SORROW, warren {Novello}

[WARREN SORROW]

WARREN BALTHAZAR SORROW

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of the B.R.P.D.. [/color]

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CLASSIFIED INFORMATION[/color]
"And your name is... oh, dear." -Nuala. [/color]

»»FULL NAME:[/b] Warren Balthazar Sorrow
»»AGE:[/b] 28
»»OCCUPATION:[/b] Witch Doctor and Liason to the B.R.P.D.
»»FACTION:[/b] B.P.R.D.
»»SPECIES : [/b] Human
»»ALIGNMENT:[/b] Depends on who's got the higher offer...
»»CLASSIFICATION:[/b]
Witch Doctor and "The gods gift to women". include smarmy smile here

THE DETAILS[/color]
"Give it up nasty, we can see you." -Hellboy. [/color]

»»EYE COLOR:[/b] One is deep grey with flecks of blue, the other red, orange, and yellow, like autumn leaves.
»»HAIR COLOR:[/b] Blonde
»»HEIGHT:[/b] 6'3
»»PLAY BY:[/b] Paul Bettany

»»APPEARANCE: [/b]
Warren is a tall, lanky, and pale man with a slight limp on his right side. He hides his scarred but athletic body under heavy cotton clothes. On his head rests a beat-up black wide-brim slouch hat, hiding his straw yellow hair. He wears a thin white long sleeved shirt and a brown vest over it, bouts of almost miniscule Sumerian writing covering every centimeter, each an integral part of a large protection spell against ill will and voodoo. The sleeves of said shirt perpetually pushed halfway up his forearms.

Three small bands, each two parts, made up of two animal ribs, wrattle around on his right wrist. Two are pure black, one white in the middle, each covered in golden lettering of different languages. A red and blue cloth bracelet adorned his other wrist, four black beads, with symbols etched into each, intwerwoven into the strings.

He even has a few tattoos, first a long list in latin, stretching his right wrist, up his arm, across his shoulder blades, and down his other shoulder and arm. Then two, each very large, one on covering his back, and another on his chest. He covers up his pale, muscular legs with thick brown trousers, slightly baggy, but durable and soft. Last is his coat, an auburn long coat, with tattered cuffs and patched elbows from years of use.

[Chest tattoo: www.slow-show.com/wp-conte nt/upload...Samedi.svg_.png
Back Tattoo: www.mysticvoodoo.com/images/samedi4.jpg]
»»PERSONALITY: [/b]

Warren was raised by a down-home swamp witch, Mrs. Hopkins, and the biggest lesson she beat into his little head was manners, manners, manners. Always treat your surroundings as you would a lady. Never mock an opponent of any kind. Never lose your cool over something trivial. Always leave a place you've entered as you've found it. All kinds of lessons. Too bad he didn't really listen to most of them.

Warren likes to be the center of attention, at least when women are around. He enjoys it, being raised by a slightly crazed adoptive mother, he never had siblings so he was almost never without some kind of attention, bad or otherwise.

He's used to very strange sites, as he'd been working in the kitchen of a very popular medicine woman his hole life. He's been visited by Gator-men, back-water mutants, demons with a tongue for 'real cookin', spirits who just wanted to have a bit more fun before headin to wherever they were gonna get to goin, all kinds. So as something as abnormal as Big Red, well... that's just a grain of sand an already built sand castle, if you catch the drift.

Now, when it comes to women, he's got a little bit of talent. He can catch most fish in the river, metaphorically speakin'. BUT, he has been known to skip out on one for a sweeter lookin' piece of pie. He does uphold his teachings, always manners. But he puts them to very blunt use. Here's a quote, and it is verbatem, "Hi May, I'm truly sorry, but i've found a girl who's just a bit better. Hope ya all the best, and i'm sure you'll find someone better too. I'll see ya at some point. Have a good day now!"

He can bring himself to be serious about a situation, but it's a very rare occurence when that really happens. Most of the time he'll just try to get some fun out of whatever he's doin, and then hop off like an ansty bullfrog. He's a just a jovial guy, he likes to laugh and have fun with whatevers thrown in his general direction. He does enjoy helping most folks, and he's known to make friends easily, but he's also slightly petty and never forgets a face. Ya cross him... and you're likely to find a curse on yourself sooner or later.

