littlesundog | Info/Permissions

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☄ First Impressions

♚ VISUAL: Tall and solidly built, Marshall cuts an imposing impression that is softened both by his warm smile and his off the cuff manner. Typically he dresses in rough work clothes, favoring darker colors as it will be easier to find him should he become lost to the deserts.

Height: 6'3"
Weight: 214lbs
Age: Approx. 27
DoB: 05/22 (World Paloma Day)
PB: Rodrigo Santoro

♚ FASHION: As stated above, Marshall prefers rougher cut fabrics, denims, and leathers in his clothes and trends toward darker colors as a matter of precaution. Unless circumstances call for it-- like matters of politeness-- Marshall will always have a wide brimmed hat with him.

♚ DEMEANOUR: For as intimidating as Marshall can appear, he is genuinely a warm, polite man. His rough manner is tempered by his respect and, while he far prefers the company of animals over people because of the simple honesty, he is quick to befriend others and always acts with altruism in his heart.

♚ AURAL: Soft and slow, easy to understand even with the presence of a drawl in his accent that he can't quite shake. He's well mannered with strangers, but off the cuff enough that he doesn't seem stiff-- rather, he seems more like the guy who lives next door. His base tone sounds something like this, with traces of something notably Mediterranean when he is speaking more eloquently. His singing voice is middling between the tenor and baritone range, and is both as warm and as comforting as a quiet summer afternoon.

♚ OLFACTORY: Dust, grass, storms, leather with touches of sweat.

♚ PERSONALITY: Appearances do little to show Marshall's warm, wholesome nature-- perhaps for the better. A kind, honest man at heart, Marshall's unfortunate tendency toward impulsivity and misinterpretations of social situations would make him unfortunately easy to take advantage of otherwise. He ultimately believes the best in others despite growing up in the South during the Reconstruction period just after the Civil War, and despite having a family divided by the pride and nationalism that ultimately split the Confederacy from the Union. He saw first hand the awful things that divided political loyalties can do to a family and, instead of taking sides and getting involved in the debates, chose instead to keep his nose down, press forward, and do the best he could to do the right thing.

Unfortunately, this naivety at times leads Marshall to make incorrect assumptions about people, such as when he took everything he knew about the young Isabeau in an instant and rationalized that she was a chronically ill young woman-- likely anemic or consumptive-- rather than take his knowledge of folklore, synthesize it to the situation, and reason that she was a Vampire. More often than not, Marshall's errors tend to fall on the side of assuming that someone is better than they actually are-- a case of wishful thinking, perhaps, after spending so long watching the people in the town he grew up in assume the worst instead.

He's loyal and protective to a fault, however. As trusting as he is, once Marshall registers something as a threat to whatever and whomever he cares about, he is impulsive and, unfortunately, has a twitchy trigger finger. His belief in the inherent goodness of humanity means that he has little tolerance for for people acting in ways that are harmful or intolerant of themselves and others, but he is direct enough in his manner that he is not the greatest person to rely upon for verbal words of comfort. He is as direct in his speech as he is in every other matter in his life, and people tend to not take well to blunt statements of the truth in times of emotional turmoil. Marshall speaks more loudly in his actions, and will instead do little things to show support-- leave a space at a table for a weary traveller, offer an arm or shoulder to lean on if someone is distressed and in need of assistance, or even take watch unbidden if he sees that the people around him need a solid chance to rest in order to ease their minds. He will squeeze shoulders or give small tokens rather than say 'I love you' to a suitor-- although, truthfully, he has a difficult time telling when ladies or gentlemen are making eyes at him. He will more likely assume that they are sizing him up for a job instead.

Though plenty smart in his own way, both in practical affairs and in letters, Marshall is not what they call a 'thinking man.' Give him a job to do without making him question anyone's intentions-- that's the kind of life he prefers.

Succinctly: Carey Marshall is a warm hearted, quiet man who is slow to anger, but once his anger is roused he is quick and decisive about taking action... even if he doesn't always give himself time to plan out a correct strategy. This leads to more streaks of bad luck in his life than good, but he is always hopeful for a better tomorrow no matter how dark and bleak today looks. .

