Veilsight

Hermes Powder - The Strangest Academy in Existence

Silas’s grey eyes, burning with an icy intensity, didn't waver in the slightest as they mercilessly scrutinized the bully's reaction. The boy was trembling now, pale and wide-eyed, and was sweating profusely. The raw, visceral fear etched across his face brought Silas a surge of dark satisfaction, a twisted sense of pleasure that he had long grown accustomed to recognizing. It had been ages since he'd been able to act like this.

Silas's smile widened for only a fleeting moment, a grotesque expression that revealed the true darkness lurking beneath his carefully crafted facade. It was a smile that promised pain, a smile that whispered of unimaginable torments. That was what he showed a person before he killed them, or before he left them. But, for some reason, this girl was making him smile for real.

With a slow, deliberate movement that amplified the power of his threat, Silas took a step back, allowing the knife to press ever so slightly harder against the boy's taut throat. The gesture was subtle, almost imperceptible, but the effect was undeniable. Harder, just enough to draw a thin line of glistening red blood, causing the bully's breath to hitch in his throat.

"Good," Silas hummed, his voice a low, melodious purr that belied the underlying menace. He savored the bully’s fear, relishing his helplessness and vulnerability, not daring to say a word to anyone lest he face the blade again. "Now run along," he hissed, the words dripping with contempt, “before you don't have any legs left to take you anywhere at all." Silas was already forming scenarios he could use if the boy stayed any closer, his hand twitching in his pocket. But alas, the boy was gone.

With a flick of his wrist, almost too fast to see, he flipped the blade and slid it back up his sleeve, concealing it from sight once more. He watched the bully flee, his body stiff with terror, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated. Silas remained rooted to the spot, his eyes narrowed, observing and waiting.

Once the boy was gone, he paused for just a beat, the tension slowly draining from his body. His attention snapped back to Daria, his grey eyes softening in a way that surprised even himself. The cold, calculating mask that he usually wore seemed to melt away, replaced by a flicker of something almost… tender.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softer now, his usual sardonic tone replaced with a genuine note of concern, his eyes widening as he took her in. He abandoned his guarded place to approach her, his pace measured and deliberate, giving her ample space to retreat if she so desired, although he hoped she wouldn't. He wanted to touch her, yet hesitated, unsure of her reaction. He also wanted to kiss her, for some strange reason, though that would probably not be a good first start, so no. He wouldn’t do that… at least probably.

He was out of the street and into the fire; she was so beautiful.

Hermes Powder - The Strangest Academy in Existence

Silas endured the day's lessons with a carefully cultivated detachment, his thoughts wandering far from the subject matter at hand. His sharp, grey eyes would drift in and out of focus as he sat in each classroom. Silas's mind conjured a repertoire of imaginings, far removed from the world, picturing a myriad of ways he could disembowel, dissect, and inflict exquisitely creative tortures upon the teachers who droned on and on at the front of each class. He did not feel an ounce of guilt when he created these scenarios in his head. He couldn't care less about whatever arcane knowledge they were attempting to impart: that wasn't the reason why he was here. The Academy provided a safe space to sleep, sleep safely off the streets, and never go hungry again. He certainly would not miss the gnawing ache in his belly as hunger gnawed away at his insides, or the bone-chilling cold that the street always brought, which gave him the shivers all night long.

At the first opportunity available, he took full advantage of the Academy's provisions. When he got the chance, he emptied his spare pockets before shoving food from the dining hall into them as if he were storing the food for the winter. Bread, cheese, a small cake; he seized anything else he could carry, his movements swift and practised. That of a thief. He could finally relax, even if just for a brief moment in time. He followed the staff member who led him up to his assigned dorm room, his face as cold as ice. Once inside, he promptly slipped through the door, slamming it shut the moment the staff member was out of reach. Now, he was alone, finally. He sank onto his bed with a sigh of relief, the soft mattress giving way beneath him. It had been far too long since he had experienced the comfort of an actual bed of his own, soft and warm, instead of... whatever you called living on the streets. It was more like existing, rather than living, at all.

Sitting up, he spent the next few delicious moments devouring the carefully selected haul of pilfered food from the dining hall, chewing and swallowing with a sense of quiet triumph. He would have given up his own life to feel this content. His stomach was pleasantly full, warm, and content for the first time in years. It was a sensation he intended to savour.
Finally, without further ado, he stripped down to his worn boxers, his gaze lingering as he looked around the room, before shoving his largest knife under his pillow. He was a predator in every other way possible, too, even if he wanted to hurt everyone. He curled up in the surprisingly comfortable bed, pulling the thick blankets around him, and was asleep within moments. The darkness claimed him instantly, swallowing up the weariness and leaving him blank of even the slightest thought to be had. For now, he was free.

Silas awoke early the next morning, his senses sharpened and alert like a wolf stirring in its den. Sleep, for him, was never a true escape, merely a temporary truce with the world. He had learned to sleep lightly, always on guard, ready to spring into action at a moment's notice. It had kept him alive through the worst of times. The moment his eyes flickered open, his mind was clear, and his body was already moving. He rose from the bed with a fluid, silent grace, moving towards the door with a predatory instinct. Before doing anything, he paused, his senses on high alert and he pressed his ear against the wood, listening for telltale sounds that may indicate someone was near. All was still.
He reached and gently ran his fingers across the wood, looking for scratches or smudges that he didn't expect to be there from the last night. Not a one. Nothing had been stolen. The door hadn't been opened while he slept, as if someone had tried to sneak inside. All good things. He still knew better than to risk it.
He opened a crack, peering carefully around the doorframe, his sharp grey eyes darting around to look for any clues. He had made sure that nobody was able to look around as he slept, no trace of him in full darkness as he rested his eyes and dreamed of what would come. The dark hallways stretched empty and cold before him, unbroken by movement or sound, all was clear for him. His gaze landed on a neatly folded pile of clothes lying before his door. A uniform.

