 ARON #F26522 |  EDWARD #4B8022 |  AMELIA #7AFF95 |  LUCIAN #99A7D8 |  VERA #63B8FF |
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 | ▔ | eiMISS DEATH I'VE NO COLOR SO THE LEAST I CAN DO FOR YOU IS ENDURE▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ papi"Even someone with no past can wish for a future." oi26 FEMALE 157CM 61.2KG PINK BLUE ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ The head honcho of Lucema Regini by necessity. Miss Death, as she's known to the populace of Decibitus, may be the oldest existence in the city and is the reason why reapers exist. Miss Death is an anomaly unto herself between being the source of the weapon cores used to unmake souls and her complete inability to remember her life on Earth. Despite all this, Miss Death is well known through the city as a woman who is much kinder than her distant and aloof demeanor suggests. However, she's equally well known as someone it would likely be dangerous to cross, given that much of her free time is spent studying magic or combat in depth. She seems to understand that the average citizen is at least mildly afraid of her, so she largely keeps to herself. Unfortunately, that means her ability to express herself naturally is crippled, at best.▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ |
 | ▔ | eiUCHI I'M AN ANGEL WITH A SHOTGUN FIGHTING TIL THE WAR'S DONE▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ papi"Leave your specifications on the desk and I'll get to it later." oi29 MALE 178CM 76.2KG PINK/BLACK GREEN ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Miss Death's associate and the one who forges all reaper weapons, though he could stand to be a bit friendlier. He set up his workshop in Mulch one day and has since refused to leave it despite plenty of better places in the city. Unlike Miss Death, Uchi isn't very well known by the general population, and he doesn't seem to want to change that. Despite all that, he's actually very good at his job, and his weapons rarely ever disappoint. He claims to be an old friend of Miss Death's from when she was alive, but with her memory completely gone, there's nobody that can confirm or deny that statement. Still, he does seem to genuinely care about Miss Death and her well-being, which vaguely extends to her reapers. Just barely.▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ |
 | ▔ | eiMOCHI ~♫ ~♫!▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ papi"Woof!" oi6 MALE 27CM 13KG TAN/WHITE BROWN ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Mochi became the mayor of Decibitus through a write-in vote. It started as a joke, but four years later, and Mochi has not yet left office. His owner Elliot acts as his assistant (read: does the actual mayoral work).▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ |
 | ▔ | eiELLIOT TURNER I CAN MAKE SOMETHING GOOD OH SOMETHING GOOD.▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ papi"Just one thing left... what? I said that last week too?" oi31 MALE 176CM 72.6KG BLACK BROWN ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ Mochi's owner and who most consider to be the "real" mayor of Decibitus. Despite a fancy sounding official position, being the mayor's assistant doesn't actually grant Elliot any significant power. Instead, it just means that he gets saddled with looking over administrative work, which is mostly stacks of paperwork that have to be double-checked. He doesn't complain about it though, even after four years of Mochi being in office. All in all, Elliot is a pretty competent person who just does what he can to help out. It seems that he's getting ready to move on to the After with Mochi, but he keeps finding reasons to stick around. Does he really love his job that much or is it something else keeping him in Decibitus?▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ |
 | ▔ | eiNECROMANCER YOU ARE TOO MEDIOCRE TO UNDERSTAND ME, PERHAPS▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ papi"You seem to believe that I should be punished for my ambition." oi28 MALE 182CM 80.3KG RED GOLD ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ He's more of a boogeyman than he is an actual person at this point. Imprisoned deep within the Ligena Fati, the Necromancer has been the source of horror stories both on Earth and in Decibitus for ages. It's well known that back when he was alive on Earth, the Necromancer was known as the single most powerful user of his magic. He was nothing short of a genius, but his work and ethics weren't exactly on the morally upright side of necromancy. In the modern day, specific details about the Necromancer as a person aren't very well known. Most are only aware of his face and achievements because of history books on Earth. Everyone knows where he is though, especially given that reapers haven't succeeded in finding a way to unmake him yet--it's starting to look like an impossibility too.▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ |
 | ▔ | eiKAIHIME SHINE A LIGHT IN THE DARK, LET ME SEE WHERE YOU ARE▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ papi"Don't forget to tell your boss 'hello' for me!" oi25 FEMALE 170CM 55.3KG BROWN BROWN ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ A denizen of the After currently in charge of overseeing the hand-offs of unmade remains from Decibitus's reapers to the After's processing center. She's only recently taken over the role, but she seems familiar with the duty. Kaihime seems to have a keen interest in the reapers and the happenings of Decibitus, but maybe that's a breath of fresh air from the usual no-fun-allowed types that work the Kiln.▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ |
banjoanjo Still likes pistachios
Member
Seen
1 mo ago
Aron Carvajal
"Not my finest night."
Aron is a man of large stature. Meaty, you could say. There was never much time for him to work on toning down in the later years of his life and while there’s plenty of opportunity now in the almost-afterlife, all motivation for it has been reduced to dust with the whole being dead thing. His hair is naturally dark and wavy, cropped on the sides and styled in the cut of his contemporaries - about as well-groomed as a mullet could possibly be. His facial hair varies frequently, sometimes going from a full mo to untrimmed stubble. His usual expression is a deadpan (or is it vacant?) stare out over the horizon.
As for his attire, Aron dresses in simple masculine fashion. Subtle, patterned button ups, his most reliable pair of Timbs. Whenever he’s heading ‘out’, so to speak, he’ll chuck a hoodie and thick jacket over it if needed. He permanently has a pair of Oakley® sunnies somewhere on his person.
On occasion, he’ll have some elaborate nail art adorning his hands. It is not clear where he gets them from.
As for his attire, Aron dresses in simple masculine fashion. Subtle, patterned button ups, his most reliable pair of Timbs. Whenever he’s heading ‘out’, so to speak, he’ll chuck a hoodie and thick jacket over it if needed. He permanently has a pair of Oakley® sunnies somewhere on his person.
On occasion, he’ll have some elaborate nail art adorning his hands. It is not clear where he gets them from.
Age: 28
Gender: Male
Weapon: An obsidian bo staff. Aron thought the bo was pretty flash back when they were working with that Chinese client. As a bonus, the staff can retract its form into something resembling a tablet pen-like baton.
Magic Branch: Motion, or at least Aron’s perception of it.
Gender: Male
Weapon: An obsidian bo staff. Aron thought the bo was pretty flash back when they were working with that Chinese client. As a bonus, the staff can retract its form into something resembling a tablet pen-like baton.
Magic Branch: Motion, or at least Aron’s perception of it.
Scale
Scale... 2 (“The, uh, the up and down of it, y’know?”)
Frameshell
Keyframe
A verbal spell that manipulates the time scale of an object or being’s intended motion. It affects only one target, either speeding or slowing it down. ‘Intended motion’ can be a difficult concept for Aron to decide upon, especially when it comes to a living target with potentially dissenting ideas, leading to some potentially unpredictable results. This spell merely changes the time taken to get from Point A to Point B, it does not alter the force behind a motion.
Scale... 2 (“The, uh, the up and down of it, y’know?”)
That’s what Aron’s second spell is for. With this one, he can manipulate the force behind a motion. Verbal to increase it up to twicefold, written to increase or decrease it up to fourfold. A-okay when it comes to inanimate objects, but when it comes to living targets and their physical limitations…
“Look, how was I supposed to know his bones were so brittle?”
“Look, how was I supposed to know his bones were so brittle?”
Frameshell
With this spell, Aron can copy-paste the actions of a target within a four second timeframe back onto the target, essentially making the target repeat the exact action. The verbal spell affects just physical movement, while the written extends to other spells or magical effects. The more Aron forces a repeat of the same action, the more unstable the spell becomes.
When frameshelling spells, Aron can simply make the target recite and recast the spell in the four second timeframe. When it comes to written spells however, since they would have their inscriptions eaten up on activation, they would not be reactivated/refreshed outside of circumstances like "the target had multiple prepared copies of the spell on hand" or "the target had a very simple written spell that could be written and reactivated within the timeframe".
When frameshelling spells, Aron can simply make the target recite and recast the spell in the four second timeframe. When it comes to written spells however, since they would have their inscriptions eaten up on activation, they would not be reactivated/refreshed outside of circumstances like "the target had multiple prepared copies of the spell on hand" or "the target had a very simple written spell that could be written and reactivated within the timeframe".
Keyframe
The creation of motion. With the verbal spell, he can manipulate an inanimate object in a manner akin to telekinesis, translating its components in five second bursts. The written spell manipulates a living or magical unit for five seconds. With a puppeteer’s precision, Aron can twist and translate the movements of his target as he wishes.
However, the written spell has a chance of “breaking the rig”, a possibility of exceeding the physical and logical limitations of the target and leaving them to reap the consequences of that when the spell wears off. Since a living being's form has a natural state to return to, such injury can be avoided with enough concentration on Aron's part. For the most part, the aftermath is a severe dislocation. In extreme cases - "...Ripping. That's really the only word for it."
Beings with a higher volume of flesh find it easier to avoid these accidents.
However, the written spell has a chance of “breaking the rig”, a possibility of exceeding the physical and logical limitations of the target and leaving them to reap the consequences of that when the spell wears off. Since a living being's form has a natural state to return to, such injury can be avoided with enough concentration on Aron's part. For the most part, the aftermath is a severe dislocation. In extreme cases - "...Ripping. That's really the only word for it."
Beings with a higher volume of flesh find it easier to avoid these accidents.
“So why’d I say ‘yes’?”
The man scratched the back of his head and cast his eyes into another corner of the room. Gave a loose shrug.
“I’d, uh, never been to Portugal before.”
Hm. Right, he was meant to elaborate here. Context, he almost always forgot.
“The board. With the jobs ‘n all. I saw, uh, Portugal. And Chicago, maybe…? The orientation guy pointed it out, said you’d have to go all over, rounding up ghosts or whatever you do.”
No response from the other end of the table. Just continued staring, pen poised over the clipboard and… oh, that was a nod. Keep going, sure.
