Kali2
Knight
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Kai Elliot Addison
Pack: White Therion
Age: 51, looks 23
Species: Wolf, mostly pure
Sex: Omega Ω
Gender: Male ♂
Height: 5ft 3.5in
Family: Mother, Mary Addison: Were beta. Father, Tony Addison: Were beta. Older sister, Sarah Addison: Human beta.
Friends: Eli Ronne, 24. Were beta of the same pack.
Home: Off pack lands, still in pack territory. He lives alone in a one bedroom apartment.
School: He graduated community college for holistic medicine.
Looks
Loves: Cuddling something when he sleeps while the windows are open and a cool breeze comes through his room, movies, coffee, cake frosting, baths.
Quirks: he bounces his knee almost constantly if he is sitting down, he doesn't realize he's doing it either. He cries when reading sad scenes in his novels. He will fight anyone who tells him what he likes is stupid.
Pet peeves: Random alphas or betas sniffing him like he is the first omega they have ever come across, his mom urging him to find a mate.
Pack: White Therion
Age: 51, looks 23
Species: Wolf, mostly pure
Sex: Omega Ω
Gender: Male ♂
Height: 5ft 3.5in
Family: Mother, Mary Addison: Were beta. Father, Tony Addison: Were beta. Older sister, Sarah Addison: Human beta.
Friends: Eli Ronne, 24. Were beta of the same pack.
Home: Off pack lands, still in pack territory. He lives alone in a one bedroom apartment.
School: He graduated community college for holistic medicine.
Looks
- Hair: Medium length, straight and white as can be.
- Eyes: Wide and curious, an icy blue that borders silver in the right light. Thick white lashes give him a slightly feminine look
- Limbs: Thin arms and legs, his thighs hold most of his curve along with the swell of his rear.
- Body type: Pear shaped
- Weight: 111.3lbs
- Skin tone: Exceedingly pale, light pink flush covers key areas of his physique. He bruises very easily.
- Skin type: Normal and smooth, naturally soft
- Dogs, a bit odd as most Were-folk can't get near the animals without them getting nervous. He finds he is good with most animals but large breed dogs were his favorite.
- He drinks hot cocoa all year round.
- Storms in the middle of the day.
- Sweaters that don't fit him whatsoever.
- Most books he enjoys, non-fiction has to be a dictionary about different rocks and minerals or something of holistic nature though.
- Climbing trees is a fun pastime for Kai as well, he's really good at it.
- Wearing either pants or shoes. They bug him.
- Bad smells, he always has candles burning in his apartment.
- He hates being cold, his circulation is bad so he always has freezing fingers or toes, he remedies this with blankets.
- Being dirty for longer than a few hours.
Loves: Cuddling something when he sleeps while the windows are open and a cool breeze comes through his room, movies, coffee, cake frosting, baths.
Quirks: he bounces his knee almost constantly if he is sitting down, he doesn't realize he's doing it either. He cries when reading sad scenes in his novels. He will fight anyone who tells him what he likes is stupid.
Pet peeves: Random alphas or betas sniffing him like he is the first omega they have ever come across, his mom urging him to find a mate.
Name: Liliana, Lilly, Taylor
Age: 23
Zodiac/other: Virgo
Secondary ability: Slight emotional influence. Nothing to swing an emotion one way or another but she has a soothing effect in general. Making it hard to be angry at her but definitely not impossible.
Personality: Slightly sassy with a hint of teddy-like softness on the outer shell. Total marshmallow on the inside.
Looks (description only is preferred): At 5 ft even Lilly has always been small, her scrawny and underweight appearance not helping with the overall image of a middle schooler. She had always been tiny, her friends tell her it's adorable but she just gets annoyed at having to climb practically everything. The rest of her appearance isn't much better. She often feels practically colorless. Her skin exceedingly pale, bruising like a peach to bring the only semblance of pigment to her person. Her hair white blonde, years since the last cut has brought it to her lower back in its naturally straight style. Her eyes gray but varying in shades. Bland overall.
Likes: White sundresses, flowers, books, candles (if available), golden hour
Dislikes: Loud noises, people making fun of her, hiding
Fears: The dark, being found by the government
Things she is good at: Being empathetic, comforting people, guessing the endings of stories.
