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Kenos Info
D
Vampire Hunter D (novels)
CANON
10,000
AGE
Meridian
FACTION
Tier 1
HARMONIZATION LEVEL
Vol 5, The Stuff of Dreams
CANON POINT
male, he/him
GENDER
Advocate
ASPECT
Tier 1
DISCORD LEVEL
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
D is tall, dark, and so pale his skin has a tinge of grey. He's supposedly so beautiful even men blush in his presence, and he looks not much older than a young man of eighteen or nineteen. Sometimes, he is mistaken for a woman at first glance. His eyes are rust-colored and seem old and a little sorrowful. Most notice the clothes first, an aesthetic of all black leather with pauldrons, a long cape, a purple-striped scarf, and a black hat; he's covered everywhere except for his face and his left hand. Upon closer inspection, he has slightly pointed, pierced ears. Thick, dark hair spills over his shoulders and down his back to his waist; he always wears it free and loose. There isn't a single scar or disfigurement on what can be seen of his body. The gloomy and serious demeanor, along with his outfit, make him appear bigger than he actually is. Beneath the cape, he has a built but lean figure; when the hat, cape, and pauldrons are off, he really does look like a young man. He's extremely quiet both verbally and physically. Rarely does he engage in conversation unless he has something to say, but he will chat to those who approach him, and sometimes he vanishes so silently no one knows he's left.
Those able to feel or read auras will find his is incredibly dominating, powerful, and terrifying, like a monster.
SHARD
A garnet, shield-shaped gemstone about the length of two inches sitting just below his navel in line with his sacrum, almost like a sacral chakra. It's smooth but unpolished, and the color shifts between dark mahogany and brighter carnelian red. On the back of his left hand, there is an oval epidote stone, and the color gives off the impression of something diseased.
ASPECT TATTOO
Located on the back of his neck just below the hairline.
PERSONALITY
Quiet and stoic, D makes for a formidable opponent and a somewhat frustrating companion. He's not prone to idle conversation, and, in fact, speaks only when he has something to say and nothing more. When he does talk, he never talks of himself, and he will choose not to answer or to change the subject if the conversation turns to him or his past. There isn't much D complains about, not wound, or slight, or taunt. It's less about wasting his breath and more he cares not to entertain nonsense. Even comments on his looks or ancestry don't get any rises out of him.
That isn't to say D is devoid of emotion. On the contrary, D feels quite a great deal of human emotions, but the filter between felt emotion and spoken emotion is a tight cap hard to wedge off. D follows a refined, respectful, and almost knightly code of conduct: he dismounts his horse for elders, removes his hat indoors, inquires of others' feelings or well being, says thank you or hello or goodbye, and will not fight unless attacked first, among other things. He values the integrity of human, vampire, and beast alike, treating them all honorably until they prove to him they aren't. His actions are sometimes spur-of-the-moment and based solely on what he sees or hears, and he'll not turn away from assisting the less fortunate despite how business he may be about the situation.
Upon first meeting D, many who are more attuned to auras feel unease in his presence, regardless of the heads he may turn because of his striking beauty. Ill-will and pain are said to follow him, and D owns great power within, but D himself does not seek out violence or fear with civilians. His height and clothing, however, are always good initial motivators for distance or caution. Basically, he looks pretty terrifying. But D has learned intense discipline, earning him the best poker face. In canon, even nude women do not distract him from his travels or his job, and their longing for his commitment is always met with deaf ears. D has resigned himself to the life of a Hunter, a position he believes is better worked alone and unattached.
Anyone fortunate enough to not have any ties to auras or magic will likely be giddy or shy or interested, as D's appearance always manages to dredge up conversation. He never seems unwilling to listen, in any case, and he will take the chance to hear what others have to say unless he can tell they're wasting his time. At that moment, he's quick to cut everything short and move on. Frequently, he has been called back or stopped by those who finally get to the point, which means D is appreciative of not beating around the bush.
Aside from being a Hunter (and, in turn, a detective), D is also a scientist like many of his Noble half-brethren. Often, he is seen curiously wondering over the physiological and genetic existence of vampires, humans, and other monsters, complete with miniature experiments when the need arises. Even after ten thousand years, there's a craving in D of knowledge in regards to vampires and humans, partially for his job and partially because he is searching for answers about himself.
