Race: Aasimar Class: Paladin Location: Stormrider; Cargo Hold Interactions:Scratch & Val @Apex Sunburn Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute. Attire: Clothing and gloves Gold Balance: 87 Injuries: New injuries; concussion, fractured ribs, giant splinter in his leg, injured shoulder, all bruised up. Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.
Ezekiel felt it, the strength of The Silver Flame working through him. Guiding his hand, strengthening his grip so that he did not falter in this moment. He could hear the crackle of holy fire in the sound of steel against steel, as the righteous light cleaved its way through wretched darkness.
One hit. That was likely all he had in him right now.
And thank the gods it had been enough.
This moment was more than just two warriors clashing over the fate of an airship. For Ezekiel the scythe wielder in black and red had stood as a representative of Karrnath and all their crimes. Brutal and cloaked in an aura of unfiltered evil that dissipated into the form of worms and serpents that slithered from the light as their avatar fell never to rise again.
He stood for one lingering moment, clutching Retribution like a holy relic, with a deep sense of pride. It rose and burned. The smile that formed from a feeling of true accomplishment became a wince as that burn swelled.
Heartburn. A pressure that seized his heart and burned its way up into his throat. The sickening feeling of guilt deep in his gut followed it. He almost choked on the bitter taste of pride.
Pride which comes before the fall.
His Aasimar blood rejected the feeling, it turned his body against him even at the slightest inclination to stray from his path. To take pride in a kill, to relish in the spilling of blood, to linger in the violence – these were the first steps towards a path strayed into darkness. Ezekiel’s cheeks burned with the shame of his momentary stumble towards such a path.
He stepped around the writhing mass of serpents and worms, he returned to following Scratch’s commands. He wiped the blood from his blade on his tattered sleeve and resheathed the sword. His shoulder burned. The world became an unfocused mess. His injured leg shook with the effort of every step.
Without the promise of battle to sharpen his focus, everything else seized hold. His steps toward Val were slow and shaky, the light of his eye dimmed, and the sound of the turret rattled his bones. A musket shot rang out.
He didn’t bother to check and see if Scratch had slain his mark. He was simply sure the dark elf had; everything that had taken place inside the cargo hold left the paladin without a trace of doubt in Scratch. He simply put one foot in front of the other until he made his way to Val and the door that stood between them and getting out of this mess.
Ezekiel placed a hand on two of the levers and allowed none of the weakness in his body to show on his face as he gave Val a single nod. “At your command.” He spoke and stood ready to pull the levers and then push that door open with every bit of his body weight. The floor continued to rattle beneath their feet.
“Breakfast.” Noah repeated the word with false gratitude. He really wished she wouldn't. Not a thing on that tray looked the least bit appealing.
“I love it.” He did not. Maybe the Fae liked eating hearts and tongues, but vampires? No. And cold blood? Foul, as bad as those stale bags of blood the weaker of his kind fed on rather than catching something fresh.
Noah didn’t allow any of that to show, not a trace of his displeasure etched its way onto his face or into his tone. He refocused his attention, not on the breakfast itself but the mutilated body it rested on top of. The wounds that spoke of a long, drawn out death. Dead eyes that stared off into a place far away, devoid of hope and forever locked in despair. He looked at the corpse and saw it only as Wren’s masterpiece; the work of art she had carved just for him.
“It’s gone cold now,” Warm would not have made the tongue and heart anymore appealing.
“I’ll eat it anyway.” He promised. It may not be his ideal breakfast but it did add to the fear. When creatures whispered rumors about Noah Corvane, his fangs tearing into human hearts that were served up to him by a Fae both hauntingly beautiful and terrifyingly mad; it painted an image.
Like how Blackbeard would light fuses in his beard. Crazy shit freaked people the fuck out. There was wisdom tucked away in Wren’s brand of crazy.
Wren ventured beyond madness, a point where things began to make sense again but in ways most people couldn't understand. Sometimes Noah didn't understand it, but he always went with it until it eventually made sense to him too.
“I thought of you while I carved him up,”
His eyes followed her hand as she reached up to smear blood across his face. He could hear it, the steady rhythm of her pulse, just as easily as he could see the veins through flesh pale as a ghost. It was so close. That warm rush of blood that pumped through her veins and lingered so damn close to his teeth.
“Every slice.” Her hand fell away from him and it took its warmth with it.
“I sliced out a tongue tonight too. After I learned all its secrets.” He whispered, reaching for the hand that had just been dangerously close to his mouth. His fingers wrapped around her wrist just tight enough to feel her pulse.
“How delightfully simpatico we are.” His laugh held a wicked edge and his fingers moved from her wrist, up her arm, and rested softly against her neck.
““I wanted it to be perfect…” ”
“You're the only perfect thing in this world, little bird.” He whispered words into her ear as his hand moved her hair away from her neck. Then he kissed his way down her neck, fangs gently scratching at her skin but without the force of a bite. The rhythm of her pulse made his hunger scream for satisfaction, and Noah only lingered in the sublime torment of that denial.
He meant those words. How could he not? Wren was like his reflection, something he'd created. Marks left deeper than skin, his shadow embedded in her psyche. His only living work of art.
And her shadow twisted around him. What he felt for Wren was dug in deeper than love. Held on tighter than obsession.
Addiction.
It snuck into dreams, carved its way into the soul, and squatted in blood and bone for the rest of your days. A craving that could torture a person for lifetimes.
Love wished it had that kind of staying power.
Noah would do anything Wren asked. Anything to ensure she felt the same addiction he felt. He would eat two cold lumps of muscle that squelched with the soured blood of the dead. He would wash it down with a teacup of that same soured blood. Noah would pretend it was the most delightful meal he'd ever had.
Anything to ensure he'd never be without her.
“Now be a good pet and get cleaned up, we’re meeting Locke at The Pink Room tonight.”
Time: 6 pm Location: Castle Dining Hall Attire: Winners wear red & black! Interactions/Mentions: Cassium, Edin, Morrigan, Roman, Wulfric, Ari, Thea, & Hala
“And even still…” The bastard’s eyes held steady as he delivered a blow with no force behind it. “My father loves me more than our King has ever even pretended to love you.”
For Clarence neither craved, nor felt the sting of the absence of Edin's love. He smiled and sipped his wine as the unwanted mother, the distant elder brother, and the chaotic sprite of a sister all jumped to Callum’s defense.
“Appears that I have love in spades.” He shrugged, and although Cassius’s attention had shifted to the woman that embraced him, Clarence addresses the comment more for Edin’s ears.
“But I think a father’s love is best shown by being there for his children, through their whole lives, no matter how difficult they get, and how far they stray in their youth.” He looked at Edin as he spoke and gave the king a respectful nod. It only added a cherry on top that his words might add a little sting to Calbert. There was no reason to let a count think itself an equal among royalty. It was a point he suspected Edin might be able to wrap his feeble mind around if explained privately. Another time, another setting, but he’d find a way to detangle the Damiens from the Danroses.
It was something Callum wanted after all.
Lady Morrigan broke her silence, “Who are you?” She leaned in to whisper.
“Do you not recognize your cousin, Morrigan?” He whispered back, a voice so low only she could hear, his wine glass held perfectly to hide his lips.
“Too much wine, or has memory faded in your advanced age?” He mocked and spoke with the same disdain he felt seething within every memory Callum had of his cousin.
“I am Callum Danrose.” He reminded her, and that was true enough. He was Callum in every way that mattered, and soon Callum would be indistinguishable from him. It was not a maybe, he’d already been let in. It was only a matter of time. He sipped his wine. He ate from his plate. He watched the room.
“As the king decrees I acquiesce. I shall not pursue courtship with Lady Violet Damien until it is otherwise allowed by the powers that be. Am I of the understanding that these wishes apply to Lady Crystal Damien as well?”
