MAGICIAN ✦ CHARACTER ✦ Magic: Fire x Dark Klas: Partner: -
Onderwerp: Seth Mason do maa 07 2019, 10:16
Basis Volledige naam: Seth Mason Roepnaam: Seth Leeftijd: 28 jaar Afkomst: Razen Magie: Vuur & Duister Rang: Stagiair Survival Familie: Seth heeft een enorme familie, maar heeft nauwelijks meer contact met hen. Zijn gezin bestond ooit uit zijn ouders, vier broers en zus, maar daar zijn alleen zijn zus en twee broers van over. Hij spreekt eigenlijk nooit over hen en laat bovendien zijn eigen achternaam zo min mogelijk vallen, waardoor het lastig is te bepalen wie zijn familieleden precies zijn. Partner: Geen. Geaardheid:Poor me a drink and we’ll see. Dierlijke vorm: Zwarte panter Theme:
Klik:
Uiterlijk Lengte: 1,90 meter Gewicht: 91 kg Bouw: Breedgeschouderd, pezig en gespierd. Haarkleur: Donkerbruin, tegen zwart aan. Haarstijl: Halflang en warrig. Moeilijk in model te krijgen, of.. zo laat hij het tenminste eruit zien. Oogkleur: Hemelsblauw. Overig: Seth’s kledingstijl is voornamelijk basic. Niet te veel poespas en zeker niet te veel kleur. Zijn favoriete tint is zwart. Daarnaast heeft hij een tatoeage aan de binnenkant van zijn rechterenkel waarbij de Ouroboros is afgebeeld. Hm… Is er verder nog iets waardevols te vermelden? Ah. Oh ja: Hij heeft geen linkerarm. Deze is vervangen door een mechanische arm van Erdse technologie. Faceclaim: Bucky Barnes/The Winter Soldier van Marvel Afbeeldingen:
Klik:
Innerlijk Karakter: Het is lastig een eenduidige omschrijving te geven van Seth, dankzij zijn wispelturige karakter. Waar hij soms onpeilbaar en onvoorspelbaar overkomt, is hij tegelijkertijd in zekere mate toch toegankelijk dankzij zijn (gitzwarte) humor. Al heeft dit laatste meestal het effect dat je jezelf afvraagt in hoeverre zijn droge opmerking slechts een sarcastische grap was of misschien ook een kern van waarheid bevatte. Dit laat hem soms (onbedoeld) wat bot uit de hoek komen, al geeft deze jongeman niet de indruk zich bijster veel druk te maken wat andere mensen van hem denken. Zijn directe, harde karakter wordt wat verzacht door zijn behulpzame aard. Hij koestert een oprechte passie anderen te willen helpen en bedoelt het allemaal nog lang niet zo slecht als het soms oogt of zijn grote mond presenteert. Dit gaat gepaard met veel geduld als het nodig is. Zijn eigen levenservaring zorgt er bovendien voor dat Seth in veel omstandigheden de laatste persoon zal zijn die zijn oordeel over een ander of situatie al klaar heeft. Liever kijkt hij de kat uit de boom om iemand een eerlijke kans te geven zichzelf te laten zien. De keerzijde hierbij is wel dat teleurstelling en wantrouwen, wanneer diegene zijn vertrouwen heeft geschaad, des te langer blijven hangen. Wanneer je het goed bij hem verpest hebt, blijkt het zeer lastig hem weer terug te winnen. Maar wanneer hij om je geeft en andersom, bestaat er weinig wat hij zal laten om er voor je te zijn. Likes: sport – techniek – motorcross – drank (voornamelijk sterke drank) – roken (al kan dit meer tot een verslaving gerekend worden) – lesgeven – zijn eigen grenzen opzoeken en verleggen – leuke nacht beleven (dag mag ook) - kamperen in de wildernis – vrijheid - reizen – muziek. Dislikes: niets hebben om tegenaan te schoppen zo nu en dan – te veel structuur – arrogantie – behandeld worden naar zijn afkomst – politiek – schijnheiligheid – mensen die te veel doorvragen naar hem persoonlijk als hij daar niet op zit te wachten. Angsten: afwijzing – alleen achterblijven – geen toekomst hebben. Wensen: Dat vindt hij een lastige vraag, omdat hij niet echt gewend is zo te denken. Hij zou het in ieder geval fijn vinden geaccepteerd te worden voor wie hij zelf is.
