#takenm

FC: Leo Woodall ll TAKEN

Green Berg. The name was Green Berg, not Greenberg. No matter how many times he corrected everybody, he was still call Greenberg. All the blame was on Coach Finnstock who made it stick by yelling the wrong name over and over again. That was what made him special back in high school. That and apparently always being the one doing the assigned reading and all the answers to whatever a teacher would ask. Oh and of course who could forget being blame for all the failures of the Lacrosse team even when he was a decent player? That was his life. People knew of him, but did anybody really know him? Did he know himself?

He didn’t exactly made an effort either. He just moved along the paths in front of him. It was how he ended studying mathematics or being practically invisible all of his college life or working at a electronic retailer because what the hell could he do with a mathematics major? It wasn’t until he was cleaning his grandfather’s home after his passing that he had found out more about himself and his family. All of the journals, books, and herbs opened doors to him he didn’t even know existed. He had found his new obsession, spending hours and hours of something that could make him special. It got even crazier when so many things he had seem and experienced started to make sense.

He always thought he was an average human living in a crazy place. Turns out he was part of the same craziness that made Beacon Hills. He could not believe it took him that long to figure it out, but he was looking forward to getting out of his average life.

Single

Ships: Chemistry

FC: Hudson Williams ll TAKEN

Fire is usually known for their power to destroy. A few knew it as the element of protection and healing. It was those two principles that gave the worthy kitsune the important and dangerous task of protecting the most supernatural items in the world. When Hikari was ready, he started his life as a guardian. Now, in Beacon Hills, Hikari was given the task of retrieving and hiding a malignant void spirit.

Young as they appear, Hikari has the experience to rival many of his peers. He would say his silly and charming personality is to mask his real age, but in reality he was a quiet and soothing fire when dropping his guardian role. The great effort to hide his duties and identities was exhausting. He wished for a break to experience the world outside of his duties, but that was too much to ask. His training didn’t allow him to experience the wonders of growing up, less a colorful childhood. He has an important role to play. Enjoying the pleasures of the world was just not a priority. Protecting what could cause a lot of harm was.

However, he still wishes to someday achieve the following dream: to burn the life away just by doing whatever he wanted. Even as he resided in Beacon hills, a town known for attracting the supernatural, he did not fall for temptation and drop it all. Fire could be selfish, but Hikari dared not to be. At least until he fell asleep again and he could play his desires in his dreams.

Single

Ships: Chemistry

Occupation: Food Truck Owner.

Element: Fire

BASIC INFORMATION:

NAME: Lorenzo Mastronardi.   AGE: 41. PLACE OF BIRTH: Launceston, Massachusetts, United States. AFFILIATION: The Sovrani (currently), the Camorra (formerly) OCCUPATION: Loyalist (Made Man) FACE CLAIM: Theo James. AVAILABILITY: TAKEN.

BIOGRAPHY:

“Corrupt law enforcement officers are not allies. They’re pawns ready for sacrifice.”

Considering how long the Auditores had been guarding this particular pawn of theirs, the sentiment was not one he expected to come from their beloved leader.

Lorenzo had spent so long despising them. Even when the Auditores and Mancinis came to peaceful co-existence after decades of tensions, his disdain for the Sovrani and how they conducted business had held strong. Never could he look upon the people who shielded his brother’s murderer with anything else.

Once, he’d never imagined forgiving them at all. How quickly things could change.

“So Moltisanti is no longer useful to you…” Lorenzo countered with a scoff.

“Precisely.”

Whilst his personal experience with Alessia Auditore was null until she’d unexpectedly invited him to her office eight years ago, he knew enough about her to understand she didn’t sugar coat. That she wouldn’t spin a story to try and make it sound like she was doing this for anybody but herself. The fact she had thought to approach Lorenzo at all, though, said more about her than any rumour on the street ever had.

Maybe it was because she understood what it was like to lose family.

Paul had been the light of his life; everything a big brother should have been, and then some. After their mother had walked out on them when Lorenzo was eleven years old—adamant she could no longer stay with an unfaithful mobster—their father had finally taken it as his cue to open up to his two sons (though never his daughter, which they respected) about his Made Man status within the Mancini Camorra. The two idolised him in spite of his many mistakes, and he broke his fucking back to make sure they had everything they needed during their mother’s absence. Was he perfect? Far from it... But the two of them could appreciate he tried his best, even when things got hard. When it wasn’t enough? Well, at least they had each other to pick up the pieces.

