[CHAR] Broken Circle: Radio Outcast [urban fantasy][Mystery]

[Noxious]

Varvara

_{.Jekh dilo kerel but dile hai but dile keren dilimata.}

^{// One madman makes many madmen, and many madmen make madness //}

Vαʀᴠαʀα Sʜịsʜᴋịɴ

^{Xari Chere // the one who swallows stars
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Age // Appearance

Twenty-six years had been kind to the provocative gypsy, at least on the exterior. Her skin was freckled with twinkling metal, lithe frame standing at 5’6”, pale eyes and an innocent yet 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; a gifted rune that appeared to pulse and move like worms beneath her skin.

Personality

She’s a wanderer by blood. Outwardly she is a bubbly and flighty thing, disgustingly optimistic, giggly and flirty. While she genuinely is a good person, morality in the gypsy community was always a bit gray. Sexuality, thievery and substance abuse fall into the aforementioned gray. She has a difficult time taking anything too seriously, though she is oddly superstitious. She slips in and out of her own thoughts, often referring to the arcane as a separate entity within. 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 infecting all succeeding generations.

Magic practice

Ruska Roma; fortune teller

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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.
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Biography

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.” Beyond the defining aspects of her already prolific heritage there was an addition, a darkness that had weaved it’s way into their family line and taken root within her unborn soul, for her destiny was aligned before her conception.

The women of her family communed with the natural leylines, the weaving fates, each mother passing down their gift to their first born daughter. Varvara relied on her mother to pass down more than untrained skill, as those before her had. She needed her knowledge, her stories, as they were the only thing capable of providing a lit path in the twisted over-growth of arcane. On what should be a lazy sunny day she would be engrossed in the rituals of asking-taking-thanking, herbs, talismans, superstitions: a continuous burden. After the sun fell her mother would curl up next to her in whatever makeshift bed they shared and tell Vara of the deeper magic, the darkness that lines it and Varvara listens, and absorbs. These were gray areas of the tainted knowledge, 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 Johan 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 was sitting at that same seedy bar, sharing a bottle of cheap wine with a drug dealing shaman and talking about Enochian magic when she first felt a prickling “wrongness”. Then the dreams started, and followed her into her waking state. Sometimes it was just the feeling that something was off, but it was getting stronger, more tormenting...

After hearing about Remi she spent days, restless and swaying between a drunken and lucid trance, dealing the cards, over and over.

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

She had to go to New Orleans.

[Hellis]

Johan "Winter" Hök

True Name: Johan Vinterbarn Taken Name: "Winter" Given Name: Johan Hök

[b]Appearence:

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 entire body is littered with tattoos from the neck down. Woven into the tapestry of ink are runes he had carved into himself with actual blades. 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.

His eyes are a stark, cold blue. His beard is kept as neat as he can possibly be bothered. He favors heavy overcoats and practical workmen clothes.

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. This is very much mirrored in his relationship with Varvera whos missfortune tears on him.

Nature of magic: Arcane Purity and Ritual

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 archaeology. That was how he discovered the runes. Learning rune scripture was hard but somehow very close to heart for the boy. He would find himself writing them down, trying to find what runes was missing of old viking carvings and otherwise immerse himself in it.

Johan was always a believer of the ways of old. And when he researched deeper onto the magic that vikings once utilized, he found a group of old school practitioners. 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 knowing 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. Desperate and brilliant in equal measure, Johan had the brilliant idea to carve runes onto his own body. It was an act most unpleasant and forbidden. The runes drew upon the arcane, working as pulls for the stream to flow trough. For a brief moment Johan became a beacon of arcane power, being able to channel enough into his magicians circle to empower everyone. It was a tremendous risk, and he could have simply wiped out a big part of the city if he had failed. But in the end The troll was vanquished.

The cost was massive however as 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. Johans mentor send him abroad to avoid his student from being put on trial for the breaking a taboo. 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.

Remi was his friend troughout the entire divorce and stet him up with a place to live in newyork. She also helped research rune magic and found him ways to cope better. In the long run she likely saved him from committing suicide. Somewhere down the line, Johan met Varvera. The two had chemistry, but sadly fate had other plans. His arcane connection kick started hers. They still lean on one another, but Johan has sunken back into alcoholism. When he heard Remi was missing, it was a wake up call.

[Archangel89]

Name: Dr. Steven Armand Falcier

True Name: Lombraj Bokor

Taken Name: Shadow-man

Age: While physically Shadow-man is strong, strapping man in his late twenties, the truth of the matter is that he is well in to his early fifties.

