House of the Dying Sons [Tales & Characters]

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Pahn

Bubblegum Bitch
Original poster
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Anytime, I have no life.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Transgender, Androgynous
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both, but I have hard time with others using my character(s) without my prior consent. If the other player is unsure, I will have more of an aggressive style.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, romance, slice of life, anti-hero stories, "you're our only hope", fandom non-canons, soft scifi, transhumanism, magical girls, horror, suspense / mystery, monster girls, fractured fairytales
Genre You DON'T Like
Roadtrip style, already-planned-out adventures, rigid GMs.
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Turtle of Doom

The Monster Under Your Bed
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Either works for me. And would prefer if the story was gently led by all participating parties.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Magical, Romance, Dystopian, Religious, Post-Apocalyptic, Zombies (but the plot has to consist of more than just mindlessly murdering the undead), Steampunk
Genre You DON'T Like
Yaoi, Furry, Incest
Name:
Madeline 'Madge' Jennings

Age:
23, Born May 30th

Family Status:
Agnes Jennings-Mother (deceased, age 43)
James Jennings-Father (deceased, age 52)
Grace Jennings-Sister (deceased, age 16)
Winifred Jennings-Sister (deceased, age 14)
Luella Jennings-Sister (deceased, age 12)


Appearance:
Madge is strong for her small stature, standing only five foot three, she small and stocky. She was never what anybody at the time would call beautiful. Her only attractive feature was her bright green eyes. Everything else about her is simply average. She's average build, with an average figure. Her dark auburn hair, and freckles tend to ward off anybody calling her attractive, but she never let that get her down.

Biography:
Madge is the oldest of four children, all girls. She grew up with a pretty normal family life. Her parents were hard-working Irish immigrants, and when the effects of the war effort hit American shores Madge went to work in the factory to not only help support her family during the hard times that war created, but to support her country and show her patriotism. Her parents made sure to ingrain a sense of pride in America into each of their daughters, trying to lesson the severity of being children to immigrants.

When the Spanish flu hit, Luella was the first to get sick. Despite their precautions (face masks and lots of garlic) the rest of the family got sick too. Everybody but Madge fell to the devastating effects of the flu. She watched her whole family die.

Completely alone, Madge quit her job at the factory and wandered around the state for a while looking for something to fill the void the loss of her family had left, but she hadn't found anything close. She lived on the streets, she begged for food. She was in a sad state when she heard of the house and the group of women who lived there.

It became a mission to find this place. It sounded wonderful. It sounded like just what she needed to move on.


Personality:
Genuinely compassionate and caring, Madge was devastated by the loss of her family. Her typically easy going attitude has worn away and she has become lost within herself of late. There's a darkness in her eyes; a vacancy that she's learning to live with. The spark is gone. That certain fire for life is gone, maybe she'll find it again. Right now she's just empty.

Hex Code:
#4F7F36
 

Pahn

Bubblegum Bitch
Original poster
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Anytime, I have no life.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Transgender, Androgynous
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both, but I have hard time with others using my character(s) without my prior consent. If the other player is unsure, I will have more of an aggressive style.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, romance, slice of life, anti-hero stories, "you're our only hope", fandom non-canons, soft scifi, transhumanism, magical girls, horror, suspense / mystery, monster girls, fractured fairytales
Genre You DON'T Like
Roadtrip style, already-planned-out adventures, rigid GMs.
FC: Julia Jones
Name:
Blanche Leflore


Age:
25, Born September 30


Family Status:
Ada Leflore (Mother, MIA)
Otto Leflore(Father, deceased)
Elmer Leflore (Brother, estranged) (33 years old)
Bernard Leflore (Brother, deceased) (31 years old)
Estelle Leflore (Sister, MIA) (28 years old)


Appearance:
Tall and with a rather square build, Blanche is taller than both her sister and her mother, and the same height as her oldest brother. Her hair is usually held back in a loose braid, but after a particularly hot summer and an altercation with Ollie's sisters, they have been cut short, in line with her chin. Her eyes are slanted, inherited from her Chictaw parents, and are a dark amber, almost completely brown. Another heritage from her ancestory are her high cheekbones, giving her face an overall square-like shape.


