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message 1: by sucre'd fiend, born sinner (new)

sucre'd fiend (sucredfiend) | 560 comments Mod
All characters working within The White Lotus are to be posted here. The template for characters can be found here.

message 2: by sucre'd fiend, born sinner (new)

sucre'd fiend (sucredfiend) | 560 comments Mod
(view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━ · · · ( marisole lana bouchard ) · · · ━━━━━━━━━
18 ( i/vi ) ▸ femme ( bicurious + single ) ▸ human ( white lotus ) ▸ europe
holy artifact ; Lancelot
description : A physical, non-genetic Artifact. It is described in reports as a lance-rifle hybrid. It's originally appearance is a rifle, which the back end can extend to become the lance.
notes ; Capable of firing thirteen blessed bullets per cartridge; optimal for long range attacking, and close range if need be.
rank ; Purgo
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸
See now, Marisole has always been told that she's a fairly straight-forward person. She doesn't waste time beating around the bush with anything, no matter how delicate the situation is. She may be able to walk slowly towards the bush, but she knows whatever it is that she needs to get to. This is both a blessing and a curse, especially in the case of being around unfamiliar people. She's not good with knowing when to not be so straight-forward. It's sort of always at a default setting of minimal chill levels. People tend to shy away from how direct she is during their first meeting with her, and it sort of hurts. She'd always thought that people liked getting right into business. But, apparently not.

If it wasn't noticeable, Marisole isn't very good with emotions, particularly her own. She's never had a real good grasp of how to deal with those pesky things called feelings, and every mood swing leaves her reeling. She's always been a bit slow in that department, having the utmost difficulty with seeing her own emotional responses. She's able to gauge the feelings of others, but not herself. It seems like her inner workings are a mystery. Which leads to her being fairly weak in the emotional department. While she understands what might make her upset, she doesn't get how fragile she truly is. It's almost like her mind is going through those confusing circles to decipher emotions to protect itself from her fragile and delicate state.

Among other things, Marisole can be described as optimistic. Even in her joining the White Lotus, she believes that there is still hope for the world. She believes that each and every soul has a shot at redemption, just like every morning is another day to live. She doesn't trifle with doubts about those she may care for. Her only thoughts are that they will be fine, and all will be well, even if such doesn't turn out to be the case.
admires ▸ honesty, sunny weather, the cause, lemons
abhors ▸ dishonesty, rainy weather, bitter foods
fortes ▸ determined, truthful, optimistic
faults ▸ emotionally weak, overly optimistic, low stamina

giza lagarcewalnut brown ▸ walnut brown ▸ 5'10" ▸ 162 lbs
Marisole has always been told that she has a sort of "lost girl" look to her. Lush lips and wide eyes seem to give that effect. Her hair has a tendency to drape over her face, obscuring much of her features. She would, however, admit to be fairly pretty.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
No one ever really knows about the war that rages behind the scenes. No one ever told Marisole that it was happening, either. She stumbled upon it, much the same way her mother stumbled upon her father. It was a chance event that resulted in a child, which later resulted in a marriage based on sensibility and duty. Pierre didn't think was right to leave Rosa alone after she gave birth to Marisole, conceived after fragile months of passion. So he married the woman, and they lived happily.

That is, until Rosa's mother came to live with them. The old woman was superstitious beyond compare. She lined the house with herbs that were meant to ward off demons, and said prayers each time she stepped into a room. It was like living with one of those believers of the end times; always making preparation for the absolute worst and never taking in the good moments to be had. This continued on for what could be have been eight years, two years after Marisole's birth. In that time, the couple had been blessed with another child, a boy named Angelo.

Shortly after Angelo's birth, at the cusp of eight years with Rosa's mother, the old woman died. The cause was a flight of stairs and a misplaced step, but Rosa never believed it. As much as she hated her mother's behavior, she still loved the woman. And she suspected her husband of killing her. The life they had slowly fell apart. And then they reached the climax. But they never figured out who it was that actually pushed Rosa's mother down the stairs. It was something that they didn't think of, or even consider. And it was this thing that Marisole would stumble upon when she was seventeen.

It was meant to be a school trip, not a tragedy. A visit to a museum and then back to the school. But they were stopped halfway there. The people never identified themselves, but the news report that came out the following day identified them as simple people who just got desperate. But why would they be desperate enough to slaughter half a bus full of children before being taken down? It all seemed to move just a little too quickly to understand.

One moment there was laughter and chatter, the next it was screaming and gunshots. They looked like some sort of highway patrol, asking the driver off the bus. The kids didn't think much of it, until the first shot sounded. Then they were all clamoring to the back and hiding under seats. And still the shots rang out. But the attackers were different, she supposed. She could have sworn one of them had black eyes. Black eyes. If that wasn't weird, she didn't know what was.

And then there were the hooded, white clad figures that appeared seemingly out of nowhere. The screaming continued, but the shots had died down. The students fell silent, waiting with baited breath. Then it got too quiet. No gunshots, no shouts. Then the boots on the top of the bus, and a face peering in through the windows. The person looked about as young as students already in the bus, maybe younger. He--or she, the features were rather ambiguous in that sense--smiled at them, and then was gone. Marisole was among the first to run out to look after them as they just disappeared.

That was a precisely a year ago. In that past weeks, she'd managed to find out what exactly those people were. And now she's one of The White Lotus.
family ▸ mother -- Rosa, father -- Pierre, brother -- Angelo
allies ▸ The White Lotus
enemies ▸ Demons
lover(s) ▸ None

message 3: by sucre'd fiend, born sinner (new)

sucre'd fiend (sucredfiend) | 560 comments Mod
(view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━━ · · · ( lachlan adriel rico ) · · · ━━━━━━━━━━
23 ( vi/x ) ▸ homme ( pan + single ) ▸ human ( white lotus ) ▸ n. america
holy artifact ; Eye of God
description : A genetic artifact located in the right eye. Has the ability to distinguish demons, possessed humans, and unaffected humans
notes ; Only functional when sight is intact in the eye of location. Is neither offensive nor defensive, and is good for any range of sight. Causes headaches and nosebleeds with extended use.
rank ; Emundans
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸
It's hard to say what's Lachlan's problem. He seems to be the most pissed off of anyone else, and he has perhaps one of the most important artifacts the Lotus has ever seen. Some suspect it has to do with the fact that he's partially lost an eye, some just think that was how he always was. But neither is right, and he's not pissed off. He's worried, always wound up tight. His artifact is what the Lotus leans on most when they're searching out demons. One mistake and everyone could be dead without him being able to do a thing. All he does is run around and point out the bad guys, and yet he has a such a heavy burden. Which leads to him constantly being stressed about getting someone killed with his own inadequacy.

Lachlan never has down days. He's constantly pushing himself to be better, to be stronger. He's developed a diet and exercise routine solely to make up for the lack of a tactile artifact, and to improve his sight. He knows he's partially blind in one eye--there's no fixing that, not after what the demons had done to it--and he's lucky to be able to even see just a little bit. He doesn't take the remainder of his sight for granted; because much of it is used during missions. He has no time to allow himself leisure activities. He must be better, stronger, faster. His determination could be admired, or it could be feared. It's scary how far he'd push himself to protect others, to do his duty. Because people died for him to be where he is now, and he's never let the blame for that all go.

So maybe underneath it all, he's scared. Of letting people down. He has this need to be perfect. The perfect soldier, the perfect person. He's never openly admitted his fears of being less, but they're always there, always lingering. He can feel them like he can feel the air around him, feel it like he could just breathe it in. Lachlan has never confronted these fears head-on. They're pushed aside and waiting for the moment to creep up on him. At his lowest, they make everything that much worse. Because of these fears, he tends to isolate himself. He has much less of a chance of comparing himself to other soldiers when he's alone, which he happens to do constantly. Their strengths become his weaknesses, and then he's pushing himself to be that much better than them. Because he has to be. Everything depends on him, and his sight.
admires ▸ carrots, spicy foods, reading ( though, he doesn't do much of that now )
abhors ▸ his inadequacy, missions, winter
fortes ▸ excellent vision in his artifact eye, stamina, detail orientation
faults ▸ partially blind in his other eye, self-depreciating, overworks himself

samuel larsenmossy green ▸ black ▸ 6'4" ▸ 219 lbs ▸ tattoos ▸ piercing
When most people see Lachlan, they tend to cower away. The scar over his left eye, jagged and angry, is probably the first factor in that. The eye-patch is just another one. Most people also question how he can still see, but he's a resourceful young man. So, when's out in public, he takes it upon himself to wear sunglasses and stroll about with a cane, or Daisy, his "seeing-eye dog". Which is really just a well trained chocolate Labrador that seems to fool everyone.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
Everything started with a bang. Not his birth, of course, but his rebirth: his life with the White Lotus. He was five when it began, a sniveling wreck of a child with an right eye as red as the devil's. Or so people used to say ( how were they supposed to know that Lucifer's eyes were actually blue? ). He'd lost his family to the same devil that his right eyes supposedly belonged to.

Artifacts like his were rare to come by. Trackers were essential, useful. They separated demons and humans; they saved lives. Casualty rates were lowest when there was a Tracker in a generation. Which was why the Lotus was so interested in the child complaining about seeing monsters on the streets to police officers. The same child that shrieked and ran from strangers like they were monsters. Because he could see it all; he could see the evil in them. So when he made headlines at four as some sort of possessed child ( how ironic ), the Lotus was quick to take action. But the demons were just a little faster.

It was supposed to be a party for his mother, her birthday. He'd made a gift for her, a necklace of beads set in twine. They were jovial for all of three hours after the start of the party, and then the doorbell rang. The house didn't fall silent, but people wondered who'd show up three hours late. Everyone had been accounted for--grandparents on both sides, aunts and uncles, cousins, nieces and nephews, siblings; everyone--and yet the doorbell rang. They'd received numerous unwelcome visitors since Lachlan had made headlines, but they'd begun to waver. Opening the door, his father was shoved back into the house and two men stepped in. One turned to him, and of course, he was screaming and running away.

That was all the sign they needed to know they were in the right place, and suddenly there was chaos. People shoving themselves in the way of the men, only to be cut down. Lachlan was locked away promptly in a closet in another room by an older cousin, with instructions to stay silent. He listened to the whole ordeal, listened as the bodies dropped and people struggled. He listened to his family be massacred to protect him.

And maybe he resents the White Lotus for showing up so late, but just as the door to the closet was unlocked, they arrived. Blood had already begun to seep under the door, but it doubled in the next couple of seconds and another solid thud as a body dropped accompanied it.. The shadows outside the door remained, and then the closet was opened. Lachlan screamed, only to have someone shushing him and telling him everything was alright.

