Traitor

Tokyo Ghoul - District 8 [18+ - Mature & Graphic Content Inside]

So I've been lurking around this thing for a few days now and got in the mood again after learning that I totally missed the start of season 2 of the anime (which is actually great in a way). I couldn't help to notice that your ghouls are outnumbering the doves 8 to 5. Isn't that a bit unfair? Specifically with those other high-ranking NPC ghouls around? Wouldn't you mayhaps want one more person in the outnumbered team?

Cursed

One day before the gathering: A little bell mounted above the door of the Caldwell clinic rang for the third time this day. This time in specific, it signaled the departure of a guest who brought unexpected but decisive news. Denise Autumn, the assistant of doctor Caldwell, anxiously waited for the man to depart, throwing nervous glances at his intimidating appearance before getting up from the waiting room chair and slowly walking into the back of the clinic. The doctor was sitting behin a rustic wooden desk, staring at the young woman from behind the glasses of a familiar but no less troubling mask, staring right through her into blank space. It was not unusual for the doctor to do this, absentmindedly flexing the fingers of their right hand, but it never ceased to send shivers down Denise's spine. She silently stood in the doorframe, clutching a clipboard with both hands, waiting for the doctor to finish whatever train of thought they currently pursued. "I'll be gone for a few days.", the voice eventually proclaimed monotonously. The assistant immediately knew it was important, since the doctor never left the clinic closed without a good reason. "I think I could probably..." the girl started, but Caldwell cut her words off. "Take the rest of the week off. You've earned a break." Not failing to notice the melancholic look of their assistant, the doctor added "I don't doubt your ability to get it done, don't get the wrong idea. I'd just hate to have last weeks incident repeat without being around.". The 'incident' was still quite vivid in memory for the both of them. It involved a rather irritating client, his disregard for Denise's personal space and the attempt to bite her. The doctor had to step in, sedate and remove the individual from their establishment unceremoniously. The doctor's goodwill ended right at attempted harassment. That bastard could rot in a back alley for all Caldwell cared. Denise nodded, reliving the scene in memory with an expression of awe on her face. "Any preparations I can help you with, at least?" She had the decency not to ask about the occasion, but probably didn't want to know either. The girl had seen her fair share of otherworldly horrors in these four walls. "You can." The beaked mask nodded over to the less obvious door in doctor Caldwells office, leading to the laboratory rooms filled with alchemical and medical instruments. The masked figure slowly rose, producing a keyring to close the clinic entrance. It was implication enough for the girl to know they would be preparing potions and concoctions from a curious book about alchemy, the only book in the doctors library that didn't look like it was around for twenty or more years. Day of the gathering: The doctor had arrived and settled down as ordered by this unusual man. While the beaked mask limited the wearers field of view, it also concealed decently where they were looking at, making it relatively easy for its user to take a closer look at Grimsley specifically. He was a sight to behold anyway, but from a medical point of view even more so. The scientist in Caldwell itched to take samples of skin and saliva to conduct alchemical experiments on, but the human being Caldwell wanted to learn what happened to the man, and develop a treatment for whatever he was suffering from. The concept of curses was not new to the doctor and delving into the inexplicable darker branches of chemistry desensitized them from the supernatural even more than the occasional 'freak' client at the clinic, yet the victim of a curse was not much different from a patient in several ways. The other obvious 'anomaly' in the room - Phoenix' bird - underwent only a brief inspection. It was of little interest to the doctor, because... to put it bluntly, and to humorously mirror Phoenix' train of thought regarding the doctor, there was nothing to disect. Nothing to cut or scrape off that wouldn't end up being ash seconds later. The 'Monger' kept the doctors attention up until Conover arrived and the briefing began. Flexing their right hand mechanically, Caldwell nodded in agreement upon the mention of the creatures numbers increasing - the frequency of freakishly wounded and outright monstrous patients increased noticeably over the last weeks. Red's little outbreak didn't phase the doc as much as it would have two or three years ago. With the increasing number of 'incidents', an impressive amount of people with more or less frightful mental issues sought out the Caldwell clinic. While it was certainly unsettling, coming from a fourteen year old girl was not quite as threatening as it could have been. By speaking up, Phenix momentarily caught Caldwells interest again, reigniting the train of thought that earlier came to wonder what was wrong with her, but then was abruptly put aside upon Grimsley's arrival. There was a definite pattern in the people gathered here, the doctor thought. The twitchy girl who probably suffering from hallucinations and schizophrenia, the fish-man, that obviously unnatural bird tied to the young woman in some way... the only thing to be worked out were the effect of that binding and Conover. Possibly Avrion as well but the darkness surrounding him was so palpable, it was mysterious and obvious at the same time. While the doctor didn't quite care about a compensation for the job, they had their own 'payment' in mind. Going down there would inevitably get them into arms reach of worthwhile samples and insights. Easily enough for Caldwell to comply. That, and most likely saving the city they live in from certain doom, of course. The question concerning the Inquisition was a good one, and let the gaze of the beaked mask switch focus to Avrion. Making an educated guess, Caldwell would expect the Inquisition to stay far away from that place. The curse-ridden nature of this little party here furthermore implied that they would not seek out help of them. It was probably suicide to be seen with either of the people present, but the doctors relative anonymity felt reassuring. "Who would have an incentive to organize monsters? Who would benefit from the irreversible fall of Sutton?" The voice sounding from below the mask was dampened more than one would expect. Beyond that, it was of ambiguous tone, not obviously distinguishable as either gender. Furthermore, while the question was posed generally for everyone to ponder, Caldwell had a hunch that their host already had an idea about that.

