SilverPaw

REBOOT Heroes of Auric: Into the Tangle

I don't think I can handle another RP right now, but I might keep an eye on this.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Theater fit Date and Time: Sola 28th, Late morning Location: Theater Mention(s): @CitrusArms Stratya Interaction(s): @Helo Callum, @princess Anastasia, his parents, @Lava Alckon Farim, Drake, @Samreaper Kazumin, @FunnyGuy Lorenzo, @JJ Doe Fritz

"That is how this all works, right?"

Apathy. It was a strange experience to hear it from his brother. From Callum, who only a few days ago spoke so impassionedly that he could never doom an innocent to death. Who had been so pained by the notion, who had fought so desperately against it. Was this just a temporary reaction to Darryn’s murder? Or had that been the straw which broke the camel’s back, and he had finally lost the piece of him which cared? If he did, did he feel its loss, or had it burnt out entirely unnoticed, like the feeble wick of a candle exposed to the mercy of a storm?

“Indeed,” he confirmed matter-of-factly. What else was there to say?

Edin, meanwhile, did not appreciate his pointed dark joke. Oh, his father was still peeved at him, was he? A dark smirk crept across his face at his father’s hilarity. Seemingly in agreement, he retorted, “Anyone would dance with a noose around their necks, wouldn’t they?” Including you..

He was intrigued to note the king’s reaction to the blaring trumpets. He well knew the man’s distaste for the instrument, but he had never had the chance to witness his reaction to a veritable ensemble of them. His father appeared downright tormented, a tidbit he filed away in one of his numerous mental folders.

By the time Lorenzo came onto the stage, Edin’s mood had ameliorated enough for him to seek his approval. “The duke certainly wishes he were grand,” he threw Edin a bone, something small to placate him. He did not comment on Alibeth’s expressed desire to depose the duke, though privately, he agreed.

“He does not laud his fate, he laments it,” he opined mildly. Largely, his mother was right. “Now, if only he did something productive in response…”

As for her assessment of Anastasia’s performance, it struck him that she had a shallow understanding of strength. “Weak…?” his head canted to the side, brows arching slowly as he echoed Alibeth. That was when Callum decided now would be a good time to flaunt his budding savvy for manipulation (if one could call his attempt skillful), and addressed him. Wulfric’s glance slid to him, past him, and settled on his mother. As dismissive of Callum as his brother was of Alibeth. You’ve much to learn yet, brother.

“Do you truly believe that she is weak?” He questioned Alibeth, tone genuinely wondering. “There is power in music, even in honesty. It may be difficult for us to understand, but the ability to influence is clear,” he gestured to the audience. One could tell by their expression that the people were moved. For some, it was because they understood. For others, those who were without the personal experience of loss, it was because they could feel Anastasia’s emotions, and were swept along in their wake. “Do you not see their admiration? Their awe? Their recognition?” It was not so much recognition of talent, but the recognition of connection. The soulful impression that there existed a commonality between them and the princess. That she, who could mourn the death of a commoner so, was someone worth rooting for.

“You might protest that theirs is only a transient experience, but what is esteem built upon if not a stringing of such experiences, one after another? If that does not convince you, I suppose you could compare this to the manipulation tactic of appearing weak to elicit sympathy and acts of compassion.” He delicately raised his shoulder in a shrug. “Of course, she does not do this intentionally, but the effect is more or less the same. You needn’t worry we will somehow be devalued in the people’s eyes due to her performance, that much I am sure of.”

His attention returned to the stage then, where something was occurring. He practically ignored his brother, but then again, Callum had his answer. “How curious,” he commented when Count Hendrix took to the stage, springing on them a surprise performance.

The song was familiar, though for the life of him, Wulfric could not recall when he had heard it. Hendrix sang like he was calling out to someone. Gradually, the audience responded. By all accounts, the count was successful in his aim, and yet…

Why was there such a sense of solitude about the man?

The song was followed by a dance. Fritz mingled among the skilled performers, a part of them yet not. If Wulfric had not been tracking him so closely, he would not have noticed his departure.

The curtain call commenced, and Count Hendrix, the peculiar, bold man that he was, requested the royals’ commentary. A smirk played about Wulfric’s lips, stretching into a sharp grin as a glint of challenge danced in his eyes.

His parents shared their sentiments, Edin’s self-indulgent, Alibeth’s brief, true to their character. “I do believe there is still some fun to be had,” he pitched in, watching his mother leave. Clapping Callum on his shoulder, he encouraged, “This is a good chance to practice your rhetoric.” Standing up, he approached the railing, gazing down at the performers. “You wish to hear my opinion? Certainly, I can oblige.” He pointed towards the lot of them. “Since you have called on me, I shall join you right there. Do take care not to run away, now – or worse, faint from the shock,” he chuckled under his breath. That said, he turned on his heel with flair, swift and sleek. He wished he could do something as dramatic as vault over the railing, and jump or fly straight down, but alas.

He exited the royal box with a nod to the remaining family members. “Enjoy the applause, father. More is soon to follow.”

He took the mundane route of walking down the stairs, but savoured each step. The amusement as he left an eager audience in suspense, the thrill of an awaiting contest and a match well met. He strolled onto the stage with confident steps, a winsome smile in place. The excitement among the observers was palpable, but he raised a calming hand to prevent a standing ovation.

