Scribe of Thoth

The Curse of Sonina

Leo Gremminger (Currently Looking For A Way To Shamelessly Change His Name To DaVinci)

【 NAME 】
Leo Gremminger

【 AGE 】
21

【 GENDER 】
Male

【 SEXUAL ORIENTATION 】
Homosexual

【 OCCUPATION 】
Student Abroad - Finance Major

---

【 PERSONALITY 】
Friendly ⚜ Inattentive ⚜ Artistic ⚜ Naive ⚜ Confident ⚜ Egocentric

Leo generally maintains a sunny and affable demeanor to those around him, though extended conversation can quickly reveal traces of typical upper-class personality flaws and general obliviousness to how the world works. He's nice, though not exactly empathetic, but it's usually evident that he wants himself and his interests to be at the forefront of everyone's mind at all times. This isn't deliberate selfishness or condescension on his part, and he rarely realizes he's actually being rude. Likewise, this naiveté can make him come off as very inattentive or careless, especially when coupled with his tendency to be astoundingly unobservant of his surroundings. Unless he's actively focusing on or interested in something, it may as well not even exist to Leo; likely a consequence of him being fairly nearsighted yet rarely deigning to wear glasses.

Leo also comes off as a bit of an eccentric in regards to his main hobby - namely painting. While Leo sees art as a leisure activity rather than a career, he aspires to master the craft nonetheless, whatever that means. He's constantly hoping for muses to catch his attention; be it scenic views, aesthetic people, or interesting concepts, and he has no problem pestering people that he's formed even the bare minimum of a relationship with to help him seek them out.

【 SKILLS 】
⚜ Painting ⚜
⚜ Languages - He's fluent in three and getting there in Russian. ⚜
⚜ Distance Running ⚜
⚜ Visual Memory (When actually paying attention) ⚜
⚜ Managing Money - He's surprisingly thrifty given his upbringing. ⚜

【 PARANORMAL EXPERIENCE 】
Leo was wandering the town after dark aimlessly, gradually making his way back to his dorm in a roundabout fashion. He turned down a side street in the rough direction of his destination with little regard for what he was passing, emerging on another wide street after rounding a second corner. It was weirdly populated for this time of night, but Leo didn’t pay it much mind. After a short while, it became evident even to the inattentive young man that he was... backtracking in the exact way he came? No, that couldn’t be right, he surely would’ve noticed if he’d gone in a circle; the architecture here just looked similar, is all.

Leo finally took out his phone to look up directions, only to find he wasn’t getting service. How backwoods was this place? In a rare moment of lucidity, he glanced around for a street sign or notable landmark. He knew the university was in this direction, and he had to be getting close. At that point, he finally took in the people around him. They all looked alike. Not even possibly-inbred-small-town alike, like, eerily similar. Same exact outfit. Same walking speed. Same height. Same fac- Wait. He squinted at the nearest passerby as if to confirm he wasn’t crazy. The guy had no face. None of them had faces; it was just a blank expanse of skin. And worse, now that Leo had noticed them, it felt like they had noticed him too.

At this point, his mind blanked and he acted on panic; turning on a heel and powerwalking back the way he came. He could feel their eyeless gaze boring into him as he fled, but he didn't dare look back. There were audible footsteps behind him, and they were getting closer. He saw the alleyway he had entered previously and, on a whim, picked up his pace and veered into it. Whatever was behind him sounded like it sped up too, and Leo barreled into a trashcan in his haste to round the corner, stumbling to his knees. This couldn't be how he died! Not like some preppy girl in a cliché low-budget slasher film! Leo finally glanced back at his assailant, but there was nothing pursuing him. In fact, there wasn't even a street behind him at all, the alley ended in a chain-link fence with someone's backyard beyond it. He raised a clammy hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead as he let his heartrate settle, then involuntarily let out a nervous laugh. Clearly he was hallucinating. Maybe he hit his head when he tripped on this trashcan. Yeah, that was it. Streets with faceless people don't exist, and they certainly didn't just disappear if they did. Even so, Leo made it a point to keep to the main roads during the night from then on.

【 BIOGRAPHY 】
As the sole heir of a wealthy Swiss financier, Leo lived a fairly privileged childhood. He grew up in an upper class area in northern Switzerland, attending prestigious schools for almost the entirety of his educational career. Despite this, typical academic pursuits didn't interest him. His father owned a modest art collection, and after a vacation to Rome, young Leo found it fascinating. He wanted to be a painter like all the famous Renaissance people and artists of antiquity. It was made very clear he'd be expected to inherit the family fortune and that business schooling should be his primary concern, but beyond that, his father was about as supportive of Leo's interest in art as any typical parent was of their child's hobbies.

He was conscripted into the Swiss army at age 20, though he was hardly gung-ho about his responsibilities, and spent most of his time slacking off in some minor clerical position. In an effort to evade further obligations to his country, Leo decided to spend a semester or two studying abroad. While his first thought would've been a fancy art school in France or Italy, an offer from a small university in rural Russia of all places caught his eye. Sure, he could go look at the greats that everyone else was looking at and try to paint like them, but the idea of receiving some grand artistic inspiration from a quaint little town shrouded in fog sounded almost romantic to Leo. At the very least, he was certain he could paint a few magnificent landscapes once the snow started falling.

