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S O N O F S A T A N


D A I M O N H E L S T R O M O C C U L T I N V E S T I G A T O R N E W Y O R K C I T Y I N D E P E N D E N T
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T:


"Bullets? Really? Do you know who I am?"

One day, Victoria Helstrom was whisked into a whirlwind romance beyond her dreams, wooed and seduced by a charismatic, charming gentleman. Their affair was passionate, but inevitably short-lived, and soon Victoria was left alone with infant twins, brother and sister, Daimon and Ana. Life from then on would be difficult, but manageable, and while they had their differences as individuals, the three held firm as a family, taking care of each other and holding love between them.

Then Daimon and Ana turned eighteen, and everything changed. Dark, powerful magic awakened within them both, and their father suddenly reappeared, not having aged a day in the near two-decades since he'd abandoned them, and he returned with momentous news: his human form was a mere illusion, and in truth he was the King of Hell, Satan, The Devil Himself, and he had come to claim Daimon and Ana and grant them their birthright as heirs to the demonic throne. Victoria, for her part, was driven mad, and while Ana - who had dreamed of achieving greatness her entire life - was more than happy to welcome such incredible power, Daimon held nothing but contempt for this presumptuous creature who had invaded his mother's life so many years ago, just to abandon his family and only return to tear it asunder once again. Unlocking his powers of magic and hellfire, Daimon waged considerable battle against his father - eventually, the demon conceded, returning to Hell without Daimon, but with Ana by his side.

In the fallout, Daimon devoted himself to occult investigation, seeking how to strike back at his father and return his sister to Earth, and in the process discovered that his father wasn't Satan at all. Instead, the pool of demons who could have sired him was broad indeed, and whoever his father really was had merely impersonated Satan in a bid to falsely fulfil the prophecy of an Antichrist, who would overthrow the ruler of Hell. Daimon and Ana had merely been pawns in a foolish game of demonic politics, and Daimon cared very little for it.

Now, Daimon works as a freelance investigator, dealing in small personal matters and occult cases, while on the side he continues his research into his true father and the safe return of his sister. Uninterested in his 'birthright' and the machinations of devils, he has little patience for the denizens of Hell who continue to pester him, or indeed anyone in general.

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S:





S A M P L E P O S T:

Daimon was certain, more than anything previously in his still-short life, that turning eighteen wasn't supposed to entail almost any of the things that his eyes currently beheld.

The room in front of him was aflame, the walls painted with an eerie orange glow from the fires that crawled along the floor and up the walls. The blaze was already spilling from the doorframe into the upper-story landing, and soon after the entire house would be alight in an inferno that would claim nearly everything Daimon held dear to his heart; the only thing left unscathed would be Victoria, his devoted mother, but even she would be warped into a shell of the strong, steadfast women he had felt protected by his entire childhood. Within the room - his sister's room, he recalled, distinctly remembering watching the various posters and photos curling up from the corners as the flames licked at the paper.

A dark circle appeared to be burned into the floorboards, and on it stood the twisted, hellish creature that had once masqueraded as Daimon's father, a rippling figure of red flesh and stained bone. Multiple eyes, mismatched and strewn across a misshapen face that was more of beast than of man, narrowed in seething rage against his erstwhile heir. In one clawed hand the fiend held Ana, Daimon's sister, clothes scorched and face stained with tears and smoke, hanging limp in the devil's clutches.

Daimon's chest burned bright with a newly-branded pentagram, and he moved his hand to scoop out another gout of fire and heft it in his hand; the weight felt good, and the heat was a pleasant warmth against his palm, despite the warped air he could see emanating around it. He looked at his once-father; he looked at Ana, unconscious and injured; he thought of his mother, catatonic on the street. The flame ignited a brilliant blue, and he hurled the blast at the demon full-force.

This was the last thing Daimon could remember of that fateful night - the fire, his mother, Ana, all struck low by the catastrophe wreaked by an infernal devil; a devil whom, mere hours previous, had posed as their father, attempting to woo them away from their home. He had promised power, wealth, longevity, but when Daimon and Ana had protested - had put to him his failure as a father - had decried his apathetic abandonment of them and their mother - he had determined that he would take by force what they would not submit to him willingly. In the end, his father's return only served to tear asunder completely what Daimon had managed to repair in the nearly two decades since his departure: his family.

Daimon worked freelance now, his mother institutionalized, his sister abducted, no structure or alliances left to depend on. He survived, many a dark night spent pondering why - but the answer was always the same: in search of his father. In search of his sister. In search of revenge.

P O S T C A T A L O G:

This section is not necessary, but a procedural listing of your linked posts will make it much easier and more convenient for all involved.
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J O H N C O N S T A N T I N E
J O H N C O N S T A N T I N E

"S'just the way of it. We all sell our souls sooner or later."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
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C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
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John Thomas Constantine
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Caucasian | Unemployed
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London | Greater London Area | England

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
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P O S T C A T A L O G
P O S T C A T A L O G
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C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
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May 10th, 2004. Mary-Anne Constantine, struggling with a strenuous labour compounded by complications from a previous abortion, passes away while giving birth to John Constantine and his stillborn twin brother. Thomas Constantine, father and suddenly widower, would not forgive the mewling infant for the death of his wife, or the stillbirth of his other son. John would not come to understand this animosity from his only remaining guardian for twelve years; but his older sister, Cheryl Constantine, would pick up on it the same night that Thomas returned home with John. She would spend her days from that point forwards protecting John from the father that had spurned him, pouring into him the love he was otherwise denied.

By the time of his teen years, the bond between Cheryl and John had created an impenetrable barrier against Thomas' drunkenly-hurled abuse and persecution, and was only stronger for the addition of Gary Lester and Francis Kramer to their cabal of found-family. The four of them formed a strong union of friendship, each guarded and guided by the others. They would pursue their interests both independently and as a unit, exploring the new and old of the world around them. The darker aspects of art would become the glue that cemented them together, a deep interest in Punk and Emo, as well as Horror and the Occult, binding them with a common pursuit. Cheryl, oldest of the group, would often guide the four in practice rituals and pretend spells, filling the younger boys' minds with fantasies of weaved magic and sorcery that would fix their fragmented lives and grant them all their teenaged minds could dare to imagine.

