Rose of Morpheus
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The Silver Marauder
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Rose of Morpheus
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Strude
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The Silver Marauder
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Rose of Morpheus
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Strude
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Rose of Morpheus
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Rose of Morpheus
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Character Name: Magnolia Everly
Position: Passive Activist
Age: 20
City of Residence: Nomad
Views on Azrael: She had no real way of taking time out to learn much about Azrael. Though she admires them for their beliefs matching her own, wishing to help the world when it's so wounded and hurt, she has trouble believing them because of the names they chose for themselves. Still, it seems almost too convienent that they would chose those names to hide behind. So she desires to someday meet those behind Azrael, so she may hope to acquire a higher knowledge of who they are and what they believe.
Personality: Magnolia has aged a great bit in her lifetime, but she hasn't aged alot. While she is still learning about who you can and can't trust, she has difficulty trusting completely. Constantly she is torn between her desire to save the world and her knowledge that it's a completely futile effort, sometimes swinging between being optimistic and darkly depressing. Though she has long desired human contact, she still highly enjoys flowers and will often get ost in thought when she sees birds or weeds growing up through cracks. Knowing what her previous outspokeness has done though, and believing it to be a reason for the bad things that happened, she speaks with a soft almost mousy voice.
Background: A child, lovingly nicknamed Wild Spirit, was a doorstep baby. In the very first months of her life she was unwanted and unloved by the very mother that had given birth to her. Yet the days of Trust vs. Mistrust, as Erik Erikson described it, was not destroyed. Weeks after her birth she was laid to rest on a cold winter's night on the steps of the old cabin. She was actually supposed to be left for dead, the building believed to be abandoned. Instead, an old woman, stirred by the cries of a newborn child, woke up from her slumber and came to the door to find the pink cheeked babe screaming at the top of her lungs.
The next morning she was taken to the police station. Through days and nights of agonizing waiting, nothing could be turned up on who had left the child behind. She had been born outside of a hospital. The mother had never seen a doctor. More than likely she was a poor gutter rat who had no concievable idea as to who the father actually was. With no money to care for the child beyond herself, she threw it away selfishly and without care. Of course these are just speculations. With no proper documentation, there was nothing that could be said. So, to put the child into the proper systems, she was taken to a hospital for a check-over. An estimated date and time of birth were determined for December 12, 2015, noon for convience. Blood was taken. DNA recorded for future purposes.
Rather than allowing her to be taken to an orphanage, the old woman having been a social worker years before and trusting them very little from the last time she walked through the doors in the early 1980s. So, instead, channals were taken and when Magnolia was around one and a half years old, the final documents were taken care of so that she was then adopted by Miss Nancy Breland, 80 years old at the time.
Miss Breland loved to stay away from people on a whole and spent much of her time making paintings in her small private cabin in the woods. It's here that she raised young Magnolia, named for the blooms on the southern trees. The Blue Ridge was a lovely place to raise a young one with it's crisp mountain air and it's rows and rows of trees and land. Here and there small streams of smoke could be seen from other cabins being rented or owned by the rich or vacationing. Though Maggie loved the nature she came to learn and love, the peacefulness it brought, she longed heavily for the presence of others.
With each year though, those things seemed so much further and furhter away. Just when she thought she might be able to go further in the woods, further away from her cabin, Nancy needed her more and more. Age and lowering health slowed her down. The very pots and pans used for cooking became too heavy so Maggie was taught instead. The cleaning strained her too much, so Maggie did it instead. Unlike most children in her day and age, she was burdened with responsibility. It was something most her age had no idea about, because in a world with instant gratification, they had never learned to bear burdens or to wait with patience and love. More and more the doctor, Dr. Stephens, had to come. Each time the medicine was increased, but he never looked hopeful. What was hardest was seeing her no longer able to hold her brush steady. Painting became so fruitless she stopped altogether.
It was a sunny summer day when Nancy passed away. Magnolia had grown so accustomed to leaving the room while the doctor was there that she stood on the back porch overlooking the mountains, the shimmering lights of a town just beyond the ridge that had appeared a few years before and seemed to grow with each passing day. She was only 15 that day.
