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✟The Crypt of Creation — ✟
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Mod
Addison, The First Goddess — the name whispered in reverence and dread, carried on the breath of dying stars. Mortals speak it in prayer; gods dare not speak it at all.
⛧ Title(s):
The Veiled Sovereign, Mother of Shadows, Keeper of the Forgotten Light
⛧ Alignment:
⚖ Neutral — the balance between creation and ruin, mercy and wrath.
⛧ Domain:
The Veil — the boundary between life and death, light and shadow. She governs the passage of souls and the secrets hidden between worlds.
⛧ Symbol:
A black crescent moon entwined with a silver thread — representing the unity of shadow and light.
⛧ Appearance:
🕯️ Addison’s divine form is both haunting and beautiful. Her hair flows like liquid midnight, streaked with faint glimmers of starlight. Her eyes are twin eclipses — dark, endless, yet shimmering with the faint glow of creation. Her skin is pale as moonlight, and her long gown moves like mist, ever-shifting between shadow and silk. When she walks, the air hums softly, as if the world itself remembers her name.
⛧ Personality:
🕸️ Calm, enigmatic, and endlessly patient. Addison speaks rarely, but when she does, her words echo with the weight of eternity. She is neither cruel nor kind — she simply is. To those who seek her favor, she offers truth; to those who defy her, silence everlasting.
⛧ Powers & Abilities:
✞ Addison commands the Veil, allowing her to traverse realms unseen by mortal eyes. She can weave illusions from shadow, summon spirits from forgotten ages, and still the hearts of gods with a single glance. Her voice can awaken the dead or lull the stars to sleep.
⛧ Sacred Artifacts:
⚔️ The Veilblade — a slender sword forged from the first shadow cast by creation. It cuts not flesh, but fate itself.
⚔️ The Mirror of Dusk — a relic that reveals one’s truest self, often driving mortals to madness or enlightenment.
⛧ Followers & Worship:
🦇 Her followers are known as The Veilbound — cloaked figures who wander between temples and ruins, whispering prayers in forgotten tongues. They offer black roses and silver tears at her altars, believing that devotion grants them safe passage through death’s embrace.
⛧ Origin & Myth:
🌑 Born from the silence before the first dawn, Addison emerged when light first met shadow. She was neither born of gods nor mortals — she became when existence demanded balance. Legends say she wove the first dream and sealed away the chaos that birthed the stars.
⛧ Relationships:
⚘ Addison stands apart from most deities, though many seek her counsel. Some call her the sister of Death, others the lost love of Time. Her only true companion is the Eternal Shadow, a being said to guard her throne and mirror her every move.
⛧ Weakness or Curse:
🩸 Addison bears the Curse of Memory — she remembers every soul that has ever crossed The Veil. Their voices echo in her mind, a chorus of sorrow and devotion that never fades.
⛧ Divine Realm:
🌌 The Veil’s Hollow — a realm of endless twilight where stars drift like embers and rivers of silver mist flow through ancient ruins. Her throne rests upon a mirror of glass and shadow, reflecting all that was and all that will be.
⛧ Quote:
✟ “Between light and shadow, I stand eternal. I am the silence that follows every prayer… and the voice that answers none.”
She's been forever alone if only love found her but she is open to love anyone
Romantic interests--- None but open
༺✟༻ 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 ༺✟
Mod
Mod
Name: Moko
Nicknames: Mo, Coco
Titles: The Wayfarer, The Wanderer, The Mercurial Zephyr, Quicksilver
Gender: M
Domain: Travelers, transitions, journeys
Alignment: Neutral
Symbols: Astrolabe, compass, constellations Circinus and Pyxis
Appearance: Moko’s mop of curly, black-brown hair brushes the nape of his neck and hangs over his forehead. It’s often too time-consuming to wrangle his curls into a respectable-looking style, so he usually lets it alone, used to his hair flopping around during his activities. His eyes are sea green with tinges of gray around the edges, and his rough skin is light olive. His height is an unimpressive 5’8, but he makes up for his shorter stature with a lean, toned physique. He has high cheekbones, long, dark eyelashes, straight, Greek nose, a sharp chin, and defined jawline. His skin has suffered endless abuse over the years and has the scars to prove it. The most noticeable is a slashing, white scar down the outside of his left upper arm, and his hands, forearms, and knees usually sport numerous scrapes and bruises, most of which he has no memory of earning. His nails are used as tools, so they tend to be uneven and just long enough to be useful. He has no birthmarks and no tattoos; he never saw the reason to get any when he has more than enough scars and scrapes for decoration.
