Kingdom↠ Shahiti Position↠ Prince Full Name↠ Kieran Price Nickname↠ The actual, literal prince of darkness has no need for such things. A lifetime ago, however, he allowed a certain someone to refer to him as "Kiki"...and bemoaned its use by others. Age↠ 23 Birthday↠ October 31st Height↠ 6'1" Weight↠ 214 lbs. Powers↡
Phantom Snare - Kieran can draw tendrils born from the shadows upon a target, entrapping them in the darkness and allowing him to bend them to his will. This can include objects or even people. Since the events of his imprisonment, this ability of his has grown greatly in strength. More interestingly, however, is that the speed his shadows react to his needs has skyrocketed- almost as if they now act on their own accord.
Blinded By The Dark - Kieran can make people lose their ability to perceive light, drowning their vision in absolute darkness. This ability originally manifested as the ability to see in the darkness, but experiments done to him by Izolda transformed that power to its current state.
Personality↡ Kieran presents himself as an utter sadist, and the more you grovel beneath his heel the happier he'll be. With a flare for the dramatic, he'll make as big of a show out of torturing you as he can. However, he only exhibits this sort of behavior when he believes himself to be on the top of the food chain. When he senses there are bigger threats at hand, he won't hesitate to lie, steal, and cheat his way to survive. Thoughts of his inevitable demise haunt his every waking moment, and he'll do whatever it takes to scrape by until he can erase that one weakness entirely. Unfortunately for him, however, his ego and pride can sometimes get in the way of that.
Political Opinion↠ Kieran puts himself above all others, even his own homeland, but there are a few kingdoms he has strong feelings towards. Firstly, he has quite mixed feelings towards Alore. On the one hand, he can never forgive them for taking his beloved from him. On the other hand, he'd still be a frail imbecile had it not been for his dark rebirth. Corthyr concerns him greatly, to the point of having made special arrangements to protect himself from the poisons that ravaged his travel party. The warriors from Mars would make for good pawns, but are too stuck in their ways to rule absolutely. Shahiti and Luna share the night, so he tends to tolerate people from the latter nation as long as they stay out of his way.
Biography↡ The youngest of the Price siblings, born to the king's second wife, Kieran was once a rather cheery boy. This greatly troubled his father, as he had hoped that with Kieran his curse to have weak children had finally been lifted. Still, the king wasn't as displeased as he could've been. At the very least, he wasn't a woman like Violetta. He could see use in him. This allowed Kieran some freedom that he might not have gotten otherwise, although it did not free him from the torturous lessons his father would instill upon him. Instead of radicalizing him to follow his father's beliefs, however, such strife would cause the opposite reaction.
As he grew older, Kieran became more vocal about his stances and spoke out against the methods the armies of Shahiti used during the war. And as his opinions solidified, so too did a relationship with his childhood sweetheart. She was Emery Malachi, a duchess who shared the same pacifistic ideology that had been introduced to him by his uncle. Soon enough, they were wed. Shortly after, at the age of 19, he asked his father to go on a tour through safe zones inhabited by the army with his beloved. Kieran's intent was to try and instill directly upon the soldiers that while fighting for their country was ever important, they did not need to be the monsters of the night the world thought them as. This is where things went horribly wrong.
While trekking between camps with his wife and a handful of guards, they were ambushed and kept prisoner by individuals who claimed to be from Alore. Trying to get information only a royal might have from Kieran, they used various methods of torture to try and get information from him. But Kieran didn't budge, in a sense. He wasn't directly trying to withhold intel per se, but his refusal thus far to follow in his father's footsteps meant he hadn't the faintest idea about some of the things they asked him about.
In a last ditch effort to get information of at least some usefulness from the young man, they gave him an ultimatum: tell them what they need to know of they would kill his wife in front of him. Kieran screamed, cried, pleaded with them not to. He didn't know anything. He didn't know!
But they didn't listen. Or they just didn't care. Either way, Kieran was forced to witness his Emery murdered in front of his eyes. But they didn't just stop at killing her. All that was left of her was a hollow shadow.
Something in Kieran broke in that moment. The light of his life was now forever lost to him. Even worse, these pigs thought they had a right to just mangle his beloved like that? Take her away from him? What right did they have? How dare they? How dare they!? HOW DARE THEY?!?
From inside of that broken shell, something new was born: pure, unbridled hate. The shadows never paid him much mind before, but they seemingly reacted to this hate and sprung to life with greater force than ever before. Tendrils of phantom darkness surrounded his captors, doing to them what they did to his wife and more in a wild display of brutality. It was in this manic state that Kieran had an epiphany: Shahiti did not need to worry about whether its people were seen as monsters or not. The world was full of them. Diplomacy? Morals? If the people of squeaky clean Alore didn't care truly about those things, what did that say about the other kingdoms? And if that was the case, THEN WHY THE ******** SHOULD HE?
Kieran returned to his kingdom a changed man, no longer the weak-minded idealist who failed to save his wife. While the rest of his family were less than thrilled to see that their younger brother had come to embrace his father's ideals, the king appeared thrilled that his lessons had finally sunk in.
Kieran used his newfound favor with his father to his advantage, gaining influence in the scientific community of Shahiti for his "contributions". In particular, he allowed experiments to be performed on him by one Izolda Ergorova in order for him to attain even greater power. He would perform errands for her in exchange, even going as far as the black market of Uilum on one forgetful occasion. But this was not enough. Kieran needed absolute power. To rule. To conquer over all, so that none could ever control his life again! To that end, he would need dominion beyond even the land of darkness.
