canaryrose

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

-341

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Blake’s fire herded about a third of the ogres into one of the buildings near them. They detested his fire, which was awesome for her. Because if they could get them all into a building Jamie could use her own signature move. Collapsing buildings. Finally, that skill was useful! On a normal day, her pay would’ve been docked for destroying a building. Somehow she didn’t think that would be the case today. She examined the building for a moment. Not just with her eyes, but with her power too. It didn’t seem that sturdy of a building. The Romans must not have been too good at building stuff, because it would collapse pretty easily. Which was great for now, but the ancients who lived here once couldn't've been very smart to build their stuff like that.

Once she felt that most of the ogres that would get into the building were in there, Jamie backed up and extended her hands. The building began to shake, several pieces of its drywall falling off and obstructing the doorway. “STAND BACK!” she yelled, before she yanked her arms back, and with them, the building. It collapsed to the ground around the ogres with an earth-rattling noise and sensation. Jamie had to put her hand on a pillar to stabilize herself, breathing heavily. God, she wished she had brought her goggles. Dust from the collapse exploded out from the collapse, carrying with it the ugly smell of the ogres. She flashed a thumbs-up to Blake, who was currently struggling with a Vermile.

Hopefully that had worked. Making sure to stay far away from the alive ogres, Jamie drifted towards the collapsed building as soon as the shaking seemed to stop. She covered her mouth and nose with her arm. Those ogres were probably dead, but it was worth it to check. She didn’t want to use another big blast of her power like that (her arms were hurting now, ow), but she would if she had to.

@DClassified@KaijuBaragon@Hitman@Scarifar

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

-339

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

-339

《 H. E. R. O. 》

Patricia scoffed at Will as soon as he finished talking. She crossed her arms, about to go on the attack. What a dumb plan. It would get them all killed! She was about to pipe in to yell at correct him when the TV flickered to life again. That caught her attention immediately, drawing her away from her derisive anger. Because, despite all her angry posturing, there was one thing here she was genuinely concerned about- Eliza. Her girlfriend was strong and could fight for herself (something that others seemed to forget often, which frequently irritated her). But today… Patricia couldn’t help the fear that was rising in her chest at the sight of Eliza tied helpless to that rack.

Grace’s revelation didn’t shake her to her core. But it did stoke the flames of her fury. The Wings of Law? Seraph had hated her since day one, that much was true. He had tried so hard to make her career at H.E.R.O miserable, to make her quit. Which was shitty for a guy that had two decades on her. Yet, somehow she had thought that they might be decent enough to not attempt fucking murder. Mr. Impressive, Sea Serpent, Seraph, all of them… they could go fuck themselves, because Patricia was coming for them. “FUCK!" she screamed, unable to sum up any coherent words. Her hands tightened into claws. How dare they.

She had to try her hardest not to burst into tears when Eliza was shocked. But when the broadcast ended, she was given something else to focus on. Sam leaned in to speak to Patricia, and her eyes widened, staring at him. Her cheeks pinkened. Of course she smelt like Eliza. It only made sense- they had been holding each other all night. Sam started to walk towards the ogres, and she had to make a choice. Obviously, if they were over there, then there would be no merit in going to the coliseum. And plus… well, she had a few bones to pick with Nero. That she would settle. With mind control.

So, after a few moments of thought, Patricia spedwalk after the giant, towards the danger. “I’m coming with you,” she asserted, looking up at him, her obstinance reflected in her gaze. She wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “And you can’t stop me, so don’t bother trying.”

@DClassified

---

Jamie nodded at Will once he finished, giving him a thumbs-up. That seemed like a good plan! It wasn’t like she could come up with a better one, anyways. Blake, her, and Rumi… just like the mafia mission. And that had gone super well, so maybe this would too! The ogres didn’t look too fragile, though… Jamie looked at her hands, and then looked up at the encroaching Leftovers. A whiff of their scent hit her nose, and it just made her headache worse, for some reason. So did the sun. And everyone talking. And that TV going in the background… wait, what?