Whilst Paul eventually settled into the role of drug distribution just like dad, Lorenzo had always craved something a little more hands-on. Instead of dealing the cocaine the Mancinis peddled throughout Valence, he much preferred to beat the money out of those who didn’t pay their debts. For a nice enough guy in the opinion of most, it usually came as an unsettling surprise how he slipped into violence with such natural ease. As they grew into fully-fledged members of the gang, it didn’t stop the brothers from retaining the same strong bond they’d cherished since childhood. More importantly to Lorenzo, it felt good to know that regardless of what the family they served promised in terms of protection, they would always have each other’s backs above anybody else.

Until he didn’t.

It’d been unpreventable. Entirely out of his control, so the Mancinis said. That didn’t stop him from blaming himself with news of his brother’s death found him, though.

They had contacts within the LCPD to prevent exactly these kinds of surprises, and yet this time, as they’d burst through the doors of one of their biggest distribution centres—putting a bullet through Paul’s head during the subsequent fire fight—there hadn’t been a single word of warning extended their way. Not from the pigs. Not from the Sovrani who held the leash of the woman who had fired the shot which killed him: Maria Moltisanti.

Lorenzo had been sure he could never forgive either party.

‘Even if she wasn’t under the protection of the Sovrani, we don’t kill cops, kid. Too much heat.’

Sure, he understood. But that didn’t make it any easier to see her still breathing.

The change in him after that was abrupt, and enough to worry those who knew him best. Lorenzo became more prone to taking risks on the job. Found it easier to bend the rules of the Camorra to do what needed to be done, in spite of his father’s constant lectures about how their word was the only one that mattered. Although he still managed a convincing ‘nice guy’ front when he was off the clock, it was easy to see something behind his eyes had changed. Perhaps, had Salvatore not understood so deeply the hurt of losing a loved one, he might’ve been a little stricter with disciplining his oftentimes reckless actions, but with the Mancini leader every bit as focused on avenging his wife as Lorenzo was his brother, more was overlooked than ever should’ve been.

But not killing her. That he couldn't overlook, and he’d made as much abundantly clear.

For years the anger burned so dangerously close to the surface, people expected him to snap at any moment. Lorenzo had been so sure nothing could tarnish his loyalty to the Mancinis, but whether it was irrational or not, they became less like family, and more like the ones holding him back from doing the only thing that would help ease his burden.

Until Alessia Auditore came along...

“I know how Mancini feels about killing cops. Bad for business. You don’t have to take this offer if it means sacrificing your relationship with them. I have others more than willing to pull the trigger,” she explained coolly. “I just wanted to give you the opportunity I never had.”

“I’ll do it.”

No hesitation. No thought for repercussions that could be dealt with later. Fitting, as it was how he’d lived much of his life since Paul had died.

The only caveat was that just because the Sovrani wanted her gone, didn’t mean the LCPD did. Alessia warned that they didn’t take this lightly—precisely the reason Mancini was so against it—and that eventually, they would catch up to him. They always did. Lorenzo had never imagined disobeying the Camorra he’d devoted most of his life to, let alone leaving them, but by that point, their relationship had deteriorated so much that when Alessia offered him a spot in Porto Velho—safely away from the LCPD, for now—working for her, he’d agreed.

Slightly more hesitation that time, mind you.

Had he been a lesser man, he might’ve packed his things up in the middle of the night and headed out to California before the Camorra could catch wind of the life he’d taken. But whilst he might’ve been disobedient, he wasn’t a piece of shit. Mancini had more forgiveness in him than Lorenzo could ever imagine mustering up, though, and after a brief visit to Salvatore in prison—the bars not much of a safety net when he knew he could order him dead in a second if he’d taken the news poorly—he had the man’s hesitant blessing to leave. Salvatore was upset he’d killed Maria, but he understood why he’d done it. Seemed like he’d been expecting it, even...

The Auditores and Mancinis worked alongside each other now, anyway. It wasn’t as though he had to cut off all contact with the people he cared about as though climbing into bed with the enemy.

“You can be her problem now.”

It was a brutal final goodbye, even if it had been begrudgingly affectionate on Salvatore’s part.

And with that, Lorenzo stepped into the world of a people he’d once hated.