Not much can bring D to extreme anger except for brief visits of the Sacred Ancestor, the second wind during a battle, or the wicked taking advantage of the downtrodden in brutal ways. He has spent a lifetime honing his composure and restraint, knowing any tip toward true vampirism can spell disaster for those around him. When enraged, the power of the Nobility surfaces, and D exudes the air of cold, calculating intimidation and untamed strength. This is a state he forsakes as often as possible, and only rouses it out of necessity.
Vampires, to D, have had their rise in the world of man, and their extinction is inevitable and imperative. He believes their genetics are weak for a reason, and, thus, humans will outlive them on every occasion. The Nobles he fight often question his motives: if he is half of what they are, why does he choose to hunt them? D gives them all the same response. Vampires are disappearing from the world, and their time is at an end.
While his ultimate goal is to destroy the Sacred Ancestor, D spends his days freeing the Frontier of the last remnants of a monstrous, proud, dying race.
That isn't to say D is devoid of emotion. On the contrary, D feels quite a great deal of human emotions, but the filter between felt emotion and spoken emotion is a tight cap hard to wedge off. D follows a refined, respectful, and almost knightly code of conduct: he dismounts his horse for elders, removes his hat indoors, inquires of others' feelings or well being, says thank you or hello or goodbye, and will not fight unless attacked first, among other things. He values the integrity of human, vampire, and beast alike, treating them all honorably until they prove to him they aren't. His actions are sometimes spur-of-the-moment and based solely on what he sees or hears, and he'll not turn away from assisting the less fortunate despite how business he may be about the situation.
Upon first meeting D, many who are more attuned to auras feel unease in his presence, regardless of the heads he may turn because of his striking beauty. Ill-will and pain are said to follow him, and D owns great power within, but D himself does not seek out violence or fear with civilians. His height and clothing, however, are always good initial motivators for distance or caution. Basically, he looks pretty terrifying. But D has learned intense discipline, earning him the best poker face. In canon, even nude women do not distract him from his travels or his job, and their longing for his commitment is always met with deaf ears. D has resigned himself to the life of a Hunter, a position he believes is better worked alone and unattached.
Anyone fortunate enough to not have any ties to auras or magic will likely be giddy or shy or interested, as D's appearance always manages to dredge up conversation. He never seems unwilling to listen, in any case, and he will take the chance to hear what others have to say unless he can tell they're wasting his time. At that moment, he's quick to cut everything short and move on. Frequently, he has been called back or stopped by those who finally get to the point, which means D is appreciative of not beating around the bush.
Aside from being a Hunter (and, in turn, a detective), D is also a scientist like many of his Noble half-brethren. Often, he is seen curiously wondering over the physiological and genetic existence of vampires, humans, and other monsters, complete with miniature experiments when the need arises. Even after ten thousand years, there's a craving in D of knowledge in regards to vampires and humans, partially for his job and partially because he is searching for answers about himself.
Not much can bring D to extreme anger except for brief visits of the Sacred Ancestor, the second wind during a battle, or the wicked taking advantage of the downtrodden in brutal ways. He has spent a lifetime honing his composure and restraint, knowing any tip toward true vampirism can spell disaster for those around him. When enraged, the power of the Nobility surfaces, and D exudes the air of cold, calculating intimidation and untamed strength. This is a state he forsakes as often as possible, and only rouses it out of necessity.
Vampires, to D, have had their rise in the world of man, and their extinction is inevitable and imperative. He believes their genetics are weak for a reason, and, thus, humans will outlive them on every occasion. The Nobles he fight often question his motives: if he is half of what they are, why does he choose to hunt them? D gives them all the same response. Vampires are disappearing from the world, and their time is at an end.
While his ultimate goal is to destroy the Sacred Ancestor, D spends his days freeing the Frontier of the last remnants of a monstrous, proud, dying race.
