Noxious

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

The contract sounds the most logical, just gotta figure out how to pull it off

@Archangel89

There is a trade off when making a contract with a loa, so it works well with the story. They can mount/possess followers. They're given offerings. You got this. There are other loa that I think would be easier to write with because of more inherent/focused strengths and weaknesses; Baron Samedi who talks to the dead or one of the ghedes, but Legba could give you information as well. I might just be biased because I favor the Baron Samedi and his crew.

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

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
⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆}

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

_{⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆ ★ ⋆
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.

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

Just throwing this out there, but if anyone is having trouble nailing down a character I'm in to chat it out with you. :)

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

Holy shit. This isn't even my first run at this character and I'm not done yet. You guys are cs fiends.

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

How many of the characters are going to have drinking/drug problems? ;)

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

Constantine would be classified as contracts and ritual magic, right?

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

I ❤ this part...

"These days people turn to science for answers, and they are right in doing so, as Magic hold very few answers. Magic is a constant riddle, a metaphor given power."

Go through the Alphabet before someone posts a My Little Pony Picture

J

ςнαяαςтєяş × яøℓєρℓαчş

Sachevia

Sᴀᴄʜᴇᴠɪᴀ . . . . . . . . . . . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . ᴏf ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ ᴏf sɪʀᴇɴs

[+]

ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ ʙᴏʀɴ ☿ ᴛᴡᴇɴᴛʏ-ɴɪɴᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs ☿ ғᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ

Pʜʏsɪᴄᴀʟ Dᴇsᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ.

.Her stature was unassuming and average in repose, but her shadowless form had a dancer’s gait; one that reached beyond the oculus and stoked longing with measured and curling rhythms. Upon the faultless pale skin fell dark hair, dipping beyond her waist intermingled with woven charms, feathers, neat dreadlocks, thin braids and loose curls. The form was draped in tight leather and loose silk that seemed to flow and nip at her exuded aura with a movement of its own. The most common façade of the demon kin was one of upper class ignorance; a fragile and innocent nature. Thick lashes bat over stark gray eyes, paling in betrayal of her rotting soul and lined in charcoal. Her face was further complemented by a sickly sweet smile curled over plump bloodstained lips that wavered between refinement and primal compulsion. Fate’s favor expounded when the lips parted and melodious tones candied each word and fully muffled the underlying sardonic humor she occasionally failed to repress.

But there was another side, one that came as quickly as the tides ever enslaved by the moon and would drag a man to his gasping death. An ancestral boon on her end, to be sure, the eyes narrowed and pierced into the most weathered, the apathetic pale replaced with an unforgiving ink, and darkening lips curled into something else, something malicious and sadistically tempting. Fingers, once lithe, seemed to extend with aggravated twitching and the tips of her hair seemed to join in the aura caressing dance, licking at static around her.

Sᴋɪʟʟsᴇᴛ.

.Sneak ↠ stealth. pickpocket. lock picking.
.Charisma ↠ situation adaption. silver tongued.
.Enchantment ↠ compulsion. charm.
.Apothecary ↠ general knowledge.

Hɪsᴛᴏʀʏ.

.People prefered many terms but witch seemed to resignate well enough. It wasn’t like they cared to name themselves. Being named meant being seen and there were few species that didn’t hunt the witches. Hell, even witches hunted witches. So there was no question upon her birth that she would be hidden away.

Many witches favored hardier species to conceal their offspring, due to the difficulties inherent in raising. It spoke volumes of respect, if only within an eclipsing species, that Brand was gifted with the burden of Sachevia. Witch offspring are untrained and unfocused, dangerous, but Brand was not an ordinary man. His patience was unrivaled; he taught her control through meditation and hard work.

^{idle hands are the devils playground}

He taught her the importance of self and community, rarer things still: love without question, fairness. Sure, he wasn’t the tea party and tears over teddy type, but he was strong and good. It would forever resignate within her that there existed such a giving and caring man as Brand. It helped to curb the gnawing cynicism of reality that whispered into her soul about the evils of man.

