Gelatinous Cube

Welcome to Marchand!

Jeez, these kids are a couple of punks aren't they? :P

What Are You Listening To?

Three songs in, and I already love this album so far. I have an entire discography of this waiting? <3 <3 <3 <3

@SleepingSilence

These guys supported Coheed & Cambria on their most recent tour. I'll give them a listen!

Welcome to Marchand!

Just a heads up, I've edited my opening post to fix those errors I made.

Also, I'm happy to be paired up with whoever.

Welcome to Marchand!

Ah, yep. I'll get in tomorrow and fix that up. It's bedtime for me now. Tomorrow afternoon/evening I'll have it done. It shouldn't disrupt the flow as is now though, so hopefully it won't hold anyone up.

Welcome to Marchand!

The buzzing of his mobile phone registered dimly on his senses.
He reached over to pick it up, knocking over several things in the process. He read the message before glancing at the time.
Oh, shit...really?
He had overslept, on the all important first day of the school year. He scrambled off the couch he had crashed on the night before and haphazardly scraped together his papers that had consumed what was supposed to be his eight hours of beauty sleep. He sprayed on some deodorant and splashed some water on his face. No time to shave, so he'd just have to try and rock the rugged look. No doubt the bags under his eyes would betray the illusion.
He pulled on his coat and ran his hands through his hair, forming it into something approaching neat and tidy.
Way to make a good impression Ray...par for the course, old buddy!

He took a dignified power walk to the common room where all the new students would be congregating. He felt a pang of anxiety as the noise of milling students got louder. He didn't know how to deal with kids, nor even if he would be a decent teacher. How would the kids (or worse, their blue blooded parents) feel about a murderer teaching their children, he often fretted.
Sure, some of the faculty here had fought in the war and had certainly killed many cultists, but war was war. The cult declared it and the Council answered. What Ray had done...it just didn't bear repeating, he told himself.
One day it would stick.

He shouldered his way into the crowded common room, the noise of youth pounding his weary ear drums like a sledgehammer. Thankfully it was broken by the smell of the platter against the far wall. Above all was the smell of fresh ground coffee. He made for it like a buzzard on a fresh corpse. He poured himself a cup and took a long, deep mouthful of it, savoring the heat, the smell and the taste before refilling and hastily grabbing a croissant.
He turned around as he unceremoniously demolished the flaky pastry. He couldn't help but feel overwhelmed. He almost preferred the trenches. At least there everyone was the same size. There was no class or aristocracy, just the kinship of men and women who knew they could die at any moment.
Here Ray felt hopelessly alone. He was poor trash in comparison. The divide between him and the rich benefactors of the Marchand (and their equally smarmy offspring) was as apparent as if one were to stand on the edge of the grand canyon.
He guessed that in the end it really didn't matter. He straightened his posture and put on a stern outward gaze.

He looked around to try and find some familiar faces in the crowd. He of course spotted the last two people he was looking for, or at least the ones he was convinced liked him the least. He had been unable to get a read on either Oren Kovalenko or Maeve Brigid Byrne. They were both as stern and rigid as ancient pillars, but the way they interacted with one another was like idioglossia. He knew they fought in the war together and were close, but they were decorated special ops veterans. Ray had just been another grunt grateful to come out alive with a second chance. One would think that would at least afford him some warmth from them, but they were as cold to him as they were to just about anyone else. He generally tried not to think about it. For all he knew he had just gotten the wrong impression. As it was, he didn't know anybody terribly well yet; it just felt as though he wouldn't get to know either of them very easily.
He shouldered his way gingerly through the throng of new students, greeting casually those who introduced themselves to him.
He sat down on the chairs that he been set aside for the members of faculty and began to organize his papers. His curriculum, personal notes and schedules.
He glanced up every now and then for any other members of staff who might arrive. He didn't know the other staff members terribly well, due to their limited amount of time to interact and even then it was all business. He'd only managed something not unlike casual conversation with Jamie Lebeau. He had come across as a genuine and decent guy.

