The Seventh Trumpet Profile Thread

[Rhine Jive Click]

*The Founder*

:. I'm known as .: :: St. Vier

:. Behind the scenes .: :: Rhine Jive Click

:. Candles on the Cake .: :: 27

:.I am proudly.: :: The Founder of the Seventh Trumpet

:.Gender.: Female, pansexual

:. Write-up .: :::: Intelligent; passionate to a fault; constrained, and very aware of the bounds of professional etiquette. Confident, vain, intolerant of weakness or failure. Certain in the truth of her mission, St. Vier is ready and eager to do nearly anything in service to that mission, and a kind of macabre creativity that comes naturally to her lends itself to solving professional problems in ways less than family friendly. Speaks very precisely, and holds people to their words in the most literal sense—if she asks you for a pound of flesh, she’s expecting you to pull out a knife and start lopping off fingers.

Above all else, shines with a sort of insular enjoyment in what she does. Is happy to give of herself to the bone, as long as the person asking has his philosophy straight.

:. Assets .: :: Cult of personality. Creating a successful Escariot team has given her the smallest hint of star power, just enough cachet to get her access to toys or facilities that might not be open to others in similar positions of power.

Under the influence, is roughly as powerful physically as a mid-level demon; all senses improve (taste and touch most dramatically), and all teeth lengthen to predatory incisors (it’s possible to tell how recently St. Vier has taken blood by the length of her teeth). Additionally, it should be added that under the influence, St. Vier’s personality becomes far more abrupt; quick to act, and far more diverted by physical sensation.

:. Sob Story .: :: :St. Vier’s family has occupied officer ranks in Escariot for generations; they like to brag that their families were among the first to step into the outer reaches of hell, and St. Vier grew up in a household populated with both the carved remains of minor demons given as toys to herself and her brothers and revered relics—in her family’s case an index finger and heart belonging to two major saints whose lineage could be traced to Vier’s family.

Born Emma Lay, St. Vier couldn’t be anything but what she has become; she was raised in Escariot-organized schooling, her friends were other friendly families. She’s gone to church three times a week since the age of four.

At the age of sixteen, she joined the militia. By age 19, she was fast tracked to occupy an officer’s position, and by 23 he had achieved the rank of first lieutenant.

At the age of 25, St. Vier disregarded orders put in place for her safety, and left her teammates to hunt and slay a powerful incubus. It was far too powerful for her, and by the time it was done with her she was a mess of a creature, the barest, most sluggish hint of a pulse the only sign that she was still alive. Her teammates found her soon after, knowing full well what she had been hunting and, upon finding that she was still chaste (they checked carefully), set about sanctifying her for her strength of will (healing her secondarily—the soul is more important than the body).

Oddly, minutes after receiving what might have been last rites, St. Vier was on her feet, fully conscious, looking fit as a fiddle (though her body was torn nearly to shreds—she patently should not have been able to stand on legs broken as many times as hers had been)with a dreamy smile on her face. She walked to the hospital, speaking all the time about the glory of God—her teammates canonized her on the spot, sure that there was no way for a living woman to be speaking so calmly with such a body. Since, the Catholic Church has denied her true status as a saint, since she is living, but most of the people around her have forgotten she has a name other than St. Vier.

The incubus came again, soon after (perhaps regretting its failure to end her successfully), and with that same beautific smile on her face St. Vier tore into him with viciousness she could not have imagined before then. Weakened, and beaten repeatedly to unconsciousness, the incubus was susceptible, and could not resist when St. Vier bound the creature using sacred tenants.

St. Vier knew the creature had something to do with her survival—it took her months (to the demon’s painful detriment) to find out it was the blood that had kept her alive.

And thus a beautiful team was born.

:. File Not Found .: :: See Above. St. Vier generally wears thin, wire-rimmed glasses, removing and tucking them into a pocket when in a situation she fears might damage them. Stands at 5’9”. Long-term exposure to incubi blood has altered her appearance slightly, for good and ill: she was born of Mediterranean complexion, with dark skin and hair. In the past year, color has leached from her skin and eyes, leaving her with a somewhat sickly complexion and colorless eyes.