“I was meant to go with some mates last year.” That sounded right, unless time was all dogged in this city. “But work – my contract and shit – y’know. No annual leave approved ‘til the screener’s done. So yeah, didn’t go.”
Pen scratched across paper. Oh, this was being recorded. Fuck, he just swore too. Uhhh. Did this place have a HR department? This evaluation session wasn’t important, was it? Oh no. No way he was gonna get written up in his first week here.
“It’s also cos I’m so good at…” Remember those job interview tips, Aron. “Getting bossed around…? And grunt work. I mean, lifting and all that. I had a summer job at a classmate’s uncle’s tradie company for a bit, hauling stuff. And quotas. I did those when I was alive.”
He nodded.
“Hitting them. Yeah.”
The interviewer’s pen had stopped. That… that was good, right?
“That’s why I said yes to the Reaper gig. Because I’d be so…” He straightened his posture. Like a professional. “…so good at it.”
The man scratched the back of his head and cast his eyes into another corner of the room. Gave a loose shrug.
“I’d, uh, never been to Portugal before.”
Hm. Right, he was meant to elaborate here. Context, he almost always forgot.
“The board. With the jobs ‘n all. I saw, uh, Portugal. And Chicago, maybe…? The orientation guy pointed it out, said you’d have to go all over, rounding up ghosts or whatever you do.”
No response from the other end of the table. Just continued staring, pen poised over the clipboard and… oh, that was a nod. Keep going, sure.
“I was meant to go with some mates last year.” That sounded right, unless time was all dogged in this city. “But work – my contract and shit – y’know. No annual leave approved ‘til the screener’s done. So yeah, didn’t go.”
Pen scratched across paper. Oh, this was being recorded. Fuck, he just swore too. Uhhh. Did this place have a HR department? This evaluation session wasn’t important, was it? Oh no. No way he was gonna get written up in his first week here.
“It’s also cos I’m so good at…” Remember those job interview tips, Aron. “Getting bossed around…? And grunt work. I mean, lifting and all that. I had a summer job at a classmate’s uncle’s tradie company for a bit, hauling stuff. And quotas. I did those when I was alive.”
He nodded.
“Hitting them. Yeah.”
The interviewer’s pen had stopped. That… that was good, right?
“That’s why I said yes to the Reaper gig. Because I’d be so…” He straightened his posture. Like a professional. “…so good at it.”
✦ Edward Bennigan
✦ 29
✦ Male
✦ Appearance:
Edward is a somewhat tall, pale man with a light physique and raven black hair. His eyes are a dark brown, and his cheeks and nose are tinged slightly red; vaguely appearing as if he were sick. He often sports some fancy, and rather, nerdy blue loose fitting cloak as if to embrace the stereotypically nerdy side of a dungeons and dragons dork embracing the arts of wizardry. In a more casual setting he prefers loose t-shirts, hoodies, and sweatpants or shorts.
✦ Weapon:
A simple black wooden staff with a purple orb embedded at the top, which harnesses electricity. The staff can unleash a discharge of electrical currents up to 30 feet away. In addition to its scorching power, the electricity has enough kick to potentially push targets back. The discharge can last for about 10 seconds.
Its core form rests on a gold ring.
✦ Magic Branch
Necromancy.
✦ Magic
Edward has been fascinated in arcane research since he was young, despite the disapproval of family and friends; thus he is well experienced in basic spells and even implementing both written and spoken variations of his own work.
Extra:
For general spell knowledge, Edward keeps a trusty tome with his general research all recorded down, as well as notes, observations, ramblings and blank pages towards the back in case he needs to prepare written spells.
He is very possessive and secretive of that spellbook.
For most of his written spell use, he prefers to use paper talismans that are relatively cheap and easy to prepare, and versatile enough to be thrown when needed.
He carries three bags filled with general bones (usually animal bones) for his craft, as well as two smaller 'reserve' bone bags. As well as additional useless trinkets, inks, and curiosities stored within a satchel that he often has around a belt.
Edward has practiced some degree of flight, but can really only levitate, hover, and drift at a somewhat slow pace and currently isn't able to maintain it consistently.
He's also on the lower end of average in physical prowess when it comes to reapers, relying on his spells to do the heavy work for him and keeping a distance in combat.
✦ 29
✦ Male
✦ Appearance:
Edward is a somewhat tall, pale man with a light physique and raven black hair. His eyes are a dark brown, and his cheeks and nose are tinged slightly red; vaguely appearing as if he were sick. He often sports some fancy, and rather, nerdy blue loose fitting cloak as if to embrace the stereotypically nerdy side of a dungeons and dragons dork embracing the arts of wizardry. In a more casual setting he prefers loose t-shirts, hoodies, and sweatpants or shorts.
✦ Weapon:
A simple black wooden staff with a purple orb embedded at the top, which harnesses electricity. The staff can unleash a discharge of electrical currents up to 30 feet away. In addition to its scorching power, the electricity has enough kick to potentially push targets back. The discharge can last for about 10 seconds.
Its core form rests on a gold ring.
Time was running out. It was never enough time; A spell like this, he should have tried to work on first. What good was making a dead dog move anyway? What good was making a cool sword? Magic was, as he had protested to his family, a solution to their problems. And yet, why did he wait until the first sign that she wasn't okay?
Anne...
Its been 10 years, watching her slowly decay. The doctors said she wouldn't make 5, yet here she was; sticking it out to the end. She was always stubborn like that, not that she expected to get any better.
"Not that stupid book again." Protested the pale figure on the bed, a hint of playful sarcasm peering out from an otherwise withered voice. Her eyes barely open but was all too familiar of the routine. "I have it this time, Anne, really! I promise, you're going to get better."
"The doctor said you shouldn't be bringing that in here. Honestly, Edd..." Despite the wheezing and coughing, her voice still had hints of that warm fire that she used to sound like. Despite her condition, she hasn't really changed. She never believed in me. Its always been like that.
Since I first showed her, moving a dead frog on its own. It was funny how it freaked her out at the time but..She never saw how it could help. No one did. Not his family, not his school friends, his teachers. The whole town were either apathetic or scornful of such practices. An affront to nature, some would say. A waste of time from others. To hell with them, but it won't be Anne's time now.
"I finally figured it out, Anne. Its been 10 years but I can fix you! I-And you're still here despite what they said. Don't you see? Its- its like destiny!" Anne wasn't convinced, Ed's voice wasn't particularly convincing either. Panicked croaking between each promise. He wasn't really sure what would happen. He knew, at least partially, that the spell should heal. But would it be enough? Could he endure the cost? The sacrifice? He was sure. He calculated this. He knew, in the next few hours, she'd be discharged from the hospital and the two of them can scream at the sun in overwhelming triumph. That both their parents will celebrate all the work he put into those 10 years instead of finding a proper job. It was this moment. This was the day he'd triumph over nature. Spit god himself in the face for allowing such a cruel world to exist. It may not be anything significant compared to the source of his inspirations. The work he's read from that strange old cabin. The promises...the ideas. But its a step forward.
A hand was placed over her forehead. "Okay Edd, I'll let you do it one more time.." She relented with a huff, though it seemed to be more out of pity over his fruitless efforts to 'save' her.
Arcane words would escape his mouth, following the motion of his hand, his old book held in his other hand as he read it out loud. Before, he'd say a litany of other odd phrases, failed spells with nothing but chirping crickets and a somber patient to accompany his failure. This time, was truly different. As her withered flesh slowly began to rejuvenate. Though it took her a moment to realize, her eyes widened upon realizing the sudden lift in her condition. But that joy was short lived, replaced by a concerned inquiry.
"Ed?" She repeated, as the sorcerer seemed stiff.
"Edd! Eddie!" She cried out, the sudden shift creating a myriad of emotions. A hole was burning over his chest, through his shirt; where his heart was. Only it wasn't on fire, it as smoldering and rotting rapidly to dust. And through the process, Edward was frozen; almost so. His eyes, started to move one last time as shock of the pain subsided briefly before his mortality came to a close. His mouth opening, he was about to say something. "See? You're all better now" "Just kidding!" "I'm sorry." "I love you." Words that she wanted to hear. What she wanted him to say. But instead what came out was what she feared. Nothing.
Not even a whimper, just...silence. And then he fell, stiff as a board, along the hospital floor. Whatever he intended to say, she would never find out.
Anne...
Its been 10 years, watching her slowly decay. The doctors said she wouldn't make 5, yet here she was; sticking it out to the end. She was always stubborn like that, not that she expected to get any better.
"Not that stupid book again." Protested the pale figure on the bed, a hint of playful sarcasm peering out from an otherwise withered voice. Her eyes barely open but was all too familiar of the routine. "I have it this time, Anne, really! I promise, you're going to get better."
"The doctor said you shouldn't be bringing that in here. Honestly, Edd..." Despite the wheezing and coughing, her voice still had hints of that warm fire that she used to sound like. Despite her condition, she hasn't really changed. She never believed in me. Its always been like that.
Since I first showed her, moving a dead frog on its own. It was funny how it freaked her out at the time but..She never saw how it could help. No one did. Not his family, not his school friends, his teachers. The whole town were either apathetic or scornful of such practices. An affront to nature, some would say. A waste of time from others. To hell with them, but it won't be Anne's time now.
"I finally figured it out, Anne. Its been 10 years but I can fix you! I-And you're still here despite what they said. Don't you see? Its- its like destiny!" Anne wasn't convinced, Ed's voice wasn't particularly convincing either. Panicked croaking between each promise. He wasn't really sure what would happen. He knew, at least partially, that the spell should heal. But would it be enough? Could he endure the cost? The sacrifice? He was sure. He calculated this. He knew, in the next few hours, she'd be discharged from the hospital and the two of them can scream at the sun in overwhelming triumph. That both their parents will celebrate all the work he put into those 10 years instead of finding a proper job. It was this moment. This was the day he'd triumph over nature. Spit god himself in the face for allowing such a cruel world to exist. It may not be anything significant compared to the source of his inspirations. The work he's read from that strange old cabin. The promises...the ideas. But its a step forward.