When John was seventeen, he would participate in another such ritual lead by Cheryl, one she treated with hitherto unknown gravitas. This one was different, they could all feel it; Cheryl radiated a solemnity that was undeniable, bringing promises of magical power and great fortune that the four boys were compelled to believe in.

The ritual was no fantasy - no pig-english nonsense garbled for cheap thrills, words catching in throats from schoolboy fright - no pound-shop tealights, extinguished accidentally when you waved your arm too enthusiastically. This was the real deal: components scavenged and crafted, specific chants and intonations to be uttered at specific intervals. Words and runes were drawn carefully, positions selected with forethought, and when the hour finally came, all was conjured as it was meant to be - but what the ritual achieved was not what Cheryl had been lead to believe.

Unbeknownst to Cheryl, John, Thomas, or even the departed Mary-Anne, the Constantine's bloodline was one of powerful magic and a specific title passed down through ancestry from one Constantine to the next: the Laughing Magician, a wizard unlike any other, who bent the world to their will through the secret power of synchronicity. It was John's stillborn twin, Jacob, that had been the next to inherit this power - but with Jacob's death, powerful wheels had been set it motion to re-right this broken prophecy. Cheryl's previous rituals had been no mere games - they were in fact practice runs, as Cheryl had secretly uncovered her own witchcraft, granted through her bloodline. The ancestral ghosts of Constantine mages had felt this, and spun lies around Cheryl, tricking her into casting a very special spell.

The ritual, rather than granting power and fortune, instead opened a terrible gateway to the Astral Plane, through which flooded the warped spirits of long-dead Laughing Magicians. They tormented the attendees, lashing them with psychological scars, and abducted Cheryl wholly into their ethereal, limbo-like plane. When the tear closed, Cheryl was gone, and John was left only with the memory of her screaming, pleading face, surrounded by hundred of hideous spectres.

Each in attendance left traumatised, and each experienced their own fallout. Gary turned to drink and drugs, pushing his mind into oblivion rather than live with the memories. Francis fled to London, reinventing himself as 'Chas', a man who'd never experienced such terror. John, for his part, found his psyche fracturing completely, reeling from the loss of Cheryl, and ended up committed and incarcerated at Ravenscar Asylum.

Now, two years later and only nineteen years old, John has been remanded from Ravenscar to a temporary residency in a halfway-house for recent releases. Cheryl is still gone, and John remains haunted by her absence; his father refuses to reveal his whereabouts to his only remaining family; and his only friends have scattered to the winds in the intervening years. When fresh hauntings from John's past begin tormenting him anew will he lose what little fragile mind he has left? Or strive to finally put old ghosts to rest?

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
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With this John, I'm looking to revise and tighten up a previous origin-story rewrite that paints John a little younger, a little less knowledgeable, but ultimately just as traumatised and, more importantly, cunning. The well-known initial incident with Nergal and Astra - John's defining failue in canon - has been replaced with a more personal catastrophe, tearing apart John's mind as well as the only family he had. With Cheryl abducted to the aether and his friends cast to the wind, John is left to pick up the pieces of his life and find his way back to a sense of normalcy - though of course, Constantine's 'normal' is far removed from your average, everyday 'normal'.

With this John and his story, I want to retell how the 'Laughing Magician' won his noteriety in a way that makes this interpretation of the character identifiably 'mine', and from there, build on that foundation to expand his adventures and establish my John in a wider alternative DC 'canon'.

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C A T W O M A N
C A T W O M A N

"Life's a bitch and so am I!"
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
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C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
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Kitrina Elena Falcone
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Italian American | Thief
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Gotham City | New Jersey | United States of America

C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
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P O S T C A T A L O G
P O S T C A T A L O G
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C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
C H A R A C T E R C O N C E P T
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Kitrina is the illegitimate daughter of Alberto Falcone and his illicit lover, Anna de Luca. With her father already the un-favourite of the Falcone children, Alberto being discovered as the Holiday Killer in the year of the Long Halloween did Kitrina no favours, and Carmine's murder - the severing of the last piece of goodwill toward her - sealed her fate. From then on, with her father incarcerated and her grandfather dead, Kitrina was left in the 'care' of Mario Falcone, her uncle, who partially blamed Alberto for Carmine's death, and was more than happy to unload this blame onto Kitrina by proxy.

When, in the aftermath, the efforts of Batman and Jim Gordan finally dealt a mortal blow to the Falcone Crime Empire, and Mario and Kitrina were reduced to living in the Narrows - trying desperately to claw back Falcone assets that were being steadily liquidated - the situation only got worse; until eventually, Kitrina has become embittered, numb, and angry enough to try something stupid in a last-ditch effort to earn back some respect and some much-needed cash and maybe, just maybe, something daring enough to start bringing the Falcone name back into notoriety in Gotham.

That "something stupid and/or daring" is a heist on Wayne Industries. Bruce Wayne, magnanimous philanthropist playboy as he was, was well-known for Wayne Industry's outreach programme, that guaranteed stable employment and life coaching for less-fortunate Gotham residents. Kitrina is by no means unintelligent, and applied under the pseudonym 'Holly Robinson', getting a position rather quickly and using her time within the company plotting and scoping.

Hoping to find something within the belly of Wayne Industries that she can use as blackmail for the board, Kitrina/Holly has everything planned out to propel her out of Mario's vengeful clutches, and secure the Falcone name once again as a force of nature within Gotham, reclaiming her birth-right and landing her back in the luxurious life she deserves.

P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
P L O T ( S ) & G O A L ( S )
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With Kitrina I want to meld the characters of Kitrina Falcone, the spurned mafia heiress, and Holly Robinson, the street-urchin morality-chain to Selina Kyle, as well as explore the idea of the legacy character and the inheriting of titles. With an older Bruce, a retired Selina, and all kinds of Bat-babies running around Gotham, I'm looking forward to establishing a new Catwoman, taking influence from Selina's character as Kitrina/Holly's mentor, but also spinning a well-known anti-villain in a new direction.

Kitty Gets Her Claws
The research has been done, the plan has been made, and the time has come for Kitrina's heist on Waynetech to finally happen. What she seeks and what she finds are completely different things, but Kitrina will find her hard-won quarry will push her in a career direction she never could have imagined, and rubbing shoulders with persons she otherwise would have never met.

