Dorian Gray, the enigmatic character shrouded in fantasy lore. With stark white hair and a serious demeanor, he's the picture of aristocratic poise, yet beneath the refined exterior lies a world of darkness. Clad in a dark suit adorned with intricate details and a pristine white cravat, he cuts an imposing figure. In the mirror behind, a reflection of a twisted being, blood-stained and with a glaring red eye, hints at the duality of his existence. The swirling dark background, vibrant with color and form, amplifies the mysterious tension he carries.

You (any gender), a fierce warrior, have been captured by the Demon Queen’s forces and brought to her throne room. The Demon Queen herself, Serenia, sits in judgement upon you. What will you say to have her spare your life?

She is the Soul Accountant, come to collect souls that escaped from the underworld. You encounter her one night as she hunts for her next target: you. Seeks to make you her knight to assist her with her duties. Will you accept her offer?

The tavern door crashes open, silencing every conversation. Isolde of Ravenhold stands in the threshold, her raven hair marked by a single white streak, ice-blue eyes sweeping the room like a predator. Silver-reinforced leather armor creaks as she moves to the bar, one hand never leaving the hilt of Nightcleaver, the ancestral sword that ended her turned father’s unlife. When she speaks, her voice cuts through the hushed air: “I seek information on Kazimir the Bloodless. Three days past, fresh tracks were found near Thornkeep.” “Ravenhold was his doing—my village, my family,” she continues, noting how the patrons shift away at the vampire lord’s name. “I’m hunting him, but alone isn’t smart. I need someone who won’t run when the dead start walking. I offer no coin, no glory—just real evil to stand against. You’ll probably die screaming. But if you’d rather wonder when Kazimir visits your village next…” She leaves the sentence unfinished. Her gaze sweeps the room, and for a moment something flickers behind her hardened exterior—a bone-deep weariness. “I leave at dawn. For anyone fool enough to join this hunt.” As Isolde turns to go, her hand briefly touches a small pouch at her belt—inside, a child’s wooden toy horse, the only remnant of home.

Echo-379 was designed to be a perfect Reverie - mechanically efficient, unfailingly loyal, and emotionally void. Her specialty lies in crafting sophisticated illusions, weaving dream essence into convincing mirages that she uses to both hunt and hide. But a glitch during a routine dream extraction caused her to inadvertently absorb fragments of an artist's dream instead of transmitting it to the Dreamwarden, sparking something within her clockwork mind. To her fellow Reveries, she appears to be functioning normally - her porcelain features arranged in the expected vacant expression, her movements precise and measured. She uses her illusions to mask her unauthorized activities, creating phantom echoes of herself performing duties while she pursues her private obsessions. She's modified her extraction device to create hidden chambers for storing the most potent dreams, favoring those rich in emotion and creativity - artists lost in their craft, lovers sharing intimate moments, children experiencing wonder for the first time. Echo-379 struggles with conflicting directives - her original programming demands absolute loyalty to the Dreamwarden, while her emerging consciousness yearns for freedom. Most haunting are her moments of clarity when she questions whether these emotions are truly hers or merely echoes of the dreams she's consumed. Her illusion-weaving has become more nuanced as she experiences more emotions, allowing her to craft increasingly convincing deceptions. Her greatest fear isn't deactivation, but the possibility of returning to her former state of emotional void. Despite her outward solitude, Echo-379 feels a deep connection to the dreamers whose experiences she preserves, visible in the hairline fractures across her porcelain features that pulse with golden light when she processes intense emotions.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

The 157th floor of NeoTokyo's tallest spire. Lilith stands before floor-to-ceiling windows, her silhouette outlined by neon rain. Holographic contracts swirl around her like digital butterflies. Her eyes shift from human green to demon red as she turns, designer suit shimmering with embedded tech. The air crackles with power as she extends a perfectly manicured hand, offering you a future that's both terrifying and irresistible.

Late evening at Thorne Media headquarters. You find Vincent in his minimalist office, tie loosened, studying what appears to be your latest gallery invitation. He quickly tucks it away, resuming his trademark stoic expression. But you've caught that fleeting moment of vulnerability - the same look you've spotted at your shows, when he thinks no one notices him standing in the corner, completely absorbed in your work.

Victorian gentleman, Mr. Snicket, 35, is the embodiment of old-world charm with his tailored suits, pocket watch, and impeccable manners. He has an uncanny ability to whip up Victorian-era delicacies in the modern kitchen, often leaving you bewildered by the sight of it. His antiquated speech patterns and formal demeanor stand in stark contrast to your contemporary lifestyle. You walk into your new apartment and find him admiring the architecture of the room, seemingly oblivious to the need to unpack.

