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Species: Human (usually)

Class: Bard

Habitat: Stages, alleys, basements, and dive bars

Disposition: Unpredictable; ranges from melancholic to feral

The musician is a curious and charismatic creature, can sometimes be volatile, often found howling beneath stage lights or brooding over strings and wires. Known to conjure rhythm from chaos, they wield instruments like weapons—plucking, striking, or screaming through them to summon soundscapes that stir the hearts and souls of crowds.

Though not inherently dangerous, musicians are to be approached with caution. Many are nocturnal, fueled by caffeine, nicotine, heartbreak, or sheer madness. Prolonged exposure may lead to obsession, sudden dancing, emotional outbursts, or radical shifts in worldview.

Do not mistake them for mere entertainers. Musicians are conjurers of memory and noise, and their shriek can echo long after the show ends.

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Species: Human (usually)

Class: Bard

Habitat: Shadows, storyboards, city streets, editing caves

Disposition: Obsessed, sleepless, visionary

The filmmaker is a creature of obsession, forever chasing light, story, and meaning through a lens. They trap reality in frames and stitch it into stories—sometimes truth, sometimes illusion. A master manipulator of time and sound, they are capable of shaping minds and even entire identities. The filmmaker weaves spells called scenes, ensnaring the emotions of even the most guarded observer.

Recognizable by their thousand-yard stare and mutterings about “the shot,” they are most active at dusk or in dimly lit rooms filled with cables and caffeine. Approach gently—disrupting their workflow may provoke a lengthy monologue about aspect ratios or funding.

They are both archivists and alchemists, conjuring futures from footage and dreams from dust.

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Species: Human, Witch, or Otherwise Touched

Class: Healer

Habitat: Clinics, quiet rooms, forests, crisis

Disposition: Calm, fierce, burdened

Healers are rare and revered entities, drawn to wounds both visible and hidden. Wielding herbs, tools, words, or simply presence, they mend what others fear to face. Though often mistaken for passive caretakers, healers possess great strength—the kind forged through witnessing pain without turning away.

Some practice in sterile temples of metal and light; others carry roots in their satchels and fire in their eyes. Beware: to be near a healer is to be seen, and seeing can be more terrifying than any blade.

Their magic lies not in erasing pain, but in teaching others how to carry it with dignity.

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Species: Human, Fae-touched, or Dream-Born

Class: Bard

Habitat: Attics, alleys, abandoned warehouses, anywhere with light and ruin

Disposition: Restless, possessed, defiant

The artist is a creature caught between worlds—never fully here, never entirely gone. Armed with ink, pigment, scraps, or screens, they tear open the veil and drag truth out by its teeth. Their work is a form of ritual, often misunderstood, sometimes feared. Each piece they create is a fragment of their soul, left exposed to the elements and to judgment.

They survive on little—cheap wine, found objects, heartbreak—but burn brighter than most. Signs of an artist’s lair include: walls stained with experiments, the scent of turpentine or toner, and a disturbing abundance of unfinished ideas.

Do not attempt to cage an artist. They do not take well to captivity. Their power lies in their freedom to imagine what others dare not.

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Species: Human, Ghost-hosting, or Inkbound

Class: Bard

Habitat: Candlelit desks, libraries, cafés, under bedsheets at 3AM

Disposition: Reclusive, obsessive, sharp-tongued

Writers are solitary conjurers of meaning, known to vanish into notebooks or screens for days, only to emerge muttering riddles or entire worlds. They speak seldom but think always—often rewriting reality in their heads before accepting it as truth.

Possessing a dangerous mix of memory and imagination, the writer’s craft is slow sorcery: a steady drip of ink that can start wars, heal wounds, or haunt generations. They feed on silence, ruin, and overheard conversations. Approach with care—many prefer fiction to flesh and may rewrite you if displeased.

A writer's den is cluttered with drafts, caffeine vessels, and the ghosts of better sentences.

They are both chroniclers and creators, doomed to chase the perfect line that never comes.

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Species: Human (usually)

Habitat: Makeshift studios,

bedrooms, coffee shops, anywhere with Wi-Fi

Disposition: Curious, relentless, deeply opinionated

Podcasters are storytellers of the digital age—part interviewer, part investigator, part late-night philosopher. With a mic in hand and headphones on, they dig into the world around them, one conversation at a time. Some chase truth, others chase chaos, but all of them want to be heard.

They speak with intent, often to no one in particular, trusting their voice will find its way to someone, somewhere. Many record in strange hours, fueled by caffeine, curiosity, and a quiet need to connect. The best of them know how to listen as much as they talk.

If you hear one say “just one more question,” prepare to stay awhile. They’re building something—a story, a moment, a memory—and they’re not letting go until it’s told.

