Player Character: Jack

## Merits

Merits with their name in Bold are protected by the Sanctity of Merits. Only merits the player spends XP on, and their starting 10 dots, are protected by this rule.

* Mystery Cult Influence 4
	+ Mentor 3
	+ Crafts +1
	+ Crafts spec: Alchemy
	+ Library 1: Occult
* Shadow Name 3
	+ Jack's shadow name is Sidhe. He can use old Celtish witchy symbolism and faeries as part of his Persona. He is destined for rulership and faeriehood.

## Story

### Description

Jack is dark-skinned, a little on the skinny side, and dressed somewhere between sexy and lazy. He's rarely smiling, filled with sarcasm and grumpy wit or complaints. He tends to rely on one-liners, hyperbole and misdirection rather than opening up with his feelings and really cares about his car.

### Backstory

I was a stuntman in LA. I had a promising career; I had lots of money, I was going places. I'd started in poverty and built my way into the life of my dreams. Even my girlfriend was kind, beautiful, and brilliant.

Then, one day -- during a stunt -- I blacked out. I would (much later) come to understand that my experience was a possession. But for now, it was just a freak accident; one that injured my leg. Permanently. It took a few months for me to get back on my feet, but the doctors told me nothing could be done to give me full control over my damn leg ever again.

This broke me. Everything fell apart, for me, in that moment. I fell into drinking, I wound up pushing my girlfriend away, without my job as a stuntman I lost my money and was evicted from my house. The only thing they couldn't repo was my damn car.

Life is a bit of a blur for a while. I know that, somewhere in there -- while drunk -- I left myself a note saying to sobre the hell up. I tried. Managed to put the "Functional" into "Functional alcoholic." I don't spend much time drunk anymore, but I do spend a lot of time drinking.

Where modern medicine failed me, I turned to eastern medicine. That, in turn, brought me to my Coven. It was like a support group that did what the High Priestess referred to as "Hedge magic" -- simple spells. They didn't do much, but they did \*something\*: bending spoons, predicting heads or tails. It was enough to give me a spark of hope; but that spark of hope never caught on. It petered out.

That's when it happened.

I had fallen into a rut: Time with the Doctor, time with the coven, time at the bar, crashing and sleeping until 10 AM. Time with the doctor, time with the Coven, time at the bar, crashing and sleeping until 10.

Until, one night... on my way home from the bar, I drunkenly stumbled into a homeless guy handing out little pamphlets for a tiny little irish church meeting, held in a small building at the edge of the neighborhood. One of those stupid things; new-agey bullshit, concerned with the end of the world that was obviously not going to happen. Sure, I'd joined a coven; but this was just stupid.

The next morning, though, instead of going to the doctor? I followed up on that stupid little new-age flyer. The rut was getting to me. It wasn't doing anything for me. I sat in on a sermon, and at the end, the prayer they uttered was bizarre to me:

*To spin a spell, time it well*
*Colors count, ingredients too*
*Each will influence the spell and you*
*But mind your mood as you begin*
*For everything is added in*

I forget what the sermon was about. Consumed by curiosity, I researched the poem. I found it nowhere in any book, on any website, and no expert had ever heard of it. With nowhere left to turn, I went back to that stupid church to ask questions -- but the place had been abandoned. In fact, nobody'd been in that building for decades. Even though I'd just been there last week.

There was a door in the old church, though, that I didn't remember being there before: I opened it, and found a bowl of cream in a ring of mushrooms.

Confused and feeling out of sorts, I turned away from the Church and went straight to the bar, fully intent on drinking this shit out of my memory banks. I'd had a breakdown at last, I was pretty certain. The coven and doctor didn't hear from me at all. A few days later I heard that the church was condemned. I was going to lose my chance to investigate, so I against my better judgement I returned once more; the bowl was there but there was no cream in it.

On a hunch I ran out, told the construction crew to wait a second before tearing the place down, and returned with a carton of cream. I poured it into the bowl. As I did, the construction crew got a call from their bosses to call off the destruction... the church had been given some kind of amnesty. Historical location or something.

I knew the two things were connected; and as I watched the construction crew drive away, a short little man cleared his irish throat behind me. The little guy had a cane and a hat, and thanked me -- talking to me like we knew each other.

The little man offered me a deal: I could have my leg back, my girl back, my job back... and all I had to do was leave more cream. Every night.

Something made me wary. The deal was too simple, too easy. It was too perfect; it was too much of what I wanted so desperately inside... and nothing is ever THAT simple. So I stalled, asking questions, and in the last second grabbed an iron pipe.

And I bashed that little man's face in with with it, ripping it up from the church's hallowed ground. I beat the ever-living shit out of that son of a bitch, while he let out evil shrieks and howls and Gaelic curses. At the last second, the little brat managed to make Me turn away for a split second; but when I re-focused on him? He was gone.

I had my first taste of Arcadia that day. Of the Fae. I'd shown it who was boss. And I'd refused the devil my soul... for now.

When I later told this story to the Coven, everyone was taken aback other than the High Priestess. She smiled, and I was introduced to the Awakened World by a Guardian of the Veil. I went on to join the Free Council. I kept in touch, though -- she had taught me hedge-magic and could teach me Awakened magic just as well. I would be a fool to ignore her now, when the magic began in earnest.

Still can't heal my leg. Not even magic will do the trick. You ask me? That irritating little faerie probably cursed it while I was kicking the shit out of him. But I'm going to find a cure.

I'm going to find a cure. I'm going to find out what the hell possessed me that day. I'm going to make it up to my girlfriend (even if she is dating some psychic asshole now) and I'm going to get my life back. I don't care if Magic can't make that happen -- what magic can't do, \*I\* will.

## BEAT RECORDS

### Current/Needed [XP]

* **Arcane**: 2/5 [0]
* **Mundane**: 4/5 [4]

## Logs

**(A/M/+XP/+AXP/-XP/-AXP) (Date) (Beat or XP spent or gained For)**

* M - 11/28/2016: Aspiration - Finding a place for the rite & someone to cast it in order to start digging for parents
* A - 11/28/2016: Discovery - Time Traveler!
* M - 12/02/2016: Aspiration - Discover what’s up with the Murder Mob
* M - 12/02/2016: Botch - failed Stealth roll, getting the Murder Mob on his tail
* M - 12/04/2016: Condition - Bad-luck curse, mob steals phone while Ogmios tries to spit out the information.
* M - 12/06/2016: Failed Social Maneuvering - Failed to talk SuperCopGirl down from arresting me
	+ +XP - 12/06/2016: all Mundanes converted to an XP.
* M - 12/07/2016: Aspiration - Find Ogmios
* M - 12/07/2016: Botch - failed Stealth roll, crashing through the frosted glass window
* A - 12/07/2016: Discovery - Dealing with the Death God
* M - 12/07/2016: Dramatic Moment - Putting Old Yeller down
* M - 12/08/2016: Aspiration - Get 'something' from Mama Yaga