For the next six months, he tried to find his footing within the organisation; a rocky process when their newfound civility certainly didn’t erase history. The Auditores and Mancinis had never been at war with each other like they had with the Russians and French, respectively, but that didn’t mean the distrust wasn’t a very real problem. Those who mattered had welcomed him, though. Lorenzo couldn’t help but wonder how much of that was because Alessia had told them to.

They stayed in contact for much of that time. Lorenzo had fully expected that once his business with Moltisanti had concluded, he would never hear from her again as a lower-ranked associate. To his surprise, though, an unexpected bond formed between the two. Perhaps his streak for violence had always been a little more tailored to them than it had been the much tamer Mancinis, and Alessia respected it. Made sure to always know it was appreciated.

Lorenzo never expected he’d mourn her death when it eventually came. But he did.

Mancini had never spoken of Alessia with anything but admiration—even when their families were on poor terms, to his confusion—but now he’d learnt to understand why. Her loss was not only devastating to the Sovrani, but to him, personally. She had offered him closure. Family. Friendship.

And then she was gone.

Even though the LCPD didn’t yet know he was responsible for murdering one of their own, it was still deemed too much of a risk for him to head back to Launceston with Vincenzo and the others to rain hell down upon the Russians responsible for taking away their leader. It’d been a bitter pill to swallow, but he made damn sure to make the most of picking off any Vorshevsky he came across as they attempted to get a foothold in California. It was enough of a contribution over the years that eventually, he was briefly called back to Launceston so Bartolomeo Auditore could once again bestow the title of Made Man upon him—this time, though, within the Sovrani.

Whilst he had been distant from the Mancinis for almost six years by this point, the promotion finally solidified the fact that he was no longer a part of their family, and never would be again.

It’d been a grief slow to process, but he realised in that moment, as he swore his oath to the Sovrani, that he was okay with it.

Two more years were spent in Porto Velho working directly under Patrizia Pecatti as she attempted to hold down Porto Velho throughout one of Launceston most bitter conflicts. Eventually, when she decided to make the move to London with her husband, he wrapped up any remaining business he had in the city before following behind six months later. It wasn’t exactly an ideal relocation, and he certainly missed Launceston, but hearing of the growing presence of the Russian Mob in the British capital, it seemed the best place he could get his hands on them outside of home.

In their world, it seemed the lust for revenge nearly went away.

Whilst he might’ve gotten his closure for what had happened to Paul, now it was time to find some for Alessia…

SOCIAL CONNECTIONS:

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Single. Francesca Laurenti (ex-girlfriend) FAMILY: Paul Mastronardi (brother, deceased), Caterina Mastronardi (sister), Unnamed father (unplayable) CONNECTIONS:

Francesca Laurenti: Ex-girlfriend. The two first met whilst working under Patrizia in Porto Velho. Whilst his father had always told him mixing business and pleasure was a mistake, just this once, much due to her persistence, Lorenzo couldn't help himself. They were together for almost a year, but when she made clear she had no intention of leaving for London, he suspects she thought he was bluffing about going without her. He wasn't. Just because he mixed business and pleasure, doesn't mean business won't take priority when it counts.

Patrizia Pecatti: Boss, good friend. Saying she was slow to warm to him would be an understatement. Clearly, Patrizia was not one of those welcoming of him just because Alessia asked. It seemed less because she was die-hard loyal to the Sovrani and more so because she didn't trust someone so quick to switch teams, though. What was to stop him doing it again? Eventually he wore her down. Proved himself through hard work, dedication, and unwavering loyalty to both the Sovrani and her. With the exception of Andrea, he considers her his closest friend within the organisation. There is nothing he won't do to keep her safe in London.

Giorgio Pecatti: Good friend. Upon arriving in Porto, Giorgio was certainly the most welcoming, much to his wife's then distaste. Whilst he was technically the underboss, and Lorenzo assumed he wouldn't be the type to befriend the lower ranks, he'd been wrong. Giorgio took him under his wing, taught him everything it meant to be a member of the Sovrani, and made damn sure he didn't fuck up. Just before he left for Launceston, he made Lorenzo promise he would keep his wife safe in his absence. Lorenzo had no intention of letting him down. That still stands.