Geschiedenis:
Warning! Mature language:
It’s a funny thing: “society”. It wires your mind without you even noticing. Same goes for family. And mine… was the worst. You know, as a kid you have no clue about anything in the world. About right or wrong. It has to be told, either by the people closest to you or everyone else. In my case I was mostly effected by the first. How the hell was I supposed to know our way of life wasn’t “acceptable”? I didn’t know any better than that cigarettes, heavy drinking, stealing and fucking were just a part of everyday life. I didn’t even blink when my uncle came home with his knuckles cracked, again. To me, life was good. I grew up in a close family. No mom and dad around, but that’s a story for a different time. It didn’t matter. I had my brothers, sister, uncles, aunts and other relatives all living in the same camp. Others often call us “gypsies”, but… we prefer Romani. The Razian kind. We mostly travelled the planet, living off the land and any job we could get our hands on. I spent most of my time outside, running in the fields near our wagons, playing with the other children. I was taught how to read and write by my aunt. And any other lesson I needed to learn came through stories or… a wooden spoon on the back of my head. Toughens you up alright.
It wasn’t until I was… eight years old, I think, that I first came into contact with this funny thing called “society”. Of course I had met strangers before: the poor souls who came to our camp, looking for reassurance by having their palm read on one side and their money being stolen on the other. But as I grew older, my uncle felt the need to “educate” me when it came to our true and future way of life. My aunt seemed to be against it, but she had little to say about the matter. So there I went, into a small town up north, accompanied by two of my older brothers, a few of my cousins and my uncle. They took me to a bar. I can still remember the distinct smell of cheap whiskey and cigarettes. It turned out the owner had forgotten to pay his share for our “protection” against the local gangs, so as a means of warning him what might happen while left unprotected, our people did a demonstration. “Throw the glasses off of the bar and smash the mirror!” I couldn’t remember my uncle ever speaking that passionately to me before, so of course I had to comply. Again: I didn’t know any better. And, in all honesty, it actually felt… rather good to swing my bat anywhere I pleased, smashing everything that came in my way. Yeah, fun times. If only it had stayed that way…
As I got older, the jobs that needed to get done became more grim. More often our camp was set up near specific towns for months in a row. We began to settle, make a name for ourselves. I was no longer the little boy that smashed mirrors. Soon I became the young man that had to hold the enemy so my brothers could beat him until he lost consciousness or… unleash my own fists at him. We were successful. Too… successful. In a matter of years we became just as big and bad as the rest of the gangs. And the money… Damn. The money. Some of the men began smoking cigars and drinking Cassian booze. One woman on each arm, spreading their legs for a few extra talons in their pocket. People started to come to us instead of the other way around when they needed something. I was twelve years old at the time and was expected to act like it.
By the age of fourteen I had an appetite for beer, smoked a third of a pack of cigarettes a week and made sure I did my fair share of “the work”. I’m not proud of it. I used to be, at the time. I loved it when people much older than me called me “sir” and got out of my way as soon as they realized who I was. Ignorant, little… child. I was too young, too blind to see the true fear in their eyes. The blood on my hands was just a trophy. Fuck. If it wasn’t for my aunt, I probably would’ve stayed in that life and died in it before I reached the age of forty.
I was sixteen when everything finally turned to shit. It were our glory days in fact. My kin even started to buy houses. We kept travelling, but that didn’t stop them from rubbing the gadža’s noses in our new-found wealth every fucking chance they got. Cocky, huh? And a sign karma is a bitch, for one unfortunate December night our plans didn’t work out quite as we hoped. The job was simple: Get rid of the competition in one of the bigger towns in our region. That way we would be the only gang left in the neighborhood and could expand our empire. Thanks to a few snitches, some threats and buying off the local policemen to look the other way, we managed to locate the heart of our enemy’s business. A warehouse near the harbor. Once we would destroy their precious cargo, they wouldn’t be a match for us any longer. All said and done, December 14th we went on our merry way around midnight. Most of us wouldn’t make it out the warehouse anymore that night. Long story short: We were betrayed. One of us had actually been on their payroll for much longer than my uncle now cares to admit. So our rivals thought it’d be nice to give us a… warm welcome once we entered their domain. I can’t remember much of it now though, except for the fire. Fire… everywhere. I had never seen a human body burn from that close. Neither had I ever felt such a horrible pain as when a bomb blew up just meters away from me. It launched me high up in the air and against the backwall, blew my left arm right off. I can almost hear you thinking: “Auch”. Oh and auch it did.
