[CHAR] The Sunday Group - Bumps in the Night

[POOHEAD189]

Cranky Old Wizard

When not in his modern apparel

Name: Edgar "Stormraven" Stormhrafn, known as the Azure, also called Alfrikr

Age: 206

Appearance: With the look of a healthy man of around 65 to 70 years, Edgar bears himself like a man of importance. People often give him a wide berth as even their inept senses can perceive a quality of power about him, and he frequently appreciates others stopping to listen to his wizened voice when he speaks. Despite that, he's not a striking man; save for his grey iron eyes and well groomed, white beard. The mystic wears a worn, long sleeved jacket; dark blue in color. He collects most of his shirts and trousers from shelters and thrift stores. Apart from his navajo belt and two rings, most of his trinkets change daily depending upon a variety of factors. He also uses a Shillelagh as a walking stick.

Apparel when researching/entertaining elder entities within his home

Concept: Elderly Wizard

Powers/skills:

• The Norse practices of magic: Galdr & Seidr
• Alchemy
• Basic military training from time served in the Schleswig Wars, and WW1.
• Practiced in melee combat, particularly blunt weapons like the Shillelagh.

Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably wont):

• To find the secrets of immortality.
• To find a successor worthy of his patience.
• To tame a Sea Serpent
• To speak to one of the old gods.

Things You as a Writer Wants to Happen (Maybe will):

• Any of that stuff above would be sick.
• Dispelling curses/aberrations/demons.
• Beating up young people.

Writing Sample?
You have my resume.

[Jarl Coolgruuf]

The Ranger

A little mood music

Name: Clive T. Davidson

Age: 33

Appearance: Clive stands at just under 6'0 with a medium build and broad, angular face. A prominent brow ridge frames tired, yet piercing eyes that seem to read your thoughts when you make eye contact for too long. Other than that, he appears like any other guy and would easily melt into any crowd were it not for his eyes. There's really nothing of note about him appearance wise and that's exactly how he prefers to look. He has a tendency to wear jackets and long pants as often as is feasible if the weather permits in order to conceal equipment on his person wherever he goes.

Art by Hyungwoo Kim

Concept: Disgraced Texas Ranger who's currently wanted for the murder of a suspect in his custody. What none of his peers know is that what he killed was actually the thing that ate who they were looking for. Of course he couldn't tell them that, he's already a wanted murderer. Adding "believes in werewolves" to his resume would be less than ideal. Since that night, Clive has traveled the country on a one man crusade to find everything that goes bump in the night and shoot it until it stops moving. Recently, he came to the conclusion that he's reached the peak of what he can do alone and has been looking for a team he can work with.

Powers/Skills: Clive is just as human as everyone else. No special powers, no ghost eyes, no dip in the Styx for him. He just knows a lot about a lot of different beasties and he's a clever son of a gun with a big gun. His experience with investigation in a law enforcement setting transitioned very well into investigating supernatural activity (not to mention his firearms training) and he's grown to be very resourceful, using any and all means at his disposal to level the playing field against the creatures of the night. His favorite tool is his smooth bore, pump action shotgun and his handmade shotgun shells, but he also uses a variety of hobo-tier tactics and equipment. Clive is not above sticking an iron shiv into a fey folk's neck. He also plays a mean hand of poker and is worryingly good with a hatchet.

Character Wants: To expand his monster hunting knowledge and perhaps a group to help in his endeavors. Also, a bed. He's gotten more than a little tired of sleeping in his car.

Writer Wants: Looking to participate in an active roleplay with a diverse cast of characters. I also want Clive to grow as a person and make him really work at being a team player in a number of ways such as accepting that his way isn't always the best way, relying on others, etc as well as sharing everything he knows about committing war crimes against monsters.

[Rapid Reader]

Val the Raver Alchemist

Name: Valentine "Val" Kerensky

Age: 25

Appearance: A dervish of excited energy and alchemical science, Val does her best to dance through the bubbling arcane cauldron that is her life. Her hazel eyes shine bright with intelligent mischief and mystical hallucinogenic distractions. Lightly chewed on lips, oscillate wildly between expressions depending on the present company and the current amount of drugs she has coursing through the blood in her veins. She has shoulder length the color of midnight that is dyed an ever shifting range of colors. Any effort to blend in is purely accidental and Val prefers to surround herself with color. Her skin is pale and it is clear that she spends a minimal amount of time outside in the sun. Terrified of boring others, Val keeps her lips and nails painted in in dark shades or vibrant hues of neon.