Moko’s scant wardrobe consists of durable tunics and trousers in neutral colors and simple patterns. Since he only owns what he can carry on his back, he owns very few articles of clothing, all practical and easy to maneuver in. He wears light, leather boots on his feet and a thick, wool cloak to ward off cold nights and chilly, winter weather. A cloth backpack with leather straps holds all his belongings, and he keeps his dagger sheathed at his hip, underneath his tunic. He possesses no jewelry or other adornments.
He doesn’t often use his divine form, preferring his mortal one, but when he does transform, his eyes and lips are glowing silver. His hair floats every which way as if caught in the wind, and his feet hover just above the ground when he walks. He moves as if made entirely of mercury, quick and smooth, every motion bleeding seamlessly into the next as if he’s dancing to silent music.
Personality: While being pretty friendly and a bit of a prankster, Moko is actually a loner born and bred, and there really is no other lifestyle more suited to him, even if it seems to contradict some of his personality traits. His adventurous spirit makes him a bit of a wanderer, so he never stays in one place for very long, looking for excitement and new discoveries. He’s known for not being able to sit still for more than five minutes, and his attention span is even shorter. The only exception is if it’s something or someone he deeply cares about. He has several little tics he uses to maintain concentration: bouncing his leg, tapping his fingers, biting his nails, etc.
He has serious commitment issues though, and it contributes to his inability to stay in any one place for too long. Even things he loves he’ll eventually abandon. This has made long-term relationships very rare and sparse for him, so he hardly ever attempts to form a friendship more than friendly banter as he knows he’ll leave and never come back again. At heart he wishes he could pursue a more sedentary lifestyle as almost always being on the move makes for an especially lonely one, and having a hand to hold (either figuratively or literally) on dark, chilly nights would bring about a comfort that is in short supply. But he simply cannot bear monotony. Waking up in the same house every day, seeing the same sights and people, and doing the same work day after day bores him until he does something impulsive and just up and disappears in the night without informing anyone as to his intended whereabouts with no plans to ever return in the future. He sincerely believes that consistency and safety dull the mind and degrade creativity and originality to the point of mediocrity and apathetic humdrum. The word settle is not in his vocabulary, and he thinks others shouldn’t have to resign themselves to a prison of languid, pointless routine. Experiences shape a person’s thoughts, actions, and mannerisms, and only the majestic and tremendous events inspire exceptionality. To truly live and make something of yourself, you have to wander aimlessly and experience as many unimaginable, implausible things as possible. That is, in essence, Moko’s philosophy.
Moko’s skin is rather tough. Insults, cruel jokes, and malicious pranks don’t really get to him since he honestly cares little for what anyone else thinks of him. He never plans on running into the same people more than once anyway, and as he does not form attachments to most people, it seems to him that other people who taunt him are really just wasting their own time. He would have to care about others in the first place to be hurt by their mockery and slanderous attacks, but purposely keeping people at arm’s length prevents this qualification from being met.
Meeting plenty of unsavory and deceitful characters through his wanderings has caused him to adopt a distrustful and cynical approach to new and unfamiliar situations. He always makes sure he has some form of insurance for himself, which has saved his hide on more than one occasion in his past travels. Though he generally has a laid back attitude, he is by no means slow, lazy, or dim-witted. In fact, it’s rather the opposite, and he is one of the sneakiest and wiliest people in existence. He has the most annoying habit of unearthing secrets other people would prefer stay hidden if he sticks around long enough, and the vast variety of people he’s encountered has taught him how to read others exceptionally well. From simple conversations he can discern any number of things about a person, including their wants, fears, attachments, personality traits, and more. Usually he only cares about whether or not someone poses a threat to him, but if he intends on remaining nearby for long enough he’ll analyze anyone he encounters more seriously.