Fast-forward, and he's undergoing his training. This was where all the views of him inadequacy began. He was fifteen, and weaker than the other Purgo. He was also younger, but he supposed it was because they needed him out on the field as quickly as possibly. He fell behind the others, and they never let him forget it. Pushing forward another few years, and death visited him once more.

Eighteen, and freshly marked as a Emundans. It was supposed to be a joyous thing, ridden with honor. But he was livid. Because he didn't think he deserved it. A fellow partner, Amelia, tried cheering him up before they were called off to a mission. It worked, partly, but not enough. And out there, among the enemy, his anger was no more than a distraction. A distraction that cost him part of his sight, and for Amelia, her life. The two worked in tandem; she was equipped with a long range artifact, which meant that a scope was necessary. It upped his range of sight, and so he used her scope often. He was still upset, still distracted, and he missed one. Missed a demon. It was a hard thing to do, missing a large black mass that overlaid the soul of a human.

But he did it anyways. Amelia proceeded to take out the ones he'd been able to point out, buying the one demon time to find the two of them. It came out of seemingly nowhere, tackling Lachlan to the ground first. He supposes it was aiming for his artifact, which had previously been in his left eye. The pain was unbearable, but it was much worse as his artifact migrated. It was saving itself, moving to the other available eye of its host. The demon attempted to go for the right eye, but Amelia stopped it.

She bought Lachlan time to grab the knife in his belt, but it also meant that she was locked in the demon's grasp. He could hear the crushing of her bones as the demon held on tight. There was a solemn look on her face as she nodded, her eyes turning red as the veins in her eyes popped. Burying the knife deep in the neck of the demon, the two were tipped over the edge of the rooftop they'd been station on.

Lachlan has never, and likely won't ever, forgive himself. If he'd been stronger, if he'd been wiser, maybe Amelia would still be alive. Maybe he'd still have much of his sight, and maybe he won't feel like shit.

And maybe the memories wouldn't haunt him in and out of his sleep.
family ▸ mother -- Adrianna , father -- Erik, brother -- Julius
allies ▸ The White Lotus
enemies ▸ Demons
lover(s) ▸ None, at this time

Denver -writes poems drinks wine- | 44 comments (view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━━━ · · · (Britta Rose McAdams)· · ·━━━━━━━━━
25 ( 08/03 ) ▸ female ( hetero + single ) ▸ human ( white lotus ) ▸ europe
holy artifact ; Angel's Breath
description : A physical, non-genetic, offensive artifact. A cross-bow which fires holy arrows which seek out their target.
notes ;.The bow requires a lock-on sequence which takes 3-5 seconds for a long distance, and up to 1 second for very close range. Researchers have developed the arrows to return to their quiver upon the wielder's request, so that she may not run out of arrows in battle. The handle of the bow can be removed to reveal a small silver dagger, for times of extreme emergency.
rank ;Expurgent
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸
Everything about Britta screams business. She is like combat boots, ready for battle. It is rare for Britta to show emotions towards others, as she has made this mistake before and had the very center of her soul crushed. Traditionally, Britta keeps the wall up, her face almost always expressionless, unless decorated in a 'I know everything' grin. A damaged past has built this wall, and it is incredibly difficult to break it down. She feels safe, hiding her emotions, wants, desires. If she puts everything she has into the cause, she feels as if nothing else can get to her.

Though, there is a more tender side to Britta, a side that comes out only when she who she watches over are in need, or have died. Whenever one of her soldiers dies, she mourns them, often in secret. She feels as if she is responsible for their deaths, that if she could have been better they would still be alive. And when her soldiers are in pain, or troubled, she is always there for them. She would lay her life down on the line for each and every one of the soldiers she watches over, and cares about them in almost a familial way. Britta was never described as one good at displaying her emotions or speaking her true feelings, unless they are of anger of the thirst for battle. Those emotions, she can easily describe. But she has seen too much death and sorrow to try and explain the twisting emotions that curl within her heart.
admires ▸ the cause, a good book, her soldiers, fog
abhors ▸ emotions, liars, demons, mushrooms
fortes ▸ brave, understanding, adventurous, selfless
faults ▸ headstrong, opinionated, mistrusting

emma stonecrystal blue ▸ dark red/brown ▸ 5'8 ▸ 134 ▸ marks ▸ scar on her neck ▸
Britta is naturally an average sized woman of average build. She outwardly appears rather harmless, but her body is built to be her weapon. Her skin is a soft, milky colour and her hair is naturally a dark, redish brown. She often dies it to conceal her identity if she moves from place to place. She has rather large, almost fish-like eyes, which are crystal blue, like the colour of a cloudless summer day.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
Perhaps Britta was born to be a killer. That is what she has been told, at least. Her father was a member of White Lotus before his untimely death, and he began giving her his knowledge at a very young age. When you have been raised your entire life knowing the monsters under your bed and in your closet are real, it can be difficult not to be completely afraid. But her father had patience, and he taught his little girl that the best defense against an attacker is a good offense.

Of course, Paul and Gemma McAdams never expected how well their only child would take to this act of self-defense. Her father's lessons were learned quickly and adapted to by the small redhead, and she completed them with strict precision. But even at her impressionable age, as she soaked up her father's teachings, she never truly expected to use them for anything but showing off. She found out rather quickly she was very, very wrong.

It was summer time when it happened, not the kind of day you would expect to have the sort of terrible events which occurred. Britta was 10, she was home with her family. They were together again for the first time in months, her father had been out on 'business,' which Britta knew was really battle. Hunting the things he taught her about, protecting the innocent, all of that good stuff. Britta was setting the table for lunch, each utensil made of silver polished so well she could see her reflection rather perfectly, if only somewhat distorted.

And then there was a bang, a splintering of wood, screams from her mother. People, or what looked like people, with the black eyes her father had described so well. They were like staring into a space void of all stars and planets. Britta felt as if she looked into them too long she would fall into the space and never escape. So she blinked, and looked away. They went for her father first, because he was the obvious threat. Only 10 years of age, Britta didn't particularly understand what was going on, but she felt the reflexes of what her father told her spring into action.

On the mantel hung a knife, purified by holy blessings, one they often used for training. Carefully, she reached up and grabbed it. The next few minutes, Britta claims to not recall. She does not remember stabbing the first demon twpo times in the heart. Or the second demon once in the leg, before it sliced at her neck. She doesn't remember the blood pouring down her side as she stabbed that demon in the heart as well. She doesn't remember her father's screams of agony as the third demon tore into his skin, his body, pulling out his heart in front of the two McAdams girls. She doesn't remember stabbing that demon, either.

But she did.

"Your daughter is a killer," is what she heard them say through the thin glass that separated her from the office where her mother sat with her father's employers. Was she a killer? She wasn't so sure, she didn't remember anything besides doing what she had been taught and those endless, black eyes. "Send her with us, we'll train her to use her...skills...properly." Britta couldn't hear her response, all she could hear, over and over, was your daughter is a killer. And all that was left as a memory was a white scar of a knife on her neck.

Britta was moved to a White Lotus base out of her home in London, where her skills were further improved. Those who taught her seemed to enjoy her youthful diligence and how she was still so young, so malleable, to their ways of teaching. When they believed her strong enough, she became a Purgo at the age of 17. When she was gifted with her artifact, she kills became more fluid, and more frequent. It was as if each arrow were an extension of herself. She was upgraded to an emundan four years later at the age of 19. At 21, she was made an expurgent and has been for the past four years. She has been an important asset to her team.

She made one mistake in her expurgent years, well, one which she deemed serious. She fell in love with another soldier, and expurgent, and it was a treacherous love built simply on passion and lack of time together. He died in front of her, on the field of battle, and she blames herself, somewhat. She always blames him for not being good enough to live, but perhaps if she had been better she could have saved him. Perhaps. This only hardened her emotions even further than they were previously. She is terrified that if she falls in love again, she will watch someone else die. This is just another one of the many reasons she resists showing emotion whenever possible.

She has no qualms with killing, in fact, it is one thing that gives her a rush, a joy, a euphoria of sorts. And please, for your own sake, do not harm one of your soldiers. Because this expurgent will hunt you down and rip you to shreds if anyone she protects gets hurt.

family ▸ mother --Gemma McAdams, 55 , father --Paul McAdams, deceased
allies ▸ white lotus
enemies ▸ demons
lover(s) ▸ mildly open

message 5: by sucre'd fiend, born sinner (new)

sucre'd fiend (sucredfiend) | 560 comments Mod
(view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━━ · · · ( hennessy felicity wilkes ) · · · ━━━━━━━━━
22 ( v/xx ) ▸ femme ( bisexual + single ) ▸ human ( lotus research ) ▸ n. am.
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸
Taking risks isn't the first thing someone thinks of when they hear "researcher". But that's what Hennessy does. She's one of the brave researchers that go above and beyond in seeking out hotbeds of demonic activity. And she'd be lying if she said she didn't love it. She likes the rush of adrenaline that every step closer to danger pumps through, loves the fact that she's doing so much for the cause. You could say it's most of what she lives for in this life. It's not complicated, or very hard to explain, but most people seem to attribute it to something other than the need to do her best for the cause.

Among many things, Hennesy has always shown a love of science. It's ingrained within her, this adoration for explanations of things. Because to her, science is the story of how the world works. It's simplifying the wonders of the universe in letters and numbers, all for people to understand. While she may not be like most of the researchers that genuinely have the capability to understand and put out more science, she can say that she holds just as much enthusiasm for the work as they do.

Knowing your way around the block is perhaps a very important skill when you're more into information gathering than actual science. To be frank, it's vital. Especially when you don't know who's human or not, you'd have to be fairly cautious of your surroundings. For Hennessy, this isn't much of a problem. She's always been street-smart, always known what to say and do. It came from years of observation, later to be practiced in high school. If you weren't smart enough to get with the program, you didn't exactly fit in.
admires ▸ running, information gathering, science, cookies'n' cream ice cream
abhors ▸ late nights, smoking, being pressured
fortes ▸ street-smart, persuasive, quick on her feet
faults ▸ reckless, impulsive, impatient

ashley moorehazel ▸ brown ▸ 5'9" ▸ 162 lbs ▸ several scars
One could say that it helps greatly if you're a pretty girl asking for information. However, when you're trying to be an intelligent researcher, it's not so helpful. Most don't take you seriously, or you don't take yourself seriously. Hennessy has that problem, and then some.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
From all the people that Hennessy has known, there are those with their reasons for joining the Lotus. However, in her case, there isn't much of it. It was more like she was recruited by a scout, then anything else.

