BurningCold

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

It's Ele-Marty, My Dear Barbatos' Son

^{Location: Saniwa Family Estate}

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Marty maintained a gruff expression as he and his team combed through the house. Well, it was Armand’s team if you wanted to get technical, but, look- the guy was likely to keel over from a heart attack or suffer a manic break at any moment. Look at him. Point being, someone else was gonna be chief eventually, right? And that someone was Marty. You know, maybe. Probably. Just needed to earn this poor fucker’s respect before he turned into worm chow or retired. That should be easy though. He’d stuck to this job like a fly to shit for the past three years and if he knew anything, it was that excellence beat experience every time.

This whole Section was full of unrepentant criminals and lazy jackasses anyways. Marty actually wanted to be here. He was the son of the Beelzebub. No freaking yahweh was he gonna pass up the opportunity in front of him.

So to say Marty was on his A-game would be a disgusting understatement and you should feel bad for suggesting it. This was a AAA+ kind of game at the very least. A cursory glance suggested the markings outside the house were a product of sport or play. Not relevant to the yuck house of horrors inside.

And fuckity-fuck it was nasty.

See, that’s where the gruff expression came in. Maintain a look of carefully calculated and manly indifference with just a dash of soulful longing and nobody would know how completely skeeved out he was feeling in this place. In reality, he just looked vaguely constipated or perhaps as though he was suffering from a migraine. Moving through the house with his maybe needing-to-shit or maybe needing-an-ibuprofen expression, it was interesting to note that while most of the victims were piles of organic waste scattered throughout the absolute warzone the interior of the estate had apparently become, several corpses were “intact.”

Intact insofar as their bodies were largely in one piece, minus the heads, which had kindly made way for tasteful assortments of a semi-popular garden flower called the lantana. That was… sort of nice. If you ignored the everything else, anyways.

As the group came to a stop, Marty reached into his pockets, pulling out a comb as another hand flicked open the lid on a small mirror. He combed his antennae carefully as he took mental stock of the nasty, nasty nonsense this case was becoming.

Lotta dead scumbags turned into goop.

Some dead scumbags merely turned into plant pots.

All the plant-pot-people were found either hiding or fleeing. Most weren’t even armed, and the ones that were either never fired their weapons or never drew them to begin with.

And there was something else, something curious that Marty had picked up on from the drop. No animals, anywhere inside the estate. No hungry rats, no curious cats, no trails of ants or even a single stray mite. Nothing. He was the only fly in the ointment, as it were. Which didn’t make much sense. This place was a shithole, and he couldn’t imagine cleanliness was very important to these losers before they bit it either.

He wasn’t very sure what to do with that last piece of information, but it definitely held relevance.

“Well,” Marty began, his voice warbling from out his proboscis-like mouth with a buzzing undertone. He continued to comb himself in the mirror. “It looks to me like if you were brave, you got turned into head cheese, and if you weren’t, you got turned into a head flower instead.” He snapped the mirror shut as he moved to the center of the room, his head completely still as his compound eyes looked at everyone around him simultaneously. “All of our fragrant friends were either trying to hide or trying to run. None of their weapons were drawn, or if they were, they didn’t have the guts to use them before they each got the uh, big idea.”

He was starting to feel conscious of people’s attention on him as he let out a throaty buzzing noise that passed for a cough. “Fear is the mind killer, or something like that. Maybe literally. What we don’t know is whether the flowering was a side effect of something the victims were feeling in the perp’s presence, or if it was something that was done to them intentionally, and something about their fragile states of mind made them vulnerable to it.”

Holy shit- was he on a roll right now? It kinda felt like that. Suck it Barbatos.

Marty continued, trying to quash the nervous tremor that was creeping into his hair bristles. “What’s also incredibly weird is that we’re the only living things in this whole place- and let me finish.” Kittyan wouldn’t be able to tell, but he was paying him special attention as he said that. “There aren’t any animals here. No scavengers, big or small. I don’t know about the rest of you, but I could tell pretty much right away that this place wasn’t winning any awards in the cleanliness department. So, uh, I don’t really know what that means,” His shoulders shrugged emphatically. “But you’d expect some bugs at the least to be getting in on the all you can eat sausage buffet out there.”

