Django Badi

Silent D, Soft A

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Django Badi
Posts: 9
Joined: Tue Jun 19, 2018 7:49 pm
Topics: 4
: One Note Wick
Character Sheet: Character Sheet
Plot Notes: Plot Notes
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Tue Jun 19, 2018 9:30 pm


Django Badi

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WHEN the flush of a newborn sun fell first on Eden's green and gold,
Our father Adam sat under the Tree and scratched with a stick in the mold;
And the first rude sketch that the world had seen was joy to his mighty heart,
Till the Devil whispered behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it Art?"

Wherefore he called to his wife and fled to fashion his work anew—
The first of his race who cared a fig for the first, most dread review;
And he left his lore to the use of his sons—and that was a glorious gain
When the Devil chuckled: "Is it Art?" in the ear of the branded Cain.

Oh no he has theme music

Race: Wick (Anaxas)
Birthday: Intas 17 2685
Age: 33
FC: Rodrigo Santoro

Place of Origin: Black Hand Tribe
Current Location: Old Rose Harbor
Occupation: Busker, Conman, Artist

Physical Description

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Those who know Django say to watch the eyes, for only they tell truths. Sad, brown eyes they are, though those same folk couldn't tell you why. Always looking past you, searching for something, or dreaming.

Django Badi's face is endlessly expressive, every muscle twitching with purpose. His smile draws them in, his scowl repels them, his crocodile tears bring a flood of coin. So accustomed is he to a such utilitarian façades, that it's a rare moment to catch him in reverie. Django's trade is music, but his tool is his face. Even in those quiet firefly moments, one has to wonder whether he is still performing. The truth, of course, is in the eyes.

Django stands at 6' with a lean body typical of Wicks. Sloped shoulders and a relaxed pose means he'd never be mistaken for a soldier, and his wiry muscles only vindicate that impression. His is a life of walk and work, sprinkled with nights of leisure.

His skin is light enough for passersby to mistake him for human, though too ruddy to pose as Galdori. Since Django drifted from the Black Hand, he's often mixed with humans and tsats (and briefly, tyats). He stopped shaving as well, letting his stubble further blur racial divides. Most Wicks however, would recognize him as a fellow Wick. A fact Django often considers when selecting marks.

Generally Django wears his glossy, black hair at shoulder length. However at the start of every summer he chops it off to handle the heat. Every now and then he buys an appealing dye, but rarely seeks it out again. The more aggressive Wicks might point out his feeble sideburns, a jab guaranteed to rouse Django.

Though he wears no jewelry, Django has several tattoos. On his back sits a woman perched in a window, or perhaps a mirror, nude and nestled in a nature scene. She idles beneath a tree, near a pile of withered pears. On his right forearm is the word, "Sai" On the back of his left hand is a coin with an eye in its center.

Django dresses with great humility, befitting his social status. Boots, trousers, and a shirt are all he needs for the road, though a heavy coat is welcome in winter months. He's gotten his hands on a suit once or twice, though Django never mingles with high society long enough to support such luxuries.

Due to his fiddling, Django has developed callus' on his left hand fingertips.

They builded a tower to shiver the sky and wrench the stars apart,
Till the Devil grunted behind the bricks: "It's striking, but is it Art?"
The stone was dropped by the quarry-side, and the idle derrick swung,
While each man talked of the aims of art, and each in an alien tongue.

They fought and they talked in the north and the south, they talked and they fought in the west,
Till the waters rose on the jabbering land, and the poor Red Clay had rest—
Had rest till the dank blank-canvas dawn when the dove was preened to start,
And the Devil bubbled below the keel: "It's human, but is it Art?"

text

Personality

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Django Badi dwells at the peak of his expectations, and in the shadows of his hopes. He knows his roles in society, as Wick, musician, and criminal. When interacting with a Human (or worse Galdori), he lets them see what they want to see. Some choose to look up with him, though most just look down. For the most part Django will play the part of dancing monkey, however grudgingly, so long as coin comes in. As such he takes a conflicted pleasure in swindling Galdori and Humans, often whether they deserve it or not.

