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Emily Parker

"Dancing is the only thing that makes sense these days..."

0 · 325 views · located in Fort Feathermount

a character in “Brigade”, as played by Jynxii

Description

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"Just when you think you've seen it all.... You haven't."



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Name:
Emily Michelle Parker

Nickname:
Em, Emmie, Parks

Age:
Eighteen years young

Sexuality:
Heterosexual

Hometown:
Roscoff, France

Occpation:
Florist and college student.



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Likes:
+ Swimming
+ Animals
+ Hot chocolate
+ White lilies
+ Ballet dancing

Dislikes:
- Parking decks
- Arrogance
- Rap music
- Bad hair days
- Being late

School of Magic:
Psychic

Special Power:
Clairsentience, also known as Pschometry. Emily has a power with great potential, but currently has only learned 'Linguistic Assimilation'[the ability to instantly learn a language simply by touching an object that once belonged or was used by someone who speaks the language] and has begun to take on "'Psychometric Reflexes': to learn skills and abilities from objects or people. Sometimes only temporarily; in order to obtain the skill or ability permanently they may need to touch the object or person which holds said knowledge again."

Strengths:
+ Ballet dancing
+ Taking care of plants (From being a Florist)
+ Knowing different kinds of plants (From being a Florist)

Weaknesses:
- Terrible liar
- Hardly any upper body strength
- Allergic to cats


Fears:
! Hippophobia- Fear of horses.
! Tomophobia- Fear of surgical operations.
! Nyctohylophobia- Fear of dark wooded areas or of forests at night



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Personaltiy:
Emily is painfully loyal, to the point that it may even hurt her sometimes. Once she’s decided she’s on your side, she’s by your side to the bitter end. She would do anything for the one she loves. Emily is a charming young woman, it is very easy for her to make friends, as people just seem to like her despite having no real reason to. She likes to keep to herself, as large crowds make her a little nervous. Not to say that she doesn’t enjoy a night out dancing with friends, because she does, but she’s aware that many things could go wrong when she’s in a crowd (did I mention she is a little over-cautious sometimes?). Emily is an extremely bright and caring young woman. She will almost always go out of her way to help anyone in need. This could be considered a weakness of hers, as she is often giving more than she should be. Because she is extremely caring, she gets herself hurt or into trouble. She is a ‘glass half full’ kind of girl, and enjoys life-- and loves reading and dancing almost more than she loves chocolate covered strawberries.

Emily is terrible at lying, but is very good at keeping secrets. She believes that trust and honesty are the foundations of all stable relationships. She loves animals, particularly birds, because her mother used to call he ‘little bird’. Robins and Blue Jays are her favorites. She secretly writes in a diary, religiously, every night. She’s a huge, huge scardie cat-- Ghost stories and midnight walks are most certainly not for Emily. I mean, the girl sleeps with all of her limbs tucked under the covers for fear of a demon grabbing them if one dangles off (she reads a little too much... At least, she used to.. now the fear holds a lot more weight; given the state of the world and all). Over-all she is a spunky soft spoken young woman who loves to let loose every now and again. Her mother was a prima ballerina and has pushed Emily to be one since Emily was able to walk. Because of this, Emily has developed a complex about being perfect. Emily struggles to maintain her 'perfect' appearance, because she genuinely wants to be the 'whole package' and honor her mother's memory (see history).

All of the above are traits that Emily grew up with and developed before the world went to hell. Afterwards, she developed an extreme trust issue with everyone and has become a bit of an introvert. When talking to the wrong person could get you killed- you learn to just not talk at all. As chaos fell around her, Emily grew quieter and quieter. Now she is much more soft spoken than she was before. A wall-flower, if you will. Perhaps if she can find a way to accept her situation and learn to relax a little she might learn to open up again. Maybe.


Caring || Honest || Creative || Soft Spoken || Loyal || Optimistic || Spunky || Playful || Friendly || Perfectionist || Daring || Guarded




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History:
Emily was born into a large port city in France. Her mother, Emilia De Rae, married an Englishman named Johnathan Parker when she was just twenty years old. They met at one of her ballet recitals in Paris. Love bloomed between them, and within the year they were married. John moved to France to live with her and they settled down on the coast and opened up a flower shop. For years they tried to become pregnant, but because of one reason or another Emilia was unable to become with child. After countless hospital visits the couple were almost ready to give up. Then, as with all good love stories, a miracle came to them; Emilia found out she was pregnant. Emily was born just two weeks before Christmas. She grew up as the apple of her parent's eye.