He flashed four finger guns at Armand. “Am I on fire or what? Anyone else got something?” He peered at Barbatos as his voice took on a reedy, suspicious tone. "Any contradictory theories to share? Hm?" Fucking guy. Thought he was so cool. Well. It was the Marty show now! Eat it.

Tamashī no Samuraitachi

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Tsukiyama Fujino, Leader of the Kurotori played by Vidar the Quiet
Michiko Orinatsu, Digital Wraith played by Vidar the Quiet
Ren Fujino, Nightmare of the Kurotori played by BurningCold
Akane, Raijin Shogun played by Sadu
Jackie Shkaev, Frost played by vietmyke
Kaito Fujimoto, Mumeiki played by Archazen
Shoshiku, First Trial played by TheMushroomLord
Enrique Hernandez, Juggernaut played by Fiber

Tamashī no Samuraitachi (Cyberpunk/Anime Inspired) IC

@TheMushroomLord Looks good to me! You have approval 1. Once Vidar weighs in and has no issues you can post them up in the characters tab in the actual RP page.

roleplayerguild.com/topics/194864-tam…

Tamashī no Samuraitachi

Lieutenant Chimera Man

Ren Fujino | Gojinka/The Nightmare of the Kurotori

____________________________________________________ C H A R A C T E R I N F O R M A T I O N Name Ren Fujino Nicknames/Aliases Ren to his friends, Gojinka to strangers, occasionally “foolish boy” to Tsuki, and “Nightmare of the Kurotori” to those on the receiving end of his fury Birth City/District: New-Paris Age: 22 Height 5’10 or 1.77 m Racial Background: Irish/Japanese Race: Y.S.G Natural Born Hair Color: Red Eye Color: Yellow Appearance: Ren inherited his mother’s bright red hair, one of the only things that ties him to his human origins. Most of his body is covered in charcoal colored fur, his legs ending in cloven hooves and his hands tapering into sharp, black claws. What little exposed skin one can see is a silvery-grey in color, contrasting against his yellow, predatory eyes. Wings of mottled brown and red feathers stretch out from his back above a cobalt blue tail covered in snakeskin. Its eyes track those surrounding it with a baleful intelligence, occasionally letting out a low hiss or widening its maw just enough to reveal a hint of fang. Within his own mouth, a forked tongue hides behind a row of sharp teeth. Curling horns of black obsidian crown Ren’s monstrous form. Mutation Marker(s): Little Orochi: The true Yamata no Orochi has many heads. Ren has only two, the one atop his shoulders, and the bright blue snake acting as his tail. Usually it remains silent, but has been known to let out a hiss of displeasure when Ren makes certain choices. Chimeric Icarus: Rust colored wings grow from out of Ren’s shoulder blades, and reside in a visible but retracted state when he is grounded. However, with feathers flared Ren is capable of taking to the skies for a short time despite the effort involved, or gliding even longer. Luciferian Ram: Dark fur covers Ren’s legs and parts of his torso and arms, his feet absent in place of powerful hooves. Draconic Visage: There is something almost kingly about the dark horns atop Ren’s head despite their savage appearance. The same could be said for his yellow eyes, which shine with a cunning that bears no resemblance to any earthly reptile. His claws too, are not the grasping talons of a bird of prey, but rather powerful, slashing things. Personality: Complicated is a good word to start with. Ren lives his life fast and recklessly when his time is his own, whether that’s soaring above the streets by wing or hoverboard or racing through them atop his motorcycle. When Ren needs to blow off steam, he sheds the trappings of his humanity and gives into the base, animalistic urge kerneled at the center of his brain to just… Go! He laughs easily, loves to have fun, and enjoys a wide variety of interests beyond the kinetic. History and yokai science are of particular fascination to him. At the same time, he has a cold streak and a bit of a chip on his shoulder from the circumstances of his upbringing. As much as he loves Tsuki and is fiercely loyal to the gang, he can’t stand the sense that