...But Satisfaction Brought Her Back
Under the tutelage of ex-Catwoman Selina Kyle, Kitrina Falcone has become quite the successful thief; however, when Sofia Falcone, surviving daughter of The Roman, catches wind of Kitrina's new money, she sees it as an opportunity to start rebuilding the Falcone Empire. Which Kitrina would have no issue with, provided her dear auntie knows how to show respect to the new generation of mafia in Gotham.

A Nice Big Ball of Yarn
Kick-starting a mafia empire is no easy task, especially in Gotham, where fierce competition hounds you at every corner. One specific player in the Gotham underworld has welcomed a return to a more traditional mob format, but he's set his beady eyes on Kitrina's budding empire, working backstage for the perfect moment to steal the limelight from the new Falcone boss. In time however, it will be revealed who's really pulling who's strings...

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L U C E C A L D E R
L U C E C A L D E R
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"Whatever doesn't kill you..."
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▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅
▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅


▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅
▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅

Lucille 'Luce' Amanda Calder
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January 27th, 2005 | 18 | Caucasian
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Single | Female | Asexual
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Houston | British Columbia | Canada

P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S
M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅▅▅▅▅▅

N O T E S
N O T E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅


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S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S
S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

A Canada Native, Lucille hails from Houston BC, a small mining and forestry town which sees an influx of ecotourism throughout the year. Growing up the youngest child to a single mother of 3, she had few prospects afforded to her; she didn't fare well in school, her brothers were ambivalent to her social failings, and her mother, though meaning well, was simply too overworked and exhausted to properly parent her only daughter. It looked like, unless fate graced her with some great serendipitous incident, she would grow, live, and die in Houston BC. It would seem, then, that fate is in possession of a cruel sense of humour.

Fate did indeed visit upon Lucille, but it brought with it calamity, not providence. On a family camping trip - the cheapest way their mother could provide a 'vacation' for the kids - a particularly stormy night brought disaster upon them. Weakened trees from small wildfires finally gave way beneath the force of the storm, and came crashing down directly on their tents.

Lucille's brothers were both killed immediately, crushed and speared. Her mother was trapped, both legs broken and pinned beneath a tree. Only Luce was free, but she by no means emerged unscathed; she had escaped being utterly pulverized by the tree-trunk, but errant branches had gored her through, puncturing a lung, her stomach, and unknown to Lucille, her heart; yet she felt no pain, her movement was barely hindered, and she continued to breath and pump blood and walk without severe issue all the way back into town and to the fire station. Her journey allowed emergency workers to mobilize and save her mother - but in the aftermath, it also revealed to Luce and the town that she was far from the normal, unassuming girl she had resigned herself to being. She was a hype, and such a designation came with its own connotations and assumptions.

Lucile struggled with survivor's guilt and agoraphobia following her incident, and her mother struggled with losing her sons and receiving only a controversial discovery about her daughter in return. Eventually, it was agreed that the resources she needed were not available to her in Houston; the only place for her was P.R.C.U., and she found herself quickly enrolled and awaiting the ferry in St. Rupert.
A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S
A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || H Y P E R - A D A P T I V E S U R V I V A B I L I T Y
__PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION || ESOTERIC
__SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION || DYNAMIC

Lucille's hype-gene has mutated specifically alongside her immune system and fight-or-flight response. When presented with physical trauma or sudden terror, before adrenaline floods her blood supply, a unique secondary hormone produced by her hype-gene is secreted from her adrenal glands. This hormone first blocks the receptors at her nerve endings, completely shutting down the nervous system pain response and instead replacing any incoming trauma signals with a direct signal to the endocrine system to produce further and further adrenaline. Then, mutated hype-adrenaline bonds with her muscles and completely replaces the aerobic/anaerobic respiration function, eliminating lactic acid build-up and allowing indefinite function without exhaustion. Finally, the bonded hype-gene hormone and mutated adrenaline flood her skull cavity, pass through the pia mater into the blood vessels of the brain, and signal the activation of an extremely intense, subconscious form of auto-bio-kinesis. This bio-kinesis allows Lucille's lower-level brain functions to take over the immune system response, and enable the rewiring of muscles, organs, blood supply systems, and bones on-the-fly to adapt to endure any and all incoming trauma without ceasing overall bodily function.

Once trauma has ceased or the threat has been escaped, the hormone stops signalling, and the mutated adrenaline floods the immune system entirely. The body then expedites the recovery of injury, drawing adrenaline from its various appendages and organs in order to facilitate quickened recovery while allowing maximum up-time of the unconscious bio-kinesis to aid natural physical recovery - and finally, the adrenaline is purged from the brain entirely, shutting off the bio-kinesis and being disseminated as the final healing 'booster'.

All these processes combined result in Luce being able to sustain intense physical trauma well above and beyond what would be typically fatal for a human, without feeling pain, losing motor or organ function, or slowing or shutting down - and then being able to recover from the trauma to full-functioning capacity at an increased rate after-the-fact.

L I M I T A T I O N S || AMPUTATION, INCINERATION, IMMOBILIZATION

While Lucille's ability makes her incredibly difficult to permanently put down, there are limits to the damage she is able to repair. Amputation of any limb will require surgical intervention to reattach; Luce is not able to re-grow missing limbs or hold it in place and heal the separation. Complete incineration of flesh also stymies the healing process. Finally, while Lucille is able to survive catastrophic amounts of physical trauma, she is afforded very little additional strength, and methods to incarcerate or immobilize most people will work just as well on her.

In short, while Luce can survive with extreme aptitude, amputation, cremation, or incarceration are effective ways to eliminate her from any active situation, or kill her completely.

W E A K N E S S E S || YOU SHOULD HAVE GONE FOR THE HEAD (OR MY EMOTIONAL BAGGAGE)

Lucille's ability to adapt and survive hinges on the mutated hype-gene hormone and adrenaline combination reaching her brain and activating her latent bio-kinetic powers. This bio-kinesis is then run subconsciously without active control by Lucille. Without the brain, there is no bio-kinesis - so a sure-fire way to kill Luce is to remove the head, or destroy the brain.

Additionally, while Lucille is almost purpose-built to weather injury, her power does little against mental trauma, as evidenced by the lasting emotional scars from her fateful camping trip. She possesses a heavy fear of forests and woodland, especially densely-treed areas, and suffers from agoraphobia, worsening as she leaves urban and city developments. She's also shouldering an unhealthy amount of remorse and self-blame alongside the grief for her brothers, born from survivor's guilt and her mother's difficulties with her after the incident.