A hand was placed over her forehead. "Okay Edd, I'll let you do it one more time.." She relented with a huff, though it seemed to be more out of pity over his fruitless efforts to 'save' her.
Arcane words would escape his mouth, following the motion of his hand, his old book held in his other hand as he read it out loud. Before, he'd say a litany of other odd phrases, failed spells with nothing but chirping crickets and a somber patient to accompany his failure. This time, was truly different. As her withered flesh slowly began to rejuvenate. Though it took her a moment to realize, her eyes widened upon realizing the sudden lift in her condition. But that joy was short lived, replaced by a concerned inquiry.
"Ed?" She repeated, as the sorcerer seemed stiff.
"Edd! Eddie!" She cried out, the sudden shift creating a myriad of emotions. A hole was burning over his chest, through his shirt; where his heart was. Only it wasn't on fire, it as smoldering and rotting rapidly to dust. And through the process, Edward was frozen; almost so. His eyes, started to move one last time as shock of the pain subsided briefly before his mortality came to a close. His mouth opening, he was about to say something. "See? You're all better now" "Just kidding!" "I'm sorry." "I love you." Words that she wanted to hear. What she wanted him to say. But instead what came out was what she feared. Nothing.
Not even a whimper, just...silence. And then he fell, stiff as a board, along the hospital floor. Whatever he intended to say, she would never find out.
✦ Magic Branch
Necromancy.
✦ Magic
Edward has been fascinated in arcane research since he was young, despite the disapproval of family and friends; thus he is well experienced in basic spells and even implementing both written and spoken variations of his own work.
Spoken
A powerful spell that is derived from the philosophy of life and death being one cycle. By decaying an amount of organic matter, the spell will heal a near equivalent amount to another organic target, or take pieces from one part of the body to repair another. It is, in essence, a brute force method of healing derived from necromancy. Due to the unconventional and volatile nature of this spell, it is extremely difficult to use and causes fatigue, Thus the limit is once per day.
When speaking the spell, the caster must place a hand on the over the wound it wishes to regenerate and the target it is taking mass from. Limited to a flower’s worth of mass and currently can’t perform the spell consistently more then once a day. Due to the fatigue it places on Ed, it is inefficient to try and heal himself unless if it is to repair a critical injury. The healing can also re-attach limbs provided the limbs are mostly in tact. Fatal injuries can't be specified from targets, unless if it is delivered to Edward himself as a form of sacrificial healing.
A powerful spell that is derived from the philosophy of life and death being one cycle. By decaying an amount of organic matter, the spell will heal a near equivalent amount to another organic target, or take pieces from one part of the body to repair another. It is, in essence, a brute force method of healing derived from necromancy. Due to the unconventional and volatile nature of this spell, it is extremely difficult to use and causes fatigue, Thus the limit is once per day.
When speaking the spell, the caster must place a hand on the over the wound it wishes to regenerate and the target it is taking mass from. Limited to a flower’s worth of mass and currently can’t perform the spell consistently more then once a day. Due to the fatigue it places on Ed, it is inefficient to try and heal himself unless if it is to repair a critical injury. The healing can also re-attach limbs provided the limbs are mostly in tact. Fatal injuries can't be specified from targets, unless if it is delivered to Edward himself as a form of sacrificial healing.
Learned and mastered both written and spoken forms.
A reanimation spell that requires non-animate bone mass to function. As a written spell, Ed can create up to three skeletons from a sufficient amount of bone mass. (The bone mass does not need to be exact.) If the bones don't have an anatomy or are too destroyed, the spell will reform them as human skeletons by default. Animal skeletons can be revived in the same manner, but they can only be as large as a bear and only if the anatomy of the initial mass is still in tact; in theory Ed could attempt to make a custom anatomy, like a spider made of bones and a human skull; though this requires a lot of prep work and bone material to construct before casting the spell. Arthropod exoskeletons can be used in theory, but they are much harder to use then traditional bones and are more dependent on quality (and can't default to a human anatomy.) Fossils can be used, but are also difficult, usually those aren't efficient. (Though even old bones are reinforced after reanimation.)
Though the spell doesn't target flesh or other biomaterial, any flesh and organs still possessed on a corpse are animated with the skeleton and partially reinforced (Creating more of a 'zombie' if the corpse is relatively fresh), but aren't essential to the skeleton's general construction.
The reanimated function almost like puppets as they respond to ed's control; simple commands and motions need some focus, with complex movements or actions requiring complete focus. The spell's duration for this written form is roughly 24 hours, it can be re-casted before the duration ends to refresh that duration. Each time a skeleton is reanimated upon the magic strains its general composition, so that every cast risks destroying the skeleton.
After the skeleton is reanimated, the bones are reinforced by the dark magic that binds them, as well as connecting their joints. Though they are not hard to sever by those joints, they can be easily re-attached. However, they cannot repair the bones matter itself. The flesh and other body-parts that are apart of the reanimated body are also somewhat reinforced by magic, but not as much as the bones themselves and thus are the first to fall off when taking significant damage. Fleshy corpses can provide some additional, albeit temporary protection due to this.
If the spell's effect ends on a skeleton whether by duration, failed reanimation, or damage, their bone mass will completely disintegrate to dust; preventing further use. There can only ever be three reanimated under the written spell's control, recasting the spell with new targets will cause any excess reanimated over the amount to be destroyed as well. Additionally, any reanimated that is larger then a human skeleton will count as three summons due to strain of maintaining such mass.
If the spell is spoken, it will instead imbue a target with a temporary burst of life. Due to its lack of permeance, the spell doesn't interfere with the written summon limit, though it can only target one mass per cast. Doing so will cause the bone mass to animate and move in a specific direction by the caster within a span of 10 seconds. During this animation the mass can opt a new shape instead of defaulting into a stable skeletal anatomy, such as a spike made of bones emerging from the pile, a bone wall, or otherwise launching them as an unconventional projectile as some examples. Due to the brief nature of the spoken version, it won't automatically cause the bone mass to disintegrate afterwards, though if used frequently on the same pile within a close timeframe will cause the strain to destroy them.
A reanimation spell that requires non-animate bone mass to function. As a written spell, Ed can create up to three skeletons from a sufficient amount of bone mass. (The bone mass does not need to be exact.) If the bones don't have an anatomy or are too destroyed, the spell will reform them as human skeletons by default. Animal skeletons can be revived in the same manner, but they can only be as large as a bear and only if the anatomy of the initial mass is still in tact; in theory Ed could attempt to make a custom anatomy, like a spider made of bones and a human skull; though this requires a lot of prep work and bone material to construct before casting the spell. Arthropod exoskeletons can be used in theory, but they are much harder to use then traditional bones and are more dependent on quality (and can't default to a human anatomy.) Fossils can be used, but are also difficult, usually those aren't efficient. (Though even old bones are reinforced after reanimation.)
Though the spell doesn't target flesh or other biomaterial, any flesh and organs still possessed on a corpse are animated with the skeleton and partially reinforced (Creating more of a 'zombie' if the corpse is relatively fresh), but aren't essential to the skeleton's general construction.
The reanimated function almost like puppets as they respond to ed's control; simple commands and motions need some focus, with complex movements or actions requiring complete focus. The spell's duration for this written form is roughly 24 hours, it can be re-casted before the duration ends to refresh that duration. Each time a skeleton is reanimated upon the magic strains its general composition, so that every cast risks destroying the skeleton.
After the skeleton is reanimated, the bones are reinforced by the dark magic that binds them, as well as connecting their joints. Though they are not hard to sever by those joints, they can be easily re-attached. However, they cannot repair the bones matter itself. The flesh and other body-parts that are apart of the reanimated body are also somewhat reinforced by magic, but not as much as the bones themselves and thus are the first to fall off when taking significant damage. Fleshy corpses can provide some additional, albeit temporary protection due to this.
If the spell's effect ends on a skeleton whether by duration, failed reanimation, or damage, their bone mass will completely disintegrate to dust; preventing further use. There can only ever be three reanimated under the written spell's control, recasting the spell with new targets will cause any excess reanimated over the amount to be destroyed as well. Additionally, any reanimated that is larger then a human skeleton will count as three summons due to strain of maintaining such mass.
If the spell is spoken, it will instead imbue a target with a temporary burst of life. Due to its lack of permeance, the spell doesn't interfere with the written summon limit, though it can only target one mass per cast. Doing so will cause the bone mass to animate and move in a specific direction by the caster within a span of 10 seconds. During this animation the mass can opt a new shape instead of defaulting into a stable skeletal anatomy, such as a spike made of bones emerging from the pile, a bone wall, or otherwise launching them as an unconventional projectile as some examples. Due to the brief nature of the spoken version, it won't automatically cause the bone mass to disintegrate afterwards, though if used frequently on the same pile within a close timeframe will cause the strain to destroy them.
Learned and mastered both written and spoken forms.
This spell conjures up to four blades composed of spectral blades made of blood and ghostly fire. In its spoken form, the swords take a temporary form, hovering either just above Edward himself or directly out from the palm of his hand, and can be launched outward to chase a target with a limited homing precision (general effective range of 60 feet.) Upon hitting their target, the blade will burst and inflict a necrotic curse in which the wounded target's senses are blurred and generally have a harder time moving for a duration of one minute.
In its written form, the swords are persistent but lose their ability to be launched. In their inert state, they will continue to hover around Edward and can move within a space of 5 feet. With proper concentration and reaction, he can will those swords to move, attack, or block as basic actions. they can also be 'discarded' to lose their autonomy (Discarded phantom swords can't regain autonomy once done without recasting the spell) and instead be wielded as a weapon. In doing so, the weapon can persist away from Edward up to a distance of 100 feet (if the range limit is exceeded the sword will vanish.) In the written state, the curse can only be applied once per sword. Instead of inflicting immediately on injury, the caster has to manually trigger the curse (even if they aren't wielding it) on a target that has a wound from a corresponding sword (The curse can only be inflicted in this manner during the spell's initial duration, and not after its ended or re-casted.)