Born to family of athletes, Hennessy had in her blood to be a swift little devil. It wasn't unusual to see every last one of the Wilkes clan going for a jog early in the morning, or at some point in the evening. She supposes that might have been what caught the attention of the Lotus to start. Genes primed for athleticism, and a very clear and unwavering love of science. But she wasn't material to be a soldier.

The other researchers of the White Lotus started showing up, or showing their faces after years of watching, when she was in her last year of high school. They gave her propositions like scholarships, but she turned them all down. She wanted to go to UCLA, to be the one to leave the East Coast in the family. From there, she might continue in her training for the Olympics. Think big, win big. But that never happened. Instead, she was isolated and alone.

Freshman year of college was harder than she expected, harder than she'd been prepared for. And that was because she had the sinking feeling that the kids in town weren't exactly who they claimed to be. Partying was fun and all, and a lot of people knew there limits, but there were always those people that showed up before someone disappeared. She had no connection to anyone that had gone missing from the parties, but everything felt off.

So she looked into the White Lotus again, or rather, caught them looking into her. They had the audacity to suspect she may have sold her soul, or had it taken forcefully by a demon. Which was the explanation for all those missing freshmen after the parties. While her parents had exhibited some religious tendencies out of a traditional obligation, she'd never really felt any sort of spiritual connection. Which is why she thought much of what the Lotus soldiers explained to her was actual bullshit. Until one of the missing kids turned up, and proceeded to kill five other students before being shot by campus police.

Then, she thought it would be okay to believe.
family ▸ mother -- Andarnetta, father -- Henderson, siblings -- Marcus, Devon, Isabelle, Elizabeth
allies ▸ The White Lotus, a demon informant
enemies ▸ Demons
lover(s) ▸ None, at the moment

message 6: by sucre'd fiend, born sinner (last edited Dec 11, 2015 04:33PM) (new)

sucre'd fiend (sucredfiend) | 560 comments Mod
(view spoiler)

━━━━━━━ · · · ( chrysanthemum lyssa bernard ) · · · ━━━━━━━━
27 ( xii/xxv ) ▸ femme ( pan + single ) ▸ human ( white lotus ) ▸ africa
holy artifact ; TKO ; Abbu
description : A non-genetic set of gauntlet-like gloves that increase in size, as well increase strength with exterior metal plating ; a pygmy marmoset that was given an artifact implant that allows it to grow in strength and size.
notes ; TKO is only effective in close range combat, which may be considerably more dangerous than long range combat. It requires high stamina, and has been known to cause muscle fatigue, as well as possibly cut of circulation in certain parts of the body. Abbu, as a living organism, can be exhausted and harmed.
rank ; Expurget
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸
The first word that comes to mind for many of her colleagues is irresponsible. She carries the demeanor of the girl she used to be: carefree and partying like there was no tomorrow. Chrys has found that it's become a defense mechanism, a shield from the hardening of war. She doesn't like to think of what might have been if she'd ever stopped smiling. Maybe she'd cry, or maybe she'd scream. Her need to party and forget the day is nothing impossible to understand. As an expurget, she has the duty of looking out for the lives of others, for setting an example. If she can't set the example of being able to enjoy one's self every now and then, then what would be the point? They'd all just be angry little soldiers going out to fight, and possibly die.

At the end of the day, Chrys will always be smiling. She'll always be joking and holding her head up high. Because she knows that the Purgo, the ones most likely to die out there in battle, need to see it. They need to know that being serious all the time won't help them improve. They need to know that they should go out swinging, with thoughts of something other than the grim hand of death coming towards them. So she's the expurget that'll be cracking jokes and constantly laughing. The one that might invite emundans, and purgos if they really want to, out for drinks. She's the one that'd prefer to show them a good time, then have them marching off to death.

Underneath all the merry-making is the presence of the need to get even. It's the sole reason she joined the cause, the only reason she might have even done something like this. She had had something taken from her, and Chrys would like to see it returned. Being vindictive has always been a bit of a problem for her. She doesn't think straight, or if she does, it results in a lot of unwarranted pain. She knows full well that this may get in the way of her current duties, but she's had a good run in suppressing much of her need for vindication.
admires ▸ parties, drinking, jokes, pranks, strawberries
abhors ▸ nuts, demons, the war, having people fight for her
fortes ▸ positive, superior upper body strength, intimidating
faults ▸ vengeful, dismissive of worry, one-track minded

alysha netthazel ▸ dyed blonde ▸ 6'8" ▸ 189 lbs ▸ scars ▸ tattoos
On first sight, most people don't think to much of Chrys. Sadly, they'd be mistaken to think that she isn't capable of knocking them flat on their ass. Until recently, she used to carry herself with a particularly mean expression and ensemble. However, she's grown out her hair and played up more on her feminine side. A return to the old ways, she'd say.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
Chrys' life started out fairly simple. A house, loving parents, and a younger brother that relied on her. As the oldest, she had the duty of protecting her younger brother, for setting an example. For a while, she lived up to it all. And she fell apart, or at least that's what her parents thought. She drank, she smoked, she partied until the sun rose. She was never home by the time she turned seventeen, and once she was eighteen, it only seemed to be worse. Her brother, only two years behind her, was following suit very quickly.

Chrys, however, always had a way of setting him straight. While her relationship with her parents grew rocky, her bond with her brother never faltered. He began to head down a different path than the one she had chosen, and all at her direction. She told him to smile, to enjoy what he was giving himself. She told him it would all be worth it in the end, after all those hours of studying and working hard. She natural ability to breeze through her work was not something that Clarke had been given. He needed hours of diligent studying before a concept stuck, and that was alright. He still did his best, made Chrys proud.

It would have seemed that she was more his mother than their actual mother was. It wasn't that she had stepped out of the picture, just that she couldn't seem to understand her children as well as she would have hoped to. So she left them to their own devices. And it was good for a time, until Clarke just up and vanished three weeks shy of graduation. And then the blame fell to Chrys. They said that she'd been filling her brother's head with nonsense, when she had been his greatest motivator. It was a low blow, targeting the way she lived and did things.

It was she who ended up looking for him every night. The one who checked all the parties, never staying long. Those that recognized her were shocked with how normal she may have appeared to look. The glamour of being high and drunk quickly lost its appeal in favor of a never-ending search for her brother.

It took her over a month, but she did it. She found the boy that was so close to her heart, and yet she didn't. He wasn't the same, almost as if he'd gotten himself wished away. Clarke, very feebly, explained his situation. And when Chrys said she didn't believe him, he looked devastated. She tired not to let that bother her, and as she turned to take him home, he disappeared. One could say it was a push in the right direction, as she spent many more days mulling over what he'd said. That he'd sold his soul. He'd never said what for, just that it had happened. Like that was supposed to explain everything. So she went digging, until she hit a wall known as the White Lotus. Her interests tipped off their sensors, and rather than being taken to the buffer website that most people would be sent to, she was taken directly to their servers.

It's needless to say that they recruited her fairly quickly. She rose in the ranks, along with a certain someone she would lose much like her brother. And before he left, she never got the chance to tell him something, a decision she'd been unable to bring herself to while he was still around.

That they'd be having a son.
family ▸ mother -- Sahara, father -- Fredrick, brother -- Clarke, son -- Noel
allies ▸ The White Lotus
enemies ▸ Demons
lover(s) ▸ None, at the moment

message 7: by awkward potato (new)

awkward potato | 34 comments (view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━ · · · ( genesis samara chambers ) · · · ━━━━━━━━━
21 ( ii/xvi ) ▸ femme ( pan + single ) ▸ human ( white lotus ) ▸ north am.
holy artifact ; Ezekiel
description : An offensive, non-genetic artifact that takes the shape of a cross bow, but can be refashioned into a battle ax.
notes ; The crossbow comes with a specific number of arrows and takes five seconds to latch onto a target and an additional four to reload. The weapon can also take between one and two minutes to modify, meaning that it is best left in the ax form unless absolutely necessary. This makes Ezekiel best suited for close combat, which can be more dangerous for the wielder.
rank ; Edmundans
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸
To say that Genesis is difficult to figure out would be a bit of an understatement. Her disposition can morph in a instant, taking her from the life of the party to a dejected hero that doesn't realize she can't be the one to do everything, to save everyone. That doesn't mean she won't try her damnedest, however, regardless of the harsh truth. Simply put, Genesis is a woman with a huge heart and an innate desire to protect the innocent. It runs deeper than that, of course, but from as far she can remember, she's always had a 'hero-complex'. This little facet doesn't mean she isn't a skilled soldier, though. In fact, if it weren't for her recklessly impulsive behavior and lack of maturity, who's to say she wouldn't be expurget by now? Sure, it's highly unlikely, but a girl can dream, can't she?

Despite her somewhat radical disposition, Genesis is a strong woman who works diligently to hone and perfect her skills, a woman who never stops pursuing even her wildest dreams. She works hard to improve daily, hence her talent on the field. She is not the best, but she knows she has earned her place in the White Lotus. Her passion for the cause fuels her and pushes her to do better than the day before and her aspiration of becoming a renowned expurget only serves to motivate her. Furthermore, with a war between the demons on the horizon, the need for skilled soldiers that can take care of themselves has never been so great. And while she is a truly superb soldier, Genesis also lacks more than responsibility; she lacks the appropriate mindset. Wild and reckless as she is, Genesis will berate herself to the point of insurmountable melancholy, especially when she messes up. This is probably the cause for many factors of her psyche; the fear of failure is just too terrible to dwell upon.
admires ▸ improving, praise, animals, raspberries
abhors ▸ failure, war, cold weather, squash
fortes ▸ agility, ambition, speed
faults ▸ impulsive, self-deprecating, immature at times

hattie watsonhazel ▸ red ▸ 5'7 ▸ 133 lbs ▸ minor scars ▸ freckles ▸ tattoos
With vibrant red hair and a perpetual bold countenance, Genesis is a fairly noticeable woman, despite her average stature and build. Her ivory skin is littered with freckles and she has more than a few tattoos, each symbolizing some aspect of her or her life. Her eyes are a large and luminous honey brown speckled with hues of green and chocolate and reveal every thought flitting through her head.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
Before, life was normal; it was soccer games and laundry day and the smell of mom burning incense when she couldn't sleep. Afterwards, nothing would be the same again, not for Genesis. Her old self had been destroyed, along with her hopes, her dreams, her ambitions. Before, life was a grand mystery that she immersed herself into. After, she wished some things weren't shrouded in secrets.

The beginning of Genesis Chambers isn't that spectacular, nor was her upbringing as an only child. It was just... Well, average. As a child, she was very active and this continued well through middle school and into high-school. She was the soccer star, the social butterfly that was on the fast track to success. Life seemed to in the palm of her hands and she thrived. With straight A's and uni scholarships lined up, there was no doubt that Genesis would be able to go far. She was the light of her parents' eyes; she was their pride and their joy. Until she lost it all, until her ambitions were snatched away from her.

