Dead and Alone

Connor Rouge \\ (27)427 // Necromancer “Yes, I understand why things had to happen this way. I understand his reason for causing me pain. But mere understanding does not chase away the hurt. It does not call upon the sun when dark clouds have loomed over me. Let the rain come then if it must come! And let it wash away the dust that hurt my eyes!”

[theghostofgreece-blog]

She had accepted long ago her fate was sealed in fire and blood. She was a creature born into misery that wanted the world and when her parents died that little girl inside of her that could still be saved perished with them. Of course she was the source of their death but in the grand scheme of things it was a minor detail. 

But no matter how many people she had killed over the centuries, and it was a lot, children where always something she did not touch. Maybe because he childhood had ended in death that she avoided the squealing things like they contained the plague. Now she was looking at a sign that claimed she had done just that. Killing a child was something that Hadley wasn’t capable off, not really. With a fury she ripped the sign down something burning low in her stomach. 

Blinded by the rage she practically stormed towards the nearest building that would contain a officer. One way or another someone was going to pay for making her seem like a child killer. 

Outside the building a small group had formed probably to do the same as her. But in that moment Hadley didn’t care about petty crimes. Someone was trying to pin a murder of a child on her, if the town wasn’t bad enough now she was stuck being accused for false crimes. If it had been anything but that she would have gladly taken the credit, but this. This hurt the little bit that was left of her soul. “Move” she hissed at someone wishing not for the first time that she could tear the stupid amulet of her finger and tare them all to shreds.

When the person didn’t move Hadley got angry, or angrier. “I said fucking move!” she shouted pushing the person out her way, they might have fallen to the ground but the harpy couldn’t care. The wanted sign in her hand crumbled and she pushed her way to the front until there was only one person in front of her. “I advice you move so I can hurt these pieces of crap” she shouted the last part at the building hoping someone was listening. 

[dead-head-con-blog]

Outside the Concilium, Connor stood with the Salu P. D. As part of his coming her he offered all of his services in return that they never let him leave. It was an odd request and they all questioned it, but he never let them change it. His parole was permanent and the world would be safe from him as long as he kept the peace in the town when needed. They rarely called to him and when they did this time he nearly refused. None could explain his own ‘crimes’ that were posted around the city. 

Still they had a deal, and he didn’t back out of them. The pack of about ten zombies did as great as they could against the small crowd and anyone that made more of a scene was handled by him. He was able to stay calm in most situations and that helped him greatly. As a fiery redhead reached him he stood his ground, not flinching from her words she spat for the council to possibly hear, though he doubted they were listening. “No,” he stated flatly, “step back and allow the Council to figure out what’s going on.”

[hand-it-back]

Larceny. Larceny. Larceny? Larceny. No matter how many different ways he said it, he still couldn’t understand this. Just overnight the whole sanctuary fell down into this huge confused bundle of.. Nonsense (in his opinion) and he had just gotten off of parole. His record was nearly spotless, because let’s be honest here- Sasha wasn’t the type of guy to go seek trouble. He was a law abiding citizen that kept to himself, but in a non-dangerous way. But when he had gotten his mail this morning he almost swore. 

On the top of the envelope he always got everyday (since he was able to receive mail that was) that was just covered in stickers and terrible writing that was clearly addressed to him, there was a plain envelope with former writing. The second he read it a sigh was already in the process of being drawn out. Here he was, a man that has been in Salutem for a little over a month and just got off of parole two days ago, staring at a statement that declared he was accused of larceny. He didn’t get bothered or angered that easy, but this offended him. It was a part of his own code of conduct that he never stole from anyone’s home or place of living. Yet there was a letter from the council that stated otherwise. 

Larceny. Complete, utter horse sludge. Despite the rude start to his morning, Sasha still went to work but instead of just staying quiet while he cleaned there was a bit more noise in his motions. He swept a bit faster than usual and cleaned with a rag a bit harder as well while he stared blankly at whatever was in front of him. His brows were furrowed deeply, and after about half an hour of just staying silent, he couldn’t take it anymore. It bugged him immensely that he, out of all people, was accused of something like that. It was like a slap to his face, his mother’s and father’s face, and even his ancestors. 

Soon enough he started to mutter under his breath and even began to mock the word. Larceny. Oh, of course he would be charged with that. Exaggerated lines formed around the corner of his lips as he quietly bickered to himself, and he popped his arm off and moved it around as he made fun of the damn letter. The cleaning was put on pause as he lived out the small amount of anger he felt at the thought of being put on parole again, but he wasn’t aware of how much of an idiot he must have seemed to the other person that could see him standing right beside the inside of the gates to Boulder Grove Cemetery. 