Cursed

Doctor Caldwell

Name: Dr. Caldwell, usually called "The Doctor" Gender: Unknown Age: 28 Appearance: Equipment: Traditional plague doctor attire: A hooded suit with gloves and heavy boots, showing not even the glimpse of skin. One of the fairly well-known 'beaked' masks that have been used by plague doctors for decades, symbol of both dread and hope to equal amounts. Differently sized scalpels for medical purposes as well as general utility, together with a custom forged knife that resembles an oversized medical edge, but is primarily used for emergency self defense. All of those blades and some additional medical tools are being kept in a roll-out kit. Additionally, a bag filled with up to six round glass bottles that can hold different alchemical substances, from potions over glowing acidic liquids to handmade 'molotov'-esque 'thrown cocktails'. Wears a weighty ring on the right thumb that has a small clockwork mechanism built in. The ring has both a practical use and nostalgic value. Furthermore owns a custom made bow and a selection of special arrows that hold small vials at the needle-shaped tip. Those vials can be filled with medical substances to create a crude, unwieldy equivalent to modern tranquilizer darts. This one is mostly brought when a specimen can't be approached safely, and due to the fragile and awkward handling, it doesn't see much use. History: Not much is known about the young doctor Caldwell. Born into a family of surgeons and destined to take over the family business, a small private clinic for customers who would prefer paying twice the price over having their disgraceful indisposition be seen in a public medical center. Being shoehorned into the profession of a doctor and surgeon worked out well. Born with a talent for precise cuts, excellent memory and the genuine motivation to help people, the Doctor began working as a medical assistant before their fourteenth year of age, promoting to a full-fledged medical title before reaching eighteen. As to be expected in this line of work, more than one incident happened where the Caldwell family came in contact with the less known, 'cursed' part of the population. The private nature of their clinic played an obvious part in these circumstances, as often they revolved around a 'mysteriously ill' family member of any influential, wealthy family. When the Doctor was around the age of twenty-one, the number of incidents reached an inexplicable peak and took both Caldwell seniors into an early grave. The Doctor took it with dignity, knowing that they died trying to help people, and thus continued the family business with as little interruption as possible. It even birthed the plan to dabble in the field of alchemy - something the parents didn't support - in order to search for a cure rather than suppress the symptoms. The loss of the only other living family member - a half-brother who was in the business of medical supplies and helped the younger Caldwell sibling run the clinic after their parents passed away - two years later however was a hard hit that made the Doctors determination waver. What's known is that the clinic didn't close its doors for even a day, and that the Doctor was never seen without their typical work outfit since then. Rumor has it that it was an unfortunate incident somehow involving the cure, and people often bring up theories about murder and betrayal. Some of them claim that the child of the two Caldwell surgeons died that day and the presumably dead brother assumed that identity out of remorse. By now, five years have passed and whatever really happened was lost in gossip, rumors and paranoid theories. The Caldwell clinic is well-established and despite the odd tendency of the Doctor to always appear clad in the disheartening plague doctor attire, their competence is well-respected and consulted frequently, not only by the 'rich and famous' anymore. Other than Caldwell, only a single assistant is working at the clinic, a timid girl named Denise. Unknown to the public, the both of them are still working on a cure for the sickness that indirectly killed most of the Caldwell family. Due to facts and fiction blurring so heavily in Sutton, nobody can say with certainty if the Doctor was a man or woman anymore. Some older folks around town remember stories about the Caldwell child, but every single one of them completely different. Curse: /

By Wings of Death (Dragon RP)

@MafiaM16 That's one hell of a CS there. Makes my old semi-scrapped character concept of a 'total annihilation' kind of dragon itch again. Grrr.

