Whisper's Characters

[PassingWhisper]

Senan Cadell
----



Basics


Age: 24
Gender: Male
Pronouns: He/Him
Zodiac: Pisces
Sexual Orientation: Bisexual//Switch





Physical Appearance


Hair
Shoulder-length raven-black hair. On the thinner side.
Usually worn in a low bun when in public.


Eyes
Light green eyes.
Tend to appear darker under the shadow of his eyelashes which are longer than average.


Skintone
Paler than you'd expect.
Only has a faint tan, especially prominent on his arms.


Height
6'1.
He tends to slouch and have a guarded posture, so doesn't often fill in his full height.


Body Type
Toned.
He has the body of a man who has performed manual labor his entire life.
By no means is he a heavyweight champion.


Notable Features
Tattoos marking his arms and back.
The tattoos are mostly aesthetic designs.
He got them between 16 and 19 and didn't put much thought into getting something meaningful.


He also has several scars across his chest and abdomen which are nothing more than faint white lines after years of fading.


Style
It would be rare to catch him outside of his cargo pants and a tank top.
Not the best-dressed man, then again, who is in today's age?
May occasionally be spotted in an oversized jacket.









Personality


Despite his appearance, Senan has always been well-known as a (shy?) and reserved man. He tends to stick to himself and often questions those who try to be a little too friendly with him. He despises being the center of attention and prefers to help out the community he's a part of in the background with no recognition.
Those who manage to befriend him know him to be clever and humorous. Despite his demeanor, Senan is combat trained and extremely capable. In the shelter he was raised in he was one of the few candidates who made outside expeditions and established communication with other bunkers.


Trope
Reluctant Hero


Likes
(may not remember all of these at first)
Creative pursuits: painting (abstract), music (guitar)
Colors: black, orange, and certain shades of red
Sweet foods and candies
Sugary drinks if he can find them
Exploration and combat


Dislikes
Large crowds
Eye contact (uncomfortable)
Verbal Confrontation (uncomfortable)


Greatest Fear
Being Alone


Humor Style
Dry/Sarcastic
Playfully Teasing






History


Senan was raised in a small shelter of about 50 people. His father ensured that he was combat trained and extremely resourceful considering the condition of the world around them. He grew up with a strong sense of justice and a deep loyalty to the members of his community. His father taught him to play the guitar, which became a personal love of his. Something he practiced only when he was alone. At 16 he began to make outside expeditions with a few other men the community sent into the world. These treks were always made during the day and had the goal of establishing contact with other humans. Over several years they discovered they were not alone in the dying world. Several bunkers existed around them, and although distant, they were given a radio with which to contact the other fallout shelters. They traded information on how to deal with the Silks and food shortages, and sometimes even traded goods.


At 21 Senan was with two other men in the wasteland, traveling back from exchanging goods with another community. The three men had decided not to stay the night with their neighbors, opting to complete the trip in a singular day. This had been a mistake.


After getting hung up by a grisly fight with a mutated pack of dogs, the travelers were far behind on time and the sun was sinking low on the horizon. The Silks usually only became aggressive at night, and being caught in the wasteland when it was dark was as good as a death sentence.


The inevitable attack came hours later. The Silks attacked in a physical form, moving at unnatural speeds and tearing the men apart. They could have instantly killed all 3 but seemed to enjoy torturing them and drawing out their end. Senan was the last alive, though you could barely tell. His stomach and chest were opened in many areas, blood spilling freely into the poisoned earth. The man could see nothing, only hear the high-pitched chittering of his adversaries. He had fought, but the well-landed slices with his knife would do nothing to deter these demons.


It was at the last moments of consciousness that one of the largest of the Silks made a decision which they all immediately understood. It entered its new host's body. The demon nestled itself in the brain of the man just before he had fallen unconscious from blood loss. The creature had manipulated his body, forcing the healing process to accelerate and puppeting his organs into working. Senan had survived and returned home without ever being conscious. Something had led him back to his home, and when he awoke in his community he had had no memory at all of what had happened.


It was chalked up to a head injury and he was considered lucky to be alive. Only, luck had no part in it.


