[CENTER][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][B]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A L[/B][/COLOR][h1][color=BDB76B][b]H E L L B L A Z E R[/b][/color][/h1][hr]
[img]https://www.syfy.com/sites/syfy/files/styles/1200x680/public/wire/legacy/matt_ryan_constantine2.jpg[/img][h3][sup][sub][color=BDB76B]J O H N  C O N S T A N T I N E   [color=000000]♦[/color]   O C C U L T  D E T E C T I V E   [color=000000]♦[/color]   C H I C A G O / G O T H A M   [color=000000]♦[/color]   A N T I - H E L L[/color][/sub][/sup][/h3][img]IMAGE/BANNER[/img]
[/CENTER][COLOR=BDB76B][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]
[CENTER][sup][color=000000]"S'just the way of it, son. We all sell our souls sooner or later."[/color][/sup][/CENTER]
[INDENT][INDENT][i]My Constantine is younger, brasher, bolder, but still tormented and scarred, with some aspects edited and shaken up to allow him personal quirks that will serve to mark him as my own interpretation of his character. I also hope to Emphasise more of the 'detective' half of 'Occult Detective', and​ bring back some of John's roots in solving mysteries and crimes in ways as necessary as they are morally gray. Some major events of John's canon history have occurred - the loss of Astra, John's incarceration at Ravenscar - but many more haven't, if indeed they ever will. [/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=BDB76B][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   M O T I V A T I O N S   &   G O A L S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]John Constantine is one of the most morally-gray characters in DC without being a true anti-hero, and it's this unwavering willingness to do nasty things to people who trusted him in the name of the greater good that makes John so compelling. Despite his considerable magical prowess he's a conman first and more often than not uses guile more than force. A man as lonely and traumatised as John has no business being as noble and virtuous as he is - and yet he manages it anyway. And everyone hates him for it. 

Personally I want to dive into the 'Detective' side of 'Occult Detective' and write some real twisty murder mysteries for myself and everyone else to explore and brainstorm about. I'd also like to use John in Crossovers and Crises to build his notoriety and reputation and forge future alliances.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=BDB76B][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   N O T E S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i][hider=Constantine's Apartment]A small one-bedroom apartment with an open-plan kitchen, toilet and separate bath/shower-room, and a sizable living space, located on the upper southwest side of Chicago. While Constantine allowed Chas to aid him in furnishing and decorating, though there are several quirks about his apartment that one would only find if they looked for them; Constantine's table has only one chair, and it always faces north, as does his sofa. There is only one clock, and it is the one found on Constantine's wrist. On further inspection, one can also find carvings of symbols and quasi-letters lining all of the door-frames - symbols that form barriers stronger than the thickest steel against creatures not bound by walls. Constantine's room also bears the symbol of every religion upon its wall, and his bookshelves have volumes of strange names to behold. All in all, Constantine's apartment is, at first glance, a typical small bachelor's place furnished by a man - but a closer look gives a small hint into John's inner life.[/hider]
[hider=Constantine's Office]A triangular corner room on the fifth floor of a shared building in downtown Chicago, Constantine's office is where he takes new clients, updates old ones, and hides from anyone else. It's nondescript, almost to a point - a desk, a filing cabinet, a lazy fan on the ceiling. A small plaque on the door reads 'J. Constantine, Private Detective' with a line below that says 'Occult business and other matters'. No one really mention the first half of the lower line unless they're there about it. While there are no symbols on the walls or pendants in drawers, the inside of the doorframe is, once again, lined with carvings. The only ones getting in to Constantine's office are those with appointments.[/hider]
[hider=Ravenscar Psychiatric Hospital]A large mental health facility in the North of England, Ravenscar has existed in one form or another for hundred of years, and will exist for a hundred more. The 'treatment' used within is questionable and often outdated, and the staff are often negligent or outright cruel. It is not a place of dedicated healing, and most patients do not leave. John Constantine was one of the lucky few - but the fear that his chosen life will lead back to that shadowy building hangs over him eternally.[/hider]
[hider=Constantine's Trenchcoat]A grungy, light-tan trenchcoat that John has owned for many years, and one that he rarely - if ever - ventures out in public without. It's dirty and stained and has all manner of smells beaten into it - chemical, magical, demonic, human - and it conceals an extraordinary amount of pockets and compartment, within which Constantine can store - or hide - as many tools as he may need for his current job. The only constants, in one particular pocket, are a pack of Silk Cut cigarettes, and a simple brass Zippo lighter.[/hider][/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=BDB76B][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]S A M P L E   P O S T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][quote][i]"A dungeon horrible, on all sides round,
As one great furnace flamed, yet from those flames
No light, but darkness visible
Served only to discover sights of woe,[/i]
[center][i]Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace
And rest can never dwell, hope never comes
That comes to all; but torture without end
Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed
With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed:[/i][/center]
[right][i]Such place Eternal Justice had prepared
For those rebellious, here their prison ordained
In utter darkness, and their portion set
As far removed from God and light of Heav'n
As from the centre thrice to th' utmost pole."[/i] 
- John Milton, Paradise Lost.[/right]

