Evangeline Perdita: Noir, Crime, Steampunk
Once a singer and dancer at a club owned by the city's most notorious crime family, Evangeline was crippled when the family was attacked. Having both her legs badly broken by being thrown off a bridge, she suddenly finds herself without the money, protection, or lifestyle she was used to. Now that she's picking up the ruins of her life, will she start walking the straight and narrow or return to a life of crime?
She's a tiny thing, soft-spoken and easily startled, but heartbreak and hardship have a way of transforming people. I would be very interested in pairing her with a private detective, policeman, or another member of organized crime.

Elizabeth Nicolette Theodora Aliny Baxter: Steampunk, Victorian
Though the daughter of a Duke and doubtlessly among the most privileged under the monarchical system that rules her nation, Elizabeth is also one of the people working actively to destroy it. Radicalized while attending university, she is a very active member of the Scarlet Society, an organization that sees themselves as revolutionaries trying to establish an equal and democratic society, but more commonly regarded as terrorists doing more harm to everyday folk than the elites themselves. While she is critical of some of her group's actions, she remains an avid member despite living a lavish lifestyle on her father's dime.
However, all good things must come to an end. Eventually she will be forced to choose between her ideals and her comfortable lifestyle, and hopefully your character's influence is a large part of that decision.

Deacon Anderson: Urban Fantasy, Crime
Deacon is a changeling, a faerie swapped with a human infant. Though such things are uncommon in modern times, once his parents found out about the deception they kicked him out at the age of sixteen. Forced to build a life for himself using what few skills he had, he turned to his natural talent in alchemy. Brewing potions without a license is, naturally, illegal, so if he was risking jail time for a few innocent concoctions, he figured he may as well go for the harder stuff.
Now in his mid twenties, Deacon has slowly grown his contacts and influence in the fantastical underworld, creating a wide variety of substances for both humans and non-humans - most of them highly illegal. Problem is, now that he's becoming more well-known he's starting to attract the wrong kind of attention. Will your character try to recruit him into working for their organization, or are they looking to become a business partner and keep him independent? Or maybe they're from law enforcement, human or otherwise, looking to boost their career through a major bust?

Hazel Lordan: Modern Fantasy, Horror
Bartender by day, witch by night. Well, as a bartender she works more at night, but you get the picture. Hazel is just another community college student with all the usual problems: trying to keep her grades up in her senior year, student loan repayments looming over her head, and witch hunters coming to town trying to track her down and murder her. You know, typical stuff.
Interested in pairing her with a witch hunter, ideally one who doesn't realize she's a witch at first, or basically anyone else who might be a target of that sort of person. Of course, the plot doesn't have to be witch hunter focused, so feel free to let your imagination run wild with modern fantasy characters.

Project Ares was a top-secret scheme run by top intelligence & military officials, though strictly off the books, to create the ideal soldier. Decades of genetic research, psychological programming, intense training paid off in a small squad, born in a lab and raised their entire lives as little more than killing machines. No hesitation, no remorse, no tolerance for failure.

Naturally, their very existence was kept from the public. And naturally, it was only inevitable that one of their high-profile assassinations would finally gather public attention. The order came to scrap the project, erase all the data, destroy all the evidence. In particular, to destroy the soldiers.

Character A is one of those soldiers. Character B worked on the project, but can't bear to see them all killed, so they save character A (with or without the others) and then must go on the run. I can play as A or B, no real preference.

20-40ish years ago, the kingdom of Lluvia was struck by a horrific plague. During this plague both the King and Queen died, and in the ensuing power vacuum the mage Isolden took the throne. Your character, the Crown Prince, was taken by loyalists and raised abroad, ever wary of assassins sent to tie up any loose ends around Isolden's rule. It was a bloody time for the country, with powerful mages leading Lluvian armies to victory on many fronts. My character was one of these mages, Isolden's second in command, heir, and lover.

That was, until she plotted to overthrow him. Stripped of her magic and maimed but still living, she managed to escape his clutches and now harbors a deep grudge against him. Years of intense study and training have finally restored her magic, but in a very limited capacity. She believes she can fight and win a magic duel, but only if she makes skin contact with her opponent. Many others have tried to kill him in the past, but neither physical nor magical attacks have yet penetrated his defenses.

