Ctenoid Soul

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Andrew Carlino

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: Andrew Carlino’s home Time: Evening, wearing on into night

Interactions: @Tpartywithzombi Dane Mentions: n/a

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

At long last, Andrew Carlino marked Evelyn Godwin down as a no-show and called it a day, closing up his office and migrating thence to the more domestic wings of his house. The first new order of business was to let his dog in from the back yard.

He’d fed Fenrir the World Devourer dinner and let him out just before his scheduled appointment with Ms. Godwin so that the dog wouldn’t disturb the intake process. A perusal of the perimeter security cameras showed that the terrier was entertaining himself with something along the back fence. It must not have been too engrossing, since Fenrir came right away, bobbed tail wagging like a frantic metronome, when Dr. Carlino opened the sliding door and called his name.

Andrew skritched the Jack Russel’s ears and chin for a bit, then indulged in a couple rounds of fetch before leading the World Devourer back inside for a somewhat less than world-sized treat. As he did, he noticed that it was starting to rain. Just in time, he thought with some relief; he was not in the mood for muddy paws and wet dog smell.

The doggy intake having gone more smoothly than Ms. Godwin’s patient intake, Andrew headed into the living room to relax for a bit before turning to evening business. The psychiatrist didn’t have any appointments with Wardens on his calendar tonight, and he had just inventoried his medicines and “enhancements” yesterday, so he had no urgent business at the Bastion. He even dared hope he might have the evening to himself.

As Andrew entered the living room, Fenrir dashed in past him to jump onto his human’s favorite chair. The terrier set himself proudly in the middle of the seat, bright black eyes regarding the doctor with an air of expectant defiance. Andrew was just considering whether to evict the squatter or just sit on the couch instead when his pager went off. He pulled it from his belt and read the message with pursed lips.

URGENT
CODE 3 - Last location Nightclub in Sector 6
ALL WARDENS REQUIRED TO DO A STATUS CHECK.
End Transmission

Code 3 meant that a Warden had gone MIA. The message didn’t identify who that was, nor could Dr. Carlino have guessed, since he was not usually privy to operational details. The upshot was that the Bastion wanted to know where everybody was. Andrew pecked out and sent a quick message: “DR C @ HOME,” then slipped the pager back into its holster. After a moment, he opted to ignore the dog in favor of hitting the couch for a quick nap.

He woke up to a soft wheezing sound at his feet. Fenrir had joined him in his couch nap and was snoring. A glance at his phone told Andrew that he had slept about an hour, and that nobody had called or texted him in that time. That was just as well; nobody seemed to have good news for him tonight. Sitting up and listening told him that it was still raining.

He hadn’t eaten dinner yet, and was getting hungry. He went into the kitchen to make some coffee, and to finish off the tiramisu he had left in the fridge. He had some leftover ziti, too, but the tiramisu would go better with the coffee. As the caffein and sugar stirred in his brain, the Doctor began to realize that he probably needed to head into the Bastion tonight, after all.

A Warden’s going missing might involve, among other things, their psychic state, so it would be a good idea to find out at headquarters who the missing agent was and review their file. The errant Warden might also be due for a visit once they re-emerged from whatever it was they had gotten themselves into. If nothing else, they would want to re-stock their enhancements after having been out-of-pocket for a while.

By the time Andrew was washing up after his supper, Fenrir had awoken and realized that his human was in the kitchen. A clatter of tiny claws on tile heralded the World Devourer’s arrival. The doctor played with the dog for a few minutes before going upstairs to change.

Soon after, now in sturdier, less formal clothes, the doctor came back downstairs and headed towards the garage. As he did, he sent another text to the Baston:

“Coming in. Need info on MIA pls.”

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Wulde Riddenhouse

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: South Halcyon Friends Meeting House Time: Night

Interactions:@tpartywithzombi Dane Mentions: N/A @osoDominic @deegeeKessler

@infinite cosmosLucian

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Wulde noticed that Barton was slowing down and dimming his lights as his truck pulled up to a squat, shabby monument sign marking the entrance to a driveway.

They were in a rundown “mixed-use” zone, where the buildings were smaller than the hulking factories and warehouses they had passed earlier; here was a drab assortment of service stations, hardware stores, private medical offices, clubhouses, and the like.

Wulde looked from the sign to the building behind it and frowned. “A church?” he asked, bemusedly.

“I believe the term for this one is ‘meeting house’,” replied Barton, as he turned into the driveway. The headlights swept over the sign just then as if on cue, briefly illuminating faded lettering that indeed read: “South Halcyon Friends Meeting House.” A crunching sound signaled asphalt giving way to loose gravel.

Wulde frowned. “So, we’re supposed to be, what, Quakers, then?” He found that odd; he had always thought that they were supposed to be pacifists.

“You gotta admit, it’s a creative cover,” the other Warden offered.

The parking lot was behind the church, screened by trees and a brick wall; thus, it was not until they were in the back that they could see how many other vehicles had already arrived: only three so far, though one was a crew van that might carry any number of passengers.

Wulde saw no one outside as he dismounted from the truck and looked about the dim parking lot; it was a safehouse, after all, which meant it would not be conspicuously guarded or surveilled. The lighting in the back lot was dim; however, the Warden noticed here and there in the surrounding trees and hedges a glint from what looked to be rectangular arrays of little glass circles. Infrared illuminators and cameras, he surmised.

A plain, locked metal door with a buzzer next to it greeted the newcomers with the unspoken message: “If you belong here, you know what to do”. Barton gave the buzzer two quick presses, and then the two wardens turned to face the camera. Wulde resisted the urge to smile and wave sarcastically.

The door burred and clicked, which upon opening revealed a bare room overlooked by a window in the right-hand wall. Framed in that window stood a plainly-dressed, conspicuously inconspicuous man who gave the new arrivals a neutral, questioning look. Barton produced his phone and announced: “Field Wardens Barton and Riddenhouse.”