By Wings of Death (Dragon RP)

The constantly chanting main head of Scol didn't lose focus on the undead for even the fraction of a second, so it could observe in great detail what the effect of Graguths breath was. Not particularly impressed by the ability to melt away the already weakened flesh of an undead, it did wonder how the descendant of Rylarth had come to undergo a development of this kind, for the acidic nature presented in his breath was usually a trademark of corruption. Yet, he showed no signs of it, much unlike the beast before him. Also, it was delighted to see the bones of the dead bandit leader relatively unharmed. Though they would possibly give in to the corrosive gas, they could at least resist for a while. The great serpent pondered this silently, however. It gave Graguth several minutes to brood before it spoke up again, the sudden thunder of its otherworldly voice making the humans around them jump. The 'lesser' heads had wound down as well, recovered from the ritual. "WHAT. NOW." It became evident that Scolopendra wasn't quite used to this form of communication, but it also adressed multiple things at once. What would the dragon do with this knowledge? Was the result to his liking? Were there more experiments to be conducted? Many possible questions, and all the answers were of interest to the black hydra.

Masks

Charlotte's train of thought was promptly interrupted by the escalating conflict, but at least it spared her the riddling about who was the face of death. Again, not quite what she had expected. An old, evil-looking bald man with a ridiculous beard would have been a better fit, she thought, but at least he wasn't some quirky tiny girl. That would have been reallyfrightening. She made her assumptions about how much a bullet could do to death himself and from the conversation going on, the smug, noisy bitch was probably on his level... but it was just too tempting to get out the old Grach. On the other hand, she kind of couldn't care less about the ensuing violence and the reaper was more than likely not someone you could stab anyway. She simply stood in front of the elevator motionlessly, waiting for things to unfold until the reaper took his mask off and put it away somehow. That decidedly tipped the scales as he probably wasn't quite as impenetrable in this state. In the matter of a second she tensed, held her handgun pointed at Dite. "Nice temper you have there missy. Maybe settle down a bit, you're scaring the kids." She didn't make the effort to threaten Dite verbally, as the gun was quite unmistakable already. All of this happening at once didn't leave her enough time to ponder the fact that they probably all had some sort of mask similar to her own, but the realization had rooted in the back of her mind by now.

