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Fantasy The Mystery of Greyport - Character Sheets

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Lycanious

Lycanious

Junior Member
Roleplay Availability
I am currently recruiting for a roleplay.
Roleplay Type(s)
  1. One on One
  2. Group
The Mystery of Greyport - Character Sheets

Useful Links

IC Thread
Character Sheets
Lore
Recruitment Thread

Character Sheet Guidelines

Hey there! Here you can apply to the roleplay with your character. Those that are accepted will automatically be invited to the Discord OOC discussion group, and be allowed to immediately start posting in the IC thread if they wish. We are also happy to invite you to the Discord without a character prepared yet if you have any questions.

These forms are only intended for Player Characters, aka the main cast that we'll be writing for as part of the roleplay. Side characters and NPCs don't need a form here, but can instead be posted in the NPC section for Discord for reference. Those important to the plot will be added to the Lore thread as needed.

Please note that fancy BBCode is completely optional, and plays no factor in whether or not we accept the character application. In general we're pretty easygoing with characters, and would rather have a quick chat about how to better help them fit into the world if needed rather than outright reject any concept. You can include as much more information as you like, but please consider the following details as part of your character sheet.


Player Character Form

NAME:
SPECIES:
AGE:
GENDER: (Please remember to include pronouns)
SEXUALITY: (Optional)
HEIGHT:
OCCUPATION:
FACTIONS & GROUPS: (Any important factions or groups around the city that your character is associated with, such as the Ravenwood Seethe or Grimclaw Pack. Feel free to suggest new ones in the Discord)
APPEARANCE: (Image references are highly encouraged and can be in any style, but are not necessary)
PERSONALITY:
BACKSTORY: (Doesn't need to be too detailed, and can be fleshed out as we go, but please at least indicate how long they've been in the city for)
RELATIONS: (Optional, but we encourage to detail any significant relations with other player characters or NPCs)
SPECIES INFORMATION: (Please give a quick summary of how you want to have this species work in this world, and what abilities they may have. Duplicate species between characters are perfectly fine, but please note that in the event of contrasting rules we will generally stick with whatever was decided was canon for the character posted first)
 
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NAME: Azalea Mortem
SPECIES: Human | Witch
AGE: 32 Years
GENDER: Demi-female | She/They pronouns
SEXUALITY: Undetermined
HEIGHT: 5'3"
OCCUPATION: Apothecary / Herbalist
FACTIONS & GROUPS:
- Nightshade Coven (currently)
- Circle of the Willow (formerly)
APPEARANCE:
With glamour:
1741832649599.png
  • wears glasses occasionally
Without glamour:
She looks similarly as pictured but also has
  • long, thick, dark curly/wavy hair often done up in messy braids with crow feathers and wooden beads adorning
  • teak colored skin with runic markings branded into their arms, back, and forehead
  • dark eyes that shine with a purple glint while casting magic
  • outfit made up of lots of drape-y fabric in hues of purple, blue, black, and white
  • various jewelry from earrings, ear cuffs, bangles, necklaces, etc.
PERSONALITY: A reclusive individual, Azalea would much rather just spend her days focused on her research and shop while keeping her head down. They struggle being around both Humans and Hidden. Anxiety, unease, distrust... whatever you want to call it. Mentally locked in 'survival mode' for who-knows-how-long, Azalea finds it incredibly difficult to ask for help from others, let alone acknowledge when she's struggling. It's a stroke of luck she never inherited her mother's power of empathy when she can hardly identify her own emotional responses that aren't on 'extreme levels'. She relies heavily upon her work to escape her thoughts and troubles. Connecting to others is a nightmare to navigate in person; though they do find it somewhat easier to handle online when they know the other individual is miles away. Prominently a night owl, Azalea enjoys silence. Or, more precisely, enjoys when other people aren't around and chatting so she can fill the space with music from various genres. Their favorite go-to mixes include EDM, drum and bass, or similar types.
BACKSTORY: Moved to Greyport about 12 to 13 years ago when they were about 19 years old and could finally escape their former coven. The Circl of the Willow had become... notorious, for shady magic dealings and experimentations. Azalea refuses to speak on their history before Greyport. She joined the Nightshade Coven two years after moving in--primarily because they couldn't survive on their own while simultaneously concealing their magic. Since then, Azalea's managed a little magic shop tucked away from most human perception. A majority of her clients are fellow Hidden individuals.
RELATIONS: Undetermined as of yet. Will return if any PC and/or NPC connections are decided upon.
SPECIES INFORMATION:
- Familiar: Long-haired black cat with an uncanny shape shifting ability that allows him to take on a crow's form. His name's Rune and he's Azalea's most precious voidling.
- Specializes in necromantic magics but keeps it a secret.
- Uses a specialization in "healing magics" as the cover story.
 





























Everything I Pushed Away



Sunflower Kid












Oscar Cecil Corbin















R

equisite.










name


Oscar Cecil Corbin







species


Werewolf







age


~200 years (appears 40-45)







gender


Male (He/Him)







Sexuality


Demi-Gay







Height


5'6 ft







Occupation


University Professor







Groups


None













a

ppearence.





A short and rotund man, but one whose stout appearance hides an impressive amount of strength and durability behind it even by werewolf standards. Oscar has a gruff appearance with short, messy brown hair and a notable white streak protruding from his forehead. A thick beard covers most of the lower half of his face, though he's been known to change the styling of it from time to time. Thick, rounded glasses sit before two tired green eyes, always sitting at a slight angle due to the wonky shape of a formerly-broken nose. Several scars scatter about his body, marking old brawls in his past, with perhaps his most prominent one being the sizeable gash in the corner of his left eyebrow. When he walks it is with a prominent limp in his right leg and it seems to cause him pain over longer periods of time, leading to him making use of a walking cane for better support when out on the streets. Previous comments from Oscar suggest that the injury was sustained long before he became a werewolf, alongside of the injury to his nose. When dressed he tends to opt for comfort these-days, sporting a simple shirt and trousers alongside of a jacket if he's cold. Occasionally though he's been known to dip into older fashion styles more expected of a man born in the Victorian era, especially for more formal events, and has a hefty amount of suits at his disposal.

As a werewolf Oscar has a bulky build and gains a significant amount of height compared to his human form. Much of his fur matches the dark-brown curls of his hair, though he does additionally show a lighter, more cream colouring on his underside. Like with his human form his wolf can be easily distinguished by the bump in its snout and a limp in its hind leg. The latter appears to give him less trouble than in his human form and he can run on it for short bursts, but it does still seem to cause him pain and he's unlikely to perform the more agile leaps and bounds that some of his fellow werewolves are capable of. To compensate for this though his wolf form is notably strong and durable, making it easier to defend himself from anything that can catch up to him.









p

ersonality





Gruff and easy to rile up, Oscar tends to come off as a bitter and grumpy old man upon first appearances. Though not necessarily prone to violence he is known for having a short temper at times, and has still been involved in his fair share of brawls in his younger years. Oscar, however, always insists that he was provoked into them. As a whole the man tends to dip into behaviours that would suggest beneath it all is a sense of loneliness and loss, though he's unlikely to open up about it all any time soon to those he is unfamiliar with. Oscar has a love of history and currently holds a job as a professor teaching it at the local university, where students generally seem to regard him as an irate individual but a good teacher. In his spare time he has been known to paint, a lot, to the point of it being a source of complaint from his roommate Axel from time to time due to how much space the canvases can take up.









h

istory





Oscar tends to be vague with any stories revolving around his early life, and speaks in a sorrowful tone for anything someone can manage to squeeze out of him. He claims to have never really known his mother, who passed away shortly after giving birth to him. His memories of his father are fond ones, for the most part, though Oscar would also be the first to tell you that he was a broken man who never quite healed from the loss of his wife, and turned to several vices in an attempt to cope with this.

Throughout his twenties and thirties, Oscar was much the same. It was a time period where he lost almost everyone that he ever felt some form of connection to and peace with, save for one individual by the name of Axel who became his long-standing roommate. Though the two were once human, their lives had always been marked by something strange, that neither could quite put their finger on nor begin to describe to anyone else. For Oscar, it was the times where he would blink and find himself standing in front of a painting done by his own hand. No recollection of the several hours it must have taken him to make it, and very rarely any indication as to what it meant or why he had painted it in the first place.

In some ways, he found the night that he and Axel had been caught in the crossfire between a Ravenwood Seethe and werewolf attack raid to be something of a blessing in disguise. At least lycanthropy was something tangible, and documented, even if it did fundamentally change his and his roommate's trajectory of life forever. Oscar has tried to simply make the best of the situation, embracing the natural strength and long-lived nature of his kind, and moving alongside of Axel from time to time whenever the two have decided that the locals were going to start becoming suspicious of the fact that neither of them have aged for several years.

