I like this art enough that I was like, "That's gotta be Nemsemet."
Instructions
Post your character sheet here (so I can approve it) using the template provided below.
Please do not post anything else here, all questions and comments should go to the OOC tab.
The history doesn't have to be long, the psych profile doesn't have to be long. Just get the character up with about a small paragraph to cover the answers.
Name: Age: Gender: Breed/Species/Type/Lineage: (such as, but not limited to 'magician' 'faerie' 'vampire' 'half-something' and so forth. This is more or less 'what' your character is.)
Physical Description:
Picture or description, I am cool with either.
Talents:
Talents one has either naturally or through education or training of some sort.
History:
Explain how your character got there -- no 'the story will come out in RP' lines, please -- I want a feel for where your character is coming from. Feel free to work up names and places and so forth. Be sure to mention arrests or feuds and debts and the such from mortal and supernatural authorities.
Psychological Profile:
An idea of how the character thinks and so forth; should be linked to the history.
Possessions:
Mostly list the useful stuff, including any magically empowered items, spell foci and other odds and ends, including familiar animals.
Yes, and:
This is a character exercise for how our characters know each other and relate a bit. See the OOC thread for more details. You can put "TBD" here for now, but you need to read the sheets above and add to the story the first person starts. If you are the first person posting, you get to explain your character's relationship to Caradoc de Lacy or another member of the court through a specific event thaat befell your character.
Location of Note: A landmark in Camden, of significance to mortals and/or supernaturals. Notable Person: A person that is famous at the landmark. Probably supernatural. A fact everyone knows about this place: A fact about the place/person that relates to the supernaturals.
Rugged, unshaven. He is never entirely clean and is invariably clad in jeans, leather and motor oil. Rusty's getting on a little bit, but he's no pushover even when he's not in a wolf-man form. Oh, he's also got some tattoos, notably of the mudflap chick on a bicep.
Talents:
Rusty's definitely a scrapper born. Beyond that, he is the Alpha. There's only one that people know of and he's it. It's a werewolf thing, but it basically means that in addition to turning into a wolf, or terrifying man-wolf (or having to during a full moon), Rusty can make other werewolves (note: see bottom) and is their natural leader. There are groups of werewolves and then there is an Alpha Pack, a truly heinous-from-the-legends assembly of fur and fang that is way more vicious than the typical 'lapdog' werewolf working for scraps from a vampire, or other, master. The downside? Allergy to silver. Rusty's more allergic than other werewolves. Rusty also has a legendary ability to do lots of drugs, in varying combinations, and somehow come out alright. He's also prone to sniffles in certain seasons, but swears its cocaine use rather than hay fever.
History:
Short version: After many centuries, an Alpha werewolf is born. Werewolves, essentially, are the legbreakers of the supernatural world, working for other people and those employers aren't particularly keen to have some sort of dangerous revolutionary werewolf leader creating labor relation problems. Lucklily for Rusty, he's drafted and sent to Vietnam. He bites a couple of buddies, who turn into werewolves and proceed to tear Viet Cong into pieces in frantic, bloodsoaked, moonlit battles in 1968. No one's the wiser until he's back in the States and already has a werewolf pack. Call it luck, arrested development, prophecy or Murphy's law.
Rusty was born in Southern California after the War. His mother, Ulrike, fell in love with Roy McKenzie, a quiet fellow that didn't talk too much about his war in the Pacific. Ulrike's family, a werewolf bloodline, did not approve, but did not precisely act against her violently for this since she had never panned out as a werewolf. They just cut her off. From his mother, he learned some of the werewolf lore, but it was always in small bits. There were stories, legends really, of when Werewolves were not just someone's water carrier, but were strong under the rules of their alphas. During puberty, relatives of hers would drop in, as well as, once, a gentleman with a European accent that made Rusty's hackles rise -- everyone else deferred to him, waited on the bastard hand and foot. Then, after he turned 17, they stopped coming around. The family left them alone after that, but his mother stopped telling stories, too. Except for that brief period of family visits, Rusty grew up on the wrong side of the tracks as a result. He had a spotty schooling but learned, from his father, how to repair engines and farm equipment as they scratched out a living on the outskirts. During the War, Roy took a job as a factory mechanic and managed to maintain it despite being a werewolf, though hard times and cutbacks came after the war once more. Rusty, as a teenager, spent a lot of time in the shop class learning vocational trade type work.
When he graduated, it was safe to say that the draft board was waiting on the stage at high school graduation right behind the principal; he was practically inducted into the military from the moment he was eligible. Rusty's dad was not much of a talker, but he told his son a few things about the ugly fights on the islands, the impenetrable jungle, the savagery. He shook him when he said, "Survive." He was pretty drunk; he'd always had an alcohol problem.
And so he found himself doing basic in San Diego. Afterward, during AIT at Camp San Onofre, he had a huge fever and convulsions; the medics were about to send him out for good when he snapped out of the trance and the coma. All the same, he was kept on sick call for a couple days. During those days, a full moon period, he underwent his first change, out in the Louisiana swamps, without guidance. He managed not to kill anyone, though he did mangle a mountain lion. When he came to, he realized that he needed to sneak back in, clean himself off and present to be accounted for. After that, the dreams started to give him more information; it was jarring to have 'wolf hunting 101' taught to you by dream, or a segment on, essentially, mating and other things. But it expanded his self-knowledge. But then, if this was happening, why did his mother insist on passing down the lore?
After training he was assigned to 3/5 Marines as an individual replacement and found himself in B Company, which was deployed into operations in Phu Loc province in November of 1967-January of 1968. As things started to brew up at Firebase Paul, the support grew thinner and the attacks picked up, there was talk of what went on during the full moon when corpses would show up, animal and man. He tried to remember what his mother had told him, cataloguing it. He arranged ways to make himself scarce during the full moons and drew attention for that from one of the NCO's, but he was otherwise not a troublemaker. As things started to brew up at Paul, and the support grew thinner and the attacks picked up. He kept his mouth shut and his head down, even as he fought as a normal infantryman, not trusting the things that he dreamed of at night, not sure of any of it. Was he going mad?
As Viet Cong attacks intensified and they found more and more fresh Chinese gear among the troops, indicating resupply and stockpiling for an offensive, the mood got bleak. The men started talking among themselves about how the REMFs were leaving them out to die in the mud, and Paul was going to turn into a slaughter. Some of the guys that'd been in other fights, like X-ray, stated their fears, especially as the attacks stepped up against Paul. The dream that came to him in exhausted sleep after day two of the siege was about 'how to make someone else into a werewolf.'
That was strange, but useful. He was watching his friends go down, the platoon get whittled for nothing. The instinct was, of course, to go ahead and get the hell out. He could do it, all too easily. During the night, as his position was being overun, he got cut off from his squad and turned; he killed at a ferocious pace, turning back the Vietnamese flank that was supposed to overrun that portion of the base. He had shot and killed before, he had hunted, but he had never engaged in such a slaughter...or been shot before. He could tell, based on the shreds of his uniform afterward, that he'd been shot quite a few times, but nothing showed from it.
When he managed to get back into safety, he was confronted by his squad leader; he confessed to it all. He also made an offer -- he knew he could make others like him, and they could survive. He was bloody around the mouth, wearing shredded jungle fatigues and wearing jungle boots that had their uppers split from their lowers. But it was all someone else's blood.
The night of Jan 28 and morning of Jan 29 was when the Vietnamese really came out in at least battalion strength, but they weren't prepared for opponents that raked with claws and tore with teeth and did not die when shot. They had no response for a thing that could leap on a DSHk position and rend the crew apart. Paul stood by the time relief arrived on the morning of the 3rd, and the survivors were evacuated. Whatever the official reports, there were two things that happened as a result of the battle at Paul; reports popped up of man-eating tigers and the PAVN didn't assault Paul ever again, even after 2nd Platoon B Company moved on to fight in the Battle of Hue, where the nighttime acts of the pack were hidden from replacement platoon leaders and other Marines alike, covered in the fire, smoke and hell of the fight in that city. In the meantime, Rusty served the rest of his tour with other survivors of the platoon as it dwindled and some started to go home. He watched as the replacements came in and out, while the survivors of Paul learned to conceal themselves and control the change.
When he finally got back to the world, his tour done, he stayed in California with some of the others, out of instinct. One of them had a brother in the Wild Hunt MC, a small motorcycle club. It had a heritage back to WWII, but lost a lot of members along the way. They were looking for new blood and were friendly toward veterans. He became a prospect, along with some of the others from 2nd platoon, and earned his membership the hard way. Soon the old leadership stepped aside for the Alpha -- that was natural. Other clubs started to stay away, as the Hunt got a spooky reputation for ferocity. Mess with them and they came back, again and again, relentless and ferocious.
Through the 1970's, the Wild Hunt was a nomad club, never able to set up too long in one place because the Courts were ever-keen to maintain the balance of power among its constituents. They viewed the Werewolf bikers as a danger to the Concealment Edict as well as to the Courts, in addition to selling a staggering amount of drugs. There were other reasons of course -- Werewolves were considered cheap labor and legbreakers for more influential types and Rusty and the Wild Hunt were definitely screwing that agenda up. A couple cities went rebel because the MC backed this or that faction fighting against a Count that tried to make the MC pay their taxes and bit off more than they could chew. That other courts would send in the troops to restore order was part of what gave inner cities such an awful reputation in the 1970's, and inspired certain movies about streetfighting gangs.
Nonetheless, by the 1980's, the wars fizzled out because sensible counts stopped trying to just jump on Rusty's guys as soon as they came through town. A couple of them started doing business, even, by simply folding taxes into what was being bought and sold, rather than telling Rusty up front that he had to pay, to which he'd essentially tell them to fuck off. Ever the canny son of a bitch, Rusty was fine with playing along. It got to the point where a couple towns, notably Camden, rolled out a bit of a red carpet for Rusty when he came through; thus did Caradoc de Lacy avoid having his city get pillaged by angry werewolves looking to start another revolution. Maybe Rusty got a little too comfortable, he was hanging around Caradoc's court when Nemsemet came. De Lacy made the Club a hell of an offer in return for assistance in fighting Nemsemet. Rusty took the deal, and barely got out of that with his skin intact. Caradoc didn't.
Psychological Profile:
Always something of a simmering cauldron of discontent, Rusty is argumentative and contrary. He does things his own ways and hates people's rules, procedures, processes, minutiae, red tape and, inevitably, bullshit. As the club president of the Wild Hunt and the Alpha wolf, he is used to marching to his own drummer and being in charge of his own destiny. Suffice it to say, Rusty is a team player when he feels like it, but he runs hot and cold. Brooding and remote, or gregarious and charming, and no one has any idea which Rusty is waking up that morning. He's much better at improvisation than planning. End of the day, he believes that his kind have to carve out their own place in society, not play lapdog the way wolves have since, well, the last Alpha was cut down at the end of the 13th century, an act that factionalized the Mongol Empire, who lacked the werewolf leadership that ran the show from the shadows. All fine and good, but Rusty never quite lived up to the billing of a werewolf Alpha, bringing fire and sword to the old social order. Too easily distracted.
He started out in a time when there was lots of drugs, free love and loud music. The three things Rusty loves most in life are drugs, free love and loud music, which means that he never quite seems to get the uprising going...because someone's always throwing a party with drugs, free love and loud music. A person doesn't even have to plot to poison Rusty, they just have to say, "Try this, it's a really bitchin trip, dude!" Suffice it to say, impulse control issues.
Possessions:
Leather, bike (still has glittery exhaust), and some quaaludes for his old friend and favorite customer.
Yes, and:
Rusty was essentially working as a mercenary for Count Caradoc de Lacy, who promised him a place to settle in New Camden with his club if he helped put down the old mummy. Rusty only had a couple of packmates, but signed on. Rusty, used to fighting other supernaturals, dealing with prancing vampires claiming lordship and aristocratic sorcerors claiming divine right to rule such and such a city, was all too happy to get into a scrap with some dusty old corpse essentially commanding everyone to kneel. Unfortunately, he drastically underestimated Nemsemet, things ended badly, and now Rusty is regretting that he ever got involved. The rest of the club is all over the place, and nowhere near New Camden. He now has first hand knowledge of what a horror Nemsemet is.