The man nodded and pointed to the only other door. “Third room on the right,” he instructed laconically. “There’s a breakroom first door on the left, but that’s for afterward. Please just go straight to the briefing.”

There was another buzz, this time from the interior door, and Wulde and Barton now entered a long corridor lined with office doors, of which only the two that the desk clerk had mentioned were open.

Aforementioned third room on the right was clearly a small classroom, flanked by two small folding banquet tables with chairs arranged along the outer edges. Four other field wardens already sat at those tables, two on each side. At the front of the room, sitting on the front of a small teacher’s desk was a formidable looking middle-aged black woman, who nodded to the new arrivals and said: “Take a seat, gentlemen.”

The assembled group sat and waited for a few moments before the woman seemed to make a decision. She picked up her phone and pressed a button. “I’m calling it, Wallace,” she announced to it. “ “We have quorum. Anybody else comes, thank them for their time.”

The voice of the man at the front desk responded: “Roger,” after which the woman lowered her phone and faced the assembled Wardens.
“Thank you all for coming,” she declaimed in a strong, deep voice. “ “I am Lieutenant Laquita Grant.” Although she spoke quietly, Wulde guessed that Lieutenant Grant could have commanded a small auditorium with that voice, even without a microphone, if she so chose.

Lieutenant Grant scanned the room calmly and confidently as she spoke. “ “You all are here because you got a message reporting a disturbance at one of the warehouses in the Gutterbane. Obviously, you are here because you are to help investigate that disturbance. Just as obviously, I am here to tell you how you are going to do that-“

A hushed yet insistent chorus of electronic chirps and buzzes murmured about the room. Reflexively, everybody looked at their phones, watches or other communication devices. A baffled murmur spread throughout the room as the Wardens read the messages that had just arrived. Lieutenant Grant made a noise at once irritated and resigned as she looked at her own phone.

“ “Right, y’all take care of this,” she instructed. “ “Go ahead and grab some coffee while you’re at it. We’ll resume in five. Make that ten.”

A din of scrapes and rumbles ensued as the gathered Wardens pushed back their chairs and rose, still gazing at their respective devices. Satisfied that he had a handle on the situation in the room, Wulde finally checked the obscure message app on his own phone:

URGENT
CODE 3 - Last location Nightclub in Sector 6
ALL WARDENS REQUIRED TO DO A STATUS CHECK.
End Transmission

The Wardens filed out of the cramped classroom and instinctively spread at generous intervals along the corridor, as if the status checks they were about to give had a blast radius. Wulde took a spot just past a pair of restrooms, then composed his own message:

Re: URGENT
Current status: Attending mission briefing w/6 other Ws, OIC LT Grant.

Wulde then referenced the safehouse address and ended the message. Hopefully, that would satisfy the Commander.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Andrew Carlino

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: Andrew Carlino’s home office • Time: Dusk

Interactions: n/a • Mentions: n/a

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

She was late, the doctor noted, his annoyance mounting as the violinist span out that interminable final chaconne. She had already been late when the partita had started playing. Now she was unconscionably late.

Fidgeting irritably at his desk, Andrew Carlino glared resentfully at the clock mounted on the opposite wall of his office, as if it were somehow responsible for the inconvenience, mutely daring the contraption to tick off yet another minute with Ms. Godwin still not there. Eventually, inevitably, the clock did just that.

Realizing with a defeated sigh that his frustration was absurdly misplaced, the psychiatrist lowered his eyes to the file on his desk; he opened it and began to read it again, more to pass the time than to refresh his memory.

The file contained both medical records for Ms. Godwin and a referral letter from her primary care physician, one Dr. George Sokolov. Dr. Carlino knew Dr. Sokolov, had worked with him before. He was one of the good ones, and understood better than most of his fellow GPs what sort of referrals Andrew Carlino was interested in.

Evelyn Godwin. White woman, 67, widowed. Her emergency contact information listed just two relatives: one son, Blake, 45, and one grandson, Tariq, 20. Both were also surnamed Godwin. Much of her history was uninteresting: she had been reasonably healthy most of her life, but nowadays presented with some typical age-related physical complaints, along with bouts of mild depression. Lately, however, her mental state had become more unsettled. She had grown withdrawn and hostile and become obsessed with the idea that her grandson was transforming into some other person.

Dr. Carlino turned from the letter to the medical records. Dr. Sokolov had done his due diligence: appropriate physical and neurological tests, a basic mental health questionnaire, some common cognitive tests to check for signs of dementia. He had asked enough questions, and taken enough notes, to build a rough timeline for the development of her delusions, to present events in the context of the patient's life. It was a good referral; Dr. Sokolov had done everything a good PCP ought to under the circumstances, and nothing that one shouldn’t.

The chaconne was nearly finished. Dr. Carlino suspended his perusal of the file and waited for the music to end, then paused the recording before the next track could start. The office hung a while in expectant silence. The opposing clock ticked off another minute. There was still no sign of Ms. Godwin.

Grumbling discontentedly, Dr. Carlino restarted the partita from the very beginning, the opening allemande. Its linearity made a refreshing contrast to the involutions of the chaconne, exactly the sort of music his brain needed to think clearly. He briefly considered putting the allemande on repeat, but decided against it.

Returning his attention to the file, Dr. Carlino saw that Dr. Sokolov had indicated a working diagonosis: “Dementia-related psychosis. Delusional misidentification syndrome, intermetamorphosis.”

That final word was by far the most interesting to Dr. Carlino. Reading further, he learned that Ms. Godwin had been quite agitated on her most recent visit to her doctor, nervously recounting her last time seeing her grandson. He had been growing increasingly surly and ill-mannered lately, she said, probably on account of the company he had started keeping in “bad parts of town”.

