welcome

THE NEXUS

Full Name: Ailyn Mikaela Isidro
Alignment: Evil
Mortal or Magickal: Magickal
Roleplaying Sample: Previously, it had been cold, damp, and just plain miserable in Chicago. Not saying that the weather really changed a whole lot, but just the slightest increase in temperature felt like a milestone had been achieved today and what a good way to spent it, in Portage Park looking for good magickal beings, that she could hunt, torture, and then kill later on. The wind started picking up a bit, forcing Ailyn to slide her hands into the pockets of her denim jeans. So far, there was no one she knew for sure that was magickal or no one who really looked as if they would be part of that filthy so called group of magickal beings. It was going to be one long ass day, the park was crowded today, filled with people of all shapes and sizes.

From Ailyn’s view upon the hill the colors she were seeing were like a rainbow, a dingy and dirty one, but still a rainbow nonetheless. She was not fitting in with the picture at all her appearance was at the very least clean. Her clothes still had their bright vibrant colors and had not yet faded, currently there were no holes, spots, or any other marks located on his clothing and she smelled like soap and body wash while most around her were just the opposite, exactly. Ailyn was in her own little world right now, in her zone, looking and searching with hawk-like eyes or considering her current demeanor like a god standing up on top of the hill watching her people go here and there with their idle, boring, and ordinary living. Then something snatched her right out of her zone, a voice, low, raspy, and hoarse. She didn't turn around she just kept her eyes focused on their task and let her ears listen to what the voice was saying. Excuse me,ma’am...do you have some spare change? The words registered in her brain. "Do I look like a fucking piggy bank to you?" Ailyn asked, but before the bum could respond Ailynstarted walking away she didn't have time to deal with him right now, maybe later.

Slowly, silently, and deadly she walked to the other side of the park closer to a Memorial where she let out a slight grin. Pretty soon all the good beings would be dead and anyone who opposed would also be able to meet face to face with their god. She wondered would they make a Memorial for them also and what would it be called, Witches Memorial in memory of dumb asses, assholes, stupid fucks, and other unworthy creatures. Still walking with her hands in her pockets and her right hand lay ever so gently on her dagger, just in case. She had finally made it to her new destination. The sun was shining brightly on this side, despite it still being cold Ailyn turned to face it, just so she could soak up as much Vitamin D as she would need for today. Stretching out with a yawn she was close to giving up her search until one little feminine voice spoke up irritating her. “Well, shit then if I'm blocking your view why do you get up and move until you’re out of my shadow?” Ailyn retorted turning around to face the person this time.

She could not believe that had actually asked her to move out of their way.

Full Name: Willow Seraphina Montgomery
Alignment: Evil
Mortal or Magickal: Magickal
Roleplaying Sample: "Please... please just let me go!"

The pitiful whimper from a grown man brought a malicious smile to Willow's lips; she looked up from her assortment of tools, hazel eyes lingering on the man hanging by his wrists, his feet mere inches from the ground. The high ceiling was one of the reasons Miss Montgomery had chosen this apartment--that and the fact that the walls were thick, and easily soundproofed; she could do anything she wanted, and no one would hear the screams. Her current plaything was quite the macho man, well over six feet, his buff physique veritably dwarfing Willow's petite stature. Yet it was him covered in blood and hanging from the ceiling, and he hadn't submitted willingly. He wasn't quite broken yet, and Willow was relishing the moment as she turned her gaze back to the various knives and daggers laid out on her coffee table. Selecting a particularly wicked looking, serrated blade, she stood and once more approached her toy, the look in her eyes predatory now, and hungry.