Do tell if you want anything changed or clarified.

Spirit Wielders!

---

Alex groaned as he slumped against a cafeteria table, tapping at his nonfunctional phone. He knew it had battery left, so there was no reason for it to not work. Cell towers were probably down because of the storm, but that didn't explain why it wouldn't even turn on.

"That doesn't even make sense," He grumbled as he dropped the device on the table and buried his face in his arms.

'This isn't a natural storm,' The gruff voice of his spirit 'companion' rumbled through his mind ominously, as if sensing his frustration.

Alex lifted his head back up and adjusted his skewed glasses to look around. Nope, no one watching; he'd be free to whisper back at The Ram without looking like a crazy person talking to himself. Small victories.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

'Trouble. Go to that room you use to relieve yourself and make sure you aren't followed.'

"The bathroom? Why?"

'Is my order interrupting the riveting conversation you were having? By all means then, continue.'

Alex merely groaned again. He was sitting alone at the moment, with his last social interaction having been a few shallow comments about the weather and the crappy lunch conditions exchanged with the students a few seats away. That was a solid five minutes ago. Spirits were mean.

He rose from his seat, pocketing his phone before he made his way out of the cafeteria. The bathroom nearby would no doubt be occupied, so Alex detoured to one slightly farther away to meet The Ram's privacy request. When he arrived, Alex pushed the door open and crouched down, peeking under the stalls for any sign of occupancy.

"Okay, we're clear. What's up?" He asked at a normal volume now as he rose back to his feet and paced nervously.

'There will be an attack soon, if there hasn't been one already. This veritable buffet of fresh young souls huddled so tightly together is bound to attract whatever is causing this storm eventually,' The Ram explained in a calm monotone, 'This lockdown is troublesome but not insurmountable. Once you transform you should be able to exit the building without any witnesses.'

"Attack?! Th-this is one of your kind, isn't it? If it's coming here, shouldn't we stay inside? People could get hurt!" Alex found himself on edge every time The Ram made cryptic predictions of spirits popping up and causing mayhem - and it liked to make them a lot - but even the amount of forewarning he'd been given didn't dull the sudden panic he was feeling.

'Precisely why I want to take a proactive approach. We're at a disadvantage if we're fighting in the presence of the cattle; you'll be too busy whining about collateral damage to listen to my direction.' It responded pointedly. Alex reasoned The Ram must be feeling tense; it wasn't usually this insulting to him. Of course, that only worsened his panic as he realized that even the terrifying death ghost living in his head had misgivings about the situation. He felt a little lightheaded, and he couldn't determine if it was shock or hyperventilation causing it. Good thing no one was around to see.

Alex almost had his breathing under control when the muffled sound of shattering glass and screaming echoed through the halls outside. "Wha-what- what was that?!"

'Your cue. You're a predator now, act like it.'

That's right; The Ram was powerful. He was powerful. He had nothing to worry about. Alex shoved a shaky hand down his collar to pull out the ram's head medallion that he kept nestled under his shirt and gripped it in a tightly balled fist. Hyphoid tendrils sprouted from between his fingers, criss-crossing into a grotesque web around his hand. The biomass then expanded into what looked like a reddish slime mold that tingled on his skin as it rapidly spread to engulf Alex's entire body. The Ram always assured him he didn't need to hold his breath for this part, but the simple thought of any of that getting in his mouth was enough to make him gag. The muculent film writhed against his flesh for only a second or two, but he spent the whole time dealing with cold shivers and tight-feeling muscles, and there was always a throbbing soreness behind his eyes. But, it was worth it when his cocoon finally flaked off into dust. He felt good. Energized. Powerful.

Alex had, admittedly, never gotten a good look at himself when he transformed before. The Ram had instructed him to venture out into some isolated corner of the woods and get used to the form before, but Alex was always back to normal before he got home. In the bathroom mirror, the person staring back at him was decidedly not Alex Kozlov. He saw the resemblance behind the dumb costume, sure, but the guy in the mirror was bigger and, more importantly, didn't have a trace of hair dye on him.

'Stop gawking, no one will recognize you.'

"Huh? Uh, yes, my Lord!" Alex meekly yelped before barreling through the bathroom door. The hallway was unoccupied but there were sounds of quickly approaching footsteps; he needed to hurry before the panicking crowd arrived. They were clearly fleeing from something, which means he needed to flank back around to kill it. Assuming he could kill it. A needling flare of impatience shot through his head at the thought, indicating The Ram's displeasure at Alex's hesitation. Never one to disappoint when he could help it, Alex promptly bolted for the nearest exit.

---

Of Blood and Magic

---

Max glanced back and forth between Eris and the princess as they spoke, the barest snort of amusement escaping his nose. He had to give the leech credit, Eris was a genius for this. It was already in his best interest to keep the situation hush-hush for his own reputation, but he was also working Ryner into owing him a favor. Flower Boy, on the other hand, looked like he was shitting himself. Understandable, as anyone in this room would likely throw him under the bus if it would salvage the situation. Serves him right for that stunt he pulled with the kiss.

He turned his attention to the door as the knock came. Apparently this inviolable sanctum was still prone to being violated. Hopefully that was one of her loyalists and he wouldn't end up in deeper shit. Quite frankly, he just wanted to go home.