As soon as she was able to walk, her mother enrolled her into ballet. Dancing became her life's passion. Emily lived and breathed ballet, and whens he was not dancing she was helping her father in the flower shop. When Emily was fifteen her mother passed away of lung cancer, leaving only Emily and her father. Just a year later, the world fell apart. As things got worse, Emily and her father were forced to go on the run- like most people. They fled to Paris where there was an underground sanctuary built beneath the Notre Dame Cathedral.

Shortly after she turned 18 she was separated from her father during a demon raid. Their sanctuary had been found, and hundreds were killed, and Emily barely made it out alive. To survive, she hid in the catacombs- inside one of the stone coffins. After only a day she was extremely dehydrated and starving. Desperate, she knew she had to get out somehow. By sheer luck she managed to slip out of the cathedral unnoticed. She was running to a nearby building when she was grabbed by someone. She opened her mouth to scream, but no noise came out. She had not spoken in so long, she had nearly forgotten how to speak. Swallowing, she looked into the face of her savior. He explained to her that she would be safe, and to follow him. What he was saying was unbelievable, but she had nothing to lose and everything to gain. She agreed to do as he said. The rest is, as they say, history.

Other:
Emily wears a leather cord around her neck with a pewter ring on it that was her dads. It allows her to speak English; if it is pulled off of her, she will lose her ability to communicate in English and revert to only speaking French- as is her native tongue.
OOC: If you want to discuss character relationships, please feel free to PM me! ^-^

So begins...

Emily Parker's Story

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Delphine Vawdrey Character Portrait: Adamus Locke Character Portrait: Desdemona Ariel Forte Character Portrait: Jenny Pilot Character Portrait: Abigail Turner Character Portrait: Jessica Cartwright Character Portrait: Oasis Monarae Character Portrait: Piper Baker Character Portrait: Jordan Levy Character Portrait: Alexander Andersson Character Portrait: Isaac Gil-Ruiz Character Portrait: Darren Conway Character Portrait: Tristan North Character Portrait: Savannah Hart Character Portrait: Emily Parker Character Portrait: Kara Darrow Character Portrait: Noah Richards
Tag Characters » Add to Arc »

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Southern Ireland, around the year 1250
It is mid-afternoon. It being the middle of summer, the weather is warm, yet cool in the woodland forest. Although it may seem like any other day for the villagers residing just a mile and a half from the majestic and secluded Fort Feathermount, it is a special occasion for magic-wielders. Today is the Holiday of the Mages; the day when the Five Mages were thought to have spread the gift of magic upon humankind. At this time, the thirty have been told to stay put in the fort while everyone is getting ready for an "orientation" to be held in the fort's back courtyard. There is still a large amount of uncertainty and mystery in the air as the thirty prepare to hear what they will be doing for the next couple of days, or months, or perhaps even years...





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Everything was quiet for a moment, and then the present situation began to unfold. Although they seemed far-off and distant, the sounds of a jeering crowd could be heard from all around the swampy area. Not all of the cries muttered from the villagers’ mouths seemed angry, in fact, a few people were laughing, happy and awfully excited to see the extermination of a witch for the first time in their dull lives. Nothing ever happened in the small provincial town, and to the residents, an execution was equivalent to the king marching through the streets with his men mounted upon beautiful white horses.

The victim, (the witch) about to be persecuted, looked down at her grimy bare feet. Her jet-black hair hung off her scalp like thin pieces of string, and her face was barely visible. Her rough brown hands were binded behind her, and her feet were tied to the rickety old chair that was currently being suspended over the river by a rope. It was an interesting way of execution; slowly being drowned into the practically bottomless river, but in the minds of the villagers, there was no better way to exterminate someone who was blatantly a threat to their already poor, miserable lives. This woman would surely die. There was no way of escape.

Every little noise was blurry and faded out for a moment, and then as the sound of a single man’s voice penetrated the other villagers’ conversations, everything became clear.

“…By the people’s consent, you are to be executioned on this day for the practice of witchcraft and resisting arrest. Any last words?”
She said nothing.