"Are you not having fun?" she asked, her voice soft, her eyes going wide--in less than a second she went from looking like the bloodthirsty huntress she was, to an utterly innocent, virtuous young woman concerned for her companion. If this were a movie, she would certainly have won an Oscar--it was obvious how she'd lured the man to her home, completely oblivious to the fate that awaited him there. At her mocking words, the man's whimpering began anew, tears beginning to wind their way down his cheeks. A bright smile lit Willow's features at the sight, and she held the dagger before the man's face, watching as his eyes went wild from terror--it was a sight of which she would never tire. She leaned in close, running her tongue along the most recent cut in his chest, the blood filling her mouth; it tasted sweet and ran in a thick stream down her throat. Then she continued the carving with the dagger in her hand, drawing the final part of the inverted pentagram--a favorite symbol of hers--and then circling it. The man's screams as the knife bit deep into his flesh were music to her ears, the evil in her soul rejoicing at the sound.

Then Willow set the blade back on the table, after licking the remaining blood from it, and she put her arms around the man's neck and her legs about his waist, holding herself to him, the blood seeping in to the silver robe she wore. She kissed him gently on the lips before biting down hard--the man cried out, though his voice was hoarse, as her teeth cut through his lower lip. The fun part was over now, and Willow feigned a sad look, pouting slightly as she placed her hands on either side of the man's head. A sharp twist, and his body went limp, his neck broken. "There now, isn't that all better?" she asked the still-warm corpse, kissing it a final time before dropping to the floor and putting her tools back in their chest. She would dispose of the body later, after taking a luxurious bath and cleansing her robe--a simple enough matter, truth be told. She'd bathe the body before taking it to the local cemetery and laying it carefully, face up, in a fresh grave--there were always a few newly dug graves when she visited. Almost as though they were used to her weekly, sometimes daily ritual. For some people, sex was enough to satisfy them--Willow required blood.

{AILYN ISIDRO}
letting the covers just fall away

To see right through things, to glance at truth, is something so few have the opportunity to do. The truth is always there, staring us in the face. We ignore the glare and bind ourselves to the bliss of ignorance. It’s easy. It’s simple. We take the path traveled and we enjoy it; why break away? Ailyn, one could make the argument that you’ve chosen to take a rarely traveled path. You were born a hero but have chosen to become a scion of darkness. How you made that choice, why and for who is all within the past. The present is that you’re there and you’re not welcome to return. The truth staring you in the face is that you have no choices left; you’re stuck as who you are. Ailyn, the Slayers were born to protect the light but you’ve chosen to use your blessings to reach another end.

Slayers were born from the work of the Ancients. After the demons began to destroy mortals at an accelerated rate, the Ancients decided to give them a chance to fight back. The stole the magick of seven great demons and bound it within seven mortals. They created binds to force the powers to return to a chosen mortal in the next generation. As the seventh falls, the new shall be born. The seventh fell fifteen years ago, and you were called five years after her death. You, like the seventh, are the Slayer of Soul.

Your family has had no experience with magick. You yourself, previous to inheriting these powers, had never experienced magick or dealt with it directly. Your parents know nothing of your magick or your failure to follow in the footsteps of those before you. Your powers have been kept a secret from those around you by your own actions. Though you have abandoned your duty the other Slayers know little more about you than the fact that you’re evil. They don’t know your name, face or anything other than your magickal energies.

The Slayer of Soul has powers that derive from the essence and it’s natural, potent magick. Your first power is the base from which your powers advance. Aura Sensing is the ability to perceive the natural magickal energy that surrounds all beings, not just magickal ones. You’re able to, from their aura, sense alignment, magickal status and intent (hateful toward you or ignorant/peaceful). This power a subtle one that is always active but only focused when you direct it. Your only other power is one that was twisted with your fall. Aura Manipulation allows you to take the magickal energy known as an aura and use it against the holder. This power cannot be used to help, only harm. You’re able to take an aura of a healthy, happy person and convert it, making their life filled with strife, pain and sorrow. The Powers That Be will dictate what happens and when it happens. You’ve also gained another bit of control over this power in recent years; the ability to hurt. You’re able to force an aura to hurt someone. You can force their aura into pins and are able to stab them mystically. This is extremely weak right now and will require The Powers That Be at all times.

