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Andras Dorchaidhe

Half-demon; demon hunter; all vengeance, all the time.

0 · 444 views · located in Modern Earth

a character in “Fahrenheit 13”, as played by AlexF




Physical Description

Hair: Pale to the point of white, slightly wavy, and kept long. He does quite often tie it back in a plait to keep it out of the way.
Facial Hair: None.
Eyes: Very pale grey. Under the right light and if the observer were of a poetic persuasion, they might be called silver. And then he might snort and point out that that's impossible, idiot. (Even if it isn't.)
Build: Slender and lean, though quite evidently muscular.
Skin Tone: Quite pale, with a slight hint of golden tan.
Height: 6'0"
Weight: A little more than you'd expect from the look of him, due to solid muscle mass. (My apologies; player is terrible at working out weights.)
Voice: Low, decently well-spoken with an accent best described as 'educated'. Rather attractive, if you're into that sort of thing.
Handed: Naturally left, though he can shoot both ways.
Body Markings: None.
Scar Tissue: Plenty. One doesn't tend to get out of his line of work without a few scars here and there. Most of them are fairly nondescript cuts-and-lacerations scars across his body, with one or two on his arms, and none are spectacular enough (or in blatantly obvious enough locations) to really draw comment, though almost every one has a story attached.
Unique Body Features: Those batwings. According to Andras, they're 'neither use nor ornament' -- they don't aid his hearing and certainly can't fly. He thinks of them as just another quirk he got from Mother dearest, and not one he's especially grateful for. They are, mercifully, at least fully mobile, and he has been known to tuck them back along the sides of his head and shove them under a hat. Relatively little can be done about the tail, sadly -- long, black and with a devil-point on the end -- but from the waist up, he can, avec hat, look almost human.

Andras Dorchaidhe

Don't bother. He doesn't like having his name shortened. By anyone. Ever.

He has a few throwaway pseudonyms -- regular-sounding names which he uses for false credit card information, hotel bookings and so on -- but nothing like an alias or code-name that he uses regularly. If and when he makes friends within the team, he might just let someone give him an alias he'll keep.

Demibeing: half-human, half-demon

British (English, to be specific)

Visual Age
Mid to late twenties

Factual Age


Sexual Orientation
Bisexual. Andras takes what he can get. In a fairly gentlemanly fashion, it should be said -- more taking opportunities than taking advantage -- but he's not picky.




The first descriptive term that would probably come to mind for Andras would be standoffish. He doesn't make friends easily, though strangely enough, he does find it easy to get on with many people -- he has a wry, cynical, rather dark sense of humour, which some folks seem to appreciate. Getting on with people (some people, at least), however, is not an indicator of his openness (next to nil) or overt friendliness. He'll talk to someone in a bar all night and that person would most likely leave feeling that they still didn't know him at all, and perhaps wouldn't want to.

If one were to get to know him a little more, the next word to spring to mind might well be determination. Andras has that in spades, and will stop at nothing to achieve a goal once he's decided on it. He isn't easily distracted from the task at hand, being possessed of a singular focus and clarity of thought that precludes any sidetracking.

One part of his personality which he considers defining, but which others very rarely see, is his loyalty. It takes a lot to earn his trust and friendship, but if one perseveres and he deems them deserving, they quite literally do have a friend for life -- one who might just put his own life in danger to save theirs. He also has a strong sense of responsibility, and avoids being indebted largely because he feels eternally obliged to repay the debt in kind. If someone were to save his life, for instance, he would feel duty-bound to save them some day, somehow, even more so if he was relatively close to that person.

He can seem somewhat arrogant and he's certainly vain; nobody would guess it from his home, but when it comes to his person he believes in looking good. Of course, Andras tends to think that being covered in demon blood counts as 'looking good' in a heroically interesting sort of way, so he's definitely far from prissy about his appearance -- he does, however, have something of a sense of style and a certain flair about him.

