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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. Zehra Sandalci AGE & BIRTH DATE. 487 & April 9th, 1534 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Succubus OCCUPATION. Owner of Acanthus Mollis FACE CLAIM. Burcu Özberk

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: infanticide, murder, suicide, miscarriage ) In the height of the Ottoman Empire, a girl was born. One of five, Zehra found herself constantly striving to have her voice heard amongst the rabble. She was a pretty child— it was often remarked upon as she walked behind her mother’s skirts in the market, or clung onto her brother’s sleeve, and while she seemed to have little talent for anything else; that in itself would get her far. Her other sisters, comely but clever, they likely would never see the same promise that Zehra Sandalci held in her tiny, unmarked hand. Her mother favoured her, and it earned the ire of her siblings, leaving them to mark her with wicked purple pinch marks when she wasn’t looking— Zehra was always crying, her family remarked, watching her heavy lashes fringe with tears, commenting on her lack of resolve. It would be alright, as things often were, because she was beautiful and that was currency more than strength.

She grew into a charming young woman, with a lightness to her soul of a creature who had never known any burdens: the spoon in her mouth was not silver, but it was honey coated and for as long as she was under the care of her family, her life was sweet. Constantinople was at the time, a center of the universe and the rule over the Mediterranean basin drew in several visitors from near and far, all with their own intentions. Zehra found them fascinating, walking along to the harbour to spy on new ships and unfamiliar faces. It was there that she had met Magnus, a sailor from Rome. He promised her a thousand pretty things, telling her of the place that he had been born, of his family and his life. Zehra was young and easily enamoured, taking his hand easily despite her own family’s protest, smiling as he promised to wed her in Rome. She would have a new life there, rich with his love and promises and as she stepped onto one of the ships she had watched come into the harbour, she bid Constantinople goodbye.

Rome had not been everything that Magnus had described, but the newness of it all was enough for his curious young bride, and Zehra was delighted to learn the language and customs. She flourished under the weight of compliments about her beauty, and the warmth of her new husband’s large family. It was in Rome that she outgrew her childhood, stretching long limbs and racing into being a woman. Cracks began to show in her marriage and foolish love after only half a year; when Magnus’ anger slipped out after she broke a dish and failed to prepare a foreign meal correctly. He was more animal than man, she realized, horrified as his normally dark eyes flashed a shade of what she could only describe as amber. His words had been snarled, he had bared his teeth, and Zehra had shrunk away, murmuring a thousand apologies. It began to happen more often, and she started to notice the howls around the house; the carelessness in her husband as he left the windows open despite the beasts that roamed beneath them. She was frightened, she confessed to him once, and he laughed with teeth that seemed to end at sharp points. She didn’t know what she should be afraid of, he had returned, leaving her shaking.

It was under the weight of a full moon that she followed her husband out of their home in the dead of night, trailing behind him quietly in the woods to see where it was that he was going. Zehra was alone in a country that she did not know, if he was no longer to be trusted, she would find herself without anything at all. Later, she realized, he must have known that she was there and yet he let her lay witness to the horrific sight: a man became beast under the moon, after a cacophony of breaking bones and shredding flesh, where the Roman had once stood, instead was a wolf bigger than any she had ever seen in her life, with hot breath and claws that gouged cruelly into the earth. Zehra screamed, and it chased her through the woods, cruel at her heels, leaving her crying out and her skin ripped apart by vines and brambles before she finally made her way home, locking a door to a sound that was distinctly like laughter.

He had come home in the early morning, slipping into their bed and whispering fondly by her ear that she now knew his secret, what he was entirely. Magnus spoke as though he carried the strength of a god, but as she shook under the covers, she saw him as nothing more than a monster. It was to the gods that she turned to, finding her way to the ancient temples of Rome, seeking out their infinite wisdom. Zehra had never intended to become devout, for her restless feet to carry her so often to praise, but it was there that she found comfort from a life that had become a nightmare.