Far above even the royal crown of Shahiti, there was one thing Kieran knew in the back of his mind that would always rule over him: the rules of nature. Of life and death. Or at least, that was what society told him. But if man could conquer the dark, master all forms of nature and element, why was this denied to them? Why did the world think it could deny him any more than it already did by taking away his beloved? This could not go unpunished, so Kieran worked tirelessly to find a cure for humanity's ailment so that he may rid himself once and for all of his one true weakness.
Kieran cared little about the war's end, although it did mean that he had to become more discreet in his dealings as eyes turned back inward. The creation of Utopia Academy further complicated things, as it took with it one of Kieran's prized scientists. The nerve. With the king insisting that he too attend, Kieran was given little in the way of options. Still, he saw the school as having at least some use for him. This was his chance to prove himself a better heir than either of his siblings could ever be. Better yet, there were great plays to be made with such a large cast. Even if none of his plans were to bear fruit there, he could at least find new ways to enjoy himself.
Likes↡
✔ Sundown ✔ Veal ✔ Pelts
Dislikes↡
✖ The sight of his own blood ✖ Idealists ✖ Sand
Misc. Info↡
◆ #2a0f0b for thoughts and speech ◆ Kieran's right eye was removed during augmentation experiments performed on him by Professor Izolda in the past. Originally he had the power to see in darkness, but through her machinations he can now cause others to see only darkness. ◆ All of Kieran's clothing is specifically Vantablack. ◆ Kieran is left-handed. ◆ From the wreckage of where he was held prisoner, Kieran took Emery's wedding ring. He keeps both of their rings together in his room, often wearing them on a necklace if he can conceal it. ◆ For more information on Emery, see here (scroll down). ◆ Pinterest board
Kingdom↠ Shahiti, Kingdom of Darkness Position↠ Duke Full Name↠ Graham Morningstar Price Nickname↠ Don’t you ******** dare. Age↠ Twenty-four Birthday↠ 09 May Height↠ 6'0" / 183cm Weight↠ 170 lbs / 77kg Powers↡
Desire Exhibition - Graham has the ability to cause an individual to confess their deepest secrets and desires. He can look people in the eyes and when asked, they are so entranced by his charm they freely provide it and don't realize he did it. The more intelligence one harnesses, the longer it can take. While it is an ability he is fond of, he is more selective on when, who, and why he uses it due to the excessive use of it during the war.
Shadow Mimicry - He can assume a smoky, shadow form that can either retain his general shape or be made flat at will. Clothes can be absorbed if so desired. When flat, he is a thick as a piece of paper that can stretch, cut into skin, slip through cracks, and go under doors. As homogeneous matter, he can touch, move, and wrap himself around people or objects. With enough blows or when weakened however, his concentration can break, causing him to revert back to his human form. Injuries to this form also appear on him in human form.
Personality↡
Graham keeps a reserved and collected demeanor most of the time, and friendlier facets can follow once he's gotten familiar with someone. He enjoys humor, light teasing and a little flirting when the opportunity arises. Even after years of being witness to and involved in Price family dynamics and the war, and the continuation of his darker tendencies, he still exudes confidence and compassion. He doesn't readily judge others for most wrongdoings since he is no saint himself, but if given the chance will encourage them to move in a more positive direction. He is protective of those he holds dear and loyal until someone gives him a good reason to not be. Underneath everything Graham desires to have a more satisfying personal life.
Political Opinion↠ He never imagined peace and doesn’t think it will be as everlasting as people have been led to believe. With as many problems as there are, he prefers Shahiti to focus on the betterment of itself by building up its defense, promoting growth, maintaining what works, and switching up what doesn’t. War is a tool, a last result for when work toward resolution has been exhausted. Alore and Funkazan are untrustworthy in their current states, but may be redeemable with the right change in power. Trade with Ulium has proven itself beneficial to Shahiti and his duchy. Mars though hot is a lovely Kingdom and a reliable ally. Luna and Phronese have so much potential. As for the rest, he is always open to learning more about them should the opportunity arise.
Biography↡
War didn’t stop at creating fractures across the surface of Lomacht. It dug and twisted its relentless heel deeper, damaging territories within the Kingdoms. It turned families, neighbors, and whole communities against one another. Such fissures, if left ignored, could prove just as costly for struggling kingdoms. In Shahiti, confidence in the Crown faltered with each loss and egregious abuse of power, so much so that numerous duchies aligned and threatened outright rebellion. Taking on both neighboring Alore and their own people would ensure the Kingdom’s downfall, and it was in the final hours that an agreement between King Dorian Price and the duchies was reached. In addition, the duchies made a pact to maintain their alliance and act again if the Crown lost sight of its duty to Shahiti.
The agreement showed much favor to the Terrnoire clan of the western woodlands and tied them to the Price family by marriage. It was the younger, more delicate Maeva that married King Dorian first, but she would not be the last to fall victim to the anger and aggression of a man humiliated by his own people. To her he was particularly cruel in all the ways a man could be to his wife. After three years of tears, of failing to provide heirs and having her loyalty constantly called into question, she walked out of the highest window of the palace. Maeva did not go quietly though. In the final letters she wrote to her older sister Moira, she detailed Dorian’s abuse. These letters would prove useful in the days that followed, which was when it was revealed she’d be his next queen.