Personality: There are two sides to the man known as Falcier. Dr. Steven Falcier is a calm and studious man who wields the knowledge and the wisdom to wield the magic given to him by the Loa's to its most effective nature. Then there is Shadow-man, when mounted by the Loa's Shadow-man is a foul mouthed hedonist that thrives in the pleasures that the world has to offer.

Nature of magic: Shadow-man wields a combination of ritualistic as well as contractual magic.

Magic practice: The practical term for what Shadow-man is is what is called a Bokor, basically a vooodoo sorcerer. While his ties to the Loa is not shackled to one specific nation of the Loa, Shadow-man is able to call out to any number of Loa in order to wield their gifts. However, Shadow-man has made so many contracts using his own soul as collateral that it has become difficult to remember who gets who when the final curtan falls. What is known is that Shadow-man will continue to wheel and deal until he has everthing that wants in life, no matter what that fool Falcier thinks.

Bio: Life for Steven began in the early sixties on the small island of Haiti. He never new his father so all of his memories of his early life involve his mother. From an early age Steven grew up around the Haitian practice of voudon and as such never saw any grew up knowing nothing other than the practices of his mother as the chief priestess of their community. She would keep telling him the same phrase over and over,

"Boy you been touched by sumtin fa greata den anyting dat I could eva hope ta wield, ma little Lombraj Bokor."

As the boy grew up Steven's inquisitive mind began to ponder the ever growing questions about the practices of his mother and her teachings as he began to focus more on the scientific than the spiritual. By the time he reached the age of sixteen Steven had left the confines of the community of his birth and strove to find a life within the world beyond the teaching of the loa. After working through the summer of his seventeenth year he finally saved up enough money to move himself off of the tiny backwards island and onward to the states eventually landing in New Orleans.

From there Steven's life became a rags to riches story, he worked his way through college and onward to achieve a doctorate in anthropology and theology respectively. At the age of twenty eight, the newly appointed Dr. Falcier travelled back to Haiti to conduct research for his thesis on voudon, having watched and noticed a strange influx of Haitian-Creole people adopting the "faith" in their new home simply calling it Voodoo. Along with him in his travels was his new bride, an American white woman by the name of Lucille.

Through some terrible blight of misfortune, Lucille contracted a terrible sickness while there and subsequently passed onto the spirit world. In grief and wanting to ensure that his wife made it to the other side Seven turned to his mother and aided in ritual to contact Papa Legba, the loa responsible for guiding newly departed souls into their ever lasting resting place, and this is where the Shadow-man was born. During the ritual Steven was mounted and use during the ritual as a personal vessel of the loa, but the loa that was reached was not the one intended.

Unbeknownst to Steven, in the hopes to apparently bring his wife's soul back Steven sold his soul to a loa unknown to him for the power to wield some of its power. As he grew older he met a woman that would become a close confidant and research partner, Remi Lyon. After meeting with Johan and Varvara and learning of other like him Shadow-man began to feel more comfortable learning and honing his skills as a Bokor.

When he heard of Remi's disappearance Steven took an extended leave on absence in order to aid in the search for his missing friend.

[Bourgeoisie]

Dolios

Name: Dolios

True Name: James Taishan He // Taken Name: Dolios // Given Name: James Wang

Age & Appearance:

At twenty seven years old, Dolios stands at 5'10" and has a lithe, but muscular build with pale skin broken up by a series of tattoos. He has long black hair, often worn in a bun. and curious brown eyes that observe everything. He often wears loose dark clothing, as well as a floppy sun hat and boots.

James is also heavily tattoed, most being simple black nad white images. The most striking are a series on his throat, one of a crowing rooster in front of a black sun and the other a black Corinthian helmet in profile. On the back of his hands are two pairs tattoos leading up his arm, the first and larger ones take up most of James's hands and are a pair of caduceus inscribed in a circle. The other pair of tattoos are a pair of eyes in mid blink located on James' wrists. The final pair of tattoos are wings on Jame's ankles that extend up his calves and nearly reach his knees.

Personality

James is a little bit eccentric and goofy, but can become dead serious at the flip of a switch. He is extremely professional and polite, but also underhanded and ruthless in pursuing his goals. He enjoys challenges, but also knows when something isn't worth the risk. He is cautious and paranoid, but also trusting and idealistic towards those he lets in. Webs of contradictions interlacing to form a complex map of personality.

At the base of it all, James is selfish, only caring for him and his own. Anybody else can go die for all he cares, as long as his own connections are safe. No action is too heinous for James if the outcome is the survival and betterment of his friends. His biggest flaw is his loyalty, and the grudges he holds if someone betrays that loyalty.