She couldn’t stay though and at sixteen the driving hunger to experience life lifted her from the home and into chaos. She wanted to see the world, change the world, maybe even rule the world. But she was unskilled and untrained outside of the woods, unprepared for the blows and punches. For two years Brand bailed her out of unspeakable situations whenever he could, babying her to an extent that only spoiled her further. The last time she saw Brand he was paying for her freedom after she was caught trying to steal from a high born she had met at a tavern. He had tousled her hair on their way out, as he had done when she was a child. “I would ask you not to get any more trouble, but that seems an unreasonable request.” He had smiled, joking, but she was a petulant thing and she had only sulked and scowled.

It would be years from that moment until her realization of how much Brand had shaped her, how much he meant. The good within her was Brand. By the time he arrived at her last fiasco, she was gone. He received only shrugs and murmurs of the sin trodden beauties that had claimed his charge. A year later she had sent him a secret missive informing that she was alive and well, but she wouldn’t be in touch. She signed in a cat bunny creature she had drawn in her youth. There was nothing left to do but move on without her, and around ten years had passed without mention from the young witch.

There are a multitude of deaths in any life. When she joined the House of the Sirens much of her had to die; one who collects secrets should be careful to bury their own, and bury them deep. Her love for Brand, her loyalty to her family, to their community, all of it was dangerous and so it died, at least to the prying eye. She kept tabs on a few of them, discreetly so as not to draw that attention of the Sirens upon her family.

She trained continuously in the beginning, honing her skillset for years until missions began. The Sirens weren’t a selective group when it came to clientele, and so their fingers traced across the maps; a web of secrets and scandal that catered to the wealthy and the desperate, as long as they had something of value to trade.

When she heard of Brand’s execution it was only a few days before her sisters whispered names, locations, and curious other facts of occult from the mouths of the King’s inner circle. Brand was the good in her, and the loss would be rectified. She knew her siblings would not go silent into the night, but she was selfish in her revenge, foolhardy in brashness, and so alone she sought this whispered Veredict Daigon, this “Butcher of Green River”.

Psʏᴄʜᴏʟᴏɢɪᴄᴀʟ Pʀᴏғɪʟᴇ.

.After the death of Brand there was a silent attack within Sachevia; a loss of a piece that she had desperately clung to without knowing it. She is tactful, apathetic, and hell bent on fitness in the survival of the fittest. The overwhelming need to succeed and impress the Siren’s masters has been replaced with a drive for balance, as much as a sociopath can hope for. High emotions weaken her sanity and drive demon instincts within her and should be avoided, so she is well trained at focusing and faking emotions as needed, though Brands loss does have her a bit shaky. Prior to Brand’s loss she was rather pleased with life. She had a purpose and she was exceedingly good at bringing fruition to her jobs. She has been rather lonely and is self conscious in her lack of “life affirming” relationships. The only praise she receives is via chain of command of the House of Serpents, which has warped her sense of self.

Eǫᴜɪᴘᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ.

.Throwing Daggers ↠ made of a deep black metal and hidden upon her persons
.Hand Maidens ↠ quiet little things that trace behind her, skills unknown.
.Messengers ↠ ravens are widely used by all Sirens to spread secrets.
.Apothecary Supplies ↠ herbs, oils, animal skins/skulls, assorted others
.Clawed Gauntlets ↠ lightweight and decorated in runes and puzzling patterns.
.Trunks of Clothing ↠ what courtesan doesn't travel in style? Everything from leather to silk, midnight black to summer peach.
.Carriage & Horses ↠ sleek black metal carriage with well groomed gray dapple horses.

Yᴇs, ᴀɴᴅ.

WIP - Veredict Daigon

Rᴇʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴsʜɪᴘs

.Varrick ↠ Knew him from his age 9 to 11.
.Masef ↠ Knew him from infancy until he was 9.
.Ashira ↠ Knew her from her age 5 to 7.
.Grey ↠ They have never met.
.Beren ↠ They have never met.
.Loden ↠ Knew him from his age 4 to 14.
.Kiera ↠ Sachevia is 5 years younger, knew Kiera from her arrival at 12 until Sachevia departed (Kiera was 21).

Werewolves, Vampires and Hunters! Oh, my!

What are you looking for in regards to amount of posts per week?