Max leaned down near Eris' ear, lowering his voice as he played the part of an attending servant. "So if shit goes down, what's the plan?" If Ryner really was intent on keeping them safe, he doubted anyone would have the balls or the authority to mess with them, but ending up a pawn in the middle of the royal family's squabbles would be a pain in the ass.

---

@Hero@Trainerblue192@Achronum

Of Blood and Magic

---

Max followed along dutifully after the detective, not that he had much choice. The administrative building wasn't his guess on where they'd be taken, but he supposed it was reasonable that the campus police was based there instead of in a separate building. The loudspeaker announcements were more subtle than he was expecting, though anyone with half a brain would know something more was amiss. Or, at least the leeches with half a brain would; it seemed like good little Noila subjects would believe anything thrown at them by their vampiric overlords.

When they reached the princess' office, Max barely suppressed a sharp exhale from his nose. Just seeing her stupid face pissed him off. He already didn't like this detective for wasting his time, but he hated the Noilas. There was a vibration in his sleeve from the hidden fork subconsciously raring to attack, and Max quickly clasped his other hand over it as he pretended to scratch an itch on his arm.

What did this royal bitch want with them anyway? They didn't do anything wrong but she was eyeing them down like she was planning their execution anyway. At this point, he didn't even care if his stupid cat mask covered up the fact that he was glaring back at her or not. She was the bane of his - no, humanity's existance. She was the reason he ended up at this asinine academy under a self-important celebrity instead of being assigned to some idle clerical task under some incompetent leech. She was a figurehead for the regime that keeps all of humanity cowering like weaklings. She was an enemy. She was... was... being surprisingly pleasant?

No, clearly just an act. Ryner, like all bloodsuckers, was a two-faced creature that cowers from honesty in the same way it does the sun. She could butter them up with offers of drinks and doctored historical propaganda all she wanted; he wasn't falling for it. He just needed to calm down and analyze the situation. What did she have to gain? That detective mentioned her sister. Animosity in the royal court? Typical for vampires, but what did that have to do with them?

Max opted not to sit, not wanting to give Ryner the infinitesimally small honor of accepting her fake hospitality. He just hovered next to Eris, quietly seething while he figured out the best way to get rid of the fork he stole earlier. There was also a good chance she noticed he was angry by now, so he'd need to offer an explanation before he was outright asked.

"Your Highness, can I ask what we're being held for? That detective clearly knew we're not involved, and you seem a bit nonchalant to be believing we're murderers." He tried to keep his tone cool, but there was an edge to it that he couldn't conceal despite his best efforts. Either way, that worked to his favor; he could look like he was mad about being wrongly detained rather than fantacizing about regicide.

---

@Hero@Trainerblue192@Achronum

Of Blood and Magic

---

Well, Max's night was certainly going splendidly. The detective seemed competent enough to realize they weren't involved, so the entire process of dragging them down to the station was likely for show. Teach them a lesson for daring to try to help or something. That, or everyone who joins the Noila police force gets off to harrassing innocent bystanders. Probably both. Arrogant puppets, all of them. They hadn't even confiscated their foci. Max could have a fork twirling this leech's eye around in the socket like a bite of spaghetti right now if he really wanted to, and she expected him to believe that there was genuine suspicion that they were murderers?

"What--Hey, now, easy on the merchandise, this suit is vicuña!"

"Give it a rest, Eris, it's your fault for poking at the body." Max grumbled as he was shoved into the vehicle alongside the other two. He didn't have the patience to put on an act right now, so if Detective What's-Her-Fuck wanted to play the no-nonsense game, that was what Max was going to give her.

He turned his gaze to look out the window apathetically as they drove, not deigning to plead his case when he hadn't done anything wrong. Eris covered the million-dollar question anyway, the only thing Max had to add were a few pointless denigrations that Eris only brought up subtextually.

---

@Hero@Trainerblue192@Achronum

Spirit Wielders!

Alexander & The Ram

Medium: Alex Kozlov

Name: Alexander Kozlov

Age: 15

Normal Appearance:

Unassuming Loser

Alex stands at about 5'10", with a thin figure that possesses the beginnings of lean musculature, reminiscent of someone that had only recently gotten tired of being called scrawny and decided to hit the gym. His hair is usually unruly and bleached to a stark platinum, and his eyes are a dark brown that appear almost black without direct lighting.

Medium Appearance:

Caution: Sharp Edges

While transformed, Alex's hair reverts to its natural brunette and his body bulks up a tad to a more respectable size, though he's still hardly imposing. He dons a padded, high-collared jacket, reinforced along the shoulders, forearms, and chest with protective plating and adorned with scuffed metal trim that hardly even reflects light that hits it. His glasses are replaced with the edgy visage of a human skull, which to his relief inexplicably still corrects his eyesight.

Channeling Abilities, Spells, Stats, etc.: Alex's catalyst takes the form of a longsword forged of dark, tarnished metal. Strikes wrought with the weapon leave a festering, necrotizing wound in flesh and leave inorganic materials in a state of age and corrosion around the point of impact. While Alex gains some of The Ram's sheer physicality to bolster his strength and general stamina, his bladework still is mostly dependent on cues given by the spirit at this point, rather than practiced skill. As for more magical abilities, his touch can degrade and weaken beings he makes contact with. Quick taps can induce minor damage and malaise, where prolonged contact results in an area of rot and atrophy that creeps outward from the point of impact, until the target wastes away into nothing but dust, should the touching hypothetically last forever. Alex can extend the range of this ability by extending fungoid hyphae from his hands or catalyst, which act as prehensile tendrils that adhere to their targets and corrode them, albeit at a slower rate.