A groan escaped his lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated dissent that was quickly stifled. Of course. He should have expected this, some pre-ordained set of garments designed to strip him of his individuality. He reached out, snatching up the clothes with a dismissive flick of his wrist. With a flick of his wrist, he slammed the door shut once again, locking it firmly and ensuring that no one would disturb him in his sanctuary. The uniform was disappointingly bland, a colorless canvas devoid of any character. It was a standard, bland collared shirts and dress pants, designed to ensure uniformity and erase any trace of individuality of personality. Silas merely smirked at the clothes as he ran his fingers across them. Well, that simply wouldn’t stand, would it? He knew he couldn't resist the urge to tamper with the school attire and make it his own, to inject some of his personal flair into this stifling display of adherence and conformity. Of course, he would add his own touch. It was the only way he could survive in this place. Of course. With practiced movements, he swiftly began his transformation, replacing the drab tie with a silk cravat of midnight black, secured with a silver clip. He added a delicate silver chain discreetly hung from his waistcoat, gleaming in the dim light, and polished his boots to a blinding shine.

Satisfied, he regarded himself in the mirror, a subtle smirk playing along his lips as he observed his creation. It was still a uniform, technically adhering to the rules and guidelines of the Academy. Just his uniform now. A subtle act of rebellion, a silent declaration of his independence. He would play their game, to be sure and follow the rules, because his safety needed that. But he would play by his own terms, always. He was, after all, Silas Blackwood, and he wouldn't let anyone, not that anyone could, forget it.

As the first rays of dawn clawed their way over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of grey and pale gold, Silas found himself consumed by a restless energy that forbade him to remain confined to his room as he always did in the outside streets. He decided to pace the Academy's corridors, a solitary hunter charting his territory. With silent footsteps and ever-watchful eyes, he roamed the dimly lit hallways, methodically mapping out the terrain in his head. He began to notice and plot routes to escape if needed. He committed to memory the layout of each floor, noting the location of staircases, exits, and potential hiding places. He made mental notes of where everyone's rooms were, a catalogue of the Academy’s inhabitants. He'd seen some of them while he was walking his room, even getting a chance to meet some of them. Silas, in his careful planning, couldn't help but wonder where that strange girl Daria's room was, a random urge. She was interesting.

He felt a sudden rush of heat to his cheeks, an unexpected and unwelcome tide of emotion that he fiercely suppressed. He internally cursed himself for such a ridiculous thought. He should have had nothing to do with these classmates and have started his grand plans. So what if she was beautiful? The thought of the mysterious Daria wormed its way into his mind, disrupting his normally controlled thoughts. He shouldn't care, so why was he starting to?
But for some reason, he did.
The sun rose higher, casting its golden light through the tall windows lining the corridors, and the Academy began to stir. Students emerged from their rooms, voices groggy and tired, their senses only just awakening. Silas continued his patrol, his movements a silent dance amidst the slowly emerging life of the Academy. But then, piercing through the murmur of sleepy chatter, he heard it. That clear, distinctive voice. He knew that voice. Daria. He remembered her perfume, now that he thought about it. How he knew it was her, why it resonated so deeply within him, he couldn't explain – and right now, he simply didn’t care.

Instinct took over, overwhelming his carefully constructed control. He was there in an instant, his body moving with a speed that defied logic. A hidden knife, concealed within the sleeve of his shirt, seemed to materialise in his hand as if by magic, his grip tightening on the hilt until his knuckles shone white. His features twisted into a dark mask of fury, his grey eyes burning with a cold rage as he registered the scene unfolding before him. His vision narrowed, the edges blurring in a haze of red as he watched, his blood boiling as Daria's head was slammed against the unforgiving stone wall. Nobody was doing anything to stop it. Why wasn't anyone helping her? He was not sure how he felt about her yet.
Why was he doing anything about it? The question flitted through his consciousness, barely registered before it was drowned out by an overwhelming surge of protectiveness. His feet moved almost of their own volition, propelling him towards the perpetrator with a single-minded purpose.

His polished boots barely made a sound as he sped across the floor, his movements unnaturally quick and silent. Within seconds he had reached Daria's aggressor, his hand whipping up with practised efficiency, the blade against the boy’s throat. It was so fast that nobody in the hallway could tell what he was doing with the knife. A wicked smile twisted up the corners of his mouth, a chilling display of pure malice. "If you say a single word, this knife will go straight through your eye, understand?" Silas snarled, his voice a low, guttural whisper filled with barely contained fury. He pressed the blade in slightly, enough to break the skin. "You touch her again, even look at her the wrong way, and I will carve out each of your organs slowly, agonizingly slow, so that you can feel as the roaches start to eat away at your insides before I even consider giving you the mercy of killing you. Understood?"

꧁✧𝒯𝒽ℯ ℒ𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒱𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇ℯ ℋ𝓊𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓇✧꧂

Name: Lucian
Full Name: Lucian Greyson Moreau (His true birth name has been lost to time)
Age: Appears 25, actual age 232 years old
Nationality: English/British with Russian origin on his father's side
Talents/Skills: He is an excellent orator and can use his skills to manipulate others; he is also very charismatic. He has a deep knowledge of human nature from the torments he underwent during his capture. His quick reflexes and speed also contribute to his survivability. His combat and swordsmanship skills can even be said to be 'scary'. He is a master when it comes to disguise, making it easy for him to work through shadows. One of the newer talents he possesses is a multitude of instruments that he knows how to play that were forced upon him by his captors. It can be said that he is intelligent because of how quickly he can and has mastered these skills. Lucian also has the skill of interrogation during the months of capture with the hunters, and his vengeful acts
Parents: Lucian's parents and family perished a long time ago before his transformation into a vampire. He has no memory of them anymore.

