Fading Memory

The Wild Beyond Witchlight

I am very interested and will probably lurk and observe if there’s no more room, but I would like to toss my hat in if there’s space!

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲: 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕖𝕤

Location; Sol System, Sol 3, United States of America, New York, New York City, Queens, Some Frigid Street
Interactions: Hi-Volt, Jackpot

---

"--Mm." Picture Perfect stopped. Multiple things had caught his interest all at once, and it was difficult to articulate them all while burning your tongue on a pizza whose melted cheese content made it more closely resemble cooling magma than traditional concepts of Pizza. This is what he gets for making rough guesswork as to the speed it'd cool in the snowfall laden air. Beating himself on the chest to help clear his throat, he hastened his chewing and swallowing process post-haste.

First thing's first, something truly spectacular was going down; Some dude was taking a selfie with a slice of pizza and that always warranted acknowledgment. He'd never met or seen this guy before in his life, but he could appreciate the grindset of the pizza selfie. Everyone had to start somewhere, after all. Briefly considering jumping over there and offering a small boost to what he presumed was some small-time fish in the big pond of social media with a personalized joint-photo, he shook his head of that idea; if some superhero had come to crash his early game, he'd have been at least a little annoyed and have felt cheated of the climb.

This made his brain's strange calculus finally acknowledge the blue streak of lightning that had stood out in his enhanced vision like a trail of neon through his present filter settings. He turned his head upwards and followed the path of the streak through the air until he eventually settled his gaze directly on Hi-Volt, who was taking her breather atop a rooftop. This is when his mind clicked that two birds could theoretically be killed with one metaphorical stone.

"Hoo boy-- Didja see that, holmes?" He declared boldly to the other pizza-consuming-gentleman, unknown to him as MJ. "I think we've got another live one on the streets tonight."

And with that not-really-an-invitation-but-socially-inclusive-declaration, Sullivan set off at a trot along the snowy streets in a much more mundane fashion than Hi-Volt was seemingly interested in possessing. Ambulation was for those who can't jump across rooftops, after all. Once he made it the short distance to reach the area beneath Hi-Volt's perch, the red haired man lifted his free hand to his lips and let loose one of those high pitched and absolutely piercing whistles that one learns through having experienced it prior in life. Just trying to get her attention in the classic style of New York, really.

"Yo, supes! Hungry?!" He yelled up to her, gesturing towards the box of pizza in his outstretched hand. "It's dinnertime and even the baddies get the munchies!"

If there was one thing people had said about Sullivan prior to his awakening to superpowers, it was that he had a set of lungs on him.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲: 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕖𝕤

How It Started

PICTURE PERFECT

IN

"Trouble In Little Italy"

The camera pans across New York City. We all know what it looks like, but the camera is getting paid by the frame and it knows how to milk the investors without getting scolded. It's a quality camera. It knows its job. It makes New York look quite stunning in its sparkling snow-coated splendor. It's been doing this a long time. It could remember when that building was just bare beams and hard hats and lunch pails. Good times.

The camera slows. It dreaded this next bit.

Soon it pans over a familiar skyscraper, bearing a familiar Media Logo. The music swells in a somber manner. The camera blinks.

---

"He... handled that last one well." The woman admitted, her voice faltering briefly over the word 'handled' through clenched teeth. "So far he's kept up his slogan. Every job ends with a 'Picture Perfect Finish'. His dedication to maintaining a high standard continues to be documented in the analysis reports."

At this juncture in her dialogue, her hand lifts itself as if it had not realized it had received the instruction to do so and slowly brushed a stray strand of violet hair out of her eyes and over her ear. Task completed, the hand then gracefully descended back to her waist where it clasped with its twin companion in a professional manner.

"Furthermore, his popularity continues to rise steadily. He is favorably viewed on all platforms he maintains accounts on. His powers appear stable, though his confidence grows with each success. It is my proposal that we advance with Stage Three plans ahead of schedule."

She already knew approval would be met; The Overseer had already personally instructed her to go ahead with Stage Three, this meeting was merely a formality for the Investors.

"Let us test the bounds of his confidence."

---

"Check it, this place is Il Cortile, one of the most well known eateries in Lower Manhattan. Ya boy made a reservation for tonight months ago; they get packed in the holidays and it's the only way to guarantee a seat."

The red haired man was done up well tonight; his typical modern techwear had been spruced up to adapt to the fine establishment he was attending without sacrificing his distinctive style or the high-cost function of the unique clothing aesthetic. Propped on his table was a high end camera, standing on a tripod and aimed at Sullivan as he made an effort of playing to the device.

"It's not the most expensive place in the City by far- but that stuff ain't my vibe to begin with. I'd rather be in comfortable, familiar, places like this when I go out with you guys." He flashes that million dollar smile at the camera. Mentally advising himself to remember to do an aesthetic speedup of this part in post, he allows himself to relax and browse the menu.

Time passes, and soon he checks his watch as he senses a notification incoming. His eyes briefly peruse the scrolling text. His eyes widen.

Call Me - Sally

It was the first message he'd received from her in months. He reached over and turned the camera off. He pulled out his phone and was already dialing her number on it as he stepped away from the table. By the time he stepped outside, the dial tone was heavy in his ear.

I'm sorry, but your call can't be connected at this time. Hang up and try again later.

His eyes widened again, staring at the phone. He squints. Full bars. Bill paid. He looks up; there was a cellphone tower right there, on that rooftop. After a few more suspicious glances between his phone and the tower, he flipped back to his texts and began typing;

Hey what's u

His thumbs hovered over the screen. He was briefly frozen, his brows furrowing deeply as he scanned the recent texts. There was no sign of the one he'd just received just now. He stuffed his phone into its secure pocket and lifted his arm to look at the Watch once more, tapping at its screen;

It, too, had zero indication of having received any such notification. He didn't have much time to ponder this strange occurrence, though. A sound made his head whip up and forget his situation immediately. He was soon sprinting down the sidewalk, weaving between people with hasty apologies as he pushed through the steadily increasing bulk of onlookers.

Someone had just called for Help. There was screaming. How could he not run to the rescue?

---

The scene where Picture Perfect arrived was one of pure chaos. A car had crashed- but that wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. A fire Hydrant nearby was erupting nearby, four door sedan haphazardly parked atop it. There were pedestrians arrayed around the scene in varying states of injury. In the distance, police cars raced up the streets. Picture Perfect skidded to a halt as he burst through the throng of the crowd and onto the scene-

Coming to a stop face to face with the barrel of an assault rifle aimed by a ski-mask wearing man who seemed just as surprised to see Picture Perfect as Picture Perfect was to see a fully automatic firearm aimed at his face. Neither man moved. Picture Perfect eased into a smile.

"Robbery, eh?"

This was always the moment panic gripped someone's eyes. When they realized they couldn't move. Picture Perfect slowly swiveled his head, surveying the scene; four men, ski masks, duffel bags, hard cash falling out of the car as the other three scrambled to their feet and broke their dazes. The car had halfway hit the brickwork of the building, halfway thrown itself into the glasswork of a storefront, and in classic New York Style nobody was bothering to leave.

"Bad choice. Those bills are marked, dude, and even worse you didn't even pick a good suit to get arrested in. Really, man, you gotta style if you're gonna try to take the shortcut to fame and fortune- Is he really wearing sandals in December? Guys come ON!"

---

"Target on scene. High risk scenario going as projected, target's presence already neutralized threat of collateral damage and excess injury. Target's capability known as 'Flash Mob' growing more confident with each interaction. Comfort level with firearms increasing, no longer exhibiting the same wariness target once did. All in all, Show Stopper is right; bastard's getting more confident."

The figure was standing in a conveniently shadowy spot, secluded in an empty for-rent office space that had been abandoned to the yule-tide vacations of its inhabitants. Briefly a scarred face is lit by a match being struck and brought to light a cigarette, the dull glow of the quiet flame and the ember-burn of the cigarette granting a shadowed hollowness to the face of the man. A deep breath, an exhalation of smoke.

"I vote we just kill 'im now and save ourselves the headache later. If we keep watching him grow he'll eventually-"

The voice that crackled through the earpiece was clear, concise, and brokered no discussion;

"He is not to die. He is to be studied. His power is Project Mastermind. We must see him grow, for his growth is ours. Stay on task."

The man fell silent at those words. Gloved hands tightened briefly, the one holding the box of matches relaxing and tossing the item lazily into the air and catching it. The sound of cardboard smacking leather thudded into the air thrice before he grunted and slid the matches into a winter coat's pocket. His now free hands then occupied themselves with the task at hand.

He took up a controller, and peered into its viewing screen. Another exhalation of smoke briefly obscured the camera feed of a drone, flying through the air and weaving between buildings. It was following a pair of cop cars, speeding through the streets...

