"sisters bound by blood, silver, and vengeance.
once you are marked, you are never alone."
THE SCARLET CIRCLE
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ .
HERE YOU WILL FIND ADOPTS CREATED FOR THE COVEN OF BLOODIED WITCHES
Please take a look at the lore/history before applying!
CONTENT WARNING
a mature rated pack with many adult themes including mentions of abuse, misandry, ritualistic and cult-like practices.
Where do they come from?
✦ PINTEREST BOARD ✦
Time Period: Think 17th century fantasy, rooted in old-world Europe. A liminal place caught between plague years and witch trials, where the rot of one era feeds the righteousness of the next. Kingdoms have splintered and monarchs are dying. The churches grows fat on fear and talks of freedom.Languages & Faith:Latin echoes through the cathedrals, sacred and hollow, but the people cry and curse in Spanish, French and English. Most can’t read the prayers they recite, but they know the cost of forgetting a verse. God is everywhere—etched into doorframes, stitched into bodices, branded into flesh without consent. Infants are baptized before they can crawl. Women are taught to bow their heads before they can speak. Men are given stolen power, taught lessons of cruelty and falsehood. Every sin is cataloged. Every act of desire, defiance, or joy is a mark against the soul. Confession is not a release; it is a ritual of control. Heresy isn’t just punished—it is hunted. A whispered doubt, a misplaced herbal tonic, a child born breech, too early or too late—all of these can be spun into signs of wickedness. The holy men walk the streets and town squares, preaching of damnation and purity, and behind them linger smoke and suspicion.Vibes: It is a place of lantern-lit villages and fog-heavy woods near the sea, where the line between the sacred and the profane blurs like choking mist. Cobblestone roads crumble under carriage wheels and horse hoofbeats. Candlelight flickers against stone altars. Crosses hang above every hearth. Rain soaks the earth often and in the summer, it smells of rot and roses. In winter, of ash and prayers, and hungry souls.There are livestock, farmland, markets, hand-bound books, flickering firelight and blood on the church steps. Towns are separated by great stretches of forest. Beyond the borders, few dare to tread. The woods are forever feared—not only for what lives there, but for who might have once fled into them.Market days still come, as they always have. Women sell cloth and honey and hand-bound books beside pigs in slop and bundles of herbs strung up to dry. Gossip coils between the stalls like smoke from roasting meat. Children run barefoot in the streets until the bells ring.
THE BEGINNING
Once, the woods stretched wild between towns, and in those woods gathered women—older women, mostly, cast aside by their families and townsfolk. They were herbalists and midwives, storytellers and spirit-speakers. Some called them witches. Most simply called them auntie. Nana. Mother. Sister.They were never a threat… until the men decided they were.As fear spread like rot through the neighboring towns—of failed crops, of sick children, of barren wives, outspoken daughters—the blame fell as it always does: on women. On those who knew too much. Who lived alone. Who didn’t kneel fast enough when prayers were spoken, who dismayed their husbands one too many times.The burnings, drowning and hunts came swiftly. One town lit the pyres, and the others followed like dogs catching the scent. Old women were dragged from their homes, accused of curses, devils, fleshcraft, adultery and unnamable sins. Some were betrayed by family. Some vanished into the fog, into memories.Few escaped the wrath and slaughter done by men.What came after was not forgiveness. It was not kindness.From the ruin, a new sisterhood formed.A handful of girls, half-feral with grief and fire in their lungs, took to the woods and did not die. They gathered around three broken things: A girl with visions she didn’t understand. A girl with blood on her hands and a betrayal that polluted her heart. A girl who refused to kneel. They were not sisters then. Not yet. Only survivors, girls learning to exist together.But they chose each other. And choice, in a world that offered them none, became their first ritual.They did not call themselves witches. They were not queens. They were not holy. They were women who had been burned and would not be burned again.Together, they stitched a new order in red thread and bone: The High Mother, born of fury, who would one day speak for them all. A woman who gave her blood, her name, her soul to the Circle, and asked others to do the same. The Red Hand, born of violence, who would bleed and be bled in their name. The enforcer, the shield, the blade. Her teeth would never yield. The Silver Hand, born of dreams and soulbinding song. A keeper of rites and renaming, who whispered forgotten truths into the mouths of the willing. She would lead them home.They found others. Some they saved. Some they made. And from these came the first generation of the Circle.Not all the elders burned. A few old ones—the ones who knew better than to wait for salvation—went deeper into the woods and waited. They watched the Circle rise, and they whispered forgotten things back into the mouths of the young. Now, they are called The Council. They are never forgotten and always heard, their place amongst the Circle everlasting.
