Name: Michael Lisiewicz (Lease-e-ye-vich)
Nickname: Michael
Age: 28
Race: Human
Profession: Field Researcher
Background: Medium
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 165
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Green
Description: Over the years Michael has had several tattoos done on his back and arms, mainly chronicling events that happened in his life in regards to the occult. It is his own personal diary, of sorts. Intermixed within them are arcanic runes and etchings done to signify his own demons and his desire to escape them. Michael is usually well-groomed and kept and his wardrobe suggest that he takes great pride in his appearance.
Personality: A gifted orator, he is able to change his demeanor to reflect the situation at hand. This suggest a far more nefarious personality, as he is a trickster and a manipulator. He is usually quiet, assessing things or nose-deep in one of his ancient texts. He has been compared to a sociopath, but that is not the case. He can definitely empathize with others, but he internalizes as opposed to sharing it with others. He feels that allowing anyone close to him would cost him greatly in the long run, and if he is able to play the long con, so can others. There is a part of him that does yearn for love and intimacy, however. This dichotomy of ideologies within him causes him to sometimes slip into a depression, which he medicates with spirits. Preferring aged scotch or a good whiskey over cheap beer, he usually keeps his desk well-stocked for such occasions. The only respite he finds from these longings is studying vigorously and taking assignments from The Syndicate. Given his unusual set of skills, The Syndicate have given him the role of a Field Researcher, where he has the duties prescribed of an Agent, but more for a support role rather than an enforcement one. Through the years he has had to learn to “play well with others” due to the nature of his involvement with them.
Background:
”It’s cold…”
A gesture at the window is all it took for his mother to smile and put the book down she was reading to him that evening. She walked over to the window and shut it, looking back with a small smirk on her face. ”Why did you open the window? You know it’s snowing outside!” She chuckled softly as she returned back to her book. It was a Lovecraftian story, of all things, but Michael enjoyed them. He was fascinated with the fantastical lore and he remembered flipping through the book when his father accidentally left it on the end table. The sketches and drawings of amazing monsters and demons did not frighten his young mind, but instead he looked on in wonder. Since then, his mother promised to read him one story a week, provided he was still able to sleep and not wake them in the middle of the night screaming of tentacles and monstrous statues. It thrilled him to know that there was this other world where anything was possible. His eight year old mind did not produce nightmares, though. Instead, his mind’s eye gave him visions of lonely streets, graying skies and lamp posts cascading light as best it could through a thick fog. He dreamt of men and women walking the streets with seemingly no purpose, or at least one he couldn’t figure out at the time.
It wouldn’t be until years later that he would juxtapose the meaning of those dreams in his youth. It was almost as if the city was calling to him. A ringing of a bell, beckoning the young man. This started his descent into what he would later come to know as the occult. As he grew older, stories upon stories he would read on the subject, on both sides of the aisle. Those vehemently opposing such forces for they were the work of a great evil, and others admiring their haunting beauty. It wasn’t until he was in high school that something strange began to happen.
Being a freshman in high school was never easy, especially for someone who spent most of their time drawing beast and demons with blackened eyes and sheets of skin hanging from clawed hands. He was viewed as a freak by his peers, and rightfully so. While others were busy flirting with their crushes, or drooling at them from a distance, he was too busy networking online with other folk who shared his common interest. He slowly began to disregard those around him in person, as he felt that their lives were beneath him. He was much smarter than them, anyway, passing each grade with nothing short of A marks. One subject that fascinated him the most was mathematics. In his hobby of occultism, he found that numbers played an immense role in a lot of the texts, and they just made sense to him. How a simple human construct like mathematics to explain the world around them fit so perfectly together was a phenomenon.
He didn’t realize until later in his first year that something strange was happening around him. Whenever he felt stressed or angry, small annoyances would occur around him. Lights would flicker and devices would restart themselves. A Newton’s Cradle once even forgot its purpose, and simply failed to move the opposite ball. Others did not notice these small changes, or simply didn’t care enough to think about it. He was the freak, remember? He was making things up. Attention whore. Loser. Typical dealings of a teenage boy. Michael ended up signing up for all the advanced science classes. If one thing could explain the strange goings-on of the world around him, surely the scientists could.