It was only a few months after he had told her that he was a werewolf that he decided that he wanted a family of his own. Zehra, purposeless and alone most days, welcomed the idea– a child to raise as her own, and selfishly she saw it as an opportunity to have a companion, something to do besides stitch together Magnus’ ruined clothing. Pregnancy followed soon after, and it was in those months that she was almost convinced that she had imagined her husband’s rage– he became something domesticated and docile, laying his cheek against the swell of her stomach, fondly drawing his hand over her tired face. They were in love again and she was foolish enough to convince herself of such, darting into his arms and ignoring blood that stained the hems of his clothing. Such illusions are made to be shattered and when the child came, Zehra was filled with joy and love as she greeted her son, his name was to be Selim, after her favourite brother– but these moments of warmth were shadowed by Magnus’ inevitable rage.

He had wished for a child that would carry his genetics, another werewolf that would continue his legacy, but instead she had borne a human boy, perfect in his own right, but inadequate to his standards. She slept blissfully, with his small body tucked in beside hers and in the night Magnus stole him away to the woods where his end was met, cold and alone with his tiny cries left unheard by his mother. When she awoke, devastation overtook Zehra, whose rose coloured glasses had shattered and left gouges in flesh grown soft. It was her new gods that she sought comfort in, spending more and more time tucked in the temples praying to gods of old for freedom from a life that had brought her only sadness, and only suffering.

It was Bona Dea that heard her cries and the ancient goddess reached towards her, offering a bargain that she could not so easily refuse: anything in the world that she could ever want, and in return: the goddess would own her soul. Zehra, still raw with grief, made the bargain readily. She would never have children again, and the goddess assured her of it before they parted ways. To be spoken to by a deity made her feel chosen, it brought warmth back to her days and the promise of new horizons, the fact that a goddess had heard her felt like something: until Magnus undoubtedly shattered what joy she had scraped together meagerly from her life.

The goddess had been true to her word and she was never to bear a child again– her next pregnancy never made full term and the child, Zehra had noted as she sobbed, had been human: another insult to her husband and his desire for a pure blood line. It was shortly after that he decided that the only way to ensure that the gene carried on was for her to become a werewolf as well, something he began to plan with the pack: something ceremonious and grand, to make his imported wife into something even more valuable. Night terrors gripped Zehra as she imagined what it would be like to become one of the monsters in the woods, to shed her human skin in favour of something beast-like and terrible, and to taste blood on her teeth. Bona Dea had told her one thing for certain, and she would not easily forget it: their bargain could only be struck while she was human, mortal as she had been born.

It was in the woods where her Selim had passed that she too tossed away her life, plunging a blade into her heart as she saw Magnus thundering in her direction: Zehra smiled before he could reach her. It was the goddess that reached for her hand when her spirit faded from the earth, and it was she who had tucked her soul into her possession, taking it before she gestured for the newly born succubus to return to the earth. Magnus was shocked to see his wife walking into their family home after watching her crumple into the golden leaves of fall. He was further shocked to see the warmth that she regarded him with, and the charm that she radiated: all things of which had faded from their relationship long ago.

Zehra stole the first portion of his soul that night, and more of it the next, until what remained of it was just a miserable scraping around his hollow chest– her husband took his own life not long after. The life of a cubi began this way, with her first whispers of freedom. It was a large world, brave and new and all of it sat in her capable hands. Roaming and travelling became a priority, and she saw the dawn of new ports and lands, and briefly returned to her own home in Turkey. She had outlived her own family and much of the great empire had changed, leaving nothing for her to cling onto: there were no ties binding her to such a place and the succubus took her leave.

Europe became her playground and where she was one hesitant and docile, a wicked streak brewed darkly in her. It was a curse to be what she was, but as she roamed the cobbled streets of new cities, she felt goddess-blessed, stealing adoration from willing lips, tearing homes and families apart with the promise of swift death. She felt like an angel at times, one who brought the promise of neither life nor blessing. It was, at times, a lonely existence: reminiscent of the years that she had spent married, but instead of sorrow, Zehra indulged in her own games, finding amusement in them and basking in love from her victims. Genuine adoration came in the hands of other supernaturals that passed her by– she built connections and paths to those who passed through her life like scars over warred skin, and as the years inched by, she flourished.

It was a new-found ability that brought her to Greece, a tear in the veil that drew her like a moth to a flame. Memories, she could pluck them from a mind with ease, holding them in her chest until she saw fit to return them– if she saw fit to return them. The source of such power sat in the city and it has been since then that she has revelled in it, continuing her games with a wide smile and dark, wicked eyes. To feed off of a soul is to feed off of adoration, to revel in pure lust, in what she could almost close her eyes and see to be something akin to love. Memories from those who are unwilling to give her all of their devotion are her prize, stolen from their minds as she takes parts of their soul; peeling away family, lovers, friends, until there is nothing that remains but her– Zehra, infinite and unstoppable. It is like this that she roams Corinth, seeking out her next victim and her next game to win.