Nowadays Oscar works as a professor at the local University, focusing on several History courses that the institute has on offer. His interests have dipped into the study of other Hidden over the last century, and thus he has become rather knowledgeable on both identifying them amongst others in the crowd. He still maintains some old-fashioned habits from his earlier days, particularly in his hobbies, but lately he has been slowly starting to come out of his shell and explore what the modern world has to offer. Oscar has recently been talked into finally starting an Art & Photography Blog on social media, which he enjoys adding to from time to time, but keeps forgetting to check out this 'Grine-Duh' that Axel keeps insisting would do him a lot of good.









r

elationships.





Axel Widdowson
A strange, wiry vampire who is roommates with Oscar, and likewise born in the Victorian era. Despite the constant bickering from the two they have supposedly lived together for over a century at this point in time, and seemingly will follow where the other goes. Like Oscar he is a professor at the University he teaches at, and the students have a habit of trying to pit the two against each other for entertainment and in the hopes that Oscar will forget to call for homework by the end of it.

Echo
Echo is a perfectly ordinary cat who lives with Oscar, Axel, and the latter's numerous dogs. She is a perfectly ordinary cat, as Oscar will always insist. Some cats just have a few more eyes and tentacles than others.

Julien Delacroix
An old vampire friend of Oscar's that he has also known from his pre-werewolf days. The two seem to get on reasonably well for the most part, and can occasionally be found sharing a coffee together in haunts that are less popular with their werewolf or vampire brethren.











g

allery.
































♡coded by uxie♡

































title



artist












Vazithrazuul















R

equisite.










name


Vazithrazuul







species


Fallen Angel / Demon







age


Very Old (appears 35-40)







gender


Non-binary (They/Them/Any)







Sexuality


Panromantic Asexual







Height


6'2 ft







Occupation


Librarian / 'The Archivist'







Groups


None













a

ppearence.





Vaz is a thin, gaunt being with an expression that suggests they've been needing a good night's sleep for the past few centuries. Though once an angel, they have since fallen from grace and their form is now more comparable to that of a demon after a steady consumption of souls. They can be easily spotted by the broken, uneven set of horns above their head that once functioned as their halo, though they are capable of retracting these at will around mortals. On occasion one can also see a dual set of large, dark wings coated in ash and patchy, broken feathering flaring out from behind their back, but Vaz tends to prefer to keep the sight of their now-ruined wings away from unfamiliar faces. They have pale skin and wavy, light-blonde hair that they usually tie back in a loose ponytail or a tight bun to reveal a set of pointed ears. Their natural eyes have thin, honey-hued slits for pupils and a black sclera, and are often hidden behind a set of old-fashioned reading glasses on a chain. Though they can make these eyes take on a more human appearance, many still report an unsettling feeling should they make direct eye contact with the ancient being.

Typically they dress in an overly formal and conservative manner no matter the occasion, and have a notable fondness for suits and the colour navy in their ensembles. They frequently move about with a walking stick at their side, which they have stated helps to take off some of the aches in their muscles that they commonly feel while in their human form. On the rare chance to see a glimpse of Vaz's exposed limbs or upper torso, one can see that their form is littered with dozens upon dozens of old scars.

Their true form is one they tend to keep tucked well away, on account of it being capable of maddening weaker-willed humans from the mere sight of it. Those with the ability to stare at it tend to report it as an enormous, amorphous blotch of ever-shifting ink splotches, smoke, and broken feathers, with the occasional presence of long, claw-tipped tendrils that snake out from the mess. Thousands upon thousands of golden, pupil-less eyes blink in and out of existence within the swirl, though many look to have suffered from past injuries.









p

ersonality





Eloquent, verbose, and often found leafing through an ancient tome that they’ve fished out from their library, first impressions of Vaz typically conjure up the image of a wise and formal being. Indeed, as a former angel of Knowledge, Vaz has the entire catalogue of a pocket realm known as The Archives connected to their mind and at their disposal (though you may need to wait several minutes for them to retrieve the answer you need these days). They have a tendency to keep to themselves, reasoning that those who need answers from them will, eventually, be inexplicably drawn into an encounter with them without their intervention. Despite their present status as a demon they can be surprisingly soft in their tone, and do seem to genuinely care for others in a manner that their snide remarks and withering glares can never quite seem to hide entirely.

Those who are more familiar with Vaz would likely claim that, while the above is certainly true, it neglects to mention the overwhelming sense of fatigue and, on some days, blanket of melancholy that tends to pepper their words. It is easy to see after a few interactions with Vaz that, while excellent at their job, stresses easily and seems forever restless or fretful over needing to be useful to someone, somewhere. They are the type of being who will often complain about feeling worn out or having too much to do in a day, yet they will then spend the next 72 hours frantically tearing through their bookshelves to find a wayward book or source a quote instead of doing anything else on their planned itinerary for the week.









h

istory





Vaz is something of a renowned figure amongst the Hidden of Greyport, given that they have reportedly lingered here since its humble beginnings. Their age however is far greater than those 'mere couple of centuries', as Vaz would likely describe them as. They are a truly ancient being, with tales that would suggest that they have lived through a myriad of historical events. Though they do not advertise the fact that they were once an angel, it is not an obscured fact by any means, and many Hidden would likely be able to spot the tell-tale signs of piercing, all-knowing eyes and stray feathers that they sometimes leave where they walk as evidence of this. Likewise, their subsequent transformation into a demon is easily designated by the horns upon their head and sharpened fangs, of which they do their best to conceal from humans until striking up a deal with them. What made them fall in the first place is a story that they seemingly prefer to keep a mystery, though some do theorise that they must have discovered something about the whole "upstairs" operation they have going on up there that they shouldn't have.

Specialising in drafting contracts based around the exchange of information for favours, resources, and sometimes souls, Vaz has managed to gain something of a reputation for themselves as a go-to demon for when you need answers to questions that no one else would even dare to ask. The fact that they are unable to lie tends to also give extra weight to said answers, though it is important to note that this limitation does not necessarily mean that they won't omit certain details or twist their words.

Vaz holds a strong affinity with the written word. More specifically they are able to summon and dismiss written works at will if stored in their pocket dimension, which they fondly refer to as The Archives, as well as manipulate them through the air. Though some have been known to dismiss this as a rather mundane ability in the past, it leaves Vaz with a hefty amount of knowledge at their disposal and, sometimes, the added bonus of being able to fling around several hefty encyclopedias as a form of self-defense. Many of their incantations and abilities also stem from being able to speak or write sentences, to the point where one of the primary ways to deal with Vaz as an opponent is to find a way to prevent the use of both their hands and voice.

Outside of their various demonic dealings, Vaz holds a far more mundane job as a librarian and therefore can often be found within the walls of The Quill Collective during the day. At night said library opens itself to the more Hidden side of the city, though one that requires you to pass by both a series of wards and a fellow demon that often guards the doors. It reveals strange new shelves to browse through, a dedicated swarm of animated quills to sort and guide people about the place, and welcomes all kinds as long as they can all promise to behave themselves within its walls. Despite their fallen nature Vaz can be surprisingly approachable for angels, and has even been known to make dealings with them, though this also rarely comes without some kind of fee for them to pay. They can also offer contract drafting and proofing services to other demons for a very reasonable fee, and can help regular Hidden with their taxes.

Not everything they do has to be saturated with ill intent and the goal of eternal damnation, after all. Sometimes they just want to be able to afford their next trip to the local cafe for brunch.









r

elationships.





Jorath
A demon who Vaz has known for a significant portion of time. The two have worked alongside of each for years as contractors, with Jorath typically providing the brawn to Vaz's brains behind any of their deals. Vaz often refers to him as their partner, an ambiguous term that has left more than one person scratching their head over whether they mean this in the business sense or if there is something deeper to make of the two. The fact that Vaz is, very obviously, rather smitten with the charismatic Luck demon doesn't help matters.












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allery.
































♡coded by uxie♡
































title



artist












Rowan Maplewood















R

equisite.










name


Rowan Maplewood







species


Witch (Lunar)







age


28







gender


Fluid (She/They/He)







Sexuality


Pansexual







Height


5'2 ft







Occupation


Apothecary Shop Owner







Groups


Nightshade Coven













a

ppearence.





Rowan is a lunar witch with an average build, though sits on the short side. They have medium-toned skin with some light freckling visible across their face and shoulders, and keeps their hair cut short and fluffed up at the fringe, in a pixie-cut sort of style. Though their natural hair colour was once black, Rowan claims that their innate magic has coloured it a bright and vibrant shade of azure since her powers manifested. Dark eyes, which have been noted as being a little far-sighted, can often be found behind a set of reading-glasses when working or a set of prescription sunglasses when outside in the sun.