[i]"It's not always like it is in the books."[/i]
- John Constantine
[hr]

Fire. Oh god, fire. Licking flames marred the horizon like the ridges of mountains, burning nothing and everything. It seemed to absorb light rather than emanate it, exuding a thick blackness that, nonetheless, still illuminated the twisted landscape in a way that made John feel nauseous. Far below him, pinpricks of agony went on in their suffering, skewered and crushed and lashed, their torture brazen and subtle and unending. Stronger souls put on airs of resistance, stifling their own screams, while in the distance the more wretched spirits simply writhed in dirt and scum, the pain and torment of this place etched into their very being by the eons. Others had been twisted into obscene parodies of Man, a mocking affront to God through the perversion of His most beloved creation. All was curated by devils, convicts of this prison who had made their cells their kingdoms, and overseen by their demonic generals. John conjured their names to mind, each flitting in and out of his consciousness like nymphs through the glen, their eagerness to be known and dreaded imprinted behind his eyes: Mammon, King of Worms and Wealth, eyes searching ever downwards for gold; Belial, the Impure Lord, destroying all that lies before and behind; Moloch, the False Idol, who feasts upon children; Mulciber, Mockery of the Creator, great architect of sorrows and sin; and Beelzebub, Lord of Flies, devourer of carcasses and mouthpiece of Satan. Ah, Satan, the Most Unclean, the Son of Perdition, the Father of Lies, the Dragon, the Beast, the Adversary; Lucifer, King of the Bottomless Pit. A story old as anything, and John had done his research in Ravenscar. He was here - he was always here - but John would escape his gaze for now. 

Somewhere, off in the distance, a light blinked into life among the flames, a burning point of pure white that outshone the oozing darkness of the fire surrounding, piercing through all of Hell's great disgust to focus John's attention completely. He felt himself moving, no longer transfixed by the cavern's horror, and stumbled forwards, legs battling against the mire of dark, sickly discharge that seemed to ebb from the ground itself and coat the earth. His feet were drenched, and as he advanced - somehow passing over the void of agony that lay beneath him, apparently existing on a separate plane - the mire clung to him ever more tightly, climbing past his ankles to lap at his shins, then his knees, each step requiring twice the effort of the one preceding, until John was dragged onto his hands, crawling and dragging his body toward the white light that beckoned him, his journey taking him millenia, but the light never moving, never getting closer, but always reaching out to him, as if to say [i]keep going, John. Keep crawling. Come for me. Just a little bit further...[/i]

He slumped into the mire, the mud overtaking him as exhaustion took hold. The ground enveloped him, swallowed John whole, and he could feel himself suffocating, drowning in the viscous, foul liquid for centuries before he was spat out below, the pinpricks he had looked upon so long ago growing larger and larger as he fell to join them. He craned his neck upwards, hoping for any sign of that light, the beautiful, pure shining star that had goaded him forth. 
There was nothing but inky blackness. 
Not even the flames. 
But still, the voice echoed around him. 