PERSONALITY

+ adaptable, wily, charming - sycophantic, jealous, loquacious

PLAYED BY SAM. EST. She/Her.

#zehra sandalci #cubi #taken #female #burcu ozberk

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. Prinze Navarro AGE & BIRTH DATE. 24 & September 19, 1997 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Vampire OCCUPATION. Freelance Artist/Barista at Caffeine & Caffeine FACE CLAIM. Manu Rios

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death ) The Navarro family had come from Spain. They had moved around often, but their main home was the one they occupied in Granada. Prinze was the first of three children before his parents started to take others in as a foster home. Those that came and went were people he found himself getting along with as if they were basically his own siblings. His two younger sisters were always his top priority though. While his parents were taking care of the children that would eventually be sent off to find new parents, he was helping with taking care of his sisters. They were the one thing he felt he could do right if he worked at it. While he took care of them, he also found time to himself to study what he was most passionate about.

It had started with mere finger paintings on the walls of his room. Then, he would beg his parents to give him brushes and buckets of paint that would turn into childlike murals. He was dedicated to being an artist and he accepted all different kinds into the home he lived in. His sisters had found their own mediums in dance and acting. It left them all spending time together watching movies or going to plays that most could only dream of going to. Their parents were, by no means, absent. They would find themselves coming to any of the gallery shows that Prinze had been invited to or his sisters’ performances. The Navarro parents had been artistic themselves so it had simply run in the family. It was almost a no-brainer when he went to university for art as soon as he was able to. It meant he would leave his sisters, but it was what he wanted and they were more than happy for him.

This was where he found himself in Melbourne. His art was what got him there and he was always willing to push the boundaries of what he would create. He had learned so many different things and he was pushing through university faster than most. Taking summer classes gained him his credits at a quick pace, but it was excitement that got him wanting to do everything as quickly as possible. And he still made time to make friends while he was there. As a matter of fact, he would meet one of his dearest friends there. Eventually, he would follow that friend to a place called Corinth Bay.

Prinze had already finished his schooling and got his degree so it was only a matter of finding out what he would do in the lively town in Greece. He had been there for months before things would take a turn. Prinze had never thought of immortality as a thing he would ever come across. However, when he was asked one simple question, the answer fell from his lips quicker than he ever thought it would. Do you want to live forever? It was the easiest yes he could have ever given. Becoming a vampire though? Well, that was something he never would have expected, but he supposed that would make his art live forever.

PERSONALITY

+ Creative, Friendly, Reliable - Perfectionist, Stubborn, Blunt

PLAYED BY KENYA. EST. She/Her.

#manu rios #vampire #prinze navarro #taken #male

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. Hotaru Imube AGE & BIRTH DATE. Unknown & 3000+ GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Rift OCCUPATION. Card Dealer FACE CLAIM. Sen Mitsuji

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, violence, animal death, infant death, torture ) The night Hotaru was born the grounds of the Imube clan were blanketed in fireflies, the long dark night punctuated an arduous labor that brought the screaming infant son of the clan leader into the world. Named for the omen that marked Hotarus’ auspicious birth, from an early age he was placed upon a pedestal - the prodigal son of a warmonger that could do no wrong. Despite countless attempts his mother failed to deliver another child which only elevated his own position within the clan, the heir and future son of the proud family. Superstition surrounded Hotaru, as did the whispers of servants who watched as from a young boy he seemed to delight in suffering. He’d pull the wings off of flies and watch them jump around uselessly, raise shards of broken glass over ant mounds and incinerate hordes of the creatures. These urges were only encouraged by his father, while his mother tried to temper Hotaru’s cruelty with games and strategy instead. She introduced him to Go and for hours at a time she would have him sit with her and they would play, if only for Hotaru to be rescued by his father who prioritized real-world military strategy over that which was found over a wooden board.

