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#Post#: 20504--------------------------------------------------
New Orleans WIP: Devon Philmore
DIR By: Raven Tepes
Date: December 9, 2025, 11:42 pm
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“Fire is the only truth this broken land still remembers. It
warms the worthy, devours the wicked, and spares no lie from its
hungry light. When I call the flames, I don’t just burn—I
cleanse. I carve away the rot so something stronger can rise
from the ashes… and if anyone thinks to stand in my way, they’ll
learn how fast a spark becomes an inferno.”
~ Devon Philmore, leader of the Elementalist
“Some people squander every blessing they touch… and every time
I see it, something inside me ignites. The thrill isn’t in the
burning—it’s in the justice of it. Watching the flames curl
around those who wasted the very gifts I had to bleed for?
That’s balance. That’s truth. And for the first time in my life,
I get to decide who deserves the warmth… and who deserves the
fire.”
~ Devon Philmore
“I thought I understood fire… until I saw him lose his temper.
One moment he was silent as cooling embers—then the world
exploded. Flames didn’t just burn; they hunted. They wrapped
around me like a living beast eager to finish the job. I can
still hear him through the roar, calm as sin: ‘Run, if you think
your life’s worth that much.’ I did. And these burns? These are
mercy. His mercy. Next time he sparks, there won’t be a next
time.”
~ A surviving enemy who barely escaped alive
“There’s nothing like the ride before a fight—the world whipping
past, the engine growling under me like it knows what’s coming.
The wind cools my skin, but inside? I’m a volcano ready to crack
open. Every mile burns away doubt, fear, all that useless noise…
until it’s just me, the bike, and the fire begging to be
unleashed. By the time I kill the engine, I’m already lit. And
whoever’s waiting ahead? They’re about to feel the heat.”
~ Devon Philmore
Enemy: He coughs, staggering back. Y-You… you’re insane! No one
should wield that kind of fire!
Devon: He cracks his neck, flames licking along his arms.
Insane? No. Focused. You pushed me past my limit… and that was
your first mistake.
Enemy: I can still— ngh— I can still fight!
Devon: He grins, heat rising off him in waves. Then come on.
Take your best shot before the flames decide you’re done.
Enemy: He panics. Stay back! Stay—!
Devon: Too late for begging now. You had your chance to run when
the ground first started melting.
The enemy stumbles as the air around them distorts, heat warping
the world like molten glass. Enemy: What… what is this?! The
heat— I can’t breathe!
Devon: His voice deepening, igniting brighter. This? This is the
moment you realize exactly who you pissed off. Devon raises his
hand. A sphere of writhing, crimson-white flame forms—heavy,
alive, ravenous.
Enemy: He screams. No— NO! That’s— that’s Hellfire! You’ll burn
us both!
Devon: He smirks, eyes blazing like twin suns. I’ve lived in
fire my whole life. You? You’re just visiting. The flame swells,
roaring like a dragon waking from the pit. Devon: INFERNO—
Enemy: WAIT—!
Devon: He snarls triumphantly. HELLFIRE! The world erupts in a
pillar of searing flame, swallowing the enemy’s final cry in a
blinding, scorching detonation.
The Elementalists’ clubhouse. Neon signs hum, the smell of
engine oil and old leather hangs in the room. Devon sits on a
battered couch, boots up, small flames flicking between his
fingers. Cory lounges in a hammock he rigged between two support
beams, a lazy breeze keeping him swaying. Cory: He grins
upside-down. You know, Dev, most folks unwind with a drink.
Maybe some music. Not… fire juggling.
Devon: He shrugs, flicking a flame. This is relaxing. Controlled
burn. Clears the mind.
Cory: Clears the furniture too, last time you ‘relaxed.’ He
gestures at a scorch mark on the wall.
Devon: He smirks. That chair had it coming. It squeaked.
Cory: Oh yes, the great Squeaky Chair Uprising of last week.
Tragic. Brave of you to put it down.
Devon snorts a laugh, the flames on his hand dimming. Devon:
You’re one to talk. Last storm you whipped up knocked out power
to half the street.
Cory: He waves a hand lazily, a whisper of wind spinning around
his fingers. Hey, hey—nature just needed to stretch. I’m merely
the facilitator.
Devon: Uh-huh. And I’m the ambassador of fire diplomacy.
Cory: Please don’t start calling yourself that. You’ll put it on
a patch or something.
Devon: Tempting.
They’re both quiet a moment, the atmosphere easy and warm—quite
literally.
Cory: He tilts his head. Heard you roasted some wannabe tough
guy yesterday. You good?
Devon: A low growl in his voice, but contained. He pushed a kid
off his bike because he ‘wanted to see him cry.’ I handled it.
Cory: I figured it was something like that. You don’t fry people
for stepping on your boots— He pauses. Okay, maybe you do. But
this felt different.
Devon: Fire’s gotta go somewhere. Better it go there than in
here.
Cory gently raises a breeze that ruffles Devon’s hair, cooling
the air around them.
Cory: That’s why the crew’s got your back, man. You burn hot, I
blow it away, someone else drowns it—balance, right?
Devon: He smiles faintly. Balance. Yeah.
Cory: Also, if you torch the clubhouse again, I’m making you
repaint. With actual brushes. No flame tricks.
Devon: That’s cruel and unusual, dude.
Cory: Exactly. Keeps you motivated.
Devon laughs—genuinely, flames flickering happily around his
knuckles.
Name: Devon Philmore
Nicknames: Dev, Spitfire
Age: 29 years old
Species: Psychic Human (Burster)
Gender: Male
Height: 5'10"
Weight: 176 lbs
Organization: The Elementalist Motorcycle Club
~ Rank: Leader
Family:
~ Father: Tobias Philmore (Deceased - Died in a house fire
caused by an angry 10 year old Devon)
~ Mother: Kathleen Philmore (Deceased - Died in a house fire
caused by an angry 10 year old Devon)
~ Siblings: None/Only child
Abilities:
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