Yet his mind tumbles with dreams of songs and compositions. Django aspires to the status of great musician, with songs performed for centuries in renowned music halls. More realistically perhaps, he dreams of being taken seriously as an artist. Despite reality conflicting with his ego, Django can already envision the uproarious ovations.

When matching up against other musicians though, Django feels more imposter than artist. As such he's more likely found busking streets and taverns than a music hall. Traditional Wick parenting taught such humble living, and Django's parents were no exception. Only arrogant wastrels and ruin-seekers would court status like a Galdori. Yet Django was also gifted his grandfather's fiddle at an early age, and a fire once struck is not easily doused.

Though he performs for people on the daily, Django relishes the peace of quiet. Showing someone a face isn't the same as showing Django, and when pressed on the latter he becomes quite recalcitrant. At the end of every day he finds himself exhausted with the world, ready to tuck away in some forgotten corner. Often to write music, sometimes to drink, rarely to talk.

People come and go in Django's eyes, and a true friend is one that greets you warmly whether it's been a day or a year. This lesson came sharply into focus when he drifted from the Black Hand, forced to leave everything he knew behind. Yet learning that passion outweighs family was valuable instruction. That being said Django is not opposed to friends and family, he enjoys the comfort of belonging so long as he doesn't feel chained.

Django often feels guilt after his more illicit activities, realizing that he's taking away opportunities from someone. Perhaps the same opportunities he's looking for. It was easy to dismiss people once, until he tried to steal from another musician. Django isn't old enough to have forgotten being a child dreaming of so much more, and is especially loath to stealing from families with children. Though it's a struggle in the heat of the moment, Django tries to remember everyone lives a life worth living. But still the dogs must eat.

Regarding other races, Django mostly sees marks until he gets to know them. He'll try his best to keep them at arm's length, but once they get in his empathy takes over. For the most part Galdori make either the easiest marks or the hardest, depending on whether they're blindly arrogant or confrontational. Humans to Django are the friends that pay for your drinks, whether they mean to or not. Passives barely cross his mind, but he generally looks on them as pitiable creatures. Raen only exist in stories.

INFP -T

Mediator personalities are true idealists, always looking for the hint of good in even the worst of people and events, searching for ways to make things better. While they may be perceived as calm, reserved, or even shy, Mediators have an inner flame and passion that can truly shine. Comprising a small percent of the population, the risk of feeling misunderstood is unfortunately high for the Mediator personality type – but when they find like-minded people to spend their time with, the harmony they feel will be a fountain of joy and inspiration.

The tale is old as the Eden Tree—as new as the new-cut tooth—
For each man knows ere his lip-thatch grows he is master of Art and Truth;
And each man hears as the twilight nears, to the beat of his dying heart,
The Devil drum on the darkened pane: "You did it, but was it Art?"

We have learned to whittle the Eden Tree to the shape of a surplice-peg,
We have learned to bottle our parents twain in the yolk of an addled egg,
We know that the tail must wag the dog, as the horse is drawn by the cart;
But the Devil whoops, as he whooped of old: "It's clever, but is it Art?"


Yet more music?

Backstory

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Born to a traditional and insular Wick couple, Django had a typical upbringing for most Black Hand children. His mother told fortunes at each town the stopped in, with her daughter selling false cures for predicted illnesses. His father was a merchant selling whatever specialty wares he could "acquire" from their travels, though rumor had it he also sold information to crime lords in Old Rose Harbor.

Though his father had no patience for the fiddle, Django's grandfather gifted it to him regardless. As such giving the (then) mysterious instrument to Django was no great loss, and his mother quickly set to teaching him folk tunes to play outside the tent. Though he was no great talent, with help from his grandfather he quickly earned his callus'.