They were going to come for her, to put her in the foster homes she was destined for long ago. They never caught her. In the middle of the night a young girl dressed in a handmade long white dress, dirty from days of travel in the woodlands, stumbled into the city with the curiosity and awe any child would. On that first night she met a young man named Darren the Dark Prince Smith. He wasn't well known, but just enough to have a nickname. He was actually much older than she, by ten years. When he left the bar that night he couldn't believe the woman he saw standing there. Feeling sorry for her, for the dirt she bore and the tussles in her hair, he took her to a diner to feed and drink her, to ease her of some pain. Yet it was she, with the beauty of her thoughts, that change him instead. Though he never truly believed in her, he protected her for more than year....
From one person to another she spread her words, not really on a mission, but just talking. She listened with an open heart as a few people, trodden with gang wars, though not nearly at the scale they were later, and it came to her mind a sudden thought. And in that accidental moment, she mentioned making a family gang of their own. These who are worn and weary. For surely there are more like them that could not stand the violence and pain of these wars, torn from their families and living on the streets. Whoever would join them she allowed. They took over the back rooms of a bar that had once been a small apartment complex. More and more people they took in, working with their hands, turning their lives around when they could, learning to fight just a little better to protect those like them. They were an angel in the darkness. Til one man came along....
When you accept everyone with the naivete of a youth, you don't know how to weed out those who will cause you damage and harm. He was young like them. A mere 20 to her 15. He sat in the back of her talks, was greeted with love and no faults. She found him...exotic, strange...soemthin that shook something inside of her that she did not realize was her instinct both attraction to danger and the fear of it. So she catered to him like all others. Yet as other groups began to notice, hating for their people leaving them to become part of hers, believing that she was stealing them to use in a hostile take-over of the city streets.....they began to target them. The more people who came back beaten and bruised the harder she trained with a gun and her fists. The more she wanted to protect them. To stop them from falling and dwindling away like Nana "Nancy" had. She wanted to stop it. To stop it all. To stop this pain....so futile.
The man, th youth, Devante Kaveer, left her group. He saw how she struggled, how their hopes began dying, and left her group. With his own wish to end this pain and suffering, he joined another group deticated to killing of hers, Omni, he sent a hitman to make her stop. He was only supposed to open her eyes to her own futile fight and dispell the people. When she wouldn't, stubborn in her own self-righteousness, he took her down. The hitman shot her and left her behind, believing her to be dead soon. She was shot in an alley. Like a dog in an alley. Those in her group were dispelled...those who wouldn't...killed. Either way, the family built on peace, died in ignorance.
She didn't wake up. Not for a long time. Someone with a shred of decency saw her and called the police, but did not wait for them to come. She was taken to the hospital and was placed on the cheapest means of help. With no insurance but a duty to help her, they kept her alive and going. From the ages of 16 to 19, she was in a coma. A few months before her 20th birthday, she woke up. No longer needing medical attention to keep her vitals in check, she was released a few days later without any way to cope.
Magnolia taught herself to walk again, though she still wobbles a bit. It was a few days before she made it back to the bar. It wasn't there anymore. A new business had moved in, putting in a department store. Through a few talks with some people at the store, questioning them about what happened, a woman working in a formal dress shop took pitty on her and hired her to help sew on accessories onto prom and wedding dresses, making next to minimum wage. While she built up her money she was given a storage room in the basement she could live in.
The following year though. The world came to a grinding halt. Wars broke out. Fights. The whole city seemed to go crazy. During a night when looters raided the department store, she grabbed all the money she had into a bookbag and crept out the small window. She had to shove herself through in order to make it, but she did. Following the news, the world around her, she makes it to DC where she might find the answers....though she doesn't even know the questions she's asking.
Job Beforehand: Seamstress's Assistant
Familial Position: Unwanted b*****d Child
Appearance:
I am sorry, I am posting this because I am so proud of myself...and no, I don't want someone else to post as a person from her past. H edied, I just didn't say it. He didn't die a glorious ne either. He died because a piece of building crumbled while he was lookin around and it squished him.