Genesis hadn't been targeted -- it was accident, a horrible chain of events that all depended upon the luck of the draw. She sure had one shitty hand. Months before her eighteenth birthday, her parents were attacked, by demons she later learned. Genesis had been out, celebrating with her friends during spring break. She was being a regular teenager, for the last time. Even today, Genesis isn't sure what sparked the beasts to act, what spurred their hellish motives. Maybe it was boredom, maybe they were looking for an easy prey. Whatever it was, they took Genesis's family; they stole her parents and the life she hoped to build.

It looked like a homicide, but something told Genesis took look deeper beneath the surface. Sure, some things had been stolen, but Genesis couldn't remember when theft ended in torture. She wasn't content with the police not bothering to delve deeper into the case. Genesis wanted answers, god dammit! They were her parents, the only family she really had. Being happily content with half-assed reports would not satisfy her. So she did her own research.

The White Lotus had been watching Genesis. They knew she would go looking for answers and perhaps the only reason she wasn't turned away was because of her background of athleticism or maybe her affinity with mathematics. But whatever the reason, they picked her. They recruited her and made her a soldier, bred for the war that's brewing. The White Lotus helped Genesis rebuild, helped her find another place she could belong. Not that she ever feels like she belongs; she is just here to make it through and put an end to the demons that ruined her life. She knows she can't get them all, but that doesn't mean she won't go down swinging.
family ▸ mother -- Kenzie Chambers, father -- Isaac Chambers
allies ▸ The White Lotus
enemies ▸ Demons
lover(s) ▸ Currently none

message 8: by sucre'd fiend, born sinner (new)

sucre'd fiend (sucredfiend) | 560 comments Mod
(view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━━━ · · · ( gemini elias basil ) · · · ━━━━━━━━━━
25 ( i/xxi ) ▸ male ( bisexual + single ) ▸ human ( white lotus ) ▸ africa
holy artifact ; Solitary Confinement
description : A non-genetic defensive artifact that takes on the form of a barrier set up by four large "tuning" forks. The barrier is made based on synchronized frequencies initiated by the user.
notes ; The user must keep the frequencies in check for all four sides or the barrier goes down. This requires a constant tapping on all forks, as well as being able to vocally initiate the frequencies.
rank ; Emundans
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸
Gem is the kind of person that likes to see drama. He's the instigator for most fights among the purgo and emundans. The kid lives off that stuff. He likes testing boundaries, usually on tempers, and he feels no remorse for it all. He's really a bit of a hassle to deal with, but he does know when he needs to stop. He knows to control his impulses to start unwanted drama, but he also knows when it's necessary. He's seen his fair share of death, and he's come to find that the drama he creates distracts others. It distracts them from whatever depressing thoughts they may be having about when they die. Hell, he's cracked jokes about people while they lay dying, watched them laugh rather than cry as they took their last breaths. And some people understand his behavior. Others, though, are forming a line to kick his ass.

Despite what a lot of people think, Gem knows his stuff. He's a fairly smart kid, and he's seen quite a lot of shit. Gem's expertise in shit-talking doesn't just come magically. It's the kind of thing you use as defense for years. You use it in games, use it on the street. It's proof that he's still here to talk shit, still here after all this time. It becomes something you get used to. Gem finds it all to be entertaining, this accumulation of knowledge, but he doesn't take it for granted. It'd be wrong to, especially when he's gotten some of it from people that have given up their lives for the cause.

Gem can be serious. He can be the kind of person you can talk to. He can be the guy that doesn't actually make you wanna punch someone in the throat. Unfortunately, that doesn't always show. His loyalty to those people he holds close, those people he'd feel the most for if they were to die, never wavers. Because despite the fact that he acts like a little shit, he means well under it all.
admires ▸ instigating fights, drama, french fries, sports, music
abhors ▸ people being so serious, work
fortes ▸ distraction, stamina, speed
faults ▸ "unpleasant", confrontational

reece kinggray ▸ black ▸ 6'4" ▸ 208 lbs ▸ piercings
Gem has been noted to break a few hearts every now and then. It's usually those Purgo who haven't come to see his behavior as anything less than endearing, or distracting. But, if anything, the most distracting part about him would happen to be his eyes.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
A lot of people in the Lotus have tragic histories. A lot of people in the Lotus have amazing histories. But a lot of people aren't Gemini. They aren't the kid on his way to signing a record deal before the whole building burst into flames. They aren't the kid that had to sit through hours of questioning for something he didn't do.

Gem, much before that time, used to call himself Elias. He didn't like when people found the nerve to call him Gem or Gemini. He thought the name too feminine, not for him. But that was before he'd been called in to be part of some band and it became his stage name. People used to live to hear his voice when he performed, used to scream and throw alcohol at him like it was supposed to be more payment for getting in under ten bucks and buying up the bar. He'd gotten his fair share of bras thrown his way, which he usually caught without missing a beat, as well as a few water bottles from the not-so-pleased boyfriends of the same girls that threw their bras onstage.

Gem could talk all the shit he wanted, then, and mean it. Because he had a future, and then he lost it all in the blink of an eye. Friends, employers, the deal; gone, up in flames. Gem couldn't say that he felt any sort of way about the money--the fame, that was what he'd been after. He wanted the recognition it would bring him, that endless wave of people shouting his name and going ballistic when he got on stage. But he can't have that anymore.

He traded that in for the silent fame of aiding in the slaughter of demons. It's not as fun, but the perks are slightly better, he supposes. People still scream his name, usually with some sort of order or to call him out, but it still happens. People still go crazy when he shows up, but usually because there's blood and dying. He can't say it's the glamorous life that he had always wanted.

But at least it's a life. That's more than he can say for others.
family ▸ mother -- Lucretia, father -- David, brother -- Marvin, sister -- Felicia
allies ▸ The White Lotus
enemies ▸ Demons
lover(s) ▸ None, at this time

message 9: by corina (last edited Dec 23, 2015 07:23PM) (new)

corina (molteneyes) | 138 comments
(view spoiler)
─╾ ─ · · ·  Z O E   D A N I E L L E   O ' S H A U G H N E S S Y  · · · ─ ╾─
××× aɢᴇ ; twenty-two
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾ ( april 28 )
××× gᴇɴᴅᴇʀ ; female
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾ ( homosexual )
××× sᴘᴇᴄɪᴇs ; human
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾ ( white lotus )
××× pᴏsɪᴛɪᴏɴ ; researcher
╾╾╾╾╾╾╾╾ ( n. america )

blue × multicolored × 5'9" × 135 lbs × nose stud × tattoo
────────────  chloe   nørgaard  ────────────
[ s ] ome people hide who they really are behind a carefully drawn exterior. Zoe is not that person. Whatever first pops into someone's head when they take in Zoe's rainbow-hued hair -- which is always changing colors -- her bright eyes, and her infectious laugh, it's probably not that far off from the truth. She's a long-legged bundle of casual fun and snarky comebacks, of constant multitasking, of excitement over anything technology related, of late nights marathoning the nerdiest movies you can think of and playing video games, of giant mugs of coffee, of crazy ideas that somehow end up being the best ideas. All this, all her snark and sarcasm, but Zoe is not a heartless bitch. Incredibly empathetic, she makes a good confidant and friend. She's not afraid to be herself, she doesn't care about others' judgement, but neither is she afraid to think critically about herself when it's needed.

She might be fun and quirky and dorky and giant nerd, but Zoe is also a sarcastic little shit. She's brusque and blunt, not willing to sugarcoat her words. An effortless liar, she can and will use her words to wound. There's always a quick, biting comeback waiting at the tip of her tongue, and it's practically impossible to leave her speechless. Her mind's a loaded gun, a million synapses firing constantly, without rest, a busy, muddled place, ready for anything. Slowing down is for losers -- Zoe is always going somewhere, doing something. She hates inactivity and idleness. She's rarely able to stay still for long, and her quick mind often takes the form of a scattered, unfocused mind. But beyond that, she just wants to be useful. She tries so hard, putting her mind to higher purposes. And if that involves her true loves -- computer science and technological ingenuity -- all the better. It allows her to nerd out do what she loves while feeling satisfied.

If she were a different person, Zoe would most definitely have the ingenuity and personal drive to take over the world. As it is, she loves the cause. She loves that circumstances have led her to be part of the White Lotus research team, and she loves how she's taken charge of her situation, made the best of it. She's in love with who she is right now, and it's such an amazing feeling. It's not too common a situation to have that sort of confidence in yourself anymore, but somehow, Zoe's reached it. Yeah, maybe she's not the most adept in a fight, or the most physically able -- she's no purgo, she's a goddamn researcher -- she's smart enough and trained to know what to do in an emergency and to be able to hold her own in a fight (a short fight, granted). But she sure as hell can make a mean explosive in record time.
×××× admires ╾ spicy food ; technology ; explosives
××× abhors ╾ the status quo ; formalities ; inactivity
×× fortes ╾ hacking ; computer science ; lying ; snark
× faults ╾ brusque ; insistent + curious ; scatterbrained
[ e ] ven a fairly normal life can lead to something extraordinary. Take, for example, Zoe Danielle O'Shaughnessy: born to a solidly middle class family, her father Irish, her mother part Canadian, part Sioux. Quick of mind and quicker of wits and tongue, she was drawn immediately to the maths and sciences, in particular computer science. She spent far too much time after school in the robotics lab. When she turned fifteen, she dyed her hair for the first time (solid purple). By the time she was seventeen, she was hacking into the sites of local officials and making Molotov cocktails in her kitchen just for the hell of it, not with any malicious intent. Got accepted to MIT, couldn't have gone without the scholarship she nailed.

Then Zoe thought to herself, you know what would be fun? If I could successfully hack into the FBI. That would be fucking wild. So she set out to achieve her self-imposed goal. It was a thrill, doing something so blatantly illegal with no clear goal except to do it. And then she started following a trail, something obscure that didn't make sense. That's how she ended up hacking into the White Lotus systems and woke up at 3 AM in her dorm in November of her sophomore year with a Purgo staring her down. To call that a surprise would be an understatement. She was given an ultimatum: join the White Lotus research team or be killed. Pretty much. It was said in less direct terms, but the guy got the point across. Apparently the White Lotus had done their research on her, and found her promising.

