𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔬𝔫 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔪𝔟𝔢𝔯

[cruel.]

𝔠 𝔯 𝔢 𝔞 𝔱 𝔦 𝔬 𝔫

❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑ ❑

𝔠 𝔥 𝔞 𝔪 𝔟 𝔢 𝔯 ☣​

 

[cruel.]

❑

𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷 "𝕄𝕦𝕕𝕕" 𝓑𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓼𝓽𝓮​ 𝕎 𝔸 ℕ 𝕋 𝔼 𝔻 𝔻𝔼𝔸𝔻 𝕆ℝ 𝔸𝕃𝕀𝕍𝔼 $𝟙𝟘𝟘,𝟘𝟘𝟘,𝟘𝟘𝟘​

01 . 10 . 1 9 7 7 jacksonville, FL 205 lbs​ 6'4" ​ BLK ​ BLU ​ speed ▀▀▀▀▀​ strength ▀▀▀▀▀​ endurance ▀▀▀▀▀​ willpower ▀▀▀▀▀​

THE HANGMAN​ CHAOTIC LAWFUL​ 𝔼𝕩𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕡𝕥 They were racing towards nowhere, their eyes set on chasing the moon. A man and his steed, living free and fast as they flew through the forest. They were one. His heart hovered over hers, hands gripping her neck, lips behind those long pale ears, feeling the breeze cut through his attentive eyes. If Mudd only loved one thing in this long, cruel life, it was Marybelle. She was all the lonesome man had left and the night was theirs. Tonight was a perfect one. Crisp air beaded its midnight dew upon them like soft rain. Up ahead, the bright full moon hung over the center of an old, dusty, woody passage out of Cumberland Gap. Stars shimmered like lightning bugs mating in the midnight fog and the heavenly atomic atmosphere bruised in purple and black. Crows murdered into the sky, stirred in their roost from the single stampede swooshing by at full speed. Nights like these are all most people have left in the world. Sleep was hard to come by these dark days, refusing to let his weary eyes fall victim to the nightmares awaiting him. This was the only way to escape the vices, riding on a bullet into hell. Those crow-black orbs drifted — for what he felt was a mere second before waking up in the devil's wake. Typical. The night lit up like it was the Fourth of July, awoken to the sound of endless thunder. Fiery flashes flung up around them, forcing Maybelle to rear up into her two hind legs. Bushwhackers waiting desperately in the night to collect their bounty. A volley of fire came in almost every direction and never stopped, even after being hurled off her back and into the rough forest floor. Breath bucked out of his chest, noticing the blood on his hands but excitement erupted through him that he wasn't sure he'd been hit. His head jerked, kicked by a bullet, tattooing his eyes white in a blinding flash. Like vultures, more bullets and shotgun beads pierced and pecked through his body like grave robbers. Trampled to death in their thunder, there was no way to turn or curl to block out the painful sensation pouncing him all at one time. He roared out, but not a single sound rang out over the barrage of automatic boomsticks. Death is cold. It comes on like a shiver in the dark but the spine is so stiff it refuses the buckle. The pain came on like a sudden sneeze, strain racing through the heart only to feel the endless freeze. Now stuck in a perpetual state of suspense. Wake up! Wake up, goddamnit! Mentally trapped, Mudd kept telling himself to wake up. His body had betrayed the mind powering it. He had longed for death to come and take him, but the stubborn soul refused to go until he knew Maybelle was safe. They were worse than outlaws. Fouler than any devil or demon that roams these lands. There were little laws left in this world, but even he knew never to kill a man's horse. Her white canvas was out over a blanket of blood, those big bright black eyes staring back at him with what he felt was the same sentiment. She was innocent, free from any sin. All she gave the world was her beauty and grace. A hand clawed the earth, crawling not an inch closer. He stayed long enough to watch her breathing still in the night. "Hell of a-runnin' you did, Mudd." The bounty hunter knelt, his posse like a pack of raccoons hidden behind him; their eyes glimmering in the dark. "But your ass shoulda never come to Tennessee. Great place to die, though— happy to oblige." They picked him clean. Left for dead, they tied him like a trophy kill. The noose wrapped around one ankle to the tallest, thickest branch of the nearest oak tree. Hidden off the beaten path so bandits wouldn't spot, too high for various predators roaming the hills to claim. Blood dripped into a thick black pool below, flowing fluently from the twenty or so punctures painting his profile. A thirty-ought-six peppered his hip like a shark bite, black beads riddled his shins and arms, leaving bruised patches.​ ​

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[cruel.]

❑

𝕷𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝕲𝖆𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖊​ 𝕄 𝕀 𝕊 𝕊 𝕀 ℕ 𝔾 𝔸𝕟𝕟𝕒𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕖 & 𝕀𝕤𝕒𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕙 $𝟚𝟘𝟘𝟘,𝟘𝟘𝟘 ℝ𝔼𝕎𝔸ℝ𝔻​

08 . 21 . 1 4 2 2 carcassonne, FRANCE 198 lbs​ 7'0" ​ WHT ​ SLV ​ speed ▀▀▀▀▀​ strength ▀▀▀▀▀​ endurance ▀▀▀▀▀​ willpower ▀▀▀▀▀​

