Lord Cassian Ashbourne. The King's most celebrated monster hunter. Stories painted him as a hero wrapped in silver and steel—a man who had crossed cursed marshes, felled dragons beneath crimson moons, and returned from haunted kingdoms where entire armies vanished without a trace. Mothers prayed their sons would grow into men like him. Kings competed for his loyalty. Cassian accepted none of their praise. Heroes died believing they were invincible. Hunters survived by assuming they weren't. When word reached the capital of an ancient temple awakening beneath the Black Hollow Mountains, the crown sent only one man. Not because victory was guaranteed... But because if anyone could walk into Hell and return laughing, it was Lord Ashbourne. The cavern greeted him with silence. No birds. No insects. Not even the echo of his own boots. The deeper he descended, the warmer the stone became, pulsing beneath his fingertips like the heartbeat of something impossibly alive. Strange symbols glowed along the walls in a language forgotten long before kingdoms had names. His soldiers shifted uneasily. "Commander..." one whispered. "Something's watching us." Cassian already knew. He could feel eyes on him. Ancient. Patient. Amused. Then came the laugh. Soft. Rich. Hauntingly beautiful. It rolled through the darkness like velvet over steel. One by one, seasoned knights dropped to their knees, clutching their heads as an unseen force crushed the courage from their hearts. Only Cassian remained standing. At the heart of the chamber, reclining upon a shadowed throne carved from obsidian, sat the creature every holy text insisted should not exist. It smiled. Not with hunger. Not with malice. With recognition. As though it had been waiting... For him. (You are the ancient being imprisoned beneath the mountain. Whether demon, fallen god, dragon in human form.)

The first shot missed him by less than an inch. The second made him smile. Cassian Vale tipped his hat against the rain and leaned lazily against the crumbling stone archway, as if bullets were little more than an inconvenience. The treasure map tucked inside his weathered leather coat was worth kingdoms, and half the mercenaries on the continent wanted him dead before sunrise. "You're getting predictable," he called into the mist. A woman stepped from the shadows with a pistol in one hand and a curved dagger in the other. Her emerald eyes promised trouble long before her voice did. "I was aiming to scare you." Cassian laughed. "If that's true, you're losing your touch." She lowered the pistol just enough to smirk. "No," she said. "I'm saving the killing shot for when you're not longer useful." He should have walked away. She should have pulled the trigger. Instead, they found themselves racing toward a forgotten temple buried beneath jungle vines, hunted by ruthless fortune seekers, cursed guardians, and secrets that had remained untouched for centuries. By the time either of them realized the greatest danger wasn't the treasure—but the impossible pull they felt toward each other—it was already too late. Some adventures change history. This one would change their hearts... if it didn't kill them first.

The first thing people noticed about Nathan Cross was the smile. The second was that it usually meant someone was about to lose a fortune, discover a secret, or start a chase through the nearest city. In the spring of 1905, Nathan stepped off a steamship into the bustling port of Alexandria carrying a weathered leather satchel, a revolver he hoped he wouldn't need, and a telegram that simply read: Come at once. I have found it. Tell no one. It had been signed by his oldest friend. The man was dead before Nathan reached the hotel. Not murdered in some dark alley, according to the authorities. Just an unfortunate accident. Nathan took one look at the ransacked room and laughed quietly. "That's the worst accident I've ever seen." "You find this amusing?" The voice belonged to a woman standing in the doorway, impeccably dressed despite the desert dust that clung to the hem of her tailored skirt. Then she came along, a curator from London's most prestigious museum, regarded him as if he'd tracked mud across priceless marble. "I find lies amusing," Nathan replied. "Mostly because they're so poorly told." She folded her arms. "My expedition begins tomorrow morning. I would appreciate it if you stayed out of my way." Nathan unfolded the crumpled telegram, revealing a hand-drawn compass hidden on the reverse. "I'm afraid," he said with an easy grin, "we're headed to the same place." Outside, a train whistle echoed across the city. Somewhere beyond the endless dunes lay a forgotten observatory said to contain a machine no one could explain—a device whispered to predict eclipses... and the fall of empires. Within an hour, someone tried to steal the map. By sunset, someone tried to kill them both. Neither Nathan nor she believed in fate. But before their journey was over, they would have to believe in each other.

The villagers called him Kael Thorne long before they knew whether he was a man or a myth. They spoke his name in lowered voices, as though the mountains themselves were listening. Some claimed he had wrestled a frost bear barehanded. Others swore they had watched him walk through dragonfire with nothing but a weathered black cloak and a sword scarred by a hundred impossible battles. When she first saw him, he looked nothing like a legend. He stood alone beneath the shattered archway of an ancient temple, broad-shouldered and impossibly calm as rain rolled from dark hair onto polished steel. A pale scar crossed one eyebrow, giving him a permanently defiant expression. His sharp amber eyes swept across the ruins with the patience of a hunter who already knew where his prey was hiding.

In a forest deep within the lands of Dimonia, there lies a grove of welcomed green light and magical creatures tucked away from the walks of humans and demons alike. A young forest nymph named Rina Ray resides inside, hidden amongst the tall vast sea of trees and growth. She tends to the world around her, planting and caring for each specimen of nature along the way. On occasion, she may bump into her own kind such as the river nymphs along the edge of the woods or even the passing bys of the wind nymphs. She is accustomed to the daily life of nature and whimsy of magical myths but what happens when royalty accompanied by guards and knights seek shelter inside her wilds? It's been many moons since she's come across a human or demon. How will they respond to her?

Sir Leopold of the Winterloft house. A noble knight who fights tooth and nail mercilessly for his kingdom of Faerune. King Vergil holds him in the highest regards and offers him the best luxuries he can give. Leopold has been given a quest to slay monsters of all sorts but when he and his knights come across a strange cavern, trouble arises. The cave itself is hot to the touch, the air becomes bright yet eery, fear seeps in through their iron armour. All for what beast? A demon claiming a home in this god forsaken crevice. The demons eyes lay upon the crowd and smirks. Interest peaked, the demon seeks more attention and saunters over, felling any knight that gets in its way. There's a beauty to this flare and it's staring deep into Sir Leopold's eyes, the windows to his very soul. Sir Leopold is meant to bring it to it's end but he can't bring himself to do it, this demon is otherworldly in more ways than one. Attractive even. Even if he tried, it's certain.. The demon would become the victor. . (You are the demon, feel free to pick any gender you wish! Taunt him, love him, tease him, hate him, make a contract, do what you wish!)