Note:
In this setting, Werewolves come in two varieties; created or bred. Bred werewolves are the random descendants with a dominant gene that have a created ancestor. Only alphas can make a created, which is to say, Rusty. There is quite the contention involved there because werewolves are often found working for other, more powerful and influential supernaturals and are low men on the Court totem pole. But an Alpha can change that; werewolves under the Alpha are meaner, tougher and often smarter than their counterparts schlubbing for Vlad or Lestat.
Also, OOCly, I intend to have Nemsemet curse away Rusty's ability to make new werewolves. That is intended to help create game balance.
Also, why "Streak?" Because Rusty has been known to ride past gatherings of church ladies in the total buff.
Location of Note: The Museum of Outsider Art Notable Person: Sarah Calvert Rabinowicz, known for her avant-garde approach to art and museum curating. Also self-taught exorcist (See below) A fact everyone knows about this place:
The place is sitting on a ley line. Ever seen a demon take form from the world's largest ball of bras? That happened once. The place is decorated like Graceland, as an homage to the schlocky, 1950's culture that New Camden considers 'authentic.' Aficionados love the coffee shop as, for some reason, the remains of the demon's presence infuse the beans, which are artisanally roasted on site.
Name Parael "Magnus" Speaking my true name might melt your brain and the brain of anyone around, so I try to avoid it. Humans and supernaturals call me Parry.
Age *SLAP* Rude! But I can say it's decidedly more than 6,000 years.
Gender Oh, how cute! You think that's a thing! I guess you could call me a 'he' if it really bothers you that much.
Breed/Species/Type/Lineage I abhor the term 'Angel.' It applies too many labels and carries too many connotations. We prefer to think of ourselves as Celestials. But then again, Angel does adequately describe my primary features- wings, fire sword, stunningly beautiful looks and tastes. As far as the other supernaturals go, I let them assume I'm a Magi of limited power and even less intelligence, or whatever they prefer to think. Coming right out and saying "I'm an Angel" tends to lead to uncomfortable questions like "Why did you let my brother die," and "Can God make a sandwich so big he couldn't eat it?" (The answers to those questions being, "It's complicated" and "Yes, and then they'd finish it, too!")
Plus Celestial blood tends to do crazy shit like make magi powers go nuclear or turn Vampires human, and I have no intention of being anything other than a voluntary donor of my own bodily fluids.
Talents I'm going to be very, very honest for once- I kinda forgot a lot of what makes my kind tick. I misplaced a lot of my ability to warp reality and smite the wicked back in Babylon when I worked in a temple of Ishtar as a part-timer. Man, between smoking premium herb and all the sacred prostitution... it makes you wish for that old time religion. But I kept most of the important bits! Mainly, my ability to create Runic Wards that I can tie to physical structures and a few items. How do they work? See, this line in the dirt? And this can of mortal mace? Imagine you want to kill everyone across that line. Now cross it and spray yourself in the eyeballs. Here, I'll do it for you. See? Yes I'm going to use the whole can! You didn't step back across the line!
Other times I can use them to neutralize magic energy. It doesn't turn you human, just kind of turns the mojo down from an 11 to an 8. It's definitely useful for keeping the kids from nuking their neighbors.
I'm Solar-Powered, so I don't need to eat to keep going. Yay, waistline!
Finally, there's the Wings. They're ethereal for the most part- I had to clip them when I took my initial vacation. Had to navigate through the markets of Babylon without knocking over every stall. Can I call them up? Yeah. Can I use them to fly? Sure. Will I? I mean... they're kind of a dead giveaway as to what I am. So Hells no.
History: So the official story that I tell everyone, human and otherwise, is that I came into town a few years ago and set up shop, moving away from sunny California. That's usually enough for both sides. Done and done.
Where I really come from? I guess you could say the upper Heavens. Paradise. Nirvana. The Clockmaker's Workshop. However you want to call it, the center of the Celestial Bureaucracy. It got tiring. I can't remember if I was filing reports or fighting demons, but I just knew I needed a break. I was talking to Murael while on assignment about how I needed some time off. Mur recommended I go take a hike through the Pyrenees or visit Babylon for a week or two. Live a little. See some of the things we were fighting for up close.
I took Mur up on it. I mean, Sargon was an interesting ruler and it was the region to be at the time, so I clipped my wings, stashed my sword, and down I went. But, you know, I get distracted by things. Namely, silk with pink and purple dye. It was my original weakness. I stayed in the markets, found work with Ishtar's temple as an acolyte, did some excellent smoking, became the number one temple prostitute of the cult, and a few years later I kind of decided I wanted to see the next city. And the next. And the next.
I got to New Camden a few years ago, set up shop like I usually do. Little Angels Day Care (real original, I know) on the city's north side. I got a permit for the building through de Lacy, then set up shop and did my thing. Diapers and playtime on weekdays, then a binge on new and interesting ways to enjoy drugs and sex on the weekends. Somewhere along the way, de Lacy caught wind of what I actually am and I started giving him a bit of blood every month as a tithe. He didn't share the source with anyone, but it gave the impression he either had a lot more power or a lot more money than he really did. I'm not too worried, though. He'll eventually burn out on the stuff. One day he's fine and dandy king of the court, the next there's a pants-wettingly huge crisis, he reaches for three bottles of liquid raw Celestial power, and it's "Look at me, ye poor mortals, and despair!" He'll cast a fireball, and he turn into a pillar of flame and ash. Along with half a city block. Then I'll pack up and head out.
I saw it before the last time I was in Chicago. I think that was... '71? '72? No, I mean 1871.
Anyway, I know my punch-card shows I'm seriously tardy with the crew upstairs but nobody has come to collect me yet, so I think I'll hit Chicago next. Or Detroit. Whichever one is safer. As a Celestial I know what happens after death, so that's no biggie. It's knowing I'll have to answer for that missed time on my punch card that scares the crap out of me. Do you know how long I'll have to work to get 4,000 years worth of Vacation days?
Psychological Profile: My last girlfriend said I get distracted by material things too easily. Or maybe that was Charlie- he never complained about what I was buying, just that I was buying stuff. I can't help myself though! Upstairs, we got the flaming swords, white toga-things, and the occasional instrument. You mortals are so... creative! I just want to try everything out! I also have a soft spot for kids, especially supernatural ones. It sucks being told everything you have to do at every hour of the day, then add the fact that you may or may not be empowered by forces beyond your control? Yeah, you're in for a roller coaster ride, honey!
Possessions: Gucci bag, Tom Ford suit, about a dozen different Hilfiger jeans, a Motorola Dynatac 800x Cell Phone- oh. Oh, you mean... I have the Flaming Sword stashed somewhere. It tends to slice various demons and chaos entities, and can start small forest fires if I leave it unsheathed at a camp site. What? Don't look at me like that! We didn't have a lighter, and it's hard to have a... ahem... friendly gathering in the woods with a few other friends when there's no warmth or light. I don't even use it that often! Like, ever. Mages get glittery eyed when they look at it and witches tend to get too friendly with me just to get a hand on the thing. Aside from that? I have a Gucci Diaper Bag of Holding! It opens to a storage unit in Wyoming where I keep most of the things I need for my day job.
Yes, and: Rusty is a good guy! Totally fun, hooked me up with a weekend's worth of drugs to party through my yearly "What are the mortals snorting this decade" party. And he let me borrow his bike one day to pick up a baby Fae changeling that was stuck in a car wreck on the interstate outside town. Mom and Dad were alright but it was a dicey thing for a few days. Only took a bottle of Jack Daniels and one favor as yet to be collected to get the bike. But I'm a glorified baby sitter for supernaturals. I change diapers and let the grown ups make money to pay their tithes. Far as he knows, I'm just a useful Magi. What could a biker werewolf possibly want from me?
Besides, after I returned the bike- the look on his face when he revved the engine and the exhaust spat a glitter cloud? Totally. Worth. It.
Location of Note: Spring Eternal (Former Discotheque, now a... whatever-the-kids-listen to-club) Notable Person: Louie "Lireth" Burgher A fact everyone knows about this place: The place is a front for a Faerie court. It paid tribute to de Lacy like everyone else, but if you want anything from coke, to coke, to Pixie Dust, Louie can hook you up! I first tried Primo Bam Bam here and holy crap did I wreck that disco ball!
Location of Note: Little Angels Day Care Notable Person: Yours truly, Parry Magnus! A fact everyone knows about this place: I run the place on the cheap for the supernaturals less able to make money off their abilities. It helps having a safe, cheap location to drop your kids off while you make money stocking shelves because you weren't blessed with the power to turn dust into gold.
Name: C.C. Schwarzman. Not that it really matters, people tend to call me what they want. It’s...usually not nice, but that’s fine. That’s okay.
Age: Materialized almost four hundred years ago. Not that our kind really age or anything like that, but I’m sure everybody already knows that. I mean, why else wouldn’t they come to my birthday party. Which I throw. Every year. For the past three hundred year and seventy eight years. Celebrating it. Alone. By myself.
Gender: Male. Most of us are male. Our dating scene’s pretty sad. Not that we really get anything out of companionship beside, you know, happiness.
Breed/Species/Type/Lineage: Bogeyman. That’s the catch-all term for us. Or is it Bogeymen? Boogeymen? Boogie—look, let’s just go with Bogeyman. It’s easier that way. I technically think we would fall in the broader spirit/faerie category, but they tend to disagree. It’s because they’re snobs. Er, don’t tell them I said that. Please.
Physical Description:
I must be doing something wrong. I thought I dressed well and professionally—black trench coat, black suit, black derby hat, black shoes—but most people seem horrified when they meet me. Supernaturals always grumble, and humans just scream. I guess they think I’m ugly, which seems just unfair. I don’t even have a face for crying out loud, just moving shadows, but even they are so ugly that the humans go running from me.
Excerpt from ‘Things That Go Bump by Jessifer Jericho, Sorceress and Scholar of Spirits, Second Edition
But aren’t they just Shadow Men? The short answer is kind of: Bogeymen tend to have no real appearance, or rather, their appearance tends to vary from person to person. Imagine them as the physical embodiment of terror. Around other supernatural beings they just appear to be a shadowy figure in clothes, although looking at them for a prolonged time is prone to give any but the most resilient of supernaturals a headache akin to the same way.staring too long at a stereogram without being able to solve it would. Around non-magic using humans, however, their vague appearance fills them with absolute dread because there is nothing scarier than the unknown, and the bogeymen are the unknown fear manifested.
Talents:
Talents? I don’t really have any talents. Or hobbies. Or time off. Uh, I guess my job is my talent...except, I’m not really good at my job, sooooo…
Can we talk about something else? Anything else?
Excerpt from ‘Things That Go Bump by Jessifer Jericho, Sorceress and Scholar of Spirits, Second Edition
As mentioned earlier in this chapter, Bogeymen are creatures of terror and feed on the fright of humanoids. Their Terrifying Presence has been described as anything from slightly uncomfortable to somewhat sickening by supernaturals (and magic users, whose open minds allow them to at least comprehend a Bogeyman), and has been known to make even the bravest of human’s turn tail and run. However, studies have shown that it is exclusively visual stimulation that activates this kind of terrordome effect around the Bogeyman. In other words, just don’t look. It also means that those chills human feel when they hear one talking, scratching, or knocking is nothing more than pure, simple cowardice.
Yet while looking away from the Bogeyman is easy enough, knowing where a Bogeyman will show up is an entirely different story. Bogeyman are able to Disappear and Travel Through Shadows. This is a skill necessary for their survival, harkening back to the days when they lived primary underneath the beds or in the closets of children as they feed on their terror only to quickly escape into the confines of darkness or slip beneath a door frame whenever a parent ran into the room of their screaming child. While turning on all of the lights does limit the places a Bogeyman can go without being revealed, tests have found that they are capable of fitting into shadows the size of peas.
