How would you make a character?

You are in this empire you have to make a character. What are they doing? What is their job? What is their race? If you like this small description and want to use it in a story or TTRPG go right ahead. Journal of the Vesperian Empire Entry I — First Sight of Noctis Crown 17th Day of Emberwane, Imperial Year 846 I had expected walls. Every old story about Vespera talks about its walls: black stone, silver banners and watchtowers high enough to disappear into the rain. The stories are outdated. The walls are still there, but the city swallowed them centuries ago. Noctis Crown stretches far beyond them now. From the train I could see towers of glass rising behind gothic spires, apartment blocks packed between ancient temples, elevated railways crossing streets older than some kingdoms, and great illuminated advertisements flickering above rooftops. One was selling bottled dream-sleep. Another advertised blood substitutes. A third simply read: DO NOT ANSWER VOICES COMING FROM UNUSED TELEPHONE LINES. REPORT THEM TO DIRECTORATE IX. Nobody else in the carriage seemed concerned. That was when I realised I had finally reached the Empire. Entry II — The Empire Itself Vespera is difficult to explain to outsiders. People imagine an empire as conquered territories bowing before an emperor. Vespera certainly has those. But it is more complicated than that. The Sovereign Empire of Vespera contains nearly a hundred million citizens spread across enormous cities, industrial provinces, old agricultural territories, mountain regions and places where modern civilisation simply stops. Its roads are crowded with cars. Its skies carry passenger aircraft. Its citizens carry phones. Its factories manufacture automobiles, pharmaceuticals and weapons. Its universities teach engineering beside ritual mathematics. Its hospitals employ surgeons alongside licensed healers. And its police carry firearms beside warding charms. Magic isn't hidden here. It hasn't been hidden for centuries. It is regulated. Taxed. Licensed. Commercialised. Weaponised. And occasionally outlawed. Which somehow feels far more Vesperian than secrecy ever could. Entry III — The Crown The Empire is ruled by Empress Seraphine IV. The newspapers call her Her Imperial Majesty. Soldiers call her the Sovereign. Her enemies call her the Black Crown. Never within earshot of the Imperial Guard, naturally. She is thirty-seven years old and has ruled for fourteen years. I saw her once. Only from a distance. The Imperial procession moved through Crown Avenue while thousands filled the streets. There were no horses. No golden carriage. She travelled inside an armoured black limousine surrounded by motorcycles belonging to the Crown Guard. When she stepped out, the crowd went quiet. Not because they were ordered to. Because of the fire. For perhaps half a second, something black and gold moved across her fingertips. Crownfire. The magic of the imperial bloodline. Every child in Vespera knows about it. Every scholar pretends they understand it. None of them do. Entry IV — Crownfire There are older things than the Empire. Crownfire appears to be one of them. The Imperial Dynasty has possessed the ability for at least twenty-six centuries. It looks like flame. It behaves nothing like flame. It can burn through enchantments without damaging the object beneath them. It can destroy certain spirits. It can break curses. It can seal breaches between realities. And according to rumours I have been repeatedly advised not to investigate, Crownfire can kill beings that conventional weapons cannot. There is a cost. There is always a cost. Every ruler who uses too much supposedly becomes what imperial physicians call Hollowed. They remain alive. They remain conscious. But something inside them disappears. The previous emperor was rarely seen during his final three years. Perhaps now I understand why. Entry V — Who Actually Rules? The Empress rules. Technically. But Vespera has survived too long to place all of its power into one pair of hands. The Imperial Parliament has two chambers. The Citizen Assembly is elected. Human. Vampire. Witch. Werekin. Anyone with recognised Imperial citizenship may stand for office. The second chamber is stranger. The Conclave of Houses represents the old powers. Ancient bloodlines. Magical institutions. Supernatural communities. Families that were powerful long before anyone invented democracy. One politician described Parliament to me perfectly: "The Assembly decides what the Empire wants. The Conclave decides what the Empire will tolerate. The Empress decides whether either of them matters." He laughed afterward. I noticed he checked the room before saying it. Entry VI — The People Humans remain the majority. This surprises foreigners. Walk through Noctis Crown at midnight and you might believe otherwise. Vampires work night shifts. Werekin ride motorcycles through the southern districts. Witches sell charms beside pharmacies. Living constructs carry deliveries. Spirits linger near buildings that have accumulated enough history to acquire personalities of their own. There are dozens of recognised peoples throughout the Empire. And hundreds of classifications that remain disputed. The Imperial Census Office apparently maintains an entire department for citizens who cannot answer the question: "What species are you?" One census official told me their current form contains sixty-eight options. There is also a box labelled: OTHER / UNCERTAIN / CURRENTLY TRANSFORMING I thought she was joking. She wasn't. Entry VII — Vampires Vesperian vampires aren't immortal. Not truly. They simply age incredibly slowly once fully matured. Blood remains necessary, although artificial substitutes have changed