♚ MEDICAL INFORMATION: There isn't much to note off hand. He considers himself to be as healthy and as fit as a horse, but after more recent affairs he is prone to migraines and passing out when under too much stress. Of note is the fact that his senses seem far more sensitive than the norm-- a condition that professionals in the psych world call Sensory Processing Disorder-- and he is a terrible shot, due to having burned the retina of his left eye in his own foolishness, rendering him legally blind in that part of his vision.

♚ MENTAL INFORMATION: His short term memory is kind of a mess, and at times it seems as if he's having full conversations in his head... He is smarter than he looks, have no doubt.

♚ MAGICAL INFORMATION: The above is the case because he saw a creature that no living being in recent memory can even recall---- a long forgotten beast of darkness and void who stood taller than the mountains and was utterly blind except to the passing of the sun across the sky-- and everything in the sun's path. Seeing everything ultimately amounted to seeing nothing; not even a being beyond time and space could understand the visions of an entire world in an instant. Good luck to any who manage to anger the eldritch deity.

The entity itself has a magical cleansing capability through it's flames that can nullify most curses it encounters. In practical application for Marshall, this manifests as an anti-magic that rears it's head in the worst moments. Magical attacks do minimal damage, but likewise magical healing has minimal effect.

♚ BRIEF SUMMARY: Carey Marshall is a magic user of an origin that is not understandable by ordinary measures and, although he is a plain spoken yet rough and tumble cowboy, he has found himself in the curious position of being an Eye for a forgotten Sun God. Due to the conditions of his bond with the forgotten Deity, he is unable to speak a word in reference to this and, thus, is unable to explain important matters to people who deserve to know. Unfortunately, his connection with the Sun which knew all that was within it's path meant that he knew everything within those same limits. As an ordinary human cannot process this much information at once, Marshall has a difficult time communicating that which he knows to be true. After helping resolve the gruesome string of murders on a disasterous train ride back east while he moved his family to New York to get his mother medical care for her chronic and debilitating illness, Marshall found himself employed as a part of a team of bodyguards for a child-like Vampire in exchange for monetary support for his family. The system isn't perfect, but it gets the job done-- and, most importantly, his family is kept safe from harm.

☄ OOC

♚ BACKTAGGING: Always!
♚ FOURTHWALLING: Sure, feel free to recognize his face from somewhere
♚ PHYSICAL AFFECTION: Go ahead. He's polite, but is also very tactile in his shows of fondness and affection even platonically.
♚ PHYSICAL VIOLENCE: I'd prefer if you warned me before you wanted to engage in anything that can severely injure Marshall, but he is more than capable in a fight despite being a terrible shot
♚ RELATIONSHIPS: Totally open, for both men and women. Let's just talk first if you want anything involving smut.

☄ Content

♚ Backstory:

Carey Marshall was born in the early part of the Civil War to a Greek immigrant who sought escape from the tense situation that came in the aftermath of the country gaining it's Independence from the Ottoman Empire, Theophane Aristides. Born out of wedlock. Theophane decided to use her skills to assist a disgraced, disgruntled, and crippled soldier, John Marshall, and ended up marrying him by the end of the Civil War. Called Carey, he was adopted by John and is the oldest of a handful of children that were born by the couple after Reconstruction began, while his Father sought work in the shipyards in the South. Although John is not Carey's father, John regardless raised the boy as if there was no question of anyone's blood relations
.
Carey's biological father remained in Greece and was not a subject that Theophane spoke of often, although the occasional sad looks and mention how much the boy resembled his missing father suggested that the man was deeply missed. Whether the man is dead or alive, the family does not know-- but none could say what the future held.

Despite missing a leg due to field amputation from a gunshot wound in one of the early battles of the Civil War, John Marshall was both handy and strong. They lived comfortably just off of the gulf coast of Florida for many years, and during those days Carey put his focus on learning his letters, numbers, and how to speak Greek at his father's insistence. It would make it easier to get a job in the North, was the reason for such a decision for a working class family in the South. A curious boy, Carey quickly took to his lessons and steadily devoured every book he could find in the city library.

