
Sine Familia
An ancient name lost to the sands of time...
What was once lost; found new purpose...
Malboro - Ward 18 - Plot 38
The tradition of Reapers started long, long ago. Back in a pleasant place, back when the Garleans were under threat from the roving bandits that would see them starve and displaced. Many families rose and fall from this time, remaining until the Empire rose, until treachery struck, and until they were replaced and branded as traitors, outcasts, undesirables by the throne. Many of these families were purged...Including this one. As with many, it held out for as long as it could, but time's ruthless boot came too to find its throat. Crushed beneath the heel of the Empire, the tradition as a whole barely clung to life. No doubt thanks to the Lemures for keeping the rite alive.But from this forgotten family, rose a new sect. A clan of those who have been cast aside. Those who have been forsaken, mistreated and tread upon.Those who are Sine Identitatis, without identity. Those who are Sine Familia, without family.Because they have been forsaken, they forsake. They shed their names, their lives. Becoming the Nameless, the Faceless.
-Sine Locus-
Located in a small town somewhere in Southern Garlemald, this abandoned Villa once used to be the estate of a noble physician and scientist. It was rumored that the numerous disappearances in the surrounding town were linked back to this residence. Whispers of mad experiments being done in the bowels of this once luxurious manor spread rather quickly through the impoverished town.One day though. The mad physician vanished and the disappearances stopped. That is until the Second Garlean Civil War tore the nation asunder.Now, the Villa and its surrounding town seem to only be inhabited by ghosts.
Raised in the knowledge that her Clan and their ways were forsaken by the people her ancestors trained to protect, Sine Missione has a sour outlook on life. Now plying her bloody trade for coin rather than country, she finds herself merciless in the pursuit and execution of those she eventually slays. Painfully aware of the ruin the past has brought she has decided to forge her own future alongside the Sine Familia clan, content amongst those who also have not abandoned the old, great ways of Garlemald.
Sine Lumine

Without Light
The closing days of the civil war turned Garlemald into a veritable hunting ground, soldiers and civilians alike vanished within the city's ruins, preyed upon in the chaos before the Tower rose. Now the streets are silent and any traces of those claimed by the scythe are as forgotten as the identity of its wielder.
Sine Luctus

Without Sorrow
Once a member of an old and powerful Imperial family, Luctus has cast aside her birth name after witnessing the evils of unchecked ambition by someone she once loved. Driven by a thirst for vengeance, she has found solace with the clan and the dark magicks that it offers.
Once a simple citizen, born with a name with no tradition or weight, just one cog of many in the Imperial machine. Calore did not chose to walk the life of a reaper out of desire for power or ideology. It was desperation to cling onto his life in the face of certain death. The price he paid was perhaps too high as now warmth is a distant memory.
Sine Requiem

Without Rest
In the outskirts of Garlemald, a woman roams within the night. Stalking those who have wandered too far into the unknown, and the harvest for blood begins. Not quite alive, yet not quite dead. Sine Requiem is a Reaper who has become one with her Avatar. No one truly knows her origins nor her age, as sightings of her go far back in time, yet she remains unchanged. Pale lifeless skin, crimson red eyes and ever lasting youth. Yet at what cost?
Sine Sanguis

Without Blood
Starting off with the best of intentions, [Redacted] started his life as a medic in the Garlean Hospital corp. Yet over time as his skills became greater, so did his taste for more than just 'saving lives'. It alone no longer satisfied him as he began to further his skills with knives and blades, cutting deeper than he should, finding pleasure in the screams rather than the healing silence. He eventually was caught and poised for execution for his crimes, and in his dark cell he made a deal with the darkness that gnawed at him, giving up his name but never his cravings for blood.
"Just wait, they'll be needing us once more." This was the motto of a certain family. Their people once regarded with high praise now branded as traitors. Some fled, most hid, and one simply waited. For years they waited for their time to be needed once more, continuing their traditions all the while. Now there's only one left, and she's done waiting.
Sine Amor

Without Love
By the time she surrendered her name, there was not much left for her. Her old family was all but gone. She doesn’t speak of what had happened to them. Too sensitive, too personal. What remains of Amor, is a woman who spends an unhealthy portion of her day and night perfecting rituals of flesh and blood.
Sine Furia

Without Fury
Having witnessed war in his time as a soldier and seeing what others with the means to wield weapons to destroy others, This One returned to a destroyed home and a dead family. Cast out as a traitor and framed as a murderer, This One cast away his name and that of his family, turning his own blade among those who wronged him.He has seen the fury of others, and his own bubbled, ever constant as he drove his old self out, embracing his new life as he joined the familia. And so took the name Sine Furia, Without Fury, and bring his own to herald the demise of those unfortunate enough to come under his scythe.
Sine Virtute

Without Virtue
"Valor, honor, and chivalry were all she stood for. With her family behind her, and a woman's touch having tainted her senses, the Garlean craves more, no matter how depraved or deadly the form such new experiences may seem."
Sine Familia is a small, tight knit Pureblood Garlean Reaper FC. Man, that bit was a mouthful, and a sentence that I never thought that I'd write. But it is true!
Even though we play literally the EDGIEST character archetype, being both Reapers and Pureblood Garleans. I like to think that we are a good lot, abiding by the lore. Further, Bigotry is not something that we tolerate. So while some RP themes might be a bit mature, we do not in anyway condone Racism, Homophobia, Transphobia, or Facism. You can leave your Nazi fetishism at the door, please and thank you.
Recruiting, isn't likely to be open anytime soon, I'm sorry. We're a small group of friends that got together to do a thing. That said! We are not opposed to setting up storylines with other people or FCs. So don't hesitate to reach out to me on discord: peterthepenispunchingpenguin
Olim, agricola vixit,
Per multas aetates, honore metebat.
Messem ad calorem familiae noctu,
Per hiemes frigidus et longas, in metu pervagatus.Olim, latrones venerunt,
Frumentum abstulerunt, nomen eius abstulerunt.
Relictus est vacuus, cor fractum,
Manus olim fortes, nunc frangentes.Olim, agricola surrexit,
Quod alii seruerunt, ipse metebat.
Agri sanguinis, non frumenti dulcis,
Messis eius: vindicta pro mortuis.Olim, Imperator conversus est.
Nullus bellum, nullae terrae flammis comburendae.
Agricola, nunc relicta, obsoleta,
Ad corrodendum relicta est, eius pretium nunc amissum.Olim, solus stabat,
Ager patris eius, non iam virens.
Solum et silentium ubi semina quondam iacebant,
Locus desolatus ubi memoriae evanescunt.Olim, agricola fuit,
Nomen eius oblitteratum, a tempore vestitum.
Sed in vento, corvi adhuc clamant,
Et per annos, anima eius volabit.
Once upon a time, there lived a farmer,
For many seasons, he reaped with honor.
Harvests to warm his kin at night,
Through winters cold and long, spent in fright.Once upon a time, the bandits came,
They stole the crop, they stole his name.
Left him hollow, his spirit cracked,
Hands once strong, now broken, slack.Once upon a time, there rose a farmer,
He reaped what others sowed in armor.
Fields of blood, not wheat so sweet,
His harvest: vengeance for the dead to meet.Once upon a time, the Emperor turned.
No war to fight, no lands to burn.
The farmer, now a relic tossed,
Left to rust, his worth now lost.Once upon a time, he stood alone,
His father's field, no green had grown.
Just dust and silence where seeds once lay,
A barren place where memories fade away.Once upon a time, there was a farmer,
His name, erased by time's cruel armor.
But in the wind, the crows still cry,
And through the years, his soul shall fly.