---

Picture Perfect dusted his hands, standing triumphantly in front of a heap consisting of four would-be-robbers and their, in his eyes, excessive firearms. High threat robberies like this were a rarity, and privately he was thankful he'd been on the scene to stop it-

But openly, he threw his hands out wide and beamed at the onlookers as they applauded.

"Another day, another problem solved- that's just the way I like it!" He declared with a laugh as he performed a little celebratory jig. "Can you believe these guys? The rest of us work hard to make ends meet and get on camera and they decide to take the shortcut to their fifteen minutes-"

He guffaws comically as he swaggers towards their wrecked vehicle, the water pressure beginning to subside slowly and steadily lessen the cascade of water raining over the area. He confidently reached into the back seat of the vehicle and hefted out the large duffel bag of hard cash, hoisting it above his head in one hand to show it off to the crowd.

"This is gonna go right back where it-"

Sullivan blinked. He wiggled his fingers. There was supposed to be a bag there. He frowned and risked looking up, somewhat perturbed as to why he no longer felt there was a large bag of money in his hand. Alas, when he looked up there was indeed no longer a large bag of money in his hand. He wiggled his fingers again, then shielded his eyes quite unnecessarily- years of physical habits died hard- and turned to gaze off where a majority of the audience had turned to look.

"What- Is that- Really?" He expressed incredulously.

A drone- a sizable one, at that- had suddenly swooped in and hooked the duffel bag straight from his outstretched hand. He grit his teeth privately and locked onto the device in his gaze, following it with ease as it soared upwards and away- but it was too far. He couldn't sense the strange grip he could impose on things. He couldn't stop it. It was too fast, too far.

For the first time in a long time, Sullivan was at a loss for words. It was a strange sensation to him. The loss of the audience's attention and adoration was tangible. It was heavy. It made his mouth dry faster than a carton of salty crackers ever could. Licking his lips to whet them and buy himself a social moment alike, his mind raced.

This was, as far as his public career was concerned, decidedly not a 'picture perfect' finish. But Sullivan was a scrappy man and not one to take this insult anything besides 'in stride'.

Whirling back around to the crowd in an explosive display of energy he pointed towards a bystander who was holding up their phone-

"Yo! Did you get that on video- please tell me you did! That was straight fiiiiiiiire! I need to see it again."

And just like that he swung what was building into an embarrassing last-minute failure of showboating into a social event he was a part of rather than victim to. Sidling up to the person as he watched the video on their phone and charismatically ingratiated himself with the nearby citizenry, Sullivan's eyes memorized the drone in this video.

Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice-- you can't fool me again.

"Bruh, send this in to my website. I can already feel it, this one's gonna be a hit."

How It's Goin'

Enter, Picture Perfect
Scene: New York City (Queens; patrolling around a Pizza Joint known as Joey Doug(h)'s Pizza (H)ole); Winter, snowfall, approaching New Year's Eve.
Interaction: Open

It had been an eventful day. The morning started with a breakfast vlog, lead into an exercise update, and ended with a late morning meeting with a local small-time band. From there, he'd delved into a lunch that was interrupted so rudely* and spent most of his afternoon in interview with the police and reviewing footage with witnesses.

Finally it was time for dinner, and damned if Sullivan wasn't starving. Headphones over his ears, eyes glued to his phone as he walked the snowy streets, Sullivan positively vibed along the familiar streets of his home turf. Oh, Queens, you woman of a city. She could welcome you home, Queens could.

He paused at a street corner, occupying the space against the pedestrian walk signal that was quite prestigious at crosswalks, to await the legal and official time to cross. His destination was nearby- a positively bangin' pizza joint. Skipping lunch had made him crave childhood memories and hot food alike.

Watching the video for the last time, Sullivan was satisfied. The video was a quality example of the modern 'meme'; it portrayed he, as Picture Perfect (naturally), standing and holding a bag of money above his head just for a strange drone to come speeding through the air and snatch it from him. However, as opposed to the mysterious and perplexing events of the real world scenario, this rendition had personified the drone with sunglasses and a backwards baseball cap that read 'Get Smoked', and played a common musical tune of gangsterific success over the scene as it sped away with the money.

Salvaging image by embracing the failure. It was a new tactic, but one that Sullivan could be satisfied with. As it turns out, occasionally being one-upped is good for the Ratings. People like their heroes to still be human and fallible. Go figure.

Sighing, he finally put his phone away and let his music wash over him as he looked upwards into the snow-filled sky. His mouth watered. He could practically taste the food already. Queens has the best pizza; he'd tried some from everywhere in the city, but no matter where he went or how much it was recommended to him, the childhood memories of eating at these same-old pizza places always kept him coming back for more.

Joey Dough's Pizza Hole. Finally graced with permission to cross by the crosswalk gods, Sullivan silently continued his pilgrimage to this most holy of Mecca's. The sign was rustic- downright dilapidated, really, as both H's were missing. Joey Doug just didn't have the same ring to it. Pizza 'Ole was alright, though, by his estimation.

Stepping into the parlor he pulled the headphones back so he could enjoy the atmosphere of the place...

"Oh look who just walked through my goddamn door- It's Sully!" Cried the familiar voice of Joey Dough himself...

And soon Sullivan was back out in the Wintry air, large pizza supported in one hand, singular slice in the other. Nothing hit the spot quite like a hot slice of pie as you patrolled the cold.

_{*= See: "Trouble In Little Italy"}

Burning Bright (D&D 5e)

Happy Holidays! I hope everyone is having a good holiday season.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲: 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕖𝕤

Sullivan O'Toole AS Picture Perfect

Name
Sullivan O'Toole
as
Picture Perfect
"They call him Mister Worldwide. They call him Mister Clean. They call him the Street Sweeper. They call him Romeo of Montague. They call him the face that launched a thousand tweets. They call him the representative of Queens. They call him Superhero.

His name? His name is Picture Perfect!"
-Pinned Tweet on Picture Perfect's twitter account, made by a local fan.

Age
24

Gender
Male

Sexuality
Bisexual

Powers - "Flash Mob"

Flash Mob
"You ever feel like the world revolves around you? Well for me that ain't just a feeling, it's a truth. When I stop moving so does everyone else. The whole world waits to see what I do next. Isn't that amazing?"

Picture Perfect possesses the strange power to spontaneously make people and things around him 'freeze' at will. Time does not stop, nor do bodily functions, but for some inexplicable reason whenever Picture Perfect chooses to stand still so does the world around him. He has some measure of control over this effect at a distance, but the closer he is to the individual or object the more total the effect can be and the more powerfully he can exert it.

One on One he can easily completely freeze an individual seemingly indefinitely if they're within arm's reach so long as he doesn't move either. In terms of limits, he struggles with moderate groups of people or objects such as cars and the effect he can exert on these things is very short lived.

Picture Perfect in Action

>>Website: Youtube
>>Search: Picture Perfect Stops Robbery In Corona Heights
>>First Result: Eight hundred thousand views
>>Account: PicturePerfectYT
>>Click

"Alright guys, this video was taken in Corona. I got permission from everyone involved to upload it here so my fans could see me in action, so shoutout to those individuals whose privacy will be respected! Here you go, and enjoy."

The video starts slow, depicting a corner store in operation at 2 AM. Few people milling about in what is clearly a smalltime and local shop. Suddenly a trio of armed and masked individuals rushes into the building and brandishes pistols at the inhabitants of this unfortunate store.

Typical things happen, but nothing that wouldn't be appropriate for a Youtube experience; people are ushered around, corralled into an aisle, made to hand over their phones. One of the masked individuals then focuses on the store operator and the register. Only, when he raises the gun, he suddenly stands stock-still and the cashier seems bewildered. The two other robbers do not appear to notice this yet.

Suddenly the robber shuffles in place, apparently able to use their feet- and onto the camera comes the recognizable appearance of Picture Perfect walking calmly up to the side of the robber, the rest of his body held perfectly still. Once within the building, Picture Perfect calmly looks around and takes stock of the situation. As soon as he's noticed by the other two would-be-bandits, they too freeze in place and Picture Perfect seems to speak.

the civilians all shuffle out of the building, taking their possessions back in the process, as they hastily exit the hostile environment. Picture Perfect then leaps into action.

Keeping his right arm locked in place so as to deny the robbers the use of their firearms, he suddenly pulls the adjacent gunman into a headlock and whirls him to the ground and holds still.

One robber was midstep towards the door to run away and topples to the ground, the other was turning his body to level his pistol towards Picture Perfect in a clumsy attempt to use the firearm without the use of his arm. The third, naturally, was now trapped incapable of escaping the headlock. After a few minutes of calmly surveying the scene, Picture Perfect released the now unconscious robber and sprinted aside, delivering a clean but efficient kick across the side of the prone robber's head then planted his feet and remained still once again. He slowly swiveled his head back to look over his shoulder, where the still standing bandit was panicking and trying to bring his gun up against the Superhero.

