#takenaasimar

[senatushq]

NAME. Nirvaan AGE & BIRTH DATE. 331 & September 25th, 1692 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Aasimar OCCUPATION. Warder FACE CLAIM. Rish Shah

biography

Nirvaan had been somewhat of a surprise for his mother. For eladrin, it was becoming more and more rare for them to be born and his mother had not had any intention of even having a child. Her preference was for getting around as much as she could. If she wasn’t living her life to the fullest, she was dreading the existence of other eladrin around her. It wasn’t that she hated them. No, it was the fact that she wasn’t noble. She wanted to be more important than she was and her way of getting that was finding anyone that would entertain her for just a night. And, when other eladrin only lasted a night with her, her life had come crashing down. An affair with a nobleperson ended with a child she had not expected. If she were to look back at the moment when she found out now, she would probably slap herself in the face for being so disappointed. Watching her son grow up was one of the best experiences she could have ever imagined and she didn’t need to know who Nirvaan’s parent was to love him with all her heart.

That seemed to be the main reason the winter eladrin fell into the antics that he did. Nirvaan was a wild child in nature and it was easy for him to make friends. If he didn’t have anything to worry about, then he was going to make sure he was having just as good of a time as his mother seemed to always be having. He didn’t mind how she spent her time because, by the end of the day, she was always making sure he was safe and sound and giving him a kiss on the forehead to tell him she loved him. Even as he picked up any stick he found, she would smile and let him know how proud she was. His mother was always the best person he knew and always his best friend. She was really the only reason he ended up wanting to become a warder. He wanted to protect people who couldn’t protect themselves. Nirvaan wanted to be looked at as someone who wasn’t just a bastard child. Becoming a warder would certainly change that. Or that was what he had hoped it would do.

Nevertheless, he was always practicing, always trying to learn as much as possible to protect the people he was closest to. Whether it was his mother or his friends, he was going to look out for anyone who needed it. He hadn’t found anyone to particularly ward for a long time, but he made sure to still protect those that could not protect themselves. If anyone got hurt on his watch, he always felt personally responsible for it happening. It was never actually his fault, but friends or family getting hurt always left the worst taste in his mouth. The death of someone closest to him was what really changed him. Nirvaan had been working so hard to protect people that he couldn’t even protect the one person that had helped him achieve his goals the most. He had never learned what happened to eladrin when they died. A tale of drow and the Underdark were things he chose not to hear about for the longest time until he saw that face again. No memories, nothing in the other man’s head about anyone from his past. Then there was the court being taken which also took a friend of his from him for far too long of a time. Everything had just seemed like it was going so wrong and he wanted to fix it for everyone.

Helping people was always easier said than done though. Nirvaan could train for hours on end, but he couldn’t fight everyone. He couldn’t help everyone. However, that never meant he wouldn’t try. For every step backwards that he could take, he would always take two more forward. To him, everyone mattered. The people he cared for were important to him, but it meant nothing if the people around him were suffering, too. Nirvaan could never let that happen. He wouldn’t. It was a dear friend of his that pulled him out of the slump of defeat he had fallen into though. Since the wedding, he had felt like things could only get worse from there and he hated that feeling. But being a warder was all he had ever trained for. It was only lucky for him to become the warder to a friend he truly cared for and wanted to see happy. That was always what Nirvaan wanted. He just wanted people to experience happiness and he wanted his people, every single eladrin, to not suffer ever again. If he could have, he would have taken the pain onto his own shoulders and carried it for them. But he was not Atlas. He could claw his way out of the trenches, prove himself to anyone and everyone, but at the end of the day, he was just Nirvaan. His mother would have probably told him there was never anything wrong with being exactly who he was.

personality

+ optimistic, friendly, dependable – insecure, childish, inattentive

played by kenyer. est. she/her.

#takenm #takenc #original character #takenaasimar

[senatushq]

NAME. Zagreus AGE & BIRTH DATE.  28 & March 21st, 1994 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Aasimar ( Fallen ) ABILITIES. Mimic OCCUPATION. Marshal FACE CLAIM. Ronen Rubinstein

biography

A fallen seraphim took her child into her arms, a baby that was quiet and gentle, and knew she hadn’t made a mistake. Zagreus was born on the island of Kefalonia, in a small fishing village that was mostly kept away from the hustle and bustle of Greek tourism. He was always curious, but perhaps he never truly got a chance to spread his wings and figure out what it is he wanted to do in life. His mother, Kasdaye, was always kind, told him stories of how she’d met his father, how they loved one another deeply, but nothing more. Instead, they never had time to do anything but move. Kefalonia was home, it was the first and only one he perhaps ever knew, before his mother was spiriting him away, throughout the many islands that were scattered within the Aegean Sea. 