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P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T, W H A T W O K E Y O U?

Luce shifted uncomfortably in her seat, crossed arms seeming to constrict tighter across her chest and her fists gripping tight enough to turn her knuckles white. She looked straight down, avoiding the gaze of her therapist, Dr Gila Mercia.
"Nightmare." She finally offered, after several seconds of silence indicated that she wasn't going to escape without answering.
"Of course; nightmares have a way of surfacing those things we're often using sleep to avoid." Dr. Mercia replied, marking something down on the notepad in front of her. "And what is this nightmare about?"
Luce looked even more uncomfortable, and her eyes started darting around the room, looking for anything to distract or divert, anywhere but the patient, staring eyes of her doctor.
"Lucille, if you don't talk to me, none of this is going to work."
"Forest." She answered, very quickly. "Always the forest."
Gila nodded, and made some more notes.

A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P, H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?

Lucille shook her head, her hair juddering side-to-side as she shook in short, sharp motions. Dr. Mercia watched her carefully, no hint of judgement or unkindness in her eyes. Luce eventually stopped, and then there was a tangible moment of consideration and dawning realization.
"Help. Have to help." Luce answered, with a grounded assurance that was rare to hear from her.
"Have to help?" Gila prodded, making a quick note on the paper. "Why have to, Lucille? Why do you feel obligated?"
Luce nodded slowly, clearing her throat and taking even, measured breaths.
"I was a disheveled stranger. I needed help. Can't turn someone else away."
Dr. Mercia put her pen down momentarily, smiling at Luce over the rim of her glasses. Luce managed eye contact.
"Very good, Lucille. That's a very noble perspective."

A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S, H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?

"I guess...follow the instructions?" Luce offered, uncertain tones marking the edges of her voice. She was struggling to handle the concept emotionally, even the mere idea of an incident on-campus troubling her. P.R.C.U. was meant to be a sanctuary, a safe haven where she could learn and heal - the thought of that safety being shattered loomed over her and cast deep shadows across her mind.
"I can sense you're finding the idea distressing, Lucille. What specifically about the situation upsets you?"
"This school is supposed to be safe." Luce answered, with a good amount of venom behind it. Remorse flashed across her face immediately. Gila gave a small smile of forgiveness.
"We all have a part to play in preserving that safety, Lucille." She said, gently. "And you're better equipped than most to weather danger when it arises."
Luce took a deep breath, steadying herself and forcing her turbulent mind to be quiet.
"You're right." She said, with convincing finality. "I'd help. I'd do whatever I can to help."

S U P P O R T I N G C A S T
S U P P O R T I N G C A S T ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
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"Accepting you need help is the first step to healing."
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D R . G I L A M E R C I A , P h D || P S Y C H I A T R I C T H E R A P I S T
D R . G I L A M E R C I A , P h D || P S Y C H I A T R I C T H E R A P I S T
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Lucille's therapist, Dr. Gila Mercia holds a doctorate in Psychology from the University of Toronto, and now works at P.R.C.U. in a combination research and therapeutic role. She acts as a weekly psychiatrist with many of the college's troubled students, and also leads research into the psychology of hyper-humans and how the manifestation of abilities in adolescence impacts psychological development. A patient, compassionate woman, she is committed to the health of her patients, and Luce is no exception.








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haunted house from the perspective of the house

ex-owner fell fell in love with the house and ended up murder-suiciding spouse to be with house
became ghost haunting the house
uses a pipe
not happy new people have moved into house

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Roman Grumpy Toad, King of Dirt

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Guy has a really mundane boring corporate grind existence
Getting progressively more and more sick of it, spiralling
Some manner of transformation or physical metamorphosis begins to occur to him.

Everyday, Jacob goes to work
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh it’s just one of those days…”
And everyday he wonders what is happening to him.
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H E M L O C K E F R E Y
H E M L O C K E F R E Y

"Here, there, and everywhere."
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
C H A R A C T E R P O R T R A I T
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C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
C H A R A C T E R S U M M A R Y
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Hemlocke Valentine Frey
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November 11th, 1811 | 212 | Caucasian
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Single | | Heterosexual
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New Orleans | Louisiana | USA

P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
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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
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
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C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
C H A R A C T E R N O T E S
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C H A R A C T E R S Y N O P S I S
C H A R A C T E R S Y N O P S I S
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Hemlocke, even before the incident that would come to define his life, was something of an unusual child by the circumstances of his birth; first child to a notorious and long-lived Hexenbrut couple, he was born decidedly non-magical, despite the arcane blood coursing through his veins; this would have fine to both parents, had either had the proper opportunity to discover this as he grew. However, the warring factions of the magical underworld were catching up with them, and after only a single year of life, hard-won domestic peace was shattered for Hemlocke's family.

A Jäger had hunted them down, coming to the end of a long-fought chase after Hemlocke's parents for some bygone and forgotten sin; the family was ill-prepared for such a foe, and all three were struck down swiftly by the Jäger's Spirit Sword, cast from the mortal plane and banished back to Limbo, the spirit world threaded beneath ours. Hemlocke's parents, Hexenbrut true and thoroughly, were scattered across Limbo utterly, never to return; but Hemlocke, young and lively and of Hexenbrut blood but not Hexenbrut nature, was simply a baby on the ashen floors of Limbo, an unwanted beacon of warmth and life that Limbo rejected by its very essence. And so, Limbo began to do what it did to all living mortal things that found their unfortunate way into its bosom - it began to eat.

Time and space have an unusual relationship with Limbo, and while the infant Hemlocke spent days in Limbo, his life essence siphoned off a little more every hour, it was mere minutes on the mortal plane before the reverberations of the Jäger's wrath were felt across the fabric of magic, Magni everywhere feeling the ripples of the banishment. Across the country, Draoi and Hellions alike were drawn to the tear between planes, dipping their hands into the fray and gorging on the magic that held it open; it was only a handful of hours before a particularly brazen Draoi reached into the heart of the rip and found Hemlocke on the other side, pulling him out - a baby boy, now quite literally half-dead.