[dead-head-con-blog]

Everyone was throwing a fit at the series of events that some how mysteriously happened while no one was watching. Even he was being targeted when he barely knew anyone in town. There were few he interacted with and those that he did were most likely scared but not enough so to spout lies. He just wanted to be left alone, or be killed. Sure there were some that he could probably see the crimes being committed by them, but others were far to distraught to ever even have the thought. 

As he finished digging another grave he climbed out with the help of the late Mr. Palmer who groaned at the strain on his old tired limbs. Connor often found himself thanking the minions he was able to ring back to life but he didn’t know why exactly. They weren’t like him and they weren’t capable of understanding anything but orders and simple hand gestures. Even with the hand signals they were usually confused and frozen in place. Palmer just stared at Connor but his attention shifted to the sound of another voice. 

He knew the other necromancer, they worked together, but he was the one that avoided anyone as best he could. They didn’t talk much, but he could see that the man was bothered probably by the posters going around. As the zombie turned to Connor and drooled, the blond rolled his eyes and ordered the old man to check the gates. It did so, moving by the other man and jiggling the gates open before turning to look at the worker near it. Connor was slow to follow as he cleaned up the tombstone before coming over. The other necromancer was well-known for his limbs falling off. Sometimes Connor wondered if there was a way to fix that as the amulets didn’t help except to keep their rot from showing through injuries. “You really need to get healing spells for your body. Did someone complain about it?”

[nixofnyght]

Makeshift Funeral

[nixofnyght]

She chewed her lip hard, taking a few hesitant steps back. No one had been around before. Hrr cheeks flushed as she felt incredibly stupid and guilty about the shrine. It was fine as her own little secret but she was sure to the man it was childish. Still…he wasn’t to dangerous. She had seen him around town. Couldn’t remember what he was though. “I-It’s fine. I um…I didn’t mean to disturb you.” She found her arms wrapping around her waist, eyes training on the ground as she spoke. “I-I’m sorry…”

[dead-head-con-blog]

He shrugged. Being awoken by sounds was normal to him considering the wildlife that was wandering about in the forests. Most were safe but being dead and looking as such made some animals drawn to him. If he wasn’t careful he’d wake without a good chunk of his body. His healing spells only did so much for him. His eyes shifted from the girl to the small structure that seemed like a memorial. He remembered that he had wanted to make one for Meni, but he only had her head and couldn’t part with it. The rest of her body was too mangled and bloodied to use. His eyes softened and his face took on the look of empathy. “You lost someone dear to you.”

[branmaycer-blog]

He’s been in town just a week and yet Bran feels strangely calm. Where once he was afraid to meet another supernatural creature he now relaxes with the knowledge that the walls keep him safe. But that doesn’t mean it’s easier for him. The population is smaller for starters, which makes finding clients harder. And he’s plagued by nightmares that have him screaming at all sorts of hours and his neighbours yelling at him to shut up.

No matter how hard he tries the visions won’t stop. 

He’s wrapped in a thick jumper to keep himself warm; too strung out from days of no sleep. He’s grateful though that the apartment he has has a good shower. At least it makes looking the part of a prostitute easier. 

But’s he’s not looking for his next pay check, that’s for tomorrow night. Instead he’s nursing a whiskey because Bran spent the morning trying to scrub the image of dead children form his brain. It’s not really working.

He presses the cool glass to head for a moment trying to find comfort behind his closed eyes but all he sees is red. Bran opens his eyes and downs the drink lifting the empty glass to signal for another.

[dead-head-con-blog]

The bar was quiet for once and he was feeling a bit sober. He couldn’t have that. Work was buzzing and his flask was emptied before he could realize it. No break was really allowed since he would definitely get behind getting himself a refill. So he focused on his work, stitching up bodies, and making them presentable to their loved ones. It was while he worked on the fifth body that he heard her in his ear. Baby, you’re working too hard. I love how loyal you are, just like a Dog. The necromancer winced, and his head lowered for a moment. With his lack of alcohol came her voice, taunting him. 

Who else to better make him feel the guilt of his actions than the victim herself. Now he never saw her but he could always hear her voice like a quiet breeze in his ear. It scared him at first but twenty or so years of it, he lost count of his days long ago, he had gotten used to it, thinking that he was just haunted by his actions and rightfully so. Still he managed to make it through the rest of nine bodies with precision and speed.

Good boy, you almost fool me into thinking you’re a good worker. Have you went after your boss yet? There’s that other necromancer, would he make a good friend for you? Maybe he’s a murderous beast like you.

By the time he reached the nearest bar that he presumed would be slow at the end of his shift, he was walking more evenly and there was no doubt he was as sober as most people wandering the streets. He sat down not even needing to order when the bartender saw him. His flask and money was placed on the bar. “Are you staying awhile?” He nodded to the simple question from the worker and received his flask, full, and a glass of blackberry rum. He grunted a thanks and let the worker work on the next order of a male beside Connor holding up his glass.