They have a fondness for long, sweeping dark cloaks with a pop of bright colour for an accent, usually blue to match their hair. Typically they wear a simple button-up shirt and long pants tucked into high boots. Fingerless gloves are also a common choice for them, providing them with some warmth on colder days but keeping their appendages free for any spellcasting they may need to do. They often adorn themselves with colourful jewelry, and are fond of wearing a wide variety of earrings, bracelets, and necklaces that they swap around frequently.
scars / markings

Rowan has a sizable 'living' tattoo of blue flowers along vines that runs all the way down their left arm. They claim this is a marking that appears when witches of their nature first manifest their powers, with the flowers blooming or wilting as a show of how much magical energy they have stored. Rowan's seem to waver only between either a withered or small budding stage, a fact that seems to bother them if brought up. For this reason it's common for them to roll down their left sleeve to try and avoid drawing attention to it.

Otherwise, working frequently in their store occasionally marks Rowan's skin with small blisters or burns from hot water and harmless-but-stubborn stains along her fingertips from various ingredients. It is rare to find them without some sort of tell-tale sign of whatever they've recently been working on, though they brush off curious human enquiries by claiming that they are heavily into arts and crafts.









p

ersonality





Doing their best to exude a cool and confident aura, Rowan fancies themself as being a rather friendly and charismatic individual. Though whether that comes off as charming or just plain arrogant can differ between their fellow Greyport City residents, it's difficult to deny that they've made a decent living out of convincing other Hidden to buy their potions and charms on a daily basis, though they have gotten into trouble before for selling low-level trinkets and potions to humans as well.

Rowan is generally sociable and friendly as a default towards others, often looking to find a way to solve their problems through their magical concoctions. Sometimes however this can dip into pushy or nosy territory, and they need to be reminded to take a step back or mind their own business. They are on the flipside however happy to stand up for others and unafraid to speak their mind, regardless of whether or not it will land them in trouble for doing-so later on.









h

istory





Rowan was born and raised in Greyport City by her mother, famed witch Lavinia Maplewood. They claim to know little about their father, beyond the fact that Lavinia claims he was a charming human she briefly crossed paths with and whom she only really intended to have a short fling with. Rowan therefore is used to a life where she was raised primarily by her mother and at times her maternal grandparents, and reports that it was a happy one in their early days.

Witchcraft is of a highly varied and sometimes little-understood nature across the world, resulting in many different forms and abilities. Rowan personally identifies as a Lunar Witch, a group of people who draw their powers from the moon and other celestial objects. Rowan's bloodline is tied to the moon in particular, and related members of their family have different abilities and power levels that wax and wane alongside of it in the night sky. The Maplewood family has gained a proud reputation over the years as powerful spellcasters, with a might that's difficult to counter during the full moon.

Much of Rowan's woes began only when they reached their teenage years, at the age where most witches of their kind would begin to properly manifest their abilities. Given her mother's legendary talents she placed high hopes on Rowan's potential, only for the young witch to find themself struggling with any spell that was asked of them. Though encouraging at first her mother eventually started to veer into frustrated territory with Rowan, claiming that it had to be laziness and disinterest that were the heart of the issue for them. She began to place a large amount of pressure on Rowan, who continued to study hard and practice often, but found that the only really outlet they ever had success with was the oft-dismissed art of potion-crafting. Attitudes between the two started to sour, until it got to the point where when Lavinia said that she was moving elsewhere as part of her duties of her Coven, Rowan insisted instead that they were going to stay in Greyport City.

Rowan had a rocky year after their mother left, but was taken in by an old family friend of The Nightshade Coven until they were able to find their footing once more. They were quick to come up with the idea to start an underground potions shop as a source of income once they realised the potential market for it in a place like Greyport City, and soon set about securing a place to sell them while simultaneously working deals with local residents for supplies. Though the City Watch at first was dubious about the store, after passing a series of checks and oaths to keep the nature of their shop secure they eventually relented in the hopes that it would allow citizens easier access to various useful or necessary potions and cures. Eventually, they managed to get a foot-hold on the business, and by now they have a small but thriving shop that sits in the business centre of the city. To humans, the shop disguises itself as an antique store, and can be found by the sign 'Hidden Gems' outside of its entrance. To the Hidden however Rowan has a sizable selection of potions and trinkets available down stairs in the basement of the building.

They claim that with a recipe in hand there's no potion that they can't make, even if it means having to scour the Earth for rare ingredients or figure out a suitable substitute or method to produce the same results. The potency of their potions are heavily tied to the phases of the moon, leading Rowan to do much of her crafting during the week where the moon is at its fullest. Throughout the rest of the month they then spend their time either gathering more ingredients or selling the results at their shop.

Rowan nowadays is often hard at work trying to expand their business, but in their spare time they like to venture out and go to any local celebrations or just sit and enjoy the company of others. The relationship with their mother seems to still be in a poor state, and they've given very little indication as to whether they've seen her or even kept in contact since she left the city. Instead the seem to be just trying to make the best of their new independence from her, and have recently struck up both a friendship and business partnership with Azalea Mortem. The two witches currently make a home as roommates in the small but cosy living space upstairs from The Hidden Gems store, alongside of their familiars.










r

elationships.





Lavinia Maplewood
A famed witch amongst the Hidden for her powerful nature-based magic, and mother of Rowan. Though they held a strong bond in Rowan's younger years they have since drifted considerably, a fact which Rowan attributes mostly to the fact that they have shown that they simply can't replicate the kind of magical feats that their mother is capable of.

Lenny
A rotund, extremely fluffy cat with white fur and large, blue eyes that match the colour of Rowan's magic. Lenny serves as Rowan's familiar, and the two have shared a soul-bond with each other for a number of years. He is known to be a particularly laid back and lazy individual, often taking long naps around the store and complaining loudly whenever Rowan gives him a task that involved getting up onto his paws to complete it.

Azalea Mortem
A witch who recently has taken up residence in Rowan's home ever since they advertised for a new roommate at the local Nightshade Coven. Rowan for the most part is happy to have her around and pleased to find another witch who can help both run the store and help them craft their stock, though they are still needing to adjust to the fact that she seems to be far more introverted than them.

Rune
Azalea's familiar, whom Rowan adores almost as much as Lenny. Prone to giving felines treats when she doesn't think someone like Azalea is watching, which might partially account for the fact why Lenny could stand to loose a few pounds.












g

allery.
































♡coded by uxie♡
 
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WIP

Kyle John Luke
Kind of an (un)ordinary dude.
  • i
    ii
    iii
    iv
    full name
    Kyle John Luke
    nicknames
    The Hungry One
    age
    ???
    date of birth
    January 1st 2025
    gender
    Male
    sexuality
    Unknown
    Factions
    Dragon's Hoard Pawn Shop
    occupation
    Employee of the Month
coded by natasha.
 
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  • Dragon's Breath
    Omen




    01
    name
    Dagon
    02
    nickname
    The Bane of Beowulf
    03
    Age
    ~1600 Years
    04
    date of birth
    Forgotten
    05
    gender
    Male
    06
    sexuality
    Treasure
    07
    occupation
    Owner of The Dragon's Hoard pawnshop
    08
    role
    Dragon
left
right
coded by natasha.
 
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"I dunno…
I just got here…"












bi panic










very, very confused










subzero thoughts (how is that possible)










healthy

















Virgil Cerullo



he/him







now playing












  • h






(click link!)







  • Age ~ 22
  • Gender ~ Male
  • Sexuality ~ Bisexual
  • Height ~ 6’2”
  • Occupation ~ Still figuring that one out
  • Factions and Groups ~ TBD
  • Personality ~ Virgil has a very confident demeanor, often walking with a spring in his step. He often talks first, thinks second, and is very relaxed. He’s friendly, but unfortunately that doesn’t help when it comes to his grades. While he maintains an active social life, he often doesn’t do well with his work, even when he tries his best to study. Despite this, he still has a decent work ethic- he does put time aside to study, often with a partner or with a group. He also has a very extensive dating history- most of his “relationships” not lasting more than a month or two, often ended on his terms. If you get close enough to him though, you can see that he’s really a kind man who needs to be loved and accepted. He loves to share pieces of his world with you- including authentic Italian food (will have a heart attack if you suggest olive garden), his favorite sports (he loves the Philadelphia Eagles!!!), and his love of the piano. He will, however, make a point to pronounce Italian words correctly if he hears someone pronounce them wrong.
  • Backstory ~ Born to Italian immigrants in the US, somehow stumbled into Greyport recently
  • Relations ~ TBD
  • Species ~ Just a plain ol’ human





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡













"Did you…
Just ask about a rash?"












judging you, probably










Wait where did Finn go–










worrying about which spell she just cast










healthy

















Saphielle Ianpeiros



she/her







now playing












  • h






(click link!)