Significant Others: Previously has had some relationships that have been destroyed, most notably a woman he saw himself falling in love with, but she was taken away from him. There have also been some hookup encounters, but they do not last long term.
Sexuality: Open to connections, as a way to fill the void. Straight and single (at the moment)

Relationship Skills: Lucian's relationship skills are very flawed. He does have an excellent ability to use his charismatic skills to seduce people, but he never takes it any further, always being too afraid of what is going to happen.

Physical Characteristics –
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 75 kg (165 lbs)
Eye colour: Deep sapphire blue that can appear almost black in dim light. They often reflect the pain and sorrow he tries to conceal. They can also hold a reddish tint whenever he is hungry, which will grow brighter the more desperate he becomes for food.
Hair colour: Black, often styled to appear effortlessly elegant
Skin colour: Pale, with a subtle ivory undertone.
Distinguishing Features: A brand on his back, a symbol of the human hunters who tortured him. He is self-conscious of this brand and will often not let anyone see it.
How Does He Dress?: Always impeccably dressed in the latest fashions. He uses his clothing to project an image of wealth and power. Always seen in dark fabric, he prefers tailored suits or velvet jackets.

Backstory:
Lucian was captured by human hunters and for months endured immense torments. The captors tortured him by starvation, mutilation and cruel humiliation tactics. Most notably, starving him to the point of insanity and forcing him to listen to instruments as they played and killed the other vampires that they had captured, their screams just adding to the haunting melody, and all while trying to force him to do the same and play along with the song. Months went by before Lucian eventually killed the hunters and escaped. The extreme hunger he underwent led to him killing the captors and drinking their blood until there was nothing left, a moment he carries with him every single night, but also reminds him how far he had to go for revenge for what they did. Lucian then killed any other members of their family and their loved ones to make sure that they never came for him or any other vampire another day.

Mannerisms: Speaks with a melodious voice and a disarming smile. Uses charm to manipulate others, but his eyes often betray his haunted inner state. Sometimes he will just pause in place, reliving a moment in his head from his torture.

Habits: Nightmares plague him, leading to insomnia. He also tends to play the instruments that remind him of the capture, but in turn, he can relive his torture. Also, he tries to find anything or anyone close to 'the hunter' or any other vampire hunters and kills them along with a small convent of vampires that were all slain by 'the Reaper'.

Health: He is a vampire, so his physical health is in tip-top shape; however, his mental health, because of the many moments of trauma, the loss of his loved ones and the torture he underwent, is fractured. Despite having nightmares every night, from the hunters and memories of the loved ones he has lost.

Hobbies: Gathering information (gossip), observing people, practising his oratory skills as well as perfecting music and blade skills.

Favourite Sayings:

~ "Charms are but a veil; the truth lurks beneath, waiting to be unveiled."
~ "In the dance of mortals, every step echoes with deceit, and every smile hides a darker secret."
~ "One must embrace the shadows to truly understand the light, lest one become blinded by its warmth."

Speak Patterns: Possess a smooth, melodious flow enhanced with vivid and poetic imagery. His words weave a symphony of temptation with a dash of danger.

Disabilities: No known disabilities. But when he pauses to relive some kind of capture, it's like his mind forgets everything, slowing down not allowing his body to move, but his heart continues pumping even harder to try and make him run faster

Style: Moody Elegance

Greatest Flaw/s: Lucian is unable to let go of his past and is filled with vengeance. His past torments are a weakness both mentally and physically, but can also be a strength, allowing him to use them to make him even stronger. He will never harm children unless he is forced to.

Best Qualitie/s: Lucian is remarkably loyal as well as dedicated. His charisma is what draws most to him. The need to protect others who have gone through something similar. He will never harm children unless he is forced to.

Emotional Characteristics:
Strengths: Master of disguise, charismatic, quick thinker, has a strong network of informants.
Weaknesses: Terrified of The Hunter, haunted by nightmares and flashbacks, unable to form genuine connections.
Extrovert or Introvert?: Presents as extroverted, but is deeply introverted underneath.

How Does This Character Deal With Anger?: Uses his charm and wit to defuse the situation. When the anger rises, his charisma often becomes sharp and icy. There isn't any in between
With Sadness?: Can't process it, so it stays hidden, using his silver tongue and smile to hide a painful ache.
With Conflict?: Uses Manipulation to move away as quickly as possible
With Change?: Accepts Change, but very slowly, often very on edge and frustrated when anything changes.
With Loss?: He is completely lost, as he can't process sadness, so he just freezes, not moving, not knowing what to say or do anymore.

What Does This Character Want Out Of Life?: He wants to create a safe space where everyone going through it will be safe from the hunter and the Reaper.

What Frightens This Character?: The Hunter, The Reaper and anything or anyone affiliated with the Hunter or the Reaper.

What Makes This Character Happy?: People playing instruments with him, as they were the only things that he could think about that were not his tormentors.

Is This Character Judgmental of Others?: Yes, he can be very judgmental of others at times, but when it comes to ‘friends’, he will fight with anyone who says something against them. He can often be rude to others, but there is nobody he judges more than himself.

Is This Character Generally Polite Or Rude?: Very polite, sometimes to the point of being unreadable and unnerving. His good manners can often make it impossible to tell how serious he is,

Fight-Flight-Freeze-Fawn Response?: Primarily fawns at first when he's in danger because of his trauma, but when he recovers, the fight or flight

Spiritual Characteristics:
Does This Character Believe In God?: He neither agrees or disagrees. There is no proof.
What Are This Characters Spiritual Beliefs?: Agnostic, believing that the real world is not a spiritual one but one that needs to be adapted to
Is Religion Or Spirituality A Part Of This Character's Life?: No
If So, What Role Does It Play?: There is no role.