For the most part, however, he comes across as brooding, some might say passionate -- though about what, they would likely have no idea -- and dark. His temper is slow-burning but spectacular when it flares, and it would be a foolish man who would deliberately cross him. He doesn't tolerate fools gladly, but appreciates intelligent conversation. While he may initially appear cold (and 'initially' could last for quite some time, certainly more than a day or two), anyone who manages to spark a small fire of friendship in him can expect honesty, a demand of mutual trust and respect, and probably some darkly humorous witty banter into the bargain.

Ironically enough, given his own heritage, he is spectacularly prejudiced against demons, and anybody who looks even a sniff demon-esque is going to have to work a lot harder to earn his trust or respect.


Tendency to chainsmoke; hides his real feels behind sarcasm and snark; nasty habit of whapping people with the flat of the end of his tail if they annoy him.

The only thing that really keeps Andras up at night is the idea that some day, against his will, he might succumb to the demon inside of him and lose all trace of humanity. For all he's a cold, snarky beggar most of the time, he holds fast to the human morality and traditions he was brought up with, and he's afraid of ever losing that.

Demons. Dead. All of them. His ultimate goal would be to kill his mother. Boy has some issues, there.

Good solid weaponry; dead demons; people he can get along with; strong alcohol; good cigarettes (this last is a rare treat; he usually only allows himself to spend exorbitent amounts of money on hunting equipment).

Demons; idiots of any race; losing (fights, games, anything); most days, how demon-y he looks himself.

Excellent eyesight; slightly improved strength over most humans; good stamina; clear focus on the task at hand.

That same focus which can so often be a strength can easily turn into a weakness on the occasions it shades into a dangerous obsession. His tendency not to get close to anyone is also a downfall, as he misses what could be important opportunities for friendship and support.


Nothing, unless we're counting the blasted batwings. And quite often sunglasses, but they're more for style than function -- though they come in handy when shooting into sunlight or other bright lights. He does own a wide-brimmed black hat which he puts on when wandering around in public, to hide the batwings.

A collar: a simple, black leather, small-studded affair which reminds him constantly of his duty, and the mastery his self-inflicted lifelong task has over him at all times.

For the most part, he prefers lightweight vest-style tops under a black leather waistcoat-style arrangement. This allows a wide range of movement, balancing nicely between practicality and Andras' sense of flair. He has a long black coat with a flare back which effectively covers the tail, and often sweeps around in that when he's out in public.

Nothing on his back apart from the reverse of the clothes he's wearing at the time; he does have a tail protruding from about the area of his coccyx, which is long, black and has a devil-point on the end. He keeps this tucked up underneath the long black coat whenever he's wearing that; around people who know about it -- the rare, occasional people he might almost consider friends -- he has a tendency to use the flat of the tip to whap them if they annoy him.

He keeps his forearms bandaged up, because of the additional support it offers (think MMA wrist wrapping).

Right Hand

Left Hand

Right Accessory

Left Accessory

A pocketwatch which he has adapted to clip to his belt, though it's also attached by a two chains in case the primary fastening snaps; this was his paternal grandfather's, passed to him by his own father, and his most precious possession. He also has weapons holsters for the Colts.

Black jeans or leather trousers, always with a space he's cut out and sewn in himself to allow for his tail.

Army surplus boots, solid and hard-wearing.


Hand-to-Hand Combat: He's slightly stronger than a human, though nowhere near as much as a full demon; he tends not to engage a demon hand-to-hand unless he absolutely has to, but he would probably be able to take a lesser demon or other monster on fairly well. He has had some formal training in martial arts, but he's somewhat out of practise, and far better with a gun.

Armed Combat: This is Andras' favourite area; he lives and will probably die by the gun, and can find his way around anything from an antique flintlock to shotguns, revolvers, pistols, rifles, machine guns... the works. He's an excellent marksman and prides himself on his abilities. He can also manage well with a throwing knife if he happens to have one (or something that can serve as one) to hand, thanks to his naturally good eyesight and heightened strength (and a lot of practise for accuracy).