Clarence smiled as he chewed. Roman was far more interesting than Callum’s memories suggested. The promise of a duel flared up and quickly died away. It would’ve been fun to watch the bear pummel the wolf to death, but, alas, mortals tried so hard to pretend to be civil these days. He appreciated Wulfric’s encouragement to drop the masks, nonetheless.
The bickering continued. More minor squabbles flared around the tables. Nobles bleed from the room. To the balconies. To the hallways. To the courtyards. They spilled out in droves.
The king had such little control of his people. They mocked him in the way they fled his feast. Gods, it was hilarious. This regime was already teetering and overdue for a toppling. Clarence sipped his wine and ate his food. He’d watched Ari’s gaze linger in his direction before she had left the room. Clarence turned to Wulfric.
“I know I shouldn't leave the table, but I must check on Ariella.” He informed Wulfric as he stood up. He followed the same path she had taken, as if compelled by matters of the heart. For as terrible a poet Callum was with words, there was something tragically poetic about his actions. It was part of what drew a spirit like himself to such a mortal.
He found Ari outside in the company of Thea and another he didn’t recognize. He’d caught just the tail end of Hala’s speech and wore his approval in the form of a mischievous grin.
“Whatever you three are plotting, I approve wholeheartedly. This entire feast is a chaotic disaster. Isn’t it delightful?” He asked.
“Prince Callum Danrose, pleasure to meet you.” He dropped into a bow that held not an ounce of Callum’s awkwardness, but with all the agile grace of a monkey, as he introduced himself to the one he didn’t recognize. His crown never slipped, it sat upon his head like it belonged there.
“And a very happy birthday to you, Thea. I’m looking forward to the real party.” Clarence spoke with only sincerity. The feast required too much pretending, but a party promised something more freeing.
“Did you enjoy my gift?” He asked, his attention finally settling on Ari. “That little dose of public embarrassment thrown your mother’s way.” Something just behind his eyes promised that was only the beginning, that Victoria Edwards was just another thing he couldn’t wait to see topple and fall apart.
The scent of blood hung thick in the air of the dusty, long-abandoned warehouse. Screams often went unanswered in Gutter's End; whether ignored or simply unheard was anyone’s guess. Every few minutes, the sharp edge of pure terror sliced through the metallic tang, adding a rich, almost savory, smell to the air. The warehouse was nearly pitch dark, save for the lone moonbeams that dared to slither in through a long since shattered window, cutting across the grime. Here, in a forgotten and empty place, any mask of civility had faded away with the sun.
A man’s scream crumbled into a desperate plea for mercy.
“Mercy?” Noah spat the word out with disgust. “Do I look like a merciful man, Jimmy?” He laughed and his chest rumbled with the sound. Something purely wicked reverberated through the room as five more vampires joined in. The sound echoed around a bruised and bloody mortal.
“There is no mercy here; only misery.” He offered a soft and sinister promise.
Noah circled the wooden chair Jimmy was tied to, his slow methodical footsteps tapped softly against the floorboards. He let his words sink in, let the anticipation build, and listened to the racing pulse of his prey as terror took hold.
Then, his footsteps stopped.
Without warning he yanked Jimmy’s head back, the chair tilted with him, and Noah leaned in and whispered into Jimmy’s ear. “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” The chair slammed forward again.
A nail gun went off once…
twice…
thrice.
Jimmy screamed and writhed in his chair. Noah circled around again and faced Jimmy with all the speed and grace a vampire was capable of, his coat billowed. “And you’ve been one spoiled little shit! We brought you business, a cut of the action, and what did you do Jimmy? Bite the fucking hand that fed you!” Noah shouted over the man's screams like a unhinged burst of thunder. One hand shot forward and rattled the chair.
“I didn’t—I wouldn’t—” A lie started to sputter out only to transform into a shriek as the gun nailed Jimmy’s other palm and the arm of the wooden chair became one.
“Alessio,” Noah said, barely glancing back as he began pacing around the chair again. “Show him the evidence.”
One of the other vampires stepped forward, his voice devoid of emotion as he carefully explained and held up each piece of evidence up for Jimmy to see. Surveillance photos. Phone logs. Files found in Jimmy’s office with details about the Corvane family’s business. Each bit of damnation was dropped into the helpless human's lap.
“So now you’re not just a rat,” Noah said, voice like a disappointed parent. “You’re a lying rat.” He closed his eyes and smiled as he shook his head. Poor, wounded Jimmy sat stuck to his chair, hope falling away with every drop of blood. “And that’s a problem. ‘Cause I need to know every bit of shit you’ve leaked to the Wardens.”
“None! I swear. They’ve been houndin’ me. Askin’ what I’ve seen. I told ‘em nothin’.” Jimmy’s words were a scattered mess of desperation. He still thought he could talk his way out of this.
“Lemme knock some sense into you.” The nail gun slammed into Jimmy’s nose, shattering bone.
“We’ve already established you’re a liar, Jimmy.” He held the nail gun up to Jimmy’s eye.
Click.
Nothing. He tried again.
Still nothing.
Noah tossed the nail gun across the floor, back to where he’d found it. Then without pause or hesitation, drove his thumb up and under one of Jimmy’s eyes and deep into the socket. It popped, Noah yanked, and soon the little orb fell to the ground with a soft thud. Noah shuddered with excitement, something about ripping an eyeball out just gave him the most delightful sense of Déjà vu. He licked blood from his fingers.
“You know what I like about hands?” he asked, a sudden glee in his tone. “Same thing I like about eyes.” He crouched down in front of Jimmy, looked up into that empty, leaking, socket with a smile. With a tilt of his head, Noah studied the broken man in front of him.
“There’s two of them.” He watched the dread bloom across Jimmy’s face, heard all that desparte faulty hope drain out as screams softened into whimpers.
“Eeeeye’ll only tell you once, Jimmy, I hate liars.” Noah reached out hand to one of the vampire’s behind him.
“Bolt cutters.” The old rusted tool was handed to Noah as he stood back up and rested a hand on Jimmy’s shoulder.
“Now, I’m guessing this is your first time being tortured so tell ya what I’m going to do.” He spoke like he was offering a favor and wrapped the blades around the tip of Jimmy’s pinky finger.
“We’ll take it nice and slow, Jimbo. Start with just the tip.” The bolt cutters snapped around the finger. Wicked laughter filled the room, drowning out much of the screaming.
“You know what I like about fingers? There’s ten of them. Ten, Jimmy, and I’m going to cut each one away until they're gone. And while I’m doing that, you’re going to talk and wonder what you can say to make it all stop.” He paused before leaning in to whisper, “The misery ends when I believe you. When I get the truth. That might take awhile.”
Piece by piece, Noah cut the truth out of Jimmy the Rat. How he’d sold information on a variety of their clubs and blood farms, and even a few sparse details on Magnus’s Crimson Garden. How the Warden’s had cleaned up Jimmy’s blood addiction and turned him on his vampiric masters. The slimy, ungrateful, little rodent. The traitor.
“You could’ve been Made, Jimmy, could’ve been something. Now you’re just a little rat who fell in a meat grinder. There’s one more thing I want you to know, I lied to you too. This doesn’t end when I believe you…” Noah teased. He shoved the bolt cutters into the man's mouth, blades wrapping around the tongue that had told too many lies.
Snip.
“It ends when I get bored.”
Snip.
Jimmy, or the mangled bloody thing that was left of him, drew only faint shallow breaths. He made no sound and merely sat, hands nailed to the arm of a wooden chair and head slipped low. The evidence, so stained with crimson that they were unrecognizable, were soon doused with gasoline. Without eyes, ears, or a nose, Noah wondered if Jimmy even knew what was coming next.
He hoped he did, Noah hoped the shudder he caught from the shell of a man was a final horrific realization as a vampire stuck a match and let it fall onto the files.
Jimmy lit up and soon faded away.
Noah paused for a moment, admiring his work, his art. What was once a man, now something mangled and unrecognizable, sat burning on a chair. Poor ol’ Jimmy Salvatore, formerly a promising blood slave, now just a dead rat. Noah lingered just long enough to ensure the body, and the evidence against Jimmy, got nice and crispy.