Despite learning of the cruelties his youngest daughter suffered, the Terrnoire Duke arranged Moira to the King so as to not lose the power they gained. She was older, and more outspoken and forward-thinking than Shahitian society preferred its women to be; a quality her father hoped marriage would eliminate and breed out of their bloodline. In the beginning, the King took to instilling the same amount of fear into his new queen with his words and his hands. Much to the surprise of him and his circle however, Moira proved herself to be quite the wife and queen with her genuine shows of submission and devotion. He often found himself drained of any desire to correct her, believing she learned her place rather quickly. Dorian believed himself successful in molding her into what he wanted. In return for her submission, he was more forgiving of her womanly ways, and willing to grant the things that built support for the crown while furthering her underlying social goals.
The years for bearing had passed for the former queen Moira. Her previous children, the little sproutling’s brothers, were already full-grown adults. Graham was brought into the world against the urging of those around her, including her own husband. With his birth there was the expressed fear of succession disputes and power imbalances, but the queen personally cared for none of that. She made quick work of reframing their objections to work in her favor. It was highly unlikely, she argued, this one would ever see the throne especially when their oldest, Desmond, started having children of his own. Moira loved her children, but hated what they’d become and regretted that she did not do more to save them from their father’s influence. With Graham, she’d try to make up for those maternal sins.
Her reasoning worked for some. Those who were not so easily convinced fell silent when Dorian had a sudden change in heart on becoming a father again. Desmond mostly ignored him, seeing him as nothing more than their mother’s toy that would become a spoiled burden when she passed. Vesper could always be counted on to follow the eldest brother, while Thorne was more receptive, seeing Graham as harmless.
Their father’s presence had always been inconsistent, but in this iteration Dorian saw the damage his wife’s delicate influence was causing. The boy was soft, and he took to breaking the spawn of that lest he be destroyed by the world and bring damage to the feared Price family name in the process. His mother became a shelter from the storm and she did what she could to protect and counteract it all. Needless to say, as a child Graham was made confused by the competing expectations. Over time, he learned the demeanor that was expected of him — unaffected, masked, as still as a shadow when most affective states threatened to show. But much to Dorian’s chagrin, he took more after his mother and her weak mind. The things he endured, and the things he was forced to watch happen, even to his own mother on occasion, wedged anger and resentment into him that he couldn’t easily release without consequences. One such instance, when Graham spoke in defiance toward his father, it resulted in him being pinned to the table by a knife to the hand.
When his father died a year later, sorrow drew no tears from Graham. The official story was that he passed in his sleep, but he knew better. He was a secret witness to it. His father’s death had been swift and sudden at the hands of Desmond, who treated him no different than a pin cushion. Vesper and Thorne followed him to the family crypts months later. Ulium assassins, or so the story went. With no other male heirs among his mother’s children, the title of Duke of Achleys fell to him, and he’d gain control of the Terrnoire-led Duchy when he came of age. For a little while, with the freedom from his father’s harsh neck breathing, he could enjoy something that resembled childhood. His ability to assume the form of a shadow had kicked in when he was a toddler and it continued to provide him with great fun and enough room for misbehaving. He knew he was a cute child, and used it to his advantage when his poor choices caused more harm than good.
The day all that stopped was the day he revealed that other, damnable ability to coax secrets out of people to his tutor, who in turn revealed it to people involved in the war. A teenage Graham was well aware of the war but wasn’t meant to take part in it for a couple more years. Instead, he found himself making visits to various encampments with an increasing frequency. All it took from him was a look and the prisoners and spies who refused to speak were suddenly putting their secrets, their desires right into the palm of his hand. If it wasn’t the information they were hoping to extract, then it was the trivial, scandalous, and sometimes even inhumane cravings that gave them weaknesses to exploit. It was when he hit an impasse with his subject that he had no choice but to partake in the dirtier side of information extraction. Violence, in this case, was a reliable tool. In it he enjoyed the thrill of a challenge, and blended his shadow’s capacities with the deliberate, precise craft of drawing out secrets the hard way.
Where he used a firm and sharp hand in dimly lit rooms or the darkness of the evergreens, his touch had more of a careful gentleness with those who permitted it. It had been no different as Graham got to know the Funkazan noblewoman he was set to marry since childhood. Esther was clever and bold and similar to him in what they wanted and valued in their betrothal. His affections for her swelled over many blood moons he spent on and off in her company. Then one moonless night the tower bells rang the signal of an ambush by Funkazan soldiers. It was upon seeing Esther across from him on the wall walk, an arrow aimed at him, that everything he felt for her started to bleed out.
The location had plenty of military advantages and had been attacked more than once by other Kingdoms looking to gain control of it. Now Funkazan, one of their allies, was taking a chance to try and do the same that night. It was in their brief exchange that Graham realized how they knew when to carry out the attack. He had no reason to not trust the woman who he was to call wife in a few months, or so he believed. So when he let it slip that his current fortification would be short handed for a time during some pillow talk, he thought nothing of it. The arrow that sliced his neck hurt but not any worse than the punch of betrayal from her, or the knowledge that his carelessness cost some men their lives that night. He fired back before Esther got another chance and left an arrow in her throat.
Graham officially took possession of his mother’s ancestral duchy when he came of age. For him it was most welcomed as he was fond of Achleys and its mix of forests and colorful farming lands, but more important was his aim to protect it and the people that were just as fond of it. With the ongoing war and his duties he relied on proxies to keep him abreast of things when he couldn’t be there. The reduced production of their signature crops, juniper berries for gin and sleeping poppies for opium in favor of staples, allowed the duchy to get through periods of hardship. With gaining full control of his duchy, Graham learned more about the pact made decades ago between Achleys and the other duchies. It was a unique position he found himself in, becoming involved in an agreement originally made to oppose and protect against any future draconian acts committed by his father, or in the now-present case, Desmond. Not all of the involved duchies, he learned, were on board with the son of the former king taking part in it. It was no surprise that convincing the critics he’d side with them in a crisis wasn’t going to be easy. Perhaps if a situation arose he’d be able to hush those loudest in their protests through action, but he hoped for everyone’s sake no chance would ever come to pass.