As an evil slayer, you’re able to cast rituals. Your natural power in this art is limited at best. You have no magickal tomes and your spiritual guide, the original Slayer of Soul, abandoned you after you turned evil. This has left you without a true guide through magick. You have no way to enter or exit another plane, including the demonic one, so you’ve been forced to keep a semi-normal life in the mortal plane. You are currently at power level two which isn’t too bad for a Slayer gone bad. Your powers are at a level above your power level though this doesn’t protect you from the forces of those with greater base magicks. Finally, you may begin posting in The Streets and Sewers of Chicago. Please move onto writing your bio.

{WILLOW MONTGOMERY}
the words you say are clear

You’ve seen parts of this world that few will ever experience. You’ve seen below the bottom, under the abysmal level that mortals often find themselves reaching. Willow, you fell below that level before you were even born and you’ve had little chance to change where you are. It’d be wrong to assume you had no hand in where you are, but you were given few choices in this matter. You were born what you are; you didn’t become a fiend. Willow, your family’s name has cast a scathing blow on the good community, and there are high hopes for you. You aren’t a prophecized child or anything along those lines, but you do hold the name of one of the most fiendish Evil Gypsies ever to have walked the earth.

Gypsies are a race of Wiccans that are known for their power in the ritual arts and potions. Though, like all Wiccans, they can cast spells, their innate power in these arts is far below that of their sister race. Gypsies have been key in a number of great battles, and their choices still affect so many today. The curse on Vampires who taste innocent blood, the protection cast around the Elemental Caldara and numerous other great acts are easily traced back to this extremely powerful race. Without them, their sister race would have died ages ago.

Your family is known for their acts of evil. Since your great great great great grandmother Willow Montgomery killed her husband using her power, your family has been evil. Your family’s power, at one time, was so feared that even the Royal Witch had felt the need to write a spell to vanquish the head of your family at the time. When your great great grandfather challenged the Royal, he was vanquished (though not without doing some damage of his own) and your family’s name had failed to live up to the expectations the evil community had for them. Since then, your family has been making potions for evil beings in exchange for information and tips. Of course, they’ve had to keep up real lives but that hasn’t stopped them from killing the occasional good witch for her power or a nymph for theirs.

Gypsies, as a Wiccan race, have powers. Your power, in its base form, is Astral Projection. With this power, you’re able to project yourself into the Astral Plane and send your astral self to other places within this plane or the demonic one. When you use your power, you lose control of your body and feint for the duration of your projection. How long you will stay project is variable, but you’ll never stay in a projection for more than ten of your own posts. It’s too hard for you to maintain yourself for that long. Now, with some of the information you’ve gained throughout the years, your family and you have come to the conclusion that practicing with your power is more important that learning the craft. Because of that, your power has grown into another, giving you a second power. This power, Astral Entrapment allows you to force someone into the Astral Plane. You must have a personal object of the person’s and must know their full name; the name they were given at birth. These allow you to focus on the specific person and ensure you don’t drag the wrong fool into the Astral Plane. You cannot pull anyone above Power Level Four into the plane. When in the plane, you can’t directly control them or the plane itself, but they’ll be unable to use their powers or innate magickal abilities as they’re unable to focus magick in that plane. They’ll still have innate protections, but beyond that they’re helpless.

As a gypsy, you’re able to cast spells, brew potions and perform magickal rituals. Your innate power in rituals and potions is above average though your knowledge in rituals is lacking. You don’t have your name in your family’s Book of Shadows as it resides with the good half of your family. Your cousins, who you know little about, hold the book. You’re at Power Level Two which for an evil gypsy who does little but practice her power and brew potions isn’t too bad. As stated earlier, your power is stronger than your level, but you’re still suspetable to the weaknesses that come with your Power Level. Being posting in Navy Pier where you’re waiting for a contact. Please post your biography within the near future.