The Draoi, one of a clan, took well to his newfound charge. Not only was Hemlocke a unique child, full of potential and an unwitting keeper of many secrets - secrets Draoi are drawn to by nature - but he was intelligent, quick-witted, a fast learner and in possession of unique qualities. His parents never identified, the clan adopted him as their own, and raised the child with curiosity and a welcoming arm. As Hemlocke grew, he learned to wield his abilities, and began to dip back into Limbo in early expeditions for his parents, or clues about the Jäger that had banished them.

Eventually, these expeditions grew perilous, for both Hemlocke and his Draoi family; not only did Limbo continue to reject the living half of Hemlocke, seeking to claim him completely on every new journey into its depths, but his voyages left behind shredded threads of the veil between Earth and Limbo, and these holes began to attract Hellions and Magni of all variety and disposition, and soon enough his family grew tired of the constant need for movement, relocation, and fending off of foes who felt bold enough to assault a full clan of Draoi. Adolescent but wise beyond his years, and well-versed with the world and its rivers, Hemlocke did the only thing he could do; he bid heavy farewells to his found-family, and continued his odyssey alone.

Over a century later, Hemlocke - 'Locke', to those who ask - has witnessed every aspect of the human condition and trekked across the entirety of the western continent, through cities and wildland, across war-torn trenches and country borders, forging his way through life, putting to rest those loudest of the restless dead, and ever-seeking his parents and the near-mythical Jäger that rent them from the life they had worked so hard to put together. Still yearning for closure on his lost-life in any regard, he makes a living drifting through the lives of others, selling their secrets back to them, and moving on before the world - catching up and ever-changing - has a chance to label him as something he either is or isn't, and do him harm accordingly.

A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S
A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S
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S U P E R N A T U R A L A B I L I T Y || SPIRIT WALKER

Thanks to Hemlocke's inadvertent foray into Limbo as a mere babe, his souls have been forever tainted by unnatural death, the result of a living, non-native being having their raw mortality eroded by a realm it did not belong in. He came out quite literally half-dead, and due to the portion of him that was claimed by Limbo during his stay as an infant, he exists in the planes of the living and the dead simultaneously, belonging in neither, prevailing in both.

Because of this, he acts as something of a medium, inconsistently able to hear and converse with the dead who have yet to pass on, though often this is dependent on the volume of the spirit itself; those with serious trauma or heavy unfinished business are louder and wilder than those who are merely meek or unwilling to pass on.

Hemlocke can also deep-dive into Limbo completely, able to use its peculiar nature with time to travel across the mortal plane with leaps and bounds in mere seconds, as well as forge a direct connection to spirits, hellions, and Hexenbrut that reside there, far stronger and clearer than what he can hear on the living side of the veil.

Finally, his particular nature has given way to a natural talent for exorcism, as he exists as something of a walking bridge between Earth and Limbo; he has been able to 'help', with varying amounts of willingness from the traveling party, many a being cross from life to death to be returned where they belonged. Hemlocke has theorized that the return journey may very well be possible - but he is uncertain if it can be done, and even less confident that it should be done.

L I M I T A T I O N S || T B D

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vivamus at mi mi. In imperdiet porta dolor, at fermentum nulla commodo eu. Suspendisse volutpat et ex tempor suscipit. Nullam tincidunt at nunc vel auctor. Donec venenatis, nisl nec fringilla varius, massa quam porttitor turpis, sed bibendum purus sem id risus. Nullam scelerisque lectus eget diam gravida malesuada. Maecenas consectetur est ac sollicitudin congue. Maecenas interdum erat dignissim lectus sodales, nec ultrices neque egestas. Integer convallis lacus at consequat volutpat.

W E A K N E S S E S || T B D

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vivamus at mi mi. In imperdiet porta dolor, at fermentum nulla commodo eu. Suspendisse volutpat et ex tempor suscipit. Nullam tincidunt at nunc vel auctor. Donec venenatis, nisl nec fringilla varius, massa quam porttitor turpis, sed bibendum purus sem id risus. Nullam scelerisque lectus eget diam gravida malesuada. Maecenas consectetur est ac sollicitudin congue. Maecenas interdum erat dignissim lectus sodales, nec ultrices neque egestas. Integer convallis lacus at consequat volutpat.
R E L A T I O N S H I P S
R E L A T I O N S H I P S
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G I V E N N A M E S U R N A M E

Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vivamus at mi mi. In imperdiet porta dolor, at fermentum nulla commodo eu. Suspendisse volutpat et ex tempor suscipit. Nullam tincidunt at nunc vel auctor. Donec venenatis, nisl nec fringilla varius, massa quam porttitor turpis, sed bibendum purus sem id risus. Nullam scelerisque lectus eget diam gravida malesuada. Maecenas consectetur est ac sollicitudin congue. Maecenas interdum erat dignissim lectus sodales, nec ultrices neque egestas. Integer convallis lacus at consequat volutpat.

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Roman Grumpy Toad, King of Dirt

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In a world where a cataclysmic event has destroyed the ability for people to route between major settlements without getting lost, ending up where they came from, or being utterly desecrated in mind and body, a select caste of people - ‘Navigators’ - have become the only remaining links between pockets of civilisation, able to depart from one city and arrive at another, completing the journey to their intended destination.

A select few of the select few have been able to charter their journeys and make rudimentary maps - ‘Cartography’ has become a type of pseudo-magic skill, the maps making travel possible for non-Navigators perhaps once or twice before the map loses its efficacy; but there are rumours of an Atlas, a definitive map, permanently effective that would allow humanity to guide itself across the globe once more.
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Cult of those who have gone out without Navigation and gone mad/been twisted physically, 'The Wayward'? Follow the tenets of the cult leader, a single man, 'The Lost Child'? or should it be 'The Lost Children/Disciples' lead by 'The Wayward Man' or just 'The Wayward' or something similar?

In any case they're the main threat (along with terrestrial beasties who've gone a bit strange in the wilds) when Navigating. They think being 'lost' is a good thing and think the cities should come down so everyone can be 'Lost' and live among the wilds again.

This is because the main leader is actually the one who CAUSED the cataclysm? He was mapping out beyond Earth and realized there are alien races/cosmic creatures/celestial beings waiting for Humanity to leave Earth/become space-faring in order to prey on them/enslave them/etc. 'The Monsters In The Dark'? the 'dark' being space. something that the cult talk about a lot, but is dismissed either as insane rambling, or mistaken for being self-referential?

