Gelatinous Cube

𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

Gotta love a joint that smells like so much stale smoke you light up just to get a fresh breath.
This place wasn't exactly the Floating Lotus, but it had heart where it counted. Quint Casey never was one to cry about standards, just don't water down his drinks and he was a happy man.
Well, not happy but...well, you know. Less miserable?
The ceiling fans did only a little to alleviate the summer heat, but he didn't mind too much. Today he was dressed in a pair of dark jeans and light blue collared shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Small moisture stains had sprung up around his pits, but for the most part he was comfortable.

He took a casual sip of his beer and held the chill in his mouth for a moment before swallowing. Summer was going to make him an alcoholic.
Though he would be careful not to indulge too heavily today. Today was all about business.
One of his regular friends and clients, Miguel Hidalgo, had phoned him to meet him here about a job. Quint knew Miguel was good for the money, and Miguel knew Quint was good for the skills. They had a casual, easy friendship marked by a shared love of the same alcohol and a shared interest of mutual company.
Quint loved listening to Esperanza sing, and Miguel loved protecting her.

It was then that the immaculately present Hidalgo arrived.
Quint raised his glass to him as a way of greeting and gestured for another drink to be brought to the table.
"Miguel, always a pleasure. I hear you've got a friend in need."

The Marchand School of Sorcery

Mortar fire. Pyromancy. Blood. Smoke. Screaming.
It was like he was really back there. Charging through trenches, cutting down cultists and baring his teeth in directionless rage. He was like a rabid wolverine, all snarls and claws. Of course, the cocktail of uppers and pyschotics he'd shot up into his bloodstream at the first sign of battle were mostly to blame for his undeniably warlike disposition. His eyes were orbs of pure, pitch black, the blood in his teeth clashed with the mud on his uniform. His hair was shaved into a messy, tribal mohawk and his beard was scruffy and pointed. His body was the scrawny, wired musculature of a serial shooter.
Even his comrades were afraid of him when he was like this. So different from the quiet, withdrawn man they knew in the quiet hours. So far removed from the cyclone of violence they now witnessed.
Suddenly, a massive explosion threw him several feet backwards, heat and concussive pressure hit him like the fist of an enraged god squarely in his centre of mass.
He looked up at the clouded sky with shell-shocked eyes, seeing a million rockets bearing down on him. Only they weren't rockets at all. They were needles. Full of sloshing, murky liquid. He smiled and laughed as they blotted out the sky and sent him to a realm of painless black...

...then he was awake. Soft light beamed through the slitted blinds of his room and a ceiling fan whirled lazily above him. There was no shock, no jolt of awakening. Raymond had been experiencing that dream for years now. It was at the point where he would be perturbed if he didn't.
He turned his head and looked at the digital clock beside his bed.
He was late.
"Ah, fuck it all!" he exclaimed as he sat up and rubbed his eyes and face. No time to shave, then. He quickly got dressed and freshened up as fast as time would allow and was hurriedly making his way toward the common room. He was met at once with the delectable aroma of pancakes, syrup and strong black coffee.
Scanning the room he could see a large number of students had already taken their place. He recognized none of them, despite knowing that a great deal of them came from rich stock. There would be plenty of time to get to know them over the year, however.
He turned his attention to someone he did recognize, and his heart momentarily sank.
He caught Oren Kovalenko's gaze and shot her a half-hearted sheepish look of apology for his tardiness. Not that it would do him any good, she didn't like him at all.
Though he didn't think she really like anyone, save for Professor Maeve. Ray was endlessly grateful her second half was not currently present. He could handle them one at a time, but there was no defense against the two of them. Not even for the Professor of Defense!

Ray helped himself to a plate of pancakes and a mug of strong, black coffee.
How on earth did I get into this mess? He thought to himself wistfully, as he went over his lesson plans and class attendance rolls for the umpteenth time. He had it all memorized, he was really just going through the motions in order to avoid sitting by himself and staring creepily at a bunch of kids.

Red Dragon Bone Guild

Hey, I'm sorry but I think I will bow out of this one. It's been a few days and nothing has really come to me character-wise. I do hope it all takes off and you all have a lot of fun with it though.

The Marchand School of Sorcery

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 of Defense and Toxin Production

Primary:
Defense

Secondary:
Toxin Production and Magic Weapon Infusement

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. One could even be forgiven for thinking him a pacifist, though the way he carries himself suggests that his soldier habits have not entirely left him

Skills:
He has an intimate knowledge of Defense and Toxin Production, 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...as well as a not so valuable boon to his substance abuse.
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. He has neglected to re-enchant it for personal reasons, though he has a hunch that he may need to dust it off sooner than he would like.

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. The thing that scares him the most is how little it would take.


Brief History:
Ray was once a promising young student of Magic. He excelled in Defense and was a voracious learner. 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 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, subtly indoctrinating him into the Cult. 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. It just so happened that the Council's strike force was too late to stop him, but quick enough to see everything.
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.

The Marchand School of Sorcery

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 of Defense and Toxin Production

Primary:
Defense

Secondary:
Toxin Production and Magic Weapon Infusement

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. One could even be forgiven for thinking him a pacifist, though the way he carries himself suggests that his soldier habits have not entirely left him

Skills:
He has an intimate knowledge of Defense and Toxin Production, 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...as well as a not so valuable boon to his substance abuse.
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. He has neglected to re-enchant it for personal reasons, though he has a hunch that he may need to dust it off sooner than he would like.

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. The thing that scares him the most is how little it would take.


Brief History:
Ray was once a promising young student of Magic. He excelled in Defense and was a voracious learner. 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 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, subtly indoctrinating him into the Cult. 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. It just so happened that the Council's strike force was too late to stop him, but quick enough to see everything.
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.

