Oct 11, 2019
Nils Baadnes & Ronald Raasch discovered this giant gel ball in Norway, which is the egg-mass of the 10-Armed Squid. Via REV Ocean. @rev_ocean
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Nils Baadnes & Ronald Raasch discovered this giant gel ball in Norway, which is the egg-mass of the 10-Armed Squid. Via REV Ocean. @rev_ocean
only 2 applications away from deciding an opening day which will be sometime this week. i’d love to see some more of the cult leaders snatched up. loki , heimdall , thor , fenrir , ve , vili , and mani are still available!
Hello everyone!
Hope that you are as excited as we are with the main dropping tomorrow night! We have been working tirelessly behind the scenes to get all our biographies finished, and we thought we would give you a sneak peek underneath the cut for the proposed order for when each one will be released. We will have two come out per day, and it will be one Reaper and one Scarlet Angel. We will allow requests for characters you are interested in to come out earlier and try to accommodate them whenever it’s possible. If we make any changes we will let you know!
— Prochnost Admins
PROJECT LAKE GRIMSTONE; two towns, two different styles of living, one common goal, maintaining the safety of the residents as well as the outside world.
For centuries Lake Grimstone has been home to those with special abilities. After a civil battle left the town in the hands of an extremist group, the government turned back time and in doing so created a new reality (an alternate universe) for the residents. In one swift moment the world as the residents knew it ceased to exist and a new reality set in. What was once one town turned to two.
IS THIS YOUR OPPORTUNITY TO RIGHT WHAT YOU GOT WRONG?
Lake Grimstone is a newly revamped plot driven roleplay.
Main || Masterlist || Ask || Powers || Navigation
BASICS.
NAME. Mary MacDonald AGE. 20 ALUMNI HOUSE. Gryffindor BLOOD STATUS. Muggleborn ORDER RANK. Inner-Circle FACECLAIM. Emma Mackey
PAST.
Mary understood what it was like to grow up on the outside. Her parents loved her - of course they did! - but they had been so young when they had Mary’s older brother and she’d come so shortly after, with two other siblings following, that they just didn’t have time to devote to their second child. Even as a kid, Mary had responsibilities. She and Adam took care of the younger two - made sure they were ready for school, helped with dinner, helped with homework. Her magic showed up late and it was so subtle and she was so busy that her family hardly realized when weird things started happening. It wasn’t until she was whisked away to Hogwarts - pulled from her family, leaving Adam alone to help with the kids - that Mary discovered magic even existed. It was beautiful - it was useful - but she hadn’t asked for it. Being away for nine months out of the year ended up creating a rift between her and her siblings, whom she had always been close to. They still loved one another, but she learned as the years went on that she didn’t really know them anymore. In the end, her family learned very little about magic - while she pulled more and more away from the Muggle world. By the time Antonin Mulciber attacked her in the corridor just before curfew, leaving a long scar across her cheek, Mary had already been well aware just how damaging magic could be.
PRESENT
She hadn’t asked for help with Mulciber - she didn’t believe it would come. She was muggleborn, after all. People didn’t just offer a hand to muggleborn students. Her family wasn’t an option - and she’d never found a tight-knit group of friends to be vulnerable among. Besides, there was a war going on - people like her were dying everyday. She wouldn’t be considered another statistic. Besides, she’d decided long before that the only person she could really trust to take care of things was herself - so she waited. Even now, she doesn’t know how Dumbledore knew to approach her about fighting in the war, but she didn’t question it (magic had long ago proved to be too mysterious to really think about) and suddenly she had her outlet. In the Order, she would eventually come across Mulciber, she was sure. Mary threw herself into the organization, quickly rising through the ranks and accruing more responsibility. And when she found him, his mask flying off during battle, she could have captured him and left him for the authorities... But there’s a reason Mulciber is no longer alive, while Mary stands stronger than ever. It doesn’t matter that she’s the newest one to be invited into what the members sarcastically call the inner circle - it doesn’t matter that people underestimate her... this war is hers.
CONNECTIONS.
LILY EVANS. Mary can’t find the strength in Lily like she once did. More focused on getting the muggleborns out of the country than actually fighting, Lily is encompassing exactly how people view their blood status. Mary has made it very clear to Lily what she thinks a mudblood should be doing in this war - and it’s certainly not hiding. DORCAS MEADOWES, BENJY FENWICK, & EMMA VANITY. While Mary has not outwardly aligned herself with the newest members of the groups in their radical approaches, she doesn’t exactly frown upon their methods. Now that she’s in the inner circle meetings, she’s realizing how much talking the Order does. Dorcas and her group of followers have the right idea - mostly. At least they’re doing something. ALICE LONGBOTTOM. As the only other woman in the inner-circle, Mary often finds herself looking towards Alice for guidance and advice. Alice is everything Mary sees in strong women - a warrior, intelligent, unafraid. But Alice has seemed a bit distracted lately and that’s concerning. Mary doesn’t know what she’ll do if another person disappoints her.