their society enormously. Young vampires mostly buy synthetic blood from shops. Old families consider this an insult to tradition. The arguments are apparently vicious. There are vampire members of Parliament. Vampire surgeons. Vampire police officers. Vampire celebrities. And, naturally, vampire criminals. The wealthiest families dominate banking, nightlife and private medicine. There is an old joke: If a vampire asks for your blood, call the police. If a vampire asks for your signature, call a lawyer. Entry VIII — The Werekin Calling them werewolves apparently marks someone immediately as foreign. The preferred term is Werekin. Their transformation is biological, magical and inherited. Most maintain complete control. Full moons have almost nothing to do with it. That misconception came from an old provincial superstition. Werekin culture revolves heavily around extended family groups called packs, although modern packs don't necessarily share blood. Some are households. Some are neighbourhood organisations. Some are military units. Some are motorcycle clubs. The distinction between the last two occasionally becomes unclear. The Imperial Army recruits heavily from Werekin communities. They have extraordinary endurance and recover from injuries quickly. But the stereotype that they're all soldiers irritates them enormously. My accountant is Werekin. She frightens me more than any soldier I've encountered. Entry IX — Witches Witchcraft is not a species. That distinction matters here. A witch is someone capable of consciously manipulating the world's ambient magical field. The ability can appear in almost any bloodline. Vesperian children are tested for magical aptitude around age eleven. Most possess almost none. A small percentage demonstrate enough ability for formal training. Very powerful children are quietly approached by Imperial academies. The advertisements describe witchcraft as a prestigious career. The safety notices are less encouraging. UNLICENSED SUMMONING: FIVE-YEAR MINIMUM SENTENCE MEMORY ALTERATION WITHOUT CONSENT: CLASS II FELONY TEMPORAL MAGIC: ABSOLUTELY PROHIBITED Nobody would tell me what happened to make the last rule necessary. Entry X — The Gods Perhaps "gods" is the wrong word. The Empire officially refuses to use it. The legal term is Higher Entity. There are beings in this world older than nations. Some are worshipped. Some refuse worship. Some don't appear to understand worship. And some should probably never discover that mortals know they exist. None belong exclusively to Vespera. Different nations possess completely different religious traditions. Some religions worship individual Higher Entities. Others worship groups of them. Some believe the universe itself is divine. Others insist Higher Entities are simply extraordinarily powerful organisms. The Empire refuses to settle the question. Understandably. The last attempt to officially define divinity caused three rebellions and what history books politely call the Seven-Day Miracle Crisis. Entry XI — The Old Ones There are apparently different categories of Higher Entity. The oldest are sometimes called Primordials. That name isn't religious. It's scientific shorthand. They don't behave like people. They don't rule kingdoms. They rarely answer prayers. They represent things far more fundamental. Silence. Distance. Hunger. Dream. Darkness. Change. Perhaps those words are merely how mortal minds interpret them. One theologian told me: "Asking what a Primordial wants is like asking what gravity wants." Then she added: "Except gravity has never looked back at us." I have thought about that sentence far too often. Entry XII — Religion in a Modern City Temples stand beside shopping centres. That probably describes Vespera better than anything else. A commuter might purchase coffee, take the underground, leave an offering at a roadside shrine and then spend the afternoon writing financial reports in a skyscraper. Nobody sees a contradiction. The strangest part is how religion has adapted. There are temples with livestreams. Priests who run social media accounts. Shrines accepting electronic donations. Religious applications that remind worshippers about observances. There are even insurance policies covering damage caused by manifestations during recognised religious ceremonies. The modern world didn't destroy ancient belief. It simply gave it Wi-Fi. Entry XIII — Magic Magic is everywhere. Not spectacular magic. Ordinary magic. The kind people stop noticing. Apartment buildings use threshold wards. Hospitals use enchanted sterilisation symbols. Public transport stations possess spectral barriers preventing incorporeal entities from wandering onto platforms. Restaurants display magical allergy information. Police vehicles carry curse-detection equipment. Luxury cars have anti-possession systems. Parents buy dream wards for children's bedrooms. My hotel room has one above the door. I didn't notice until the receptionist mentioned it. Now I keep looking at it. Entry XIV — Arcanotechnology Vespera's greatest export may be arcanotechnology. The fusion of engineering and magic. Scientists discovered centuries ago that magic behaves consistently enough to be measured. Once something can be measured, engineers eventually find a way to put it inside a machine. Modern arcane batteries store magical energy. Hospitals use spirit-imaging equipment. Soldiers use enchanted optics. Banks maintain contract wards capable of detecting magically coerced signatures. Even smartphones contain basic arcane sensors. Vesperians joke that there's an app for everything. Apparently there actually is an application that identifies ghosts. It has terrible reviews. Most complaints say the application keeps identifying household