BACKGROUND
The human race dwells in a world of darkness. Or perhaps it might be more accurate to call it a dark age propped up by science. All seven continents are criss-crossed by a web of super-speed highways, and at the center of the system sits a fully automated "cyber city" known as the Capital, the product of cutting edge scientific technology. The dozen weather controllers manipulate the climate freely. Interstellar travel is no longer a far-fetched dream. In vast spaceports, hulking matter-conversion rockets and ships propelled by galactic energy stare up at the empyrean vault, and exploration parties have actually left their footprints on a number of planets. . .
However, all of that is a dream now.
Take a peek at the Capital. A fine dust coats the walls of buildings and minarets constructed from translucent metal crystal; in places you'll find recent craters large and small from explosives and ultraheat rays. The majority of automated roads and maglev highways are in shambles, and not a single car remains to zip from place to place like a shooting star.
There are people. Tremendous mobs of them. Flooding down the streets in endless numbers. Laughing, shouting, weeping, paying their respects to the Capital, the melting pot of existence, with a vitality that borders on complete chaos. But their garb isn't what you'd expect from the masters of a once-proud metropolis. Men don shabby trousers and tunics redolent of the distant Middle Ages, and threadbare cassocks like a member of a religious order might wear. Women dress in dim shade and wear fabric rough to the touch, completely devoid of flamboyance.
Through the milling crowd of men armed with longswords or bows and arrows comes a gasoline-powered car most likely taken from some museum. Trailing black smoke and popping with the firecrackers of backfires the vehicle carries along a group of laser-gun toting lawmen.
A dreadful scream rises from one of the buildings and a woman staggers out. From her inhuman cry people instinctively know the cause of her terror, and call out for the sheriff and his men. Before long, they race to the scene, ask the wailing woman where the terror is located, and enter the building in question with faces paler than the bloodless countenance of the witness herself. They ride and independently powered elevator down five hundred stories.
In one of the subterranean passageways--all of which had supposedly been destroyed ages ago--there's a concealed door, and beyond it a vast graveyard where the Nobility, blood-craving creatures of the night, slumber as in days gone by in wooden coffins filled with damp soil. . .
The strict stratification of vampires and humanity came about when one day in 1999 mankind's history as lords of the earth came to an abrupt end. Someone pushed the button and launched the full-scale nuclear war that the human race had been warned about for so long. Thousands of ICBMs and MIRVs flew in disarray, reducing one major city after another to a white-hot inferno, but the immediate fatalities were far outstripped by the wholesale death dealt by radiation more potent than tens of thousands of x-rays.
The theory of limited nuclear war, where sensible battles would be fought so the winners might later rebuild and rule, was obliterated in a split second by a million degrees of heat and flame.
The survivors barely made it. Their numbers totally insignificant, they shunned the surface world and its toxic atmosphere and were left with no choice but to live in underground shelters for the next few years.
When they finally returned to the surface, their mechanized civilization was in ruins. With no way of contacting survivors in other countries, any thoughts these isolated pockets of humanity might have had of things returning to the way they'd been before the destruction, or even of rebuilding to the point of where it could be called a civilization, were flights of fantasy, and nothing more.
The regression began.
With generation after generation striving merely to survive, memories of the past grew dim. The population increased somewhat after a thousand years, but civilization itself plunged back to the level of the Middle Ages. Dreading the mutant creatures spawned by radiation and cosmic rays, the humans formed small groups and moved into plains and forests that over the years had gradually returned to verdure. In their struggles with the cruel environment, at times they had to kill their newborn babies to keep what little food they had. Other times the infants went toward filling their parents' empty bellies.
That was the time. In that pitch-black, superstitious world they appeared. How they--the vampires--kept themselves hidden from the eyes of man and lived on in the luxuriant shadows was unclear. However, their life form was almost exactly as described in legend and they seemed the best suited to fill the role of the new masters of history.
Ageless and undying so long as they partook of the blood of other creatures, the vampires remembered a civilization the human race could not, and they knew exactly how to rebuild it. Before the nuclear war, the vampires had contacted others of their kind who lurked in dark places around the globe. They had a hidden super-power source that they'd secretly developed in fallout shelters of their own design, along with the absolute minimum machinery required to reconstruct civilization after the absolute worst came to pass. . .