It's pretty obvious what Zoe's decision was. She told her parents she'd been offered an amazing job, an amazing high-paying job, and she dropped out of MIT, her dream school. But now she gets to geek out 24/7 about how to combine new technology with old White Lotus traditions and with artifacts, has an amazing array of friends, pretty much sets her own agenda, and gets to hack into whatever fucking system she wants.
×××× family ╾ father -- ross ; mother -- tania
××× allies ╾ hennessy ; lucrèrce ; quinn ; shelley fc
×× enemies ╾ tba
× lovers ╾ tba
╾──  ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇ ʙɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴘɪᴄᴛᴜʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀɴɢᴇs ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀs ʀᴜɴ ──╾


message 10: by dyanne, fallen angel (last edited Dec 21, 2015 05:07PM) (new)

dyanne | 125 comments Mod
(view spoiler)
▬▬▬▬▬ ғᴀɪᴛʜ ɪs ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀᴡᴀᴋᴇ, ᴀɴᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀᴡᴀᴋᴇ ɪs ғᴏʀ ᴜs ᴛᴏ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ▬▬▬▬▬

K I Y O K O J O O - E U N L E E
▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ [ ♔ ] ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬
[ lee · female ( asexual + single ) · 21 ( viii/x ) · asia ]
♔ ] hᴏʟʏ ᴀʀᴛɪғᴀᴄᴛ ▬ g a b r i e l
[ description · · · a defensive, non-genetic artifact that takes the form of a winged harness/uniform, covered with solar power receptors that convert sunlight into electricity to power miniature high-speed electric turbine fans.
[ notes · · · The wings, spanning 12 feet, are controlled by a cybernetic link, but maintaining this link requires immense concentration and results in increased stress and exhaustion. The harness itself weighs around 32 lbs and requires a fair amount of strength to both attach and maneuver.

━━━━ human ━━━━ white lotus ━━━ expurget ━━━━

♔ ] sᴏᴍᴇᴛɪᴍᴇs ǫᴜɪᴇᴛ ɪs ᴠɪᴏʟᴇɴᴛ ▬▬▬ They call her an angel, and perhaps Kiyoko believes them as she strives so tirelessly to be something more than human. Knowing she's supposed to be buried six feet under, it's hard for her not to feel the weight of the living pressing down at her shoulderblades from seven feet above, digging deep into her bones and etching into her identity. Graced with a natural charisma, there is regality in her steps, a fierce, intimidating certainty of her purpose in every step, every glance. Like the winter sun, while her presence does not consume, the light she sheds paves a path for her soldiers. Her warmth, however subtle, presses at the back of their necks, a comforting reminder of the dependable general at their side.

Kiyoko's goal is simple: she wants to save the world. Every casualty causes her heart to shatter. Another life she failed, another life to be avenged. They say in war, your kindness is your greatest weakness. Kiyoko would beg to differ. Forged from the fire, kindness is the core of her strength, the simple reason for her rank, her affiliation, her existence. Fear the iron-clad maiden with molten eyes overflowing with kindness. She knows no fear, only sorrow. She can weep tomorrow. Today, she will fight.
♔ ] aᴅᴏʀᴇs ▬ her soldiers, justice, flying, mythology
♔ ] aʙʜᴏʀs ▬ ruthlessness, birds, small spaces
♔ ] vɪʀᴛᴜᴇs ▬ kind, just, loyal, incredibly athletic
♔ ] vɪᴄᴇs ▬ too trusting, self-blames, overworks
kᴀɴɢ sᴇᴜʟɢɪ brown · black (blonde) · 5'3" · 102 lbs
Petite and lightly built, Kiyoko's undeniable grace and beauty seem to lie in a room filled with porcelain dolls labeled 'do not touch', but don't be fooled: they don't call her the iron general for nothing.

♔ ] pʀɪᴅᴇ ɴᴏ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ɪɴsɪᴅᴇ ▬▬▬ What is worth the price of a human soul? It is a question that haunts Kiyoko, for while her hands are no longer bloodstained, her heart surely is. Born in Japan to Korean White Lotus researchers, Kiyoko's family was not one to sugarcoat the truth. Her bedtime stories revolved around stories of demons, of a war which began at the birth of the man and would end someday with the death of the demon. Ambitious from the start, five-year-old Kiyoko would gaze up at her mother with wide, solemn eyes, her mouth wrapped around a promise she was determined to keep. I'll kill the demons and save the world for you, om-ma, she would say. Of course you will, Om-ma replied.

And so her training began. Dance lessons intertwined with martial arts. Harry Potter lay forgotten as Kiyoko pored over history books bigger than couch cushions, reading of old war strategies in excruciating detail. At 11, she enrolled into one of the few girls' military academies in the nation. At age 14, her father's connections struck a gold mine as men in black suits ushered her away from the school and into the base. How will you differentiate yourself? They asked. How will you rise above your station?

I will learn how to fly, she replied, and the laughs subsided into stares as they gazed upon the girl who pulsated with a furious resolve to be something more. At 16, she became one of the youngest Purgos. With her artifact, her dreams danced their way into reality, lifting her to new heights. It took an additional six months of training and the dark circles around her eyes would never quite disappear, but it was nothing compared to exhiliration of being in the air.

Her first mission, she killed five demons. One civilian. It was a mistake. She was still not used to her wings, the wind was volatile. In haste, she forgot to check if the path was clear before launching the missile. That was her first casualty. It wouldn't be her last.

It was three years later, at age 19, when she had been an emundan for little over a year and was told to shoot at everything that moved that she learned the toll the living must pay for the deaths they've witnessed, the deaths they've caused, the deaths they ignore. When she was 20, she moved up yet again. By then, she was nothing but loss. She had lost her entire squadron, her mother, and part of her soul. She had killed more than she had saved.

Kiyoko's hands carry voices of the dead, and her heart, the weight of the pain she has caused. How much is a human soul worth? It is worth the world. Kiyoko can no longer save the world for herself, but if it's for them, then perhaps she has a chance.
♔ ] fᴀᴍɪʟʏ ▬ mother— Seungyeon Jeon; father— Minjun Lee
♔ ] aʟʟɪᴇs ▬ The White Lotus
♔ ] eɴᴇᴍɪᴇs ▬ Demons
♔ ] lᴏᴠᴇʀs ▬ None

▬▬ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴛʜᴇ ᴛᴡᴏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ᴄʜᴏᴏsᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ, ᴘᴇᴀᴄᴇ ᴡɪʟʟ ᴡɪɴ, ᴀɴᴅ ғᴇᴀʀ ᴡɪʟʟ ʟᴏsᴇ ▬▬

message 11: by Kikki, I'm a sinner who will always sin again- Lust (new)

Kikki (kikki-not-kiki) | 466 comments Mod
{Notice of recognition} (view spoiler)

                    [ N E C U L A I ⋆ Z A R I N ⋆ L O W E R Y ]

Are you, are you coming to the tree?

                                                      [ age 21 ♜ 12/21 ♖ male ]
                                            [ homosexual ♖ single ♜ human ]
                                                [ white lotus ♜ europe ♖ purgo ]

                                         If we met at midnight in the hanging tree

they say i resemble Stephen James

(  ♜ appearance  ) Neculai is a sensation. He’s a modern demigod trapped in human skin. This erogenous male has piercings and tattoos that resonate a hedonistic tale. Neculai’s flawless body is a work-of-art. He’s an attractive demigod whose clothes everyone wants to rip from his body. Every inch of his body defines real perfection. He has sensational green eyes and brown hair to match his superstar model body. This hunky male is the best form of human artwork. He’s best known for his sexy full-body tattoo artwork. Neculai is as wild as it gets, and he enjoys exhibiting his impressive tattoos and fitness. The erotic ink art that decorates his skin is phenomenal. He has tattoos of Salvador Dali, Ian Dury and Blackwork Mandalas. A greater percentage of his tattoos are the work of London-based artist Otto (Ottorino D’Ambra) from Milan. The immaculate artwork that decorates his chest and stomach is a masterpiece by the talented Jondix. Neculai’s body-of-work is a tribute to noted legends of art and culture. This sexy male rocks his larger-than-life tattoos with dignity. His body-of-art is the favorite feature, although he has a well-toned skin and chiseled jawline that attracts a throng of fans too. His sexy torso displays an impressive inked art of Kali, the Hindu goddess. Kali represents death, violence and time. Hindus revere her as a maternal, compassionate being. Neculai has a touch of darkness in his image which makes this artwork an exemplary fit for his taste.

          Where dead man called out

               For his love to flee

(  ♖ personality  ) Neculai Zarin Lowery, or Necu as he prefers, is a very laid back individual. To the point that one wonders how he was ever recruited into the White Lotus since he doesn't really seem the type to be any good at fighting. He tends to sleep more often then anything else during his free time, though he is often found peeking into the researching area out of curiosity of what they are making when he's not asleep.

But that is totally at odds with how he is when he is fighting against demons. He seems to have a much more serious, merciless, and cruel personality. He has a very low tolerance for weak spirited people, or people who don't try to help themselves, which generally makes those around him upset since he doesn't help anyone who won't try to keep moving forward on their own. He is more or less laid back when he's not fighting, but its clear that the demons are a trigger for him as in battle against them, he is merciless, he is relentless and will not stop until they are gone, regardless of injury to himself.

Wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me

(  ♜ history  ) Neculai is the last born son to Alys and Daelin Lowery. With two elder siblings before him, you'd think he'd be pushed to the side, ignored or something of the sort. Especially considering how proficient they were at their jobs that often merited praise due to them garnering such success as teenagers. But he was never left out, even though he was younger than they were. He was always included and treated well, never spoiled but never ignored. It was a decent life, a passable ordinary one. He was given quite a few liberties, the same they'd given his siblings, after he hit 16, allowing him to go and get as many tattoo's as he desired when he expressed the urge, though not for the first time. He had craved the ink on his skin for quite some time, but they had forbidden him to go through with it until they considered him an adult at 16 and old enough to understand fully what he was doing and any potential consequences. Neculai soon had his arms, torso and even part of his legs covered in tattoos, and that seemed to soothe whatever restlessness that had been in him for the last several years. He had gone out to work one day as usual when a 6th sense told him something was wrong. Leaving without a second thought, he took off for the house and found a complete bloodbath. His family had been slaughtered and the demon who had done it still resided inside, finishing off his elder brother. Rage unlike anything he'd ever felt before coursed through him, and power. The tattoo's along his skin itched and crawled before seeming to slide down to his hand, pooling and forming a sword, a weapon he knew well from practicing with his brother. To spare the grisly details, by the time Neculai finished, he was covered head to toe in the demons blood and it was more than dead. But that didn't change that his family was dead. He barely remembered killing the demon, only feeling a heavy exhaustion weigh on him as he buried his family himself before cleaning up and leaving the home, burning it down behind him. His artifact was figured out shortly after and he was recruited into the White Lotus to fight. He had planned on refusing at first, he had never been much of a fighter, he was normally too laid back for things like that, but he changed his mind when they said he would be fighting demons, the creatures that killed his family. But, ever since that first demon, there's been something off about him. When he goes to fight a demon, he actually doesn't really remember much of the battle, just the end result that often involves him being covered in demons blood. It is...worrying to say the least, this lapse in memory, but so long as no one else realizes it, it won't matter, and he can keep getting revenge for his family, and all the other families who lost loved ones like he did.

