Ohm

£ 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 £ - A Murder Mystery RP

E D W A R D

"Got an extra one of those?"

Edward didn't even have to give her visual attention, didn't have to remind himself of who she was. Of all the Blackstone siblings, Mariana was probably the one he'd had the closest of relationships with, despite the distance. He felt a mixture of admiration and envy, quietly praised her ability to separate from the family almost entirely. He wished he had that chance earlier in life, but these days, he was still too embedded, having to make decisions from the inside.

He remembered a few days ago, the mid-afternoon of January 24th. As he sat among a cluster of businessmen who had their fingers all too deep in the wrong pies, he received a text message from his mother, Regina.

Honey, I have some bad news. Your father is dead. I need you to come to the manor. Please come see me.

The news didn't carry the emotional weight it probably should have. He stared at the message on his phone, the blare of laughing suits in the background muffled and warped. He'd spent so long in the shadows of his family, cast aside and branded the black sheep. He wasn't the intrepid go-getter like Katherine, not when it mattered. Now, she was sitting pretty as the CEO of Blackstone Group, one of the largest and most effective security groups in the world, and here he was, schmoozing up to people that were practically no-names from his position. He could leverage his name at any moment, but the thrill of making the deals he often did would've been gone. There would be no challenge.

Even still, he couldn't put his focus on anything that day. Between navigating the social pitfalls of rich men and peering into the hole the rich man that was his father left behind, there was a certain stress that blurred his vision like frosted glass. He juggled the priorities in his mind, wondering what to do, but soon his experiences in the world took over, governed his thumbs as they tapped against the screen.

Won't make it for a few days. Business.

The phone fell into his pocket and he leaned back against the chair, watching the suits around clamor for the bodies of waitresses paid too little. His hand found the cigarette case in his coat pocket, pulled it out and, with the flick of his wrist, popped it open.

—————
———————————————
—————

Edward's arm swiveled away from his body casually, almost mechanically as he offered a cigarette to Mariana.

"I take it you heard the news," he said, his voice flat, even, unwavering. Meanwhile, his thumbs found the letters on the touchscreen, tapping away.

I'm here. Mariana just arrived. Yellow tape all over the front door.

As he felt her hand press into the case, Edward could smell that unmistakable scent of vodka. His head craned upward, scanning the face of the manor and the tape cutting them off from entering. "Do not cross," it said, almost an invitation to challenge the law. Edward stifled a grin. The Blackstones skirted legality on a near-daily basis, playing just within the confines of the rules so as not to incur the wrath of a judge who didn't care for how they handled things. Yellow tape wasn't going to stop any of them from entering their own former home—and yet, out of some anomalous respect for his mother, Edward decided to let it be.

"You probably shouldn't be drinking right now," Edward continued, his head turning to give a side glance at Mariana. "You know Mother's not going to be happy about it."

Buuuuuzzzzz.

Edward peered down at his phone, checking the reply from their mother.

House is cordoned off. I'm in the Pool House.

£ 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 £ - A Murder Mystery RP

E D W A R D

^{Blackstone Tower Penthouse, 27th Floor
January 24, 2026; 2:35 AM}

---

Edward stood on the balcony of the penthouse, the frigid bite of the night air raising goosebumps in his skin. Leaning on the rail, he watched the glittering skyline of lights among the monolithic skyscrapers that surrounded Blackstone Tower. A cigarette rested lazily between his lips, smoke mixing with puffs of heated breath. His thumb slid over the screen on his phone, as if attempting to fish a notification to its unlit surface. In the twilight of the evening-turned-morning, Edward found himself unable to sleep, his bed instead taken up by a shirtless woman whose name he didn't care to memorize. Hours prior, he had his fill of skin and physical sensation. The pleasure had still yet to arrive.

He had been waiting for the confirmation for so long. Edward suddenly found himself pacing back and forth across the smooth stone floor of the balcony, slowly increasing the length of the cherry on his cigarette. In his mind, he mulled over the conversations from days ago, the planning, the pieces of everything that he'd hoped fell into place without failure. How long was it going to take? Edward was no stranger to being patient—it was something nearly beaten into him as a child—but for something of this magnitude, the anxiety was difficult to handle. If it didn't all go according to plan, he'd lose everything he worked for, and that's not something he would allow, not after all the money he had to spend.

And then, ding.

Edward looked down at his phone, the screen illuminating to show a notification. New message. Unlock to view. He swiped across the screen, input the unlock code, and slowly pulled down the notification screen. What met his gaze were five words from an unknown sender and, as he read them once, twice, five and six and seven times over, a smile slid across his face.

"It's done.
Send the money."