Alone, she would never get close enough to touch him. But when our characters meet, they realize that restoring the old monarchy might just be the thing to form a coalition army, a threat so great Isolden would surely meet it in person. And maybe, just maybe, she could get her revenge and he could get his crown. Their odds are slim, but what do either of them have to lose? As a side note, your character doesn't have to be male, I wrote it this way to make the pronouns less ambiguous.

The walls of Redloch Keep rose high above the mists over the lake, ancient as the standing stones she knelt beneath. They said the first high king of Galedon buried his sword beneath one of the stones, and that the kingdom would stand as long as the stone did. Three of them had fallen, but no sword had yet been found. Galedon lived.

Redloch keep had been built for the first king’s greatest ally, Bloody Red Amie. Clan MacAmie had been among the most steadfast supporters of the crown ever since, a valuable hold of loyalists amidst the often-contentious Westmen. In a dozen petty conflicts, Clan MacAmie had sided with the crown, and in a dozen petty conflicts had seen its authority reinstated over the land.

As she saw her ancestral keep once again, Slaine MacAmie wondered if her ancestors would be ashamed of her. Her father had sided with Black Brannon over his half-brother. Now Brannon lay dead, and it was the victors who would write the histories of him as a bastard son, a rebel against the rightful ruler, a barbarous savage who chose the druids over the rightful faith. It pained her to realize that all the slanderous things they said about him would be written as though they were fact, that any bard who dared sing of his glories would be hung for treason.

To her, Black Brannon was a hero, fighting for the Old Ways. Fighting for the right of Galedonians to worship as they please, marry as they please, move as they please - fighting to keep Galedon as it was, not as the Holy Emperor or the Faith or any other continental influences would have it. To her, Black Brannon had been a good man, honest and true. To her, he had been a husband.

She felt the loss of him like the loss of a limb, even three long months later. Slaine still didn’t know how she found the strength to continue, but continue she did, rallying what remained of the Westmen and seeing them through a hard winter. When spring came so did an offer of peace from the East, and now with the snow just melted in the pass she had come to accept. It had not been a popular decision among the remaining rebels, but what choice did they have? Surrender or starve. Keep fighting for the name of a dead man, for a throne none of them had any right to fill, in a war they stood no chance of winning.

In the beginning it seemed so simple. Though the East was wealthy and populous, the Eastern Lords had grown soft from generations of trade and intrigue. Tested and true Western warriors took the capital a matter of hours after the East refused to crown Brannon and tried to crown his brother instead. Though he had earned it he refused a coronation, stating that he would only take the crown of a united Galedon or none at all.

The war had turned abruptly when the Holy Emperor became involved. Fresh back from a crusade, his forces were war-hardened, well-equipped, and most importantly, overwhelming in numbers. Battle by battle, keep by keep, the Westmen had been pushed back into their own lands, then further. Year by year they lost the fertile fields and verdant pastures until they fought only a guerilla campaign from the hills, dreaming of the day the Holy Emperor withdrew his troops and they could reclaim their rightful kingdom.

Some would still rather see it burn than give up. But most, like Slaine, would rather her people see a new dawn. With no king to fight for and no supplies to keep fighting, her course was clear, distasteful though it might be.

Muttering another prayer to her ancestors, she laid a fistful of flowers by the base of one of the stones, then rose to greet the riders coming towards them from the mist. A tall woman, Slaine’s figure was corded by muscle but her cheekbones were cut by hunger, the signs of a woman who fought with her men, ate with them, suffered with them. She wore no crown, no jewelry at all but the simple torc that marked her as the Lord of Redloch - though some title that was, as Redloch had been occupied for more than two years.

Despite this, her bearing was proud, sharp chin lifted and green eyes defiant even on the day of surrender. Her red hair flowed down her back like a cape; her hand curled at her side as though missing the sword she left at camp. She had, after all, come to make peace. That didn’t mean she had to like it, or the man she would soon call king.