The Marchand School of Sorcery

Caaaaaaaan do!

Is it alright if I just copy him straight over from the previous RP, or will there be changes I'd have to make?

The Marchand School of Sorcery

Whaaaaaat? This has started again?

Anybody object to me bringing Ray back?

Red Dragon Bone Guild

No worries. I've been considering a human character. I like the dynamic of the "normal" one interacting casually with more extraordinary, out there character types. Having that grounded relatability is something I've always been very fond of.

Red Dragon Bone Guild

Hey yo, I'm still keen. Just trying to suss out what I want to be

𝓒𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓯 𝓦𝓪𝓵𝓵𝓼

Quint Casey

Appearance:

Name: Quint Casey

Nicknames/Alias: Most people call him Casey, or Case, or sometimes "Quinsey."

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Sexual Orientation: Likes ladies, but preferences can swing from time to time.

Ethnicity: Caucasian

State: He has lived his whole life in Morvai, he has no idea where his parents came from.

Appearance Details: Quint dresses the way his job best requires. Plain, unassuming, unremarkable. Jeans, boots, t-shirts and a casual jacket are his usual attire, though he is known to dress to the occasion as his job demands.

Tattoos, Piercings, Scars, Other: An eyebrow ring on the right side of his face and a nose ring on the left nostril.

Brand Tattoo Placement: Left inside wrist

Assets and Bank Account: Now that's private...but let's just say he gets paid very well for his work.

Armory: Simple and reliable Beretta 92FS and an even simpler and just as reliable telescopic baton
Being that Quint avoids any kind of conflict and combat, he is often only lightly armed, opting to talk his way out of a tight spot or just run and hide. Nothing wrong with the better part of valor now, is there?

Gang Affiliation: Unseen, though not a member per se, he is one of the go to guys for his particular brand of delivery.

Occupation: Quint is a "mover". Somebody who knows how to get sensitive goods from point A to point B very quietly.

Sanction: Korven

Favorite Season: Autumn, the colours are pretty. Makes for good drawing.

Personality: Quint has the outward appearance of a laid back slacker. A guy who enjoys drinking, lounging and screwing. Underneath that layer though, you'll find a stand up guy who knows how to get the job done and is smart enough to not fuck with anyone. His first resort in a conflict is to find the peaceful resolution, but put his back against the wall and he might just wind up picking fragments of your teeth out of his elbow.

+Discreet
+Calm
+Protective

-Smart-mouthed
-Deceptive
-Prone to excess

Likes and Dislikes:

+Cold drinks
+Warm bodies
+A full bank account
+Good company
+Quiet, reflective times
+Drawing and sketching
+Straight talkers and shooters

-The Kings
-Baby farms
-Cheapskate clients who try to underpay him AFTER the damn job is done!
-Abusive motherfuckers
-Stupid motherfuckers
-Abusive, stupid motherfuckers

Hobbies and Interests: Quint's job can be fairly high stress. It's true that a proper job is pulled off without any complications, but unfortunately those complications do happen and they create significant tension. Thus you can imagine a lot of Quint's downtime is spend relaxing either in his modest apartment suite or drinking down with the regulars at the Floating Lotus. Another big part of his job involves waiting. Either to get through Customs or waiting for a Client. It's easy to let the anxiety of a job get the better of you in these instances, so Quint has taken to sketching to keep his hands busy. Hardly the kind of things that would wind up in a gallery, but he likes them.

Small Biography: Quint does not know who his parents were. He assumes they were killed, as he knows he was one of several babies rescued from a baby farm and raised in an orphanage. It was at a young age he cultivated his particular talent for smuggling and stealing. He was the kid who snuck in candy bars to the other kids once lights were out. Life as an orphan was far from easy, and without the guidance of a parental unit he often found himself lashing out and learnt the basics of brawling on the streets. Overall that life taught him to be happy with what he had gained as an adult and never demand more than what he thought was his fair share. It's one of the aspects of his personality that made him such a sought after Mover.
Beneath his stoic professionalism is a deep loneliness that he doesn't really know how to fix, so he drowns it in the company of friends and drinks.

Family Members: Quint has no known family, nor any desire to seek one out.

Relationships:

Connor Sullivan - Business

Connor has hired Quint many times to move sensitive things around quietly on behalf of himself or The Unseen. Be it acquisitions or delivery, Quint is the man for the job. The two enjoy a healthy, professional respect and the occasional drink or two should they bump into one another at the Lotus.

Miguel Hidalgo - Business/Friend

Miguel is one of Quint's favourite drinking buddies. A fun guy in his own right and also a good source of work and information. Quint gets the sense that he's always being kept at arms length, but he doesn't pry into Miguel's reasons.

Esperanza Hidalgo - Friend/Occasional Client

Sister to Miguel, Esperanza has provided Quint with her services a few times. Quint enjoys hearing her sing most of all, and she is a large part of the reason he frequents the Floating Lotus.

Derrick J Matthews - Business/Friend

Derrick and Quint get along like a house on fire, having similar personalities. The only time work is ever spoken of between them is when Derrick needs a job done. Otherwise, the two have clinked countless glasses together.

Cameron Campbell - Business

Being that Quint has a reputation for being a good smuggler (as much as he hates that word), Cameron has hired him to acquire certain weapons and ammunition that aren't widely available or legal.

Tameka Patrick - Business

As unsavory as the job is, limbs don't move themselves...after they're severed that is.

Klaus Jarsdel - Business.

Although Klaus has plenty of his own people to choose from, every now and then something sensitive needs shifting and someone not on the official pay roll is the only one to shift it.