He stepped to the first performer. Conveniently, they were still arranged in a line from when they had taken their final bow. “Shahzade Farim,” he reached out for a handshake. “You have shown us a singularly beautiful bond between beast and man, and dazzled us all with a unique part of Alidasht culture. Thara is a glorious falcon, deserving of all praise.” Clapping emerged, and Wulfric drew the man into a loose half-hug. For his ears only, he imparted, “I hope you are not too offended by those less verse in ornithology. Oh, and do not forget about that chat with Anastasia, if you have not had it yet,” he let him go with one last pat to the shoulder, and proceeded to the next man.

“Lord Drake,” he smiled at his friend with a rare warmth. “Well done.” They shook hands, engaging in a firmer hug, back clap included. “I always find myself enjoying your playing, and today’s was a moving performance. You have once again managed to elevate your level of skill. If you have not yet found your limit, I rather look forward to when you do.”

He approached Nagasa next, initiating a handshake as well. “Mr. Nagasa, despite your lacking resources, you have arranged a captivating play. You have a talent for storytelling. Polish it well.” He clapped the man on the shoulder, and once again took the opportunity during the applause to disclose a message just for him. “If you do not find my father’s offer appealing, you might want to make your escape soon.”

Lorenzo was next in line. “Duke Vikena, you are a fine poet. Do not do yourself the disservice of insulting fellow performers.” Another handshake, another shoulder pat. “Meet your fate head on, for you are the one who can change it.”

Anastasia was standing to the side, Captain Durman kneeling off stage next to her for some reason. “Captain, I shall borrow my sister for a bit, if you do not mind.” He offered his hand to Anastasia, and he led her back to the center, hands linked. “My sister has reached you all without words, so I do not believe words are necessary.” He hugged his sister, whispered to her, “It hurts, doesn’t it?” He brushed her hair, stroked her back, then released her, holding her shoulders long enough for a bracing squeeze. “You are stronger than some will give you credit for.” He let her go, and turned to the last but most certainly not the least.

He stalked up to the man with all the grace of a leopard in hunt, that sharp grin appearing once again. “Count Fritz Hendrix,” he announced. He presented the man to the spectators, motioning with his hand as if unveiling a gift. “Organizer, announcer, and entertainer all in one. He had a fun surprise in store for us at the end, did he not? Do let him know if you enjoyed his contribution.” Applause and cheers rang out, though Wulfric wondered if it meant anything to the count at all. When the sound petered out, he turned towards him, smiling in invitation as he held out a hand. “You were one of the many who made this event possible; you were instrumental in its fruition. Congratulations on a successful charity drive.” They shook hands, held, released.

Wulfric turned towards the audience with a final line. “To the gods, the king, the people!” he called out, and a cacophony of noise erupted. He swept a bow, and gracefully exited the stage. He sat amongst the audience, a kind stranger letting him borrow a seat in the first row for these last few minutes.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

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Mentions: Kelly
Setting: 10-ish AM, Fetching a ride

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Al's ears wiggled up and down as everyone took a look at his drawing. Awkwardly smiling, he waited until the topic of conversation moved on. He took a bracing inhale when he was out of the spotlight, stashing his notebook back where it belonged. The Chief had several suggestions where to go, and Alphard immediately ruled out the first two. The very thought of going around host clubs had him blushing, so he didn’t think he could have a proper conversation with anyone there. Kicking down doors was an immediate no. He wasn’t a physical guy, didn’t enjoy using violence. That left finding and questioning the Kurodoji family survivor. Scary, but manageable. Especially with Kelly there.

One last ominous line from the Chief, and they were off. “M-me too,” Alphard shyly raised his hand when the canine-eared man proclaimed his intention to go. Kelly revealing his habitual shoulder holster had him pat his own BPS issued pistol, holstered at the belt. A drop of sweat beaded on his brow, but he nodded in determination. He didn’t like it, but if he really, really needed it, it was better to have it than not.

He padded after Kelly as if he were the canid affected person of the two. He kept turning the tea cup in his hands, sipping at the sweet, calming treat. When it got to the point where drawing the liquid through the straw caused an obnoxious slurp, he opened the lid, and drank the rest in one gulp straight from the cup. He carefully crumpled the plastic into as compact a shape as possible before discarding it.

At the mention of crime-mobile, he immediately perked up. “Kelly! KELLY!” He hopped up and down, speeding up so he could walk next to him. “You’re finished? You’re done?” The excitement was palpable, a huge grin on his face, eyes sparkling, tail swishing quickly. “OhmyGOSH, I have to see! C’mon, let’s go, let’s go!” He was trying to run in front of him, facing Kelly, but he had to look where they were going – and of course, only Kelly knew exactly which street to go down.

That didn’t stop Al from his antics though. A few meters later, and he didn’t need the guidance anymore – the truck stood out more than if it had been splattered in multi-coloured neon paint. It looked like an honest to goodness police car, but also very obviously not that. It was large, it was spruced up, it was beautiful. “WHOOOA-AAH…” He stopped in his tracks, and just stood there wide-eyed, stunned and bedazzled.