Full Name:Olivia Miranda James
Alignment: Good
Mortal or Magickal: Magickal
Roleplaying Sample: ”Just hold on Agnes, I’m almost done,” a smooth, feathery light voice erupted from inside the Ancient Ritual Magicks section of the Arcanus Veneficus first floor. With her chestnut hair tied back in a low pony tail, Olivia James sat curled up against a shelf with her head buried in a Magick book. Biting her bottom lip, she continued to peel through the pages, searching frantically through the tomb. She was already pretty positive the book she held didn’t have what she needed, but to be honest she was running out of options. She could have sworn her mother had told her about a certain protection ritual that protected against demonic sensing, a ritual that would come in quite handy with her frequent run ins with demons recently. To be honest, she wasn’t sure if the altercations had been random, or if they had been specifically targeting her, but at the moment she didn’t care, she was just sick and tired of all the fear. Walking home, not knowing if there was some devil spawn waiting to do god knows what to her to get her powers. A girl’s apartment was supposed to be sacred for Christ’s sake.


One thing Liv did know, however, was that these demons were related somehow, part of the same gang… or clan… or clique… or whatever the hell beasts called themselves when they worked together. She had been attacked by three demons within the past two weeks, and from what she could remember from both of them was that they had all had all been relatively human looking, bald human looking, with weird black trible tattoos on their head… something she figured was a clue as to what they were. Unfortunately, Liv wasn’t an expert on demons and their funky body art, so apart from the fact that all three of them had that in common, she was oblivious. Maybe she should be researching the markings; perhaps that had something to do with the ritual? Now all she had to do was find that one book…


A hard knock pounded against the wall, causing the brunette to jump slightly in a start. ”Alright... alright Agnes,” she said with a sigh, sapphire orbs gliding to the clock to her right. It was almost nine o’clock, well past closing hours, and yet there she sat. She had begged Agnes to let her stay an extra few minutes to get some research done, and seeing as how the old Gypsy shopkeeper had a class to teach at nine anyway, she let Liv stay, but only shortly. Obviously by now, her patience had been wearing thin. Still, Liv took advantage of the time alone as best she could, rummaging through the various tombs that lay around her. Unfortunately, after almost an hour alone with the AV’s book selection, she had nothing. She was beginning the think that protection ritual was a load of crap. With another heavy sigh, the young woman laid her head back against the mahogany bookcase, her eyes resting shut in a silent forfeit. There was nothing.


Another crash broke out from the other side of the store, and Liv jumped even more so now, her eyes shot back open and a loud gasp escaped her lips. ”Agnes, I told you I’m coming. Your class isn’t going to start without you, relax,” she teased with grin, expecting that old Romanian’s harsh wit to follow. She waited for the harsh scolding as she slowly stood up and began putting away the books. A minute passed and nothing. “Agnes…?” she called again, this time her voice a bit shakier now, uncertainty poking through her tone. Dropping the book that had been clutched in her hand, she frowned. Alright, this wasn’t funny. Agnes should have been pushing her out the door long before now, what was going on? With a heavy gulp, Olivia continued through the aisles of books, her gaze sharp and attentive. ”Agnes… are you alright?” The entire first floor had been completely silent, save for the light breaths puffing from her own parted lips. Something wasn’t right.


She left the aisles of books and slowly headed toward the front desk, her heart pounding painfully hard against her chest as she moved. What she saw next had been something even she couldn’t have imagined. ”Oh my god…”

{OLIVIA JAMES}
I’m not scared of you or so I say

Olivia, you’re a strong young woman. Your face, your eyes, your words and your life tell this to any who choose to search for it. Sadly, many miss these truths and search only at the depth of flesh. They miss out on so much, but this is the curse of mortality. Mortals have such little time here and some choose to indulge the flesh while others bury themselves within the metaphysical. As a girl whose family has suffered the consequences of both polarities, you’ve hopefully learned to look past such trifle things. Perhaps you haven’t, but I’m sure you will in time. We all learn the things we lack in time, but do you truly have the time to take? In myths, Witches were long living hags but you know otherwise, don’t you?

As a race, Witches are known for their ability with spells and their foolish attempts at the removal of evil. Witches have been among the better known races, and are one of three to have a Royal still among the living. While their sister races are quite powerful in other aspects of magick, witches are more powerful than the others in the art of casting spells. That hasn’t prevented witches from being the race to lose the most to darkness; vampires and nymphs boast far lower numbers than the foolish Wiccans.