The flames were inspiring, they lit up the scene perfectly. Noah plucked his phone from his pocket, picked up the severed eyes from the floor, and set up the perfect selfie. One with a burning Jimmy, pieces of him scattered about the floor, glowing in the background.
Finished work Headed home Eye can’t wait to see you
He sent the string of messages to Wren with a lovesick smile strewn across his face before making his way out of the warehouse just as the building started to catch like the brittle tinderbox it was. He’d grab someone to eat on the way home, the smell in the warehouse had really tickled his appetite. Noah got into a sleek black sedan, one that looked drastically out of place in Gutter's End, and never once looked up from his phone.
Bloody fingers still tapped away at the phone screen as he sent a message to Lachlan Devlin, tonight’s second order of business.
We need to talk. Tonight. Pink Room.
Simple. Short. Straight to the point. Let ol’ Lucky Locke wonder what he wanted. Let the bastard stew a little. After what he’d done, after Locke had just up and left them, when once they were inseparable, the man deserved much worse than what he’d gotten. It was aggravating that the Fae had made himself so useful, the best in the business, and Noah wouldn’t trust less than the best for this.
Locke’s luck wasn’t set to run out and this wasn’t about old betrayals. It was about a fresh one. Angel’s; his stupid ungrateful sister who had decided she was too good for her family. It was long past time to drag her back home.
On the way, Noah grabbed the first human dumb enough to be walking the streets alone and dragged them into the car. It was lazy, but what was wrong with a lazy breakfast every now and then? The car continued towards the foreboding obsidian skyscraper, The Black Spire, as if a quick killing in the backseat was nothing out of the ordinary. In Halcyon, it certainly wasn't, and those employed by vampires got used to cleaning up the blood they left behind.
Noah paused just behind the door to his room. He could smell the long dead corpse from down the hallway and it wasn’t like there weren’t plenty of other rooms, that weren’t his damn bedroom, to play with dead things. No…no. Not my problem. One of the thralls can clean this up. They were going out anyway.
He flung the door open and didn’t bother to close it. A short walk past the main room of the high rise apartment and into the bedroom greeted him with a scene almost right out of The Godfather. His sheets were covered in old, soured blood. He pulled the pack of cigarettes from his jacket, plucked one out, and lit it. A long drag mixed with the scent of tobacco helped hide the scent of blood long since expired.
“Wren? Am I going to find a goddamn horse head in that bed?” He asked, his words teasing and his eyes watchful.
Race: Aasimar Class: Paladin Location: Stormrider; Cargo Hold Interactions:Scratch & Val @Apex Sunburn Equipment: His longsword; Retribution and a healing amulet. A backpack with supplies and his lute. Attire: Clothing and gloves Gold Balance: 87 Injuries: New injuries; concussion, fractured ribs, giant splinter in his leg, injured shoulder, all bruised up. Old injuries include a missing eye, numerous iridescent scars, and a knee that aches when it rains.
Ezekiel kept one hand tightly coiled around the netting that secured a stack of secured crates. The other remained wrapped around Venn, who he’d caught just in time before she could be blown away by the winds that filled the cargo hold. He shielded her from the worst of the flying debris. Between the powerful gusts, the shrieking griffon, and the clatter of wood and metal - the room descended in indistinguishable chaos.
Then the griffon soon shrieked no more.
The winds softened just enough.
Little remained in the cargo hold to be flung around.
As the paladin rose amongst the wreckage; the damage to the cargo hold was startling. If he was certain of anything at that moment it was that a giant hole in the side of an airship was a huge problem. If red-hooded terrorists didn’t kill them before that door opened a crashing airship certainly would, and if the ship was left so damaged and without its engineer…well that couldn’t be an option.
The griffon was gone, as was the warrior with twin blades, and only two enemies remained. The odds shifted just enough as divine favor blessed them with an evened up battlefield.
“I’m tired of these fucking tricks…Fight me, you cowards.” The warrior with the sickle surged forward, his weapon dragging behind him. Sparkler’s eyes burned, the rage in them was unmistakable. Good. Anger made men sloppy.
Ezekiel matched the intensity but not the emotion. It wasn’t rage Sparkler looked back at, it was judgement. The sickle wielding warrior would not commit another wicked act. The only mercy Sparkler would find now was with whatever god he prayed to and his soul would soon journey to the next plane.
The floor rattled. A pressure pulsed like an urgent warning. Whatever it meant, it wasn’t good, and it could not be heeded until those last two warriors were slain and the door to cargo had opened.
One thing at a time.
He freed his sword from its sheath once more. Magic powered by unshakable faith followed from Ezekiel into the weapon. It not only glowed but hummed softly with the protective light of Holy Bulwark. If Sparkler dealt the first blow, the Aasimar’s sword was poised to handle it and any magical force that came with it. But he didn’t intend for the opponent to have a chance to lift his heavy sickle from the ground where it dragged and screeched.
Both hands gripped the hilt of his sword, his eye remained locked on the enemy with intensity of a hawk, and Ezekiel charged forward. He couldn’t match the speed Sprakler had, but he wasn’t giving the spellcaster any more time to throw them another curveball. This fight was happening right now.
A shot rang out, and Sparkler’s shield sputtered and died. Scratch held tight to the musket.
"I'll focus on the spellcaster," Scratch’s voice carried through the hold with ease. "You focus on taking the one with the sickle out as quickly as you can!"
As the two warriors closed in on one another, that momentary distraction was put to use. Retribution, aglow with light, swung at the red-hooded figure with unyielding intent to kill and decades of precision. He aimed not to merely strike the opponent with the blade but to cleave through him. As deep as the blade could cut and then just a little bit further, propelled by the paladin’s sheer will alone.
• Name | Caelus • Nickname(s) | The Mad One, The Delirious Lord, Bliss-Weaver, Cael • Age | Ancient • Gender | Male • Birthday | Everyday • Race | Fae • Rank/Status | Ancient Fae; a (semi-)respected Lord of the Thorned Council
• Height | 6’3 • Build | Slender • Eye Color | Mint Green • Hair Color & Style | Lavender • Skin Tone | Pale, shimmering, with very cold undertones • Notable Marks | Freckles that look to be made of gold • Typical Clothing Style | Loose, flowing, and colorful clothing • Aura/First Impression | An old soul long detached from reality • Voice | Smooth, thick, and eternally sweet. Caelus’s words drip like honey, they linger in the air, enticing…But as time passes they begin to infect, inhibitions fall away and a euphoric haze clouds the mind. His voice floats, dream-like and soothing. Weaker minds begin to slip away into madness. Delirium takes hold.
• Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 3 • Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3 • Romantic Preferences | Fleeting, same for friendships. Most people who spend too much time around Caelus, inevitably lose their minds and few handle it as well as he does. • Current Romantic Interests | None • View on Forbidden Relationships | Caelus approves of anything that brings joy • Biggest Turn-ons | ✦ Smiles ✦ Confidence ✦ Gentle • Biggest Turn-offs | ✦ Harsh ✦ Uninspired ✦ Rude • Known Friends | TDB • Known Enemies | None? • Known Family | Forgotten
• Hobbies/Interests | ✦ Lounging around Fae hotspots ✦ Dissolving Inhibitions ✦ Spreading Euphoria ✦ Mixology ✦ Drawn to neon lights, bright colors, and gold • Likes | ✦ Fruit ✦ A party that never ends ✦ Dreams ✦ Beauty ✦ Laughter • Dislikes | ✦ Conflict ✦ Floating back into reality ✦ Disrespect ✦ Being asked questions ✦ Meat & greasy foods • Fears | ✦ Sorrow ✦ Obscurity or being forgotten ✦ Sobriety • Habits | ✦ Always has a drink it hand ✦ Never making deep, lasting connections ✦ Wandering off ✦ Not finishing sentences ✦ Misplacing things • Vices | ✦ Driving others to madness ✦ Drugs/Alcohol ✦ Pride
Core Motivation
To remain the life of the party, bringer of bliss and delirium alike, and find a way to never slip back into a lucid state. To never remember what he’s intentionally forgotten. To find others who want to forget, to live only in blissful ignorance, and never feel pain. To not be alone.
