(☾) are you scared?

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76heart
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(☾) are you scared?

Post by 76heart » Tue Dec 17, 2019 6:13 pm

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━━━━━━you've  heard  my━━
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ancient asshole vampire time hell yeah
please do not post here unless you are
myself or my lovely wonderful friend <3
massive content warning for violence
and the sex and all around dark shit
and also balls jokes. these four do not
mess around and many, many minor
and unnamed characters will be harmed

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76heart
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(☾) time index

Post by 76heart » Mon Dec 23, 2019 9:11 pm

reserving this so we can post our forms whoops

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Iris
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Achille--- no mercy for the weak

Post by Iris » Tue Dec 24, 2019 2:39 pm

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i. Achillexxxxxxxii. Malexxxxxxxiii. Physically Thirty-onexxxxxxxiv. 6'1xxxxxxxv. Vampire

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Born in 939 AD, Achille was the third born son of a family of nobles in West Francia outside of modern day Paris, France. From childhood forward, Achille was always fond of the finer things in life, taking advantage of every opportunity his family's station in life could provide to obtain that which he desired. His family, too, was ambitious in nature, most doing whatever it took to further their holdings and their social standing no matter the moral ambiguity of the task at hand, a trait that undoubtedly passed down to Achille. Life was good for Achille as a child, and even better as he grew in to a man, both his vanity and desires being satisfied by material goods as well as through flesh as he avoided marriage through the advantageous marriages of his siblings before him, leaving him free to unabashedly fulfill his carnal desires through a string of casual sexual relationships. It was one such relationship, however, that collapsed all he had ever known at the age of thirty-one. Mere days after beginning a sexual relationship with a visiting Italian woman, he was abruptly made aware of the existence of the supernatural world when she unexpectedly turned him in to her vampire progeny during a sexual encounter. She showed herself to be more unstable and conniving than he could have imagined in the time that followed, their time together spanning the following decades during which Achille himself became more unhinged and merciless. A significant betrayal ruined any sentiment Achille once had for her as his maker, the falling out that followed leaving them permanently estranged. Never losing his ambitions, Achille only grew stronger, more dangerous, and unpredictable as the years went on and he maneuvered his way through the supernatural world. His ambitions were rewarded with a crown as he became the vampire king of France, a title he would maintain for centuries to come.


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Iris
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Xia--- they call it Shangri-La

Post by Iris » Tue Dec 24, 2019 2:44 pm

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xxxxxxxi. Cài Xiaxxxxxxxii. Femalexxxxxxxiii. Physically Twenty-fourxxxxxxxiv. 5'7xxxxxxxv. Vampire

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Born in 951 AD, Xia was the only child born to a family of humble artisans in a small village in what would come to be the modern Hubai province in Central China. Her father died when Xia was young, leaving her in the care of her mother and paternal grandparents. Her childhood certainly wasn't perfect, but it could have been worse, and she found some happiness in it. Unfortunately, her childhood ended earlier than could have been expected, an unassuming trip to the market when she was twelve years old leading to her capturing the attention of a far older wealthy merchant with an attraction to adolescent girls. In a move that was taboo even for the time, her family soon received a visit from the man and a match maker, and over the objections of her mother, Xia was given by her paternal grandfather to the man to be his wife and gain honor for their family. By thirteen years of age, Xia was married to the merchant and living with him and his family in their home. The years that followed changed Xia, though they made her strong, and though no children came of the marriage, her husband's attention soon wandered elsewhere once Xia began to develop from a girl in to a woman. When she was nineteen, her husband left to secure trade in another region, and though she did not see him for the next five years, his actions along his journey home summoned the wrath of a Pictish vampire in the area who went to the home first to slaughter his family as punishment. Xia was the only one spared from the massacre, the vampire taking a fondness to her. He gave her a choice of her fate, and she chose the freedom he offered. He made her his progeny, and when her husband returned to the home, Xia killed him. In the centuries that followed, Xia stood beside her maker, the person she was closest to in the world, as he taught her to fight and to live. They fought side by side together in supernatural battles as he accumulated territory through force, and when not fighting, Xia continued to train even harder to become a skilled fighter and enjoyed her time in the spectacular wilderness that surrounded them. The two became incredibly close through the years, and though they would eventually separate to live in different regions, that loyalty never lifted.

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76heart
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(☾) do you wanna get out alive?