Biography:
Like most Native American folks, Blanche grew up on a reserve with a rather poor access to education. Her brothers stopped school when they were still boys and were made to work on the family farm. As a little girl, she loved the horses and whenever she wasn't need for a chore or another, Blanche would spend her time brushing the old mare Kina. Her younger sister displayed some frightening abilities with animals, sometimes confiding that she could talk with Kina and their few hunting hounds. Blanche waved it as childish imagination, just like what had been done to her in the past. Her mother, Ada, was a distant and weak-minded woman, the other adults whispering that the spirits had been granted a too heavy influence through her. Ada's eyes were always wide open and a startling green, though with time the spark in them withered away.

Before Estelle could even reach womanhood, their mother disappeared without a trace. Blanche was barely just fourteen and in no way was she ready to take charge of the household or the farm, she could barely read the what labels off boxes or cans. It wasn't long until her oldest brother ran away with a local white girl, causing Blanche's father even more grief and anger. The next few years were a rather dark time for the young woman and her sister, until she met him. Ollie King.

It was the summer of 1916, a particularly hot one. Blanche would often take the old Kina to a nearby stream and it was there that she met him for the first time. He was handsome and funny, and unlike most guys she had met he did not mock her for her tanned skin or slanted eyes. He called her beautiful and when they kissed only two fortnights later, it seemed like they were meant for each other. Blanche felt herself fall in the footsteps of her brother, but Ollie promised her it would be different and that they could be together properly.

The summer, fall, and winter went by in a daze for Blanche. She began slacking on household chores, forgetting to tend to the cow or picking up the morning chicken eggs. Her father was too far gone to notice anything, and her older brother was busy working at a factory in the next town to care. Only Estelle was there to listen to her talk at lengths about Ollie. How handsome he was, how smart he sounded when he read one of his books out loud. When the call for war came, he promised her he would come back and they would marry. Unfortunately, as soon as Ollie left his family locked their doors to her and dragged her reputation in the ground. It wasn't long until no one wanted to do business with the Leflore farm, or any of the Leflores.

By the time winter came around, Estelle was also working at the factory. Their brother hadn't been drafted to war because of a previous work accident that had left him limping, but even with the additional income it was barely enough to feed the animals and themselves. Their father, Otto, was truly gone in the deep end of madness. His moments of lucidity were filled with anger and violence, most of which was directed at Blanche. They were through the winter weakly and lost most of the chickens, and poor old Kina.

A few weeks before the one year date marking Ollie's departure to the fronts, an old lady from the nearby village whispered some devasting news one morning at church: Ollie King was dead. Not even killed as a brave soldier, but in his sleep with a fever. It had shook him for hours upon hours. The old lady had gripped her wrist with a surprising strength and had looked her in the eyes. Blanche left with bruised skin and only just a few days later, that's when it hit. They said it came from the front and then from Kansas. Hundreds of men down with it, they said. They had nothing to worry about if they remained in their homes.

Blanche wished she had had the courage to end their suffering. Bernard and Estelle coughed and heaved and bled for days. Her father caught the fever and passed only two days later. But God almighty made sure her siblings suffered for nearly a week and a half before a welcomed death took them. Blanche was left alone in a farm she couldn't keep, with a village nearly wiped clean from the Spanish flu. Having no where else to go, she ended up in the same church she had met the old lady at. Her knees were sore, but the pastor was dead. To her surprise, the old lady sat next to her. After reciting a prayer and giving her blessings to various saints, she whispered to Blanche the name of a place where women went when they had nothing left. There was a price to pay, she said, but not one that money could fill. Like a hound given the scent of blood for a hunt, Blanche Leflore left and never looked back.


