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Once upon a time, two brothers were born to proud parents. According to custom and tradition, the Mother and Father ate one of the twins, and named the other Krevlornswath. Krevlornswath grew up to be a very special little boy, with a very special little heart beating in his left buttock - because in that boy grew a very special thing. Music.

When his friends would hone their skills to hunt great beasts and be champions, Lorne would chat up the ladies by the waterhole. When everyone else lay sleeping in their beds, Lorne stayed up, humming out the melodies in his heart. He didn't have a word for what he was doing, or what weird sounds he made, but it felt good. More than good, it felt right.

But, growing up with this magical feeling inside, Krevlornswath feared being found out. He knew people would think he was crazy. He knew everyone would laugh at him, or worse, that he'd be a disgrace to his family.

And then one day, long after he should have been a celebrated Drokken hunter, Krevlornswath, or Lorne to his friends, went on a long walk through the woods. Suddenly, a great swirl appeared before him, light and color dancing before his eyes. Without second thought, only seeking an end to his miserable existence, Lorne stepped through the vortex.

That was almost ten years ago, and there never was any happily ever afters for the young boy.

That swirling vortex led to a very different world, where cows had lives of their own, and people like him had to go underground, lest they be hunted as monsters. But Lorne always was a very inventive boy, and he used what skills he had to start up his own business, make connections of his own. He soon opened his very own bar, called Caritas.

Named after the Latin word for mercy, Caritas was a place where everyone was welcome; demons, vampires, humans, even lawyers. But, as the Powers would have it, the karaoke bar got trashed one too many times, twice by the vampire with a soul, Angel, and his friends. Of course, neither he nor his friends were to blame, but Lorne nonetheless decided he'd had enough and moved in with the fang gang at their headquarters, the Hyperion Hotel.

Angel, tall, dark and champion-y, became a father, then lost his son and got him back all damaged and Hell-bent on revenge. An apocalypse came and went, and as a result, Angel was offered to take over the LA branch of Wolfram & Hart, and he did... Each of the five friends were appointed Head of Their Own Department. And it all went to Hell from there.

Lorne watched two of his dearest friends die, and watched his remaining friends live the life of those who mourn and are continually reminded of what they’ve lost. Lorne dealt with his share of the grief the way he'd always dealt with big holes in his heart. He sat down at the company bar and ordered drinks until he was certifiably drunk, his only regret being drinking never solved anything.

And then one day, Lorne was asked to do something for the greater good, that even he couldn't believe was for the best. He killed a man, for no other reason than Angel asking him to. He forced himself to believe it was the Right Thing to Do.

But there's just no going back after such a thing. Only choice you have is to move on. So Lorne moved on, and never looked back.


[Lorne is from Angel: The Series, and is the property of Joss Whedon and Mutant Enemy Inc. He appears here solely for the purpose of role-playing in milliways_bar, from which no profit whatsoever is being made.]

Physical characteristics:

Species: Pylean Deathwok demon, so far removed from the Christian stereotype it isn't even funny. Oh, okay, it's a little bit funny
Sex: Male
Height: 6'2"
Weight: Unknown
Age: Unknown
Skin: Green, mostly
Eyes: Red
Horns Y/N: Y
Fangs Y/N: Y, but only very tiny ones
Fashion sense Y/N: Y, most definitely. He can pull off any suit combo known and unknown to Man
Special skills: Lorne can read the auras of people close by if they should happen to sing, or simply be in large enough an emotional upheaval for his radar to go blip. He doesn't do the readings anymore, though. Not unless we're talking very special circumstances