A hurricane came through while Carey was in his teens and destroyed their humble home, forcing the family to move West to stay with his father's relatives until they got on their feet. Besides the ruins of homes, little else stood in the town he grew up in. Before they left, Marshall made certain to snag a few volumes from the wreckage of the library-- incidentally, some of Shakespeare's comedies. Once at his Uncle's homestead, Carey found work as a ranch hand to make ends meet for his family so they could live more comfortably. His father helped his uncle with the maintenance of the inn and tavern that the family ran. Maintenance work was the most he could do-- there was tension within that part of the family due to conflicting loyalties during the Civil War, with John defecting to the Union for the sake of his sense of morality and his brother staying with the Confederacy to support their family. Ultimately, the familial ties proved to be more important than base philosphy, but it was cause for a number of arguments over the years. Besides the lingering bitterness between Carey's father and his uncle, his mother had taken ill during the journey from an illness that they would later realize was Consumption. Because of these factors, there were few easy options for the family to thrive.

This continued for long enough into Carey's early adulthood that, after his father's eventual passing of natural causes due to the overall strain on his body from old injuries and overwork, he was the main provider for his family. He often was away from his family and in the fields, tending to the cattle and other livestock that needed monitoring. Between runs, when money was tight, he would take on less-than-savory work in the form of odd jobs and the occasional Bounty Hunt. His success was moderate-- enough to mark him as reliable, but not an overt threat to the peace. One winter's day, New Year's day 1889, the herds escaped the young man's care for long enough that he saw no option but to set forth alone to find them. He succeeded-- at cost.

No one told him there was to be an eclipse that afternoon. No one warned him-- and, like a fool, he looked up as the sun went black and the sky darkened as if it were night. In the distance was a beast-- a forbidding creature of darkness with a terrible maw and eyes that burned like a thousand more suns. The image burned his eye, and was burned into the back of his mind...

The beast reached out across the immense distance... and gently touched his face.

As quickly as it came, it was gone-- and darkness consumed Marshall as he collapsed. The herd of cattle found him sprawled in the grass, and he awoke to being surrounded by them while they snuffled at his clothes and his hair, licked at his arms, legs, and any exposed bit of skin they could find. The return to the ranch was uneventful... but his life was never the same after.

♚ Current Story:

Some weeks after the eclipse of 1889, Marshall set forth to further assist his family. It was late winter, his mother's health was starting to further deteriorate and, struggling to get his vision adjusted after burning the retina of his left eye when he stared down the eclipse and the beast that lurked beyond it, he decided it was high time to help with practical matters. Falling onto his usual strategy of odd jobs and bounties was not an option at that juncture, as he saw his problems to be too much of a liability to his own and his family's safety at that point. Packing up his mother, his sisters-- called Helen, Cora, and Althea-- and his brown and white painted horse Paloma, Marshall took his family back East in search of an apropriate doctor to treat his mother.

Unbeknonst to them at the time, the family had boarded not the economical line but recently debuted line known locally as the Overland Express. Dubbed as the fastest transcontinental line of the time, with stopovers in Chicago and other large cities along the route before disembarking in New York City, the lead designer-- a strange gentleman known as Alan Whitley-- took it upon himself to personally ride the first several voyages to ensure that his designs flowed smoothly. It was a head-end power-- that is, fully electric-- liner that was slowly starting to gain notoreity in England but was still quite the novelty in North America at the time. What the public did not know, however, waswhat sort of passengers the train carried.

Accidentally meeting a young doctor calling herself Portia Belmont while getting his family settled into their hotel cars and making sure that his horse was taken care of, Marshall coordinated with the stranger to see that everyone's needs were met while he tried to shake the niggling sense of unease that had beset him as the train started to move. Since seeing the Beast, he had found himself hearing oddities in the electric buzz that emanated from the artificial lights-- and, when he closed his eyes, he could still sometimes see the burning eyes of that beast boring into the core of his soul.