As Zagreus grew, his questions never ceased. Inquisitive was how Kasdaye wished him to be, but she also knew that with answers came consequences. Instead of answering, she reminded him that they were different. That her abilities would get them in trouble if they stayed somewhere too long, that her body was only meant to be less than permanent. Her face would change, but Zagreus always knew who she was. It was inherent to the nephilim, who understood at a young age why he was never meant to remain in one place.

An ability would show itself, but Zagreus’ was a bit different. It happened when he reached out to touch his mother’s hand, her power flowing through him. And when he touched her seraphim blade, sitting upon the table where he’d been copying her movements, he was hit with memories. 

Psychometry was too powerful for him to understand or control, but he saw war. He saw violence perhaps in its truest form – seraphims both blessed and fallen drawing swords, fighting to the death as creatures of unimaginable explanation flashed before his eyes. Kasdaye knew what he was almost immediately, though there was little she could do to console her son. Zagreus was haunted by those images for months, unable to really understand what his mother had done. His questions were given non-answers, anything to pacify a scattered mind that was trying to piece the puzzle of their lives together. 

It took a few more years, until Zagreus was seventeen and able, for him to threaten to leave. They were yet again in a new place, another island – Skopelos, with a little white church that his mother enjoyed mocking, that his aunt Sariel had wished to paint one way or another. But Zag was tired, and he felt like his patience had worn out. He mimicked his mother’s abilities frequently enough, until he’d become interested in others he’d come across. It was subtle, he’d remind Kasdaye, that no one knew when he would copy their ability with a single touch. But it was too much for the fallen seraphim, who reminded him that he was above the other halfbloods, above the others that were not created with such care. Divinity could not be given, one was simply born with it. 

But there was a silent reminder between the two: Zagreus was still weighed down by mortality, that one day, Kasdaye would have to bury her son and remain alone on earth once more. It was what drove her fierce protective streak, and forced her to tell Zagreus the truth. His abilities, however, would help him without her – no matter what she tried to say. 

It was enough to make Zag forgive her, but not enough to stay. He wanted to do what he could while he had the time, and cities across Europe and the Mediterranean were calling his name. So he left with a promise that he would come home one day, wherever she was.

personality

+ independent, friendly, daring – nosey, weary, talkative

played by lauren. pst. she/her.

#the angel #takenc #takenm #takenaasimar

[senatushq]

NAME. Ayla Cassia AGE & BIRTH DATE. 900 & October 28th, 1122 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Female & She/Her SPECIES. Aasimar ( Fallen ) BLOODLINE. Venus OCCUPATION. Triumvir & Owner of Just A Bite FACE CLAIM. Melisa Pamuk

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: death, war, violence, blood ) Ayla Cassia has seen many suns set on empires, civilizations and societies. It feels as if she has lived since the dawn of creation, and her memories are nothing but sand falling through an hourglass. It doesn’t matter if she’ll live for a thousand more years, she won’t forget the people she’s come from. Her kind were once revered as gods, names forgotten to time and what emerged instead was an identity that aligned with the celestial beings, planets that revolved around the earth that they came to call home. She’ll never forget the royal court she once lived in, order wasn’t something that they craved but family was what mattered to them. Laughter would reverberate around the court, green tendrils of ivy that curled around the pillars and everything was lush and it was the closest they got to being alive.

It seemed she had always existed in Rome, she was born among the colosseums and her human years seem as if they belonged to someone else. She was chosen in the early days to belong to the Venus bloodline, she was once a thrall to a respected Venus vampire who she served loyally until the day they saw fit to turn her into one of their kind and she remained ever since. Ayla carried on with the surname of her sire. She had never known any other home but the Venus court.

It was a dark day when their court was overtaken, blood splattered the once green ground, heads were severed from their bodies and she let out a war cry that could shatter the eardrums of gods. The Venus bloodline fought against vampires who sought more territory, who didn’t care if their progeny was left to die underfoot, she wouldn’t surrender. She would die for her home before she allowed them to take it from her. A fierce fighter, she learned how to survive well and she fought for her homeland. for the nature and the wilds they belonged too. With their power to become elemental, they could have slipped away, she could have taken the cowards way out and hid until it was over but she refused. she wouldn’t be a light that would go out.

