How Her Story Became His....

Legends lie and folklore fools. And sometimes they do it so well, that even those who fabricated them fall for it as well. Such is the case with the Druids.



Humans given the gift to shapeshift into beasts and command nature their whim and yet they were the bastions of peace and friendship? Caryll would tell you a different story. Born into a clan of all female druids, she learned to be fierce and ruthless with her power. Strength begets strength. Before she was sixteen she was a fierce weapon, an arrow waited to be released on their next target. But this is not a past the Circles would want you to remember. 


Ruthless monsters, devoid of humanity. They descended on the mortals like ravenous beasts. They were warriors that wanted for nothing. They could demand that the harvest yields, command their prey to the slaughter. So what of humanity?  Pliable like the land and yet they bore less fruit. 

Caryll was as brutal as any of them. The tribe that she oversaw, doing so even at the very young age she was, served more as entertainment than anything else. At one point they evern tried to assassinate her while she was sleeping. Needless to say they failed, but as punishment she forced the entire town into a week long slumber where their dreams were filled with torture and despair. They would never raise arms against their queen again.

But even when subjected to this, the druids allowed something to grow in man's heart without their noticing. They saw the benefits of their situation, they adapted and learned how to thrive even under the crushing boots of the druids.

The human tribes under their occupation would pay tribute to the Circle. Food, supplies and reproductive assets. But they also saw a possibility. The Daughters of the Thorns had destroyed any who dared opposed, by removing the weeds the crop was flourishing. Without highwaymen, bandits and the like, trade between these tribes could be done safely and securley. With this growing economic power, these tribes developed into towns which in turn meant they could easily supply the Circle and focus on their internal needs. And thus in time, the tribes and towns became thankful, they turned to the cirlce for guidance. And such the image of the druid, from ruthless barbarian was forever changed to guiding teacher. For many this was a difficult adjustment but being so young she adapted and was able to merge her two upbringings. 

8011762457?profile=RESIZE_400xCaryll, indeed all druids, viewed humanity as children in need of guidance, she couldn’t see how these frail people could defend themselves against claw and fang, demon and fey. No, they needed the Druids. She would enjoy her shifter abilities; a Druid could be anywhere and see everything. In Caryll's territory she frequently took the form of a red dragon, soaring through the skies to remind her subjects of the simple truths. You live because we allow. And yet in all their might and power, they didn't see the dark clouds approaching.

She was still young, not yet twenty-one when the skies tore open and the Fey war began. It was a bloodbath. The Druid's with all their supposed might and power were seemingly helpless agains the endless waves of creatures that poured from the forests. Caryll would lead campaigns against the Fae only to be pushed further and further back. Alliances were made in this time, between the circle and other groups such as vampires, werewolves and witches and perhaps the tide was turned ever so slightly. 

In an act of desperation that would see Druid's lose a great deal of their power for centuries, they created magical barriers between the material plane and the Faewilds. The ritual once completed, didn't end the war in a swift and dramatic flare but rather left the Fae without power or a means of retreat and thus made them far easier to kill. While this was a victory, in the sense the fae were killed and locked out, it was a loss in every other way. The druid population was reduced to a fraction of its size. As they lost their numbers, they lost power and the ability to project that power and so people slowly began to lose the fear and respect that they previously held.



The Druid’s could not have man believing that they were weak and thus they forbid the recording of history of this time. A druid inquisition spread throughout Europe, destroying any reference to the war and killing any who refused to be silent. Caryll knew that this was simply the final nail in the coffin for them. Man had not only seen that the circle was weak, but that they desperate too. Gone were the days where they could show their power and become feared and respected, now their actions reeked of a need to survive. The age of man had begun, and they would be left behind. Yes the supernatural community was far more powerful, with dark magics and strength unrivaled by humanity but in their arrogance humanity had grown in number and intelligence. They learned our every weakness and exploited them. How quick the might fall. 

As with all supernatural creatures and beasts, the means of survival was locked hand in hand with remaining invisible. Let ourselves fall into myth and become forgotten, for man would begin to hunt down any that questioned their superiority. And so she would survive the second war, a war that would last for the rest of her life, a war humanity would simply identify as ‘witch-hunts’ yet targeted man, beast and all other creatures alike.