Alternate FC Suggestions: Lydia Graham, Imogen Poots
MARY IS TAKEN.
In fair Verona, our tale begins with ALEXANDER RALLIS, who is TWENTY-EIGHT years old. He is often called ANTONY by the MONTAGUES and works as their ADVISER. He uses HE/HIM pronouns.
It’s often been said that two things—one beyond his control and one under his control alone—define a man: his name and what he chooses to do with it. In this way, Alexander Rallis has always borne the mark of greatness, and in this way, he’s always come dangerously close to making a LIAR of fate. He was nothing short of mediocre as a child, the youngest and plainest of four over-achieving sons and so careful with his words that those who knew no better thought him mute; and even as he grew into an intelligent young man and shrugged off his reservations like a winter coat, he fell into the same habits that had felled men far more promising than he—drinking until he forgot the name he’d failed to live up to, waking up in the arms of women whose names he hadn’t cared to learn, and sobering up to do it again the following night. He was unremarkable until he wasn’t and played it safe until he didn’t. The youngest Rallis son had lived between shades of grey all his life: too cautious to make an impression and then too impulsive to make a GOOD one, but by the time he sobered up long enough to join the Montagues—something his brothers had been too morally righteous to do—he’d learned to toe the line with precision, to reap the benefits of both extremes and suffer the consequences of neither. Half a hedonist and half a CONQUEROR, he was—and still is—often one night shy of his own ruination and a pull of a trigger away from someone else’s, but in a city full of gluttons and assassins, he was an anomaly, a man to be revered—a man who could be both, and that made all the difference. The city has never known balance—not of wealth, not of desires, and certainly not of power, but somehow, whether by some stroke of luck or GENIUS, he’d managed to master all three. It was this mastery that saw him become one of the most prominent captains of his age, not for his proficiency in something as primal as violence, but for his refined knowledge of the art of war and all its nuances. Formidable enough to put his historic namesake to shame and benevolent enough to command both respect and admiration, he’s one of the most successful advisers the city has ever seen—the pride of the Montagues and the thorn in Cosimo Capulet’s side—and he’s only getting BETTER. He’s never been more at home in Verona than he is now, a colonel in a civil war that’s been brewing for centuries, but a man like him knows to never get too comfortable, for those situated at the top of a house of cards are every bit as vulnerable as those at the bottom; the martyr for which his side fights is a solemn reminder of that. More than that, though, the recent murder of Alvise Vernon has left the Montagues without an underboss and made their advisor the second-most powerful man on the west side of the Castelvecchio bridge. He’s got his work cut out for him, certainly, but he excels under pressure—a valuable skill, as the stakes are higher than ever before. He stands to gain the world at his fingertips if he succeeds and a punishment far worse than death if he doesn’t, and while that might intimidate a lesser man, cowardice has never made itself at home in his heart. It’s a damn shame, the way it all played out—Alvise was a worthy colleague and something akin to a friend—but above all, it’s an opportunity to pick up the pieces, and he’s nothing if not an OPPORTUNIST. So, ready the stage and prepare the maestro, for the great Alexander Rallis about to be presented on the great stage of Verona for all to hear and all to FEAR. He’ll win this war if it kills him, but a name like his will never die.
PANDORA PHAN & HENRY ZHANG: Competition. He counted himself lucky to be in their company before tragedy befell the Vernons, and all wariness aside, he still does; they’re two of his most reliable captains, and without them, much of the plans he’s made would never come to fruition. But he’s not the only one who can see their potential; Damiano, too, has taken notice of the pair, and Alexander will be damned if he slips up and gives either of them the chance to take what he feels is rightfully his—what he’s earned. They’re on the same team—part of the same family, fighting the same common enemy—he hasn’t forgotten that, and he has no intentions of playing dirty, but even on the home front, Rallis doesn’t lose. This time won’t be any different, and on the off-chance that he is, he refuses to go down without a fight. VIVIANNE SLOANE: Rival. Failure to acknowledge the strengths of one’s enemy is failure to prepare to defeat those strengths. Alexander has been in enough war rooms to know that pride and arrogance have lost more battles than sheer weakness ever have, and it’s for that reason that he regards the Capulet underboss not as someone to be looked down upon—disregarded, underestimated—but an equal. Acting now as Alvise’s interim successor, he must take an entirely different approach to the conflict that’s shaken the city to its core, and that means taking an entirely different approach to the woman manning the helm of the enemy ship—the puppeteer. He respects her in a way only a man like him could—with a detached sort of ruthlessness. They might’ve been friends if they’d both sold their souls to the same side of the bridge, but the time for might have beens is over; all that’s left is what will be, and Vivianne Sloane will be a woman defeated.