  • Age ~ 26
  • Gender ~ Female
  • Sexuality ~ Lesbian
  • Height ~ 4’11”
  • Occupation ~ Witch/healer
  • Factions and Groups ~ None in particular
  • Personality ~ Upon meeting her, one would describe Saphielle as rather serious. She has a tendency to stand as straight as she possibly can, and her face never seems to be anything other than neutral. When at work, this is absolutely the case. Saphielle takes her work seriously, refusing to settle for less than her best. There is no “this will do” out of her. While young for her species, Saphielle refuses to let this be made known. She isn’t always quite so stoic, though. When off-duty, Saphielle is much more relaxed. Her favorite places to frequent are the arcade, the gardens, and the bar. She has a tendency to get into drinking contests with some of the other crew members- as a drunk, she is a bit noisy, but never exceeds yelling at other people. Saphielle is also rather sarcastic (sober or drunk) and has a bit of a sailor mouth in more casual situations. She is opposed to sleeves. Ultimately, Saphielle cares for her patients. As a medical professional, it is her goal to make sure everyone in her care is in their best form. She’s rather observant, often picking up on the slightest sign that someone is having some medical troubles.
  • Backstory ~ Single mother who met Asterodia during her travels, tends to find herself in Greyport more often with her son Finn in tow
  • Relations ~ Asterodia (partner), Finn (son), others TBD
  • Species ~ Cat shifter, switches to her human form when in human company but usually remains in an in-between form





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡













"Fuck off"












women…










annoyed at what you just said










zero thoughts










healthy and pissed off

















Aenwyn



she/they







now playing












  • h






(click link!)







  • Age ~ 27
  • Gender ~ Female
  • Sexuality ~ Lesbian
  • Height ~ 4’11”
  • Occupation ~ Security guard
  • Factions and Groups ~ Grimclaw pack
  • Personality ~ Aenwyn comes across as rather gruff, and just a tad aggressive at a first glance. However, she’s normally very laid back and very social- sometimes quite flirty, when around the right women. She’s not the brightest bulb in the drawer, but what she lacks in brains she makes up for in brute strength, much to the surprise of some.
  • Backstory ~ Has been around Greyport for her entire life- an urchin who was taken into the pack at a rather young age. Used to cause a lot of trouble in her younger years.
  • Relations ~ Saphielle (old friend), Asterodia (older friend), others TBD
  • Species ~ Werewolf, with a more elven appearance when not in wolf form





♡design by rabbitswarren, coded by uxie♡
 
"The colours of the sky ... I can see them all! How wonderful it is to breathe such clear air."
  • Basics
    Helun
    和沦
    FC: 谢怜 (天官赐福)
    Status
    |
    on-land
    Age
    |
    19
    Birthday
    |
    May 23
    Gender
    |
    M (he/him)
    Species
    |
    Mermaid
    Occupation
    |
    Freelance Journalist
    Faction
    |
    n/a
    Appearance
    Height
    |
    170cm
    Weight
    |
    70kg
    Helun has a thin, elegant frame with long limbs and a slim waist. His hair is black and silky, slightly wavy, and often falls down his shoulders in cascading waves. Since it is often sea-touched, it is rather coarse and has the appearance of kelp in the water. Surprisingly, although he doesn't brush his hair often, it never tangles. His eyes are seafoam green, though in certain lights they can appear either misty-grey or blue. He has long eyelashes, which often cast half-moon shadows across his flushed cheeks when he blinks.

    Helun often dresses in simple, flowy clothing, though recently his wardrobe has consisted of whatever he can find in the library's donation bin. His most beloved object is his coat, which is a faded grey hoodless jacket gifted to him by a friend he no longer talks to. It is slightly too big for him, and hangs off his shoulders, so most of the time he ties it around his waist or carries it on his arm.

    As a mermaid, Helun's tail is fanning and white, akin to a betta fish's fins. His scales are bordered by the faintest bit of blue, which glimmer in the sunlight and can often appear like the scales of a tuna surfacing underneath the water. He is paler than usual currently, usually having a tan from days spent basking in the sun in the ocean.
    Personality
    Helun is a gentle, loving spirit having had a taste for adventure that has changed the trajectory of his life. Used to a life of relaxing monotony beneath the sea, recent events have forced him on land and into the hustle and bustle of life in Greyport. Despite his recent difficulties both economically and interpersonally, Helun keeps a positive mindset regarding the outcome of his life and is, if anything, simply delighted to be on land and walking among humans and Hidden he never would have thought of interacting with before.

    He is gentle to a fault, which can sometimes lead to being taken advantage of. Non-confrontational, he will often accept circumstances as they are instead of trying to change them, and it takes a lot of difficulty for Helun to actively take action -- unless someone he cares for is being actively threatened, in which he will then place them before his own well-being. As a result, he values his relationships and community quite strongly and that is probably the thing he is most lacking in his present life in Greyport, having left behind most of his connections in the sea.
    +
    Likes
    clear skies, sweet desserts, engaging conversation
    -
    Dislikes
    loud scenes, mysterious objects, uncertainty
Code by Nano
 
Last edited:
basic info
backstory
extra
Cygnus
  • PROFILE
    FULL NAME
    Cygnus Cordelia
    NICKNAMES
    C.C.
    OCCUPATION
    City Watch ; Handler
    AGE
    20
    BIRTHDAY
    July 26th
    GENDER
    f (she/her)
    "My work now is just as meaningless as if it had never existed. I do it only because I have been assigned, with this unfortunate existence."
    APPEARANCE
    BASICS
    HEIGHT
    154cm
    WEIGHT
    45kg
    FACE CLAIM
    パニグ；セレーナ
    HAIR COLOR
    Black
    EYE COLOR
    Blue
    MISCELLANEOUS
    Cygnus is a slim girl with a waifish figure. Often mistaken as weak due to her dainty frame, she is easy to overlook in most settings by both her superiors and regular people alike; fortunately, this actually helps in her work as a member of the City Watch. She has long, silky black hair, and large, deep-blue eyes that appear violet. From her mother, known throughout Greyport as a great beauty, Cygnus has gained a bit of a reputation for her delicate features and contrasting inky hair, though she often thinks her appearance is contrasted against her sulky manner and general tiredness.

    She generally wears the Watch uniform, though her casual clothing is similar -- lots of blacks and greys, creating a simplistic and utilitarian wardrobe. She likes to accessorise, and can often be found wearing small pieces of jewelry and hairclips. She is incapable of wearing heels, a fact that causes her much distress as she does not want to look unprofessional to her comrades.
    PERSONALITY
    "I would think most are not delighted to see me. After all, if you meet me, there is the opportune chance you will never see the blue of the sky again."
    Cygnus thinks of herself as realistic above all else, though her comments often come across as self-defeatist and depressive. She is easy to engage in conversation, surprisingly enough, but often backs away once the connection with someone passes the usual intimacies and turns into real affection or a desire for a deeper connection. A wiser person may infer that this is due to her fear that her mother will intervene with those that she cares for; Cygnus much prefers the more-realistic explanation that she simply does not have time for things like friendships when she is constantly flooded with work.

    Very good at her job, Cygnus is detail-oriented and unable to put down a task once she starts it. Though she says she often dislikes her work, the fulfillment it brings her from finding other Hidden and carrying out orders stirs a certain kind of glee within her that she refuses to address too deeply, out of fear of realising unbecoming things about herself. She has a love of learning and especially of magics and fantastical creatures, having wanted to study witch covens before she became a participant of the regular workforce.

    She often puts on an air of self-assuredness which some may mistake to be arrogance, though this is a practised reaction to avoid being undermined in her work due to her age and appearance. However, it is not doing her any favours in creating close relationships with others, which she recently has begun desiring from seeing the hustle and bustle of Greyport around her. Most recently, she has taken to wandering the alleyways and small shops of the City, inquiring into closed-off shops and forgotten about places with a natural student-esque curiosity, pleased to be able to forget herself in the pursuit of new discovery.
code by Nano
 
Last edited:











  • 水屋 雪翔




    color: aagito | lineart: wershe



    Mizuya Yukito




    ♡coded by uxie♡
 
Last edited:
scroll
Still Alive, Mostly
HavocHarpa
Bohdana
Dahl
persona
&
attributes
virtues
vices
backstory
&
connections
name.
Bohdana Dhal
alias.
Boh
age.
878 (years)
gender.
Female
sexuality.
Pansexual
occupation.
Police Investigator
Species
Corvindrel
"Centuries. Humanity doesn’t change—same fear, same greed, just shinier ways to be disappointing."
eyes.
Jet Black
hair.
Black
skin.
Pale
height.
5' 8"
body mods.
Several piercings
overview.
Bohdana is a centuries-old Corvindrel, a master manipulator with a sharp tongue and a sharper mind. Sarcastic, cunning, and utterly ruthless, she thrives on deception, bending both criminals and law enforcement to her will. Fueled by centuries of hatred for humanity, she seeks power, slipping between factions like a shadow. Her job in the PD is just another move in the game—until she meets Ines, a witch who threatens to unravel everything. For the first time in centuries, Boh faces a question she can’t outmaneuver: Is this another empire to burn, or something worth keeping?
"If solving this was easy, I wouldn’t be interested. I like a case that makes me work for it—peeling back the lies, picking apart the pieces, watching it all click into place. That’s the fun part."
style.