He learned to fight under their weapons’ master, a man well-versed in a variety of martial arts who was responsible for training clan’s generals and eventual military heads. At sixteen Hotaru had already seen combat, a bloody state of affairs that suited him. On the battlefield Hotaru was merciless, cruel, and unrelenting. While he never produced an heir, though this never bothered him there were some that whispered of his potential infertility. Whispers Hotaru was quick to silence.

It was at the same time that Hotaru’s mother managed to successfully give birth to not one, but two children. Though it took her life in the process. Twins born under a full moon, one boy and one girl. They were the Imube clan’s newfound promise, should anything ever happen to Hotaru there was a backup child, another boy to take his place. And a girl who would undoubtedly come to bare many more children for the family. While his father was advanced in years, he suffered from a thirst for violence that was never quite sated. The loss of Hotaru’s mother took a toll of its own and for months the man’s health slowly deteriorated, bringing down the power of the clan with it. At night Hotaru would watch over the children, they had servants, but the boy liked to watch them as they sleep their frail frames as they took such tiny breaths it was almost as if they weren’t even breathing at all.

The future stretched before him and Hotaru could see the path that lay before him clearly, these children were young and strong. They would grow as he had, and even after Hotaru inherited his father’s position as the head of the clan, these twins would potentially threaten his position and birthright. Though he despised them and in secret, conspired to dispatch them, Hotaru could never bring himself to do it. He cared little for his father, but he had genuinely loved his mother - and now these children were all that remained of them. His father however, blamed the children for his wife’s death - their birth had come under a bad sign and he took this as an omen that they would someday bring the clan to ruin. Hotaru found his father by the river one night, the children already below the water and while he could do nothing to save them he gutted the man where he stood. Whispers followed that the cruel young lord was responsible for the children’s death, a lie that Hotaru did nothing to discourage. If his enemies believed him capable of such a cruel act, then no one would ever dare to oppose him. In private, however, he mourned his brother and sister; in a locket around his neck were twin locks of their hair, spirited from them before their pyre.

From that day forward the young lord was leader of the Imube clan, with no one to threaten or oppose him. Hotaru had an uncle, but shortly after inheriting his position Hotaru a story emerged about the man conspiring against him. For months Hotaru tortured the life from his body and let his screams echo across the grounds - this was a statement - a warning. And it was effective.

Only mortal, death came for Hotaru eventually. Though it was when he was very old. Cruelty made his enemies cower, but fear alone was not enough to keep those beneath him from conspiring against him forever. Sickness took his frail body, and soon a knife across the throat sent Hotaru Imube hurtling towards the Underworld where the Great Lord Enma awaited Hotaru’s damnable soul. It was here that Hotaru’s potential and ability was truly appreciated, the fires of hell coursed through his veins and Enma transformed the once handsome lord into a demon, a monster, an Oni. Hotaru had been so evil in life that he was a fitting torturer of Hell, he would take the worst of humanity and draw their punishments out for what would feel like eternity. Then, Hotaru would piece them together once more and begin again.

Centuries passed in this fashion before Enma sent Hotaru back to the mortal world, his form no longer recognizable to the man he had been before - he was a giant with blue skin, horns and a gruesome third eye that protruded from his forehead. A great, iron club was Hotaru’s weapon as he descended upon men and women who were deserving of an Oni’s wrath. He dragged them down and into the Underworld where he would then torture them, or toss them into the innumerable army of Hell to be devoured by the hordes of like-creatures. Thousands of years continued as the name Hotaru seemingly fell away, that was the name of the man who had been dragged into Enma’s realm, only the Oni remained. As the world expanded so too did the Oni’s reach, more and more he’d appear in lands and regions that the yokai had no business in until one case brought him to a village that was soon to be engulfed in flames. It was here that the Oni hunted a creature that evaded Enma’s clutches, and it was here that he bore witness to a phoenix as they burst into flames for the first time. The sight was an interesting one, Hotaru could admit as much, but not as interesting as the hopelessly lost soul of the man who crawled out of the flames. The Oni returned to the Underworld and put little thought towards the sight again until the sundering of the veil broke free some of the long imprisoned denizens of Hell. Enma himself tasked Hotaru, along with a few others, with the retrieval of the creatures that had broken free. Once more his mission would take him far from his homeland, all the way to Greece.