On Tariq's last visit, she claimed, he had been especially nasty to his grandmother, and, she insisted, there was something off about him physically, as well, about the way he moved, among other things. She even mentioned thinking that his limbs looked too long, that he had more hair than usual. It was these last observations that had triggered concern in Dr. Sokolov, and motivated him to refer Ms. Godwin to Dr. Carlino.

The psychiatrist sat back and mused on what he had just read. Conflicting explanations, surmises, suspicions roiled about in his mind, their savage breasts only partly soothed by the music. He needed more information, a lot more. And he could not hope to have it until he had a chance to talk to Ms. Godwin.

There was still no sign of her. Dr. Carlino knew that it was premature to worry. It wasn’t *that* unusual for a patient to be late for, or even miss an appointment entirely, annoying though that was. Yet something was off. Dr. Carlino waited for the allemande to end before again pausing the music, so that the office would be quiet as he called the number in the file for Ms. Godwin.

The phone rang and rang before finally going to voicemail. The outbound message was one of those automated ones, rather than a personalized one from Ms. Godwin. At the tone, Dr. Carlino identified himself and his reason for calling, asking Ms. Godwin to please call at his office number. Once he had finished his message, he hung up and started the music again.

When that infernal chaconne came back on, he decided to try again, once again only reaching voicemail. Instead of leaving a message, he hung up and called the other numbers in the file, those of the son and the grandson.

The son picked up right away, with a dry, concise “Blake Godwin”. The ensuing conversation did little to reassure the men on either end of the line. The son had not seen nor heard from Ms. Godwin in a couple days. Until Dr. Carlino’s call, he had found that odd but not alarming; however, it was very much unlike his mom to miss an appointment. He asked the doctor to please call him as soon his mother showed up at his office.

After hanging up with Blake, Dr. Carlino then called the grandson’s phone number. The number rang and rang and didn’t even go to any sort of voice mail. He hung up and looked up the address given on the contact form for Tariq. It appeared to be a tenement on the South Side, in or near Gutter’s End. Not a nice part of town.

The psychiatrist rose up from his desk and began pacing. His vigil for Ms. Godwin had stretched by now into the evening, and his office had grown dark, so he flipped on lights as he passed their switches on his circuit of the room. Eventually his tour brought him to the console of his sound system, where Bach still hovered, waiting to bother him once more with his chaconne.

Dr. Carlino decided instead to change the music entirely, going to his usual standby: Scarlatti. The new music calmed him down enough that he was able once more to return to his chair behind his desk, where he then sat, musing, drumming his fingers absently to the music. One entire keyboard sonata had finished playing, and a second one begun, when his phone unexpectedly rang.

“Is this Dr. Carlito?” breathed a nervous man’s voice. “It’s Blake Godwin. Has my mother shown up at your office?”

The doctor frowned as he replied: “No, not yet. Look, I told you I would call when-“

“I’m at her house. She’s not here,” Blake interrupted. Alarm mounted steadily in the man’s tone as he spoke. “Her car is here. The lights are on, but she’s nowhere. I’ve looked all over. I have the key…”

Dr. Carlino adopted his best calm-but-firm voice: “Mr. Godwin, please listen to me. I do not wish to borrow trouble; however, it would perhaps be prudent if you called the police at this point.”

He heard a dismayed gasp on the other end. “The police? I…First my son ghosts me and now this. Oh, god…Do you think…?”

“I don’t necessarily think that anything has happened,” Dr. Carlino tried to reassure the other man. “But it is still important to take prudent precau-“ He noticed then that the line was dead, and looked down to see the “Call Ended” message on his phone’s screen.

He laid the phone on his desk with an exasperated sigh. As if commenting on the development, Scarlatti began modulating just then into distant minor keys. The doctor allowed himself a flash of amusement at that before considering his next move.

Blake had let slip that his son had “ghosted” him. It might well be a coincidence. But Andrew Carlino had gotten to where he was by trusting his intuition, and his intuition was now telling him that something was amiss.

He had not had a chance to intake Ms. Godwin, so she was technically not yet his patient. However, that didn’t make it alright for him to just share information from a medical record with third parties. Instead, he contacted the Bastion, to inform the Wardens that he was preparing to investigate an “anonymous tip” about a possible lycan-related incident at a South Side tenement address. That was a lie, of course, and the whole affair was an ethical gray area at best; however, Andrew Carlino somehow doubted that the Wardens would report him to the medical review board.

And it was better than having the police unwittingly stumble into a lycans’ den, should they follow up on a missing person report for Evelyn Godwin.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Andrew Carlino

Andrew Carlino

________________________________________

Basic Information

Name: Andrew Carlino
Nickname(s): Doc
Age: I’m 37; I’m not old.
Gender: Male
Birthday: May 5
Race: Human/Warden
Rank/Status Title (if any): Field Warden
________________________________________

Appearance

Height: 5’9” (1.75m)
Build: Medium. Tends to skinnyfat if he hasn’t been hitting the racquetball court lately.
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color & Style: | Brown, straight and long, pulled back in a ponytail. Starting to show hints of gray. Small moustache that totally isn’t modeled after Johnny Depp.
Skin Tone: Olive
Notable Marks: A faint, quarter-sized birthmark in the middle of his forehead. Becomes more noticeable when he gets agitated.
Typical Clothing Style: Business casual. Usually wears a tie during consultations. Wears round, rimless glasses in the office. Contacts otherwise.
Aura/First Impression: Cool, phlegmatic, and professional without being too off-putting. Likes to keep things brisk and concise. May lose patience if his interlocutor takes too long to get to the point.
Voice: Clear and moderately deep. Has a good baritone singing voice, although he’s not trained.