The rope lowered. The woman knew it was all over. In just a few short moments, her body would be entirely submerged in the thickness of the water. Strangers whom she had once called friends started to jeer. The feelings of anxiousness and heightened adrenaline could be felt in everyone’s minds. The woman looked down as her wooden seat started to touch the tip of the water. Before her toes could feel the water’s edge, she looked towards the left, obviously focusing her attention on some single person before her actual demise could begin. Her brown eyes were pointed towards a middle-aged man who seemed almost out of place amongst the crowd.. With his arms crossed and his face lowered in a scowl, he nodded towards her in a simple fashion. In that moment, the accused witch felt a sense of tranquility. Once her ankles were submerged in the gray-hued river, she whipped her head downwards, and gently closed her eyes. Despite the current situation, there was a small part of herself that felt hopeful, but most of that sense was overcome by sheer terror. She would surely die. There was no way of escape…

And then the jeering, the laughter, even the gentle sound of the river’s current… it all came to a stop. It was so horrifyingly silent, it was if the world had become deaf. Everyone’s faces were the same. All the villagers who had attended the execution were white-faced, wide-eyed, and shared the same expression of stark disbelief and terror as they gazed upon the scene of the execution. There, sitting upon the water as if it was an entirely flat surface, was the woman. Her arms and legs were still banded together by thick ropes. However, that didn’t last for long, because with a sudden flash of light that seemed to be a spark, the bindings that held her arms together snapped free and sank into the river. Instinctively, she undid her tied feet with her free arms, and threw the spare rope off to the side onto the shore nearby. There was a moment where she took a few seconds to catch her breath, and then gradually, her mind processed the current situation. The way she sat with her legs crossed on the river’s surface; it was as though this hated victim was now a queen sitting triumphantly upon a gilded throne. Her bewildered face projected otherwise; although the picture was stunning, it was also devastatingly petrifying. And then, suddenly, there was the shrilly sound of a blood-curdling scream, and everything faded black.

Delphine woke up to the coldness of the cobblestone floor. Her eyes wide with fear, she gasped. A dream; she had only been reliving the tragic moments of her recent past. Thanks to the failed potion she had created only an hour ago, instead of peaking into the lives of the founders of Fort Feathermount from generations back, she had only seen visions of her own miserable life. The spherical bottle that had contained the failed potion was still in her hands. She settled the empty glass down on the ground, and after wiping away the trickles of sweat on her forehead, sat herself up into a standing position. She took a look at the foucalt pendulum clock across the alchemy lab, and saw that it must have been around quarter to four. One could argue that such an invention was not brought into the world until the renaissance, but that person would be showing little knowledge of the magic-wielding world. In other words, the clock was only thought to be invented in 1851, but it was actually created long before that time. Wizards and witches had created the clock, along with many other things, first.
Just then, there was a knock at the locked door. Delphine whipped her head around to the front of the room, gave a soft groan, and opened the wooden door.




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Adamus stared at a disheveled-looking Delphine, and raised his right eyebrow in bewilderment. “Dee,” he said in a firm voice, “What happened? It must have been five minutes since I first knocked on the door. Why didn’t you answer right away?” The brown-skinned woman exhaled rather loudly, as if in slight annoyance. “I think you already know the answer to that question, Adamus.”

He gave a smirk and a chuckle. “You’re right. I do. I could see your aura stone-cold on the floor. I came to see if you were alright.”
“The last part I do not quite believe,” muttered Delphine teasingly. Although, there was something about the sentence that seemed rather serious. “That potion over there,” Adamus continued, pointing to the empty bottle on the ground, “what was it for?” Dee sighed, and pointed her eyes towards the ground. She hated admitting failure. “I was trying to create some sort of clairsentience-spell within the potion that would allow me to look back on the lives of the founders in order to see things in this fort that are not visible to the common eye. Instead, I saw something else…and I…I passed out.”

Adamus nodded with a sharp and understanding look on his face. His eyes gave the impression that he knew the specific event that Delphine was talking about, the one where she almost died. Instead of questioning her about it, he changed the subject. “So, the Holiday of the Mages; are we still doing that?” Delphine nodded, turned around, and casually strolled back into the room. “Of course. Why should we skip the most important tradition of our ancestors, our culture? Besides, with you around, we cannot help but celebrate it. You and your students have to rebuild good relations with your guardian…after what you have done.”

Adamus responded strongly and quickly, “Look Dee, I know you staunchly disagree with the Sacrament of Bestowal. I know what it means to our culture as well. I had no choice but to do it. If I could tell you what happens in the future, in our future, then I would. But right now, you just have to trust me. I know that’s asking a lot of you, but you have to try.”

“It must be amazing to know how I die,” said Delphine, sharply. It sent a wave of painful silence throughout the small room. After a couple seconds of glaring, Adamus sighed, and turned his attention to a small bell stationed by a window to the left of the room. “Should I alert them? Are you ready to begin?” he asked. Delphine nodded, “Yes, alert them now.”

With a mallet located on a small side-table, Adamus pounded on the black pewter bell. Upon being hit, the large bell made an ominous other-worldly chime that could be heard in every little crevice of the fort, and even miles away from the building, into the forest.