Position: Passive Activist
Age: 20
City of Residence: Nomad
Views on Azrael: She had no real way of taking time out to learn much about Azrael. Though she admires them for their beliefs matching her own, wishing to help the world when it's so wounded and hurt, she has trouble believing them because of the names they chose for themselves. Still, it seems almost too convienent that they would chose those names to hide behind. So she desires to someday meet those behind Azrael, so she may hope to acquire a higher knowledge of who they are and what they believe.
Personality: Magnolia has aged a great bit in her lifetime, but she hasn't aged alot. While she is still learning about who you can and can't trust, she has difficulty trusting completely. Constantly she is torn between her desire to save the world and her knowledge that it's a completely futile effort, sometimes swinging between being optimistic and darkly depressing. Though she has long desired human contact, she still highly enjoys flowers and will often get ost in thought when she sees birds or weeds growing up through cracks. Knowing what her previous outspokeness has done though, and believing it to be a reason for the bad things that happened, she speaks with a soft almost mousy voice.
Background: A child, lovingly nicknamed Wild Spirit, was a doorstep baby. In the very first months of her life she was unwanted and unloved by the very mother that had given birth to her. Yet the days of Trust vs. Mistrust, as Erik Erikson described it, was not destroyed. Weeks after her birth she was laid to rest on a cold winter's night on the steps of the old cabin. She was actually supposed to be left for dead, the building believed to be abandoned. Instead, an old woman, stirred by the cries of a newborn child, woke up from her slumber and came to the door to find the pink cheeked babe screaming at the top of her lungs.
The next morning she was taken to the police station. Through days and nights of agonizing waiting, nothing could be turned up on who had left the child behind. She had been born outside of a hospital. The mother had never seen a doctor. More than likely she was a poor gutter rat who had no concievable idea as to who the father actually was. With no money to care for the child beyond herself, she threw it away selfishly and without care. Of course these are just speculations. With no proper documentation, there was nothing that could be said. So, to put the child into the proper systems, she was taken to a hospital for a check-over. An estimated date and time of birth were determined for December 12, 2015, noon for convience. Blood was taken. DNA recorded for future purposes.
Rather than allowing her to be taken to an orphanage, the old woman having been a social worker years before and trusting them very little from the last time she walked through the doors in the early 1980s. So, instead, channals were taken and when Magnolia was around one and a half years old, the final documents were taken care of so that she was then adopted by Miss Nancy Breland, 80 years old at the time.
Miss Breland loved to stay away from people on a whole and spent much of her time making paintings in her small private cabin in the woods. It's here that she raised young Magnolia, named for the blooms on the southern trees. The Blue Ridge was a lovely place to raise a young one with it's crisp mountain air and it's rows and rows of trees and land. Here and there small streams of smoke could be seen from other cabins being rented or owned by the rich or vacationing. Though Maggie loved the nature she came to learn and love, the peacefulness it brought, she longed heavily for the presence of others.
With each year though, those things seemed so much further and furhter away. Just when she thought she might be able to go further in the woods, further away from her cabin, Nancy needed her more and more. Age and lowering health slowed her down. The very pots and pans used for cooking became too heavy so Maggie was taught instead. The cleaning strained her too much, so Maggie did it instead. Unlike most children in her day and age, she was burdened with responsibility. It was something most her age had no idea about, because in a world with instant gratification, they had never learned to bear burdens or to wait with patience and love. More and more the doctor, Dr. Stephens, had to come. Each time the medicine was increased, but he never looked hopeful. What was hardest was seeing her no longer able to hold her brush steady. Painting became so fruitless she stopped altogether.
It was a sunny summer day when Nancy passed away. Magnolia had grown so accustomed to leaving the room while the doctor was there that she stood on the back porch overlooking the mountains, the shimmering lights of a town just beyond the ridge that had appeared a few years before and seemed to grow with each passing day. She was only 15 that day.