Personality:
Responsible and self-reliant, Blanche hasn't had anyone looking out for her since she was young. Surrogate mother to her younger sister and older brother, she is very disciplined but has a hard time taking orders from others. There's a strange determination and a new hatred for bourgeois traditions and their closed-mindedness in her. She has swore to herself to never love again and sometimes, she simply dreams of watching the whole world burn down to cinders.


Special Abilities:
Blanche isn't fully aware of it yet, but she inherited her mother's "sensitivity" to spirits and the like, but it's not a skill she has ever honed. Animals have a natural liking to her.


Hexcode: #A44
 

Pahn

Bubblegum Bitch
Original poster
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Anytime, I have no life.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Transgender, Androgynous
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both, but I have hard time with others using my character(s) without my prior consent. If the other player is unsure, I will have more of an aggressive style.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, romance, slice of life, anti-hero stories, "you're our only hope", fandom non-canons, soft scifi, transhumanism, magical girls, horror, suspense / mystery, monster girls, fractured fairytales
Genre You DON'T Like
Roadtrip style, already-planned-out adventures, rigid GMs.
Sisters

A roleplay prologue.
Setting: Kansas-Missouri border, summer of 1864



"Are you sure this is the right place, Miss Evelyn?" The voice came from an out-of-breath young woman carrying two very large wheeled trunks along with a large backpack from which dangled a single iron pot. Sweat covered her dark forehead and stained the once white cap on her head, but otherwise a vibrant grin was spreading her ebony cheeks.

The other woman, Evelyn Jackson, simply looked back at her and nodded with an equally wide smile. Her strawberry-blonde hair was falling out of her bun and sticking to her sweat-covered neck, and one would have agreed that her clothing attire was not very appropriate for the conditions they had travelled in. But they were the only clothes she owned at the moment, kindly sewed and re-sewed by her travelling companion.

"We're getting there, Ann." Her sharp green eyes dipped to look at the black woman's protruding belly. It had grown significantly larger since they had left months ago, and Evelyn was sure it wouldn't bee too long now until she was ready to give birth. That was part of the reason they had left the estate in the first place despite the war happening in these regions. "Don't you see it from here? Look, it's the big brown house over there, on the left."

With a renewed vigour the two women continued their march towards the mythical colonial house. Evelyn had heard her father and uncles mention the house, and when she had asked them about it with curiosity they had pushed her away, saying it was not any of a little girl's business. Later that day, she had sneaked to the servants' quarters and they had more answers than she could wish for. An old lady explained in hushed tones how it was haunted by angered spirits, and no one had lived there for decades. The last known owner of the land had died many decades ago without any heirs, and his cruelty towards those beneath him had tainted the very ground on which the house was built on.

Memories of her conversations with the old black lady resurfaced as they drew closer to the big brown house. It was truly magnificent and no one would have thought such a marvel of architecture would be cursed or even abandoned. Sure, the foliage was out of control and the windows broken or blackened with dust and wear. Evelyn could see past those inconveniences and her dream was ever closer to becoming true. Her blistered hands gripped the handles of the wooden cart harder and her breath quickened, and without realizing it she was walking faster and faster towards her forever home.

"Miss Evelyn, please—" Ann sounded even more out of breath than earlier, and she had both her hands cradling her belly. "I cannot keep up, may we rest just a minute?" Despite her request she was still keeping up with Evelyn, but her heaving chest was enough for the older woman to slow down and put down the cart.

"My apologies, friend. I let the anticipation get the best of me. We can rest." Reaching out to help Ann drop the two trunks carefully, she set them facing each other so they would have a place to sit that wasn't dirt and wet grass. "Is it... hurting?"

Ann pulled a long and yellowed cloth from the backpack to wipe the sweat off her face and neck, breathing deeply before answering Evelyn. "It will be all right, Miss Evelyn. Do you think we will be the first ones to arrive?" A water skin was handed to her and she took a few small sips, the loud swooshing of the water inside it slightly worrisome considering they had another day at least before they could start looking for more water.

"All those who answered my letters were leaving just a bit after us. They have also spread the word across their people. Families, friends, servants. Those with natural gifts have also been contacted."