Portia, charmed by the rough but determined little family, introduced them to her fiance-- the very same Alan Whitley who was the designer of that train. They dined together and chatted, telling stories while Alan seemed obviously distracted and snuck away to attend to other duties without a word of goodbye. When the night moved onward and the passengers turned in, Marshall found that he could not sleep. He heard voices whispering just out of sight. His eye stung if he searched too hard in the darkness.

Loading up his father's old Root Revolver and keeping it by his side, Marshall spent the next several days in transit investigating his suspicions. Being so far out West and so far out of the news circles, he found he was learning a good deal more than he would have wished. Not only was Alan Whitley suspect due to his habit of talking little but smiling as he undertook his disappearing acts, rumor was that Alan's denial to participate in the World Expo of 1888 in Barcelona was part of what had spurred him into creating the liner in the first place. If he couldn't take part, he wanted to create a masterpiece that was far more worthy than anything that had been displayed at the Expo. Further rumors suggested that a lover was involved in the denial-- it had been a torrid, public affair before he and Portia announced their engagement, but the affair was subject to controversy. Homosexual behavior was illegal, after all.

Besides the torrid rumors, however, were other matters. Marshall noticed that his senses were more sensitive than before. Lights were too bright, sounds were more distracting.... He was in over his head in more ways than he had realized.

That was before the murders started.

The family awoke to find that they were given orders to stay in their carriage for the time being-- there was a problem aboard and the staff wanted the passengers to stay secure while they got it rectified. However, whispers made it quickly down the train car by car until the heard the news-- a broadway starlet had been found dead in the dining car overnight-- or, so they presumed from a headcount of those on board. The victim was obviously female, but all distinguishing features had been brutally destroyed. Worried for his horse despite assurances that she was in good hands, Marshall set out to the car she was being kept in by climbing through the window that evening, walking the tops of the train as it was in motion. Once there, what he found left him stunned.

In the car was a wisp of a teenager, looking barely older than 14 and paler than the moonlight-- trying to take blood from the livestock in the carriage... Marshall's beloved Paloma included. A confrontation occurred and Marshall fired his revolver once before a stabbing, crippling pain lanced through his head. For a second he swore he heard The Voidbeast speaking-- "You know not with which you are playing, child" -- and then there was nothing in his consciousness but blackness.

He came to the next morning in a stranger's car. With the curtains drawn, he couldn't see anything at first but the imprint that the eclipse had left in his eye. With his head pounding and his eye burning in the darkness, it was only the stranger's voice that grounded him and clued him into the situation. He was in Portia's car; he had been found at the break of dawn, alive but unconscious. It was at Portia's insistence after she had been alerted that he had been brought to her car and-- as his vision cleared enough to make her out in the dim light, he realized that the young doctor was checking him out for injuries. Marshall explained his circumstances and recent incidents to the doctor, recounting the incident with the eclipse not that long ago. Portia explained to him the situation-- that he had burned the very back of his eye with his foolishness, and that she didn't have the equipment to assess the extent. The damage could be temporary or permanent-- only time would tell.

But, there was more. She had heard reports of the sounds of a wolf on board and wanted to know if he knew anything-- or if there was something more that he wasn't discussing. Marshall, not knowing where to begin, denied knowledge of such matters. Insisting he was fine, he returned to his family...

Only to find them distraught. His sister Althea, the youngest of the siblings, was missing. She had left to search for him, Marshall learned. Frustrated, angered, and frightened by this, he stormed off to go find her before she became another victim.

Not knowing where to begin, he sought the one person on board who had the most connections-- Alan Whitley. Breaking his way into the room unannounced, he found himself confronted with a sight he hadn't expected:

Alan, in a room that had blocked out the sun with the heaviest curtains that could be bought at the time, was tending to the ill-looking teenager that Marshall had encountered the night before.