He’d been to that vision-searing, duplicitous Kingdom known as Alore a time or two as a child, but his experience nor the details about his future intended prepared him for their Princess Brittany Leclair. The relationship between their two kingdoms was as shaky as a town on a faultline and at first, Graham guffawed at the proposition forced upon him. Entering matrimony would be a step toward ending the two Kingdom’s incessant fighting and secure a truce yes, but it was clear as day his brother put a vindictive spin on the arrangement. In the end, there would be no meeting the angel-faced blonde at the end of the aisle. It was the only patch of shade for him in the radiant destruction that Alore inflicted on him and his family. Charges of brutality toward their Princess were brought against him, and he cut his visit short before Alore could get the chance to take him prisoner. Upon returning to Shahiti he learned what Alore did to Kieran and his wife Emery, and how they destroyed her before his very eyes.
With how long the fighting between Kingdoms persisted, Graham believed that he would be dead and cold in the ground before an end was reached. Much to his surprise, there was an end. The one deemed “The Peacemaker,” from Alore of all places, announced her intentions to develop an institute to foster peace decades in the making. With the knowledge that he would be there in a year’s time, he took to cultivating Achleys and enjoying the respite before his or some other Kingdom changed their mind. The fields of his duchy ran red with poppies like he remembered as a child, and by the end of the season the opium produced from them was being traded on the legal markets. Gaining access to the underground produced higher profit margins. Of course however, what would the Duke of a humble duchy know about those kinds of enterprises?
The freedom he acquired from that accursed arrangement with Alore was short-lived, and all the dissemblance in his previous betrothals made him weary to enter a third. The universe had other plans for him however, as he found out in the year leading up to Utopia. His engagement to the peculiar woman from Phronese was doomed from the start for a number of reasons but they all tied back to the fact they were ill-suited for one another. So much so he could no longer bring himself to be amenable for the sake of a political alliance, and the arrangement was quickly dissolved. It was rare that Graham pursued someone beyond dalliances when he was not bound by his Princely obligations. But when he did, things panned out no differently.
Graham agreed to go to Utopia despite finding the whole idea of building an academic institution in the name of peace and filling it with Lomacht’s future leaders suspicious. To his brother’s otherwise capable adult children, his role was to be additional protection and support while there, but it wasn’t hard to pick up on the implications. Implications that only left his writing desk when a letter crossed his, and ones he took some pleasure in wasting the barest amount of paper and ink on. It wasn’t long into this social experiment that he stopped picking up the quill for them. Decades of Desmond’s derangement and bullcrap finally forced the final nail into the coffin, and Graham looked at the throne of Shahiti as more than just a duty he never wanted to be saddled with. The idea of breaking the tradition of mad Price Kings had Graham thinking he was mad himself, but perhaps worth it if it meant there’d be less harm done to Shahiti under his rule.
teenage culture his hands feeling dirty messy/cluttered surroundings bees - mild allergy when stung hangovers maths class being late artichokes
Misc. Info↡
Hobbies: archery, people watching, chess, reading Weapons: bow and arrow, crossbow, sword, dagger. the dagger is usually on his person. Distinguishing Features: Piercings - earlobes, frenum || R-neck - scar from arrow grazing || R-hand - old scar from knife, front and back || L-posterior shoulder: bite mark || R-anterior abdomen: multiple 'pellet' scars || L-anterior hip - solid circle w/ line brand/burn || Other various healed scars across his body from war || Back - several small, flat moles || Check and Neck - ‘old’ Shahitian smoke tattoo His Duchy: Exports - juniper berries, black gin, medicine Black market involvement - Achlys officially trades various formulations of opium for medical and religious use but a majority of the product and profits work goes through the black market. Details about the operation remain to be seen but Graham has close relations with top leadership. It's him, he controls this s**t.
Kingdom ↠ Shahiti Position ↠ Duchess Full Name ↠ Mary Rose Malachi Nickname ↠ Bloody Mary, Mare Age ↠ 21 Birthday ↠ December 5th Height ↠ 5'2" Weight ↠ 136 lbs Powers↡
Blood Omission - If Mary ingests another’s blood, she is temporarily immune to their magic, passing through physical matter, appearing invisible to mental abilities, or experiencing only their base strength as though she has all the presence and physicality of a shadow. If she has done this before or after another has ingested her blood, she is permanently immune.
Hematological Women - By shedding even a few drops of blood, Mary can create ghostly copies of herself composed entirely of blood; they are physical enough that if they’re destroyed, they pop like gory balloons, but are incorporeal enough to travel through small cracks. She does not consciously control them, and is only vaguely aware of what they do beyond her purview.
Personality↡ Quiet and reserved, sometimes awkward, Mary is nevertheless typically polite and well humored with a jumbled mix of hard earned confidence and wretched anxiety that sits vibrating beneath her skin at all times. She is especially wary of men, but her upbringing in polite society has her maintain her manners until she feels threatened into baring her fangs. When her guard is lowered, she displays a warm playfulness and sharp wit.