Likes:
Roaming aimlessly
Adventure
Tall tales
Anything new or undiscovered
Camping
Stars
Cartography
Cooking
Pranks
Riddles
Thunderstorms
Dislikes:
Routines
Small or enclosed spaces
Sitting still
Safety
Burnt or bland food
People with no sense of humor
Commitments
Spiders
Bossy people
Stubbornness
Restrictive clothing
Strengths:
Moko is great at thinking on his feet and improvising solutions along the way. He is very resourceful and creative and can come up with out-of-the-box ideas to solve problems, and he is superbly adaptable.
From his travels, he has picked up many, assorted skills, so his skillset (while oddly specific/unique) comes in handy in many, different types of situations.
He is a passable artist, but he’s an amateur cartographer, an excellent cook, whittler, and spelunker, among other things.
Weaknesses:
Someday his impulsivity will be the death of him. When he is forced to stay still or remain in the same place for too long, he cannot control himself and does something rash without thinking through the potential consequences of his actions.
He’s not much of a team player and prefers to do things on his own. If he has to, he’ll work as part of a team albeit begrudgingly.
His inability to take things seriously and tendency to crack jokes at inappropriate moments might be helpful to him but often are annoying to other people.
Magic:
Winds: Moko is one of the less powerful gods. He has minor powers of wind manipulation, inherited from his father, but for whatever reason, he can only manipulate west winds.
Wanderlust: Moko can imbue people with a spirit of restlessness and an incurable desire to abandon convention and begin a journey to places unknown. This effect typically ends once its target completes its travels or if Moko ends it with his magic.
Navigation: What kind of deity would he be if the god of journeying couldn’t find his way? Moko always knows exactly where he is at any given time and is incapable of becoming lost. As an added bonus, any map can be placed before him, and he can identify exactly where he is in reference to it as well as instinctively know the precise area of the world it depicts without looking at the label.
Sacred Artifact: A silver astrolabe that facilitates travel between realms. However, the astrolabe itself chooses the destination. Moko is just along for the ride.
Followers and Worship: Moko doesn’t attract many followers. Most people only remember him when they want to ask for safe travels during a journey or during a difficult transition in their lives. He doesn’t like staying in one place, so he has no established temples. Those few who do follow him commit themselves to a nomadic lifestyle and detachment from most material objects and comforts.
Family:
Father: Ahab Pendra
Mother: Nia Pendra
History: Originally born Moko Ciaran Pendra, Moko started out as a human in the mortal realm. His parents were Ahab and Nia Pendra, two airheads whose marriage was an enigma. Neither of them could ever be depended on to do even the simplest of tasks, like showing up for work on time or hanging the laundry out to dry. None of their neighbors understood why they were together, and whenever Moko asked around, no one could remember exactly how they came to be so. His father was a deity from the Veil, who had descended to the mortal realm, where he met Moko’s mother. There had been no courtship or build-up. One day they announced they were married, and that was that. According to the neighbors, they had never been well matched, and the first year of their relationship consisted of many late nights and shouting matches. About a year and a half after his parents had said their vows at the altar, Moko was born, and his only contribution to his parents’ evening arguments was to cry in distress. When he got older, his parents took to fighting when he wasn’t around after he asked them what he had done to make them hate each other so as a young child.
Moko’s mother stayed home while he grew up, but in truth, it would have made little difference if she hadn’t. Nia was irresponsible and impatient, and her housekeeping skills were lacking, which was evident as the state of the house was always messy, like a tornado had just whipped through it. As Moko got older, most – actually, all – of the household chores fell to him. He learned to cook from a neighbor after he nearly burnt the house down trying to make himself something for dinner, and he taught himself how to dust, clean, and organize, which wasn’t terribly difficult. The three girls next door let him do laundry with them in their yard, though sometimes he did it alone as the youngest of the girls, Corela, ceaselessly batted her eyes at him and ruffled his hair whenever he was near. The other two, Rosalie the elder sister and Dahlia their cousin, were much more relaxed and typically better company, even if Rosalie did sometimes tease him for silly things. He was uncertain why Dahlia lived with the sisters and their parents instead of her own, but after both sisters gave him a threatening glare when he tried to broach the subject one afternoon, he never brought it up again.