Powers:

His Ability: Charm- Lucian has an extraordinary ability to lure people towards him by using his charismatic and kind words to have others want to work with or know more about him. The person normally does not understand his words; it is pure charm.

Weaknesses: Lucian's biggest strength is also his biggest weakness. The tortures he faced can often make his ability to be used incorrectly, with him hurting himself and or others

How This Character Fits Into The Setting:
Lucian has seen the hunter. He barely escaped to the point where he is known to the vampire group that calls The Guide their leader because he warned them a long time ago. His experiences make him a reluctant, but potentially powerful, ally for the other vampires in the city. His new goal is to spread the word and find anyone else who thinks he is real and to group them together so they can stand and fight. He lost many friends to 'The Reaper' and desperately wants revenge, but honestly is terrified at the same time, although his anger can blind him at times.

Hermes Powder - The Strangest Academy in Existence

Silas savored the subtle shift in Daria’s demeanor, watching her visibly squirm under his intense gaze. Good. That was familiar territory, the dynamic he was accustomed to, the predictable dance of unease and attraction. He thrived on setting people off balance, making them uncomfortable – it allowed him to maintain control, to keep them at arm's length. He would make everyone uncomfortable, and then they would leave. They always left, after all.

His eyes, momentarily flitting downward, took in the spreading flush that was blossoming across her neck and chest, a tell-tale sign of her inner turmoil. A hint of amusement, dark and knowing, flickered in his grey depths. The more flustered she got, the funnier he thought it was going to get.

"Daria~" he purred, stretching out each syllable of her name, his voice a silken caress. He tasted the word, experimenting with its texture, testing how it felt on his tongue, savouring the power it gave him. It was a pleasant name, evocative, almost… innocent. An odd contrast to the setting.

“A beautiful name, for a beautiful girl,” he hummed, his tone suggestive and playful. He held her gaze for only a heartbeat longer, burning his image into her mind before deliberately breaking eye contact, as if growing bored. The abrupt shift was designed to create further confusion and further imbalance; it always worked.

He abandoned her abruptly, a silent dismissal. With a languid stride, he moved past Daria and towards the other woman, his presence a vortex of raw energy and unsettling charisma. Without pause or apology, he continued through the wrought-iron school gates, his back to those he had left behind him.

"Well Daria and…" he paused at the threshold, turning his head just enough to glance back over his shoulder at the other woman, his expression a carefully crafted mask of casual curiosity. He raised an eyebrow, silently inquiring her name with a look that left no room for refusal. The game was already changing, and he knew he had left the other girl wanting more.

꧁✧𝒯𝒽ℯ ℒ𝒶𝓈𝓉 𝒱𝒶𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇ℯ ℋ𝓊𝓃𝓉ℯ𝓇✧꧂

Oh interesting,
do you think that I could be (The brooding) if that would be okay with you?
:P

Hermes Powder - The Strangest Academy in Existence

Silas's steel-grey eyes snapped to the woman who had spoken, his attention instantly focused. An eyebrow, perfectly shaped and arched with a touch of mocking amusement, rose slightly, his practised grin never faltering. He allowed himself a moment to take in her features, his gaze lingering, assessing. A flicker of something – surprise perhaps – crossed his face as he noticed the faint blush that had risen on her cheeks. Interesting. A soft, rumbling laugh resonated in his chest, a controlled sound that hinted at both amusement and a subtle threat. His eyes, sharp and predatory, roamed over her figure with a blatant, unapologetic appraisal, devoid of any pretence. He allowed his tongue to slide briefly over his lower lip, a gesture calculated to disarm or unsettle, before finally speaking.
"Hello to you, too," he purred, his voice a low, silken melody designed to charm. He took a measured step closer, closing the distance between them ever so slightly, tilting his head just a fraction, a silent question poised. That was enough to let her know he was there. Dominance, he would take on her, but not yet.
"And what might your name be~?" he hummed, drawing out the question with a deliberate languor, his words expertly laced together with that practised confidence he had cultivated over years of carefully orchestrated deception. His smile widened, predatory, knowing, to give her an invitation or a threat. Either way, he was ready. "Silas," he hummed, without tearing his eyes away from the blushing girl.

Hermes Powder - The Strangest Academy in Existence

Silas sprinted through the narrow alley, his pulse a frenzied drum against his ribs. A dull throb pulsed in his left leg, a phantom ache from a poorly-healed fracture, now brought to life by the exertion. His breath came in ragged, hungry gasps. He vaulted over a crate of apples, the sweet scent momentarily distracting, ignoring the furious shouts of the shopkeeper as he continued his headlong flight. He knew the constables would be on his trail soon enough, but it was nothing he couldn't manage. Hadn't he proven that time and again?
After all, the chase was the best part – the raw adrenaline, the calculated risk, the intoxicating dance on the edge of capture. The inky veil of night was his ally, though not entirely necessary. Silas was a master of camouflage, a chameleon in cloth. He was better at blending in than anyone he knew, an ability that had served him well in his shadowy existence. It was probably the precise reason he hadn't yet found himself behind bars.