It was on Delos that Hotaru had tracked down a yokai who had wiggled free of its cage, when he brought it down into the Underworld he was intercepted by three sisters along the way. They were hideous and fearsome, not at all unlike himself. Serpents coiled for their hair as great bat-like wings unfurled behind them. Their voices sent terror down his spine, even him, an Oni of Enma’s realm knew of their power - these were the Erinyes. Furies and gatekeepers of Tartarus and Hotaru was trespassing in their domain. They told him he deserved punishment for his awful crimes, and for setting foot in Greece they could do just that. Or, he could help them as he was helping Enma and they would reward him instead. Hotaru would be given absolution, freedom, and the autonomy to move about the world with a human visage once more. For thousands of years he had been Enma’s soldier, but Hotaru was never given a choice in the matter. A fiend though he was.... he sought an end as well. Finality. Peace. Hotaru agreed and the furie’s washed his sins clean - despite Enma’s wishes he was sent forth to Corinth Bay.

PERSONALITY

+ protective, open-minded, amicable - disloyal, cruel, aloof

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. He/Him.

#taken #male #rift #oni #sen mitsuji #hotaru imube

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. Lila Yıldırım AGE & BIRTH DATE. 32 & November 5th, 1988 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Witch ( Water + Sensory Scrying ) OCCUPATION. Thief FACE CLAIM. Melisa Aslı Pamuk

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, murder ) When someone wears so many masks, eventually, the face underneath gets lost as they all start to run together. That’s who Lila Yıldırım is, a coalescent of different acts she’s put on, different names and roles and personalities, none any more real than the one before. If there’s anything left of the person the water witch used to be, she doesn’t know anymore. But hardly any of that matters, deemed useless to help her now, so it’s been discarded away along with every other identity she’s held over the years. Now, there is only Lila. But that isn’t the way that her life started.

First, there came Gulizar Candan into the world. She was the second child of a family of witches, born on the Anatolian side of Istanbul, near the Sea of Marmara. Though her older brother took after their mother’s fire element, Gulizar was her father’s daughter, and never felt more at home than when close to the sea. Perhaps that is where her story went wrong, from the very beginning. The home she was born into was not a happy one, the product of an arranged marriage between two people that hardly knew each other. While her mother had been eager to attempt to make the match work, her father had been in love with another woman, and resented the life he found himself in. His detachment was quiet and cold, rare to show affection to anyone in their household, not even his children. And one day, when he simply disappeared and never returned, she might’ve seen it coming all along.

Gulizar had been seven at the time. It was a change she handled remarkably well, for being such a young child. But the person who did not was her mother. She had become bitter and resentful over the years, and with her husband no longer around to as the fixation of her unhappiness, it was to her daughter that fell her ire. She was too much like her father, both in appearance and nature, and whenever the Candan matriarch looked upon her child, she only saw the man that had refused to even attempt to love her. She was not cruel to the girl, except only in her negligence. While her son had always been her favorite, due to their mutual element, such favoritism only increased with her husband out of the way. It was because of that, she found herself blind to any of his flaws.

But Gulizar saw them. Her brother had always frightened her, there was a wicked streak inside of him that had been there as long as she could remember, but with their father gone, he only became emboldened. There were accidents around the house, injuries that the young girl would need to see the local coven’s healer to fix, explained away with excuse after excuse from her mother’s lips. She wouldn’t see her son as a budding monster, even as his antics became more and more dangerous, to the point of nearly burning their house down. Demir was the golden child who could do no wrong, while Gulizar was the scapegoat, always at fault.

Because of this, the young girl began to spend less and less time at home. When wandering the streets of Istanbul was safer than the roof she had been born under, she learnt how to get by on her own, with sticky fingers and big sad eyes to bat at the adults around her. Still, it never became a matter of true survival until years later, when Gulizar was sixteen. She’d spent a long night out in the city, only to return home in the early morning hours. But something was... wrong. The house was half destroyed to fire, the smell of blood and ash in the air. Inside, she found her mother’s charred corpse, her brother standing nearby with his soul stained with dark magic. He’d reached out to the god of death, and offered their mother as sacrifice for the ritual, emerging the other side as a genasi. But he had no intentions of stopping there.