Having just graduated college with a masters in particle physics, he strode into the world with… no idea what to do. He did make a personal breakthrough in college, on the upside. He broke out of his shell and began conversing with people. He made friends easily, immersing himself in their lives and their troubles. ‘A good listener’ he was called on many occasions, mostly by women. This ultimately led him to having an even greater breakthrough and it cloaked him like a drug addiction. He couldn’t get enough of it. Was it always this easy? Words, he realized, were as powerful as any gun and last longer than the strongest bomb known to man. They lasted through the ages and impacted lives that he could barely comprehend.
Things just became stranger than fiction as the years went on. These strange occurrences, he discovered, began to happen as he willed them. He barely made it through school at any rate, his studies overshadowed by this horrific revelation. Human beings were supposed to do be able to do this. They weren’t supposed to stare at a light switch and feel the electromagnetism flowing. If that were the end of it, he could write it off as some kind of mental disorder. Perhaps schizophrenia. The thought was comforting, actually. They made medication for that. But, no. That was not the case, for when he felt this strange force, he could manipulate it. Shift it to whatever he desired. An otherwise downturned light switch would magically flick upwards with a snap and the lights sprang to life. He wasn’t exactly sure how or even for how long, but not long after he received a knock at his door.
An incredibly attractive woman stood there, but the air was eerily silent as if any sound would shatter this dream. She handed him a sealed letter and as he reached for it, she gave him a wry, yet flirtatious smile, and walked away, allowing every step to accentuate her perfectly sculpted legs and ass. As she rounded the corner, it was as if the air suddenly shot back in as if into a vacuum. He could hear everything again and there was a ringing in his ears. Digging a finger into his ear and wriggling it viciously up and down, he walked over to his nightstand. Opening the letter, he tilted his head to the side curiously.
Who the hell was S? Why does he or she want me to meet them at a train station at three in the morning? He suddenly felt like a marionette with someone else pulling the strings for him. As if he was insignificant to something far greater. He hated that feeling. Not being in control of something is something he was unaccustomed to. Well, the only answers he would get would be tomorrow at 3:00 A.M. Not like he had a job to begin with.
At the witching hour, no less.
Weapons:
Skills:
Powers:
Nickname: Michael
Age: 28
Race: Human
Profession: Field Researcher
Background: Medium
Height: 5’11”
Weight: 165
Hair Color: Dark Brown
Eye Color: Green
Description: Over the years Michael has had several tattoos done on his back and arms, mainly chronicling events that happened in his life in regards to the occult. It is his own personal diary, of sorts. Intermixed within them are arcanic runes and etchings done to signify his own demons and his desire to escape them. Michael is usually well-groomed and kept and his wardrobe suggest that he takes great pride in his appearance.
Visual:
Personality: A gifted orator, he is able to change his demeanor to reflect the situation at hand. This suggest a far more nefarious personality, as he is a trickster and a manipulator. He is usually quiet, assessing things or nose-deep in one of his ancient texts. He has been compared to a sociopath, but that is not the case. He can definitely empathize with others, but he internalizes as opposed to sharing it with others. He feels that allowing anyone close to him would cost him greatly in the long run, and if he is able to play the long con, so can others. There is a part of him that does yearn for love and intimacy, however. This dichotomy of ideologies within him causes him to sometimes slip into a depression, which he medicates with spirits. Preferring aged scotch or a good whiskey over cheap beer, he usually keeps his desk well-stocked for such occasions. The only respite he finds from these longings is studying vigorously and taking assignments from The Syndicate. Given his unusual set of skills, The Syndicate have given him the role of a Field Researcher, where he has the duties prescribed of an Agent, but more for a support role rather than an enforcement one. Through the years he has had to learn to “play well with others” due to the nature of his involvement with them.