By causing the cataclysm humanity would be cut off from itself but also the things waiting beyond Earth, and therefore safe.
Finding the Atlas will not only re-map the Earth for Humanity, but also map the stars and the solar system and lead Humanity on an inexorable journey beyond the planet - and towards the things waiting there for them.
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Roman Grumpy Toad, King of Dirt

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look stop fucking around, finish this:
roleplayerguild.com/posts/5407558

and this:
roleplayerguild.com/posts/5331852

and put them together, and then come up with a plot.
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Roman Grumpy Toad, King of Dirt

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Hidden 8 mos ago 8 mos ago Post by Roman
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V O R P A L

F R E D E R I C K ' F R I T Z ' J A C K O N N O V E M B E R 2 1 ( 1 7 ) M A L E
"I cut my losses a long time ago."

▼ A P P E A R A N C E:

"Cut from a different cloth."
//STATS:
◼ HEIGHT | 5' 8"

◼ WEIGHT | 130lbs

◼ BUILD | Skinny

◼ HAIR COLOR | Dark brown.

◼ EYE COLOR | Gray and dark.

◼ OTHER | Multiple tattoos scattered across his body, none professionally done - mostly stick'n'poke jobs in community kitchens or on street corners. Some scarring, slashes from accidents while experimenting with his abilities, but patchy burns too from fires, cigarettes, etc.

//DESCRIPTION:
Undeniably, and even uncomfortably, Fritz looks rough for his age; he's been forced, through abuse and his own retreat from the social system, to mature ahead of his time. Rough living combined with less food than a growing body needs, but more cigarettes and alcohol than a growing body should get, makes him look haggard despite his young age, and while he miraculously retains youthful vitality, he's still marked by scars, burns, and stick'n'poke tattoos from his time on the streets, and his eyes speak of years he shouldn't have lived yet. His hair is cut pragmatically short by himself (it's difficult to maintain a salon hairstyle living rough, and long hair is a disadvantage in fights) and his clothes are hand-me-downs, found-threads, and the occasional better-quality garment, inevitably stolen.

▼ B I O G R A P H Y:

"Let's cut to the chase."
Fritz' parents were young, naive, broke, and immature, and yet still thought they could raise a child on good intentions and perseverance. They were wrong. Fritz was a tricky child, fierce, bold, and ultimately unsuited to the docile, easily-malleable role of a walking talking dress-up-doll his mother and father had hoped he'd be. Eventually, unable to cope, they gave him up to the state, hoping he'd find better care with a foster family who were more equipped to handle the turmoil of parenting. Again, they were wrong. Bouncing through the system, in and out of care homes and foster families, enduring scattered abuse both physical and emotional in the process, eventually molded an already precocious child into a ferocious one, convinced he was innately unwanted, plagued by abandonment disorder, and maturing before his time into the kind of independence and self-reliance born only from neglect. He struck out of the social system entirely and onto the streets in his early teens and, never having a stable home foundation in the first place, never looked back.

His time on the streets helped him develop his already volatile psyche, and when his powers awakened he was only pushed further over that edge. A spree ensued: starting slow with non-violent mugging and burglary, it quickly escalated to assault, armed robbery, culminating in an attack that, pending the results of the victim's coma, could stick at GBH or escalate to manslaughter.

The law caught up with him rapidly, and disarmed, the young teen was of little threat to trained officers. Aegis found him in the holding cells, and in their campaign took on his legal battle. Looking at being tried as an adult, despite his age, Aegis somehow convinced the judge and state defense that the boy should be given one final chance at the Metahuman Rehabilitation Centre; they would provide the stable home and nurturing foundation Fritz had never had the chance to know, and give him the opportunity to harness his natural cleverness and well-earned street-smart cunning for the betterment of himself and his fellow man, Metahuman or otherwise.

Fritz didn't really see that he had much of choice.

▼ M O T I V A T I O N / O B J E C T I V E:

"Cut the crap."
Fritz is content to play along with Aegis' rules and the court terms of his inpatient stay at the Centre, seeing it as an opportunity to hone his abilities and observe the workings of the organization, assured that he'll be able to discern something of value for use in the outside world. However he is naturally distrustful of authority figures, and quietly convinced that Aegis too will inevitably abandon their promise and palm Fritz off to somewhere else. He's braced himself mentally for when that happens, and very ready to return to the streets. It is, to Fritz, simply a matter of time.

▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:

"The world's pretty cut-throat."
//ABILITIES:
◼ Aichmokinesis | The control over, and manipulation of, sharp edges and piercing points.

Fritz passively hones the sharpness of any held cutting or piercing implement to the absolute limit of its potential, but can also focus to take it beyond that, eventually producing a blade that can effortlessly cut down to the molecular level, cleaving cleanly through even rock and steel.

Alternatively, he can extend the cutting edge beyond the end of the blade, ultimately wielding a kitchen knife like a claymore.

//SKILLS:
◼ CQC, Survival, Street-Smarts | Naturally, Fritz has taught himself to be quick with a blade and how to properly handle all manner of knives. He's also well-versed in survival skills and how best to approach people to get what you want. He has no aversion to denting his pride or spending some dignity if it will further his goals, and his time in the streets (and accidents in his own power experimentation) has left him comfortable with physically-repulsive situations and first aid.

//LIMITATIONS:
◼ Conduits Not Included | Fritz requires an item with a cutting or pre-sharp edge in order to hone it; a knife, a saw, a needle, some bolt cutters, even a page of paper. If it has the ability to cut, slice, or pierce, Fritz can enhance it - but he can't turn a flat piece of wood or a plastic tube into a blade to cleave the heavens. He also requires constant physical contact with the item; he can't enhance something he's not touching, and once he lets go of the item it loses his enhancements. An enhanced blade will also 'blunt' as it's used, so Fritz must put considerable effort into keeping an edge sharp, and bad-quality blades will blunt faster and be harder to enhance. Finally, the bigger the blade, the better the enhancement, but the harder and slower it is to sharpen.