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Theater fit Date and Time: Sola 28th, Late morning Location: Theater Mention(s): @princess Anastasia, his parents, @Samreaper Kazumin, @FunnyGuy Lorenzo Interaction(s): @Helo Callum

His brother was certainly behaving different all of a sudden. From asking him about falconry to buttering up Edin.

“You like falconry, right Wulfy? Maybe you could give me a lesson. If you ever have the time.”

An eyebrow climbed up slowly as he issued a thoughtful hum. Memories resurfaced: Callum as a young boy, bedridden with illness. Wulfric asking his mother if his brother would ever get up and about. The concern in her eyes, hesitation in the pause before she answered. Callum later still, preferring the indoors even when he’d seemed to get better, keeping to himself, nose in books. His years of acting out, his descent into alcoholism, the growing resentment Wulfric had seen in his eyes. Yet, his avoidance of any type of violence had been a constant thus far.

So, what had changed?

None of his thoughts or questions were evident in his demeanour when he turned to regard Callum, a corner of his mouth twitching up into an amused smirk. “How could I possibly not make time for my little brother? I can pencil you in for the day after tomorrow, if you do not mind joining me on my usual hunting trip. If not, then perhaps I could arrange a lesson just for you in week or so.”

He returned his attention to the stage and the performances acted out on it. Yet, the platform below was not the only setting to a show. In the royal viewing box, Callum was enacting a play of his very own.

“Women ask the silliest questions, don’t they?”

Ah. His brother had finally realized that if he wanted a reward, he had to do his best impression of a loyal dog to get it. Just when had Callum learned to act?

So, he wants something from Edin, and from myself. But not Alibeth? Or perhaps, he believed he could still easily manipulate her given his love for him. Either way, he was severely underestimating the queen.

The question was, what goal was Callum pursuing? Given his sentiments, it was certainly not to work for his family. For who or for what then?

Marek?

How awfully ironic that would be.

“Our sister also happens to be a woman,” he commented mildly, pitching his voice low enough that only Callum would hear him. What great fun he was having, disparaging half of the population only to irk their mother. Did he even realize what power words such as those held? Wulfric rather doubted it. Short-sighted as ever, that was as true of Callum as it had been.

Caught as he was in contemplating the new puzzle his youngest brother had become, he paid only half attention to Nagasa’s dance. Even so, the peasant’s story rung a bell; the inept puppet scaring off a young woman reminded him of the whole Crystal fiasco. The play was not to Wulfric’s taste, the dance was too bizarre, too festive. He did not mind an ambivalent ending. Yet another unexpected choice from a man as simple as Kazumin. In the prince’s opinion, Nagasa yet lacked the mastery in his craft to truly strike his point home, and make the whole of his story shine. Even so, it hadn’t been too bad. “Creative enough, I suppose,” he commented.

Edin lauded it as a masterpiece. Do you identify with the puppet, father? His last conversation with the king replayed in his mind.

“I MUST OWN HIM!” he proclaimed for all to hear.

Own.

Callum immediately followed up with an idea recruit Nagasa as a court jester. How easily his brother handed out another’s life to appease the king, now. “I wonder how long this one can last before he lands himself on the execution block,” he sneered.

You’ve changed, brother. It wasn’t for the better. True, he had acted thoughtlessly before. Now? The foolishness was still there, but he had traded his principles for a dose of mediocre cunning, at best. A sorry excuse of a noble turned into the kind of aristocrat that was a dime a dozen, yet a sorrier excuse of a human being for it. Tragic if true.

Wulfric scoffed, his mood further souring as Lorenzo stepped on the platform only to mock his competition and called on Anastasia as if she were a common serving girl.

Despite his unfavourable disposition, the prince soon found himself engaged with the following poem. He did not relate to the content, yet Lorenzo conveyed his personal experience with expertly crafted words, poignant and full of meaning. The prince did not comment, but he was one of the first ones to clap.

Then, it was finally his sister’s turn. Her song was more than that – it was a message. An impossible wish. A dedication to a friend who was gone, an instrumental eulogy honouring that which had been and could never be again. Wulfric had no idea how his sister could express herself so freely, to reveal her rawest feelings before an audience. However, he was certain this was something she needed. And if she was strong enough to pour her heart out in this way, perhaps he did not have to fear that she would turn all that raging sorrow inwards, unto herself. She may not know it yet, but she could overcome this. It would leave its mark, but…that was only right. The death of a loved couldn’t – should not – ever be inconsequential.

The applause which followed Anastasia’s performance was far slower, a thing of solemn acknowledgement.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

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Mentions: Everyone
Setting: 10-ish AM, Saniwa Family Estate

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Throughout their investigative trek through the estate, Alphard trailed towards the back, Kelly the last person behind him. Which—

Alright, look. Kelly was amazing, amazingly lethal too. Very dependable in a fight. Having him there made Al feel safer, even when there was no one who’d attack them around. Also, also, he could be nice. Honestly. It was just– Just the notion that maybe, just maybe, what Alphard was doing was making him wait.

It was just the slightest bit nerve-wracking.

Kelly never said anything about it, though, and neither did anyone else. They were all too preoccupied gathering clues. Of course that took time. So, it was fine if he had to stop every once in a while, switch out to another pair of disposable surgical gloves, touch a wall here, a bloodstain there, close his eyes, and witness what memories lingered.

There wasn’t much of note, not until the first flower-headed corpse.