Personality Overview
Caelus is a creature of whimsy; ethereal and draped with magic that cannot be contained. It simply flows from him, sometimes like a gentle breeze and other times like the fiercest gale, and with it blows madness. He drifts into various altered states; always intoxicated by something, not only does his own magic keep him high but he only adds to it with alcohol and a variety of drugs, indulging in whatever sounds fun in the moment. Cael is a warm and inviting presence, welcoming and playful, but rarely coherent. He casts no judgements on other's choices, so long as they don't spoil his fun.
A Fae who rarely makes deals but prefers to lure others to him, freely offering food and drink until they find themselves unable to leave. But few wish to stay with him for long and even those who do find themselves only courting their own self-destruction. That’s the price of pure freedom; losing everything. Cael is free from attachments, everything is just a fleeting moment to be enjoyed until it’s gone. The only constant is the eternal party he weaves around him.
Then, there are the rare moments where he drifts back into lucidity. His eternal party pauses just long enough for him to begin to remember the feelings, but not the details, that led him to embrace delirium in the first place. A cold gust follows, depression seeps in and the dream becomes a nightmare. Then it fades again, he floats back to where he’s comfortable. Oblivion. Bliss.
Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Current Occupation | Socialite • Level of Schooling | Only the informal sort • Past Occupations | Who can keep track of all that? • Socioeconomic Status | So beyond wealth that it is something he never thinks about • History Summary |
Ancient. He has forgotten more than most remember.
Most everyone he’s known, from enemies to friends to lovers, have long since died and faded from memory. Captured by oblivion.
His family too, Caelus is all that remains of his family. The last descendant of a lineage of Fae known for their ability to weave joy, whimsy, and beauty into the world. He can’t quite remember what happened to them, only that was too painful a memory to hold on to, and so he let drift away on the wind.
He long since made the choice to untethered himself from reality. A life of pure freedom; no lasting connections, no painful memories, nothing that can ever harm him or be taken from him. Around him, the eternal party goes on, and nothing more than that matters.
Ignorance truly is bliss. And that, is what his magic adds the grand glamour. He is the bliss that keeps much of the city unaware.
He invites all who are interested in his mystically crafted brand of delirium to join him. His magic is like a drug so alluring it rarely lets anything escape. But he’s not driven by malice, Cael is the soft and gentle temptation to live for pleasure. Amoral, hedonistic, and free.
He may be the least respected Fae on the council but nobody ever forgets to invite him to a party. Cael persists as one of the few forces that brings joy in Halcyon.
Race-Specific Questions ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
▸ Fae ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Element Affinity | Wind • Glamour Specialty | Bliss-Weaver. Crafting Enchanted Food & Cocktails (and other substances…) • Views on Mortals | Sees them as a delightful flash that burns brightly only to fade away moments later. • Views on Vampires | Enjoys their magnetism and ambition, the wild ways in which they dream, and so long as they don’t bring violence to his door, Cael has no issue with them. • Views on Lycans | Much like his view on vampires, if the werewolves keep their conflicts away from him, he welcomes them just as easily. Who doesn’t love a good dog? • Views on Other Fae | He loves each and every one of them as if they were his siblings.
Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Theme Song | Crazy - Gnarls Barkley • Favorite Food | Fruit • Favorite Animal(s) | Birds • Favorite Music Genre | Anything upbeat • Favorite Haunt | The Eclipse & The Gilded Hare • Signature Weapon | Magic • Preferred Vices | Mystical Cocktails • Pet Peeve | Buzzkills • Guilty Pleasure | What guilt?
• Name | Todd Henry Collins • Nickname(s) | Mr. THC • Age | 25 • Gender | Male • Birthday | July 10th • Race | Human • Rank/Status | Low level weed dealer, and recently made personal assistant to some eccentric rich guy who might be an alien.
• Height | 5’6 • Build | Wiry • Eye Color | Forest green • Hair Color & Style | Blond, short hair. • Skin Tone | On the pale side, but his skin at least sees the sun regularly • Notable Marks | A few scars here and there • Typical Clothing Style | Casual and simple, mostly what he gets from second-hand stores. • Aura/First Impression | Awkward, paranoid, and probably stoned • Voice | A fast talker, then sometimes he gets quiet mid-sentence when he realizes he’s rambling about something only he’s interested in.
• Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 5 • Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3 • Romantic Preferences | Someone who knows who to have fun and doesn’t take life too seriously. • Current Romantic Interests | None • View on Forbidden Relationships | He’d wish them the best of luck but it sounds like a lot of extra drama. • Biggest Turn-ons | ✦ Chill ✦ Funny ✦ Fun at parties • Biggest Turn-offs | ✦ Serious types ✦ Lying ✦ Pessimists • Known Friends | TBD • Known Enemies | “I don’t fuck with cops?” • Known Family | His dad went missing a long time ago. His mother was murdered a couple years back. He's siblings are doing well, and he's happy for their success even if they're a bit too straight laced for his taste.
• Hobbies/Interests | ✦ Smoking Weed ✦ Podcasting ✦ Wild Conspiracy Theories ✦ Weird Happenings ✦ Meeting new people • Likes | ✦ Aliens ✦ Cartoons ✦ Food ✦ Popcorn ✦ Mothman • Dislikes | ✦ Authority ✦ Pressure ✦ Cops ✦ When popcorn get’s stuck in his teeth ✦ People who don’t know how to have fun • Fears | ✦ Dying ✦ Heights ✦ Spiders ✦ The Red Widow ✦ The Woods ✦ Clowns/Mimes ✦ Eviction Notices ✦ The CIA & other shadowy government agencies • Habits | ✦ Rambling ✦ Snacking constantly rather than eating a meal ✦ Overthinking unimportant things, while making the most impulsive life choices • Vices | ✦ Avoiding Problems/Responsibility ✦ Taking nothing seriously ✦ Giving in to the munchies
Core Motivation
Todd is deeply passionate about his podcast, What the Hell, Halcyon?, which has maybe a dozen or so listeners. He covers the latest in weird news and happenings in Halcyon and his conspiracy theories around what they don’t want you to know. But it’s not about the numbers, it’s about getting the truth out there for the people who want to know. Crazy maulings that have to be the work of Bigfoot. All the deeply strange folks that wander the city: part of a CIA mind control program or maybe even some kind of mystical and esoteric cult. The high rate of disappearances is a government cover-up for…something. Or aliens.
But other than that, Todd might just be one of the least motivated people you’ll meet.
Personality Overview
Todd manages to simultaneously be one of the chillest, most nonchalant, unbothered guys around while having various levels of anxiety about half the world around him. Open, mostly honest, and outgoing, he enjoys meeting new people, striking up conversations with strangers, and a good party. An optimist by choice, he sees just enough of the darkness that clings to Halcyon, but never lets it hold him down. When it comes to any sort of conflict, Todd wants no part of it, and he’s the first to run when it looks like a fight might break out. Some may call that cowardice, but he’d call that self-preservation. Most of the time he seems lazy, certainly unmotivated, and always willing to take a shortcut or a risk for the right reward.
Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Current Occupation | Freshly employed as the assistant to the eccentric rich guy who always hangs around The Eclipse. Low level weed dealer. Occasional schemer. • Level of Schooling | College dropout • Past Occupations | He’s worked at, and been fired from: Taco Bellezza, Halcyon Pizza, Neon Lanes Bowling Alley, and multiple stores at Silverleaf Mall. • Socioeconomic Status | Constantly on the verge of being totally broke and hustling just enough to stay afloat. • History Summary |
Todd had a mostly normal childhood. He grew up in a shoddy run down little house but it wasn’t a bad home life. His two older siblings looked out for him then, and still do, occasionally lending him money they know he won’t pay back. One’s a doctor and the other’s about to be a lawyer, and Todd manages to scrape by in life by the skin of his teeth. What is most important, are the small collection of moments in his life that are undeniably strange.
