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1001 interesting character ideas

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  • #31
    33) An indie film maker and resident of Vancouver, Canada. While the art and artistry of film-making provides the bulk of this Orphan's tools for magick, his greatest Instrument may very well be the city of Vancouver itself. For decades, the city has played host to film and television shoots, portraying every city imaginable...except, rarely, itself. As such, it has Mythic Threads tied up in virtually every urban area in the world. Proficient in Correspondence, this Orphan uses props and costumes that evoke other cities, in order to turn a corner in Vancouver and arrive halfway across the world. And when he wants to return to his city, he clutches a newspaper or tourist trinket from Vancouver and walks back. And because everything from action movies to spy thrillers to comedies have been shot there, he can stand at a location and draw out an effect that matches the film or TV show that "took place" in those spots.

    In a more general manner, he understands that film-making is a kind of magic. But all films are, at their core, acts of deception (that the audience may or may not be in on). Therefore, Magic is the act of lying to Witnesses, Reality, and the Mage himself. Many techniques of both cinematography and stage magic filter into his techniques, in an attempt to "Edit" the world the way the character wants it. Not lying for its own sake, however, but to reveal deeper truths. Isn't that what Art is all about?


    • #32
      34) As a mere academic, he found the Western occult tradition an ordered system, to be learned and mastered. When all elements are in their proper place, in the proper proportions, at the proper movement of the stars, Magic happened in a proper way. As he made contact with the Order of Hermes and began to learn its Sorceries, he thought he'd found the height of the Mysteries. If not within his grasp, that with the path to attainment stretched out before him. That eventually, he could know it all.

      Then two things happened. First, he Awakened. And second, he experienced Paradox.

      His mind had already been expanded by his new Awakening when Reality burned him, and sparked yet further expansion. When he was whisked into the Order proper, he asked what Paradox was. And though he was given many theories and guesses, they admitted that no one really knew for sure. Instead of being horrified, as many new Mages are, he was filled with a feeling of the Sublime. An ego-destroying awareness of a new, beautiful Mystery.

      Now a Mage of House Bonisagus, he has dedicated himself to the study of Reality's immune response. As a Paradox Scholar, he does what few Mages dare to do: invite Paradox in, rather than fleeing it. He wants to feel the Burn, bare the Flaws, spar with the Spirits, traverse the Realms, and, if he dares, muddle through the Quiet. Or, at least, he has the courage to stand up to it more than many of his peers.

      He isn't stupid - he wouldn't have entered the Order of Hermes if he was. He wants to live, and finds pain unpleasant. Rather, he won't allow these to deter him from studying Paradox as a phenomenon. Prime is his specialty, as a method of studying the flow of magic. Life is important simply to patch himself up when he gets burned. Moreover, personal experimentation is a slow and dangerous process. So instead of remaining sequestered in his lab, he journeys from Chantry to Chantry, interviewing his fellow Awakened about their experiences with Paradox. He's already published a Treatise on Paradox, and works to fill notebook after notebook about its manifestations. The individual beliefs of the mages, their attitudes towards Paradox, what kind of magick likely precipitated its release, the kinds of spirits they encountered, etc.

      This man will unlock the Mysteries of Paradox, even if it kills him or drives him mad. Maybe if he does, he can help find a way to push against it.


      • #33
        35) Antonio San Angel was a normal guy. a christian mexican who prayed all the days and thanked the lord for his blessing.

        Living in ciudad Juarez is always dangerous..things got specially complicated when it was revealed to him the Horrors of the "Sangre Dormida" (Sleeping Blood), the "Aztec" Horrors that controlled mankind!. How could "God" allow such faul creatures to walk in the world of man?!. Some of its servants followed him home and killed his beloved ones. The cult of "El Durmiente" drank, rape and killed his loved ones and the drug lords left him for dead...Until a voice came from the heaven's. It wasnt an Angel, but a "Santo."

