Rockette

ℛ є q υ ι є м.

Wonderful, we're thrilled to have you!

ℛ є q υ ι є м.

Partially fault of mine, most of the information and details of the Aeons and plot structure are not listed here for the sake of not overwhelming the introduction. It's done purposely for the plot/story discovery.

Essentially, I could say wait for the ooc, but I'll explain for others with the same inquiries:

The plot is a mixture of linear and sand-box, and is mostly swayed by the decisions of the cast. There is a timeline already written, however it's vague and conceptual so I don't lose myself from the story.

You're a part of SOLDIER, you're going to be doing what you were trained and conditioned to do: fight.
SOLDIERS are, basically, better than everyone else - to keep it simple. Faster, stronger, intelligent; possessing super-human traits that everyone believe to be derived from a divine influence and origin. Could this be the case? Who knows.

The cast is either selected; volunteered; or joined into the programme by affiliation. For example, your family is military bound or related to one of the scientists also leading the division. The plot and story begins after having been under SOLDIER for some months, already trained, prepped and being given first deployment to where you'll be fighting and putting down SeeR factions.

I can't specify any more without giving it all away, heh.

The Aeons were used for experimentation purposes in the beginning, when man discovers something new and foreign, he needs to know what it is, how it got there, and what it can do. This is what they did with the Aeons. Now, in the current events, a lot of people have forgotten about them. War blinds everyone, in this case. SOLIDERS, mysteriously enough, don't know anything about them. Public announcements were given, stating that the Aeons were no longer present or alive and effectively sealed away or deposed.

Aeon genetics and cells were the original cause of the war, but like I stated, they've been forgotten. Now Viera is under war for the sake of resources and, to some, to break away entirely from the capital. Granted, not everyone has forgotten about the Aeons, but very few are probably aware of their original purpose and intentions during the early pharmaceutical campaigns.

The Aeons, however, are closed tied and related to the cast.
How, exactly, will be explained in the ooc.

ℛ є q υ ι є м.

Fabulous, that's what I like to see!
The ooc is pretty much pat-down, just a lot of requirement to sort the information into a format that's easy on the eyes.

ℛ є q υ ι є м.

ℛ є q υ ι є м.

x x x

Broken Circle: Arcana Americana

Fantastic. I'm free this weekend, so a post should be up in the near future.

Broken Circle: Arcana Americana

A bit late, but ah well. I kept it short, I know you guys want to move on!

Broken Circle: Arcana Americana

Punctuality was never one of Noah’s finest qualities, in fact, the method of decorum didn’t register at all in his woefully short list of propriety. One could fill of a thimble with the mannerisms Noah did practice, aside from his daily intake and ingestion of anything and everything mind-numbing and soul-bending. However, rare circumstances arose in the most peculiar of ways, tangible and unnerving of course, but startling in their collections. Such was the state of mind he roused from, clutching nimble fingers against the matted tresses of his unruly locks, ripping through the impossible maelstrom of brunette curls to cease the bounding orchestra of voices within his mind.

In various tongues they spoke, communing with him through violation, and they all uttered of the same thing that had been plaguing his dreaming-aware and state of trance. It was a gargantuan creature with no name, bestial and ancient and it terrified Noah to the roots of his spirit quaking in the confinements of his mortal being. Constantly warped into a induced stupor, not much effected his reality when the outer realms spoke within his fragile mind, but shaking in the throes of withdrawal and disturbance; the fine lines of brittle woe and terror marked across his visage. Eyes wide, the ecru of his complexion paling in dread, and a fair tremor causing his twitching gestures to claw at the sensitive skin concaving at his temples. He inhaled, sputtered, and exhaled shakily until he reined in some degree of composure to still his thoughts and the voices weaving about the jumbled pieces.

He didn’t have an answer as to what he kept seeing, and he hadn’t dared to seek out Ray to inquire to what exactly that creature was. But, someone had found it, and someone had a malicious purpose to its’ awakening, and Noah felt a hopeless sense of inevitability burn into his mind as a crude sigil. Tearing away from his tresses, his fingers finally settled into a clasp at his down-turned mouth, perching on trembling lips as thin elbows prodded against equally thin knees. Contemplating and in desperate desire of a fixture, Noah sorted through the voices and spirits teeming about the lobes of his consciousness; attempting to make sense of the manic sputtering and wails like Ray had instructed of him during numerous nights lost to the late hours. Each timbre and cadence seemed to vocalize and whisper the same thing; the end. But, an end to what? Their worlds, the various realms, or their fickle existences? Endless possibilities bade inquiry in his mind, hopping over the over as his thoughts often did, and producing a jumbled and hectic mixture of hypothesizes and conclusions that didn’t have any foundation.