It started with his dad, who went for a quick run to The Quick Stop Market and never came home. But the old man, for all intents and purposes, had been gone, long before that. Lost in the way so many in Halcyon are; eyes haunted by things they refuse to talk about, shaken too deeply to function, no longer living but simply waiting for the horror to end. It’s not an uncommon sight out in the gutters where too many live like sleepwalkers trapped in a nightmare.
Todd was young when it happened, but just old enough to be pissed off at how little the cops even cared. There were never any answers and maybe it was just easier to tell himself that his dad got taken by some friendly extraterrestrials for a space adventure. Now, it’s almost like he really believes that’s what happened.
Then there was the time he went camping in high school with a few buddies. A nice time out in the woods under the full moon with a crackling bonfire lighting up the night and keeping the distant wolves away. Weird, how wolves are frequently heard howling every night, even far away from the forest, deeping in the winding alleyways of the gutters. But what he saw that night sure as hell wasn’t a wolf.
He caught a glimpse of something huge, towering, and deadly. It flung his poor friend Chad, not into a tree, but through one. A massive tree trunk just shattered and the rest of them all ran for their lives. It was clear what he’d seen that night, Bigfoot, but of course no one believed him.
Then there was his mother’s murder. Found in an alley near The Red Widow, not a drop of blood left in her. The cops clearly thought he was an idiot as they tried to claim it was a mugging gone wrong. Who the hell robs people of nothing but blood. Some kind of experiment from a government psy-op gone wrong maybe. Or a cult sacrifice? Another person gone from the world and the cops didn’t give two shits.
Well Todd wasn’t about to let all these mysterious deaths continue to go uncommented on. He started a podcast to try and bring awareness to the truth. It hasn’t got much attention yet, but he’s dedicated. But podcasting doesn’t pay the bills, especially when your listeners have just barely entered the double digits. He sticks with the one job he’s never been fired from, selling the finest greenery in the city.
Or he was until he crossed paths with what has to be an alien. Real weird guy he ran into at The Eclipse, who offered him a job as an assistant. Well, actually the words he used were mortal servant, and somehow, it just makes sense that rich aliens were about as out of touch as rich humans.
Race-Specific Questions ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
Human. Just a guy, unaware and unprepared for What the Hell, is really going on in Halcyon.
Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Theme Song | Alien's Exist - Blink 182 & What, Me Worry - Portugal. The Man • Favorite Food | “Popcorn…orange chicken…no, pizza. Wait, ramen. No, it’s taco’s...final answer.” • Favorite Animal(s) | “Scooby Doo!” • Favorite Music Genre | Most of them, Todd’s not picky. • Favorite Haunt | The Eclipse • Signature Weapon | None. The closest Todd’s ever been to getting into a fight is being mugged. • Preferred Vices | Weed • Pet Peeve | Overly skeptical people • Guilty Pleasure | Late night Taco Bellezza trips.
• Name | Caelus • Nickname(s) | The Mad One, The Delirious Lord, Bliss-Weaver, Cael • Age | Ancient • Gender | Male • Birthday | Everyday • Race | Fae • Rank/Status | Ancient Fae; a (semi-)respected Lord of the Thorned Council
• Height | 6’3 • Build | Slender • Eye Color | Mint Green • Hair Color & Style | Lavender • Skin Tone | Pale, shimmering, with very cold undertones • Notable Marks | Freckles that look to be made of gold • Typical Clothing Style | Loose, flowing, and colorful clothing • Aura/First Impression | An old soul long detached from reality • Voice | Smooth, thick, and eternally sweet. Caelus’s words drip like honey, they linger in the air, enticing…But as time passes they begin to infect, inhibitions fall away and a euphoric haze clouds the mind. His voice floats, dream-like and soothing. Weaker minds begin to slip away into madness. Delirium takes hold.
• Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 3 • Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3 • Romantic Preferences | Fleeting, same for friendships. Most people who spend too much time around Caelus, inevitably lose their minds and few handle it as well as he does. • Current Romantic Interests | None • View on Forbidden Relationships | Caelus approves of anything that brings joy • Biggest Turn-ons | ✦ Smiles ✦ Confidence ✦ Gentle • Biggest Turn-offs | ✦ Harsh ✦ Uninspired ✦ Rude • Known Friends | TDB • Known Enemies | None? • Known Family | Forgotten
• Hobbies/Interests | ✦ Lounging around Fae hotspots ✦ Dissolving Inhibitions ✦ Spreading Euphoria ✦ Mixology ✦ Drawn to neon lights, bright colors, and gold • Likes | ✦ Fruit ✦ A party that never ends ✦ Dreams ✦ Beauty ✦ Laughter • Dislikes | ✦ Conflict ✦ Floating back into reality ✦ Disrespect ✦ Being asked questions ✦ Meat & greasy foods • Fears | ✦ Sorrow ✦ Obscurity or being forgotten ✦ Sobriety • Habits | ✦ Always has a drink it hand ✦ Never making deep, lasting connections ✦ Wandering off ✦ Not finishing sentences ✦ Misplacing things • Vices | ✦ Driving others to madness ✦ Drugs/Alcohol ✦ Pride
Core Motivation
To remain the life of the party, bringer of bliss and delirium alike, and find a way to never slip back into a lucid state. To never remember what he’s intentionally forgotten. To find others who want to forget, to live only in blissful ignorance, and never feel pain. To not be alone.
Personality Overview
Caelus is a creature of whimsy; ethereal and draped with magic that cannot be contained. It simply flows from him, sometimes like a gentle breeze and other times like the fiercest gale, and with it blows madness. He drifts into various altered states; always intoxicated by something, not only does his own magic keep him high but he only adds to it with alcohol and a variety of drugs, indulging in whatever sounds fun in the moment. Cael is a warm and inviting presence, welcoming and playful, but rarely coherent. He casts no judgements on other's choices, so long as they don't spoil his fun.
A Fae who rarely makes deals but prefers to lure others to him, freely offering food and drink until they find themselves unable to leave. But few wish to stay with him for long and even those who do find themselves only courting their own self-destruction. That’s the price of pure freedom; losing everything. Cael is free from attachments, everything is just a fleeting moment to be enjoyed until it’s gone. The only constant is the eternal party he weaves around him.
Then, there are the rare moments where he drifts back into lucidity. His eternal party pauses just long enough for him to begin to remember the feelings, but not the details, that led him to embrace delirium in the first place. A cold gust follows, depression seeps in and the dream becomes a nightmare. Then it fades again, he floats back to where he’s comfortable. Oblivion. Bliss.
Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Current Occupation | Socialite • Level of Schooling | Only the informal sort • Past Occupations | Who can keep track of all that? • Socioeconomic Status | So beyond wealth that it is something he never thinks about • History Summary |
Ancient. He has forgotten more than most remember.
Most everyone he’s known, from enemies to friends to lovers, have long since died and faded from memory. Captured by oblivion.
His family too, Caelus is all that remains of his family. The last descendant of a lineage of Fae known for their ability to weave joy, whimsy, and beauty into the world. He can’t quite remember what happened to them, only that was too painful a memory to hold on to, and so he let drift away on the wind.
He long since made the choice to untethered himself from reality. A life of pure freedom; no lasting connections, no painful memories, nothing that can ever harm him or be taken from him. Around him, the eternal party goes on, and nothing more than that matters.
Ignorance truly is bliss. And that, is what his magic adds the grand glamour. He is the bliss that keeps much of the city unaware.
He invites all who are interested in his mystically crafted brand of delirium to join him. His magic is like a drug so alluring it rarely lets anything escape. But he’s not driven by malice, Cael is the soft and gentle temptation to live for pleasure. Amoral, hedonistic, and free.