After that…

Well.

Suffice to say, he had no room to feel self-conscious when that was what they were dealing with. Horror set in, and he had to swallow down the bitter bile trying to crawl its way up his throat. He had seen grisly scenes before, but even after a year in Section 7, he felt that nothing had come even close to this. The heads looked like they were exploded from the inside out. Not only that, the flesh, blood, bone, and brain had been sculpted into the shape of lantanas with a flair of macabre artisanship.

Body transfiguration?

The victims themselves offered few clues. Yet, by the time they made it to the final room, Al’s complexion had whitened to the sullen blue of a foggy morning, a tinge of sickly green creeping in. Two more bodies to go.

Someone or something watching…Maybe. Besides the victims’ emotions at the time of their death, this was his only clue so far. Coincidence or not, it was enough to trigger a vision more concrete when he exerted his psychic power upon the last corpse.

Terror. Panic. Paranoia. He was being hunted. There was no hope of resistance, no hope of escape, no hope of being spared or rescued. There was nothing he could do. Fear gripped his heart. It was as if a mass of twisted vines wound their way around him, stifling, squeezing, strangling. Wicked thorns dug in, bathed in the crimson of his leaking life-blood. A most insidious venom seeped in, infecting him whole. The burning knowledge that it was his turn next paralyzed his entire body. Tears trailed down his cheeks, whispers of a fervent prayer ghosted his lips. One final peek, hoping against hope he had been left alone–

That was when he saw It.

Alphard came to with a gasp, reeling from the pain as much as he was from the vision. It felt like his head had been split open, but more importantly…Wide-eyed, he disposed of his gloves, and hastily withdrew a small, worn dark blue notebook from an inner shirt pocket. As the chief started up the discussion of the crime, Al scribbled and sketched with frenetic energy. He stopped long enough only to nod, glance, or react to his co-workers who were all pitching in with clever ideas and nuggets of wisdom.

The sense of tension between Miss Smirnova and Marty had him instinctively pull up his shoulders to his ears as his gaze flickered from one to the other. They sounded like they might get into a conflict at any moment now. He really hoped they wouldn’t?

Thankfully, the conversation moved on without incident. For an undetermined time, he was lulled into a false sense of security. So, it was inevitable that at a sudden loud clatter, he let out a, “Meep!”, almost falling over himself in surprise. Rather than inexplicably being under attack, though…

Oh. It was just Kelly.

By the time Barbatos took it upon himself to introduce them all to the Section 6 officer, Al was done messing around with his notebook. When his name was called, he waved shyly at her.

The next in a line of surprises was, at the very least, a very pleasant one. Officer Lorelei brought drinks for everyone. A smile soft as a fuzzy cloud graced his features as he accepted his favourite treat for frazzled nerves, a honey chamomile tea latte. “Thank you,” he told her earnestly. He even managed a brief moment of direct eye contact before he looked away, stuttering a concerned, “Di-didn’t you get any for yourself?”

Having been patiently listening, bobbing his head up and down in agreement or approval, it took a lull in the conversation and several pairs of eyes swiveling his way before Al realized he had yet to contribute. “Oh, UM!” His tail swished from left to right, and he giggled nervously. “Right, thoughts to share…”

His gaze travelled to their resident fly demon. “I’m not brave like Marty, so I don’t know about that, but…” He scrunched his eyes, images flashing beneath his eyelids. “They had no way of fighting back, even when they tried.” Another thing his friend/mentor mentioned had sparked further insight. “We have missing bodies, missing weapons…I guess the arms and the armed could have all been turned into, er, goo?” His fingers made an awkward scrunching motion.

“In 10 to 15 minutes,” he nodded at Miss Smirnova, “the perpetrator did all of this, while hardly leaving any evidence. Fast. Brutal. Unstoppable. Stealthy, too – another ability, or because whatever it was naturally wouldn’t have left much of anything behind? I think it’s interesting the critters avoid this place, too. The smells are here,” he tilted his head towards Kelly, “so rather than this place not being attractive to them, is it repulsive for some other reason? A sixth sense kind of a deal? I didn’t get much of a read on the estate itself though – almost no memories, no sensations. Could be the wards, could have been scoured clean. What’s interesting is that the outside has mundane memories. It does happen sometimes that murderers don’t leave any psychic imprints themselves, but it can be another hint about who or what we’re dealing with…” Forced to take a deep breath, Al realized he was rambling.

There was at least one noteworthy piece he ought to share, he knew, even if what he’d said so far wasn’t all that useful. “Th-there is one thing I saw about what happened…about the killer. W-well, probably about the killer.”

He opened his notebook on its last page, facing it towards his colleagues. There, in horizontal facing, was a vivid, lurid sketch of an eye.

A glass eyeball – indications of it being see through marked in pencil – the only hint of colour penciled bold and strong smack in the middle. A pitch-black iris overtaken by the pupil, bleeding out into the sclera. Like a splotch of ink spreading out, devouring. Dread manifested.

Staring…

right

at

YOU.

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

Alphard

"A-ah, I suppose you wouldn't happen to want to surrender...?"