pets. The developers claim this is not necessarily an error. Entry XV — The Imperial Night Guard Every empire has soldiers. Vespera has something else as well. The Imperial Night Guard. Their official purpose is responding to supernatural threats beyond conventional military capability. People call them monster hunters. Night Guard officers hate this description. Their units combine different abilities. Human soldiers. Combat witches. Werekin assault specialists. Vampire reconnaissance officers. Ritualists. Arcanotechnicians. Their black armour carries the silver insignia of a crown above a crescent. I saw six of them enter an underground station yesterday. The station closed immediately afterward. Official explanation: Electrical fault. Nobody believed it. Nobody asked questions either. Entry XVI — Directorate IX Then there is Directorate IX. Imperial intelligence. Their headquarters doesn't appear on public maps. Neither does their budget. Their responsibilities allegedly include: Foreign magical espionage. Illegal summoning. Terrorism. Cults. Unregistered Higher Entities. Dimensional anomalies. Reality contamination. And what one retired officer described simply as: "Things the public sleeps better not knowing about." There are rumours Directorate IX maintains prisons specifically designed for entities that cannot technically die. Other rumours claim they employ some. Both are probably true. Entry XVII — Noctis Crown After Midnight The capital changes when the sun disappears. Not because it becomes dangerous. Although some districts certainly do. It simply becomes different. Vampire businesses open. Night markets appear beneath railway arches. Werekin clubs fill the roads. Magicians advertise services from tiny shops squeezed between restaurants. Spirits become easier to see. Neon reflects across rain-covered streets while cathedral bells compete with nightclub bass. There are streets where people have lived continuously for two thousand years. And streets built last month. Sometimes they're the same street. That is Noctis Crown. Ancient and modern refusing to separate. Entry XVIII — Beneath the City Everyone eventually tells you about the Undercity. Officially, it's simply old infrastructure. Disused subway stations. Maintenance tunnels. Sewers. Catacombs. Civil defence shelters. Unofficially? There are entire communities beneath Noctis Crown. Illegal markets. Forgotten neighbourhoods. Hidden temples. Criminal territories. Abandoned laboratories. Doors nobody remembers constructing. One railway worker claims some tunnels continue deeper than the city's geological surveys say is possible. The Imperial government has sealed dozens. People keep finding more. Entry XIX — The Woman Beneath the Streets There is one story everyone knows. A woman appears on empty platforms. Nobody knows who she is. Witnesses describe her differently. Different hair. Different clothes. Different age. Yet they always know it's her. She never speaks. She simply watches the tracks. Then disappears. People call her: The Woman Beneath the Streets. She has reportedly appeared before fires, assassinations, magical disasters, terrorist attacks and even the deaths of emperors. Directorate IX officially states she does not exist. Which is perhaps the strongest evidence I've encountered that she does. Entry XX — Something Beneath Everything I have finally discovered why the original city was built here. Or at least part of it. Noctis Crown wasn't founded because of the river. Not because of trade. Not because of defensible terrain. The first settlement was deliberately constructed over something. Ancient excavations show enormous structures beneath the oldest district. Older than Vespera. Older than any civilisation historians recognise. The Imperial Palace sits directly above them. That cannot be coincidence. There are stories about something called the Seal. And there are older stories claiming the Imperial Dynasty exists specifically to maintain it. Which would explain Crownfire. It would explain why every ruler must belong to the same bloodline. It might even explain why the Empire has survived invasions, revolutions and civil wars yet nobody has ever successfully abolished the Crown. Perhaps the Empire isn't protecting the Imperial Family. Perhaps the Imperial Family is protecting everyone else. Entry XXI — What Vespera Really Is I arrived expecting an empire. I found something stranger. Vespera isn't simply a country ruled by an Empress. It is an agreement. Between humans and creatures. Between magic and technology. Between ancient traditions and modern civilisation. Between powers that hate each other but fear the alternative more. Millions wake each morning, go to work, complain about taxes, fall in love, argue about politics and catch trains beneath streets where forgotten things sleep. That may be Vespera's greatest achievement. Not conquering territory. Not its army. Not Crownfire. It has somehow convinced the impossible to become ordinary. And yet everywhere I look, I get the uncomfortable impression that the ordinary world is only a thin layer painted across something enormously old. Tonight, while returning to my hotel, the underground train stopped between stations. The lights flickered. Everyone became quiet. Through the window, where there should only have been tunnel wall, I saw an enormous stone doorway. It was covered in symbols I couldn't recognise. There was a woman standing before it. She looked directly at me. Then the train started moving again. Nobody else seemed to have seen her. I think tomorrow I am going to visit the Imperial Archives. I am beginning to suspect I came here to document an empire. Instead, I may have stumbled into whatever the empire was built to contain.