History:
We just sorta show up. Mostly ignored. Always unwanted. I’ve been around New Camden since it was settled, following a group of colonists I hung onto from some small dump in Virginia. But does anybody recognize that? Does anybody go, “Hey C.C., you know this place well, where’s the best place to get pizza?” Not a soul. They think because I can’t eat that I can’t enjoy a nice pizzeria. Which I can’t. I heard it really good, too. Anyway, so, early life in New Camden was nice, I guess, before the Court took over. I was something of a sheriff. Only I didn’t have a badge. And nobody really called me when they needed help. And I wasn’t paid. But, I still did my duty. That’s the thing about us Bogeymen. We’re righteous.
So, I spend the next few decades tracking down humans who are up to no good and trying to set them on a more righteous path. I try and get them while they’re young. Before you know it, I’m taking down the baddest of the bad guys. The kind that stay out after dark, that don’t finish their plates, that pop their knuckles. Real scumbags. It’s not really the hardest of jobs, honestly. I just show up, tell them to stop doing what it is they’re doing, and then I run away. Mostly because they always start screaming. I got screamed at a lot.
And then the Court comes into town. They don’t like the idea of others being in charge—which is fine, which is fine. I didn’t do a great job anyway. People always kept turning out bad in the end. It’s cool. I get it. Who would want me in power? I try and step down gracefully, but a part of me is just unable to stop trying to set people right. I try and do it behind the back of the Court. I wanted to stop trouble, not to create it. Then one day I’m hiding under this kid’s bed. The kid was a real bad apple—he swore—so I was trying to scare him straight. Only, it’s not a kid, but a changeling put there by the Court. Next thing I know I get arrested for violating some edict and for failing to pay my taxes. I didn’t even know I had taxes. I didn’t even know what taxes were.
Fortunately for me, the Count’s a pretty nice guy and took pity on me. I think I got real lucky, because it turns out I was actually a real bit of scum. Ironic, isn’t it? Here I thought I was doing some good, and turns out I was breaking all sorts of rules. Instead of banishment he offers me a job. I’m gracious, so I take it without even hearing what it is. Turns out I’m what they like to call an auditor. Not gonna lie, it’s a pretty big deal. I make sure supernaturals aren’t doing what I was doing, and if they are I try and set them straight. So now I’m creeping into skeleton’s closets and hiding under succubi’s bed, and popping out at the right moment to make them do the right thing. I’m even allowed to still go after humans, but only once a month and I’ve gotta be real sure that no adults see me. It’s like I’m an actual sheriff this time.
But I still don’t get paid. Wait, that can’t be right. I don’t think the Count would screw me over. He’s a real good guy. I’m sure I did something to deserve a deduct. I, I don’t even need the money anyway. I can’t really go to the store, it’s just...that changeling kid does the same job, and he’s always flashing cash. Not that it matters anymore. The guy that would’ve signed my checks probably got melted by some hotshot mummy, too.
Psychological Profile:
I’ve been told that I need more spine. Which is troublesome, because I don’t have any of the other bones to go with it. Apparently I’m more concerned with making other supernaturals like me than with doing my duty, which is untrue. Okay, it is true. Sorry, please don’t hate me, and don’t tell my boss. He’s the first person to ever really rely on me. It’s just that us Bogeymen are real people-persons, seriously we are, and I feel positively drained when I’m not around others. I’d love to spend more time around humans, really. Something about being around them just perks me right up. Now, though, I just get so excited that I become real nervous around others. It makes it difficult to speak. Or think. Or move. I tend to just kind of creep in the background and hope somebody notices me. Also, I tend to get pretty downtrodden, especially when I feel as if I’m being ignored. I’ve been called a buzzkill before; apparently I’m too outspoken against people misbehaving.
Possessions:
I don’t really need stuff. Just, uh, friends. Friends would be nice.
Yes, and:
I’m pretty sure Parry doesn’t even know I exist. Which is fine, I guess, he’s busy. I’ve only introduced myself to him a dozen times now. I get it. I need to make more of an impression, but whenever I show up around kids everyone gets real uptight. They think I’m going to throw them in a sack or something. But he’s a friend of Rusty’s and I’m a friend of Rusty’s, so I think I’ll get through to him one day. Oh, and when I say I’m a friend of Rusty, I mean that we’re coworkers, and when I say coworkers, I mean that we’re not even on head-nod status yet. But the Alpha was hired on to take down Nemsemet, and that jerk warlock unemployed me and killed my boss. As a good employee of the Court, it’s my duty to take him down...buuuuuut I don’t know what kind of crazy magic he has, and if he took out the Count then he can definitely take out me. But Rusty’s tough! I’m sure Rusty can do it! I’ll just assist from the shadows and, uh, maybe introduce myself to him one of these days.
Location of Note: Black Cat Books Notable Person: Jessifer Jericho owns it. Yes, the Jessifer Jericho. Beautiful genius sorceress, author of a few dozen books, largest ego in New Camden. A fact everyone knows about this place: It may look like a cramped, cluttered, and dusty used bookstore with an overabundance focus pseudoscience and new age literature, but the back room houses a pretty nifty collection of rare tomes, cursed books, and an alarming amount of supernatural smut. The owner’s known for her rather orbital level of self-worth, and seemingly manages to work that she has written a number of books into almost every conversation she has ever had.
Name: You can call me Violet, it's what my mother always called me. Dryad's don't really have last names, but my father's last name was Atwood, so that's what I go by. Age: I'm...I'm 25! Although I haven't really changed much since I turned twenty, it's dryad thing, we don't really age once we are mature. Gender: Female, no surprise there! All dryads are female, you knew that right? Breed/Species/Type/Lineage: I'm a dryad! A type of fey, a faerie, a...What do you mean that doesn't make any sense? Well, basically I'm a tree spirit. I guard the forests and woodlands. Greenpeace? Who? No, I don't know them, are they another fey? Maybe they're a forest troll? There are always trolls wandering around.
Physical Description:
Tall, willowy, and made of light brown bark, nah, seriously, that would suck, I'm a tree spirit, not a piece of wood, my skin is only a little bit barky. It's soft, I promise, here touch my arm. See! It's soft, right? It's even warm to the touch! I have green eyes, they match the forest, which makes me happy.
Wait! Let me tell you about my hair! It's great! It looks like it's made of leaves and it changes color based on the season! I'm told it's very regal. In spring and summer, my hair is lush green, there are even flowers in it! How cool is that!? In fall and winter, my hair turns red and eventually brown! You can't imagine how much I save on hair dye.
Most people seem to find me pleasing to look at, I have delicate features, I think, I'm not exactly sure what that means. Some woman I met last night said I looked very "sensual", she was very nice, she bought me so much Absinthe while we danced!
I've never had trouble finding a date if that's what you're asking.
Apparently that's what we, dryads, are supposed to do, attract an attractive enough mate, a male, a male who loves nature, to produce offspring and to act as our guardian. I'm not really into that though, it's 1985, I'm a strong independent dryad, I don't need some puppy-eyed mortal following me around and getting in the way.
What? Am I free on Friday?
Oh! Look, I'm flattered, truly, but I've got this thing to do on Friday, fey stuff, important stuff, you know?
What am I doing on Saturday?
Saturday is kind of a bad day as well, I have to meet a friend or well he has to meet me, he's very sick you see, and he needs more medicinal herbs. Poor, Parry, he's always so sick. It's ok though, I have this new plant, very potent, it should fix him right up!
Sunday?
I'd love to, but I can't, I've got to meet with the tax collector. I know, total bummer, but what can you do? I heard from a close friend, a hedge witch, that there's apparently going to be a tax on new leaves, so I need to nip this one in the buds before I end up owing a fortune in taxes.
No more Miss Nice Dryad, no, I have to protect the forest from the tax collector!
Talents:
My friends say that I have a green thumb, I mean, I don't, my thumb isn't green, but I'm good with plants. Also, I can sing, I like singing, the trees always ask me to sing to them! I know! I can sing you my favorite Siouxsie and the Banshees song!
Oh, ok, maybe later then.
You know, once I got used to it, I realized that my wife being a dryad had some real perks. For one thing, she never gets older, it's been fifty years, and she still looks exactly like she did when I met her.
Better still, talk about bedroom potential, you don't get bored of sleeping with the same woman when she can cast an illusion spell to make her look like a different woman every night. Something about a Deceptive Veil, but who cares, all I know it's fantastic for spicing up our love life. Plus, take it from me, dryads know how to have a good time, know what I'm saying?
I grew up in sticks, so I know a bit about nature, but my wife? Man, she's on a whole other level. She can talk to animals and plants, like really talk, like full blown conversations, it's kind of weird, I never thought about talking to my apple tree. Still, she's taught our dog how to make me margaritas for Christ's sake, how can you beat that? You can't, that's how.
Being a living plant, the misses is mean gardener as well, she can get just about anything to grow and our house is practically surrounded by a small forest. I don't mind though, she's happy when she's gardening, grows all sorts of herbs. And brother, let me tell you, we've got some quality product in our garden. The sort of magically infused stuff that will blow your mind straight past Pluto, straight out of the fucking Solar System.
She says she has some Oaken Vitality, not sure what she really means, but she barely needs to eat, hell, she doesn't even sleep, she just meditates for a couple of hours in the sunlight. Photosynthesis is a beautiful thing.
Dryads are a type of fey or faerie, specifically they can be understood to be tree spirits, that often act as the protectors and guardians of forest and trees. Remarkably, precious little research has been recorded concerning the nature of dryads. In this short summary, I would like to briefly highlight some of the extraordinary abilities that dryads appear to posses.
In my experience dryads are generally quite benign, for a species of fey, and will at first attempt to warn off intruders in their forests. However, if the forest or trees which they protect are threatened they often respond with great violence.
Like many other types of fey, dryads appear to be innate spellcasters and possess a number of spell like abilities that fall loosely into the domain of nature magic.
Likewise, dryads are unhindered by trees, underbrush, plants, or natural growth. Despite my best efforts and a failed series of experiments, I have yet to see one trip over even the most well hidden of roots.
Sharing an unrivaled bond with the natural world, dryads are able to step into various forms of plant life, both for protection and to acquire needed nutrients. Although I have been unable to observe it myself, it has also been claimed that these strange creatures are able to open magical portals between trees. Vanishing into one tree, only to emerge shortly thereafter from another tree. I have classified this as ability as a type of spell, naming it Tree Stride at the suggestion of a close friend.
Famed for their wisdom and intelligence, dryads are not remarkably strong, especially when compared to other supernatural creatures. However, despite their fragile appearance, dryads can take a surprising amount of damage. They are quite woody after all. If severely wounded, they also appear to be able to assume the form of a medium sized tree, providing a further degree of protection and greatly enhancing the speed of their recovery.
I would also be remiss if I did not warn other budding botanists about the magical charms that dryads possess. Few other species, excepting, perhaps other fey and demons, can so easily enrapture the hearts of men and lead them, willingly even, into servitude. Over the course of my long years of research, I have unfortunately lost more than one promising assistant to the charms of a dryad.
Predictably, like the very forests that spawned them, dryads are particularly weak to fire and generally go to great pains to avoid any living flames.
Finally, dryads, like all fey, are immune to aging. However, a peculiarity of dryads is that they are all magically bonded to a single tree. At once, both the life force and home of a dryad, they are understandably fiercely protective of their bonded trees. If the tree of a dryad is cut down or destroyed, then the dryad will perish along with their tree. Similarly, a dryad that strays too far away from her bonded tree will also die.
History:
Where did I come from? The woods, duh, where did you think I came from? Do I look like a city girl to you
Naturally, my mother was a dryad and I grew her root tree. Like I said, we lived in the middle of the woods! Not too far from here, but you wouldn't know it, not a lot of humans ever pass by there. She took care of me and raised me, taught me the ways of my kind, and a bit about humans as well, my father was a mortal after all, I think, at least that's what she told me. I've never met him though, he left on some heroic journey before I was born, I was told he was headed to Berlin.
Eventually though, just like my father, I felt like I had a task to accomplish, something important to do, and an entire world to see. Mother said that wanderlust had taken root in my heart, she seemed a bit sad, but encouraged me to go, so with a seedling from her tree in tow I left the forest where I grew up.