//WEAKNESSES:
◼ You Can't Sharpen Fists, Brought A Knife To A Gunfight | Disarming Fritz deprives him of an object to channel his ability through and therefore renders his power impotent. He's also naturally quite simple to handle at range, and can be detained and incapacitated as simply as the average 17-year-old street urchin.
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C A L L A H A N
C A L L A H A N
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"How vain to sit and write, when you have not stood and lived."
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▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅
▅▅▅▅▅▅ Y E A R B O O K P H O T O ▅▅▅▅▅▅


▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅
▅▅▅▅▅ S T U D E N T S U M M A R Y ▅▅▅▅▅

Harlan G. N. Callahan Danielewski
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August 27th, 2000 | 23 | Caucasian
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Single | Male | Heterosexual
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New Orleans | Louisiana | Amerca_________________________________________________________
HouseTBD | TeamXX - TBD

P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E
P H Y S I C A L P R O F I L E ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S
M O T I V A T I O N S & G O A L S ▅▅▅▅▅▅

N O T E S
N O T E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅


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S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S
S T U D E N T S Y N O P S I S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

Callahan is the eldest of 4; 2 brothers in the middle and his sister, the youngest, all of whom he has watched over carefully, effectively since his first brother could walk. His father meant well, but worked hard - too hard - and while he wasn't abusive when he drank, he was neglectful. His mother was loving and doted on all of them, but there were no funds to spoil them with and no free time to raise them by herself. Callahan stepped in, a silent pact to do the job his father either couldn't or wouldn't, and his mother felt equally guilty and grateful.

And then Callahan's mother got sick, and then she got worse, and then his father - already working himself to death to provide what little finances they had - buckled under the pressure and fled entirely. The brothers and sister did what they could, and to their credit, they rallied valiantly beneath Callahan's soft guidance. The brothers old enough to work - Callahan himself and his first brother - did so, bringing money into the household; his second brother studied, hard, as did his sister, and between the two of them they also maintained the household. Callahan rose to the occasion nobly, and kept the family together while caring for their steadily declining mother, and trying to locate their absent father. Somewhere along the way, Callahan realised he'd lost any sense of individual, his own needs buried beneath those of his family.

Six years later, their mother finally passed. The siblings were devastated, but also prepared. Callahan's abilities had awakened in the interim period, and while he'd thought little of them amidst the unravelling tragedy of their lives, his siblings saw in Callahan someone truly capable of great and beautiful things, and someone who surely deserved the chance to achieve those things.

They were aware of P.R.C.U., aware of H.E.L.P. and H.I.T., aware of the academy and all the potential it held for Callahan. The night after the evening of the wake, his brothers and sister, weeping and smiling in equal measure, presented Callahan with the brochures, the leaflets, the course guides. They also presented him with a letter of invitation, and tickets for the journey.

They held each other close and cried until they could produce no more tears, and then cried some more. A week later, Callahan set off for Dundas Island.
A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S
A B I L I T I E S, L I M I T A T I O N S, & W E A K N E S S E S ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅

H Y P E R H U M A N A B I L I T Y || SCRIPTOKINESIS // ACTUALISED NARRATIVE
__PRIMARY CLASSIFICATION ||EXOTERIC
__SECONDARY CLASSIFICATION ||FUNDAMENTAL

Callahan's ability allows him to manipulate the written word, and through it, the world around him.

Fundamental primary use: able to extract singular words from written language, and manifest the meaning or concept represented by that word.
For example, 'fire', 'burn', and 'ignite' become flame or sparks to set something alight; 'light',' bright', and 'dazzle' become glowing beacons; 'cut', 'slash', and 'slice' become sharp, inky blades; 'push', 'shove', and 'shunt' become short, forceful nudges.
If the word is written, and its meaning straightforward and understood, then Callahan can manifest it for his own purpose.

Mundane secondary uses: able to alter written word by thought; able to automatically transcribe his own thoughts, or the words of anybody speaking aloud within earshot; innate memorization of anything read; able to make written word verbalise itself; able to innately understand the written word of any language.

L I M I T A T I O N S ||

If a word is too complex, or its meaning not understood by Callahan, he cannot manifest it. Manifested words are a one-time use only; you get one shove, one slash, one spark, then it collapses back into its material. Objects manifested from words are made of what the text was formed from - ink, graphite, charcoal etc. - and while are as solid as they need to be for their purpose, are easily distinguishable from their actual counterparts.

Callahan cannot manifest abstract or philosophical concepts like 'death' or 'freedom', and cannot manifest living beings, or directly alter their states - physical, mental, emotional - though a manifested word (e.g. 'angry', 'tired', 'drunk', or 'crippled').

Manifested words do not return to the page they were taken from after use.
Only written words can be manifested.

W E A K N E S S E S ||

Callahan requires written word to be accessible to manifest it. He can also 'use up' words too quickly if he's not careful, as used words don't replace themselves, and each manifestation only has a one-time use. Without access to a source of written or printed text, or the means to write his own words, Callahan is completely powerless.

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P E R S O N A L P R O M P T S
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Y O U A W A K E I N T H E D E A D O F N I G H T, W H A T W O K E Y O U?

Here you write an in-character response to the above prompt.

A D I S H E V E L E D S T R A N G E R A P P R O A C H E S Y O U A S K I N G F O R H E L P, H O W D O Y O U R E S P O N D?

Here you write an in-character response to the above prompt.

A N I N T R U D E R A L A R M H A S B E E N S E T O F F O N C A M P U S, H O W D O Y O U R E A C T?

Here you write an in-character response to the above prompt.

S U P P O R T I N G C A S T
S U P P O R T I N G C A S T ▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅▅
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"Witty Quote."
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C O R M A C T E N N E S E E D A N I E L E W S K I || F I R S T B R O T H E R
C O R M A C T E N N E S E E D A N I E L E W S K I || F I R S T B R O T H E R
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Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetur adipiscing elit. Vivamus at mi mi. In imperdiet porta dolor, at fermentum nulla commodo eu. Suspendisse volutpat et ex tempor suscipit. Nullam tincidunt at nunc vel auctor. Donec venenatis, nisl nec fringilla varius, massa quam porttitor turpis, sed bibendum purus sem id risus. Nullam scelerisque lectus eget diam gravida malesuada. Maecenas consectetur est ac sollicitudin congue. Maecenas interdum erat dignissim lectus sodales, nec ultrices neque egestas. Integer convallis lacus at consequat volutpat.