The Obsessive Suitor || Taken || 42 || Pharmacist

There’s something soft in me—

Gregory Barnes is Fairview’s most well known pharmacist. He helps everyone with their pharmacy needs and his access to medication has been useful on more than one occasion. He spent his time studying and reading when others were out at parties or getting into mischief outside school hours. He grew up in a loving yet distant family. He always felt like more of an observer than a participant in life. But, he soon figured out that had its upside as well.

Ask anyone and they would tell you he’s a kind, if not awkward, man. Usually shy, and timid, he’s only recently come out of his shell. Former girlfriends describe him as growing rather possessive and obsessive in a quick amount of time. None of his relationships seemed to last long and friendships came and went faster than he could keep up. Underneath his nice guy facade, he could spend hours fixating on a particular person who’s managed to capture his attention.

we killed it; it's rotting.

He’s had his sights set on Mrs. Sterling for a few weeks now. He knows patience is a virtue, but he’s not above telling little white lies and planting doubts into her head about her husband to garner more face time with her.

His undisclosed past includes court mandated therapy, and minor misdemeanors for stalking and invasions of privacy. But to everyone in Fairview, he’s their pharmacist. And only their pharmacist. The Obsessive Suitor is intelligent in his quest for what he wants, and can adapt his preferences to suit whoever he’s infatuated with.

NAME. Elias Van Kirk AGE & BIRTH DATE. 21 & July 9th, 2002 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/HimSPECIES. Eladrin OCCUPATION. Busser at Killjoys FACE CLAIM. Tyler Gray Lawrence

biography

Elias was different from other kids in ways he could observe but never understand. He was simply better than them. That was the explanation his mother gave when he questioned why none of the other kids could play as he could, or why he had to “hold back”. She told Elias that he was special, different, or simply better without much explanation until he grew too old for vague non-answers. When she finally began to open up about where he came from, Elias fell in love with the fantasy of his father and never looked back. Every night he’d need a new story about how amazing and powerful the faerie his mother fell for was. There was no way for him to discern between truth and fabrication, and to satisfy her over-eager child she definitely embellished some facts, but regardless those stories helped to craft his worldview. Elias no longer rejected his power but embraced it. He was a miracle child, powerful and strong, beautiful and glimmering like the parent who wasn’t there to challenge the pedestal Elias’ mind had placed him on. He was superior and it wasn’t him that needed to hide from the world but the world that needed to embrace him. 

  However, a faiman child unable to let go of the fantasy world he lived in to step into the real one was not something to be praised. It was his notions of grandeur that brought ruin to his and his mother’s lives, but the damage was already done. Once she taught Elias to love his power it became impossible to teach him to dull his shine for anyone. Sure he understood the necessity for discretion and when they moved he knew how to blend in, but without fail, Elias would find a chance where he felt he was justified in using his powers openly. Whether it be stopping a neighborhood bully or showing off to a new friend, he could never keep a lid on his halfblood status. And every time he exposed himself, his mother made them pack up and move. Attention would lead to danger, for there was no guarantee that he’d be strong enough to protect himself from any who’d want to cause him harm. There was no faerie there to protect them, so staying on the move was the best way to ensure Elias wasn’t hunted. This was always difficult for him to grasp, and eventually, he realized what the issue was. Elias wasn’t human, so pretending he was to live amongst them would never fulfill him. He may have been young, but he had no choice but to set out on his own. Elias needed to live among his own kind so he’d never have to hide his true power again. 

  The day he left his home and mother behind was supposed to be the start of his self-actualization journey. In many ways his journey was just that, but not in the ways he imagined. From major city to major city, he embarked on his “faerie hunt” to hopefully learn more about his heritage and where he came from. What he found were horrible truths and hard lessons, but none of the answers he sought. But he learned, Elias learned fast because he had no choice but to. Witches were deceitful and constantly taking advantage of his wanderlust to trap him. Vampires were vicious and cruel, treating him like a slab of meat for their benefit. Hunters were the worst, and he encountered a couple who chased him across state and country lines as if he didn’t have enough to worry about without a pursuer. He fought them all off, because he was stronger and got stronger with each near-death encounter, but his experiences turned him into something he never wanted to be: a survivor. Elias realized that the entire realm was out to get a faiman like him, and he was only able to keep his head due to sheer force and lots of luck. When he did find another faiman, they were able to give him tips but no answers because they knew little more than he did, if anything at all. Elias knew he’d die ignorant and alone if something didn’t change, so he decided to shift his perspective. If he couldn’t get what he needed through traveling, then he’d make a pilgrimage to the place that was overflowing with magic. Rome was going to be his salvation. 