Nature of Magic:

Contract

Magic Practice:

Contract with the Greek god Hermes, which manifests in his various tattoos. Hermes may occasionally call on James to perform actions for him in exchange for more power. His current power list is:

*Rooster Tattoo- Gives James the abilty to change and throw his voice.
*Helmet Tattoo- Obscures James' face from eyes and cameras, masking his face in a blop of shadows when active.
*Caduceus Tattoos- Allows James to summon magical tools

-Lock picks that can open any lock instantly, three daily uses
-A rope that can lenghten and shorten on command and is unbreakable
-Bolt cutter that can cut through any material, five daily uses
-Glass cutter, three daily uses
-Screw driver that can morph shape and size

*Eye Tattoos- Anyone James touches falls into a deep sleep that lasts for an hour
*Wing Tattoos- Allows James to levitate and hover a range of thirty feet for twenty seconds and can be used three times daily

Bio:

James isn't sure were he went wrong. He didn't have a particularly nasty childhood, though his parents were a bit distant after his older brother's death. Yet somehow, at age fifteen he had run from home and joined a group of thieves. They took him in, taught him and raised him to be one of their own. That lasted two years before he was forced to flee after the group botched a mission. It was during the escape that he first met his patron, the Greek god Hermes who left him with a new pair of lock picks and tattos. Three weeks later, Hermes gave him a task, a test run for his gift. It was a simple job, slip into a warehouse and tag one of the crates, and James completed it easily. Another gift was given, this time a tattoo on his throat. It was the beginning of James' thieving career.

By age twenty, James had made a name for himself among the magical and mortal world as a thief, always leaving a spray of a caduceus at the scene of the crime. By age twenty five, James had competed seven tasks for Hermes and gained three new tattoos. By age twenty six, James slipped up and fell in love while he was casing a heist. He fell in love with the mark's granddaughter, who sold him out when he told her his secret. Forced to flee, Dolios disappeared from the world for a year. Come age twenty seven, James returned to the waking world.

James met Remy during a heist gone bad when he was eighteen. He had been laying low but was broke and needed money. Seeing a middle aged women by her lonesome seemed easy enough. To late he realized that she was another magic user, and was caught by the older women. Their relationship after that was better, with James sending Remy magical objects he found and stole and Remy giving James advice on how to handle other magic phenomenon.

When James returned from hiding, the first thing he did was visit his friend only to find her murdered. In the heat of the movement, he broke into her house in the middle of the night...

[Fizzy]

Isobel Cambell ◆ The Mistress of Whispers ◆ Arienh Rìgain

Name:

• True Name: Arienh Rìgain
• Taken Name: The Mistress of Whispers
• Given Name: Isobel Campbell

Age: 32
Appearance: Isobel believes that her appearance should best suit her needs at that time, one does not wear a little black dress and a killer smile when you need to blend into the crowd. However, that being said, her vanity has left its mark and she almost always dresses to the best of her ability. Hair, makeup and accessories all must be perfect.
She walks with a slow, deliberate gate as it most of her actions. Isobel is not one to gesture superfluously and her face is usually a blank slate – unless she feels revealing an emotion could be advantageous for her.


Personality:

Everybody has a past. An old shame hidden away, a burden that plagued their soul – or lack thereof. Gods and demons more so than anybody. With nothing but a whisper of secrets long laid to rest even the mightiest foe’s complexion turns white. Therefore Isobel has made a lifetime of acquiring them and fiercely guarding her own. Walking the precarious path of the shadows is a dangerous game and never more so than in the world of magic. Yet to a skilled player, the rewards are immense – Isobel has made contacts before with entities but never before she had leverage, that little fact that awoke unease.

As subtlety and secrecy are the very core of her nature she regards displays of outright brute strength disdainfully. Faced with confrontation she would almost always prefer to sidestep and only when the time is perfect strike with ruthless precision in one terrible blow. Unsurprisingly this makes her somewhat uneasy to trust as no-one knows her true motive or allegiance. As Elder to her Coven she shows strong aptitudes for leadership, there is little second guessing – hesitation too often means death.

In conversation she has a dry, understated tone that often flirts with humour bolstered by a rock-solid self-confidence. Too confident many would say as she often displays her vices of pride and vanity accompanied by an imperious nature. Isobel is slow to anger, or at least the anger of the quick tempered. She prefers a slow, glacial wrath that is displayed only when she has the upper hand.