"Natural gifts? I have not seen such a woman in my life, but grand-maman whispered about the things they could do."

The two women fell silent, both taken by bittersweet memories of grand-maman, the old woman who had told them about witchcraft and rituals. Evelyn had a book with spells and incantations, instructions about ritualistic ceremonies and seasonal celebrations. They were written in a mix of English, French, Creole, and Spanish — but she wasn't worried. The women she had written to were from all origins, and surely there would be one who also spoke one of those languages. Evelyn herself was fluent in French thanks to her uncle who married the daughter of a French architect.

Since Ann had become pregnant out of wedlock with Evelyn's brother, she had incorporated a new branch to her plans. It made her realize how many women were shamed and exiled when a bastard was conceived, while the men got away with less than a slap on the wrist. It angered her to no end. Those girls deserved a better alternative, a chance at living a life untainted by such a mistake. As Ann gave her back the water skin, she grabbed her hand and squeezed it affectionately, looking her right in the eyes.

"Everything will be okay, Ann. We are like sisters now, and no sister of mine shall ever suffer again." They both smiled and Ann nodded, old habits making her shift her eyes down. "No man shall ever be the master of us again. I promise."
 

Turtle of Doom

The Monster Under Your Bed
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Either works for me. And would prefer if the story was gently led by all participating parties.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Magical, Romance, Dystopian, Religious, Post-Apocalyptic, Zombies (but the plot has to consist of more than just mindlessly murdering the undead), Steampunk
Genre You DON'T Like
Yaoi, Furry, Incest
House of the Dying Sons

A Tale
1904

An agonized scream ripped through the otherwise peaceful night, penetrating the silence of the New Moon and tearing through the countryside in varying echoes.

You hafta stop that, girl. I know it hurts, but I need you to focus.” The midwife’s voice was calm, but her patience was starting to wane.

It’s much too early,” came the tearful response.

I know it is, but we can save your babe. Just focus on pushing, girl. Once she’s out we will do all we can, but right now we cannot help her.” She shook her head for emphasis before continuing. “Not at all. You’re the only one who can save her right now.”

The midwife pushed the sweaty blonde hair off the mother’s forehead and gave her an encouraging smile that seemed to say “You can do this.

Another ear splitting scream erupted throughout the room as the young mother’s whole body tensed up. Her overly large stomach pressing against her knees. Her body was pushing whether or not she was ready.

Get the strap please, sister.” Deidra looked to the woman assisting her and gave her a knowing look before shifting her gaze back to the young woman lying spread-eagle on the bed in front of her writhing in agony. “Laura is going to give you a piece of leather to bite down on. As soon as you feel that pain, girl you better bite down. Close your mouth and think about this babe now. Don’t you scream no more, you hear me?

Before she had a chance to respond, the leather was in her mouth, effectively gagging her. The young mother had no choice but to bite down.

After another hour of grueling pushing she was exhausted, and had pressed her body to the point of physical collapse. She had nothing left in her, or so it felt when Deidra's dark face paled and she looked up from between the girl’s knees.

You neeta push now. I’m going to reach in and grab the babe, but you gotta push.” Her eyes went wide as she reached into the other woman. “There’s another baby in here; that’s why you is delivering early, girl. Push. Now.

With a grunt, the young mother gave everything she had to deliver her babies into the world, but as it turned out everything she had was too much for her body to bear. With one last shuddering sigh her body went limp, and blood spread across the bed.

Deidra knew it was too late for her, and called for help to save the babes. With some quick thinking she was able to save not one, not two, but three babies. Two very sickly little girls and a strong and healthy male.

Deidra tsk’d and shook her head, swaddling the girls and handing them off to some of her sisters to care forl, and the turning her eyes toward the boy. A pang of guilt pierced her heart. It always did when they were infants, but to give the girls a fighting chance, and to stay true to their sisterhood she knew what needed to be done.
 