Grade: 10th

Personality: Until recently, if one were to ask anyone how they'd describe Alex Kozlov, they'd either respond with "Who?" or give a listless description of a meek boy that kept to himself most of the time. While he's still unpopular and hardly achieving cult leader-levels of charisma, he'd gained a great deal of confidence seemingly overnight. Alex is still fairly quiet and doesn't go out of his way to socialize, though he's eager to talk to people when approached - almost pathetically so - and is rare to show any intentional rudeness unless the other party initiates it. He shows a great deal of reverence when interacting with his familiar, going so far as it address it by honorifics like 'my Lord' at times. He's aware that the spirit doesn't hold all of the cards in their Pact, though he views The Ram as a being that is far beyond him and has yet been generous to him, and thus believes his admiration is warranted.

Background: Alex was born the youngest son of a family of five on the West Coast. His parents divorced when he was 11, and Alex moved with his mother and older sister to Lakewood while his other sibling remained with their father. Alex hadn't exactly been a social butterfly before this, and upon moving to a new school he found himself easy prey for bullies with his timid mannerisms and lack of friends. It didn't help that he started dyeing his hair around this time either - he thought it looked cool, others disagreed.

His middle school career was mostly dominated with being picked on or occasionally slapped around, though he was never beat up enough for anyone to warrant it a serious problem, even if his self esteem suffered horribly in the meantime. Alex lacked the willpower or strength to stand up for himself, so he simply let the bullying happen; he didn't know what to do otherwise. This lessened in high school, as it seemed his tormentors had simply grown bored of him, though very few wished to associate with Alex given the social suicide it would entail. He held acquaintanceships with classmates at most, and no one he'd consider a genuine friend.

This changed upon the night he forged his pact with The Ram. Alex, of course, was not deluded enough to think some eldritch horror of death and decay would lower itself to be his friend, but the spirit offered motivation to him in its own gruff way. Their pact gave him a purpose and sense of security, no one could harm him - mortal or otherwise. His confidence skyrocketed in the following weeks; he started working out, he stopped being afraid of conversation, he was even willing to tell bullies off when they insulted him (and luckly, has yet to be punched for it), though he remained secretly wary of the supernatural threats that The Ram continuously assured him would be coming.

Spirit: The Ram That Heralds Winter's Coming

Spirit Name: The Ram That Heralds Winter's Coming (Usually shortened to 'The Ram' by Alex; possibly an epithet and not a true name)

Spirit Classification: Guardian

Spirit Personality: The Ram is a spirit of decay; it embodies the death of nature so that old life may return to the soil and give way for something new to sprout. The spirit speaks to mortals in demands and condescensions, but it does not outright despise humanity. In its mind, the fall of spiritkind was merely a state that they must suffer in order to be born again, much like a tree in the winter. While concerned mostly with destruction, it is not wholly malevolent; the absence of life entirely makes creation impossible. It only seeks to destroy that which can be replaced by something greater. At present, it sees no better target than its fellow spirits - they are old, and their power would be fitting fuel for The Ram's renewal.

Spirit Appearance:

Huge Image

The Ram appears as a hulking mass of gnarled plantlife, looking as though a tree had grown roughly in the shape of a man before it died and started rotting. The roots converge at the spirit's head, which is covered by - or perhaps composed of - the skull of a ram, toting a sizeable rack of horns. Looking into any of the skull's orifices reveals only a cold, empty void. As it moves, The Ram sheds leaves in various shades of autumnal red, which shrivel and decay into nothingness before they ever touch the ground.

Sealed Appearance: When sealed, The Ram takes on the form of a tarnished silver ram's head medallion that Alex keeps tucked under his shirt at all times. The spirit can also appear as an unsettling black sheep with eyes that seem to look right through whomever they gaze upon, though this is far less inconspicuous and thus a form rarely adopted by the spirit.

Summoning Abilities and Stats: The Ram fights up close and personal, using its impressive physical strength to batter the opponent into submission and then rot it into nothingness with a mass of tendrils that emerge from within The Ram's plantlike body to bind their target in a more brutal variant of Alex's wasting touch. It can additionally rub spores from its body off on those it nears, which germinate on contact to entrap the victim in a mycelium of tendrils that continue to decay the target without The Ram's continuous touch. It possesses a great deal of stamina, which helps it greatly as the battle drags on and its withering abilities diminish the enemy's strength. Nevertheless, the spirit is limited by range in most cases and cannot extend its tendrils more than a few feet from its body at most.

Spirit Charge: Not Attained

Weakness and Limitations: The Ram's abilities are limited first and foremost by range. If it or its Channeler cannot make contact with their opponent, none of their withering abilities can go into effect, and they do not possess any particularly effective modes of movement to close the gap and counteract this. The mycelial tendrils that Alex and The Ram employ to atrophy their opponent can only extend their reach by a few feet at most, and though they have good tensile strength, they aren't very resilient to damage and can be easily severed by sharp implements. While The Ram itself is quite physically strong, the strength Alex gains while channeling hardly even clears the threshold of superhuman, and is more on par with an impressive athlete.