                                         Where I told you to run, so we'd both be free

(  ♖ holy artifact  ) Atramento
(  ♜ description  ) Atramento is a genetic artifact that reacts to the tattoo's on his skin, or rather the ink upon them. When he calls upon it, the artifact lifts the particles of ink from his skin and manipulates it into solid form, more importantly, into weapons. He has to be familiar with a weapon in order to call it forth however, and cannot call forth something he has never seen, held or utilized in its true form before. Also, when it comes to weapons such as guns, he cannot call one forth without knowing its makeup, how it works and how it functions without the risk of his artifact backfiring on him and causing him bodily harm.

(  ♖ family  )
Alys Lowery || Mother; deceased
Daelin Lowery || Father; deceased
Jezibel Lowery || Older sister; deceased
Daerek Lowery || Older brother; deceased

(  ♜ allies/enemies/lovers  )
White Lotus || allies; they let him kill demons
All demons || enemies; because fuck them

Strange things have happened here no stranger would it be

message 12: by [deleted user] (new)

(view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━  · · · ( hanna lailah connolly ) · · ·  ━━━━━━━━
20 ( x/vi) ▸ femme ( hetero + open ) ▸ human ( white lotus ) ▸ training in europe ( north am. )
holy artifact ; Heavenly Fire
description : A genetic artifact created within the pores of her skin that causes her flesh to burn demons upon contact, called Heavenly Fire after its fire-like heat and qualities. Used defensively.
notes ; The fire takes quite a bit of energy to produce and often takes considerable recovery time after use. The artifact acts as fire does and burns demons, though it typically does not kill unless contact is prolonged, similar to fire.
rank ; purgo
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸ Whoever believes height is a garantee of power wouldn't give Hanna a second glance. Those who know better would simply move out of her way. The unfortunate souls ignorant enough to believe her small figure--flared hips and soft curves--is the extent of her capability, have never been pinned by the sharp inquisitiveness behind her stunning face, have never fallen prey to her cutting tongue, have never had her persuasive words burn them. Only when the decievingly pretty smile leaves her lips, is the rapier wit and Machiavellian intelligence revealed, and Hanna becomes a true force to be reckoned with. Strong of mind and spirit, she is not lacking in confidence, which speaks clearly in her steady movements and sure words. She knows how to keep her cards close to her chest, to wear her memories, her secrets, her pain as armor. And after years of tempering it in her blaze, what fine armor it has become. Never has her carefully-tailored mask slipped and Hanna intends to keep it so, holding her cold front firmly, her feelings a fire somewhere beneath the ice.

Fierce, feisty and fair, there are still those moments when the fire seems to lick the surface, when the ice melts and the flames burn through. For all her soft indifference and enigmatic bravado, her uncompromising confidence and feigned coolness, Hanna is not lacking in her liveliness, and often speaks boldly where others are quiet. Her fiery temper is a surprising, but a not entirely rare thing, usually held back with great concentration, though moments away from bursting through. The only ever-present show of the zeal beneath her skin is in her precise movements and finely-tuned body, in the evident hours she has put forth into her training. Hanna has grown knowing she must work for what she wants, and those who stand in her way had better step aside. With a stubbornness more fierce than most, she would walk through literal hell for anything or anyone she deems worthy. Especially for those select few who gain her indelible love. Though, crossing her may prove the opposite. Hurt someone she cares for and she will make sure the pain is returned in equal measure.
admires ▸ training, running, reading, her mandate
abhors ▸ being told what to do, dishonesty, demons, fire
fortes ▸ loyal, determined to a fault, quick in mind and body
faults ▸ impulsive, stubborn, often throws herself into danger

astrid berges-frisbeyhazel ▸ chocolate brown ▸ 5'2" ▸ 112 lbs
Hanna's body is an instrument: decisively quick, and with little more than a pound of fat, she is stunningly and considerably faster than most. Though most mistake her small, curved frame for something far less dangerous. Hanna, though sensually attractive, often wishes for efficiency rather than beauty, keeping her hair neatly back, her countenance solemn, and her weapons at hand.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
Born beneath the North Carolina clouds, Hanna grew up with a fair life. It seemed there was nothing wrong with it, with a free-spirited mother to look after her, they often did the things you would expect of a happy family. Though she regrets not meeting her father before his untimely death in her primary years, she knows the pain would have been rather unbearable if she had. Hanna learned from a young age to look after herself, to do things independently, a trait she gained wholeheartedly from her mother who was often distant, painting or reading in some land far off from reality. But Hanna was content to be alone, never disliking the lack of company, and typically shunned the idea of help in her daily life, rejecting what others told her in favor of what she decided would be best, no matter how difficult it would be.

School was not difficult for Hanna, as she excelled above her class, though she worked for it, cramming in tedious late night sessions and reading anything in sight. She never quite fit in for it, for her sharp, inquisitive mind, for her steady words, always to fierce to belong to such a little girl. The only place Hanna ever felt as if she truly belonged was when she was working, putting her mind and body to use some way or another, doing even the smallest of tasks with her whole self. She was content to spend her days like this: running off to school and hurrying home to study, to loose herself in some piece of work. Everything seemed alright, until hell decided to make an appearance. Quite literally.

It was a normal day at her highschool, the end of senior year...until the blazing fires of hell broke loose, flames engulfing every wall and table and book. It was a dark, sickening thing to watch as fire caught, inescapable heat engulfing classmates as smoke curled through the hazy room. She remembers vividly, choking on the black air, thick and suffocating in her lungs, falling to her knees as tears and blood dripped to the floor. There were people as well, entering through the previously jammed door, blackness and flames seeming to follow in their wake. Hanna remembers the hands as well, feverish hot as the room, as they grabbed her, yanking her up from the floor. Remembers struggling feebly as they pulled her away into the hall, away from the suffocating room, choking fiercely. Yet something seemed to change, as their hands fell away, apparently decorated with new burns, as if touching her had caused them.

They growled, hissed, called her wretched things, prodded her with the ends of their blades, left shallow cuts across her skin, but they didn't touch her. Though Hanna danced in and out of consciousness, she remembers with clarity the white-clad figures that slaughtered the black-eyed men, the ones who soon revealed themselves to be the White Lotus. Everything seemed to happen quickly: the Lotus recruited her and the mundane life she had left slipped away into one of demons and killing and training. Though Hanna always found her artifact a bit cruel--the girl afraid of fire who can burn demons with a touch of her skin--she learned to wield it quickly, leaving a trail of fire and bodies in her wake.

family ▸ mother -- Ádela Connolly ; father -- Thomas Connolly
allies ▸ the white lotus
enemies ▸ demons
lover(s) ▸ none

message 13: by mels (new)

mels (padmeskywalkers) | 121 comments (view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━━ · · · Maverick Dalton Booth · · · ━━━━━━━━━
25 ( 21 nov 1990 ) ▸ male ( bi + single ) ▸ human ( expurget ) ▸ europe
( h o l y a r t i f a c t ▸ ▸ Orodruin
Orodruin is a gold ring on Mav's right hand. It cannot be removed once put on one's finger except by the removal of the finger from the hand. When the wearer twists the head of the of the ring, It emits a frequency that causes unbearable pain to any demon in the vicinity, effectively incapacitating them. Kings are nearly immune to this sound, though it's still incredibly irritating.

( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸ ▸ i am the opposite of amnesia
Maverick is the type of person who doesn't really give a damn what you think of him, so long as you're doing your job. Is he somewhat an asshole? Yes. Does he have good intentions? Also yes. He's a brilliant commander, and although he might come off as not caring, it's in fact the opposite: he cares too much. His squad is his life, and he's well-respected for the fact that he does everything in his power to keep his team safe. Some commanders might be tempted to let the Purgos do the dirty work because they're expendable, but Mav makes it a special point to do the dirty work himself, or let someone entirely capable handle it. He makes sure he knows everyone on his squad inside and out before venturing on a mission; it's the difference between life and death. He needs to know what everyone's capabilities are, needs to know how they will respond to situations before even considering allowing them out in the field with him.

He can come across as a complete asshole if you don't know him. Even after you get to know him, often all you can see is the cold he pushes across to the world, the calculating, the strategy. Because this is who he needs to be. It's the small things that betray him for who he really is; it's the silent scream, the gripping of the rail as he watches yet another Purgo die, it's the small smile as yet another demon is taken down, it's the running headlong into danger so that someone else doesn't have to. Maverick is an ambitious, cunning commander. He's ruthless, and he works damn hard. But at the end of the day, he isn't the person the world sees, the person he's made himself become. Maverick has always been one to love deeply and love fiercely, and at this point he's been broken too many times by those he loves. Maverick has never been one who doesn't love enough, no, his problem is much worse. He's always loved far, far too much.

admires ▸ tba, his superiors, the white lotus in general, successful people
abhors ▸ demons, failure
fortes ▸ intelligence, strength, combat skills, command
faults ▸ inability to let go, fear of failure

Harvey Newton Haydonbrown ▸ blue ▸ 6'1" ▸ 201 lbs ▸ eagle on back
( b i o g r a p h y ▸ ▸ some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold
Has life been easy for Mav? Not exactly. Has it been hard? Could've been harder. Mav's early life fit neatly into the middle class. His parents weren't rich socialites living in mansions, but they also weren't starving in the streets. They just were. They existed as part of the working class of society, the every day people. Nothing special. His father owned a bakery and his mother worked there. Any normal child might have been content with this sort of life. It was a good one, after all. They were happy. They made enough money for the four of them to live comfortably, and they were happy. But Mav wasn't exactly an ordinary kid.

Looking back, he always wanted more. He could never have been content working in a bakery for the rest of his life, and although it made fair pocket money in his early teenage years, he always knew he was destined for much much more. He earned top grades at school, working for everything he had. He refused what he thought to be charity from anyone, always working of his own accord for his own accord. He was slowly but surely rising above his small and ordinary family and becoming some extraordinary.