He may be the least respected Fae on the council but nobody ever forgets to invite him to a party. Cael persists as one of the few forces that brings joy in Halcyon.
Race-Specific Questions ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
▸ Fae ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Element Affinity | Wind • Glamour Specialty | Bliss-Weaver. Crafting Enchanted Food & Cocktails (and other substances…) • Views on Mortals | Sees them as a delightful flash that burns brightly only to fade away moments later. • Views on Vampires | Enjoys their magnetism and ambition, the wild ways in which they dream, and so long as they don’t bring violence to his door, Cael has no issue with them. • Views on Lycans | Much like his view on vampires, if the werewolves keep their conflicts away from him, he welcomes them just as easily. Who doesn’t love a good dog? • Views on Other Fae | He loves each and every one of them as if they were his siblings.
Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Theme Song | Crazy - Gnarls Barkley • Favorite Food | Fruit • Favorite Animal(s) | Birds • Favorite Music Genre | Anything upbeat • Favorite Haunt | The Eclipse & The Gilded Hare • Signature Weapon | Magic • Preferred Vices | Mystical Cocktails • Pet Peeve | Buzzkills • Guilty Pleasure | What guilt?
• Name | Todd Henry Collins • Nickname(s) | Mr. THC • Age | 25 • Gender | Male • Birthday | July 10th • Race | Human • Rank/Status | Low level weed dealer, and recently made personal assistant to some eccentric rich guy who might be an alien.
• Height | 5’6 • Build | Wiry • Eye Color | Forest green • Hair Color & Style | Blond, short hair. • Skin Tone | On the pale side, but his skin at least sees the sun regularly • Notable Marks | A few scars here and there • Typical Clothing Style | Casual and simple, mostly what he gets from second-hand stores. • Aura/First Impression | Awkward, paranoid, and probably stoned • Voice | A fast talker, then sometimes he gets quiet mid-sentence when he realizes he’s rambling about something only he’s interested in.
• Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 5 • Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3 • Romantic Preferences | Someone who knows who to have fun and doesn’t take life too seriously. • Current Romantic Interests | None • View on Forbidden Relationships | He’d wish them the best of luck but it sounds like a lot of extra drama. • Biggest Turn-ons | ✦ Chill ✦ Funny ✦ Fun at parties • Biggest Turn-offs | ✦ Serious types ✦ Lying ✦ Pessimists • Known Friends | TBD • Known Enemies | “I don’t fuck with cops?” • Known Family | His dad went missing a long time ago. His mother was murdered a couple years back. He's siblings are doing well, and he's happy for their success even if they're a bit too straight laced for his taste.
• Hobbies/Interests | ✦ Smoking Weed ✦ Podcasting ✦ Wild Conspiracy Theories ✦ Weird Happenings ✦ Meeting new people • Likes | ✦ Aliens ✦ Cartoons ✦ Food ✦ Popcorn ✦ Mothman • Dislikes | ✦ Authority ✦ Pressure ✦ Cops ✦ When popcorn get’s stuck in his teeth ✦ People who don’t know how to have fun • Fears | ✦ Dying ✦ Heights ✦ Spiders ✦ The Red Widow ✦ The Woods ✦ Clowns/Mimes ✦ Eviction Notices ✦ The CIA & other shadowy government agencies • Habits | ✦ Rambling ✦ Snacking constantly rather than eating a meal ✦ Overthinking unimportant things, while making the most impulsive life choices • Vices | ✦ Avoiding Problems/Responsibility ✦ Taking nothing seriously ✦ Giving in to the munchies
Core Motivation
Todd is deeply passionate about his podcast, What the Hell, Halcyon?, which has maybe a dozen or so listeners. He covers the latest in weird news and happenings in Halcyon and his conspiracy theories around what they don’t want you to know. But it’s not about the numbers, it’s about getting the truth out there for the people who want to know. Crazy maulings that have to be the work of Bigfoot. All the deeply strange folks that wander the city: part of a CIA mind control program or maybe even some kind of mystical and esoteric cult. The high rate of disappearances is a government cover-up for…something. Or aliens.
But other than that, Todd might just be one of the least motivated people you’ll meet.
Personality Overview
Todd manages to simultaneously be one of the chillest, most nonchalant, unbothered guys around while having various levels of anxiety about half the world around him. Open, mostly honest, and outgoing, he enjoys meeting new people, striking up conversations with strangers, and a good party. An optimist by choice, he sees just enough of the darkness that clings to Halcyon, but never lets it hold him down. When it comes to any sort of conflict, Todd wants no part of it, and he’s the first to run when it looks like a fight might break out. Some may call that cowardice, but he’d call that self-preservation. Most of the time he seems lazy, certainly unmotivated, and always willing to take a shortcut or a risk for the right reward.
Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Current Occupation | Freshly employed as the assistant to the eccentric rich guy who always hangs around The Eclipse. Low level weed dealer. Occasional schemer. • Level of Schooling | College dropout • Past Occupations | He’s worked at, and been fired from: Taco Bellezza, Halcyon Pizza, Neon Lanes Bowling Alley, and multiple stores at Silverleaf Mall. • Socioeconomic Status | Constantly on the verge of being totally broke and hustling just enough to stay afloat. • History Summary |
Todd had a mostly normal childhood. He grew up in a shoddy run down little house but it wasn’t a bad home life. His two older siblings looked out for him then, and still do, occasionally lending him money they know he won’t pay back. One’s a doctor and the other’s about to be a lawyer, and Todd manages to scrape by in life by the skin of his teeth. What is most important, are the small collection of moments in his life that are undeniably strange.
It started with his dad, who went for a quick run to The Quick Stop Market and never came home. But the old man, for all intents and purposes, had been gone, long before that. Lost in the way so many in Halcyon are; eyes haunted by things they refuse to talk about, shaken too deeply to function, no longer living but simply waiting for the horror to end. It’s not an uncommon sight out in the gutters where too many live like sleepwalkers trapped in a nightmare.
Todd was young when it happened, but just old enough to be pissed off at how little the cops even cared. There were never any answers and maybe it was just easier to tell himself that his dad got taken by some friendly extraterrestrials for a space adventure. Now, it’s almost like he really believes that’s what happened.
Then there was the time he went camping in high school with a few buddies. A nice time out in the woods under the full moon with a crackling bonfire lighting up the night and keeping the distant wolves away. Weird, how wolves are frequently heard howling every night, even far away from the forest, deeping in the winding alleyways of the gutters. But what he saw that night sure as hell wasn’t a wolf.
He caught a glimpse of something huge, towering, and deadly. It flung his poor friend Chad, not into a tree, but through one. A massive tree trunk just shattered and the rest of them all ran for their lives. It was clear what he’d seen that night, Bigfoot, but of course no one believed him.
Then there was his mother’s murder. Found in an alley near The Red Widow, not a drop of blood left in her. The cops clearly thought he was an idiot as they tried to claim it was a mugging gone wrong. Who the hell robs people of nothing but blood. Some kind of experiment from a government psy-op gone wrong maybe. Or a cult sacrifice? Another person gone from the world and the cops didn’t give two shits.
Well Todd wasn’t about to let all these mysterious deaths continue to go uncommented on. He started a podcast to try and bring awareness to the truth. It hasn’t got much attention yet, but he’s dedicated. But podcasting doesn’t pay the bills, especially when your listeners have just barely entered the double digits. He sticks with the one job he’s never been fired from, selling the finest greenery in the city.
Or he was until he crossed paths with what has to be an alien. Real weird guy he ran into at The Eclipse, who offered him a job as an assistant. Well, actually the words he used were mortal servant, and somehow, it just makes sense that rich aliens were about as out of touch as rich humans.
Race-Specific Questions ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
Human. Just a guy, unaware and unprepared for What the Hell, is really going on in Halcyon.
Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Theme Song | Alien's Exist - Blink 182 & What, Me Worry - Portugal. The Man • Favorite Food | “Popcorn…orange chicken…no, pizza. Wait, ramen. No, it’s taco’s...final answer.” • Favorite Animal(s) | “Scooby Doo!” • Favorite Music Genre | Most of them, Todd’s not picky. • Favorite Haunt | The Eclipse • Signature Weapon | None. The closest Todd’s ever been to getting into a fight is being mugged. • Preferred Vices | Weed • Pet Peeve | Overly skeptical people • Guilty Pleasure | Late night Taco Bellezza trips.
• Name | Noah Beaumont Corvane • Nickname(s) | N/A • Age | 28 • Gender | Male • Birthday | April 9th • Race | Vampire • Rank/Status | Enforcer for the Corvane family & Prince of Halcyon / Vampire Spawn
• Height | 5’10 • Build | Lean and fit • Eye Color | Cold blue • Hair Color & Style | Deep red • Skin Tone | Pale • Notable Marks | Faded scar from a vampire bite • Typical Clothing Style | Dark colors, expensive suits, leather, a long coat that screams villain. • Aura/First Impression | Noah is not the type of vampire that draws others in with charm. He’s a predator that sends a shiver down the spine, raises the hairs on the back of one’s neck, and quickens the heart rate. Terror is often the first impression he leaves, especially for humans. Depraved bastard, is a close second. • Voice | Deep, low, and effortlessly predatory…a voice like the hungry growl of a tiger, and even casual comments or pleasantries sound like a threat.
• Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 3 • Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3 • Romantic Preferences | Willing and freaky • Current Romantic InterestsObession | Wren • View on Forbidden Relationships | Depends on the context • Biggest Turn-ons | ✦ Pain ✦ Danger ✦ Power • Biggest Turn-offs | ✦ Ordinary ✦ Dull ✦ Merciful • Known Friends | Locke (former), TBD • Known Enemies | All Wardens or werewolves and anyone Magnus counts as an enemy • Known Family | Magnus (Adoptive Father) & Angel (Twin Sister)
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Hobbies/Interests | ✦ Hunting ✦ Partying ✦ Workaholic • Likes | ✦ Violence ✦ Loud, sketchy clubs ✦ Mafia movies • Dislikes | ✦ Quiet ✦ Lingering humanity ✦ Synthetic blood • Fears | ✦ Dissapointing Magnus ✦ Being unable to fix his sisters betrayal ✦ Starvation • Habits | ✦ Near constant movement ✦ Touching things ✦ Playing with a lighter • Vices | ✦ Drinking ✦ Smoking ✦ Gambling ✦ Playing with fire ✦ Wren’s blood ✦ Being a general menace; you’d struggle to find a vice Noah wouldn’t indulge in.
Core Motivation
To prove himself, that he is everything Magnus saw in him and more. Continuously securing his place with the family, building their empire to reach new heights, and cultivating his reputation as one of the most ruthless vampires to walk Halcyon’s streets. And to see his sister embrace that same legacy they were crafted for.
Personality Overview
A vicious creature who willingly tears away at whatever’s left of his humanity, Noah is driven by the desire to become exactly what he designed to be: a monster. His cruelty is undeniable; anyone he sees as prey, as an enemy, as something weak and deserving of being picked off, inevitably ends up facing things far worse than death. Noah is a cold and empty creature; there is little he “loves” in the world, but nothing quite holds a candle to the ecstasy of suffering. Watching faces contorted with it, dancing to cries of agony, savoring that precious moment when hope dies behind another’s eyes; Noah revels in it. When the pendulum of fate swings, and it is his turn to suffer, he finds only bliss in his pain.
Noah has an unnerving intensity, and when set on a task, he becomes completely obsessed with it. Reckless, irreverent, and brash, He draws attention and seeks out thrills. Never static or sluggish, his restless energy keeps him always moving. When he gets bored, he provokes someone, tries to get a rise, does something out of pocket just to see what’ll happen.
Untempered rage paired with a love of violence and unyielding strength, his temper is a bomb with a hairpin trigger. A deep sense of entitlement from years spent as the favored pet and surrogate son of one of the city's most dangerous vampires. Near carte blanche to just about whatever he pleases, Noah carries himself with all the arrogance of someone who knows he is backed by the Corvane family. A life devoid of any real consequences, his cruelty has only ever been celebrated and encouraged, and any time something remotely human bubbles up, all it takes is blood to wash himself clean of it.
Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Current Occupation | Mafia Enforcer • Level of Schooling | High School level • Past Occupations | Pet • Socioeconomic Status | Filthy rich • History Summary |
Noah always tried to be an obedient child, he had to be, his human father had a nasty temper. He figured out how things worked when he was young; behave or earn a beating. Simple. Easy to understand. As long as he did as he was told, things were better. Not perfect, not even good, but better than the alternative.
And imperfect enough that Noah felt nothing when a vampire killed his parents. He watched it happen with cold, unflinching eyes. He smiled at the vampire and whispered a simple thank you.
Maybe that’s what sealed his fate. Both saved and damned himself with that one breath. Because that vampire, Magnus, took an interest and saw something of worth. Both he and his twin sister were brought into a new family. One where violence wasn’t kept a hushed secret, one where it was honest, and where Noah was made an active participant.
Magnus, the boss of a vampiric mafia, had claimed the siblings as his new pets. His children. He shared with them the gift of eternity. He gave Noah power, strength, and a place at his side. Turned into a vampire as a child, his innocence was replaced with an insatiable bloodlust. A hunger that never calmed with age, instead, it raged and festered. A growing teenager whose appetites were all twisted into a need for blood and violence.
He embraced it. Welcomed it.
In hindsight, maybe that’s what ol’ papa Beaumont saw in a young Noah. That he wasn’t quite right, not in the ways his straight and narrow Warden father expected of him. He always had the mood swings, temper tantrums that tested the man’s limits, compulsive lying, childish attempts at manipulation, and there was that time he nearly burned down the garage…
Maybe he knew, maybe he suspected, or maybe he was just another Warden with his self-righteous head stuck up his ass. Good riddance is about all Noah ever has to say about the old man. He got an upgrade when Magnus claimed him as a son.
But his twin sister, Angel, didn’t see things the way Noah saw them. She didn’t embrace what they now were, but Noah was a good brother. He was going to help her understand. Anytime Magnus or his minions did anything Angel saw as cruel, Noah subtly made it seem like it was partially her fault. Spun his words to keep her thinking they were both punished because Angel refused to cooperate with the vampires.
Noah never saw any of it as a punishment. Not the mind games, not being asked to kill, and certainly not the torture. They were lessons. Magnus was breaking down any lingering weakness so that they could become something better. Stronger. Vampires made in his image. Noah was devoted to the blood-drenched God that had saved him from his sad, meaningless life and offered him the world, everything and anything he could ever want, on a silver platter. Magnus saw worth in him, and Noah remains endlessly loyal to his hero.
Noah loved being a vampire; the strength that now flowed through his veins connected him to an ancient power and elevated him to something akin to a demigod. A human life mattered about as much to him as the life of a cow had when he was a child enjoying a burger. Then they mattered even less than that, like the cheap toy that came with a Happy Meal. As time passed, his practicality about their situation grew crueler; something dark and sadistic bloomed in Noah.
As he traversed youthful rebellion with his sister and their Fae friend Locke, he kept the darker parts of himself hidden from them. Watched them, paid close attention to everything they said and did so that he could emulate what they wanted. He needed them to like him, keep him included, and maintain their close-knit trio. There is nothing Noah hates more than feeling alone. But that friendship shattered anyway, and Locke left them. Like finding a long-lost brother only to have him abandon them, without a reason, without a goodbye. He could almost admire how well Locke had dug that knife in, made him hurt in a way that mattered. Almost, because the rage he felt at that kind of betrayal only brought out an even more vicious side of him.
There was no more restrained Noah after Locke left. He threw himself into the family business and became his father’s enforcer. While there are plenty of vampires willing to maim and kill for the man, it is Noah he sends when he wants to truly send a merciless message, when he needs someone to suffer. He took his rightful place at his father’s side.