he’s being stifled, and wants desperately to return to his childhood, one that was free of the trappings of human society with all of its rules and judgments. He knows such a thing would be impossibly foolish, so the reckless ideal persists only as a dream to escape within. In combat, he will usually focus on resolving the conflict as swiftly as possible regardless of the brutality involved, though there are some days that something resentful sinks into his stomach and stays there until it worms its way out. As such, Ren has been accused of “playing with his food” on more than one occasion, toying cruelly with combatants that never had a hope of defeating him in the first place. Ren is contradictorily both prideful of himself yet not usually one to put down the abilities of others. So while his arrogance can at times propel him into dangerous situations, he still has full ability to appreciate and admire the successes of others. Aspirations: Freedom: Moment to moment, Ren wants to live fast and live free. Anything that stifles this for too long is a problem. Family: Fraught as it is, Ren’s connection to Tsuki is more important than words can describe. He doesn’t want to lose what he has with her. In fact, he’d like to find some way to make peace with her and with himself, if he can. Would be that it were that simple. Yokai: Why and how did the yokai gene get introduced to humanity? Why are there both yokai that resemble humans, and humans that resemble yokai? What secrets can be uncovered to reveal the shared destiny of yokai and humanity? Ren doesn’t know if he’ll ever find the answers to these questions, but he keeps his hopes up. Fears: Losing Tsuki: Tsuki is one of the few people Ren holds in high esteem, and he’d never be so prickly around her at times if not for the fact that he values her opinion of him strongly. Whether through death or rejection, Ren does not want to be parted from her. Jaegers: As much as he wanted to become a Jaeger, and sometimes still does, they represent a force capable and willing to annihilate him for not playing by the city’s rules. Well, he doesn’t. He’s not even a legal citizen. It’s fair to say that fear is very mixed up with resentment and hatred. Vehicle: Mitsubishi Horizon ZR6 Some of Ren’s favorite memories growing up were speeding along the streets of Neo-Tokyo clinging to Tsuki’s back as she raced forward with her ZR6. It was unsurprising but extremely exciting for Ren that he was gifted with the same bike when he was old enough to ride on his own. Ren’s is deep red with blue highlights, and has all the same functionalities as his mother’s, except for a handful of modifications Tsuki did herself to make the vehicle more comfortable to use in Ren’s form. P O W E R I N F O R M A T I O N Strengths/Natural Abilities: Yokai Whisperer: Ren grew up in the Brokenlands, and has been exposed to more varieties of yokai than most, or maybe anyone, ever will. Not all share a language, but he still remembers how to speak to many of them. They are monsters, but thanks to the course evolution has taken humanity down, so are people. Born Explorer: Just like in the Brokenlands, Ren always loved traversing the glitz and the grime of Neo-Tokyo, allowing his curiosity and unique physiology to take him into and out of all kinds of trouble. He has a strong awareness of the locations of the city, its winding streets and alleys, and useful shortcuts. Tricky Serpent: Little Orochi knows things. It reads people, sees right through them. In turn, Ren knows how to read Little Orochi. They’ve only made it as far as they have by working together. Savage Warrior: Ren’s fighting style is an animalistic expression of his innermost instincts, and it shows. His natural abilities combined with his informal training in the Brokenlands, and the principles of combat taught to him by Tsuki, leave him a force to be reckoned with as he slashes with claws, kicks with his sturdy hooves, and utilizes his wings and biting tail to full effect in a combat style uniquely his own. Speed: By hoof or by wing, Ren’s raw speed and the