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Jules Restlin

The Dark Light of Eras

0 · 2,266 views · located in The Ruins

a character in “The Multiverse”, as played by Tearen Wover

Description

APPEARANCE

Despite being a lich, Jules appears to be a (mostly) fair looking young man of soft, refined features. He has flowing raven hair that is dressed in brass and gold tassels that drops down to his chest. He wears an incredibly long, hoodless cape of red and black silk, which wraps around his jagged white-and-gold plate armor like a shadowy cloud. One of his most notable features is the third eye on his face, located just below his right eye, which never closes. All of his eyes shine with the dull, red light of Eras.

HISTORY

Despite being relatively young, Jules has a long history in the Multiverse. A native of Terra, he learned several basic principals of necromancy at the relatively young age of 25, and rapidly became fascinated by becoming a lich. When he attempted it on himself, the process was faulty and resulted in him becoming a nearly mindless undead lunatic. After being killed for the first time, he spent some time climbing the demonic ranks of Hell before being resurrected by his own power. Now the Demon Lord of Heresy, he went about wreaking havoc in the mortal world before being slain once again by a cleric. With no way to escape the power of Hell, Jules gave up his demonic powers and pledged service to the eldritch god Nyarlathotep. That didn't turn out well either, so Jules went into hiding to the far reaches of the Multiverse and discovered the deeply magical planet of Gaia. Now, wiser and stronger, he has once again attempted lichdom, and succeeded. Jules Restlin now spends his quiet days in the dark depths of Gaia, researching her dead gods and forgotten past, looking for a way for him to surpass all mortal limits...



BIO
Age: 33
Race: Human Lich
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 93 lbs.
Meta:
- Undead
- Radiates Negative Energy at Will
- Incorporeal Flight at Will
Conditions:
- Undead
Strengths:
- Endless Endurance
- Undying
- No Metabolism
Weaknesses:
- Frail
- Slow

ASSETS
Wealth: Affluent
Land:
-Great Swaths of the Gaian Underdark
-Renovated Ilithid Fortress "Urz'gechal"
Notable Equipment:
- Demonbone Armor
- Brooch of Tenebreth
- Sphere of Despair
Primary Skills:
- Vancian Wizardry: Necromancer
- Diplomacy
- Leadership

So begins...

Jules Restlin's Story

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"Done!" Jules said with a chipper smile, sending the report and slapping his mobile shut and slipping it into his jacket pocket. Seeing as he'd already had a few drinks for the evening and managed to achieve quite a pleasurable degree of malevolent mischief, he went to gather a few things from his table. Finishing this, he inserted his chip into the monitor and payed that evening's tab plus damages. In a final note of venomous irony, he set a 100 credit chip into the tips jar and rattled it loudly, flashing Daniel a venomous grin before swaggering out the doors.

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When behaving in the manner of any respectable eldritch abomination, a given being might be prone to deception, seeding subtle overtones of bestowing a sense of dread on their lessers, and generally being as aloof and manipulative as possible. Such subtleties were lost on Jules Restlin, who, as abominable as he was, was more of a self-made demigod, the steps to his throne made out of more than a few hundred betrayals, lies, and murders. He had earned his persona, and, as such, smashed open the doors to Gambit's with a lingering foot, neither 'fading into existence' or 'oozing through the cracks of reality'. Not that he couldn't do that, but why bother when loud noises always proved to bring him attention. That and...the six or seven brainwashed thralls following him, wearing garish jewelry, smoking, drinking, living in excess, and generally being a nuisance.

The man himself was clad in a dark pleather bikers jacket, the kind one might get at Target for $40 on clearance, dark slacks, a navy blue wife-beater and an extremely slick looking cap, the kind a cabby might wear. His face was feral, with a slight, goatish tuft of chin fuzz and dark wavy hair that fell to a length just below formal but still above 'tart'. As he gradually brought his foot down and issued a challenging smirk to everyone who had cared to physically appear for the night, he whistled to his posse and they all took long, loping strides towards the VIP booth, Jules slashing through the velvet rope with the sharp black talons that tipped his otherwise human hands. To finish their intrusion, they ordered up as much liquor and drugs they could afford (quite a substantial amount), and queued up as much loud and obnoxious death metal tunes on the bar's jukebox as possible. Let them come.