Picture Perfect slowly began to back towards the man. In his terror, the robber hastily backed away from Picture Perfect now that his legs were working again. Eventually the Superhero had the offending law breaker backed into a corner. Slowly, Picture Perfect produced a cellphone with his offhand. He raised it up steadily, and the flash of the camera can be seen as he takes a selfie with the masked robber. The next burst of movement from Picture Perfect disarmed the man, then sent him reeling to the ground.

Placing a foot on the individual to stop him from rising, Picture Perfect then turned his head up towards the camera and hit it with a million dollar smile and a thumbs up. A clean sweep.

The end of the video becomes a slideshow of selfies that Picture Perfect had taken with the masked robbers after the fact, as well as the one he took during the video, and finally a picture of him shaking hands with a police officer as they took the robbers into custody.

Powers - "Filter Focus"

To avoid lengthy descriptors for this one, his eyes possess all the capabilities of an extremely high end camera system. He can zoom his vision very far, focus on scenes and situations despite the distance, determine individual faces from a crowd or distracting background, change filters and observe the world in everything from Sepia to Monochrome, and even see through sudden glares and through low light situations with perfect clarity.

Very useful for someone going around at night trying to beat up ne'er-do-wells.

Using the Marvel Power Grid, Sullivan O'Toole would have a 2 in all categories save strength and combat which would each be a 3; he is an utterly mundane and normal human being, if at the peak of physical form, in excellent shape, and possessing some basic combat training that appears to be a combination of simple martial arts maneuvers and boxing.

Weaknesses
Picture Perfect's weaknesses are mundane and simple. He is only human, for one. This means when he gets hurt, it takes time and medical attention to heal. In a more specific sense, he is a thrill seeker, showoff, and has a soft spot for damsels in distress. This is to say that he's easy to bait, goad, taunt, or otherwise manipulate. Being a generally trusting individual, so long as someone possesses at least a modicum of charisma he will be inclined to hear them out rather than punch first. Oh, and flattery will get you everywhere.

Appearance
"You like my drip? It can be yours too; my merch ships all over the world, check it out. Every dollar you spend on my webstore goes towards a charity of your choosing at checkout, and also keeps me on the streets keeping you safe."
-Picture Perfect, himself

Picture Perfect is a handsome man of Irish-Welsh genes. Average height and build, he has done everything possible to stand out; peak physical form, distinct and manicured appearance, an aesthetic of modern street techwear, and a smile worth a million dollars has turned him into an easy to remember individual. He stands out.

Red hair flows down to his shoulders, availing itself to many distinctive styles and choices to suit the occasion. Depending on the outfit, the traditional tattoos of Celtic/Irish nature on his body may be visible; the most outstanding of which is the full arm sleeve on his right arm depicting Irish Tribal imagery in a pattern from wrist to shoulder.

reference image

Other
He really does think he's the whole damn meal and the soda too. Someone please help him stay humble.

"I wasn't always Picture Perfect."

"There's a void now; it must be filled. The people are too spoiled by the true events of our modern world- they won't be satisfied by computer generated imitations and controlled explosions anymore. We need something more. Something deeper. Something that taps into the primal aspect of our consumer base and draws it to the surface. We need a new level of media. We need to raise the stakes."

The man speaking was by all appearances a young man; wealth and healthcare had taken decades off his physical age and left him with a vigor rivalling that of a man half his age. He was addressing a dark room; a conference table; his peers.

"It is fact..."

A slight trail off for dramatic effect.

"With all this news and consumption of Avengers level content, of global politics and of the end-times, it is without a doubt fact that the people have had some time to adjust to a certain level of excitement in their world. When's the last time any of you read a newspaper or checked a newsletter without hoping to hear something of a Superhero, or another world ending event? These topics have become an integral part of our culture and the collective subconscious of our society. Go ask children what they want to be when they grow up- when we were youths, the answers were 'President', 'Firefighter', 'Astronaut', 'Doctor'- and now kids everywhere just dream of being mutants like the X-men, or going out into the world armed with antique weapons, or hoping they discover some rare metal and can make a suit out of it! They dream of being Superheroes and saving the world! How can we hope to supply media for those dreams when the real world already has it all?"

A pause here, a dignified sip of water.

"This next slide is a statistical analysis of movie theater viewership, television ratings, social media clicks- you get the idea, I'll spare you the minutiae. The short end of the issue is the reason we're all gathered here today; Viewership is declining. It's noticeable. It's tangible. We all feel it. We're losing our grip on the way of things and it's all because of some costumed action stars with international contracts and no respect for the media. So we know the problem and we know the end goal- get the people back in front of the screens, get them back to having dreams that they need us to follow."

The man clicks a button on his handheld, the next slide appears depicting the city of New York.

"I believe I have a solution to our problem. We'll start small, use a control group. We'll use New York, and if in a decade the results seem to be adequate we'll expand the project to the rest of the continental states and go from there. What I am offering you, gentle men and women, is a way to get public opinion back on our side."

He smiled. He knew he had them.

"What I'm offering you, is Project Mastermind."

---

The camera pans outwards, leaving the conference room behind and escaping out the window. The tall skyscraper appears quite ominous in this lighting. Perhaps there's even a flash of lightning in the ba- yes, there's the roll of thunder now. At this point the camera gives a lingering and foreshadowing nod to the company logo; The New York Media Group (NYMG). Ah, subtlety.

The camera continues its strange obsession with going outwards and skywards until the audience is left staring at the familiar expression of New York City from above. Well, familiar to most; some people haven't seen movies. Oh, would you look at that, now a vicious day/night cycle is being emulated to render an effect as if a great deal of time were passing.

The camera now moves with a great deal of purpose, moving around the city. We witness many employees in jumpsuits and vests, clipboards and electrical tools, working around the city. This one is working on a Transformer. This one climbs a radio tower. That one is making some very important seeming phone calls and circling things on his clipboard. That woman seems important, the camera is lingering on her in the back of a limousine for quite some time isn't it? We should probably try to remember her. She had purple hair, it stood out quit a bit after all, and the camera did its best to give her an air of malice as well. Oh goodie, that one is even tinkering with the cellphone towers. Just what are they up to?

---

Enter: Sullivan O'Toole.

A young man. Scrappy. Hungry. Looking for a chance to take his shot; yearning to be the diamond in the rough; the one in a million; the Next Big Thing. The world was primed for it, he felt; all the excitement over superheroes and the hole in everyone's hearts with the dissolvement of the Avengers? It was a market ripe for Branding and rife with detritus...

All he needed to do was build his Brand.

A man with big dreams- but no knowledge of the steps needed to realize them. A man in his position does one thing; takes shortcuts. Sullivan O'Toole was a minor internet sensation. A daredevil to be precise, operating on sensationalism and a personality that was approachable and networkable. His earliest videos are of basejumping, skydiving, deep sea snorkeling, extreme paintball combat scenarios, and even some experimental cooking vlogs. He was scraping by to achieve these goals, putting his all into building an identity of social presence.

One fateful day his career had a turning point; his long time girlfriend, who had been prominent in his skydiving videos as the owner and pilot of the plane he used, broke up with him. The reason was, allegedly, she felt he was wasting his potential with this personal endeavor instead of pursuing a...

"Real Career."

His videos began to take a bit of a reckless edge, and some vlog posts included him talking about how things were hard these days but he wasn't giving up on the dream or on his fans. He'd prove her wrong with success instead of holding onto the event as an excuse for vindictive behavior and let it tear him down from what he'd built so far.

The next video to go up was titled 'The Day I Almost Died'

---

Sullivan was climbing a cellphone tower. A new one, recently installed for the new generation of phone networks. He was wearing a GoPro camera and every so often he looked down to check his progress, which revealed he was climbing this tower A) Freehand and B) on the roof of an already quite tall building. The same kinds of stunts he'd been pulling for years. When he reaches the apex of the tower, he crosses his legs into the railings and holds onto the antenna array as he leans out and extends a Selfie-Stick outwards from his person. The video has a rather unique perspective on the Neighborhood in Queens he was surveilling, and the crispness and clarity of the video was impressive. He was quite good at this.

But suddenly the camera goes fuzzy. The image becomes blurry. Distortion lines warp the image. Sullivan can be heard;

"What the he-"

Then the world spins. The camera falling. The next cut is back to the GoPro, which is also spinning. Heavy distortion and interference in the video revealing that Sullivan was falling and tumbling down the structure. Intermittent contact and scrabbling grabs with metal beams interrupted what otherwise would have been a plummet to the rooftop below. His landing was hard. He wasn't moving. the camera feed distorts totally at this point, its unblinking gaze upwards rendering the cellphone tower a strange and bending thing before the distortion lessens and soon the video returns to normal.