necessary reflexes that accompany it are significant. Weaknesses/Flaws: Reckless: Ren is prone to impulsive decision making, especially when agitated. When on the job, this can usually be regulated to some degree, even if this causes friction. However, in his freetime, if Ren wants to do something, very little will be able to stop him from doing it, not even the warning hiss of his serpentine brother. Lack of Social Grace: Ren’s appearance is monstrous enough, but coupled with his general attitude and lack of care for appearances, makes him somebody that many strangers would find initially off putting at best. He may have his places where he fits in, but nowhere is that less true than in the presence of distinguished individuals. Obvious: Ren is capable of stealth, but he is definitely not capable of blending in. He’s too distinctive not to notice, and by consequence would be easily identifiable by anyone searching for him or questioning witnesses. Y.S.G Ability(ies): Basic Ability: Flame of the Dragons Ren has command over a source of mystical fire, able to breathe it from his lungs in a wide cone or summon it to his hands to throw bursts of it at his enemies from afar. This flame can also augment physical attacks or otherwise be manipulated into various shapes and forms by Ren. Consequently standard fire cannot harm him and he has a certain degree of resilience to energy based weapons. First Awakening: Draconic Command Like the legendary dragons of old, there is a kind of regal savagery in the way Ren carries himself. This innate quality can be amplified into a powerful command that only the strongest YG holders could resist, even certain yokai will fall under Ren’s sway. The effect is weaker the more individuals Ren tries to command at once, while able to reach maximum potency when focused on a single individual. Powerful yokai, YSG holders, and extremely exceptional zero percenters have a higher ability to combat the enchantment. Naturally this power is most effective on those that have reason to fear or respect Ren. This power has fairly diminishing returns if used many times over a single day. Additionally, failing to command a powerful individual causes Ren to experience psychic blowback that can range from temporarily stunning to physically harming him. The final downside is that the more adverse an individual is to following a given command, the more resilient they become to the effect in the future. Second Awakening: Serpentine Awakening In desperate times, the ever faithful and ever cunning Little Orochi may fuse its essence with Ren’s own, initiating a powerful transformation that begins to scratch the surface of the monstrous godhood that Ren could be capable of if he ever let go of his humanity entirely. His flames burn hotter, his commands bend wills with greater ease, and his resilience to harm vastly increases. The fusion of Ren and Orochi moves swifter, strikes harder, and sees further. Indeed, while in this form Ren seems to hold an awareness of events outside his ken, able to predict the movements of his opponents in combat and otherwise receive limited visions of the future, whether they help him in the moment or not. This ability is potent, but limited. While an unknown factor, repeated transformations bear the risk of complete yokaification for Ren, or otherwise death, as the few times he has undergone this transformation, he always emerges from it extremely exhausted and pained Draconic Form Soul Binder: Naginata - The naginata suits Ren perfectly as a weapon. A powerful polearm capable of doling out deadly cuts at medium range. Its blade is so sharp it has yet to find a substance it couldn’t cut through when given sufficient effort. Ren doesn’t often wield his soul binder weapon, but when he does, his fighting style takes on a more disciplined, focused attitude reflective of the fact that all his expertise with the naginata is entirely thanks to Tsuki’s training. E X T R A Anything else? Short theme playlist for Ren Little Orochi’s theme - click at your own peril The Secret Language is in this color