RAFAELLA CAPULET: Fiancee & Childhood Friend. They are bound together by nothing more than a piece of paper and two signatures. Rafaella has elected to disregard it and banish him the same way she had banished her allegiance to the Montagues but Alexander has not forgotten. They were both technically children when the agreement was made for them to be wed in a, at the time, much-needed display of unity between their families. Alexander had cherished the friendship they shared and was confident that he would find a way to prevent the arrangement from becoming an inconvenience but Rafaella had despised the imprisonment of it and was so overcome by her disdain towards her family’s decisions and those they served that she had ended up crushing everything that she had and rebuilding a life elsewhere. Alexander often wonders if she still acknowledges being bound to him, wonders what might transpire if they crossed paths again after all these years. He only knows one thing for certain; he won’t allow anything, cherished or not, to stand in the way of his progress.
MATTHIAS WARREN: Trump Card. Matthias is a serpent but if their consultation sessions together have proved anything to Alexander, it’s that he’s one whose strikes are predictable. Although he has the mob’s best interest in mind—and it was the reason he’d approached Alexander in the first place—it’s quite apparent that avenging his father takes priority and although the Rallis man had been unsure of what he might gain from advising Matthias, he quickly learned that it might not be a losing deal, after all. If framed in a certain light, Matthias’s plan could quickly turn from a personal side project into a reckless display of insubordination. Alexander would be the lucky individual who’d happen to come across this information in the narrative he’ll spin. If he presents it to the boss and helps eliminate the threat, well, his position would progress through the ranks in nothing short of leaps and bounds. It’s an opportunity too promising and too foolproof for him to let go of for the sake of something as trivial as the Warren man’s trust or the risk of earning his disdain.
Alexander is portrayed by JON KORTAJORENA and was written by BREE. He is currently TAKEN by JEN.
Tracey Davis • 21 • Slytherin Alum • Wand Unknown • Open
It was always so loud. The hatred, the bigotry, the condescending manner that your so-called friends had always used so openly around you. If only they’d known that the people they detested so much were sitting amongst them, hiding in plain sight. Maybe they wouldn’t have acted so snide in front of you, but that thought is almost worse. Would it have made any difference to know that one of the mudbloods they hated so much was one of their very best friends? Would they have learned to see past the rigid boxes they’d been sorting people into? Or would their loudness in front of you fade to quiet whispers behind your back?
name: carlotta giudicelli
age: thirty
gender and pronouns: trans female, she/her
loyalty: neutral
occupation: company member of le théâtre de nuit
criminal occupation: none
faceclaim: laverne cox
You were born with moonlight in your throat, comets scorching through your veins and stars rolling off of your back. There was a name before Carlotta, a story that came before the one you tell to strangers in dimly lit spaces, but the prologue is not what is remembered. The chapters of your existence are written across your limbs with pride, an open book for all who wish to read it, and you know no shame or fear. Your body has always contained too much for the stretch of your skin and the length of your bones, and your father promised you that you were destined for greatness — ‘Sing, Carlotta. Let your voice fly, uccellino. Don’t stop until you’ve found it.’ Exactly what he meant, you had never asked, but you still searched for it. You grew your hair out to lasso towers that were out of reach, filing your nails into points that made no surface safe from your ascent. You were a born climber, but you were also a mountain in your own right, and your father had always known that his investments into your future would pay off tenfold. Etiquette lessons had the social ladder of your Italian hometown beneath your heels, and lessons with an aged opera singer out of her prime trained you to reach notes that were higher than the heavens. ‘What is it like, Carlotta?’ your father would whisper, taking you by his calloused hands and smiling until his lips cracked from the strain. ‘When you go to heaven in those moments, what’s it like? What do you see? What secrets do you know?’ And he died knowing you would become a legend, and you held his hand knowing he gave up everything to see it become a possibility. You didn’t know what was beyond the golden gates that you visited in the moments of your performances, but you kept visiting them — you kept singing and you kept reaching and you kept trying to see those shining streets; but your father was gone in a casket lined with velvet. Ivory finishing held the tears that you could not carry on your own. You dreamt of Paris in your mourning, all the stories he’d tell you of his younger years when there were no anchors to strip a father of his youth. You packed your things and you made the journey on a whim. To find yourself and to cement your goals, or to reconnect with the man that made you who you were, you were not entirely sure. It’s a cruel tragedy when a girl never knows love truer than the man who spoiled her until there was nothing but rot left beneath her skin.