Unless noted otherwise, all adopts are from before their arrival on Vivarium. Information can be found under "history" and questions can go to Missy/Sweets or Aly.Note: They were human! I’m more than okay with some having had the ability to shift into wolves…. Could be a fun idea!
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For most of these adopts, the character & design will fully belong to you after 50 IC posts.Before 50 posts, and while these are not expected to be your main characters, long-term inactivity may result in a check-in. I'd love a post every 1-2 months, if possible! If not,
just let us know! Communication is key and it's understood that IRL comes first, and muse can fluctuate!Please respect the lore, and if you have any questions—ask! All of these adopts are from before Vivarium, where the women (and men) lives as humans in a seaside town. (there will be a pinterest for vibes soon)To apply, please dm missy/sweets with: a google doc that includes your general idea, a small rp sample and optional moldboard/vibes.Have fun ♡♡♡
Before there was blood on the altar. Before oaths were sealed in salt and ash. Before they even called themselves a Circle—she was there. They were only girls then. Bly. Elswyth. And her. Three shadows slipping through ruins. Three mouths whispering names not found in scripture. The older women still lived then, who taught them how to bleed with purpose and speak to the dark without trembling. It was she who heard them first: the dead, the gods, the world behind the veil.
Once, she spoke freely of futures not yet written—of blood in the streets, of sons who would never grow old, of fires that would devour their prayers. The men called it heresy. They called it madness. They called her dangerous. So they silenced her the only way they knew how. Her eyes were slashed beneath the altar’s shadow, her vision stolen in the name of God. They believed blindness would make her harmless. They were wrong. For even without sight, she saw. Her dreams sharpened, prophecies deepened. The whispers of the world came clearer than ever before. She learned to read the language of bone and breath, the way blood sings when destiny shifts. When the original women found her, broken but unbowed, it was then the Circle would gain its first Oracle before their creation—and its most sacred voice.
She learned to read breath and bone, the way blood sings when fate turns. Dreams came in flashes—sharp, bright, unbearable—and when the Circle began to rise, it was her voice that stitched it together. She named the sisters. She bound the first oaths. She whispered the rites. It was her who crowned Bly in secret before the world even knew there was something to fear.
Now she wears silver veils over empty sockets that still glow in moonlight. She names the sisters, unnames the unworthy and binds oaths in blood and salt. When she speaks, even the High Mother yearns to always listen. The other women call her the Silver Hand, original Oracle. But to Bly and Elswyth, she is something more. The first sister. The sharpest star. The woman one who saw them before they ever saw themselves.
If you have your own idea, DM sweets! Open to everything so long as it fits into their world hisotry! Designs seen here are not mandatory!
THE TWINS
"two souls entwined, stained in blood and grief."
two young girls, strangely in tune with one another. they finish each other’s thoughts, answer for the other without hesitation, and seem to feel what the other feels without words. they were found hiding after their village was overtaken by the church—a place that once honored plant medicine, the wind, and old prayers. their mother was a proud medicine woman and doula, her voice loud with belief until it cost her life. their father had long since abandoned them, never caring or kind for his two odd daughters.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the bloodborn
BLOSSOM
"she bloomed even within all her grief."
a curious girl, she learned the rage of men early on. bubbly, spirited, she was rescued by the circle before she could form sentences.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the bloodborn - will become silver-kissed (sacred blood)
THE HOLLOW QUEEN
"the unseen hand, the whisper in the dark."
