared the rumors of a cure and so you fled, never living in one place for long before you’d move onto the next. Terror they came to call you, as if you’d known that this was what you’d ultimately become. Late nights spent sleepless as you dreamt of the hell your eternal soul had escaped from, hard days that ground and wore down the immortal body that had been given life once more. If you were to live a normal life then why did all those around you continue to age while you did not? Family came and family went, dhampir your children were called, a name that suited them as they hugged the border between mortal and eternal. You hoped for a place to start over, so to Rome you aimed to once more start again.

The Legacy~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 30+ SPECIES. Witch COVEN & RANK. Amaranthus & Watcher OCCUPATION. UTP

Every child looks at the world with a naive ignorance, that nothing could ever go wrong, that people were happy, always told the truth, and did the right thing by others. That’s how you were raised, a family of witches with both values and power. All children grow up but your maturity came too young, you lost the person that mattered most to you and at the same time ended up losing yourself. Wavering footsteps that delivered one in front of the other, you didn’t know where you’d end up but Rome was never part of the plan. Where others turned to the dark for power you never had to, your family raised you better than that, and you were powerful enough in your own right that you didn’t have to concern yourself with making deals with devils or whatever else. Amaranthus became your home, the place where they’d challenge you, push you, and you thrived off of it. You ventured into the Otherworld and slayed a hellhound, eager to pass your initiation and join a new coven with a new family. Childhood naivety behind you, you saw the shadows in Rome for what they were, a new enemy around every corner, another reason to sharpen yourself into a blade. Sometimes the enemies were the ones under your own roof, other times they looked just like you: witches who needed to be brought to heel before they could do more harm than good. They trained you, and when you rose in the eyes of the sovereign it was as a watcher for the Amaranthus, a marshal of the senate.

The Gorgon~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25+ SPECIES. Druid & Chimera POSITION. N/A OCCUPATION. UTP & Affiliated with The Eye

They made you what you are, they learned your secrets and raised you from infancy. They said that power was never something to be feared and through their structure you learned to abandon what you should have been in favor of what they wanted you to be - what you wanted to be. It wasn’t enough to use your own power, you had to take from your kin the very magic that made you all special. Twisted bones and teeth ground into razors, poison flooded your blood and fire bloomed beneath your veins, if they wanted a weapon you’d deliver them a war. Their progress protected you, circuitry embedded in the back of your brain that kept you from losing the person you were beneath the monster you had become. It was then that you saw yourself for the thing you had become, chimera, they called you, gorgon, their scientists whispered. You owed them much and would not forget the humans that built you as the door to your home swung open, find them, they told you and you decided to do just that. Hunter, monster, weapon, serpents coiled in your hair as you traced the lines of who you once were. The lives you lived were forgotten now, the family that you might have known a distant memory before the bright lights of your makers took you in and turned you into the thing that stories are written of.

The Elder~

NAME. UTP AGE & BIRTH DATE. 30+ SPECIES. Lycan PACK & RANK. Lupo Beta OCCUPATION. UTP

Family was meant to be more important than anything, but the family you were born with put conditions on their loyalty. Be violent, be cruel, be unforgivable, be the monster they use to frighten their children. You were born into a pack that tore itself apart and when you came to Rome you were still young and brash, but Tiber saved you. They welcomed you, and as you grew you aged alongside them. You came home, a warm smile and a kind word, you didn’t come to Rome to join a war, you came because you wanted to start over. Whatever trouble brews outside is none of your concern, and those, like you, who’re just looking for a place to settle down know that through your door there’s a safe place. Politics have always bored you, you’d prefer a good laugh with some better friends any day. The smell of warm bread as it comes out of the oven, a house that’s been teeming with life for years, a revolving door with new faces and old, you can’t remember the last time you got a good night’s sleep. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.