“The Wings of Law… what?!” Jamie looked genuinely stunned at this revelation. She had of course known that the group didn’t exactly like them much, but to want them dead? No, no, it couldn’t be true. But Grace wasn’t exactly a liar, and Jamie believed her. The Wings of Law were, like them, the good guys- heroes. Even though Mr. Impressive was a douchebag and Sea Serpent was a total bitch, they were still heroes. Surely they couldn’t want to hurt them. But the evidence was apparently staring her right in the face.

The broadcast ended, and Jamie’s attention was drawn back to the ogres. Everyone was splitting up, it seemed- Patricia and Sam were going to the area directly behind the ogres, and Will and Brie were going to the left. Remembering Will’s plan, Jamie decided to stay and fight the ogres. Her power was usually useful for this sort of thing. Looking at the ogres a bit closer, she noticed how durable they seemed. She tried out a blast on one of the ones closest to her- and it didn’t crush it. Rather, the ogre just seemed to be annoyed. This was not going to work.

Suddenly, she had an idea. “BLAKE!” she shouted, and winced at how loud her own voice was. “HERD THEM INTO THE BUILDING! I HAVE AN IDEA!”

@Hitman

The Sisters of the Dying Branch

TW: SELF-HARM AND VOMITING

As the other witchlings slowly drifted away from the table and to the house, Calypso sat in her chair and wolfed down her food. It wasn’t that she was starving, per say. She just figured that it wouldn’t be great to go to the ceremony on an empty stomach. But it also wouldn’t be great to be late either. So she ate as fast as she could, only finishing half of her plate before realizing that she was the last one at the table and that everyone had started congregating on the porch. She blinked and glanced down at her plate, stomach roiling. Am I ready? She didn’t know if she was, but she had to be. Or else… she didn’t know what else. This was her life, her purpose. If she wasn’t a good witch, what was she? On the drive to the coven property, Calypso had done some tarot readings for herself, and the results had been a bit… mixed. She was self-aware enough to know that, even with magic involved, the readings weren’t always the most accurate… but it was still concerning.

The last person at the table, Calypso stood from her seat and tossed her plate in the garbage can. She walked over to the porch. She waved at the other witchlings standing and chatting before going up the steps herself and sitting down in a cushioned wicker chair by the window. Being a little too nervous to join in on any specific conversations, she kind of just sat and listened to everybody else talk. It was really just normal conversation for the most part. Summer was being snide, Charlie was trying his best to counter her, and Dakota and Iris were messing around with each other. Kate was trying to freak Rowan out, and there was some… new girl? Calypso blinked and leaned forward a bit, interest piqued. Two new people in one day- in a community that rarely accepted outsiders. That was unusual, to say the least of it.

Before Calypso could introduce herself and possibly interrogate this new girl with the stick, however, the front door opened up and a woman popped her head out. It wasn’t Sister Deborah- rather, it was one of the younger elders named Sister Lark. The woman smiled warmly at the witchlings. She would’ve waved if she could, but she was carrying what looked like a stack of black clothes in her arms, similar to the robe she herself was wearing.

“Isolde!” she said, smiling at the girl with the stick. “You made it just in time, sweetheart. We were starting to get worried you wouldn’t make it before we set off.” After speaking exclusively to Isolde, the woman then seemed to remember herself and turned to the congregated group. “You guys all know me of course, but this is Isolde Morden.” She gestured to Isolde with her otherwise occupied hands. “She’s from one of the… independent witch families. They have a wellspring of their own, but Isolde decided she wanted to join us instead. Give her your warmest welcome, please!”

Lark paused for a moment, smiling, and then launched into something else. “Well, let’s get this show on the road! What I have here in my hands is the coven’s ceremonial robes. You don’t have to take off your clothes or anything, but you’re going to put these on over your clothes for the ritual.” She held out the stack of robes, waiting for everyone to take one.

Calypso shuffled forwards first, taking one and muttering a thanks to Lark. Then, she unfolded it and shrugged it on. It… wasn’t that bad! Loose and baggy, sure, and the sleeves extended a bit past her wrists, but it looked… witchy? It was black with white markings, and covered her entire body. She fastened the row of buttons going about a quarter way down the robe, fumbling with them before finally getting it right. Fully buttoned up, the robe started at her collarbones and hit at the ankle, covering up Calypso’s entire outfit. It wasn’t too flattering, but it was a tradition, apparently.