The video was almost hypnotic.

This is where the video ends; other voices crying out in concern for Sullivan.

---

Sullivan's next few days were a blur. His ex girlfriend, whose name was Sally, came to visit him in the hospital and dictated a standard-issue 'I Told You So' as well as a bouquet of get well flowers. He has a hazy memory of some strange men and women in suits coming to question him about the tower, claiming they were checking into damages with its structure. Eventually his belligerent responses and unhelpful demeanor warranted the suit-wearing-schmucks to pass the problem up their chain of command.

Sullivan has hazy memories of the visit, he can barely remember what happened, but he knows that a woman with purple hair came to visit him on behalf of the Suits. He only remembers three things concretely;

1) Damn she fine.

2) She was satisfied by his answers and concluded that his skull was thick, but not thick enough to have damaged the tower in any way.

3) When it was time to leave the hospital, his bills were miraculously already paid.

Some people just get all the luck.

---

This incident turned out to be the defining point in Sullivan O'Toole's life. Upon leaving the hospital the world just looked... Different. Everything had a glossy appeal to it. Everything was...Filtered. Edited. Photoshopped. He could see its potential at a glance. He could shift those filters and see the world in a new lens. He could stop the movie and inspect the frame.

He could make sure that everything turned out Picture Perfect.

At first this fledgling power was used scarcely, to ensure quality footage and whatnot, but eventually as his body fully recovered and his health returned so did that daredevil's edge and that hungry ambition to do more. He could up his game; take the Brand to the next level. He could fill the void. He could be a Superhero.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲: 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕖𝕤

Yo it's real

Edit: WIP Yo it's done.

Sullivan O'Toole AS Picture Perfect

Name
Sullivan O'Toole
as
Picture Perfect
"They call him Mister Worldwide. They call him Mister Clean. They call him the Street Sweeper. They call him Romeo of Montague. They call him the face that launched a thousand tweets. They call him the representative of Queens. They call him Superhero.

His name? His name is Picture Perfect!"
-Pinned Tweet on Picture Perfect's twitter account, made by a local fan.

Age
24

Gender
Male

Sexuality
Bisexual

Powers - "Flash Mob"

Flash Mob
"You ever feel like the world revolves around you? Well for me that ain't just a feeling, it's a truth. When I stop moving so does everyone else. The whole world waits to see what I do next. Isn't that amazing?"

Picture Perfect possesses the strange power to spontaneously make people and things around him 'freeze' at will. Time does not stop, nor do bodily functions, but for some inexplicable reason whenever Picture Perfect chooses to stand still so does the world around him. He has some measure of control over this effect at a distance, but the closer he is to the individual or object the more total the effect can be and the more powerfully he can exert it.

One on One he can easily completely freeze an individual seemingly indefinitely if they're within arm's reach so long as he doesn't move either. In terms of limits, he struggles with moderate groups of people or objects such as cars and the effect he can exert on these things is very short lived.

Picture Perfect in Action

>>Website: Youtube
>>Search: Picture Perfect Stops Robbery In Corona Heights
>>First Result: Eight hundred thousand views
>>Account: PicturePerfectYT
>>Click

"Alright guys, this video was taken in Corona. I got permission from everyone involved to upload it here so my fans could see me in action, so shoutout to those individuals whose privacy will be respected! Here you go, and enjoy."

The video starts slow, depicting a corner store in operation at 2 AM. Few people milling about in what is clearly a smalltime and local shop. Suddenly a trio of armed and masked individuals rushes into the building and brandishes pistols at the inhabitants of this unfortunate store.

Typical things happen, but nothing that wouldn't be appropriate for a Youtube experience; people are ushered around, corralled into an aisle, made to hand over their phones. One of the masked individuals then focuses on the store operator and the register. Only, when he raises the gun, he suddenly stands stock-still and the cashier seems bewildered. The two other robbers do not appear to notice this yet.

Suddenly the robber shuffles in place, apparently able to use their feet- and onto the camera comes the recognizable appearance of Picture Perfect walking calmly up to the side of the robber, the rest of his body held perfectly still. Once within the building, Picture Perfect calmly looks around and takes stock of the situation. As soon as he's noticed by the other two would-be-bandits, they too freeze in place and Picture Perfect seems to speak.

the civilians all shuffle out of the building, taking their possessions back in the process, as they hastily exit the hostile environment. Picture Perfect then leaps into action.

Keeping his right arm locked in place so as to deny the robbers the use of their firearms, he suddenly pulls the adjacent gunman into a headlock and whirls him to the ground and holds still.

One robber was midstep towards the door to run away and topples to the ground, the other was turning his body to level his pistol towards Picture Perfect in a clumsy attempt to use the firearm without the use of his arm. The third, naturally, was now trapped incapable of escaping the headlock. After a few minutes of calmly surveying the scene, Picture Perfect released the now unconscious robber and sprinted aside, delivering a clean but efficient kick across the side of the prone robber's head then planted his feet and remained still once again. He slowly swiveled his head back to look over his shoulder, where the still standing bandit was panicking and trying to bring his gun up against the Superhero.

Picture Perfect slowly began to back towards the man. In his terror, the robber hastily backed away from Picture Perfect now that his legs were working again. Eventually the Superhero had the offending law breaker backed into a corner. Slowly, Picture Perfect produced a cellphone with his offhand. He raised it up steadily, and the flash of the camera can be seen as he takes a selfie with the masked robber. The next burst of movement from Picture Perfect disarmed the man, then sent him reeling to the ground.

Placing a foot on the individual to stop him from rising, Picture Perfect then turned his head up towards the camera and hit it with a million dollar smile and a thumbs up. A clean sweep.

The end of the video becomes a slideshow of selfies that Picture Perfect had taken with the masked robbers after the fact, as well as the one he took during the video, and finally a picture of him shaking hands with a police officer as they took the robbers into custody.

Powers - "Filter Focus"

To avoid lengthy descriptors for this one, his eyes possess all the capabilities of an extremely high end camera system. He can zoom his vision very far, focus on scenes and situations despite the distance, determine individual faces from a crowd or distracting background, change filters and observe the world in everything from Sepia to Monochrome, and even see through sudden glares and through low light situations with perfect clarity.

Very useful for someone going around at night trying to beat up ne'er-do-wells.

Using the Marvel Power Grid, Sullivan O'Toole would have a 2 in all categories save strength and combat which would each be a 3; he is an utterly mundane and normal human being, if at the peak of physical form, in excellent shape, and possessing some basic combat training that appears to be a combination of simple martial arts maneuvers and boxing.

Weaknesses
Picture Perfect's weaknesses are mundane and simple. He is only human, for one. This means when he gets hurt, it takes time and medical attention to heal. In a more specific sense, he is a thrill seeker, showoff, and has a soft spot for damsels in distress. This is to say that he's easy to bait, goad, taunt, or otherwise manipulate. Being a generally trusting individual, so long as someone possesses at least a modicum of charisma he will be inclined to hear them out rather than punch first. Oh, and flattery will get you everywhere.

Appearance
"You like my drip? It can be yours too; my merch ships all over the world, check it out. Every dollar you spend on my webstore goes towards a charity of your choosing at checkout, and also keeps me on the streets keeping you safe."
-Picture Perfect, himself

Picture Perfect is a handsome man of Irish-Welsh genes. Average height and build, he has done everything possible to stand out; peak physical form, distinct and manicured appearance, an aesthetic of modern street techwear, and a smile worth a million dollars has turned him into an easy to remember individual. He stands out.

Red hair flows down to his shoulders, availing itself to many distinctive styles and choices to suit the occasion. Depending on the outfit, the traditional tattoos of Celtic/Irish nature on his body may be visible; the most outstanding of which is the full arm sleeve on his right arm depicting Irish Tribal imagery in a pattern from wrist to shoulder.

reference image

Other
He really does think he's the whole damn meal and the soda too. Someone please help him stay humble.

"I wasn't always Picture Perfect."

"There's a void now; it must be filled. The people are too spoiled by the true events of our modern world- they won't be satisfied by computer generated imitations and controlled explosions anymore. We need something more. Something deeper. Something that taps into the primal aspect of our consumer base and draws it to the surface. We need a new level of media. We need to raise the stakes."

The man speaking was by all appearances a young man; wealth and healthcare had taken decades off his physical age and left him with a vigor rivalling that of a man half his age. He was addressing a dark room; a conference table; his peers.

"It is fact..."

A slight trail off for dramatic effect.