Background:
1996
”It’s cold…”
A gesture at the window is all it took for his mother to smile and put the book down she was reading to him that evening. She walked over to the window and shut it, looking back with a small smirk on her face. ”Why did you open the window? You know it’s snowing outside!” She chuckled softly as she returned back to her book. It was a Lovecraftian story, of all things, but Michael enjoyed them. He was fascinated with the fantastical lore and he remembered flipping through the book when his father accidentally left it on the end table. The sketches and drawings of amazing monsters and demons did not frighten his young mind, but instead he looked on in wonder. Since then, his mother promised to read him one story a week, provided he was still able to sleep and not wake them in the middle of the night screaming of tentacles and monstrous statues. It thrilled him to know that there was this other world where anything was possible. His eight year old mind did not produce nightmares, though. Instead, his mind’s eye gave him visions of lonely streets, graying skies and lamp posts cascading light as best it could through a thick fog. He dreamt of men and women walking the streets with seemingly no purpose, or at least one he couldn’t figure out at the time.
It wouldn’t be until years later that he would juxtapose the meaning of those dreams in his youth. It was almost as if the city was calling to him. A ringing of a bell, beckoning the young man. This started his descent into what he would later come to know as the occult. As he grew older, stories upon stories he would read on the subject, on both sides of the aisle. Those vehemently opposing such forces for they were the work of a great evil, and others admiring their haunting beauty. It wasn’t until he was in high school that something strange began to happen.
2003
Being a freshman in high school was never easy, especially for someone who spent most of their time drawing beast and demons with blackened eyes and sheets of skin hanging from clawed hands. He was viewed as a freak by his peers, and rightfully so. While others were busy flirting with their crushes, or drooling at them from a distance, he was too busy networking online with other folk who shared his common interest. He slowly began to disregard those around him in person, as he felt that their lives were beneath him. He was much smarter than them, anyway, passing each grade with nothing short of A marks. One subject that fascinated him the most was mathematics. In his hobby of occultism, he found that numbers played an immense role in a lot of the texts, and they just made sense to him. How a simple human construct like mathematics to explain the world around them fit so perfectly together was a phenomenon.
He didn’t realize until later in his first year that something strange was happening around him. Whenever he felt stressed or angry, small annoyances would occur around him. Lights would flicker and devices would restart themselves. A Newton’s Cradle once even forgot its purpose, and simply failed to move the opposite ball. Others did not notice these small changes, or simply didn’t care enough to think about it. He was the freak, remember? He was making things up. Attention whore. Loser. Typical dealings of a teenage boy. Michael ended up signing up for all the advanced science classes. If one thing could explain the strange goings-on of the world around him, surely the scientists could.
2011
Having just graduated college with a masters in particle physics, he strode into the world with… no idea what to do. He did make a personal breakthrough in college, on the upside. He broke out of his shell and began conversing with people. He made friends easily, immersing himself in their lives and their troubles. ‘A good listener’ he was called on many occasions, mostly by women. This ultimately led him to having an even greater breakthrough and it cloaked him like a drug addiction. He couldn’t get enough of it. Was it always this easy? Words, he realized, were as powerful as any gun and last longer than the strongest bomb known to man. They lasted through the ages and impacted lives that he could barely comprehend.
Things just became stranger than fiction as the years went on. These strange occurrences, he discovered, began to happen as he willed them. He barely made it through school at any rate, his studies overshadowed by this horrific revelation. Human beings were supposed to do be able to do this. They weren’t supposed to stare at a light switch and feel the electromagnetism flowing. If that were the end of it, he could write it off as some kind of mental disorder. Perhaps schizophrenia. The thought was comforting, actually. They made medication for that. But, no. That was not the case, for when he felt this strange force, he could manipulate it. Shift it to whatever he desired. An otherwise downturned light switch would magically flick upwards with a snap and the lights sprang to life. He wasn’t exactly sure how or even for how long, but not long after he received a knock at his door.
An incredibly attractive woman stood there, but the air was eerily silent as if any sound would shatter this dream. She handed him a sealed letter and as he reached for it, she gave him a wry, yet flirtatious smile, and walked away, allowing every step to accentuate her perfectly sculpted legs and ass. As she rounded the corner, it was as if the air suddenly shot back in as if into a vacuum. He could hear everything again and there was a ringing in his ears. Digging a finger into his ear and wriggling it viciously up and down, he walked over to his nightstand. Opening the letter, he tilted his head to the side curiously.