The duration of its written form lasts for one hour, two minutes in its spoken form.
This spell conjures up to four blades composed of spectral blades made of blood and ghostly fire. In its spoken form, the swords take a temporary form, hovering either just above Edward himself or directly out from the palm of his hand, and can be launched outward to chase a target with a limited homing precision (general effective range of 60 feet.) Upon hitting their target, the blade will burst and inflict a necrotic curse in which the wounded target's senses are blurred and generally have a harder time moving for a duration of one minute.
In its written form, the swords are persistent but lose their ability to be launched. In their inert state, they will continue to hover around Edward and can move within a space of 5 feet. With proper concentration and reaction, he can will those swords to move, attack, or block as basic actions. they can also be 'discarded' to lose their autonomy (Discarded phantom swords can't regain autonomy once done without recasting the spell) and instead be wielded as a weapon. In doing so, the weapon can persist away from Edward up to a distance of 100 feet (if the range limit is exceeded the sword will vanish.) In the written state, the curse can only be applied once per sword. Instead of inflicting immediately on injury, the caster has to manually trigger the curse (even if they aren't wielding it) on a target that has a wound from a corresponding sword (The curse can only be inflicted in this manner during the spell's initial duration, and not after its ended or re-casted.)
The duration of its written form lasts for one hour, two minutes in its spoken form.
Spoken only.
The spell conjures a spectral white hand that mimics the motions of Edward's left hand, only it also can move within a range of 15 feet from the left hand's point. The spectral hand can generally function as an additional hand and can also retract entirely into his left hand to easily fetch items. It can also effectively punch, grab, lift, etc with reasonable force though upon taking significant damage will cause the spell to fade.
The spell conjures a spectral white hand that mimics the motions of Edward's left hand, only it also can move within a range of 15 feet from the left hand's point. The spectral hand can generally function as an additional hand and can also retract entirely into his left hand to easily fetch items. It can also effectively punch, grab, lift, etc with reasonable force though upon taking significant damage will cause the spell to fade.
Extra:
For general spell knowledge, Edward keeps a trusty tome with his general research all recorded down, as well as notes, observations, ramblings and blank pages towards the back in case he needs to prepare written spells.
He is very possessive and secretive of that spellbook.
For most of his written spell use, he prefers to use paper talismans that are relatively cheap and easy to prepare, and versatile enough to be thrown when needed.
He carries three bags filled with general bones (usually animal bones) for his craft, as well as two smaller 'reserve' bone bags. As well as additional useless trinkets, inks, and curiosities stored within a satchel that he often has around a belt.
Edward has practiced some degree of flight, but can really only levitate, hover, and drift at a somewhat slow pace and currently isn't able to maintain it consistently.
He's also on the lower end of average in physical prowess when it comes to reapers, relying on his spells to do the heavy work for him and keeping a distance in combat.
Amelia Dupont
⊕Appearance
Amelia stands at around 5'8" when stood up straight, although her posture is usually terrible enough to shave off an inch. In terms of build, she's fairly lanky, and she generally wears a grin that could best be described as "wicked", even when she's not doing anything that'd warrant it. To anyone that pays attention, it'd be clear she does actually bother to take care of herself: she just doesn't want to do much beyond that. As for clothes, while her usual fur-lined aviator jacket is pretty finely-made, it's also more expensive than the rest of her wardrobe put together. Trying to get her to pay any attention to proper dress-code is a Sisyphean task, and she'll usually kick around in a selection of jeans and graphic t-shirts: apparently with a particular affinity for terrible slogan tees. After much persuasion, she was convinced to start wearing button-up shirts to work. Sometimes. The battle is ongoing.
She's also been known to wear sunglasses indoors often enough for it to be a habit.
She's also been known to wear sunglasses indoors often enough for it to be a habit.
⊕ Age (appearance): 25
⊕ Age (actual): None of your business.
⊕ Gender: Female
Amelia specialises in magic that consists of creating and manipulating bonds between objects and people. By fostering and harnessing these connections, she can draw things towards one another, swap their positions, hijack the sight of passing creatures, and forcibly drag an attacker down with her.
"Apparently, my original names were unprofessional."
⊕ Age (actual): None of your business.
⊕ Gender: Female
⊕ Weapon
"Look, this is a great idea. It'll be fine, trust me."
Amelia's weapon is not a great idea. It appears to be a standard revolver, and that's roughly five-sixths accurate.
Chambers one through five fire regular bullets. The sixth is the aforementioned explosive shot, which is both incredibly destructive to the target, and to Amelia herself if she's standing too close to whatever it hits. She doesn't seem to heed this danger, and if anything takes some kind of strange joy in it, keeping absolutely no track of it and often spinning the cylinder randomly.
Unsurprisingly, this has severely backfired on her more than once. She has made no effort to change anything about her weapon in spite of this.
Chambers one through five fire regular bullets. The sixth is the aforementioned explosive shot, which is both incredibly destructive to the target, and to Amelia herself if she's standing too close to whatever it hits. She doesn't seem to heed this danger, and if anything takes some kind of strange joy in it, keeping absolutely no track of it and often spinning the cylinder randomly.
Unsurprisingly, this has severely backfired on her more than once. She has made no effort to change anything about her weapon in spite of this.
⊕ Magic Branch: Sympathetic magic
"Nothing's ever isolated: we're all one big, happy family, and isn't that just sweet?"
Amelia specialises in magic that consists of creating and manipulating bonds between objects and people. By fostering and harnessing these connections, she can draw things towards one another, swap their positions, hijack the sight of passing creatures, and forcibly drag an attacker down with her.
Magic
"Apparently, my original names were unprofessional."
⊕ No, you. Dead-man's Switch
⊕ The one that swaps shit. Trickster's Trade
⊕ Got Your Eyes! Hijacker's Sight
⊕ Marriage? Kinetic Bond
Perhaps it says something worrying about her character, that Amelia would dedicate so much of her magical effort towards a spell that primarily serves to spite anyone who beats her in a fight. Psychoanalysis aside, the dead-man's switch is just that, a powerful backlash that inflicts directly proportionate retribution upon the one unfortunate enough to inflict the activating blow. In order to use this spell, Amelia has to actively activate it in anticipation of an attack - if she's caught off-guard with sufficient force, or is unaware of her attacker, it cannot be activated. Equally, if she isn't struck, it only lasts for a window of around ten seconds: past that, whether or not it's activated, it will dissipate.
In addition, the damage is only somewhat proportional - the backlash towards an attacker seems to be slightly less than the damage inflicted upon Amelia: if she happens to activate this in anticipation of a killing blow, it will severely damage an opponent in a manner that somewhat mimics her injuries, but will be 'stopped short' of killing them in turn. Similarly, loss of limb will likely disable the opponent's corresponding limb (or closest equivalent), but will not detach it.
This spell is complex enough to only function when written, and has no verbal form. In addition, it is highly taxing upon the user - particularly if it actually comes into effect. Regardless, it's not something one would be able to cast more than once in a fight on average.
In addition, the damage is only somewhat proportional - the backlash towards an attacker seems to be slightly less than the damage inflicted upon Amelia: if she happens to activate this in anticipation of a killing blow, it will severely damage an opponent in a manner that somewhat mimics her injuries, but will be 'stopped short' of killing them in turn. Similarly, loss of limb will likely disable the opponent's corresponding limb (or closest equivalent), but will not detach it.
This spell is complex enough to only function when written, and has no verbal form. In addition, it is highly taxing upon the user - particularly if it actually comes into effect. Regardless, it's not something one would be able to cast more than once in a fight on average.
⊕ The one that swaps shit. Trickster's Trade
A relocation spell which enables Amelia to swap the position of two objects of a similar size to one another. The verbal form of the spell allows her to swap items up to roughly the size of a house-cat, whereas the written version's size limitation increases, allowing her to swap people, and person-sized objects. Both targets must be within 125 feet of Amelia, and 125 feet of each other.
⊕ Got Your Eyes! Hijacker's Sight
A spell that primarily operates as a scouting mechanism, allowing Amelia to use another creature's eyes, and see what they see. This takes the form of essentially "piggybacking" on their sight. The target is unaware of the spell's effects, but Amelia cannot direct them through it in any way. When the spell is verbal, she can use one creature's sight for up to five minutes, but cannot re-enter their viewpoint if she leaves it. When written, the spell allows her to "tag" a creature for up to ten minutes, allowing her to drop in and out of their viewpoint for the duration.
While using another creature's viewpoint through this spell, Amelia herself cannot see.
While using another creature's viewpoint through this spell, Amelia herself cannot see.
⊕ Marriage? Kinetic Bond
A written spell generally inscribed on a series of sticky notes adhesive papers. This spell allows Amelia to create a "tether" that creates a straight line between two objects that she places the sigils upon, which rapidly pulls them towards one another when activated. The objects don't need to be similar in size, but the force required to move them is relative to their mass: a cardboard box couldn't be used to move a huge statue, for example, and would instead simply be thrown into the larger object. The tethers can move objects of up to roughly the weight of a brown bear, and they can have a distance of up to 90 feet between them.
⊕⊕⊕
She was being hazed, right? That's what this was? That was why her partner had barely spoken a damn word to her and also sucked at his job, right? Obviously she couldn't be wrong about any of that, so hazing was the only option left. Sure, he'd given her some kind of run-down, but if you delivered all your instructions in a dry monotone, you couldn't rightly expect her to remember them properly through the concentrated boredom.
Just following the guy around had resulted in them tracking down the wisp anyway, but when she'd thought that meant an improvement to her day, apparently she'd been mistaken. How long was this guy gonna take beating the thing down, anyway?