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"I've got a great idea!" said the young man at the head of the posse, speaking loudly despite the scantily clad woman lying on his chest. He casually brushed her aside like a leaf and stoof up, before yelling out. "Libations! For everybody! Whoo!" he yelled, raising his hand into the air. He banged an order onto the screen that was running his tab and a platter of thick creamy looking drinks was brought out to his table. He began passing them out to his posse to pass them out.

"A personal concoction, called the Screaming Scottsman! Sweet and warm! Try it, you'll like it!" he shouted. The gang members would walk around the bar, offering the drinks to anyone who accepted them, with the kingpin looking at them with a cocky sneer, arms crossed over his chest.

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"Oh my..." Jules said, covering his mouth in mock surprise as the music suddenly cut off. "That's no fun! Whatever happened!" he said with a gleeful grin. He pranced off of his perch in the VIP booth over to the jukebox, looking it over before spotting the knife wedged into the wall past the wire. "Hm! Someone seems to have thrown this very, very sharp knife into the power cord!" He pried it out of the wall, and twirled it around in his fingers. He turned slowly before peering mischievously at Scorpion. "I wonder who did that? Maybe they could have...asked? That's what civilized, kind people do, right?"

He would pause, before evaporating into a thick black smog which flew over to where Bumble sat with a loud screaming noise. He re solidified leaning heavily on the back of her chair, looking down at her with the knife in hand. "What do you think, miss? Doesn't that seem positively...brutish?" The other members of the young man's posse were all looking at Bumble now as well, with mixed expressions of contempt and amusement.

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"Oh nothing. I think one of you dropped this." Jules said before swiftly attempting to bury the blade into Tim's shoulder. Success or not, Jules and his posse would promptly all turn back into black smoke which streaked out of the bar with a screeching cackling noise...

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There came a howling wind for the briefest of moments as the doors leading into Gambit's flew inwards allowing thick tendrils of black smoke to surge into the bar. They thundered into each other, winding and distorting to form the shape of Jules Restlin, Necromancer, Disc Jockey, and erstwhile Overlord of Hell...or so he liked to think. But here, in Gambit's bar, he was just a moderately attractive young man. His dress was slightly over the top, with a shiny black biker's jacket, a tan cap, a carbon fiber shirt and black silk trousers. His eyes glowed a soft, acidic yellow, and his fingertips were tipped with black talons. As his shape solidified, he took in a deep breath of the mortal air, eyes gently shut. After a moment, he tousled his wavy dark brown hair and took stock of the others in the bar. Just a bunch of alien looking freaks. Whatever
It was not in his nature, however, to prey upon those who were protected or seemed powerful. A hunter never expended more energy to catch his meal than he would benefit from it. As such, Jules contented himself with taking a seat at the bar, ordering a strange cyan colored drink. He would steal a glance at Eclipse, perhaps even a wink or two. Frankly, it was just fun to be lecherous, and if his chosen victims were always completely off guard, there would be no thrill of the chase and thrill at seeing their dismay upon capture...necromantic and negative energy blooming from his body.

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A thunderclap would resonate from outside, and in the flash of lightning, a horde of silhouettes would be visible outside the bar windows, slowly shuffling towards the dry warmth. They were clad in dark clothes, with only a few yellow lights here and there to adorn their somewhat arcane trappings. Most of them wore something akin to straightjackets, with their eyes hidden by goggles or a strip of cloth. The blast door to Gambit's would fling itself open to allow entrance of the one and only Jules Restlin. On his face he wore a wicked sneer, his mouth twisted into a dark grin. His acid yellow eyes flickered across the patrons darkly, sizing them up like morsels of meat. He wore a shiny black bikers jacket, which hung somewhat awkwardly on his gaunt frame. A tan cap adorned a head of wavy, medium length hair which wreathed his sharply featured face. The dark, silent posse followed him closely, staring at the ground or nothing in particular.

With long, arrogant strides, Jules strode towards the VIP booth. With a rapid swipe, he cut his way through the velvet rope with black talons and stalked up the steps as the rest of his group joined him. After a few button presses, the underworld warlord ordered drinks and legal drugs for his group, which immediately devolved into a rabbling chaos of hedonism and cruelty. Jules also ordered loud music to blare over from the booth's jukebox, as he looked at the rest of the bar challengingly. Oh yeah, he was fixin' to be a nuisance.