H i s t o r y The Tale of the Chimera Boy His Name Was Supposed To Be Lucien The light rail filled the interior cabin with a soft hum as it traveled smoothly through the air. Charlotte Alarie cradled the babe in her arms with a furrowed brow, trying once again to remove the pacifier from its mouth so that she could place the tip of the bottle into her baby’s mouth. Its teeth were already grown in, and far too sharp, to feed any other way. Just like last time, as her hand inched closer, a flash of blue darted from within the bundle and nipped at her hand. She managed to jerk back just in time. Was it venomous? She didn’t even have a clue. How large were the horns on its head going to get? Flinching, she scolded herself internally. She didn’t mean to call him an it. It was just- he wasn’t human. Even with this yokai gene thing… he looked more like a Nue or something out of French myth than an actual human baby. That’s why she had to take him to see his father and demand that he do something about this, whether he was prepared to take responsibility as a parent or not. Hence the trip from New-Paris to Neo-Tokyo. She frowned down at the azure snake that glowered at her. “You’re part of my child. That means I’m doing all this for you as well,” She scolded in a firm tone. “So behave.” To her surprise, the snake actually retreated back into the swaddle as she pulled the pacifier free, quickly replacing it with the bottle of milk. For a brief, fleeting moment, her baby’s reptilian eyes flickered open and met with her own. Something in her heart twinged as she let out a soft gasp. Golden light from the setting sun filtered through the windows and cast the pair in a heavenly aura. She understood, then. Her baby was beautiful. “Your name, I think it will be-” As she spoke, only five minutes out from reaching Neo-Tokyo, a monster that Charlotte never had the chance to see collided with the light rail and sent it careening to the ground below, and all passengers but one to their deaths. The monstrous baby would have sobbed, if not for the scolding hiss given by his serpentine companion. Somewhere deep inside its mind, the Little Orochi knew that only silence would allow them to survive through the night. The Brokenlands Book The Chimera Boy grew up with only the wisps of memory of the life that was ripped from him. The world was big, scary, and fantastical. There was too much to run from and too much to run towards to worry about things like why and how. What wonders and horrors he and the Little Orochi beheld in their time within the Brokenlands. Yokai the size of elephants but twice as docile. Creatures that bartered in strange languages and traded faces as freely as others might exchange pleasantries. Dark, lurking horrors in the depths of crystalline caves, and dragons soaring across the sky with scales glittering in all the hues of the rainbow. The noble Kotobuki that would guide the Chimera Boy across dangerous expanses, and the hateful Nue that hunted him through its territory while speaking in the tongue of humans. He and the Little Orochi made many friends, and made many enemies too. Wailing women and tearful trolls and wide mouthed cats and more filtered in and out of the Chimera Boy’s life. Yet, all was ephemeral. He forged east for months and years in a crooked, uneven path, guided as much by his own sourceless instincts as the insistent hissing of his brother snake. The Walls of Neo-Tokyo When at the age of five, although he didn’t know it, the Chimera Boy at least reached the thing that he sought. He crept closer to Neo-Tokyo’s border in time to be caught up in a confluence of chaos. There were people in strange clothing wielding glowing weapons and a tall, horned yokai leading a host of creatures, many of which resembled species that the Chimera Boy had seen before in his travels. He wanted to get closer and ask what was going on but as he did so everything erupted. Explosions, screams, sprays of blood and clouds of dirt decorated what was now a battlefield. Loud bangs echoed around him. Smoke filled the air as the strangers and the yokai charged against each other with battle cries of hatred. He stumbled blindly through this chaos until he collapsed and realized faintly that he was bleeding. Through flickering consciousness he remembered a pair of wings, silver hair that seemed to shine despite the smoke and darkness all around, and a solitary blue eye drawing nearer and nearer. Mama Tsuki That day during the chaos of a Rank 4 Outbreak, Tsukiyama Fujino became something she never bargained for. A mother. Raising the boy, whom she named Ren, was not particularly easy. To say nothing of having to teach him both English and Japanese (curiously, he was found speaking a kind of broken, self-made language that combined elements of French, Japanese, and other dialects she had never even heard of), the entire adoption was illegal to begin with. At this stage in her life she did not have the wealth nor prestige to push this adoption through the proper channels. So she didn’t. There were other challenges. The apparently sapient snake head growing from his tail seemed to hate her, he refused to wear any form of clothing except when explicitly necessary (a debate that Ren has long since won), and if anyone else wanted to try raising a feral, flying child, she did not recommend it. Somehow, the two (or three, if you count the tail) of them muddled through it, and in time their communication improved as Ren’s grasp of language and the world around him was strengthened. He was always going to be reckless, but at least he wasn’t demanding that “Little Orochi” be given language lessons too anymore. Besides, something about the way that snake looked at her made her think it understood her just fine. Loyalty As Ren aged, he expressed a desire to become a Jaeger, a desire that Tsuki would shut down at every turn. It became a running point of contention between them, one that only worsened when Tsuki would quit the entire program and refused to give Ren any explanation as to why. All he wanted was to be around more people like him, and to understand yokai better. Some days he felt more isolated in a city of billions than he did alone in the wilderness of the Brokenlands. It’s not something the two of them would ever get over. Time heals wounds, but it leaves behind scars too. Tsuki was his mother, and he was loyal to her. So if her leaving the Jaegers was the death knell of his aspiration, her forming the Kurotori was the final nail on that coffin. Of course he was going to stick by her side. She educated him, raised him, loved and trained him. He was the natural choice to be her lieutenant, anyways. A good thing too, as its doubtful that Ren’s pride would have allowed for any other outcome. The Nightmare of the Kurotori Ren quickly proved himself to be a dedicated lieutenant and a savage opponent. Sometimes, too savage for Tsuki’s preference. He has received many scoldings for the speed with which he resorts to brutality when faced with a problem, and in a handful of instances has been teleported away by Tsuki for going too far entirely. When that happens, there are times where she doesn’t see him for days at a time after. Whether he’s roosting in random rooftops or slumming it at some motel, those are the times that Ren needs to listen to Little Orochi’s hissing insistence and get away from it all. And this leads the story into the present. Ren is as reckless and fearsome as ever, but he cares about the gang and he gets things done. As far as he’s concerned, everything will somehow work itself out. Little Orochi knows better.