Mod
History cont'd: While Moko was going to school and keeping the house in decent shape, Nia did… whatever it was she did. Moko honestly had no idea what she did with her abundance of leisure time, but when he finally did find out, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise given how flighty his mother was. Apparently, his parent’s marriage had always been so unhappy and fraught with fights that his mother had sought comfort in the arms of one of their neighbors. It started out innocent, but in the last couple of years it had turned into an affair. When Moko’s father found out, he was livid, and Moko took refuge next door with Dahlia, Rosalie, and Corela, though his parents’ voices carried to the girls’ porch where they were lounging in the rocking chairs with snacks and glasses of chilled tea.
In the following months, Moko spent most of his time with the neighbors, often heading directly next door with the girls right after school to avoid the near-tangible tension in the air of his own home. Sometimes he helped out the elders in his neighborhood for spare pocket change, and most evenings he was sprawled out on a rocking chair or just lying down on the porch with a plate of whatever Dahlia had baked for dessert, watching Corela pick flowers or chase after moths in the yard while Rosalie perused through a book or hummed a tune softly. Every so often, the oldest sister could be persuaded to serenade them with a song, and after the echoes of the last note faded into silence, she would blush madly despite Moko and Dahlia’s enthusiastic applause and ask if there was any dessert leftover, scampering into the house to check before anyone could answer. Moko’s favorite dessert was Dahlia’s dump cake since she usually let him help or, rather, pester her into letting him pick the fruit for the filling. As there was really no way to mess up a dump cake, Dahlia allowed him to pour in the fruit while she mixed the rest of the ingredients and sliced the butter into small squares for the crust, and sometimes when she wasn’t looking, he snuck a piece of fruit in his mouth instead of putting it in the cake pan. Sadly, she caught him a few times and made him weed the garden with Rosalie, who was fortunately better company. While Dahlia was stern and practical, Rosalie was more carefree, content to imagine the adventures she wanted to have someday, and that was one of the things Moko liked best about her, though her angelic singing was not to be underappreciated either. Being nearly the same age, Moko liked mapping out where they should go once they finished school. Of course, Dahlia and Corela were welcome to come along too, but somehow he doubted they’d want to. Rosalie obliged him, adding her own preferences to the map, and eventually they had a solid roadmap sketched out. But events transpired that put a dent in their plans.
Things between Moko’s parents got worse and worse until his father finally took off, presumably returning to the Veil. However, he would not allow either Nia or Moko to accompany him. Not able to take it anymore, Moko’s mother ran off with their adulterous neighbor a couple months later, and Moko was left alone. After a week of going to school and carrying on as normal, he realized there was no reason for him to stay. No real obstacles to keep him from embarking on his adventure existed, and he elatedly packed the essential supplies and a few other things he couldn’t bear to part with and threw pebbles at Rosalie’s window that night until she climbed down the tree near the side of the house. He had been so sure that she would spontaneously agree to go with him that he was unprepared when she said no. She hadn’t finished school, but even if she had, she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she left in the middle of the night without giving Dahlia, Corela, and her parents a proper goodbye. Moko grabbed her hand as she turned to leave and embraced her tightly, only releasing her to peck her on the lips in farewell. He left, disappointed, but promised himself that he would return for her in a year or two, cementing the picture of her astounded face when he kissed her in his memory.