^{Blackstone Manor
January 29, 2026; 11:09 AM}

---

A sleek, black sedan pulled past the gate that closed Blackstone Manor off from the rest of civilization. In the backseat, watching through the window as century-old conifers crawled past, Edward sat, dressed sharply in a suit in almost the exact same of shade of black. A pair of shades concealed his vacant stare, and he was lost in thought. The past five days had been quite the whirlwind. His father's death, this early in that old codger's wretched life, was a variable Edward couldn't predict, and he'd spent most of his life attempting to hone and perfect that skill. It's what made him effective at what he did. Being a supplier required the right amount of prediction, allowed him to exercise his expertise over risk. If there was anything he swore by, it was that there were no second chances, no mistakes. All or nothing.

"Gideon," Edward called the driver up front. Staring into the rear view mirror, he watched as a pair of old, tired eyes flicked up briefly to acknowledge the eldest child's presence in the vehicle.

"Sir?" asked Gideon, the gray hair on the back of his head shifting slightly to the right as he leaned his head. His voice was weak, carrying with it the apathy of age.

"Stop the car. I'll be approaching the manor on foot from here on."

"Are you sure, sir? We will be reaching the courtyard in a few minutes."

"I need time to myself to think, Gideon. Stop the car."

———————

The last time Edward found himself walking along this trail was after a tense, heated argument with his father. The details were muddy and blurred, but the feeling of resentment hung with him all the same. The bottoms of his checkered sneakers, a stark contrast to the suit, kicked up dust along the dirt path that wound and curved, like a serpent ready to strike, all the way to the towering, gaudy Blackstone Manor. At least the breeze was nice.

Not long after, he found himself in the courtyard, flanked by pine trees that wreathed the asphalt. In the center was a fountain depicting two cherubs, one seemingly saving the other from the absolution of hell. Edward scoffed at the imagery. This misguided metaphor for being a savior—he never believed in it. He lived long enough in this place to know at least that much.

Edward sat on the edge of the fountain, staring at the front door to the manor as he pulled a cigarette from inside his coat pocket. With a strike of a match, he took a drag and sat silently, waiting for the empty courtyard to fill.

£ 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 £ - A Murder Mystery RP

Edward Blackstone, Eldest Child

✧ Edward Alastor Blackstone ✧

✧ “No second chances, no mistakes.” ✧

✧ ✧
✧ Eldest Child of Anthony Blackstone ✧

✧ Personality -

Personality Details

­
I'm the kind of person who doesn't take risks unless I know I can succeed. I don't believe in probability—it's either 100% or 0%; there are no in-betweens. My mother, as overbearing as she was, taught me to seize the opportunity when it presents itself. I think that's a fool's errand. Why risk failure when you can simply buy success? Why set yourself up for the possibility of losing when you can rig the race? All these other people chasing their dreams are idiots, each one of them constantly falling into pits along the way. It's a waste of time. You only get one life, and I intend to keep it as failure-free as possible, especially when there's money on the line.
­

✧

✧ Relationship with their father Anthony Blackstone -

Relationship with Father

­
I spent my whole life trying to get my father to see that I could bring the family success; that I could take the Blackstone name to even greater heights, put us in places our ancestors have never gone. That old fuck never turned his face to me. He always favored the others. That's the problem with being the eldest child. The youngest get groomed for greatness and the everyone else gets coddled and spoiled. The eldest child gets left to fend for themselves, forgotten and lone; considered a failure.

To be honest, I'm glad he's dead. The only difference between him and any other corpse is the Blackstone name, something he didn't deserve to wield. Now someone else can take the mantle, bring our legacy to the peak of influence, make the world remember the weight of our name—or be crushed beneath it.

✧

✧ Profession -

Profession Details

No officially documented career status. Rumors among the rich say that Edward is a supplier—of what is unknown.

✧

✧ Relationship Status: Single ✧

____________________________________

£ 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 £ - A Murder Mystery RP

Edward Blackstone, Eldest Child

✧ Edward Alastor Blackstone ✧

✧ “No second chances, no mistakes.” ✧

✧ ✧
✧ Eldest Child of Anthony Blackstone ✧

✧ Personality -

Personality Details

­
I'm the kind of person who doesn't take risks unless I know I can succeed. I don't believe in probability—it's either 100% or 0%; there are no in-betweens. My mother, as overbearing as she was, taught me to seize the opportunity when it presents itself. I think that's a fool's errand. Why risk failure when you can simply buy success? Why set yourself up for the possibility of losing when you can rig the race? All these other people chasing their dreams are idiots, each one of them constantly falling into pits along the way. It's a waste of time. You only get one life, and I intend to keep it as failure-free as possible, especially when there's money on the line.
­

✧

✧ Relationship with their father Anthony Blackstone -

Relationship with Father

­
I spent my whole life trying to get my father to see that I could bring the family success; that I could take the Blackstone name to even greater heights, put us in places our ancestors have never gone. That old fuck never turned his face to me. He always favored the others. That's the problem with being the eldest child. The youngest get groomed for greatness and the everyone else gets coddled and spoiled. The eldest child gets left to fend for themselves, forgotten and lone; considered a failure.