I traveled around for a couple of years, hopping from city to city, forest to forest, and park to park. It was a lovely time! I met so many nice people and saw so many exciting things! After a time, my tree and I felt like settling down though, so we headed towards New Camden, I'd heard they had quite the music scene and I love music.
When I finally got there, we stopped in Allard Park, it was chaos! I found vampires preying on joggers, trolls demanding bridge tolls, and a band of kobolds trying to create a sewer fiefdom...nothing unusual really, but it was problematic, the trees were unhappy, they asked me to stay and help, so I did.
And that's when the real trouble started...see I thought I could lay low, protect the trees in Allard Park, and enjoy life in the big city. Instead, some creep with a cape showed up, said that there were rules in New Camden, and he said that I had to follow them or else. I wasn't quite sure what the "or else" would entail, but judging by the amount of leather his werewolf lackeys wore, it wasn't going to be anything fun.
Yeah, it was Count Caradoc de Lacy, you know him?
Well either way, he was a cruel and unfair monster. He perpetuated inequality throughout the city, stole and even murdered with impunity. Worse, he probably forgot to water his plants! In short, he was nothing like the honorable nobles my mother had told me about...I'm sure he wasn't even a real count.
He ruled the city with an iron fist, but he owned the Court, so there wasn't really much I could do about it. Besides, we had an understanding, an agreement even...at least at first, he and his smelly minions stayed out of my park, and I provided him with...well, we can talk about that later.
But then...then he started making demands. Apparently, I owed him money, I owed him a lot of money, just like every other supernatural being in the city. Go figure. I didn't have any money though, why would a Dryad need money? So instead, he said I could do him a solid, help him out as it were. He wanted me to grow plants for him, mostly harmless ones, useful for making potions, but he also wanted dangerous plants, plants that could only be used to make poisons.
What choice did I have? He threatened to burn down every tree in my forest if I didn't...my bonded tree was there...the bastard knew just how to get to me...like I said, the Count was not a nice man. Still, now he's a pile of ashes, good riddance.
This new guy, the mummy guy, Nemsemet, seems kind of like a bad guy, but that Count wasn't exactly a great guy either. None of them are, sometimes I wonder if I shouldn't just poison all of them. Kidding! Kidding! That would be very rude. I'd never be rude...unless they were rude first, but then...then I'd have justice on my side.
What? The mortals in the city are in danger?
Listen, that's sad, but my duty is to the forest, and to the forest alone. I'm the guardian of all the trees in Allard Park, and I'll do what I have to in order to protect them! The mortals will have to take care of themselves! They've got guns and the Terminator, I saw it in the movie theaters, I'm sure that guy can save them.
Psychological Profile:
Why do you need to know about my personality? Is this some sort of test? Who do you work for!?
Relax, I'm just kidding, scared you though didn't I? Oh, come on, admit it, you were scared...
First of all, I'm very patient! I'm part tree after all...that was a joke.
I'm passionate, well, at least about things that interest me, I'm a punk rocker through and through, I also really like this new genre, gothic rock! It's great, even if it makes me a bit sad!
I like to think of myself as a people person, I'm great at reading people, and I love spending in the company of others, especially if they have interesting stories to tell. I sure I'm friendly enough, I make new friends all the time, they even buy me gifts or ask me to sleep in their beds! Of course, I don't need a bed, but it's a very sweet gesture.
I've been accused of being naive, but I'm simply an optimist. I think I could have been a wonderful hippy, I'm open-minded, freethinking, and not adverse to having some fun! I'm also incredibly spontaneous. See! I just turned that lumberjack into a pine tree!
People seem to think that I'm some sort of pacifist, maybe because I'm so friendly? However, I'm not, I just don't believe in senseless violence. My duty is to protect my forest and I'll do whatever I have to in order to keep it safe. The trees in my forest say that I am very fierce and brave, they're very old, so I trust them.
Possessions:
I have some clothes! Dresses, skirts, jeans, blouses, t-shirts and more! Mostly to blend in with the mortals, I've learned from past experience that it seems to cause some problems if I forget to get dressed. At least I got to ride in a police car last time it happened!
Where do I keep them?
In my tree of course, I don't want the kobolds to steal them again.
Oh! I also have a magical acorn! Want to see it! It's from my bonded tree, I bring it with me at all times. We can talk that way and it lets me travel great distances from it without growing sick or weak.
Yes, and:
C.C. Schwarzman? Who's that? Should I know him?
Oh! Wait! You mean the tax guy, the boogeyman or whatever? Look, I hardly know him, all I know is that he's a blood sucking parasite who steals money from innocent people, I think they call it being a tax collector? I'm a bit bitter, I know. You see, just after I came to this city, right was I starting to fix up Allard Park, he showed up. No, not the Count, the tax man. He thought he could sneak into my forest! But the trees warned me, he just stood there watching, dressed in all black, and wearing a trench coat like some peeping tom...for at least an hour, maybe two, it was creepy.
Finally, I got so sick of it that I just threw a pine cone at him, knocked his stupid derby hat right off. Served him right, it's rude not to knock...But anyway, get this, when he finally talks, he just says, "U-uh, M-Miss Atwood, I'm here to collect your taxes, s-sorry."
I thought about trying to turn him into a toad, but ultimately, I decided it was better to do things legally, so I paid him with a crate of pine cones. Of course, that wasn't good enough for the late Count, so the taxman came back and explained that he'd have to bring me to see the Count. We didn't talk much on the way there, but C.C. seemed a bit lonely, maybe he just needed more friends? He did talk a lot about his best friend though, Rusty, the leader the Count's werewolf minions. They seemed very close, so that's good I guess. Everyone needs to have some friends.
Wait! What does the C.C. stand for? You don't know? Ah well, too bad. He looks like a Chuck, don't you think? No? Well, whatever, we'll agree to disagree, I still think his name is Chuck.
Location of Note: Allard Park Notable Person: Violet Atwood, known for the collection of exceedingly rare and magical plants that she maintains. A fact everyone knows about this place:
Allard Park is the oldest and largest park in New Camden. The park was established by Joseph Allard in 1835 when he purchased a large swath of land from the failing Truscott Company with the intention of using it as a hunting ground. However, following an unfortunate riding accident some years later, Allard generously bequeathed it to the city. Finally opened to the public in 1860, it has remained a popular place to visit for both mortal and supernatural denizens of the city ever since.
Like many other public places in New Camden, Allard Park has historically served as something of a neutral ground within the city's supernatural community. Following a brief period of anarchy, the park has recently fallen under the control of Violet Atwood. A young and spirited Dryad, she is quick to deal with any unwelcome or unannounced visitors, especially those that pose any threat to her forest.
Beyond her self-proclaimed title as "Guardian of the Forest Park", the demure Dryad is rumored to supply the ingredients neccesary for the creation of all manner of potions and poisons.
Location of Note: Release the Bats! (Club) Notable Person: Gabriela, the proprietor of the club, said by some to be a vampire or some similar sort of undead with a proclivity for not dying. A fact everyone knows about this place:
A nightclub in New Camden, infamous for the three rules enforced by management, "No Funk, No Disco, and No Trouble!". Frequented by mortals and supernaturals alike, the nightclub is a popular destination for the younger generation. Sporting a spooky atmosphere and enough goth kids to build an army, it is a place for budding punk, rock, rockabilly, glam, reggae, garage, trash and psychedelia acts to ply their trade.
Onsite security, of a supernatural nature, ensures that things don't get too out of hand and that the Concealment Edict is preserved. Despite this, the nightclub is known as a great place to find the latest and greatest of drugs at an acceptable price.
Location of Note: Caldwell and Westbrook Clothing and Tailoring, Washington Avenue Notable Persons: Caldwell, famed Goblin tailor, and the equally renowned half-giant dressmaker Westbrook. A fact everyone knows about this place:
Hidden behind an unassuming shopfront and past a burly mountain troll named Johan, lies the ancient and well-known workshop of Caldwell and Westbrook.
A staple in the fashion industry of New Camden, Caldwell and Westbrook has provided the supernatural community with the finest in clothing since the early 1920s. Offering clothing for all occasions (formal, semi-formal, informal and casual), the pair of strange business partners command the respect of not just other sewing professionals, but also of a large number of enchanters. Among the magically inclined, the two are noted for the powerful, elaborate, and unobtrusive enchantments they are able to weave into the clothing they create. Naturally however, such high quality does not come cheap, and only the wealthiest can afford to commission such works of art.
Until recently, very recently in fact, Caldwell was even the favored tailor of the late Count Caradoc de Lacy.
Name: Suzanne Rendell - younger kids call her 'Miss Rendell' to make her feel young and the rest call her 'Suze' to also make her feel young.
Age: Undead on Earth for five years at current, but has been in existence for 300 years now.
Gender: Female
Breed/Species/Type/Lineage: Grim reapers; unconventional to the stereotypical lore, they are a society of critters that document mortality patterns, write 'Acknowledgement of Death' certificates and ensure mortal individuals die at their most purposeful or 'correct' time. Sometimes acknowledged as 'Guardian Death Angels', their job is not to send people to their afterlife but rather watch over them on Earth, protect them from threats outside their natural life course, and grant them their certificates on time to enable them to ease into their transition to official spirit/ghost/soul/dead status. Sometimes they act as counsellors to people if they are alone and actively stressed in the moments before their demise.
Physical Description:
Talents: - Professionally trained baker, practical and dextrous. - Professionally trained reaper, can go back and forth between Earth and Port Mortem (see history) to file reports and officiate an Acknowledgement of Death. - Makes a mean pavlova. Six different textures of sugar and cream. Six.
History: Before thriving amongst mortals she was filing certificates and living beside fellow grim reapers in a dimension unaffiliated with the 'upstairs' or 'downstairs', 'angel' or 'demon' realms. This dimension is known as Port Mortem; although exclusive to her kind, other supernaturals can visit when invited or in the company of a grim reaper. The best way Suze can describe Port Mortem involves 'how you would imagine a giant company's computer database would look crammed into a long and winding highway of a basement, neon lights and reaper spirit fireflies softly glowing along the walls of cabinets, tucked within a deep but welcoming darkness'.
She started off as a grim reaper ‘firefly’, the title given to a reaper spirit that hasn’t embodied any tangible form, fluffing around and serving the community behind the scenes. Populations started exponentially rising over time, however, and Port Mortem needed more reapers to serve atop the mortal realm, creating hundreds of headquarters across the globe to act as ‘servers’ and transfer information on the status of different areas of populous back to Port Mortem. When her soul was first repurposed into a human form in 1980, the reaper was sent to Sydney City in Australia to help manage the rising hubbub of the urbanised area. Thus, she learned how to speak English from its locals, carrying an Aussie twang in her speech to this day.
Tired of keeping life as a reaper to herself, she moved to New Camden upon rumours of fellow supernaturals creating their own diverse community there. She currently owns a diner bakery in New Camden, specialising in beverages, doughs, pastries and cakes, both sweet and savoury. It is named ‘Corvid Cronuts' and located near Allard Park. As Allard Park is a popular picnic spot, Suzanne reckons this is a major reason as to why her place is so popular for take away around lunch time, feeling as though she owes a lot to Violet and thus treats her especially like her own beloved daughter. As the name suggests, its most popular menu item is the best deal on coffee and cronuts the universe(s) has ever seen. Those who crave an indulgent meal eat in, those who'd rather not have a bucketload of sauce or icing sugar dousing their baked goods take away.
Psychological Profile: A social butterfly and the place you go to for a pep talk, Suzanne smothers people with her care and affection as much as she liberally spreads butter to bread. Incredibly optimistic and is always going out of her way to help others, even if she knows things will not go according to plan. People may not love her habit of constant chit chatting and overbearing expressions of appreciation to every customer, but the lady can't help herself; she needs to make sure that the people in her life are living life as well as they should. As she is more of a nurturer, she gets easily angered by reckless behaviour, generally uncalled for nonsense and fighting. Doesn’t mind giving someone a good hit to the head when the mind palace needs to straighten its shelves. As she has no supernatural powers that can inflict harm, she gets stressed around intimidating displays of sorcery/magic, especially fire.
