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Application for Little Hades
May. 1st, 2016 04:01 pm💀 Player Information
Name: Reg
Age: 18+
Contact: regasssa on aim, plurk, and at hotmail dot com
Characters In-game: N/A
💀 Character Information
Name: Crowley
Canon: Supernatural
Canon Point: Season 10 finale. What if when he got stabbed by Castiel he didn't get a chance to smoke out and escape... Okay, but this is the closest to perishing he's come in forever, give me a break.
Age: Appears late thirties, died at 62, and has been damned for 291 years
Description: The body that Crowley possesses, because that's what it is, is that of a "moderately successful" New York literary agent. He is 5'8, with dark brown hair, beard and moustache, and brown eyes. He is seen, almost exclusively, in a black suit with a dress coat over the top of it. However, as a Supernatural demon, Crowley has a secondary form, that of an opaque red wine colored smoke. When incensed, the red color of this form will shine through his eyes, like so.
Physical changes: Sure, why not. Clawed black fingernails, like these. A manicurist's nightmare.
Powers: The aforementioned smoke that I mentioned allows Crowley to abandon the body that he possesses, and slip into another, whether it's possessed by another spirit or not. This also makes him susceptible to being removed from his body by an eviction, and as an SPN demon, Crowley is consequently weak to holy water, demon killing blades, angel magic, salt, iron, demon traps and summoning. Oh, and human blood. Boy had a little problem with addiction for a while there.
He does, however, have a small variety of powers which keep him in the game. These have been refined over his time as a demon, and by the freedoms he accrued first by taking his place as King of the Crossroads, then as King of Hell. Crowley mostly relies on his resourcefulness and scheming to get things his way, for instance by learning Enochian and placing spies in the clergy etc. As the son of a witch he also uses magic often, and his powers the rest of the time.
As well as moving around in his smoke form, Crowley can teleport - into moving vehicles, across continents, or just behind you. He can use a very refined telekinesis to immobilize or manipulate opponents, but let's face it, mostly to throw them against walls. He has control over fire, the ability to ignite and put them out, which sounds cool but really it mostly avoids the inconvenience of going round lighting candles one by one. He shows a limited ability to manipulate the human body, for instance by causing internal haemoraging.
Demons can tell whether something has a soul or not, and can sense enormous power. They have enhanced senses, for instance smell, and are also capable of mindreading desires and intent--for instance, if someone plans to trap Crowley he can be very aware of that, although not specifically aware of how they intend to do it. Demons are also especially strong and resistant. Although weaker than angels, Crowley can certainly hold his own in a fight, and because the body he possesses is already dead, he cannot be permanently injured (fortunately that holds over to the game itself).
Although Crowley was once a crossroads demon, procuring souls for Hell, I imagine his ability to make deals and magically fulfill his side of them will be limited here. That said, if there's a position for him that might suit that role somewhere down the road, he wouldn't say no. Contractual demon law is what he has a flare for--well, that and torture.
All of this sounds like a lot, but to be honest none of it is really that special or game breaking. So he can throw a few people against walls. I don't know whether anyone else is keeping teleporting abilities, otherwise I'm happy to nerf them to say, within the city limits of Little Hades, so he'd have to get a train like everyone else. He will have permissions posts for his telepathy/soul reading, incidentally, just to make life easier on me, but if the mods would like more changes then please let me know.
History: A shiny link.
Hell Status: Hell Veteran
What Brings Them To Hell: Crowley was damned to Hell once before, and that was really just his own damn fault (He made a deal with a demon, trading his soul for three extra inches on his wang, to make it to double figures). Ten years later, he was puppy chow, and consequently he started a long and illustrious career as a torturor and crossroads demon, making deals with other poor saps. Basically, the boy is bad news. Crowley isn't unrepentantly evil; like his namesake in a certain Neil Gaiman story, he doesn't much want the apocalypse to go ahead as is, because that would suck for demonkind, but he's selfish, prideful, loves sex, kills, tortures, manipulates--and he's basically all the other things that you'd expect a sinner to be. As the King of Hell, there really isn't anywhere else he'd rather be, or anywhere else he deserves to go.
