Heat (OOC, interest check)

[Tipod]

"Buy land. They're not making any more of it." A phrase many real estate agents, developers, and supervillains take to heart. Only in Furrae, there aren't real estate moguls and metropolitan developers taking every inch of land they can; the dark, demented forces of destruction and death, known colloquially as "demons," were busy snatching all the acreage they could handle. Each parcel brought with it power, control, eminence, new heads to stomp and innards to feast upon... and for a while, good times were had by all who weren't being ripped to shreds. But as the neutral gaps between clan turfs were filled, clashes and posturing were common between demons and other unscrupulous beasts, each incidence ending just short of an all-out bloodfeud. Clan Delai begets Clan T'omsen, Clan T'omsen responds in kind to Clan Kilkrek, Clan Kilkrek locks down on its homefront, and so on. War could obviously spark at any unsmooth move, so the only question on everyone's mind was, "where will that little powderkeg be set off?"
________________________________________________________________________

It was another joyless night in the sparsely-lit study, the wavering light of candles casting shadows from various small knickknacks lined upon each endtable, countertop, or other free surface not yet covered with books and old papers, floor likewise marred by scattered pages and documents, or the odd scuffmark by an irate guest. Bookcases lined the walls, sharing their space with several drawers, cabinets and all manner of old oaken furniture, all polished, but none able to truly show their luster in the dimly-lit chamber. What manner of creature could possibly find solace in such a dark and dreary lair?
A simple answer: the demonic elder Lameel "Jo" T'omsen, and his less anal-retentive brother, Kollin. Both hellions' visages resembled tall, vague, and otherwise imposing silhouettes, Lameel's a deep midnight blue and slight hint of leathery flesh, and Kollin's a decidedly rich maroon, canine appearance, though exactly what was anyone's guess (as not many were inclined to inspect him very closely, judging him solely on the pointed, ear-like horns). Both creatures stood at opposites of the room, Kollin in front of the door and Lameel behind his finely-crafted desk.

"Shut the door behind you," Lameel's low, smooth voice commanded. "Kollin, do you know why I asked for your help?"
The red figure subtly raised a brow. "Because your horse hasn't come in yet?"
A light snarl was his reply. "Guess again."
"Your ass is fused to the chair?"
"Three strikes and your head goes on the wall."
"Yeah, yeah," finally giving up the chiding tone. "Something about me not bein' a good enough stalker."
"That's right, Kollin, exactly right." Lameel slowly stood, sauntering around his desk as if speaking with some simpering subordinate. "Now, I'm the first to admit you have an innate sense of smell; as you put it, you could pick up Bartholomew's unwashed ape-musk from ten miles away." The demon casually lifted a small stack of newspapers from the corner of the desk. "So why is it," he continued to speak calmly, "that you've chased him from not one, not two, not three, but four different towns over the course of two months?"
Kollin held up both hands in a plaintive gesture, sensing his leathery brother's mood. "Okay, so maybe I got just a little sidetracked—"
"Don't you dare give me that, you Goddamned savage!" Lameel cursed as he slammed the papers back down. "The problem is you have no self-control. Don't believe me?" Kollin raised a finger to object. "And that was rhetorical, you fool," Lameel snapped sharply. "Just read these headlines: 'man killed in home invasion gone wrong,' 'couple murdered, bodies found behind local tavern,' 'authorities baffled by wanton slayings,'—While you're getting sidetracked by every opportunity for slaughter of helpless meatsacks, Bart is slipping through your fingers."
"Oh, like you've never given in—"
"Do you honestly not see what's wrong with this?!" He shouted, interrupting Kollin once more. "The boy has no friends, no established identity, and sticks out worse than the proverbial sore thumb. Each of your little tallies is being attributed to him."
"So what? The boy could use a little reputation," he answered with a cross of the arms.
"He's nothing but a whelp! Think about it, fool. Adventurers live for these kinds of headlines, stories of some new freak to eviscerate for renown. ...Actually, forget adventurers and consider him just idly walking into someone's territory. Turf is extremely contested these days, you realize."
"Really? You see, I hadn't noticed lately, even as I almost got mauled by one of the Selok clan's boys on the way over."
"Exactly. Everyone's towing the line, seeing just how far they can get before someone takes offense, and then going completely over said line. Bart doesn't know the boundaries like we do."
Kollin sighed quietly, hand drawing slowly over his face. "Bart can take on some unhappy foundling or correspondence course rejects. Honestly, I never see you get so animated over Darryl or Gustav's children."
"Bart is a special case and you know that. Now get the hell out before I decorate my quarters with your entrails." Lameel turned his back, approaching a wooden cabinet. "It's about time I sought some more competent aid."
The red canine gave a short leer before turning to leave, taking his sweet time in exiting. "You know, Lam," he teased, "there was a time you would do this yourself, get your hands nice and bloody like any self-respecting hellspawn would. What happened?"
"I grew up," was his chilly response. "Maybe in another few millennia, you will too."

As the door shut with a click, Lameel picked through the coffer of charts and almanacs. There's only one place left for any runaway to go, he mulled, and that's the last free state for hundreds of miles: the sweet, sunny pastures of Brossburg County...

_______________________________________________________________________

Wanted, Dead or Alive: Bartholomew Thompson, four separate counts of murder, two counts of assault with intent to kill, and five counts of petty theft
Known aliases: "Cueball", Mutt
Height: ~6'1
Weight: ~185 lbs
Eyes: Brown
Hair: N/A
Skintone: White
Species: Human, suspected half-demon
Other: Suspect has "MOTHER" tattooed between shoulder blades, believed to be armed and extremely dangerous.
Substantial reward if captured alive, lesser payment if dead. Contact local constabulary immediately if located.

________________________________________________________________________

Points of the story
- A wanted man, as established in the beginning blurb about Bart, his grandfather Lameel, and uncle Kollin. Though, this is a fairly minor aspect in the grand scheme of things, and is really just a way of basing how any of your characters would react to him if you choose to let it influence that (IE, an adventurer or other hunter in that vein wanting him dead). The main story is--
- Contention of turf, a reliable staple. Demons and other semi-unsavory creatures are having a nice time carving up their own counties and establishing themselves for their respective clans. Not exactly to the point of full-scale war between them, but stepping foot in the wrong place at the wrong time will result in pain, or worse depending on just who you happen to cross. As free land becomes scarce, more and more groups start getting antsy over who owns what. In this case, there's only one county left to scout out and stake: Brossburg.
- Setting is Furrae-based, but not within the DMFA canon or (edit) storyline. I'm not about to do some sorta fanfic thing, man 

Specific rules
-General rules apply here. Be legible, no godplay, no metagaming, yadda yadda yadda.
-Race focus is mainly set on demon, being, cubi if one's feeling so inclined (not set in stone just yet)
-Really, just be coherent overall

If anyone's got any comments, suggestions, or refinements to contribute, I'd be glad to hear them

Edit: 10-11-08, added little more background info and clarifications.

[Stygian]

Well to say that this doesn't show some promise would be lying. Still wondering if you've got the plot as defined as should be comfortable though...

[Tipod]

Well to say that this doesn't show some promise would be lying. Still wondering if you've got the plot as defined as should be comfortable though...

As in, do I have the plot well-enough defined to be usable, or I should have a specific focus in mind from the get-go rather than leave a couple options? If it needs more tweaking/refining, I can certainly do that.

[lucas marcone]

i belive he means more along the lines of posting a rough idea of where you intend to take the plot in a noncanon format