He was noticed by the White Lotus at fifteen, as a possible recruit. He was a model example of what they looked for in their soldiers: disciplined, intelligent, focused, ambitious. He rose quickly in the ranks, rising to the rank of Emundan in a record two and a half years. And from there, he only continued to rise. He was a baker's son no longer. He excelled at killing demons, and was an expert strategist. At the age of 23, he was sent on a mission to capture a demon knight. It was a long shot and a desperate attempt, and the Expurget leading the mission was killed, along with the few Purgos that had come along. Mav took command of the survivors, and managed to take out the knight, getting most of the remaining Emundans back to base. It seemed only logical who to name as Expurget in the place of the dead girl. And so it was that Mav became respected as a logical general, well-known for his ingenuity and his skill at fighting. And so it came to pass that unbeknownst to him, he had just placed a massive target on the backs of himself and everyone he loved.

family ▸ Father (David Booth), Mother (Diana Booth), Sister (Alina Booth)
allies ▸ White Lotus, his team
enemies ▸ Demons
lover(s) ▸ tba

message 14: by alessia (last edited Jan 04, 2016 12:54AM) (new)

alessia (classick) | 40 comments (view spoiler)
C H A R L E S   V A S I L O S   E M M E R I C H
━━━━━━━━━━━━━   •   ━━━━━━━━━━━━
charlie / emmer  ;  xvii  ;  xxii / vi  ;  bi-curious  ;  single
━━━━━━ ʜᴜᴍᴀɴ - ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ ʟᴏᴛᴜs - ᴘᴜʀɢᴏ- ᴇᴜʀᴏᴘᴇ ━━━━━━

  ♕  I C H O R   :   ɢᴇɴᴇᴛɪᴄ ᴀʀᴛɪғᴀᴄᴛ
neither decidedly defensive nor offensive, it functions like an organ. mostly found in his bone marrows, it transforms red blood cell stem cells into embryonic stem cells and transports them throughout his body via his circulatory system by storing quite a number of them in the smaller, cell-like, slightly gold Ichor particles they release into his blood stream. the stem cells allow speedy regeneration and the particles can change his blood type and make it acidic/explosive.
(   notes   )   requires large quantities of blood to be explosive or acidic ; explosive blood is very easily detonated, thus hard to handle ; the stem cells' transformations require at least five days ; there are pretty high risks of malfunction when in another's body ; adrenaline hinders the whole process ; blood transplants can't just happen anywhere anytime ; research on it is still in it's early stages

pᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ   ━   Charles is no soldier. It’s barely been a month since he was recruited into the Lotus, but he’s already worn to the bone and dying for a break. Maybe everyone is, but there’s a reason why he’s being known as one of the European branch’s greatest failures. (Some have already been joking around that “if you somehow beat that Emmerich into shape, you’ll be a legend.”) It’s not hard to see why Charles is labeled as a lost case. He’s awkward, clumsy on his feet, unbelievably slow, can barely lift half his own weight and practically useless on the battle field.

But even Charles has his uses. Though it’s probably more accurate to say Ichor has its uses. Charles was only recruited because of the wonder that is his genetic artefact, he had nothing to do with it. That fact has made itself painfully clear to Charles since the moment he stepped into the sparring ring and broke four separate bones. Every mission and test that has followed after have efficiently slaughtered his self-esteem and self-worth. It’s practically engrained in his brain that he only exists to be Ichor’s host.

It’s clear that Charles belongs somewhere else. He should be in the research labs, putting his brains and incredible memory to great use. Ichor can save the soldiers who come back injured. But Charles knows most don’t come back at all. Ichor can save many more lives out in the field where it heals on the spot. It’s this that pushes him to keep on fighting. After all, what matters now is Ichor saving more people, not his own wellbeing. Maybe this selfless determination is commendable, but if results don’t show, Charles isn’t going to get anywhere.

Charles’ loyalty and patriotism is powerful, but that could only be because he has nowhere else to go. He’s never known any home besides Europe, and besides the Lotus, the only people he’s ever known are his father and the staff that work in his father’s mansion, and all of them cut their ties with him. The Lotus is his everything now. It’s all he has.

He’s as obedient as they come, never running off impulsively into the face of danger or initiating anything without permission. He doesn’t talk unless spoken to and doesn’t complain about the frequent experiments and research being conducted on him. Plus, his blood is a cheap thing now. It’s not a nice feeling to have so much of it drained out of him every week or every time someone gets injured, but he deals with it with his mouth shut. He’s practically a machine now. A worn one at that.
; admires • biology - europe - research labs - fancy things - horse-riding
; abhors • exercise - fast food - noise - public transportation
; fortes • cool head - strong survival instinct - quick reaction time - hyperthymesia
; faults • physically weak - clumsy - horrible vision - vulnerable to illness - bad reactions
tom webb — ɢʀᴇʏ - ʙʀᴏᴡɴ - 5'11 - 163 ʟʙs - ɢᴏʟᴅ-ᴛᴀɪɴᴛᴇᴅ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ
» charles looks nothing like a soldier. He’s small, all angles and even wears spectacles sometimes. He may be light but he’s still undeniably slow. His physique gives him no advantages whatsoever, instead, it gives him tons of problems.

bɪᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ   ━   It’s easy to guess that Charles hasn’t had a taste of tragedy yet. He’s lived the luxurious life of a rich kid for as long as he could remember. He got every thing he wanted, exactly when he wanted. Life practically bent and changed its course to suit his tastes. He lived up in his father’s fancy mansion, where everything was served to him on a silver platter. He picked his private teachers and classes. He decided who served him and who tended to his garden and who took care of horses. He could decide to buy first class tickets to Hawaii for a month and his father would give his consent without so much as blinking an eye. Life was perfect.

He had the answers to everything. His resources were practically unlimited, and so was his memory. Thanks to his hyperthymesia he could remember everything he read and watched to the finest details. But nothing he found could completely explain his gold blood.

He couldn’t remember when he first noticed his blood was slightly gold-tainted. It’d always been that way. He could only remember when he started realising it was odd. He’d fallen off his horse while riding when he was seven and a maid was wrapping his bleeding knee in a bandage when she had pointed it out. He hadn’t realised before then that golden blood was something out of the world. After that, he’d dived deeper than ever into the world of biology, trying to find answers. He’d conducted experiments on it in secret and soon figured that his blood could practically work ‘magic.’

He hadn’t noticed and still doesn’t know, but a year ago, he’d slipped up and his father had witnessed his golden blood in its ‘magic-working’ action. His father had then called the Lotus, informing them of his son’s genetic artefact. (view spoiler) Eleven months later, while Charles’ father was overseas for business, they arrived. Charles had tried sending them away, but the moment they mentioned his golden blood, he was all ears.

He couldn’t explain why he decided to join the White Lotus so easily, so he didn’t. Charles simply packed his bags, signed the paperwork and took off. Maybe the idea of running around, hunting demons and saving the world appealed to the teenage kid. It looked like a great idea, but clearly he didn’t know what he was really asking for. The moment he stepped into the struggle and into the sparring ring, he got four bones broken and desperate to go running back. But his father had already declared him officially disowned, and now he has nowhere else to go.
; familymother , Laurel - father , Marcel (?)
; allies • the White Lotus
; enemies • Demons
; lover(s) • -

message 15: by awkward potato (new)

awkward potato | 34 comments (view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━━ · · · ( tobias arlo king ) · · · ━━━━━━━━━━
18 ( vii/x ) ▸ homme ( bi + single ) ▸ human ( white lotus ) ▸ australasia
holy artifact ; Adriel
description : A defensive, non-genetic afrtifact that is fashioned to look like an angel's wing and acts as a shield for the wielder.
notes : The wing acts a protective device and the 'feathers' of the wing present the user with small daggers. The shield is large and also heavy, which makes fatigue and increased strain an issue in battle. When the 'feathers' are removed, this also means apart of the shield is gone too.
rank ; Purgo
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸
In the White Lotus, many people would go so far as to say they know Tobias, to say they know how fierce and hardworking he is. But that is barely even touching the surface, and not entirely accurate. Yes, Tobias is hardworking, but only because he has to be. Work is a distraction from the horrible grief that rages a war inside him, the pain that threatens to tear him apart and leave him bleeding and bruised and a mere sliver of his former self. The thing most people don't realize about Tobias is that he is sensitive, far too caring for the harshness this damned world holds. His determination is the only thing keeping him in the White Lotus, the only motivating factor he has anymore. Maybe he is just being dramatic, but at only eighteen, he's seen more shit than some have in a lifetime.

This sensitivity isn't a weakness, however. At least, Tobias doesn't see it that way. This part of him still finds the will to keep going even when everything around him is bitter and dank and cruel. This side of him strives to see the goodness, the light and purity in all. The softness Tobias carries in his heart is what keeps him human. He has nothing left to hold on to, but something pushes him everyday. And whether it's the part of him that finds joy in the little things or the part that is motivated purely by grief and blame, he doesn't know, but at least he's here; at least he is pushing.
admires ▸ distractions, people, music
abhors ▸ sour treats, cold weather, solitude
fortes ▸ strong, hardworking, altruistic
faults ▸ overcoming grief, bottles emotions

dudley o'shaughnessyblue ▸ chocolate brown ▸ 6'3 ▸ 221 lbs
Tobias has always been told he is fairly pretty, graced with a lovely face and even lovelier eyes. Training has also managed to work his once lanky body into something with muscle and tone. A shame he is too oblivious to the looks he manages to get.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
For Tobias, life had always been a little rocky, even before the White Lotus, even before he no longer had a sister to lean on. His parents died early on, leaving him and his sister stuck in the less than glamorous foster care system. It was never easy on the duo, moving from place to place with only each-other to hold on to, yearning for the family life they once had, for the parents they so dearly missed. It often seemed to Tobias, who was barely six at the time, that things were moving so uncontrollably fast. In truth, he really couldn't comprehend what was happening. He knew his parents were gone, but where? And when would they be back to rescue him from this new reality? It took him awhile before he understood that Jasmine was all he had left.

As Tobias grew older, he and Jasmine only became closer, bonded by the accident that stole their parents away from them. It was them against the world. Tobias also became very dependent upon his older sister, going to her for any issue that happened to come his way. She was his best friend, his mom, his teacher. Tobias loved Jasmine -- she was the only source of family he had left and he cherished her for simply being there. It also became more evident that Tobias was troubled by something. He was constantly on edge and jumpy when things deviated from their normal schedule. He became panicky when Jasmine got home ten minutes late and slept with the door locked and a baseball bat propped on his nightstand. He stopped taking chances and was scared to go out and act like a teenager. The idea that he would come back and find Jasmine gone was like a dagger in his side and that thought never seemed to abandon him. Jasmine did her best to quell this, of course, and thus a promise was made, a vow to always be there for each other.