To be honest, I'm glad he's dead. The only difference between him and any other corpse is the Blackstone name, something he didn't deserve to wield. Now someone else can take the mantle, bring our legacy to the peak of influence, make the world remember the weight of our name—or be crushed beneath it.

✧

✧ Profession -

Profession Details

No officially documented career status. Rumors among the rich say that Edward is a supplier—of what is unknown.

✧

✧ Relationship Status: Single ✧

____________________________________

What Are You Listening To?

"I don't want to throw this glass javelin,

I don't want to watch it fly.

I don't want to break my glass mannequin, once again."

£ 𝕚𝕟𝕙𝕖𝕣𝕚𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕖 £ - A Murder Mystery RP ( 5/4 Roles Filled )

Yeah, I want in on this.

Advice on DMing

If it turns out you're pretty good at this whole GMing thing, expect to become the Forever GM in your friend group when no one else wants to step up. There is no escape from this. Welcome to hell.

That last part is incredibly accurate.

Who would win?

The glass. The helmet broke a toe, sure, but the glass made a man bleed—and if a man can bleed, he can die.

The glass Calvin Candie smashed (Django Unchained) vs. the frozen corpse of Jack Torrance (The Shining)

Who would win?

Fictional characters only. First person makes a matchup between two characters, next person decides who wins and why, and then that person makes the next matchup between the winner of the first matchup and a new character.

Any fictional character, any universe. The reason for winning doesn't even have to make sense. Let's rock.

First Match:

The helmet Aragorn kicked (Lord of the Rings) vs. Duke Devlin (Yu-Gi-Oh, Dungeon Dice Monsters)

Blood and Dust: The End of All Things [Jimbo vs. Any]

<sup>It had been so long since the dust had settled. The Circle of Contempt—a boundless arena where many a duelist from across the known multiverse duked it out to claim superiority, for one reason or another—was now nothing but a surface-level burial ground. What once had been corpses were now dingy, chipped bones, marked with the past beneath a smoke-filled, blood-red sky. The rest of the remains had withered into fine particles, whipped up and carried away in the occasional breeze to become a new grave somewhere else in the circle. Harder to decay and littering the ground were numerous weapons—each time-worn, a sickly brownish-red along the edges and ends, utterly useless. They were relics against the backdrop of arid, cracked, dead earth, brethren that shared a common factor with the lack of nature that surrounded them. Safe to say, there was nothing left. The heyday of battle and conquest had vanished, and now the vultures could feed.

A small body, wrapped in shadow and scraps of frayed cloth, hobbled through the vast grounds, shielding its hollow white eyes from plumes of dust that would kick up from gusts of wind every now and again. Its gait was lopsided, leading with a right foot that never dared to trade places in the race with its left. Through an unseen nostril, it struggled to regulate its breathing, having trouble keeping a steady pace, though it truly had nowhere to be. No one had been here in an uncountable number of years, certainly longer than the small humanoid creature could think of. As it limped forward, flat feet scraping long marks across the ground, the creature suddenly came to a stop, its featureless eyes staring ahead at a lone sword. The weapon was stabbed into the ground, its edge cracked and chipped, no longer the refined razor sharp it had once been. Still, for the creature, it was gold.

A rough vocalization of joy leapt forward from the creature's face as it jumped in place, punching its fists into the air in celebration. It sprung forward, playfully hopping across the ground until it arrived at the sword. In the deafening silence of a vast and empty space, the creature came to a stop and casually crouched next to the half-buried blade, studying its every detail. A few snorts escaped its face, thin and bony pitch-black fingers gingerly tapping at the jagged edge to test its sharpness. Whatever luster the blade had, it had left long ago in the heat of battle. Finally, the creature stood up, barely matching the sword in height, and grabbed at the sword's handle with both hands. With a huff, and a puff, and a grotesque, high-pitched groan, the creature wrenched the sword free from the dirt, tumbling backwards and collapsing to the ground.

It lay there, chest heaving from the expended effort. It was hard to tell what thoughts were coursing through its mind with such a blank face, but the creature lifted itself up and got to its knees. Clutched in its hand was the sword, and with the realization in two, suddenly, the creature was standing, swinging the sword haphazardly and with reckless abandon. It danced in the dusty air, hopping from one foot to the next, croaking out cries of happiness and amusement. It would pretend it was a strong and skilled warrior, imitating the stances of long-dead combatants whose faces it couldn't remember. Occasionally, it would stumble, trip, fall, rise again. With each mistake, it started adapting to the weight of the sword, and soon, fewer mistakes were being made.

But, then, it would stop and look out into the empty, bloodstained mass grave. The creature's body stilled, eyes scanning a dark horizon. Its body shifted, bringing the sword close to its chest, hugging it not tightly, but with care, precision, and sorrow.</sup>