Train station. 3:00 A.M. Tomorrow. Don’t be late.
S
S
Who the hell was S? Why does he or she want me to meet them at a train station at three in the morning? He suddenly felt like a marionette with someone else pulling the strings for him. As if he was insignificant to something far greater. He hated that feeling. Not being in control of something is something he was unaccustomed to. Well, the only answers he would get would be tomorrow at 3:00 A.M. Not like he had a job to begin with.
At the witching hour, no less.
Weapons:
- Collapsable Baton: Easily concealed at only ten inches when closed, it expands to twenty six inches and made from flexible black steel with a ball bearing at the end.
- Survival Dagger: A five inch long dagger easily concealed either at the hip, thigh, or boot. It has a blood groove built into the center of it to allow a swifter disengage from the target.
- Springfield XD-S 4” .45ACP Handgun: An incredibly versatile weapon that is easily carried. Very smooth action for its caliber, it delivers uncompromised power in a small package. It holds 6+1 in its extended magazine. He usually carries two extra magazines on his person when working the field.
Skills:
- Researcher: His years of schooling and practice within his field has given him a keen understanding of both the physical world and the occult. When some things just seem as anomalies to the regular person, he sees them as signs that something has disturbed the delicate balance. He is also able to discern runes and archaic symbols, although many have not been committed to memory as to what they do. For this reason he keeps a compendium of knowledge locked away.
- Combatant: Being in the field has taught him one thing: It is dangerous. He has made it a point in his spare time to practice marksmanship with a variety of pistols, although he excels in with the compact versions of 9mm and .45ACP. He is able to hit center mass from 15 yards consistently. Although his primary focus was on firearms, he did learned some CQC. He would not be able to contend against a professional grappler, but knows enough to disengage from an altercation, or position himself in a way where he can utilize his bladed weapons. His understanding of biology allows him to know where the kill shots are, but his joint-lock techniques need work.
- Silver-Tongued: A gifted orator, Michael sometimes has to convince those above him that something is worth pursuing, or make a case for the research he has gathered. In the field, it is also important to know how to speak to witnesses or even suspects, and knowing how to appease the hubris of others is key to manipulate the situation in his favor.
- Mental Acuity: From dealing with the occult for the last 5 years, Michael has had a need to learn to protect his mind from prying hands. He has learned to steel his mind against intruders and prevent total domination. This is a field skill, and has not been tested against extensive torture and invasion. This is an early warning system and allows Michael enough time to react appropriately, either fighting the entity or escaping with his life.
Powers:
- Obfuscation: Michael possesses the ability to cloak himself from those he does not want to be seen by, and to manipulate his visage to pass as someone else entirely. This is an extension of his will and the only challenge he finds to sell the illusion is against those who are equally strong-willed. Although he has never tried before, in theory, he would be able to cloak groups of people from sight, and even disappear entirely while being viewed. At great sacrifice to himself, he gave The Syndicate a vial of his blood, so that his power of illusion would not be a hinderance against them.
- Auspex: Augmented heightened senses, usually used for tracking or establishing hidden clues. With enough concentration, he is even able to divine things from objects, but it is rarely ever with certain clarity. This also allows him to ‘read’ a person’s “aura”, or, rather, gain a higher understanding of empathy and better tell motivations. Sensing a shift in heat and heart rate to detect a liar or detect a hint that a person is of otherworldly descent are common examples.
- Particle Manipulation: He is able to manipulate particles at the quantum level, shifting electromagnetic fields, exciting molecules, or slowing them down. This can be extended to gravitational waves, resulting in creating otherwise light items into incredibly dense and heavy objects or other uses. Small tasks require almost no concentration on his part but for larger, more complicated manipulations, great concentration is required.
- Mediumship: Michael is able to commune with spirits or entities from other dimensions, usually for the purpose of gaining insight or information about events or circumstances. Depending on the entity, the accuracy, validity, or discernability can be affected. Consulting with a demon could result in a lie, unless enticed otherwise, or communing with the spirit of the recently deceased may be hard to understand. The more powerful the entity, the higher the risk will be in contacting them.
