Name: Azriel Brazenheart
Age: 18
Appearance:
Personality and Past: (It will be developed) As a member of the Protection Agency, Azriel has been hunting evil creatures since her parents were murdered by a group of demons when she was 12. Since her parents murder, she has been living with her uncle in the Protection Agency, training hard to vanquish the Earth of the ones that hurt her. Azriel is incredibly driven, confident; she has never faced a challenge she couldn't overcome. But, deep in her heart, she wants to be challenged, pushed to the point where she is almost snapped in two; she enjoys hunting because of the distraction it provides over the work. Saving people is just an added bonus on top of pushing her past down. She is fire, far too rash to react, her anger spreads throughout and quickly takes control. She likes to be in control of a situation and finds situations where she is powerless far too difficult to comprehend. There is only one demon she has struggled to capture and this RP will explore their game of cat and mouse.
Other: Skilled with a bow and a knife, prefers rooftops to the ground. Usually wears a mask when hunting. She doesn't like to show fear however, is afraid of failure and the past catching up to her
(First post upcoming then feel free to join as the demon she's hunting. I left it as ambiguous as possible but the world is set in kind of a steampunk victorian gothic kind of setting I tried to include images to explain) Look forward to writing! I like lengthy paragraphs and cruel, interesting antagonists so if you can fill this role in woohoo!
No acceptance of the demon character needed but would like a character profile so i can understand him and visualise him too. Please only join this if you're descriptive and enjoy tension between enemies!
Update: demon role has been filled!
Deep in the shadows, the monster grinned.
The stark ivory of her skin made her stand out against the dull and dark rubbish heaps in the alleyway— did she really think she was blending in? To his eerie eyes, she stood out like the ghastly moon in the sky.
“You deserve…?,” he laughed, keeping his voice low and nearly indiscernible. “You’re lucky I haven’t dragged my fingernails across your throat yet.” Wraithlike, he moved without a sound through the darkness that draped the alley as she turned. For all his disdain, he noted her practiced and fluid movement with something bordering on begrudging respect. This one was no powerless prey. Her eyes had bitter iron in them, and her head moved like a huntsman. If she was a demon, he would have been afraid. But she was human, and therefore he knew how she was tragically vulnerable. Like all of them, she was weighed down by invisible chains, haunted by undying ghosts. They cared so much, humankind. Cared with all their weak and fragile hearts. So much that even those who tried to shed their humanity, like this one, and don the heart of a predator, still had scars that made them flinch. If you knew the right way to hit them, right in their weakness, they would crumble. He had done it before. This one was the same as all the rest. If he could find that place where her heart still bled, he could rip her apart.
“Why are you wearing that mask?” he crooned. “Surely I’ve seen your charming face enough times. It’s a shame to cover it up. Or are you afraid to be lovely? Convinced that somehow you can make yourself stronger if you pretend you aren’t a fragile girl?”
His mind flashed back to the second time they had met, an experience that still brought a hunter’s grin to his mouth. That had been a delight. It had been some time(days? Weeks? He can never keep those two straight…) since he had first faced off with her in a whirling, fast-paced chase. He had been mingling in a crowd during a late-night party, eyeing the masses and singling out the weakest ones (not physically weak. Human strength made little difference to a demon. No, he sought out the ones who’s eyes were like sheep, or the ones who cowered and apologized at the slightest offence) to lure away and destroy. He had sauntered through a particularly dense pack of humans, hands in his pockets, dressed in light browns and blacks and wearing a pointedly blank expression when she had bumped right into him. Unlike the first time, when she had been clad in the obscuring, unflattering garb of a hunter, she was bare-faced and wearing clothes that made her seem more soft and breakable. They froze for a long, long second (or was it a minute?). Something like surprise had been on her face. His revealed nothing, though he was surprised too. It was a delightful surprise, like he imagined a human would feel upon finding a hundred-dollar-bill on the sidewalk. A smile had spread over his face, all teeth and edge and cruelty. ‘Well, well,’ he had murmured. In a moment, all surprise had vanished from her face and she had reached to her leg, like she was going to draw a weapon, but his arm had flashed out and gripped her wrist. His crushing hold had made her wince. ‘How many people would die here if you decided to attack me?’ His voice never rose, but his hand tightened. ‘Do you want me to give you a precise number? I can.’