CALIB RAUM
Codename: Gypsy.
Age: 18.
Gender: Male.
Ethnicity: Angloromani - Caucasian.
Nationality: English.
Location: America, Sun City.
Appearance + Personality:
Calib was an angloromani gypsy, trying to do away with the strereotype that the majority of them were criminals and ne'er do wells. A bit different to your regular hoodie, Calib often wore wicca symbols in patches on his worn in looking clothes, the most prominent of which was 'The
Goddess', a full moon in the middle, with a crescent on either side of it. Calib was tall and skinny, and had a lean face with ragged black hair. He fit the word 'inexperienced' like a glove, but had inherited his mother's curiosity, drive and magical prowess, used to the classroom, but not the open field.
He had a smile like a good lie, and a genuine charm that made him brilliant to be around, though at the same time, often attracted the wrong kind of attention to him. He stood at just shy of six foot tall, but would always say he was, with unkempt brown hair that often strayed into a fringe on his face, forcing him to brush it out of the way. He had three freckles in the form of a triangle under his right eye, and had dimples when he smiled.
Calib was quick to action, but not before having thought things through properly, being introduced to the magical world at a young enough age he had quickly grown accustom to the fact that there were always lesser and greater persons than himself, and knowing how to pick out who was greater was a prudent skill to practice. He wore black jeans, colourful shirts and hoodies and was often covered in tasteless amounts of wicca paraphenelia. With the
Goddess' Staff in hand, these wicca symbols would glow in dull reds and purples, his hair turning a similar shade of changing
colours.
Likes and Dislikes:
+ Making friends.
+ Having things read to him/being talked at.
+ Reading things he shouldn't.
+ Casting spells.
- Fighting.
- Loud noises.
- Abrasive people.
- Witches (his mother excluded, he loves her).
Powers/Skills:
The
Goddess' Staff: An ancient artefact that Calib and a few other witches can access through pools of blood. Placing their hand into the blood, the staff is drawn out from it as if it was a deep pool, taking on different shapes and powers depending on the amount of blood and the quality. In most cases, he can't withdraw the staff from regular people's blood (unless there's enough of it). Usually, Calib nicks himself with an odd clawed ring he wears to grab the staff in a pinch.
Shamanism: Calib can draw upon magic with and without the staff, however, he can only do minor (hedge) magic when unarmed. While wielding the staff, Calib can perform amazing magical feats, more powerful depending on the blood it was retrieved from, though in both cases can only invoke his magic with a rhyme, the longer and more advanced the rhyme, the more powerful the spell will be. After using one rhyme, he can't use the same rhyme again without catastrophic consequences, omitting a word or two for the sake of it does not make it a 'new' rhyme, magic is smarter and much more vindictive than that.
Weaknesses:
Silence: If unable to talk, Calib is entirely unable to cast anysort of magic.
Unprepared: It takes time for him to retrieve his staff, and to think of a decent rhyme to invoke his magic. It's harder than it looks, so rushing him and catching him off-guard spells a fight out quickly.
Weak: Calib is a lean and skinny teenager, he's not exactly the toughest of opponents in a straight-up fight.
Equipment:
The
Goddess' Staff (sometimes).
Clawed ring (to scratch himself with in a hurry).
Secret Origin:
A boy was born, and coming of age,
Among the witch, the wicca, the mother, the sage,
Cutting his hand, and surprising to find,
That blood wasn't the first thing to mind,
Within that red, the greater, bold,
Within the shimmering, shining gold,
Within that darkened lonely pool,
Of reddened strings on winding spool,
Further still his hand did drift,
Within that beautiful bloodied rift,
A touch of red and green and blue,
A touch of oak and silvered yew,
A staff of splendor, soaring skies,
A staff of deceit and winding lies,
A staff to create and then to destroy,
A weapon, a tool for just a boy,
"But why would she have chosen me?"
"For she can know, and we can see,
That you are good beyond your years,
And far stronger than all your fears,
You are the moon and the stars and the shine,
You are her hand, her sword - divine."