        El Santo, The Silver Masked hero lied his hand upon "Antonio" and baptized him as "El Misterioso" (The Mysteryous one), removing his Face from existance (Paradox Flaw: Always masked and Arcane 4 from his previous life) El Misterioso is now a Luchador. Guided by El Santo, he now protects the innocents, fights the horrors from Hell as he searches for El Durmiente...and the horrors of his nephandi companions, Doctor Satan (barrabi son of aether), Satana de Los Muertos (euthanatoi), La Mariposa Negra (Barrabi)

        Sorry, but the idea of a Luchador using magick against a matthusalen is too amusing...besides, lets be honest.. NO ONE! would see a masked luchador trying to pull a Pile Diver on a Vampire while saying "EN EL NOMBRE DE CRISTO, TE JODISTE CABRON!" (in the name of christ! youre fucked asshole!)

        Forum's Official's Joker and Trickster. Pardon my bad english, aint my first language (I Speak Spanish).
        ST: DtF, HtR, WtO, MtA
        Signature Chars: Crowley (hakalu), Joe The Nuwisha (WtA)
        Changelings: be afraid of the Technocracian High Five of Doom


        • #34
          Originally posted by Crowley View Post
          Sorry, but the idea of a Luchador using magick against a matthusalen is too amusing...besides, lets be honest.. NO ONE! would see a masked luchador trying to pull a Pile Diver on a Vampire while saying "EN EL NOMBRE DE CRISTO, TE JODISTE CABRON!" (in the name of christ! youre fucked asshole!)
          "The power of Christ compels you...TO GET DUNKED ON!" *Proceeds to pull off some Ultimate Muscle super move, while an angelic chorus and Mexican trumpets blare in the background*

          On a more serious note, I like the idea of him having high Arcane, but I'd change the mask angle a bit. Make it not a permanent Paradox effect, but a requirement of his Focus. Wearing the mask at all times is part of how (he believes) he gets his divine lucha libre powers. In much the same way that a Shaman might need to continue observing her taboos, or else she loses the favor of her spirit allies (from a Paradigmatic sense, not from the sense of spirits she's talked to), so too does El Misterioso lose his power if his face is ever seen uncovered. It's a requirement from the Santo who empowered him and gave him purpose. If he gets the mask taken off - especially if he is defeated - he no longer believes he can channel righteous power. And because he believes it, so shall it be. Only when he's made proper penance for his dishonor can he start using Magick again.

          This turns the fact that he always wears a mask into an active part of any story he's in, not just an incidental detail. He must remain vigilant, never allowing himself to be seen unmasked. And others - his enemies, the police, potential love interests - could attempt to remove his mask...especially if they realize how important it is to his ability to work holy wrestling moves. That, to me, makes it far more interesting.


          • #35
            36) Ever since Norville was little, he always seemed to know how to get along with animals (especially dogs). So much that despite just being an average animal trainer, the Progenitors were very interested in bringing him in. Especially when his Genius awakened and made his pet dog talk (who now serves as a Companion). So now, the optimistic hipster with a love of food serves as a psuedo Dr. Dolittle that handles the animals for his convention's studies and expeditions even if he has a tendency to get scared.

            (Yes, I was inspired by Shaggy Rogers, especially the Scooby Apocalypse version.)

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            • #36
              [This one inspired by these pages from Girl Genius.]

              37) A student of the classics of high artifice, this Etherite's passion is automatons. Not the clunky, serviceable droids common among his more practical peers, but elegant clockwork figures that mesh Science with Art.

              Often belittled as a boy for his love of dolls, this son born to minor wealth discovered a life-sized doll at an auction, which sold the possessions of an eccentric recluse, claimed after his untimely demise. The young man bought the doll, along with the scores of documents that otherwise started bid for peanuts. The boy marveled at the doll's craftsmanship, and discovered it was a clockwork robot upon opening it up. Its designs amazed and boggled him, and he couldn't figure out how to work it. Seeking answers, he turned to the eccentric's notes. Among them was a hand-copied codex...the Kitab Al-Alacir.

              Upon finishing the text, the young man's mind was suitably expanded, and pulsed with ideas. He found the doll's schematics, and found he could suddenly comprehend its operation. He started the automaton up, and it worked beautifully.

              He has become a sort of expert on automatons from the Enlightenment period. His workshop is filled with mechanical servitors, and upon joining the Society of Ether, he began to amass secrets of clockwork technology. But his greatest goal harkens back to the product of one Genius of the Artificers, from the days of the Order of Reason. That product: The Muses, nine exquisite dolls, created by the Artificer Van Rijn. Each gifted with an Art form, and capable of inspiring those who witness them. It's even said that all nine Muses together could put on a performance capable of Awakening the audience, though this story is unconfirmed.