The teenager interrupted Marshall before he could get a word to pass his lips, stating that she didn't particularly wish to deal with his twitchy trigger finger again. Her name was Isabeau-- a friend, she explained. There were blood-sodden cloths strewn about the room that matched the bloodied bandages covering her mid section. The bullet from the night before had hit it's target despite Marshall's disorganized emotional state.

Quickly, the pair explained: Alan Whitley, in his travels through the esoteric parts of the USA and Europe for much of the 1870s and 1880s in search of a cure for his nervous temperament and inspiration for his craft, had accidentally angered powers that should not have been awakened while combing the Parisian Catacombs. Bad luck had plagued him ever since, dogging his every move and ruining his efforts at every turn. The two had encountered in the underground and, discovering they had a common enemy, decided to work together. Unfortunately the curse that Alan had placed upon him was becoming more and more difficult to combat and they needed to take care of it before it became too dangerous.

As they spoke, Alan had openly given Isabeau a glass full of a wine dark liquid with the consistency of drinking chocolate. Marshall, spying this and recalling the variety of remedies his mother had tried over the years, tried to frame the situation in a manner that made sense to him: Isabeau was anemic.

(She wasn't. He wouldn't realize the truth for an embarrassing number of months: that she was a five-hundred year old Vampire, cursed by her own rage and thirst for vengeance.)

Portia's presence was part of the plan and, as night fell the truth came into light: Alan himself was the wolf-creature slaughtering passengers onboard the liner.

Scrambling, they sought to intercept before it was too late. Althea had long been found and was no longer in danger (as she never had been; she had been snooping around in search for her brother and had ended up in the front of the engine, collecting details from the engineers about how the machine they rode functioned-- clearly, nosiness and twitchiness were inherited traits) but there were still others on board that needed saving. Portia, surprised as anyone by this revelation, joined in the efforts. Alongside being a doctor, she was also skilled in the use of magic and used her skills to the best of her ability-- to no avail.

Bading Portia to stay onboard in the carriage, Marshall and Isabeau took to travel above the cars once again to intercept. They found the Wolf that was Alan and fought, but Isabeau's skills were severely weakened due to her condition and her injuries. Seeing the problem but still not entirely processing the gravity of what he was witnessing, Marshall offered the one thing he could: his own blood.

She was Anemic after all... right?

(She wasn't).

It wasn't much, but it was Enough for a short while. As dawn neared and the Creature showed no signs of relenting, however, their choices were slim: retreat until the next night, or throw the Creature overboard-- taking Alan with him.

But, why not a third option?

Recalling the Voidbeast he saw behind the sun, Marshall sought him out for a third time-- this time, of his own will. 'Dog. I think I need you. What's your name?'

He didn't hear the reply-- but he didn't see anymore as the Voidbeast took over.

Restoring the Wolf that was Alan back to sanity with the cleansing powers of the Voidbeast that defied human belief, Marshall once more was overcome with the debilitating pain that lanced through his head. Quickly his body took over and shut down the unnecessary functions and rendering Marshall unconscious once again.

He slept for the rest of the voyage, and didn't awaken until after they had arrived in New York. His family, worried, admonished him-- and, relenting, Marshall explained the eclipse and the changes to his vision. When he tried to explain further and describe the beast of void and stardust he had witnessed that cold day and the incidents after, he found he couldn't. Words failed him. But his mother, Theophane, seemed to understand the general point:

He had seen what no man should, and he would never see the world the same.

Portia had stayed to attend to him during that time and, once they were alone, Marshall asked her to help him find a doctor for his mother. After a long, hard look she explained to him that the doctors of their current knowledge were entirely wrong about the nature of Consumption, and that there was nothing that a doctor in New York could do to offer a cure. All they had at that point were palliative treatments to make the ill more comfortable-- but it was an infection, not a familial disease. New York City at the time didn't have a sanatorium, and the illness was rampant in the underpriviledged areas. The only things that would help were comfortable, clean living with ready acccess to healthy food and good doctors-- but they cost money.

