No surprise from me, but I think I'll retract the Martian Manhunter app and try for something a bit more... to my comfort zone. Mood Music [YT]Sv5DdTIKk48[/YT] Character Name: John Constantine Alignment (Hero, Villain, Walking the Line): WTL Character Speech Color and Font (actually say what it is, like Blue Comic Sans): Georgia Bold and black Powers and Abilities: John Constantine is a mage who can preform a variety of spells, though he only uses them as a last resort. His knowledge on magic, spells, curses, and the charms of the arcane is extensive bordering on encyclopedic. Constantine is also a trained stage magician and escape artist with abilities in sleight of hand, pickpocketing, and hypnosis. In addition to that he is a first rate conman and manipulator who once tricked the devil himself. Character Origin/Backstory: John Constantine (Pronounced so it rhymes with nine) was born in Liverpool, England in 1975 to Marry Anne and Thomas Constantine. His mother died in childbirth, leaving the baby and his older sister Cheryl alone with their father, who hated and resented John for the death of his wife. A religious man, Thomas threw himself into the Bible and enacted petty revenge on John by severely punishing the boy for the slightest transgressions. Young John rebelled from his dad by embracing the occult and rock and roll. Thomas beat his son with an electrical cord when he discovered John reading a book on Aleister Crowley. John delved more into music and occult as he became a teenager. At the age of 17 John and a few of his neighborhood friends started a band named Mucous Membrane, a punk band in the style of the Sex Pistols. The band floundered as a punk band during the time that punk was out. John began to enter the occult underground society of London around this time. He acquired his first taste of magical power shortly after and used it to his advantage. He began using a charm spell that would captivate and dazzle audiences during his shows, making the mediocre band seem better than they actually were. Mucous Membrane soon developed a cult following and toured across the UK and America. He delved further into magic after establishing connections with many prominent American mages, stage magicians, and occultists. John's desire for more and more magical power grew as he was exposed to more and more of it. In 1996 everything changed. During a show in a small nightclub in Connecticut, John tried to conjur a simple fire spell for the crowd. The spell, and the sacrifice needed, soon got out of control and caused a raging inferno to engulf the club. Twenty-seven people died in the fire and Constantine escaped, but suffered a mental breakdown that caused him to become committed as an American insane asylum. After four years in the institution he was released just in time for the new millennium. John made a living as a small time hustler and stage magician. He traveled America for six years billed simply as Constantine. During this time he read every single book on magic he could fine. He learned about the effects of magic and their costs. He developed a reputation in both criminal and occult circles as a powerful mage and an untrustworthy operator. In 2007, Constantine returned back home to London to help a friend with a tricky situation. Jamie O'Malley, a dying man, had sold his soul to the Devil some years ago. Constantine used his best conman methods and tricks to keep the Devil at bay long enough for the contract with Jamie to become null and void, allowing Jamie's soul to go to Heaven. The trick put Constantine on Hell's hit list and drew the attention of Heaven. Word of the feat began to spread and before long, Constantine found himself being asked favors from many powerful people. Now John Constantine wonders the world learning and investigating the occult and the strange, not knowing where his next pint or pack of cigarettes will come from. He occasionally helps those in need if he feels like it, or there happens to be nothing good on telly. Why this character? I guess I would say that my thesis with Constantine isn't too much of a stretch from what other writers have done with him. The main theme I want to weave through my narrative is that magic is dangerous and unnatural. It's cheating and the toll magic takes is often not worth what it does for you. I want to juxtapose that with the idea that the choices we make are just as damning as magic can be. You don't need a spell to ruin someone's life to destroy a friendship, all that takes is one conscious decision. As far as the stories go I figure I'll have him operating all over the world doing various tasks and jobs for people. A lot of writers like to lean heavily into the Judeo-Christian mythology with Constantine, but I want to stray from that and try to primarily focus on the occult. What can you bring to the RPG? A mostly competent writer. No less, no more. Provide a short sample post as your desired character, in three paragraphs or more and featuring at least one line of dialogue: For my next trick I'll need a volunteer from the audience. How about you? Yes, you. Step right up and don't be shy. Your name? Lovely. Now, I have in my hands a simple deck of cards. Watch my hands as I fan through them and you can tell this is an ordinary deck, yes? Here, take it and examine it. Looks good? Good. Now pick a card, pick any card. Hold it up for the audience to see while I turn away. A bit higher, there you go. Good. Memorize it and place it back into the deck. Excellent. While I shuffle the deck I want you to picture something in your mind's eye. Think about the best day of your life. It could be a birthday, that day you hit the winning shot and won the big game, your wedding day, the day your children were born, or just a day you got an extra order of fries. Doesn't make a sod bit of difference what day it was, just recapture that feeling. That feeling of triumph and utter achievement. Have you got that? Good. Now do us a favor and focus on something else. Focus on the best booze you've ever drank, or