              Upon Van Rijn's death, the Muses were split up. Some stolen, some given as gifts, some dismantled by the clumsy hands of lesser Enlightened Scientists. Some, it is said, ran away of their own accord, to escape abuse. They are scattered now, and only a few snatched up. Members of Iteration X have collected a few, as they are wont to do with artifacts of the Order of Reason's heyday. One of the dismantled Muses found its way into the hands of an Etherite in the past, but that Etherite became casualty to the Ascension War, the doll likely taken as plunder.

              Our young dollmaker is fascinated by the stories. He longs for the Muses, and how glorious it would be to bring them together, repaired. His great mission is to collect the Muses, even if he must wrest them from Technocrat clutches. Or if he must scour the earth, to root out those gone to ground.


              • #37
                38) Harmony was a university student, daughter of a wealthy visual designer. She studied philosophy, and engaged in fencing competitions, with aspirations to go pro when she graduated. Her life harbored little stress, so she dabbled in romance once or twice; she slept with one of her classmates, more for the ability to say she'd lost her virginity to her female peers. Still, she liked sex, and wouldn't be opposed to doing it again, though she had trouble opening up to people.

                All these things seemed to matter very little after her Junior year. She was studying Gnostic and Neo-Platonic philosophy when she received the notice of her father's injury. He'd been attacked by someone, and had chemicals splashed into his eyes. Harmony, devastated, abandoned her class schedule to return home. But her studies - of The One, Ideas, Forms, and the Phenomenal World - stayed with her, swirling around her brain throughout the journey.

                Her father would never regain his sight; his career was over. And, what's worse, his attacker was a man of some wealth himself, and some means. Most people knew that when the attacker got off on a technicality, it was probably because he pulled strings within the court system to dodge his guilt. Rumors and scandal say he'd done it before, in the man's business dealings.

                Justice had not been served, and Harmony was apoplectic. That man walked away from his crimes unpunished, while her father was left in a hospital bed, waking up shouting in fear of the darkness that was his life now. The young woman ran from the family home, emotionally overwhelmed. In a fit of hysteria, she Awakened.

                An unpleasant Awakening, Harmony saw the world around her as a complex web of shadows, her newfound sense of Prime, filtered through Platonic thought. Unable to handle the sensations, she shut her eyes. She never wanted to open them again. In time, she would come to understand that moment as her seeing the world for what it was: a shadow play, cast by the light of the One shining down on the purer Ideas and Forms of the Phenomenal World. The base, material world she experienced up until then was an insubstantial pageant play. While she would peek out from her eyelids a few times - she needed to reassure her grieving parents that she hadn't also become physically blinded - she eventually settled on abandoning sight as a rule, donning a blindfold wherever she went. What difference did it make, living in darkness, when the world around her is shadows anyway? The only true light came from The One, and she no longer needed eyes to see that. Her burgeoning grasp of Prime, Forces, and Correspondence circumvented her limitations.

                Time passed, and she became comfortable with her new powers. As soon as she felt herself ready, she snuck into the home of her father's attacker, and delivered swift retribution. In that moment, she took the name Justice.

       didn't feel the way she thought it would, taking a man's life. There was no satisfaction in making his shed his mortal coil. Only a profound emptiness. She had become Justice, but she felt awful. Bastard though he was, did he deserve death? Or had she allowed hate to blind her? And what would she do then? Justice...Harmony...she went looking for answers, ones she couldn't find on a crusade of death. Eventually, the Celestial Chorus found her.

                Harmony is learning to accept what happened, bit by bit. She's joined one of the Chorus's knightly orders, for her skills in combat are, sadly, in great need these days. On the battlefield, she is called Justice; everywhere else, Harmony. It's a dichotomy reflected everywhere in her life. She's uncertain if she's shut out Darkness in favor of Light, or if she's now living in Darkness, or if she casts Darkness herself. For now, Harmony wields light and shadows in equal measure, while she figures out what she is. Two of her Instruments - Thought Forms and Song - stand in intellectual opposition. With the one, she envisions mechanisms, platonic machines projected into the Phenomenal World, so that she may better move the Material one. With the other, she lets go of the rigid order, and lets herself channel The One's blessings through her song, like the Chorus taught her. Leaving the rational behind, that Sublime feeling flows through her.