When the fighting came to a cease and an new order was established, she had been remembered for the way she fought and became a marshal. Lost were those she knew, those that raised her were lost to the bloody war and her hands were too stained in red to go back. She would never be able to wash them clean so she did what she must to protect her people, to try and preserve the ideals of peace and family. They were rebuilding their bloodline once again, finding sanctuary in the forest, they befriended the fey and claimed those that walked through the woods as their own. The fey Queen, Titania once served as a true ally until the vampires fangs became too sharp and pierced through the vein of one of her fey, the treaty was dissolved and they were pushed from the forest but still kept their elemental magic.

Ayla was the obvious choice when a seat became available in the senate, she had been close to godlike her whole life and her devotion to her bloodline could not be forgotten. Her experience with the horrors she witnessed gave her a good mind for decision making. For being on a council that would govern the supernatural affairs that existed throughout the city, everything she had done lead her to her seat on the Senate. Serving as a Marshal granted her further understanding of her people and those that have become lost along the way. Only what should have been liberation, only wove thick chains to bind her. She had lost her people and her home, bloodshed had stained her streets and the senate never came to her aid. Her soul had grown old, weary at witnessing so much devastation and ruin. Real change seemed like  nothing but an illusion, she didn’t know if a better way was possible but she would live to see another day as survival was her nature.

PERSONALITY

+ fierce, survivalistic, wise – forlorn, stubborn, cynical

PLAYED BY AMY. PST. She/Her.

#skeleton rp #supernatural rp #new rp #original rp #lit rp #takenf #takenc #the immortal #takenaasimar

[senatushq]

NAME. Dareth Shiral AGE & BIRTH DATE. Appears 32 (3000+) & Unknown GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Aasmir ( Scourge ) OCCUPATION. Unemployed FACE CLAIM. Matthew Daddario

BIOGRAPHY

( tw: war, death, violence, neglect, depression ) May you learn.

To fey, all life was precious, but Dirthara-Ma took his mother’s life as he came into this world. Born under the Winter season, Dirthara’s father, Abelas, was a warrior from a time and place so old that the words for it had fallen from their language. Once warder to Titania’s predecessor, whatever battles he’d fought in before they landed in the mortal world, he did not speak of them. Still, Abelas ensured that his son would be able to someday uphold the tradition, that he’d be a warder to the royal family. Long before he reached his prime, Abelas pushed Dirthara towards human conflict and encouraged the son to earn his place among the fey. He trained dutifully under his father and learned quickly that complaints were not tolerated, and that the power that flowed through his veins set him and all other fey apart from the mortals of the realm. Eladrins were stronger, faster, their magic was more potent, and their abilities were sharper. Yet, Titania was content to live alongside them, to build them up and establish a joint society with a strong foundation. 

Despite Abelas’ strength, he did not bind himself to another, or perhaps there was none that would take him. Dirthara could never be sure, but he knew the pain that he felt at the passing of Titania’s mother mirrored the pain he felt at the passing of his wife. It was rare for fey to die during childbirth, the sort of tragedy that when mottled with whatever pain he’d suffered in the world that came before, added with the loss of the queen, was something he would never recover from. Dirthara-Ma did not miss how others whispered about him, those who knew the old words still, Abelas’ scorn was in his name.

Dirthara-Ma, it was an old curse spoken to enemies: may you learn. 

Humans were no longer in their infancy when Aegnor was born, the veteran of a number of small conflicts, Dirthara was thrust in front of Titania by Abelas and made to swear to protect her son and only child with his life. This was his duty as a warder, the duty that Abelas had carried for thousands of years. It was not his father’s fault that Titania’s mother had died, ferrying their society from one world to the next had taken everything from her, there was no blade, spell, or arrow to protect her from. She made a choice, but Abelas still suffered for it. Dirthara was a warrior, one who did not truly know what it meant to be a warder, but as his father intended, he would learn. 

The mortal world rose in revolt, humans turned the weaponry that had been given to them against the fey. Iron nets, blades, and spears: creations designed and imbued with the magic of witches or druids. Dirthara was a veteran of little more than petty disputes, this was his first glimpse at war and nothing could have prepared him for it. The humans sacked one of their cities, Aegnor and Dirthara moved to retreat when Dirthara tried to catch sight of his father. The greatest warrior on the battlefield, a man who looked at violence and grinned from ear to ear. When Dirthara reached for Abelas he pulled away, he shoved him back and turned instead towards the rising storm - welcoming his fate. 

Abelas was celebrated as a hero, they said that he died in battle, but Dirthara saw how his father had walked willingly towards the fire. All fey life was precious, but Abelas’ grief had made him a bastard. To no one but Aegnor, Dirthara confided the truth: he was glad he was dead. 