An esoteric dresser, Val favors t-shirts bedecked with a kaleidoscopic array of neon colors, short skirts, and fashionably torn fishnet stocking. She has a penchant for accessories and pairs her clothing with florescent jewelry that dances with color when hit by artificial light. Favoring the elaborate, her footwear of choice remains black hologram platform shoes that sparkle brightly in the night.

In a professional capacity, Val replaces bright colors with minimalist black, pairing a closet stuffed full of black t-shirts with slim black jeans and unremarkable canvas sneakers.

Across all domains of her life, Val believes in wearing cool jackets and her prized possession is a well-worn leather jacket embroidered with a black cat and words in a very faded French.

Concept: Val is a self-taught alchemist of the "do it yourself" variety, unburdened by things like wizard councils, other stuffy professional organizations, and safety regulations. Increasingly afraid of the things that go bump in the night, she has had particularly poor experiences with vampires, having found herself captured and drained of a significant portion of her blood by coven of vampires preying on the local rave community. Escaping with no small amount of trauma and an unfortunate addiction to vampire blood, Val has taken to burying the memories from her unwilling jaunt into the darkest shadows of the supernatural night through self-medication, imbibing in drugs both mundane and magical whenever the opportunity presents itself. Running scared, Val shares few of the lofty goals of other magical practitioner. Although discovering the philosopher's stone and achieving immortality through perfect alchemy still holds an inescapable appeal to the young woman, most days Val simply aspires to get paid and to stay beneath the radar of the terrible monsters that she knows are lurking just beyond the light.

Powers/Skills: Val is a skilled chemist and alchemist. To pay her rent, she operates as a professional alchemical consultant, offering her services to private individuals and organizations willing to pay in hard cash or precious metals. In her spare time, she is the creator of an exponentially growing number of extremely potent magically infused drugs that she reserves almost exclusively for her own use. Gifted with a mercenary mentality, Val avoids asking too many questions of her diverse clients, especially when it comes to love potions or the occasional poison. A combatant only in terms of creativity, Val prefers to run from trouble.

Things Your Character Wants to Happen (probably wont):
Val would love to discover the philosopher's stone, attain immortality, and escape the clutches of her recent unwanted vampiric overlord. However, having long abandoned hopes for a happy ending, she'll settle for enough money to buy more alchemical ingredients.

Things You as a Writer Wants to Happen (Maybe will):
Adventure, spooky stuff, and cool character interactions are all things that I desperately want to see happen in character. I'd love for Val to at least try to overcome her addiction to vampire blood and for her to become a slightly more responsible person. Related, I would very much enjoy seeing her past come back to bite her, be it through the aforementioned vampire blackmailer or a past customer.

Writing Sample:
I felt a need to write, so I wrote this writing sample, which is really more of an introduction post, but them's the breaks.

Potion Brewing

The door to the small shed opened with a weary protest of wood. A cauldron bubbled in a corner of the room, pouring thick tendrils of smoke in the room. Val didn't bother looking up, she already knew who it was. Instead, she remained huddled over the repurposed wok pan that she had bought for $20 at a garage sale, saying hello wasn't worth setting off an explosion. Her hands moved carefully, slowly stirring the concoction in front of her with a wooden spoon. Flashes swam through the thick liquid within the cauldron, filling the room with a strange, dreadful light that danced off the mason jars that lined the crumbling IKEA bookshelves that were hammered into each wall and each centimeter of free space of the gardening shed. A small fortune in arcane ingredients laying in glass, protected by nothing more than 1-inch-thick boards of lumber, a combination lock, and a string of arcane curses.

"What do you need this time, Schultz?" The alchemist said once the mixture began to settle. Arcane energies that crackled with power as they ionized stray oxygen atoms faded into a rolling slumber.

"A simple potion, a potion guaranteed to leave a troll sleeping for...four...let's say six hours," the planetouched mobster said, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall of shack with a broad smile on his lips. Smouldering coals of flame shone from beneath the iron mask he wore.

"Nothing you ask me to make for you is ever simple. What's weight of this troll?" Val scoffed.

"Above average, I haven't asked, but let's just say he's got a robust figure," Schultz said with a low, shaking laugh that threatened the shelf closet to him. "How much is it gonna cost me this time?"

"Same as always, $1500 now, $500 when it's done"

"That's a lot of money. How about we say $200, for old times sake?"

"How about you find someone else to do it for you then? Just don't blame me when your friend wakes up after five minutes and tears your arm off before he uses it to beat you to death."

"Now, now, don't be cross, I was only teasing, Val," the gangster chuckled. "Your work is top notch and I wouldn't dream of frequenting a different alchemist. Besides, trust is all we have in this business. I trust you to keep your mouth shut, so I come back to you with new business. You trust me, don't you Val?"