Of course, each of these formalized objectives were better left unspoken and unanswered, and Noah was determined to shutter himself off from further violation by these horrid dreams and visions. He rolled off from the lumpy motel mattress, finding his knapsack within easy distances and plucked it from the pine green carpeting, purposely dark enough to distract from stains, he mused. Noah did his best to collect the remains of psyche as he plunged into the depths of his collection: packets, sealed baggies, rolled up, bottled, liquid vials; crushed into powders or bloomed in natural plants; he had anything and everything he could indulge in. Some introduced peculiar visions and scenery, others pelted him into a trance of ecstatic dance, and some numbed him entirely within and without or altered him enough that he could participate. Noah’s arsenal knew no boundaries or limitations, and a quick ritual he performed each time he sealed the sack kept it from prying hands and curious glances.

He snorted. Magic used to smuggle entheogens to and fro across the country, Ray would be appalled. Of course, the mundane wouldn't be able to discern the details and contents of his possessions, but, others might and he couldn’t risk anyone obtaining his habits. They’d go beyond the brinks of exotic insanity.

His hazel eyes lit up a fraction when he procured his fixture for the day, immediately letting the chemically enhanced tissue paper settle and dissolve on the abused palette of his tongue. The concoction was an assortment of venoms, the exact brew containing the delicate amounts Ray taught to him; enough to warp the senses, but not enough to keep you unaware, he had said. Noah indulged in only one, for the moment, and made sure to keep the contents within easy reach atop the rest of his wonderful sweets. He exhaled, the crawling tendrils of bliss slithering across his mind, blanketing the voices in a fog of silence.

Only then, fixed into a stupor, did he notice the letter.

“Madamme...” He muttered, tracing the looping penmanship of the moniker and felt the finest tremors of power slip through the grooves of ink. The paper felt peculiar to his hands, the message cryptic but detailing in so few words. He didn’t ask how, or why, for Ray’s tutelage taught him that sometimes there really never was an answer to the arcane. It didn’t make the situation any easier, however, when he became addled with a decision to follow the missive or simply hitch his way out of the city. Of course, where could he go, other than across the sea, and the daunting task of smuggling himself onto some dismal barge made him grit teeth and purse his lips.

“Well...” Noah whispered, idly floundering around for his clothes and leaving the directive letter on the discarded bedding. There wasn’t a specified time, only the written urgency, but Noah had the nagging sensation that he was definitely past the respectful introductions. If this Madamme was anything like his peculiar intuition was telling him though, she was already well aware for his lack of punctuality. Still, Noah took his time in meandering through dressing, slowly donning cotton and denim, lacing battered black and white sneakers, and sliding on the fleece of his jacket. Twining a scarf around his neck and tucking the wild mass of his hair into his hood completed the ritual of his wardrobe and with a careful ritual of concealment, he grasped his knapsack and shoved the letter into the space of his pocket.

“Guess it won’t hurt to meet this.. Madamme...”

Thus he left, slowly and dawdling as his world began to swirl in colour and euphoria.

---

Station 7 proved complicated for Noah to locate, becoming turned around numerous times, and distracted by a plethora of oddities that his lucid state of mine honed in on. It was on chance, and the same person directing him in the opposite direction, again, that he found the establishment. Knowing a ritual for clairvoyance, but lacking the means to perform it, Noah sheepishly muttered to himself of gathering the materials for such later before embarking across the threshold. His posture tensed upon coming face to face with the bear of a woman standing guard - a bouncer, he thinks -, fixing Noah with a stare that made his spine rigid and his reflexes to bundle within a coiled spring. He almost fished for the letter in his pocket, but a directive nod proved such unnecessary, but none the less did he keep his fingers crumbled around the sheaf of paper as he descended down the stairs... And more stairs.

Blinking away the haze, and possibility of a never ending stairway, Noah admired the dimly lit setting, wishing he could slunk off into a booth or a corner and loll the day away in his blissful trances.

“Not what we’re here for,” he drawled, dragging his heels, seemingly guided by the pull of something to the rooms nestled within the back. The bar called to him, next, along with the man seated in the corner, and he almost stopped if not for the surging amount of energies battering against his mind. He clutched at his sack, contemplating in partaking on another blot of the venom when hushed voices slid through the barrier of his awareness, addling his mind in a hiss that made Noah rush forward and thus barge into the occupied room. There was a switch, a sudden blink of magic that shuttered off the invading spirits and lines calling to him, and Noah, suddenly aware, blinked at the assemblage before him. Swathed within the dark, the Shaman boy eased himself further in, shutting the door behind him with a hushed click and fumbled for some method of greeting even when distracted by the troupe.

A unit of four, thus far, hazel peering at each of them within the magical gloom. He didn’t recognize a single one, not that he expected to, but Noah found himself nearly daunted by the lot. They were... Interesting, being the only description his mind could accumulate, that and something more; they were here for a reason.

“Uh...” He glanced up, aside, in a complete rotation to take in everyone once more until his lips tipped into a grin, lopsided and perhaps a bit bashful that was Noah to a fine tee. “You must be the Madamme... Am I late?”

Broken Circle: Arcana Americana

Introducing Noah!
I'll refresh myself on the IC.
I'll be able to provide an introductory post for my Shaman boy before the work week begins again on Monday.

Broken Circle: Arcana Americana

---

_{"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.