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There was definitely a difference between this forest and the forest that Jenny used to know. For one thing, nothing was on fire. (There were no demons to destroy the land around her.) With the monstrous creatures gone, everything felt strange. Only three days ago, Jenny’s adrenaline was soaring. After travelling to this new world, things had finally become peaceful for once. Here, there was never a time she had to look over a shoulder, never a time she had to worry about a roof over her head or her next meal. It was great, obviously, but it felt strange. She knew she would have to take time to adjust to it.

High up in a sturdy tree, Jenny was writing and drawing in a journal, a thing she used to do before having to constantly worry about her survival. Once she had finished the details on a golden chalice she had been sketching, she closed her notebook, and took a good look at the forest in front of her. You could tell that nothing had been affected by pollution or any influence of a future civilization that could destroy the wildlife. The trees felt stronger and more climbable, while the air was fresher and so rich, that it could put someone to sleep. Jenny carefully searched through her rucksack backpack that had propped on her shoulders, and looked through the junk that had accumulated in her large bag. She had found her old IPhone, (useless not only because it was out of charge, but because there was no reception in the Middle Ages,) a hunting knife, some rope, the remains of a first-aid kit, her friend’s flower ring that she had kept after her devastating death, some pens and pencils, a canteen of water, a pile of clothes, and a blank little flipbook that showed the United Kingdom’s flag on the front. She would be saving that for something special.

Just then, Jenny’s head jolted to the right as she heard the chime of a strong-toned bell. No doubt this was the bell that meant it was time for the thirty young adults to come to Fort Feathermount’s courtyard. Apparently, Madame Vawdrey (or Delphine, as Adamus had introduced her,) was giving some sort of orientation to the group, answering any questions they might have had and laying down the ground rules for the next couple of days (or however long it took to defeat the arising demons.) Seeing how strict she looked when she had first laid her eyes upon the thirty, Jenny did not want to get on the woman’s bad side. She was probably already on her bad side, seeing that she had gone far-off into the woods when she and the group had been originally ordered to stay close to the safety of the fort.

Carefully, Jenny lowered herself from the tree’s sturdy branch that she had been sitting on, and made her way down from the tree. When she was close to the ground, she let go of the branches, and let her brown hiking boots pound the forest floor. She then gripped the straps of her pack tightly, and started to jog. The young woman had never considered herself the athletic type, but she had always been rather fluent in running and climbing. It was probably because she still had the energy of a seven-year-old, but it in all seriousness, it might have been the fact that running and climbing never took as much hand-eye coordination as other athletic activities. Maintaining a well-paced speed as she made her way past walls of thick green vegetation, Jenny looked up at the sky. Soon, the sun would be on its journey towards the west. When she could hear the sounds of flowing water and small chatter, the girl knew she was near the fort at last. She leaned against a tree trunk by the courtyard, making sure that nobody would be able to see her coming. When it was all clear, she quickly walked towards the black cobblestone, and made her way to the center of the large area.

The courtyard that separated the forest from the fort was so big, it could pass for a tiny town. There was a fountain that produced bright-blue sparkly water in the center of the enclosure. From there, a blacksmithing forge and a grindstone stood to the back of the courtyard, closer to the actual fort. Then, to the right, there was a long table and a fire pit, most likely used to dine outside when the weather was nice. On the other side, targets had been set up for archery, and scarecrow-like dummies with slashes around their stomach and head areas stood tranquilly in the warm afternoon. It was strange; dummies and targets had been placed in the courtyard, and yet there were no weapons to practice with. If there were any weapons, Jenny knew that people would probably be crowded around the two stations by now. To be honest, she was somewhat happy about the fact that nobody was really training yet. Although her first impressions weren’t always accurate, she had a feeling the new group she had acquainted herself with contained extremely competitive people. Although she seemed like it, Jenny was not the most confident girl she knew, and often compared herself to other people in a negative way. She knew that the more her and others learned about combat, the faster the demons could be defeated. However, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would soon be handy with a weapon, or prove to be useless at combat, just like her special power. In regards to her special power, Adamus claimed that it would reveal itself to her in time, but Jenny was doubtful, and found herself starting to grow impatient. She would probably be the first among the thirty to be slaughtered by the demons, she was sure of it. The others would be slashing demons left and right like it was their job, while she would be left in the dust. After all, she was just an artist…

With a sigh, the girl made her away over to the fountain, and sat by the edge. While she waited for others to come near, she picked a strand of her new brown-colored hair, (which had previously been blonde only seconds before the group had time-travelled to the middle ages,) and twirled it around her fingertips.