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"'Least I don't dress like tarty hipster trash. What's that, a kerchief?" Jules crowed between sips of his flamboyant drink. "Honestly, since when did it become fashionable to dress like a bum? Oh...wait wait...what am I thinking?" the malicious young man said, slapping himself on the forehead with a facetious grin.

"Sorry, the whole one arm thing. You must actually BE a bum, what was I thinking? What, you and your mother have to share it for dinner some time? Huddling around the old burn barrel? Must be. Sorry I misunderstood." Jules said before laughing raucously. He promptly whistled at one of his goons, who trundled over to the jukebox and ordered up another song that was probably just as fruity to them as the last one.

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"Oh? When did this become anything about masculinity?" Jules said, grinning his sharp teeth. His eyes flashed a slight yellow before he pushed the young man sitting on his lap off and hopped off of his couch, clicking his talons together idly as he walked towards the table where the other two were sitting. He watched with mild interest as the large, strapping man commenced to perform great atrocities on the antique. He approached the ruined machine before promptly kicking it into the far wall with a curt kick, smashing it even more thoroughly into smithereens.

Ensuing this, he adjusted his cap and slid up next to Markuss, one of his posse at the ready with a chair for him, placing it at their table. Jules would bring his face what was probably uncomfortably close to Markuss'.

"I like a little brogue in a man. And you do smell good. You'd be a good catch..." Jules said, drumming his taloned fingers on the worn table.

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"Oh, now..." Jules said, placing a slight smooch on Markuss's palm before pulling his face backwards in a leisurely manner. "...don't tell me you're getting flustered over this?" Jules said, flipping a lock of hair out his face. He let loose a drawn out, melodramatic sigh before leaning back in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, though his one foot came to rest on top of Markuss' right foot. "...and I had such high hopes for you too. Seemed like nothing could possibly get you hot under the collar."

Jules' eyes mischievously slid towards Lukas as he blurted out his token threat, to which Jules rose a hand to his mouth in mock surprise. "Oh! I get it now." He said, pointing a clawed finger between Markuss and Lukas. "You two are an item. That's cute, I bet you have great swearing matches. The question is..." Jules said, stroking his chin beard thoughtfully, "...which one of you takes it? I bet it's the big guy. I mean sure, he's all macho and stuff but curly here..." Jules said, thumbing towards Markuss, "...he's got a real spirit in him that just screams domi. Gotta be." Jules said, narrowing his eyes and observing their movements and expressions carefully.

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At this point, Jules wasn't really interested in anything Lukas had to say, though several of his group member thumbed at what were doubtlessly concealed weapons, watching the large man closely. With a devilish grin, the young man stood up as well, gently pushed Markuss' chair out of the way and began to advance on him.

"Uncomfortable. Flustered. Same thing to me." he cooed, bringing up his hand to reach for Markus. Jules was trying to egg the younger man on into following through on his threat and throwing his punch. Jules' natural response to which would be to attempt to catch the blow and put the man in a swift armlock, whereupon he would promptly begin to suck the life from his body. Dinner.

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Oh, well that was even better. As soon as Markuss made physical contact and grabbed, Jules' hand, the channeler would instinctively open a flow of life force between them, which would case two things to happen. First, the human man would begin to feel himself grow cold, weak, and hungry as his vitality was sapped from his body. Second, he would feel his own wracking, smash of genital pain as Jules' power channeled the injury on Markuss' body instead of his.

The sum of these two events in rapid succession would likely have negative effects on Markuss' composure, to say the least.

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"...heh." Jules said, putting his hands in his pockets and blowing his hair out of his face again. "That isn't even what this was about. Man, I got so under your skin!" Jules said laughing loudly, his pointed teeth flashing in the low light of the bar. With that, he would whistle once to his posse, who, though they now had their vast array of illegal weaponry drawn and pointed at both Lukas and Markus, began to sidle slowly out of the bar. They covered Jules as he walked backwards away from Markuss. In the process of retreating, he made sure to pause and unceremoniously tip their table over with a swift kick, sending their unfinished drinks shattering to the ground.