Bohdana’s style is a perfect blend of gothic elegance and sharp militaristic edge—dark, dramatic, and commanding. She wears a structured black jacket with silver detailing, reminiscent of a high-ranking officer’s coat, giving her an air of authority and precision. The fitted sleeves, adorned with subtle embellishments, add to her poised yet effortlessly intimidating presence. Beneath the jacket, she layers sheer, flowing fabrics that contrast the structured tailoring—soft yet haunting, like smoke trailing in her wake. The translucent black skirt hints at something ethereal, a ghostly touch that plays against the stark lines of her upperwear. Her accessories are minimal but striking—a silver ring and a bold choker that subtly nod to dominance and control. Her gloves, fingerless and practical, hint at someone who likes to get their hands dirty—both metaphorically and literally. Her hair, partially shaved and tousled, gives off an effortlessly rebellious look, a mix of refinement and unpredictability. Her makeup is bold and dark—smudged black eyeliner, deep lips, and an almost haunting intensity in her gaze, making her impossible to ignore. Everything about her aesthetic screams power, mystery, and just the right amount of theatrical menace, like a figure who belongs in the smoke-filled backrooms of power plays and whispered betrayals.
Abilities

The Corvindrel are shapeshifters of shadow and deception, slipping effortlessly between raven and man. Their illusions rival the cunning of trickster gods, weaving falsehoods so seamless that reality itself bends at their whim.
ambitions.
Bohdana craves power—not for the sake of ruling, but to ensure the Hidden no longer bow to humanity. She plays both sides, manipulating law and crime alike, always staying ahead, always in control. Her position in the PD is just another step toward pulling the strings of Greyport itself.
fears.
Beneath the mask she so expertly wears, Bohdana harbors a few deep-seated fears—fears she keeps well hidden from those around her. First, the haunting dread of being the last of her kind, a solitary existence that weighs on her soul. Second, the fear of losing the one person she trusts more than anyone else, the only one who sees past her walls. The thought of that loss is a wound she dares not let anyone see.
aversions.
Humanity.

confident
"Confidence isn't about knowing you're right, it's about knowing you'll find out if you're wrong. And I always find out."
Intelligent
"People think solving problems is about having all the answers. It's actually about spotting the things everyone else is too busy to notice."
charming
"Oh darling, if brains were a crime, I’d be serving a life sentence... but I’d still make time for you."
Observant
"Breathing increased, sweat on your brow, fidgety hands... I could be wrong, but I think you might be a terrible liar, hmm sweetheart?"
Loyal
"Please, don’t bring it up. The last thing I need is my reputation being dragged through the mud—again."
blunt
"I don’t sugarcoat things, dear. If you wanted kindness, you should’ve gone to a therapist."
Impulsive
"Yes, we needed that tooth fairy, and no, it won’t harm me... as long as it is fed."
stubborn
"I don't need your approval, I don’t need your permission. I’ll do it my way, because frankly, my way is the only one that works."
Cynical
"Hope is a great thing… too bad it doesn’t resurrect the dead or fix people’s stupidity."
Lazy
"Lazy? No, I prefer the term 'strategically conserving energy.' You’d be surprised how much gets done when you stop pretending to care about everything."
"Morals are just guidelines for people who need an excuse to feel good about themselves. Me? I do what works... most of the time at least"

history.

Bohdana was born in the mid-12th century, alongside her brother Anton, in the town of Corvindrel—a place where the world shifted, where the ordinary bled into the uncanny. Their mother, eyeless yet brimming with warmth, raised them with love, teaching them to find joy in scraps, to see beauty even as their town teetered on the edge of something unnatural. Their father, however, was not so kind. He fled the moment the raven phenomenon began, abandoning them to whispers of madness, to a town grappling with an existence they never asked for.
For a time, their childhood was brief but bright. They played in the alleys, learned what they could from their mother’s soft-spoken wisdom, and shared meager meals in the flickering candlelight. The town, though wary of itself, tried to adapt. But humanity is not kind to what it does not understand. Their father did not simply leave—he returned, dragging the weight of the crusade behind him.
What followed was horror. Anton and Bohdana bore witness to the depths of human cruelty, to the butchery of their kin. Corvindrel bodies hung in grotesque effigies, their organs collected like trophies. Their mother—gentle, loving, undeserving—was cut down before their eyes. The siblings could do nothing but ask why? Why would humanity do this to them? Why were they born only to suffer? But no answer came, only the bitter taste of loss, only the slow, creeping poison of hatred taking root in Bohdana’s heart.
For centuries, she and Anton roamed the world, slipping in and out of societies like phantoms. They were untouchable, illusions wrapped in flesh, infiltrating empires, cults, families—anywhere that suited their needs. They became shadows in the underbelly of civilization, thriving as information brokers, weaving themselves into the foundations of power. And for a time, they believed they were invincible. But the game could only last so long. Eventually, the truth of their origins slipped through the cracks. And as always, humanity did what it did best—it sought to destroy.
They were hunted. Tracked like beasts through the streets and forests. And when escape became impossible, Anton made the sacrifice. He forced Boh to run, to survive, while he stood against the inevitable. She never saw him again.
Something inside her broke that day. Her hatred was no longer a slow-burning ember—it was wildfire. She refined her spite into a weapon, using her mastery of deception to unravel humanity from within. Lies became her art form, betrayal her masterpiece. She turned villages against themselves, toppled kings with whispers, watched empires crumble under the weight of their own paranoia. And she enjoyed it. They were nothing but insects to her—easy to manipulate, to break, to burn.
Then, a century ago, she found Greyport City. It was a paradox—a place built for the Hidden, now infested with humans. Watching the Hidden cower in the shadows, forced to coexist, was nothing short of pathetic. To her, the Hidden—Corvindrel, vampires, witches, the forgotten creatures of the world—should be ruling, not hiding. And if no one else was willing to make that happen, she would.
She embedded herself into the city's pulse, playing both sides, aligning with Cerberus and the Stormbringers, feeding them secrets no one else could acquire. But information wasn’t always enough—sometimes, she had to get her hands dirty. Cerberus loved using her as their ghost, framing others through illusions, twisting the law to their benefit. For years, she slipped under the radar, too rare and too clever to be suspected.
Until she wasn’t.
The first to see through her game was a witch—a PD investigator named Ines. Someone powerful. Someone who, for once, could not be easily deceived. When Boh was finally caught, she put up a fight, of course, but in the end, she let herself be arrested. And, as always, she made a deal. With a mix of bribery, charm, and just the right touch of magic, she offered Ines what she wanted most. In return? Bohdana walked away with a badge and a new position in the PD.
It was the perfect vantage point. A way to stay ahead of everyone. A way to manipulate the system from within. The idea of working for the City Watch made her stomach turn—Hidden thinking they could coexist with humans? Disgusting. But being inside the PD? It gave her access, influence, and most importantly, entertainment.
She expected it to be just another game, another way to claw her way to power. What she didn’t expect was Ines.
Over time, Boh found something unsettling happening—trust. A dangerous, unfamiliar thing. She knew Ines didn’t share her ideals, and didn't carry the same hatred. And yet, Boh found herself justifying, rationalizing, hoping that eventually, Ines would see the world as she did. That she would understand.
But something gnawed at her. Was this another doomed endeavor? Just another thread waiting to be pulled, another empire waiting to fall? Or was this—for once—something different? She had built entire civilizations on deception. But for the first time in centuries, she wondered—would this be the one lie she couldn’t maintain?

filler

 
6ae2066767558b6065db993c1dfc7b73.jpg
【 Ines~ 】​
Tight thorns, sheepish and scarlet, angry by nature’s seize, but hushed in despite— it coils tighter, blossoming under the crow’s sing.​
⎡ Cursory Information. ⎦

【Full Name】— Ines Sade De Angelis.
【Nickname(s)】— “Ness,” “Des,” “Sadey”
【Gender】— Female.
【Age】— 25.
【Sexuality】— Bisexual-In denial.