An Explanation of Warren's Powers: Warrens made quite a few friends back in the old swamp-lands and on his travels. Some such friends have even promised a bit of work in their afterlife. He has a total of eighteen spirits which he can control. They help in many tasks, movin' about flasks and vials when Warren's in the potiony mood, jumping into shadows and listening in on peoples thoughts, all hoppin in at once to move somethin' really big, or all hoppin into individual dolls and parading around Warrens room and the hallways.

Unfortunately, Warren hasn't TAKEN strong spirits along his life journey, which would give said spirits more strength and more control in Warrens hands but he's been given the spirits of his friends, which only lets them be of use at most three times a day for anything above moving a flask or controlling a doll. Anything more and they'd fall back into the afterlife. Anything could be done with the proper amount of sacrifices,but that'd take proper ingredients and circumstances, which can only really be done back at his room at the compound. So when in the field, he leaves most of it to his friends. And when they don't do the trick, he always has his trusty revolver at his hip, a Webley-Fosbery revolver

He also has a few powers he's improvised through his mastery of the couldren. Depending on what concoction he drinks, he can summon a cloud of carniverous locusts that obey his commands, become fully vemonous and acidic from his touch to his breath, or he can offer it to his patrons, Loas Samendi and Kriminel. It takes a very special mixture and a bottle of white rum. The drinks are left on the ground for them both, the rum for Samendi and the other for Kriminel. This let's Warren put Kriminel into any number of wooden dolls that Warren carves, be it a snake or a bear. Once the violent loa enters it, the doll becomes a monsterous form of whatever the doll is shaped to. Problem is, anyone else would have their soul ripped from them within a few minutes, and thats were Samendi comes in. Samendi drinks his rum and keeps Kriminel laughing and in a happy mood, only taking each second off of Warrens life as it passes, and not kill him on the spot.

Other: Warren carries all sorts of bits and bots on his person at all times, needles and thread, a few leather pouches filled with all sorts of normally disgusting items, a shrunken head or two, even a pair of dried bat wings which are supposed to give him luck. He also hums a few strange tunes almost constantly. -said strange tunes- www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1wOF8L FY2Q...5E892FBE32BF6D1 ://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1wO...E892FBE32BF6D1 ://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1wO...E892FBE32BF6D1 ://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1wO...E892FBE32BF6D1 ://http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a1wO...E892FBE32BF6D1 and www.youtube.com/watch?v=S5IEt63qOSI&feature=relate d

THE BACKGROUND[/color]
"I'm not a baby, I'm a tumor." -Tumor. [/color]

»»FAMILY TREE:[/b]
Mrs Hopkins, adoptive mother.
»»IDOLS:[/b] Mrs. Hopkins, Professor Trevor Bruttenholm, and The Three Sisters, mainly Aspulumbra

»»HISTORY: [/b]

Almost nothing is known of Warrens childhood. The only few facts that he lets on is that he was found out in the swamp surrounding Heckerbreck, Louisiana, and that he was raised by Mrs. Hopkins in her swamp-hut as she liked to call it. It was actually an intricate system of tree-houses and cellars, but she just liked the sound of 'swamp-hut'. Mrs. Hopkins was a tought but fair old bird, who wasn't one for appearances. You'd more then likely find her in her slightly hair dyed slightly pink, with a scarf tied round to keep it down, an apron, corrective sneakers she ordered online, and rolled down stockings. One might snicker at the way she dressed, but she held an aura of hard earned class and respect. You never treated this woman wrong, or you'd never hear the end of it. Simply put, this woman took care of business. And most of the time, that business, also known as trouble, was started by Warren.

He was a troublesome child, always sneaking back into the kitchen to try all the concotions waiting for their customers, whether that be acne cream or bottled luck. But soon after he'd taken all the whippin's he could ever want, he cleaned up his act and learned the ways of the cauldron. By the age of fourteen, he'd had figured out almost every potion the little old lady held in her head. Thats when the real training started, and also where the grosser bits began. An old belief told from swamp dweller to his pet croc is that if you managed to eat a bit of the old buzzard, whether that be an ear, a bit of shin, or even a sliver of her liver, you'd gain a bit of their knowledge and experience.