"I'll see you around, dweeb." Jules spat once. There came a chilling wind through the bar as he and the members of his posse began to disintegrate into dark smokey forms which were subsequently carried away on the brisk breeze, out through the cracks of the front door...

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The temperature in the bar would lower somewhat as a new character paced his way into the bar. He was youthful looking, with a newsboy cap pulled low over his eyes and medium length, wavey hair. Stringy in build, he walked with a cocky stride, hands dug deep into the pockets of his pleather racing jacket. He looked around the bar with venomous yellow eyes, their light smoldering slightly. Oh but there was hunting to be done tonight. People needed to learn to fear the bar again. He would be happy to make that happen. He caught sight of the disheveled, oh so deliciously vulnerable girl running towards one of his more recent acquaintances, Markuss, to whom he simply flashed a toothless grin. But no, that wasn't his quarry for tonight.

It was the lonely looking girl in the corner.

With loud steps, he boldly sat next to her and looked her over briefly before smiling warmly at her and flipping some hair out of his face. "Hey, you look lonely." he said, tilting his head slightly.

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Jules Restlin smiled coyly for a moment, looking at her askance with one yellow eye. "I'd love nothing more, miss...?"

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"Naturally." Jules said, shaking her hand daintily. Oh how he would have loved to suck the life from her bones that very instant as her warm, youthful hand touched his own, but no, one such as he reveled in the hunt. "Chad Redwick, erstwhile dabbler in the arcane." he said, offering a half bow from his seated position. His hands would be cold, though strong and firm, and were mostly human aside from the black talons that tipped the fingers.

The setting changes from Gambit's Bar to The Riverbank

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A light would break across Ilyana's head from behind, casting a long shadow in front of her. It was from a light more pure and white than she had likely seen in weeks. Upon turning around, she might see the form of Jules, but never as she had seen him. Brilliant, beautiful, serene. His three eyes still remained, but they burned a fiery sapphire color, and he seemed to be draped in a cloak of mist.

"Adapting, are we?" he asked, his voice distant and echoing. "You really are quite resilient, Ilyana. Despite my unabiding hatred for you, I can respect that."

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"Okay..." Jules muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Wake up time."

With long strides, Jules marched forwards toward Ilyana, and bent down to grab her by the throat as she gawked at her camera. He would hoist her in to the air, and as he did so, Ilyana's world would bend and warp back to normal as fast as a bursting bubble.

Now Jules' appearance would be the distinct opposite, a black, inky mass of hatred and smoke, all three of his yellow eyes burning on a grey face.

"Stop calling me 'Not Gregory'..." Jules said, crudely mimicking Ilyana's accent. "My name...is fucking Jules." he hissed, despite his lack of a mouth. He hated his name, it was so white-bread and impotent sounding. Not that this was the reason he had lied about it in the first place, but he had no reason to be cautious any more. And it was better than being called...no. He wasn't even going to think about it.

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"Of course I didn't. But why blame myself for that when I have you?" Jules growled. He release Ilyana's throat, but she would remain where she was in the air, held aloft by Jules' eldritch powers. He continued to breathe slowly through his nose, even as his words continued to spring forth from where his mouth should have been.

"I didn't subject you to living hell just to see you go brain-dead again. It's time for a something new. But first, we have business to discuss." Jules said. He turned around and cast his hand at the ground. A patch of grass in front of him writhed and ruptured, the muddy dark earth beneath it molding and shaping itself into the shape of Ilyana's other demonic malefactor; Ipecac.

"This...thing..." Jules said, his nose wrinkling in disgust as he turned around again, "...I despise its existence. You will no longer associate with it, and I will not unleash new horrors upon you." Jules said, feeling that this was a bargain no one would pass up.

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"No, he doesn't need you, what the hell are you talking about?!" Jules roared, gesturing at the statue fiercely. He clenched his fist and the entire thing burst into chunks of fetid earth. "He's a stinking, poor excuse for a demon, and he doesn't deserve anything from you. But if you're going to stay all attached at the hip, I'll be happy to go annihilate him." Jules growled, his three eyes flaring up.

The last thing he needed was for that worm to become an object of safety for this girl, and for her to go snuggling up to him like some kind of daughter. Especially since Jules didn't put it past the wretch to just give up on the facade and eat her on a whim. Ilyana was one of Jules' best pieces of art; he wasn't about to have her be a snack.