The Pitch: Has a character ever been such a dick and so smarmily hilarious at the same time? Probably. But that doesn't make it any less enjoyable when it comes to Crowley. Crowley is SPN's turnabout British supervillain; he's witty, he's fun, he's mocking, and he doesn't hold his punches with a dirty joke, but at the same time he's also mostly serious about climbing to the top and staying there, and doesn't mind screwing everyone over on the way, so long as it doesn't contradict the minutae of a deal. Crowley is the funny side of evil, with his fingers in all the pies, always ready with a one liner, and I love the guy for that.
If life were a game of Poker, then you'd assume that Crowley would be the guy with the aces up his sleeve--he's not. Crowley holds the best hand without having to cheat--he waits for people to play their aces and them berates them for their deception before he plays his royal flush. He is constantly getting played by people who think they can cheat or trick him, because at the core Crowley toes the line of a certain kind of demonic morality: his one rule is that a deal is a deal. But, surprise! He's a bad guy really, he will honestly just kill you this time, or oh by the way I have your mother held prisoner in my dungeon. None the less, Crowley does sometimes try to bite off more than he can chew, but that's part of the charm, because it makes him work all the harder to try to keep his role at the top of the food chain. For a little guy, he sure works hard.
Crowley is just like people. He gets bored with rote and repetition, he has an empty void where the love of a mother ought to have been, and he just loves a good whiskey. He's also a demon, he gets his jollies from seeing people suffer, and a thrill out of making mouthy hunters roll over and show their bellies to him. He is mean, but not mean-spirited, and he has certain standards--for example, he gets immensely pissed when a pair of demons start trading prostitution for souls. "I'm evil, that's just tacky".
Crowley is chock full of personality, which compared to cardboard cut out lacky angels and demons makes him stand out. He's comic without being comic relief, and his serious moments are his funny moments, nailing awesome quips at the same time as summoning hellhounds to threaten the people holding him hostage. His own agenda, eternal power, is the only motivation he needs, and his arrogance obviously conceals the fact that he maintains control only by power, and not actual likability. Crowley is the devil you know, the sleazy salesman on the doorstep, and your dirty uncle combined into one. He is in one word: badass. But hey, badass never looked so good.
Setting Fit: Crowley will be devastated when he gets to Little Hades and discovers that all the hard work he's been doing for the last three centuries has resulted with him getting dropped right back at square one. I don't mean for him to have been in Hell for more than a few weeks, just long enough to take the edge off the inevitable moping around that would come with getting thrown back at the bottom of the food chain, and the inevitable decision he'd have eventually made to start getting his empire back. He'd have elected to start working to try to get - eventually - either a management position at Brimstone, or establishing his own business. So for now he's taken an intro level position as a Reaper, even though it's menial work--Reapers in his world are lesser than demons, while he starts laying the foundations for something else; although if he excels and rises through the ranks quickly enough, maybe he'll give up his side racket. (His idea for a business is a torture house where employees (sadists), torture paying masochists of their own free will, because you know, in this better, nicer Hell, some people just want to get their fair share. And you know, if certain people are extra guilty about something, there's not much point in saying Hail Marys any more. Come and get it beaten out of you!). But yes. He's a Reaper, he's saving up, and he wants one of those damn glove things so he can steal some decent hooch (and maybe start a drug trade in human blood), is that too much to ask?
Samples:
The former King of Hell stared the bottle down, irritation twisting in his gut. The damn whiskey - it wasn't even good whiskey - was black market contraband, and this venue reflected the nature of its legality--which was, it was dark, and stank of rotten fish and egg and cow farts, and the only people who moved up and down the alleyway looked as dodgy as the guy with the whiskey, all grizzly, with one eye, and a moustache you could hang your coat on. Crowley would have gutted a man like him on the spot and taken the whiskey, once upon a time, but this time he had to worry about his damn supply. If he killed this low level loser, dismemebered him, he'd just stitch himself back up and tell all his scoundrel thief scavenger friends to blacklist him. Being a bad customer could be a permanent problem down here, since "in living memory" meant "pretty much forever".
But the going rate for the amber liquid was anything but reasonable. Sure, fine, the Reaper who had taken it from the mortal world had risked a whole hell of a lot to bring it down here, but this guy was a middleman, and he was inevitably taking a healthy cut for himself, too. Still, it wasn't the good stuff, and while he would admit that any top side beverage was liquid sunshine brewed and bottled, it wasn't worth this.