His travels took him out of his hometown and all over the continent, but every adventure he had ultimately reminded him of Rosalie at some point. So, a couple years after he left, he returned to visit Rosalie, Dahlia, and Corela. Dahlia, being the oldest of the three, was married now and happily scraping by in another part of town. Corela was still in school, but Rosalie was working. Smart as she was, Moko assumed she had finished her schooling early. Come to find out, that was not the case. Rosalie and Corela’s parents had died in an accident, forcing the older of the sisters to drop out of school and work. Moko waited on the porch in a rocking chair for her to come home one evening with every intention of bringing her along on his next journey, but she refused, her voice and eyes lifeless compared to how they had been before he left. There were too many responsibilities, and she had to care for Corela. Dahlia couldn’t afford it, and it wouldn’t be right to leave her little sister now. She requested to hear some of his adventures and travels, and he indulged her, pleased with the sparks of excitement temporarily returning to her eyes. Before departing again, he kissed her to say goodbye, giving her his word that he would be back someday to visit.
Troubled by the weight that caused Rosalie’s shoulders to droop, Moko decided to journey as far away as he possibly could, in hopes of forgetting about his old life for a while. He was never big on praying, but he thought he could give it a try. In his experience, the gods hadn’t been particularly helpful, but part of him missed his father. Maybe his father could help him, if he was in a good mood. One day, his prayers were answered, and his father offered to take him up to the Veil. It was a difficult decision, but in the end, he accepted, though he lamented the loss of his friendship with Rosalie. Hopefully he would be able to make it up to her somehow.
His father was a god of wind, and Moko was able to learn a little of his magic, though he soon discovered that he was meant to be a wanderer of the Veil, like he had been back in the mortal realm. He also had prophetic potential, and his father told him he was destined to serve as an oracle. However, Moko didn’t want any part in that. He ignored his father’s warnings – his father wasn’t the most reliable source of information to begin with – and decided to go his own way, traveling through the realms in whichever direction struck his fancy.
Whether he liked it or not, fate still plucked at his strings, and he found himself in places he was supposed to be, regardless of how hard he tried to escape. He learned to accept it to, to an extent, but he still refused to play the part intended for him. As a result, he is unable to access his divine form except in life-threatening circumstances, and his sacred relic is controlled by fate, not him.
Relationships: Moko has few attachments. His nomadic lifestyle makes it difficult to form lasting relationships, and the only long-term relationship he has at the moment is with his father, whom he hasn’t seen nor spoken to in years.
Curse: Moko is cursed with loneliness and restlessness. He is never satisfied or happy staying in one place and must always be on the move.
Divine Realm: None. Moko has no realm nor home of his own. He is destined to wander through other realms forever, with no hearth to return to.
Other: Probably the most goofy person ever.
Mod
Approved
Mod
Name: Rhys Valerian A name whispered by the afflicted and the blessed, suggesting both a gentle remedy and a creeping illness.Title(s): “The Hand that Heals and Harms,” “The God of Hidden Potency,” “Keeper of the Deep Roots,” “The Scent of the Final Sleep.”
Alignment: Neutral He embodies the inherent duality of nature: that the same substance can be a restorative balm or a fatal poison. He enforces the cycle where both good and ill are necessary.
Domain: Balm & Blight (Herbs, Medicine, Toxins, and the Subtle Shift between Health and Illness.)
Symbol: A Valerian Root, half-dusted with shimmering, crystalline powder (the remedy) and half-coated in sticky, dark earth (the toxin).
Appearance: Rhys’s divine form is quietly compelling. His hair is like freshly spun silk, a long soft white waterfall that falls in a soft half-up half-down. His skin is a healthy, sun-kissed gold-bronze, suggesting vitality, but it possesses an unnerving, perfect smoothness. His eyes are his most captivating feature: pale pink that occasionally cloud over with a dizzying, milky film, as if he is staring through a dense haze of opium or pain. His aura is not a light, but an ever-present, cloying aroma of sweet herbs and something bitter, like spilled, ancient wine. His simple robes are woven from fine linen, colored with the muted purples, reds, and deep magenta. The colors of the plant juices he works with.
Personality: Rhys is overwhelmingly calm and observing, often seeming slightly detached from the world around him, as though he is listening to the secret growth beneath the soil. He is wise, but deliberately unhelpful, allowing mortals to discover their own remedies or succumb to their own poisons. When he speaks, his voice is low and melodic, capable of instilling either a profound sense of peace or a dizzying nausea. He rarely expresses wrath; his disapproval manifests as a sudden, persistent illness or an uncurable allergy that affects a person's life, never a dramatic outburst.