While everyone was putting on their robes, Lark spoke up again. “Oh, and since I’ve gotten everyone’s attention, we can’t bring any of our personal things to the wellspring. That includes bags, phones, and any magical items. Oh, and familiars. That goes for you especially Dakota, you can’t bring Astro. Put your things by the door, and you can get them once we come back.” She gestured to a spot next to the front door, and waited for everyone to put their things there. Lark especially eyed Uaithne, with his giant bag full of weapons. Calypso took her phone out of her pocket and unclasped a pendulum from her neck and put the two on a small end table next to a chair.

As everyone put all their things down, Lark watched in silence. “Well, if that’s it, then I guess we’re ready to get this thing on the road! Woo!” she said, once everything had been put down. “I’m going to head inside and get the other elders so we can get going down the trail. If you still have anything in your pockets, take it out! Please and thank you.” At that, she disappeared into the house again, seemingly to get a few other elders.

A few minutes later, she reappeared with two other people in the same robes as her. An older, gray-haired and stern-faced man named Lucien and a middle-aged looking woman named Claudia. As far as Calypso could remember, neither was particularly important in the grand scheme of things, just like Lark. Of course, each was a member of the Elders’ Council, but neither was particularly high-ranking. But they were important enough to escort them to the wellspring.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve all met Brother Lucien and Sister Claudia before… or if you haven’t, I guess you have now. Now that we have you all ready, we can start walking down to the wellspring,” Lark said. She grabbed a lantern from a hook on the porch. With a few muttered words, its fire flickered to life. The porch lights were on, so it didn’t do much to light up the area, but it would probably illuminate a fair amount of the trail. She also lit two other lanterns and gave one each to the other elders. “It’s going to be a long walk, and it’s nearly dark,” she explained. “Now, let’s go!”

With that, Lark turned around and started to walk towards the forest. Calypso followed close behind. At first, it seemed like she was walking right towards a giant oak tree- which was certainly confusing. Calypso herself raised a brow, about to mention something. Then, Lark spoke an incantation under her breath. The illusion of the thick undergrowth vanished, and in front of the group appeared a thin opening into what appeared to be a skinny dirt path cutting downhill and through the forest. Lark turned to the group of initiates and gestured for them to follow her- and then entered the forest.

Calypso followed, but quickly realized that the path was not suitable for anything but single-file walking, and the group of witchlings was in a disorganized blob of people at that moment.Once they had all organized themselves into a single-file line, the group went through the first fluidly. Lark and the two other elders held lanterns aloft at the beginning, middle, and end of the line. As the lights from the party and the house faded, Calypso grew grateful for the lanterns. The trees blocked any of the remaining light of the sun from lighting their way down the mountain, and by god was the trail steep.

The walk took about 30 minutes. For the most part, Calypso was quiet as she went down the trail. Although there was definitely some chatter from the other witchlings, she was uncharacteristically silent. Walking to the wellspring really cemented it in place for her- it was her time. Her place, her day. She contemplated this reality in her head, the reality that she was about to become what she had always wanted to be. And she was scared. Excited, yes, but scared.

As they walked, the scenery around them began to change. A witch good with magical energy would begin to sense the air around them… shifting. It became heavy with magic, however that particular witch might interpret that. Calypso felt a heavy feeling like a weighted blanket settle over her, as well as a tickle in the back of her nose. Plants were larger and stranger, and psychedelic flowers started to pop up along the path. The soil grew darker and richer, and strange sounds echoed from the depths of the forest. The noises of rushing water became apparent as they walked down the path, and grew louder and louder until the path opened up and into the wellspring.

For a single moment, its majesty stole Calypso’s breath. The wellspring was a lake, which she had already, but its pure blue waters looked out of place in this world. It looked like water, yes, but it shone with something other. She could smell the magic in the air, feel it heavy on her skin. It smelled like a basket of fresh strawberries, or a bushel of roses. Enchanting and powerful. Mountains rose up all around the lake, concealing it from the world. Ancient knotted trees stood tall and mighty next to the lake, their branches vigorous with life. Water lilies of vibrant, unearthly colors dotted the surface of the lake, and reeds grew up along the sides. It was almost something out of a fairy tale. A buoying sense of wonder rose in her chest, and a smile bloomed on her face. She could see why they protected this place. It was truly something else.