She is well-groomed to a fault, with an eye to professionalism that hardly ever falters, even in the midst of a kill. Her most common expression is mild and expectant; pleasant, but distant. She tends to keep this expression even in moments where it is less than appropriate, showing excitement or pain only in her eyes or the pace of her breathing.

:. I have .: :: Control; A True Calling in life; good relations with the Escariot Organization; a master key to all the rooms in Seventh headquarters, including personal rooms; a small private fortune built on the Seventh’s reputation.

:. I almost forgot .: Always keeps a rosary on hand

[Rhine Jive Click]

*The Eager Convert*

:. I'm known as .: :: Rachel “Rae” Belleza ::

:. Behind the scenes .: :: Moonlit Shadow ::

:. Candles on the Cake .: :: 24 ::

:.I am proudly.: :: Eager Convert

:.Gender.: Female, Bisexual

:. Write-up .: :: She is inquisitive in both good and bad ways. After all, it is her desire for more knowledge about her ability that led her to accepting the offer from Escariot. But it is also that curiosity that leads to the frustration she faces with how much she feels behind everyone else. Sacred rites... bindings? She’s a fast learner, and has caught up with many things (else she wouldn’t have been suggested for Seventh Trumpet in the first place), but she is often jealous of St. Vier and the others and how they manage to apparently seamlessly combine their faith, abilities, and daily life together. Rachel, due to her upbringing of disregarding faith and then being thrust so quickly into it, still has to work hard. She is also very interested in various cultures’ interpretations of demonic influence.

Rachel is generally compliant in day-to-day living... if a reason is given for things. She’s loyal to those on the team and her friends and family. She’s fastidious and competent, but oftentimes thinks too much.::

:. Assets .: :: Observant. Thoughtful. Her Sight extends to not just an uncanny sense of demons and the like that are trying to hide, but to just the world around her. She’s the one that will call out strategy to attain the team’s objective.

Fresh off the needle, Rachel’s natural powers grow from something that’s unreliable and hard-to-understand, to something that is overwhelmly clear. Sometimes she can see the true forms of the beings she’s fighting, and this realm blends with the one beneath it. Intentions bleed through the physical fabric of life.

Her physical strength and endurance also peak to just a bit above what’s physically possible for a woman her size in top-condition.::

:. Sob Story .: :: Rachel grew up as many would call a “cultural Catholic.” She was baptised because her grandmother was afraid what would happen to her soul. She went to church every Sunday. Her Christmas tree had a nativity scene underneath it. Rachel could recite Our Father and Hail Mary. Everything was a beautiful ritual, and just part of cultural ceremony. To her, things such as daemons were very much linked to the taotaomona and the aniti in the trees. Something she indulged in for sake of her family, and just sometimes believed. Then her mother and her moved to the mainland and they were too caught up in the modern world to spend time on matters that were, in both her mind and Rachel’s mind, so tied up in the culture of “back home.”

It wasn’t until middle school that Rachel realized she had the gift of sight. At first, it was just a hazy figure on the edges of her vision whenever she ran track. Maybe just a shadow that always showed up because she wasn’t breathing right or something. And then a white-clothed figure in the crowd that would warp to a normal person when she tried to focus. It didn’t really matter. Perhaps it was the same phenomena that made her aunties come together and mention how she used to say her great grandma would visit the house, years after she had passed. The same silliness that contributed to her mother--such a modern, no-nonsense woman in her mind--still hire someone to bless their new house in the mainland before they moved in.

Rachel thrived in university, managing to snag a degree in biology while getting championships for throwing shotput and hammer all until her senior year. Guaranteed a mid-level position at a company because of her previous involvement in an internship, Rachel was ready to settle into the world of wage-earners... until she got a call to head back home to the island because her grandma only had a few days left to live.

She visited when her grandmother was on her deathbed. Her grandmother was comfortably placed in her room in their family’s house, surrounded by red-eyed relatives. She recognized only a few of them, and was overwhelmed by the amount of family she didn’t recognize. But then she set her eyes on the person who was holding her grandmother’s hand, a man purported to be her young uncle. He had wings, and only she saw them.