"Hey, what'syourface, moustache man, if you wanna give me some space, I can end this alread--" Amelia ducked out of the way of an errant tail-swipe, whooping gleefully. Her partner's insistence on getting up-close and personal with the thing sort of made sense, but at the same time, well, damn if it didn't make it complicated to get a shot. Blowing her own arm off wasn't that big a deal, but apparently it made her unpopular in the workplace if someone else got caught in the crossfire.
And not that she'd mind, but he wasn't doing fuck-all to the thing. Sure, it wasn't hitting him either, but the idea of sitting around watching an endurance match made her want to cry, just a tiny bit. The only thing worse than violent, bloody, gruesome death was mild boredom, after all.
Damn, did Amelia struggle with close-in fighters. Trying to bail 'em out, specifically. Unfortunately, you didn't always get the luxury of a partner smart enough not to practically rub their face on the wisp. Unfortunately, sometimes you ended up in a stalemate, with your six-shooter pointed at the head (if that counted as a head, which was up in the air) of a creature and your coworker ignoring your pretty clear instructions to, "for the last time, back off a little!"
The guy was practically making himself a human shield, alright? Reaper shield, if you wanted to be a technically accurate dweeb. She had a shot, she knew that much. They were in a stalemate, her and boredom, and she'd have to move sooner rather than later to break it. She was pretty sure this thing wouldn't actually unmake the man in his current state. Probably. If it was a regular gun, she'd probably not have anything to think about. As was, she had a one-in-six chance of losing employee of the month forever.
Pretty good odds, right?
She laughed, far harder than any aspect of the situation warranted, as though she was in on a private joke and it was fucking hilarious - probably 'cause she was in on a private joke and it was fucking hilarious. For some reason, this didn't seem to reassure her colleague, who finally looked her way for that instead of the instructions. Oh, sure, the sound of someone having fun gets him. Probably made him a spoilsport. Or maybe just a pansy. Both?
Yeah, so the guy's health and well-being weren't that far down her list, in that they were probably at least somewhere on there. But then again... a clean shot offered itself up, and without really thinking about it, her final decision was made. A gun in her hand, and her finger squeezing the trigger. "Screw this-- think fast!"
One in six, right?
...
Oh, that wasn't good.
Just following the guy around had resulted in them tracking down the wisp anyway, but when she'd thought that meant an improvement to her day, apparently she'd been mistaken. How long was this guy gonna take beating the thing down, anyway?
"Hey, what'syourface, moustache man, if you wanna give me some space, I can end this alread--" Amelia ducked out of the way of an errant tail-swipe, whooping gleefully. Her partner's insistence on getting up-close and personal with the thing sort of made sense, but at the same time, well, damn if it didn't make it complicated to get a shot. Blowing her own arm off wasn't that big a deal, but apparently it made her unpopular in the workplace if someone else got caught in the crossfire.
And not that she'd mind, but he wasn't doing fuck-all to the thing. Sure, it wasn't hitting him either, but the idea of sitting around watching an endurance match made her want to cry, just a tiny bit. The only thing worse than violent, bloody, gruesome death was mild boredom, after all.
Damn, did Amelia struggle with close-in fighters. Trying to bail 'em out, specifically. Unfortunately, you didn't always get the luxury of a partner smart enough not to practically rub their face on the wisp. Unfortunately, sometimes you ended up in a stalemate, with your six-shooter pointed at the head (if that counted as a head, which was up in the air) of a creature and your coworker ignoring your pretty clear instructions to, "for the last time, back off a little!"
The guy was practically making himself a human shield, alright? Reaper shield, if you wanted to be a technically accurate dweeb. She had a shot, she knew that much. They were in a stalemate, her and boredom, and she'd have to move sooner rather than later to break it. She was pretty sure this thing wouldn't actually unmake the man in his current state. Probably. If it was a regular gun, she'd probably not have anything to think about. As was, she had a one-in-six chance of losing employee of the month forever.
Pretty good odds, right?
She laughed, far harder than any aspect of the situation warranted, as though she was in on a private joke and it was fucking hilarious - probably 'cause she was in on a private joke and it was fucking hilarious. For some reason, this didn't seem to reassure her colleague, who finally looked her way for that instead of the instructions. Oh, sure, the sound of someone having fun gets him. Probably made him a spoilsport. Or maybe just a pansy. Both?
Yeah, so the guy's health and well-being weren't that far down her list, in that they were probably at least somewhere on there. But then again... a clean shot offered itself up, and without really thinking about it, her final decision was made. A gun in her hand, and her finger squeezing the trigger. "Screw this-- think fast!"
One in six, right?
...
Oh, that wasn't good.
***
"So, the report might sound bad. But remember, I did tell him to back up."
"So, the report might sound bad. But remember, I did tell him to back up."
OwO what's this?
Member
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 _______________________________________________ Lucian Harland Male | 25 | Miracles _______________________________________________ | "But why reap souls?" - Lucian, moments before the concept of a reaper was explained to him. Appearance At 6'2" and a body type that could only be described as carved of marble, Lucian's presence in a room is self-evident. With his toned muscles, his abs still look like they could grind meat. Even though his attire is less ostentatious in death than it was in life, some strange habits of his still appear. Unsurprisingly, any shirt that finds its way onto his body tends to be removed within the hour. He's not quite picky what he wears. In fact, Lucian is the sort of person who would wear anything. This stems from him never actually buying clothes before; all of his outfits have been gifts from other people. Weapon Lucian's weapon is a humble pool cue. The weapon possesses the ability to form a set of 16 floating balls that can be used as ranged projectiles. The balls are limited to a 40m radius, at which point they naturally reflect as though striking a wall. The balls can also be recalled to the cue, but doing so lacks the kinetic energy of a standard attack. When stored, it rests upon a small silver band on Lucian's right index finger. Magic Lucian specializes in miracles. Miracles are thought to be an esoteric school. Rather than incanting consistent formulas, those who cast miracles ask the world script for assistance and let fate decide the result. Scholars of miracles tend to treat it as though they treat quantum mechanics: observation changes the measured results. Thankfully, miracles tend to be either neutral or positive. Thus, the user and their allies aren't at the risk of a sudden meteor striking them.
"How did you die?" "I died?" Lucian stopped raking leaves to face the person who had asked the question. He took a moment to think. "I guess I did. You kind of forget about it sometimes." His arms crossed. "I think I drank too much. People around me kept on telling me to take some more shots. I wasn't going to say no. I lost count after three, so I don't really know how much I drank. I just woke up in a new place and tried to find my manager." He paused once more to look at the sky for an extended moment. "Took me a few days to figure out I was dead. I thought people were telling me I died as a prank. Manager used to put me in a lot of reality TV." Resting the rake against his pecs, Lucian rubbed the back of his neck. "So here I am, raking up some leaves. It gives me a real sense of purpose, you know? Like I'm doing something to help. Makes me a lot happier than when I would model." His words would have had more impact if he was doing something other than raking leaves. More importantly, if he was aware that the leaves he had raked were already blowing away. Alternative to that: if he was actually doing his job as a reaper instead of seeing a rake against a building and deciding that he was going to spend his afternoon organizing leaves. "But why reap souls?" - Lucian, moments after the concept of a reaper was explained to him. |
Abstract Proxy
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3 days ago
V E R A
"Don't fear, friend
Don't fear death
Fear not finding
Kindness in your heart"
Весна Весна - Бойся себя
✦ Name: Vera Andreyevna Makarova (but, Vera, Vera will do just fine)
✦ Age: 27 years
✦ Age (Appearance): 27 years
✦ Gender: Female
✦ Time in Service: X
✦ Appearance: Hard to miss in a crowd, Vera is tall, measuring well over six feet. Maintaining the habits of her mortal life, Vera remains committed to keeping herself in tip top shape, and despite the fact that it provides her little physical benefit Vera continues to dedicate a portion of each day to physical exercise. Colored by a lifetime spent getting into and out of trouble, Vera has by neccesity developed a functional, athletic build. Her movements are fluid, agile, and efficient, if perhaps a bit uncouth and surprisingly quiet.
Fond of subtle acts of defiance, Vera has a modest collection of tattoos inked across her light skin. Of particular note is the large, roaring tiger, covering most of her back. Inquiries as to the meaning of any of her tattoos is rarely well-received and Vera seems oddly reluctant to permit others, even other reapers, the briefest of glances of the symbols etched into her skin.
Her last remaining vanity from her time as a mortal is her long blond hair that reaches past her shoulders. Unless the situation demand otherwise, she keeps her hair pulled back into a well-ordered ponytail. Her pale blue eyes are far from cold and burn with a carefully contained fury. Beneath a collected exterior smoulders quite the temperament and Vera goes to great lengths to hide this usually unwelcome trait. However, woe be it to those who manage to crack Vera's mask of professionalism and see real anger in her eyes.
In death, Vera is an exceptionally formal dressers. She favors bespoke three piece suits in solid colors, cut in all manner of fashions and fabrics, but inevitably dyed in shades of gray or black. maintains a tasteful collection of ties and dress shirts. One of her most cherished possession is a pair of black 14-hole Dr. Martens boots adorned with gunmetal gray shoelaces, shaped from smooth leather, and polished until they are as spotless as a mirror.
A chain smoking fiend in life and unlife, Vera is rarely found without a pack of cigarettes and a battered Zippo lighter engraved with an enameled US military crest. The discerning customer might note that the reaper smokes a long discontinued brand of Soviet era cigarettes, simply called Laika, after the legendary space faring dog.
The Zippo lighter Vera perpetually carries on her person looks less like a well-kept museum object and more like a Zippo lighter that has been buried in the jungle for more than fifty years after being run over a couple of times by a tank for good measure. The factory engraving is worn down to the very metal, but upon a close examination it is still possible to make out the original text (SPECIAL FORCES GROUP, 1st SPECIAL FORCES VIETNAM). The lid has been hand engraved with a name (SFC Thomas E. Karlsson, 31st ENGR DET, 11 FEB 68 – FEB 69,). On the reverse of the lighter is a skillfully hand carved map of Vietnam.
On the reverse of the lighter is a skillfully hand carved map of Vietnam overlaid with words in Russian, Кто не рискует, тот не пьет шампанского.