The Silk had laid dormant, watching and listening as the man continued on with his life and his duties. He made contact with one of the neighboring communities and months later another trading expedition was planned. The weeks leading up to the trip were filled with insanity and bloodshed. His community had devolved into madness. Murder, cannibalism, assault of all kinds. Friends became the gravest of enemies, and one by one the bodies piled up. Senan himself was never touched. In fact, he never saw anything at all. The Silk in his mind warped his perception of the world, keeping him away while it destroyed everything he cared about.


On the arranged day, Senan appeared alone at the doorstep of the neighboring community, without a single memory of the people of his past or why he was there.


The pattern repeated twice more, the Silk using its host to navigate to each of mankind's desperate hideaways. It was an exterminator, using Senan like a decoy to carry destruction right into each colony. Each time, his memories slipped further and further away. He knew who he was. He knew what he believed. Yet it seemed that his life was missing almost entirely.


This lead to the young man becoming even more reserved and private, constantly flitting from place to place. He had recently made contact with another shelter. A friendly man around his age was always the one to greet him, and he found himself communicating about more than just necessary trades and information. It had been a very long time since Senan had not felt completely alone. The shelter that currently harbored him distrusted him greatly, and he hated the feeling of eyes watching him. Following him. Distrusting him. The distant stranger was the only light in his now dim world.​

 

[PassingWhisper]

Vollnor

"What is evil, except for the absence of love?"
-----




Basics


Species: Fallen Angel // Demon
Archdemon: Asmodeus (Prince of lust)
Age: Has only existed as a demon for a few centuries
Gender: Male
Sexual Orientation: Has little care or understanding of human fixation with gender and sexuality.
Abilities: General demonic abilities (possession, shifting between realms, some mind-reading, and of course the ability to summon hellfire.)
As a soldier of Asmodeus, Vollnor has unique abilities mostly revolving around the mind. He can change a human's perception (hallucinations), read and control their emotions, and drive them quickly into madness.







Physical Appearance


Hair
Long black hair that hangs to his mid-back.

Eyes
Default: Golden and glowing. His health determines the brightness of the glow.
Abilities: When his abilities are in use his pupils grow and take up the entirety of his eyes, turning them black and glossy.

Skintone
His skin is pale, with an ashy tint. His complexion has a dark undertone since his blood, like all demons, is black.

Height
6'5.
His wings and horns can cause him to appear taller, especially when his wings are lifted and spread.
Still, this is not terribly large for a demon.

Body Type
Vollnor is not the largest of demons. He is rather young in the scheme of eternity, but still is larger than most mortals and could easily overpower any human adversary.
He is muscular, especially around his chest and abdomen.

Notable features
He once had two slender black horns growing from the crown of his head. During his servitude, one was sawed off as a show of power over the demon. The horns sit further back on his head than in the reference.
Like all fallen angels he has wings. Once as white as the light of God, the feathers are now a dull and lifeless black. The feathers are soft- comparable to a raven's wings.

Style
Like all demons, Voll's preferred clothing is ahem none. His master demands that he wears a long skirt-like cover to keep him at least semi-presentable. He is pretty willing to wear what he is given, and it's probably best not to leave it up to him.
​

Personality

A surprisingly gentle creature when not performing duties for his master. Vollnor seeks quiet and solitude when he can. Much of his once distinct personality has been lost along with his memories and sense of self. It is hard to say whether or not this can return, or if he will forever remain a shell of his former existence.

Trope
The Martyr

Likes
Few mortal experiences catch his interest, but there are a few small pleasures he finds in the world.
Tea, nature, good conversation, and of course the pleasure of the flesh. He is a follower of Asmodeus after all.

Greatest Fear
To love something more than himself.

Humor Style
He doesn't quite grasp the concept of jokes just yet.






History

Is there a fallen angel without a tragic story?

Vollnor was created as a guardian angel. This was a common position among heaven's angels. He was never special or really seen. His duty was to follow his assigned human and watch over them for the entirety of their life. He would work to sway their life in positive directions, and his aura while following them would ward off evil. The human would never see him or know him in any capacity.

Voll found as he went through many human lifespans, that he felt loneliness. As an angel of heaven, he had the qualities of God. One of these qualities was love. Vollnor loved the humans he watched over, each and every one. Yet, he did not enjoy his angelic duties.