a phantom draped in secrets, she sees all and speaks only when it serves her will. cunning and cold, her whispers shape fates, and her silence damns them. betrayal once marked her, but never again.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the hollow eyes
THE FAITHBREAKER
“she broke her god before she broke her sword.”
a fallen paladin. a former holy knight. she was once sent to destroy the circle, a devout sword in the hands of men. she failed, but not because she was weak—but because she saw too clearly. she turned her back on the Church, burned her own sacred book, and gave her sword to the Red Hand. Now, she bleeds for the circle, protects it, kills in its name. she is bitter, disciplined, and slow to trust—but when she does, her loyalty is unshakable.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
bloodsworn
SILK REAPER
"beauty that bites; a soft hand that devours"
a sister so lovely it is almost a cruelty. soft in appearance, sharp in purpose, her beauty is a weapon she wields without mercy. many have mistaken her for delicate, only to find their lips tasting silver, their blood spilled in reverence to the circle. she moves like a whisper, strikes like a ghost, and leaves behind only ruin. to love her is to suffer, to cross her is to die. she does not fight—she seduces, ensnares, and destroys with a touch, a whisper, a well-placed sigh.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the bloodsworn
THE WIDOW
"last witness. the veil keeper. a deathless soul"
a sister who has outlived love, outlived war, outlived herself. she speaks in riddles and half-truths, her words laced with prophecy and poison alike. some say she remembers the first oath ever spoken, others whisper that she is more specter than sister, her soul long given to the circle’s magic. when she speaks, even the high mother listens.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the council
THE MOTHER
“her lullabies will rot your teeth.”
she once cared for a village of children not her own—until the night the river took them. blamed for their downfall, she was chased away by the council of her town, somehow feeling with her life. her voice is soft and sing-song, but something about it makes the hair on your neck rise. she croons to the dying, hushes the broken with sugared curses, and rocks the sick in her lap until they sleep... or don’t wake. children are still drawn to her—as are ghosts and liars. she feeds them all.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the red cloaks
THE VEILMAIDEN
"her hands tremble, her voice quivers but her blood never does, for it sings" ADOPTED
small and quiet, she was always overlooked. she was there when the original sisters were new, barely beginning, present for it all. she was overlooked by the elders, the first women—that is, until her blood shone silver beneath the moonlight. the choosing was not kind—it never is—but she did not run. she knelt and bared wrists, never refusing, even one the circle grew. now, she walks in layered veils and leaves red footprints in her wake. her eyes never quite meet yours. her smile is soft and wrong. but when she speaks, the sisters hush, for her voice is the sound of sacrifice made beautiful. her blood, her mind, body and soul are sacred. she is the silver hands favored.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the silver-kissed
THE SILVER HAND ADOPTED
“She was the first to See. The first to name. The first to call us sister.”
3-4 years. name, detailed history are all up to adopter. some history notes are set in stone. design is not opt.
the silver hand
THE WOUNDTENDER ADOPTED
"crafter and healer of the dark"
a woman of quiet strength, she once bled for love and learned the cost of mercy. gentle hands, yet unyielding, she soothes pain as easily as she inflicts it. she does not raise her voice, does not bare her teeth—her vengeance is slower, patient, a whisper of poison on the tongue. she mends wounds and breaks curses, but those who spurn her kindness soon find their suffering doubled.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the red weavers
THE LAUGHING BLADE
ADOPTED
a seductress? a madwoman? perhaps both. eccentric, a little odd, she finds joy in chaos, in violence, in pain, in the love with her sisters. but never without purpose. Her laughter is a tool—disarming, distracting, deranged. she knows every nerve in the body, every pressure point. she can extract truth through teasing, seduction, or a well-placed knife. it all depends on how she feels that day. the only thing more dangerous than her smile is when it vanishes.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
bloodsworn or hollow eyes
THORNED SAINT ADOPTED
"the martyr of agony."