  What he found was absolutely soul-crushing. Upon the time of his arrival, halfbloods were seen as commodities by almost all the other species. Additionally, the very eladrin he believed would embrace him for his strength rejected him for his mortal weakness. Rome was able to finally teach Elias the true plight of faimen in the realm, and he rejected it all. He was better than that, better than them all. He’d been told since he was young. So instead of lamenting, he put himself to work so he could cement his greatness and finally get his due in the place that seemed to be the height of supernatural life. Working at Killjoys was dangerous work indeed, but it was also the best place for him to network. All manner of mortal and immortals frequented the bar and some of them were willing to pay under the table for various odd jobs. Nothing was off limits for Elias, so long as it sounded like something his abilities would make easy. He took risks and did many things he wasn’t proud of, but eventually Elias started to garner a reputation in the city as a capable, powerful mercenary of sorts who seemed to be able to get anything done. His work kept him busy, too busy to care about the rise of the halfbloods on the Senate. Why would he care about them? He didn’t need their help to gain some respect in Rome. Mutat Domun became a representation of weakness that Elias wanted no part of. He was above them and whatever they were doing on the Senate, however his opinions changed when his body did. He became something more than a halfblood, something he couldn’t fully understand on his own. He knew he needed to be with his kind if he were to step into his new eladrin status. Elias answered the call and joined the others in the Fey Forest, finally accepting the authority of the eladrin representatives on the Senate. 

personality

+ Proactive, Idealistic, Courageous - Arrogant, Snarky, Selfish

NAME. Alder Gallois AGE & BIRTH DATE. 24 & February 2nd, 1999 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him. SPECIES. Witch COVEN. Unaffiliated OCCUPATION. Emissary FACE CLAIM. Drake Roger

biography

( tw death ) Alder had always been observant. He had no choice but to be. Overshadowed by other young witches in his coven, Alder was quickly cast aside as ordinary to make room for the stars to shine. Except, he had to wonder if that was actually the truth. Wasn’t he special too? Being invisible to his coven gave Alder plenty of time to watch learn and practice his craft. He wanted to show everyone how amazing he was to work so hard despite their nonexistent expectations. That’s why he made up the game to play with his coven’s young favorite. It was a battle of the mind, a series of illusory tricks meant to best one's opponent. On the surface, Alder lost which was within expectation, but his target didn’t notice the sigil branded into their subconscious. They walked away victorious, all the while hexed with nightmares that weakened their mental state. They lost sleep, gained paranoia, and remained completely oblivious to Alder’s constant siphoning of their reserves when he cast. As Alder rose in skill, his rival declined in faculty until they’d been plundered for all they could offer. Alder was praised as a latent prodigy while some kid who thought they were better got consecrated into the earth. In the end, Alder actually won. 

  After his first, he couldn’t stop. The youngest, most vulnerable members of his coven were untapped wells of wasted potential. The way he saw it, their power would’ve been put to better use in his hands. Receiving his mark wasn’t good enough. He needed more than the magic a normal coven connection to provide. More than that, Alder felt he was entitled to that much and more. Children were untrained which made slipping his siphoning sigil into their minds easy. Plus, with how powerful he’d become from his covert channeling of young witches, no one would lose that much sleep over a few sick kids. He was the future of the coven after all. Alder’s insatiable greed led those he infected to madness, catatonia, or worse and he didn’t care. Unfortunately, he wasn’t a prodigy and got sloppy. He started taking too much, more than he actually needed, and it was becoming obvious. Alder in his arrogance challenged his coven’s Soverign for their crown, believing he had all he needed to be the top witch. Unfortunately, he was bested, severed from his many links, excommunicated from the coven, and slated to be executed. With only his own magic to call upon, he barely managed to escape with his life, forced to flee like a bug. 