She survived this war, alone and with others depending on the needs of the moment. Though as time went on she became more reclusive, there was something in her bones that told her to be alone. Something that told her, it was her time. And it's funny really, you live for hundreds and hundreds of years and yet when you see your last on the horizon, you discover you never had enough. Of all the things that could kill her, it would be age.


No it won’t.

Caryll was a warrior, and a fighter, she saw superior to mortals and she wouldn't fall the same way they do. She delved into a side of Druidry that she did not know existed, the darker side of nature that revealed more than she could have believed. Like Pandora, she had opened a box that now she could not close. What started as a means to give her more time, opened a door into a vast library of knowledge and power that must be explored before her time could end. But her magic spell, her fountain of eternal life, would remain her closest guarded secret until either her death or until all magic leaves this world.

She had discovered that using the spores, she could transfer her life energies into a second body. Provided the individual did not have the magical defences to combat her, she could impose herself on another being. As time passed and her understanding of this power grew, she was able to create her ‘Garden’ and in so doing could perform a combination of true polymorphing and spore control to create vessels for Caryll to inhabit.


In truth, she never died. The body, mind and soul remains preserved in her 'Garden', for without it she could not control her new forms, her puppets. And yet, though they be puppets, each is as independent and free thinking as her. And it would be with Him that the strings were finally turned. 


His story…

He was not the first puppet, the process was arduous and required many successive attempts before a seemless transfer was achieved. He awoke with different feelings and even though she and he shared the same memories, he came to different conclusions. Where a hunger for bloodshed and dominance once ruled, he now saw how disparate and desperate his kind were and saught a way to help them. To say he severed her control would be poor wording, he simply ignored impulse. Where his mind whispered one thing, he would ensure to act differently. 



Slowly, he would feel her influence less and less. Though it would take years, he would eventually begin to feel like his own person without any sign of being her. With this new freedom he'd begin looking to help those in need. He worked with covens, packs and even hunters in the role that a Druid is seen to hold. That being one of negotiations, avoiding conflicts and bringing peace.

He was noticed. So many times by so many people. Hunter groups that didn't want peace but complete genocide wanted him gone, some supernatural groups saw his actions as potentially making them weaker in the long run. But despite this, he continued to do as he must. But, he was noticed by a Warlock called Nathan. At first the two had an uneasy alliance, Nathan claimed ownership of a house locked within a Fae realm that very few could access and Caryll  needed someone to send those who could not fend for themselves. With time they trusted each other more and more.

  Though he didn’t intend to join the house, it just kind of happened over time. Together they were able to bring this pocket realm into the material plane, making it a location where people could stay for extended periods of time and a place that could be built upon. Though in so doing, they brought attention to themselves from beyond this realm.

It would be at this point that an enemy he long forgot resurfaced, an Archfey he had fought in that awful war all those centuries ago. These fey are not like the others, they’re not flashy beings with spells and superior duelling and technology. They’re gods among cattle. This was not a fight that he, nor any of his kind could possibly win, but he knew what could be done, a tried and tested technique. Seal off the Fey wild and reinforce the boundaries so that they can’t return. But the fight would come at a cost, firstly without him being part of a Druid circle the only person he could entrust with the task of monitoring the barriers was himself. The house was also destroyed which in the grand scheme was nothing because Nathan…

So in turn, he would take up the mantle of caretaker for the house. Because the only person he could entrust with the task, was himself. 


The House…


Nathan had left the house in Caryll’s care and so he gained some control over the micro-realm. The house didn’t offer much in terms of new abilities or powers. Namely, the owner can summon a door anywhere in the world at will and they can also seal it away, ensuring that no more doors appear and that if you were to enter the physical property, you would instead find an empty and decrepit building.


It took a long time for him to rebuild the courage to open the doors. There was always an excuse. It needed rebuilding, it needed decorating, I’m not ready, I need to learn but it always came back to that one point. I’m not him. Even with the image, the mind was not the same.