This was what it meant to be warded to another, to share their power, their hopes, their fears, to feel them draw power through this connection. It was impossible for them to not become close, but the two were never more than friends, and Aegnor was the first of the fey that Dirthara considered as such. They could finish one another’s sentences, and as they went to war Dirthara fought gladly at the prince’s side. The mortal realm was their home, it was the great promise of their people, it was their future. Even as Titania built and fortified the faerie court, Aegnor would never give up on fighting for the life she’d wanted for them. This was a source of never ending comfort, that Aegnor was always so certain, so steady. Persia, Greece, the Steppes, the Otherworld connected them to the mortal world - hidden pathways they could navigate with ease. Engaging in battles, torturing humans as was the due of any capricious fey, it felt fated that life would continue in this way forever. 

Dirthara-Ma, it was an old curse spoken to enemies: may you learn. 

Aegnor’s death was his fault, in battle things were chaotic, they’d been through enough of them for Dirthara to know that. When they were separated Dirth fought to get back to the prince, swords clattered as the earth turned hot under the weight of magic laden against magic. The blade that pierced Aegnor’s heart was one that Dirthara had felt himself, so close was their connection that the warder lost his footing, stumbling to the ground as he did what he could to crawl towards the other. Crushed under the weight of the battle that continued on, frost bit at the earth as a cold wind blew over the field. It was Dirthara’s duty to protect the prince, to die for him if need be, his blood was old, but useless when compared to that of royalty. He’d lived long enough already to see all those who’d come before pass, his own father included, but this was different. This wasn’t the passing of a torch, this was cruel and unfair. 

Dirthara could see the look in the queen’s eyes when he laid her son at her feet, she could have scorned him, exiled him, punished him. Titania did none of these things, instead she simply dismissed him to his grieving. All his life he’d been a vessel to be filled, a sword, a shield, and somehow he’d never minded. There was purpose in duty, but with Aegnor’s passing so went any hope Dirthara had held for the future. Somehow at the other’s side it had felt possible to conquer the mortal realm entirely, to win any better. He was no child, but it was a child’s fantasy. 

Years trickled by as word of another son permeated the court, but Dirthara had other concerns. His grief had taken the form of violence, marshal to the Roman senate and protector of the fey who lived and called the city their home. The cold presence of certainty, a blade that willfully delved into the dark, Dirthara could make himself into anything so long as he was serving a purpose. Meryasek was named senator before they ever met, but Titania was unwilling to allow another son to spend any extensive amount of time without proper protection. Warder. The word was not so old to him, but still it felt foreign when weighed against him, he had failed her already once before, he didn’t understand how she could trust him again. It was in her eyes once more that Dirthara got his answer, he had already failed her once and felt the pain that came with it. He wouldn’t fail her again. 

Meryasek was nothing like his brother, and yet, there were parts of him that were so similar. The human world was one that held promise to the spring eladrin, and somehow when he spoke, Dirthara wanted to believe him. Love didn’t happen immediately, if anything Mery was a nuisance, self involved and too willing to throw himself into dangerous situations. Love happened over time, a friend, a confidant, a lover. Meryasek spoke about his hope for the future, and naively, Dirthara wanted to believe him. 

Dirthara-Ma, it was an old curse spoken to enemies: may you learn. 

Despite his lover’s protestations, Dirthara was a warder first and his command came before love. Giving his life to defend Meryasek, Dirthara died protecting the prince from vampires seeking revenge against the royal family. When he awoke the memories of his past were gone and he was no longer an eladrin, but a Drow of the Underdark, the dark caverns beneath the elven homeland of Hyperborea. It was here that Dirthara was born in the ninth house in the colossal city of a Llothlite society where they worshipped the dread goddess Lloth and followed the rule of the Matron Queen Ayi’ig. 

His affinity for magic and combat landed him in the drow’s priesthood and there he spent fifty long years training in the ways of war, worship, combat, and the arcane practices of the drow. Dirthara took to the new way of life with religious zeal, the life he’d had before behind him now as any memory of his time as an eladrin was stripped from him in his new life. Resurrected by Meryasek and Farenduil, Dirthara-Ma returned to the mortal realm as a drow - the first of many in the beginnings of an invasion. 

PERSONALITY

+ pragmatic, resilient, moral – cold, despondent, critical

PLAYED BY SHANE. EST. He/Him.

#lsrp #supernatural rp #skeleton rp #new rp #spn rp #takenc #takenm #the grieving #takenaasimar