It wasn’t until after the funeral and after she received the letter from Escariot that she learned that the man had been her grandmother’s guardian, having arrived early to escort his charge out of this realm. And it wasn’t until her acceptance of Escariot’s offer and her entering training that she learned that her grandmother had also seen the man for who he truly was, and had always seen the same things she had. Her family came from a line of Escariot members, but the line was broken off a few generations into the Spanish occupation.

Rachel has been in intense training for a little over three years now, but she still felt overwhelmed when she heard that she was to join the Seventh Trumpet because of interest in her ability’s reaction to Incubus blood. She was unsure of her abilities--and not just the physical aspect of combat, she was decent at that. What worries her was her lack of knowledge of this other world, and the expectation that she should have been up to par years ago. ::

:. File Not Found .: :: She is androgynous, with a height of 5’8”, a thin body lacking the widened hips of a woman, and long arms and legs. Her skin is a medium brown, and her hair, although cropped short in the back with just a touch of length in the bangs and front, is impeccably straight and dark--giving away her Polynesian heritage. Her eyes are dark, and are immensely clear and focused, but fresh off of incubus blood her gaze appears clouded even if her actual vision is sharp. She has tattoos of various kinds, but they’re not there to say any particular statement and are quite normal for one of her background. They’re easily covered up when wearing a t-shirt and pants. One can see bulk in her arms from her throwing days, and her fingertips are calloused.

While her expression is often intense, particularly when working, it easily warms up in affection. However, she is not as emotive as she used to be before joining the organization.::

:. I have .: :: A fixed blade knife, kept holstered on a hip. ::

:. I almost forgot .: :: Has a vivid memory. ::
-

[Rhine Jive Click]

*The Juicebox*

:. I'm known as .: :: Sheoth (the Keeper of Secrets) or Azuriel (Lost Son of Azrael the Fallen) ::

:. Behind the scenes .: :: Wulfston ::

:. Candles on the Cake .: :: Eternal ::

:.I am proudly.: :: The Juicebox

:. Write-up .: :: Me? Well now... I suppose I'm just a bit stubborn and proud. It got me into this mess. Not sure if there's too much more that needs explaining. Yes, I get angry, but no, I'm not some bubbling pot of demonic rage. Yes, I don't mind people, comes with the territory.

Though I don't need to know EVERYONE, that'd just be biting off more than any man could chew. Flirty? Sure, though it's harder when you're wearing a metaphorical shock collar. Really, the only thing that needs to be made clear is my supposed "evil".

You don't, and likely won't understand, but there's no malice here. Even when things get sickening, violent and depraved, you have to realize there's a very good reason. Trust me. ::

:. Assets .: :: Well, I do suppose I make everyone into ubervolks. No, doesn't count? How about endless millennia of knowledge? The fact that I have "social contacts" that a human being just can't? Resources, I believe, is the key word here. I hold all the cards. It's just that Saint Vier has got a firm hold on my wrists. ::

:. Sob Story .: :: So, should I start at the beginning? No, you'll be long dead before we get to anything even remotely relevant to the current situation. Let me assure you, though, that the story isn't what you think it is. No, we'll start with how I got here, where it all converges.

So, there I was. Saint Vier is lying in a pool of her own blood at my feet, about as effectively dead as a woman can be without being dead, and I'm pulling various pieces of metal out of myself. She did well, all credit to her. Hell, she'd have won fair and square if I was mortal. I leave her there, a gory reminder to those zealous Daemon-hunter types that I'm not to be ******** with. And that's where I let myself get royally ******** with. Not so much by Vier as through her, too, more to my humiliation.

Those Catholics. Oh my. So the second assault team finds her, and immediately get to work sanctifying the body. Bless it, bind it, burn it, all very efficient. Only the sawbones of the unit notices there's a little bit of life left in Vier. Patches her, jump-starts her, fills her back up with juice. Doesn't take long before I notice, either. Modern medicine, my undoing. You see, the thing about bleeding all over people is that your blood can get into their own bloodstream, particularly if they've got some nice holes in them. Remember what I said about blessing and binding? Yeah.

