Sin of the day - GLUTTONY


Current location - A witches cellar


Last thoughts - "Cunt of a hag." 


Status - Empowered.











  • Male



  • Cambion



  • "None of your fuckin' business." |functionally immortal|



  • Short, messy black hair.  Moss green eyes, the skin around which is darkened, as though from a lack of sleep.  He stands 6'1" tall and weighs 195 lbs. 

Irra is lean, toned as if he actually bothered to care about visiting a gym, but definitely no body builder.  He boasts broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long powerful legs.

He bares numerous scars upon his being, normally veiled beneath layers of clothing.  The most prominent of which rests on his left shoulder.  It is the mark of a powerful werewolf.  His bite, spanning in a wide arc of puncture wounds across a portion of Irra's chest and near his collarbone, very close to base of his throat.  Obviously, Irra's genes kept him from transforming, but the venom made it hard for the wound to heal properly.  It aches in the presence of wolves - supernatural, or otherwise.  








Irra is a creature born of darkness, so he's been led to believe.  Yet.. he doesn't share any of the weaknesses displayed by his demon-blooded kin.  No power found within a Church, or even within a true Holy Man has ever had any effect on him, at least.. not in the sense it was meant too.

The true reasons behind his spiritual.. tenacity is something he's always considered to be the result of his lineage.

Physical damage can hinder him - but to his knowledge there's nothing out there that can actually kill him, and while magic can bind him, slow him down, he's yet to encounter a sorcerer strong enough to contain him  for long.  






He is a natural thiriokinetic, so with a glance he can turn a loyal dog against it's master, dominate the mind of a wild animal, and make it as kind and gentle as a domestic kitten.  Unlike most demons, animals are naturally drawn to him, almost as if they see him as one of their own.  A side-effect of this inherent skill is the ability to communicate with animals, as easily as he'd communicate with a human.  In a sense, it is a form of mind control - he cannot be denied.


Other natural abilities include ehnaced strength, speed, and general reaction time.  He has boasted on numerous ocassions he can hear a persons heartbeat as soon as they enter the same room, be able to tell one person from another from the distinct music the heart, and see farther than any human, to smell rain, and snow, and sense a storm before it hits.  These feats are possibly just bravado, but only Irra knows for sure.


With his connection to the astral, he has the ability to slip between planes - but he is unable to sense where one plane intersects with another without outside help - or the use of magic. 

That being said - despite his apparent youth, he's got quite a few years under his belt, been around a while.  He knows where quite a few "doors" are located, and he knows the price to pay in order to get them to open.  These are well guarded secrets, powers in their own right.  

3823224167?profile=RESIZE_710xHe is also no stranger to magic.  True, pure magic.  Not the rudimentary chicken-scratch performed by human sorcerers at the behest of some other power, nor the time consuming craft of witches -- his was inherent, not learned.

He can do many things, perform multiple spells at once, with a reservoir of empyrean energy inside him so deep it is potentially limitless.

Over the years, he has used his powers to change his physical form and appearance, materialize demonic meins, alter the weather of entire continents, conjur energy weapons - fire, and electricty, rebound hexes, and even summon mid-tier demons to fight for him.

Really, the sky is the limit.  His magic needs no words, no ingredients to cast, although he himself may demand payment in the form of blood.. rest assured it's for personal use.

His final ability is one he'd rarely call upon, even in the most dire circumstances.  Honestly.. he views it more like a curse, than a power.  He is.. connected, in ways he's not sure he'll ever fully understand to a primordial entity.  He is a host -- but he is more than that.  He is a doorway.

In short, he has the power to become a physical manifestation for a creature known to him only as.. Void.






November 27

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  • Irra was of interest to Noita, even if she would rather die than admit he was. Below the skin deep looks was something with a darkness that she couldn’t even fathom. His power and confidence didn’t intimidate her or make her adverse to him. It intrigued her to see someone who didn’t stray too far from how she saw herself.


    However, Noita suspected that the power displayed wasn’t in its entirety his own.

    Rather, she was sure he was tapping into some source that was tethered to him, evident by the change in personality everytime he did use the abilities made available to him. One moment, he was The Big Bad Wolf- wild and scary. The next, he was Mister Ice, all cool and collected, just and dangerous. 


    Suddenly, her attention snapped back into what he was saying, and she scoffed, waving a hand to dismiss the attitude he had tossed at her as if he was some disgruntled beast that had it’s rest disturbed by her questioning. “You are free to leave if that’s what you wish.” 


    She quickly strutted past him, heels clicking on the before, pausing only to toss a look back. “You were always free to leave with whatever thing it is that you are tapping into. The witch was no match for you or it from the start, and I can’t grasp why you let her keep you around here this long.” A bemused smirk stretched her lips, and a coyness slipped into her tone.  