History: Her family was one of the lower class, living in the slums of the city and often giving lodging to rebels for food or coin. It wasn't too long before a man pointed out her obvious ability to control the ground beneath her feet. The fact that such a power was forbidden tore through her parent's hearts and brought out their fear. They had three other children to worry about, not to mention the fact that they were already going against the law by harboring fugitives. Needless to say, she was on her own from that point onwards.
Age: 23
Zodiac/other: Virgo
Secondary ability: Slight emotional influence. Nothing to swing an emotion one way or another but she has a soothing effect in general. Making it hard to be angry at her but definitely not impossible.
Personality: Slightly sassy with a hint of teddy-like softness on the outer shell. Total marshmallow on the inside.
Looks (description only is preferred): At 5 ft even Lilly has always been small, her scrawny and underweight appearance not helping with the overall image of a middle schooler. She had always been tiny, her friends tell her it's adorable but she just gets annoyed at having to climb practically everything. The rest of her appearance isn't much better. She often feels practically colorless. Her skin exceedingly pale, bruising like a peach to bring the only semblance of pigment to her person. Her hair white blonde, years since the last cut has brought it to her lower back in its naturally straight style. Her eyes gray but varying in shades. Bland overall.
Likes: White sundresses, flowers, books, candles (if available), golden hour
Dislikes: Loud noises, people making fun of her, hiding
Fears: The dark, being found by the government
Things she is good at: Being empathetic, comforting people, guessing the endings of stories.
History: Her family was one of the lower class, living in the slums of the city and often giving lodging to rebels for food or coin. It wasn't too long before a man pointed out her obvious ability to control the ground beneath her feet. The fact that such a power was forbidden tore through her parent's hearts and brought out their fear. They had three other children to worry about, not to mention the fact that they were already going against the law by harboring fugitives. Needless to say, she was on her own from that point onwards.
Name: Adrian Judace Henry (goes by Jude)
Species: Human, for the most part.
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Height: 5ft 6in
Build: Scrawny, mostly due to lack of nutrition
Hair: White blonde, dirtied
Eyes: Light blue
Style: Anything he can get his hands on, at the moment a pair of torn up, too large jeans; a baggy, dirty white t-shirt and no shoes to be seen.
Home: Whatever 'safe' area he can find for a few hours.
Family: One older brother named Zephyr, two older sisters named Ophelia and Gwen; and a father. His mother died during his birth and his father fell into the vice of gambling and subsequently lost all of his possessions over the years. A nightmarish turn of events settled upon them when the man fell into favor of a vampiric casino owner and the IOU tab grew by the day. It wasn't long after that when he gambled his children away to settle the ever growing debt, Jude was 15.
Likes: Reading (although he would love to burn nonfiction books), oversized clothing, puffy blankets, cozy homes, animals.
Dislikes: Dark and cold places, ravens.
Fears: Thunderstorms, groups of street kids, adult men.
Dreams: to become a library owner or to go to school once again.
Species: Human, for the most part.
Age: 22
Gender: Male
Height: 5ft 6in
Build: Scrawny, mostly due to lack of nutrition
Hair: White blonde, dirtied
Eyes: Light blue
Style: Anything he can get his hands on, at the moment a pair of torn up, too large jeans; a baggy, dirty white t-shirt and no shoes to be seen.
Home: Whatever 'safe' area he can find for a few hours.
Family: One older brother named Zephyr, two older sisters named Ophelia and Gwen; and a father. His mother died during his birth and his father fell into the vice of gambling and subsequently lost all of his possessions over the years. A nightmarish turn of events settled upon them when the man fell into favor of a vampiric casino owner and the IOU tab grew by the day. It wasn't long after that when he gambled his children away to settle the ever growing debt, Jude was 15.
Likes: Reading (although he would love to burn nonfiction books), oversized clothing, puffy blankets, cozy homes, animals.
Dislikes: Dark and cold places, ravens.
Fears: Thunderstorms, groups of street kids, adult men.
Dreams: to become a library owner or to go to school once again.
Name: Farah Arwyn Cabot
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Home: The Willows
Appearance: Farah has always been known for her slight stature, the girl's head coming not to most men's chins with her height of 5 feet and 3 inches. Many a comment had been made comparing her to that of small mammals and birds, her body made up of slim delicate lines and gentle curves that pronounced her to be more of a woman than the child many expected her to be upon first meeting. Her features held a similar mixture of maturity and youth, her heart shaped face housed a mouth that was slightly imbalanced.