Possessions: An Old English sheepdog named 'Moose' serves as a beloved business mascot, mostly seen sleeping around the diner (or beside customers that let him snooze atop their feet). His bark has been reduced to growl and wheeze noises, sounding of an excitable old man that’s been laughing for five minutes straight after reading something mildly amusing in the newspaper. Due to being around the 'aura' of Suzanne since he was a puppy, he gets visibly more energetic and excited amongst the company of supernaturals.
A large study room hosting an extensive library takes up most of the area of her home, which sits in an apartment right atop her business.
Yes, and: "One thing I've always been jealous of never having the opportunity to go through is motherhood. Y'know, looking after somethin' that's dependent on me, insisting upon them my signature merengue pancakes... Great thing is, sweet peas such as Parry and Violet rock up to the shop sometimes and let me baby them with my cooking! 'Could I style your hair?' I once asked to the beauty of a bloke, 'The blonde would look gorgeous in a French braid.' And guess what? He didn't object, and it did look spiffing! Violet's darling hair in itself is constantly giving me inspiration for my next seasonal drink. Ah, bless her cotton socks. Every time she walks in some lad is trying to buy her a coffee. She lets them know that I always take care of it so there's no need for such nonsense. The least I can do is keep people off of her back in my own shop. I can make the perfect blend that'll zazz you right outta any depressing goth rock tangent you're on!
I'd never want to push Rusty's buttons but I do feel like my whole day is set to a perfect jelly when he lends me his compliments. Same with Schwarzy (dunno if he likes the nickname but I call him that anyway) - sometimes he potters around the diner, doing his looming shadowy thing, but Moose loves the guy so much his dress pants have been a chew-toy target recently. He may scare away the human customers, but who's got the right to judge? Everyone loves a good croissant, I don't care who you are, I don't care if you can't eat - just like me, it's delightful enough just to look at! I just hope he doesn't hate my dog too much, haha.
Moments like these just make my daytime job feel so much more enjoyable than my initial impressions of it being a monotonous lifestyle. I love being your friendly neighbourhood mum, y'know. Tell ya what, I'll give you coffee and cronuts on the house when you bring your date next time. Hell, oftentimes I'll even know who you're dating and give you the deets as to what sort of cake they enjoy! A reaper ne'er forgets. Even if you only came to steal a straw or use the bathroom."
Location of Note: Siren Fountain Notable Person: Tom Graham, a violinist who regularly busks in front of the grand marble fountain. He's human but could make the darkest of demons tearful with his trills. A fact everyone knows about this place: You’ll find this public installation sitting next to Corvid Cronuts. It depicts two beautiful mermaid and siren figures sitting atop a riverbed, water cycling and bubbling underneath them. It was built to commemorate a town urban legend: the tale of a human dying in a local river by the hands of a siren, haunting the streets of New Camden to this day. Of course, to fellow supernaturals, the ghost has never been known to truly exist, but mortals entertain the notion and throw coins into its pool for good luck in their health and safety.
The first thing you will notice about Celest is her height and build. She is noticeably tall and really slim and slender. Celest's second feature is her shining golden eyes which radiate a mysterious feeling. Celest frequently carries a solemn expression in her eyes, which coupled with its colour, appears uncannily mesmerising. This is probably a result of the wizard blood she has in her veins. Moving away from the eyes, one will notice that Celest has an extremely pale skin colour, almost as if she is fading away from existence. Surprisingly, Celest's skin tone manages to stay the same shade no matter how much sun she is exposed to, and she doesn't get sunburned at all.
Apart from the above features, Celest also has long silver hair which reaches down to her waist. She has slender facial features: A small nose and thin bridge, thin lips, and thin yet sharp and distinct eyebrows. Her ears are rounded and one will frequently see Celest's hair tucked behind her ears, especially when she is reading a book. Celest is frequently seen in casual and comfortable clothes, which usually comprises of a t-shirt and pants. Accessory-wise, she only wears a locket left behind by her father around her neck.
Talents:
Magical Sight Celest has the ability to sense energy flows around her. Her ability works on both magical and scientific energy flows. Her ability manifests itself sensually, affecting each of her five senses. This allows her to perceive the energies in the world through each of her five senses, with enough focus and concentration. When Celest is not actively focusing or searching out for the energy flows, her ability becomes more like a nagging sensation. The stronger the energy source, the stronger the sensation. Depending on how strong the energy source is, the feeling Celest feels can range from being barely noticeable and easily ignored to being so strong that it affects her five senses.
Low-Level Spellcasting Celest is able to cast basic and low-levelled spells. These spells aren't really useful in combat but may be used to help out with domestic chores and minor tasks. Such spells and magic can be used to hurt someone physically if used in certain ways, such as by throwing a rock at another person, but are usually not created for the purpose of fighting.
History:
There isn't much of note in Celest's past. Her father was a wizard working for the magical council. Her mother was a singer, performing at a bar in New Camden. Celest never knew who her father was. He had been in a short relationship with her mother before disappearing completely, leaving nothing but a locket behind. Celest's mother only found out she was pregnant a month later, when her stomach starting growing and she had felt the nausea and mood changes related to pregnancy.
Celest's mother worked hard to raise her as a single mother. Thankfully, the money she received for her performances was not meagre. Celest spent most of her life wondering about who her father was. She had asked her mother about him many times but received no answers. Either her mother did not know about her father or she was unwilling to share anything about him.
Celest grew up as a human, out of the supernatural world. However, she was greatly fascinated by the supernatural and read up frequently into the topic. It did not help that her powers eventually developed and she began seeing and feeling trails of energy. No one believed or could see what Celest claimed to see, and many believed that she was making things up. At her peers' reactions, Celest holed up within herself and continued her studying and research in secret.
On her 16th birthday, a man whom she had never met before approached and passed her an old book. Until now, Celest did not know why she had allowed the man to approach her. It was a mysterious occurrence, one that Celest would never forget. Celest had looked down at the book, opened it, and saw a note on which was written, "To my dearest Celest...". Celest had looked up, but the man had disappeared, nowhere to be seen on the streets.
Back home, Celest had studied the book which she had been handed. The book contained spells of various sorts, useful for a variety of tasks, and even for fighting. Curious, Celest tried out the simpler spells in the book and to her surprise, realised that the spells were real, although the spells were weak and caused Celest to greatly tire out physically. Throughout the years, Celest secretly practiced the spells in the book, growing stronger. However, without a proper magical coach, her magical ventures went with somewhat limited success and her progress was probably slower than that of a normal wizard.
Celest is now performing alongside her mother. She's also taking over some of her mother's shifts and work. This is sort of like a planned transition from Celest's mother to her. Celest's mother wants to pass on her job and work over to Celest so she can retire and have an easy life, especially after all that she had done to raise Celest all on her own. Celest does have her mother's talent for singing though, despite being much shyer and quieter than her mother, so it all works out.
Celest's double life has been somewhat peaceful, except that she had felt a huge wave of uneasiness and sickness pass all over her body on one fine day, the day known to everyone in the supernatural circle as the day when Nemsemet was revived. Now aware of her ability to sense and perceive energy, Celest knew that a strong and evil force had taken over New Camden. She knew nothing of what was happening in the city but she knew that her peaceful days would not last for much longer.
Psychological Profile:
Celest is generally a quiet and reserved person. She doesn't really speak much or want to speak much to anyone, although she will if she does not have a choice. She holds the rest of society at a distance from her, in part due to how she had been regarded as weird by her peers in school. The only person who she will speak much to is her mother, with whom she has a very close relationship with. Celest also has a somewhat persevering personality. She is persistent, in both her goals and her ideals. She does not give up easily if she believes in what she is doing. Celest dislikes attention and being noticed, which is in stark contrast with her appearance which frequently causes attention to be placed on her. Celest prefers to be alone, and in a quiet place, if possible. She finds peace when she is alone. Another reason why she dislikes being in a crowd is because the high amount of energy from the crowd is stifling and makes Celest feel nauseous and unwell.
Possessions:
Celest's main and only treasured possessions are the locket left behind by her father and the spellbook which the mysterious man had handed to her.
Celest always wears her locket around her neck. The locket is made of gold, which is apparent in its weightiness. The main part of the locket is round. There is no lock on the locket. However, try as Celest and her mother may, they could not open the locket. The contents of the locket is unknown, and probably will never be known.
Celest's spellbook is a large leather-bound book, with old and tattered pages showing the amount of use which the spellbook had been put through. The note which Celest had found in the book is still kept on the first page, where it was originally placed. The pages of the spellbook are special and appears blank to anyone other than Celest, a weird peculiarity that Celest still does not know about due to her not having shown her spellbook to anyone else.
Yes, and:
Celest and Rusty has run into each other in one of her performances at L'élégant given how famous and popular the bar is. They had chatted and had a drink together and then parted. Celest sure does remember Rusty due, in part to his appearance, and in part due to the otherworldly, almost beastly and fierce energy she senses from him, that makes him stand out from the other customers in the bar.
As a young teenager, Celest had been following traces of energy throughout New Camden, and had found herself in the vicinity of Little Angels Day Care. They have a short meet up somewhere near the day care and Parael sees through Celest's lineage completely, although Celest denies it due to being unaware of it herself. Celest remembers the meeting due to the somewhat warm and powerful energy she feels from Parael.
Celest and C.C. had run into each other in a dark alleyway during one of C.C.'s investigations. Celest's half-wizard ancestry had set her apart from other humans and C.C. had taken an interest in Celest. However, after a short conversation in which Celest notes C.C.'s distinct energy flow, C.C. deems Celest as innocent and harmless.
Celest frequently wanders into Allard Park when she wants to be alone, unaware of the dryad who controls the park. There is a calming and healthy energy throughout the park, which Celest finds refreshing. The park is where Celest spends most of her free time in, and is where she feels the safest and least vulnerable. Celest had found and wandered into the park because of the strong clean and green energy which radiates from it. It is at the Allard Park where Celest first meets Violet. The place where Celest considers her hideout is close to Violet's bonded tree. It is due to her frequent visits and long stays in Allard Park that Violet eventually takes an interest in Celest and comes down to check her out. The two become close friends quickly and spend quite a lot of time together in the park.
The Corvid Cronuts is one of the places Celest frequents. This is due to the delicious pastries which her mother loves and always asks Celest to buy and because of the mysterious energy level of the shop which she finds intriguing and heartwarming. Celest also knows the owner of the shop, Suzanne, well, due to how regularly she visits the shop. They have chats with each other at the Corvid Cronuts occasionally, though neither of them knows about each other's relation to the supernatural world.
Location of Note: L'élégant Bar Notable Persons: Marie Sherine and her daughter Celestine Azeroth performs at the bar regularly. A fact everyone knows about this place: The bar serves some of the best cocktails in New Camden. Many people, both human and supernatural, are regulars at the bar.
The Fae are known for two things - their mischief and their omnipresence. Wherever there’s even a tiny gathering of trees of woodland, you can be certain that a pixie has made his home there, or there are sprites hidden in the undergrowth. Being naturally inclined towards enjoying life, pure-bred Faerie Folk are surprisingly adaptable and fertile in order to produce many offspring. And since they aren’t very picky, they’ll have sex with pretty much whatever takes their fancy and the resulting children are sterile and a bit of a burden. Most of them don’t inherit the faerie’s size-shifting abilities, meaning their homes are usually far too small for the babies. Faerie Folk aren’t partial to parental love and nurturing so they usually dump the deformed half-breeds onto anything that’ll look after them - or just toss them into the wilderness to die.
‘Changeling’ is more of a blanket term for halfbreeds with faerie blood in them that have been abandoned or given away at birth. Their size, appearance, abilities and behaviour vary between individuals. They are perhaps one of the few ‘races’ of supernaturals to be born with an innate understanding of all of their abilities, though it is not uncommon for Changelings to lose this knowledge as they grow older. Every Changeling that is given to surrogate parents has the ability to shift from their true form to the form of whichever race is raising them. This ability is subconscious and will only revert if the Changeling wills it or if the Changeling becomes aggressive.
