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[b]Name:[/b] [color=#A64575]Jason Blackwood[/color]
[b]Species:[/b] Human
[b]Sex:[/b] Male
[b]Age:[/b] 28

[b]Occupation:[/b] PhD Candidate in History /  Bartender

[b]Conflict Exposure:[/b] Suspicious

[b]Affiliation(s):[/b] Civilian / Academia

[b]Appearance:[/b]
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[img]https://hairstyles.thehairstyler.com/hairstyle_views/front_view_images/13752/original/Logan-Lerman-short-hairstyle.jpg[/img]
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[indent]Jason stands at around 5'11" with a lean build that was shaped by walking and lifting crates rather than athleticism. Jason has dark brown hair, often tousled and uneven from trimming it himself. His hazel eyes often shift with the light. He wears layers of dark tones: usually thrifted coats, worn boots, and neutral shirts. He avoids anything flashy or branded. He carries himself with quiet confidence—present, but never loud. People don’t always notice him walk in, but they usually remember he was there.[/indent]

[b]History:[/b]
[indent]Born in California and raised near the coast, Jason grew up surrounded by fog, salt air, and the stories his grandfather told about war—some grounded, some seemingly less so. He spent his childhood sketching maps, collecting  crystals, stones, and shells, while often asking questions no one could answer. The ocean was always nearby, and so was the feeling that something ancient lived within its depths.

At the University of Washington, he studied history—drawn to resistance movements and the folklore that surrounded them. He kept notebooks full of symbols and dreams, some from research, some from sleep. During his third year, he lost someone close—a friend who vanished without explanation. It left him hollow, searching for meaning in patterns and silence. He doesn’t talk about it. But it changed the way he reads everything—and everyone.

Six months ago, he arrived in Paris on a research fellowship to complete his dissertation. He bartends most nights at a quiet jazz bar near Montmartre to cover expenses. One late afternoon, walking from the university to the bar, he saw two figures in a narrow alley near a shuttered book store he always passed. One was standing, the other kneeling. The exchange was silent, deliberate, and brief. Later, he recognized the same posture in resistance-era sketches, and in art from other centuries. He hasn’t made the connection yet. But it lingers.
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[b]Motivations:[/b]
[indent]– To feel something real again
– To choose who he is, not just who he’s been
– To understand why he’s drawn to things he shouldn’t believe in
– To finally prove to himself whether or not there is any truth behind legends—if myth is not always metaphor
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