Leaping up, he tore a dark woolen cloak from a hanging clothesline, the fabric rough against his gloved hands. Sprinting down another tortuous alleyway, he swiftly tied the cloak around himself, transforming his posture. He hunched his shoulders, dragging the hood low over his forehead, obscuring his sharp features in shadow. He slid down against the damp, grimy wall, feigning the pose of a beggar, his eyes narrowed. He heard the heavy footfalls and gruff voices of the approaching constables. He watched as they surveyed the alley, their eyes sweeping over the scene, eventually landing on him, huddled and seemingly pitiable against the brick.
"Excuse me, sir," one of the older constables, a man with kind eyes and a weary face, approached him. His voice was surprisingly soft, almost tender. Silas supposed that was the intended benefit of his carefully constructed disguise – the image of a poor, downtrodden wretch. "Have you seen a young man run this way? Dressed in dark clothing?"
Silas gave a slight, trembling nod of his head, feigning weakness. With a shaking hand, he pointed to his left, the direction from which he'd originally come.
"Thank you," the constable said, genuine gratitude in his tone. He placed a silver coin at Silas's feet, a small act of charity that Silas accepted with a silent, downcast gaze. "Come on, lads," the constable commanded, urging the other officers to follow. They turned and hurried off in the direction Silas had indicated.
Idiots. Utter fools, blinded by their own assumptions and the carefully crafted illusion he presented. A faint smirk played on Silas's lips as he watched them disappear into the darkness. He was a ghost in their city, a shadow they could never quite grasp. The game, as always, was far from over. His heart and head were already planning his next adventure.

Once he was certain the constables had disappeared into the labyrinthine streets below, Silas straightened his posture, his movements fluid and graceful as a cat's. He was on his feet in an instant, abandoning the pose of a beggar as if it were a discarded costume. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out the stale loaf of bread he had liberated from the marketplace – a small victory in his ongoing war against hunger. He ripped off a chunk and shoved it into his mouth, freeing both hands to scale the brick wall of the alley.

His fingers found purchase on an out-of-place stone, and with a practiced ease, he hauled himself upwards. Years of climbing and escaping had honed his skills to perfection. A few more precise grips and footholds later, and he was scrambling onto the flat rooftop of the factory, his movements silent and efficient. He sat down heavily, his boots crunching on loose gravel, and took another bite of the stolen bread.

His stomach had been a persistent, gnawing tormentor for days, a low rumble that threatened to drown out his thoughts. His hunger had grown unbearable until he finally decided to rectify the issue.

His solution, of course, was theft. It was a skill he had refined to an art form.

And it turned out, predictably, to be a success. As always. Running and climbing weren't the only things he excelled at; petty larceny was practically hardwired into his being. One had to survive.

Finishing off the bread, which momentarily soothed the ache in his belly, he pulled the scrunched-up paper ball from his other pocket – one of many, many pockets hidden within his clothing, each designed to hold a lockpick, a knife, a stolen trinket, or some other useful item. He smoothed out the crumpled paper, revealing the invitation that had so unexpectedly landed in his life.

Hermes Powder Academy. Bla, bla, bla. The usual flowery prose, promises of a unique education, blah, blah, blah. Esoteric teachings, blah, blah. It was all the same. But then... Free entry. Free. That was the hook. Nothing was free these days, at least not for most people. Silas, however, had mastered the art of the five-finger discount, acquiring anything and everything he desired without paying a copper. Free food. A safe place to crash. People to torment. And, perhaps – a tiny, almost nonexistent voice whispered in the back of his mind – maybe it would even make his mother proud.

Sighing, he shoved the paper back into his pocket, crumpling it once more. He had made up his mind to attend a week ago when he had first received the invitation. The Academy offered exactly what he needed: a roof over his head, food in his belly, and an environment ripe to exploit. Still, one could always rethink one's decisions. There was always something newer and better to think about. Whatever. With a shrug, he curled up on the rooftop, wrapping the cloak around him like a blanket, the cold concrete a less-than-ideal mattress. He stared at the starless sky, his thoughts drifting aimlessly, until he finally succumbed to exhaustion. He managed to fall asleep, knowing he would likely wake again in a few hours. He always did. Sleep was just a temporary escape from the harsh reality of his life, a fleeting respite before the darkness inevitably returned. And his days would only get darker.

The walk to the Academy, if one could call leaping across rooftops a walk, had been mercifully brief. Silas had woken before dawn, his body instinctively aware of the dangers that lurked in the shadows of cities underbelly. He had begun his journey towards Hermes Powder Academy almost immediately, preferring the anonymity of the pre-dawn hours.
Now, he was perched high above, one of the highest branches of an ancient oak tree near the school gates his temporary lookout post. He sat, silent and perfectly still, a predator surveying his territory The branches creaked softly beneath his weight, the dawn chorus a faint soundtrack to his internal deliberations. His sharp, grey eyes, narrowed in concentration, were focused on two young women engaged in conversation near the school entrance.

Silas observed them with unwavering attention, every movement, every gesture carefully noted and analyzed. The cogs of his mind were whirring, calculating the potential benefits and risks of entering the Academy. The internal debate raged within him: should he walk through those gates and embrace this new, uncertain path? Or should he turn tail and vanish into the maze of streets, returning to the only life he had ever known? He knew from his experiences so far that he would probably hurt someone soon.

A violent growl from his stomach decided the matter. A stolen hunk of stale bread could only satisfy a nineteen-year-old's desperate hunger for so long before base instincts took over. It was a reminder that even a creature as skilled at surviving as he was had basic needs.

Sighing inwardly, Silas abandoned his lofty perch. He climbed down from the tree with swift and practiced movements, his descent almost silent, landing on the ground with barely a whisper. His gloved hands instinctively found their way into his pockets, his fingers curling possessively around the familiar hilt of one of his many knives. He trusted himself more with his weapons.

Straightening his posture, he summoned an air of effortless confidence, the kind of effortless cool that some might call roguish. A charming smile, carefully rehearsed over years of manipulation, spread across his face, revealing a glimpse of perfect, white teeth. He approached the two young women, a wolf in a scholar's clothing.

"Ladies," he drawled, his voice low and laced with a calculated nonchalance. He intended his words to sound casual and disarming, to charm rather than intimidate. It was an act he played well. Just as he had intended.