My next memory… A hospital bed. Apparently my brother managed to get to me, lift me unto his shoulders and made a run for it. Two of my brothers made it out. Two died. So did a few of my cousins, a friend of my uncle’s and many other men. We don’t really talk about it anymore. The pain is too deep, the wrath of the Gods too strong. It was a turning point. Not just for me, but for many others of our family. My aunt mostly. We were destroying ourselves and as the smart woman she is, she was the first one to address it. I will never forget the night she came to me. At first… neither of us said a word. She just… sat there in the chair next to my bed. Nurses walking in now and again, but apart from that… dead silence. “Here it ends.” Just those three simple, but powerful words. Here it ends… Her way of saying she wanted to save me, from this life, from any future hurt, even from my own family. So, despite my uncle being against it, there it ended. For me at least.
It’s a funny thing: “society”. The day I decided to conform to it, was the day I felt secluded the most. We were going to send me to school. It seemed like the perfect plan at first. I wasn’t eighteen yet and I could at least read and write, but once any school found out who I was… they wouldn’t have me. No gypsy scum allowed on this school! Certainly not offspring of one of the most infamous Razian Romani families around. Although, they presented it in a politically correct way of course, for instance by stating that I wasn’t “qualified enough” and needed more.. “personal guidance they could not provide at the moment”. Should’ve expected as much, maybe. Months passed and it seemed my bright future would be to work at the harbor, maybe join a fishing crew. At least I could still pull in the nets with one arm. Until finally… there was one facility brave enough to take me in. Oh boy, talk about bravery… Why they even accepted a handicapped kid with a bad reputation is still beyond me, but hey… it was my getaway ticket, so I took it.
Regret started the first day. I was scum. A lowlife. I wasn’t familiar with anything the Razian Military School could offer me. So you could say it came as a… surprise they apparently made me their personal project, treating this as an experiment to see if the lowest of lifeforms could perhaps climb up a little and obey after all. Or should I say to see if they could “rehabilitate” me. Fascinating. Despite the school accepting me and my handicap, they were not going to go easy on me. Oh no sir. First hour in and I was already expected to run, climb and fall in the dirt with the rest of my classmates. And if no one decided to help the weird gypsy kid reach the finish line, it was my extra burden to bear. So perhaps you can imagine it wasn’t exactly… a walk in the park. First day and it took me three hours instead of the scheduled one to reach the end… alone… cold and abandoned by the others. Already the board decided to determine where my breaking point would be. “Rehabilitate”. Fuck that.
Or… I would’ve thought that if I wasn’t the stubborn ass I am. Oh yeah, I was gonna show them. They wouldn’t break me that easily. And under no circumstance would my family have the satisfaction of my bitter return. So I pushed on. I reached that finish line even if it took me all day. I made my own tools and used my magic to help me fire a rifle. I let my peers push me to the side if they pleased and call me names, but not without my fist scraping their jaws. They wouldn’t break me. No one would. It’s a funny thing: “society”. Even though I used to shy away from it thanks to my upbringing, suddenly I wanted nothing more than to be part of it, to be one of them.
It wasn’t until my second year people began to notice. I was still there, somehow. Stuck to them like a parasite. Slowly, but surely I managed to reach the finish line together wíth my classmates. Slowly, but surely I became the weird gypsy kid no longer, but… Seth. I wasn’t alone anymore. I was accepted. But don’t cry for me now Argentina. I am well aware I used to be a bastard. You have every right to even hate me for it. Still, I can’t say I disliked the feeling of… belonging and being accepted.
Off to some good times then! Because this story is starting to sound more depressing than intended. I mean… most of it was my own fault, right? …Right? Anyway, after the school’s experiment turned out to be a success, I too began to forget all about the life I used to lead. I got drunk on the illusion I was, in fact, one of them. So, after graduating at age twenty, it seemed like the obvious choice to join my brothers in arms at the Razian Military Department. By then I managed to get my hands (or well… hand) on my first prosthetic arm and with a bit of handywork (hehe..) here and there and of course a long discussion with the board, I was allowed to join my men on their missions. Also thanks to my old teachers who managed to pull some strings.. unlike myself (I.. will show myself out now).
Two years went by and I was actually… not a bad soldier. Not bad at all. Even without a hand to scratch my balls while firing a Flintlock Muzzle-Loading Rifle in the other, I kept up with my men. Saved lives, got my ass saved just as much. I can even say I had a bit of a talent when it came to survival, such as camouflage, surviving under bare circumstances on a strange planet, using the environment to our advantage… Or maybe I just have a fetish for face paint and eating weird plants. I don’t know. Up to the point where the army wanted to “invest” in me. Sounds a whole lot better than “rehabilitate”, if you ask me. They wanted to help me reach my full potential. But before you go all Captain America on me… No: They didn’t make my muscles engorge and my voice sound like James Dean. They did, however, bring in some scientists from Erd to take a look at my not-particularly-present left arm. I didn’t think much of it at first. Part of my gypsy heritage hadn’t left me still, telling me to be cautious of anything scientific. That is until I was left with this badass, metal, robotic, cyborgic (not a word, I know) arm. Hell yeah! With… some malfunctions. Have you ever tried to squeeze a melon with your bare hand? I am sad to admit a lot melons died those first weeks. In fact it took me three years to master that glorious bastard. Let alone attempting to use a gun. It took me even longer to work up the courage of finally zipping my pants with it.