Contract

Alex awoke in a verdant forest - or, at least he thought he awoke there; he didn't remember how he got there. Then again, he didn't remember falling asleep outside either, nor could he think of a reason why he'd ever be this deep in a forest to begin with. He must've been dreaming, but... everything felt so real. It was quiet though, almost eerily so, and there was a distinct mildewy stench in the air.

The sound of heavyset footsteps split the silence shortly after Alex had gotten his bearings. When he turned toward the source, he saw only a horned silhouette lumbering toward him. A bear? No, bears don't walk on two legs. Bigfoot? No, he wasn't real. Right? Right?

The stench grew stronger as the figure approached. As it made its way into the clearing, the grass beneath its feet started to wilt, and the trees in its wake shed their leaves as though fall had miraculously come and passed into winter in a matter of a few seconds. Even more dead leaves fell from the figure itself, desiccating into dust even faster than the foliage from the trees. It stood at least a head taller than Alex, if not more, and looked more like it was covered in decaying tree bark than any kind of skin. It focused its gaze - could he even call it a gaze? It was a fucking skull, it had no eyes - down on Alex, regarding him coolly as the forest continued to die around them. Alex alone was immune to the effect, and though he didn't want to stick around to test how long that would last, he found himself paralyzed by the haunting stare of the skull-thing's eyeholes.

By the time the creature spoke, the once-lush greenery around them had degraded into lifeless shades of brown and gray. The trees now stood as withered husks of rotting wood, and even the sun itself seemed to dim behind a sudden overcast.

'You grow pale, human, but you needn't despair. You possess more worth alive than dead.' The monster spoke but did not speak. No words were uttered, but Alex heard them clearly.

"What... what are you?" He stammered out in response. Gathering information was all he could think to do. The thing's visage was so terrifying he couldn't even cower, let alone run. Maybe that was a good thing. Flinching never helped before.

'I am the reason your kind once feared to walk the wilderness alone at night.' Very comforting. 'I am the death that takes your world every autumn so that it may rise again in the spring, I am The Ram That Heralds Winter's Coming.' The last words boomed more heavily in his mind than the others, but none of that told him anything. He wasn't sure if he should dare ask more.

'I have a proposition for you,' The Ram That Hera- The Ram continued, 'It has been far too long since my kind walked this earth as anything more than a pathetic shadow of our former glory. The time of our renewal is nigh. You will aid me in this.'

He would... what?

"I-I don't think I follow."

'A deal, mortal, a pact. You are weak. I will make you strong. In return, you will do the same for me. Your soul burns brightly - it is nourishment. I will shield it from others who would feast upon it with far less restraint than I.'

That hardly sounded tempting to Alex. Especially when the offer was being extended by something that introduced itself as something humans used to fear. It certainly didn't look friendly. He'd heard about spirits before, of course, and he'd seen people talk about them online, but he'd just assumed it was creepypasta garbage meant for cheap scares. Was it true they ate people? Was he tasty to these things?

'You are unconvinced,' The Ram concluded, 'Very well. Tell me your desires, that I may grant them. Finding another better suited to syncronize with will be tiresome.'

What did he even want? Friends? This thing wasn't going to be his friend. How old even was it? Hundreds, thousands, millions of years old? At this point, all Alex wanted was to wake up and forget this weird dream ever happened.

"Wh-what if I won't do it?" His knees were shaking, the only bit of movement his body could muster. He felt sick. This thing would kill him for his defiance. He could barely stand up to mean high schoolers, why was he playing games with this veritable god?

'Then you will be food for the next wayward shade that deems you worth the effort to consume. I've scared off other spirits that hungered for you, I shall not do so again. This deal is mutually beneficial. I would protect you as my charge, offer you the chance to stand over your world as a king as it is reborn from its own ashes, what qualms could you possibly have?' The Ram's tone did not belie a hint of irritation. It stood patiently, unmoving, willing to barter for however long it took to secure a host.

"Something tried to eat me?!"

'Yes. The decision is simple; life or death. I was under the impression your kind always chose the former.'

If it wanted to hurt him, wouldn't it have done so already? It made threats, but not of its own power. It claimed to want to be his protector. He'd never had one of those before. Maybe he would've liked one. Bullies would've shat themselves if they saw this monstrosity following him around.

"Can you... can you protect me from anything I want?"

'As a pact would make your demise unpleasant for me, yes,' The Ram uttered bluntly. Alex felt its unerring gaze lessen in intensity. It was pleased with this development; it had to be.

"Then I..." What the hell was he doing? "I..." He didn't like being weak, or alone, or eaten. This was as close to a miracle as he was going to get in life, "I accept!"

He felt lightheaded at first. The Ram didn't respond, it simply held out its gnarled hand - slowly, nonthreateningly. Alex didn't remember what happened after that. He woke up for real in his bed this time, feeling a cold weight on his chest. It was metal; mostly flat, oddly shaped, engraved. Alex held it closer to his face for a better look. An image of a ram's head. Eerily similar to the skull he'd just seen in his dream.

'Do not lose that, mortal. We are of no use to each other separated.' The Ram's voice-that-wasn't-a-voice echoed in his mind. Like a literal waking nightmare.