Your family is where your story gets interesting. Your mother’s family, magickal, has always been known for…less than planned acts. Now, one would be wrong to say that these actions were taken without good cause, but their spell to banish evil from this plane was…well a waste of collective magick. It nearly wiped their magick off the face of the Earth. Your father’s family has been known to ignore their Creed, not breaking it, and indulge a bit. You, and your family, are a mixture of two extremes; witches who live in the clouds and those that live in the flesh. Hopefully you’ve learned from their mistakes, and if not, you will.

Now, your power isn’t rare or extreme among other races, but in Wiccans it’s an unusual gift. Glamouring is the ability to cast an illusion about one’s self that makes all others see you as someone or something you aren’t. You aren’t actually this thing, meaning you don’t adopt the traits of an object (if you turn into a man, it’ll look like you have working gear but you don’t). However, to everyone with eyes, you will appear to be something else. Your voice and all other aspects will shift to what your magick tells them they should hear. This power is not shape shifting, though many claim the two are the same. Currently, your glamours are unbreakable without some form of advanced magick (a spell, potion ect.) This means, that regardless of Power Level, all people will see you as your glamour. When you’ve adopted a glamour, you’re unable to cast spells or perform rituals. You may only hold a glamour for eight of your own posts. Any longer and you risk magickal exhaustion, though you’re more than welcome to try. As a side benefit of your power, you’re immune to demonic sensory powers so long as your power level is equal to or within two levels of the demon searching for you.

Witches are able to cast spells, brew potions and perform rituals. As stated before, your innate power in spell casting is above average. Your mother’s Book of Shadows is your own; she felt it would better serve you than her. Why? Well she is a witch with foresight, so perhaps she thought you’d need it. You’re currently at Power Level Four which shows that your lack of strength in power has driven you to turn to ritual magicks for more strength. Yes, your power is well below your current magickal level. You will begin posting in The Streets and Sewers of Chicago. I heard there’s something wicked going down there. Please move onto writing your biography at this point.

Same powers, please.

Full Name: Nathanial Deveraux
Alignment: Good
Mortal or Magickal: Magickal
Roleplaying Sample:

Nate had been working with the kids from St. Mary's Orphanage for almost five years now, and he was still, to this very day, amazed at how reflective and cognizant they were about the world around them. Sometimes they thought of things that most adults his age had so much trouble understanding. And at other times, the children marveled him far enough to psychologically lock him inside a cold, dark room with no windows. It was almost nine o' clock -- bedtime for all the kids at the orphanage -- when Nate was sitting with Casey, a five-year old crayon fanatic whose parents were killed in a car accident. The boy was drawing a typical nature scene.

Casey sighed. "Ugh, James used up all the dark blue again!" The boy made a sour face while attempting to search for another substitute color among the 128 others standing in the Crayola box. "Try this one," Nate replied, handing him the aquamarine. Casey took the crayon from him gratefully and examined the name, analyzing it intensely. "Ack-you-uh-mare-inny...?" Casey often reminded Nate of himself at the same age, learning and practicing how to read well before the other five-year-olds. Like Nate used to be, Casey tended to get stuck on any word that was longer than eight letters.

"Ah-kwa-mah-reen," Nate said, chuckling. "It's okay. You'll get it one day, buddy." Nate concluded this reassurance by smiling and patting the child on his head. Casey sighed again and looked out the window. This was typical behavior of Casey, night gazing. Nate watched him pensively, studying him to see if he could get a glimpse of the kinds of thoughts that might be going through the boy's mind. Nate hypothesized that Casey was probably thinking about his parents when he did this, attempting to remember them. Each try, Nate knew, proved futile in the end. "Why does the moon look so sad sometimes?"

Even Nate, a rather smart guy, could only think to say, "That's a good question." Scooting closer to the boy, he propped his chin upon his fist and looked out at the moon as well. "I just don't know, kiddo. I just don't know."