In time their far wanderings led the Black Hand within a league of Vienda to sell a haul. While most Wicks didn't have the forged writs to enter, Django's father had a personalized one from Old Rose. The Bari family entered the capitol with glimmering eyes, though Django found something far more valuable. The Vienda Opera.

The sea of noise was, for lack of a better word, overwhelming. At first a cacophony, but like a puzzle his ears slowly untangled the mess of sound for what it was. Harmony. Belonging. Such sublime coördination made something far greater than any one voice or musician. It was like the tribe singing with a singular voice, a unified purpose. Django knew instantly where he belonged.

His whole childhood Django dreamed of marrying that harmony to the ancient gkachas buried in Wick history. And of course spinning his own youthful loves and losses into that ancient fabric. He quickly learned that most people, Black Hand included, had no interest in such a frivolity. Such began the splitting of Django Badi into two people, the face and the heart. He listened to the face for nearly nine years before he listened to his heart and drifted from the Black Hand.

When the flicker of London's sun falls faint on the club-room's green and gold,
The sons of Adam sit them down and scratch with their pens in the mold—
They scratch with their pens in the mold of their graves, and the ink and the anguish start
When the Devil mutters behind the leaves: "It's pretty, but is it art?"


Now, if we could win to the Eden Tree where the four great rivers flow,
And the wreath of Eve is red on the turf as she left it long ago,
And if we could come when the sentry slept, and softly scurry through,
By the favor of God we might know as much—as our father Adam knew.

Aptitude Skills

MentalPhysicalSocial
WeakAverageGood


Focus Skills

Combat

Whoops, nothing here!

Magic

Spoke's Magical Pages (Beginner)
Spoke's Tricky Pages (Beginner)

Professional

Conman (Beginner)
Musician (Proficient)


Career and Income

Occupation

Django is a traveling musician, taking work wherever he can. Most often that involves busking a popular street by day, and tavern by night. Rarely a wealthy individual will commission him for a party or composition. When folks aren't so interested in his music he turns to seedier methods to get by, which happens more often than he'd like. Usually he wanders back to Old Rose Harbor, where Silas Hawke always has steady work for a set of open eyes and able hands.

Income: Wealth Level

Poor. Being a traveling artist doesn't earn much money, and that is usually spent on a night or two of decadence.


Housing and Inventory

Housing: Type

Nomadic. Django travels with Weatherly, his pack, and fiddle. He rides with caravans when he can, especially a friendly tribe, but travels alone when necessary.

Inventory


• Heirloom fiddle
• One set of clothing (Adaptable as per race. This will include a coat or cloak, shirt or blouse, pants or skirt, undergarments, and a pair of shoes.)
• One set of Weather Gear (Adaptable per race, per climate. Ranges from a second set of clothes listed above or it can include thick coat or cloak, thick pants, undergarments, and a pair of boots.)
• One tent (sized to accommodate two people or one person and their possessions.)
• One horse. Weatherly.
• 100 feet of rope
• One tinderbox.
• A set of six torches
• One Lantern and lantern oil
• One bedroll
• A compass
• A fishing net or fishing pole with a set of thirty hooks.
• A blanket
• A rucksack
• A knife
• One waterskin
• One set of toiletries
•Two rags


Goals

Django wanders far in search of a vague concept that will help fulfill his dreams. Music? Knowledge? Perhaps respect among peers. Django knows where he needs to go, but not how to get there. Especially without severing his cultural ties. Until he finds the path, the Viendan Opera looms distant.

For now he meanders where flights of fancy, and more often his purse, guide him. He always keeps a weather eye out for new compositions, musicians, and other artists of note. In particular he wants to learn to read and write music in the Viendan fashion, and find a vocal teacher. Also he's been mugged in Old Rose Harbor twice, causing him to consider picking up a blade for once.


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Conundrum of the Workshops, courtesy of Rudyard Kipling, 1865

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