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Not a SayanMicheal Crane aka pîhtokahânapiwiýin
Age:36
Gender Identity: Megaphone (Male)
Species: Human
Appearance: Standing about 6 feet tall, with a chiseled form, shoulder length black hair kept back by the dreadlocks he has his hair styled into. The familiar Indigenous red skin, stretched over a fit form. His eyes are piercing bright blues that seem to have bolts of lightning flicker within them. His magical focus is a tomahawk made from an old spruce tree for the handle and a mighty piece of meteoric iron for the head. When in his gear he wears a leather vest, with iron adornments at the shoulders. A pair of khaki trousers and heavy swat boots on his feet. The back of the vest is beaded and quilled with the circle of life. His tomahawk also adorned with feathers and bead work. It's less a weapon and more a focus after all. When not in his gear he can usually be found in a hoodie, and jeans with a casual t-shirt of somekind on.
Height/Weight: Six feet tall even, and 231 pounds
Agent of the OMR(yes/no), if yes, describe position and responsibilities: Technically No, a member of the OMR Reserve, off the list, but ostensibly employed to watch over the Trickster Gods of the Indigenous Peoples, and to keep them in check and corraled...just in case.
Biography:
"It's the drum that is the heart beat of the Native people!"
Those were the words that were said to him in his teens, it was those words that had sparked an awakening in several generations of Shaman. It was the words of the Great Shaman Thomas "Joyous Crow" Kannatariio, one of the first Indigenous Shamans to answer the cal of the Early OMR. These words were told to every young man and woman. And they helped to bring about the current Shaman Community of the North and South Americas and Australian and New Zealand lands.
Among those who heard those words as the old Shaman died. Was Micheal. He was a young Reserve Hood, a tough and rumble young teen on the Reserve of Saddle Lake in Mid-Northern Alberta. But those words woke something. As he was raising a bottle of beer to his lips the old Shaman breathed his last and his power flashed across the nations. And opened the doors for thousands of new shaman. Micheal was one of them. As he raised the bottle to his lips the power woke. And the bottle imploded. The glass becoming an orb of nearly smooth glass. The alcohol boiling away in the face of the awakening of a Shaman. His eyes flashed and Micheal knew. As he watched his own grandfather, standing before him in the form of a spirit shaking his head at him for the way he was living his life. He saw legends like Poundmaker, Joseph Brant and others who have passed but had lead the First Nations people through the worst standing and watching.
He turned his life around. He found elders who taught him, he learned the ways of the Oska-peyos. He resumed his schooling. He tried to make a better person out of himself. Not that he left everything of his old life behind. HE was no longer a hoodlum but he kept in touch and still retained some of his skills.
As the years got on, he learned what he could the Elders awarded him his own drum, and his own pipe. Seeing in him the growing Shaman. His new abilities growing stronger. He was privy to the fight that occured above in the heavens. The great Beast struck down. He was in attendance when 400 Shaman and Shamaness held a Great Sundance to help empower those who had gone up there to help. He raised his voice and beat his drum, while his pipe rested beside him as they looked to the heavens. They would raise their voices in whoops of glory and joy as the news came back that the beast had fallen.
After he would continue his work from his Lodge on the banks of the Saddle Lake on the Saddle Lake Reserve. Keeping an eye on those ever moving Trickster Gods. The OMR came on his thirtieth birthday to ask him to join and like many Shaman he said he'd help, but the independence in him and in all Indigenous Shaman was too strong. Years of being coralled on Reserves had left them distrustful. But he'd still come when called. He did agree to help the OMR and watch the Tricksters closer. To make sure the Gods didn't do something crazy.
He was picking sweetgrass when an OMR agent in SWAT boots, and a three piece suit tramped up to him, scaring the Fox that was nestled up to him to tell him they needed him in Germany. He'd quirked an eyebrow then nodded. Leaving one of his Shaman teammates in charge of his section of the God Watch. He'd booked a flight and boarded up. Then heaved a massive sigh when he spotted a giant black raven flying along side the 747. A Iroquoian man sitting down the way with a headdress on up in first class. And another with a bungee cord riding the left wing of the plane. Seems he has some hitch hikers following him. Too late to turn back now though.
Reason to be chosen for the mission: An excellent scryer, Ritualist and Indigenous Rune Mage. Called up out of the Reserves and asked to help out perhaps use his abilities to find information or track down perpetrators. Not to mention Whiskeyjack, Raven and Manabozho kinda like him.
All weapons and equipment must be registered: A medicine pouch holding a days worth of ritual materials, this being chalk, charcoal sticks, medicine water, whiskey, fetish items, sage, sweatgrass and Elder's Fungus, just to name a few things. His Tomahawk focus, which can be used for casting, carving runes or helping in ritual. A hand drum for ritual purpose. A ritual long pipe, with pure tobacco again for ritual purpose. Black Glass ball, used for Scrying and Seeing.
Magical Abilities:
Ritual Magic: From the Sweat Lodge, to the Sundance, around on to the Horse Dance and the Ghost Dance. The Indigenous Shaman do most of their work through song and word and chant and music. Ritualized magic that produces expected results every time. The more shaman taking part the stronger. At it's pinnacle are the Pow Wow, the Great Ghost Dance and the Great Sundance that can change weather patterns or contain gods.
Rune Magic: Not every shaman practices this, but it's become one of Micheal's chosen forms of magic. Carving out specific Cree Syllabic runes into runic arrays can produce some pretty strong and lasting effects. The Runes of Wind and Rain, can cause a localized mist to lower visibilty, the runes of Wind and Fire, calling up a cyclone of flames. As just a few examples.
Scrying: Peering into a large black glass ball, allows Micheal to see things others can't, gain information on a situation, or seek inspiration in the moment. Careful use can even create new oppurtunities. Or catch his three godly tails in the act.
The Sight: A limited ability to see entities and beings that aren't on the same plane as the normal. Allowing him to see Spirits, Ghosts and other beings that can't cross over to the mortal plane.
Miscellaneous Facts:
He's not sure when he got the attention of Whiskeyjack, Manabozho and Raven, but he's gotten used to it.
The OMR and the Indigenous Shamans and Mages Community act as partners.
Currently the 20+ Trickster Gods of the Indigenous Peoples are not directly registered with the OMR, but kind of cooperate. Micheal and the Shaman's don't really try to change the dynamic any.
Likes:
The Full moon on a clear night
A fine rain and the smell of purity afterward
Sitting and listening to the night creatures. A Wolfs call, a coyotes yip and a deers din.
Good friends, the laughter of family and friends and the ability to see them well and happy.
Dislikes
Pollution of the environment, Protectors of Mother Earth, he believes this whole heartedly of the First Nations of all Continents.
Discrimination, bigotry and racism. He's decked more then a few people for pulling this. He's got atleast one righteous assault charge on his record to prove it.
Corruption of the Natural Order. He's taken part in five Great Ghost Dances to fix a corruptive force within the natural order of things.
Sexual Preference and Orientation: Bisexual, with no serious lean, and a rather clear Dom/Sub fetish