                She also vacillates between Gnostic and Platonic, unsure if the world is an irredeemable mess from a malevolent Demiurge, or a flawed but ultimately beautiful creation by a benevolent demiurge, acting according to The One's will. She indulges the former by erecting further barriers between herself and the world, trying to stifle emotions in order to best facilitate her goals. But she only has temporal goals because she thinks there's something in this world that has value.

                And no matter how much she would play the machine, she still feels. Deeply and with longing. She's still a human, with human passions. She's still a woman, with a woman's needs. In the midst of external pressures involved in the Ascension War, and internal struggles with who she is and what she wants to be, Harmony can't help but want to find companionship. She's a warrior, philosopher, transcendentalist, and believer, sorely desiring of a lover.

                Someone to hold her hand when she trembles in the dark, just as her mother did for her father.
                Last edited by Bluecho; 03-25-2017, 12:18 AM.


                • #38
                  This is an extension of entry number 5. Just like how he's hiding his Hollow One daughter away from the rest of the Technocracy to keep her from being deprogramed, he has two frenemies with secrets of their own.

                  18) It's not often when someone who is technically serving the Weaver would get involved with a servant of Gaia. But when this Void Engineer was attacked by Wyrm creatures and left for dead in the Umbra, it was a wandering Gurhal that saved her and captured her heart. When she discovered she was pregnant, she used her history of loyal service to convince them to let her have a year off to "recover and take care of some family business". This allowed her a chance to give birth and leave her son with her lover's caern (in return she uses her Technocratic skills to take out the occasional umbral Wyrm minion). She's hoping her son will just be a regular kinfolk when he gets older.

                  19) A Progenitor has discovered the long-long adult daughter (Denise) he never knew he had. Sadly, her mother's sexually abusive husband has left her fragile and the new scumbag boyfriend wasn't a step in the right direction. Denise would pay for everything her boyfriend wanted, have her feelings be ignored and be treated as a trophy and living blow-up doll. So when he callously dumped her by falsely accusing her of cheating on him, she ended her life. The Progenitor believes that if he just came sooner, he could've kept Denise from her downward spiral and he has now been taking out on the boyfriend (the stepdad is dead) by injecting him with a painful disease. Using his mortal identity as a doctor, he has convinced the boyfriend that it's a rare strain of AIDS and will help him find a cure since "Denise would've wanted it that way". Not wanting to lose the pussy wagon, the boyfriend agrees to keep it a secret and go through with the equally painful treatments.

                  Since 5, 18 and 19 all know each other's secrets, they each have a gun pointed at the others' heads if they dare snitch. Eventually, something is gonna blow with at least one of them.

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                  • #39
                    20) Okay, this is probably cheating in the most blatant way possible. But can we just make Rex Marksley a Mage character and call it a day? He could be an Electrodyne Engineer, with a penchant for Entropy, Forces, and Spirit. Goes around, stopping evil Umbrood, while befriending good ones (like the Jackalopes). I can imagine both Etherites and Technocrats trading stories of him, a folk hero amongst technomancers.


                    • #40
                      [Two Spirit focused characters.]

                      21) A Chaos Magician living in Japan, investigating ghost stories and tales of latter-day yokai. Awakened in high school, when a spooky game with classmates in the dead of night went awry; the ghost in the old school building turned out to be real and angry. The budding magician Awakened in the act of driving the spirit off, saving their friends. Since then, they've studied methods - ancient and modern - to interact with and manipulate the spirit world. Modified Onmyodo, imported Western occultism, and technology like cell phones and computers round out their tools, as well as a growing stock of ghost stories, significant household items, and impressionable young groupies. They're becoming a significant figure in lite occult circles; in turn, this is drawing the attention of Shinto Dreamspeakers, spirit-focused Virtual Adepts, the rare few Japanese Hollow Ones, and, unfortunately, members of the local Technocracy.