He wanted to test his new powers, and Gulizar happened to be the perfect, unfortunate guinea pig on which Demir’s sights were set. Though she tried to flee, he moved faster, grabbing a hold of her in his arms as his body turned into fire. The flames cooked against her skin where it connected, her screams filling the air surrounding them. It was only her magic that saved Gulizar, calling forth water from the kitchen sink to her aid. Though it wasn’t enough to completely douse her brother, it gave her the opportunity to pull away, her feet carrying her in a sprint towards the sea that offered her protection. Fortunately, he did not follow.

With what was left of her home now gone, she knew there was nothing left for her in Istanbul. And so the water witch made a run for it, out of the city and country entirely, landing in the UK before her feet finally halted. It was terrifying, truly out on her own for the first time, but her childhood antics came back to serve the teenager in her time of need. Adopting a new name, a step away from the past she didn’t want to remember, she became Serra Adanır. What first started as lifting wallets off the street, stealing enough money to put shelter over her head where no one would ask questions, quickly became a way of life. While her actions were done for survival in the beginning, it became clear to the water witch that she had a talent for such things. Her dark eyes could conceal dozens of secrets, bat innocently and pull in near anyone with her charm. She became good at reading people, at estimating what they wanted to see of her, and adjusting herself accordingly.

She was nineteen years old when she committed her first larger theft, already moved onto a new country. She was Giorgia by then, an Italian woman who conned her way into a villa by playing the role of mistress to a wealthy gentleman. He saw her as a pretty, lost young woman, with big innocent eyes and the need to be protected — with the benefit of sex as well, of course. It was a role that the witch found easy to play, but she had her sights set further, with no intentions to spend the rest of her life under a man’s thumb. So the young woman collected every piece of jewelry he gave her, everything of value in the villa, and pawned it all, right down to car he had loaned her to drive. Disappearing into the night, she was off with her newfound money and onto the next life, taking a new name just as easily as the last. If the man were to ever go looking, all there was to be found was a dead end.

Her travels took her across Europe for a time, running similar thefts and cons against anyone who caught her attention for too long, before the appeal of North America offered new prospects to the Turkish native. At first glance, she was not so easily identifiable, allowing her to blend in among the masses of larger cities. Her accent was a deliberate thing she fought to lose, adapting to the world around her with precision, always playing the role she had cast herself in.

As she got older, her thefts became more and more elaborate, with higher stakes on the line. Her specialty had developed long before, back when she was still a teenager, and only lent to her natural skills as a thief. She could reach into the minds of others, sliding inside like the backseat of a car, allowing herself to experience things the things that they went through. Though she could not steer, that was far beyond her ability, she could still see whatever her host did, and used it to her advantage with little hesitation — whether it was to case a place, or to become more familiar with her target. It made for an already good thief to become great, and nearly unstoppable. For a woman who had felt so little power in her own life for so long, she took a sense of satisfaction in the knowledge that through her cleverness she could make fools of arrogant men and women who considered themselves wise, that she could take something valued so highly with slick fingers. If she would not be given what she felt she deserved, then she would take it by force — whether by stealth or by smile.

But eventually, the price of such actions began to take a toll. She had been wearing so many masks for so long, the water witch began to lose sight of the woman beneath them before she ever even realized it. Gulizar was long gone, replaced with so many different names over the years, she hardly remembers half of them anymore. But even more than that, it felt as if she had become something fake. Pieces of herself, even small actions, she forgot whether it was something she truly enjoyed, or had been something she picked up in order to carry the character she portrayed with conviction. Though she would never admit to spiraling, anyone paying close enough attention, who knew the young woman for long enough, could see that she was slipping.

Perhaps matters were only made worse, then, by the time she made it to LA. It was meant to be the same as any other, a young man with bright eyes and a charming smile happened to own a painting that a client wanted for their own personal collection. So she took the name Dorothy Vale, flashed a charming smile, and weaved her way into his life. But the more time she spent around him, the more muddled her own feelings became. Letting emotions conflict with her targets was a rule that she never broke, and yet his sincerity and kindness managed to slip it’s way beneath her armor. It was not love — not on her side, no, though he professed as much of his own feelings. But it was something. Something that ate away at her insides, even as she gained access to the painting that was her goal. She could’ve stopped there; could have cancelled the arrangement, give in to the temptation of a normal life with someone that promised to love her. For a moment, she could almost envision it. Instead, she made the steal and took off running for her life.