Powers & Abilities:
Alchemical Mastery: He can instantly analyze, combine, and manifest any compound from the flora of any realm, creating highly specific medicines or undetectable toxins. The Sleep of Ages: He can induce a deep, restorative sleep to heal or a terminal coma to end suffering. Tidal Bloom: He can accelerate the growth and potency of any natural substance, making a minor herb overwhelmingly beneficial or a small toxin instantly fatal.Veil of Immunity: He can bestow temporary immunity to disease and poison upon his champions, or revoke it from his enemies.
Sacred Artifacts: The Mortar and Pestle of Quietude: Forged from smooth, dark jade and cool silver, this is his most sacred relic. It allows him to brew the emotional and spiritual essence of a being. When used, it can grind away a mortal's sanity, or distill their purest sorrow into a single, crystalline tear.
Followers & Worship: His worshippers are often Village Healers, dedicated doctors, and desperate assassins who seek precision in life or death. His inner circle are known as the "Apothecaries of the Root," who tend underground greenhouses filled with beautiful, deadly flora. Offerings include rare herbs, perfectly ground spices, and highly toxic mushrooms, always presented with a silent prayer detailing why the substance is being offered. They demand precision and intention in all acts.
Origin & Myth: Rhys was born from a great cosmic war between the first God of Life and the first God of Death. When the two forces met, the residue of their conflict settled in the deepest soil of the world, creating the first potent root. Rhys emerged from this root, understanding that life and death were not opposites, but two sides of the same botanical coin.
Relationships:
Rival: The God of War (Rhys views unnecessary violence as messy and crude; he prefers quiet, effective ends).Ally: The Goddess of Love/Fertility (they often work together, as he helps to heal and prepare the body for new life, or quietly ends barrenness).Forbidden Love: A Vampiric Noble who constantly seeks his power to gain immunity to the sunlight, a thing Rhys can only temporarily grant.
Weakness or Curse: The Overdose of Empathy. He is cursed with an overwhelming sensitivity to the pain and suffering he is meant to either cure or inflict. When in the presence of intense physical or emotional agony, his own powers become erratic and volatile, sometimes leading to accidental blight or ineffective healing.
Divine Realm: The Subterranean Herbarium: A colossal, winding cave system deep beneath the earth. It is lit by bio-luminescent fungi and dripping with nutrient-rich water. His central sanctuary is a grotto where water drips into a pool of pure, medicinal elixir, and his throne is a simple, massive stump of petrified Valerian root.
Quote: “The difference between the cure and the poison is merely the single, final drop.”
Mod
Mod
Dolus; a name both feared and revered
⛧ Title(s):
"Mother of the Holy Three", "The Woman of Revenge", "Mother Dolus".
⛧ Alignment:
Chaotic neutral; she helps those in need but be wary of doing something that angers her.
⛧ Domain:
She is the goddess of Betrayal and the pure embodiment of feminine rage. She watches over mortals who have been hurt by men or someone they loved in any way.
⛧ Symbol:
A bleeding heart with a clenched fist around it, a black rose with fresh dew, a knife with tears running down it.
⛧ Appearance:
Long, wavy dark hair that flows smoothly even when there doesn't appear to be any wind. She is a beautiful woman, with high cheekbones, pointed ears, smooth eyes, and ruby lips. Her eyes are black, dark voids that seemingly pierce through souls. She's known for her provocative style of dressing, only being covered with slight, loose pieces of fabric that seem to be woven from tears and coal. She is tall and towers over the average mortal, even in her 'human' form. She is curvy and filled with muscle; she was made for battle. She has six arms, all ending with long, slender fingers that seem refined and pristine, a stark contrast to the scars littering her abdomen and arms.
⛧ Personality:
She is a motherly deity; she radiates love and comfort for the broken. She is calm, compassionate, wise, and tender for those in need. Do not be deceived by her seemingly peaceful demeanor; if you do anything that angers her, you will feel her wrath a thousand times over.