He managed to briefly meet the gaze of Professor Kovalenko. He nodded tersely at her and offered up a look as a sort of apology for his tardiness. He secretly hoped she wouldn't approach, as he was sure a scolding would follow. He was happy to trade barbs one on one in private, but in this kind of setting he'd just have to sit down and take the lashing.
This setting was entirely alien to him, at least from the perspective of a teacher. As a child, there had been nothing like this for him, not that he had known of anyway. He was put in a regular old public school, and had to keep his magic on the down-low.
He took a deep, sighing breath.
Better than having my eternal soul ripped from my body, I guess...

Welcome to Marchand!

Raymond Matheos

Full Name:
Raymond Matheos

Nicknames/Aliases:
Never one for fancy nicknames, he just lets people call him Ray.

Age:
38

Gender:
Male

Position:
Professor.

Primary:
Necromancy

Secondary:
Blood Magic and Toxin Production.

Description:
Ray has certainly brought his dress code up since his...old life. He still enjoys muted tones, but his collection of coats with the elbow patches
and plain slacks and dress boots make him look somewhat more mature than his sense of humour would suggest. His black hair is kept short and neatly
pomaded back, and he doesn't let his beard go beyond the rough stubble phase anymore. He cuts an average figure, standing at even six feet tall.
He looks like just another guy.

Personality:
Ray has something of a dry sense of humour, interspersed with a penchant for well-timed quips. Often times he uses sarcasm
or self-deprecation to steer somebody away from the subject of his past. Otherwise, he's a devoted teacher and takes his
lessons very seriously.

Skills:
He has an intimate knowledge of Necromancy and Blood Magic, owing to a tragic, criminal past. He gained his knowledge of Toxin Production during the war, providing a valuable boon to the Council's forces.
During his time in the war, he became an accomplished swordsman, with a preference towards one-handed, single edged blades. He still has the Sabre he was given when he passed basic training, though it hasn't been used in so long it's enchantment has mostly worn away.

Weaknesses:
His past, definitely. Although it would seem to be behind him, and he outwardly appears to have made peace with it, the guilt still lingers. Anyone with enough knowledge of it could manipulate his emotions to their own will with the right finesse.


Brief History:
Ray was once a promising young student of Magic. He excelled in Necromancy, despite lacking the stereotypical demeanor of Necromancers. He was a voracious learner, and whatever time not spent with his girlfriend Kyra, was spent with his nose in books. He eventually came to chance upon a recruitment agent for the Doomsday Cult and master of Blood Magic named Mathias Delancourt who saw potential in Ray's eagerness and naivete. He took the boy under his wing, acting as something of a tutor. All the while he was taking control of Ray's mind,
diverting him to the world of Blood Magic. It all culminated one stormy night at Ray's official initiation into the cult, wherein he plunged a dagger into the heart of an innocent man. His punishment was severe. Mathias was executed, Ray was not. The next decade of his life made him wish he had been. Ray had murdered an innocent man for the Doomsday Cult, and thus deserved to be tried and punished. However, the Council was embroiled in war with that very cult, and could not afford to execute an able Wizard. Ray was drafted into service under the Council to fight their war. Kyra had joined voluntarily, after tearfully leaving Ray a year earlier when it became apparent who he had been getting involved with. The war took her, and Ray was shattered. The love of his life died hating him, and he had never been able to let that go. Upon completion of his service, his record was cleared and he was let go a free man. His employment options basically non-existent, he took up the councils offer to put his unfortunate knowledge of Black Magic to some good use and make sure the next generation of Wizards and Witches did not stray down the same tragic path he did.
Thus his unexpected tenure at Marchand, a place he could do well and be closely monitored. Nobody really knows his past exactly, only that he fought in the war and that his drafting was anything but orthodox, but the rumours spread around the faculty and alumni.
He does his best to ignore or deflect them.

Welcome to Marchand!

For this week, I can only really post in the evenings (work all day, gym some afternoons) but I have the whole week off work next week so I can smash some posts!

Welcome to Marchand!

@VitoftheVoid@EchoicChamber

I have made the changes we discussed. I hope you like them :)

Edit: Gave him one little extra skill.

Welcome to Marchand!

Okay, I think I've come up with some pleasing amendments.

Welcome to Marchand!

No need to apologize. I will see about making those changes. Give me a little time, and I'll see what I can come up with.