The Elder Scrolls: In the Shadows of Oblivion

^{Location: Imperial City Prisons}

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Veeza watched with mild interest as the Orsimer priest instructed one of the guards how to care for his newly attached finger. The man seemed to know his stuff; Veeza’d seen his fair share of severed digits reattached after mishaps in Kvatch’s arena. Fortunately for himself, no such injuries were sustained in the previous brawl. No, it would be more accurate to say that he had caused far more damage than he received. Every bit of it was justified too.

When all the violence and stupidity broke out, Veeza had done his very best to keep himself to himself. He sat there at the corner of the bar as all the boasting and posturing gave rise to conflict, slowly nursing his glass of Surilie’s and enjoying the feeling of a warm meal in his stomach after a fight well won. He’d smashed enough faces in today. He wasn’t in the mood. So he sat there, and he drank, and he ignored the growing chaos behind him until some moron tried to drag him out of his stool.

Then he bashed that same stool over the moron’s head. Which his friends didn’t like.

Regrettably, their cycle of vengeance was much more like a straight line that ended in Veeza’s fist and occasionally his tail. He’s pretty sure he collapsed a Khajiit’s windpipe when the guards barged in and put an end to the whole mess.

Veeza wasn’t entirely convinced that he belonged in this cell, but he had to admit that the fight ended up being a little fun.

Beside him, a Redguard woman, barely more than a girl really, occasionally threw a questioning comment his way. He tried to take up as little space as possible for her sake, seated between two titanic Argonians as she was. Azura willing, the poor girl wouldn’t end up suffocated. With the amount of rabble getting stuffed into this cell, it was becoming a real possibility.

So he tried to answer her questions calmly and politely as his gaze surveyed the others in the cell. The yammering Bosmer woman -at least Veeza was reasonably confident, although they could be a man- caught the bulk of his attention as a young Breton fellow tried to rally those near him into finding a way to pass the time. The panicked movements of the squat, tattoo covered Mer were infinitely more curious to Veeza than any game of cards, however. Was she alright? She certainly seemed a stranger to these lands at the least. From what Veeza knew of the culture of Valenwood, it could be vastly different from that of Cyrodilic tradition. The sound of clanging metal stole him from his musings when a massive Khajiit tore a prison door off its hinges and sent the guards into momentary chaos.

A Cathay-raht? Here?

Not only here in this prison, but soon to be here in the very same cell as the guards ushered him closer.

“Stendarr… Give me a break.” His voice scraped from his throat in a quiet whisper.

The disgruntled prayer, to Veeza’s chagrin, went unanswered as the oversized creature loped into the cell and gave an introduction. At least he seemed docile after getting what he wanted. Veeza wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of having to try his luck against a titan like that without his equipment. Although it would be an invigorating match, to be certain. Perhaps once they were released from this pit he could set up a bout with the Khajiit in the arena, or at least test his skills against the larger beastfolk in a friendly spar.

The blithering of the possibly insane Bosmer continued as she made a great deal of proclamations at the Cathay-raht, apparently named Kiffar, who didn’t seem to have the capacity or care to comprehend the confusing assertions being made of him. He knew better than to judge people by their eccentricities, yet couldn't quite scratch away the feeling that there were quieter cells he could be stuck in. His tail flicked from side to side in restless irritation behind him where he sat.