Political Opinion ↠ There is a kind of terrible poetry in having had her sister’s shadow erased beneath Alore’s blinding light, but Mary has little appreciation for it. Alore is a shining drought upon the land in her eyes, its existence and ties to the sun only bringing pain and the perversions of Shahitian men upon her. On that note, Shahiti is a corrupt, blighted country whose only good note was having given her her son and sister. The war made enemies of everyone, but Mary would like to see what’s beyond the borders of where she grew up now that it’s over.
Biography↡ Since the dawn of humanity, the birthing bed has been the battlefield women died upon in droves, and Mary’s mother was no exception. Something had gone terribly wrong with the pregnancy, and before Mary could be delivered her mother had bled out so quickly that the midwives had had no choice but to cut the infant out so that she may hopefully survive. Upon hearing of his wife’s passing, Mary’s father burst into the room and upon a scene so harrowing that the servants whispered about “Bloody Mary” for years afterward, though the nickname would stick long beyond even that.
Later in life, Mary would come to wonder if this event had been an ill omen, a portent of her future to come.
Her father, Mordecai Malachi, did try to remarry once after her mother’s death, but a scandal involving the woman he was courting encouraged him not to bother again, and thus Mary only knew her nursemaid and her older sister as complicated mother figures while growing up. Her nursemaid Wendy was a lovely, timid woman who nevertheless scolded Mary if she tried to call her own servant mother, while her older sister Emery was only three years older than herself, yet still helped raise her as well as a child could. They were who Mary loved the most and knew the best, for Mordecai was not what one would call a very present father. He was far too busy with the war and his leisure time with his fellow gentlemen, while also holding firm the belief that child rearing was women’s work, and he would only take a son underwing, never a daughter. The only man in the household to treat Mary and Emery more warmly than he was the butler, Alfred, who was perhaps more a father than Mordecai in a number of ways.
Hence, her childhood was a quiet one spent largely in the countryside, in the Malachi Manse’s playrooms and gardens. It consisted of hushed laughter and secret smiles exchanged behind their caretakers’ backs; of learning to dance on their nannies boots, holding formal tea parties with their toys, and being trotted out to curtsy and carry conversation with the children of their father’s friends. They were expected to make connections even at their young age, but Mary had been a shy child, taking to using the braver and friendlier Emery as a shield to hide behind, and making far fewer friends among Shahiti’s aristocratic children in turn. Mary saw nothing wrong with this, for she preferred the company of more familiar faces, unaware that those closest to her could hurt her even worse than strangers.
When she was nine, she began to have disturbing dreams. Of someone–something hunting her at a leisurely pace within mazes made out of her own home, the scrape of claws against walls heralding its agonizingly slow approach. They first happened only every once in a while, then gained increasing frequency as the days passed, and each time Mary woke with her heart trying to punch its way out of her chest, dread creeping up her throat as she got the sense that whatever hunted her in her dreams was drawing just that little bit closer every time. Wendy comforted her, assuring her that it was just dreams, and couldn't truly hurt her; Alfred offered her much the same sentiments, never failing to reach out to give her the tight hugs she yearned for; Emery, gaze gradually gaining the same shadow of dark circles as Mary, offered no such platitudes. She knew even better than Mary that they were being hunted, not just in their dreams, but outside of them, though it would take several more months of increasing terror before they learned what stalked them.
The day after Mary’s tenth birthday, Mordecai departed from their countryside home on urgent business involving the war, and the girls watched him off hand in hand with Wendy and Alfred, unaware of what awaited them that very night. Their dreams were filled with terrors more heightened than ever before, and when they woke, it was to Alfred looming over them with his shadow duplicate, his kind smile hiding intentions Mary did not understand but could now see clear as day. With Mordecai out of the way, he intended to take the girls for himself, leaving the estate with them firmly in hand. What happened instead was a night of the most harrowing game of hide and seek Mary had ever experienced, her and her sister’s screams and cries for help going unanswered as the servants remained trapped in their beds within their own nightmares. When Emery got snatched up by his shadow, she urged the frozen Mary to flee, to save herself.
Mary instead reached for her father’s favorite fire poker to stab Alfred clear through with, and the servants emerged from their rooms to find their young charges clinging to each other, clearly shaken and covered in blood, but ultimately unhurt. Mordecai would return upon receiving news of the incident, demanding a full investigation into the matter, but Mary and Emery already knew what had happened, and why. Alfred had told them himself, extolling on his infatuation with their shared green eyes and sunbright hair, rays of light in an otherwise dark, filthy country. Mary was especially of value to him, for her lack of magic indicated that the likelihood of her offspring inheriting purely the sire’s magic was heightened exponentially. In a country that valued such things as blood and magic purity, she was valuable beyond measure, but, sickeningly, it had been her and her sister’s sun-touched features that Alfred had ranted on about the most.
Shortly after, Emery insisted on dying her hair pitch black, and wearing the gloomy gothic apparel that had been losing popularity within the upper circles. Mary followed her lead, understanding all too well the fear and disgust behind the choice even as she missed her fair locks and frilly pastel dresses. It was a small price to pay for a sense of safety, and she had few peers to be derided by for her new looks. Emery lost a few friends in the process herself, but she never seemed put off by it, assuring Mary with certainty that they were the ones missing out on her friendship. The two were closer than ever for the next few years, until Emery was sent off to the capital to further her socializing. Mordecai informed her that Emery was to find herself a husband in the process, as such was the way of things, and Mary sunk into a new pit of loneliness at the prospect of her closest friend leaving the household entirely, inevitably.