________________________________________

Psychology

Hobbies/Interests: Racquetball. Fencing. Crossword puzzles. Humorous poetry. Piano. Used to play violin, but no longer has time to keep it up.
Likes ] Italian food. Desserts. Scarlatti. A good puzzle or mystery. Good coffee.
Dislikes: Most of his patients. Tedious, pretentious art(ists). Salads and other antipasti. Bad coffee. Moths.
Fears Losing his own sanity. Being physically restrained or confined. This “Hour of Reckoning” the other Wardens keep talking about.
Habits Paces. Talks to himself. Drums his fingers in time to music in his head. Drinks coffee constantly.
Vices Caffeine. Poor eating habits. Tends to eat dessert first, especially if it’s tiramisu.

Core Motivation:
To help people. Specifically, to help humans adjust to and accept the psychological effects of the Glamour. Doctor Carlino realizes that humans who start to glimpse the reality behind the Glamour are in both psychological and physical peril. Unless his patients are Warden material, he prescribes them therapy and treatment that will suppress dangerous ideation and steer them back towards accepting the Glamour at face value.

Personality Overview:

Andrew Carlino is an intelligent, discerning, and sensitive person. He is not, however, emotionally warm or personable, and so does not make friends easily. Nor, being keenly aware of the fragility and impermanence of life, health, sanity, love, and friendship, is he eager to do so, pursuing instead the safer and less emotionally demanding companionship of pets and strippers.
________________________________________

Relationships and Reputation

Openness to Friendship (1-5): 2
Openness to Romance (1-5): 2
Romantic Preferences: None.
Current Romantic Interests (if any): None.
View on Forbidden Relationships: Has no dogmatic views on the subject, only the practical view that they usually end badly.
Biggest Turn-ons: Intelligence. Culture. Boobs. In that order, I promise.
Biggest Turn-offs: BDSM. People who talk too much.
Known Enemies: TBD
Known Friends TBD
Known Family Members: TBD

________________________________________

Background

Current Occupation: Psychiatrist
Level of Schooling(if any): MD in Psychiatry. B.S. in Biochemistry and Psychology.
Past Occupations (if any): Music Teacher
Socioeconomic Status: Well-to-do. Psychiatric therapy is in-demand in Halcyon.
History Summary:

Andrew is the older of two children born to Paul and Nicole Carlino, both physicians. His childhood was comfortable and fairly contented, although his parents worked long hours, leaving him and his younger sister Sofia to their own devices much of the time.

Andrew knew since childhood that he wanted to become a doctor like his parents; however, only in his third year at college did he decide that he was more interested in mental rather than physical health. After attending an extra semester in college to fulfill the requirements of double major in biochemistry and psychology, he went to medical school.

Andrew’s training during his psychiatry clerkship involved studying numerous therapy sessions at the psychiatric ward of Halcyon General Hospital, and discussing these in class. Andrew noticed an unusual prevalence of paranoia and delusional syndromes among the cases they studied showing few other comorbidities, and brought this up several times in class discussion, only to be met time and again with explanations he found unconvincing and even evasive.

When he met with his academic advisor to express his dissatisfaction with this development, the advisor offered to transfer him to a different program, one which, she assured him, would be more to his liking and better suited to his talents. This would prove to be Andrew’s introduction to the Wardens, who maintained a recruiting and training program for medical professionals who could supply the unique mental and physical health needs, arising from the Wardens’ activities, and especially their use of enhancements. Only later, after he had learned about the realities behind the Glamour, would Andrew appreciate how close his suspicions had brought him to being one of the psychiatric patients he had previously studied, or worse.

In addition to working for the Wardens as a resident psychiatrist, Andrew has for the last six years run a part-time private practice out of his home office for civilian patients. Between the two practices, Andrew earns a good living.
________________________________________

Race-Specific Questions

(Fill the one that fits your race)

▸ Wardens:
✦ Enhancement Use(If any): Sparing use of Viper-Veil Injections when dealing with non-humans. Usually takes it before visiting Bumps In the Night.
✦ Preferred Weapons: Rapier.
✦ Willingness to Break Warden Code:

“Dammit Dane, I’m a doctor, not a merc!” Andrew Carlino is a *psychiatrist*, meaning a medical doctor who has taken the Hippocratic Oath. As such, he will not kill except in self-defense. He has done so once before, when a lycan he was attempting to treat attacked him during an especially intense therapy session. This technically qualified him for an Iron Brand, and with it the rank of Field Warden, although Andrew rarely acknowledges either. He views the Iron Brand as a mark of failure, not a badge of honor.

Andrew’s no-kill policy has put him at odds with the Warden leadership, but he has made it clear to them that it is part of his price for his services. The Commander has insisted, however, that he train and qualify in firearms like all the other Wardens, a requirement Andrew only fulfills grudgingly.

✦ Views on Fae: Ambivalent. Their machinations are the main source both of his patients’ issues and his own livelihood. Not to be trusted.
✦ Views on Vampires: Incurable, treacherous predators. The one race Andrew would most readily consider killing.
✦ Views on Lycan: Volatile types with dangerous, but potentially manageable conditions. Would rather put them in therapy than the ground, but knows this is not always an achievable outcome

________________________________________

Miscellaneous

Theme Song: Domenico Scarlatti, Keyboard sonata in F major, K296.
Favorite Food: Tiramisu. As antipasto, main dish, side dish, and dessert.
Favorite Animal(s): Terriers are my very favorite breed. Currently has a Jack Russel terrier named Fenrir, the World Devourer. The dog finds that the name fits him perfectly.
Favorite Music Genre: Classical
Favorite Haunt (location): Home, mostly. Occasionally visits human strip clubs or even Bumps In the Night.
Signature Weapon (if any): Rapier
Preferred Vices: Caffeine addiction. Busty strippers (with intelligence and culture).
Pet Peeve: Wardens-mandated firearms practice.
Guilty Pleasure: Junk food. Busty strippers without intelligence and culture.

________________________________________

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Second character. Warden shrink.