"With all this news and consumption of Avengers level content, of global politics and of the end-times, it is without a doubt fact that the people have had some time to adjust to a certain level of excitement in their world. When's the last time any of you read a newspaper or checked a newsletter without hoping to hear something of a Superhero, or another world ending event? These topics have become an integral part of our culture and the collective subconscious of our society. Go ask children what they want to be when they grow up- when we were youths, the answers were 'President', 'Firefighter', 'Astronaut', 'Doctor'- and now kids everywhere just dream of being mutants like the X-men, or going out into the world armed with antique weapons, or hoping they discover some rare metal and can make a suit out of it! They dream of being Superheroes and saving the world! How can we hope to supply media for those dreams when the real world already has it all?"

A pause here, a dignified sip of water.

"This next slide is a statistical analysis of movie theater viewership, television ratings, social media clicks- you get the idea, I'll spare you the minutiae. The short end of the issue is the reason we're all gathered here today; Viewership is declining. It's noticeable. It's tangible. We all feel it. We're losing our grip on the way of things and it's all because of some costumed action stars with international contracts and no respect for the media. So we know the problem and we know the end goal- get the people back in front of the screens, get them back to having dreams that they need us to follow."

The man clicks a button on his handheld, the next slide appears depicting the city of New York.

"I believe I have a solution to our problem. We'll start small, use a control group. We'll use New York, and if in a decade the results seem to be adequate we'll expand the project to the rest of the continental states and go from there. What I am offering you, gentle men and women, is a way to get public opinion back on our side."

He smiled. He knew he had them.

"What I'm offering you, is Project Mastermind."

---

The camera pans outwards, leaving the conference room behind and escaping out the window. The tall skyscraper appears quite ominous in this lighting. Perhaps there's even a flash of lightning in the ba- yes, there's the roll of thunder now. At this point the camera gives a lingering and foreshadowing nod to the company logo; The New York Media Group (NYMG). Ah, subtlety.

The camera continues its strange obsession with going outwards and skywards until the audience is left staring at the familiar expression of New York City from above. Well, familiar to most; some people haven't seen movies. Oh, would you look at that, now a vicious day/night cycle is being emulated to render an effect as if a great deal of time were passing.

The camera now moves with a great deal of purpose, moving around the city. We witness many employees in jumpsuits and vests, clipboards and electrical tools, working around the city. This one is working on a Transformer. This one climbs a radio tower. That one is making some very important seeming phone calls and circling things on his clipboard. That woman seems important, the camera is lingering on her in the back of a limousine for quite some time isn't it? We should probably try to remember her. She had purple hair, it stood out quit a bit after all, and the camera did its best to give her an air of malice as well. Oh goodie, that one is even tinkering with the cellphone towers. Just what are they up to?

---

Enter: Sullivan O'Toole.

A young man. Scrappy. Hungry. Looking for a chance to take his shot; yearning to be the diamond in the rough; the one in a million; the Next Big Thing. The world was primed for it, he felt; all the excitement over superheroes and the hole in everyone's hearts with the dissolvement of the Avengers? It was a market ripe for Branding and rife with detritus...

All he needed to do was build his Brand.

A man with big dreams- but no knowledge of the steps needed to realize them. A man in his position does one thing; takes shortcuts. Sullivan O'Toole was a minor internet sensation. A daredevil to be precise, operating on sensationalism and a personality that was approachable and networkable. His earliest videos are of basejumping, skydiving, deep sea snorkeling, extreme paintball combat scenarios, and even some experimental cooking vlogs. He was scraping by to achieve these goals, putting his all into building an identity of social presence.

One fateful day his career had a turning point; his long time girlfriend, who had been prominent in his skydiving videos as the owner and pilot of the plane he used, broke up with him. The reason was, allegedly, she felt he was wasting his potential with this personal endeavor instead of pursuing a...

"Real Career."

His videos began to take a bit of a reckless edge, and some vlog posts included him talking about how things were hard these days but he wasn't giving up on the dream or on his fans. He'd prove her wrong with success instead of holding onto the event as an excuse for vindictive behavior and let it tear him down from what he'd built so far.

The next video to go up was titled 'The Day I Almost Died'

---

Sullivan was climbing a cellphone tower. A new one, recently installed for the new generation of phone networks. He was wearing a GoPro camera and every so often he looked down to check his progress, which revealed he was climbing this tower A) Freehand and B) on the roof of an already quite tall building. The same kinds of stunts he'd been pulling for years. When he reaches the apex of the tower, he crosses his legs into the railings and holds onto the antenna array as he leans out and extends a Selfie-Stick outwards from his person. The video has a rather unique perspective on the Neighborhood in Queens he was surveilling, and the crispness and clarity of the video was impressive. He was quite good at this.

But suddenly the camera goes fuzzy. The image becomes blurry. Distortion lines warp the image. Sullivan can be heard;

"What the he-"

Then the world spins. The camera falling. The next cut is back to the GoPro, which is also spinning. Heavy distortion and interference in the video revealing that Sullivan was falling and tumbling down the structure. Intermittent contact and scrabbling grabs with metal beams interrupted what otherwise would have been a plummet to the rooftop below. His landing was hard. He wasn't moving. the camera feed distorts totally at this point, its unblinking gaze upwards rendering the cellphone tower a strange and bending thing before the distortion lessens and soon the video returns to normal.

The video was almost hypnotic.

This is where the video ends; other voices crying out in concern for Sullivan.

---

Sullivan's next few days were a blur. His ex girlfriend, whose name was Sally, came to visit him in the hospital and dictated a standard-issue 'I Told You So' as well as a bouquet of get well flowers. He has a hazy memory of some strange men and women in suits coming to question him about the tower, claiming they were checking into damages with its structure. Eventually his belligerent responses and unhelpful demeanor warranted the suit-wearing-schmucks to pass the problem up their chain of command.

Sullivan has hazy memories of the visit, he can barely remember what happened, but he knows that a woman with purple hair came to visit him on behalf of the Suits. He only remembers three things concretely;

1) Damn she fine.

2) She was satisfied by his answers and concluded that his skull was thick, but not thick enough to have damaged the tower in any way.

3) When it was time to leave the hospital, his bills were miraculously already paid.

Some people just get all the luck.

---

This incident turned out to be the defining point in Sullivan O'Toole's life. Upon leaving the hospital the world just looked... Different. Everything had a glossy appeal to it. Everything was...Filtered. Edited. Photoshopped. He could see its potential at a glance. He could shift those filters and see the world in a new lens. He could stop the movie and inspect the frame.

He could make sure that everything turned out Picture Perfect.

At first this fledgling power was used scarcely, to ensure quality footage and whatnot, but eventually as his body fully recovered and his health returned so did that daredevil's edge and that hungry ambition to do more. He could up his game; take the Brand to the next level. He could fill the void. He could be a Superhero.

𝗠𝗮𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗹𝘃𝗲𝗿𝘀𝗲: 𝕊𝕥𝕣𝕖𝕖𝕥 𝕃𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕝 ℍ𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕖𝕤

Formally dropping interest here for guild inflation purposes

*✧･ﾟ:* ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ *:･ﾟ✧*

Lorita Malkin

Name
Lorita Malkin

Age
21

Gender
Female

Species
Witch

Magic specialties and the Curse of the Malkin Clan

The Knacks and Talents
"A witch practices magic in their own way; there is no right and wrong. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise has no understanding of the Craft."
-Grandmother Malkin

Lorita's education under Grandmother Malkin has given her a solid foundation on the conceptual understandings of basic Witchcraft, but the Old Witch's methods of teaching were exceedingly abstract and lacked in both a guiding hand or training wheels. More succinctly, Lorita's magical education could be described as having come from 'the school of hard knocks'. Trial and error lead the day, with the old witch supervising to divert catastrophe.

Lorita's chosen method of performing her magic is through Artistic Display; it is a method that has resonates with her, and lets her touch that Magical Spark within her most thoroughly. Where other Witches may read tea leaves, shuffle the Taroka, or read palm lines, Lorita's methods tap into the same magic but create paintings, sketches, or songs in the stead of more 'traditional' witchcraft.

This stylization of magical medium has tailored her education to focus upon things such as Divination and Scrying; her paintings of far off places she can see in her mind's eye, or of events to come in the tapestry of Fate. Whilst these are her most naturally inclined magics, she is a creative girl and has found ways to adapt Grandmother Malkin's other teachings into her preferred style as well.

In short, her highest skill level lies in Divination and Scrying magics. She has competency in Conjuring, generalized Spellcasting, and Transfiguration, but struggles mightily with other forms of witchcraft. She is particularly horrible with potion brewing, and Grandmother Malkin has sworn her to never attempt Summoning or Theurgical arts for fear of what lurks beyond.