How Vera acquired a Zippo lighter of Vietnam war vintage and why she seems to guard it so zealously remains a mystery.
On the reverse of the lighter is a skillfully hand carved map of Vietnam overlaid with words in Russian, Кто не рискует, тот не пьет шампанского.
How Vera acquired a Zippo lighter of Vietnam war vintage and why she seems to guard it so zealously remains a mystery.
✦ Weapon: Banishing all thoughts of brandishing a dagger, Vera instead wields a two handed longsword that has been meticulously forged in the style of a Western European 14-15th Century blade. The sword is long, reaching well over a meter in length, and slowly tapers into an exceedingly sharp point. Despite the size of her sword, Vera's chosen weapon is no brutish, unnecessarily heavy bludgeon, but rather a precisely balanced weapon intended for medieval warfare.
An exceptional example of the latest and greatest technological innovation in the early 14th century,centering on how to cut or skewer (through gaps in plate armor), Vera's sword possesses an expertly honed flat hexagonal blade cross-section and a weight saving fuller that runs along a third of the blade. In short, beyond being the unmistakable work of a master weapon smith, Vera's personalized bit of sharpened steel represents an optimized compromise between thrusting capability and good cutting characteristics.
✦ Magic Branch: Abjuration
✧ Surprising no one more than herself, Vera has talent for the protective magic spells generally considered to be at the heart of the school of Abjuration.
✦ Spells:
✧ Dispellere (Dispel Magic)
Targeting a creature, object, or magical effect within 120 feet, Vera dispels active spells centered on her chosen target. The exact number of spells that are dispelled depends on the level of magic employed to cast said spells and the time Vera has to cast her own magic. Given the on the fly nature of reaping Wisps with a capital W, Vera generally favors quick off the cuff verbal applications of dispel magic. However, when there is a need for a powerful shaped charge of magic countering energy, Vera has been known to commit the spell to writing in an ornate script befitting only the finest calligraphy books.
✧ Globus invulnerabilitatis (Globe of Invulnerability)
By channeling her magic through spoken or written words, Vera creates a faintly shimmering magical barrier around herself that protects her from physical and magical damage. The magical sphere appears in a 10-foot radius around Vera and remains for up to a maximum time of a minute. When casting this spell using spoken magic, Vera must decide whether the magical barrier protects against physical or magical damage. Furthermore, to guard against more powerful attacks, Vera requires more preparation. Weathering a blow from a very powerful foe, many foes at once, or very many powerful foes would require a lengthy amount of chanting or sizable stack of elaborately written spells prepared well in advance. Provided that the magical barrier holds, spells cast from outside of the barrier have no effect on creatures within the barrier and physical blows do nothing more than send sparks of magic into the air.
✧ Frigore Pyramidem (Cone of Cold)
Slinging a modified variant of the evocation spell, Vera sends a blast of cold air hurtling forward from her hands, enveloping everything caught within the cone of cold in sheets of ice. Creatures encased by the frost are significantly slowed down and suffer the ill effects of severe frostbite, receiving moderate cold damage. Surfaces or objects impacted by the icebound air are covered by a thick layer of ice that hinders movement due to a sudden, unwelcome slipperiness. The spell has a maximum range of some 60 feet.
✧ Vincula Fati (Imprisonment)
Summoning magical restraints, Vera firmly roots a target to the ground, holding them in place with the heavy ethereal binds. The target is bound until the spell ends or is dispelled, preventing any movement beyond that permitted by the spellcaster. When cast verbally, the spell takes almost a full minute for Vera to cast. Writing the spell takes significantly longer, but allows the spell to restrain much more powerful targets. Thematically, Vera prefers to inscribe the spell on objects such as chains, ropes or other bits of string. A decidedly close range spell, Vera must be within 30 feet or less to be able to magically imprison her foes. The lucky or powerful can avoid being bound by the spell by resisting the underlying magic at work.
Targeting a creature, object, or magical effect within 120 feet, Vera dispels active spells centered on her chosen target. The exact number of spells that are dispelled depends on the level of magic employed to cast said spells and the time Vera has to cast her own magic. Given the on the fly nature of reaping Wisps with a capital W, Vera generally favors quick off the cuff verbal applications of dispel magic. However, when there is a need for a powerful shaped charge of magic countering energy, Vera has been known to commit the spell to writing in an ornate script befitting only the finest calligraphy books.
✧ Globus invulnerabilitatis (Globe of Invulnerability)
By channeling her magic through spoken or written words, Vera creates a faintly shimmering magical barrier around herself that protects her from physical and magical damage. The magical sphere appears in a 10-foot radius around Vera and remains for up to a maximum time of a minute. When casting this spell using spoken magic, Vera must decide whether the magical barrier protects against physical or magical damage. Furthermore, to guard against more powerful attacks, Vera requires more preparation. Weathering a blow from a very powerful foe, many foes at once, or very many powerful foes would require a lengthy amount of chanting or sizable stack of elaborately written spells prepared well in advance. Provided that the magical barrier holds, spells cast from outside of the barrier have no effect on creatures within the barrier and physical blows do nothing more than send sparks of magic into the air.
✧ Frigore Pyramidem (Cone of Cold)
Slinging a modified variant of the evocation spell, Vera sends a blast of cold air hurtling forward from her hands, enveloping everything caught within the cone of cold in sheets of ice. Creatures encased by the frost are significantly slowed down and suffer the ill effects of severe frostbite, receiving moderate cold damage. Surfaces or objects impacted by the icebound air are covered by a thick layer of ice that hinders movement due to a sudden, unwelcome slipperiness. The spell has a maximum range of some 60 feet.
✧ Vincula Fati (Imprisonment)
Summoning magical restraints, Vera firmly roots a target to the ground, holding them in place with the heavy ethereal binds. The target is bound until the spell ends or is dispelled, preventing any movement beyond that permitted by the spellcaster. When cast verbally, the spell takes almost a full minute for Vera to cast. Writing the spell takes significantly longer, but allows the spell to restrain much more powerful targets. Thematically, Vera prefers to inscribe the spell on objects such as chains, ropes or other bits of string. A decidedly close range spell, Vera must be within 30 feet or less to be able to magically imprison her foes. The lucky or powerful can avoid being bound by the spell by resisting the underlying magic at work.
✦ Texty Stuff:
Albert leaned against the dresser, sucking in air and wheezing. One hundred years. One hundred years of learning. One hundred years of research. One hundred years of biding his time. One hundred years of hiding. One hundred years of avoiding the monsters he knew lurked in the shadows. One hundred years of slipping away from the hunters, the collectors of the dead, the reapers, as some of his more learned brethren called them. There were obscure mentions in faded books. Whispers began to tell of figures emerging from beyond the pale. Beings without names, faceless and obscured. Small truths buried in centuries of rumors, impossible to extinguish, the stories endured. Even as evidence of the reapers presence was debated by the loose councils of wizards with the passing years.
Wasted. Wasted! Ruined by a single, momentary slip of his attention. He had felt so secure. He had been so comfortable. He had settled. He had acquired all the necessary regents. He had been so close to completing the ritual. So close! But now, now they had found him. Hunted him down. Chased him from one safe house to the next. They wouldn't stop. They didn't seem to sleep. He could see them everywhere. The same two women. A tall blonde wearing a suit. A short brunette with a pixie cut. They were walking nightmares that had invaded even his fitful rest.
He swallowed, feeling the lump growing in his throat. Tears burned at the edge of his eyes and he gasped for more air. He knew he didn't need to breath, he hadn't for some time, but he found the habit hard to break. They had been chasing him for days. He had burned his last contacts. He had called in his last favors. And still. Still, they pursued him, like bloodhounds, unwavering following his trail. They had driven him underground. They had forced their way past his wards. He had used the last of souls he had horded. They had exhausted resources acquired over long decades.
The heavy oak door splintered, flying off the hinges, as it shattered into hundreds of tiny wooden projectiles. Shadows coursed forward, a roiling wave of blackness that enveloped the room in a hazy fog. Albert felt dread poisoning him, rotting him from within as his hands began to shake.
He didn't wait to identify the solid figure that followed, bounding into the room in a fell swoop. The fireball in his hand roared across the room smashing into the door frame with a deafening boom. He dove for cover, closing his eyes, shielding them with his hands. He could feel the flames licking at him, the air being forced from his lungs by the hungry flames, and the painfully hot caress of the growing inferno as it exploded into existence. He could hear screaming, his own voice. Months of frustration and fear igniting across the surface of his spirit, a thick tar as dark as the night.
Silence. Silence followed.
Crawling from behind the charred dining room table, Albert opened his eyes, staring at a room full of ashes and crumbling cinder blocks. There was only the low flicker of the dying embers his spell had birthed. He allowed himself a smile, a brief moment of glee.
He saw the movement too late. The blade arced towards him and he watched as it cut through the wrist connecting his left hand to his left arm. A kick smashed into his sternum and sent him crumbling backwards against the wall. Howling in a mad rage, he muttered curses, sending a scorching ray of flames across the room, chasing the shadowy figure that darted away from him.
Tracing the path of his attacker, he dragged his remaining hand across the breadth of the ruined room. The jet of flame smashed into the figure with a sudden crack of arcane energy. Dividing, the fire flattened, folding to the away from the advancing figure that seemed to be pushing back the fire. Shoving his hand forward, Albert tried to push harder, sending even more flames flowing at his obscured opponent. He could feel his fingers going numb as he burned through his last reservoirs of energy.
His mouth twisted into a stubborn sneer as she tried to stand. Shifting into a surprised O as the blade ran him through. Stumbling, Albert fell and the back of his head smashed against the burnt rubble that had once been pristine hardwood floor. Bright light faded to darkness and Albert felt himself begin to fade. Propping himself up on his elbows, he tried to speak, rasping, and desperately grasping for words.
A flicker of metal shone from the nearby darkness. A loud metallic clink summoned sparks that leapt together into a small flame.