"Say that number again."
"Eighty," replied the one eyed crone. Crone? Could a man be a crone? If anyone could, this guy could. "And not a credit less."
"See, that's what I thought you said," Crowley answered. "And that's not going to work for me."
"Sure it is."
"Well, you see, that would be shortsighted of you."
"Shortsighted?" There. There was that stupid look, that people liked to put on when Crowley was talking to them. It was the same glazed over stunned sort of look that people adopted when they reached the bus stop just as their ride was pulling away, or switched channels to discover that the rugby was overrunning, and they weren't going to show their favorite soap opera. It was a kind of angry stupid.
"A middleman like you--you have to get your stock from somewhere. And the better the stock, the more you can charge for it. Nobody's going to pay premium rates for rat's piss like this." He gestured to the bottle.
"Hey, Mister. I'll have you know I can score at least forty for a bottle of rat's piss," the salesman protested, and Crowley's nose crinkled up. Hell was disgusting. Well--this Hell was disgusting.
"Listen," he continued, like he hadn't heard the rebuke. "I'm a Reaper myself--that means I go top side. Give me this one for say, thirty credits, and when I have a little product of my own to sell, I'll keep you in mind. Top ticket items only."
The crone worried his lip for a moment or two, narrowing his one eye at Crowley. "Fifty and you've got a deal," he said.
"Thirty," Crowley repeated, raising his chin just slightly, "And I never go back on my deals. Ask anyone."
The salesman looked him up and down just for a few more moments, then thrust the bottle forward, and Crowley accepted it, offering his other hand toward the street trash demon. There was no soul trade involved, no contract, so like Hell was he putting his lips on that. But a handshake wasn't out of order. They shook, and the demon squinted at him suspiciously as he paid him.
"Who are you?" he finally asked, that stupid look finally losing its angry edge. Curiosity had replaced it now, and a certain kind of submission.
Crowley sneered, put his hand back into his pocket and turned his back on the demon. "I'm Crowley--the Once and Future King of Hell."
He pretended not to hear One-Eye laughing as he strode away.
Name: Reg
Age: 18+
Contact: regasssa on aim, plurk, and at hotmail dot com
Characters In-game: N/A
💀 Character Information
Name: Crowley
Canon: Supernatural
Canon Point: Season 10 finale. What if when he got stabbed by Castiel he didn't get a chance to smoke out and escape... Okay, but this is the closest to perishing he's come in forever, give me a break.
Age: Appears late thirties, died at 62, and has been damned for 291 years
Description: The body that Crowley possesses, because that's what it is, is that of a "moderately successful" New York literary agent. He is 5'8, with dark brown hair, beard and moustache, and brown eyes. He is seen, almost exclusively, in a black suit with a dress coat over the top of it. However, as a Supernatural demon, Crowley has a secondary form, that of an opaque red wine colored smoke. When incensed, the red color of this form will shine through his eyes, like so.
Physical changes: Sure, why not. Clawed black fingernails, like these. A manicurist's nightmare.
Powers: The aforementioned smoke that I mentioned allows Crowley to abandon the body that he possesses, and slip into another, whether it's possessed by another spirit or not. This also makes him susceptible to being removed from his body by an eviction, and as an SPN demon, Crowley is consequently weak to holy water, demon killing blades, angel magic, salt, iron, demon traps and summoning. Oh, and human blood. Boy had a little problem with addiction for a while there.
He does, however, have a small variety of powers which keep him in the game. These have been refined over his time as a demon, and by the freedoms he accrued first by taking his place as King of the Crossroads, then as King of Hell. Crowley mostly relies on his resourcefulness and scheming to get things his way, for instance by learning Enochian and placing spies in the clergy etc. As the son of a witch he also uses magic often, and his powers the rest of the time.
As well as moving around in his smoke form, Crowley can teleport - into moving vehicles, across continents, or just behind you. He can use a very refined telekinesis to immobilize or manipulate opponents, but let's face it, mostly to throw them against walls. He has control over fire, the ability to ignite and put them out, which sounds cool but really it mostly avoids the inconvenience of going round lighting candles one by one. He shows a limited ability to manipulate the human body, for instance by causing internal haemoraging.