She is fiercely devoted to her son and few have seen her ever so soft and gentle. Almost excessive in her protectiveness she guards his very existence closely – anyone wishing to see a display of vengeance fuelled by instant, hot white anger need only threaten him.

Nature of magic: Ritual (Primary)/Contract (Secondary)

Magic practice:

Blood Witch

All magic comes at a price, it is the inviolable nature of its being. Blood magic is amongst the oldest forms of invoking the forces of magic – across the continents and civilisations altars are stained with red of the ancient Priests of religions long forgotten acknowledging such a fact.
Blood Witches use rituals to sanctify this offering – whether it comes in the form of their own blood, others or even sacrifices. Usually involved in evoking the forces of nature in some way as well as the cycle of life and death. Contracts can also be invoked with this school, however with the inherent dangers thereof it is not undertaken lightly or without great need.

Brief bio:

Isobel was born into a lineage among one of the last surviving Covens in Britain– the Corryvreckan Witches -that could trace it roots from the scattered remnants of the followers of the pagan religion. Persecution and wars between the Covens had left a few, very old, powerful but fragile groups left.
Isobel’s mother was part of one of the oldest lineages in the Coven as was her grandmother. Therefore there was little question that she would be initiated among their ranks. Yet with her talent, wit and beauty Isobel advanced more quickly than even her lofty heritage promised. Yet a rising star’s ascension is not always viewed eagerly. Covens are a den of politics were rank means everything and many seek to rule.

Therefore, out of survival, she learned the power of secrets. Titbits of gossip, small deals made with the right person (or otherwise) and a little pressure gave power unimagined. Sex, lies and vice were perfect means to manipulate more powerful, experienced witches against each other. As time went on she learned that it wasn’t just the underbelly of human nature that could be wielded against her foes. Love, by far, was always the deadliest weakness.
By the time she was twenty-five the last Elder, Mags, died. Isobel prepared her claim, biding her time until the opportunity arose to take action. First the arrogant, deluded or careless were removed by the others for her. A simple manner to be elsewhere while the first moves of a complicated game were played. Once the unworthy were whittled down then Isobel cautiously made her entrance. Her peers were little contest. Young men and women were almost destined to tear at each other’s throats and Isobel simply aided the process with a few well-chosen words and the occasional magic to twist the turn of events just right.
However the older witches were more difficult. Experienced in both magic and guile they had watched her play her opening moves. They knew her style and were already approaching to destroy her. So, in desperation she made a contact with one of the oldest spirits of her lands – Herne the hunted. The power she wielded to victory came at a heavy price she accepted out of the arrogance of youth – at the anniversary of her tenth year as Elder, she would give up the person most precious to her for the Hunter’s quarry.
While youth often lacks wisdom it does bring initiative and boldness to change what for generations remained unchallenged. The fragile peace between the neighbouring Covens was broken – a simple matter to arrange a feud between the Orkney and Isla Covens, involving a revealed affair, the spilling of blood and a little poison. Isobel swept in and decimated the weakened winner and found herself the leader of the uncontested most powerful Coven in the north. Those disgruntled witches that had chafed under her ascension were now cowed with such a display of tactics. She had, for now at least, won the loyalty of those under her.
However, this victory aside Isobel knew the sad truth – the magic they wielded was dying in the Old World. The esoteric occultists, the Alistair Crowley’s, the Wicca … this was the magic that had supplanted hers. So Isobel and her Coven travelled across the sea to the Americas - where some of the ancient magic still clung. Many of Europe’s magicians and witches had fled there and in these hidden pockets of the magical world their secrets lay also.
Isobel soon found out to her pleasure that the American community was as embroiled in politics of their own as her home had been. Gone was the young woman who had played for her life, a cautious novice however skilled. Once power was tasted she found it much to her liking. Isobel started small with new Circles barely christened and washed up has-beens before moving to more and more challenging foes. The Mistress of Whispers dealt in secrets and shadows and sought to make her Coven feared and respected and the leader Isobel could be blossomed.

Then he happened … Isobel doesn’t know his name, who he was or why she had loved him. She hid that knowledge far away even from herself for the result of their union was more precious than all the power she had ever hoped to claim. A son, William, born healthy and happy with a mother determined to keep it that way. She knew then the true horror of the contact she had agreed to. In but a handful of years she would require to hand him over to Herne. A child would be no match for the Master of the Hunt, she had condemned her son to death. She needed time before she could find some way to save her son and if that failed, a way to hide him when the time came. Whatever the consequences it would bring onto her she would not sacrifice him for her sake.