Now, I could have waited a few weeks for it to totally cycle out of her system. Should have. Ah, pride... No, I went back to kill Vier in her hospital bed. Ever been beaten near to an inch of your life by a cripple? It does teach one about humility. It also seems to lead to indentured servitude. Of course, the worst of it? They don't understand that I'm the good guy here.

Suppose when they call your boss the "Father of Lies", it damages one's credibility. ::

:. File Not Found .: :: Usually like this. The thing about being an Incubus is that one can shape-shift under normal circumstances. One has to appeal, doesn't one? This shape seems to make the Seventh happy, though; they like that it's obvious without being unsettling.

Of course, that means I have options. Or, I do up to a point. Vier has this nasty trick whereby she can force me back to what he considers my "true form". It's not pretty; stigmata wounds and velum bindings, holy scars and silver chains. It seems to be... Oddly temporal. It is not what it is, but rather what it has become; it scars, it bruises, it... might be mortal? ::

:. I have .: :: ...little need for clothes, what with the shape-shifting business. Weapons? Can't use them on the people I want, but I get what I need. Haven't got a single non-Escariot approved thing in my quarters, if you can call them that. I have what I need, and not a thing more. ::

:. I almost forgot .: :: You'll need a towel. ::

[Rhine Jive Click]

*The Addict*

:. I'm known as .: :: Royce Whinton ::

:. Behind the scenes .: :: Lisa Lixlar ::

:. Candles on the Cake .: :: 27 ::

:.I am proudly.: :: The Addict

:.Gender.: Male (a fan of beauty)

:. Write-up .: :: My anger, insecurities and stubbornness, I've always fought to keep on a leash. As youngest, least accomplished and vague, I was often lost among my three elder brothers. But I have to say, all of that has made me into a better person.

I won't say that I'm indestructible, I can be, perhaps ....a little.... expectant, but the humility did teach me. And I've learned to choose my battles over the years.

As you get to know me, you'll find that I'm a hard worker. I'll give you the shirt off my back, my last grain of rice, but will want a thank you once in a while.

For the lighter-- I can be social, but just as often, in thought. My jokes, unfortunately, don't seem universal, however. Strange, right? Haha. (he tries hard, but does still have some unresolved issues... like most of us, right?) ::

:. Assets .: :: The blood makes me feel whole, it's thick and solid as it runs, ,and makes me heavy, yet doesn't hinder my speed. It makes me solid, like I'm wearing armor beneath my skin, but this armor also feeds me. It's hot and cold, and fuels me in ways that... I can't even begin to describe. But it gives me insane energy and in the armor I can move faster than I have ever seen something move, and I can do things I would never be able to do without it. (so, it makes him hard to hurt, and unnaturally strong and fast. His senses are heightened, and in some cases, to the point of almost sensing what others are wanting/needing/thinking. <<-this only applies during fights and situations. He can't do it for personal reasons- ::

:. Sob Story .: :: I was born into this world like most in Escariot. My family has served it's purpose for now four generations. My father and his all had children after their years and as a boy, I had more of a grandfather than an actual father--But that's where my older brothers came in. Along with my cousins and single young uncle. Not everyone in the family joined, luckily, but those who didn't were always compared closely to everyone else appropriate.

Anyway--Rambling.

I didn't grow up like most boys in I grew up faster, and was always in the midst of adult business. There was no Santa, or the tooth fairy, and birthdays were always either tense, or very short.

That doesn't really matter though.

Main events-- As adulthood approached, I found myself not really wanting a life in Escariot, but, I simply couldn't be the one to break our tradition. My father was very convincing. I entered soon after I was legal, and took to as much schooling and training as I possibly could to prolong my actual service.

When I began, I excelled greatly. What they'd taught me had benefited me and my superiors more than I'd anticipated, even desired, really.

I was offered promotions and with some reluctance, I always took them.