"Sorry to interrupt your... conversation~" he purred, letting the last word linger with a hint of playful amusement. He waited, his eyes twinkling just so as he analysed their reactions and judged them perfectly. The game, always and forever, was on. Let the chaos begin.

Hermes Powder - The Strangest Academy in Existence

Name: Silas "Sil" Blackwood
Full Name: Silas Thaddeus Blackwood
Age: 19
Nationality: English (with a possible Romani lineage on his mother's side, though it's rarely spoken about)

Talents/Skills:
Master of Disguise: Silas is incredibly skilled at transforming his appearance. He can alter his demeanour, posture, voice, and use makeup and prosthetics to completely become someone else.
Lockpicking & Stealth: He is adept at bypassing security measures, picking locks, moving silently, and blending into the shadows.
Sharp Intellect & Observation: Silas is highly observant and possesses a quick, analytical mind. He can quickly assess a situation, identify weaknesses, and formulate a plan.
Knife Skills: His skills surrounding knives aren't used for cooking, but rather for throwing, fighting, performing tricks and more.

Parents:
Julian Blackwood: Deceased. A gambling addict and con artist who was often absent from Silas' life.
Esmeralda "Esme" Ryland: A mysterious woman who kept largely to herself. Esme did her best to ensure Silas was looked after, but would often go long lengths without seeing her son as his dad often took him away from her or kept her far away.
Significant Others: No siblings. Kept his parents at arm's length, not trusting or relying on anyone. He has had encounters with many women, almost all of them ending in heartbreak.

Sexuality: Bisexual (but very private about it).

Relationship Skills: Distrustful and emotionally guarded, forming superficial connections but struggling with genuine intimacy. He is skilled at manipulation and can be charming when he wants something.

Physical Characteristics:
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 160 lbs (lean and agile)
Eye Color: Piercing grey, often seeming to change shade depending on his mood.
Hair Color: Dark brown or black, kept neatly groomed but with a slight rebellious streak.
Skin Color: Tanned, with a few faint scars.
Distinguishing Features: A small "hangman's knot" birthmark behind his left ear, a silver ring that always holds on his right hand, and an intense, unwavering gaze capable of unnerving others.
How Does He Dress?: Silas adheres to the Hermes Powder Academy dress code with a calculated flair. His clothing is always impeccable, but he favours subtle variations – a silk cravat instead of a standard tie, a silver chain discreetly hanging from his waistcoat, or boots polished to a blinding shine. He likes to pull his sleeves to his elbows, making sure the scars he has obtained during his life are visible to others. Always wears simple black gloves.

Mannerisms: Possesses a charismatic but unsettling demeanour. He often has a faint, knowing smirk on his face. He is always alert, scanning his surroundings and observing the people around him. Rarely speaks unless it's necessary, and is often very monotone when forced to do so.

Habits: Practising lockpicking, cleaning and maintaining his collection of knives, studying people's behaviour, disappearing for extended periods, and has a knack for getting into or causing trouble.

Health: Generally healthy, but prone to restlessness and vivid nightmares.

Hobbies: Disguise, acting, lockpicking, knife throwing, sleight of hand, observing people and planning out the perfect murder.

Favorite Sayings:
"Everyone has a secret. I just find them."
"Trust no one, especially yourself."
"Every person has a weakness, I just need to find it."
Speech Patterns: Possesses a smooth, articulate voice that can be both charming and menacing. He knows how to use silence to his advantage.

Disabilities: A slight limp on his right leg from an accident when he was younger (he does not like to talk about it)

Style: Deadly Elegance

Greatest Flaws: Distrustful, manipulative, emotionally detached, prone to violence, has a dark past he's trying to escape, and has a constant desire to murder.

Best Qualities: Intelligent, resourceful, adaptable, skilled at deception, possesses a strong sense of self-preservation.

Emotional Characteristics:
Strengths: Decisive, observant, rational, fearless, persuasive.
Weaknesses: Emotionally detached, distrustful, prone to violence, haunted by his past, has a hard time with women, and is constantly wishing to commit a murder.
Extrovert or Introvert?: Ambiverted. Can blend into any social situation but prefers working alone.

How Does This Character Deal with Anger?: Represses it and channels it into calculated actions. He seeks revenge rather than engaging in uncontrolled outbursts.
With Sadness?: Dismisses it, viewing emotion as a weakness. He prefers to focus on practical solutions and survival.
With Conflict?: Approaches it strategically, seeking to exploit weaknesses and gain an advantage.
With Change?: Adaptable and resourceful, able to adjust to new situations with ease.
With Loss?: Views it as an opportunity for growth or revenge.

What Does This Character Want Out of Life?: To escape his past, to find a purpose beyond survival, and perhaps (secretly) to know what it means to truly trust someone.

What Frightens This Character?: Loss of control, vulnerability, and someone seeing through his carefully constructed facade.

What Makes This Character Happy?: Successfully executing a complex plan, mastering a new skill, feeling in control, and finding some sort of satisfaction.

Is This Character Judgmental Of Others?: Yes, he constantly evaluates people based on their perceived strengths and weaknesses.

Is This Character Generally Polite Or Rude?: Charismatic and polite when it suits his purpose, but can be ruthless and cruel when necessary.

Fight-Flight-Freeze-Fawn Response?: Primarily fight (calculated and strategic) or flight (disappearing without a trace).

Spiritual Characteristics:
Does This Character Believe In God?: Skeptical. He sees the world as a chaotic place without divine intervention.
What Are This Characters Spiritual Beliefs?: He believes in the power of knowledge, self-reliance, and the survival of the fittest. Something his dead father would always say.
Is Religion Or Spirituality A Part Of This Character's Life?: No.

Does he have a favourite type of knife?: As long as it is sharp and pointy, Silas doesn't care.