"I knew. I always knew you were coming."
"Все это было просто сном с самого начала," came the reply, a woman's voice, not unkind, and then a metal thunk as the flame vanished. "Никто из нас никогда не был свободен."
"I'm sorry...I don't understand. What did you say? I had to try."
"It was all just a dream to begin with," the woman said, stepping closer, a circle of burning embers gentle swaying near her mouth. A puff of smoke trailed behind her as she drew closer,"None of us have ever been free."
Albert felt a pang of anger, "Don't you speak to me that way! Don't you lecture me! I was free! I lived! What do you know!? Do you know what you are doing? Do you even know who you are working for? "
The woman shrugged easily, her sword hefted in the crook of her arm seemed light despite the size of the blade,"Doesn't matter. I don't care. I'm a cleaner. In this life and the next."
"You're a killer. You're a murder, just like me."
There was a hint of anger in her eyes, a rough frown flashed over her lips,"You damaged this world. You stole from the living. You damned souls far more innocent than you. Do not play games with me, Albert Colthurst. I know you. I know what you did. I know your crimes."
Albert faltered, pulling back in a moment of abrupt regret. He tried to crawl, but found his arms were useless.
"Smoke?" he heard from above him. She stood over him, as he rolled over, holding out a pack of cigarettes.
"I...I quit thirty years ago. For my wife. She never liked the smell. She said it was a dirty habit."
"Yes," the woman agreed, offering a small smile. "Very bad."
"I don't suppose she'll know? I don't suppose I have much time left? So why not, please, hand me a cigarette if you would?"
"No, not much time," she said, nodding solemnly. He struggled to follow her hands as the lighter flashed open again. Dark drops grew into large pools of blackness at the corner of his eyes. He heard her sitting down next to him, felt the cigarette as she placed it between his lips.
"I'm sorry," he said breathing in a burning cloud of nicotine. The taste brought back memories. 1957. Happier times. He almost thought he could see her in front of him. "I- I never meant for this. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just couldn't give up. I couldn't give up when I was so close. You understand? You understand, don't you?"
"No need, I understand," his killer said. "It is alright, Albert. You are absolved."
"By who, you?" Albert managed, laughing as he fell into a fit of coughing. Another meaningless gesture for a ghost. It felt good though. It felt right. He felt human. He felt like himself.
"No," she laughed too, but she was only half smiling.
"What comes after this? A new life?"
"Maybe? Maybe something? Maybe nothing?"
"How will I know?"
"You won't."
"I want to live. I want to see my wife. I want to see my son."
"Then tell yourself you will."
Vera sat unmoving, a cloud of smoke rising to the ceiling from the cigarette slowly dying between her ash covered lips. The remains of the wizard lay next to her, smouldering in the charred table cloth she had wrapped him. Two packs of cigarettes were scattered around her, blackened firebrands fading in the uninvited wind.
She had waited long enough. It was time. She had indulged in her habit, in her vice. A small price to pay for a moment of quiet.
Rising to her feet, Vera gently slung the table cloth over her shoulder and left the wizard's crumbling home behind her.
The asphalt was the color of an abandoned tombstone, cracked, and blackened with filth.
Vera frowned, the dregs of her last cigarette dangling loosely between her lips. Smoking couldn't kill her, not anymore. It was a filthy habit. A filthy habit for a filthy place. She wasn't sure what she, Miss Death, saw in her, what she saw in any of them. She didn't care. Cleaning was cleaning. A job was a job. Even death couldn't change the unfairness of the world. She had no great aspirations. She nursed no great hopes. She had spent a lifetime in the shadows. She had stolen. She had threatened. She had hurt. She had maimed. And she had killed. What were the hardships of another life, this time spent in the fading light?
The gem felt weightless in her hand, held in place by the loop of silver wrapped along the length of her right arm, beneath her suit jacket and the fine cotton dress shirt that she wore. The sword had felt lighter still, made for her, sword hilt resting perfectly in her hands. She did not like the thoughts that awoke after a job. She did not enjoy the purposelessness. And she detested the peace. She needed a drink. She need another cigarette. And she needed a good f–
"Did it work?" a singsong voice interrupted. Too light. Too cheery. And much too pleasant.
"It worked," Vera replied.
"I told you it would. It took me almost a day to transcribe that spell. You can't imagine how sore my hand is. Nice illusion though, wasn't it?"
"It worked, Lucia."
"Oh, come on, admit it, you were impressed! Vera, stop being such a kill joy! We won! We did it! Another baddie bites the dust! We should celebrate! Before we head back, they won't notice if we spend a couple of more hours here. Live a little, why don't you?"
"You are crazy, you know that, yes?"
"All a matter of degrees, my sweet Vera."
"I am not sweet."
"Ah, you say that, but I know, I know that deep down you are a big softy."
"O Господи, избавь меня от этого дьявола." *
"What was that?"
"I need more cigarettes."
*O Lord, deliver me from this devil.
Wasted. Wasted! Ruined by a single, momentary slip of his attention. He had felt so secure. He had been so comfortable. He had settled. He had acquired all the necessary regents. He had been so close to completing the ritual. So close! But now, now they had found him. Hunted him down. Chased him from one safe house to the next. They wouldn't stop. They didn't seem to sleep. He could see them everywhere. The same two women. A tall blonde wearing a suit. A short brunette with a pixie cut. They were walking nightmares that had invaded even his fitful rest.
He swallowed, feeling the lump growing in his throat. Tears burned at the edge of his eyes and he gasped for more air. He knew he didn't need to breath, he hadn't for some time, but he found the habit hard to break. They had been chasing him for days. He had burned his last contacts. He had called in his last favors. And still. Still, they pursued him, like bloodhounds, unwavering following his trail. They had driven him underground. They had forced their way past his wards. He had used the last of souls he had horded. They had exhausted resources acquired over long decades.
The heavy oak door splintered, flying off the hinges, as it shattered into hundreds of tiny wooden projectiles. Shadows coursed forward, a roiling wave of blackness that enveloped the room in a hazy fog. Albert felt dread poisoning him, rotting him from within as his hands began to shake.
He didn't wait to identify the solid figure that followed, bounding into the room in a fell swoop. The fireball in his hand roared across the room smashing into the door frame with a deafening boom. He dove for cover, closing his eyes, shielding them with his hands. He could feel the flames licking at him, the air being forced from his lungs by the hungry flames, and the painfully hot caress of the growing inferno as it exploded into existence. He could hear screaming, his own voice. Months of frustration and fear igniting across the surface of his spirit, a thick tar as dark as the night.
Silence. Silence followed.
Crawling from behind the charred dining room table, Albert opened his eyes, staring at a room full of ashes and crumbling cinder blocks. There was only the low flicker of the dying embers his spell had birthed. He allowed himself a smile, a brief moment of glee.
He saw the movement too late. The blade arced towards him and he watched as it cut through the wrist connecting his left hand to his left arm. A kick smashed into his sternum and sent him crumbling backwards against the wall. Howling in a mad rage, he muttered curses, sending a scorching ray of flames across the room, chasing the shadowy figure that darted away from him.
Tracing the path of his attacker, he dragged his remaining hand across the breadth of the ruined room. The jet of flame smashed into the figure with a sudden crack of arcane energy. Dividing, the fire flattened, folding to the away from the advancing figure that seemed to be pushing back the fire. Shoving his hand forward, Albert tried to push harder, sending even more flames flowing at his obscured opponent. He could feel his fingers going numb as he burned through his last reservoirs of energy.
His mouth twisted into a stubborn sneer as she tried to stand. Shifting into a surprised O as the blade ran him through. Stumbling, Albert fell and the back of his head smashed against the burnt rubble that had once been pristine hardwood floor. Bright light faded to darkness and Albert felt himself begin to fade. Propping himself up on his elbows, he tried to speak, rasping, and desperately grasping for words.
A flicker of metal shone from the nearby darkness. A loud metallic clink summoned sparks that leapt together into a small flame.
"I knew. I always knew you were coming."
"Все это было просто сном с самого начала," came the reply, a woman's voice, not unkind, and then a metal thunk as the flame vanished. "Никто из нас никогда не был свободен."
"I'm sorry...I don't understand. What did you say? I had to try."
"It was all just a dream to begin with," the woman said, stepping closer, a circle of burning embers gentle swaying near her mouth. A puff of smoke trailed behind her as she drew closer,"None of us have ever been free."
Albert felt a pang of anger, "Don't you speak to me that way! Don't you lecture me! I was free! I lived! What do you know!? Do you know what you are doing? Do you even know who you are working for? "
The woman shrugged easily, her sword hefted in the crook of her arm seemed light despite the size of the blade,"Doesn't matter. I don't care. I'm a cleaner. In this life and the next."
"You're a killer. You're a murder, just like me."
There was a hint of anger in her eyes, a rough frown flashed over her lips,"You damaged this world. You stole from the living. You damned souls far more innocent than you. Do not play games with me, Albert Colthurst. I know you. I know what you did. I know your crimes."
Albert faltered, pulling back in a moment of abrupt regret. He tried to crawl, but found his arms were useless.
"Smoke?" he heard from above him. She stood over him, as he rolled over, holding out a pack of cigarettes.
"I...I quit thirty years ago. For my wife. She never liked the smell. She said it was a dirty habit."
"Yes," the woman agreed, offering a small smile. "Very bad."
"I don't suppose she'll know? I don't suppose I have much time left? So why not, please, hand me a cigarette if you would?"
"No, not much time," she said, nodding solemnly. He struggled to follow her hands as the lighter flashed open again. Dark drops grew into large pools of blackness at the corner of his eyes. He heard her sitting down next to him, felt the cigarette as she placed it between his lips.
"I'm sorry," he said breathing in a burning cloud of nicotine. The taste brought back memories. 1957. Happier times. He almost thought he could see her in front of him. "I- I never meant for this. I never meant for any of this to happen. I just couldn't give up. I couldn't give up when I was so close. You understand? You understand, don't you?"
