dorian ♕’s Comments (group member since Nov 28, 2020)

dorian ♕’s comments from the Grimoire’s Return. group.

Witches: stereotypically, witches are considered to be demons, or worshippers of the Devil (which some are, to be fair). In actuality, witches are the combined efforts of one pairing of a demon and angel in the past, thus creating entire generations of witches. Depending on what type of Demon it was, depends on the power those witches normally have, hence why most witches have the same ability.

Exactly what it sounds like. This will basically be Grimiore’s Bestiary.

Duke took another step back.

And then he was falling sideways, falling up and down, and he was screaming screaming screaming but he wasn’t sure for who and—

Silence.

Darkness.

Prince Darian of Aenia slowly opened his eyes. “Mal?” He asked, hesitantly, before pausing.

Where the fuck was he?

The world around him was covered in a dark fog, shadowy shapes blurring the space. The sky above was nothing but black night.

Duke stumbled to get to his feet, sucking in his breath as the pain in his ankle. He twisted it. 𝑇𝘩𝑖𝑠 𝘩𝑎𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎 𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑓𝑢𝑐𝑘 𝑜𝑓 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑟𝑡, he thought, because this wasn’t possible.

Unless he was hallucinating.

Dante’s cheeks went red. He closes his eyes slowly for a moment, before opening them again and following after Cas.

He NEVER blushed before he met this woman, Satan damn her.

“Actually, I believe my mother was some Higher Class demon. Since, you know, all witches are made from the combination of human and demon. And my father for fucking sure was human. It also helps that there are only 10 other Infernalis in the world, all for different elements, too.”

And half of them died thanks to some mysterious prophecy that they got mid way into their life.

But Dante would rather DIE than tell Cas about his prophecy.

“Because Aenia DIDNT spend half of its time in the darkness and war— only of recent us that started to happen— they were able to progress far beyond than what we would imagine. It’s quite impressive, actually.”

Dante blushed slightly. He wondered if Cas ever saw this side of him; the dorky side, the one that was obsessed with science and books and how to figure this and that out.

𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝐶𝑎𝑠 𝘩𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑔𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑡𝘩𝑖𝑛𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝘩𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑔𝑎𝑖𝑛, He thought. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝑔𝑢𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑛’𝑡 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒, 𝑚𝑢𝑐𝘩 𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑑!

He stepped to the side, flourishing into the hallway of the treehouse. “After you, m’lady.”

Maybe this was revenge.

Revenge for all the times he had teases and called Malory names, for the way he treated Mal in public, for the way he would casually bring up Mal’s parents like they were a dinner idea.

Duke deduced the situation. He was stronger than Mal, they both knew that. But, Mal was likely stronger with his magic than Duke was.

Because that was CLEARLY what was happening. Mal must’ve been using his magic or something.

Right?

But if push came to shove… would Duke be willing to fight Mal? Would he be willing to possibly MURDER him?

Duke scrambled to his feet. “Malory.” He said, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Duke watched as Mal stalked towards him slowly. He was sprawled in the ground, and he slowly started to drag himself back.

“Mal, stop. This isn’t you.” He tried to plead. He wasn’t sure if Mal heard hin, or more he didn’t care. His tried to summon his power, but they fidgeted and fizzled out.

He was alone.

Duke started to hyperventilate. The longer he stared at the empty Throne Room, the more he lost it, bit by bit. He closed the doors and slowly turned around.

Then he screamed.

The King was right there, the King had a sword in his hand and he was raising it and he was going to kill Duke for being a Maleficaria, for disobeying, for not being the good son he had raised him to be—

Nothing hit him.

Duke opened his eyes -and found no one was in front of him. Merely a big window pane, laced with gold and silver leaves.

He felt something small drop onto his cheek. What was wrong with him?

Duke stared at Mal for a moment. Then he ran. Not away, but towards the palace. He stroked through the kitchen doors, up the stairs, past the corridors and the rooms.

He slammed the Throne Room’s doors open.

No one was there.

Duke stared at the empty room, breathing heavily. This— this didn’t make sense. He saw them, he SAW THEM IN THE WINDOW. They were still here.

Or were they?

Duke slapped a hand over his mouth. A feeling of dread seethed over him.

No.

This was all wrong. Mal wasn’t supposed to be drinking, he wasn’t supposed to talk to the King. He had told Mal that, yes, but he didn’t—

Something was 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

“Mal?” Duke asked faintly. “Why is everyone still in the palace?”

OHHHH NVM THENN. GJ

NOW ALASTAIR FINALLY HAS PEOPLE TO TALK TO🥳


Where you wanna rp with them at?

Duke walked towards the palace, careful to go ways that may not be considered…. Normal. When he got close enough to see the Throne Room, he paused.

Everyone was still in the Throne Room, still celebrating and enjoying themselves. Duke furrowed his brows. The alarm would’ve made everyone in the palace go on Lockdown, nowhere to be seen.

Not in PLAIN SIGHT for everyone to see.

Something was wrong.

Duke walked faster, hopping over the palace’s gates and making his way to the side kitchen door, when he let out a loud curse.

Mal was in front of him.

You could have him 👀👀

Full Name - Tristan Aoife Róisín

Name Meanings - Tristan, meaning "sad" or "sorrowful" and Aoife meaning "beauty".