Full Name: Tavner James Maddigan
Alignment: Good [although it's not always evident]
Mortal or Magickal: Magickal
Roleplaying Sample: He was eating pie, and it was rather hopeless to try and guess what flavor it had been before his teeth ripped it to shreds like some rabid dog at exposed human flesh. It was a past time of his, eating pie. Apple, Cherry, Pecan, Chocolate, Spam, you name it, he's probably tried it and ate it all, whether he liked it or not. Pie was just his food of choice. He was like a fat kid eating cake, only minus the fat part and substitute the cake with pie and you've got Tavner Maddigan, a man who means well but doesn't always get that point across. But our main point is that he was eating pie and not caring if any of it happened to miss his mouth and lodge itself on his scruffy face.


"Can ih get mwore coffeez, pwease?" he managed to spittle out at the waitress passing by his table. He didn't look to see if she gave him the routine look of disgust of him talking with his mouth full, instead focused on the plate in front of him. The diner was busy that particular afternoon, and he didn't want to bother her with measly small talk. Or, rather, he didn't want her to bother him and his pie; he was rather attached to it at the moment. Taking a moment to breathe, for breathing is something all living things must take part in, he looked into the bottom of his empty coffee cup. He liked it black, but he had the nasty habit of adding lemon to it. An awful combination to anyone else, but to him lemonated coffee was like heaven. He didn't resort to beer and liquor when he was in the dumps, only black coffee with a side of lemon. A particularly nasty demon on your ass and you've got no hope of living the day through? Don't go running to Tavner for a pick-me-up, because he'll sit down a black coffee with a little yellow sliver floating on top right in front of you. Perhaps you'd wish to get the hell away from him and his nasty attempt at coffee, but, then again, he wouldn't give a damn. He'd take that cup of coffee for himself and sit down with a nice slice of pie.


"So, life, what's new?" he asked to the empty seat across from him as he swallowed the last bite of pie. He didn't bother with a napkin, instead using the back of his hand to wipe off any remainders of pie on his face soon to be wiped on the side of his jeans. Lately, life had taken a boring turn on his end. Living life on the road hadn't been so exciting, and the motorcycle staring at him through the window was begging him to get back on and head down south, towards the border. But he had been on the road long enough. He was beginning to get bored of that road in life, and being bored was not something that Tavner Maddigan put up with. No, he was always more the adventure type, and life on the road was no longer an adventure to him. Maybe he should stick around for a while, a first for him in years. Picking up and leaving had become a habit for him. But maybe today would change.


"Thanks, toots," he smiled up at the waitress as she set down another glass of coffee, lemon on the side, without a trace of pie left in his teeth. She gave a smirk rather than a genuine smile, something along the lines of I hate my job, don't talk to me, kind of smile. He quickly gave one back that said, Yeah, just turn around so I can watch that fine ass. He wasn't ashamed of thoughts like this; it was his nature to be a bit crude and sexually interested. Oh, and let's not forget his famous eyebrow move, one that should be named The Maddigan for it's intense arch and innuendo associated with it. But, instead of watching her walk away in that tight little uniform, his eyes reverted to the newspaper, his mind settling on the fact that maybe he might actually settle down for a bit. But the life of Tavner Maddigan was never definite, as he was more impulsive than planning ahead.


Reaching for the grey stack of papers that were glaring at him from across the table, he nearly ripped them open, flipping to and fro to find the wanted ads. If he was going to stick around, he might as well look for a decent job. It wasn't like he could go around living on nothing. And what was the point of working somewhere he wouldn’t enjoy? A good garage or repair shop would do him, or perhaps bartending. He was good with drinks. Hustling pool wouldn't get him very far, although it might help a bit. He wanted to be your average mortal, working to pay a living, passing off as some reckless human who had an eye for the subtleties. The whole part of blending in was to not try too hard. Being average made you stand out nowadays. It was always best to be a little bit on the weird side, and Tavner was good at that.