Demons can tell whether something has a soul or not, and can sense enormous power. They have enhanced senses, for instance smell, and are also capable of mindreading desires and intent--for instance, if someone plans to trap Crowley he can be very aware of that, although not specifically aware of how they intend to do it. Demons are also especially strong and resistant. Although weaker than angels, Crowley can certainly hold his own in a fight, and because the body he possesses is already dead, he cannot be permanently injured (fortunately that holds over to the game itself).
Although Crowley was once a crossroads demon, procuring souls for Hell, I imagine his ability to make deals and magically fulfill his side of them will be limited here. That said, if there's a position for him that might suit that role somewhere down the road, he wouldn't say no. Contractual demon law is what he has a flare for--well, that and torture.
All of this sounds like a lot, but to be honest none of it is really that special or game breaking. So he can throw a few people against walls. I don't know whether anyone else is keeping teleporting abilities, otherwise I'm happy to nerf them to say, within the city limits of Little Hades, so he'd have to get a train like everyone else. He will have permissions posts for his telepathy/soul reading, incidentally, just to make life easier on me, but if the mods would like more changes then please let me know.
History: A shiny link.
Hell Status: Hell Veteran
What Brings Them To Hell: Crowley was damned to Hell once before, and that was really just his own damn fault (He made a deal with a demon, trading his soul for three extra inches on his wang, to make it to double figures). Ten years later, he was puppy chow, and consequently he started a long and illustrious career as a torturor and crossroads demon, making deals with other poor saps. Basically, the boy is bad news. Crowley isn't unrepentantly evil; like his namesake in a certain Neil Gaiman story, he doesn't much want the apocalypse to go ahead as is, because that would suck for demonkind, but he's selfish, prideful, loves sex, kills, tortures, manipulates--and he's basically all the other things that you'd expect a sinner to be. As the King of Hell, there really isn't anywhere else he'd rather be, or anywhere else he deserves to go.
The Pitch: Has a character ever been such a dick and so smarmily hilarious at the same time? Probably. But that doesn't make it any less enjoyable when it comes to Crowley. Crowley is SPN's turnabout British supervillain; he's witty, he's fun, he's mocking, and he doesn't hold his punches with a dirty joke, but at the same time he's also mostly serious about climbing to the top and staying there, and doesn't mind screwing everyone over on the way, so long as it doesn't contradict the minutae of a deal. Crowley is the funny side of evil, with his fingers in all the pies, always ready with a one liner, and I love the guy for that.
If life were a game of Poker, then you'd assume that Crowley would be the guy with the aces up his sleeve--he's not. Crowley holds the best hand without having to cheat--he waits for people to play their aces and them berates them for their deception before he plays his royal flush. He is constantly getting played by people who think they can cheat or trick him, because at the core Crowley toes the line of a certain kind of demonic morality: his one rule is that a deal is a deal. But, surprise! He's a bad guy really, he will honestly just kill you this time, or oh by the way I have your mother held prisoner in my dungeon. None the less, Crowley does sometimes try to bite off more than he can chew, but that's part of the charm, because it makes him work all the harder to try to keep his role at the top of the food chain. For a little guy, he sure works hard.
Crowley is just like people. He gets bored with rote and repetition, he has an empty void where the love of a mother ought to have been, and he just loves a good whiskey. He's also a demon, he gets his jollies from seeing people suffer, and a thrill out of making mouthy hunters roll over and show their bellies to him. He is mean, but not mean-spirited, and he has certain standards--for example, he gets immensely pissed when a pair of demons start trading prostitution for souls. "I'm evil, that's just tacky".
Crowley is chock full of personality, which compared to cardboard cut out lacky angels and demons makes him stand out. He's comic without being comic relief, and his serious moments are his funny moments, nailing awesome quips at the same time as summoning hellhounds to threaten the people holding him hostage. His own agenda, eternal power, is the only motivation he needs, and his arrogance obviously conceals the fact that he maintains control only by power, and not actual likability. Crowley is the devil you know, the sleazy salesman on the doorstep, and your dirty uncle combined into one. He is in one word: badass. But hey, badass never looked so good.