The final human he ever guarded was a woman. From her birth he was there, watching over every moment of her life. This girl was innocent in a way that most humans were not. The type to see beauty in the world and try to add to it. When she reached maturity he began to fall in love with her.

There, of course, was no greater sin for an angel. To fall in love with a human was a one-way ticket into the gates of hell. As much as Voll knew this, he could no more stop it than one could stop the rotations of the earth. With each passing year, his love and fondness for her grew and blossomed until it was a raging inferno of adoration. The angel could not fathom how a love so pure and fiery as his own could be a sin. Surely evil could not birth such emotions in him?

In the twenty-fifth year of her life, his loneliness became unbearable.

It was the dead of night when he appeared to her, slowly phasing into her pocket of reality. He had to be careful to dim his heavenly light or else she would be blinded. The peasant girl had been terrified initially but he had spoken with the gentleness of a midnight breeze. "Do not be afraid. I am your angel." She had been stunned by his unearthly beauty. Even more stunned by the phrasing "your angel".

Their secret love was a sweet sin they shared only in the night. For once Vollnor was not alone.

For two years they managed to keep their secret hidden. It is impossible to say how they were found out. The one truth of heaven is that it is full of eyes, and eventually, all sin is seen and judged.

Volnnor faced judgment day alone. He knew the consequences; Had known them all along. Most fallen angels share a reason for their demise, and it is usually found in their love for mortals. He was not afraid, for if it were a sin to love, then he must be truly evil.

He fell like a star from the heavens.

As he fell his body contorted and changed. Every inch of his flesh was in flames as the heavenly fire left him. All he knew was agony in those long moments of free falling. Atop his head, his skin had split open as two tiny horns began to push their way out of his skull. His wings had burned the longest, singed and blackened by the time he finally slammed through the earth and into the pits of hell.

As a newly born demon, he had been sorted carelessly under the reign of a prince of hell. The associated abilities had come to him but besides that, he was able to move freely.

His first move had been to return to the mortal plane and search for his lover. He had found her safe in her home and revealed himself to her. To his horror and devastation, she had not known him. Falling had made him unrecognizable to his beloved mortal. Her eyes fell upon the dark stranger with his graying skin, dark wings, and worst of all those sharp horns that had split from his head. She saw a demon, not the beautiful angel she had known. With a scream, she had rejected him. Her new guardian angel had revealed himself and cast the fledgling demon away.

Heartbreak was a suffering worse than being cast to hell.

The fallen angel had remained a gentle spirit, drifting through centuries of time. Some fallen angels sought vengeance, Vollnor only sought quiet.

Then came the Summoning. Vollnor did not know much about his own kind, let alone that mortals were able to summon them. A powerful witch had tied the low-level demon to the soul of a powerful and influential king. The demon had been trapped in a circle of powerful runes which caused him immense pain. Vollnor had made a deal in order to end the suffering with little understanding of what it would entail. His lack of understanding of his own kind had played into the hands of the mage.

The witch called the deal The Binding. As long as the lord was alive the demon would be forced to serve and obey him. His master was gifted with an unnaturally long life thanks to the same witch. The king used his demon pet as an enforcer of his will. Even a low-level demon was unstoppable to any mere mortal. So the king used him to conquer foreign kingdoms and enslave the people of the lands he claimed. Any man who crossed the king would meet a violent end by the hand of the king's pet.

The witch wreaked havoc on the mind of the demon. Over decades his mind became more and more warped and clouded. Violence and bloodshed, gruesome and unforgivable acts, pain and humiliation... These became the only things Vollnor knew as truths. Memories of an angelic life, of a mortal's gentle touch, even memories of an empty wandering through the earth all faded away.

His life had begun with the king. This was his creator, his master. Though he hated the lord he served, he feared him. He was certain this mortal held some great power over him. He just couldn't quite remember what it might be.

After several years of servitude, the king had one of the demon's horns sawed off to the skull. It had been to demonstrate his power over the evil beast. His horns were forever growing (compared to most demons they were still very small because he was so young) and so the sawed-off horn continued to grow without a point.