Marshall insisted. He would do anything for his family. But, with his emerging difficulties, he was in no condition to work as a manual laborer within the city...

Portia suggested that they reconvene with Alan and Isabeau come evening to talk about options. Once night fell, Isabeau approached him in his room with an offer:

Travel with them over the sea to Europe and stand as her bodyguard. She had more than enough to cover all of his expenses and still have extra to make certain his family was handsomely taken care of. Now that the curse upon Alan had been neutralized for the moment, they needed to continue their quest post-haste. Their goal: to find the immortal creature who had both cursed Alan in his desperate search to cure himself, and had also ruined Isabeau's life, and put her in her current 'condition'. Her movements were limited during the daylight hours, and she needed someone who draw attention away from her and act as she directed during those times.

If there were two things that Marshall was good at, it was drawing attention and following directions.

Marshall offered a note of protest: with his vision like it was, there was no way he could guarantee he would do a good enough job as a bodyguard. Besides that, he was a terrible shot.

But, Isabeau pointed out, he was good enough.

Once all affairs were in order, Theophane revealed a secret to Marshall before they said their goodbyes. His father by blood, Dimosthenis Aristides, was alive. His location was unknown, but she handed her son a token from the man he had never met-- the drachma pendant made from an ancient coin from the city of Athens that he had seen his mother wear daily over the years, with a bust of the Goddess Athena on one side and an owl on the other.. It was rare-- few lay people even possessed one, nonetheless took it with them day-to-day. It would be useful when the time came, she insisted. Once they were certain that Marshall's family was settled comfortably, the four of them boarded a freight ship that was headed across the Atlantic. Their goal: England.

♚ World Info:

On a mundane level, the world in essence is the same one we live in, with roughly the same history. Minor details may have changed but, overall, the general flow of history is the same.

The only difference is that it can be best described as Reality... Embelished. All the folktales we were told as kids, from the fae to the vampires, do exist-- but, they exist in the darker sense that has long been forgotten in modern tellings of these stories. Overall they prefer to keep themselves hidden behind many layers in society. An ordinary citizen can spend their entire lives not knowing that there was a shred of truth in the tales that were told to scare them into good behavior while they were young.

This only applies to the 'civilized' parts of the 'underground' elements of society. The Old Gods, lost long ago to the wild imaginations of humanity that were eventually granted shape in the form of innumerable pantheons, long before Christianity even started to take hold in the Middle East and the Mediterraneean, have no such care within their beings. Those who witness the Old Ones often lose Something of themselves-- a sense, a memory, a skill-- and are bound by a state that leaves them Tongue-Tied whenever they try to explain. 'Titans,' Marshall would eventually call these entities. 'That ain't the right word, but it's the one I've got.'

A Note: The Voidbeasts referenced above are these Old Gods. The characters in the story have little to no concept of deities older than the classics and, given how they present, this term seems valid enough. They can succinctly be described as 'elementals'. Any static natural structure, bound to the planet or not, is liable to exist with a consciousness and morality beyond ordinary comprehension. The Voidbeast behind the Sun was the first among these to take a human as it's personal relay-- an 'avatar' if you will. The others have seen this and are jealous-- they want a human 'pet' as well, and are liable to make dangerous or risky decisions in order to get one. They do not exist within human limits of morality and cannot be trusted with human affairs.

The year is 1889. The Location: North America. The Transcontinental Railroad has been running long enough to have a reputation by now, and electrically powered carriage lights on the trains are starting to become the norm in parts of England. Edison had recently left his workshop in Menlo Park, NJ to set up his laboratory in West Orange, NJ, where he would work on and later patent a very early prototype of a motion picture camera, dubbed a Kinetoscope. Nikola Tesla would travel to Paris for the 1889 Exposition Universelle, where he would learn of the recent experiments with Electromagnetic Radiation and become inspired to continue them with gusto. The Civil War had ended nearly 25 years ago. The Victorian Era in England was in it's twilight. With an atmosphere ripe with potential, the opportunities for those who preferred to be unseen boomed in ways that had never even been imagined before.

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