In an effort to pull her charge out of her surly disposition, Wendy insisted on bringing Mary with her to church every Saturday for evening service, which was overseen by the Night Brother Azazel Graves, a charismatic, handsome young man who preached the values of the Shrouded Father. Mary scoffed over how Wendy and the other women attending swooned over him, but when he would turn away from them to offer her a word of solace, she couldn’t help feeling special. He only ever had kindness to offer her, always listening to her confessions patiently with a sweet understanding in his eyes. You’re a brave young lady, he would tell her, hand over hers, so much stronger and wiser than your years. If no one can see that and wish to be your friend, then I’ll be your friend when no other will.
It was sweet. He was sweet. She came to the church more often than once a week, sometimes with Wendy, who was grateful that the good Brother was drawing Mary out of her shell, and sometimes without, feeling grown up and mature to be helping Azazel in any little way she could. Her letters to Emery gushed with her affection for him, and her sister only ever expressed amusement with her infatuation, believing it to be a passing thing. Mary knew better, however; this was love, true love, blessed by the Shrouded One himself. Azazel may have been below her station, but as a second daughter she could escape certain expectations for herself; when she was of age, she was certain they would be wed in unholy matrimony!
Then she began to find dead animals on Malachi property, too deliberately placed to be anything other than someone displaying the bodies where she would encounter them. Some were neatly butchered, while others were torn to shreds as though a larger predator had torn into them. A horrifying, familiar sense of being hunted prickled at her neck. She sought out Azazel more than ever for comfort, and while he soothed her with his usual kindness, he also began to call her experiences into question. After all, when she would go to show him or Wendy or any of the other servants what she had found, the remains would be gone as though they had never been there. It did not matter how often she swore up and down and to the Shrouded Father what she had seen, no one believed her, and Azazel less and less. She needed to be cured of her visions or her lying tongue, he eventually told her, and such a cure could only be found in the house of the Lord, under his careful guidance. It would work best if she let him wed her now, before it was too late.
Unease crawling up her throat like bile, Mary insisted that they wait, that it was only proper, but Azazel’s fervor only intensified. Don’t you love me? he had asked her, backing her up to a window, don’t act coy with me now after leading me on all this time! If you won’t wed me, then for propriety’s sake I’ll ensure you have no choice but to–
There was a struggle, and it ended with Azazel falling out the window, impaled upon the fencing below.
Mary would learn that he had been the one behind the animal deaths. She felt sick to her core. Had she led him on? Was that why he had done those things? Was that why Alfred had…?
Mordecai brushed the entire incident under the rug; as far as anyone was now concerned, there had never been an Azazel in the church, and his position, having been vacant for years, was finally given to someone new. Her father’s only concern for Mary was if she had given up her virginity, and it was no hardship to have a doctor check for him. Afterwards, she shut herself in her rooms, and only opened the door for when Wendy brought up food for her. Nowhere was safe. Not her home, not outside, not with light hair, not with dark hair. Why bother leaving her quarters ever again?
Her sister was why. Emery returned to the capital when news reached her of her sister’s condition, and she swept back into Mary’s life as though she had never left it, though Mary at first tried to resist her. It was made easier when Emery had brought a new friend with her, Prince Kieran, whose presence frightened Mary right back up the stairs she had gone down to greet her sister. It was a concerted effort between the two to coax her out into the open like a skittish cat with treats, but Kieran proved himself to have a more genuine kindness than Azazel, a more selfish one. He only had eyes for her sister, and Emery was even more herself with him than Mary had seen her with anyone. Mary knew what she saw between them was special, and she was filled with a mix of gratitude and jealousy. Grateful that her sister had found someone good for her, and jealous that he would eventually, inevitably, have her in his household for the rest of their lives.
Still, such was the way of things, and neither were eager to turn her company away even when she interrupted what were clearly romantic outings. She gradually warmed up to Kieran, charmed by his clear regard for her sister, and by extension his interest in getting to know the people Emery cared most for. When Emery proposed that Mary accompany her back to the capital, she saw no reason to do otherwise, and packed her things while giving the servants that remained behind a fond but distant farewell.
The capital proved itself the concentration of darkness itself, and Mary felt ten years younger again, hiding behind her sister while they socialized with the local aristocracy. Emery had acquired a tight knit circle of like minded friends, who welcomed Mary well enough, but were still first and foremost Emery’s friends. Certainly, they didn’t mean to ever exclude her, but often she felt lonelier being around them than when she was by herself. She tried to seek out her own friends, but felt there must have been something inherently despicable about her when her attempts rarely worked out. Not wishing to burden Emery and Kieran with her sorrows when they already had so much on their plate, Mary took to exploring the city on her own with only a singular servant and guard at her side.
Her greatest escapes involved reading, writing, and, eventually, visiting one of the local theaters. It was lovely to sit on the balconies, and lose herself in a good performance for a few hours. Her frequent patronage and donations drew the good will of the company behind the theater, who invited her over to speak to directors, script writers, and actors alike in the hopes of gaining further favor with the Malachi family. Mary didn’t mind so much, she enjoyed getting a peek behind the curtain, and it was through such that she met one aspiring actor hidden behind the scenes: Daniel Loomis, a tragic casualty of the war who hid the scars on his face behind veils and masks. She was drawn to his melancholy and the playfulness she could unearth from him with a bit of conversation, and as it turned out, they had much in common: their love for the theater, their tendency to hide away from the public eye for fear of what would look back, their resulting loneliness…
Mary could never become a thespian herself in truth, but she enjoyed playing one with Daniel, reading lines to him with growing confidence, and learning how to sing under his tutelage. She encouraged him to take off his mask around her to eventual success, and he encouraged her to stop dying her hair so that they could be their true selves with each other, if nowhere else. She was so glad to have finally made a friend of her own…until he confessed his love for her. Taken aback, she let him down as gently as she could, aware that her father would never allow it even if she had had the inclination to return his feelings. Her rejection, however, appeared to drive Daniel over the edge. When his begging and attempts to separate her from her servant and guard only drove her away from the theater altogether, he began to send her unhinged letters and sketches of her sleeping face. Out of the corner of her eye, in the privacy of her home, she would see his favorite ghoulish mask staring at her from within the shadows.