For those of you who’ve lost count: That would’ve made me twenty-five by then. You’re welcome. “So, Seth, when are you finally going to wrap this up?” Patience, my young grasshopper. Almost there. Alright. There I was: legally making a name for myself this time, earning decent pay, getting promoted. Basically, having a future. The end. Ha, no. If only. Shit. Hm… Not sure how I will put this last bit of vital information about myself… Well, how about using the lingo you are accustomed to by now: I fucked up. He was twenty-nine. I can’t give you his name, because it’s classified nowadays. Not that I would’ve given it otherwise. He was… my mission. The hardest one so far. Might’ve to do with the fact that I fell in love with him, whereas I was actually meant to capture him. Yeah, I know it’s bad. No need to remind me. “Oh, you said ‘secure’? Shit, man, I thought ‘seduce’.” Alright, all kidding aside, because it isn’t really a laughing matter. You see… Survival apparently wasn’t the only skill I had. It turned up my upbringing actually came in quite handy while working for the army. By that time I was part of a special force trained in undercover work. It was like a second nature to me. You’re still following me? I was scum, trained how not to be scum, trained to be scum again for the sake of the mission. It worked. It did. Thirty successful missions in and we were still counting. Until… I got him as my next assignment. All I really knew was that he was some shady gangster, planning something big. My job was to join him and eventually get close enough to stop him from executing that plan. Unfortunately, after spending a lot of time with the man, I actually began to respect him. Respect grew into liking. And liking… well… The point is that I got too close. The city burned the night I decided to come clean and try to “rehabilitate” him as well. I actually thought we were alike, me and him. Oh how wrong I was… It turned out my candor had quite the opposite effect. Almost got me killed in the process, wracked two buildings and hurt innocent lives. Thank the Gods no one died, but it could’ve happened. He wanted to show me the monster he truly was and how scum like me should be treated. And so he did.
In the end, ironically as it might sound, my failure actually put him in the spotlight enough to get him captured, but it was also the end of the line for me. I never intended to lie about what happened, but of course there were… consequences. I wasn’t to be trusted as an undercover agent again. Or at least… not for a while. Let’s stay politically correct. It got me suspended from the army for two whole years, until I was allowed to… here it comes… rehabilitate! But missions were off-limits to me now. Instead, I got a job as an instructor at the Military School. Funny, huh? Let’s task the failure to teach our kids how not to do their job. My actions were common knowledge by then. In fact, if it wasn’t for my successful missions beforehand, I think I would’ve just been fired on the spot or worse. Still, that didn’t mean life was easy once again, for I was no longer… one of them. Or perhaps I never have been. Not really.
I was done. I couldn’t stand their looks and judgement ágain any longer, being called different names this time. Names I shall not repeat. So I decided it was time for a new path. I began following evening classes to become a real teacher, outside of the military school. Teaching kids how to survive was just the obvious choice. It was the only thing I seemed to be good at. So, as a third year, it’s time for me to choose an internship and I’m hoping Starshine Academy will be the second school in history mad enough to let me in. Well, here goes nothing…
Volledig in het thema van Valentijn staan er twee Events op het programma van de site. Beide zullen van start gaan vanaf 14 februari, dus houd de site zeker goed in de gaten.
Cupid Hearts: Verras vrienden of in game characters met een vrolijk hartje deze Valentijn. Met of zonder lief berichtje eraan vast. Anoniem of juist niet. Stuur je hartjes naar het account van Alpha.
Valentine's Dance:Vanaf 14 februari zal de grote zaal van de school omgetoverd worden tot een danszaal vol met eten, drinken en live muziek. Iedereen is welkom om aan dit algemene topic deel te nemen.
WINTER
Tijdens de winter is het terrein van de school in diepe rust. De meeste dieren zijn onvindbaar verscholen en de ijzige wind houd ook de leerlingen binnen. De perfecte tijd om met een kop warme choco naar de vallende sneeuw te kijken.
PROFILE
Onderwerp: Seth Mason 
do maa 07 2019, 10:16