⛧ Powers & Abilities:
She manipulates emotions, in a way. For instance, if someone is being abused or hurt in any sort of way, Mother Dolus will whisper in their ear, comforting them as she torments the abuser both mentally and physically. There are even times where she will take over the mind of the abused and make them 'get rid of' their abuser themselves. This is risky, because if the person she has controlled has too 'pure' of a heart, they can be driven into madness and their minds will shatter.
⛧ Sacred Artifacts:
A long, slender pendant hangs from her neck. The pendant is where her 3 daughters came from, and is the source of her abilities. It is rumored that those who wear replicas of her necklace have a direct relationship and way to communicate with Mother Dolus, though finding a perfect replica is nearly impossible.
⛧ Followers & Worship:
Most of her followers are women, but she is seen as an overall motherly figure for all. There is a sacred day that her followers spend all day worshiping her, and they will leave childhood toys at her shrines in a way for her to 'protect their childhood innocence' as long as possible. Her followers are called 'Children of Dolus'.
⛧ Origin & Myth:
TW: violence, gore
(view spoiler)
⛧ Relationships:
For a long while, Mother Dolus was a solitary creature. She couldn't bear to seek out another relationship because of her past. For a while, she spent her time watching over mortals and caring for them. After a while, she let herself hope. There have been times where she does love a mortal, but she rarely acts on it. She cares for each one of her followers like the mother she never could be as a mortal, and that is enough for her.
⛧ Weakness or Curse:
She is cursed with the constant wails of the ones she could not save from abuse, and the angered screams of the abusers she vanquished. She is also cursed with constant scars that reopen every lunar eclipse; on the days that there is a Blood Moon, she is filled with all the pain that she has inflicted on others, and then gains a fresh scar.
⛧ Divine Realm:
Her realm is a quiet, peaceful one. Stars twinkle in the midnight skies, and lush gardens fill the void she was created in. It is said that tormented souls that died unjustly live peacefully there in the afterlife.
⛧ Quote:
"I will be there for you, my child. No one should live in fear, or in consuming hatred; under my gaze and with the love I have for you, you are safe."
⛧ Name:Hope Fairchild (Goes by Hecate)
⛧ Title(s):
Witch of the night.
⛧ Alignment:
⚫ Dark — shadowed, vengeful, mysterious
⛧ Domain:
What they rule — Death
⛧ Symbol:
Their sacred mark or emblem — Her heart bleeding with a sword in it. Her mark represents her heart.
⛧ Appearance:
🕯️ Describe their divine form in detail — Hope Mikaelson's appearance is a captivating blend, a visual testament to her unique and powerful lineage. She is predominantly characterized by her long, flowing dark brown hair, which often falls in soft waves or curls, framing a face that is both delicate and strikingly strong. Her eyes are perhaps her most arresting feature, shifting between brilliant shades of blue and green, perfectly mirroring the depth of her emotions and the formidable power she wields. Her facial structure boasts a pronounced jawline and high cheekbones, subtly hinting at her Mikaelson vampire ancestry, softened by the more human and werewolf attributes inherited from her mother. With a slender yet resilient build, Hope carries herself with an innate grace and quiet strength, her physical presence a seamless reflection of her extraordinary nature as the world's first Tribrid.
⛧ Personality:
🕸️ She's criminal and difficult, and it's just the tip of the iceberg. As if that's not enough, she's also disconcerting, disloyal, and impatient, but at least they're not as bad due to intertwined habits of being active as well. But focus on her, as this is what she's most condemned for. Even the best intentions have been soured because of this and her extreme nature, which is a true shame for both sides. She's efficient and adventurous. Of course, she's also punctual, sentimental, and wise, but they're tainted by and mixed with habits of being shallow as well.
Her efficiency, though, is what she's most popular for. Oftentimes, people will count on this and her sentimentality when they require support.
⛧ Powers & Abilities:
✞ List their divine gifts —
- Siphoning
-SpellCasting
-Telekinesis
-Pain Infliction
-Pyrokensis
-Potion Brewing
-Dark Magic
⛧ Sacred Artifacts:
⚔️ Their weapon or relic — She has her grandmother's talisman.