Species: Welsh Human Archdruid 

Circle/Clan/Pack: Alone




  • True Polymorph / Wild Shaping:
    • The ability to change shape and form to match any animal or creature that they understand or have observed indefinitely.
  • Beast Dominance:
    • An Archdruid can dominate the mind of a lesser creature to serve their will. While in most situations a druid can simply request aid and it will be given, sometimes action must be demanded.
  • Converse With Nature:
    • This grants the wielder to either tap into the recent experiences of a plant or creature, or in the more literal sense, speak with them. 
  • Spore Mother/Circle of Spores
    • This is not a single ability, but instead the school of Druidism that Caryll adheres to. Those who follow this school find beauty in the cycle of life to death and life again. The power of the spores to take dead material and turn it into vibrant life and vice versa. It is a pathway to many abilities, some consider to be unnatural.

OOC Bits

  • I'm living that sweet GMT +1 lifestyle so there may be a delay between replies because I be sleeping.
  • Second to this, I'll try to be as responsive as possible, but delays will happen.
  • When we're plotting, I may appear to repeat something back to you- I promise I'm not trying to claim the idea or anything,  it's just how my brain takes in information sometimes, I repeat it to make sure I understood it mayhaps?
  • I'm not fussy about the length of replies and I don't typically aim to copy the length of yours, I'll fluctuate depending on what I have to work with and how into the scene I feel when writing it. 
  • Owner is over 21 but owner does not particularly enjoy writing smut. - Other such graphic content is fine. 
  • If me speaking Welsh sometimes annoys anyone, I apologise.... Ond dydw i ddim yn mynd i stopio. 


I am open to new roleplay threads

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Paragraph, Multi-Para, Novella

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Fantasy, Romance, Violence, Realistic, 18+, Comedy, Action, Adventure

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  • Carmilla remained silent, but listened to him. If anything, despite the apathetic persona she still chose to put up to complete strangers- she was polite when not in her own home. Unless the situation called for her to be otherwise. Maybe there was some truth to what she said, and to what he said, she was willing to look at both sides. She was certain by now that this was no trap. If it were, they would have been attacked by now.

    Carmilla glanced to her daughter who seemed to be paying attention to the man fully in wonder. She shifted, wondering if his spies knew about her. What she was. She looked back at him. She didn’t trust him enough yet to be honest about that, but maybe there was another side to this- her daughter was quite sheltered. Maybe here she could acquaint herself with others she could relate to?

    “I’m married. I’m a mother.” Carmilla leaned forward a little. “If you’re this invested in me, then, you must be interested in my family. So what role do we all play, for you?”

    She seemed to ignore his questions, but something about the way she spoke told him she was looking for a reason to say. That the answer to his last question was, he was right, but she was cautious and trying to ensure the safety of her family and know the full extent of what they were getting into. One decision would affect the three of them.

    “I can’t make a decision alone, have you contacted my wife at all?”

  • Lovely page! If you would like to write together sometime let me know.

  • (is something wrong? My idea was bad?)

  • Retina searing hot pink neon lightning, smudgy rain slicked shadows stuck to an empty parking lot-- the motel sat quiet and alone on the outskirts of the North Brooklyn's Industrial district.  Light pollution turned what was a starry night sky into a mourners cruel black veil-- giving the impression-- that the closer one got to the Lunar Arc Motel, they were visiting a lonely neon star hung in the night sky.  It's glow was incessant, chasing away the encroaching shadows with searing pink wings.  At the same time, it seemed to make them darker-- more real than any other night.

    There were no cars in the parking lot, but there was a light on in every window.  Noise stirring behind every door-- some had voices, some had laughter, some contained distant and muffled animal noises.  All of them had curtains drawn, making it impossible to see inside-- but only one room had a broken window.  The curtains billowed in the breeze.

    Don't go inside.  It wasn't quite a whisper-- so much as it was the wind, the scuff of a sole upon grimey pavement, the ruffle of clothing or the sound of the ravens wings beating against night air.

    However, a very real whimper came from inside the room with the broken window, low and deep and pathetic-- almost like a wild animal. "D-don't y-y-y-ou worry.  Help is on t-the way, man.  S-soon.  Soon.." A sob, and the voice was muffled, as if whoever it belonged to had shoved their face up against something.


    blood, death, carnage

    static, rebellion, change

    camarilla, sabbat, freedom


    They are present in New York City on this night; it's in the air.  A seeping chill.  A tangle of electric webs, setting the nerves alight-- the stench of old blood?  Distant, faded echoes, swallowed by the cities teeth.


    Don't go inside.