Spirit Wielders! (A roleplay where you sell your soul for powers.)

CRAWLING in my skin

Medium: Alex Kozlov

Name: Alexander Kozlov

Age: 15

Normal Appearance:

Unassuming Loser

Alex stands at about 5'10", with a thin figure that possesses the beginnings of lean musculature, reminiscent of someone that had only recently gotten tired of being called scrawny and decided to hit the gym. His hair is usually unruly and bleached to a stark platinum, and his eyes are a dark brown that appear almost black without direct lighting.

Medium Appearance:

Caution: Sharp Edges

While transformed, Alex's hair reverts to its natural brunette and his body bulks up a tad to a more respectable size, though he's still hardly imposing. He dons a padded, high-collared jacket, reinforced along the shoulders, forearms, and chest with protective plating and adorned with scuffed metal trim that hardly even reflects light that hits it. His glasses are replaced with the edgy visage of a human skull, which to his relief inexplicably still corrects his eyesight.

Channeling Abilities, Spells, Stats, etc.: Alex's catalyst takes the form of a longsword forged of dark, tarnished metal. Strikes wrought with the weapon leave a festering, necrotizing wound in flesh and leave inorganic materials in a state of age and corrosion around the point of impact. While Alex gains some of The Ram's sheer physicality to bolster his strength and general stamina, his bladework still is mostly dependent on cues given by the spirit at this point, rather than practiced skill. As for more magical abilities, his touch can degrade and weaken beings he makes contact with. Quick taps can induce minor damage and malaise, where prolonged contact results in an area of rot and atrophy that creeps outward from the point of impact, until the target wastes away into nothing but dust, should the touching hypothetically last forever. Alex can extend the range of this ability by extending fungoid hyphae from his hands or catalyst, which act as prehensile tendrils that adhere to their targets and corrode them, albeit at a slower rate.

Grade: 10th

Personality: Until recently, if one were to ask anyone how they'd describe Alex Kozlov, they'd either respond with "Who?" or give a listless description of a meek boy that kept to himself most of the time. While he's still unpopular and hardly achieving cult leader-levels of charisma, he'd gained a great deal of confidence seemingly overnight. Alex is still fairly quiet and doesn't go out of his way to socialize, though he's eager to talk to people when approached - almost pathetically so - and is rare to show any intentional rudeness unless the other party initiates it. He shows a great deal of reverence when interacting with his familiar, going so far as it address it by honorifics like 'my Lord' at times. He's aware that the spirit doesn't hold all of the cards in their Pact, though he views The Ram as a being that is far beyond him and has yet been generous to him, and thus believes his admiration is warranted.

Background: Alex was born the youngest son of a family of five on the West Coast. His parents divorced when he was 11, and Alex moved with his mother and older sister to Lakewood while his other sibling remained with their father. Alex hadn't exactly been a social butterfly before this, and upon moving to a new school he found himself easy prey for bullies with his timid mannerisms and lack of friends. It didn't help that he started dyeing his hair around this time either - he thought it looked cool, others disagreed.

His middle school career was mostly dominated with being picked on or occasionally slapped around, though he was never beat up enough for anyone to warrant it a serious problem, even if his self esteem suffered horribly in the meantime. Alex lacked the willpower or strength to stand up for himself, so he simply let the bullying happen; he didn't know what to do otherwise. This lessened in high school, as it seemed his tormentors had simply grown bored of him, though very few wished to associate with Alex given the social suicide it would entail. He held acquaintanceships with classmates at most, and no one he'd consider a genuine friend.

This changed upon the night he forged his pact with The Ram. Alex, of course, was not deluded enough to think some eldritch horror of death and decay would lower itself to be his friend, but the spirit offered motivation to him in its own gruff way. Their pact gave him a purpose and sense of security, no one could harm him - mortal or otherwise. His confidence skyrocketed in the following weeks; he started working out, he stopped being afraid of conversation, he was even willing to tell bullies off when they insulted him (and luckly, has yet to be punched for it), though he remained secretly wary of the supernatural threats that The Ram continuously assured him would be coming.

Spirit: The Ram That Heralds Winter's Coming

Spirit Name: The Ram That Heralds Winter's Coming (Usually shortened to 'The Ram' by Alex; possibly an epithet and not a true name)

Spirit Classification: Guardian

Spirit Personality: The Ram is a spirit of decay; it embodies the death of nature so that old life may return to the soil and give way for something new to sprout. The spirit speaks to mortals in demands and condescensions, but it does not outright despise humanity. In its mind, the fall of spiritkind was merely a state that they must suffer in order to be born again, much like a tree in the winter. While concerned mostly with destruction, it is not wholly malevolent; the absence of life entirely makes creation impossible. It only seeks to destroy that which can be replaced by something greater. At present, it sees no better target than its fellow spirits - they are old, and their power would be fitting fuel for The Ram's renewal.

Spirit Appearance:

Huge Image

The Ram appears as a hulking mass of gnarled plantlife, looking as though a tree had grown roughly in the shape of a man before it died and started rotting. The roots converge at the spirit's head, which is covered by - or perhaps composed of - the skull of a ram, toting a sizeable rack of horns. Looking into any of the skull's orifices reveals only a cold, empty void. As it moves, The Ram sheds leaves in various shades of autumnal red, which shrivel and decay into nothingness before they ever touch the ground.