Her lower lip a tad fuller than its companion, her nose above held a slight upturned tilt, gradually sloping to meet the deep blue of her eyes. Catlike in their composition, years of mistrust and paranoia created a harsh veil behind them while thick lashes practically created a similar barrier before them.
The delicate hairs matched that of which rested on her head, golden in the sunlight but a pale blonde in shadow. Her hair was one of her only sources of pride, her mother spent long nights maintaining the waist length locks so the curls sprung around her face instead of lay flat in a sorry state as they tended to when she lazied on its care.
Personality: While her looks write her off to the average viewer as innocent enough, her surroundings required a sharper edge than her appearance allowed. Farah created a persona for herself whenever she left the comforts of home. While she walked down the dilapidated streets she was an ice queen. Cold and deadly, using shadows to her advantage while keeping one hand on her knife beneath her cloak at all times. She had trained with the small blade as much as she was able with no teacher, late nights spent with the post turned imaginary foe behind her run down home. More than a few accidental self injuries had gone along with it. That little knife was her only security while she wandered alone through the overcrowded streets of the willows where the sun rarely seemed to show its face.
Her guard was lowered the moment she stepped foot into the sagging door frame of her home however. The glamour she used outside shed like the cloak she removed every night. In the old walls she was allowed to be herself with the only family she had ever known, she and her mother stayed up late almost every night just laughing and enjoying each other's company. Haven Cabot brushed her daughters hair each evening before the small fireplace they lit only on special occasions, her wrinkled face split in a smile at Farah's animated story telling. Farah was always good at that, telling stories. It kept their minds off the reality of their world, the dark and chill that krept to take them from every corner.
History: Farah's mother had once been a glorious woman, beautiful in every way and just as charming, but a cruel reality reared its ugly head once she reached her maiden maturity. Her family had little by means of survival, her father was a right alcoholic and her mother was half dead by the time Haven was 13.
One evening, in a fit of rage, Haven's father threw her out to the streets and the wolves that prowled there. Haven lasted a month before the chill almost took her. A man named Brecken Brand found her shivering in the gutter like a drowned rat, the monster never let a weakness go unexploited so he held out his hand. The only offer of help she had seen in practically her entire life, Haven took it.
For the next 10 years she was worked to the bone as a prostitute, forced to lay with men she may or may not see again with little care for her own health. When she finally got pregnant she was almost entirely broken, useless now as a bed woman she was once again cast to the streets. But this time she had a home for herself, a meager house on the outskirts of the willows. This was the place where Farah was born.
Haven did her best for her child, filling the cold home with warmth and love even when the days were hard and their stomachs empty. Farah couldn't be more grateful for her mother, she was the one person in her life that was a constant, a beacon of light that Farah knew she wouldn't survive without. Haven taught her everything she knew, spending their meager earnings from the pub Haven began working at soon after Farah's birth on books of all kinds. Haven wanted her daughter to be educated, even if she couldn't attend a real school. So she taught her daughter under precious candlelight. She taught her how to read and write, add and subtract. Everything she could get her hands on, and little Farah soaked it all in. Maybe a little too well, the stories of heroes that Haven taught Farah to read with gave the young girl dangerous ideas.
Growing up Farah wanted to be just like those heroes and had the unfortunate habit of speaking up when people were doing something she didn't like. Child Farah would run after bullies with sticks if she saw them hurting anyone smaller than themselves or antagonizing an animal, pretending to be a knight riding in to protect the innocent.
This lasted up till she had just turned 8 when the blacksmith's son, Yenlear, gave her the soundest beating she had ever experienced after she hit him for almost killing a frog. He had broken her little finger on her right hand and the blasted thing had healed slightly crooked, a firm reminder that she was too weak to protect herself against true cruelty. From then on she went about her justice-bringing quietly, petty revenge like tying boots together or spilling rain water on doorsteps so they were slick from the morning chill.
Aside from the few bullies Farah had a friend or two in her youth, they never did stick around long enough for whatever reason but they helped Farah grow in ways her mother just couldn't. They taught her that she really liked going on picnics and following wildlife through the woods, a forbidden place her mother would kill her for going to if she ever found out, but it was so beautiful she went frequently even as an adult between her job at the local pub with her mother and her studies at home.
Magic: Farah never had the opportunity to pursue magic in any capacity.