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Name:

Alphard

Age:

24

Gender:

Male

Race:

Demon

Description:

Alphard is not especially tall at 5’8, nor does he strike an intimidating figure or is otherwise particularly remarkable. In New Helle, he can blend in as the perfectly average demon, which is a-okay with him. His distinguishing features are a dull slate blue complexion, a bird’s nest of black hair flying whichever way, a pair of stately horns curling above his head despite which he still manages to appear entirely nonthreatening, and a 3’3 spiked lizard tail sprouting from his behind. His skin is smooth and supple, though touching it reveals it to feel thicker than one would expect. The only place on his body where he has actual scales, however, is from the top of his tailbone to the tip of his tail, the sturdy black plaiting covering the upper side of his rear appendage. He is rail thin, his limbs long and gangly, as if he hasn’t yet properly grown into his frame. He shows hints of a wiry musculature in his arms and thighs. There is a certain awkwardness about his movements, mostly when he starts paying too much attention to himself or is otherwise discomfited. In contrast, when he is caught in daydreaming, thinking, or absorbed in a project, he is wholly at ease.

Alphard’s youth is apparent in his boyish face, a pep in his step, and a glimmer in his bright green eyes yet unextinguished by the world’s woes and cruelties. He is quite animated; not only are his facial expressions revealing, so are his posture, his gestures, his tail, and his elongated, pointy ears. Awkward smiles and nervous laughter are one of his remedies for anxiety. He is quick to blush, yet despite his emotional side, he almost never cries. His teeth may be sharp, but his tongue is very much not; he prefers to keep peace, may occasionally try to mediate, but will likely withdraw into himself when things (or rather, people) get too much for him. He enjoys casual touch, and can be rather affectionate, though shyness and respect for others’ boundaries often keep him from being the one to initiate such. His earnest attitude is reflected in his apparel. At work, he wears trousers, a formal shirt, and even a tie. Yet, his desire for coolness adds a few personal touches: pierced ears, a leather bangle here, a ribbon or two on his tail there, and a snazzy jacket or a long coat to spruce up.

Background:

Two demons, young and ambitious, sensed boundless opportunity when the portal to Earth opened. Each followed their hearts, pursuing power, passion, potential. They met in New Helle by chance, entangling each other in a whirlwind of romance and desire. That is how Alphard came to be: a child born to a couple who didn’t quite know what to do with a baby. They did what was in for the noveau riche, and hired a nanny. Still, over time and exposure, the kid grew on them, and each started taking notice of him in their own way. There was always a bit of a disconnect, but despite some dysfunctionality, they were overall a loving family.

From Al’s perspective, he always used to run after his parents as a youngster, seeking their attention. His dad was the first to cave in, starting to teach him martial arts around the time he started elementary. Despite his father’s grand ideas how his son might take after him, and follow in his footsteps, it never panned out for the young boy. Alphard still vividly remembers how during one of their training sessions, his dad told him he couldn’t win if he didn’t hit back.

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” he’d replied earnestly.

His father had laughed it off, but looking back on it, Al’s sure that’s when his dad had given up on the fantasy of his son being the legacy he’d imagined. He’d never given up on his progeny though, and Al appreciated the time they’d spent together. If only it hadn’t been cut short…

As for his mother, Alphard found her world far more distant that even his father’s. She enjoyed theatrics, aided people as much as she misled them, was dazzling, convivial, and charming. Whether moody seances or glittering parties, Al couldn’t relate to any of it, didn’t fit in at all. Despite their magic sharing some similarities, they were as disparate as could be. Yet, Al formed his own dream of helping others because of her. He never understood her selfishness nor she his altruism, yet he was willing to learn and she to teach.

His life was peaceful until it wasn’t.

One day, his parents attended one of those luxurious cruises they enjoyed so much. Only his mother returned alive. His father had supposedly died in an accident. Now in his late adolescence, Alphard wasn’t naïve enough to buy that. He’d heard the rumours, had his own suspicions. When his father’s body was returned a day later in a coffin, he begged, pleaded with, and otherwise wheedled his mom into calling up his deceased spirit to get the truth. His mother hemmed and hawed, hesitating so much, he ended up accusing her of being his killer in an exceptionally rare moment of irrational anger.

The truth was almost worse.

His mother, his father’s wife – she’d accepted being paid off not to look into anything too hard. Patiently and carefully, she explained to his son that the people who may or may not have been responsible for his father’s death were simply too powerful to go against. That making too much of a fuss would see them much worse off, so why not take at least why they could get out of it? A little bit of a blood money as a silver lining. Al couldn’t accept that reasoning, it was so utterly alien, so incomprehensible to him.

In the end, seeing how important it was to him, his mother did channel her magic to summon his father’s lingering spirit. Unfortunately, he did not have much tangible information to go off of. It seemed he had been drugged, so what the spirit conveyed was muddled at best. Nonetheless, Al put together his very own case file…Just in case some time in the future, it might come in handy.

The whole experience made him even keener on the idea of helping people, pursuing justice, and solving crimes. As soon as he was out of high school, he signed up for BPS’s training academy. After a year, he was drafted into service. Having the choice between a few sections, he joined up with Section 4. While he did not trust Section 5, he was the first one to volunteer for any joint operations with them.

Whether it was his dedication or a couple of lucky breaks to his name, there was something about his work which drew Chief Armand’s attention to him. Since a year ago, he has been a member of Section 7.