How much friction and discord that course created between the two sides was soon apparent. Within two thousand years of stepping onto history's great stage, the vampires gave the world a sprawling civilization driven by super-science and sorcery, dubbed themselves the "Nobility," and subjugated humanity. The automated city with its electronic brain and ghostly will, interstellar spaceships, weather controllers, methods of creating endless quantities of materials through matter-conversion--all this came into being through the thoughts and deeds of them and them alone. . .
From the end of the fourth millennia A.D., the vampire civilization as a whole started to show a phenomenal decline in energy, and that brought on the start of mankind's rebellion. . .
Weakened by one great uprising after another . . . the Nobles faded away, like gallant nihilists who realized their destiny. Some took their own lives, while others entered a sleep that would last until the end of time. Some even headed off into the depths of space, but their numbers were extremely few. By the time A.D. 12,090 arrived, the vampires served no purpose beyond terrorizing the humans on the Frontier. . .
The Hunters were a product of the people's fear.
However, all of that is a dream now.
Take a peek at the Capital. A fine dust coats the walls of buildings and minarets constructed from translucent metal crystal; in places you'll find recent craters large and small from explosives and ultraheat rays. The majority of automated roads and maglev highways are in shambles, and not a single car remains to zip from place to place like a shooting star.
There are people. Tremendous mobs of them. Flooding down the streets in endless numbers. Laughing, shouting, weeping, paying their respects to the Capital, the melting pot of existence, with a vitality that borders on complete chaos. But their garb isn't what you'd expect from the masters of a once-proud metropolis. Men don shabby trousers and tunics redolent of the distant Middle Ages, and threadbare cassocks like a member of a religious order might wear. Women dress in dim shade and wear fabric rough to the touch, completely devoid of flamboyance.
Through the milling crowd of men armed with longswords or bows and arrows comes a gasoline-powered car most likely taken from some museum. Trailing black smoke and popping with the firecrackers of backfires the vehicle carries along a group of laser-gun toting lawmen.
A dreadful scream rises from one of the buildings and a woman staggers out. From her inhuman cry people instinctively know the cause of her terror, and call out for the sheriff and his men. Before long, they race to the scene, ask the wailing woman where the terror is located, and enter the building in question with faces paler than the bloodless countenance of the witness herself. They ride and independently powered elevator down five hundred stories.
In one of the subterranean passageways--all of which had supposedly been destroyed ages ago--there's a concealed door, and beyond it a vast graveyard where the Nobility, blood-craving creatures of the night, slumber as in days gone by in wooden coffins filled with damp soil. . .
The strict stratification of vampires and humanity came about when one day in 1999 mankind's history as lords of the earth came to an abrupt end. Someone pushed the button and launched the full-scale nuclear war that the human race had been warned about for so long. Thousands of ICBMs and MIRVs flew in disarray, reducing one major city after another to a white-hot inferno, but the immediate fatalities were far outstripped by the wholesale death dealt by radiation more potent than tens of thousands of x-rays.
The theory of limited nuclear war, where sensible battles would be fought so the winners might later rebuild and rule, was obliterated in a split second by a million degrees of heat and flame.
The survivors barely made it. Their numbers totally insignificant, they shunned the surface world and its toxic atmosphere and were left with no choice but to live in underground shelters for the next few years.
When they finally returned to the surface, their mechanized civilization was in ruins. With no way of contacting survivors in other countries, any thoughts these isolated pockets of humanity might have had of things returning to the way they'd been before the destruction, or even of rebuilding to the point of where it could be called a civilization, were flights of fantasy, and nothing more.
The regression began.
With generation after generation striving merely to survive, memories of the past grew dim. The population increased somewhat after a thousand years, but civilization itself plunged back to the level of the Middle Ages. Dreading the mutant creatures spawned by radiation and cosmic rays, the humans formed small groups and moved into plains and forests that over the years had gradually returned to verdure. In their struggles with the cruel environment, at times they had to kill their newborn babies to keep what little food they had. Other times the infants went toward filling their parents' empty bellies.
That was the time. In that pitch-black, superstitious world they appeared. How they--the vampires--kept themselves hidden from the eyes of man and lived on in the luxuriant shadows was unclear. However, their life form was almost exactly as described in legend and they seemed the best suited to fill the role of the new masters of history.