How He Ended Up At Hermes Powder Academy: Silas's arrival at Hermes Powder Academy was a matter of...circumstance in his view. Having left a trail of unanswered questions, disappearances, and whispers behind him, Silas found a strange offer of acceptance fall into his lap. Word had reached the Academy of his unique 'talents' and his particular understanding of the darker aspects of human nature. With the law not too far behind him and his mother's words ringing in his ears, Silas decided to take the offer as an opportunity to learn, to possibly control his dark impulses towards strangers, and to test the limits of his skills within the Academy's unorthodox curriculum. Whether Hermes Powder Academy can reform someone with Silas's dark past remains to be seen, and whether he wants to be reformed at all is an even bigger question. But it sure would be interesting to find out!!

Theme song/s:
"Bad Things" by Jace Everett (especially the True Blood version with Lera Lynn)
"Control" by Halsey
"House of the Rising Sun" by The Animals
"Take Me To Church" by Hozier
"Darkside" by grandson

Hermes Powder - The Strangest Academy in Existence

Name: Silas "Sil" Blackwood
Full Name: Silas Thaddeus Blackwood
Age: 19
Nationality: English (with a possible Romani lineage on his mother's side, though it's rarely spoken about)

Talents/Skills:
Master of Disguise: Silas is incredibly skilled at transforming his appearance. He can alter his demeanour, posture, voice, and use makeup and prosthetics to completely become someone else.
Lockpicking & Stealth: He is adept at bypassing security measures, picking locks, moving silently, and blending into the shadows.
Sharp Intellect & Observation: Silas is highly observant and possesses a quick, analytical mind. He can quickly assess a situation, identify weaknesses, and formulate a plan.
Knife Skills: His skills surrounding knives aren't used for cooking, but rather for throwing, fighting, performing tricks and more.

Parents:
Julian Blackwood: Deceased. A gambling addict and con artist who was often absent from Silas' life.
Esmeralda "Esme" Ryland: A mysterious woman who kept largely to herself. Esme did her best to ensure Silas was looked after, but would often go long lengths without seeing her son as his dad often took him away from her or kept her far away.
Significant Others: No siblings. Kept his parents at arm's length, not trusting or relying on anyone. He has had encounters with many women, almost all of them ending in heartbreak.

Sexuality: Bisexual (but very private about it).

Relationship Skills: Distrustful and emotionally guarded, forming superficial connections but struggling with genuine intimacy. He is skilled at manipulation and can be charming when he wants something.

Physical Characteristics:
Height: 5'11"
Weight: 160 lbs (lean and agile)
Eye Color: Piercing grey, often seeming to change shade depending on his mood.
Hair Color: Dark brown or black, kept neatly groomed but with a slight rebellious streak.
Skin Color: Tanned, with a few faint scars.
Distinguishing Features: A small "hangman's knot" birthmark behind his left ear, a silver ring that always holds on his right hand, and an intense, unwavering gaze capable of unnerving others.
How Does He Dress?: Silas adheres to the Hermes Powder Academy dress code with a calculated flair. His clothing is always impeccable, but he favours subtle variations – a silk cravat instead of a standard tie, a silver chain discreetly hanging from his waistcoat, or boots polished to a blinding shine. He likes to pull his sleeves to his elbows, making sure the scars he has obtained during his life are visible to others. Always wears simple black gloves.

Mannerisms: Possesses a charismatic but unsettling demeanour. He often has a faint, knowing smirk on his face. He is always alert, scanning his surroundings and observing the people around him. Rarely speaks unless it's necessary, and is often very monotone when forced to do so.

Habits: Practising lockpicking, cleaning and maintaining his collection of knives, studying people's behaviour, disappearing for extended periods, and has a knack for getting into or causing trouble.

Health: Generally healthy, but prone to restlessness and vivid nightmares.

Hobbies: Disguise, acting, lockpicking, knife throwing, sleight of hand, observing people and planning out the perfect murder.

Favorite Sayings:
"Everyone has a secret. I just find them."
"Trust no one, especially yourself."
"Every person has a weakness, I just need to find it."
Speech Patterns: Possesses a smooth, articulate voice that can be both charming and menacing. He knows how to use silence to his advantage.

Disabilities: A slight limp on his right leg from an accident when he was younger (he does not like to talk about it)

Style: Deadly Elegance

Greatest Flaws: Distrustful, manipulative, emotionally detached, prone to violence, has a dark past he's trying to escape, and has a constant desire to murder.

Best Qualities: Intelligent, resourceful, adaptable, skilled at deception, possesses a strong sense of self-preservation.

Emotional Characteristics:
Strengths: Decisive, observant, rational, fearless, persuasive.
Weaknesses: Emotionally detached, distrustful, prone to violence, haunted by his past, has a hard time with women, and is constantly wishing to commit a murder.
Extrovert or Introvert?: Ambiverted. Can blend into any social situation but prefers working alone.

How Does This Character Deal with Anger?: Represses it and channels it into calculated actions. He seeks revenge rather than engaging in uncontrolled outbursts.
With Sadness?: Dismisses it, viewing emotion as a weakness. He prefers to focus on practical solutions and survival.
With Conflict?: Approaches it strategically, seeking to exploit weaknesses and gain an advantage.
With Change?: Adaptable and resourceful, able to adjust to new situations with ease.
With Loss?: Views it as an opportunity for growth or revenge.

What Does This Character Want Out of Life?: To escape his past, to find a purpose beyond survival, and perhaps (secretly) to know what it means to truly trust someone.

What Frightens This Character?: Loss of control, vulnerability, and someone seeing through his carefully constructed facade.

What Makes This Character Happy?: Successfully executing a complex plan, mastering a new skill, feeling in control, and finding some sort of satisfaction.

Is This Character Judgmental Of Others?: Yes, he constantly evaluates people based on their perceived strengths and weaknesses.