Andrew Carlino

Andrew Carlino

________________________________________

Basic Information

Name: Andrew Carlino
Nickname(s): Doc
Age: I’m 37; I’m not old.
Gender: Male
Birthday: May 5
Race: Human/Warden
Rank/Status Title (if any): Field Warden
________________________________________

Appearance

Height: 5’9” (1.75m)
Build: Medium. Tends to skinnyfat if he hasn’t been hitting the racquetball court lately.
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color & Style: | Brown, straight and long, pulled back in a ponytail. Starting to show hints of gray. Small moustache that totally isn’t modeled after Johnny Depp.
Skin Tone: Olive
Notable Marks: A faint, quarter-sized birthmark in the middle of his forehead. Becomes more noticeable when he gets agitated.
Typical Clothing Style: Business casual. Usually wears a tie during consultations. Wears round, rimless glasses in the office. Contacts otherwise.
Aura/First Impression: Cool, phlegmatic, and professional without being too off-putting. Likes to keep things brisk and concise. May lose patience if his interlocutor takes too long to get to the point.
Voice: Clear and moderately deep. Has a good baritone singing voice, although he’s not trained.

________________________________________

Psychology

Hobbies/Interests: Racquetball. Fencing. Crossword puzzles. Humorous poetry. Piano. Used to play violin, but no longer has time to keep it up.
Likes ] Italian food. Desserts. Scarlatti. A good puzzle or mystery. Good coffee.
Dislikes: Most of his patients. Tedious, pretentious art(ists). Salads and other antipasti. Bad coffee. Moths.
Fears Losing his own sanity. Being physically restrained or confined. This “Hour of Reckoning” the other Wardens keep talking about.
Habits Paces. Talks to himself. Drums his fingers in time to music in his head. Drinks coffee constantly.
Vices Caffeine. Poor eating habits. Tends to eat dessert first, especially if it’s tiramisu.

Core Motivation:
To help people. Specifically, to help humans adjust to and accept the psychological effects of the Glamour. Doctor Carlino realizes that humans who start to glimpse the reality behind the Glamour are in both psychological and physical peril. Unless his patients are Warden material, he prescribes them therapy and treatment that will suppress dangerous ideation and steer them back towards accepting the Glamour at face value.

Personality Overview:

Andrew Carlino is an intelligent, discerning, and sensitive person. He is not, however, emotionally warm or personable, and so does not make friends easily. Nor, being keenly aware of the fragility and impermanence of life, health, sanity, love, and friendship, is he eager to do so, pursuing instead the safer and less emotionally demanding companionship of pets and strippers.
________________________________________

Relationships and Reputation

Openness to Friendship (1-5): 2
Openness to Romance (1-5): 2
Romantic Preferences: None.
Current Romantic Interests (if any): None.
View on Forbidden Relationships: Has no dogmatic views on the subject, only the practical view that they usually end badly.
Biggest Turn-ons: Intelligence. Culture. Boobs. In that order, I promise.
Biggest Turn-offs: BDSM. People who talk too much.
Known Enemies: TBD
Known Friends TBD
Known Family Members: TBD

________________________________________

Background

Current Occupation: Psychiatrist
Level of Schooling(if any): MD in Psychiatry. B.S. in Biochemistry and Psychology.
Past Occupations (if any): Music Teacher
Socioeconomic Status: Well-to-do. Psychiatric therapy is in-demand in Halcyon.
History Summary:

Andrew is the older of two children born to Paul and Nicole Carlino, both physicians. His childhood was comfortable and fairly contented, although his parents worked long hours, leaving him and his younger sister Sofia to their own devices much of the time.

Andrew knew since childhood that he wanted to become a doctor like his parents; however, only in his third year at college did he decide that he was more interested in mental rather than physical health. After attending an extra semester in college to fulfill the requirements of double major in biochemistry and psychology, he went to medical school.

Andrew’s training during his psychiatry clerkship involved studying numerous therapy sessions at the psychiatric ward of Halcyon General Hospital, and discussing these in class. Andrew noticed an unusual prevalence of paranoia and delusional syndromes among the cases they studied showing few other comorbidities, and brought this up several times in class discussion, only to be met time and again with explanations he found unconvincing and even evasive.

When he met with his academic advisor to express his dissatisfaction with this development, the advisor offered to transfer him to a different program, one which, she assured him, would be more to his liking and better suited to his talents. This would prove to be Andrew’s introduction to the Wardens, who maintained a recruiting and training program for medical professionals who could supply the unique mental and physical health needs, arising from the Wardens’ activities, and especially their use of enhancements. Only later, after he had learned about the realities behind the Glamour, would Andrew appreciate how close his suspicions had brought him to being one of the psychiatric patients he had previously studied, or worse.

In addition to working for the Wardens as a resident psychiatrist, Andrew has for the last six years run a part-time private practice out of his home office for civilian patients. Between the two practices, Andrew earns a good living.
________________________________________

Race-Specific Questions

(Fill the one that fits your race)

▸ Wardens:
✦ Enhancement Use(If any): Sparing use of Viper-Veil Injections when dealing with non-humans. Usually takes it before visiting Bumps In the Night.
✦ Preferred Weapons: Rapier.
✦ Willingness to Break Warden Code:

“Dammit Dane, I’m a doctor, not a merc!” Andrew Carlino is a *psychiatrist*, meaning a medical doctor who has taken the Hippocratic Oath. As such, he will not kill except in self-defense. He has done so once before, when a lycan he was attempting to treat attacked him during an especially intense therapy session. This technically qualified him for an Iron Brand, and with it the rank of Field Warden, although Andrew rarely acknowledges either. He views the Iron Brand as a mark of failure, not a badge of honor.

Andrew’s no-kill policy has put him at odds with the Warden leadership, but he has made it clear to them that it is part of his price for his services. The Commander has insisted, however, that he train and qualify in firearms like all the other Wardens, a requirement Andrew only fulfills grudgingly.