NECROMANCER​ CHAOTIC EVIL​ 𝕱𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘 —𝓛𝓸𝓻𝓭𝓼𝓱𝓲𝓹​ Born of French nobility, Gascoigne reigns a disowned king in the rugged mountainous hills in the Chateau Carcassonne. Overthrown during the rise of Christian Catholicism and deemed a sorcerer against society, he resides cursed and alone in the cold confines of cracked cobblestone. What once was a pleasant palace overlooking the village has become a bruise on God's beloved France and is now regarded as the Devil's Tomb. Rumored to return with the undead one day reign once again. —𝓝𝓮𝓬𝓻𝓸𝓶𝓪𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓻​ Drawn to the darkness and the moon, Gascoigne has always been too intrigued in the dark arts of spells and satanic sorcery as well as the human condition, both physically and psychologically. It is said that the devil himself found the young prince favorable in his pursuit of mysticism— having formed a secret society, Maîtres de la mort, that led France from the fourteenth til the sixteenth century— had granted him the gift of everlasting life. —𝓥𝓪𝓶𝓹𝔂𝓻​ Blessed with a rare disease, Gascoigne suffers from a condition he calls vampirism, bestowed on him by a ritual gone awry. It is both a blessing and a curse, requiring him to countlessly need the blood of others to flow through his veins. Counter to this, he begins to slowly age— and if left untreated would wilt into a mummified state in which his mind will remain trapped for eternity. To combat this disease, the vampyr harvests small doses of blood from his children and injects it into his veins. The more he consumes, the younger the age he maintains. —𝓦𝓲𝓭𝓸𝔀𝓮𝓻​ A man in deep mourning, Gascoigne is without a wife. Though a man of magic and great power, failed to bring back his beloved from the dead. Some claim this was what led his pursuit into necromancy was driven by the obsessive desire to have her delivered back to him from the devil. Tales from the local village claim that he robbed her grave, took her into the tower of the west wing where he preserved her body in a glass tomb hoping to one day resurrect the time they shared. —𝓒𝓪𝓷𝓭𝔂𝓶𝓪𝓴𝓮𝓻​ A chemical confidant, and before the death of Amelia, Gascoigne was once beheld as a prestigious candymaker, certified chocolaterie, and found blessing baking sweets and decadent delicacies he gifted freely to the downtrodden. Though he was a rough and rigorous representative had a weak spot for children soon after marriage, particularly orphans. —𝓕𝓪𝓽𝓱𝓮𝓻​ The father of cute couplets Annabelle and Isabeth, Gascoigne wrestles with the responsibility of children alone and without a wife. Due to his dethronement, they don't remember the day he stole them from the orphanage. Some speculate they are the animation of the dead, resurrected when all three perished amid the miscarriage, and he wasn't powerful enough to save them all. Regardless of rumors and legends, they are all he has left in the world — and will fight hell to save them. —𝓜𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻​ A man of deep darkness and sorrow, Gascoigne has found himself in a stressful state of unstable madness. They say you become the curses of those spoken around you, raising an evil out of him that is far from man. No morale breeds minimal, miscarried morals. If it's a monster that the world wants, it's a monster that they will get. ​ ​

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[cruel.]

❑

Mҽʅƈԋσιɾ D'Aɾƈყ​ 𝔹𝕐 𝕆ℝ𝔻𝔼ℝ 𝕆𝔽 𝕋ℍ𝔼 ℂℍ𝕌ℝℂℍ 𝔻𝔼𝕄𝕆ℕ ℍ𝔼𝔸𝔻𝕊 $𝟚𝟝,𝟘𝟘𝟘 𝔼𝔸ℂℍ​

01 . 12 . 1 6 8 8 rome, ITALY 189 lbs​ 6'2" ​ BLK ​ WHT ​ speed ▀▀▀▀▀​ strength ▀▀▀▀▀​ endurance ▀▀▀▀▀​ willpower ▀▀▀▀▀​

DEMON HUNTER​ CHAOTIC NEUTRAL​ 𝕱𝖔𝖔𝖙𝖓𝖔𝖙𝖊𝖘 —𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖖𝖚𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖉𝖔𝖗​ Knighted as Grand Inquisitor to the Pope, Melchoir is a righteous man of God's wrath and deems the souls of the living and dead as guardian of Earth. It is he who casts judgment. It is said many tremble in his wake, those that turn from God and his holy law. Though like all mortals born of flesh and blood, D'Arcy is stricken with sexual temptation. —𝕯𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓 𝕳𝖚𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗 ​ By order of the Pope, Melchoir serves as the last remaining demon hunter on Earth. Tried and tested, he lives an endless pursuit of tracking down the demons and monsters that have inherited the land. It is rumored that his demise will bring forth the end of the Apocalypse with the Devil in full control of God's Creation. —𝕬𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖑 𝖔𝖋 𝕵𝖚𝖉𝖌𝖊𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙​ Many believe Melchoir is the living, breathing, mortal representation of Archangel Michael. Blessed by God with Paladian powers, he is the bookkeeper of all life and death — both mortal and demonic. For not all the demons that fell from Earth are without redemption in God's Grace. As God so loved all his creations, he sent his beloved Michael to see not all who wander are lost to the eternity of Hell. —𝕸𝖔𝖓𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕸𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖑𝖊𝖗​ Despite wishes from the Pope to kill every demon in contact, D'Arcy finds remorse for those who've fallen ill to the ichor of Satan. It is said that the celibacy he shares with humankind is tainted by the temptation of witches and ghouls, leaving many in the High Order to question his methods of love and needs. But he has not come to only curse those, but save them. Only when he truly believes all hope is lost will he deem the demons a dreary death. [work in progress] ​ ​

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