once a pristine vision of beauty, marred by the scars that lace her face and throat—proof of her devotion. her voice is ruined, a rasping whisper, but she does not need words to command obedience. pain is her altar, suffering her prayer; she was broken once, but now she breaks others. to her, agony is not a punishment—it is a gift. a woman raised on religion, a puppet in the church, she is now free.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the thorns or bloodsworn
THE CARRION GIRL ADOPTED
"She sings to the buzzards."
raised in a town away from the church, where livestock roamed more free than people, she learned young that death is generous. nothing is wasted—not marrow, not hide, not the sound a throat makes when it opens to scream. she walks with bones clacking at her nape, feathers in her fur, and a grin that’s never quite kind. she is fast, clever, cruel when she needs to be, and joyful in her kill. she leaves cleaned ribs and polished skulls at the feet of the Silver Hand, gifts from the forest’s gut. she does not believe in mercy. only use
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the bonewalkers
THE STARVED DOE ADOPTED
"She sings to the buzzards."
soft-spoken, strange-eyed, and slow to strike, but when she does, it’s devastating. she offers water to the dying, holds the hands of hunted things. but she still kills…she always kills. the forest speaks to her in rustles and birdcalls; she listens. she mourns the deer she guts and sings over rabbits before they’re skinned, even feels grief for the men. she weeps, yes—but she never stops. blood is still blood, and the circle must eat.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the bonewalkers
THE DROWNING MAIDEN ADOPTED
she was pulled from the sea, salt still tangled in her lashes, speaking a language not her own. they say she was dead for hours, that her breath returned only after silver blood touched her lips. she remains lost, always missing the ocean, circling the circle’s dreams, unblinking and pale-eyed. willowy and thin, her fur always looks wet, stained by seawater even when no storm has come. often, she speaks in riddles, in poems, in dreams..
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the oracles
moon boy
"the moon opened her eyes upon his birth.
a boy born the night of a full moon, whose mother has since left the circle, her life cut shorter than most. wishes respected, he remains alive only for her - and the blessing of Their moon.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
the shadowborn
a foolish hound, he tests the sisters daily. once a man of the church, he was captured during a visit where he poised as a lost soul.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
scarlet hound
BURNING HOUND ADOPTED
they called him a witch’s brat, set fire to his home, and left him in the ashes. he survived, and while that should’ve been enough, he wanted justice, revenge, more. now he tends the circle’s needs, speaks their names into the winds, and guards the youngest sisters with a strange tenderness that belies the ruin etched across his face.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
scarlet hound
THE UNHOLY PRIEST ADOPTED
once, he was a man of faith. his sermons were beloved—his voice silk-spun and sure beneath the stained glass. he dressed in stolen gold, cloaked in white, lips stained with wine and prayer. his eyes gleamed with righteous cruelty. he preached purity., denounced witches until he watched too many burn. he began to falter and question, and he was cast from grace the moment his mask slipped. he came to the circle starving, raving. on his knees.the high mother did not kill him. she made him clean. now, he sings in a language not his own. he scrubs the stones. he fetches the silver dust. they call him priest still but only when they want to see him flinch. he does not ask for forgiveness, does not dream of it, but sometimes, he weeps until even the sea desires to hold him.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
scarlet hound
MESSENGER BOY ADOPTED
a kind-hearted boy in the wrong place and wrong time, he was a messenger who fell into the silk reapers web and has never found himself free. but he doesn’t seem to mind. Kind, bright and oddly untouched by all the bloodshed, he wanders the Circle’s grounds with jokes and stories, and downcast eyes. many of the sisters have a soft spot for him.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter. design provided is also opt.
scarlet hound
HUNGRY DOG ADOPTED
he bleeds before she lets him
elswyth's favored. a vessel of reminder, breathing proof of grievance, always wounded and never allowed to heal fully. a slave, never anything more, and surprisingly, never anything lessat times, something almost like affection surfaces from the red hand—a pause before the blade, a hand steadied instead of striking. enough to spare his life, nothing more.
age, name, detailed history are all up to adopter (discuss with aly) design provided is also opt.
scarlet hound