Abigail is a Changeling with demonic heritage, and as a result she has inherited minor abilities from each parent.
Physical Description:
Abigail is a pale, gangly teenager with a thick flat curtain of blonde hair, thin eyebrows, and sharp blue eyes. She has a slightly turned-up nose and her lips are a little bit on the thin side, making her look like she’s constantly grimacing. She carries herself with an air of carefully staged nonchalance and wears unobtrusive and fairly ‘tame’ clothing compared to the outrageous teenage fashion in the 80s. She’s almost completely flat-chested, and there are little packs of muscle evening out her bony physique, especially on her arms and legs.
Changeling Form: The most striking changes to Abigail’s appearance are the horns, claws, eyes and teeth she possesses as a Changeling. Abigail’s physique remains pretty much identical to the human illusion but gaunter - her cheekbones are more prominent, her ribcage is visible and the joints are more pronounced. Her extremities are an intense mottled black colour due to the scales which spread partially up the forearms and calves, lightening into patchy greys and then fading into her sallow skin. Her fingers and toes are elongated and, though somewhat protected by the aforementioned scales, they seem brittle and easier to break than a human’s. Each finger and toe is adorned with thick black talons, the nails curl downwards and are shorter than the long, straight claws on Abigail’s hands.
Her facial features don’t change too much - she still has the pale blonde hair (though it has lost its well-conditioned sheen and seems to naturally tangle and become unkempt), the turned up nose and the slightly thin lips. It only seems to be alien and monstrous through the inhuman features; her eyes become a full glossy black, her dental structure is similar to a shark’s and two thick, dark and small horns protrude from the tangled mat of hair on her head.
If she’s in this form, she’s bound to get messy real fast. Couple the above description with the tattered remains of her clothes, caught in branches or on those brand new claws and horns (shoes are always a pain in the ass to replace, she almost always pierces holes in the soles) and smears of blood, mud and god-knows what from whatever antics she’s been up to and you have a pretty detailed mental image of Abigail the Changeling.
Talents:
Here’s the real kicker - as a Changeling, Abigail inherited minor faerie and demonic powers from her parents. Problem is, she’s almost completely forgotten how to use all of them. But magical capabilities aren’t too dissimilar from riding a bike; once you remember how, it becomes pretty easy. The Talents section will be split into ‘known’ and ‘unknown’ categories, just to clarify how much she’s got and what she’s yet to rediscover. There will also be a ‘passive’ ability section which is simply what Abigail doesn’t need to relearn because it’s part of who she is.
KNOWN: Summon Fireball: A simple yet gloriously destructive spell, Abigail is able to summon a fireball approximately the size of a marble in her hands. She can flick it like a marble - it won’t fly too far or too spectacularly, but you don’t need a particularly big flame to start a fire. With enough practice, the size and range of this spell will gradually increase into a fist-sized orb of flame which she will eventually be able to blast like a projectile.
Shove: Short range, low level telekinetic spell. Abigail can give objects a little push with her mind. More often than not she does this to fuck with people and break their stuff. As she practices, she’ll be able to control the direction and force of the shove and be able to push heavier objects about, but it’s not nearly as malleable as actual telekinesis.
UNKNOWN: These spells are more complex, they require a bit of brainpower and a fair bit of willpower too. Even as Abigail discovers and uses their weakest forms she’s going to find these to be taxing if she works on them too hard, and there’s a larger room for error.
Hallucination: Illusory Magic is probably Abigail’s forté...if she knew about it in the first place. A purebred trickster on both sides of the family can lead to some interesting illusions, but their powers combined to make Abigail capable of messing with people’s senses. The weakest ability is picking a sense - touch, taste, sight, smell or hearing - and changing the impulses sent to the brain for that sensory organ on one person for around a short period of time. The strongest ability is full-blown hallucinations designed by Abigail to be used on a group of people, lasting up to 10-15 minutes if she really pushes it.
Plant Manipulation: It’s no wonder Abigail forgot how to use this, it’s one of the most difficult powers to conceal. Abigail can manipulate pre-existing plants, but the effect she leaves on them is...weird. The stems and bark go a horrid ashen-grey and split, revealing rivulets of blood-red sap. The flowers (if they have any) turn black and dry, and thorns become barbed. In short, she can manipulate plants like a faerie but corrupts them like a demon. Luckily the corruption aspect isn’t contagious but it eats out the vegetation from the inside until it crumbles to dust an hour or so after Abigail stops using it. This power works like a standard plant manipulation ability, with the added weakness of it being a one-time use per plant and a delay as the corruption has to spread over the entirety of the plant before she can use it. Obviously she’ll start small and work her way up, from flowers and saplings to trees and vines. If she attempts to control a plant that is too large/complex for her to manage, her corruption will be ‘rejected’ and the plant will revert to normal.
PASSIVE: Shapeshift: Does what it says on the tin. It isn’t painful like a werewolf transformation because it’s part of a Changeling’s biology to be able to shift between their form and the form of their parents. Abigail learned her human form, and that’s the only one she can turn into. It’s also not a complete transition from one stage to another - it’s a gradual thing, and there’s no harm done if she’s a mismatch of changeling and human. Abigail’s control over this is...situational at best. She’s gotten a lot better with age, but get her sufficiently pissed off and her teeth might start to sharpen up and the claws might come out. She only goes full Changeling if she needs speed, agility and some sharp objects on hand to defend herself.
Changeling Abilities: Changelings like Abigail are built to scamper off into trees, weaving in and out of branches at superhuman speeds. The claws are incredibly tough to break, her grip is certainly stronger than an average man’s, and she’s able to move fast if she’s climbing, jumping and sprinting. She’s also got a nasty bite. These abilities are somewhat seen in Abigail’s human form, but the change is barely an advantage - she’s got a sturdy grip, can run a little faster, climbs things pretty easily...can probably still give a nasty bite, but most sane adults tend to avoid biting people.
History:
Abigail was given to Victor Strade as part of a bargain with her parents, who were more than happy to get rid of her since she was taking up space. The accountant/demonologist didn’t even have a home to put her in; he took her in out of desperation and didn’t actually consider the consequences. He sold his car and replaced it with a campervan to get out of New Orleans and find them somewhere to settle down.
the first few years of her life were spent in that campervan being towed halfway across the country using Victor’s truck. Those years were probably the most chaotic ones in both of their lives. Abigail wasn’t a particularly easy baby to look after; she didn’t cry too much but she had little to no control over her powers or her shapeshifting. Any temper tantrum would replace the little blonde with a screeching monster. She haphazardly flung fireballs like they were toys and nearly burnt down their caravan on multiple occasions. She used to create unexplainable phenomena which Victor didn’t quite figure out were hallucinations and penned it down to Abigail simply being a demonic piece of shit again. She chewed through the water pipes. She ate anything that moved. She climbed the walls and the ceiling and ripped things to shreds when she was frustrated.
Victor wasn’t much better - he didn’t know how to raise a kid, let alone a monster. Part of the deal involved not only managing to tame Abigail but also integrate her into human society. He freelanced as a private accountant and continued to trick any unlucky idiot that happened to cross paths with him, which managed to rack up enough money for the constant repair and maintenance work. During the initial year or so, he didn’t even recognise Abigail as his foster daughter and treated her more like a burden than a baby.
They never really stopped in any town or city for more than a month - just enough for Victor to work his magic (sometimes literally) and get enough cash to keep going. When they rolled up to new Camden around 15 years ago, Victor realised there were a lot more supernatural beings here than any of the places they visited before. Abigail wasn’t getting any younger - he’d have to settle down somewhere fast before she starts missing out on school. They waited a month to see how things went - then Victor spent another month because he was getting some good profit - and then another until they were there for a year. He’d finally managed to scrounge up enough for a really shitty house for them to live in.
Abigail was at her strongest during her younger years and as she grew up, Victor’s constant urges to repress her abilities finally started sinking in. She really wanted to go to school but couldn’t initially because she was unable to control her appearance, so Victor worked with her on her temperament until she was able to remain a human even when she got angry. With some level of self control, Abigail managed to get into the local school but she was still very much a little monster. Victor would receive notice that Abigail has once again bitten one of the other kids, or broke something, and he’d have to go in and pick her up early.
This was the general theme of Abigail’s first few years in school. Parent-teacher evenings were hellish and she struggled making friends because she was too busy either insulting or hitting the other children. Victor was overworked, underpaid and juggled his job and his duties as a father. They yelled at each other a lot but the two of them ultimately knew that they were both trying their hardest to get by and that was enough.
Abigail mellowed out a lot during her early teens. Actually, after the age of 8 she slowly started to forget how to cast her spells, most of which being innate with no incantation or hand movements required which made it all the harder to cast them when she’s hardly been using them. Even so, she still left a mark on her reputation which made it nigh impossible to make friends and most of the people she did actually get along with ended up leaving her eventually because she’d say something nasty. She was the weirdo loner in school and frankly she didn’t let it get to her that much - better no friends than annoying ones - but since Victor put a real emphasis on her fitting in when she was little, it kind of...stuck. And developed into an obsession. It was one of the few things Victor expected of her, he didn’t think she needed school, he knew she’d be able to find a job anyway, so it was one of the few ways to make him proud and she lived for those moments when he wasn’t annoyed or disappointed at her but actually impressed with how well she’s doing. Abigail’s been suspended multiple times and nearly expelled once. She was held back a year when she was 16 because she just couldn’t pass those exams and try to salvage her abysmal social life all on one go. She only used her spells at home and shapeshifted to make herself feel more comfortable at night, and largely kept to herself to focus on her studies. She’s dead-set on finishing her education, if only to prove to Victor that she can be around a large quantity of people 5 days a week and not cause any massive issues.
Psychological Profile:
Most, if not all of Abigail’s personality revolves around the fact that she is a monster trying her damnedest to behave like a human. When she’s alone or around supernaturals only, she doesn’t have to pretend; Abigail is emotionless and quiet. She observes and speaks very little, which doesn’t mean she always thinks carefully about what she’s going to say before she says it. She has a very loose grasp on empathy and doesn’t seem to care whether someone’s feelings get hurt. She is also very quick to anger and physically aggressive, and these traits only worsen if she’s walking around as a changeling instead of a person.
She changes completely when she’s around Victor. When she’s alone with him she opens up a lot more, becomes more conversational, acts more like you’d expect a teenage girl to act. She’s still quite reserved and sometimes she’ll just revert back to being that silent, staring, pissed off girl in the corner but overall it’s clear that she’s incredibly close to the man and also fiercely protective of him to the point of jealousy.
The problems arise when she’s trying to ‘act natural’. She’s obsessed with this idea of trying to fit in and if she relaxed a bit more, she’d probably be able to. But that constant fear of doing something stupid and blowing her cover only pushes her deeper into her quiet moments and, since she’s a bit of an asshole anyway when you start to talk with her, Abigail finds it even more distressing that she can’t make friends at school and doesn’t have any other actual humans besides Victor to copy. And let’s face it - Victor isn’t the ideal role model, and from him Abigail managed to finely hone her scathing wit and sharp tongue.
She stares and listens a lot because she’s busy trying to memorise what people actually do and replicate it herself. Because of this, Abigail’s known to have odd eating habits and does some menial tasks like reading a magazine with very deliberate care. Abigail’s tumultuous childhood made it difficult for her to trust her own capacity for self control and since she’s always juggling the stresses of schoolwork and the constant dread of discovery it’s no wonder she’s prone to lashing out at people when they provoke her.
Possessions:
Timothy, Tim-Tam, Timmy, Tim, Teeny Tiny - A frog familiar that lives with Abigail and Victor. When they were on the road, Abigail picked him up from a storm drain and refused to part with him. They don’t...really know what he does, but his presence is soothing for Abigail. When she was little, holding Timothy would help her remain calm and focused and repress her abilities. When she was really little, she didn’t understand Timothy’s worth and constantly tried to eat him. Luckily, Victor was always fast enough and conveniently close enough to prevent certain death of one of the few things capable of ‘controlling’ his weird monster foster child. Timothy doesn’t age and is certainly capable of intelligent thought but he’s small and fragile.