【The Varcovyn Witch】

Once loyal acolytes of the Great One— an immortal redwood tree notable for sourcing Green Witches— the Varcovyn stand as a small, nearly extinguished clan of dark witches. Narkau Varcovyn, a practitioner in harnessing the darker elements of nature, decay, death, disease, and the like, defines the predecessor of the small line of exiled witches. Narkau became a stain upon all Green Witches for his crimes and paid for it by initiating the retaliation of a genetic hex, passing from family to family of Varcovyn Witches in hopes of them abstaining from reproduction. A dooming trait Varcovyns have referred to as Fractureblighting.

The curse manifests through the very magic that sustains them. Each spell they weave fractures their form, creating hairline cracks in their being. At first, the damage is imperceptible, a mere strain on the edges of their soul. But with each invocation, the fractures deepen, splintering across their body like the surface of shattered glass. Eventually, the damage reaches a critical threshold, allowing their essence to slip free. Once their soul begins to bleed from these fractures, they step closer to true hollowness—a state where identity dissolves, leaving only an empty shell.

The breaking itself is neither painful nor permanent. Their bodies mend, the cracks seal as if they’d never been. But the toll remains. With each restoration, something is lost—memories fog, emotions dull, the tether to self frays. What was once a person becomes a specter of what they were, a ghost trapped in a body that still stands.

A Varcovyn who uses their power recklessly is doomed to oblivion—not by death, but by erasure. They will linger, unknowing and unfeeling, a being without will, until nothing remains but an empty husk, bound to an echo of life.

Even those who practice restraint don't grow old with content, as the path to grey seems fated to shorten forevermore. Gratefully, or perhaps even ungratefully, Ines was stripped of her soul as soon as she spoke her first word. To protect her being, her parents sealed her spirit inside a naturally impenetrable shard of crystal. One still tethered to her being, but only by slim wound anchors of scripture. It was a risk, a cruel one at that, but it promised great reward should it work.

After all, when one starts with nothing, they have all to gain opposed to starting anew after all is lost.
If anyone could live without a soul; the two Hidden, fragmented beyond redemption, believed their daughter could learn to.

⎡ Visage. ⎦


The air around Ines is constantly held stagnant, unwavering unless she wills it to. Her dress is perfectly tailored to her fit, whether by magic or the occasional Hidden tailor. Crisp boots, sleek blazers, high-collared blouses, and polished leather boots lie as the founders of her wardrobe, each piece meticulously chosen in her day-to-day, hour-hour even. Dark, muted tones dominate her palette, alongside the navies, charcoals, deep bronzes, and dusty mahoganies.

Grace, finesse, it’s a must.
Ines exudes control, even under a house of fallen cards, she is rarely seen rushing or placing haste, for she knows it has to be her that sets the pace. Her perception, her posture, she’s learned to hone it, perfect it; after all, first impressions are rarely planned and she intends to strike as advantageous of her opportunities wherever they may stir.. In her business, it’s everything.

She refuses to stoop to crude language or needless slang, ensuring every word carries weight, especially in accordance to the unprepared moments she decides to relieve such vulgarity. Whether speaking to a superior, subordinate, or adversary, she maintains the same professional detachment, making it impossible to discern her intent unless she favors it.


⎡ Psyche. ⎦

【Vices】
— Germaphobe; has not been seen without gloves on
— Unfazed by appeals to sympathy
— Will Not allow Doors Opened for Her
— Communicates Indirectly by Use of Texts/email, Proxies, or Letters at Any and Every Opportunity
【Virtues】
— Won’t tell a theoretical Lie
— Ensures the condemned receive dignified deaths
— Regularly Gives to Those Unfortunate
— Typically Addresses others by their Full Name Unless Granted Permission to do Otherwise
【Fatal Flaw】
— Bohdana.
___​
Nowadays, Ines is an individual vacant of her color, befallen by greys and blacks as far as she can see. Dreams be damned, friends be trivial, and strife be granted. She has gaslit herself into believing her life holds no more substance than the dirt beneath her feet, retreating into her hallowed complacency ever since the loss of her brother.

She speaks with no filter, and can’t be bothered enough to spare the feelings of others; for that would deter the efficiency of her pragmatism. Such doesn’t place her as a particular asshole— at first glance anyway. Rather she comes across as notably shallow and indifferent. She’s come to prefer it. The world could catch ablaze, and Ness would grab a lawn chair, a school of orphans could be blown to smithereens and her prompt thought would perhaps weigh her decisions of supper.

Nonetheless, life has a way of yanking one out of the depths of their despondency and bearing them before the sun. Ines had long forgotten what it was like, to feel true sensation..emotion. She once recalled it was all but lost, siphoned inside her Aegis to save her soul. That was until a particular Corvindrel rekindled something within, something though long rendered to dust. And by hell, will Ness turn the world on its side before she loses her. Cast again to a world of grey after just barely growing comfortable with a return of color. For once, she has something that excites her days, ignites her vigilance, and fulfills her cherish. Someday soon, she has promised one day they will walk a life not dictated by shadows; equal to all races by merit, right, and autonomy. Unfortunately, the clever Boh and her have yet to see eye to eye. Still, a part of Ness holds faith the broiling wrath within her can be otherwise soothed without the fall of all humanity.


⎡ Abilities. ⎦

Once loyal acolytes of the Great One— an immortal redwood tree notable for sourcing Green Witches— the Varcovyn stand as a small, nearly extinguished clan of dark witch. Named after the first predecessor, Narkau Varcovyn, a practitioner in harnessing the darker elements of nature, decay, death, disease, and the like, the small line of exiled witches have been cursed by their former coven at the rumored behest of the Great One in effort to diminish their numbers. Varcovyn witches are a stain upon the name of Green witches, and in hopes of them abstaining from reproducing, by bestowing upon them a hex Varcovyns have referred to as Fractureblighting.

The curse manifests through the very magic that sustains them. Each spell they weave fractures their form, creating hairline cracks in their being. At first, the damage is imperceptible, a mere strain on the edges of their soul. But with each invocation, the fractures deepen, splintering across their body like the surface of shattered glass. Eventually, the damage reaches a critical threshold, allowing their essence to slip free. Once their soul begins to bleed from these fractures, they step closer to true hollowness—a state where identity dissolves, leaving only an empty shell.

The breaking itself is neither painful nor permanent. Their bodies mend, the cracks seal as if they’d never been. But the toll remains. With each restoration, something is lost—memories fog, emotions dull, the tether to self frays. What was once a person becomes a specter of what they were, a ghost trapped in a body that still stands.

A Varcovyn who uses their power recklessly is doomed to oblivion—not by death, but by erasure. They will linger, unknowing and unfeeling, a being without will, until nothing remains but an empty husk, bound to an echo of life.

Even those who practice restraint, do not grow old with joy, as if the path to grey will ever march closer. Gratefully, or perhaps even ungratefully, Ines was stripped of her soul as soon as she said her first word. To protect her being, her parents sealed her spirit inside a naturally impenetrable shard of crystal. One still tether to her being, but only by slim wound threads. It was a risk, a cruel one at that, but it promised great reward should it work.

After all, when one starts with nothing, they have all to gain opposed to starting anew after all is lost.
If anyone could live without a soul, the two Hidden, fragmented beyond redemption, believed their daughter could learn to.


Witchcraft — By utilizing any organic material with blood, souls, or tears, Ines can cast spells and arcane.
Ironteeth & Claws — Capable of retracting deadly fangs and claws at will to use as she sees fit.
Shifting Eyelids — Without using magic, Ines may shift the color of her eyes to anything she wishes and
Ichor Enchantment — The consumption of blood grants a Varcovyn youth, though not immortality. Additionally, whoever’s blood she consumes becomes susceptible to her influence, particularly humans.
Shadow Step — Amidst shadows large enough to fit her sole, Ines may step inside them and vanish and reappear elsewhere. She can only hide within them for as long as she can hold her breath.
Nature’s Refute — The very essence of the earth opposes the soles of these former agents of the natural order, rendering their figure naturally afloat a few inches above the surface they walk unless they focus on defying the reception of nature.

⎡ Background. ⎦

Reality holds no promise of contentment, one fought for it by tooth and nail. A lesson Ines had learned before she could take much of anything for granted.

The two hollowed souls who birthed her, put her up for adoption at 9 and told her at face value that there was no longer any love or home for her in their arms. Told her to not look for them, cry for them, to hate them if she needed to, but if anything, to know a new family was better for her. A rather large pill that she wasn’t quite old enough to swallow back then, but it did resonate in a way. At least in an understanding that she could not look back. Gratefully, she was aware of her peculiar scourge—such defined by her interactions with others—her lack of emotion and sympathy. Though just as well aware of her gifts, the endowments of her legacy.