Ability:

Alphard has a sharp, analytical mind, is detail-oriented, good at noticing things, and has experience finding the lost, forgotten, or the purposefully hidden. Whether it’s luck or misfortune, he has quite the talent for sniffing out trouble of the kind that is especially relevant to Section 7. While he’s too honest for his own good, his anxious mannerisms may occasionally inadvertently mask his underlying motives and agendas. Al’s got a knack for being underestimated and/or appearing harmless, which he knows how to take advantage of when it happens. Despite his awkwardness, he is surprisingly proficient at spotting lies, deception, and other forms of manipulation.

Physically, his demon blood offers few advantages. He is fairly agile, and while his strength is comparable to a human’s, his tail is a rather powerful limb. He is extremely tough, able to take a good beating before he goes down. His leather-like skin has a slight innate resistance to being cut. He can scale walls vertically, and could even cling to the ceiling for a while. He could detach his tail if he really, really had to. Regrowing it would take a hell of a time, though.

He has had some hand-to-hand training; he can read opponents’ movements well, and is excellent at evasion. However, don’t expect him to be the one dishing out damage – he isn’t a frontline fighter. In combat, he acts as the support, prioritizing defense, distraction, and assistance. He has also learned how to use a pistol in the BPS’s basic firearms course.

Of all his skills, his magic is his most used and well-developed. He is a psychic specialized in teleportation with a dash of psychometry. He can teleport only whole objects or people – so, no rupturing or breaking things apart with his power. He can move multiple objects at a time, and in fact, when he reads something or someone as one entity (e.g. a person and the items on them), he cannot separate them at will. For example, if he wants to disarm someone with the powers of his mind, he has to spot or create an actual opportunity, much as someone would when trying to do so physically. His teleportation is largely based on his ability to visualize. The Hexen’s curse also places reasonable limitations on the size, weight, and distance of what he can teleport from where and to where.

His psychometry is far less reliable. He can read objects, and more significant events are more likely to remain imprinted on something, but whether he gets the information desired out of something is very hit and miss. The more details he has about what he’s looking for, the greater the chance to get the target intel, but there is never any guarantee. It is also pretty much a one-and-done thing – whatever he gets on the first reading is what he has to work with. However, if enough time passes, or new key events occur to, in or near objects, he can attempt another reading. Given his line of work, the memories and sensations he obtains are often traumatic and painful, affecting his ability to clearly parse what happened. Perhaps it is a result of the curse/blessing or a self-defense mechanism, but the impressions he obtains psychically gradually fade from his memory.

Artifacts:

N/A

Connections:

• Vinana the Whisperer
  A demon mystic of renown, she is a minor celebrity with a cult following of her own. Al's mother. They make sure to meet up every once in a while.

Misc:

N/A

Hell on Earth: Supernatural & Demonic Detectives

I rushed the background, and ideally, I'll elaborate later on, maybe add a few talismans, and a connection or two, but the gist is there...

Alphard

"A-ah, I suppose you wouldn't happen to want to surrender...?"

_______________________________________________________________________________________________

Name:

Alphard

Age:

24

Gender:

Male

Race:

Demon

Description:

Alphard is not especially tall at 5’8, nor does he strike an intimidating figure or is otherwise particularly remarkable. In New Helle, he can blend in as the perfectly average demon, which is a-okay with him. His distinguishing features are a dull slate blue complexion, a bird’s nest of black hair flying whichever way, a pair of stately horns curling above his head despite which he still manages to appear entirely nonthreatening, and a 3’3 spiked lizard tail sprouting from his behind. His skin is smooth and supple, though touching it reveals it to feel thicker than one would expect. The only place on his body where he has actual scales, however, is from the top of his tailbone to the tip of his tail, the sturdy black plaiting covering the upper side of his rear appendage. He is rail thin, his limbs long and gangly, as if he hasn’t yet properly grown into his frame. He shows hints of a wiry musculature in his arms and thighs. There is a certain awkwardness about his movements, mostly when he starts paying too much attention to himself or is otherwise discomfited. In contrast, when he is caught in daydreaming, thinking, or absorbed in a project, he is wholly at ease.

Alphard’s youth is apparent in his boyish face, a pep in his step, and a glimmer in his bright green eyes yet unextinguished by the world’s woes and cruelties. He is quite animated; not only are his facial expressions revealing, so are his posture, his gestures, his tail, and his elongated, pointy ears. Awkward smiles and nervous laughter are one of his remedies for anxiety. He is quick to blush, yet despite his emotional side, he almost never cries. His teeth may be sharp, but his tongue is very much not; he prefers to keep peace, may occasionally try to mediate, but will likely withdraw into himself when things (or rather, people) get too much for him. He enjoys casual touch, and can be rather affectionate, though shyness and respect for others’ boundaries often keep him from being the one to initiate such. His earnest attitude is reflected in his apparel. At work, he wears trousers, a formal shirt, and even a tie. Yet, his desire for coolness adds a few personal touches: pierced ears, a leather bangle here, a ribbon or two on his tail there, and a snazzy jacket or a long coat to spruce up.