    “You were probably bored out of your mind if you  let her get you.” A pause was followed by the casting of the eyes downwards, her focus flickering to the grimoire below. “I’m willing to bet you’re probably still bored out of your mind carrying that thing around for light reading.” 


    Continuing up the steps, and with her attention diverted on Irra, Noita was left completely vulnerable to any outside attacks that she couldn’t sense. Her delightful inquiring thoughts on how Irra was even kidnapped distracted her from her typical awareness to her own surroundings and actions. 


    Unbeknownst to her, danger lurked behind a tree uphill of the cabin, in the form of a sniper peering down a barrel of a rifle. His finger hovered over the trigger, breath twisting out in a frosted ballet due to the cold air, before hitching suddenly as the very tippity-top of Noita’s head came into his field of vision. Then, the hunter’s finger pulled the trigger. 




    Noita fell to the ground. Her body was just a gentle thud against the wooden floor. Silence followed the crescendo of noise, and a stillness filled the air. Her heart wanted to stop beating. 


    However, in defiance of her enemy and Noita’s own folly, her heart would beat on. The same lack of attention to her environment that had put her in danger had also saved her life. Noita had tripped on the stairway and the hollow point bullet shattered in tiny pieces of a grapefruit sized radius against the living room wall. A smattering of broken glass had grazed her cheek, however, she was rather unhurt. 

    Uphill, the sniper reloaded, waiting and aiming for whoever popped up, knowing damn well he had missed whatever monsters were in that cabin. An iron cross pendant held steady against his chest, listening to the heartbeat of a vengeance hungry heart. 


  • //LMaO I know it is you, my dude. My memory is not that bad! 

    That sounds fine, the place getting all fucked up. That club is used to attacks and stuff anyway. It is in the bad part of town, making it the perfect little building to get a good beating. As usual, Ryan would just be there doing her little thing! I have no complaints!

  • While she connected with the little light for a second, Noita almost gasped at what she saw. Every instinct told her to look away, but she knew she couldn't. Had these murders been her fault? How many innocents had died in the attempt to kill Noita? How many deaths were because of her?


    The flashback of the little girl's life made Noita feel guilty. She had tried to protect the witch, not knowing that the violent tendencies was taken out on the innocent like this. Noita had trusted her recruiter would only pick the vulnerable. She remembered meeting this witch, feeling the anger, and thinking it was against a single person. Anger was a second hand emotion, and behind anger, was always some sort of sadness or hurt. But behind this witch's anger was insecurity. 


    How stupid was I? How fucking useless am I? Noita even knew that the witch had weakened their link. She had felt it. But she figured it was the witch just being scared, and Noita had shrugged it off in a 'I'll just gain her trust over time' manner.

    Shaking her head in small disappointment, Noita looked at Irra. Irra the Irritated. The nickname and his own irritation made her smile in a mischievous manner. There was a glint in her eyes, this little look of aha! as she ran her fingers through her hair.


    "She can at least be at peace, something she didn't have. Hopefully," Remembering her guilt, that smile dropped again, and she looked to the little orbs. "Hopefully these guys can get a second chance or a little well needed rest," glancing at the orb of the child, Noita's guilt flashed across her face. "They didn't deserve their endings, but everyone deserves peace. So I'll just make sure my daughters give these people." Her eyes flickered back to the body.


    She betrayed me. She took advantage of their trust and inability to use magic. She even died, fucking stupid bitch, leaving this for me to clean up. 


    The anger was back. The room hummed, a small vibration being sent through it. Noita's eyes closed, her lips pursed, and her eyebrows knitted in concentration. Like an orchestra conductor, Noita's right hand twitches, and slowly, the chunk of meat that was the witch's tongue dragged across the floor, into the witch's mouth. The witch's arms crossed, her eyes and mouth closed, and all the blood spilled on the floor, on the witch's white clothing and still in the witch's corpse, would rise out and up into the air. Noita's left hand twitches, and empty 5 gallon drum fell off the bottom shelf, before rolling up onto its side, the lid rising open, the blood dropping into the bucket, and then it being promptly shut. With the blood of the room cleaned up, it was back to focus on the body. 


    The dead witch looked at peace. Noita stretched her palms open and outwards, and slowly rose her hands up, and in sync, the body levitated into the air. The table on the other side of the room was suddenly vibrating too, and the jars on it would clear to one side of the table, with just enough room for the body. The body floated in the room, before dropping hard onto the table. Noita's eyes opened. The humming stopped. But the body seemed at peace finally. "She's better looking now then... ripped apart." That was all Noita could offer, and she wasn't wrong. 