He let out a low, rasping sigh.

This was not worth five-hundred septims.

Next time one of the guards tried to shove another drunk, vagrant or buffoon in here, Veeza vowed to drag that guard in with them.

Primality

M A R K O V A L D I

^{Location: Dorm Building Exterior, Merryweather Institute Interaction(s):@Chrys}

---

At the sounding of the intercom, the gradual flow of students from the dorm building became something more like a torrent. Nestling himself firmly against the wall, Marko tried to make his substantial physique as small as possible. He just... needed a minute. Nursing his cigarette like it was his only friend in the world (it was), he took deep, even breaths with the smoke. In and out. Don't worry about the curious stares and the grimaces that often followed. Don't worry about your fingers not moving the way they used to, or not being able to stretch without making your arm tear its scars open in seven different spots. Don't worry about depth perception. Just you and the cigarette.

Atrophy
---

Hearts pump dust
through petrified veins
while stale air wheezes from our lungs;
one long heaving sigh
gently rattling the bonecage
as it escapes from between mummified lips
and out into the baleful yellow sky.

Dust gathers over our desiccated forms:
paper-thin skin-as-parchment stretched over
hollow skeletons: brittle, sallow creatures
clinging stubbornly to a concept
we have long since lost the capacity
to comprehend.

Gradually, he was able to turn himself over to carcinogenic absolution, and strife gave way to the far more preferable non-sensation of numbness.

"And here was me thinking that was against the rules."

The stub of the cigarette found itself hitting the back of Marko's throat as he sucked in a surprised breath, and quickly doubled over, retching. Who the hell? Hands on his knees, he stood there, retching the taste from his mouth as the stranger watched him. This is unfortunate. The plan was to avoid making an ass out of myself. Scolding himself, Marko finally felt able enough to speak, peering up at the girl through his good eye. "And I think... that you are very purple." What? Kill yourself now. Good Christ. He coughed, more from awkwardness this time than anything else. "Uhm. Well. Yes, cigarettes are against the rules." His lips pressed together into something that wasn't quite a smile. "My choice of vice was either smoking or narcissism. So." You're not funny. Stop trying to make jokes. They aren't funny. Is the punchline that you're a burn victim and therefore not attractive enough to be a narcissist?

Briefly, an expression flashed across Marko's face akin to that of a rat dropped into a cage with a snake, before dropping back into stilted neutrality. He raised his gloved hand skyward towards the student. "I'm Marko. Please don't tell anyone about the cigarettes." His voice rung out in hollow, tired notes. An instrument out of tune with itself, and possibly missing a few strings entirely.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

@Lemons GOODNESS GRACIOUS THE WHIPLASH

As you can see I tend to play very different characters these days hahhaha

Also if anyone wants to establish character relations let me know here or on Discord!

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

As for your connections, tell me how comfortable you are with me controlling/making stuff up regarding them. Keep in mind, the more input/control you want for them, the more questions I'm going to ask you. If you have plot ideas (which would probably more come up when the IC is up), send those to me too.

@OwO

Feel free to do anything you want with Marty's father or any of his siblings- he hasn't even met most of them anyways

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

Fly Away Fly Boy

"Do it. Tell me to 'buzz off,' I dare ya."

---

Name:

His Royal Prince “Marty” Beelzebub DCLXVI•MM, Six-Hundred-Sixty-Six-Millionth in line for the throne of Beelzebub the First

Age:

23

Description:

The diminutive form of Marty stands at nearly four feet tall, with bulbous compound eyes of deep red and a gray body bristling with millions of tiny sensory hairs. He walks with all the swagger of someone that learned to be cool by imitating those that never needed to learn how to be cool at all, which is to say that he doesn’t so much swagger as awkwardly shuffle. It’s hard growing up having to compare yourself to over six-hundred-million siblings. Makes a guy do some pretty desperate things, like wear two belts at once, or compulsively comb your antennae to make sure each frond is in perfect place. Vanity is extremely important to Marty, actually. His carefully cultivated bad boy look took a long time to get exactly right, and he’s not going to risk being caught on a windy day without a comb and pocket mirror.

