[CHAR] Broken Circle: Arcana Americana

[Hellis]

True Name: Lars Vinter
Taken Name: Johnny Rune
Given Name: Johan Hök

Appearence: s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/8d/c..

Johnny stands a good 6'3 tall, with sharp and distinguished features. His mane of hair is usually seen in a side cut, his ears have a few piercings from his more rebellious phase in life. His eyes are a stark, cold blue. His torso is riddled with old Norse tattoos. Complicated designs of magical runes are carved into his back, a spiral of Fhark runes that end with the Odin rune in blood red across his neck.

Age: 30

Personality: Johny Rune is a uneasy mixture of easy going charisma, short temper and the foulest mouth you'll ever meet. Johny is the type who hates having to push himself, and who will talk before taking action. He is a wretched soul, who has allowed his life be consumed by selfpity and alcohol. But despite his less then ideal state of mind, the man is armed with a wit and arsenal of swearwords that'd make a demon blush.

Despite his many flaws, at his core Johnny is a bleeding heart humanitarian, who would willingly suffer so others don't have to.

Nature of magic: Arcane Purity/Ceremonial

Magic practice:
Runemagic: A practitioner of the old Norse ways, Johan uses runes as his primary language of magic. He inscribes runes into objects to make them in to talisman of varying degrees of use. Mainly, he uses his connection to the stream to infuse these talismans directly. He has spent his past 11 years as a magus to control the influx of power to achieve this. Most his magic is still conducted to rituals, as to temper the power within him.

Brief bio:

Johan Hök was born to a family in northern Sweden. As it were, Johan was born in the middle of a very harsh, unforgiving winter. His father, Emil Hök wished for the boy to be named Johan, while his Mother would call him "Vinter barn" or "Child of Winter." Thus was it fate that ordained Johan to grow up as Winter to those of magic, Johan to the normal world. Johan was never interested in his parents profession as fishers, but instead sought out archeology. Thats when he discovered runes. Learning rune scripture was hard but somehow very close to heart for the boy.

Under the tutelage of a old Rune Priest however, Johan where to enter the shadowy sub realm of humanity. That of fey, magicians and demons. Johan was always a believer of the ways of old. And when he researched deeper onto the magic that vikings once utilized, he found himself in a magicians circle. The Circle consisted by a actual rune priest, his two students: Johan and a girl named Agatha and old African shaman that were interested in how this kind of magic worked.

Under the Priests tutelage Johan were soon versatile and powerful in his magic. An avid student he was very good at the basics. His training however were to see an abrupt end. Trough magic not witnessed in decades a troll somehow awakened. The circle along with pretty much all of the magicians in that part of Sweden rushed to put it to back into slumber.

The problem with trolls however: They are immune to much of our magic. Of course, Johan had the brilliant idea to carve runes onto his own body. An act most unpleasant and forbidden and the result was immediate. For a brief moment Johan became a beacon of arcane power, being able to channel enough into his circle to empower everyone. The troll was vanquished, but it left Johan broken in body and soul. His mind was faced with a powerful addiction to raw magic, and his body wrecked by nerve damage. The Rune Priest sent Johan abroad to avoid his student from being taken to trial by upset and outraged magicians. Johan left for the US without even knowing his old Mentors name. A privilege that he was days away from learning before it all went to hell.

Johan tried to live a normal life. He failed. He grew up, got a wife but fell into depression due to his nightmares and the constant onslaught of magic related things he had to hide. He had become a magnet to lesser creatures that felt his bodys innate power. He was later divorced after it all became to much for both him and his wife. Now he finds himself with a whole new set of nightmares. Ones he shares with a lot of people. Those of a giant...

[AuntFlavia]

Some fluff and an image

”Why did you save me?”

“As I am in this world, I am bound to this swamp, this Polesia. I can only use my magic through this filthwater, powerful only in destroying man's watercraft and drowning passing fools like yourself. But...through our pact, through you, it is no longer bound. The variety is now infinite. We can do great and terrible things together.”