Use as many or few of the above symbols as needed to balance this cell with the cell containing the image.

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"Witty Quote."
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E L I O T J. D. D A N I E L E W S K I || S E C O N D B R O T H E R
E L I O T J. D. D A N I E L E W S K I || S E C O N D B R O T H E R
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S T E P H A N I E R. L. F R A N Z D A N I E L E W S K I || S I S T E R
S T E P H A N I E R. L. F R A N Z D A N I E L E W S K I || S I S T E R
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Humans:
Humans in the Argent Nexus are as your humans anywhere else; varied, survivable, and fast-populating. Created by the demi-god children of Allt-far from his own divine remains, humans were the earliest mortal inhabitants of the Argent Nexus, and spread themselves across the continent in their search for suitable places to call their new homes. Their capital is the grand city of Hawkminster, where the King and his royal family - descended from Allt-far's children themselves - reign and guide Mankind, alongside the trust council of the King's advisors.

Humans average five to seven feet in height, weigh from sixty to one-hundred kilograms, and live roughly eighty to ninety years. Their skin tones, eyes, and hair colours span the standard range of human colouration, and they have no distinctive physical characteristics beyond those normal for humans.

Humans can be found everywhere across the continent, and have no singular region or city of origin beyond their capital of Hawkminster; however, several cities and town were principally settled by humans, including Blackborough, Pinefall, and Westharbour.

Mankind has a special relationship with Allt-far, as their celestial progenitor, but still revere the Veiled, respectful of Allt-far's prior place in their divine cabal.



Mennesk:
Mennesk are a subrace of Humanity, created long ago by a buried and forgotten magical rite that was intended to elevate Mankind, but ultimately created a distinct offshoot of Human that quickly established themselves as an independent people.

Fittingly for their origins, Mennesk could reasonably pass as Human - were it not for being practically demi-giants, blessed with tremendous height (ten to twelve feet), broad builds (one-hundred-ten to one-hundred-sixty kilograms), long lives (one-hundred to one-hundred-twenty year), incredible physical strength, and physical adaptations that their bodies take on from adolescence as they acclimate to their surroundings. However, whatever magics were used in their creation also severed them from its weave, and Mennesk have a unique ineptitude for spellcasting - taking many years of intense study to grasp mere basics that other races master in months.

Due to their innate adaptive capabilities, and their innate impotence with magic, Mennesk developed a nomadic, traveling society, and emphasised the values of education and craftsmanship within their culture. As a result, since their conception Mennesk have become a race of well-traveled, well-learned caravaneer nomads, known for their strength, scholastic prowess, and the quality of their craft in paths both practical and artistic. Mennesk caravans typically keep equal footing among all members - men, women, and children alike - but particularly-skilled and talented individuals are regarded as Sages for their specific craft, and are revered and well-respects across caravans for their mastery. Caravans additionally have a designated Elder, who leads the convoy and is responsible for maintaining peace and security within the caravan.

Onnea is the patron God of the Mennesk, and honoured accordingly, but they also pay frequent tribute to Tvorba as craftsmen, and heed the rest of the Veiled as appropriate along their travels.

Naturally for a nomadic people, there is no singular fixed Mennesk settlement, and their people are in constant movement across the land; but caravan routes cross paths with some regularity, and several hubs have developed as common meeting-points and respites for caravans along their separate journeys, where it is known you can reliably find Mennesk for trade or commission - though there's no guarantee you'll find the specific individual you might be looking for. These hubs include Wolf's Snag, Riverpass, Tuskbarrow, Thorn's Rest, Oak Hollow, Emberhold, and Halfwall.



Vizairi:
The Vizairi are an enigmatic, ethereal people, crafted by the Veiled from the very essences of Galdur and the elemental teachings of Air - born to carry the legacy of magic through the Argent Nexus, and through their heritage master spellcasting unlike any other.

Vizairi are graceful and uncanny in equal measure, owing to the nature of their creation. Tall (seven to nine feet) and slender (forty to seventy kilograms), their limbs are proportionally longer than those of other races, with long and delicate fingers. Vizairi skin - always pale blue-to-purple tones - shimmers across its surface occasionally; their eyes are piercing and vibrant gem-like shades of purple, green, and yellow, and their hair ranges from white-silver tones, to faintly-yellow blondes, to ebony-black. Vizairi exude grace across their every movement, and they are the very picture of poise.

Vizairi are innate masters of spellcasting, displaying raw natural talent unseen anywhere else in the land, and magic is weaved into their people's everyday lives as simply as breathing. Beyond the tutelage and practice of magic though, their culture values privacy and stoicism to extreme measures often regarded rude or off-putting by other, more sociable races - but in truth, while polite, Vizairi are simply intensely private and reluctant to display emotion. Vizairi even decline to share their names; out in the world, they go by their race name, their occupation, or appellations assigned to them based on their physical appearance, and their wedding ceremonies are attended only by the spouses and their immediate families, consisting of brief vows and an exchanging of names rather than rings. Other races are not welcome within the walls of Vizairi cities - to be permitted inside is a great honour, and even then the guest will be escorted - and to be invited into a Vizairi's home is considered the single deepest expression of respect and admiration once can be offered; more often than not, such an invitation is tantamount to a solemn romantic bid.

The Vizairi can be found across the land, but the majority of their people reside mostly within the Tír Ceilite Forest - where their capital city Inithalair and sister city Yiluné can be found - or the Wintered Canyon, where the city of Ithserine is sheltered. From Inithalair, the Vizairi Emperor reigns, though due to their private culture the Emperor in truth has little influence on their day-to-day lives of their people; instead, Emperor is closer to an honourary title bestowed upon the foremost scholar of magic among the Vizairi, and their successor a chosen acolyte who has long-studied spellcasting under their tutelage. The legacy of the Emperor is that of the most powerful and learned wielders of magic to ever grace the realm.

Galdur, God of Magic, is the patron deity of the Vizairi - his divine essence woven in their very beings - but they revere the Veiled as a whole, paying tribute to all Gods.



Clodaar:
To be completed


Al-Tah'neen:
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can one of the races have a quirk where children aren't born without their own active decision to come into existence? Maybe the Vizairi, being made partially of magic, dip into the essence of Galdur to create children, but in doing so said essence has an active choice in being created, so there are no Vizairi children that didn't actively choose to be born.
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