Reluctant to send the authorities after her former friend when she had already caused him such hurt, she suffered for days beneath the growing weight of fear and paranoia, some part of her feeling as though she deserved it. This was what she did, after all, wasn’t it? Lead men on and drive them to madness? Regardless of how she looked, how she dressed herself, how she acted…there was something in her that warped the men around her. Mortified and ashamed, she withdrew into herself and avoided her sister for weeks even as she desperately wished to seek comfort in her. But Daniel’s efforts to terrorize her only escalated, culminating in a night of slaughtering her guards and servants from the shadows before pursuing her with a knife in hand. More and more wounds accrued on her skin as he toyed with her, even going so far as to lure her back to the theater, and finally, scared out of her mind, she thrust herself upon his knife in order to claw and bite at him, to injure him before he returned to the shadows, but he never did. Howling wraiths emerged from her blood to converge on him in a gruesome mess, and Mary set the building aflame as she fled.
She woke the next morning in the private ward of a local hospital, Emery at her side, and all she could do was cry into her sister’s arms, confessing everything that had occurred. Emery, for her part, took it all in stride, only expressing her sorrow that Mary had not felt she could share any of it sooner, and Mary swore to never hide such things from her again. It had been far too lonesome, and now not only had she ruined a dear friendship, but she had destroyed her favorite theater in the process. Expression fierce, Emery placed the gentlest of kisses upon her brow, and assured her that she had ruined nothing; it had been that awful Daniel langer that had been the cause of all this trouble, and she would ensure Mary wouldn’t have to worry a moment longer over the theater.
Emery was nothing less than a woman of her word, and looked after Mary when she wasn’t preoccupied with Kieran, and sometimes even when she was. Kieran himself remained much the same as he had always been, content to share his beloved with her sister, and treating Mary much like family, or as close to it as any of them understood it to be. Conscious as she was of how much she was intruding on Emery’s life, she was just as conscious that one day soon she would have far less time to do so, and so Mary clung to her side, clawing for every shred of joy that had been stolen away from her over the years. They grew closer to each other than ever before, with Emery using her for a sounding board and debate partner over every subject under the moon, but particularly politics and philosophy. Mary thought her ideas lovely…in theory, but though she had her doubts about their practical applications, it was difficult to argue against such passion. Instead, she tried to urge her sister to learn some form of self defense, anything considered acceptable for women in polite society, but Emery was less concerned about such things when she had far more important topics on her mind.
When Emery and Kieran’s proposal was finalized, Mary helped her sister plan out the wedding, determined to be there for her every step of the way until…until there were no more steps to be taken. Putting on a brave face and a bright smile, she nevertheless cried the hardest at the ceremony, so full of joy and sorrow that she overflowed. It was there that she met Balhanan Smith, a marquess that offered her a handkerchief to dry her face with. Grateful and embarrassed, she promised to return it to him after having it cleaned, and from there they began a correspondence that chipped away at the walls she had erected around her heart, weakened as they were by her sister’s departure from the Malachi household. He was kind and cultured, but she had thought as much of men before, so she remained wary, and ensured her sister was kept up to date on how the relationship was progressing once Balhanan began to formally court her. Emery, meanwhile, kept her apprised of her efforts to see Shahiti’s part in the war ended, her final missive keeping vague on the details of her latest outing in case of sabotage, but full of excitement for the work she was doing.
Mary was left shattered by the news of Emery’s death. Her sister, her dearest friend, her only worthwhile blood, the darkest, most beautiful shadow within the country, gone? It was an impossibility, yet the world continued to spin, and Mary nevertheless found herself attending the funeral. Her attempts to reach out to her brother-in-law, the only one who could begin to understand the depths of her grief, were rebuffed or ignored, and she was left truly and utterly alone in the world…until Balhanan proposed to her, offering her the opportunity of a new family to call her own. Having come to love him in the way a wounded deer loves its rescuer, she promptly accepted, and was wed in half the time it had taken Emery before being whisked off to the Smith fiefdom.
It was nestled in the heart of the countryside, and it needled at Mary even as it soothed her. She had missed the woods, the quiet, even as she dreaded them, too. She wrote letters to her sister and brother-in-law every week for months, only sending the latter to Kieran, though she never heard back from him. Though she hoped he would come around with time, she grew disheartened after months of no replies, and finally gave up in light of her first miscarriage. The only one to comfort her through that hard time was Balhanan, and expressing concern over what her futile attempts were doing to her disposition when she needed to focus on healing, he talked her down from further attempts at communication. Grateful to have at least one person in her corner, she agreed, and doubled down in her efforts to be a good wife and partner. She socialized with the wives of his peerage, hosted any guests they acquired, helped manage the finances, and politely averted her eyes when his efforts in the war, his work in the dungeons, had him returning to her with blood up to his elbows and red smeared over his mouth. Pain was an artform like any other, he would sometimes explain to her; apply just the right pressure, and every pig will squeal.