Sister Deborah stood in front of the lake, hands clasped neatly in front of her. She stared at the group with a warm smile on her face. “I would like to first say,” she started, voice firm and confident, “that I am so proud of you all. Really. You have chosen to take the next step in your lives as witches of this coven- bonding to our wellspring. It’s a remarkable, crucial choice, and one that will shape the rest of your life. Taking on this kind of power and duty is not something to be scoffed at. But you are doing so today with the full knowledge of the magnitude of it in your hearts. Today you cross the threshold from witchling to witch, from child to adult. Congratulations!”

“The bonding ritual is one of our most sacred rituals,” she continued. “It is a well-kept secret, which is why I am just telling you about the specifics of it now. As witches, you are expected to never expunge the secrets of our ways. This is one of them.” She gave a meaningful stare to the group for a long moment, and then gestured to the ground behind her.“Step forward, please, and kneel on the pillows we’ve set up for you.”

Calypso stepped forward and up to the shore of the lake. There were red, tasseled pillows lying on the shoreline- one for each of them. Laid next to each of them was a vial full of assorted herbs and a dagger. Calypso knelt on one, eyeing the dagger suspiciously. What would they need a knife for? But she folded her hands anyways and raised her head to listen to Sister Deborah.

Calypso could see the elders behind them shift to face the wellspring and the backs of the initiates. She gulped- even Lark’s generally cheery face had turned solemn. “In front of you, there is a cup full of herbs with special, magical properties and a ceremonial dagger.” Sister Deborah stepped forward to take the knife from Calypso’s area, leaning over the girl to get it. “I want you to fill the cup with water from the wellspring. And then you’ll take the knife and… well, I’ll demonstrate.” She backed up a few paces, still holding Calypso’s knife. Then, while everyone was watching, she took the dagger and dragged it across the inside of her wrist. She didn’t cut herself- but the intent was clear. “Then you will let the blood drip from your wrist into the cup, mix it together, and drink the mixture. You’ll also let some of the blood drip into the wellspring.” She smiled thinly. “It will hurt, but afterwards you can heal it yourself. Now, when you drink the mixture… well, it always has some odd effects. But after this, you’ll be able to call on the power of the wellspring to perform magic. I am excited to see what you’ll do with its power-”

“Um, Sister Deborah? I have a question.” Calypso interrupted Sister Deborah and raised her hand, sweating profusely. Her hand shook a bit.

Sister Deborah grit her teeth. Her eyes flicked to Calypso. “Yes, Ms. Barnes? You know that it’s rude to interrupt someone while they’re speaking.”

Calypso’s eyes went wide. She gulped. “Oh, well… you know, I was wondering…” Her voice squeaked. “If there was maybe another way to do this? I mean, like, w-without the… the blood?” She giggled and offered a nervous smile.

That smile was met with a furious glare. Calypso wilted under Deborah’s fury. From behind Deborah, she saw Lark silently gasp and motion for her to cut it out.

“You would like me to- hold on. You want me to find another way to do this ancient, sacred ritual so that you don’t have to see blood?!” Her voice shook with anger as she walked forward to wag her finger at Calypso.

“N-no! Of course not, m-ma’am, I just… you know. I just wonder… is it sanitary?” Calypso was not in fact thinking about how clean the knife was- rather, she was thinking about her crippling fear of blood. One of two things happened when Calypso saw blood: she either fainted or hurled. And she wasn’t quite in the mood to do either today. Just the thought of blood made her feel faint around the edges, like she was now. She was feeling the fullness of her stomach acutely at the moment, and was not a fan.

Sister Deborah made a noise halfway in between a scream and a groan. She pressed the dagger into Calypso’s hand with force. “Just do it. I promise you won’t die, okay?” With that, she stepped back. She smoothed her robes and her expression back into something resembling calm and happiness, and took a breath while Calypso tried not to cry. “Please feel free to get started now. If anything happens while you’re… doing the ceremony, we’ll be here to take care of it.”