    Changing the subject, Noita looked at the source of light in the room. "She seperated the souls from the body." She was looking back at the little spirit flames. "So, I can either bind them to an object, or even a plant, a pregnant animal in order to be reborn, or find their bodies, bind them to their bodies and lay their spirits to rest. I'll leave that up to them when my daughters get here." Noita sighed, leaning against a wall, her fingers anxiously scratching the inside of her arm. Almost shyly, she looked up at him. This stranger had seen the product of her cult and the worst of her anger, and she didn't even know him.


    How embarrassing.


    Thinking of something to say, she breathed steadily to help herself and avoided eye contact. "I'm sorry for my rudeness. I didn't mean to offend." Even if she got amusement from irritating him. Finally, she let her eyes meet his, and there was curiosity that pooled in them. 


    "What do you want? You talk about how she wanted something. and how we'll see if we get what we want, but... What do you want?" Everyone wanted something, and he couldn't be much different, she figured. This was human nature, and Noita could sense some of that humanity in him, even if it wasn't a lot. Plus, giving him what he wanted may give Noita an advantage in the long run.

  • “Are you The Mother?” 


    Yes, she was The Mother. She was the one tasked with protecting the witches of that particular cult, witches like the witch that was dead. That was the purpose she had made for herself. He defiled it and now he asked her questions. Anger bubbled up within. His question would strike a cord, and she went to brace herself against the wall without thinking. 


    Noita could feel everything that had happened as soon as she knelt on the floor by the body, her hand touching the concrete wall to brace herself. Every murder that had happened in this concrete journal, the sorrow of the blue souls that still lingered, the woman's awful insecurities and mental issues, the anger of her words in the Grimoire and even Irra's lust for revenge, along with that satisfaction he got from killing the witch.


    Just based on the negative emotions alone, Noita realized what her ‘daughter’ was planning to do to her. The betrayal evoked the most violent, primal parts of Noita, and she felt her self-control break for a second. The pentagram on the floor suddenly would pulse, and shadows flickered out of it, licking at her ankles, before vanishing as Noita recollected herself. The clear emotional vulnerability was over, and in seconds, there seemed to be this detachment in her voice.


    Noita understood clearly the situation she had just walked into by touching the building.


    “I am." She leaned off the walls, finally having her bearings. Facing him, an eyebrow raised. "Though you’re not one of my children.” Gently, Noita cusped her hands around one of the spirit orbs, letting it rest in her open palms. Her disposition was one of glass- her emotions were transparent, and while she seemed fragile and in a vulnerable position, there was the threat of her being too sharp to handle. 


    However, she seemed more harmless to the spirits, and basked in their blue glow. Sleep hung at the corners of her green eyes in the forms of light circles, and the gentle blue light of the spirits shone across the highlights of her face, accenting her button nose, full lips and sharp bone structure. She welcomed them with the ghost of a smile, before gently urging them away and looking at Irra. Her smile fell in what might be called disappointment. 


    “You killed her with a vile kiss.” Noita said, as a dismissive tone. “She knew your kind. I know your kind. But I’d rather not be rude.” Her eyes flickered over his form like a dying candle flame, before stopping on the grimoire. He was handsome, but the Devil always dresses nicely. Pride taunted her, but she ignored her pride, setting it to the side for now. “And she was allowed to call me Mother, even if she… betrayed me. You shouldn’t call me Mother or The Mother.”


    A deep inhale indicated that she was tired from all the feeling that she had to do on a normal basis, and being here had exhausted her and caught her off guard. Noita could still feel her own powers trying to draw on the energy here, but she knew better. The energy here was bad, tainted by Irra’s summoning and the death that was present. Taking in this energy was the equivalent of eating extra sugary sweets- it was bad in the long run. 


    “Please, call me Noita. And I would rather you not try and kill me like her intent was.” Noita deadpanned, before side eyeing him. “Do you plan on keeping the Grimoire, Dahmer of the Witches?” She asked, sarcasm and tiredness dripping from her voice. “And do you know anything about the world you’re in?” She realized that he might not. He felt older, like her, and he was inhuman. How long had it been since he had last been summoned?

  • The Grimoire was a perfect reflection of what the witch had been: powerful and power hungry. The layout of the pages were all neat and tidy, each spell centered around control. Besides diagrams of heaven and hell, questions littered Grimoire, seeping of worry.

    “How can I make him love me?”

    “How can I keep their souls?”

    Her ambition was made clear through the redundant notes of how to become stronger, and it was clear that the witch would try anything and never stop. Obsessive, manipulative, insecure and angry, she even had notes on the people in her life, stalking entries noted. Confessions to murdering lovers, family and strangers in rituals were sprawled across them. Rants about how everyone else was wrong showed insight to narcissism, and rarely did Irra’s captor admit to her own wrong doings. There was an unsated hunger that she held, and she only seemed to gain pleasure knowing nothing could hurt her. Then, an interesting word popped up. 