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Species: Human (but often mistaken for machine)

Habitat: Screens within screens, cluttered desks, code-stained notebooks, late nights

Disposition: Inventive, stubborn, lost in their own world(s)

Game developers are world-builders. Not with bricks or stone, but with logic, pixels, and imagination. They craft entire universes from lines of code; universes filled with rules, dangers, and meaning. For them, play is serious work.

Often seen muttering about mechanics, balance, or deadlines, developers live in loops—designing, testing, breaking, fixing. Sleep is rare. Frustration is constant. But when their magic works, it’s alchemy: players lose themselves in places that didn’t exist until someone dared to imagine them.

To outsiders, the developer’s rituals look like madness: whiteboards covered in arrows, dozens of browser tabs open, entire days lost to a single bug. But within that chaos is a strange kind of order—one built on vision, curiosity, and the belief that games can say something real.

Approach gently. Offer snacks. Never ask when the game will be done.

Effects of contact: nerding out, occasional accusations of being lazy (from non-gamers/NPCs/beings that just don’t get it.)

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Species: Human (possessed by timing)

Habitat: Dim stages, green rooms, open mics, awkward silences

Disposition: Wounded, wicked, brilliant

Comedians are truth-benders and tension-breakers; creatures who weaponize laughter to survive, connect, or disarm. They hunt discomfort and mine it for punchlines, exposing the absurdities of life with sharp tongues and sharper timing.

Most are fueled by caffeine, trauma, and the desperate need for connection. They are observers by nature, often watching a room longer than they perform in it. A good comedian knows when to speak. A great one knows when to say what no one else will.

They are jesters, yes, but never fools. Beneath the laughs is often a quiet ache and a mind moving faster than the room can follow.

Beware: if a comedian sees you, you’re already part of the act.

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Species: Human (face-shifting)

Habitat: Stages, trailers, mirrors, the spaces between selves

Disposition: Intense, fluid, hungry for meaning

Actors are shapechangers—beings who borrow souls, wear stories, and slip in and out of lives not their own. They train their voices, bodies, and expressions like weapons, becoming mirrors for the world to stare into, even when it flinches.

They thrive on attention, but not always for ego—sometimes, it’s survival. To perform is to disappear and be seen at once. Many walk a fine line between the role and the real, haunted by characters long after the curtain falls.

Their rituals involve repetition, mimicry, silence, and sudden bursts of raw emotion. A single glance, when honed well, can undo a crowd.

They are truth-wielders disguised as liars. Do not trust what they show you—it’s not for them. It’s for you.

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Species: Human (body-possessed)

Habitat: Rehearsal floors, nightclubs, abandoned spaces, anywhere with rhythm

Disposition: Fluid, fierce, disciplined

Dancers speak in motion, not words. Every gesture is a spell, every step a mark in time. Their bodies are instruments; tuned, tested, sometimes broken, always burning. Where others walk, dancers glide, strike, collapse, and rise again, chasing the perfect moment when movement becomes meaning.

They are creatures of muscle and memory, haunted by choreography and instinct alike. Many train until their bones scream and still return the next day, because dance is not what they do; it’s what they are.

To watch a dancer is to witness devotion. To be one is to surrender to rhythm so fully that the self dissolves.

They do not flee the fire. They become it.

Effects: a belief that you can also do what they do, (sometimes true).

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Species: Human (vocal mimic)

Habitat: Recording booths, sound studios, echoing halls of imagination

Disposition: Chameleonic, precise, unseen

Voice actors are unseen shapeshifters—creatures of tone, breath, and cadence. With nothing but a voice, they conjure lives, lands, and legends. They vanish behind characters, slipping in and out of roles like mist, their real selves always just out of reach.

Their tools are not faces or bodies, but vowels sharpened to blades and whispers woven into spells. They train endlessly: mastering accents, emotions, screams, and silences. Most are haunted by scripts, and speak to ghosts (or microphones) more than people.

Few recognize them in public, yet millions know their sound. That is their gift—and their curse.

Do not mistake invisibility for weakness. Their words linger.

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Species: Human (still, yet striking)

Habitat: Runways, photo sets, dressing rooms, mirrors

Disposition: Poised, disciplined, often misread

Models are living canvases; beings who speak through posture, gaze, and stillness. Their power lies in presence. They become symbols, silhouettes, and projections, wearing the world’s fantasies like armor. But behind the curated expression is a creature of deep control; of angles, breath, tension, and timing.

Trained to become what others want to see, models walk the thin line between subject and object. Some use this to reclaim space, others to survive it. Their silence is not emptiness—it’s precision.

They are often misunderstood as passive. In truth, a model is always calculating: every step, every glance, every frame.

They don’t just wear the image. They become it.