She did not bow in the continental fashion to him but put her fist to her chest in the Galedonian salute as he dismounted. She expected the nerves in her stomach from undertaking such a grim and important task.

She did not expect the lump in her throat when she recognized Brannon’s features in his face. Half-brothers they had been, yet the resemblance was three, plain as day. Their father’s blood ran strong. A shame his rule had not been the same, to leave such a mess in his wake.

“Hail, King to the East,” She greeted him, her tone somber but sincere. “The West thanks you for this truce to discuss the terms of peace.”

Movement on the Northern border. Roads cut through the forest, wide enough for siege weapons. Many watchfires at night. Ravens circling.

Maeve had never been so glad to see bad news. Not because she yearned for war like a young would-be hero eager to prove their mettle, but because this would give her an excellent excuse to be at the border for the next weeks, perhaps months. The Commander of the King’s Rangers keeping a personal eye on the developing danger would not raise any eyebrows.

Even if it meant she would be unable to attend the royal wedding. Especially since it meant she would be unable to attend the royal wedding. She was strong enough to pass all the trails to become a Ranger, strong enough to make Captain when still a teenager, strong enough to make Commander, even strong enough to stand her ground on the King’s Council.

But she was not strong enough to watch him put a ring on another woman’s finger and promise himself to her alone. Her own ring finger would be forever empty; Rangers were not permitted to marry while they served. But even if she was not a Ranger, she was still no match for a King, just the bastard child of a scullery maid and a Ranger. Her father died before she was even born, cut down in the line of duty; her mother passed during birth.

Were it not for being a castle orphan, she would know the King from distant parades like any other peasant. But she was a castle orphan, and thus they had known each other well when they were small, getting into all kinds of mischief together. Pelting the guards with snowballs, stealing pastries from the kitchen, releasing live rats into the queen’s solar… they had been rascals, partners in crime, for nobody dared punish the crown prince or his companion even when perhaps they ought.

Alas, time had not been on their side. The paths to King and Commander both meant years of training, travel, held apart by duty until united abruptly by the untimely death of his father. Yet even though they now lived in the same castle, they had met only at Court and Council meetings, not a moment alone to try and rekindle the old flames of friendship - much the less the deeper feelings that had blossomed in Maeve’s heart.

That was intentional on her part. She loved her role, her duties, and she understood the importance of them. Better to leave no opportunity for distraction, not to say something she ought. At best he would refuse her inappropriate advances. At worst, he would reciprocate.

She penned a quick note explaining the situation and requesting immediate departure for the border, stamping it with her official seal. Her handwriting was legible but rough, Maeve always having been more of the athletic than scholarly inclination. Toughened by the saddle and the bow, she was an intimidating woman not at all accustomed to being in such a vulnerable situation.
Stepping outside of her chambers, she found the trainee on duty and sent them to deliver the note, instructing them to leave it with the guards at the door for the king to read in the morning. Meanwhile she stood watch in his place, tending the fire in the common room and making small conversation with the handful of Rangers still awake at midnight. Though most of the castle slept, her men often kept odd hours, accustomed to making their own schedules out on duty and most sleeping poorly in proper beds.

Maeve understood that. She missed the action, the anticipation of scouting, the thrill of battle. Rangers kept watch over the Kingswood and the borders, delivered messages, even dispensed the King’s justice from time to time. Some were stationed with key vassals, or where trouble was expected, but it was rare for the Commander to leave the castle. It took something major to disrupt this, something major like war looming to the north.

To her surprise, the Trainee was back in only a few minutes. Usually the guards took longer to hassle them, there being some friction between the Guard and the Rangers. To her surprise, the Trainee reported that he had not left the letter with the guards at all, for the King himself had been awake to receive her note. Now he wished to speak with her, sending his apologies for the late hour. Or maybe the Trainee added on that part after seeing the dark look on her face.

Several minutes later, after trading her stained training clothes for her formal uniform, Maeve found herself approaching the doors of the King’s study. Rather than hassle her, the guards simply stood aside to let her through, even opening the door for her convenience.

“My liege,” She greeted her childhood friend cautiously, bowing so she would not have to see him for a few moments longer.