Is This Character Generally Polite Or Rude?: Charismatic and polite when it suits his purpose, but can be ruthless and cruel when necessary.

Fight-Flight-Freeze-Fawn Response?: Primarily fight (calculated and strategic) or flight (disappearing without a trace).

Spiritual Characteristics:
Does This Character Believe In God?: Skeptical. He sees the world as a chaotic place without divine intervention.
What Are This Characters Spiritual Beliefs?: He believes in the power of knowledge, self-reliance, and the survival of the fittest. Something his dead father would always say.
Is Religion Or Spirituality A Part Of This Character's Life?: No.

Does he have a favourite type of knife?: As long as it is sharp and pointy, Silas doesn't care.

How He Ended Up At Hermes Powder Academy: Silas's arrival at Hermes Powder Academy was a matter of...circumstance in his view. Having left a trail of unanswered questions, disappearances, and whispers behind him, Silas found a strange offer of acceptance fall into his lap. Word had reached the Academy of his unique 'talents' and his particular understanding of the darker aspects of human nature. With the law not too far behind him and his mother's words ringing in his ears, Silas decided to take the offer as an opportunity to learn, to possibly control his dark impulses towards strangers, and to test the limits of his skills within the Academy's unorthodox curriculum. Whether Hermes Powder Academy can reform someone with Silas's dark past remains to be seen, and whether he wants to be reformed at all is an even bigger question. But it sure would be interesting to find out!!

Theme song/s:
"Bad Things" by Jace Everett (especially the True Blood version with Lera Lynn)
"Control" by Halsey
"House of the Rising Sun" by The Animals
"Take Me To Church" by Hozier
"Darkside" by grandson

There are Eyes in the Walls

Inside the bar, Knox moved with a singular purpose, a man on a mission oblivious to the world around him. He practically elbowed his way through the crowd, shoving aside anyone unfortunate enough to impede his progress, ignoring their startled protests and muttered insults, words washing over him unnoticed. His thoughts churned within his mind like a tempestuous storm, a maelstrom of confusion, curiosity, and a strange, unfamiliar sense of… wonder? These swirling emotions drowned out all external stimuli, the din of the bar fading into a dull hum behind the thunderous roar of blood rushing in his ears. The image of the woman, with her vibrant colours and defiant aura, was seared onto his mind, a stark contrast to the monochrome existence he had come to accept as normal.

He only ceased his forceful advance when he finally spotted an empty seat at the far end of the bar. He slid onto the stool with a sigh, taking a slow, deliberate breath to steady himself. His hand ran through his dishevelled dark hair, a nervous tic betraying the internal turmoil he struggled to conceal. His leg bounced erratically, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the chaos within. Was it nerves? Annoyance? Or a complex cocktail of other emotions he couldn't quite identify? The sheer intensity of the feelings threatening to overwhelm him was unnerving, like a caged animal clawing at the bars of its enclosure.

Acting on impulse, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his ever-present bottle of anger management pills. He tipped an excessive amount, far more than the prescribed dosage, into his palm before tossing them back and swallowing them dry, a testament to his desperation for control. The pills took a moment to take effect, the chemical haze slowly filtering through his system. Gradually, the cacophony in his head began to subside, the world around him regaining a semblance of clarity. The frenetic energy that had consumed him began to dissipate, replaced by a dull, almost numb calm. Things seemed to make more sense, the edges of his rage softening ever so slightly, enough that he didn't feel the overwhelming urge to overturn a table and pummel the nearest unfortunate soul into oblivion. At least not for the moment. He knew all too well how fleeting this artificial tranquillity could be. His anger had a hair-trigger, possessing a dangerous capacity to escalate from zero to life-altering violence in a blink. A dangerous characteristic that he fought to keep beneath the surface.

Then, she materialized again, like a vibrant mirage in the drab expanse of the bar. The woman, with her riotous colours and unapologetic defiance, walked into the establishment as if she had any idea what she was doing, completely out of place amoungst the dreary people of the city. His emerald eyes, still adjusting to the calming effects of the pills, snapped into sharp focus, locking onto her with an almost predatory intensity. The earlier confusion returned in a more acute form, his eyebrows furrowing once again as he desperately tried to process this anomaly. This strange woman, with her strange hair and the mesmerizing explosion of colours he had never witnessed before, challenged everything he knew about his world. He forced himself to look away, to sever the magnetic pull that threatened to unravel his carefully constructed defenses. But his gaze snapped back almost immediately, drawn to her like a moth to a flickering flame.

He watched as Greyson, the bartender's son, a perpetually sullen young man who seemed to embody the city's collective malaise, approached her with a glass of water. Water. The clear, unremarkable liquid that sustained life. Right. Yes. That was normal. That made sense. Grounding himself in the mundane reality of the water glass, Knox tried to regain his equilibrium. He watched her turn, and the instant her eyes met his, a jolt of raw electricity shot through him. In that fleeting moment of connection, Knox knew he was utterly and irrevocably undone. He was ensnared. He held her gaze, his eyes locked on hers as if he were a captive, bound by an invisible chain. He hated the sensation, the loss of control, the vulnerability that threatened to strip away his hard-won emotional armour. He hated her for it. He hated that, in fact, a confusing part of him didn't hate her at all.

His head tilted almost imperceptibly, a subtle shift in his posture that betrayed his fascination. His emerald eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinising every detail of her appearance with an unblinking intensity. She was an enigma, a beautiful paradox that defied explanation. Her nails, her hair a sunrise, her very being radiated an otherworldliness that captivated and disturbed him in equal measure. She was waving at him, a tentative gesture that pierced through his carefully constructed detachment, and he found himself frozen, like a hapless voyeur transfixed by the unattainable beauty of a distant star. He was essentially a fucking creeper. He couldn't look away. He needed her. But he couldn't say why.