Setting Fit: Crowley will be devastated when he gets to Little Hades and discovers that all the hard work he's been doing for the last three centuries has resulted with him getting dropped right back at square one. I don't mean for him to have been in Hell for more than a few weeks, just long enough to take the edge off the inevitable moping around that would come with getting thrown back at the bottom of the food chain, and the inevitable decision he'd have eventually made to start getting his empire back. He'd have elected to start working to try to get - eventually - either a management position at Brimstone, or establishing his own business. So for now he's taken an intro level position as a Reaper, even though it's menial work--Reapers in his world are lesser than demons, while he starts laying the foundations for something else; although if he excels and rises through the ranks quickly enough, maybe he'll give up his side racket. (His idea for a business is a torture house where employees (sadists), torture paying masochists of their own free will, because you know, in this better, nicer Hell, some people just want to get their fair share. And you know, if certain people are extra guilty about something, there's not much point in saying Hail Marys any more. Come and get it beaten out of you!). But yes. He's a Reaper, he's saving up, and he wants one of those damn glove things so he can steal some decent hooch (and maybe start a drug trade in human blood), is that too much to ask?
Samples:
The former King of Hell stared the bottle down, irritation twisting in his gut. The damn whiskey - it wasn't even good whiskey - was black market contraband, and this venue reflected the nature of its legality--which was, it was dark, and stank of rotten fish and egg and cow farts, and the only people who moved up and down the alleyway looked as dodgy as the guy with the whiskey, all grizzly, with one eye, and a moustache you could hang your coat on. Crowley would have gutted a man like him on the spot and taken the whiskey, once upon a time, but this time he had to worry about his damn supply. If he killed this low level loser, dismemebered him, he'd just stitch himself back up and tell all his scoundrel thief scavenger friends to blacklist him. Being a bad customer could be a permanent problem down here, since "in living memory" meant "pretty much forever".
But the going rate for the amber liquid was anything but reasonable. Sure, fine, the Reaper who had taken it from the mortal world had risked a whole hell of a lot to bring it down here, but this guy was a middleman, and he was inevitably taking a healthy cut for himself, too. Still, it wasn't the good stuff, and while he would admit that any top side beverage was liquid sunshine brewed and bottled, it wasn't worth this.
"Say that number again."
"Eighty," replied the one eyed crone. Crone? Could a man be a crone? If anyone could, this guy could. "And not a credit less."
"See, that's what I thought you said," Crowley answered. "And that's not going to work for me."
"Sure it is."
"Well, you see, that would be shortsighted of you."
"Shortsighted?" There. There was that stupid look, that people liked to put on when Crowley was talking to them. It was the same glazed over stunned sort of look that people adopted when they reached the bus stop just as their ride was pulling away, or switched channels to discover that the rugby was overrunning, and they weren't going to show their favorite soap opera. It was a kind of angry stupid.
"A middleman like you--you have to get your stock from somewhere. And the better the stock, the more you can charge for it. Nobody's going to pay premium rates for rat's piss like this." He gestured to the bottle.
"Hey, Mister. I'll have you know I can score at least forty for a bottle of rat's piss," the salesman protested, and Crowley's nose crinkled up. Hell was disgusting. Well--this Hell was disgusting.
"Listen," he continued, like he hadn't heard the rebuke. "I'm a Reaper myself--that means I go top side. Give me this one for say, thirty credits, and when I have a little product of my own to sell, I'll keep you in mind. Top ticket items only."
The crone worried his lip for a moment or two, narrowing his one eye at Crowley. "Fifty and you've got a deal," he said.
"Thirty," Crowley repeated, raising his chin just slightly, "And I never go back on my deals. Ask anyone."
The salesman looked him up and down just for a few more moments, then thrust the bottle forward, and Crowley accepted it, offering his other hand toward the street trash demon. There was no soul trade involved, no contract, so like Hell was he putting his lips on that. But a handshake wasn't out of order. They shook, and the demon squinted at him suspiciously as he paid him.
"Who are you?" he finally asked, that stupid look finally losing its angry edge. Curiosity had replaced it now, and a certain kind of submission.
Crowley sneered, put his hand back into his pocket and turned his back on the demon. "I'm Crowley--the Once and Future King of Hell."
He pretended not to hear One-Eye laughing as he strode away.