"Yeah, sure, I trust you, Schultz," Val agreed. "Well, as much as I trust any man who's paid to break bones for a living, but do you know how hard it is to find Pixie Dust in the middle of winter?"

"Oh, I'm sure you'll manage."

"Of course I will," Val huffed, waving the wooden spoon angrily at the mobster.

"By the by, I heard a strange story from one of the boys. He said he'd seen someone that looked just like you at the Pyramid Club."

"I thought you were done with Cara?

Val shot him an angry glance.

"You know that it's a bad idea"

"You're one to talk"

"Hey, you only get this wise by making a lot of mistakes"

"Yeah, well, no one is paying for advice from the guy who had to make a deal with an elemental from the plane of Fire because he ended up owing money to the Chechenskaya mafiya," Val said, rolling her eyes.

"You win some, you lose some when you play a game of poker with those guys," Schultz said with a shrug. "You know you can't trust her, right?"

"I know."

"Then why?" Schutlz said running a hand wearily across his scalp. Val wasn't sure what expression he made beneath his mask, but she knew it wasn't a good one. She didn't like it, she couldn't stand his feigned concern, but he stopped himself before she had to hurl a beaker of glass in his direction. "That bad, huh?"

"You have no idea," Val replied, fighting the pang of fear that coursed through her, the visions of sharp teeth and blood that swam through her mind.

"I suppose I don't."

"Hey, Schultz."

"What?"

"Fuck you."

[Fetzen]

Maël DuClair

Name: Maël DuClair

Age: 31

Appearance: More on the inconspicuous side of things might describe it best. He's 6'4", of average muscularity and slightly overweight. His face features blue eyes, a pointed nose, thin lips and a beard trimmed half-heartedly. Jeans, a black leather jacket and a hoodie for the more rainy days are his best friends. Aside from the cigs, of course.

Typical apparel

Concept: Rookie with hard to explain talents, unless...


Powers/skills: The DuClairs are a family of nobles which can be tracked back deep into medieval France, but much of their fame and money has disappeared over the countless turmoils and societal changes of past centuries. Still they maintain a quite significant fortune and economic influence, but only in Europe. The American branch, dating back to the heyday of steamship-powered migration at the end of the 19th century, has never made much progress past the average in their new environment and isn't paid much attention to by family headquarters.

A record in the family register states that Beaumont DuClair, one of Maël's grand-grand-grand-grand-(...)-fathers, once had a joyful night with a woman later accused to be a witch. While she found a fiery death at the stake he subsequently was regarded as a victim having been seduced. A disproportionate fraction of his children and their children in turn either showed signs of mental illnesses, were physically crippled or generally rather frail and short-lived. What was deemed to be an 'evil curse' acted upon him by said witch seemed to fade away over time though and there is no lack of more strictly scientific explanations in present day.

Maël's situation is an entirely different nut to chew on though. He's the first down the bloodline who both inherited enough of the demonic seed planted by the succubus and whose human nature exhibits enough compatibility not for him to end up like his unfortunate predecessors. It's a component rather diluted given the many centuries that have passed since its origin, but it's there and -- that's the actual problem -- never considered explaining itself towards its owner.

Maël can tap into some demonic prowess, temporarily enhancing attributes such as strength, speed and (maybe most important for an investigator) conventional/magical perception to levels that would otherwise be undue not only for someone of his lifestyle, stature and overall background. However, in this state, he also suffers from a bunch of drawbacks such as an alteration of his skin and eyes that might attract or frighten the public to a disadvantageous degree. He becomes generally more prone to violence with bare hands, teeth and blood in particular and overreacts more easily with a certain disregard of his own well-being. It's not like there would be a simple on/off switch, instead it's more like a ritual during which he pushes himself to the borders of his humanity. It also takes time of forced calmness to get himself back to normal again.


Things your character wants to happen (probably wont):

• Maël joined the group of paranormal investigators because he himself is, partly, paranormal. He hopes to discover more of his own nature and how to control it properly. This simply can't be done in the ordinary public environment.
• Find out if there is any way to predict or even influence what will happen to his own childs, should he ever found a family. Too many of those have died in the past.
• Not get dragged into the abyss by some full-blooded demon or get captured by crazy exorcists who might show interest in him when he is blazing like a star for those who can see it.

Things you as a writer wants to happen (maybe will):

• Cry 'Havoc!,' and let slip the personal frenzy! Once more unto the warp core breach!
• A good manhunt, maybe ? Be it him being the hunter or the hunted.
• Some comedy is always good, be it ordinary or of a sarcastic subtype