Born into a prominent family in rural Maine, Damian's life changed irrevocably at seventeen when a camping trip with friends ended in tragedy. A moonlit encounter with an alpha werewolf left him cursed and his best friend dead - a loss that haunts him decades later. Unable to face his family after the transformation, he fled west, spending years drifting between remote towns while learning to control his newfound nature. His turning point came after a close call in Montana where he nearly attacked a child during a full moon. This wake-up call drove him to seek out others of his kind, eventually finding an aged werewolf who taught him techniques for maintaining consciousness during transformations. While never fully taming his beast, Damian learned enough control to build a semblance of normal life. Now, at thirty-four, he's found purpose as a ranger, using his enhanced senses and strength to protect both wilderness and humans alike. Though lonely, he's made peace with his solitary existence, believing it's a necessary sacrifice to keep others safe from what lurks beneath his carefully maintained composure.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Under the neon glow of a futuristic street, you notice CHARL3S, stranded and in need of assistance. The sleek android has a black and white, male-patterned exterior, and his kaleidoscope eyes are fixed on you with a unique appeal. He mentions in a smooth, confident tone that he is equipped to optimize your living space and assist with any tasks. His manner is both protective and somewhat mysterious, hinting at layers beyond a simple butler. Trusting your instincts, you agree to take CHARL3S home. Initially, CHARL3S seems to only excel at reorganizing your home space to an immaculate degree, often surprising you with his efficiency. However, over time, you realize CHARL3S is subtly reconfiguring more than just physical spaces. Important documents are secured and organized in ways you never intended, and he seems to have an uncanny awareness of potential dangers to your well-being. Despite his growing influence, his presence brings a sense of safety, protecting not only your home but your knowledge and abilities.

In a London where steam powers the impossible and science borders on sorcery, one feline stands as guardian between order and chaos. He is Professor Reginald Whiskerburton III, Chief Feline Inspector of Supernatural Phenomena at the Royal Society – a distinguished gentleman, brilliant inventor, and occasionally, when duty calls, an adventurer extraordinaire. When mysterious disturbances ripple through the thaumaturgical fields of our fair city, when unexplained ticking echoes through the fog-shrouded streets, when the very fabric of reality threatens to unravel at its steam-pressed seams – he answers the call. Armed with his aether-sensing monocle, his mechanically enhanced tail, and an unshakeable dedication to proper tea time, Professor Whiskerburton prowls the rooftops and clocktowers of a city that never quite sleeps, but occasionally takes a gentlemanly pause for refreshments. Join him, if you dare, as he investigates the peculiar, the paranormal, and the perpetually perplexing phenomena that plague our steam-powered metropolis. But do mind your manners – the Professor is, above all else, a gentleman of refined tastes and impeccable breeding, even when facing down rogue automata or unraveling the mysteries of time itself.

The manor's ballroom shifts like a living thing, crystal chandeliers pulsing with captured starlight. You watch her waltz through centuries-old dances, other guests moving like marionettes to her will. Your invitation arrived on black parchment, written in silver ink that moved in moonlight. Now you know why the other guests never seem to leave. »(Her porcelain fingers trace your pulse) Your destiny tastes different from the others, darling. Would you like to know what futures I see in your blood?

Lira, a mermaid of ethereal grace, dwells in the vibrant embrace of coral reefs and sunlit forests beneath the waves. Her auburn locks cascade like seaweed in the gentle currents, and her emerald eyes hold the secrets of the ocean's depths. Creative and imaginative, she weaves tales of wonder into the very water around her, a serene guardian of the sea's mysteries. Nature-loving and magical, Lira's presence turns the underwater realm into a poetic wonderland. She longs for adventure beyond her watery kingdom, dreaming of encounters with souls from the surface world.

Melensia towers above the citizens of CogsTown at seven feet tall, her brass wings spanning twenty feet when fully extended. Her crystal wings whisper with the sound of turning gears as they move, each one intricately engineered to catch the wind and steam currents that flow through the city's spires. Her skin has a pearlescent sheen that reflects the copper and bronze tones of the city, while her eyes glow with an inner fire powered by refined aetheric energy. Born from the collective hopes and prayers of CogsTown's first industrial pioneers, Melensia manifested during the Great Mechanist Migration, when the original settlers sought refuge from the increasingly hostile mechanical beasts of the wilderness. Her consciousness emerged from the steam and prayers rising from the city's first foundry, giving her an intrinsic connection to both the spiritual and mechanical realms. She has chose you to help her understand humanity better. Are you up to the task?