Sealed Appearance: When sealed, The Ram takes on the form of a tarnished silver ram's head medallion that Alex keeps tucked under his shirt at all times. The spirit can also appear as an unsettling black sheep with eyes that seem to look right through whomever they gaze upon, though this is far less inconspicuous and thus a form rarely adopted by the spirit.

Summoning Abilities and Stats: The Ram fights up close and personal, using its impressive physical strength to batter the opponent into submission and then rot it into nothingness with a mass of tendrils that emerge from within The Ram's plantlike body to bind their target in a more brutal variant of Alex's wasting touch. It can additionally rub spores from its body off on those it nears, which germinate on contact to entrap the victim in a mycelium of tendrils that continue to decay the target without The Ram's continuous touch. It possesses a great deal of stamina, which helps it greatly as the battle drags on and its withering abilities diminish the enemy's strength. Nevertheless, the spirit is limited by range in most cases and cannot extend its tendrils more than a few feet from its body at most.

Spirit Charge: Not Attained

Weakness and Limitations: The Ram's abilities are limited first and foremost by range. If it or its Channeler cannot make contact with their opponent, none of their withering abilities can go into effect, and they do not possess any particularly effective modes of movement to close the gap and counteract this. The mycelial tendrils that Alex and The Ram employ to atrophy their opponent can only extend their reach by a few feet at most, and though they have good tensile strength, they aren't very resilient to damage and can be easily severed by sharp implements. While The Ram itself is quite physically strong, the strength Alex gains while channeling hardly even clears the threshold of superhuman, and is more on par with an impressive athlete.

Contract

Alex awoke in a verdant forest - or, at least he thought he awoke there; he didn't remember how he got there. Then again, he didn't remember falling asleep outside either, nor could he think of a reason why he'd ever be this deep in a forest to begin with. He must've been dreaming, but... everything felt so real. It was quiet though, almost eerily so, and there was a distinct mildewy stench in the air.

The sound of heavyset footsteps split the silence shortly after Alex had gotten his bearings. When he turned toward the source, he saw only a horned silhouette lumbering toward him. A bear? No, bears don't walk on two legs. Bigfoot? No, he wasn't real. Right? Right?

The stench grew stronger as the figure approached. As it made its way into the clearing, the grass beneath its feet started to wilt, and the trees in its wake shed their leaves as though fall had miraculously come and passed into winter in a matter of a few seconds. Even more dead leaves fell from the figure itself, desiccating into dust even faster than the foliage from the trees. It stood at least a head taller than Alex, if not more, and looked more like it was covered in decaying tree bark than any kind of skin. It focused its gaze - could he even call it a gaze? It was a fucking skull, it had no eyes - down on Alex, regarding him coolly as the forest continued to die around them. Alex alone was immune to the effect, and though he didn't want to stick around to test how long that would last, he found himself paralyzed by the haunting stare of the skull-thing's eyeholes.

By the time the creature spoke, the once-lush greenery around them had degraded into lifeless shades of brown and gray. The trees now stood as withered husks of rotting wood, and even the sun itself seemed to dim behind a sudden overcast.

'You grow pale, human, but you needn't despair. You possess more worth alive than dead.' The monster spoke but did not speak. No words were uttered, but Alex heard them clearly.

"What... what are you?" He stammered out in response. Gathering information was all he could think to do. The thing's visage was so terrifying he couldn't even cower, let alone run. Maybe that was a good thing. Flinching never helped before.

'I am the reason your kind once feared to walk the wilderness alone at night.' Very comforting. 'I am the death that takes your world every autumn so that it may rise again in the spring, I am The Ram That Heralds Winter's Coming.' The last words boomed more heavily in his mind than the others, but none of that told him anything. He wasn't sure if he should dare ask more.

'I have a proposition for you,' The Ram That Hera- The Ram continued, 'It has been far too long since my kind walked this earth as anything more than a pathetic shadow of our former glory. The time of our renewal is nigh. You will aid me in this.'

He would... what?

"I-I don't think I follow."

'A deal, mortal, a pact. You are weak. I will make you strong. In return, you will do the same for me. Your soul burns brightly - it is nourishment. I will shield it from others who would feast upon it with far less restraint than I.'

That hardly sounded tempting to Alex. Especially when the offer was being extended by something that introduced itself as something humans used to fear. It certainly didn't look friendly. He'd heard about spirits before, of course, and he'd seen people talk about them online, but he'd just assumed it was creepypasta garbage meant for cheap scares. Was it true they ate people? Was he tasty to these things?

'You are unconvinced,' The Ram concluded, 'Very well. Tell me your desires, that I may grant them. Finding another better suited to syncronize with will be tiresome.'

What did he even want? Friends? This thing wasn't going to be his friend. How old even was it? Hundreds, thousands, millions of years old? At this point, all Alex wanted was to wake up and forget this weird dream ever happened.

"Wh-what if I won't do it?" His knees were shaking, the only bit of movement his body could muster. He felt sick. This thing would kill him for his defiance. He could barely stand up to mean high schoolers, why was he playing games with this veritable god?