True Name: Svetsuli
Taken Name: Mira
Given Name: Klara Zelenko
Age: 25 years old

Personality: In general, Mira is a pragmatist. It's rare that you would see her lounging around; she makes sure that all of her hobbies are useful. If she isn't practicing her English, she is reading. If she isn't reading, she is making something. Her favorite hobby is weaving, oddly enough. She travels with a small portable loom, and is often seen making something to relax, the patterns are likely used for a magical nature. Mira is always trying to improve herself, embracing her new independent lifestyle wholeheartedly.

Casual acquaintances would accuse her of having a stick up her ass, and they wouldn't be wrong. Mira rejects stimulants of all kinds, including caffeine and nicotine. She wouldn't outright scorn someone else for using drugs or alcohol however. She has a general philosophy of “Live, let live, and don't drag me into it.”. After her experiences with marriage and her demanding contract, she can be bitter at times, though there's room in her for growth. Mira has a bad case of 'angry resting face', and is absolutely terrible at lying.

Mira has a dry sense of humor and rarely laughs, but when she does it's incredibly infectious. Because of her contract, Mira tries not to be tied down anywhere. She is able to get up and go, no matter where she is currently residing and keeps everything essential with her. Because of this, she has very little concern for material objects, either her own possessions or someone else's.

Since she is relatively new to the country, Mira struggles somewhat with English. Ukrainian is her first language, her Russian is passable and she can hold a conversation, but her accent is quite strong and English feels awkward on her tongue. To the untrained ear, her accent would sound Russian, but anyone else from Slavic countries would be able to tell the difference.

Nature of Magic: Contract

Magic Practice: Koldun

Brief Bio: Klara was born in the Ukraine to a poor family. She received her magic connection when she was 23 years old. She was sightseeing the swampy region of Polesia, but got separated from her group and was lost. When night fell, she took a wrong step and nearly drowned. She was saved by a vodianyk that called itself Boleyk. In exchange for her life, she promised Boleyk her soul. They also formed a contract, that Klara would be gifted his magic and act as his conduit to the rest of the mortal world. If she calls upon his abilities very often, he might demand a possession or an act from her. Most recently, she had to give him her hair. When she turned 24, she decided to go through an international marriage agency so she could seek a more comfortable life in a more developed country. (mail order bride, more or less) It wasn't long before she was on a plane to the United States, though unfortunately for her one of Boleyk's orders ended the marriage prematurely. He demanded that she steal her husband's expensive watch for him, but she was caught. Now a wiser woman, she is without a home and without a job, and is currently moving from one temporary shelter to the next, practicing her English and looking for gainful employment.

[McHaggis]

.

[Noxious]

“Jekh dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata”
[One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness]

True Name: Xari Chere [one who swallows stars]
Taken Name: Vara
Given Name: Varvara Shishkin

Appearance: ears laced in metal, lithe frame standing at 5’6”, pale eyes and a knowing smile, ink licked across her skin in many patterns and colors, the most entrancing sigil hidden beneath her hair at the base of her neck, it was a rune that appeared to pulse and move like worms beneath her skin.

Age: 24

Personality: She’s a wanderer by blood. Her outward personality is a bubbly and flighty thing. She is disgustingly optimistic, giggly and flirty. She has a difficult time taking anything too seriously, though she is oddly superstitious. She slips in and out of her own thoughts; though she often refers to the arcane as a separate entity within herself. Her lightheartedness is ultimately a safety mechanism to keep the arcane at bay; for any depressive states could trigger a downward spiral that has destroyed many of her kin. Favors the company of shamans; they always have the good drugs.

Nature of magic: Her family line touched arcane purity and infected all succeeding generations.

Magic practice: Ruska Roma; fortune teller

When you see the lines of past, present and future;
is that not proof that they are set?
The now is no less maneuverable to the fates than the then;
which also brings up troubling questions about tomorrow.

Brief bio:
Her destiny was aligned before her conception.

Varvara grew up watching, listening and absorbing all that was her people. She learned to treat others well and blend in communities they cohabited with. She learned to listen; she enjoys it. She would never want to hurt another; but there are gray areas that her upbringing instilled in her morality. She may steal on occasion and pray that it would be appreciated enough to be forgiven. Sometimes it wasn't exactly right, but they could make amends.