Parisian silks around your throat and shades to block out the flames of your ambitions, you were offered residence in Le Théâtre de Nuit within a week of your arrival. Extravagance went a long way for making your presence known — the flamboyance of your laughter drowning out dimmer women before singing could even come up in the auditions. They needed someone to draw in a crowd, someone to hook all eyes on the stage in the moment of her voice rising in octave, and that was destined to be you. The next week, you had your first starring role, and after the best opening of a play in the theatre’s history, it became an annual thing. You’d take your breaks, and you’d let your understudies have their own moments in the public eye, but you were a greedy thing. You latched your claws into Nuit and you claimed it as your own — and who was to challenge a dragon’s claim to her hoard? You were the pearl atop a pile of cracked shells, a beautiful thing among so much tragedy, and your life was perfect. You were everything your father had wanted you to be; you were the leading woman. You met a man who loved you for all the plainness beneath your gilded surface, and the two of you were happy. Romeo and Juliet, Marc Antony and Cleopatra — Carlotta and Piangi. The king and queen of the opera, and isn’t it tragic? That royalty is always destined to fall? Whereas skill could not be questioned, there were prettier women, and you knew the curse of being a dim creature waltzing across a sky of burning stars. You were once the sun, a shining thing that could not be threatened, but the the standing of Nuit began to change the moment Christine Daae placed herself on the chessboard. Parts reserved for you are offered to her, dresses you made famous altered to better suit her figure, and all the while you're left staring at lights that are slowly slipping away. They linger on her, making her shine in all the ways that made you whole, and it's not fair. There is nothing warm and beautiful about a fleeting sense of worth. Is this your swan song? Is this the moment you become a supernova? A dead, lovely thing in galaxy of fallen heroes? You were always meant to be eternal, always meant to have everything your heart desired. Piangi can't chase the ghosts away, and your father's too far past the gates to call for him. Keep singing, Carlotta. You have so much more to say. An empty theatre still has an audience — sing for the broken people. For once, sing for yourself.
castmates: baylen moreau, fleur renard, meg giry, odessa faust, sebastian renard, and ursula braun
enemies: erik destler and joseph buquet
employers: gabriel prideaux, madalene giry, michel lefevre, and richard firmin
CHRISTINE DAAE
You’re an aged bird, sitting on a swing in a cage of ivory — and now a younger creature has come to perch on the branches of your treasured domain. It’s almost blasphemous, the way that the audience eats out of her palms and how the theatre is placing the spotlight on her form. Her talent holds no match to yours, her abilities not nearly as trained as your own, and it’s unfair that time is such a cruel mistress. You punch vanity mirrors until the lines on the glass match the ones on your face, and you curse fate. Your father sacrificed everything to see you become something; wiser and happier and more secure than he had been. How dare a child attempt to usurp his legacy? How dare a swan pretend to know the song of a lark? Beauty is fleeting, you know that now. Your voice cements you in a way that she cannot budge — but what will hold her? Frankly, Christine’s just a pretty face, and you’re content to weather the storm until she’s no longer an annoyance.
MATHIEU REYER AND GILLE ANDRE
Either you or they are little more than a spoiled pet, and it’s never been likely for you to play a role without proper credit. Every whim of yours is met within a matter of seconds; every little frustrated cry for help and craving for a display of opulence. The prized lark is kept preened and fed and adored at all times, and the two of them have always been tasked with calming your tantrums. A secondary character stands a little too close, and you storm off. Another woman tries to sing more passionately than her part requires, and you throw your hands up in protest. And can you blame them for trying so hard to please you? ‘Don’t cry, Carlotta,’ they beg, wiping tears from your cheeks and powdering away the flush of red. ‘Don’t strain your voice!’ And you lick the salt from your lips and bat your eyelashes, and you say that you’ll be fine. When everything is as you want it to be, all is perfect within Nuit. You've never been one for giving up control.
UBALDO PIANGI
You found a man to hold you while strolling the cold streets of Italy. You were a woman in your prime and a rising star in the opera scene, and when you visited your home country in the winter months, Piangi pulled you close and gave you a warmth that you had always craved. Awe of him came after loving him, learning of his local operatic roots as a tenor of great skill. You snatched him away like a thief in the night, taking him to Paris where the two of you steadily started your ascent to the very top of Nuit’s rankings. You were the star, the grandest of all the performers, and he had a voice like warm honey. You drank of him, and he tasted of you, but what the two of you shared was the purest of relationships. How powerful is love? When someone manages to steal your heart with just a simple kiss to your cheek, no nails trailing down your back? You married him, and you forged a life with him, and now he combs your hair as your relevance slowly fades away. ‘And do you still love me?’ you whisper often, forehead pressed against his own. 'Always,’ he assures.
THIS CHARACTER HAS A FLEXIBLE FACECLAIM AND IS OPEN