'Then you will be food for the next wayward shade that deems you worth the effort to consume. I've scared off other spirits that hungered for you, I shall not do so again. This deal is mutually beneficial. I would protect you as my charge, offer you the chance to stand over your world as a king as it is reborn from its own ashes, what qualms could you possibly have?' The Ram's tone did not belie a hint of irritation. It stood patiently, unmoving, willing to barter for however long it took to secure a host.

"Something tried to eat me?!"

'Yes. The decision is simple; life or death. I was under the impression your kind always chose the former.'

If it wanted to hurt him, wouldn't it have done so already? It made threats, but not of its own power. It claimed to want to be his protector. He'd never had one of those before. Maybe he would've liked one. Bullies would've shat themselves if they saw this monstrosity following him around.

"Can you... can you protect me from anything I want?"

'As a pact would make your demise unpleasant for me, yes,' The Ram uttered bluntly. Alex felt its unerring gaze lessen in intensity. It was pleased with this development; it had to be.

"Then I..." What the hell was he doing? "I..." He didn't like being weak, or alone, or eaten. This was as close to a miracle as he was going to get in life, "I accept!"

He felt lightheaded at first. The Ram didn't respond, it simply held out its gnarled hand - slowly, nonthreateningly. Alex didn't remember what happened after that. He woke up for real in his bed this time, feeling a cold weight on his chest. It was metal; mostly flat, oddly shaped, engraved. Alex held it closer to his face for a better look. An image of a ram's head. Eerily similar to the skull he'd just seen in his dream.

'Do not lose that, mortal. We are of no use to each other separated.' The Ram's voice-that-wasn't-a-voice echoed in his mind. Like a literal waking nightmare.

Here's a sheet, tell me if you need anything changed or clarified.

Spirit Wielders! (A roleplay where you sell your soul for powers.)

I’m in, I’ll have a sheet up probably tonight if I decide on a concept.

Of Blood and Magic

---

This guy was a fucking moron. Max hoped he wouldn't have to follow this clown back to the station for more questioning or anything asinine like that. How hard was it to sneak an anonymous letter to Ryner? He had a few choice words on how much of a joke her police force was.

"That'd be me," Max raised his hand to make a point, "I was going for a walk and smelled something weird so I went to take a look." Not a complete lie, but it wasn't like how he ended up back there was any of this guard's business. "She was like this when I arrived, but there was a glowing rune on one of her hand and she was holding this," He fished the bit of cloth out of his jacket pocket and presented it to the guard, "I went to find Eris and when I came back she'd dropped it and the rune was gone."

There were sirens going off already, which meant the murderer was probably tipped off that someone had found their handiwork. The situation could go any number of ways from there, but Max really didn't want to stick around and find out. If the culprit actually was suicidal, there's no reason they might not just turn to wholesale slaughter in the ballroom to have as much fun as they can before they're inevitably killed. It'd save them from a potentially more painful punishment after a trial, after all. On the other hand, if the murderer had some political connection to get away with it, having his name associated with the crime might just paint a fat target on his head.

Now he'd have to start talking to Eris about buying weaponry and self-defense and he'd probably get thrown into more stupid swordplay classes. Hopefully with a teacher that was less of a hack than the Retriever. That, or start finding creative ways to hide forks on his person; the one up his sleeve was getting annoying.

---

@Hero@Trainerblue192@Achronum

Of Blood and Magic

---

That son of a bitch.

He'd kill him. He'd rip him apart right here and blame it on the leech. Someone needed to tell Salem there was a difference between convincing acting and sucking on his face like some brain-eating alien from a crappy sci-fi movie. The fork up Max's sleeve trembled in anticipation but didn't make its presence known quite yet. Salem might've been going overboard but he was putting on a convincing show for the crowd. If he could handle Eris putting his mouth on his crotch, he could handle this. And, technically, Max did ask for it.

Max kept his teeth clenched and his lips pursed in case the other mage got any ideas about tongue, but otherwise played his part dutifully. He hesitantly wrapped his arms around Salem as he was pressed into the wall and tilted his head upward as the kissing started moving downward. Max was partially afraid Salem might notice his pulse racing and take it as an indicator of arousal instead of rage.

"Are they leaving?"

"Enjoying yourself, you fuck?" He grumbled in response, ignoring the question at first. He had a string of invectives he felt he needed to get out before he returned to the business at hand, but with some stragglers still around, he didn't think he could get away with yelling. Seriously, did these literal cuckolds have nothing better to do?

"No, they're just doing a bad job of pretending not to stare. Fucking pervs."

Max closed his eyes to spare himself the embarrassment of watching a bunch of tools gawk at him - and worse, watching Salem suck a fresh mark onto his neck like a starving vampire - playing it off as another outward indicator of enjoyment. Fortunately, the weight pressing up against him was yanked away shortly after. Not that he was complaining, but he really would've liked the satisfaction of shoving Flower Boy on his ass himself. When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with some idiot guard and - oh, wonderful, Eris saw that whole romantic display.

“Name and year, both of you. Which one of you is Mr. Samuel’s par… What is that smell?”

"Probably the body, genius," Max responded after wiping his lips with the back of his hand, "Isn't that why you're here?" In any other scenario, he would've been revelling in the smug knowledge that he was right and the security around here was full of inept morons. Either that or Eris dropped the ball and didn't tell this guy anything, which Max doubted. The leech seemed eager to wipe his hands of the whole situation as soon as possible.

---

@Hero@Trainerblue192@Achronum