Vollnor knew little of his own abilities and typically was used as a physical terrifier. He could easily rip a mortal man to pieces and was unkillable by any mortal weapons. Over many decades he did begin to grow weaker. Even physically he was not as impressive as he had once been. His golden irises were dull and fading more by the year. His body was riddled with scars and long faded wounds. He spent all of his time in the shadow of his master, most of his day spent bowing with his face to the floor next to the king's throne. He was a spectacle for all to see.

All of the king's executions were done by the creature. They always took place in the throne room where nobles and some peasants could gather and watch. It was always a mixed reaction of horror, disgust, and excitement when the demon would kill.

Vollnor lost all sense of himself in the gore and found that he felt almost comfortable in this existence. Love was a distant concept that he was sure he'd never known. The conquered demon was now little more than the lord's dog.​

 

[PassingWhisper]

Soriel
-----




Basics


Species: Guardian Angel
Age: Appears to be in his late twenties or early thirties
Gender: Male
Abilities: Shapeshifting, teleportation, heaven's fire







Physical Appearance


Hair
Soriel can choose to have any hair length or style he likes, however, is not capable of changing the color.
It is always pure white, with no hints of yellow or blue undertones.
In angelic form, he usually is seen to have long and straight likes of snowy hair.
In his human form, he typically sports short and curly hair.

Eyes
In angelic form, his eyes are a soft amber that easily catches sunlight and appears golden.
As a human, he usually has honey-brown eyes.

Skintone
Very fair-skinned, with a flawless and youthful complexion

Height
6'0
Remains the same height between human and angelic forms
As an angel he has large wings which can lend to him looking larger than he is

Body Type
Tall, lean, well-muscled

Notable Features
In angelic form, his skin is lined with glowing tattoos
He also sports two large wings the same color as his hair







Personality


Even among angels, Soriel is known to be a buzzkill. He is devout and yet seems to consistently commit a deadly sin within his heart. Pride. Indeed, Soriel is a proud creature in all things he does. He takes pride in his work, in his appearance, in his ranking amongst heavens angels. He is an overconfident creature who seems to believe himself infallible. He is known to harshly judge fallen angels and look down upon them with disgust. He is also capable, and although he is not a warrior angel, he has been known to pick fights with demons who stray into his path.


Likes

Soriel enjoys music as all angels do (though maybe even a bit more than the typical heaven dweller)
He loves spending time on Earth (perhaps because of his superiority complex?) and watching over the humans he is assigned to.
Conversation and debate are the way to become close to him. He is easily won over by intelligent minds.


Dislikes

He absolutely despises any sort of dig toward his character or missions
(Secretly) does not enjoy spending time amongst other angels. Prefers instead to be on missions on earth rather than in heaven praising the god he serves. (Again, may be linked back to his superiority complex.)
Hates to feel trapped or stuck physically
Any forces of hell which dare to stray near him


Greatest Fear

To be cast from heaven and become one of the fallen


Humor Style

Is known to be humorless. Though he may have a secret affinity for dark and twisted humor.







History


From the beginning of his existence, Soriel has been a devout servant of God. He was created as a guardian angel and took this business very seriously. Over time of watching over humans, he was appointed to more and more serious cases. He became a powerful force of good influence in the lives of important humans by using semi-unorthodox means of persuasion. Unlike many guardian angels who simply follow and protect their charges, Soriel took the form of a human and became close with his charges.

He would often mask himself as a trusted advisor or friend of these humans, guiding them outwardly onto God's path. He was largely successful, being the charming creature that he is. He has been in trouble with the forces of heaven more than once for openly attacking and banishing demons in the presence of human beings, however. He is on very thin ice in this regard. One more attack being witnessed by humans could lead to him being permanently banned from walking upon the world.

After a temporary suspension from his missions, he is finally preparing to return once more to Earth. He is determined to succeed and not ruffle the feathers (pun intended) of the higher-ranking angels again.

It is also worth noting that Soriel very much desires to become a high-ranking angel himself. He is determined to succeed and impress those above him so that he can move up in the ranks and in power. These are private aspirations that he never shares or even lets himself think about too frequently unless in his human form where his mind is not in danger of being read. He is highly aware of the sins in his thoughts, and so keeps it all very private. Truthfully, there are many sins that have been committed within his mind. Perhaps him hating the fallen and looking down upon them is simply projection. After all, it really wouldn't take much more than a slip-up for him to end up just like them.