[i]Save me, John. Come for me. Save me. You put me here, John Constantine. You put me here. [b]Save me, John.[/b][/i] 
[h3][i]Save me, John.[/i][/h3]
[h2][i]Save me, John.[/i][/h2]
[h1][i]Save me, John.[/i][/h1]

[h1][b][i]"S A V E   M E   J O H N ."[/i][/b][/h1]
[hr]
[Color=BDB76B]"I CAN'T."[/color] He yelled back, startling himself awake with the forcefulness of his reply. There was a bubble of silence, and then John drew the first ragged, stale breath of the day, and it was broken; the sounds of traffic and the city filtered in through his window, and he could hear the creaking of floorboards above him, the faint sounds of strong, angry words floating down through his ceiling. The sun shone harshly outside, spilling onto his bed, and John threw off his covers, propping himself up as he wiped his face of sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. This was the fourth night of the same dream, and it had always played out the same way. Failure, accusation, and tortured pleading. John sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as shaky hands fumbled around in the drawer of his bedside table to find the lighter and the nearly-empty pack of Silk Cut cigarettes that dwelled within, a fag quickly finding its way to his mouth in one hand as the other flipped the lighter open and lit the wick. He held the flame to the end of the cigarette and drew deeply as it caught alight, drawing the toxic smoke into his lungs and pushing it out in one motion. His heart began to calm itself, though his mind still raced. These were not mere nightmares, imagined illusions of horror born of external stress. These were deeper, more vivid - John would say premonitions were he not a cynic. But a cynic he was, and he was quite content to endure these dreams for as long as they would persist, a subconscious desire to be punished eager to inflict such lucid terror when John's waking mind was not there to suppress his inner demons.

[sup][i]"I am in his kingdom, John."[/i][/sup]
John flinched, ducking sharply as he reacted to the vicious whisper that came from just behind his shoulder. He stood from his bed, cold air stinging his naked torso as the duvet fell from around his shoulders. Smoke from the lit cigarette drifted lazily upwards, ash falling to the ground and pooling around John's feet. The room was empty save for him, but the voice had been so clear and direct that even the deepest cynicism John could muster failed to dispell the belief that something - some[i]one[/i] - had just spoken to him.
[sub][i]"Find the house of Nergal, John."[/i][/sub]

[Color=BDB76B]"[i]Fuck[/i] off."[/color] John said loudly, and then he heard a stomp on his ceiling as the 88-year-old lady above disapproved of his vulgarity. The room was still again, and John poised himself for a third intrusion, carefully sucking on his cigarette as he moved across the bedroom to his closet, fishing out a shirt and a pair of slacks, pulling the trousers over his legs and buttoning his collar as the keen silence of his apartment remained steadfastly [i]un[/i]broken. He didn't want to think about who was talking to him, delivering ominous, cryptic messages and pleading commands. Instead, he pushed his tie up to the top of his collar and walked out of the bedroom, leaving his dreams and spectral visitor behind him. In the kitchen, he stubbed his cigarette out on an ashtray that sat in the center of the small round table and snatched his coat from where it hung on the door, slinging it over his form while his free hand snatched the flask from the inside pocket, feverishly pulling and twisting at the cap before he swung it to his mouth, taking a large gulp. He stowed the flask again, and held a hand out, parallel to the ground. It twitched slightly, and Constantine drew it into a fist until his knuckles were white and his fingers ached with the pressure. Smoke rose from the cracks between his fingers and he opened them, fire bursting from his palm and smoldering painlessly. He watched the flames dance across his skin, lashing at his wrinkles and hopping the callouses at the base of each finger. The voice from his dream echoed in his head as the flames span round and round. [i]The house of Nergal...[/i]

