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!
She was fast. Although his expression didn’t change, he was startled and barely brought up his hand in time to stop the blow. His eyes widened slightly at the pain of a fresh wound (how long had it been since someone had made him bleed?) as he shoved her against the dirty, ancient wall of the alleyway. Impressive. “I don’t make a habit of running, unlike some of my kind.” He pressed his bleeding hand hard against her shoulder, sinister appreciation thrumming in his bones at the way she winced in agony. She spat at him, and he made a quick movement to wipe the saliva from his face, but he brought his hand back down in time to block an attempt to stab his chest.
“It’s rude to try to kill someone; I’d say you’re in no place to lecture me on manners.” His even, quiet voice betrayed none of his excitement at being so close to her. The faint smell of burnt skin make him sick with delight. Demons are never bored, but it had been a long time since he had been on a high like this. Her fluttering heart pounded out a furious noise in the alleyway, echoing in the silence. It made him feel like he was alive. Poor humans, who never felt this thrill. It was intoxicating to hunt, be hunted. It was joy to him to see the pain in her eyes. He leaned in closer, his gaze bearing down on her. “You’re not so nice either, Miss Azriel.” They were close now, even closer than that dance. Unlike the dance, she was fully aware and glaring at him with wide and furious eyes that would have frightened a mortal man. Her struggle was pointless—he was strong enough to keep her small frame against the wall with one hand.
The monstrous glee inside of him was churning like a thunderstorm. There was no point in dragging this out—he wanted to see her blood right now. Wanted to cover his hand in crimson. He brought up his other hand to rip into her exposed neck, but her arm swung out and slashed, knocking it away. This time, his clothes protected him from a second fierce wound. She was good. He needed to remember that her reflexes were better than most. No quick and easy kill, then. He would have to throw her off guard. “Why do you fight it?” He let his tone drop into a seductive murmur. “You try so hard to stay alive. What has this world ever done for you?”
She looked up at him, and he thought he could see a flicker of unease in her eyes. He bent his head over her, pinning her with his stare. “That’s the mistake each one of you makes, you know. Thinking that your noble struggles are enough to change the evil nature of life. I’ve seen it over and over again.” He smirked and shrugged as if to sympathize, watching her face carefully.
Her bright, burning eyes were hazel.
He blinked. What kind of a thought was that? As he adjusted his right hand, fresh blackness welled up, dripping down her shirt. Smoke wafted up and past them. Their gazes both turned to it, and Veteris found himself glowering.
“It’s foul, isn’t it?” he hissed, momentarily losing the teasing edge to his voice. “It burns, doesn’t it? My blood is tainted and sickening. It is poison to you, you with your life and your living soul. You who live so heedlessly. I have nothing but hate for your kind.” He shoved her away, across the wall, putting distance between them. He needed to remind himself—no, he needed to remind her of the difference between them.
Bitter anger replaced the giddy bloodlust. Why would he feel like he had to do that? Veteris was different than so many of his kind; they envied him for his ability to pass as human and his confidence to walk among the prey. He was used to using the compassion of humans against them, driving them to madness, never caring what illusions they held about his nature. He glowered at her as if his unholy resentment could melt her into the ground, and sank into a hunter’s crouch, feet spread apart and long hands spread as if to claw. He said nothing. Maybe he didn’t know what would come out if he opened his mouth.