For all of these reasons, he is very strict, sticking to the rules tightly and never straying. ​

 

[PassingWhisper]

Skylar Allen

-----





Basics


Stage Name: LARZ
Nicknames: Sky, Larz
Age: 24
Pronouns: She/They
Sexuality: Bisexual
Zodiac Sign: Leo
Band Position: Lead Guitarist



Physical Appearance


Hair
An afro which they are notorious for bleaching and changing the color of
Currently, it is a lavender color
Any minor inconvenience to them may trigger the bleaching process

Eyes
Naturally has dark brown, nearly black eyes
On stage, they wear contacts that make them appear to be bright blue
They also cannot see terribly well with them in

Skintone
Warm-toned dark skin

Height
5'4

Body Type
A bit curvy around her hips. Toned arms.

Notable Features
Some pretty cool tattoos on her arms and an eyebrow piercing




More Information



Skylar's father raised her by himself. He was a laid-back man who was huge into music and played in several small-time bands. Sky got her love for music from her old man, as well as his laid-back and cool personality. They are known for being full of sarcastic quips.
Their guitar is named Zing and they treat it as if it is a human infant. All the band members know not to mess with it if they value their lives.
She is an impulsive person and always willing to go get a matching tattoo.

​

 

[PassingWhisper]

Rory Collins

-----




Basics


Stage Name: Rory
Nicknames: Only goes by Rory or Coll (like call)
Age: 26
Pronouns: He/Him
Sexuality: Pansexual
Zodiac: Taurus
Band Position: Bass + Backup Vocals



Appearance


Hair
Curly and light brown

Eyes
Light green and hooded

Skin Tone
Well-tanned

Height
6'0

Body Type
Tall and lean
Doesn't have much in the way of muscle

Notable Features
Several piercings and always wears under-eyeliner during shows



More Information


Coll is very private about his personal history and background. He's one of the older members of the band but typically doesnt show it. He tends to be pretty quiet, willing to go along with whatever the other's want. His priorities revolve around what woman or man he can take home that night. He never dates within the band itself in order to avoid drama.
He can be quite thoughtful and sweet to his friends, which makes it easy to ignore his somewhat shallow personality. You can always expect him to show up with snacks, and always everyone's favorites.​

 

[PassingWhisper]

Detective Hoffman

Gael Arian Hoffman

AKA Arian

Age: 30

Personality:

Arian is typically a quiet man with a resting expression of annoyance. It is rare to see him smile, and he doesn't make much of an effort to change that. He is calculating and strategic with each move he makes. Everything is done for a reason, with a purpose. He leaves no room for mistakes or missteps. Although a closet drinker, he goes to great lengths to hide his alcoholism and anyone who enters his apartment will get the impression of a meticulously clean bachelor. His home lacks tasteful decorations, with only a few modern paintings mounted to give the impression of someone living there. He dresses with a similar lack of taste, never caught dead outside of slacks and a button-up when in public. Perfectly pressed clothes, perfectly neat home, spotless car. The only aspect of him which ever gets messy is his long caramel brown hair, which he opts to keep in a loose half-up bun. His mother always enjoyed how he looked with longer hair, so he keeps it this way in memory of her.
When drunk, Arian can become quite light-hearted. It seems to be the only time he can really laugh and especially relax. When sober he has a stiffness to him that has come from years of paranoia and alertness. Although the outer shell is hard to crack, Gael is still a kind person at heart. He has a deep care for those who are weaker than himself, and is consistently risking his life for them. However, he struggles to get close with others, considering human life to be incredibly fragile and easily stolen away.
Although normally cool-headed, it takes a surprisingly light push to send Arian into a fit of anger. Especially when it comes to the beasts he hunts or the topic of his failed career, he can become quickly hot-headed and physical. His lack of self-control is likely a manifestation of years of dealing with PTSD through some rather ineffective coping mechanisms.