  He hated his coven and all covens after that. Alder felt his way was the only way and committed himself to his quest for higher power. It was hard, and he had to stare down his own limitations every day, but over time he managed to find enough trinkets and relics with magic to place his sigil on. Alder eventually began to feel like his old self, but it wasn’t until he learned the location of a lycan bar that his life turned around. He went in with the intention of forcing himself onto whatever beast seemed the drunkest. After all, channeling a creature with supernatural strengths would surely give him all sorts of new power. However, an opportunity arose for him to stop a fight and do a few tricks for the small-town pack and they felt they could make use of him. Alder began living in forest dirt with them instead of on the street like he had been, being useful to them in whatever ways he could for the smallest chance to mark them. It beat toughing it on his own, but it still wasn’t enough. His time with lycans is how he heard about the growing pack in Rome, and their lack of alpha. From old packs to the new Lupo to something even greater, Alder had been privy to all the rumors which is what carried him to Rome. He came with lycans eager to join with only one goal: make nice with the new alpha and channel his great power forever. Alder didn’t plan to become a representative, but the opportunity was too good to pass up so he took it. On the surface he appears dedicated to the pack, studying to improve for their betterment. However, his actions are entirely self-serving. A pack of lycans and their unstoppable alpha would make excellent power cells to pump, but he will not stop there. Whether it comes from a coven or a creature, Alder will continue to want more. He thinks he’s above the concept of a coven. So long as he has plenty of pions to channel, he will continue to cultivate his own version of ultimate power. 

personality

+ Studious, Quirky, Daring  –Impatient, Sadistic, Unscrupulous 

NAME. Tristan Alighiero AGE & BIRTH DATE. 30 & August 5th, 1993 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him. SPECIES. Witch COVEN. Amaranthus OCCUPATION. Supervisor at Fates' FACE CLAIM. Cody Fern

biography

( tw blood sacrifice, murder ) Once upon a time, Heracles had completed 12 trials and Jason and the Argonauts brought back the Golden Fleece. Once upon a time, Psyche completed what was thought impossible and was rewarded with godhood. Once upon a time, a cambion named Dante Alighiero traveled down into the Inferno for his lover, the only mortal to ever do it, and documented his adventures for the world to know. Pathos, the Greeks had called these sorts of adventures. They were the experiences of virtuous struggle and suffering which would lead to fame and, in some cases, power.

Tristan grew up on the stories of mythical heroes overcoming a world of impossibilities to obtain rewards, but these stories were no thanks to his mother. Soleil was a busy and quiet woman who spent more time outside the coven walls than within, often leaving Tristan in the care of other parents and adults within the walls of Amaranthus. Soleil Alighiero was his mother's name, not a descendent of childless Dante himself but of the famed cambion's human half-brother, Francesco Alighiero. Obsessed with the mysteries of the world that Dante had begun to uncover, Francesco's children had long ago vowed to keep and protect the secrets of their cambion uncle. Greedily holding on to the notes and books that Dante left behind, they passed down the relics on from eldest child to eldest child along with their last name. Only Soleil remained from that vow taken over 700 years ago, only she remained with the name and the priceless treasures of her ancestor. Her power-hungry bloodline had long since co-mingled with supernatural species and just as Soleil had been born a witch, so was her son, Tristan. They were covenless and nomadic witches seeking to keep their family's treasures only to themselves.

Months after Tristan's birth, Soleil returned to the secret place that she had hid her ancestor's treasures only to find that they had been stolen. Soleil didn't speak of their family's history since the loss of Dante's treasures, she did not speak of what had been lost. Instead she took the name Ardisson and hid the truth away from her son and everyone else. She found a coven, an old one that only asked her to prove her power and her promise. Soleil did so, as well as offered what few priceless knowledge she had kept from Dante's books. Fate put different books in Tristan Ardisson's hands as soon as he was old enough to read within the coven's walls.

Ignored and pushed to one side by the suddenly brooding and mysterious Soleil, Tristan took to stories of mythical heroes with vigor and learned of all that could happen if you just believed that the impossible was possible. Nothing was impossible, he would say. Some things were just improbable. If you completed what others thought couldn’t be completed, you would be heralded and you would be loved. Failure rarely rewarded you with power and prestige so Tristan decided that failure was something that he wouldn’t ever let stop him from the victories that he sought out. His mother told him that ambition and greed only led to loss. But Tristan was no mere mortal; he was a witch of the Amaranthus, a human with power at his fingertips and ambition running through his blood. He didn't know his family's story but he was proud and strong so he would turn away from the other children’s laughter and the frowns of his mother and show them all. No one had to push him, no one had to believe in him if he just believed in himself.