Calypso held the dagger in her shaking hands. It’s okay. You can do this. You’ve got this! You’re almost a witch- you won’t let a bit of blood get you down! She took a deep breath. Then another. She grabbed the cup with her left hand and dipped it into the wellspring, making sure to fill it high. The water shone and sparkled in the cup, but also shook along with Calypso’s hands. It smelled of magic, but she couldn’t really appreciate that right now.

Calypso had to close her eyes before she dragged the dagger along her wrist. The pain was slow to come at first. She didn’t open her eyes, just thrust out her wrist to where she thought that the lake might be and let it stay there until a sudden, stinging pain bloomed on her wrist and she thought it might’ve dribbled into the water. Then she took her wrist back and slowly opened her eyes to the sight of a bloody mess. Her vision went black around the edges, and she had to put one of her hands down to stabilize herself at the sight of it. She made a noise halfway between a whimper and a yelp. This was why she never did healing magic. Aiming to keep her eyes open for as little time as possible, she extended her wrist over the cup and then closed them tight again. She only opened them again once she thought there might be enough blood in there, she closed her eyes tight and yanked her wrist out of her sight, only opening it once it was behind her back. Calypso stared at the glass of now bloody magic water, face turning a green shade. God, she had to drink that.

She didn’t think she would make it. Reluctantly, she picked up the cup, fighting back the urge to regurgitate her dinner. And then, she tilted it bak and chugged.

The change was immediate. She barely made it through the first sip before feeling a sudden burst of magic energy, an ethereal feeling. That feeling you get when you’re dropped on a rollercoaster, or when you swing as high as you can. The potion was bitter, irony, and salty going down, but it gave her such a good feeling. Her head cleared and her fingers grew tingly, and she could swear she was floating on a marshmallow cloud for that moment. This wouldn’t be nearly as bad as she has thought, she thought.

But once she finished off the cup, something violent ran through her. Chaotic and beautiful and horrible and… oh God. Her vision was fading, blacking out. Foreign power swept through her, and her muscles shook involuntarily. The cut wasn’t even the worst of it anymore. Now, it was… everything. Everywhere and nowhere all at once, like a magical ache. Vaguely, in the back of her pain-filled mind, she thought that her body was trying to reject the wellspring’s power- it did that to most foreign substances, right? But why would she reject the wellspring’s power? It was supposed to help, not make her feel like this. But it did. Her eyes shined white like a flickering lightbulb at different moments, making her feel even worse.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity to her but was probably only 15 seconds, the pain stopped and her body returned to semi-normal, but with a strange, different feeling. Once she was sure that she was normal again, she shakily stood from the ground, clasping her bloody wrist in her hand. She did not feel good. That had been an intense, strange, bad experience. The nausea was still there, but she didn’t feel like she was about to die anymore. Which was… good. Calypso glanced around at the other initiates. There was one girl laying face down in the water (which was weird), but other than that, everybody seemed okay.

Calypso glanced at her wrist, which she was hoping had miraculously healed. It had not, and another wave of nausea raced through her. Instead of healing, her entire forearm was covered in bloody streaks, and so was her right hand. Physically unable to contain her dinner anymore, Calypso leaned over and… vomited. All over her robe and the ground. She came up for air after a few seconds of horrendous retching to the sight of Sister Deborah looking at her, disgusted.

“Sorry,” she muttered, and then leaned over to hurl some more.

The Sisters of the Dying Branch

The Voodoo Prince

Name
Jean-Luc Baptiste Laguerre
Generally referred to as "Jean-Luc" in full, but he won't complain if he's referred to by a nickname.

Gender
Male

Age
18

Birthday
11/30

Sexuality
Pomosexual

Appearance
Jean-Luc has an appearance that looks distant and cold. He's tall and lean, not quite buff but not very thin, with a developed musculature packed into a slightly hunched figure. One of his most notable physical characteristics is his skin, which has a dark, ebony hue to it, with a few areas of lighter coloration present on his knees and hands, where he's had some scrapes and scars in the past. He wears a stern, serious face most of the time, and in general doesn't come across as a very 'happy' person. Smiles are rare for him. He has very deep, dark brown eyes, watchful and inquisitive, and wide protruding lips.

