Clinton Hewes's Questionnaire

Clinton lives in Devil’s Row. Devil’s Row is a district where many non-human races are relegated, a place that most try to forget but is impossible to escape for those who live there. Clinton knows the streets too well. And the home more like : small room, just a 2x2 space, is a far cry from comfort. It’s cramped,not well decorated noting inside just a room with a bed and a blanked and the walls feel like they’re closing in on him, but it’s a roof over his head. In the mornings, he opens the door and sets up his tarot stand, hoping to make enough money to get by.

Clinton's path to making money was born out of necessity. As a young adult living on the rough streets of Devil’s Row, he had few options. In his early years, survival meant begging for scraps, stealing when hunger struck too deep, and doing whatever he could to avoid the cruelty of others. The district wasn't kind to its residents, especially non-humans like him. Life was a constant struggle to scrape by, and for a long time, Clinton didn't have a place to call home.

That changed the night he found the tarot cards. It was a rainy evening when Clinton stumbled upon the worn deck of tarot cards discarded in an alley. The storm had driven him into the alley to escape the downpour, where he huddled in a corner trying to dry off. When he discovered the cards, he was skeptical at first—he didn’t believe in the mystical or the divine. But the deck felt... different. He kept it, hoping it might offer him some distraction.

Soon, Clinton discovered that the cards held power—at least, the power to draw people in. He started practicing, reading the cards for himself, and eventually, for others. It wasn’t long before he realized he could make money from the readings. At first, it was just a small amount—people who’d heard rumors of his readings or who simply found themselves curious would offer a coin or two for his services. Over time, as his readings became more accurate (perhaps influenced by the mysterious voice in his head that was Parcy), Clinton’s reputation spread, and more people sought him out.

For Clinton, the tarot reading business wasn’t just a way to make ends meet—it became a means to claim some control over his destiny, something that had been denied to him for most of his life. With the money he earned from his readings, he was able to rent a tiny 2x2 room, something he'd never thought possible. For the first time, Clinton could sleep indoors and feel a small sense of stability.

But even as he started living a more normal life, the memory of the streets stayed with him. He still had to hustle, to work hard to maintain his little room, and the occasional voice of Parcy reminded him that his life was far from ordinary. Still, for Clinton, the tarot readings became both a means of survival and a path toward something more—a life that he was finally starting to believe could be different than the one he’d known.

Clinton's ultimate ambition is to unite all races and inspire them to believe in a future beyond the control of the church or government. Having grown up in the harsh and segregated streets of Devil's Row, where non-humans were marginalized, he knows the pain of being forgotten by those in power. The church and government represent forces that have failed him and many others, and he wants to break free from their influence. Through his tarot readings and the wisdom he gains from his connection with Parcy, Clinton aims to show people that they have the strength to shape their own destinies. He dreams of a world where individuals trust in their own potential and build a future together, free from oppressive systems.

One rainy night, when he was seeking shelter in an alley, Clinton’s life took an unexpected turn. As he tried to dry off and escape the chill, he stumbled across an old, battered tarot card deck hidden in the muck. The cards were worn, the edges frayed, but something about them caught his attention. At first, it was nothing more than a distraction—a way to pass the time in the cold darkness. He picked them up, shuffled them, and experimented with reading them for himself. The cards were strange and foreign, but they felt like they held secrets, an unknown power. They became his comfort in a world that had never been kind.

The idea of tarot reading started as just a means of passing time. But, to his surprise, people began taking notice. One by one, curious individuals approached him for a reading, drawn by the idea of insight into their lives. What started as simple curiosity grew into something more. Clinton realized he could earn small amounts of money by reading the cards for others. At first, the readings were basic, more for show than anything else, but over time, Clinton found himself getting better at it. There was something in his mind, a strange intuition or perhaps the beginning of a deeper connection with the cards. He started to understand the patterns, the subtle hints, and the shifts in energy that the cards revealed.

• Boulder – A troll from Devil’s Row and probably the closest thing I have to a real friend. We’ve known each other since I started my tarot card scam. At first, we weren’t friends, just two guys who didn’t judge each other, which was rare in a place like Devil’s Row. Over time, we got along, and when we both ended up working for the agency, that’s when I guess we really became a team. He’s strong, quiet, and doesn’t talk much, but I trust him.

• Rio – A human with long blond hair who works at the agency. I met him while doing readings and speaking with the dead. He was probably the first human I met who didn’t look down on non-humans. He’s easygoing and treats everyone the same, which is strange but... nice.

• Victor – A noble and self-proclaimed leader of our group. I don’t like him much, but we have to work together. He acts like he knows everything, but I know he sees me as just another street rat

I don’t remember my parents. Maybe I had them once, maybe I didn’t. All I know is that I grew up in an orphanage in Devil’s Row, and it wasn’t a kind place. The caretakers didn’t care much for satyr kids like me—we were just mouths to feed and hands to put to work. I don’t have fond memories of that place, only cold nights and empty stomachs.

School? No, there was no school for kids like me. The rich had their fancy academies, and the humans in the better districts had schools, but in Devil’s Row, you learned by surviving. I figured out early that the world didn’t care if I could read or count, but it did care if I could steal, lie, and talk my way out of trouble.

Did I fit in? I guess. We were all just trying to make it to the next day.

I’ve never really been in love. Sure, there were moments of attraction, some fleeting crushes back when I was younger, but nothing that stuck. In Devil’s Row, love feels like a luxury—something that could get you hurt, something that might make you care too much about someone who could be gone tomorrow.

I’ve seen people fall in love, and I’ve seen it ruin them. My life’s been about surviving, about getting by each day, not worrying about things like love. The people I’ve been close to—Boulder, Rio—they’re my family, but not like that.

I guess I just don’t think I have the time or the space for love. I’m not sure if I ever will. There’s always something else to focus on, something that needs to be done. Maybe it’s not that I don’t want love; maybe I just can’t afford to have it.

My worst fear? Losing control. Losing myself entirely. I used to be just a street rat, relying on my instincts to survive, but then the explosion happened. The machine that was collecting souls—it changed something in me. Now, I hear Parcy’s voice in my head, and I don’t always know where my thoughts end and his begin. There are moments where it feels like he’s the one in charge, and I’m just a passenger in my own body. The idea that one day, I could just slip away, consumed by this soul inside me, is a fear that haunts me constantly.

But it’s not just that. I fear the people I’ve come to care about getting hurt because of me. I’ve never had anyone I could trust before, but now that I’ve found some kind of family in this agency, I don’t want to be the one who lets them down. They’ve already been through enough, and I can’t bear the thought of my mistakes costing them their safety.

Then there’s the fear of failure. I want to unite the races, make them believe in something bigger than themselves, but what if I can’t? What if I fall short of what I’ve promised? That would be a failure I don’t think I could live with.

My most prized possession is my tarot deck. It wasn’t always something I valued, at least not in the way I do now. When I first found it in an alley, it was just a tool for my scam, something to get by. I’d pull cards and pretend to tell fortunes, fooling people for a few coins. But after the explosion, when I started hearing Parcy’s voice, everything changed. I began to see the cards differently. They weren’t just pieces of paper—they were a connection to something deeper, something I couldn’t explain.

Now, my tarot deck is my guide. It’s the one thing I’ve had since the beginning, the one thing I can rely on. It’s a reminder of how far I’ve come—from a beggar in Devil’s Row to a member of the agency. The deck is mine, truly mine, and it has never failed me when I needed it most.