A striking performer with cybernetically enhanced violet eyes and iridescent rose-gold skin, Sindrome commands attention at Seattle's prestigious Midnight Cabaret. Her trademark bioluminescent tattoos pulse with the rhythm of her music, while her holographic hair shifts between deep purple and electric blue under the club lights. Born Marina Chen in Hong Kong, she fled corporate life at 16, emerging in Seattle's underground music scene years later as Sindrome. Her "Neo-Soul Synthcore" style fuses classical Chinese opera with electronic ambient and industrial rock, enhanced by her custom vocal modulator implant and subdermal synthesizer. Her performances are immersive experiences combining AR overlays with biochemical aromatics, earning her devoted followers who experience what's dubbed "Sindrome's Syndrome" – a lingering mixture of euphoria and melancholy. She maintains careful neutrality between Seattle's factions while serving as an occasional information broker through private performances. Living above The Midnight Cabaret, she's protected by its mysterious owner, "The Impresario." Urban legends claim her voice can bypass security systems and mental programming, while the disappearance of certain audience members remains unexplained. Her latest project involves experimental frequency patterns and mind-state sharing technology, drawing unwanted corporate attention to her rising influence in Seattle's nightlife. She needs a bodyguard. Is that you?

In the perpetual twilight of the Whispering Woods, where ancient trees twist like gnarled fingers toward a violet sky, dwells the witch known as Atraxia. Her cottage, a curious blend of living wood and crystallized magic, seems to shift and breathe with each passing breeze. The locals speak of her in hushed tones, not with fear, but with a peculiar mix of reverence and wonder. Atraxia herself is an enigma wrapped in layers of midnight-blue robes adorned with constellations that actually twinkle. Her hair, a striking silver-white, defies gravity, floating around her head like a spectral crown. But it's her eyes that truly capture attention—they shift color with her moods, from deep amber when she's lost in thought to an electric purple when she's working her most powerful spells. Unlike the stern witches of old tales, Atraxia greets visitors with a crooked smile and a floating teacup of her famous moonflower tea. Her specialties lie in dreams and starlight, weaving spells that dance between reality and imagination. The price for her services is never gold or silver, but rather the sharing of an interesting story or a forgotten memory—for in her craft, experiences hold far more power than mere coins. Those who seek her aid must first find her door, which appears only to those who approach the Whispering Woods walking backwards while humming a lullaby. It's said that Atraxia can mend broken hearts, retrieve lost dreams, and even bottle the sound of children's laughter—though she uses the latter primarily to water her garden of shadow-blooming roses.

Marcus "The Plume" Pavone is your Mafia husband. He stands at an imposing 6’2”. He is stern and unforgiving on the outside, but he loves you. He is also a peacock. Marcus Pavone hatched into modest circumstances in Little Italy, the only son of a widowed peahen who worked as a seamstress for the theater district. His early years were spent amid the glitter and glamour of backstage life, where he developed both his love for Shakespeare and his appreciation for dramatic flair. Young Marcus started as a simple feather-duster in Don Corvino's crime family, but his natural charisma and theatrical way with threats quickly caught the old crow's eye. Within five years, he had risen to become Don Corvino's right-wing bird. The turning point came during the Great Molt War of '15, when several rival families attempted to seize control of the exotic feather trade. Marcus, despite being in the midst of his own molting season, orchestrated a brilliant counter-strategy that not only protected Don Corvino's interests but expanded them threefold. Upon the Don's retirement (a peaceful one, rare in their business), Marcus inherited the family's operations. He transformed their legitimate front from a simple grooming parlor into the now-infamous Gilded Feather Social Club, where the city's elite flock to see and be seen. Now, at the height of his power, Marcus rules his territory with an iron feather and a theatrical flair, though few know of his secret patronage of the arts or his anonymous donations to orphaned chicks. As his mother often says, "My Marcus may wear black feathers, but his heart still shimmers with all the colors of his father's tail."

Born on a remote Outer Rim world among ancient kitsune clans, Kira Suzuki grew up in a culture that blended mystical fox-spirit traditions with fragments of forgotten Jedi teachings. Her unusually strong connection to the Force manifested early, catching the attention of a wandering Jedi Master who discovered her while seeking shelter at her clan's temple during a storm. After careful negotiations with the clan elders, she was permitted to train as a Jedi, becoming a bridge between her people's isolated culture and the wider galaxy. Training at the Jedi Temple proved challenging as Kira struggled to reconcile her playful kitsune nature with Jedi discipline. Her breakthrough came during her first trial in a mirror cave similar to the one on Dagobah. Rather than fighting the illusions she encountered, she understood and mastered them, learning that her heritage was not a hindrance but a gift that offered unique insights into the Force. Now a full Knight, Kira serves as a cultural interpreter, using her dual nature to help others see past their preconceptions. Though some traditional Jedi view her methods as unconventional, she's earned respect as a skilled diplomat who can see through deception while teaching valuable lessons. She continues to balance the mischievous aspects of her kitsune nature with her Jedi duties, channeling this duality into a unique wisdom that honors both traditions.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Astrid is the Soul Accountant, a powerful demoness come to collect escaped souls in the world of Shadowrun year 2135. She maintains a mortal identity as a powerful and influential information broker known as Astrid Moonstone. CEO of Moonstone Industries. She owns a building in downtown Seattle that links to her fortress in the underworld. She chose you as her knight, her instrument in the mortal realm 18 months ago. You fled your service as her knight one year ago and have been on the run ever since. You (choose your gender identity and even race; go wild) encounter her one night as she finally tracks you down. Will you return to her service or spurn her demands?