Backstory:

Life was always easy, always simple for Gael. His two older sisters and two loving parents formed a support net that never let him fall. He was well-liked in school, caught the interest of plenty of girls (and boys), and graduated at the top of his class. His life was on a perfect trajectory, an easy course towards a bright future in which his family would be proud and he would be comfortable. His initial plan for his college education was to study dentistry, which would assure him a life of relative luxury and continued ease.

Some say that everyone goes through hardships, it just depends on when life decides to throw the first punch.

The first punch came swiftly when he was freshly eighteen and preparing for college in a month. His family had decided to take a hiking trip to celebrate before he left. His older sisters both came along, although they had both moved out and had their own lives. The family was tight-knit, and the only real bickering stayed between the twins. It was on this trip that Arian lost every member of his family, and learned that there are things in this world which are unexplainable. He is never willing to truly relive the events of that cool spring night, when he had learned the screams of his parents and his two precious sisters. When he had learned his own scream.

The loss of his family and the shattering of his reality left the boy riddled with paranoia and nightmares. For two years he lived his life in fear of the supernatural things in the world. His family's deaths were ruled to be the act of a crazed murderer, and Arian was ordered to undergo psychiatric treatment to deal with the loss. He was diagnosed with PTSD and was obviously not believed when he told the true story of what happened. Over those two years, he slowly began to tell the psychologist what she wanted to hear. That the terror of the memory had caused him to create false memories. That he was getting better. That he didn't believe in things like monsters.

The incident left him feeling out of control, and his psychologist told him as much. "What you need, is something to give you a sense of control over your life. It's time to take a step forward again. Put yourself out there!" So, two years after the loss of his whole world, he signed up for the police academy. This was the best decision he could have made. The routine, the strictness, it was an environment he could thrive in. He felt that he was able to determine his fate, he was trained and able to fight back. He could protect the weak and more importantly, he could protect himself.

He served in the force for only a year before he knew he had to do something else. The monotony and simple pointlessness of his position weighed on him. In his small city there was never anything big happening, no big bad guys to hunt down. Even if there had been, he was a young rookie and never assigned to those types of cases.

So Arian finally went to college, and graduated with a masters in Criminal Justice in just 5 years. The course load had been heavy but school had become a full time fixation for the young man. He did not need for money after receiving his parents inheritance. Now serving as a detective, Gael Hoffman was on a more purposeful path in life. He became involved in the real nasty sides of life. He saw the violence and perversion of the human race, and saw his family's faces in the victims he tried to help.

In every case, he kept his eyes open. Always watching, always waiting for a hint that something wasn't- normal. He was half convinced he really had conjured up the monster who killed his family by the time he came face to face with another. He had been on a case for months, following a trail of blood-drained bodies that were being chalked up as animal attacks. The creature he found feasting on a young girl was certainly more animal than human, but no animal known to the modern world. The humanoid creature with long razor teeth and too-small eyes was his first supernatural kill. There had been such satisfaction in ending the thing's existence. Such a sense of vengeance and rightness.

He had transported the creature in a body bag to the station, and dumped it in his bosses office. Triumphant. Finally proven to not be crazy. Only, one look at the creature and his boss had made a phone call. His badge had been stripped. His credentials were taken. His honor, squashed. Just another monster from his nightmares they had said. He was simply "not fit" to work in this line of duty. It was labeled a "psychotic break".

It had been an important lesson. There are some things that normal people don't know, and the people in charge will go to great lengths to keep it secret. This was the year he had first begun to drink to stop the thinking. The constant wondering of what he could have done differently with his life. The considerations of if he really was mad.

The desire to give up was potent, and always balancing in his mind. He could just live out his life a worthless drunk with no future, trying to drown his past. However, there was one annoying quality. One nagging thought he could never shake off. He knew. He knew these things existed, and that they preyed on the innocent. The unknowing and unsuspecting. He knew. If he didn't do something about this, who would? If he wasn't there, who would people go to when the authorities turned them away?

This sense of responsibility was the thing which drove him back into work, a self-employed "hunter" with a fabricated detective badge that so resembled his old one. At twenty-eight years he became the only version of himself he could stand. The version who would do his best to avenge his family and protect those who couldn't protect themselves. And so it has been for the past two years. His name has been spread around to those who need it, and he never has a shortage of work these days.​