At an extremely young ago, Tristan studied like there weren’t enough words to read in a day. And there wasn’t, not when study came so easy to him. In truth, the eidetic memory that he was born with made learning far easier for Tristan than it did for other witches but his magic was no more potent than the rest of them and his intellect no more advanced. So he would have to learn to cultivate both things. Tristan memorized books upon books and worked enough to devour everything that he thought he needed to know about the school of destruction, alteration and illusion until he believed himself ready to take on the world outside. Amaranthus’ trial of slaying a hellhound was child’s play; he volunteered to take it on as soon as possible. His victory inflated his ego and the witch took studying more monsters. His power and reputation had grown and he was told that when he was older he would likely be awarded the rank of Watcher.

From there finally came the decision to take on ancient beings and magic with the hope that Fate, the Gods and all other Aspects out there in the realms would find Tristan worthy of their praise and perhaps their powerful gifts. It was only a shame that the Amaranthus’ ban on blood magic limited his power so significantly. Still, Tristan made due. His early adulthood compromised of studying magic and beasts alike, traveling once more to the Otherworld with maps for the search of creatures. He learned to slay a few uncommon beasts but it was not enough. Even when an Arae of the Otherworld left the witch with a curse that made it impossible for him to have skin-to-skin contact with any another without harming them, Tristan still had no desire to stop risking his life and limb. There were rare and powerful beings and places out there even immortals themselves feared, and Tristan was not nearly powerful enough to overcome them just yet. The curse on his skin proved that. Still so young, he had to learn quicker and grow quicker and the best way to do that would be through blood magic. His determination and curiousity was only bolstered by the fact that he believed if anything could stop the blood curse the Arae had given him, Tristan figured it would be the power of blood magic.

His attention caught on to the strange behavior of a man who had been a boy he'd grown up with, a fellow coven member who he trusted above most. He eventually figured out that he was on the verge of succeeding in something that would give Tristan himself the freedom that he sorely needed to practice forbidden magic but still be connected to the coven. So Tristan approached Grayson and, when their marks were finally altered by the younger, the older took to the edge of Rome with giddy excitement and nervous apprehension. His mother had always been a brooding woman, someone secretive and always angry. Why? He had heard her dismissals whenever he asked of her past but also the whispers of other coven members and he had eventually learned of the people that had somehow wronged his family long ago. False information that Soleil had given coven members of her past so none would know of her ancestry and the lost treasures. Unaware of the inaccuracy of his mother's pain, Tristan believed these villains of her story would make perfect sacrifices; a little bit of blood on his hands had to be a worthy price to pay for real justice.

Armed with a forbidden ritual, Tristan sought out an innocent cambion for a death that would make their strength his own. The old cambion's blood was still cooling on his hands when the Amaranthus descended upon him. Too young, too foolish and too over-confident, Tristan was overcome, stripped of his magic and locked away where he could never hurt another creature again with blood magic. In all her shame and grief, Soleil left the coven and disappeared as her son rotted away beneath the Senate. A friend to his mother, the only one to have known Soleil's truth, told Tristan his family's history as their final goodbye, leaving him nothing else in his cell but an earth-shattering truth to digest. It wasn’t until his magic and freedom was promised again years later that Tristan rose from behind imprisonment and promised himself once more to the good grace of the Amaranthus. 

He'd been ignorant to the true cost of taking a life. He'd been ignorant to a lot of things. Much of his more blood-thirsty ambition had died beneath the dirt of Rome, smothered through the nightmares of screaming and warm blood of a cambion on his young hands. But not all of his ambition had perished. And what was growth if not the overcoming of trials? Heracles had committed a grave crime by killing his family and, still, he had rose above it through the trials set upon him. Dante Alighiero, his own family, had done the seemingly impossible when the world had taken something from him.

Tristan decided he would follow in the footsteps of mythical heroes, fixing everything with a little bit of audacity. He still had room to grow, he still had monsters to slay. But no matter the remorse at the blood staining the witch's hands it did not compare to the desire down deep in his soul to make his mark on history and rise beyond what was expected of him, whatever the cost. If lines needed to be drawn, it was the time now to learn where to draw them. But Tristan would become the witch that he was always meant to be and grow from the youthful immaturity and naivety that he had once known. Ambition ran through his blood. Tristan Alighiero would one day be a name remembered by more than just his coven. Nothing was ever impossible, sometimes it just seemed improbable to those who weren't bold enough. The young witch was nothing if he wasn't bold.