---

The Sins of the Ancestors
"Something Dark lurks within. It is how things have always been, ever since that fateful day in the ancient wood when Mother Malkin struck her deal. She sought power- and she earned it, indeed, for all of us!- but the price was steep, and the clan still pays for it to this day."
-Grandmother Malkin

The arts of the Malkin Clan are steeped in Dark Magic and a history of shrouded regret. The arts taught to Lorita by Grandmother Malkin are cautionary in nature- the elder witch sought to warn and caution the girl, not educate her in fell witchcraft for dark purpose. As such, Lorita possesses an understanding of Blood Sacrifice, Demonomancy, and Curse Casting that is unique in perspective.

Her dreams and nightmares are plagued by the whispers of foul creatures of Demonic nature; they whisper to her of power and knowledge that is dark and forbidden. Her blood itself seems to boil and yearn for the dark twist of forbidden arcana. The Chaos of her emotions brings to surface thoughts of hexes and curses.

The manifestation of these warring magical energies within her bloodline takes the form of mishap and catastrophe. Calling Lorita unlucky would be putting it mildly. The Demons haunting her seek to twist and bind her to their dark purposes through this inexplicable tie they have to her, though their direct influence is limited outside her dreams and influencing her magic.

While magically suppressing the curse is possible, it also severely weakens Lorita's own magic and is not a guaranteed countermeasure. Lorita's variant on her Grandmother's traditional sigils and wards is self-applied henna tattoos.

Personality
Lorita is defined by a life that began with suspicion and worry. While her parents lived she was doted on but kept on a tight leash due to their worries of her magical nature, the stories of a family curse adding to these concerns and rendering Lorita the suspect of any possible wrongdoing that occurred; following their deaths, this repression of freedoms and trauma of loss coalesced into aggressive personality traits and a penchant for Punk Attitudes. While much of this has calmed itself down with time for healing and proper thought, Lorita as an adult woman is still a firm believer in the path of anarchy, freedom, and personal liberations.

This makes her a wild woman, but one of society and urban modernity rather than nature. She's emotional, quick to anger, and handles stress extremely poorly- but on the other edge of the sword she's extremely empathetic and connects well with others, and is possessed of a sincerity and genuine nature that makes her capable of getting along well with others. Even those she disagrees with. Once she's done being angry at them.

She's possessed of a healthy disrespect for authority and organization, a strong preference for individuality and accountability being the foundation of her philosophy for life. Plays well with others, but doesn't take orders well. Once her loyalty is earned, however, it is unshakable.

When it comes time to celebrate, drinks are on her.

Appearance
Long hair, black, flows down over the woman's shoulders and falls to her waist- though it is most often wore in a braided ponytail. An athletic frame bears accents of femininity atop the muscles of one whose feet have run on concrete for hours into the night and whose hands and arms are bruised from brickwork and asphalt alike. Physicality contained into woman's form and given a life fueled by emotion and wild enthusiasms.

Attire that hugs the body, but outer-wear that conceals. Practical clothing, worn and ripped from use rather than from design, with sturdy hoodies and coats whose somewhat ragged appearance disguises the worth and quality of their make. Many outfits bear frayed elbows, torn up knees and shins, and stains from spraypaint and more traditional paint alike.

If she had to clean up and had a fresh credit card on hand she may be able to fit in at that gala next week, but it's not her preference and her jeans show it. You're more likely to spot her hanging from a rooftop and wearing a mask with a can of spraypaint in hand than you are to find her with manicured nails and a glass of wine.

Oh, alright. The wine bottle is on the rooftop too.

reference image

Source: Tpiola on Deviantart

History of the Malkin Clan - The Long One

Walpurgisnacht

“Mother Malkin is our progenitor, our originator, our most loved and hated of kin. As the stories go, she was one of the most powerful Witches of her time! And believe you me, we don’t make them how we used to these days.”
-Grandmother Malkin.

The shadows ran deep in this place. Twas an old place, deep within the wood and shrouded from mortal ken by grip of ancient decree. It was Walpurgisnacht, and one woman planned to make the most of it.

---

All across Germany on this night, pyres were being constructed and trials being held. The year is 1456, and things in Europe had become tense. Witches were to blame, so says the Church and so says the People. Witches must be hunted. Well if anyone had bothered to ask the Witches about it, they thought it was a right poor idea to begin with and many of the covens and clans reacted differently.

Some went into hiding. Some went on the aggressive. Others still sought to evade or obfuscate the hostility of the times in their own mystical ways. Clan Malkin, however, slid into the places of old and became the bogeyman of many a tall tale. None more striking than that of Mother Malkin herself, and the events that unfolded on Walpurgisnacht that year.

---

“On that fateful day, the lines between worlds were thin and the wrath of Mother Malkin boiled white-hot. She was witnessing the end of an era; the era where Witches walked openly and people respected the old ways. That respect had soured, and Mother’s fury sliced the worlds asunder. What came through the rift she tore is a mystery, but Mother Malkin had settled the score.”
-Grandmother Malkin

The woman stood at the apex of a low hill. The sky was clear on this night. The full moon rose high. The light it cast was clear and bright, but on this hill the light fell heavy like syrup and coasted through the branches of the trees as if every branch was slicing it into strands that fell and tangled together only to rewind themselves into solid light once more. A dancing light, filled with the laughter of thirsting souls.

All around her, her kin moved in shadowed robes and performed lesser rituals in preparation of Her own spell. The time was near. She raised her hand. Silence fell. Her eyes shut. Her mind opened.

Outward. She cast it outward, her presence exponentially amplified by the rituals and magics of this place and the sanctity of this night. Her consciousness spread far and wide. Touched the minds of every animal and the spirit of every tree- but they were not what she was seeking.

As the moon rose to its full height, the woman’s hands flew as if orchestrating a grand opera unseen and unheard. She had found what she sought; the minds of those at the stake, or bound at lakes, or soon to lose their heads. She touched the minds of the Witches that Walpurgisnacht.

---

The final thing many a Witch saw was the spectral hand of Mother Malkin reaching through the Inbetween and grasping at them at the moment of their deaths. The anguished, agonized, and distraught found themselves pulled along ethereal winds to the swirling darkness of that far off hill, orchestrated into a symphony of souls and blood that ran uphill to the Witch's feet. For that singular minute, Mother Malkin spoke with the voice of one thousand witches. She used their magic to fuel her own; she used their deaths to bridge the gap to the far off realm of darkness and chaos.

---

The sky ripped asunder. The weight of worlds colliding for an instant that lasted an eternity. Mother Malkin's inky black eyes, filled with the swimming souls of the Witches she'd liberated from their deaths, stared into the fiery rift between her world and the world of the demon-kin. She spoke with the voice of a thousand Witches, chained to her will and desire, and tasked to bringing forth a primordial being from beyond.

The Malkin Clan gained a great power that day, but lost much in the trade.

Enter: Lorita

Lorita. Born with the Knack. Another cursed child of the remnants of the Malkin Clan. The family had survived Mother Malkin's infernal deal; they'd survived an exodus to the Americas; they'd survived civil war, world war, civil unrest! What they almost hadn't survived was time itself.

The family had swelled. Spread out. Set down roots. The Malkinsons, the Kinsingtons, the Welkinsons- the once monolithic clan of Witches had become an intricate tree of families that had eventually forgotten each other. None had forgotten their lineage back to Mother Malkin, but their relation to each other was often a surprise brought about by lengthy discussions of family trees.

The true branch 'Malkin', stretching directly back from Mother Malkin herself in a straight line, flows throughout history and ebbs to a finite point; Lorita. The last of the Malkin name. Born to parents who'd hoped against hope that their daughter would be mundane, ordinary, like themselves.

Parents who didn't get what they wanted. Parents who had to make do with the knowledge that their daughter was cursed, and that they'd have to suffer for it.

---

"Did you do it? Lorita, look at me. Did you break your mother's camera? Don't lie to me now. God damn it, Lorita, go to your room."
-Lorita's Father

Lorita's life was idyllic in a sense; two parents, middle class wealth, popular at school, quick to make friends, and the vast wealth of modern technological innovations to make life easier and social life harder. On the other hand, it was fraught with eggshells and minefields. She had to be perfect, otherwise her parents lashed out at her suddenly and aggressively. She never understood why until much later; at the time it just made her a skittish and docile girl, who took her bottled up emotions out on others while her parents backs were turned.

Every little thing that had ever gone wrong was somehow her fault. Flat tire on the car? Lorita. Goldfish died? Lorita. Cavity? Lorita. Phone bill higher than last month? That one probably was actually her, but you get the picture. Her parents' knowledge of her cursed existence had warped their view of coincidence and tragedy into a finely tuned razor of blame for their daughter.

It was a nightmare waiting to happen. Naturally it didn't have to wait long.