It was how she had met Remi, the magician was famed throughout the community for her knowledge in rituals. Isobel had heard the woman knew of a spell to contain a secret within a vessel so that no one, not even the person it concerned would remember. Isobel had attempted to discover some leverage about her and found none; Remi was more than a match for her in the Game and seemingly only enjoyed a favourable reputation. Desperate, she did something she had never considered and simply asked her. To her amazement Remi agreed and helped her prepare the spell that would hide her secret away from the world, including herself. Isobel owed a favour, an obligation she did not take lightly or give often.

Isobel whispered the name of her son’s father and the knowledge was wiped clean from the world so that neither him or her would remember their time together. Her son was hers to protect, his custody entrusted to her Coven too scared to betray her as she seeks the answer out her contract.

[AdobeFlash]

I need a pic

True Name: Adam Dagon
Taken Name: The Roaming Eye
Given Name: Atlas

Age: 21 years
Personality: Enjoys gambling with both dice and the devil. Atlas enjoys taking risks with the demons he summons, after all, what's the point if not to damn yourself for all of eternity. After a rather...traumatic experience with magic when he was younger, Atlas has grown into a twisted man who is just waiting to find the demon who...well, let's save that for the backstory. Through some miracle, Atlas avoided any addictions, excluding one to red meat, but hey. Anyone could relate. Has a vehement fear of the underground due to...past experiences. When not experiencing night terrors or Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, is usually amiable. Despises all forms of cat.

Nature of magic: Contracts

Magic practice: Occult Investigator

Brief bio: Atlas had a rather...difficult childhood. An orphan, he was left to a crazed lunatic of an occultist. The man had adopted about 13 orphans, no more, no less. He was following a ritual, in some Satanic Bible or whatever. He rounded all of them up, and began slaughtering them one by one. This ritual was supposed to create an area of Hell on Earth. A large rift. Sacrificing the blood of 13 innocents would awaken the Unnamed, who would tear reality. Fortunately enough for at least one party involved, Atlas was the last to go in the fire. As it turns out, years of wear and tear had smudged the ink on the grimoire, and the man only needed 12. He wasn't ready for the demon at that point in time as he had not finished mixing a potion that would satiate the beast, so things went south rather quickly.

A hole opened on the southernmost wall of the cellar. Fire and brimstone seemingly rained out. Atlas had the intelligence to run and hide, while the demon unleashed Hell into a small basement. The children, 15 in total (The man was not a very good provider) had been under the man's 'care' for quite some time, so Atlas knew where his demon related garbage was. Crucifixes, grimoires, etc. The sheer number of demon vanquishing items would be unsettling to those with the knowledge to identify them. Maybe the man planned on killing the monster, and taking it's power for himself. Those secrets were burned up 14 years ago, however. Picking up a flask, inscribed with ancient runes and symbols, seemingly radiated holy energy. It was taken almost instinctively. Atlas ventured into the hellpit. He was not a particularly bright child, but he knew he had to stop this.

He returned a damaged individual, scarred by what he had seen. The basement had been transformed into a mixture of various circles and versions of Hell, due to the ritual being incomplete. The man had been smart enough to carve sealing runes into the walls of the basement, lest a ritual go wrong. Well, one had. Atlas was running on a mixture of adrenaline and serotonin, and rushed into the basement. Protected by the flask, he ran forth, through the flames and the nightmares, not once looking back. He uncorked the container, and threw it upon the beast that lie in the center of the chaos. There was a flash of light, and then silence. The demon had been vanquished, for now, and Atlas was drawn into the occult. Atlas had been horribly scarred by running through the semi Hell. Mental scars. He withdrew into a shell for about 3 years. The man had food enough for all 15 children, and himself, and that was what Atlas sustained himself on. He read about demons, and how to protect yourself, so he knew what he had to do.

As soon as he was the age of 18, he returned to his former orphanage, found out everything he could about his past life, including name, and committed arson. The small, destitute building went up in flames almost instantly. Atlas kept his personal file, but nothing else. The employees of the orphanage had all but forgotten about him, so nobody knew his name. Well, very few did. Alright, alright, maybe 10 people. Maybe 20. Who knows. Atlas promptly set out to seek revenge for his damaged psyche via paranormal investigations. Maybe, if he began hunting demons, he would find the one that he fought all those years ago. He toured Europe and America, exorcising and the like, eventually encountering Remi. After hearing the news of her death, he knew something was up. Something wasn't right. And somebody, whether it be him or someone else, was going to find out what had gone wrong.