But he wasn't. It was one night, one stupid decision. Tobias had just turned seventeen and this guy he kinda had a cush on convinced him to go out. "Just one night, Tobias! It'll be fun!" he had promised, flashing a devilish grin. And Tobias had believed him, fell for his sexy smile and charming laugh because, quite frankly, he had wanted to. He had wanted to go out and have fun; he had wanted to escape for just a little awhile. And he did. But when it came time to go home, reality came crashing down.

Tobias returned home about midnight, his smile vanishing as he saw the door ajar and felt the prickling sense of something wrong. "Jasmine!" he screamed, stumbling into the house with hot tears falling down his cheeks. The apartment was in disarray; clothes strewn everywhere and dark stains smeared upon the wood. Tobias choked back tears when he reached the bathroom and found Jasmine, cold and covered in scarlet, fear etched upon her pretty features. He enveloped her small body -- had it always been this fragile? -- and held her, rocking slowly until the men and women in white showed up.

Tobias isn't sure what made them recruit him. Was it because he saw too much? Because he was clearly inept to care for himself? Because he was a helpless wreck? Whatever the reason, Tobias is thankful for the White Lotus for giving him another shot at having a real family and he swears to never let them down like he did Jasmine.
family ▸ mother -- henrietta king, father -- elijah king, sister -- jasmine king
allies ▸ The White Lotus
enemies ▸ Demons
lover(s) ▸ None at the moment

message 16: by mels (new)

mels (padmeskywalkers) | 121 comments (view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━━━ · · · Junia Atara Ihejirica · · · ━━━━━━━━━
21 ( july 30 1994 ) ▸ female ( bisexual + single )
human ( council member ) ▸ johannesburg, south africa
holy artifact ▸ ▸ Anduriel
Junia's Holy Artifact takes the form of a silver bracelet. It is a defensive artifact, as it prevents demons within a radius of about 20 yards of her from teleporting (both in and out). It may seem like a weak artifact to most, as it appears to be next to useless in combat, but she's used it to her advantage many a time. She also carries a set of daggers that are able to maim, but not kill demons that can be used in close quarters combat. They are made of the same metal and are of the same design as her bracelet.

( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸ ▸ i'm going to rattle the stars
Junia has always been very determined and strong-willed. Although she is extremely young to be in her position, she slowly but surely earned the respect of the people she commands (though the naysayers are still aplenty). She is witty and intelligent, and completely gorgeous to boot. She knows that she is the right person to lead the African branch of the White Lotus, and despite the many who patronize her for her age and inexperience, she continues to hold her head high.

She has often been likened to a princess, with a personality that could be described as forceful, and an incredibly bright intellect. But really, who can be perfect all the time? Junia may have grown into a stunning woman, but there are still those who remember the times of scabbed knees and Harry Potter marathons. Sometimes Junia misses those days, but it's not as if she can turn back now.

admires ▸ shoes, clothes, lord of the rings, harry potter
abhors ▸ demons, tba
fortes ▸ elegance, determination, intelligence, passion
faults ▸ youth, inexperience

Zendaya Colemanbrown ▸ hazel ▸ 5'10" ▸ 134 lbs
( b i o g r a p h y ▸ ▸ drowning my thoughts out with sounds
It was quite the scandal: Abiyoye Ihejirica, respected member of the White Lotus Council, leader of the African branch disappeared for one year. He returned with a child in his arms. He gave no explanation, resuming his duties as if nothing had happened. But the whispers remained. One whisper stated firmly that the child was a demoness he had rescued from the claws of Lucifer himself. Another stated that the child was an innocent he had saved from a terrible fate. But the general opinion appeared to be that perhaps the child was Abiyoye's. Certainly he treated her as his daughter, and called her daughter. But the question remained: where was the mother? And this was there the whispers grew louder.

Junia grew up surrounded by these whispers, and she grew used to the word "bastard" whispered at her from dark corners, usually accompanied by a faceplant to the floor due to a foot stuck out in her way. But she soon learned to ignore the whispers, to gracefully leap over the feet (or step on them if she happened to be in heels). She learned that the whispers were just words, and why should they hurt her? They were the words of people who were jealous, who had nothing better to talk about. So she held her head up high and vowed that she'd prove them wrong. And so she did.

She began training from a young age, younger than most. She was top of the class in nearly everything. She trained, and she trained, and she trained. But it's not as if her life were devoid of fun. [insert name here] was her best friend. They trained together, did everything together, really. But that all changed when her father died. After that, she drifted away from what remained of her childhood. She couldn't stop feeling the immense pressure of following in her father's footsteps. She was named Purgo at a very young age (fourteen), and made an Emundan at the record age of sixteen. And from there? She went on to become the youngest Council Member ever from Africa (and there remains some debate on whether she is the youngest council member ever). However her road has not ended there. In fact, it's hardly begun. She thought she had escaped the whispers that had followed her all her life, but they've only grown louder and more vocal.

family ▸ Abiyoye Ihejirica (father), unknown mother
allies ▸ [insert name here], White Lotus, African Branch
enemies ▸ demons, tba
lover(s) ▸ tba

message 17: by awkward potato (new)

awkward potato | 34 comments (view spoiler)

━━━━━━━━ · · · ( chante mallory baudin ) · · · ━━━━━━━━
26 ( v/ii ) ▸ femme ( het + single ) ▸ human ( white lotus ) ▸ euro
holy artifact ; Isa
description : An offensive, non-genetic artifact that takes on the shape of a whip.
notes ; The whip is made up of twenty-one razor sharp metal disks (save the stock, which is made of an easily grippable leather) and stretches to about forty-six inches in length. The whip will not effectively work on opponents if the proper form isn't executed, which can be problematic in small and/or tight spaces. The whip can also not kill demons unless it is in the postion to kill them (wrap around their throats). It can, however, maim them and weaken them extensively.
rank ; Expurget
( p e r s o n a l i t y ▸
A shadow is all that remains of the once vibrant Chante Baudin, a ghostly presence that barely leaves a mark on the world, on those around her. But somehow, her elusiveness, her evasiveness, is overlooked, her hardwork and dedication allowing her to climb the ranks, allowing her to lead. Somedays -- most days -- she hardly feels up to the task, but letting her team down would be unthinkable. Her heart may be heavy with despair and grief, her soul weighted by all that she has lost, but the prospect of losing even more... Let's just say it's enough to get Chante out of bed and enough to get her to lead with authority and power, even it is just a ruse.

See, Chante is the type of woman that gives off a distinct vibe, an aura that makes it clear she knows what needs to be done. While this is true, it isn't the whole truth. People say that Chante is strong, that she is a leader people can count on -- and she is. But only a part of her is truly strong, able to continuously fight a war that appears never-ending. Of course, the other half of her is hardly acknowledged, barely visible to those around her as she sets her carefully crafted mask in place, as she slips on her uniform and leads her team to battle. Seemingly unbreakable, she fights, she leads, she protects. And at night, with the stench of the battlefield still clinging to her and her hands washed in blood, she allows her other side out, the side that gets no consolation, that gets nothing to ease the pain; the side that is fed desolation by the war and is left to fester, ever hungry, ever wanting.

But she is a leader and so, when the morning comes and her duty stares her in the face and her responsiblities scream at her, she wipes her eyes and begins again. Because what else is there?
admires ▸ solitude, tea, a day not ending in death
abhors ▸ losing a member of her team, raisins, snow
fortes ▸ agile, intelligent, focused
faults ▸ dismissive, vague, broken inside

anais malibrown ▸ darker brown ▸ 5'11 ▸ 140 lbs ▸ birthmark
Before war came to encomass her every fleeting thought, Chante was once a little vain, often admiring her subtle curves and leggy physique; the way her skin was soft over her edges, her body graceful as a dancer -- or a lioness. Now, she just knows her self to be powerful, to be sinewy and fast and mean: a vessel honed for battle.
( b i o g r a p h y ▸
Born in Marseille, France, Chante grew up in a place of tranquil squares and nineteenth centurty avenues, where history meets the modern day. Her life hadn't perfect -- although, if you asked her today, she would swear it had been -- but it had been wholly hers, simple and full and loving, encompassed in light. And then darkness and dread seeped through the invisible cracks and eradicated her happiness, completely destroyed her sense of direction. She supposes she was lucky she had the Lotus to fall back on, but it doesn't always seem like a blessing, not with death permeating her every thought, every motive, every move.

Once upon a time, Chante Mallory Baudin had a future, one of warmth and happiness and wholeness. She had applied to her dream school -- and gotten in -- and had just celebrated her three-year anniversary with her boyfriend. She had plans for life and refused to let anything get in her way. It's funny how one little incident can offset one's entire world.

At first, this little incident was a miracle, a thing of light and joy, albeit completely terrifying. A positive pregnancy test. Possibilities flooded her and a new vision emerged, one with her and little pink bundle. It brought tears to Chante's eyes and something flared within her. She was going to be a mother; she was going to have a family of her own. Her parents hadn't been the most joyous upon receiving the news, but they respected their daughter enough to allow her to pursue this dream, this unexpected opportunity. Unfortunately, Chante's almost four-year relationship was ended. He had wanted no part of parenthood -- not then, at least. He was in school, too young to have a baby. And so they broke it off. But Chante wasn't giving up on her baby.

They say the world works in mysterious ways, oftentimes unforgiving. Despite that, Chante had managed to be a young woman who relied on her optimism to color her world in vibrant hues. And then she was awash in gray. It had been three months after the people in white came to recruit her, unknowing of her pregnancy, that she found herself lost and abandoned. Her baby girl was gone, taken up into the realm of angels and forgiveness and peace. Chante had never cried so much, had never felt so utterly defeated as she did in that moment. Her baby, her miracle, her light... They were gone.

For weeks, Chante did nothing -- she was a shell, hollow and unfeeling. Her purpose of life had been taken, lost along with her baby, and she wasn't sure where to go next. She had been in school still, but her grades were struggling severely and the will wasn't there anymore. Hopeless and having nowhere to go, Chante attempted to find the recruiters, the people in white. The White Lotus. Eventually, she found them, but it was not of her own doings. It was fate -- or coincidence -- that led her to take a different way home from work, a way that was darker and dingier and more deserted. And there they were: the people in white. From there, the rest is history.

Chante moved quickly through the ranks, thankful to fight for something, to do something, anything. Determination and pain fueled her, leading her up the latter to become Expurget, which she accomplished just last year. And despite her smiles, her banter, her seemingly in-charge attitude, not much has changed for Chante.

She is still haunted by the ghosts she left behind.
family ▸ mother -- xandra baudin, father -- nathaniel baudin
allies ▸ The White Lotus
enemies ▸ Demons
lover(s) ▸ Micha Hart (ex)

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