✦ Views on Fae: Ambivalent. Their machinations are the main source both of his patients’ issues and his own livelihood. Not to be trusted.
✦ Views on Vampires: Incurable, treacherous predators. The one race Andrew would most readily consider killing.
✦ Views on Lycan: Volatile types with dangerous, but potentially manageable conditions. Would rather put them in therapy than the ground, but knows this is not always an achievable outcome

________________________________________

Miscellaneous

Theme Song: Domenico Scarlatti, Keyboard sonata in F major, K296.
Favorite Food: Tiramisu. As antipasto, main dish, side dish, and dessert.
Favorite Animal(s): Terriers are my very favorite breed. Currently has a Jack Russel terrier named Fenrir, the World Devourer. The dog finds that the name fits him perfectly.
Favorite Music Genre: Classical
Favorite Haunt (location): Home, mostly. Occasionally visits human strip clubs or even Bumps In the Night.
Signature Weapon (if any): Rapier
Preferred Vices: Caffeine addiction. Busty strippers (with intelligence and culture).
Pet Peeve: Wardens-mandated firearms practice.
Guilty Pleasure: Junk food. Busty strippers without intelligence and culture.

________________________________________

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Wulde Riddenhouse

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Location: North outskirts of Gutter’s End. Time:Early-to-mid evening

Interactions: N/A • Mentions: N/A

^{____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

Wulde perched, or more accurately lay, upon a rooftop, because apparently that was something Wardens did. This particular rooftop, he knew, was covered in recently-installed three-tab shingles, which cost about one-fifth as much as the architectural shingles the policyholder had listed on their insurance claim.

Said policyholder might soon be in the hands of a police-y holder once Wulde turned in his report. They would certainly want a good lawyer, and not the sort that those TV ads suggest one call to tell the insurance company You. Mean. Business.

But this was all day-job stuff. In the meantime, the sun once more had set, and Halcyon, as always, now turned its energies away from everyday human affairs to bend them towards everynight monster nonsense.

On this night, Wulde’s assigned piece of monster nonsense involved surveillance of the northern edge of Gutter’s End. Apparently, something was amiss these nights in lycanland, more so than usual. There were rumors of some sort of challenge to Iron Fang dominance, even of targeted killings of its members. Details were sparse, and it was unclear what the two Field Wardens were supposed to be looking for up here.

Yes, two. Wulde glanced over at his partner, who lay on the same roof about twenty feet away, peering through a pair night vision binoculars. He hardly knew the guy, nor had he worked with him before yesterday, when they had received this assignment together. The other warden’s last name was “Barton”. Wulde had written his first name down but not bothered to memorize it.

“Wake up, Riddenhouse,” rasped Barton, who probably didn’t know Wulde’s first name, either. “Take a look at this. Just outside that bar on the corner.” .

“I wasn’t sleeping,” Wulde rejoined with a similar rasp as he sat up. He looked for the bar in question before raising his own binoculars to his eyes. “What am I looking for?” he asked as he did, giving himself time to find the bar all over again in the device’s magnified field of view.

“Looks like two guys giving our dealer a hard time.” Barton was a few years older than Wulde, and had been a Field Warden for longer; he knew Gutter’s End well, and thus had spotted the dealer in question right away on their first stakeout.

Wulde zoomed out until his view was wide enough to see three figures on the sidewalk at the mouth of an alley next to the bar. Then, carefully, he adjusted his angle and zoomed back in. “Our” dealer was turned towards him, and the Warden could see his face. Dark hair and features; Wulde guessed him to be Latino. The two newcomers had their backs to him, and were wearing hoodies besides. Their clothes looked plain, and didn’t match each other. One wore high tops and the other boots.

“You spot any colors?” Wulde asked, as he switched on the record button.

“No, nothing I recognize, ” answered Barton. “No clue who these guys are. Could be anybody.”

Wulde silently agreed. With rumors afoot that the Iron Fangs were under siege, there would be a number of interested parties looking to test the water for blood.

The two hoodies certainly seemed to be testing the dealer. They loomed on either side of him, leaning in, crowding him. From their body language, it looked like Left Hoodie was doing all the talking, while Right Hoodie supplied the knuckle-cracking and menacing glower. The dealer was clearly unhappy, but was so far keeping his cool.

At some point, something attracted the hoodies’ attention, for they both started back and looked to their left, in the general direction of the bar entrance. Resisting the urge to traverse the binoculars, Wulde instead zoomed out while keeping the field of view centered on the trio.

Once he had pulled out far enough, he could see that two men, almost as imposing as the hoodies, had emerged from the bar. They both wore black, collared, short-sleeve shirts with some sort of lettering on them. Wulde didn’t have to zoom back in to guess that the lettering spelled “STAFF”.

For a while, the two groups gesticulated and shouted at each other, but eventually, perhaps disappointingly, the hoodies relented and began to walk away from the bar under the watchful glare of Staff One and Staff Two.

Wulde felt his phone vibate in his coat pocket, but ignored it, still watching the events unfold in front of the bar. Off to his side he heard the telltale rustles and clicks as Barton pulled out and examined his own phone. The other warden grunted and muttered an oath.

“Change of plan, Riddenhouse,” he announced. “Some kind of dust-up at a warehouse down Gutterbane ways. There’s an address.”

As Wulde reluctantly clicked off record and lowered his binoculars, Barton continued to read his phone and gave another grunt. “This address is one of our safehouses in that neighborhood, so we’re headed to a rally point. I guess we’ll get some sort of briefing there.”

Wulde put the binoculars back in their case and pulled out his phone. He had the same message as Barton, of course. The only detail the other Warden had left out was the gun icons at the end of the message, indicating that they were to come as well-armed as possible on short notice.

“Do you know how to get there?” Wulde asked. He was not looking forward to driving through potentially hostile territory with one eye on a navigation system.

“Yeah,” said Barton. “Tell you what: get whatever you need from your scooter and leave it here; we’ll go in my truck.”

