Valerius

Valerius · Magic Brute / Blaster · Psionic / Energy Willpower / Time Player: @Darkwood Identity Real Name Valerius Aliases "Val" to a few select people Birthdate In the 1500's Birthplace United Kingdom Citizenship US / UK Citizen Residence St. Martial Occupation CEO and Face of Chorus Group Inc. Physical Traits Species Human Ethnicity Caucasian Gender Male Height Tall Weight 74 kg Body Type Ectomorphic Hair Stark White Eyes Violet Skin Healthy · Distinguishing Features · Eyes seem to glow at times Powers & Abilities · Known Powers · The use of an Alien type of energy that seem to be completely foreign to this reality · Equipment · Armory of tech when needed Known Facts They go by one name: Valerius. Two men. Identical in every way. White hair, violet eyes, tall and composed. They speak with the same cadence—until they don’t. They move in sync—until they don’t. You’re never sure which one is in the room with you, or if both are. Or if either. To themselves, they are not two. There is no “other.” They are the same self, mirrored across an ancient divide. Minds bound across space, time, and identity. Thoughts shared in unison. Pain, memory, sensation—instantaneously known. They never correct someone who uses the wrong name. Instead, they smile. History Long before they were two, Valerius was one: born into a bloodline saturated with whispered words and silvered rituals. A lineage of witches, seers, and quiet heretics hiding within the damp fog and crumbling villages of the English countryside. He was raised with reverence for the old rites—solstice chants under cold moons, bonfires for the forgotten gods, and names never spoken above a whisper. He knew what it meant to be other. He knew what it meant to be hunted. And somewhere in that knowing, a bitter seed took root—they should fear me. His family’s craft was always half-acknowledged, half-denied, passed down more in gestures than books. But through these remnants, Valerius found the sect—a hidden arcane society that survived in shadows, gathering forbidden knowledge across centuries. He rose quickly. Handsome, articulate, powerful beyond his years, with a brilliance that caught the attention of those who still wore old sigils etched in blood and gold. But ambition has teeth. And curiosity? A maw. Within the sect's guarded vaults lay an object of reverence and secrecy: The Looking Glass of the First Silence. A mirror—simple in appearance, older than history. Said to reflect not what is, but what was before anything else. Valerius, ever the savant, performed the ritual alone. Whether he deciphered it or created it, none can say. But the moment the incantation passed his lips, the world split. The Split The mirror did not break. It opened. And when it closed again, there were two. Perfectly identical, forever entwined. Two vessels, one consciousness. Each a reflection of the other, containing all the same thoughts, memories, and senses—each aware of the other's every breath. Yet still… not quite the same. Something old had looked through the mirror. And something hungry had taken notice. The force that split them—known only in cryptic dreams as the Chorus of Hunger—left its mark. Not magic. Not psionics. But a force from before meaning. A raw resonance that distorts time, space, thought. When they move, the air shifts wrong. When they speak, machines stutter. Even arcane sensors don’t agree on what they are. One fights with flashes of energy and loops of suspended time. The other sweeps arcs with the same strange energy and seems to be aware of the opponents next move. Together, they became Valerius. Separate, yet never apart. The Long Years For decades, they wandered. Mercenaries of the arcane world. Selling their talents to the highest bidder—breaking curses, silencing rituals, unmaking sorcerous weapons. They hid in plain sight, masking their true purpose behind useful service. Their ultimate aim? Reconnection. To find the Chorus again. To ask—not to return to unity, but to see what more there was to become. Amidst World War II, Valerius offered his services to the Allies, claiming their arcane expertise could combat the Nazi occult programs. This was true—partially. The real reason was opportunity: the Axis powers were unearthing ancient relics long buried. And in that chaos, Valerius slipped between the bombed ruins of cathedrals and monasteries, gathering forgotten things that whispered secrets from beyond. It was during this era that the foundation for their empire was laid. The Chorus Group Inc. By the 1950s, Valerius had formalized their operation as Chorus Group, Inc. A publicly-facing company dealing in Occult Technology, arcane conservation, and metaphysical R&D. Their business spans several departments: -Arcane Protection: Wards, safeguards, and metaphysical security systems. -Arcane Conservation: The acquisition and storage of ancient magical artifacts. -Arcane R&D: Ritual development, enchantment crafting, and spell engineering. -Techno-Arcane Integration: Melding technology and magic to create tools for those wealthy—and desperate—enough to buy. Headquartered now in the United States, Chorus Group presents itself as an elite organization offering magical solutions in an age increasingly dominated by science and superpowers. Their influence is subtle, their reach long. Behind it all, Valerius continues the search. For signs. For relics. For the music of the Chorus once more. Modern Days In public, Valerius plays the role of enigmatic gentleman-arcanist. Always sharp-dressed—rolled sleeves, tailored jackets, tie loose but tasteful. Their appearance is carefully composed: striking, symmetrical, and just a little off in ways you can’t name. They appear youthful—mid-thirties perhaps—but carry the presence of someone older than institutions. They know the world. Its rhythms. Its flaws. Its little lies. They quote ancient texts as easily as memes. They browse social media with one hand and sketch ritual circles with the other. Integration is effortless. They have lived for lifetimes, but refuse to become relics. They are each other’s constant companion. They are never alone. They do not want to be.