Now nobody had the heart, or the strength for that matter, to try it out on little old Mrs. Hopkins, but there was bit of truth to that. She liked the way she looked, so she gave things she could go without, eye lashes, hairs that had fallen out, small things, to Warren. He'd need all the help he could get out in the real world, and still recieves a bit of help from time to time. When you eat a piece of a witch, you get a connection with her, and so Warren still gets to chat with Mrs. Hopkins in his head. Granted, this looks MIGHTY strange to everyone else, but Warren doesn't mind. He gets to talk to his mama on a regular basis, and who doesn't want that?

These 'ingredients' contained unbound bouts of knowledge. This filled little Warrens noggin so fast, he was almost as smart as Mrs. Hopkins by sixteen. He'd grown so smart that he thought he didn't need her guidance anymore and set out into the swamp to set up his own hut, with only a small dinghy full of supplies and his possesions in a crude backpack.

Problem was, the location he chose was in the territory of the Three Sisters, all major practictioners of all the nasty sides of magic. One was very tall and skinny, nearly seven feet and only two feet in width with a very deep voice for a woman. Another was very short, a bit round around the middle and had a very pretty voice. And the last was average sized and was very very beautiful, one of the prettiest sites in this world or the next. But she had a horrid voice, like thirty nails scraping along thirty chalkboards. They met with the boy, and gave him a deal. If he could guess one of their names, then he could stay, if not, they'd do all manner of horrible things to him, and make sure to keep him alive throughout. But luckily for Warren, Mrs. Hopkins voice popped into his head and told him one of their names, the voodoo sister, Aspulumbra. She was famed for her puppetry spells and curses, turning father against son, wife against husband, and sibling against sibling.

Warren was mighty scared, but he stood in his boat, putting on a bold face even as his knees knocked and called out "ASPULUMBRA! ONE OF YER NAMES IS ASPULUMBRA!". All three gasped, looking at each other. No one had guessed their names in over nine hundred years. Slowly but surely, they turned as one towards the short one, who came forward and bowed. "I be Aspulumbra."

As the days turned to months, the three sisters came to check in on the young man, their interest peaked. Aspulumbra took a particular concern with his daily toils. Surprised by his knowledge of herbs, roots, and their uses on and against the human body, Aspulumbra came to him with a question. "Learn my work?" And Warren simply turned and responded, "Alrighty.". They headed down through the sisters home,

Nobody knows what trials he underwent under Aspulumbra's tutelige, not even her two sisters. But when he came out, he was twenty, and he could weave magic with the best of them. His specialties are potions and he consumes a special mix from an old sake' gourd daily.

THE PLAYER[/color]
"I can't smile without you...." -Abe & Hellboy. [/color]

»»YOUR NAME:[/b] It's still Novello
»»GENDER:[/b] Male
»»AGE:[/b] 19
»»TITLE:[/b] Anybody can do magic, it takes a real numb-nut to screw it up.

»»POST SAMPLE:[/b]

A very large shape loomed through the tall trees of Baldy Mountain. The heavy crunch-crack-crack of each step accompanying the 'shape' as it travelled down the mountain. Trees fell every few yards, followed by a rumbling "Dammit!"

The source of the voice, Thorkich, the welsh hill giant and resident of Baldy's summit, showed a mixture of frustration and slightly sadness. He had stopped on a slight slope, surveying the tree line. He didn't enjoy knocking over trees, and surveying his own aftermath made him feel worse. Not unless he needed wood, and only then he'd take only sporadic ones instead of clearing a whole area. He shifted the large hatchet, which would be a strange looking halberd for a human, against his shoulder as he walked into a clearing.

His stomach had been grumbling for some time and with his metabolism, he'd need some food quite quickly. Hopefully he'd find a large moose, somewhere. He hadn't seen any groups in a few weeks, so it was looking like he'd go hungry again. The elk were scarce around here, so he couldn't go and eat all of them. He'd have to shrink down, but that'd leave him without clothes. The cave that he'd made camp at was quite a ways away, plus it was too cold to be small AND naked. Looks like he'd have to trudge his big ol' self back to camp.

Todays hunt was a disappointment. But the day wasn't over just yet, there was still an hour or two till sundown. Maybe something interesting would happen

[THE STAFF]