Background:

Two demons, young and ambitious, sensed boundless opportunity when the portal to Earth opened. Each followed their hearts, pursuing power, passion, potential. They met in New Helle by chance, entangling each other in a whirlwind of romance and desire. That is how Alphard came to be: a child born to a couple who didn’t quite know what to do with a baby. They did what was in for the noveau riche, and hired a nanny. Still, over time and exposure, the kid grew on them, and each started taking notice of him in their own way. There was always a bit of a disconnect, but despite some dysfunctionality, they were overall a loving family.

From Al’s perspective, he always used to run after his parents as a youngster, seeking their attention. His dad was the first to cave in, starting to teach him martial arts around the time he started elementary. Despite his father’s grand ideas how his son might take after him, and follow in his footsteps, it never panned out for the young boy. Alphard still vividly remembers how during one of their training sessions, his dad told him he couldn’t win if he didn’t hit back.

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” he’d replied earnestly.

His father had laughed it off, but looking back on it, Al’s sure that’s when his dad had given up on the fantasy of his son being the legacy he’d imagined. He’d never given up on his progeny though, and Al appreciated the time they’d spent together. If only it hadn’t been cut short…

As for his mother, Alphard found her world far more distant that even his father’s. She enjoyed theatrics, aided people as much as she misled them, was dazzling, convivial, and charming. Whether moody seances or glittering parties, Al couldn’t relate to any of it, didn’t fit in at all. Despite their magic sharing some similarities, they were as disparate as could be. Yet, Al formed his own dream of helping others because of her. He never understood her selfishness nor she his altruism, yet he was willing to learn and she to teach.

His life was peaceful until it wasn’t.

One day, his parents attended one of those luxurious cruises they enjoyed so much. Only his mother returned alive. His father had supposedly died in an accident. Now in his late adolescence, Alphard wasn’t naïve enough to buy that. He’d heard the rumours, had his own suspicions. When his father’s body was returned a day later in a coffin, he begged, pleaded with, and otherwise wheedled his mom into calling up his deceased spirit to get the truth. His mother hemmed and hawed, hesitating so much, he ended up accusing her of being his killer in an exceptionally rare moment of irrational anger.

The truth was almost worse.

His mother, his father’s wife – she’d accepted being paid off not to look into anything too hard. Patiently and carefully, she explained to his son that the people who may or may not have been responsible for his father’s death were simply too powerful to go against. That making too much of a fuss would see them much worse off, so why not take at least why they could get out of it? A little bit of a blood money as a silver lining. Al couldn’t accept that reasoning, it was so utterly alien, so incomprehensible to him.

In the end, seeing how important it was to him, his mother did channel her magic to summon his father’s lingering spirit. Unfortunately, he did not have much tangible information to go off of. It seemed he had been drugged, so what the spirit conveyed was muddled at best. Nonetheless, Al put together his very own case file…Just in case some time in the future, it might come in handy.

The whole experience made him even keener on the idea of helping people, pursuing justice, and solving crimes. As soon as he was out of high school, he signed up for BPS’s training academy. After a year, he was drafted into service. Having the choice between a few sections, he joined up with Section 4. While he did not trust Section 5, he was the first one to volunteer for any joint operations with them.

Whether it was his dedication or a couple of lucky breaks to his name, there was something about his work which drew Chief Armand’s attention to him. Since a year ago, he has been a member of Section 7.

Ability:

Alphard has a sharp, analytical mind, is detail-oriented, good at noticing things, and has experience finding the lost, forgotten, or the purposefully hidden. Whether it’s luck or misfortune, he has quite the talent for sniffing out trouble of the kind that is especially relevant to Section 7. While he’s too honest for his own good, his anxious mannerisms may occasionally inadvertently mask his underlying motives and agendas. Al’s got a knack for being underestimated and/or appearing harmless, which he knows how to take advantage of when it happens. Despite his awkwardness, he is surprisingly proficient at spotting lies, deception, and other forms of manipulation.

Physically, his demon blood offers few advantages. He is fairly agile, and while his strength is comparable to a human’s, his tail is a rather powerful limb. He is extremely tough, able to take a good beating before he goes down. His leather-like skin has a slight innate resistance to being cut. He can scale walls vertically, and could even cling to the ceiling for a while. He could detach his tail if he really, really had to. Regrowing it would take a hell of a time, though.

He has had some hand-to-hand training; he can read opponents’ movements well, and is excellent at evasion. However, don’t expect him to be the one dishing out damage – he isn’t a frontline fighter. In combat, he acts as the support, prioritizing defense, distraction, and assistance. He has also learned how to use a pistol in the BPS’s basic firearms course.

Of all his skills, his magic is his most used and well-developed. He is a psychic specialized in teleportation with a dash of psychometry. He can teleport only whole objects or people – so, no rupturing or breaking things apart with his power. He can move multiple objects at a time, and in fact, when he reads something or someone as one entity (e.g. a person and the items on them), he cannot separate them at will. For example, if he wants to disarm someone with the powers of his mind, he has to spot or create an actual opportunity, much as someone would when trying to do so physically. His teleportation is largely based on his ability to visualize. The Hexen’s curse also places reasonable limitations on the size, weight, and distance of what he can teleport from where and to where.