Nicknames - Tris

Number - 0512

Paranormal Ability - Vibration

Description - The user is able to generate vibrations that can travel through virtually any medium

Gender - Male

Pronouns - He/They

Sexuality - Bisexual

Crush - none (yet :)

Birth date - October 31

Age - 17 years old

Zodiac - Scorpio

Birthstone - Opal

Appearance -Golden brown skin, with dark shaggy hair, and light brown eyes. Has one dimple, and full lips, though short nails (from biting on them; a nervous habit). He a slitted eyebrow from being hit with a chair as a child (long story) and an occasional loud, high pitched giggle/ snort.

Photo - https://pin.it/632eHf1 , https://pin.it/3ks2Gbd

Hair -

Eyes - Light brown

Height - 6'1

Weight - 156 (most of it muscle)

Skin - Golden brown

Body Type- Meso-Ectomorph

Weaknesses - His abilities come with an aversion to fire and air. Tristan can, if wanted, move them, but has never learned how, thus meaning he stays as far away as he can from the two elements. Tristan also, while being able to handle himself in a fight, definitely would not be able to handle a fight involving weapons (unless powers count). Also, is curious. Like, extremely. He is so curious, he can be considered nosy. Also, has Pteromerhanophobia, aka the fear of flying.

Strengths - Was able to teach himself his abilities, before he got invited to the school. Can survive on his own for a while, though inevitably will get caught doing something, or will need help. Knows
how to fight, though not in terms of weaponry.

Skills (This being what other things are they good at, ex: soccer, tennis) - Good at writing, reading, and making friends. Can be a survivalist.

Father - Rowan Róisín (age 51; deceased)

Mother - Rosemary Róisín (age 39; deceased)

Brother(s) - None

Sister(s) - Izabella Róisín (age 5; was adopted by another family, as she doesn't have abilities)

Friends - TBD; though did have a best friend named Lou

Enemies - None

History - Tristan was 8 when they first came for his father. His mother had told him of his father's abilities, had told Tristan to hide it so they wouldn't get hurt, wouldn't die, but nonetheless the men came. They took Tristan's father away, and he never saw his father again, believing his father to be dead. Tristan was 12 when they came for his mother. His mother never did anything wrong, never hurt a soul. She had hid him, before she went to o confront the men. The men had murdered his mother right in front of him, slitting her throat in a blink. Tristan had ran, taking his then 1 year old sister with him, before leaving her to their neighbors, people who had loved his sister like their own daughter. Tristan forced himself to learn how to survive at 12, became inept at his power because his father surely could not have taught him. He told himself how to make small tremors in the ground, to become powerful, so he wouldn't be hurt, or come after like his parents were. A year after that, the day before his birthday, a woman came to him. She told him of his power, of people that were like him. And after that day, Tristan's world had changed forever.

Personality - Tristan is bubbly, though when reading a book is very quiet and normally snappish if interrupted. He likes to bite his nails if nervous, and can be quite immature. He is defensive of the people he cares about, and can be annoying.

Likes - Girls, boy, the smell of freshly baked pie, writing, ghost stories, and the exhilaration that comes when looking forward to something.

Dislikes - Flying, no matter what type, vehicles, loud noises (as in, trains, and such), and trees. Like, trees, man. They just stand there and do nothing.

Fears - Pteromerhanophobia, being alone, and death. Always afraid of death.



Hobbies - Likes to make fires (once almost committed arson inside of the school and got a month's detention for it, reading, writing, and being loud (which, obviously, makes him a hypocrite).

Health Conditions - None; though Tristan does occasionally get allergies.

Allergies - Pollen (TREES, MAN)

Habits - biting nails when nervous, talks a lot when anxious, fidgeting with a ring on his left index finger

Outfit - [

Duke narrowed his eyes. “I’m sorry, am I taking up your TIME?” His “princely arrogance” (as his mother had called it) would get him killed at some point in his life, but he couldn’t help it. He felt like Devorak was treating the prospect of Revolution and Rebellion as a simple task for him, a mere inconvenience.

“I’ll go. But you need to up by dusk tomorrow. We have a lot to do.” He whisked out the door, careful to avoid the dead bodies on the walk back to the palace.

Duke jumped at the call of Devorak’s voice. He slowly turned around. “I was hoping I could stay here. You know, let the whole situation calm down.”

The alarms had been died down, but the fact that Malory and Duke weren’t in the palace would bite them in their asses. His father would be MAD, solely because of how it looked on him.

Duke looked at the clothes Devorak threw at him: a dark green tunic, tan pants, and dark green boots that came up to his knees. Simple, practical clothing.

Something he hasn’t been used to in a long time.

Duke threw the clothes on, and used the opportunity to look around. Find out what exactly was this house and what Devorak was about. Maybe find out his weakness, if needed.

“I don’t.” Duke commented, scratching at dried blood around his ear.

He wondered if Malory was okay. If he was stumbling his way back to the palace right now, or if he decides to up and leave straight away, no more fucks given.

“I’ll have to infiltrate the palace to find out his schedule.”

Duke’s eyes twitched, as he sagged against the wall. Of course he wouldn’t move on. HOW could he be expected to when his father murdered his mother and brother for being who they were? His father murdered them for the same reason he killed others, like his mother and brother were nobodies, like they are collateral, like they didn’t mean in the grand matter of things.

WHO would be able to move on?

Duke turned his head and looked at Julien. He calmed himself just enough to ask, “So. How will this alliance work?”