the best coke you've ever snorted, or even the best sex you've ever had. Take that highest of highs, couple it with the best day of your life and multiply those feelings a thousandfold. The end result, that orgasmic accomplishment that makes you feel like the biggest swinging dick in the world, that's the feeling that magic does to you. No, I don't mean that 'watch me pull a rabbit out of me hat' bollocks they pass off as magic on telly. I mean elemental magic. I mean the type of magic that can make beautiful people fall madly in love with you and make your enemies blood boil. Magic gives you the power to make all your hopes and wishes happen in the blink of an eye. You can go anywhere, you can be anything. People begin to fear you. It makes you feel unstoppable, makes you think you're a god. Now, I mentioned blow and booze earlier for a reason. Magic is just as intoxicating as that speedball or that fantastic piece of *****. Like those two examples magic comes with a price, a terrible price. It can hollow your insides out until you're nothing but a dried up husk that threatens to blow away under a stiff breeze. I've seen two-bit mages literally try to sell their souls for just a little bit more power. Once upon a time I was one of them. Me old man was a machinist. He welded and worked a lathe but he wouldn't **** with electrical problems on anything, regardless if it was a blown transformer or a circuit breaker. He always said that he knew enough about electricity to know he didn't want to **** with it. He was a ****ing wanker, but I think his thoughts sum it up pretty nicely. Every spell, every charm or hex or incantation, requires a sacrifice of some sort. There's always a price to pay somewhere down the line. I was too far down that road before I realized that truth. Now I just keep the meter running and keep moving. Best case scenario is I'll be in Hell where I belong before that bill comes due. And here we have the three of spades. Was that your card? How did I do that? Have you been listening to a ****ing word I said, mate? I'm magic. Brighton Beach Brooklyn Dimitri Tsonovich sipped mineral water and watched the front door anxiously. It was late, nearly four in the morning, and his men were due back at any moment. The water was disgusting but he needed something to do with his hands to keep him busy. What he really needed was vodka, but he needed to be sober for what was coming next. A loud thump echoed from inside the house, followed by a muffle screamed. Dimitri shuddered and made the sign of the cross. He had never been religious growing up, religion hadn't been encouraged in the Soviet Union, and he remained absent of faith when he came to America. In his business one tended to be jaded about God and right and wrong. The front door opened suddenly and his three men came through, holding a struggling man between them. Their quarry cursed and yelled through the black clothed hood on his head while the three heavies set him on the floor on his knees. Dimitri looked at his men and nodded softly. The hood was ripped from the man's face. The scowling face of John Constantine blinked two or three times before looking up and seeing Dimitri. "Dimitri Tsonovich," Constantine said in his thick Northern English accent. "Long time no see, mate." "You seem to be doing well for yourself," Constantine added as he looked around the expansive living room. "What is it the papers call you now, 'the Godfather of Russian Organized Crime' or some bollocks? You've come a long way from Mikhail's bodyguard who he called simple and good for---" Dimitri slapped Constantine hard across the side of the face. The Englishman spat blood on the hardwood floor, something that earned him another backhanded slap from the Russian. Constantine smiled a bloody smile up at his assailant. "You stole two hundred thousand dollars from me," Dimitri said matter-of-factly. "Two hundred thousand dollars from anyone else and you are dead with your dick cut off and stuffed in your mouth. I forgive the money. After all, is only two hundred thousand. I make that in a few days. I forgive because I know all about what you can do, John Constantine. You have your uses, I see that. One day you may be able to help me. So, I--" Another thump and moan from inside the house stopped Dimitri from continuing. Constantine arched an eyebrow and smiled wider at the man. Cursing in his native tongue, Dimitri snapped his fingers and his men shoved Constantine back on his feet and herded him through the large house towards a back room. They pushed him through the door after their boss went through. Constantine's wide smile disappeared from his face when he entered the room. Tied to the bed was a teenage girl. Her long back hair covered her sweaty face as she shook and writhed on the bed. She wore a pair of plaid pajamas that were stained with vomit on the chest. Although she looked like a teenage girl, the guttural sounds she made in her throat were deep and hoarse. The girl's struggling stopped almost as soon as Constantine entered. "There's someone here," she said in that deep voice. Her head snapped up and a pair of fiery red eyes locked with Constantine. "John Constantine! The man the Pit spat back out." "My reputation proceeds itself," he said with a wink. "Your ****ing father takes it up the ass in Hell!" "I hope so. He's got it coming." "Three days she is like this," Dimitri said as the girl went back to thrashing. "You will fix my daughter. This is your job, Constantine. You will fix her or I will do what I said earlier, shoot you in the head and shove your own severed dick in your mouth." Constantine looked at the thrashing possessed girl, then to her crime lord father. He weighed his options and scratched his neck before checking his coat pocket. "I need five things. I need holy water, a clove of garlic, white chalk, blood from a virgin -- which might be damn near impossible this time at night in New York -- and a pack of Silk Cut from around the corner shop. It's been so long since I've done an exorcism."