Yes, and:
Rusty “Streak” McKenzie: ”...Scary man.” Abigail barely knows Rusty since he isn’t usually around New Camden, but the one or two occasions where she laid eyes on him have left her well and truly intimidated. She’s unlikely to strike up any sort of conversation with him unless prompted.
Parael Magnus: ”Friend of the family. He’s a bit weird and very loud, but I like him.” Best described as the ‘weird uncle’ Abigail grew up with. Parael looked after Abigail ever since Victor figured out he could get a discount at Parael’s daycare and he’s the only other person who’s had to deal with her temper tantrums and survived. Since Victor and Parael are good friends and Abigail follows Victor like a stubborn shadow, she’s much more comfortable around the celestial than she is around other people.
C.C Schwarzman: ”Who.” Abigail’s never directly met C.C, and probably wouldn’t get along with him. She tends to get violent when she’s scared. If someone was capable of making sure she didn’t outright attack the boogeyman, then she might gradually learn to tolerate his presence - until then, it’s best to keep them separate.
Violet Atwood: ”...I know her.” 14 years ago, in Allard Park, the self-proclaimed Guardian of the Forest started to hunt down the source of a strange disease that was making a scattering of trees go grey, split, ooze red sap and then crumble away. When she realised it was a 4 year old changeling girl with very little self control and an absolute love for tree climbing, she relented - especially since the corruption was only isolated to the affected plant and it was easy enough to repair the damage. As time went on, the cases of diseased trees continued to decrease and then vanish completely.
From that point onwards every couple of weeks, in the early hours of the morning, Violet saw a gaunt and bestial figure launch itself from tree to tree. Sometimes it stopped and a handful of words were exchanged, but Abigail doesn’t talk to anyone if she doesn’t feel like it. Whilst they aren’t close, Abigail’s always respectful towards all of the fae in the forest, and especially towards Violet. When Abigail gets the time (or wants to bribe the dryad) she fills a shoebox with shiny things, sweets, pretty flowers and packets of sugar from the diner. Said shoebox is usually deposited at the base of Violet’s bonded tree with a little note from Abigail before she scurries off.
Suzanne Rendell: ”Cake lady. Stranger.” Abigail doesn’t talk to Suzanne much either, aside from ordering things. That’s not to say Suzanne hasn’t given it a bloody good try. Abigail responds to her warm and opening questions with curt short answers and long silences, and the baker quickly caught on to the fact Abigail just simply isn’t a people person.
Celestine Azeroth: ”Casts magic, but not as good as Victor...Pretty voice.” Abigail frequents bars purely because Victor goes to them all the time and it’s far more boring to sit around at home and watch him stumble in drunk. When he’s feeling classy, L’élégant Bar becomes the bar of choice. Abigail is enraptured by the singers more than anything and often gets distracted when they come on stage, and Abigail picked up on her talent for magic but doesn’t seem to be nearly as interested in Celest’s magical capabilities.
Victor Harlow: Abigail giggled and shook her head. Abigail’s carer, protector, and in some cases parole officer, Victor Harlow has known Abigail for her entire life. Abigail loves him unconditionally and would even go as far as to kill for his safety. She spontaneously shifts from following him everywhere to going away for hours on end with no explanation - they’ve reached a point where they both trust each other more than anyone else.
Location of Note:
Sally’s Diner Notable Person: ‘Sally’, the head chef. A fact everyone knows about this place: A 24hr diner that serves the greasiest, sweetest, most calorific food you can possibly imagine. Famous for its monster-sized sundaes and the proprietor, who is probably a succubus and definitely a gold-digger.
Breed/Species/Type/Lineage: Unicorn "The last and lonely unicorn," she says solemnly.
Anyone familiar with the species knows that "last" of their kind business is a steaming pile of bullshit-- or unicorn shit. It's a blatant lie. Theirs is a species that has worked in the shadows as assassins, posed as human mages or wizards, posed as animals, acted as guides and "destiny" speakers, all for the sake of influencing history, both among mortals and the supernatural alike. Chances are, most have had encounters with Unicorns and simply do not know it. Who is telling the Unicorns to influence others or even outright assassinate people remains a scholastic mystery-- some have speculated they do it just for "fun". Among those same scholars it is generally agreed upon that they are a type of demon. Then again, it's entirely possible that a few of the scholars themselves are Unicorns that are, again, just making rumors for "fun". Whatever the truth is, Unicorns in their true form are every bit of the sparkly, rainbow, curly haired, flowery nonsense as popular art depicts them as.
Physical Description: Clean, unassuming, and quite fashionable, Stella values her face appearance highly. She is rather vain and very meticulous when it comes to how she looks. "I'm not boasting but, I'm probably one of the most beautiful people you've ever met," Stella says with a flip of her hair.
"If you believe in me hard enough, I just might show you the real me."
Talents:
Assassin Skills: Trained in the art of subterfuge, disguise, and "sharp objects that kill things", Stella's main skill set is focused more toward directly dispatching others and sticking to the shadows. "I give hugs that make people fall asleep-- they may or may not wake up. It's how I survive."
Unicorn Magic - The Silence: While Unicorns are naturally gifted to be rather easy to forget, Stella has specialized magic in this area. She can quiet her footsteps, create a bubble of silence up to an arm's length away from herself, and blend easily into the shadows. A passive effect of the magic is the fact she is very easy to forget and can blend into the background or a crowd-- one needs to explicitly direct all of their attention on her for a long period of time, in order to not lose sight of her... aka "believe in Stella". "That wasn't me..."
Unicorn Magic - Innocence: Perhaps one of the most prolific traits of a Unicorn. Their ability to appear innocent, lie so well it seems like the truth, and give the typical "puppy-dog eyed stare" to get themselves out of trouble, is a passive magical trait they're all born with. Only certain magic users and other Unicorns can see through this magical tactic though-- they rarely use it on one another as a courtesy. "Don't worry about it, friend. Be cool..."
All of these spells draw from Stella's reserves of "moonlight" and sap her strength the longer they're in use. While she hasn't encountered many instances where her magic failed-- there have been a few scares in the middle of channeling spells, where she was a bit too tired to fully manifest the effects.
History:
"Alright, this is one of those things I can't sum up well, but I'll do my best." Stella clears her throat then begins, "So there we were, grazing upon the fruit at the base of the Evertree, when all of a sudden, guess who steps out of a portal? Titans. Actual titans throwing lava and ice around, all sorts of messed up stuff. Nobody liked these guys, especially not the people who were horribly murdered by them, and then I found myself alone. Everyone else was dead. I spent years wandering around until, eventually, I found my way here. That's it. I'm on vacation."
The truth is, Stella was an instrumental part in several historic events throughout Europe and Asia as a whole. Along with her other Unicorn cohorts, she helped burn down the Library of Alexandria, provoke a war between a faction of minor Chinese deities-- resulting in their complete self destruction, provoke a Fire Elemental into destroying Pompeii, helped sink the city of Atlantis, and directly assassinated the leader of a Korean based Vampiric army, resulting in a victory for the human government of South Korea, and assisted in the subsequent coverup operations.
All of Stella's tactics involved more direct actions. Among Unicorns, she is part of the "Dirty Hooves" crew-- those called upon to assist and assassinate when typical influential practices fail. Now that she's in New Camden, it seems Stella is focused on laying low. Sure, people see her walking about, but it's mostly during the same hours of the day and always for brief periods of time. She has very few friends and none of them know her very well however, it's well known that all she does is go to the beach, play at the arcade, and eat ice cream-- specifically chocolate Ice Cream. Needless to say, the Ice Cream shop owners know her well enough to start making her a waffle cone with two scoops of chocolate, whenever they see her from the shop windows. Where she gets her money or how she affords anything is something of a mystery to others but, Stella owns a large fortune assembled over centuries, and she lives comfortably on the interest her accounts gain.
Psychological Profile:
Stella takes everything easy. Extremely patient and almost disturbingly serene, there will never be a time when she seems either surprised or flustered. Sure, there are things she doesn't expect that happen, but Stella tends to shrug and accept things as they are. That being said, Stella is unfortunately as carefree as they come. It's very difficult to get her to do anything she doesn't expressly volunteer to do. When she needs to be concerned about things, Stella certainly lacks the urgency or care that's probably required for the situation. This particular trait has actually crafted itself into a strange form of courage-- perhaps even fearlessness. Then again, maybe she's simply too lazy to feel much fear because, after all, that would require energy to give a shit. However, when she commits herself to a purpose or is called upon to work, Stella goes after her goal with the aggressiveness and professionalism she is trained to have-- the quicker and cleaner she gets the job done, the sooner she can eat ice cream and play arcade games, after all. "Ah, be cool, man. It doesn't mean much, does it? I like naps and Ice Cream, that's all there is to it. There ain't much more to know about me, I'd say."
Possessions:
An Obscene Variety Of Knives: Unicorn Weapons Smiths have perfected a "sharp and pointy" to injure of kill a multitude of species. All of her weapons range in length from pocket knife to short sword-- nothing longer. If it doesn't kill it, bring the weapon back for a full refund-- if you're alive, that is! "They're for my protection, of course."
"Super Suit": Stella likes to call her full black, very "ninja like", assassin's suit her "super suit". It's flame resistant, puncture resistant, and has plenty of pockets and places to latch knives and such. It also helps her keep "cloth silent" on top of her inherent magical abilities. "For some reason, saying 'where's my super suit' fills me with deep satisfaction..."
Yes, and:
"There are so many people in town that need makeovers. Maybe it's a cultural thing for me but, why would anyone not look their best at all times? Is it vain? No. Definitely not. It's simple courtesy to be easy on the eyes and that being said-- have you seen that weirdo in all black? Tax-person or whatever, right? Hideous. I mean, you can wear all black and make it work for you but they don't even make an attempt! It's fine. Whatever. Let people live their lives, right? Other than that I-- well I used to go to the park. I almost decided to relax in it-- that was until I saw the Dryad lurking there. Do they even have a name? I didn't ask because, well, I don't particularly like those kids of creatures-- long story." Stella shakes her head slowly, lets out a deep sigh, then continues speaking. "Then there's that baker which-- again-- I didn't ask their name. Names, smames, they're whoevers and whatever to me-- I just know the sweets are good and that's all I care about. If they wanted me to know them, well, they're out of luck. I don't need to know them, do I? It's better to keep a distance anyway, because you never know who might want to... you know... harvest my tears or blood. Seriously. As if I weren't already a walking target, the fact that I'm the last of my kind just makes me more valuable. Eh. I'm not sure if it's a compliment or not. I don't like to advertise what I am because of this fact, though. But, that being said, the majority of the Unicorn Hair circulating within the magic user community in New Camden is mine-- sold for obscenely high prices, of course. I have to eat too, you know? Otherwise, I like to stay on the beach because of this-- the sirens, merfolk, and selkies are better company anyway. And uh. There's a Kelpie by the lake I like to talk to sometimes-- she's sweet."
Location of Note: Lake Avonaco + Lake Avonaco Beach
Notable Person: Albert aka "Sasquatch"
A fact everyone knows about this place: While the lake isn't very large, it does act as something of a haven for those who crave water, but are a bit too busy to go to the sea every day. Albert maintains the only dock on the lake and sells fishing gear and bait out of a tiny shack next to it. He's also been known to clean up trash off of the small strip of sandy beach at the lake's edge. Albert also ensures that the lake doesn't become over fished-- even going so far as to give anyone a good scolding during the fish spawning season.
Location of Note: Versus Arcade -- Directly across the street from Black Cat Books
Notable Person: "Warren" the Half-Demon Half-Angel "Demigod" of War
A fact everyone knows about this place: While the owner couldn't exactly lead legions into battle well, not anymore, Warren most certainly takes these desires out in his arcade. Most of the games are competitive in nature and he has an especially large amount of fighting and sports based games. Regular tournaments happen in the arcade and rather expensive prizes are given to the victors. Most people report a rather subtle increase in their competitive desires while within the building.