His color scheme is mostly shades of black and violet, with white colors worn sparsely. While he does gravitate towards nicer clothes, his wardrobe is a mix of many different styles, some formal and some less so. He does make an effort to make himself look presentable at all times, but his clothing isn't always highly dressy. Jean-Luc tends to wear necklaces quite often, normally dangling a couple around his neck.

Jean-Luc has a noticeable Haitian accent, not overbearing or strong enough to make him hard to understand, but it is certainly present in his speech. It's been described as almost soothing in a way.
Height: 6'1"
Weight: 166 lbs

Personality
If Jean-Luc could be described in one word, it would be 'intense.' Jean-Luc is a serious, focused, and dedicated person, the type that rarely cracks a smile and can keep a straight face throughout some of the funniest of moments. Jean-Luc is grave and somber, collected in his thoughts and ever the cool type, detached and pensive. He much prefers the atmosphere that silence brings about rather than raucous laughter and discussion. That's not to say that Jean-Luc is antisocial; he's certainly capable of holding a conversation and quite enjoys one-on-one discussion, but is the type to shy away from larger crowds, parties, and large gatherings. He doesn't enjoy living alone, but seeks companionship over large assemblies of acquaintances.

That's not to say that Jean-Luc is always the best of companions. It depends on what you're looking for in a friend. Jean-Luc is brutally honest, blunt, and often overly harsh in his critiques. He comes off easily as very candid and almost rude, offering his own direct truths as opposed to watered-down euphemisms and compliments. He does this out of a place of caring- he believes that having strength and growing is a crucial trait, especially for the witchlings of the coven, but his 'advice' can often be disagreeable, especially to those who aren't asking for it in the first place. Jean-Luc is certainly capable of taking what he receives, and he's almost immune to negative comments, with any attempt at an insult bouncing off of him harmlessly, but he gives off an aura of authority, if not superiority. Jean-Luc, simply put, acts like an adult in a room full of children, even if he's in a room of his peers or other adults. In all due fairness to him, Jean-Luc is very sagacious and shrewd, and his advice is often rather wise, but his delivery is often unfiltered and hence rather jarring. It can take some type to get accustomed to him.

Jean-Luc, at heart, is a surprisingly loving person to those that know him. He is extremely honest and has a very high integrity, and is also a very loyal and brave person. He's not foolishly courageous, and is sometimes too clever for his own good, but he's loyal and dauntless in his actions. To see him taken aback is as rare as to see him smile, which is indeed something very rare indeed to see.

To those he dislikes, though, beware, because Jean-Luc's moral compass is often a few clicks off from what would be considered normal, and he's willing to go to lengths to punish people that he believe deserve it. He's more than willing to teach people a lesson on his own accord, and his powers can be very scary. Jean-Luc is a great friend and a surprisingly caring person once you get to know him, but God is he a terrible enemy to have.

Biography
Jean-Luc was born in Port-au-Prince, Haiti, to two capable witches in the region. Though Jean-Luc strongly identifies with Haitian culture, language, and customs, his memories of actually living in the nation of Haiti itself are few. His family left Haiti when Jean-Luc was a toddler, migrating to Raleigh in North Carolina and moving up further north later on. Jean-Luc's parents were dedicated and hard-working, and they always put their children first. While the family at first had nothing, Jean-Luc's father opened up a small Caribbean restaurant with a friend that later turned into a small chain, able to provide a more-than-suitable living for the young family. Jean-Luc was able to experience the American Dream firsthand, and was able to tangibly feel a rise from relative poverty to relative wealth.