Fate rewarded him.
When a blood trafficking ring encroached on Magnus’s territory and disrespected the Corvane family; Noah was sent to eliminate the problem. He orchestrated a slaughter still whispered about in dark corners of Halcyon, a message so brutal and final that it still makes rivals question if crossing Magnus so openly is worth the risk. But for once, the slaughter itself was not the reward.
Tucked away in a cage not even fit for a dog…was her. A Fae, so otherworldly, so removed from anything ordinary, who welcomed him in almost the same way he had once welcomed Magnus. IV lines tangled around her like oblivion's tendrils, stealing her blood drop by drop, and keeping her in a state constantly on the verge of death. A lithe and fragile little creature who reminded him of that last hopeless breath of the dying. She looked at him without fear and said only a single word. Death. Noah plucked the IV lines as if they were the strings of a harp. As veins wept from where needles had been left for far too long, the scent of her blood had that unmistakable allure. Pure magic. Power yet to be fully unlocked. Strength trapped with a broken shell.
He gave her exactly what she asked for: death. A song of blood and violence. Her captors slaughtered, not with brutal efficiency, but as if he, and the vampires with him, were composing his greatest masterpiece.
All for her. For his wounded little bird. For Wren.
His pet. His
He could see it, the potential of vampire and fae together in perfect harmony. He only had to remake her as he had been remade, into something stronger. Unlock all that buried power. This world was not a place for fragile things. Noah knew that.
Bleeding the hope from her was an act of devotion. Hope was the worst cage to be trapped in, and he freed her from it. Just as Magnus had freed him.
Noah’s world brightened only to dim again at another betrayal. Worse than Locke’s, when Angel turned her back not just on their family, but on him. Broke the unspoken promise made in the womb that they would always have each other. There is nothing he won’t do to bring her back into the family.
He sought out the first person to ever betray him like that; Lachlan Devlin.
Race-Specific Questions ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
▸ Vampires ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Born or Turned? | Turned • Blood Source Preference | Fresh Victums • Blood Addiction Risk (1-5) | 4.5 • View on Fae Blood Ban | Unconcerned with it • Views on Mortals | Cattle • Views on Fae | Impressive • Views on Lycan | Filthy mutts
Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Theme Song | Closer to god-NIN • Favorite Food | Blood • Favorite Animal(s) | Frightened humans • Favorite Music Genre | Anything loud, angry, and horny • Favorite Haunt | Red Widow, The Black Spire, The Eclipse, The Velvet Bite • Signature Weapon | Teeth, knives, whatever happens to be lying around, Noah likes to get creative • Preferred Vices | All of them • Pet Peeve | Preachy, self-righteous types • Guilty Pleasure | Noah doesn’t believe in guilt, but he does have a soft spot for other apex predators and animals that tend to elicit a fear response in humans. A love of violent movies but mafia and horror are his favorites, he finds them inspiring.
• Name | Noah Beaumont Corvane • Nickname(s) | N/A • Age | 28 • Gender | Male • Birthday | April 9th • Race | Vampire • Rank/Status | Enforcer for the Corvane family & Prince of Halcyon / Vampire Spawn
• Height | 5’10 • Build | Lean and fit • Eye Color | Cold blue • Hair Color & Style | Deep red • Skin Tone | Pale • Notable Marks | Faded scar from a vampire bite • Typical Clothing Style | Dark colors, expensive suits, leather, a long coat that screams villain. • Aura/First Impression | Noah is not the type of vampire that draws others in with charm. He’s a predator that sends a shiver down the spine, raises the hairs on the back of one’s neck, and quickens the heart rate. Terror is often the first impression he leaves, especially for humans. Depraved bastard, is a close second. • Voice | Deep, low, and effortlessly predatory…a voice like the hungry growl of a tiger, and even casual comments or pleasantries sound like a threat.
• Openness to Friendship (1-5) | 3 • Openness to Romance (1-5) | 3 • Romantic Preferences | Willing and freaky • Current Romantic InterestsObession | Wren • View on Forbidden Relationships | Depends on the context • Biggest Turn-ons | ✦ Pain ✦ Danger ✦ Blood • Biggest Turn-offs | ✦ Ordinary ✦ Dull ✦ Merciful • Known Friends | Locke (though it's been a while), TBD • Known Enemies | All Wardens or werewolves and anyone Magnus counts as an enemy • Known Family | Magnus (Adoptive Father) & Angel (Twin Sister)
Psychology ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Hobbies/Interests | ✦ Hunting ✦ Partying ✦ Workaholic • Likes | ✦ Violence ✦ Loud, sketchy clubs ✦ Mafia movies • Dislikes | ✦ Quiet ✦ Lingering humanity ✦ Synthetic blood • Fears | ✦ Dissapointing Magnus ✦ Being unable to fix his sisters betrayal ✦ Starvation • Habits | ✦ Near constant movement ✦ Touching things ✦ Playing with a lighter • Vices | ✦ Drinking ✦ Smoking ✦ Gambling ✦ Being a general menace; you’d struggle to find a vice Noah wouldn’t indulge in.
Core Motivation
To prove himself, that he is everything Magnus saw in him and more. Continuously securing his place with the family, building their empire to reach new heights, and cultivating his reputation as one of the most ruthless vampires to walk Halcyon’s streets. And to see his sister embrace that same legacy they were crafted for.
Personality Overview
A vicious creature who willingly tears away at whatever’s left of his humanity, Noah is driven by the desire to become exactly what he designed to be: a monster. His cruelty is undeniable; anyone he sees as prey, as an enemy, as something weak and deserving of being picked off, inevitably ends up facing things far worse than death. Noah is a cold and empty creature; there is little he “loves” in the world, but nothing quite holds a candle to the ecstasy of suffering. Watching faces contorted with it, dancing to cries of agony, savoring that precious moment when hope dies behind another’s eyes; Noah revels in it. When the pendulum of fate swings, and it is his turn to suffer, he finds only bliss in his pain.
Noah has an unnerving intensity, and when set on a task, he becomes completely obsessed with it. Reckless, irreverent, and brash, He draws attention and seeks out thrills. Never static or sluggish, his restless energy keeps him always moving. When he gets bored, he provokes someone, tries to get a rise, does something out of pocket just to see what’ll happen.
Untempered rage paired with a love of violence and unyielding strength, his temper is a bomb with a hairpin trigger. A deep sense of entitlement from years spent as the favored pet and surrogate son of one of the city's most dangerous vampires. Near carte blanche to just about whatever he pleases, Noah carries himself with all the arrogance of someone who knows he is backed by the Corvane family. A life devoid of any real consequences, his cruelty has only ever been celebrated and encouraged, and any time something remotely human bubbles up, all it takes is blood to wash himself clean of it.
Background ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Current Occupation | Mafia Enforcer • Level of Schooling | High School level • Past Occupations | Pet • Socioeconomic Status | Filthy rich • History Summary |
Insert Backstory
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▸ Vampires ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Born or Turned? | Turned • Blood Source Preference | Fresh Victums • Blood Addiction Risk (1-5) | 4.5 • View on Fae Blood Ban | Unconcerned with it • Views on Mortals | Cattle • Views on Fae | Impressive • Views on Lycan | Filthy mutts
Miscellaneous ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔
• Theme Song | Closer to god-NIN • Favorite Food | Blood • Favorite Animal(s) | Frightened humans • Favorite Music Genre | Anything loud, angry, and horny • Favorite Haunt | Red Widow, The Black Spire, The Eclipse, The Velvet Bite • Signature Weapon | Teeth, knives, whatever happens to be lying around, Noah likes to get creative • Preferred Vices | All of them • Pet Peeve | Preachy, self-righteous types • Guilty Pleasure | Noah doesn’t believe in guilt, but he does have a soft spot for other apex predators and animals that tend to elicit a fear response in humans
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