    I joined them today. The recruiter said I could achieve what I wanted, get the power I need, but I know she was lying. Before joining, I spoke to other sisters of the cult, and I was intrigued. They had different abilities, all different backgrounds and didn’t really share a belief system. None of them had to go to the Cult meetings, they lived their own lives, and other than attending the rituals that their leader asked them to, and pitching in every once in a while, there’s nothing really cultish about them. 

    However, each one was exceptional in her craft, and there was something distinctive about their energy? It was as if each one had something watching over them, like a ghost or a spirit. I couldn’t pick up on what it was, so I asked. They said it was the Mother’s Protection. From what I’m learning, the ‘Mother’ is the leader. I don’t know her real name, that’s part of the cult thing. No one knows each other’s name. We are all simply just sisters to each other and daughters to her. 

    I don’t like being below that bitch. I want to kill her, absorb her energy. But first I have to gain her trust.

    That was the first mention of the Cult. Her Grimoire went back to it’s normal pages after that, but then there was another entry about the Cult. Her writings seemed angry.


    I did the initiation ritual and I realized what was going on. The Mother required that we mix our blood together, and I thought it was a child’s spell, but then I felt it. I felt her spirit enter my body. The Mother had invaded me, and my spirit was bound to hers. I understood then why the other Sisters were more powerful than normal and why they felt so haunted. 


    The Mother had tainted them.

    And now she has tainted me.


    I was paranoid of what might happen, and she asked about my paranoia when I hadn’t mentioned it. She could feel what I was feeling. She had control of me. I was terrified. I could feel this cunt in every pore of my skin, and I could feel her power. She’s stronger than me, but her power is mine to some extent. When I got home after the initiation, still feeling her so tethered to me, I decided to a severing spell. The connection weakened. I know she can still feel what I feel, but it’s not as invasive, and I doubt she could feel my intention towards her.  


    I need to kill her. I need to understand her ability. I need the power to do that. 


    Her writings became more and more obsessive over the idea of killing The Mother. She expressed a fear of The Mother. The Mother would ask about her anger, but the witch had brushed it off. Behind closed doors, the witch went into a frenzy to find any sort of way to defeat The Mother. Apparently, she even stalked the cult leader, and found that The Mother had no friends or relatives, living in the middle of nowhere with a hawk and a horse. The Mother meditated every morning, and sometimes swam in a river, but there was nothing of interest in The Mother’s personal life.


    Finally, their were notes on the summoning ritual of Irra. The purpose of Irra being there was simple: to kill The Mother. And The Mother had no idea.




    Noita woke up early in the morning with a gasp. She had a dream about the blonde witch that had joined as a daughter recently. Feeling for the daughter’s tether, a short cry left Noita. It was gone. Getting out of bed, Noita dressed quickly, wearing an all black sweater dress that hung loosely from her form. Locking up her cabin, Noita headed towards the other witch’s cabin on horseback. 



    As soon as she arrived at her ‘daughter’s’ cabin, something felt off. Dread filled at the pit of her stomach, and she made sure her horse’s reins were tied tightly to a fence. Anxiously, Noita’s fingertips wrapped around her own throat, brushing and rubbing against an old burn scar of an iron cross laying in her tanned skin. When she first entered the home, she noted nothing unusual. The place was tidy, and it seemed as if the ‘daughter’ had just left. 


    But the kettle was on. Who leaves their kettle on?


    Investigating further, Noita noticed a bump under the rug. A trapdoor perhaps. Removing the rug, she realized she was right, and lifted the trapdoor to the basement Irra was in. Slowly, she descended down the stairs and into the darkness. Each step felt worse than the last. Something terrible had happened here, Noita was sure of it.

    “Daughter? Are you okay?”


    She stepped into a pile of blood that pooled, and when she realized what the body laying in te middle of the room was, horror filled her. “Daughter, forgive me!”

  • Oh yes I see we are, haha Awesome!! As for a story for these two do you have any ideas, I see for his location he's in a witches cellar? Possibly we could add that into our story, or we could do something entirely different. Let me read over your page info and I'll try an think of something :)

  • "Demon boy," the witch scoffs, not looking at him. "So rude, all the time."

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"|Rubs his hands together.|
Aight.  So.. lets do this.  I have a bit of a plot in mind, it's nothing…"
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"A flicker of a grin tugged the corners of his mouth, but never quite formed.  He felt the woman's…"
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"How long has it been..? Days? Weeks? Fuck.. I'm bored.
Yet again, he cracked open his eyes and…"
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