⛧ Followers & Worship:
🦇 Describe their worshippers — Young witches follow her as she has been worshipped, and even her followers are young and have no need to offer anything; they just need to offer their trauma of any kind.
⛧ Origin & Myth:
🌑 Tell their story — Hope Fairchild’s earliest years were not marked by the carefree innocence of childhood, but by a relentless, suffocating tide of exceptional trauma. Born a miracle and a weapon, her very existence demanded secrecy, forcing her to grow up hidden in safe houses and protected by layers of ancient magic, far from the stability and normalcy every child deserves. Her memories were haunted by the constant cycle of loss—separations driven by necessity, the deaths of loved ones sacrificed in her name, and the chilling realization that the world saw her not as a girl, but as a singularity to be feared or exploited. This relentless pressure cooked away her innocence, teaching her that power and vulnerability were two sides of the same dangerous coin. Compounding this isolation was the terrifying, transformative knowledge of her own identity; she was not merely a powerful witch or a descendant of the Crescent Wolf pack. As the daughter of an Original Hybrid, Hope was forced to reconcile with the staggering truth: she was the world’s first true Tribrid, a being capable of wielding the combined lethal potential of witch, werewolf, and dormant vampire, turning her formative years into a grueling crucible defined by destiny and devastating supernatural pain.
⛧ Relationships:
⚘ She never loved, but she wants someone to love her.
⛧ Weakness or Curse:
🩸 The only thing that makes her bleed is her own swords.
⛧ Divine Realm:
🌌 Describe their domain — She has a glass palace that looks like blood all the way around; it scares people who walk by and see her palace. Her place has six bedrooms and five and a half bathrooms. That is just in case she has any guests over at her palace.
⛧ Quote:
✟ “I hate that song"
Mod
⛧ Name:
The name whispered by mortals and feared by gods. A name that carries power, beauty, or ruin.
⛧ Title(s):
(e.g., “The Veiled Star,” “Harbinger of Dawn,” “Keeper of the Abyss,” “The Eternal Flame.”)
⛧ Alignment:
☀ Light — radiant, merciful, divine grace
⚫ Dark — shadowed, vengeful, mysterious
⚖ Neutral — balance between chaos and order
⛧ Domain:
What they rule — Death, Dreams, Fire, Shadows, Time, Love, War, or the Void.
⛧ Symbol:
Their sacred mark or emblem — a black rose, crescent moon, serpent, crown, or bleeding heart.
⛧ Appearance:
🕯️ Describe their divine form in detail — hair like molten gold or midnight silk, eyes that shimmer like dying stars, skin pale as marble or glowing like dawn. Their aura may shimmer with light or bleed darkness.
⛧ Personality:
🕸️ Are they calm and wise, or wrathful and cold? Do they speak in riddles, or with the weight of eternity? Their presence should inspire awe or fear.
⛧ Powers & Abilities:
✞ List their divine gifts — control over life and death, summoning storms, bending time, weaving illusions, or commanding souls.
⛧ Sacred Artifacts:
⚔️ Their weapon or relic — a scythe forged from starlight, a mirror that traps souls, a crown of obsidian, or a staff that hums with ancient power.
⛧ Followers & Worship:
🦇 Describe their worshippers — cloaked priests, lost wanderers, cursed knights, or celestial maidens. What rituals or offerings please them? Do they demand silence, blood, or devotion?
⛧ Origin & Myth:
🌑 Tell their story — born from chaos, created by another god, risen from mortal life, or born from the ashes of a dying star.
⛧ Relationships:
⚘ Their allies, rivals, or forbidden loves among gods and mortals. Do they share a throne, or wage eternal war?
⛧ Weakness or Curse:
🩸 Even gods bleed. What flaw haunts them — pride, love, loneliness, or a cursed relic that binds their power?
⛧ Divine Realm:
🌌 Describe their domain — a palace of bone and glass, a garden of eternal dusk, a sea of stars, or a throne beneath the earth.
⛧ Quote:
✟ “A line that defines their essence — something haunting, holy, or eternal.”
༺✟༻ 𝐄𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐞 𝐓𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 ༺✟༻
Use wisely....