Weapon: Her knife
Age: 26
Gender: Female
Home: The Willows
Appearance: Farah has always been known for her slight stature, the girl's head coming not to most men's chins with her height of 5 feet and 3 inches. Many a comment had been made comparing her to that of small mammals and birds, her body made up of slim delicate lines and gentle curves that pronounced her to be more of a woman than the child many expected her to be upon first meeting. Her features held a similar mixture of maturity and youth, her heart shaped face housed a mouth that was slightly imbalanced.
Her lower lip a tad fuller than its companion, her nose above held a slight upturned tilt, gradually sloping to meet the deep blue of her eyes. Catlike in their composition, years of mistrust and paranoia created a harsh veil behind them while thick lashes practically created a similar barrier before them.
The delicate hairs matched that of which rested on her head, golden in the sunlight but a pale blonde in shadow. Her hair was one of her only sources of pride, her mother spent long nights maintaining the waist length locks so the curls sprung around her face instead of lay flat in a sorry state as they tended to when she lazied on its care.
Personality: While her looks write her off to the average viewer as innocent enough, her surroundings required a sharper edge than her appearance allowed. Farah created a persona for herself whenever she left the comforts of home. While she walked down the dilapidated streets she was an ice queen. Cold and deadly, using shadows to her advantage while keeping one hand on her knife beneath her cloak at all times. She had trained with the small blade as much as she was able with no teacher, late nights spent with the post turned imaginary foe behind her run down home. More than a few accidental self injuries had gone along with it. That little knife was her only security while she wandered alone through the overcrowded streets of the willows where the sun rarely seemed to show its face.
Her guard was lowered the moment she stepped foot into the sagging door frame of her home however. The glamour she used outside shed like the cloak she removed every night. In the old walls she was allowed to be herself with the only family she had ever known, she and her mother stayed up late almost every night just laughing and enjoying each other's company. Haven Cabot brushed her daughters hair each evening before the small fireplace they lit only on special occasions, her wrinkled face split in a smile at Farah's animated story telling. Farah was always good at that, telling stories. It kept their minds off the reality of their world, the dark and chill that krept to take them from every corner.
History: Farah's mother had once been a glorious woman, beautiful in every way and just as charming, but a cruel reality reared its ugly head once she reached her maiden maturity. Her family had little by means of survival, her father was a right alcoholic and her mother was half dead by the time Haven was 13.
One evening, in a fit of rage, Haven's father threw her out to the streets and the wolves that prowled there. Haven lasted a month before the chill almost took her. A man named Brecken Brand found her shivering in the gutter like a drowned rat, the monster never let a weakness go unexploited so he held out his hand. The only offer of help she had seen in practically her entire life, Haven took it.
For the next 10 years she was worked to the bone as a prostitute, forced to lay with men she may or may not see again with little care for her own health. When she finally got pregnant she was almost entirely broken, useless now as a bed woman she was once again cast to the streets. But this time she had a home for herself, a meager house on the outskirts of the willows. This was the place where Farah was born.
Haven did her best for her child, filling the cold home with warmth and love even when the days were hard and their stomachs empty. Farah couldn't be more grateful for her mother, she was the one person in her life that was a constant, a beacon of light that Farah knew she wouldn't survive without. Haven taught her everything she knew, spending their meager earnings from the pub Haven began working at soon after Farah's birth on books of all kinds. Haven wanted her daughter to be educated, even if she couldn't attend a real school. So she taught her daughter under precious candlelight. She taught her how to read and write, add and subtract. Everything she could get her hands on, and little Farah soaked it all in. Maybe a little too well, the stories of heroes that Haven taught Farah to read with gave the young girl dangerous ideas.
Growing up Farah wanted to be just like those heroes and had the unfortunate habit of speaking up when people were doing something she didn't like. Child Farah would run after bullies with sticks if she saw them hurting anyone smaller than themselves or antagonizing an animal, pretending to be a knight riding in to protect the innocent.
This lasted up till she had just turned 8 when the blacksmith's son, Yenlear, gave her the soundest beating she had ever experienced after she hit him for almost killing a frog. He had broken her little finger on her right hand and the blasted thing had healed slightly crooked, a firm reminder that she was too weak to protect herself against true cruelty. From then on she went about her justice-bringing quietly, petty revenge like tying boots together or spilling rain water on doorsteps so they were slick from the morning chill.