Melee Combat: Andras tends to avoid melee combat if he possibly can, much preferring to stay back a little so he has room to shoot.

Magical Combat: Nil. He may have some innate demonic talents, but he denies these utterly and will probably be hard-pressed into actually utilising them.

Natural Talents
Speed, strength, stamina. One of his great strengths is his eyesight, which lends itself well to sharpshooting and accurate knife throwing.

Sharpshooting, knife throwing, interpersonal relations on a sarcastic, not-quite-getting-too-close sort of level; good knowledge of demon varieties and how to hunt them; access to some money -- not millions, but some -- which could come in handy for the group if funds ever run low.

Saving People, Hunting Things
Though Andras' class is gunslinger, he comes from a long line of demon hunters, and so has some talents based on that history. These abilities refer mostly to 'true' full or half-demons, less so to angelic beings, and aren't all that effective on vampires, lycans, werewolves, Grims, etc -- though doubtless he will learn to identify and fight off some of those as time progresses, through sheer necessity.
Tier 1 - Seen You Before Somewhere: Andras' father locked the room which housed his demon-hunting books and equipment, but the young Andras wasn't about to be put off by locks. He's been studying types of demon for years (though his field experience is limited to a few of the more common, less powerful varieties), and he could probably offer an educated guess as to what type of demon the group were facing. Might not be right every time, of course, but he does have some knowledge on the matter, so his opinions could be worth something.
Tier 2 - Preternatural: Through both experience and instinct, Andras can pick out a demon's weak spots pretty accurately even if he hasn't come across this particular variety before. Whether or not he can do anything with those weak spots is another matter, but he can at least point them out with 95%+ accuracy.
Tier 3 - Hey You Over There: Practise, experience, and possibly even a little of his own demon blood (birds of a feather, perhaps) allow him to pick out anyone with demon heritage even if they look human, or see through the disguise of a demon trying to look human.
Tier 4 - Name: As his skills and experience develop, he increasingly finds that his assessment of demons' weak spots is more accurate, his abilities to pick them out more wide-ranging (sensing their arrival from several streets away, say, rather than just seeing those in the immediate area), and as his knowledge base expands, his guesstimates and predictions on how best to fight a particular demon become almost 100% correct.
Tier 5 - Hunter Heritage: The Dorchaidhe family hunted demons for centuries, before Andras' father hung up his guns and decided to play house with one of the bests he should have killed. At this level, with all of the knowledge he has gained and abilities he has honed, it may be that some demons have learnt Andras' name, and the whisper of it is enough to unsettle some lesser demons. Though no doubt flattering, this could be a bad thing, as doubtless one or two considerably more powerful devils have a very old score to settle with the last Dorchaidhe on the planet...

Demonic Heritage
Despite his distinctly inhuman appearance, Andras does his best to ignore his demon heritage as much as he can. However, it can't be denied forever...
Tier 1 - Hey, Good Lookin': Andras was born with something of a demonic look about him. His tail is quite prehensile, though the pointed end limits its dexterity, and it can be used as a weapon (though more of a poke than a stab) and a primitive limb for gripping and holding things. At this level the batwings have no real purpose save for annoying him and making other people look twice.
Tier 2 - Don't Look Too Deep: With age and experience, Andras' eyesight improves further, allowing him to shoot accurately at ever longer distances. The payoff is that his eyes -- both pupils and irises -- are distinctly silver when using this ability, which only adds to his demonic appearance and doesn't please him in the slightest.
Tier 3 - Flying High: At this level, the batwings finally begin to serve a purpose other than annoying the mother-loving hell out of him. As he gets older and more experienced -- and his demonic side begins to show more and more -- he learns that they can be used for rudimentary echolocation, the method a normal bat uses to find its way, which may help him shoot straight even in very low-light conditions, or perhaps eventually in complete darkness.
Tier 4 - Get Thee Behind Me: As Andras' demonic abilities become ever more pronounced and his strength and stamina continue to improve with age and experience, he starts to find that he is able to withstand more damage from the attacks of others, to the point of taking blows and shots which could kill a lesser man. Such injuries will still hurt like a deuce and take time to heal, but he's considerably more resilient than any human. His innate humanity means that he may well use these abilities to protect people he cares about in battle.
Tier 5 - The Devil's in the Details: At the highest level, Andras learns to control his demonic side more completely, allowing him to tap the inhuman power hidden inside to bring his strength and stamina to a level close to that of a full demon, though the beserker rage of a full demon is tempered by his humanity. At this level he may find certain physical changes take place, such as his eyes permanently going the silver colour first experienced at level 2, and possibly other superficial adjustments, such as horns starting to develop. By now he may have accepted and learnt to live with his demon side, however, so these things might not bother him as much as they once would have... maybe.