About a year ago I was hand picked to be placed in the Seventh. I was apprehensive, but accepted, and after training, it's been, roughlyyyy 8-9 months since I've been. (So Royce feels somewhat robbed, as he wouldn't have chosen this path, had he had a free choice. Deep down there is some resentment toward it all--the org, his family and himself. But most days he gets up like an adult and is ready to kill bad guys.) ::

:. File Not Found .: :: I am six feet tall, maybe an inch over. My skin... it's, well it's kinda light now I guess, though I do have potential to tan. I used to be more tan. I used to have more muscle--or, mass. Now that I think of it. Hmm. It's almost as if I've lost weight, and I haven't been trying to.

I guess that's okay though.

I have a...medium to large build, I'd say.

You know...the funny thing. Lately I've been feeling as if I'm less attractive. I don't look the same as I did--even last year, it seems. My hair was darker, fuller, far less scraggly. I mean, I'm not balding, not even close, but my hair was... different. My eyes seemed more lively too. Richer, or younger. They seem a duller, darker brown.

Ha, maybe I'm being paranoid. Or maybe I AM aging. (he's Caucasian, 6'1", his build is now more medium than large. His skin is whiteR, and where there was more muscle there is now less. His eyebrows are neat, but thick and dark against his face. His eyes are tired, more than they were. Bone structure in his face is nice, facial hair would compliment it, though it's rare that he keeps any. Royce is handsome, but not as much as he was before he came to the Seventh. )
::

:. I have .: :: What Escariot has given and taught me, I am efficient in several forms of combat. ::

:. I almost forgot .: :: ...Women... It seems a little unnatural for them to be here. ::

[Rhine Jive Click]

*The Steady Hand*

:. I'm known as .: :: Elisha Truth Martin (After St Martin of Tours) ::

:. Behind the scenes .: :: AbominableDante ::

:. Candles on the Cake .: :: 30 ::

:.I am proudly.: :: The Steady Hand

:.Gender.: Male; heterosexual

:. Write-up .: ::He is a man obsessed with making the world a balanced place, in settling the odds between demonic and holy, between person and person. He is a counselor for anyone who has a need, a defender for those less fortunate, and a man determined to get into heaven. The means to which are ultimately good, run by his own internal code. This allows him to kill and maim the forces of evil, or what he believes to be evil, without so much as a hitch. Anger never comes into equation; he is a man with a higher mission. So far, no demon has said anything to him that cause him to lose his temper.

:. Assets .: :: He’s a fighter, has been since he was a child finishing what other people started and standing up for the littlest orphans. He wants things to be fair, for there to be a balance between team members, for the world itself to have a balance. He believes that through his faith, if he is patient enough, he may figure out what that balance is.

While infused with demon’s blood, his teeth used to grow longer (they have become permanently elongated from exposure), ears pointed, skin pale and muscles bulged. He is by far stronger and faster by three times an already impressive human scale. His acceptance of damage is heightened to where he feel pain, but can ignore it, and has, on one occasion, reattached a finger with no more than willing the pieces together. He imagines he could do this with whole limbs, given enough blood and time. ::

:. Sob Story .: :: He was handed off to the orphanage after his birth, the son of an unmarried woman who died in birthing. He was raised in a catholic orphanage with a catholic education in Rome, and from the moment he knew of his situation, was trying his best to make up for the sin of his existence.

He was guided by a priest at the orphanage to redirect his anger and self-loathing into prayer, and acts of good in the name of the church which had raised him. In terrible debt to this church, he decided if he could not join the priesthood as he wished (and thereby guide other poor souls out of damnation) he would do the next best thing.

The priest was a man who had connections, and through his plying, Elisha found a place among the ranks of demon-killers in Escariot. He was out of place there, a man with no connections but the one, but he was determined. In this, in destroying the forces of darkness, perhaps he could find a means to pardon his own innumerable sins. He worked his way through the ranks until he found himself with an invitation to the Seventh Trumpet.

And naturally, he accepted. ::

:. File Not Found .: ::
Just under 6 feet tall and wiry. His teeth are permanently elongated and sharp from the blood, and his hair has turned from the rich brown to a black with a bloody sort of sheen. His many scars and tattoos are a proud testament to the battles he has survived and won. ::

:. I have .: :: A warhammer, extensive knowledge of light and heavy firearms, and is a veritable pincushion of blades. ::

:. I almost forgot .: :: Never leaves home without his saint’s metals. ::