personality

+ Eidetic, Dedicated, Resourceful – Awkward, Brazen, Detached

NAME. Jonas Olander AGE & BIRTH DATE. 25 & June 7th, 1998 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Daemonfey ( Draegloth ) OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Rainer Dawn

biography

( tw: self harm, attempted suicide, violence, blood ) Even in the modern era, Jonas was brought up in the ways of old his born pack upheld as sacred. Outsiders weren’t allowed for turned lycans or those from diluted bloodlines were inferior. The Olanders were part of a noble and ancient heritage that stretched back to the first Tiber alpha. It had been many generations since his pack had splintered off, but the stories kept the connection alive and burning in Jonas’ heart. He memorized the tales of his prominent forbearers, adopted the customs passed down on him, and found his natural place within pack hierarchy. For weeks they lived within a community, preparing for the four nights the moon they worshipped granted them their true strength. Moon after moon, shift after shift, Jonas became over the years what he was raised to be: a true lycan coexisting with the natural world. Every hunt was a tribute, every howl was a reminder of his heritage. He was proud to be born as he was and happy to serve his pack until the day he died.

However, no pack was above the laws of the wild. Shifting dynamics across the globe caused lycans everywhere to consolidate power. The rise of the Lupo led to an influx in Rome-bound pilgrimages, but the Olanders chose to turn their ears away from the howls. Thrive or perish, that was nature’s way, so a pack that operated on old, isolationist policies would have to pray their old-world strength was enough to combat an onslaught. A distant pack came, eager to usurp Jonas’ alpha and consolidate his pack into something else entirely. His outrage at the initial attack was shared amongst all the lycans of his family. The idea of their noble heritage being tainted by outsiders infuriated them. Still, his first field of battle was where he finally learned that conviction alone was not enough to protect what was cherished.

It was a brutal war and Jonas watched countless faces of those he’d known his entire life cut down before his eyes as he fought. His pack and livelihood were burning around him, forcing him to acknowledge the promises of greatness that had filled his head from birth as lies. The pleading prayers of his dying family were like a curse to his ears. Jonas couldn’t bear it, the sonata of failure shattering across the battlefield his spirit allowing something much darker to sprout in its place. Jonas rejected the death encroaching on his broken body and bit into the heart of the injured packmate clinging to life next to him. Then he did it again, and again, over and over until he devoured any trace of weakness the Olander pack exhibited in their defeat. He rose on his hackles, empowered by the fallen he absorbed despite how doing so disconnected him from the traditions he’d upheld and fought back. The assailants were ill-prepared for a sudden volatile and Jonas managed to slash through scores of enemy lycans before he was brought down, but he was eventually brought down. That was to be it for him, disgracing himself in the name of revenge only to die battered and alone. He cursed his fate, and himself, which made him prime real estate for the dark promise that whispered in his ear. Jonas had only wanted to protect his pack and he gave up his soul in the process, but it was all a waste. Why should he let that be his end though? He rejected death once, so why not again?

Jonas didn’t want to die, that’s all he wanted. But it was a bargain made under the most desperate of circumstances because his first coherent thought on the other side of the agony he endured was how he wished he’d gone out with the rest of his pack. The creature he’d allowed himself to become was vile, disgusting, and so far removed from lycanthropy that his own reflection made him wretch, even when he wasn’t in shifted form. He hated what he had become and hated himself for letting it happen, but there was no way out or through. Jonas had tried to find an out on his own more than a few times, but he traded his soul for power. The kind of power that was not so easily destroyed.

Jonas found salvation at his lowest point at the bottom of a pool of blood. Some of it was whatever unlucky creature he tore to ribbons, some was his own trickling down his flesh after hours of gouging at his immortal hide. He was a mess and that was his pattern, but one flash of an impish smile bearing down on him and Jonas lost the urge entirely. He had nothing, and then out of the blue, he had everything. He was a complete stranger to comfort and opulence. He knew he didn’t deserve an ounce of contentment after disgracing his bloodline. Jonas was prepared to live out the rest of his days in loneliness while he repented for giving himself to darkness. But alongside Napoleon and Carmine he could pretend at the very least. They were alike enough, and they were his pack. Plus, when they smiled Jonas found it hard to hate himself. He would never regain what he’d lost no matter how hard he tried, but maybe if he could keep this new pack of his safe then perhaps one day he’d stop regretting his rejection of death’s hand.

personality

+ uninhibited, pensive, consistent – stubborn, self-loathing, merciless