They left her a Grimoire, one bound to her by the potency of her blood, its pages sealed until she’d come of age to properly understand what she was, who she was, and where she came from by her own means. For her birth parents gave her nothing to start with. Wherever she went, it would follow, appearing on a random surface, nook in the wall, or crevice beneath the floorboards, but never within range of retrieval, and if it was, it was never seen.

Raphael.
She called it.

Only allowing himself to be revealed upon her 11th birthday, bestowing upon her the legacy of her family’s most prized treasure, magic. It was under the same evening that a source of The Watch delivered an omen, a warning to keep her magic secret or risk the livelihood of those in her midst. She now had an obligation, a duty to keep society oblivious of her abnormal affinity for the betterment of her kind..or otherwise be dealt with.

__11 Years ago.

“Don’t bother holding your breath, big brother. They’d taken our scent no sooner than they’d caught sight of us.” It was always irritating to see his face distort with panic, but it was also oddly—envying, the rush, the hysteria.. It had to be fun. At least, without all the hyperventilating and needless adrenaline.

One would have thought his body was close to rupturing by the number of spasms wracking through his figure. “*So,* what do we do then???”

“Well, we don’t panic; they can smell fear, but that’s out the window all the same.” The young lass shrugged. “I’ve got nothing at the moment.”

“Oh, your nonchalance is just prefect, isn’t it?? You couldn’t take this more seriously?”

“Mhm, I do believe I was particularly clear about it being far too dangerous for a human to join me, brother. I would have been out of this predicament by now, but here I am, babysitting the babysitter.”

“You’re in a demonic *gang,* Ness.”

“Just because there’s demons there, doesn’t mean-”

“*I don’t care!!* Whether you’re laundering money or calculating assassinations, I don’t care! I’m not letting you wander off—”

Ines sighed through her nose, her frown plummeting as the trio of steps neared. “Well, you’re not catering to my well-being either, brother.” Her fingers flexed, placing a ward before her that spiraled with prevision. “Get behind me.” She snapped.

“Fuck-” As if struck by lightning, the much taller male scrambled to Ines’s flank, fingers tightly clasped around his pocket knife. “Ness… whatever happens.”

“We’re not going to die, idiot.”

“Just, listen, you little fucking shit,” His arms held the blade out as the steps traced around the bend, boombing against their ears like gongs, shaking the walls and gripping the very air. “I’m not going to pretend I’m not just a scared, frail, ignorant… human, Ines.” His voice cracked, but his stance never faltered. He was close, like he’d always been. “But I’m here, I’ll always be here for you no matter where you go.”

A theatrical gag, “I wish you weren’t..” Yet she believed him.

And boy, was she a fool for it…
It only took a quarter’s hour for her world to untwine to ribbons.

“Watch.”
“Here?”

The strained voices of the goons formerly on their trail suddenly diverted their attention, retracting their steps at seeming inches from the two youngin’s hideaway. A warm breath relieved against her neck, marking the older male’s reprieve.

“That’s worse.” She said through grit teeth. “This just got so much worse.”

He didn’t have time to reply before the very ground ceased formation, dissolving to liquid as gravity yanked them through the sudden void and spit them out on the other side in a dizzying crescendo. Crimson hues darted skyward, spying 1, 2, 3, figures standing in a divide, between her and..

“We warned you, kid.”

Her lungs emptied. “Shannon..”
They can’t do this.

Her jaw tightened, and past their frames, she saw him. Struggling against the pair of hands holding him still as a familiar witch took an unsparing grasp of his face. Forcing his eyes absent with each aching inch her spindled digits dug between his temples. Soiling his mind, counterfeiting it till it proved broken satisfactory.

He wouldn’t feel a thing.
They’d said.

It was for the best.
They’d said.

He’d be grateful if he knew how dangerous it was..

___​

But he already knew how dangerous it was, and he stayed despite it all. He’d done so much for her than any Hidden had ever done in her regard. And yet, this duty was insisted upon her. She couldn’t stay there, home wasn’t home any longer. Raising two children alone had been hard enough for her adoptive mother, and as far as Ines was concerned—for the sake of her sleepless nights—she was doing her a favor. So Ines ran, asked The Watch to wipe herself clean from the recollection of her adoptive family, and started anew.
It was for the best…supposedly.

Reality turned bleak much quicker than she could register. Cerberus became something to do; drugs, something to feel. Her life was a stagnant, festering pot—murky, bland, and coated in mildew. Soon enough, boredom set in, and what started as a petty hobby spiraled into a half-cult, half-spiteful endeavor against The Watch. She played God in her little sandbox of man-children who mistook corrupted arrogance for invincibility. Her work with Greyport’s Police Department, as their go-to investigator, became the only high she couldn’t replace. That was until a routine detainment fell more sideways than she could ever predict.

The woman was calculated beyond measure and still foolish in every way possible. It was perplexing, captivating, drawing her curiosity like a vortex. The arrest ended with a pit in her stomach and a seed of resolution to see her again.
Bohdana— that was her name.
A pain in her side as much as she was a liability to everything she’d built in her lonely years. They became partners, soon enough, then friends, and well.. as of late, Ines was beginning to believe she’d be a fool not to take the opportunity to keep her closer.

Two years. That was all it took for Boh to turn Ines’s flimsy, revamped life on its head. She dressed the part no matter the occasion, spoke the part no matter the conversation, and in mere months, broke every ill habit Ines had clung to—except the occasional smoke, but only because Boh too indulged.

For once, pieces were falling into place., fragments long shattered were forming something whole.
But contentment was not a grace.

Despite her departure from Cerberus, they still came knocking—too often for comfort. Nor did it help that The Watch has begun to side-eye her disreputable dealings with the humans who work for her. And naturally, mysterious disappearances were just the icing on top. Now her priorities were tangled, split, some dangling just out of reach.

Here she is again; if she stares hard enough, Ines could spy the outline of her loop, the circle of history.
Why does she even bother.. She didn’t know, perhaps it was time she fight for it this go ‘round.


⎡ Relationships. ⎦

【Brother】— Shannon K. De Angelis.
【Bohdana】— Paramour.
【Cerberus】— Partner.
【City Watch】— Partner.
【Enemy 1..】— info.
【Acquaintance 1..】— info.
 
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NAME: Zahira (Zee) el-Azra

SPECIES: Formerly human; currently the Death of Greyport

AGE: Appears late-thirties (Slightly older in reality)

GENDER: Femme-presenting; she/they

SEXUALITY: Yes

HEIGHT: 1.75 meters | About 5’9”

OCCUPATION: Private investigator, psychopomp, death spirit.

FACTIONS & GROUPS: Zee has a combative relationship with the City Watch in general, but congenial relationships with a few individual members. This antipathy goes both ways; it’s a rare cop that actually likes a PI, and Zee isn’t thrilled about the Watch’s apparent desire for a supernatural panopticon.

I suspect there are no factions that are unaware of their local death spirit. Obviously, Zee doesn’t attend to every ending, but she - and her predecessor - certainly have been a presence everywhere in the city at one point or another, stepping into and out of places like shadows and starlight.


APPEARANCE:

It’s hard to miss Zee, even though she doesn’t go out of the way to draw attention to herself. She’s a bit taller than average, though still not quite enough to reach the top shelves in her kitchen, with a physique that speaks to time spent in the gym, and the body language of a happy cat. While she very much does not slouch, Zee tends not to sit or stand straight, instead preferring to lean, or lounge, or curl to make herself comfortable wherever she happens to be. The elegant, playful lines of her face seem inviting and maybe even a little wicked, with a strong jaw and a sharp chin. She has large, almond-shaped eyes that glitter with intelligence and a diamond-sharp wit; each the color of sunset light through autumn leaves. Depending on the light, the angle, or your point of view, they could be gold, or hazel, or the colors of fire. Her mane of coffee-dark hair is often pulled back into a loose tail, a few locks free to frame her face and tuck behind an ear when she’s a mind. Zee’s skin is a rich, dusky tone, the color of people who have lived in the desert, with lips that often curve into an inviting, even flirtatious, smile; the kind that might make you believe you and she are the only people on Earth.

Zee doesn’t have a lot of scars that show, save for the pale silver of a thin scar cutting through her right eyebrow. She does, though, have a collection of tattoos, her left arm decorated with a swirling, spare, abstract, almost-floral pattern that flows up her shoulder and meets other designs on her chest and back. Her dress sense involves a lot of darker colors, ranging from jeans and old band t-shirts to button-downs and blazers in rich, deep, but never muted, tones. Both of her ears are pierced, each of which hold a small constellation of decorations, and she’s rarely without some kind of necklace, many of which draw attention in entirely intentional ways.