Lorita had always had nightmares; she was practically plagued by them, rendering her a habitual insomniac and someone who developed the talent of functioning on little sleep. Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, her latent magical power was blossoming in full in her tween years and soon it would overcome the wards and sigils that her Grandmother had placed on her regularly. Her nightmares worsened. The whispers in her mind grew darker.

The accidents grew more dangerous.

There was a fire.

---

"You're not to blame, little one. In fact, if you ask me, they brought it on themselves; refused to let you see what you really were, who you could really be. Blindness and ignorance might make for happy minds, but minds too small for doubt are minds too small for the world in my book. I won't be letting you mope or get all weepy eyed on me- that's malarky, it won't help you or anyone else. What I'll do, little one, is teach you the truth of things. It's up to you to sort it all out from there."
-Grandmother Malkin

That had been the first time someone with authority over Lorita had said something wasn't her fault. Naturally she couldn't believe it; it took the rest of her teenage years to come to terms with the fact that she couldn't control everything, didn't have to be perfect, and could make all the mistakes she needed to get something right.

And when she did learn that, she made them all. Made the wrong friends; learned to see the signs. Drank the wrong drinks; tried to remember which ones they were and moved on. Learned how to love, how to sing, how to dance, how to paint- learned to be herself unreservedly under the encouraging-yet-hands-off Grandmother she'd come to love.

Perhaps, most importantly, she learned what it meant to be a Witch. At least, her Grandmother's version of a Witch; Independent, strong willed, but unabashedly and unreservedly free.

Lorita had finally allowed herself to move on from the death of her parents, carried forth to adulthood by a chaos of highschool and post-education memory-making. Eventually even this existence had to come crashing to a halt, however; another lesson had to be learned. The lesson of leaving the nest, and facing the world fully on her own feet; Grandmother Malkin was done supporting the young Witch.

To Grandmother, the natural denomination of Witch was one. It was safest that way, and even though Lorita was family, she was now fully grown. It was time to let her learn on her own. It was time to send her out and give her choices, and watch from a distance.

One of those choices was Rosenthal. It was the one Lorita chose.

The Short One

• The modern family 'Malkin' has nearly forgotten its roots in ancient witchcraft, due to generations of hiding and spreading out to avoid the repercussions of their curse; people born 'With The Knack' are few and far between, and while granted a great power by the deal orchestrated by their ancestors they bear a great burden because of it.
• Lorita was one such person, born 'with the knack' according to Grandmother Malkin. This fact was obscured and hidden by the girl's parents as she grew up, allowing her a normal life for some time; the estranged Grandmother Malkin focusing her efforts on warding off the effects of the curse to satisfy the wishes of the parents.
• Eventually there was a series of 'incidents'; subtle influences of the Curse eventually overcoming Grandmother Malkin's capabilities. Small but unfortunate events grew into a chaos of despair and tragedy, resulting in the death of Lorita's parents and her guardianship under Grandmother Malkin.
• Suddenly thrown into a world of magic, the teenaged Lorita learned under the elder witch the secrets of the Malkin Clan and the ancient arts the witches of old passed down. Lorita's power grew with her age, and soon Grandmother Malkin declared that she shouldn't learn all her magic from one hermit witch. Lorita was sent to Rosenthal at the behest of her Grandmother; "I don't truck with Covens- too many Witches in one place for my tastes- but it would do you good to socialize a bit with other practitioners of the Craft, see more magic than just our own. Maybe it will help."

*✧･ﾟ:* ᴍᴏᴅᴇʀɴ ᴍᴀɢɪᴄ *:･ﾟ✧*

Lorita Malkin

Name
Lorita Malkin

Age
21

Gender
Female

Species
Witch

Magic specialties and the Curse of the Malkin Clan

The Knacks and Talents
"A witch practices magic in their own way; there is no right and wrong. Anyone who tries to tell you otherwise has no understanding of the Craft."
-Grandmother Malkin

Lorita's education under Grandmother Malkin has given her a solid foundation on the conceptual understandings of basic Witchcraft, but the Old Witch's methods of teaching were exceedingly abstract and lacked in both a guiding hand or training wheels. More succinctly, Lorita's magical education could be described as having come from 'the school of hard knocks'. Trial and error lead the day, with the old witch supervising to divert catastrophe.

Lorita's chosen method of performing her magic is through Artistic Display; it is a method that has resonates with her, and lets her touch that Magical Spark within her most thoroughly. Where other Witches may read tea leaves, shuffle the Taroka, or read palm lines, Lorita's methods tap into the same magic but create paintings, sketches, or songs in the stead of more 'traditional' witchcraft.

This stylization of magical medium has tailored her education to focus upon things such as Divination and Scrying; her paintings of far off places she can see in her mind's eye, or of events to come in the tapestry of Fate. Whilst these are her most naturally inclined magics, she is a creative girl and has found ways to adapt Grandmother Malkin's other teachings into her preferred style as well.

In short, her highest skill level lies in Divination and Scrying magics. She has competency in Conjuring, generalized Spellcasting, and Transfiguration, but struggles mightily with other forms of witchcraft. She is particularly horrible with potion brewing, and Grandmother Malkin has sworn her to never attempt Summoning or Theurgical arts for fear of what lurks beyond.

---

The Sins of the Ancestors
"Something Dark lurks within. It is how things have always been, ever since that fateful day in the ancient wood when Mother Malkin struck her deal. She sought power- and she earned it, indeed, for all of us!- but the price was steep, and the clan still pays for it to this day."
-Grandmother Malkin

The arts of the Malkin Clan are steeped in Dark Magic and a history of shrouded regret. The arts taught to Lorita by Grandmother Malkin are cautionary in nature- the elder witch sought to warn and caution the girl, not educate her in fell witchcraft for dark purpose. As such, Lorita possesses an understanding of Blood Sacrifice, Demonomancy, and Curse Casting that is unique in perspective.

Her dreams and nightmares are plagued by the whispers of foul creatures of Demonic nature; they whisper to her of power and knowledge that is dark and forbidden. Her blood itself seems to boil and yearn for the dark twist of forbidden arcana. The Chaos of her emotions brings to surface thoughts of hexes and curses.

The manifestation of these warring magical energies within her bloodline takes the form of mishap and catastrophe. Calling Lorita unlucky would be putting it mildly. The Demons haunting her seek to twist and bind her to their dark purposes through this inexplicable tie they have to her, though their direct influence is limited outside her dreams and influencing her magic.

While magically suppressing the curse is possible, it also severely weakens Lorita's own magic and is not a guaranteed countermeasure. Lorita's variant on her Grandmother's traditional sigils and wards is self-applied henna tattoos.

Personality
Lorita is defined by a life that began with suspicion and worry. While her parents lived she was doted on but kept on a tight leash due to their worries of her magical nature, the stories of a family curse adding to these concerns and rendering Lorita the suspect of any possible wrongdoing that occurred; following their deaths, this repression of freedoms and trauma of loss coalesced into aggressive personality traits and a penchant for Punk Attitudes. While much of this has calmed itself down with time for healing and proper thought, Lorita as an adult woman is still a firm believer in the path of anarchy, freedom, and personal liberations.

This makes her a wild woman, but one of society and urban modernity rather than nature. She's emotional, quick to anger, and handles stress extremely poorly- but on the other edge of the sword she's extremely empathetic and connects well with others, and is possessed of a sincerity and genuine nature that makes her capable of getting along well with others. Even those she disagrees with. Once she's done being angry at them.

She's possessed of a healthy disrespect for authority and organization, a strong preference for individuality and accountability being the foundation of her philosophy for life. Plays well with others, but doesn't take orders well. Once her loyalty is earned, however, it is unshakable.

When it comes time to celebrate, drinks are on her.

Appearance
Long hair, black, flows down over the woman's shoulders and falls to her waist- though it is most often wore in a braided ponytail. An athletic frame bears accents of femininity atop the muscles of one whose feet have run on concrete for hours into the night and whose hands and arms are bruised from brickwork and asphalt alike. Physicality contained into woman's form and given a life fueled by emotion and wild enthusiasms.

Attire that hugs the body, but outer-wear that conceals. Practical clothing, worn and ripped from use rather than from design, with sturdy hoodies and coats whose somewhat ragged appearance disguises the worth and quality of their make. Many outfits bear frayed elbows, torn up knees and shins, and stains from spraypaint and more traditional paint alike.

If she had to clean up and had a fresh credit card on hand she may be able to fit in at that gala next week, but it's not her preference and her jeans show it. You're more likely to spot her hanging from a rooftop and wearing a mask with a can of spraypaint in hand than you are to find her with manicured nails and a glass of wine.

Oh, alright. The wine bottle is on the rooftop too.

reference image

Source: Tpiola on Deviantart

History of the Malkin Clan - The Long One

Walpurgisnacht

“Mother Malkin is our progenitor, our originator, our most loved and hated of kin. As the stories go, she was one of the most powerful Witches of her time! And believe you me, we don’t make them how we used to these days.”
-Grandmother Malkin.

