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Savannah Hart

"Innocence is bliss...until you find yourself walking in my shoes."

0 · 542 views · located in Fort Feathermount

a character in “Brigade”, as played by Darkdiva_14


"Magic? Why, my father would exorcise you for even uttering the word!"

Savannah Kalare Hart

Ava, Vanna, Anna, Barbie, Little A, Annie



Savannah, Georgia
Yeah, I know. So original, right?

Other than being a sophomore in the nearby college, Ava was a junior assistant instructor at the Savannah Dance Theater and a barista during the mornings from Monday to Friday.


  • Baking
  • Cooking
  • Dancing
  • Music with meaningful lyrics
  • Freesia
  • Being near the water
  • History
  • Journals

  • Being bossed around
  • Being called Barbie
  • Unnecessary drama
  • Daffodils
  • Her father
  • Bigotry
  • Quiche
  • Getting compliments

School of Magic:
Not much of a surprise there

Special Power:
Ava can heal an injury with a simple touch, even if she is only touching an article of clothing the person is wearing. It was an accidental discovery. One of the others were hurt during a simple combat exercise. She ran over and for some odd reason, found herself touching them as if she could bring some kind of comfort. A few seconds later and the cut was completely healed, no sign of pain. She has only just begun training with more serious wounds, but she cannot heal herself.

  • Compassion for all
  • Cooking -- Savannah's mother taught her to cook at a young age and she has only gotten better over the years since she was the main one cooking family meals after her mother died.
  • Dancing -- Ava has been trained since she was about six, her first love being ballet. Along with this came her skill of teaching. She is usually a patient person to begin with and just has a natural ease with teaching others, especially as it pertains to dance.

  • Self-deprecating -- Savannah hardly - if ever - truly accepts a compliment. She might smile about it, but she has been known for undervaluing her skills and every other thing about herself.
  • Strength -- While emotional strength is one thing, physical is one that Savannah needs work on. She has been so used to making herself seem as light as a feather that unless it is a slap of hers, you would even think she could defeat anyone in a brawl. She can pretty much be lifted and thrown without much effort.
  • Submissive Nature -- While she would probably outwardly gawk at the insinuation, somewhere on the inside is the girl who knows this to be true. It is a shame to say, but Savannah has never truly ever stood up for herself against anyone. Even when her own father used to hit her for the smallest of things, she never did anything. She learned to close her eyes and tune it out. So, to others, she seems quiet, easily manipulated, and pretty much submissive. It is quite rare and you would have to seriously get her riled up before she even does anything and the most she does is either slap you (she'll apologize later) or yell at you. She fears that one day it's going to lead to her getting someone hurt.

  • Asphyxiation
  • Being useless to others
  • Losing those she cares about

{Compassionate, Gentle, Self-Deprecating, Loyal, Motherly}
When people first meet Savannah, they think that she's just another preacher's daughter. The whole sweet-girl facade disappears when Daddy isn't around and underneath all of the prim proper persona she exudes is some brash hussy ready to pounce. However, those closest to her can attest to that not being the case. She can be quiet and is genuinely one of the mose innocent people one might have the chance to meet. Despite the obvious speculation to all preacher's daughters, Ava has remained pure and untouched by the darkness her father is weary of and is actually quite sheltered. The furthest she has ever gotten away from her father is to her aunt's house in the next town over.

However, her gentleness is the bane of her existene. It's one of the things that Ava would love to change about herself, but never can. Because where her gentleness is concerned is a submissive nature that does not seem to be going away any time soon. No matter how cruel one is to her, no matter how hard you shove her or how taunting you can be, Savannah has never been able to stand up for herself. She would love to say that she does not fear many, but due to her father's constant verbal and mental scrutiny and sometimes abuse, there is always this pressure on her chest that threatens to explode the second she even considers making a smart remark to anyone. It has left her with several bullies over the years and even worse, to her being self-deprecating.

To Ava, everything she does is wrong. She doesn't even like to accept compliments most of the time. Her father beat it into her head that nothing she did was perfect; nothing anyone did was perfect. And that to even float on that little bubble one finds after being praised for one miniscule thing would be the sin of pride and one would go to hell. She has even adapted to her lowering her head or gaze from a person who offers one compliment and muttering a thank-you under her breath for fear of appearing too prideful. Because of all of this, Ava can be easily manipulated as she would always, in the end, submit to someone and give in, this all emcompassing feeling of utter helplessness and weakness taking over long before some part of her brain even thinks about rebelling. She can only hope that with time, she can find the strength to stand up for herself.

Once you actually get close to Ava, you see that she is extremely compassionate, loyal, and motherly. She is usually tending to people whether physically or emotionally, especially those younger than herself. She has a big heart and all acts of violence has her turning her head. She never wants to see anyone hurt, especially if she is close to you. For those people, she would do anything - die, if that were the case. If you have managed to earn her trust and kinship, then you deserve nothing less than her all.


Savannah Kalare Hart was born to a local preacher and deaconess at a local church in Savannah, Georgia. Even as a baby, Savannah clung to her mother and when the older woman died around Savannah's ninth birthday, it was devastating. Other than the occasional cooking and dance lessons, she didn't have anything of the mother to live by. It was during this tragedy that Ava realized the full darkness in her father's heart.

Even as a minister, Adam Hart was not the nicest person. He cast judgement on all who did not walk in the way of Christ. There was even a time that he believed that dancing on point was a sin and hit Savannah so hard in her feet that she could not walk or dance for about a week. Naturally, Ava chalked it up to everyone in public that it was her fault for being so clumsy. Those who were the wiser watched out carefully for the girl; others simply did not care. But Ava grew in constant fear of her father. Every little thing she did was wrong. If she put too much seasoning in the food, the devil was trying to get in her head and he would take to beating her with one of his old belts, barking out bible scriptures over her cries for mercy. It became so bad that Ava's aunt began taking her on the weekend and then, out of nowhere, just taking her forever.

But the damage was already done. Ava was too quiet, she would never tell how she was feeling for fearing being too selfish, and nothing she ever did was good. She found a fault in any and everything she did. The only time anyone saw her at peace was when she was cooking, dancing, or with kids. For just a moment, there was peace.

And then the demon's seige came.

Ava had been outside playing with her little cousins when a demon ran into the yard. She found herself trying to fend them off as the children ran, but then was thrown against the tree, hitting her head on impact. When Ava came back into conciousness, everything was in complete devastation. She could see flames erupting from the tops of what used to be houses, there were distant screams, and just smoke and death everywhere. She was absolutely horrified to find the kids and her aunt were all brutally murdered. Thinking quickly, Ava ran into the forest nearby, hoping to find the old cave she and her cousins used to go camping at. When she tripped on a root, she looked up to see the elderly man with his hand extended towards her. At first, Ava was cautious and suspicious, but his gentle words soothed her into going with him. She was surprised to see the others in the cavern as well and was hit with a pang of guilt for being alive when her little cousins should have been.

Savannah came back to conciousness only a few seconds after the ritual the older man performed was done. Ava was probably one of the most adamant about finding the woman with black hair, wanting answers and to comfort and food. It's been fine so far; she has a home and new friends. However, every now and then, Ava looks back to the day everything she knew was destroyed. And even now, she can't help but weep.
Anything else you would like to mention?

So begins...

Savannah Hart'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
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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...


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.


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.


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.