It was too close, too much, and the feeling terrified Lila. So she kept to what she knew, even as it continued to consumed her whole. In the end, she had become a creature of habit, and to change that would be to split herself in half and go digging around for anything left of the girl she used to be before. That would mean confronting the demons that she had left behind in Istanbul, so long ago. So she buried it instead, as deep and as far back in the depths of her mind as she could, and hoped on a flight to Greece. Lila Yıldırım was born there, returning to her roots when so close to her home country. The fake passport and papers were all secured with ease, the same as all her identities before. Nothing that would ever make anyone look twice, so long as she did not give them reason to. Not unless she wanted them to.

There’s a lot of magic to be found in Corinth Bay, which means inevitably the chance for money to be made as well. Artifacts of the magical variety always carried a heftier price than other relics, even if the danger is also amplified. But such an idea does not bother Lila. Someone is always willing to pay to get it, without having to get their hands dirty themselves, and she needs the opportunity to get her head screwed on straight; to lean into this identity that she’s created instead of allow the past to swallow her whole. As with anywhere she lands, Lila has no intentions of making this a permanent residence. But she intends to make the most of the city and what it offers while she’s here, before it’s time to run again, with a bag full of cash and the next job on the horizon.

PERSONALITY

+ charismatic, disciplined, perceptive - conniving, apathetic, materialistic

PLAYED BY ABBY. CST. She/Her.

#taken #female #witch #melisa pamuk #lila yildrim

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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

Yara Oliveira ( Medea ) played by Julie

Rhys Kolzer ( Surtr) played by Gen

Farrah Volikaki ( Lamia ) played by Charlie

Calder Ekström ( Jörmungandr ) played by Abby

#corinth.accepted #10's across the board

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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[+1] applications added to the count. [+2] reservations added to the count.

#oc rp #corinth.count #greek rp #myth rp

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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your rp looks amazing! most wanted skeletons right now?

Hello! Thanks for the compliment! I would say all of the open ones are definitely wanted, but for first thoughts I would say: Atropos, Surtr, Ammit, and Atalanta!

#oc rp #greek rp

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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Welcome to Corinth Bay –

Hotaru Imube

Prinze Navarro

#corinth.follow

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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Prinze Navarro played by Kenya

Hotaru Imube played by Shane

#corinth.accepted

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. UTP ( Oni ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3,000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Rift OCCUPATION. UTP. FACE CLAIM. Sen Mitsuji, Ben Levin, Shota Matsuda, Ludi Lin, Masaki Okada, Christopher Sean

BIOGRAPHY

You were a fiend in life and were wicked to your core. When you descended into Hell you were greeted by Enma who saw potential in the depravity of your soul and transformed you into an Oni. A horned demon with blue-skin and fang-like tusks, for you an iron club was crafted so that all those who stood before you would know fear. Enma made you a torturer of hell, it was your role to dole out punishment to others as they entered your lord’s domain. You and your kind made up the armies of of hell, reborn only from those who were truly vile in life your brothers and sisters hungered to frequent the world to enact punishment for enjoyment.

Freedom was afforded to you in exchange for your continued servitude to Enma and so you descended upon the unsuspecting and the guilty to reap vengeance upon the deserving; it was your role to drag them to Enma’s realm and enact their punishment, a service you performed happily. The veil fell and Tartarus was not the only hell-like realm to lose denizens, you were tasked by Enma to capture those who had escaped and visit the place where the veil was torn to ensure that nobody evaded his domain again. Far from home, in the Underworld of Greece you were greeted by three sisters: Megaera, Alecto, and Tisiphone. They promised you freedom from Enma’s control, a human form, and in exchange you would punish those who conspired against their charges.

ABILITIES

Immortal.

Able to drag souls into Tartarus.

Capable of shapeshifting into an Oni.

Furies cannot be killed in his presence.

Carries an iron club that can repel magic.

Water will burn him.

THIS SKELETON IS CURRENTLY TAKEN.

#takenskel #oni #male #corinth.skeleton #rifts

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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The following characters have 24 hours to resume activity, ask for a hiatus, or risk being unfollowed:

@alvaroxcastaneda

@kitxberker

#corinth.activity

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. UTP ( Daedalus ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3,000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Rift OCCUPATION. UTP. FACE CLAIM. Derek Theler, Calgar Ertugrul, Marco Pigossi, Aldis Hodge, Rami Malek, Lee Pace, Milo Ventimiglia.