The shadows ran deep in this place. Twas an old place, deep within the wood and shrouded from mortal ken by grip of ancient decree. It was Walpurgisnacht, and one woman planned to make the most of it.

---

All across Germany on this night, pyres were being constructed and trials being held. The year is 1456, and things in Europe had become tense. Witches were to blame, so says the Church and so says the People. Witches must be hunted. Well if anyone had bothered to ask the Witches about it, they thought it was a right poor idea to begin with and many of the covens and clans reacted differently.

Some went into hiding. Some went on the aggressive. Others still sought to evade or obfuscate the hostility of the times in their own mystical ways. Clan Malkin, however, slid into the places of old and became the bogeyman of many a tall tale. None more striking than that of Mother Malkin herself, and the events that unfolded on Walpurgisnacht that year.

---

“On that fateful day, the lines between worlds were thin and the wrath of Mother Malkin boiled white-hot. She was witnessing the end of an era; the era where Witches walked openly and people respected the old ways. That respect had soured, and Mother’s fury sliced the worlds asunder. What came through the rift she tore is a mystery, but Mother Malkin had settled the score.”
-Grandmother Malkin

The woman stood at the apex of a low hill. The sky was clear on this night. The full moon rose high. The light it cast was clear and bright, but on this hill the light fell heavy like syrup and coasted through the branches of the trees as if every branch was slicing it into strands that fell and tangled together only to rewind themselves into solid light once more. A dancing light, filled with the laughter of thirsting souls.

All around her, her kin moved in shadowed robes and performed lesser rituals in preparation of Her own spell. The time was near. She raised her hand. Silence fell. Her eyes shut. Her mind opened.

Outward. She cast it outward, her presence exponentially amplified by the rituals and magics of this place and the sanctity of this night. Her consciousness spread far and wide. Touched the minds of every animal and the spirit of every tree- but they were not what she was seeking.

As the moon rose to its full height, the woman’s hands flew as if orchestrating a grand opera unseen and unheard. She had found what she sought; the minds of those at the stake, or bound at lakes, or soon to lose their heads. She touched the minds of the Witches that Walpurgisnacht.

---

The final thing many a Witch saw was the spectral hand of Mother Malkin reaching through the Inbetween and grasping at them at the moment of their deaths. The anguished, agonized, and distraught found themselves pulled along ethereal winds to the swirling darkness of that far off hill, orchestrated into a symphony of souls and blood that ran uphill to the Witch's feet. For that singular minute, Mother Malkin spoke with the voice of one thousand witches. She used their magic to fuel her own; she used their deaths to bridge the gap to the far off realm of darkness and chaos.

---

The sky ripped asunder. The weight of worlds colliding for an instant that lasted an eternity. Mother Malkin's inky black eyes, filled with the swimming souls of the Witches she'd liberated from their deaths, stared into the fiery rift between her world and the world of the demon-kin. She spoke with the voice of a thousand Witches, chained to her will and desire, and tasked to bringing forth a primordial being from beyond.

The Malkin Clan gained a great power that day, but lost much in the trade.

Enter: Lorita

Lorita. Born with the Knack. Another cursed child of the remnants of the Malkin Clan. The family had survived Mother Malkin's infernal deal; they'd survived an exodus to the Americas; they'd survived civil war, world war, civil unrest! What they almost hadn't survived was time itself.

The family had swelled. Spread out. Set down roots. The Malkinsons, the Kinsingtons, the Welkinsons- the once monolithic clan of Witches had become an intricate tree of families that had eventually forgotten each other. None had forgotten their lineage back to Mother Malkin, but their relation to each other was often a surprise brought about by lengthy discussions of family trees.

The true branch 'Malkin', stretching directly back from Mother Malkin herself in a straight line, flows throughout history and ebbs to a finite point; Lorita. The last of the Malkin name. Born to parents who'd hoped against hope that their daughter would be mundane, ordinary, like themselves.

Parents who didn't get what they wanted. Parents who had to make do with the knowledge that their daughter was cursed, and that they'd have to suffer for it.

---

"Did you do it? Lorita, look at me. Did you break your mother's camera? Don't lie to me now. God damn it, Lorita, go to your room."
-Lorita's Father

Lorita's life was idyllic in a sense; two parents, middle class wealth, popular at school, quick to make friends, and the vast wealth of modern technological innovations to make life easier and social life harder. On the other hand, it was fraught with eggshells and minefields. She had to be perfect, otherwise her parents lashed out at her suddenly and aggressively. She never understood why until much later; at the time it just made her a skittish and docile girl, who took her bottled up emotions out on others while her parents backs were turned.

Every little thing that had ever gone wrong was somehow her fault. Flat tire on the car? Lorita. Goldfish died? Lorita. Cavity? Lorita. Phone bill higher than last month? That one probably was actually her, but you get the picture. Her parents' knowledge of her cursed existence had warped their view of coincidence and tragedy into a finely tuned razor of blame for their daughter.

It was a nightmare waiting to happen. Naturally it didn't have to wait long.

Lorita had always had nightmares; she was practically plagued by them, rendering her a habitual insomniac and someone who developed the talent of functioning on little sleep. Unbeknownst to anyone at the time, her latent magical power was blossoming in full in her tween years and soon it would overcome the wards and sigils that her Grandmother had placed on her regularly. Her nightmares worsened. The whispers in her mind grew darker.

The accidents grew more dangerous.

There was a fire.

---

"You're not to blame, little one. In fact, if you ask me, they brought it on themselves; refused to let you see what you really were, who you could really be. Blindness and ignorance might make for happy minds, but minds too small for doubt are minds too small for the world in my book. I won't be letting you mope or get all weepy eyed on me- that's malarky, it won't help you or anyone else. What I'll do, little one, is teach you the truth of things. It's up to you to sort it all out from there."
-Grandmother Malkin

That had been the first time someone with authority over Lorita had said something wasn't her fault. Naturally she couldn't believe it; it took the rest of her teenage years to come to terms with the fact that she couldn't control everything, didn't have to be perfect, and could make all the mistakes she needed to get something right.

And when she did learn that, she made them all. Made the wrong friends; learned to see the signs. Drank the wrong drinks; tried to remember which ones they were and moved on. Learned how to love, how to sing, how to dance, how to paint- learned to be herself unreservedly under the encouraging-yet-hands-off Grandmother she'd come to love.

Perhaps, most importantly, she learned what it meant to be a Witch. At least, her Grandmother's version of a Witch; Independent, strong willed, but unabashedly and unreservedly free.

Lorita had finally allowed herself to move on from the death of her parents, carried forth to adulthood by a chaos of highschool and post-education memory-making. Eventually even this existence had to come crashing to a halt, however; another lesson had to be learned. The lesson of leaving the nest, and facing the world fully on her own feet; Grandmother Malkin was done supporting the young Witch.

To Grandmother, the natural denomination of Witch was one. It was safest that way, and even though Lorita was family, she was now fully grown. It was time to let her learn on her own. It was time to send her out and give her choices, and watch from a distance.

One of those choices was Rosenthal. It was the one Lorita chose.

The Short One

• The modern family 'Malkin' has nearly forgotten its roots in ancient witchcraft, due to generations of hiding and spreading out to avoid the repercussions of their curse; people born 'With The Knack' are few and far between, and while granted a great power by the deal orchestrated by their ancestors they bear a great burden because of it.
• Lorita was one such person, born 'with the knack' according to Grandmother Malkin. This fact was obscured and hidden by the girl's parents as she grew up, allowing her a normal life for some time; the estranged Grandmother Malkin focusing her efforts on warding off the effects of the curse to satisfy the wishes of the parents.
• Eventually there was a series of 'incidents'; subtle influences of the Curse eventually overcoming Grandmother Malkin's capabilities. Small but unfortunate events grew into a chaos of despair and tragedy, resulting in the death of Lorita's parents and her guardianship under Grandmother Malkin.
• Suddenly thrown into a world of magic, the teenaged Lorita learned under the elder witch the secrets of the Malkin Clan and the ancient arts the witches of old passed down. Lorita's power grew with her age, and soon Grandmother Malkin declared that she shouldn't learn all her magic from one hermit witch. Lorita was sent to Rosenthal at the behest of her Grandmother; "I don't truck with Covens- too many Witches in one place for my tastes- but it would do you good to socialize a bit with other practitioners of the Craft, see more magic than just our own. Maybe it will help."

Burning Bright (D&D 5e)

Posted: If we do enter initiative before I can formally hold an action, then consider that my action when it gets to my turn in the pass; to hold and swing if it enters reach.

The joys of a big scythe will never abandon me.