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Turtle of Doom

The Monster Under Your Bed
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Either works for me. And would prefer if the story was gently led by all participating parties.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Magical, Romance, Dystopian, Religious, Post-Apocalyptic, Zombies (but the plot has to consist of more than just mindlessly murdering the undead), Steampunk
Genre You DON'T Like
Yaoi, Furry, Incest
House of the Dying Sons

A Tale
1917

Madge sighed and pushed the few strands of hair that had managed to escape her plait out of her face. It had been a long day and it was not over yet. She was hot, and sweaty, and the cough she’d developed seemed to have gotten worse over the last week. The factory air had a way of wreaking havoc on her lungs that no amount of treatment could make it better. At least tomorrow was Sunday, she would enjoy the day off.

The walk home was quiet, and she took the time to enjoy it; her sisters would be all over her like ink on a newspaper as soon as she was home, and her mother would be grateful for the distraction.

Sure enough as soon as she walked through the door Luella was next to her talking way too fast about Jimmy Turner and the other neighborhood children, but mostly about Jimmy and how much she despised him. The twelve year old had a penchant for speaking and given the opportunity she would rarely stop long enough to breathe.

“Then he pulled my braid! Can you simply believe it? I know I cannot, and I told him just like that. How could a boy of his size possibly think it okay to be pulling on a girl’s hair like that? He is lucky he didn’t pull me over, that’s the truth. And I told him, Madgey, I told him that if he wanted to do it again he better think twice because I’d kick him right in the shin.”

Madge hung up her jacket and feigned a smile for her youngest sister’s benefit before interrupting the still continuing speech with a kiss to the forehead and ruffling her dark hair. “Take a breath, I’ll be here all night. Where’s mama?”

“She’s in the kitchen, but Madge I’m not done. So much happened today that you simply will not believe.”

“I believe it,” she replied with a wry smile before twirling the girl around and heading into the kitchen to wash up and help Mama with dinner.

“How was work at the factory?” Mama, a stout woman in her forties with greying hair and smiling blue eyes called out over her shoulder.

“Tonight went well. They say they may have to increase our hours because of the demand, but I’m not sure I can work much more. I don’t know what they’re expecting from us.”

“They’re expecting you to do your duty for your country. We need the young girls like you to take up the jobs the young men can no longer hold because they’re off fighting in the war. You know better than to question your duty, girl. Now, come help me with these potatoes.” Mama’s accent grew thicker whenever she talked about the patriotic duty of being an American, the irony of which only made Madge grin.

Nonetheless, it wasn’t worth quarreling over, and after scrubbing her hands in the sink, she picked up a knife and got to peeling.

Grace was already helping. At sixteen she had taken over most of Madge’s household duties once she’d started work at the factory, but she was still very young and most of her work was accompanied by silent attitude and cold looks shot across the room. She was a pretty thing though. Her brunette hair hung clear to her waist, and shone like firelight in the distance when the light caught her just right. She was delicate and bright, and everything her name said she would be. Madge had always been slightly jealous of Grace’s femininity, but that was neither here nor there. She loved her sister dearly, and wished desperately that her attitude would turn around.

“How was school today, Grace?” she prompted, hoping to ease the tension in the room.

Mama scoffed and wiped her hands on her apron. “Don’t you get her started again. That Miss Pritchett down at the schoolhouse has been filling our Gracie’s head here with ideas and thoughts of leaving us to go to a normal school. She thinks she wants to shirk her duties to this family and this country to become a school teacher.”

“Mama, if you would please just listen…”

“Grace Jennings, I have heard enough. Watch the pot now it’s about boiling over.”

“Mama, I don’t think you’re being fair,” Madge was careful to keep her personal feelings out of her tone. She was used to, by now, being a mediator of sorts between the younger girls and their mama. “If she was to be a teacher who is to say that she won’t come back. We sure could use the extra income, and if it keeps her out of the factory…”

“I said I’d heard enough. When your Da gets home we can talk about it as a family, but no more of this foolishness now. Come on, now. We need to get dinner on the table. The younger two should be about done with their home lessons now.”