Full Name: William McCoy
Alignment: evil... really evil
Mortal or Magickal: magickal
Roleplaying Sample:

William returned to the living room from the kitchen. He casually sipped his glass of water. Across the room his reflection hung in the full length mirror that had come with the apartment. He looked over his khaki pants, black belt, white oxford shirt, and black suit vest. (Impeccable, thank the underworld that I got mother's taste for fashion!) A dull murmur pulled William out of his thoughts. His eyes moved to the center of the living room. On the hardwood floor a young woman in skinny jeans and a grey tee was lying on her back. She looked up at the ceiling with glazed eyes, her chest moved jaggedly as it struggled from breath to breath. In the center of her lower abdomen an open athame wound bled out a continuous stream of crimson liquid.

"Oh your still here, terribly sorry to forget!"

William took two steps to be at the young girls side. "I stabbed you forty-five minutes ago!" William looked contemplative as he paced around the girl to her other side. "The gypsies are the ones who usually hold out, but the witches? You lot usually go before fifteen minutes." William continued to slowly pace, he heard a small splash. He looked down to she he had stepped in a pool of fresh blood. "Damn it Allison!" He lifted his shoe so Allison could see. He pointed to the black leather dress shoe. "Prada!"

Allison's eye's fluttered as she tried to speak. "Why...Why are you doing this?"

William looked down at Allison with a smile. "Right, they usually want to know that before they go." William took a few steps back to sit in the chair at Allison's feet. She looked down her cheek bones to see him answer her. "Well firstly, you picked a rather unfortunate living location. You apartment has a direct window view into my apartment, and mine a direct view into yours. And when I saw you blessing herbs the other night, I thought to myself 'Well I can't have a witch looking on me whenever she please now can I?' See, you witches can't just leave things alone, the minute you saw me doing anything that you would considered morally inappropriate, well you'd try to vanquish me before tea time." The living room suddenly filled with the sound of rasping quick breaths.

William looked down to Allison with wide eyes. "Are you dying?" He jumped from his chair and fells to his knees right by Allison's head. He leaned in close and whispered into her ear. "Don't die while I'm talking, it's rude." He gently moved his hand to rest around Allison's throat, carefully to not apply pressure. "Because you see, the second reason Im doing this is that I'm quite bored. And this has turned out to be rather entertaining."

William now let his fingers and thumb tightly squeeze either side of Allison's neck. He could feel her weak pulse try and move the blood past his hand and to her brain, but it was no use. For a few moments her breath rasped on and her eyes fluttered wildly. And then she went still, and all life left her. William held on for a few moments longer, then released her neck and let her head fall to the side.

He stood and looked down at the bloody mess on the floor.

"At least evil has class enough to clean itself up once it dies!"

With that he picked up his water and walked to the kitchen.

Full Name: Rayna Zelenka Vrabec
Alignment: Good
Mortal or Magickal: Magickal
Roleplaying Sample:
The sun had just barely risen past the horizon as the girl walked out from her small apartment. Fog was lingering in every corner of the street, making it impossible to see ten feet ahead of you. The temperature was well below freezing, snow covered the area and ice filtered over the ground. It was quite a treacherous morning but that didn't stop her from striding out along the streets. They were almost deserted, almost no one was up this early. There might have been a few others wandering the winding streets close by but none to be seen, so far.

Trailing behind her, was the shadow of a canine-figure. The girl didn't seem to notice the panting from behind or she knew of its presence entirely. The four-legged creature padded along behind her until it was almost at her heels. Obediently, it walked behind her until it was exact with her gait. As she continued her journey along the cobblestone road, she couldn't help but feel she was being watched or followed. This suspicion was quickly set aside for the thought was quite frightening to her. Instead, she focused on maneuvering around the icy patches of pavement layering the ground. Her long reddish hair flowed down across her face, obstructing her view by more than half. Almost blindly, she stepped forward and slid across the frozen water with unbalance. But she did not fall, merely stumbled until she reached solid and safe land. Fazed by his owner almost tumbling down, the dog quickly appeared by her side moments later.