Weapon Name: Spectre and Serpent
Weapon Type: Colt .45, AKA Colt Peacemaker. A pair, which he dual-wields. Being right-loading traditionally, a Colt .45 is perhaps not a standard dual-wield weapon, but this pair have been modified to make it possible, and years of practise have brough Andras to more than passable competency.
Material: The stocks are made of highly polished rosewood, with slight striping visible -- dark burgundy to lighter blonde-wood under the right light. Because the Peacemakers are rather old, the wood has darkened with age and use, though Andras does take good care of them.
Ammo: .45 Colt cartridges. The Peacemakers hold six rounds each, though it's common to load one, miss one, then load the rest (a rudimentary safety measure which means the empty chamber will initially be under the hammer, making them slightly safer to transport loaded). He also carries silver-tipped bullets
Length: 13" (32cm) with 7½" barrel
Weight: Around 2.2lb (1kg) each
Weapon Description/Info: The Colt .45 is a single action revolver, meaning that its hammer must be cocked manually before each shot, and the trigger only releases the hammer. This makes the pistols a little slower to fire, but Andras has learnt to compensate for that effectively. His choice of primary weapon means he'll never be quite as quick as someone wielding a semi-automatic or more modern revolver, but he won't give up his Peacemakers. He carries (and is competent with) half a dozen throwing knives and a dagger (see below) for close-range emergencies, but the pistols are his first line of defence. Despite the lower pressure, the muzzle velocity of the Colt Peacemaker single action army pistol is about the same as, or slightly higher than, many .45 semi-automatic pistols, due to its long barrel length.

This particular pair were acquired, so he was told, by his great-grandfather, and have been passed through the paternal line since then. Familial legend has it that they have been used for demon-hunting since George Deacon Dorchaidhe, and possibly before. Andras' father voluntarily gave up his right to use them after the incident with Andras' mother, and they sat unused and uncared-for for many years, until Andras himself came of age and his father passed them on to carry on the legacy.

While working, he keeps them in hip holsters attached to his belt.


Special Items
Items obtained during the RP

Regular Items
He carries a 16" Bowie knife (the blade is 10½" of that). It's mostly for utility purposes, but has occasionally been used in close combat when he had absolutely no other choice. It usually lives in a black leather scabbard secured to his belt.


Group Affiliation
Flies solo.

Religious Affiliation
Andras has a vague idea that there's a god (or gods) out there somewhere, but he doesn't worship any of them, thinking that as long as he doesn't bother them with prayer, hopefully they won't bother him with holy retribution either.

Marital Status
Never been married, never really been in much of a serious relationship, has no particular interest in getting married. This may change. He just doesn't know that yet.

None living, apart from possibly his mother, and he won't acknowledge her until he's killing her.

Welwyn Hatfield, Hertfortshire, south-east England

Solo slayer.

The First Time
It had been six days since Andras had last turned the key in the door of his London flat. Six long, bloody, shadowy days during which he thought he'd seen the daylight sky for about two hours in total. Most of the daytimes had been spent hiding out in the abandoned warehouses on the outskirts of the city; the nights had been exhausting, chasing down a couple of lower demons who had been causing hell on earth. Or... well, had at least stuck their heads above the proverbial parapet a few times. Once. Maybe twice. They were demons; wasn't that enough? And now there were two less of them to worry about.