Aside from the few bullies Farah had a friend or two in her youth, they never did stick around long enough for whatever reason but they helped Farah grow in ways her mother just couldn't. They taught her that she really liked going on picnics and following wildlife through the woods, a forbidden place her mother would kill her for going to if she ever found out, but it was so beautiful she went frequently even as an adult between her job at the local pub with her mother and her studies at home.
Magic: Farah never had the opportunity to pursue magic in any capacity.
Weapon: Her knife
Name: Khione Aryea Rohana (Goes by Aryea)
Age: 201
Species: Vampire
Height: 5ft 4in
History: Khione used to remember her life as a human, up until about 80 years ago when those memories began to fade. She was turned at the ripe old age of 26 in the height of social society. Married for 5 years previous but, unable to bear her husband a child, she had been essentially placed upon the shelf. Her husband found his release in the arms of other women in the dead of night, leaving her to her own devices in the small manor that he had provided to her. Her life depressed her greatly, her appearances in society limiting till they halted completely. The gossip was incorigable and she didn't think she could handle one more question about her husband's latest mistress.
She was alone for so long, until one night letters began appearing at her door. All addressed to her and worded so beautifully, Khione couldn't help but answer each and every one. They spoke of an enchanting infatuation, with her of all people. With each letter her heart fell harder, not knowing who the sender was she didn't even care to ask, she only waited patiently by her door every evening for the post to give her her next fix.
She didn't know what kind of trouble she was getting herself into. The letters lasted a few months, just long enough for her obsession to grip her entirely, and then one night he showed up in place of an envelope. Vincent Ver'alt. The vampire that turned her and changed her life forever. Her memory hazed over the details of her change, a defense mechanism he had told her but a permanent irritant to her psyche it was more like. All that mattered was from that moment on Khione was a walking corpse and Vincent had less to do with her than her late husband did. Taking her to his home and setting her free like a wild dog. She made a place for herself in the city but her existence was as lonely as it ever was, over 150 years solidified the stone that was her still heart and she lost hope for her reality.
Relationship Status: Single
Sexuality: Straight
Personality: Like her name suggests, Khione's personality is often likened to a wall of ice. Cold, unforgiving and near impossible to overcome. Quiet and critical she will wait for the perfect moment to strike rather than move with her instincts directly.
Aura Color(opt.): Extremely pale purple
Faction: Vampires
Ranking: None
Special powers?:
Heightened resistance to cold and energy draining demons
Special Skills:
Her bullshit detector is incredible.
Established Relationships:
Friends with Vassago
Age: 201
Species: Vampire
Height: 5ft 4in
History: Khione used to remember her life as a human, up until about 80 years ago when those memories began to fade. She was turned at the ripe old age of 26 in the height of social society. Married for 5 years previous but, unable to bear her husband a child, she had been essentially placed upon the shelf. Her husband found his release in the arms of other women in the dead of night, leaving her to her own devices in the small manor that he had provided to her. Her life depressed her greatly, her appearances in society limiting till they halted completely. The gossip was incorigable and she didn't think she could handle one more question about her husband's latest mistress.
She was alone for so long, until one night letters began appearing at her door. All addressed to her and worded so beautifully, Khione couldn't help but answer each and every one. They spoke of an enchanting infatuation, with her of all people. With each letter her heart fell harder, not knowing who the sender was she didn't even care to ask, she only waited patiently by her door every evening for the post to give her her next fix.
She didn't know what kind of trouble she was getting herself into. The letters lasted a few months, just long enough for her obsession to grip her entirely, and then one night he showed up in place of an envelope. Vincent Ver'alt. The vampire that turned her and changed her life forever. Her memory hazed over the details of her change, a defense mechanism he had told her but a permanent irritant to her psyche it was more like. All that mattered was from that moment on Khione was a walking corpse and Vincent had less to do with her than her late husband did. Taking her to his home and setting her free like a wild dog. She made a place for herself in the city but her existence was as lonely as it ever was, over 150 years solidified the stone that was her still heart and she lost hope for her reality.
Relationship Status: Single
Sexuality: Straight
Personality: Like her name suggests, Khione's personality is often likened to a wall of ice. Cold, unforgiving and near impossible to overcome. Quiet and critical she will wait for the perfect moment to strike rather than move with her instincts directly.
Aura Color(opt.): Extremely pale purple
Faction: Vampires
Ranking: None
Special powers?:
Heightened resistance to cold and energy draining demons
Special Skills:
Her bullshit detector is incredible.
Established Relationships:
Friends with Vassago