"No need, I understand," his killer said. "It is alright, Albert. You are absolved."
"By who, you?" Albert managed, laughing as he fell into a fit of coughing. Another meaningless gesture for a ghost. It felt good though. It felt right. He felt human. He felt like himself.
"No," she laughed too, but she was only half smiling.
"What comes after this? A new life?"
"Maybe? Maybe something? Maybe nothing?"
"How will I know?"
"You won't."
"I want to live. I want to see my wife. I want to see my son."
"Then tell yourself you will."
Vera sat unmoving, a cloud of smoke rising to the ceiling from the cigarette slowly dying between her ash covered lips. The remains of the wizard lay next to her, smouldering in the charred table cloth she had wrapped him. Two packs of cigarettes were scattered around her, blackened firebrands fading in the uninvited wind.
She had waited long enough. It was time. She had indulged in her habit, in her vice. A small price to pay for a moment of quiet.
Rising to her feet, Vera gently slung the table cloth over her shoulder and left the wizard's crumbling home behind her.
The asphalt was the color of an abandoned tombstone, cracked, and blackened with filth.
Vera frowned, the dregs of her last cigarette dangling loosely between her lips. Smoking couldn't kill her, not anymore. It was a filthy habit. A filthy habit for a filthy place. She wasn't sure what she, Miss Death, saw in her, what she saw in any of them. She didn't care. Cleaning was cleaning. A job was a job. Even death couldn't change the unfairness of the world. She had no great aspirations. She nursed no great hopes. She had spent a lifetime in the shadows. She had stolen. She had threatened. She had hurt. She had maimed. And she had killed. What were the hardships of another life, this time spent in the fading light?
The gem felt weightless in her hand, held in place by the loop of silver wrapped along the length of her right arm, beneath her suit jacket and the fine cotton dress shirt that she wore. The sword had felt lighter still, made for her, sword hilt resting perfectly in her hands. She did not like the thoughts that awoke after a job. She did not enjoy the purposelessness. And she detested the peace. She needed a drink. She need another cigarette. And she needed a good f–
"Did it work?" a singsong voice interrupted. Too light. Too cheery. And much too pleasant.
"It worked," Vera replied.
"I told you it would. It took me almost a day to transcribe that spell. You can't imagine how sore my hand is. Nice illusion though, wasn't it?"
"It worked, Lucia."
"Oh, come on, admit it, you were impressed! Vera, stop being such a kill joy! We won! We did it! Another baddie bites the dust! We should celebrate! Before we head back, they won't notice if we spend a couple of more hours here. Live a little, why don't you?"
"You are crazy, you know that, yes?"
"All a matter of degrees, my sweet Vera."
"I am not sweet."
"Ah, you say that, but I know, I know that deep down you are a big softy."
"O Господи, избавь меня от этого дьявола." *
"What was that?"
"I need more cigarettes."
*O Lord, deliver me from this devil.
✦ Miscellaneous:
✧ Dialogue Color SteelBlue1
King Cosmos
Member
Seen
1 hr ago
Ogawa Nakai
✦ Age: 26 (plus 34 years post-death)
✦ Gender: Male
✦ Weapon: Claw Hammer – A simple workman’s tool with a broad, flat head on one side for hammering nails into wood and a hooked wedge on the other side for levering nails back out. The only thing noteworthy about its appearance is its pure matte black finish, but it is otherwise unremarkable. It does, however, have a power; like a regular hammer, it can be used to nail things down, though unlike a regular hammer it does not need any actual nails to do so. When the hammer strikes an object, if there is an suitable flat surface on the other side of the impact, the hammer can create a projection of a nail which will pin said object to said surface; though the nail has the appearance of piercing the object, it causes no actual harm to the object, aside from the fact it was struck by a hammer obviously. The larger the object the larger the nail required and the more energy required; the duration of the effect will also be shorter.
✦ Appearance: Ogawa is a rather unassuming individual, standing at 5’ 9” and having a fairly average build. His face is plain on inexpressive, his posture is slouched and almost lazy; even his chosen weapon as a Reaper is dull compared to most. The only thing that really makes him stand out from a crowd is the way he dresses; flashy, expensive looking suits, gold jewellery and watches, dress shoes shined to a reflective sheen. The same things he used to wear while he was alive, back when Japan’s bubble economy had yet to burst and reckless spending was at a high.
Ogawa raised the cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag and making the interviewer wait awkwardly until he was finished; intentionally so, if the deliberate eye contact was anything to go by. He exhaled, blowing a plume of smoke into the air above the table and watching as it slowly dispersed around the room. It was only the sense of anticipation between them, the feeling that an answer was coming, albeit slowly, that prevented the interviewer was asking again or moving to a different question. The pause felt thoughtful, rather than negligent.
“I don’t know.”
More silence followed and Ogawa took the time to take another drag, shorter this time, before stubbing out his cigarette in his ashtray. “Well, I have an idea. Bullet to the back of the head I assume.”
There was another pause, then the interviewer put pen to paper and the sound of the nib scratching across the notepad broke the quiet at last. “I was out on a job; nothing too serious, normal day-to-day stuff. Normal if you’re a Yakuza anyway. I had a couple of our guys with me, younger faces, practically kids, but I knew them; I’d worked with them before. Next thing I know I’m waking up here; just as sudden as that. Didn’t hear or feel a damn thing.”
Folding one leg over the other, Ogawa leaned back in his seat. “Pretty sure it was one of them; the guys with me I mean. It could have been someone else, another family or something. but we were in our own territory, weren’t on bad terms with any other groups beyond the usual and I didn’t see anyone coming; trust me, I’m pretty vigilant about that sort of thing.” The Yakuza-turned-reaper let out a sigh. “I would have seen an enemy coming. The fact that I didn’t probably means it was my own family that took me out and I don’t have any idea why. It also means they used some kid to do the hit, which pisses me off almost as much as the killing itself. Use a damn professional if you’re gonna take me out.”
The reaper let out a sigh, but it sounded more tired than angry; it was an old annoyance at this point.
“I guess that’s why I stuck around; wanting to find out why I was killed. That’s also why I became a Reaper as well; to have a better chance of finding answers, in between the work we do. Besides, being a Reaper isn’t that much different from being a Yakuza; you’ve just gotta follow orders and pay your respects up the ladder, and not worry about getting your hands dirty every now and then. It’s good work and I’d say I was good at that sort of thing but… you know.” Ogawa raised a hand to the side of his head and placed a finger against his temple to mime a gun, then rocked his head to the side as if mimicking being shot. “Had to have been a reason, right?”
“I don’t know.”
More silence followed and Ogawa took the time to take another drag, shorter this time, before stubbing out his cigarette in his ashtray. “Well, I have an idea. Bullet to the back of the head I assume.”
There was another pause, then the interviewer put pen to paper and the sound of the nib scratching across the notepad broke the quiet at last. “I was out on a job; nothing too serious, normal day-to-day stuff. Normal if you’re a Yakuza anyway. I had a couple of our guys with me, younger faces, practically kids, but I knew them; I’d worked with them before. Next thing I know I’m waking up here; just as sudden as that. Didn’t hear or feel a damn thing.”
Folding one leg over the other, Ogawa leaned back in his seat. “Pretty sure it was one of them; the guys with me I mean. It could have been someone else, another family or something. but we were in our own territory, weren’t on bad terms with any other groups beyond the usual and I didn’t see anyone coming; trust me, I’m pretty vigilant about that sort of thing.” The Yakuza-turned-reaper let out a sigh. “I would have seen an enemy coming. The fact that I didn’t probably means it was my own family that took me out and I don’t have any idea why. It also means they used some kid to do the hit, which pisses me off almost as much as the killing itself. Use a damn professional if you’re gonna take me out.”
The reaper let out a sigh, but it sounded more tired than angry; it was an old annoyance at this point.
“I guess that’s why I stuck around; wanting to find out why I was killed. That’s also why I became a Reaper as well; to have a better chance of finding answers, in between the work we do. Besides, being a Reaper isn’t that much different from being a Yakuza; you’ve just gotta follow orders and pay your respects up the ladder, and not worry about getting your hands dirty every now and then. It’s good work and I’d say I was good at that sort of thing but… you know.” Ogawa raised a hand to the side of his head and placed a finger against his temple to mime a gun, then rocked his head to the side as if mimicking being shot. “Had to have been a reason, right?”
✦ Magic Branch: Familiars – Ogawa’s magic is based around summoning temporary familiars in the form of animals to do his bidding. Using written spell talismans he is able to summon various animals to carry out his orders, usually scouting, but can also include tracking and fighting. In order to make the process of summoning smoother and more consistent, Ogawa has tattooed the forms of the animals he is able to summon onto his body; when he uses his magic the animals are created in the image of these tattoos, making them look more like living pieces of art than real creatures.
✦ Magic
✧ Tsubame: a swift flying bird, particularly useful as a scout due to the bird-eyes view it can get. Ogawa has a tattoo of a sparrow on the inside of his left forearm.
✧Kitsune: a cunning canine, able to track spirits using its sensitive nose. Ogawa has a tattoo of a fox on the outside of his left bicep, appearing to chase the sparrow down his arm.
✧Hebi: a serpent, able to sneak its way into places his other familiars cannot, but isn’t much use otherwise. Ogawa has a tattoo of a snake coiling around his right forearm.
✧ Tora: a powerful predator, it is the only familiar Ogawa is likely to call on in a fight. Ogawa has a large tattoo of a tiger covering most of his back.
✧Kitsune: a cunning canine, able to track spirits using its sensitive nose. Ogawa has a tattoo of a fox on the outside of his left bicep, appearing to chase the sparrow down his arm.
✧Hebi: a serpent, able to sneak its way into places his other familiars cannot, but isn’t much use otherwise. Ogawa has a tattoo of a snake coiling around his right forearm.
✧ Tora: a powerful predator, it is the only familiar Ogawa is likely to call on in a fight. Ogawa has a large tattoo of a tiger covering most of his back.
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