John's cigarette burnt to its last end in the ashtray as the door to his apartment slammed shut behind him, another already lit and hanging from his lips as he took the stairs two at a time down towards the building's lobby. [/quote][/indent][/indent]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/GnnJW8X.png[/img][/center]
[CENTER][COLOR=SLATEGRAY][B]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T   P R O P O S A L[/B][/COLOR][h1][color=8B0000][b]D A R E D E V I L[/b][/color][/h1][hr]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/Iqbe2E5.jpg[/img][h3][sup][sub][color=8B0000]M A T T H E W  M U R D O C K   [color=000000]♦[/color]   A S S I S T A N T  D I S T R I C T  A T T O R N E Y   [color=000000]♦[/color]   H E L L ' S  K I T C H E N   [color=000000]♦[/color]   V I G I L A N T E[/color][/sub][/sup][/h3]
[/CENTER][COLOR=8B0000][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   C O N C E P T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR]
[CENTER][sup][color=000000]"How do you know the Devil and the Angel inside me aren't the same thing?"[/color][/sup][/CENTER]
[INDENT][INDENT][i]This is a Matthew Murdock who, instead of helping bleeding hearts and the unfortunate, still has dreams of being a big city lawyer. He's high profile and works high class cases, directly taking on the mob on  both his civilian guise and during the night when he dons the horns to become Daredevil. It is more important than ever to keep his dual life secret, as he becomes a bright target to the underworld on both sides of the law. He's New York's ADA coming out of Harvard Law, working for DA Katherine Spencer, moonlighting as the Vigilante DareDevil. It's not a Year One DareDevil, but he's still in the midst of his campaign against Kingpin, working to dismantle the crime-lord's empire on both sides of the law. 

This DareDevil is one I've played before but didn't finish his story, and I'd like the opportunity to rectify this error, and push him towards bigger and better things and explore all the twists and turns along the way. [/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=8B0000][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   M O T I V A T I O N S   &   G O A L S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]My Murdock's characterization draws a lot from the Netflix Marvel Series, the very same series that enveloped me in DareDevil's character in the first place. Far from 'Marvel's Batman', DareDevil is a complicated, conflicted individual, with important roles on both sides of his life, and an internal struggle to stay level within himself while doling out his retribution without giving in to his darker impulses. 

My Murdock is entirely obssessed with deposing Wilson 'Kingpin' Fish from his throne at the peak of New York's criminal underworld, and unbeknownst to him, this singular fixation will impart deeper risks and tragedies upon both himself and those he loves, changing everybody's lives irrevocably. It'll be fun.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=8B0000][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]C H A R A C T E R   N O T E S:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][i]Matthew's allies currently include Franklin 'Foggy' Nelson, a close friend and working attorney at a private firm, Karen Page, Katherine's PA, Katherine Spencer, New York's DA, and Elektra Natchios, 
 his long-term romantic partner. Stick, his old mentor, has been out of contact for many years. 

Matthew only has the singular nemesis so far - Kingpin himself - but Fisk's near-universal influence is enough to keep him plenty busy.[/i][/indent][/indent]
[COLOR=8B0000][INDENT][B][SUP][SUB][H3]S A M P L E   P O S T:[/H3][/SUB][/SUP][/B][/INDENT][hr][/COLOR][INDENT][INDENT][quote]The sound of screeching tires and startled screams filled Matt's world with cascading images of pavements, buildings, letterboxes, every noise flowing out from its source and splashing the environment around it. A runaway truck with hazardous cargo barrelled down the street - Matt could hear the driver pumping the failed brakes desperately, could smell the sweat that had flooded out with the outpouring of fear. The horn blared and the noise of it erupted from the front of the vehicle and lit up the road ahead - and then bounced off a frozen figure, paralyzed in fear, waiting for the demise that came screaming towards him. The driver wrenched the steering wheel, the man dived to the side. Truck overturned. Hazardous material blowing its containment. This wasn't right. Matthew watching everything erupt through sound and air pressure. This wasn't right. His father holding his hand, squeezing it tightly as everything unfolded around them. It's okay, Matthew, it's okay. It's not okay, dad. I wasn't blind yet. I can't see. [i]I can't see.[/i] 
"Dad...dad, I can't see. I can't see! Dad! I can't [i]see![/i] DAD!"