Ageless and undying so long as they partook of the blood of other creatures, the vampires remembered a civilization the human race could not, and they knew exactly how to rebuild it. Before the nuclear war, the vampires had contacted others of their kind who lurked in dark places around the globe. They had a hidden super-power source that they'd secretly developed in fallout shelters of their own design, along with the absolute minimum machinery required to reconstruct civilization after the absolute worst came to pass. . .
How much friction and discord that course created between the two sides was soon apparent. Within two thousand years of stepping onto history's great stage, the vampires gave the world a sprawling civilization driven by super-science and sorcery, dubbed themselves the "Nobility," and subjugated humanity. The automated city with its electronic brain and ghostly will, interstellar spaceships, weather controllers, methods of creating endless quantities of materials through matter-conversion--all this came into being through the thoughts and deeds of them and them alone. . .
From the end of the fourth millennia A.D., the vampire civilization as a whole started to show a phenomenal decline in energy, and that brought on the start of mankind's rebellion. . .
Weakened by one great uprising after another . . . the Nobles faded away, like gallant nihilists who realized their destiny. Some took their own lives, while others entered a sleep that would last until the end of time. Some even headed off into the depths of space, but their numbers were extremely few. By the time A.D. 12,090 arrived, the vampires served no purpose beyond terrorizing the humans on the Frontier. . .
The Hunters were a product of the people's fear.
ABILITIES & SKILLS
PERMISSIONS
PLAYER INFO
Played By: Anna
Contact Info:moetan, or discord
OUT OF CHARACTER
Writing Style: Default to action brackets, but will match prose.
Backtagging: Yes, always! May let extremely older stuff go in favor of starting something new, but if you would like to keep tagging something older, just let me know!
Threadhopping: For network-type things, yes! Anything else, I'm fine as long as all parties are aware.
Offensive Subjects: Not a fan of nail trauma stuff, but otherwise, I'm good with most stuff.
IN CHARACTER
Physical Violence: Go ahead! D is a skilled combatant, so he will put up a fight when he's attacked, but I don't mind personally.
Death/Dissipation: I don't mind playing out deaths as long as we chat and plan about it before hand.
Physical Affection: HELP. Please give him so much physical affection. Surprisingly, he will return physical affection sometimes when it's given to him (like hugs) from people he likes, but he never initiates them on his own.
Shipping/Sex: Laughs. His vampiric aura is actually extremely horny because of his lineage, and also he's half human, so he does in fact feel a lot of sensuality. He also can fall in love! He just pretends really hard to be aroace so he doesn't look like a degenerate. I'm not at all against shipping and sex with IC progression toward it. I'm forcing him to be bisexual, but he's teased in canon for having a preference for curvy women.
Mental/Communion: Yes!!
Offensive Subjects: He does not like the torture and suffering of humans, especially human women and children. He will get mad about it. He is also a mommy's boy and has daddy issues.......
OPT-OUT
INVENTORY
-
Salsa booze.- A sword.
- A horse, apparently named Erebus.
- A oil portrait of an intimidating, beautiful man; a very beautiful woman; and two identical boys who resemble them.
- A lil vampire bat messenger.
- Left Hand's shard.
- More salsa booze.
- A chia pet which grows unlimited synthetic grass for Erebus.
- Pollen Buster 3000 vaseline from Hayame.
- A haori(?) robe from Hayame.
- Slippers and an outfit for Erebus from Gray.
- Notebook and pen from Eustace.
- Embroidered gloves from Liem.
HARMONIZATION SPELLS
Tier 2:
Tier 3:
ACTIVITY TRACKING
SEPT: Kim Dokja, Yuri | BONUS: Silco, Dark
OCT: Amos, Dimitri | BONUS: Childe, Kim Dokja + Gray
NOV: Rin, Gen | BONUS, EVENT LOG: Silco (+Sebastian)
DEC: UHHH THE HAND-HOLDY LOG why did this not submit before oh well | BONUS: NONE
JAN: Manabu, Subaru | TDM: Yuber
FEB: Communion TL, Matt | BONUS: Shez, Amos
MAR: Chloe, Raphael | BONUS: Hayame, Gray, Rin
APR: Matt, Liem | BONUS: n/a
MAY: Yusuke, Hayame | Bonus: Matt, Flat