                      22) He was just a young inner city pot dealer, until a mystery man - someone he swore was a powerful Bokor or even Loa - confronted him one night. Colorful ink played over the mystery man's skin, his hide a tableau of living tattoos. Our boy was hit by a handful of the man's dust; everything went black. When he came to, his own skin played host to new tattoo; he was plagued with half-remembered visions of the mystery man touching his chest, and the tattoo flowing from the one body to the other. It's a tattoo of a skull, with a rose like fire in its mouth, and two snakes popping out from its eye sockets. When the young man dreamed, the tattoo spoke to him. Rode him, drove him; gave him no peace, but assaulted him with visions of past and future, and scenes of fire. The tattoo was a Fetish, or perhaps a tie to the young man's Avatar.

                      Whatever the case, the young man couldn't help but look for answers (if only to quiet his new passenger's inhuman mutterings). In time, he found a mae-de-santos - a mother saint, wise in Les Mysteries - and became a member of the Bata'a. He also sought a new profession - he now works out of a tattoo parlor in a resort town, providing services to locals and tourist alike. Whether those services be a little skin ink, the occasional bag of weed, or something more...supernatural. With great pains, he's taken the needle to his own flesh, etching the vibrant sigils of the Loa on his body. Images representing the pacts and relationships he has with Les Mysteries, so that all who see them will know who his family is. Sometimes, these are used to speak with his spirit allies, or to quickly draw on their strengths. Other times, he uses Life, Spirit, and Matter to summon the Loa into the physical world, allowing them to leap from his body in vibrant forms.


                      • #41
                        23) Low on career prospects and middling on patriotism, this future Templar joined military service as the army shipped out to Iraq. She stuck out through multiple tours of duty - by the time her belief in the righteousness of the war began to wear thin, she realized she didn't have much of a life to return to. The war was dreary and without purpose, yet there was a stability to it. She was most comfortable on tour - a sad state of affairs, and she knew it.

                        She never had a strong faith before - her family had been more culturally than religiously Christian - and the grinding, endless war didn't help. All this changed when her squad's helicopter ran afoul of a sudden sand storm, forcing a controlled crash landing. Trapped in the desert, blind and with too much radio interference, they were sitting ducks, especially with insurgents prowling the area. With the captain injured in the landing, she had to take charge. They wandered the storm for what seemed like days - the wind and sand refused to die down. Exhausted and overcome by stress, she almost took the angel that appeared in the storm as a hallucination. But it shined bright in the dark - so bright, she didn't need night vision goggles. And it beckoned her forward. In the thick of the desert and half blind, one direction was as good as any. Moreover, it gave her an almost sublime energy, and the motivation to keep marching. Maybe her certainty rubbed off on the squad's morale, or maybe they were desperate enough to try any crazy plan. Even while the de facto captain kept muttering about angels under her breath, when she thought they couldn't hear.

                        The angel led them to a rock formation, and a crack in the edifice that could shield them from the storm. But as they ventured deeper and deeper into the rock, they discovered they weren't alone. Nor were those others human. They peeked around a corner in the crags to witness a blasphemous revelry - a half-dozen pale men, cavorting around a diabolical shrine, and sipping ritually of the blood of bound and tortured insurgents. At the height of their machinations, three men were sacrificed, and a terrible welt opened up in the fabric of reality above the altar. A cloven-footed abomination slunk through, spitting fire as it pleased.

                        Terrified, the rest of the squad wanted to flee. But she wouldn't go. Oh, she was scared beyond rational thought. Barring rationality, then, she embraced a screaming, awe-inspiring urge: Attack! She Awakened on the spot, and charged, guns blazing. The demon - the accursed blight on God's green earth - had to die, and all its hellish minions needed to go with it. Vaguely was she aware when her squad mates reluctantly joined her; they gunned down all the blood-sucking fiends they could see, while her rifle spat white fire at the demon. When she came to her senses, the pock-marked demon was limping back through a tear in reality, its wounds smoldering and gushing blood that smelled of brimstone.

                        The group turned five of its summoners to ash that night, but one escaped. It would only be later that she would learn what it probably was: Baali. She would dedicate herself to wiping that scourge away, and the escapee in particular.