“Deal,” agreed Wulde, as he began packing up his things. Discerning the activities and intentions of Left and Right Hoodie would have to await another evening. A few minutes later they were in Barton’s canopied pickup, threading their way among the industrial ruins that littered South Halcyon, towards the Wardens’ safehouse.

Safehouse, Wulde snorted mentally as he eyed the dreary hulks of factories and warehouses sliding past them. He was pretty sure any such designation around here was purely aspirational.

✨Beyond The Veil✨

Wulde Riddenhouse

Wulde Riddenhouse

Basic Information

Name: Wulde Riddenhouse
Nickname(s): Wulde or Will
Age: 29
Gender: Male
Birthday: April 29. Why not?
Race: Human/Warden
Rank/Status Title (if any): Field Warden

Appearance

Height: 6'2" (1.88m)
Build: Medium to heavy
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color & Style: Light brown, flat top
Skin Tone: White (typical Anglo complexion)
Notable Marks: An embarrassing blob of a tattoo (a botched rendering of Kokopelli) on his left bicep, his first and last tattoo. A long, faded scar from a knife wound along his left forearm.
Typical Clothing Style: Casual and utilitarian. Denim and canvas heavy-duty work clothes, usually in darker solid colors. Has a black military surplus trench coat that he wears in colder weather.
Aura/First Impression: Physically imposing but poised, reserved, and vigilant, as if he were a bodyguard for some unseen person just in the next room.
Voice: Hoarse and gravelly (possibly from vocal fold cysts), but somewhat high-pitched, like a kid doing a bad Christian Bale Batman impression.

Psychology

Hobbies/Interests
✦ Hunting
✦ Martial arts
✦ Business and finance
✦ Mechanical and electrical tinkering

Likes
✦ Thai food
✦ Interesting news
✦ Martial arts

Dislikes
✦ Being broke
✦ Idleness
✦ Anyone or anything that victimizes humans, but particularly vampires.

Fears
✦ Madness, losing control
✦ Powerlessness
✦ Disease

Habits
✦ Fitness/martial art enthusiast. Works out and practices all the time.
✦ Fastidious record keeper. Takes notes, keeps a diary, records conversations, and wears a body cam on all missions. He knows that fae and vampires can mess with people's minds and memories.
✦ Avid handyman and DIY guy. Maintains and repairs his own equipment, home, and vehicles as much as possible.

Vices
✦ Clean freak/germophobe. Keeps everything clean. Always has a mask and Purell handy.
✦ Dubious investment schemes like crypto or flipping houses.
✦ Financial news junkie. Follows the stock market and business news feeds obsessively, always looking for that next big tip.

Core Motivation: Wulde is determined to unmask vampires and eliminate their presence in this world, and to keep what's left of his family (and, to a lesser extent, humanity in general) safe. He dislikes lycans and fae as well, but they aren't the ones who hurt him.

Relationships and Reputation

Openness to Friendship (1-5): 3. Use the buddy system whenever possible!
Openness to Romance (1-5): 1
Romantic Preferences: None. Wulde can't see himself in any sort of romantic relationship with what he knows about the world.
Current Romantic Interests (if any): None
View on Forbidden Relationships: An even worse and more reckless idea than non-forbidden ones.
How They Handle Love: Awkwardly, if at all
Reputation Among Their Race/Faction: Aloof. Almost infuriatingly professional at all times
Relationship with the Glamour: Wulde considers the Glamour a treacherous contrivance — one that conceals and deceives as much as it protects. He barely tolerates it as a necessary evil
Known Enemies: N/A
Known Friends: N/A
Known Family Members: Mother: Judith Gerber. Two younger siblings — one male (Marcus) and one female (Daitha)

Background

Current Occupation: Insurance fraud investigator
Level of Schooling (if any): Associate's degree in bookkeeping; incomplete college education in accounting
Past Occupations (if any): Physical trainer, martial arts instructor, handyman
Socioeconomic Status: Upper middle class. His current job pays fairly well, and he has modest inheritances from both his father and his stepfather, recently enlarged by a lucky bet on crypto. His father was a mechanical engineer-turned survivalist (see History Summary), who taught his son a number of skills that enable him to save a lot of money on things like car repairs, home repairs, etc.

History Summary:
Wulde's father Walter was a successful mechanical engineer who was an avid outdoorsman and sportsman in his spare time. At some point, Walter became convinced that end times were nigh, whereupon these latter activities morphed into an obsession with survivalism.

Walter owned a hunting cabin where he and his family would visit on summer weekends; eventually, Walter began to spend more time there alone year-round, to the point of neglecting his family and even his engineering practice as he modified and fortified his cabin into a doomsday bunker of sorts. His attitudes grew increasingly paranoid and antisocial. In the end, his wife Judy, Wulde's mother, filed for divorce, which Walter did not contest, insisting only that his oldest son, Wulde, be allowed visit regularly.

This Wulde did, and he spent many a weekend with his father honing survival skills Walter was convinced his son would need: shooting, hunting, wilderness survival, first aid martial arts, carpentry and metalworking, basic mechanical and electrical repair. Walter died when Wulde was 19 when an escape tunnel he had been digging from his underground shelter collapsed on him.

Judith had already remarried by then, this time to a forensic accountant named Ben Gerber, who often consulted with the police. Wulde liked his stepfather, different though he was from his dad, and heeded his advice to pursue a career in finance. Accounting might not be exciting or glamourous, but it paid well, and promised a better life than hunkering in a hunting cabin's basement, awaiting the collapse of civilizations and escape tunnels.

But Ben Gerber's profession proved no safer in Halcyon than Walter Riddenhouse's. His last audit unearthed the machinations of a vampire-run criminal enterprise, and when his investigation got too close, somebody had him killed. He had followed the money to his doom.

In the wake of this tragedy, a police detective approached Wulde unofficially and offered to put him in touch with the Wardens. The detective's intent had initially been simply to Wulde ask for their help, but instead he ended up joining them.