There were a great deal of things she found herself averting her eyes over, a faint tension thrumming in her chest that she did her best to avoid thinking too hard about even as it grew and grew. The strange men he hosted and associated with, the surplus of meat he provided when the war made such provisions scarcer even for nobility, the odd wounds he acquired, and the rooms she was forbidden from entering…she loved him, and so she would respect his boundaries, and trust that everything he did was for the sake of the family they were trying to make together.
Then her second pregnancy sailed into the second trimester, and things grew even more unnerving for her. His guests were overstaying their welcome, taking a queer interest in her pregnancy, and insisting that she drink health elixirs they swore by, but only made her feel ill. Balhanan defended them against her questioning, and Mary gained the odd sense that she was thirteen again, pinned against the window. She could no longer ignore the potential danger, and when her husband and his friends were pulled out of the estate by the war, she took the opportunity to snoop around where she had been expressly forbidden from. It was there that she discovered her husband’s true intentions:
The man was part of a cult that intended to summon the son of the Shrouded One through her own child.
Angry and terrified, she attempted to flee for her father’s territory, but was stopped by the household servants, who ensured she was locked safe within her personal quarters. She stewed in her thoughts and feelings for days before her husband returned, and, upon learning that she knew everything, only offered up an apology for the restrictions, promising her that they would try for more children they could keep once under the uniting shadow of the prophesied child. Viciously rejecting such paltry appeasements, Mary tried everything she could to get the word out, to get help, but every attempt fell flat. She was alone. She was alone, and she was the only one who could save herself and her child.
Her chance came when she fell into labor, and used the blood dripping down her thighs to create an abundance of wrathful wraiths that fell upon the doctor, nurses, and servants that attempted to stop her exit from the room. In some of the worst pain of her life, she nevertheless made her way downstairs to confront her husband, who did his level best to gently talk her into going back upstairs before deciding to physically move her. Not having even a little bit of it, Mary fought back against him, sinking her teeth into the flesh of the hand trying to cover her mouth, and when he attempted to summon his demonic minions, they simply moved harmlessly through her. Understanding in that moment why, years ago, Daniel had been incapable of retreating to his shadows even while she clung to him, she set her wraiths upon Balhanan to distract him while she set the estate ablaze. Every bit of blood she shed became more weapons to hold down every last b*****d that had intended to hurt her baby, and she staggered her way out of the building to watch it burn while she finally gave birth to her son.
The fire having drawn the attention of the authorities from the nearest towns, Mary had to keep her wits about her as she lied and lied and lied about what had happened. Who would believe her that the well respected Marquess was a cultist attempting to sacrifice his own child? Instead, she described a loving husband betrayed by his own men, who sacrificed himself to protect her. The locals positively ate up the story, and she was soon returned to her father’s estate, a widow who was deeply surprised to learn that the war had ended, and had been over for nearly an entire year. No one had ever…then the prisoners he had been interrogating…who had they been? Deciding there were some mysteries that didn’t need solving anytime soon while she healed, she put her questions aside, but soon found herself with more, because the servants caring for her and Joby were beginning to fall into what appeared to be insanity.
Beginning with the nursemaid, they acted strangely, seeing things that weren’t there, and regarding the world around them with increasing terror and anxiety until they dropped like flies, taken by heart attacks. Attempts to hire more only resulted in the same, and Mary wound up having to care for Joby herself as she attempted to discern if this was the result of sabotage or something else. However, it quickly grew apparent that the source of these troubles was her very own son, who was emanating a strange magic far too young that somehow, someway, didn’t affect her. Magic inhibitors and disruptors only lasted a short while before his power ran roughshod over them, and Mary started up a correspondence with her old nursemaid Wendy for advice on matters of child rearing she never thought she would have to deal with.
In the meanwhile, her search for a solution led her to the infamous Izolda Egorova, a scientist specializing in the research of magic who could currently only be found under the employment of the newly established Utopia Academy. The politics involved meant Mary’s acceptance into the school would likely result in having to get remarried to a foreigner in the name of peace…but it was a small price to pay to ensure she and her son attained some semblance of a normal life.
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To this day, the general public believes Mary has no magic. At first this was done so that she still had as many marriage prospects as possible that desired a blank slate for their bloodline; now Mary appreciates having a couple of cards up her sleeve to surprise those who may want to cause her or hers harm.
Considering Shahiti's view of what women's roles in society should be, Mary has not had the opportunity to learn to fight, nor the confidence to use any “proper” weapons. Instead, she always ensures she has a sharp hair or hat pin on hand.
She has a number of fading scars on her arms, front, and back from her final encounter with Daniel, with the most notable one being on her right side where she had let his blade sink in.
Instead of keeping a journal, Mary writes letters to her sister, and keeps them tucked away in a storage chest that doubles as a love seat. Most of her letters were unfortunately lost in the Smith Estate fire, but she certainly isn't lacking in things to tell her sister these days.
She has a strong country (Scottish) accent that she's never been interested in attempting to consciously downplay, while her sister has; she understands why, but it's a bit of a sore spot for her.
Mary's son was named Jobidiah Emeril Malachi Smith, and was thus named for her maternal grandfather and her sister, and then to ensure he had equal rights to the Malachi and Smith fiefdoms. His nickname is Joby.
Joby was born on August 3rd.
Joby's Abilities:
Sanity’s Veil - Within a certain radius of this child, people begin experiencing voices speaking languages beyond comprehension, alien sounds not of this world, and see creatures the likes of which have never been seen before. The darker it is, the more quickly these visions emerge, and can cause such anxiety and fear that it induces violent heart attacks.
Bloodied Exception - If Joby ingests another’s blood, that person becomes immune to his first ability. No one is aware of this thus far.[/st]
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