Description

Name: Oriana De Leones
Age: 16
God/Goddess Ancestor: Apollo the god of the sun. Apollo is known to carry the fire gilded chariot of the sun across the sky as it rises and falls. Among other things, he is also known as the god of music and prophecy. He saved Rowan from certain death when her mother and three brothers attempted to murder her after learning that Apollo was seeking the young Oriana as one of his own prodigies. He breathed life back into her, re-animating her inanimate body, and procured a spot in Julliard, posing as her father. Ever since, he has shown up in her dreams to give her advice and help, and when needed, cloaked himself and visited her on earth.
Gifts from the God/Goddess: Rowan carries a golden lyre necklace, that when she wishes to play it expands into a full sized lyre that she can lay across her lap and pluck. With the gift of the lyre, comes the gift of music. She is capable of playing any instrument placed in her hands, as well as using her own voice with professional musical ease. When played, the lyre alone gives her the ability to sway or even force people to do her will (A gift she prefers not to use, or tell others she can. This gift is solely for emergencies and she treats it as such). The second is it gives her the ability to see the unchangeable (or immediate) future.
Personality: Rowan is known to be a bold personality that is loyal to those that she trusts. She is a vibrant character that enjoys being part of the crowd. She trusts every person she meets, unless they prove her trust unworthy, which in that case, she can be your worst enemy.
School: She attends the Julliard School of Arts, and participates heavily in band and choir. She is a solid performer as well as a good student and earns top marks in all of her classes. A solid 4.0
Likes: Her lyre, her Steinway, dreams, and school
Dislikes: people blocking her ambitions, people who use her for her abilities
Family/Friends: Her family is all missing. Since her mother and triplet brothers killed her, they have since gone in hiding, fearing the wrath of Apollo for harming his adopted child. Although an outgoing young woman, she doesn’t do much socially. Her friends are mostly youths in the choir and band that she sees when practicing for big events. Music takes a large portion of her life.
The Bond:(this section should be edited after you are given a bond; here you will include thoughts of the bond and ect. )
Picture/description:

History

Tones of soft love and admiration filled the church, pouring out in soft piano notes. The keys and flows of ever growing love, ever changing and beginning. The church was almost humming along; the glass windowpanes were buzzing, and the rocking chairs in the back of the church were rocking by phantom ghosts. The floorboards shook in time, their wooden foundations quivering in awe. Even the rogue dogs stopped to listen to song, their wild jowls relaxing, and even daring to allow their vicious tongues to slide greedily to their lips. It was as to be expected, since the young woman playing gracefully had been enchanting the piano since she was five. The town had watched her grow from the clumsy, lanky goose girl, to the lovely woman that graced them in the present. The child prodigy of Fayetteville. The orphan of Fayetteville. At one point in time, she had been surrounded by family. The young woman had been the only daughter amidst three brothers. All older than she, her triplet brothers were 10 years her senior. Her mother, a dark woman with fierce features of a black wolf: large slanted chocolate brown eyes, with dark mocha skin, full red lips, and flowing raven-black hair, complete with sharp wolf-like jowls. It was whispered and rumored that the young woman’s mother was a witch; she had visited haunted places, and worn an old amulet around her neck. At different times throughout the year, men would swear she would sneak to the cemetery; old Dill Edwards would nod in clarity, verifying that she visited each gravestone whispering odd things over the newly dead. “Sometimes, she would visit the grave in the far corner and touch it in awe,” he would say, his eyes closed. Afterward, his mouth would ‘stop up’ and he wouldn’t be unable to speak for days at a time. Some claim the witch had cursed him to never finish that tale. Than, when the mother started disappearing randomly with her triplet sons, all thirteen years old at the time, the townsfolk knew she was up to no good. When finally she did, the young babe was brought to the church, only three years old, to be grown into a nun. The priest took her in, cherishing the child as his own. As she grew, her love and talent for the beautiful and pious art of music glowed. Each year the piano became more enchanted by her touch, if not more used. Some of the ill-tempered townsfolk argued that she had inherited her mother’s gift of witch craft. Just look how she enchanted the young men, all through the horrendous racket she made! It was the young woman now playing, who played at every church gathering. Who had only recently started blossoming into the astonishing beauty she was in the present day. The kind of beauty that gathered foes rather than friends from some (mostly, the women of the town.) Her fingers pressed at the piano, beckoning to the church-goers to come, to listen to their god, when suddenly--- the music stopped. An eerie haunting peal of terror as random chords were played, a soft high scream, tore through the air. A peal of horror from the sweetest voice, and with the highest of notes. It was a heart-wrenching sound of fear. A pen drop could be heard, as one by one the townspeople stopped and stared at the closed doors of the church. A lone workmen strode forward, bursting thru the church, and letting loose his own cry of terror. He turned quickly; slamming closed the doors, racing through the streets. “Oriana! She’s deaaddd! Her blood…,” he shrilled, tears shining on his cheeks. Later, when he recounted the story, he remembered her flawless form lay gracefully over the piano keys. Her dark blood pooled onto the lacquer black and white keys, her dark auburn curls pooled over her face. As he recounted, he shivered in fear and awe of her lone eye peeking from her hair. A beautiful hazel color, slanted like a cat’s, peering into his own sinning soul. He swore she was a witch than: she could live thru death! When the rest of the townsfolk mustered the courage to go in and retrieve her corpse, they found instead a devastating amount of blood covering the piano and the floor. The stench was that of what the blacksmith shop exhumed. A strong smell of iron. It flowed freely like a river, still dripping from the keys. The bench where she had sat had an imprint of where her body had been. Even the piano had a form of a hand, leaving an area of the piano clean of her blood. The only thing missing was the young Oriana, devoid of the church that had founded her talent.
In the place of her was an amulet, a golden with the look of being hand crafted. The chain was broken, as if ripped off. Burning light from the moon filtered in and set an eerie glow of the last remaining thing that belonged to Oriana.