Her mother once told her, “The Gypsy way is a way that springs from the heart, and the deepest, most primitive instincts of man. It respects nature and man’s place in nature. It teaches us to take joy in the moment.”

The women of her family communed with the spirits and the elements, each mother passing down their gift to their first born daughter. Even with powers, she relied on her mother to pass on her knowledge and stories that would lead her down the correct path. She was given lists of herbs and elements and combinations. On what should be a lazy sunny day she would be engrossed in the rituals of asking/taking/thanking; all day, her entire life, little bits of information continue until night when her mother would curl up next to her side. She tells Varvara of the deeper magic, the darkness that lines it, and she offers insight into “The Rite of Graves” showing her how to commune with the dead; She teaches her about the spectres of snares and how to win them over with offerings of your goodness…and Varvara listens, and absorbs. These were gray areas of the tainted knowledge, some of which hint at a darkness her people have attempted to forget. She couldn't forget though.

There were generations separating her from the kin that became tainted with power, but it had infected them all, a blood sickness. A greed had entered their souls. The tainted traveled in search of power and found it; arcane purity. A magic that could not be wielded, it consumed the soul, devoured by a strength that blinded and patronized its possessor until insanity and/or death.

After a particularly intense festival involving a couple of meditative shaman Vara videotaped herself mapping out a future using odd symbols and hallucinated truths whispered and strung together. She knew what had to happen. She packed up a small amount of belongings and left for America after she exchanged a teary and sorrowful goodbye with her family. She had never been without them before and it was difficult and thrilling. She traded and stole to buy her way and even got a job on a ship for the final leg.

She arrived in New York and made introductions with some Romani her family had connections with. It was through them that she found herself in one of the seedier bars that catered to the magically inclined. She was flirting with a gorgeous blonde and it seemed to be going well, and then very quickly it turned bad. She'd never felt a surge of power like the one Johan gave her. She remember puking, shaking, and her mind flooding, waves of time would drown her and then cease just long enough for her to gasp for air. A separate, hungry self entered her mind while Johan did what he could to fix her. He gave her a rune on the base of her neck that worked as a sort of filtration system. Hungry worms pulled some of the arcane from her, trying to create a suitable level for Vara to survive.

Varvara took quickly to the cards, even as a child. She found them soothing. She dealt for others, for a price. Girl has got to eat. Her mother had taught her at a young age that people rarely sought truth, what they needed was faith and comfort; so more often than not, that it was Varavara offered. They didn't offer solid facts anyways. She saw paths and choices; but now that Johnny had 'accidently supercharged' her, well, she saw a future and a past that riddled choices and consequences and human nature. She would spend hours dealing while meditating on choices.

She left New York and moved to Dunwich, Mass. She roomed with a quiet studious follower of the Hermetic Order of Golden Dawn. He was fascinated with her predicament and often times viewed Vara as an experiment as much as a friend. He was understanding though and didn't seem to mind that she would lock herself up for days at a time and go on heavy benders. The two were sharing a bottle of wine sitting on the floor and talking about Enochian magic when she first felt the prickling presence of the stranger. Then the dreams started, and followed her into her waking state. Sometimes it was just the feeling someone was watching, but it was getting stronger, more tormenting...

There was something there, something she was missing...

After her first dream with the man she spent days, restless and swaying between a drunken and lucid trance, dealing the cards, over and over.

She had to go back to New York.

[Foxxie]

True Name: Sainjacques Majeur
Taken Name: Baron La Croix
Given Name: Weslé Dambreville

Age: 28

Appearance: Standing at 6'2", Weslé is tall even for his family. He inherited his height from the so-called Amazons in the family, or his mother's mother and grandmother. He has a bit of a belly, which is a new addition to his frame upon coming to New York. Otherwise, he is built pretty gracefully and even though he let his hair dread in the most natural and unruly of ways, he still needs to exert effort in order to get that "man of the shadows" look he strives for. The glint of gold in his mouth when he curls his lip is decidedly real. A golden tooth courtesy of Ogun himself from when Weslé decided he could make it in the real world without the loa's help. Frankly, in that fight, he was lucky the only thing he lost was a tooth.