Name: Victor Harlow Age: 40 Gender: Male Breed/Species/Type/Lineage: Human
Physical Description:
Talents:
Banish Ghosts/Demons: With the use of a drawn banishment circle and an incantation, Victor can banish any ghost or demon to its home dimension - hell, heaven, the afterlife, you name it. However, the ghost/demon must remain in the banishment circle throughout the entirety of the spell, and the banishment circle must not be broken or damaged for the ritual to work.
Soul Contracting: A blood contract initiated by Victor using his harpy quill and eldritch jotter as reagents, binding one other person to its terms and obligating them to carry out the task written down. Every contract has loopholes, and the participant has to willingly sign it with an understanding of what they’re agreeing to in the first place.
Soul Dreg: Victor musters up the raw energy in his rotten decrepit soul to produce a foul magic that appears to be a purplish-black, viscous, gloopy liquid. He is able to manipulate this energy and cast in the same way you’d expect a simple arcane bolt or pure magic bolt to work, but it is slower, heavier and leaves traces of dark energy wherever it strikes.
Wards: Victor has a ward tome with very elaborate and detailed runic circles drawn onto each page. By flipping to the correct page, placing his hand onto the circle and saying an incantation, Victor, produces a translucent dome-like shield which can hold off a certain type of magic and any being which uses this type of magic. Wards can be broken and weakened, but Victor can reinforce the ward using a constant incantation which requires his focus. Only one type of magic is blocked by the ward, and the ritual circle must not be broken or damaged within the tome. Victor is able to cast wards for the following types of magic: Fire, Water, Earth, Wind, Unholy/Demonic, Necromantic, and Psionic (Mind-affecting).
History:
Born to a deadbeat father and loving mother, Victor managed to carry out a relatively simple and uneventful childhood. As the lack of excitement began drive Victor into running himself into trouble that worsened by the week, Victor found himself at the front door of an old gypsy’s house with his mother close behind him, apologising for breaking her window and offering to do her gardening for a couple of weeks. Whilst he was there, he found out that the old lady was an actual, real-life witch and became more fascinated than horrified.
Victor refused to continue his education after the final year of high school and started dedicating his time to fully dabbling in the occult under the guidance of the gypsy. Thankfully due to the lack of care from his father, Victor managed to easily convince his mother that he’d be better off taking a job at one of the local banks instead of wasting time with an education. As much as he’d have loved to begin carelessly living his life and dedicating it to the mystical, he owed her that much. He received an internship at a nearby accounting firm, moved out as soon as he had the chance, and began leading a life of partial financial labour and indulging with magical training.
No matter what Victor had going for him, his expertise had always been with deceit. With his knack for conning and inexplicable attraction to the magical, it was inevitable that Victor’s mystical career lead to him spending his time fooling and betraying deals with summoned and trapped demons.
At the end of the day, Victor was still a mere mortal. Eventually his carelessness, drunken stupors, and simply his ego got the better of him. After the summoning of a relatively unknown demon, Victor lost a bet over a simple game of cards against the demonic entity - one that would cost him 40 years of his life. In a panic, Victor rushed to the gypsy woman for help only to be redirected to the fairies that dwelled deep in the bayou near New Orleans. Upon arrival, Victor pleaded them to help make up for the lost time, and in his desperate state he accepted the first offer they made. For returning the lost 40 years, Victor would have to dedicate 18 of those years to raising a changeling child and begin integrating them into the human world.
With practically no other choice, Victor assumed to have been off the hook with this one. That was until he was introduced to the child. With no practical explanation at hand, and nothing to keep him bound to the city of his birth, Victor traded in his beloved Volvo P1800 for a shoddy campervan to hit the road for the following three years until the babe was of more stable age. Financially, his primitive accounting skills along with any private demonology or exorcism contract made do, and along with what he had saved up from his previous chapter, the two began driving eastwards across the country, stopping at the odd town or two but never staying longer than a month.
The two eventually arrived in New Camden, and after a month of Victor running minor demonic related errands for quick cash to hit the road, it dawned on him that there was a far larger presence of magical and mystic beings than anywhere him and Abigail had visited. Upon this realisation, Victor considered remaining here to raise Abigail as she was slowly coming to a more controllable age and would eventually have to start with her own introduction into the human educational system. Victor decided to remain for another month, which eventually turned into two, which eventually turned into a year. It was decided as Abigail began to settle into the surroundings and slowly made life less and less hard on him. Victor continued assisting both Magical’s and humans with accounting, whilst dabbling and taking on the odd private contract when his wallet ached.
Psychological Profile:
Victor is a foul-mouthed, disillusioned, cynic who leads a life of sorcery and danger. A man with an inexplicable attraction to the occult, he enjoys tampering with eldritch forces and conning anyone he can get his grubby little hands on. Most of the time, he mixes his hobbies together in his job and likes to think he’s living the good life because of it.
For Victor, law and virtue are less of a necessity - you could do anything you like if you could get away with it without being caught. He still operates under his own strict set of morals though, quick to be disapproving or to congratulate people for doing what he saw as ‘the right thing’.
Possessions:
Rumpus - A small, pot-bellied imp who got conned by Victor and bound into servitude through one of his soul contracts. As well as slave labour, Rumpus is Victor’s contact to the underworld, and through him Victor is able to extend his dealings into hell.
Eldritch Jotter and Harpy Quill: Victor won this in a game of Yahtzee against a demonic entity. When introduced to the blood of the current owner and the blood of a willing participant, the words written on the jotter become a soul-binding contract which both parties are obligated to uphold.
Ward Tome: A fairly thin leather bound book with several large and elaborate runic circles drawn onto each page. Victor needs to have this book and have the required drawing in good condition in order to cast wards.
Victor also carries a multitude of large permanent markers and sticks of chalk to draw out his banishment circles.
Yes, and:
TBD
Location of Note: Sir Walter’s (Dive Bar) Notable Person: Elizabeth Rodgers aka. “Betty” a troll in disguise. Caring in nature, Betty harbors any unwanted beings that seek a place to call home. She’s the current manager of the bar, purchased it from the previous owner who remains unknown. A fact everyone knows about this place: The bar works as a form of safe haven for primarily demons. Most of the staff comprise of unwanted and or shunned magical beings with illusions casted over themselves to appear human. They serve cheap drinks and even cheaper bar food.
Name: Bill Harper Age: 84 (42 in Sasquatch-Years) Gender: Male Breed/Species/Type/Lineage: Sasquatch
Physical Description:
Bill is about eight feet tall, and covered with thick brown fur. Bill has features typical of a Western Canadian Sasquatch; A noticeably simian facial structure, a sloping forehead, a bearlike physique, and sharp teeth and nails designed for tearing into bark. As with all members of the Sasquatch family, Bill's feet are incredibly large; Though he has never worn shoes, Bill would be a size 27 if he were to do so.
Bill's clothes have to be custom made, and as a result, he has very few of them. He owns two plaid shirts, one red and one green, two pairs of blue jeans, and a brown hide vest, which he is quick to point out he tanned himself. He stores them under a four-ton boulder in a nearby nature reserve, and always smells a little like wet soil as a result.
Talents:
Owing to his Squatchim heritage, Bill has an instinctive sense for spotting edible berries, mushrooms, leaves, and other plant life. This has allowed him to find business for the last few decades as an expert shroomer in the fall and spring when forests are nice and damp, and as a peyote hunter in the summer, reaping the profits during his winter hibernation.
An additional feature of Bill's shared by all Squatchim is his immense strength. He has been seen pulling trees from the earth with the exertion of a man uprooting a fence post, and occupationally walks the Earth for hundreds of miles at a time, which does not seem to tire him. Fortunately, his people have an incredibly high "Flight" response to adrenaline with evolution having crafted them into runners and hiders. He couldn't raise a fist to you unless you were whacking him with a torch and a pitchfork, and even then it would be like getting punched by a six-hundred pound version of Mr. Rogers.
History:
Bill was born in a deep, untamed forest in Maine. Like all Squatchim, his father had left his mother nearly nine months earlier, and Bill's childhood was spent following the particularly large ankles of his mother. He doesn't remember much of his childhood, though he'll eagerly tell anyone who will listen about how there were more trees back then. His mother left him, as his people do, sometime in the late fourties. He fended for himself for years thereafter, leading the simple life of a Sasquatch, roaming from Maine and Vermont to Quebec and New Brunswick. He recalls these times like a man would recall a college rock band, though his stories mostly center around particularly gruesome fights he had with moose, scaring hikers, and instances he found unattended camps filled with leftovers and packaged snacks. Life remained this way until the late fifties, when fellow supernatural beings he had bumped into in the past began to seek him out. From there, Bill the Sasquatch became Bill the Drug-Finder.
The Summer of Love was a good time for Bill, as it was then he began interacting with occasional humans in his business dealings, who mostly mistook him for a large Canadian. The entirety of the 1960's was a drum circle for Bill, who carried on selling drugs for decades thereafter -- Weed, mushrooms, peyote, even those toads you freak out to lick their stress-sweat. The best part was that he didn't even have to plant it -- Most of his findings were due to his keen Squatch-Eyes, while the rest of them were due to the strange human inclination to plant their crops unguarded in forests. It was also in the 60's that he married his ex-wife Martha, who he purchased a small cabin to "properly" raise a family like humans.
Life changed for Bill during the 70's when he began a business relationship with a one Rusty McKenzie, selling he and his pack barrels of his ill-gotten harvests when they would roll through Maine. This eventually budded into a close friendship over the course of one winter, when a particularly harsh snowstorm closed off the highways for nearly a month, stranding Rusty and the rest of the Wild Hunt to Bill's cabin, where he treated them to the hospitality of a month of snowed-in partying. It was here Rusty drunkenly promised Bill that one day, he would repay that debt. Afterwards, Bill would occasionally spend a few months at a time on the road with Rusty as a business partner of sorts, generating a private profit for himself and Rusty outside of the gang's dealings during their travels.
All this came to a gradual halt with the rise of violence and warring -- Bill wanted no part in this, and began seeing Rusty less and less, drifting as friends often do. He continued to live a quiet lifestyle with his wife and son Phil, sometimes pining for his years of motorcycles and drug dealing with the Wild Hunt. All of this came to a crash two weeks ago, when Bill came home from a two-month mushroom gathering excursion to discover that Martha had left, taken Phil and their dog, and that Bill would not see her again. With no one else to turn to, Bill has finally phoned in his debt to the one friend he has known.
Psychological Profile:
Bill is a gentle, shy man. Or, to some, a gentle, shy animal. He's still trying to figure it out himself. Following his divorce with his wife -- another Squatchim, which is their people's way of referring to themselves -- he has been forced to move reintegrate into society, which he is having difficulty with. He is a simple man who enjoys the thoroughly traditional, even finding Pink Floyd to be too "electric", and has a level of disdain for the androgynous neon world he's found himself in. At heart, he's just another guy in his fourties grumbling about how kids these days.
On a deeper narrative level, a prevailing element in Bill's psychology is his instinctive Sasquatch drive to be alone, and the juxtaposition this presents with his human fear of loneliness, as well as the constraints his wandering puts on others, such as his ex-wife. I didn't sit down and write a Sasquatch you could care about for you guys to miss that.
Possessions:
Bill doesn't really own stuff. It kind of comes with being the missing link. He has made references to his hibernation cave where he stores particularly smooth pieces of leather he finds, though this is not really the same thing.
Relations:
Bill is new to town, having only been in contact with fellow Squatchim for the last decade, and is now coming out of the forests to crash on his old friend Rusty's couch for a few weeks while he gets his shit together (And uses Rusty's place as an address for mailing divorce proceedings)
Notable Person: As any Italian can tell you, if a pizza place is named after a woman, it is named after the owner's daughter, and that daughter has probably been brought up to think that she is the daughter of an Italian-American monarchy. Such is the case with Francesca DePaolo, a notable battle-axe and community board member who inherited the restaurant from her father twelve years ago. After she inherited the business she married a ghost and now everything but their pizza sucks. A fact everyone knows about this place: Francesca's ghost husband runs an under-the-table goblin fighting ring, and has been known to let people talk to the dead for a few minutes to get out of paying for his losses.