They were going to come for her, to put her in the foster homes she was destined for long ago. They never caught her. In the middle of the night a young girl dressed in a handmade long white dress, dirty from days of travel in the woodlands, stumbled into the city with the curiosity and awe any child would. On that first night she met a young man named Darren the Dark Prince Smith. He wasn't well known, but just enough to have a nickname. He was actually much older than she, by ten years. When he left the bar that night he couldn't believe the woman he saw standing there. Feeling sorry for her, for the dirt she bore and the tussles in her hair, he took her to a diner to feed and drink her, to ease her of some pain. Yet it was she, with the beauty of her thoughts, that change him instead. Though he never truly believed in her, he protected her for more than year....
From one person to another she spread her words, not really on a mission, but just talking. She listened with an open heart as a few people, trodden with gang wars, though not nearly at the scale they were later, and it came to her mind a sudden thought. And in that accidental moment, she mentioned making a family gang of their own. These who are worn and weary. For surely there are more like them that could not stand the violence and pain of these wars, torn from their families and living on the streets. Whoever would join them she allowed. They took over the back rooms of a bar that had once been a small apartment complex. More and more people they took in, working with their hands, turning their lives around when they could, learning to fight just a little better to protect those like them. They were an angel in the darkness. Til one man came along....
When you accept everyone with the naivete of a youth, you don't know how to weed out those who will cause you damage and harm. He was young like them. A mere 20 to her 15. He sat in the back of her talks, was greeted with love and no faults. She found him...exotic, strange...soemthin that shook something inside of her that she did not realize was her instinct both attraction to danger and the fear of it. So she catered to him like all others. Yet as other groups began to notice, hating for their people leaving them to become part of hers, believing that she was stealing them to use in a hostile take-over of the city streets.....they began to target them. The more people who came back beaten and bruised the harder she trained with a gun and her fists. The more she wanted to protect them. To stop them from falling and dwindling away like Nana "Nancy" had. She wanted to stop it. To stop it all. To stop this pain....so futile.
The man, th youth, Devante Kaveer, left her group. He saw how she struggled, how their hopes began dying, and left her group. With his own wish to end this pain and suffering, he joined another group deticated to killing of hers, Omni, he sent a hitman to make her stop. He was only supposed to open her eyes to her own futile fight and dispell the people. When she wouldn't, stubborn in her own self-righteousness, he took her down. The hitman shot her and left her behind, believing her to be dead soon. She was shot in an alley. Like a dog in an alley. Those in her group were dispelled...those who wouldn't...killed. Either way, the family built on peace, died in ignorance.
She didn't wake up. Not for a long time. Someone with a shred of decency saw her and called the police, but did not wait for them to come. She was taken to the hospital and was placed on the cheapest means of help. With no insurance but a duty to help her, they kept her alive and going. From the ages of 16 to 19, she was in a coma. A few months before her 20th birthday, she woke up. No longer needing medical attention to keep her vitals in check, she was released a few days later without any way to cope.
Magnolia taught herself to walk again, though she still wobbles a bit. It was a few days before she made it back to the bar. It wasn't there anymore. A new business had moved in, putting in a department store. Through a few talks with some people at the store, questioning them about what happened, a woman working in a formal dress shop took pitty on her and hired her to help sew on accessories onto prom and wedding dresses, making next to minimum wage. While she built up her money she was given a storage room in the basement she could live in.
The following year though. The world came to a grinding halt. Wars broke out. Fights. The whole city seemed to go crazy. During a night when looters raided the department store, she grabbed all the money she had into a bookbag and crept out the small window. She had to shove herself through in order to make it, but she did. Following the news, the world around her, she makes it to DC where she might find the answers....though she doesn't even know the questions she's asking.
Job Beforehand: Seamstress's Assistant
Familial Position: Unwanted b*****d Child
Appearance:
I am sorry, I am posting this because I am so proud of myself...and no, I don't want someone else to post as a person from her past. H edied, I just didn't say it. He didn't die a glorious ne either. He died because a piece of building crumbled while he was lookin around and it squished him.