[dead-head-con-blog]

Too Drunk To Care || Open

[manyxaxmusexrp-blog]

Paula was upset, about the flyers with her name and face on them. She was offended and frustrated. But it would make things worse to cause a scene. She knew her own temper and how it often times flared up. If the wrong thing was said there was a likely chance she would get herself into even more hot water. So she was trying to focus, on work or on her dog, mostly just sketching and stitching anything she could. Her sketch book was filled with illustrations and designs she had even yet shown anyone. 

She was walking home from work, where she had spent most of the day at her station drawing up patterns. Paula finally decided it was time to go home and make sure her dog was okay. When upon walking she saw a man sitting there looking stoney. Normally Paula was independent, she was content being left alone, and she did the same to others. But she studied him for a moment. He sipped his flask, she almost laughed. “Bad night,” she finally spoke up. “Call me crazy but drinking so openly in public is pretty frowned upon.”

[dead-head-con-blog]

His focus shifted onto the young girl near him. At first glance he knew he usually looked cruel and easily angered, but he never corrected it. He was meant to do so. It kept people away for the most part and his rude low tone often assisted in scaring them off. He straightened himself a tad in his seat on the stairs as best he could considered the small buzz he was feeling from a weeks worth of slow drinking. “It seems to back up all the stories they’re spinning about me.” 

Drinking and violence went hand in hand. “It has  been a bad life more like.” her face was slightly familiar and he faulted the foggy memory to the rum and his lack of remembering things anyway. “I’m assuming your face has been on those fake posters as well.”

[nixofnyght]

Makeshift Funeral

It had been 6 days, 13 hours and 24 minutes since Lark had been in saltwater. She had grown far to used to the pounding headache that came from being away from her true home, the ocean, and could probably go 5 more days before she began to get sick. Freshwater could only do so much, according to the doctors. she rarely listened to them. It had become a habit for her, one the psychologist had been trying to break her of since they had pulled her from the barge. It was always  blah blah “life depends on it” blah blah “forced submersion”. She tended to zone out pretty often during their little talks, content to sit and scribble out random song lyrics in her head. 

She still didn’t know why they decided to let her come to Salutem. She supposed they thought the other Sirens in the community would help her heal but she didn’t go around most of them. They reminded her to much of her home. Her mom. And she knew she couldn’t handle that. 

Lark’s barefeet took her farther out, digging into the dirt underneath them and wishing it was sand. She wasn’t going to the beach today. No. Today she was laying her mother to rest. Kind of. They never found her body but Lark had spent quite a bit of time building a small shrine to her. Filling it with the things she loved and she had finally found the final piece. A pink carnation. 

No one was supposed to be there, she had found the most private meadow she could, but then she heard it. Twigs snapping beneath weight. And it instantly put her on edge. 

“W-Who’s T-There?” She asked but, as usual, her voice barely carried above a whisper. 

[dead-head-con-blog]

Connor hated having a home. Nothing felt right to him but the natural Earth. Seeing as it was frowned upon but public eye to sleep where others could see he often wandered into the nearby forests and found a good place to lie. In his more recent years he noticed a small place tucked away under a tree and its roots. He was able to hide away even with his six foot four frame. One would think he needed to keep the head fairly close to him, but he could separate himself a long ways from the head that kept his magic alive. Meni was carefully hidden so he wasn't startled by movement in the meadow. He poked himself out of his bed and crawled out hitting twigs on his way. He froze before sighing and speaking, "Just me, Connor, I'm not going to hurt you I just woke up to the sound of you moving."

[dead-head-con-blog]

Too Drunk To Care || Open

He looked at the poster printed off with his face all over it. He wondered if they twisted the story he told them. Meni was slaughtered and decapitated by him. That was the basis and depending on how sober he got the story would change various times. He was content with what he had done when he was stone cold drunk. Too drunk to move his eyes without getting a head rush. When sober he was distraught over how much of a monster he was. He disregarded what Meni did and completely took on the entirety of blame. The woman he loved was ripped apart and forced to have her dead head preserved so he could live. Here he was on the steps of his work place, just waiting for the police to round him up but they didn't come. Not yet anyway. Why he saved himself he didn't know. Why he felt a need to survive would baffle him until the moment he was desinigrated or his magic drained. "I didn't mean it Meni. I loved you." He whispered before downing the remaining rum in his flask and dropping the container in his lap. His head raised to look at the clouds. If he let it rain before making up the bodies he need to then he would most likely end up with a muddy grave to dig.