Post by 76heart » Mon Jan 06, 2020 8:14 am

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in 948 AD, ananya zaman was born to two court
dignitaries, a man serving an english king, and a
woman serving a ruler in india, who met during their
travels and fell in love. she stands at five feet, six
inches, and though she was not the first born child-
her brother murugan holds that title-, she was
clearly the favored one. ananya basked in that,
adoring the attention and the spotlight, something
she has always quite enjoyed. when she came of age
to marry, her parents chose to go with the indian
traditions of the time, where woman could pick a
suitor. due to having no desire to marry, she dodged
it when she was able, and when she was not, she
simply scared any possible suitors away, and her
parents turned a blind eye to what she was doing.
when she finally found a man she wanted to marry,
her closest friend, who would press her for neither
love nor children, she lost him. in 971, at the age
of twenty-three, her city was attacked, and he lost
his life. she, along with her brother, was gravely
wounded, and a vampire, who had raised her as her
nanny, turned them both, despite her pleas to allow
her to die with her friend. she killed him the moment
she was turned, and due to his love for her, he let
her. she lost whatever humanity she had that day,
and has become merciless and cold. she's calculated
and controlled, while being dangerous and
unpredictable. she has become a master of court
games and reading people, and will do anything to
get what she wants, which is why she and murugan
are the english vampire king's most favorite heralds.



























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gifs © rightful owners
face claim © anya chalotra
song © play dirty - kevin mcallister ft. sebell
character © 76heart

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76heart
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(☾) line em up and tell them run

Post by 76heart » Tue Jan 07, 2020 6:38 am

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━━━━━━━━life    is    a━━━━━━━━
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born in 934 AD, murugan zaman is the eldest child
and only son of two diplomats who met during their
work and found love with one another. he stands at
six feet, and though he was the first born and the
son, his parents always favored his younger sister
ananya, who was born when he was fourteen, and
surprisingly, that was something he never minded.
he loved the freedom that afforded him, and the
things he could do when the watchful gaze was
placed on his sister instead of him. he spent his
days shadowing his father when their parents were
around as a child, and when he grew older, his days
were spent almost entirely in brothels, and enjoying
his privileges as a coin master to a local lord. that
all changed one night at the age of thirty-seven in
971 AD, however, when his city was attacked, and
he and his sister were gravely wounded. they were
saved by the man who had raised them as a nanny
turning them into vampires. nanya had not wanted
to be turned, instead wishing to die with the friend
who had been killed, and so she killed their maker.
he had been close with the man, but he did not
grieve, as that night had changed him, too.
murugan became even colder, and with time he
became an expert in observing, and his
proficiency in numbers only grew with his
intelligence. he grew wiser, and into the perfect
herald for an english vampire king with nanya.
























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gifs © me
face claim © mahesh jadu
song © monsters - xeah
character © 76heart

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Iris
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No Mercy For The Weak | I

Post by Iris » Sun Feb 16, 2020 10:25 pm

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The metallic chill of gold was a familiar one. It wasn't one that was new to him, a luxurious adornment that he had found need to trade sunlight for darkness in order to acquire. No, it wasn't that novel, that sacred in that particular sense, though truly nothing about such a length of time could be attributed to anything novel at all, given the centuries that had passed the Frenchman by under a mist of darkness. Still, even that vast stretch of time hadn't been the catalyst to his introduction to the precious metal. Though the crown that he wore proudly and the throne that he rested upon even now as his eyes inspected the crafted gold before him were the products of his life as it was now rather than what it had been before, he had been born in to nobility of an inherently different, remarkedly lower sort. It had been a different life in all but the most literal of senses, and perhaps even then, and yet that nobility in title if not in practice had been one of the few constants shared between the two existences- a standing and standard of living that hadn't lowered and never would. It was a reality he was confident in, that he held as fact with unwavering certainty. The struggle to attain title and power was difficult for the weak and gracious, and to retain it all but impossible. Achille was subject to none such hindrances, and with little inclination toward sentiment or mercy and the strength of centuries passed, power came easily and with it, gold to fill his coffers and adorn his person. After all, when it came to life, excess was that which he was accustomed, and when it came to jewelry, gold his preference.

That had been one of his biggest consolations when the insidious bitch he was forever bound to through blood had turned him. Of course, through the years, she had provided him plenty of sources of displeasure regardless; more, even, than she had given him cause for pleasure, though their times together had not been nearly as insignificant in number as they had been in meaning or sentiment. Still, he had learned long ago to take the positive where he could, as in his experience -and he thought of himself as something of an admittedly less than humble expert on the subject, to the extent anyone could be given her nature- the positive was scarcely found, and even more seldom lingering. Yet, gold wasn't something even she could ruin for him, though she had certainly spared no effort in attempting to do just that. Fortunately, her material attempts made little difference to biological truths. The pain of silver was substantial to his kind, of course, which was a loss to be certain, but none such as the exclusion of gold would have proved to be. At least there was that, and the vampire king was more than happy to take full advantage.