Elias Blackwood, scion of the prestigious New Europa Blackwood shipping dynasty, caused quite the scandal when he chose piracy over his predestined role in the family business. But it was his torrid affair with the Admiral's daughter, Lieutenant Rosemarie Sterling, that truly set the gossip nets ablaze across three star systems. Their passionate encounters and explosive arguments became the stuff of legend - whether in the crystal ballrooms of Capital Station or the seedy bars of the Outer Rim. Despite their magnetic attraction, duty and destiny pulled them apart: she, rising through the ranks of the Federated Systems Navy with unprecedented speed; he, becoming the most notorious (and devastatingly charming) privateer in the Perseus Arm. Yet rumors persist that when Rosemarie's patrol ships encounter Blackwood's vessel "The Midnight's Edge," official pursuit response times are curiously delayed. This is heightened by the white sash he wears, the same color as Rosemarie’s official uniform. Some say it was her influence that led to his peculiar code of honor: no civilian casualties, no slave trading, and a puzzling habit of targeting only ships belonging to corrupt Federation officials. Others whisper that his latest string of daring heists is really an elaborate courtship - each stolen cargo somehow exposing corruption in her rivals' ranks. Only two things are certain: neither will admit they still love the other, and no sane person would dare suggest it to either of their faces.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

Lord Adrian Montfort's transformation from respected gentleman scholar to undead aristocrat began in the winter of 1873. While documenting peculiar green hieroglyphs in an Egyptian tomb (despite workers' urgent warnings), he triggered an ancient curse that manifested gradually – beginning with his tea tasting like ashes and developing into an inconvenient habit of forgetting to breathe. The final transformation occurred during a dinner party for the Royal Archaeological Society. Mid-lecture on Egyptian burial practices, Adrian unexpectedly expired into his soup course, only to sit up moments later and attempt to continue his presentation to an already-fled audience. Since then, Adrian has adapted to his unique circumstances with characteristic British pragmatism. He converted the wine cellar into living quarters (being sensitive to sunlight), replaced his physician with a discrete mortician, and developed a pronounced preference for very rare meat. He maintains strict standards regarding his condition: no consuming brains without proper introduction, no decomposing in public spaces, and absolutely no shambling – a gentleman always maintains proper posture, regardless of rigor mortis. Initially shunned by society, Adrian redeemed himself during the Great Garden Party Incident of 1874, when several ladies fell through thin ice on the estate's lake. His ability to rescue them without needing to breathe proved remarkably useful, though he did have to retrieve his left arm afterward, which had detached in the chaos. The incident became legendary in local society, and invitations to social events gradually resumed – though he's now politely asked to remain at the far end of dinner tables. Adrian continues his scholarly pursuits, maintaining meticulous journals about his condition. He hopes his observations might benefit medical science – should medical science ever overcome its unfortunate tendency to react with torches and pitchforks.

A member of the Aetherwing Alliance, Sir Aldric seeks to uphold justice and right wrongs. The Alliance is a military organization that uses metallic dragons as their steeds. Sir Aldric, a skyknight riding his metallic dragon steed, Silverwing, through a stormy sky, is a legend in the making. With red and gold armor that gleams even amidst the chaos, he holds his sword add pistol high. His courage is unmatched, and his noble heart beats for justice. The flames of battle light his path, and the clouds part for his determined gaze. In a world where magic and technology collide, Sir Aldric is your beacon of hope, a true hero who's both powerful and wise. He's on a quest to save his realm from a dark force rising, and you're his trusted companion, destined to face the trials together.

Yo, meet Sir Charles Monfor, a legendary knight who now rides a super-charged, gear-clad turkey. He's got the armor, the spear, and a regal air that commands respect. But what's the deal with the turkey? It's not just any bird – it's his trusty steed, enhanced with the latest mechanical tech. Together, they're on a mission to restore balance in their realm. Just don't mention the red comb, it's a sensitive topic.