PERSONALITY:

Zahira is, to her core, kind - which, of course, doesn’t always mean she’s always nice, though she does strive to have the two notions meet. Her smile is easy and frequent, though often more than a little wry and knowing. She likes a drink, she likes to laugh, and she’s the kind of person to poke fun at the absurd - including and maybe even especially when that absurdity is her own. While Zee isn’t profane, there’s little enough she considers truly beyond question, and she knows when not to push her particular opinions on people who have more faith than she does. Her voice carries a lilting, smooth accent, and always seems only a moment away from laughter or music, both of which she’s quite good at. She loves stories, both the listening and the telling, and she is the perfect audience, always willing to gasp at all the right moments. And maybe those moments, those shared stories, become a little more, and maybe you wake up in her bed, or her in yours. She does have some standards, and also believes that life is for living.

Despite carrying a tremendous responsibility, Zee finds the world to be, in general, wonderful, an attitude she allows neither her calling nor her professional life to erode. Her home in Grayport is small but comfortable, filled with reminders of adventures small and large, and smells of spices and dried flowers.


BACKSTORY:


My name is Zahira el-Azra, and almost everyone who knows me calls me “Zee.” I’m fuck you, thanks for asking years old, I’m from New Jersey, and for the last, I don’t know, eighteen months, I’ve been the Death of Greyport.

That’s not actually the surprise it might seem to be. I knew the last person to carry this mantle; she was my best friend - and sometimes more - when I was in college. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to know all the things she told me, but I’d be having a hell of a harder time if she hadn’t. Not the stuff about the Hidden and the Masquerade, that stuff is your basic I’ve read trashy vampire romance novels kind of thing. I’m talking about how the shit really works. I’m talking about the fact that something’s wrong with Death.

Yeah, capital-D Death. The big one. The Arbiter of the End.

They’re gone. And they have been for a while.

No, of course that doesn’t mean that nobody’s dying, or that the passage to whatever comes next is closed. But it does mean that for the last uncomfortable period of time, there’s been, you know, no unifying will behind that transition.

Look, there’s stuff that’s supposed to have a sort of Big Idea behind it, you know? You can’t go faster than light, and gravity just works, and anywhere you find water, you’ll eventually get something deciding it wants to be alive. And that all just happens. You might have your gods and your monsters, you definitely have the angels; all of them being expressions of all that. Here’s the thing, though. Gods can and do die, angels fall, and whatever their purpose was, it all keeps working. All those beings, all that power, all those lives tend to its function, but they aren’t the machine.

But that isn’t how it’s working for Death, not right now, and nobody knows why. The nature of Death is fragmented, shot into the world - for all I know, the universe - like a mystical confetti cannon. Every town, every city, every wild place, they’ve all had their own Death, their own person, or spirit, or whatever-the-fuck bound to some fragment of that foundation, for longer than anyone wants to admit. And all of us, we don’t tend the machine. We are the machine. Without us, without Death, shit goes sideways fast. We don’t visit every person or animal or spirit or blade of grass. We don’t guide the soul to the next world. I mean, we can, and I certainly do now and then, but it’s not what you’d call the job. I’m not here to hold the door open. I’m here because without me, the door isn’t there.

Tereniel, the person who had this job before me, she called herself the Witness for the Dead. She thought of herself like a priest with a strange vocation, and I couldn’t fault her for that. She was Greyport’s Death for almost a century, and she took the mantle up from someone she only ever called the “Witch of the Watching Fire,” and beyond that, I’m not going to tell you. I will say she had a strange look in her eye when she passed this power, this function, to me, and when she said “I follow my calling,” I felt a shiver go down my spine.

And that, more than anything else, makes me want to know what the hell is going on. I want to know where Death is, I want to know why all these pieces of them are out in the world. I want to know if the machine is broken, and if it is, I want to know who broke it, and why. Because the longer I’m in this position, the longer I have this power, the more certain I am that this isn’t the way it’s supposed to be. And sometimes, in the darkness behind my eyes, I think I can hear a voice, and I think it’s asking for help.

So I’m staying in Greyport, and it turns out that while I’m working on the Big Fucking Question, I’m pretty good at solving other mysteries too. I’ve got a little office down by the river, in a second-floor walk-up with shitty floors, where people can come and ask me to help them with the problems the Watch are too busy or proud to take on. It’s got a nice view, an old desk, and a window that opens so I can smoke without pissing off my landlord too much. Most important, it’s got plenty of wall space, so I can do the connecting-pins-with-yarn thing.

I don’t know if I’ll figure it out. I don’t know if I’ll get killed trying, and Greyport winds up like one of those blank places on the map until another Death comes and tries to unfuck what’s left of the town.

But I hope not.


RELATIONS:

Layla Rashid - Zahira’s mother. She lives in Cherry Hill, New Jersey, with her father.
Kadir el-Azra - Zahira’s father. He runs a cheese shop.
Samarra el-Azra - Zahira’s younger sister. Right now, she’s 32. Samarra lives in Lyon, France.


SPECIES INFORMATION:

At her most basic, Zee is a human in very good physical shape, with no particular illnesses, and a talent for playing the guitar. She’s known about the Hidden for over a decade, although she’s made no particular overture into the community until recently. She runs a “consulting detective” business in Greyport, where her clients run the gamut from the undead to the emphatically wishing to not become dead, and she’s pretty good at her job.

Being the Death of Greyport has brought her a life both very different, and less so, than she expected. Zee is not the Grim Reaper, and she isn’t spending her time with a scythe and cloak. She is, however, the physical and spiritual anchor for an immense and foundational aspect of the universe - or at least, this piece of it. Some of the effects of that are:

- Zee is pretty sure she isn’t aging. She is, however, pretty sure she could be killed if you tried hard enough, so she’s pretty sure she’s not immortal.

- She is, however, a lot harder to kill than she’d expect. Some of her adventures are definitely in the “that should have killed me” sphere, and she’s walked away with bruises and scrapes rather than shattered bones and hospital stays.

- Zee knows she is “responsible” for an area that is only vaguely defined as “the city of Greyport.” While she can leave (Sometimes, even Death might like a vacation), she has to consider Greyport her home to anchor the power she holds. That power largely operates only within Greyport, unless the local Death has given her permission - or dispensation - in their domain. If there is no local Death, which has happened a few times in the world, Zee’s power will follow her, for a time at least.

  • Within Greyport, Zee is aware of the lives that make up the city, in the same way that she’s aware of the light on her skin or the way breath feels in her lungs. She does not have a mental census of the city, or an ability to call a specific life to mind. She is aware, constantly, of the flow of life and death; of transitions from one state to another. She tends not to consider that process as ending, only a change from one to another. Any disruption to this flow is something that she has an intense awareness of.

  • Which doesn’t mean she’s aware of every homicide in the city; far from it. There are times and places where people may die, but only one where they must. Feeling like you cheated death is one thing, actually cheating death is something very different. Zee is not above putting her thumb on the scale in those moments where someone might pass - but she won’t if it’s your time.

  • While in general, Zee doesn’t keep a running record of when people are going to die, that is something she can choose to know. But she’s probably not going to tell you, it’s not a fact she advertises, and if someone does get it into their head to ask, she’ll suggest that it’s better not to do so.

  • While Zee does not have a full set of memories from the lives of everyone who’s assumed the mantle of Death before her, she is aware of them - their relationships and complications, and at least some of the major moments in their lives. Zee is very much herself, her personality is not subsumed by the weight of her power, but she has a lot of memories she doesn’t remember making, and might feel like she knows some of Greyport’s longer-lived denizens better than they’d expect.

  • No door or lock can keep Death away forever, and Zee possesses an ability to simply step from here to there with a thought. She is, however, aware that this, like all of her other inherited power, is not really the kind of thing make frivolous use of. So for the most part, she’ll take a train, bus, or her motorcycle when she’s moving about the world. Unless she’s very late for a date she’s really excited for.

  • In general, Zee does not fill the function of psychopomp for the beings, souls, and creatures that transition from this world to whatever comes after. On occasion, however, she is compelled to do so for reasons she doesn’t fully understand, but can find little enough fault with. In those times and places, Zee can step outside of time and space and into a liminal place, where she can and will act as guide, counselor, or whatever else might be required. However, this is both temporary and specific - the meeting does not last forever, and Zee can’t choose to visit a soul she isn’t intended to make this kind of contact with. In other words, despite being the kind of consulting detective that may find herself at homicides, Zee can’t just ask the dead person who killed them save for incredibly specific circumstances, and only within the bounds of her spiritual jurisdiction.


Creatures that are tuned into the supernatural can definitely tell that Zee is something other than human. I’m going to leave it up to the individual characters and players to decide if they know who and what Zee is beyond the obvious and surface level. Zee does not wear a badge that says “Hi, I’m Your Friendly Neighborhood Death,” and she doesn’t have office hours for “Your Time Has Come, Now What?” That said, for the people who have seen her when she’s attending a soul in person, it’s impossible not to know what’s going on.
 
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