Personality: What started out as a childhood penchant for pranks blossomed into, for lack of a better word, some dickishness on Weslé's part. He enjoys taking advantage of other people to bolster his negative self image, wallows in his own bitterness, drinks too much, and seems to have little in the way of impulse control. However, it's not all bad. Despite being an almost insufferable cynic, he has a deep reverence for magic and shows naivety in regards to what magic can do for the world. Deep down, he's probably some sort of idealist, but he's long forgotten what that feels like. He also desperately wants to become a better person, or a cheap alternative, so that he can unlock his true potential alongside Ogun. Voodoo is an art built almost entirely on empathy, being able to establish links with other people and infusing objects with said bonds, and Weslé is trying to learn to be more receptive of other people in order to kick start his progress in the craft. A man like Weslé can't plateau without negative consequences.

Nature of magic: Contract

Magic practice: Voodoo

Brief bio: Weslé grew up surrounded by voodoo. His mother practiced it for tourists while his father and sisters worked the real magic back at home. Their clients were much more well-informed, and they paid better for the hefty services they asked for. The Dambrevilles go back a long while in Haiti, having started off as a small clan of freed slaves and ending up as one of the most populous names on the island. However, quantity of life doesn't always translate to quality of life. Some of the Dambreville clan decided to take their magic and talents to New Orleans decades back, and the ones too poor to travel with them tried to emulate the successes of their cousins. Many of the clients departed alongside the main branch of the family, and they found themselves back at square one. Weslé's mother and father display a gift that hasn't been seen in the cadet branches for centuries, being capable of actual contact with the loa in order to power their spells and potions. Each member of the family is claimed by a loa, who acts as their contact to the powers of magic in exchange for sacrifice and reverence.

Weslé, always the troublemaker growing up, thought for sure that Baron Samedi would pick him for his vessel. When he and his sisters came of age, he realized he had been chosen by Ogun, the warrior. He feared that Ogun's influence would limit his ability to create dastardly tricks and diabolical pitfalls. Over time, he and the just loa came to see close to eye-to-eye, but Weslé still harbored some resentment. He went out of his way to concoct cocktails that would backfire, con clients, and to only do business with slimey individuals, constantly hoping to prove his worth to the Baron. Around the age of 25, Ogun grew tired of this behavior, knowing that the young man could no longer be treated like a child, and threatened to withhold his power is Weslé didn't straighten out. Reluctantly, the voodoo practitioner decided to attempt to turn over a new leaf. He's still in the process of doing so now, finally having moved to America where he admittedly feels his powers have weakened. It's a strained relationship in need of repair, but if Weslé can manage not to be an asshole for any amount of time, it always proves to be worth his while.

New York, after all, can provoke some of the worst impulses in even the most mild-mannered of men.

[DoctorGuevara]

-snip-

[Hellis]

PM me it. Then delete it from here until you get approval

[Rockette]

---

_{"i only want to be free."}

---

Noah

Kampó Álmos ┊ Lazlo Ray
^{TWENTY-FIVE. RITUAL MAGIC. SHAMAN.}

---

Personality —

Perpetually seized within a stupor, Noah is a frustrating conversationalist and an even more aggravating associate on first impressions. His constant state of flux probes an inquiry for every event, and a penchant of morbid curiosity that borders a careless, manic man who provides a herbal remedy or concoction for every encounter or situation lain before him. He’d much rather roam about, idly swept up unto whatever trance, betwixt a world of reality and the unseen than endeavor into social intricacies and kinship. Not that he lacks the ability, but that: accompanied by the plethora of voices teeming about in his never-there state of mind, Noah has a difficulty fixating on one objective at a time. His consciousness is addled by entheogens that assist in placating his overly-active connection to existing realms, an attempt to drone out the incoherent dribble conglomerating within his mind. Thus you’re introduced to an eternally “high” man who practices anything and everything to sway the depths of his mind.