Even now, his tastes not likely considered, Achille was contented as he studied the gold he had been presented. The chain of thick ornamental metal slid easily over and between his pale fingers as he raised his hand more level with his chilled blue gaze. His movements were subtle and crept, fingers raising and wrist turning as the length fell and slid against his flesh, catching before being wrapped around his index, and then middle finger. The gold had something of a thick woven appearance, as if separate smooth bands had been shaped and set together in an intricate pattern with the complexity of a basket woven from a diligent artisan. In the middle of the piece the bands grew narrower before opening to a series of three pendants of deep, blood red garnet. The clearest of which was placed apart in the the center, the setting around it gold once more. His head tilted as he studied the inscription of the setting. 'Omnes Qui Permanet In Aeternum', the engraving read easily in familiar Latin. All that which endures is permanent. The generic sentiment caused Achille to snicker to himself before allowing the piece to slide shortly between his fingers once more to inspect the setting of the third cut garnet, though he hardly had the time to do so at his leisure before a nervous voice interrupted him in the otherwise silent room. "C'est du joyau de la Méditerranée," the anxiety-ridden words were well-spoken French, of Achille's mother tongue, yet were spoken in a heavy Italian accent.

Raising a brow, Achille lifted his gaze from the piece to look back at the man who had spoken. Though over a dozen men of his court lined the flame-lit throne room, it was only the man who spoke that stood in front of him. It was a pathetic sight, truly, the Italian who was immortalized balding and middle-aged all but cowering before the foreign king. Achille wouldn't have had it any other way, especially given the circumstances which led to his visit to Achille's court, but it was still shamefully pathetic all the same. "C'est italien?" He asked. He wasn't familiar with the craftsman who had made it. "Oui, Votre Majesté!" The Italian was quick to confirm, nodding his head enthusiastically. "Pas Sardinia?" Achille watched with amusement as the light of hope and optimism which had so tentatively been place seemed so quickly to drain from the visitor as all familiar panic returned unconcealed to the man's eyes. He could only imagine what was running through the man's head- likely questioning which answer it was that the king was searching for- if Sardinia held importance or favor or rank above all other possibilities, or conversely, if such a place of origin of the gift sent would be deemed an insult. Judging by the man's demeanor, Achille was fairly certain he knew just how poorly the king was likely to receive an insult- especially from a proxy of the man's employer, a foreign vampire Achille had made no secret of his contempt towards in the past before such matters had been cleared in favor of Achille.

"Non, ah...non, Votre Majesté. Plutôt, au cœur de Florence," the man stuttered worriedly through his response. Such an answer was of little surprise to Achille, though in response he gave nothing but a disapproving click of his tongue, his head slowly shaking as his gaze returned to the necklace chain in his hand. Even as his eyes settled on the gold before him, he could practically smell the fear radiating from the man, a state which Achille was all too willing to bask in. "Un jeton," the Italian was quick to continue, his French pronunciation suffering as he spoke more urgently, "si je peux," he added, "de l'amour que mon maître met à nu pour Votre Majesté." Achille felt his lips began to tug in amusement as he continued to study the intricacies of the golden patterns. "Car c'est Votre Majesté, de tous les princes du monde, à qui le maître possède le plus d'amour." Immediately after the words were spoken sounds of laughter filled the throne room from a few of Achille's men, with Achille's own amusement the loudest. His head fell back as he laughed at the ridiculousness of the claim, his golden hair falling over his shoulders and splayed against the heavy black fitted fabric that clothed him. It was an unintended response, undoubtedly, but surely by anyone who knew Achille, it would have been expected.

After all, how long had it been since Achille's relationship with the Italian merchant to whom the man in front of him had presumably so recently gained employment had been at it's worst? A year, maybe two? Achille had walked the earth for centuries. Years now passed like a blink of an eye for him, and at the peak of their disagreement Achille had been craving little more for their future than to have the man in the lowest level of his home, strapped so silver before their fun could truly begin and Achille could show the man that the sentence for displeasing him wasn't assuredly upon pain of the truest death; no, it could be far, far, worse than that. The Italian had wisely cooled Achille's temper on the matter before such measures were taken, but it was hardly without precedent to say that the king had something of an unpredictable nature. To claim there was love between the two, in any case, gave way to more amusement than Achille would have ever expected the pathetic man capable of providing. It took several moments for Achille's laughter to calm, his head turning to the man standing down to his right, off the landing that the throne was sat upon. "Je suis le plus aimé, Votre Grâce," he mocked to his royal secretary. The man's features held a knowing smile as he gave a nod.