His psychometry is far less reliable. He can read objects, and more significant events are more likely to remain imprinted on something, but whether he gets the information desired out of something is very hit and miss. The more details he has about what he’s looking for, the greater the chance to get the target intel, but there is never any guarantee. It is also pretty much a one-and-done thing – whatever he gets on the first reading is what he has to work with. However, if enough time passes, or new key events occur to, in or near objects, he can attempt another reading. Given his line of work, the memories and sensations he obtains are often traumatic and painful, affecting his ability to clearly parse what happened. Perhaps it is a result of the curse/blessing or a self-defense mechanism, but the impressions he obtains psychically gradually fade from his memory.

Artifacts:

N/A

Connections:

• Vinana the Whisperer
  A demon mystic of renown, she is a minor celebrity with a cult following of her own. Al's mother. They make sure to meet up every once in a while.

Misc:

N/A

🗡 Roses and Daggers 🎕

	Attire: Theater fit Date and Time: Sola 28th, Late morning Location: Theater Mention(s): @princess Anastasia, his parents, @Lava Alckon Farim, Drake Interaction(s): @Helo Callum

Hearing his father echo the vitriolic curse at Vikena, Wulfric eased back into his padded chair with a sigh. He knew he was being irrational. It was easy to blame the – to him – inexplicable on something or someone concrete. “We have the guards for that,” he drawled at the king’s order to handle the duke in case he caused a scene. Despite his words, he supposed he would intervene if he felt the need to.

Anastasia seemed to be enjoying herself, yet the prince couldn’t help but wonder what lay beneath her cheer. Had her recklessness, her lack of regard for her own safety been signs of something deeper?

He was mid-contemplation when Callum showed up, nonchalant as you please with a monkey perched atop his shoulder. “Hello, brother,” Auguste was the first to overcome his surprise, though his smile was puzzled. “And Clarence,” he added, torn between waving or offering his hand for a shake.

Wulfric only stared at his brother’s newest whim. “Callum.” His gaze travelled from his youngest besuited brother, to the monkey in its matching outfit, and back again. “I did not take you one for pets,” was all he said. True enough, Callum had never interacted with the castle’s animals – perhaps because they were all outdoors. As distracted as his parents were, they did not even notice their son’s opium use. Was that why his brother had brought a monkey along, to distract from his other questionable activities? He had no clue, but anything new or unusual related to his wayward brother bore observation.

“Now, now, mother…” Auguste was trying to placate an infuriated Alibeth. Wulfric tuned out his parents’ antics and Auguste playing mediator with ease of practice. The show was starting, and he wasn't about to miss any of the event his sister was involved in.

The first up was Shahzade Farim with his trusted falcon, Thara. The Alidasht prince was well-suited to performance, captivating the audience with his theatrics. Even Wulfric appreciated how swiftly the svelte bird of prey flew, how in touch she was with Farim’s instructions, her accuracy uncanny, her elegance mesmerizing. At the finale, the shahzade joined in with a flip, and the two completed the act together. Wulfric clapped firmly, expressing his admiration with refinement a certain king had not a lick of.

“I like birds,” Callum quietly asserted out of nowhere, sounding oddly melancholic.

"Do you?" Wulfric gave him a sideways look. "You could always take up falconry. Or perhaps pigon racing would be more to your taste?" he mused with a lightly teasing smile before returning his attention to the stage.

Next up was Drake, and though the lord couldn’t see it, Wulfric nodded towards the man. The two had spent some time riding together the other day, Drake on his newly gifted steed, Apollon. The prince had inquired after the fiasco with the painting Ariella had been accused of vandalizing, and the lord recounted what had happened. The two had briefly discussed the event, but soon transitioned to other topics, chatting about this and that. The future duke was rightly worried about the state of things, though he showed no inclination he was aware of what was going on. In the end, Drake had cautioned him to be careful, reminding him to reach out if there was anything he could help with. Wulfric assured he would take the offer under advisement, though in truth, he was uncertain how much to involve him in.

In any case, this time Drake was ready and clear minded, diving in right into his first piece, stunning all into awed silence. At the theater one generally clapped at the end of the whole performance rather than after each song, but nonetheless, the crowd broke into applause as soon as the final note of the first song faded to silence. Of course, Alibeth was still worried about the party. “There was a strong alcoholic drink the guests enjoyed. They became inebriated because they were careless, that is all.” It wasn’t, but it had only been alcohol, nothing more nefarious. If potent, delicious cocktails is where it ended at, he did not mind leaving the matter be. Though, this also depended on whether the Edwardses pressed for an investigation, but so far, they had not.

Drake impressed with his following two songs as well. He played with the kind of emotion Wulfric never had been able to convey through music when he had been instructed in it. To do so required not only skill, but a certain vulnerability, the willingness to open one’s heart to emotion and to pour it all out for the world to hear…Or so one of his instructors had preached. As expected, the prince was not keen to do any such thing. However, hearing it was a sublime experience, one he could immerse himself in fully. The lord more than deserved his acclaim.

It made him look forward to his sister’s act all the more. If Drake was remarkable, then Anastasia was phenomenal. Her appearance on the stage with Count Hendrix in tow signaled it was time for a brief intermission before the remainder of the programme. While he did not care one bit for the performer she introduced would be next, Wulfric clapped nonetheless to show support for his sister. She was practically glowing down there. Did she see now the meaning in life? He hoped so.

Hell on Earth - Detectives in a Supernatural and Demonic City

Curious about this.

The Symphony: Modern Magic

If I have enough inspiration for a character, maybe.