Of course, Jean-Luc's parents are not only chefs and businesspeople. The Laguerre family has had a long history of witches in it of itself, with both paternal and maternal family trees tracing back through generations of spectacular magicians, and Jean-Luc was no different. He was closely embroiled in the Coven activities from an early age, learning magic fervently and becoming highly dedicated to its practice. While his parents balanced Coven activities with active work and social lives, Jean-Luc had tunnel-vision to become a powerful witch. Recesses for him were spent reading and practicing in secret, free time allocated to his studies of various forms of magic and curses. His skills grew rapidly, at the cost of living a normal life. Sure, he went to school and he had some friends, but he was always the quiet kid in the corner, the weird kid.

As he approaches time to join the Coven, Jean-Luc is ecstatic to be a part of the group, though, as usual, he won't ever show it.

Notable Rumors
That Jean-Luc once used a curse to kill a boyfriend that cheated on him.
He most definitely did not kill anybody, but there may have been some curses placed and some form of damage done.

Greatest Fear
Cynophobia (Fear of dogs)
Jean-Luc was bitten when he was 6, and while he isn't deathly scared of the animals, he will gladly move away from them if they get near him.

Magic
Jean-Luc is a highly skilled young witchling that would, for the most part, be considered a generalist. He has some areas of magic that seems to be more focused, however, and some areas that are weaker.

Specialty: Curses
Jean-Luc's parents were both prodigies in this field, and Jean-Luc has learned how to place curses on individuals with phenomenal results. Jean-Luc is able to put minor curses on individuals without much difficulty, able to cause targets to stub their toe on their bedframe or trip over a twig and hurt themselves, nothing significant or long-lasting. For repercussions that are significant, however, Jean-Luc would have to apply a much more significant sacrifice to make the curse effective. Though requiring sacrifice, these higher-level curses can have a very destructive effect on a person that can slowly (or quickly) rip apart their lives. Jean-Luc only has a theoretical understanding of these more destructive curses, though. Jean-Luc's two strongest weapons in his arsenals are causing wounds to become unhealing for long periods of time (the "yon blesi ki pap geri" or "unhealing wound" is in theory supposed to be eternal, but Jean-Luc is nowhere near that level of severity) and causing severe relationship damage to the people the afflicted person cares about. Jean-Luc has never used this curses yet, due to the legality of them along with the sacrifice necessary, but has a good understanding on how to cast them should he ever need to.

Specialty: Soulbonding
Jean-Luc's other unique talent is the ability to link a mortal being with an object and exercise limited manipulation of that target. Jean-Luc, through using a piece of the afflicted's body (such as hair, a tooth, anything really) or a possession of sentimental value, is able to link either another person or an inanimate object, like a doll, to the afflicted. From there, Jean-Luc can use magic to cause a sort of sympathetic link that will cause the afflicted to move and feel what the linked object (person or thing) is doing. To maintain this link for long periods of time requires a great deal of magical energy and sacrifice, especially when linking two people together. Jean-Luc would traditionally do this type of magic with a sort of voodoo doll or poppet, though he will be quick to point out that the conception of voodoo dolls being linked to Haitian Vodou is perpetuated by Western stereotypes. Still, it's a pretty awesome and terrifying magic to see in practice.

Minor Specialty: Potions
Jean-Luc is fairly skilled at making potions. It's not exactly one of his strongest suits, but he's fairly adept at doing so and is overall capable of making a good chunk of potions.

Minor Specialty: Charms
Jean-Luc is fairly skilled at creating and using charms as well. They aren't as effective as his curses are, of course, but Jean-Luc is still able to successfully create and use them on a fairly high level.

Weakness: Elemental

Weakness: Healing Magic

Other
Familiar: Jean-Luc's lovely familiar is as far from fluffy as possible. Namely, it's a Central American boa constrictor named Ghede, a lazy and often moody snake of over 6 feet that is named for a renowned Loa of Haitian vodou. Jean-Luc loves reptiles and is quite affectionate of Ghede, though Ghede seems to never return the favor towards Jean-Luc or anybody else, for that matter.

Ghede

Language: Jean-Luc is fluent in English and Haitian Creole, and rather proficient in French.

Color: Dark magenta on the Guild

@Hitman

Accepted! Go ahead and put him in the character tab- in the same post as Dakota is.

The Consortium: A D&D and Treasure Planet Inspired RP

This looks interesting! Might join.

Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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Men vs. Women Race to 1000: Version 2.0

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