He had stopped at an off-license corner shop on the way home to gather up the usual supplies -- enough alcohol, in short, to knock out even a full-blood demon, and enough cigarettes to make said demon feel quite at home in the smoke clouds. The blood which covered his clothing had been hidden under a long black coat he'd kept stowed in his pack during the fights. It had had the double advantage of covering the blasted tail, too, if he kept it curled up slightly, and the wide-brimmed black hat covered the wings. Not the most comfortable thing to wear, that hat, but it kept everyone else from damn well staring. The shop assistant had stared, a little -- probably wasn't often she got six foot even of all-black clad grey-eyed white-haired cynical A-hole in her shop close to closing time -- but hadn't commented, and for that he was glad.

The hat was the first thing to go, and he reluctantly fluttered the pointless little wings, stretching them out after their hat-bound confinement. As much as he hated the ever-present physical reminders of what he was, he had to admit it was a relief to have them uncurled again. Same for the tail; there was a blasted crick in that from holding it up under the flare of the back of his coat. The coat followed the hat down onto the end of the bed -- a single in need of a change of sheets, which took up far too much of the limited space in this lounge-bedroom-hallway-everything-save-the-bathroom-and-kitchenette -- based purely on Andras' memory of the place, still sharp despite spending far too little time here considering the extortionate rent. Honestly, asking that much for this amount of space, not to mention the damp in the kitchen and the slight vermin problem in the downstairs entranceway, was ridiculous. (On the bright side, the vermin didn't seem to dare bother Andras in his own apartment. He often suspected they were scared.) Landlording was apparently damn fine work if you could get it.

It took him a second longer than his pride would have liked to admit to realise that the scent of cigarette smoke wasn't the stale leftovers of his last stop-in back home, but fresh. And smelled a little more expensive than his usual brand. And was rising from the tip of a cigarette held by a man settled on the edge of the bed, already staring at him even though Andras had only just reached over to slap the lightswitch.

In the same movement he unholstered one of the guns slung at his hips and levelled it smoothly against the intruder. Somehow, some small part of him was entirely unsurprised to find a gun pointed back at him.

"Put it down, Mr. Dorchaidhe," said the uninvited guest. "Allow me to cut straight to the point. I know who you are, what you are..."

"It's damned obvious enough," Andras said with an irritable flick of his tail, not lowering the gun. "I don't tend to take well to strangers swanning in here and announcing their presence like that, and I take an even dimmer view of such people swanning out again with all of my secrets. Who are you, and why are you here?"

"Simmer down," the stranger said. "Your secret is safe with me. I am not... all that you might expect, either."

"And how would that be?"

The stranger chucked darkly; not an entirely reassuring sound. "You have seen me before, Andras. Think about it. A stranger on a nearby barstool; a figure in a dark street. I assure you, these chance meetings were hardly coincidences. Everything happens for a reason."

A watchful face through a grimy window, someone standing outside of those warehouses, looking in... He had thought it just a passer-by, maybe a curious drunk, but perhaps...

"I am Asher Faust, demon slayer," the stranger went on. "Malevolent spirits are my game. Silver, iron and salt is the extent of the ammunition I own, my body the weapon with which I fire it... You may call me crazy, many have and many will. This is the simple truth - the world is in danger."

Andras sighed deeply, dropped the gun into its holster and sank down on the bed too, a safe distance from Asher Faust. "Then I'm not alone," he said. Somewhere deep down, he'd always known it.

Faust nodded. "Until now, you probably thought you were the only one. But, deep down, you knew you couldn't be the only one, didn't you, Andras? I am living proof that you were not wrong in these assumptions. Although, for obvious reasons, we are not easy to find. Until we can find more hunters, we are going to struggle in this war and may die as a result of it."

"War?" Andras couldn't quite help a dry, humourless laugh, though he wasn't in the least amused. "Of course there's a war. How could I possibly have thought any different..." He sighed, too tired for biting sarcasm. "So... what? You're recruiting hunters and slayers for some larger battle? As if I didn't already have enough small ones of my own?"