“I’m finished, Mama.” Winifred peeked around the corner with a sheepish grin on her face. She was a sneak, that one. Had been listening to the whole conversation and everybody knew it.

Mama turned her around and scooted her toward the sink. “Get yourself washed up, girl. It’s about supper time, and you can set the table.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She stuck her hands in the water and got the front of her dress thoroughly wet in the process, but she didn’t seem to pay it no mind. “I wouldn’t mind going to a normal school and then coming back to teach. But really, I want to travel. See the world. Learn to paint.”

“Bah,” was Mama’s only response.

Madge laughed. “Keep dreaming, Winnie. Don’t you let anyone stop you.”

Winnie had the unfortunate design of having red hair, that looked like it might eventually turn auburn, but at the moment she was all legs and freckles and bright red hair and it had her the laughing stock of every event. The children loved to point out her faults, especially when comparing her to Gracie, but she had a spirit that just could not be pushed down. She was loud, and nosey, and Madge loved her the most out of all three of her sisters--she’d never admit to such a thing out loud though.

“Oh, I will not! One day, I don’t know when, but I will travel and I will see everything there is to see.”

The click of Da’s cane on the floor announced his arrival into the kitchen. They’d all been so distracted by Winnie’s speech that they hadn’t heard him come in the house. “Is that so now? Tell me girl, who will be financin’ your travels?”

“Oh, I haven’t figured that part out yet, Da. But maybe my husband, or my art will develop so well that I can make money painting portraits for well-to-do folk and pay for my own travels.”

“You’ll be the death of me, girlie, I tell ya that.”

It was then that Mama filled the plates on the table and called them for supper.
 
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Pahn

Bubblegum Bitch
Original poster
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Anytime, I have no life.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Transgender, Androgynous
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both, but I have hard time with others using my character(s) without my prior consent. If the other player is unsure, I will have more of an aggressive style.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, romance, slice of life, anti-hero stories, "you're our only hope", fandom non-canons, soft scifi, transhumanism, magical girls, horror, suspense / mystery, monster girls, fractured fairytales
Genre You DON'T Like
Roadtrip style, already-planned-out adventures, rigid GMs.
FC: Jada Pinkett Smith
Name:
Josephine D'Ann


Age:
54 (Born September 2, 1864)


Family Status:
Ann - Mother (deceased)
Rose D'Ann - Daughter (Alive, age 32)
Myrtle D'Ann - Daughter (Alive, age 28)
Lucille D'Ann - Daughter (Alive, 18)


Appearance:
Born from a black mother but with a white father, Josephine's skin is a lighter tone than most black women at the house. Her hair is thick and wavy without being frizzy or very curly. Thanks to her deep devotion, she has been graced with a youthful appearance so despite being over fifty, she looks like she's barely through the mid-thirties. Her eyes are a striking amber


Biography:
Josephine is the daughter of one of the very founders of the house. Her mother was a very close friend to the Matron, as they escaped together from the same household. In private, she calls the Matron "aunt Eve", and it is perhaps only with her that she displays any kind of genuine warmth and to whom she has sentimental attachment.

As she grew up in a place without men, Josephine nursed a deep distrust of them and was very gullible to everything the Matron and the other women of the house said about them. She firmly believes they are nothing but beasts, and only useful to provide them with the seed for other women to be born. The first time she witnessed a newborn boy being offered to the one they worship, she was ecstatic and she confessed that perhaps males had a secondary utility after all.

The secret behind her youthful appearance is indeed no secret at all, as she never hesitates to go out in various towns and cities in the nearby states to find the most repellent of men, lure them to the house, use them for progeny, and then offer them in rituals. She has been blessed with three daughters: Rose, Myrtle, and Lucille. Unlike her own mother, Josephine has been capable of bearing many children, coming out of each delivery stronger and more devoted. Her latest son was a wonderfully healthy baby and made for a grand sacrifice and since then her youngest daughter, Lucille, has never caught the flu again. All three of her daughters are softer hearted than she is, but they too understand what must be done in order to live healthily and happily.