Cursed

Doctor Caldwell

Name: Dr. Caldwell, usually called "The Doctor" Gender: Unknown Age: 28 Appearance: Equipment: Traditional plague doctor attire: A hooded suit with gloves and heavy boots, showing not even the glimpse of skin. One of the fairly well-known 'beaked' masks that have been used by plague doctors for decades, symbol of both dread and hope to equal amounts. Differently sized scalpels for medical purposes as well as general utility, together with a custom forged knife that resembles an oversized medical edge, but is primarily used for emergency self defense. All of those blades and some additional medical tools are being kept in a roll-out kit. Additionally, a bag filled with up to six round glass bottles that can hold different alchemical substances, from potions over glowing acidic liquids to handmade 'molotov'-esque 'thrown cocktails'. Wears a weighty ring on the right thumb that has a small clockwork mechanism built in. The ring has both a practical use and nostalgic value. Furthermore owns a custom made bow and a selection of special arrows that hold small vials at the needle-shaped tip. Those vials can be filled with medical substances to create a crude, unwieldy equivalent to modern tranquilizer darts. This one is mostly brought when a specimen can't be approached safely, and due to the fragile and awkward handling, it doesn't see much use. History: Not much is known about the young doctor Caldwell. Born into a family of surgeons and destined to take over the family business, a small private clinic for customers who would prefer paying twice the price over having their disgraceful indisposition be seen in a public medical center. Being shoehorned into the profession of a doctor and surgeon worked out well. Born with a talent for precise cuts, excellent memory and the genuine motivation to help people, the Doctor began working as a medical assistant before their fourteenth year of age, promoting to a full-fledged medical title before reaching eighteen. As to be expected in this line of work, more than one incident happened where the Caldwell family came in contact with the less known, 'cursed' part of the population. The private nature of their clinic played an obvious part in these circumstances, as often they revolved around a 'mysteriously ill' family member of any influential, wealthy family. When the Doctor was around the age of twenty-one, the number of incidents reached an inexplicable peak and took both Caldwell seniors into an early grave. The Doctor took it with dignity, knowing that they died trying to help people, and thus continued the family business with as little interruption as possible. It even birthed the plan to dabble in the field of alchemy - something the parents didn't support - in order to search for a cure rather than suppress the symptoms. The loss of the only other living family member - a half-brother who was in the business of medical supplies and helped the younger Caldwell sibling run the clinic after their parents passed away - two years later however was a hard hit that made the Doctors determination waver. What's known is that the clinic didn't close its doors for even a day, and that the Doctor was never seen without their typical work outfit since then. Rumor has it that it was an unfortunate incident somehow involving the cure, and people often bring up theories about murder and betrayal. Some of them claim that the child of the two Caldwell surgeons died that day and the presumably dead brother assumed that identity out of remorse. By now, five years have passed and whatever really happened was lost in gossip, rumors and paranoid theories. The Caldwell clinic is well-established and despite the odd tendency of the Doctor to always appear clad in the disheartening plague doctor attire, their competence is well-respected and consulted frequently, not only by the 'rich and famous' anymore. Other than Caldwell, only a single assistant is working at the clinic, a timid girl named Denise. Unknown to the public, the both of them are still working on a cure for the sickness that indirectly killed most of the Caldwell family. Due to facts and fiction blurring so heavily in Sutton, nobody can say with certainty if the Doctor was a man or woman anymore. Some older folks around town remember stories about the Caldwell child, but every single one of the completely different. Curse: /

PM coming your way, Necrophage. Also, of course I'm more than willing to adjust everything if it's sub-par, over the top or otherwise inacceptable.

Cursed

I love the premise and atmosphere of this. Very, very much. If there are still slots free, I'd try to see if I can come up with a CS that lives up to the quality of the opener. I'm thinking of something in the direction of an alchemist/medic person.

Masks

Apowogies >.< Crazy weekend was had. Migraine periods too. Those two don't mix well. Have a post to make the IC less quiet! Also: Look at silly Dite. Bringing a knife to a scythe-fight!

Masks

Not quite sold on the idea of following the grim reaper underground, Charlotte hesitated for a moment. Going through some sort of inner monologue no less, picking apart the reasons why it would most likely not be dangerous. It was a weird thing to happen to her, as normally fear wasn't part of her masked-up periods at all. And though fear still wasn't quite the right word to describe what kept her, it came close. It felt as though a small part of her was in awe of what lied ahead, and while the stronger part could easily force her down those stairs, it decided to ease the process by listing all the logical reasons why she'd already be dead if death truly was after her. The nervous tapping of her foot let small swirls of smoke depart from the cloud at her feet. After what felt like an eternity, the girl with the gas mask approached the shed. A fleeting look to the side was made, to ensure that her vehicle and luggage wasn't autonomously escaping, then she stepped into the surprisingly cool shadows of the building. Due to the less windy conditions inside and her slightly excited mood, it didn't take long until a noticeable trail of smoke marked her path through the small interior. Unlike the reaper, she didn't feel the other presence here, and so she simply moved deeper into the complex until she found an elevator, oddly out of place. "Here goes nothing.", she muttered to herself when the doors slid open seconds later and she followed the same path the other visitors went. During the trip down the elevator cabin almost entirely filled with her smoke-emission, giving her a momentary advantage over what might welcome her on the other side and most importantly: confidence. Gripping the pistol tighter and with both hands, she waited, waited. A small chime the harbinger of her arrival and the doors opened. During the time it took the wall of smoke to fall out of the elevator, she scanned the room, analysed that there was no immediate threat present, and let the handgun disappear before anyone could lay eyes on it. Misfit in this little cheery get-together, the oppressive figure stepped out of the elevator, her heavy, sand-crusted boots palpably damaging the modern interior of the room. For some reason, the high-tech scenery below that forsaken shed didn't phase her as much, likely because the encounter with Penn set the standard for surprises relatively high. The only sound coming from her was her breath, heavy and audible through the mask as she took details about the people present. Trying to discern who of them was the reaper, too.