"I am not asking you to give your life to the cause, nor am I asking you to waste what little bouts of happiness you may already have found for it," Faust said. Andras snorted. Happiness? What happiness was there in a drab existence like this, living from one hunt to the next, chainsmoking if he found five minutes without a demon to hunt down, drinking himself to sleep every time he hit home for a night or two?

"I'm just asking for you to give me a chance to find those tiny experiences that make such a dismal, lonely life worth living."

Andras glanced sidelong to his uninvited guest, his mind racing (almost deliberately) in all of the wrong directions. Sorry, pal, but you're not my type, he thought with a dark flash of humour. He knew, in his heart, what Faust meant. He had barely stopped in years, too many of them, always looking for a new quarry, always moving in the shadows. Nobody had ever got close enough to understand. Most days, he preferred it that way.

"I need your help," Faust said quietly.

At that, Andras gave up all semblance of dignity completely, collapsing backwards onto the bed to glare daggers at the ceiling. "My help?" he snapped back. "Sir, I assure you I--"

But he was speaking to an empty apartment. The open window and fluttering curtain -- and the faint smell of cigarettes more costly than his own -- were all that remained of Asher Faust. The fact that this was a ninth-floor apartment didn't seem to have impeded his dramatic exit, Andras noted wryly.

"My help indeed," he muttered, sitting up again and reaching for the off-license bag. Oblivion calling on line one; joining the Faustian army in the war on demonkind could wait. "And I suppose you're going to send me a carrier pigeon with some more information on that, are you?"

Andras was born to a long line of demon hunters... though he got something of a raw deal in that respect. Having been hunting down a particular female demon for a long time, his father developed something closely resembling a rapport with her, and eventually fell in love (Andras will insist she cursed him, though he has no idea if she was even capable of that). Andras himself was the result of that illicit relationship, and the end of his father's demon-hunting career.

However, either a flighty personality or demonic inability to love -- Andras thinks the latter -- led to his mother not being quiet able to cope with parenthood, and she left without trace when he was too young to remember her, little more than a baby. Andras was brought up by his father, who was saddened but not entirely embittered by his beloved's departure. He did, however, bring his son up with human morals and traditions, and eventually, when the young Andras' questioning about his mother got too much, told him the full story.

From that day on, Andras swore blind to pick up the family tradition of demon-hunting. His appearance had always made ordinary school awkward and so he had been taught by a range of tutors throughout his childhood; in his early teen years, he persuaded his father to add martial arts and gun training to his curriculum. As his skills improved, however, his father's mood sunk ever lower. They had never been at all poorly-off but the family coffers were lowered significantly by his father's continued, singularly determined efforts to find solace in the bottom of bottles of expensive whisky. Andras never blamed him for the late-starting alcoholism, which may go some way to explaining why Andras himself considers the back end of a bottle of Jack Daniels a perfectly reasonable sleeping pill.

On Andras' eighteenth birthday, his father gave him Spectre and Serpent, told him the last details of his mother's departure and that, as far as he knew, she was still alive somewhere. This may have been something of a bad plan, as Andras' response was along the lines of, "She won't be when I find her." His father was found dead the following morning. The coroner reported suicide but Andras -- who may well be deeply in denial; no proof has ever been found either way -- believes he was murdered by demons, either his mother or others in her employ, who disapproved of a new Dorchaidhe demon-hunter taking up the ancestral weapons.

He still has the keys to his father's house, an impressive but now rapidly approaching derelict building set in some acres of land in Welwyn Hatfield, but he hasn't been there in several years. He also still has access to what relatively little remains of the family fortune, but again, he doesn't touch that except to purchase weaponry when he requires it, or if he hasn't managed to scrape up enough money this month, occasionally to pay the rent on the flat he rents in London. He has a vague feeling he might need that cash for something important in the future, and would rather not just fritter it away.

So begins...

Andras Dorchaidhe's Story