Terrified of permanent affiliation, he never remains in place for very long, constantly swathed in a obsessive disorder to separate himself from the existing world and the worlds beyond his own reality. He’s a fixating mixture of psycho-dependency and irrational lashes and even more irrational rituals of self and speech. Perhaps described as deluded, subdued, and monotonous, Noah has a surprising and interestingly enough colourful disposition, so long as he is pleasantly induced within whatever natural and ecstatic trance. If deprived from his usual fixtures, Noah descends into a demented state of withdrawal and becomes absorbed and violated by everything within.

Brief bio —

There is no family tradition here, nor blood line of great Shamans to even derive from; Noah is the man he is simply because he was born to be so and perhaps one could call it a curse of the circumstances because of that. Born as Lazlo, Noah has always been the queer adolescent within his selected generation. Described as flighty, waif and dirty, he grew up poor and alone; an urchin among urchins as it were, never quite belonging. While woeful to some and bringing sympathy from others, Noah has always been fond of his roots and while they do not define him, they have, however, shaped him and effected him in various circumstances whilst crowning into adult hood.

He possessed a unique sense, sort of a naturalist to his profession. At the time though, during the loneliness, it became a cumbersome existence. Hearing voices, witnessing cryptic visions with messages laden within their manic images, and sometimes driven mad by his own connections.

Until, by chance, a mentor swept him out from the gutter he slept in with naught by a dismal coat hung over ragged shoulders. Ray, as the man simply went, uttered of a vision that directed him to Noah’s self and thus would he mentor him; teach him and breed him into a healer of smoke and divination. Unfortunately, Noah’s state of mind was already transcending into the state of ritual madness, and Ray’s endeavors to tame the mass of mistakes from time only succeeded in beginning Noah’s psychoactive needs. Nights meant to teach him how to seek out the other realms became educated instruction in how to sort them out, for voices and beings found themselves drawn to the boy in alarming masses that even Ray became intimidated by. Neither benevolent or malevolent, these spirits seemed only to assuage his mental capacity by whispering to him, speaking in tongues that would drive any sane, normal, man into the depths of dementia.

Over time, the drugs and the dependencies was enough to quiet their ill-spoken words, only to pelt Noah into a ritual trance that would last for days on end. Ray was determined, still, to cultivate his taken ward into a Shaman or worthy means and healing and sought out the answers within his own hallucinations in near-desperate attempts to find the answer to Noah’s fall from grace. Various stages of psychosis followed suit, numbing Noah within and without until a shell of muttering phrases stood within place. Thought to be driven to complete insanity, it was an amazing feature that his connection was still intact, not dwindling at all despite his splintered spirit. Ray studied the petrified soul within Noah, procuring various remedies of spiritual influence and magic that he had gathered from communing with his usual patrons.

It was only, six days later, that Noah shattered the routine, finally emerging from his state of loss with a wealth of knowledge and ritual power gained upon what Ray had to explain as a vision quest. Unlike any other, of course, but identical in circumstances despite the stains left upon Noah’s mind and soul. Ray knew his ward was different, a peculiar breed, but in this he could be tamed and perhaps deluded or among the best healers of all.

But, as tragic stories go, Noah’s dependency on various narcotics and entheogens numbs his link to the realms to the point of deluded, water-downed magic prowess. Even with Ray’s endeavors, he only succeeded in teaching and harnessing Noah’s Shaman knowledge and traits with repetitive education. Later learning that Noah’s true talent blossomed during the most awkward and random of times, never quite fixating into perfect unison and practice.

Eventually disbanding from Ray’s tutelage, truthfully by just wondering away in a lucid trance, Noah drifted across country, finding occupation in detailing events and visions through his constant state of dreaming-aware. Ray constantly seeks out his student, often sending cryptic message through smoke and song in his visions, but Noah’s wondering only continued on and on, until he found himself within the concrete jungle with a pulsating headache and the dreadful woe of something lurking beyond the usual stupor of his foresight.