Matt woke up with a gasp and the world lit up before fading back out. He lay still, pushing out against the black; the ambient sounds of the city drifted in through his window; the early sun already laying down a thin layer of heat that rested just above the surface of everything, a silken web that only Matthew could sense. The heat emanated further still from Matthew himself - and also the body that lay next to him in bed, a smooth and pleasant curve that traced down her side to where the sheets lay across her waist. Matthew let the sounds of the city paint a picture of his apartment and softly, carefully, sat up and swiveled himself off the bed, feeling the currents his movements created and the alternating air pressures he'd affected. The wood grain floor under his bare feet felt rough and mountainous with the rises and falls that he could map out beneath his toes, and that microscopic moutainrange served to ground Matthew as equally literally as metaphorical. From this floorboard he knew it was 3 steps forward to the bedroom door and the living room beyond it; 2 and a half to the left to get to the bathroom. Behind him was the bed and its second occupant and beyond the bed was a metre-and-a-half of open space with a window facing onto the opposite building. He'd left it slightly open last night after arriving back late, ever-so-carefully sliding in so as not to awake his guest; now, the breeze flowed through the gap in the window, winding around his bedroom and taking the heat from the bodies within, carrying it out into the living room and through the draught in his apartment's front door. Matthew shivered, and told himself it wasn't, in no small part, the lingering dream that had woken him. He stood, and reached out to his right, groping for the small chest of drawers he knew was there; his fingers met the top handle of the drawer and he moved his arm down to find the third, sliding the drawer open to find the soft cotton underwear and vests within. Slipping out of the bedroom quietly, Matthew made his way into the main room and found his shirt and slacks across the back of the sofa, dressing himself quickly as he attempted to shake off the lingering dread from his nightmare. [i]I can't see. Dad, I can't see...[/i]

"Need a hand with that tie, Mr. Murdock?"
The low, husky tones of his lover's voice erupted from the bedroom doorway towards him, the dulcet sounds of her voice spilling out from her and lighting up the room in golden-red waves as they passed silkily over the room and furniture towards him, knocking Matthew out of his memory-filled stupour. He smiled as she walked towards him, and held out the two ends of the tie he had inadvertantly paused with to her, which she gracefully took into her own hands to tie an elegant and professional knot, pausing to do up the top button on his shirt before returning to the tie to tighten it up to the collar. She sighed satisfactorily through her nose and Matthew felt the air hit her top lip and curve towards him; she was smiling too, he knew, by the angle of her breath alone. Her heat moved closer to him and suddenly they were kissing, only for her to pull away just as suddenly and leave her warmth lingering on his lips. She stepped away towards the kitchen and pulled two mugs from the rack beneath the island-counter, filling both from the pot she'd apparently started the evening before. Matt hadn't noticed that.

"Making yourself feel at home, El?" He asked, with a whimsical smirk and an edge of teasing. She drank from her mug, pushing the other one across the countertop towards Matthew as he stepped to join her.
"Oh, you know me, Matthew. I like to be comfortable." She replied. "At the very least, I promise not to disrupt your flow."
"I learned a long time ago how to adapt to...changing circumstances. Just let me know if you create a risk of stubbed toes." He drained his mug. Damn good coffee. "Or I might have to sue you for grievous injury."
"Oh, is that right? Think you'd win that case?"
"I'm blind, El. The jury would love me."
They both chuckled, and the vibrations of the air around her body as she laughed, and then walked around the counter to hug him, forced Matthew to suddenly notice that she was naked, made ever-more abundantly clear as she embraced him tightly. He cleared his throat and felt his own body growing hotter, and even blind he knew his face was red like beetroot. She giggled and pecked him on the cheek before leaving his side to walk back to the bedroom.
"Will you be out all day? I thought we might go for dinner should your trial go well."
"You know how these things can go, El. I have confidence that this is open-and-shut - but defense lawyers are often stubborn bastards." He walked across the main space towards the hallway that led to his front door, finding his blazer hanging on the wall next to his sight-stick as he did so. He could feel her heat pushing towards him from the bedroom as she dressed, and the breeze from the window carried lingering drops of her perfume mixed with her shampoo from yesterday's shower and a natural light sweat from the night, a sweet-and-savoury combination Matthew enjoyed very much. It was all he focused on when she was near. "I'll call you when I can. Will you be alright today?"
"I'll keep myself busy, Matthew. Good luck. I love you."
Matthew smiled, a different kind of heat swelling inside him now. He turned to look at her, and while they both knew he was blind, they were both aware that he saw her in a way no other man ever could. She smiled back.
"I love you too, Elektra. I'll see you tonight."
[/quote][/indent][/indent]
[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/GnnJW8X.png[/img][/center]