Reaching an slight incline uphill, the two walked forth onto a bridge that hung over a wide river. It was more populous in this area, seeing a few homeless and many merchants beginning to set up their products to sell. The fog still prevented them from seeing each other directly, so Rayna wasn't bothered by any. Then, the feeling came again, the one where she felt she was being followed. It loomed over her like a predator would do to its prey. This caused her to quicken her pace unnoticeably. Her companion seemed to notice the uneasiness and his hackles quickly shot up, his eyes spying around for the disturbance.

Unfortunately, young Rayna had been right. Footsteps pounded across the European bridge quickly but from which direction was unknown. She was panicking more than ever now, finding her way to the edge of the stone structure. One hand clutched side of the suspension and the other on the collar of her Shepherd. But it was too late. A large and rough hand grasped her neck and a long knife was pressed against the base of her neck. Rayna gasped and stumbled backward into the murderous person.
"You never were good at picking friends, Rayna," the masculine voice spoke in a whispered tone.
Her eyes widened in realization and she suddenly grew faint. Her eyes shut and the last sound she heard was the protective barking of her dog.

{NATHANIAL DEVERAUX}
the stunning golden hues

The life of the average boy isn’t something worthy of history books. Each is born, each will live and each will die. Each leaves a mark on the world that they cannot erase and each wishes for this mark to be greater. Some, in this attempt, turn to darker means to strengthen their mark. They kill, burn, cause explosions and attempt to do horrible things in the world. Sometimes, they get away with it and their mark is forever remembered. Sometimes, they get caught and killed and their mark is still remembered. The hero is known for a bit but their mark doesn’t last long. Nathanial, you’re a boy who wants to make a mark, but you haven’t fallen from the light to make it. Instead you’re that hero who might just be remembered for what he’s done. Like all Good Witches before you, you’ve got quite the job ahead of you.

As a race, Witches are known for their ability with spells and their foolish attempts at the removal of evil. Witches have been among the better known races, and are one of three to have a Royal still among the living. While their sister races are quite powerful in other aspects of magick, witches are more powerful than the others in the art of casting spells. That hasn’t prevented witches from being the race to lose the most to darkness; vampires and nymphs boast far lower numbers than the foolish Wiccans.

The Deveraux family has always been a very well known group of witches. Many argue it’s just because they’re constantly having children, but I’m sure your father would disagree. As the youngest of all your brothers, I’m sure you’re still a little unsure of what you plan on becoming. Your ancestors were extremely powerful and great men and women but you seem to be lacking in that area. Your grandfather, on your mother’s side, was on the Royal Wiccan Council. Your father’s grandmother protected the Royal Vampire and each family member before them had accomplished great feats using their powers and knowledge.

Nathanial, your power is known as Intangibility. Intangibility is the ability to magickal separate your molecules far enough to allow items to pass through you, or on the flipside, pass through objects. While this power has great potential, many pass it off as a weak gift. You likely have as well, but what you can do with it is rather helpful in the demon hunting line of work. You’re able to pass through any item equal to or less than the size of your body. This means that you’re unable to pass through walls or any item that is larger than you. Why? Because the molecules within the objects larger than you are beyond your power to move, leaving you unable to phase through them. Energy, which is different than matter, will always hurt you. Your skin might not burn from fire, but you’ll feel the heat and the pain. Of course it will only last so long as the fire is within you, and that shouldn’t be too long. Finally, you’re only able to stay intangible for six of your own posts. Any longer and you risk getting stuck inside something, but if you can always choose to risk it. After being intangible, you should wait up to six of your own posts, but you can always try to go back before that. The Powers That Be will always post when you test the limits of your powers.

As all witches are able to, you can cast spells, brew potions and perform magickal rituals.. Your innate power in spell casting is above average, though your knowledge in these arts seems to be lacking for some reason. You have no personal book of shadows and your family’s tome is with Shayne. As of now, you’re at Power Level Three. Please begin posting at St. Mary’s Orphanage where you’re taking your leave. Why you were there? Well you help out sometimes, don’t you?

Full Name: Acacia Melina Omen
Alignment: Evil
Mortal or Magickal: Magickal
Roleplaying Sample: TBC (Asking permission to resume character's race/abilities from the old school AWF please. )