                        She returned to the States for the first time in a long while, changed irrevocably by her experiences. Only her comrades who fought beside her understood a fraction of what she went through, and even they found her new perspective confounding. How she didn't need night or thermal vision to see in the dark anymore, or how she seemed distracted by beings that weren't there. She didn't even try explaining to them how she seemed to hear a sublime hum from everything, but especially from numinal forces beyond them. It was only when the Templars appeared that she could finally make sense of it all. That she could finally obtain real purpose again.

                        Now a warrior for the Lord, she takes the battle to hell and all of its minions, ephemeral or material. As per the Craft's ways, her Templar allies don't like her to engage in battle herself. On a certain level, she knows that objection comes from a place of sincere care. But she doesn't let it or them stop her. She's a soldier - fighting is the only thing she was ever good at. Now, she had a chance to put those talents to use, for the Lord above.
                        Last edited by Bluecho; 04-21-2017, 08:41 PM.


                        • #42
                          [This one is based loosely on a superhero idea I had, years and years ago. I have more than a little nostalgic fondness for the guy, so I'm using Mage to finally bring him to life. Though the concept has gone through a number of changes from then to putting this down now, the core concept is consistent.]

                          24) Growing up, this Japanese man had three passions: drawing, mechanical systems, and masked mystery men as depicted in American comic books (particularly figures like The Spirit and Sandman). His parents pushed him towards becoming an engineer, but he taught himself to draw sequential art. So, to the consternation of his elders, he left engineering school to become a mangaka. His understanding of mechanical systems transferred onto the page, and he became known for his detailed illustrations. Just as he settled into a new studio in a major city (albeit in a lower rent district), he was contacted by one of his friends from university: a student turned anthropologist of Japanese traditional culture. The friend, troubled for reasons he refused to divulge, needed someone to hide an artifact for him. That artifact being an urn, hundreds of years old and sealed tight, yet filled with a sloshing liquid. Our artist, being a helpful and noble sort, agreed, thinking that no one would think to track an anthropologist's possessions to a mangaka living in another prefecture altogether. What's the worst that could happen?

                          Find him "they" did, of course. "They", as it turned out, were members of the Five Elemental Dragons. They demanded the urn back, telling him they'd be willing to do to him what they did to the anthropologist. Perhaps it was shock, or a defiant spark, or simple anger and fear over what happened to his friend, the artist refused to give it up, hugging it close to his body. Someone on their side had an itchy trigger finger, and opened fire, gunning the artist down and shattering the urn. The mangaka hit the floor, splattered in scarlet blood and deep, black ink from the broken container. The Elemental Dragons, seeing their prize destroyed and a seeming corpse, beat a hasty retreat before police were summoned by the gunfire.

                          Bleeding out, the artist fell into unconsciousness, waiting for death. But, as could be imagined, the ink was magical, mixing with the blood and staining it obsidian dark. It crept back through the bleed lines and into his wounds, winding through his veins and into his heart and head. In the blackness of near death, the artist was visited by a little girl holding an overlarge calligraphy brush, dressed in a voluminous white kimono, that was splattered with black ink. She introduced herself as a Kami of Ink, a spirit whose home was now destroyed. If the artist would offer his own body as replacement, she would grant him great power.

                          As he desired not to die, he agreed. The mangaka took the kami's hand, and Awakened. Forever after, his blood ran black, for he carried ink in his veins.

                          The Ink Kami (really his new Avatar, though where one begins and the other ends is difficult to determine) pushed him to study Onmyodo, the high magic of his nation's history. He studied it well, and learned arts of Life, Matter, and Spirit. He learned especially how to bend ink and paper to his will, and to leverage his black blood as a holy medium. But while he was pushed to learn these old ways, he had his own ideas about how to apply them. And what he wanted to use the power for. He was, at his core, a fan of heroes and men of mystery. Drawing upon his understanding of Life and Matter, he could alter his appearance, by making detailed illustrations of new forms to take. And his favored form was that of a new mystery man: a noir detective in a pinstripe suit, a top hat, and a domino mask. He would become the Inku no Otoko; the Man of Ink. A figure that patrolled the night, solving mysteries, fighting crime, and making the innocent world pure by drowning its malcontents in black ink.