  • [[did you want to plot]]

  • {It's all right, it happens. Hmm well no she isn't exactly hiding for those reasons although she isn't innocent with being an assassin/hit woman. I can start if you'd like? Maybe John getting the drop on her? An ambush}

  • Although it seemed he was doing his best to keep his emotions in check-- they seemed to be getting the better of him.  He sobbed, slurred, and stuttered his way through even the simplest of statements.  "N-n.." He sniffled loudly, apologized quietly, and tried again. "New Y-york City.. at the.. at the Lunar A-Arc Motel.  It's in Brooklyn.." Another loud sniff, followed by the sound of his hand sliding down the front of his face.  He inhaled deeply, held the breath in his lungs, and quietly muttered under his breath to 'get ahold of yourself, dog.'

    Quietly, he looked to man's body where it was sitting up against the wall, eyes and mouth agape.  Raphael hadn't bothered to ask a name when he kicked the door in-- simply demanded the phone.  When the man said no, Raphael started to beat him-- and then he broke his arms, his right leg, a few ribs-- and finally his neck.  The guy screamed a lot -- said a lot of things, too.  Nothing about a name.  Not his name, anyway.  Raphael was sure the man called out to multiple gods, though.  None of which he noticed bothered to appear and save him.  That would have been a true surprise.

    "I don't.. I don't know his name.. h-he never did get t-the chance to say.." He was weak. "H-he was k-kind, though.  He s-said you could h-help.  Said you were g-good at "Solving Problems" the p-police w-w-wouldn't touch.." Every word was full of emotion; fear, anger, and regret.  A deep, deep pain.  But Caryll had no way of knowing his face-- Raphael's face-- didn't change the entire time.  His countenance matching that of the lone Gargoyle perched atop the edge of some fancy corporate building just across the street, vanguarding the empty motel parking lot.  

    He inhaled shakily, a deep, supposedly calming breath.  "I-it's Raphael Bermejo.  M-my name... p-please hurry."

  • {[Greetings to you my friend and my thanks, I hope we might be able to venture forth and discuss an plot idea.


    Also if I may advise, I will not be overly active, I hope you will not mind sometime between my replies. I do not vanish for months at an time, unless something truly unexpected does happen. Usually I do try to keep everyone updated by message or an comment on my page.]}

  • (I got the two PC games. Vampire the masquerade Redemption and Bloodlines.  Can't wait for bloodlines 2. Will reply soon)

  • A rustling sound greeted Caryll from the other end of the line almost immediately, followed by a rushed and clipped "--lease pick up, Please--oh-- oh my god, thank you!" Said a young and desperate male voice, each word trembling.  "Please, you have to help me." He sounded pathetic and lost, on the verge of weeping.  Instead, he sniffled loudly into the phone.

    "T-t-t.." He sobbed, sniffled again. "T-t-t-they.. t-they killed h-him.. they f-fuckin' killed him! What are they, Good God, what were they? Their faces.. their teeth.. p-please.."

    . . .


    Meanwhile, somewhere else in NYC-- the Sabbat reared their heads.  Launching an attack on a local Camarilla meeting spot-- The Art Hole.  An Art Gallery, plain on the outside, exquisite on the inside.  It is unclear their motives, even their goals-- perhaps they're unaware of them, themselves.  It is the way of modern Kindred-- bound to the lavish whims of their immortal Elders.  The puppet masters pulling their strings from every dark hole out there.  Most of them don't even know.

    Gunfire ricochets into the night.  A window explodes, glass going everywhere.  There's a bright flash-- and an explosion, and then.. complete, and utter chaos as the fighting spills out onto the street.  One young Kindred launches himself at another, moving so fast that he turned into a blur.  Another plunged a curved dagger into his opponents throat and ripped it out, getting blood all over their face.  One raised a handgun towards a lithe woman with red hair and a blood red dress-- but rather than firing on her as she approached, ever so slowly and methodical, he could only stare in awe, mesmerized.. until she was coiled around him clawing out his throat. 

    "BURN THE CAMMIES!"  Someone shouted over the chaotic din.

    It's Kindred on Kindred, vampire on vampire-- Camarilla, on Sabbat.  It's also a breach of their most sacred Traditions, the Masquerade-- but none of them seem to care in the heat of the moment.  Or so it would seem. 

    Regardless of intentions or outcomes-- right now-- New York is in for one hell of a night.

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