Race-Specific Questions

▸ Wardens:
✦Enhancement Use (If any): Wulde is jealous of his mental integrity and will only use mind-affecting enhancements in extremis. He'll use physical-effect enhancements (like Redspire Serum) a bit less reluctantly, but still sparingly
✦Preferred Weapons: Crossbows — they’re quiet, and he can make his own ammo without blowing himself up
✦Willingness to Break Warden Code: He’s ambivalent about the “No Mercy Ever” rule for non-vampires, but respects the Code’s necessity. Would only break it under extreme justification
✦Views on Fae: Allies of convenience and necessity only
✦Views on Vampires: Loathes them with every fiber of his being and will spare no effort to destroy them
✦Views on Lycan: Most are like rabid dogs: deserving of pity but not mercy. Case-by-case exceptions possible

Miscellaneous

Theme Song: Whatever’s playing. Wulde isn’t musically inclined
Favorite Food: Massaman curry chicken
Favorite Animal(s): Cats
Favorite Music Genre: Whatever’s playing
Favorite Haunt (location): The Bastion, Sundown Diner, Urban Grind Cafe, gyms, and martial arts studios
Signature Weapon (if any): Crossbow with homemade iron and silver arrowheads. Otherwise, uses standard Warden-issued gear
Preferred Vices: Risky investment schemes
Pet Peeve: Laziness — both intellectual and physical
Guilty Pleasure: Bad kung fu movies

Beyond the Veil

Sounds like this could be a lot of fun. Might be interested in playing a warden (unless everybody else is playing a warden).

Pigeon Spit: A medieval fantasy story.

Bork

In response to the clerk’s question Bork shrugged. Not his idea, not his fight. He would simply mention the Captain’s request to the abbot later. Andrew was Drom’s boss, after all. If he said she belonged in a hole in the ground tomorrow, she’d better grab a lamp and a mining helmet. And if he didn’t, well, the Captain would just have to deal with it. And Bork would be fine either way.

He would not, of course, tell the abbot more than he had to about the bowl, only that that the cat people had thought it important enough to their well-being to offer a bag of gems for it. Basically what Kriltra had told him. The two items interested him from the meeting were the fate of the glassblower and of the drug business. He had shown Andrew the plants, and apparently the abbot was alright with allowing the trade to go on. Perhaps that Wehrli lout would be more amenable to picking drug plants for his buddies than he would building a wall for the dwarf and the abbot? The only thing the engineer would want is to make sure that Pigeon Spit got its “cut”, the one Kriltra had offered him.

Why did the glassblower interest him so? His costume jewelry idea for one thing. But more importantly, he had plans for an oil press. And glass bottles were the best for oil; they could be reused and even repurposed, whereas a clay, wooden, or skin vessel that had once been used for oil could not be safely used for much else afterwards. And they sold better, too, because they looked better and because people could more easily see what they contained.

And all this gave him ideas for more designs: a lamp with a reusable glass reservoir, a bottle of a standard size, that fit into the base. And there could be a peg that one turned to adjust the length of the wick for the kind of oil being used at the time. This was followed by a sketch of stocks, and leg irons that attached to a staple bolted to a suitably solid stone wall. Although he did not actually draw it, he amused himself by picturing Werhli locked into them.

Pigeon Spit: A medieval fantasy story.

Bork

Bork nodded as the Captain pointed out the pros and cons of his proposals. ”Yeah, I can see people not wanting to just let us in their houses,” he agreed. ”I still think we could make the rounds in the evening, checking whether front doors have locks and places for lights.” He shrugged. It was a brainstorm, not a cause. ”As to the stocks inside the constabulary, sure. Won’t be as much public shaming as if they were outside, but maybe that’s just as well.”

The engineer and the captain didn’t have much time to discuss matters further because Drom wanted to talk, apparently. He grumbled a bit, in spite of the free warm soup, since he was coming to prefer the captain’s company and way of thinking to the goblin’s, but the clerk sometimes had shown she could be useful, so listening to what she had to say might not be totally worthless. The dwarf listened to her proposal with a frown at first while he tried to puzzle out her cryptic references, then with a growing realization and an equally growing grin. By the time she had finished, he was nodding and almost laughing.

”That’s actually a good idea. I bet the abbot would love to make that deal, and he’d be good at it.” Best of all, they’d win practically every prize: a bunch of gems for a relatively low-value bowl, a rapproachement with some tough customers who might otherwise make trouble, and his own integrity and reputation would be intact; no one would be able to say they’d bought Bork Valding with those gems when he hadn’t even received them. And Pigeon Spit -and therefore himself, indirectly- could still benefit from their use. And apparently the elf actually still retained whatever leverage she needed to keep the cat people in check.

He was even more pleased with the note the clerk handed him. It’d be nice to have some farm lads about who weren’t afraid of honest work. He pocketed the note and thanked the clerk. He might actually have to rethink his opinion of Drom, he thought grudgingly.

And then it was back to the Captain. He groaned when the Captain mentioned taking him and the abbot’s taking the clerk with them to the mine tomorrow; not because he didn’t care for the idea, but because he had just finished talking to her not one minute ago. ”I’m fine with that if she is,” he said. ”Wish you’d told me that ten minutes ago, though.”

He shook his head disapprovingly at the Captain’s story about the girls. ”This town is too small to have those sorts of problems. That’s what comes of folk not having enough to do.” That might also spell trouble later: if people were *used* to not having much to do, they might not appreciate the work chances properly when they came; they might see opportunities and encouragement as whip-cracking or something. People could be fools.

As to his question about why the clerk took the younger girl? Maybe she needed an understudy or something. How was he supposed to know what the goblin had in mind?

Suddenly, he remembered the note Drom had handed him and pulled it out of his pocket to show the Captain. ”Speaking of giving young people something to do, Drom recommended these lads to me. What can you tell me about them?”