[dead-head-con-blog]

“I...I haven’t hurt anyone since Meni. Not anyone that didn’t push me. or break me. Kill me if you please. I should die and suffer a worse fate than her.”

[the-city-of-salutem-rp]

Character basics / Age : 27 (427) Birthday : July 14, 1588 Birthplace : Stockholm, Sweden Species : Necromancer Occupation : Mortician Orientation : Pansexual Faceclaim : Alexander Skarsgard

History/

Connor’s only memories were after he was brought to life thanks to the witch Meni. The only connections he had to his past were the dates, names, and a single inscription calling him a loving brother and son taken too soon on his tombstone in Skogskyrkogarden cemetery, Stockholm, Sweden. With Meni, he learned he could now summon more of the dead, but none were like him. They were mindless minions, and though some seemed familiar to him, none of them would provide him with any kind of companionship. When he tried to learn more about himself he found years had passed and very little information remained.

Before he could dig too deep, Meni decided it was time to move on. He begged to stay just a few days longer, but his summoner would have none of his begging. She often told him that she made the decisions and he simply obeyed. Giving in, they left and continued to move whenever the witch decided it was time to move on. Connor learned slowly to expand his powers, summoning not one or two minions, but thirty. The magic inside of him was powerful but it was hard to handle. After summoning fifteen of the dead, his body will begin to give out and leave him falling to his knees.

Meni always kept Connor close. They spent centuries running from hunters and growing their abilities together. After a few close calls, Connor had begun to forget about wanting to know about his life, and become more concerned with protecting Meni. Connor lost count of how many times he sacrificed a limb or two for his summoner, and the last straw came from a big group of hunters gunning for Meni. Connor was taken hostage. The amount of beatings and torture he was put through set Connor’s mind on edge. He waited patiently for his summoner to come to him, but it was over four decades before Meni came to his rescue. The men put up a fight but Meni proved too much for them. He was grateful for the rescue and proceeded to dote upon the witch as thanks for the rescue.

When his emotions finally convinced him to make a move, Meni laughed in his face. She mocked his feelings, not really believing that he could feel such things since he was dead. Despite the pain he was in, he was still determined to change her mind. He spent his next years trying to convince Meni that he was real and felt real love for her. Continually she would mock him and berate him, and it slowly took its effect on him. He slowly became bitter and after taking one final crack to take Meni’s heart, she coldly called him her slave and the truth about his suffering came out. She told him she never looked for him because she was busy summoning other necromancers. Each one failed and she only came back for Connor after she was left with no choice. He was her bitch, and if he wasn’t as strong with her magic as he was, she would move on. He never thought of the woman as his master, and being called slave and bitch threw his emotions out the window.

Connor stopped his advances, trying to back pedal everything that he said, but Meni continued to scrutinize him for thinking he was more than a slave. It only a took a few belittling words after his confession for him to break. Centuries thrown into a relationship and he had it spit on, thrown into his face, and jammed down his throat. In a complete blind fury, Connor killed Meni. Finally he could see her magic floating away, and he worked quickly to find one of her spell books. He felt his strength leaving him slowly as he found the spell on a necromancer. The only way to keep living without his ‘master’ he would need to keep a piece of her, the head.

With no regrets he did exactly what he needed. With a blade and a preservation spell, Meni was dead but her head would never decay and he could live forever. He remained on the run, hiding in the forests, surviving off the lands, and keeping completely detached from the human world. It was pure chance that he stumbled upon Salutem. A sanctuary that allowed all species to have a free home. No one bothered to ask why he carried a severed head into town. Without batting a lash, Lenora vouched for the necromancer and allowed him to move in as long as Meni’s head stayed hidden in his home. Connor refused to tell anyone his story, but one look at his face and anyone could see his pain, and shame.

In Salutem/

Connor spends most of his time either home with Meni or at the local bar when he isn’t working. Salutem remained calm, and not many crimes were committed, so he worked two jobs. He spent long nights taking care of the dead as a mortician, while he would spend his days working as maintenance for the cemetery. Since his body digesting much more slowly than a normal human body, it can be many hours or days before his body takes in the alcohol. A good supply of drinking helps to keep him numb to the humiliation of killing his love. Connor’s reaction to the other supernatural depends on the attitude toward him. Those with attitudes much like his Meni when she called him her bitch, shut him down or set him off. The kinder souls much like him receive his pity and some caring words. Sarcasm and cockyness, make him smile, and remind him of when he was close to the girl he loved.

Personality/

+Traits: Dutiful, Solemn, loyal

-Traits: Aloof, self-conscious, moralistic

This character is:/

Taken|Open|Wanted

[helpersofindie-archive]

( character aesthetic): alexander skarsgard as a supervillian