Turning his attention back to the Italian, Achille studied him for a moment and watched as the fearful man waited in seemingly haunting anticipation before finally giving a wave of his free hand. "Dites à votre maître qu'il peut retourner en France avec ma bénédiction, il ne lui arrivera aucun mal tant qu'il honorera notre accord," he finally deemed, his limited interest in the entire encounter waning even further when he saw the relief on the man's face. Achille shrugged his shoulders, De quoi ai-je besoin pour sa tête quand j'ai si clairement ses couilles?" The question was meant to be rhetorical and fleeting, and yet the words amused Achille, bringing him to laugh shortly at his own words before waving the man off to dismiss him. The man was quick to leave with a bow and rushed words of thanks before turning and hurrying back down the path from which he had arrived- the main entrance, opposite the room from the throne. With him gone, Achille shifted, moving to grab the ornamental box which his gift had been presented in to return it there to further inspect later, but was interrupted by his royal secretary before he could take any such steps which he planned to take in preparation for his exit for the night. "Votre Majesté, si je puis me permettre, il y a une audience de plus, si cela Plaît À Votre Majesté."

Achille paused, his brows furrowing at the words as he looked to his secretary. "Qui? The night was surely coming to a close- he had expected to have it free to himself after ridding himself of the Italian. The way the man paused at the question told Achille he wouldn't like the answer. "Votre Majesté, l'envoyé est arrivé." He raised an impatient brow at the words that were of little help. "Les personnes envoyées par le tribunal anglais." Achille let out a displeased groan the moment the words were spoken, his memory of the agreement to the meeting returning to him. Despite the current political climate, it had never been something he had been looking forward to, and so it had slipped so easily from his thoughts. Why would it have deserved his focus, anyways? With what eagerness was he meant to anticipate the dull conversation that would surely follow, with the ugly men who would come to speak an ugly tongue and discuss the state of a country he cared little for? He was certain it would be about as interesting as a three hour lecture about how the Italian man had balded in his human life would have proven to be. Thoughts of delaying the audience were quick to occur to the king who truly couldn't be bothered, but after a moment he relented and leaned back, giving a nod and wave for the envoy to be led in. Better not to delay the inevitable, he decided, so that his following days wouldn't be spoiled and he could be rid of the Englishman more quickly. With that decision made, he lifted the gift he had just received once more, his eyes glazing over the markings to see if he could spot any more generic Latin inscriptions. Then, at the very least, he could make use of the time with something that was pleasing.



--Translations--


Omnes Qui Permanet In Aeternum --All that which endures is permanent.
C'est du joyau de la Méditerranée --It is from the jewel of the Mediterranean.
C'est italien? --It is Italian?
Oui Votre Majesté! --Yes, Your Majesty!
Pas Sardinia? --Not Sardinia?
Non, ah...non, Votre Majesté. Plutôt, au cœur de Florence. --No, ah...no, Your Majesty. Rather, from the heart of Florence.
Un jeton --A token
Si je peux --If I may
de l'amour que mon maître met à nu pour Votre Majesté --Of the love my master bares for Your Majesty.
Car c'est Votre Majesté, de tous les princes du monde, à qui le maître possède le plus d'amour. --For it is Your Majesty, of all the princes in the world, to whom my master possesses the most love.
Je suis le plus aimé, Votre Grâce. --I am the most loved, Your Grace.
Dites à votre maître qu'il peut retourner en France avec ma bénédiction, il ne lui arrivera aucun mal tant qu'il honorera notre accord. --Tell your master he can return to France with my blessing, no harm will befall him so long as he honors our agreement.
De quoi ai-je besoin pour sa tête quand j'ai si clairement ses couilles? --What need have I for his head when I so clearly already have his balls?
Votre Majesté, si je puis me permettre, il y a une audience de plus, si cela Plaît À Votre Majesté. --Your Majesty, if I may, there is one more audience, should it please Your Majesty.
Qui? --Who?
Votre Majesté, l'envoyé est arrivé. --Your majesty, the envoy have arrived.
Les personnes envoyées par le tribunal anglais. --The persons sent from the English court.

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