BIOGRAPHY

You were the most brilliant mind of your generation, but when you were young you were also arrogant and jealous of competition. You murdered your nephew and for it you were sent to Minos of Crete. For the mad king you created a labyrinth fit to house a monster, and designed also the means in which to defeat him. When heroes came to your door your skill was your bartering chip, you fastened for Circe her loom, and for Ariadne the secret for Theseus to escape the Labyrinth. You were imprisoned for this, too smart for your own good but too useful to be put to death; in the Labyrinth of your own design you fashioned wings so that you and your infamous son might fly home to the waiting arms of your family. When you and Icarus took to the skies you warned him not to fly too close to the sun, but sons rarely listen to the cautionary words of their father and to the Aegean Icarus lost his life.

You buried your son in Sicily and hung up your wings as an offering to Hades for Icarus’ safe passage, here you hid in the court of King Cocalus in exchange for the services your mind could provide. In Camicus you finished a final design, a blueprint for a weapon that would later makes its way to the hands of the founders of Thebes. When King Minos discovered you Cocalus had him killed and you were free to return home, but instead you explored the ancient world, crafting sculptures and building marvels. In death your paradise was denied to you; Minos was made to judge the undead and when you stood before him he sent you to Tartarus to be tortured for eternity. When everything was taken from you it was your mind that remained, and it was your mind that you used to eventually escape when the gates of death were flung open. Hades awaited you on the other side, no mortal left his realm without his consent and with the whisper of a scheme from his lips you were promised Elysium upon your return, and the chance to be reunited with your eldest son, Icarus, once more.

ABILITIES

Immortal.

Able to bestow sentience upon any sculpture or statue.

Can render any weapon useless.

Ability of technopathy.

Immune to compulsion.

Able to contain or imprison any species.

Phoenix fire will burn him.

THIS SKELETON IS CURRENTLY OPEN.

#openskel #corinth.skeleton #rift #daedalus #male

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. UTP ( Medea ) AGE & BIRTH DATE. 3,000+ & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Rift OCCUPATION. UTP. FACE CLAIM. Alexandra Park, Ayelet Zurer, Freida Pinto, Logan Browning, Meagan Tandy, Natalia Dyer, Sofia Boutella, Tatiana Maslany

BIOGRAPHY

When your father was born there existed no words for what he was. Pharmakis, they would later call him and his sister. Witch. Sorcerer. It was your destiny to inherit this magic as well, though your father was too selfish to ever formally train you. King Aeëtes of Colchis, younger brother to Circe of Aeaea. You were the granddaughter of Helios and the same power that flowed through their veins was emblazoned within your own. From childhood’s hour you entrenched yourself in your father’s forbidden magic, silently whispering prayers to the Goddess Hecate so that she might guide your hands and your instruments. You were the first of her disciples and she taught you how to use everything to your advantage. The magic in the earth, the water, the air, the trees - but none more so than the power that dwelled within you. Your father was a master of dragons and while you lacked his talent for enchanting the mind you had your aunt’s gift for transformation.

It was a young champion of Greece who would capture your heart, Jason of the Argonauts on his quest for the Golden Fleece. On his quest you met your first true mentor, Circe; it was she who imparted her gifts of the arcane onto you before you and Jason ultimately married in Corinth. You never returned to Colchis or to the father who withheld everything from you, for arrogance or fear of what you might someday become. Instead you secured yourself in a life you’d gained on your own until Jason ultimately betrayed you, he abandoned you for another woman and to further your despair King Aeëtes of Colchis unleashed dragons upon your home, killing your only sons. You fled then to Athens and into the arms of the waiting King Aegeus where you would live out the rest of your days. At the crossroads of the dead Hecate waited for you, you were granted not only Elysium, but a place on the island of the blessed, and in exchange you would return to Corinth someday - the city that housed your greatest tragedy - and you would defend the name of the Gods.

ABILITIES

Immortal.

Can use the blood of an original shifter to create a shifter of the same line.

Empathy

Capable of breaking a genasi or sphinxes curse.

Cannot be compelled.

Able to turn a werewolf human again by using Fenrir’s blood.

A werewolf bite will make her sick.

THIS SKELETON IS CURRENTLY TAKEN.

#female #rift #medea #corinth.skeleton #takenskel

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