Marty was born with the very keen understanding that he was never going to get even the smallest taste of the power, respect or prestige wielded by his father. His father, whom he’s only interacted with when being addressed as part of a group. His father, whom he admires more than anyone. His father, whom he’s been trying and failing to imitate for as long as he can remember. Beelzebub the First oozes confidence, charm, and leadership. He can close a business deal like nobody else and commands respect from any and all that share a room with him.

He probably doesn’t know that Marty exists. Marty, who for all intents and purposes, shares very little in common with his idol. An idol he sometimes resents as fiercely as he loves. (Imagine that. Your father, not a man you look up to and are guided by, but a distant figure that you idolize as though they were a celebrity. Imagine it.) Instead of confidence, Marty has bravado. Instead of commanding respect, Marty feels lucky when he gets any at all. Hell, maybe he could be a good leader, but he’s never going to get there unless he learns to be his own man, er- fly, demon… thing.

He’s cunning and detail oriented, with an uncanny insight into the minds of others. He has a big heart, even if he struggles to express it, and enjoys working with others. Large groups are something Marty is extremely used to. Most notably, he is ambitious and doggedly determined to make something of himself. Of course when choosing between employment in his father’s mega-conglomerate alongside the vast majority of his family or setting out on his own, he chose the latter.

It was a controversial choice amongst his siblings. For all his shortcomings, that bold action set him apart from the rest of his family. Marty knew though, that he was never going to impress or surpass his father by working underneath him. Beelzebub the First would never take a cushy job in middle management when he could risk it all for more. So Marty didn’t either.

At twenty years old he entered New Helle for the first time, inexperienced but not unprepared. He did his research, and knew exactly what the ballsy move to make was.

How did Marty join Section 7? He marched up to the Easy Runner, stormed in and demanded a job.

After everyone was done laughing at him, he was promptly thrown out.

This process repeated several times a week for the better part of a month until Chief Armand Rayne finally caved. It is unclear if Marty showed a particular kind of gumption with his behavior or if it just became easier to let him stay and help out.

That was three years ago now, and while he can be extremely himself, that also isn’t always a bad thing.

Ability:

Lying to Marty is profoundly hard to do. He has strong natural instincts in that department, augmented by the ability to detect subtle shifts in the moods and physiology of people he’s near enough to. It’s not mind reading per se, but he can tell how hard someone’s heart is beating and he can usually parse the reason why too.

He also has incredible perception, able to notice even subtle shifts in motion at long range and within a wide field of view. All of his senses are enhanced, his antennae and sensory hairs granting him powerful hearing and the ability to feel vibrations in the air. This is helpful for investigative purposes, but paired with his natural reflexes also makes him an extremely scrappy fighter. Marty is frighteningly quick on his feet and with his wings, and four arms means four hands holding knives ready to put anyone that tries him full of holes.

Additionally, his body is sturdy and capable of taking some punishment, even though to describe him as weak is a bit of an understatement. He would lose an arm wrestle with most children over the age of twelve.

While some of Marty’s capabilities blur the line between magic and mundane, he does have clear powers as a consequence of his demonic nature as well. He has an affinity and control over pests and insects like flies, wasps, or even rats, and can manifest swarms of the nasty creatures to harm and harry. This magic is more useful however when deployed as a reconnaissance tactic. Using his connection to the low and dirty creatures of the world, he can see through the eyes of an insect or send rats and spiders across the city to gather information.

To put not too fine a point on it, Marty is literally the fly on the wall in the room where all that shit went down.

Oh, and he can fly. That’s always nice.

Artifacts:

Diddly squat.

Connections:

• Beelzebub the First: The president of a massive mega-conglomerate in Hell. Probably doesn’t really know that Marty exists.

Misc:

TBD, maybe. Will add things if they come to me.

Tamashī no Samuraitachi (Cyberpunk/Anime Inspired) IC

@Sadu Absolutely! discord.gg/6DN4u9zGJR feel free to join the discord and chat about your character concept. Vidar should have the OOC up soon enough as well