                          In addition to his traditional tools of Onmyodo, the Inku no Otoko carries brushes, pens, ink wells, and paper with him, along with a notebook. Drawing upon his mechanical knowledge, he creates detailed schematics of devices beyond normal ken, to summon later from ink. This serves to put him on the playing field of the Five Elemental Dragons, who employ technology with impunity. Since he doesn't quite understand yet the difference between Metal Dragons and Elemental Dragons, he fights a covert war against them all, and against elements of organized crime and serial murder. The police are baffled by his presence, considering this "Man of Ink" to be a potentially dangerous vigilante. The Yakuza watch his actions closely, though as yet he's only targeted elements within their organization that are too wild and uncontrolled even for their taste. If he makes more overt moves, they may need to step up their reactions.

                          Members of the Akashayana, Shinto Dreamspeakers, certain unaligned Onmyoji, and even some Etherite Adventurers may seek to scout him, once they become aware of his presence. The Five Metal Dragons want him eliminated, though members of the Five Elemental Dragons are open to converting him, if they can. He's annoying, but the Saensaeng in particular see his ties to Japan's ancient past, and think he could be a useful tool in their rivalry with the Zaibatsu.


                          • #43
                            Originally posted by Crowley View Post
                            35) Antonio San Angel was a normal guy. a christian mexican who prayed all the days and thanked the lord for his blessing.

                            Living in ciudad Juarez is always dangerous..things got specially complicated when it was revealed to him the Horrors of the "Sangre Dormida" (Sleeping Blood), the "Aztec" Horrors that controlled mankind!. How could "God" allow such faul creatures to walk in the world of man?!. Some of its servants followed him home and killed his beloved ones. The cult of "El Durmiente" drank, rape and killed his loved ones and the drug lords left him for dead...Until a voice came from the heaven's. It wasnt an Angel, but a "Santo."

                            El Santo, The Silver Masked hero lied his hand upon "Antonio" and baptized him as "El Misterioso" (The Mysteryous one), removing his Face from existance (Paradox Flaw: Always masked and Arcane 4 from his previous life) El Misterioso is now a Luchador. Guided by El Santo, he now protects the innocents, fights the horrors from Hell as he searches for El Durmiente...and the horrors of his nephandi companions, Doctor Satan (barrabi son of aether), Satana de Los Muertos (euthanatoi), La Mariposa Negra (Barrabi)

                            Sorry, but the idea of a Luchador using magick against a matthusalen is too amusing...besides, lets be honest.. NO ONE! would see a masked luchador trying to pull a Pile Diver on a Vampire while saying "EN EL NOMBRE DE CRISTO, TE JODISTE CABRON!" (in the name of christ! youre fucked asshole!)
                            I'm picturing your holy luchador looking a bit like this guy:

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                            • #44
                              25) Business school graduate, borderline genius, socially adept, on the cusp of awakening... Is there a wonder Sindicate noticed him and went to recruit? They just didn't count how much of a hidden depth was under the new recruits paranoia.
                              Awakening through a psychedelic trip of superscience and files on "Reality Deviants", he awakened and his Avatar, a Daeva of celestial metal and holy flames, proved more then convincing in it's call to action,
                              It had taken a week, a week of searching and rifling through files. A week of ass-kissing and sabotage. Then the local construct burned and monsters lured through misinformation, leaked files and his own occult knowledge tore the personnel to shreds. Another week later he turned up at the Chantry continent away, bringing information, his loyalty and a peace offering, bag full of technocrat heads.
                              Sharp business skills, wide and deep knowledge of occult (particularly on monsters), sharpened paranoia and amorality born of science make him some of the most brutal and efficient members of the Chantry, combining paradigms and practices with the fluidity of the new millennium.
                              Seeing an opportunity in unexplored niche market he travels the world, tracking down the more approachable creatures of the night and getting them in touch with mages and sorcerers that need their services, for a price of course. So if you need a supernatural companion, bygone familiar or lore on the night-folk, he's your man to go to.
                              Last edited by Warpwind; 04-24-2017, 06:11 AM.


                              • #45
                                Looking back through the thread, I realized that we got our numbering mixed up. After #38, we got knocked back to 19, and counted from there. We should be at 46 so far, if we count the misnumbered entries.