Personality:
On the surface, Josephine looks like a warm and gentle woman. She is typically the one who welcomes young ladies in search for a refuge at the house, and those who make it out would only have kind words for her. Behind closed doors however, she is cold and merciless, having almost blind faith in the Matron and the one they worship. Since a very young age, she has been very detached from her emotions but has learned how to put on a mask and one might think those two fronts are two personalities entirely.


Special Abilities:
No special abilities to speak of, but she has an unshakable faith in the Matron and is capable of bearing children more often than one should survive through (total: 18).



Hexcode: #B61
 
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Pahn

Bubblegum Bitch
Original poster
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Anytime, I have no life.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Transgender, Androgynous
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm fine with both, but I have hard time with others using my character(s) without my prior consent. If the other player is unsure, I will have more of an aggressive style.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, romance, slice of life, anti-hero stories, "you're our only hope", fandom non-canons, soft scifi, transhumanism, magical girls, horror, suspense / mystery, monster girls, fractured fairytales
Genre You DON'T Like
Roadtrip style, already-planned-out adventures, rigid GMs.
FC: Yasmina Rossi
Name:
Evelyn Jackson, "Matron"


Age:
75, Born January 19, 1843


Family Status:
N/A


Appearance:
In her young age, Evelyn had strawberry blonde hair. As she grew older and delved in dark crafts, they lost their innocent colour and became a light brown. She was also rather young when the first grey hairs came out. Thanks to the her patronage of the darker spirits, they provided her with some... perks, like prolonged life expectancy. She is 75 but doesn't look a day older than 50. Evelyn is also rather strong and fit for a woman her age, and is free of any ailments associated with old age.


Biography:
Evelyn Jackson fled her home with a servant, Ann, whom had become pregnant after her Eve's brother had bedded her and she had become pregnant. Young and inexperienced at life, Evelyn delved into the dark arts because of a


Special Abilities:



Hexcode: #1A1
 
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Turtle of Doom

The Monster Under Your Bed
Roleplay Invitations
One on One Roleplays, Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Douche, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Either works for me. And would prefer if the story was gently led by all participating parties.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Magical, Romance, Dystopian, Religious, Post-Apocalyptic, Zombies (but the plot has to consist of more than just mindlessly murdering the undead), Steampunk
Genre You DON'T Like
Yaoi, Furry, Incest
Name:
Delia and Daisy

Age:
15 (Born 05 September 1904)

Family Status:
Mother- died in childbirth
Brother-deceased
Father- Unknown


Appearance:
These fraternal twins are near enough alike that they could be mistaken for one another, both with long, wavy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Their fair skin and petite frames are near identical as well. There's a slight difference between their noses--Delia's is turned up slightly at the end.

Biography:
Born in the house, the girls have always held a special place amongst the sisters. It was clear from the unusual circumstances of their birth that they were special. As soon as they were old enough to form full sentences it was clear that they saw more than they should.

To test the girls' abilities they were separated for a time when they were nine. It did not go well. Delia ended up completely withdrawing. A usually vibrant and outgoing child, she shut down completely without her sister. Daisy, on the other hand, lashed out. She threw things, and screamed. Neither of them were happy or cooperative without the other.

Now Delia only speaks to Daisy, and Daisy acts as an intermediary between Delia and the rest of the world. Six years have passed since they were separated, and Delia still hasn't returned to the child she once was. Nobody knows what happened, or if she saw something that made her shut down. It is believed by some of the sisters that Delia is the more powerful of the two and she received a vision she couldn't handle alone, but that is just a guess. She won't talk to anyone about it and when asked Daisy replies that they were not meant to be separate and won't respond further.


Special Abilities
When together they have an uncanny ability to glean bits and pieces of the future. It is their visions that have led the house into this new era, and their visions that keeps them one step ahead of the groups who wish to see their end. Unfortunately, they are not all seeing, nor are they all powerful. They make mistakes sometimes, and don't see everything they should others. Often their visions are misinterpreted because they only see bits and pieces of things.

Hex Code:
#9958FF
 
Last edited:
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