Stephen Christopher is a gigantic and powefully built elderly gentlemen of what appears to be Mediterranean extraction, with a huge white beard and massive amounts of wild white hair; imagine a cross between an Old Testament prophet and Hercules. He wears simple work clothing, and always carries a gigantic and extremely heavy toolbox, apparently with ease. It is packed with hammers of varying sizes, saws, rulers, levels, sandpaper and, of course, duct tape.
He is a specialist in magics related to buildings and construction, a Choruser with a rather odd dualistic theology that sees the universe in architectural terms; he seems rather hesitant to talk about it to anyone. He apparently lives a transient existence, going from one place to another to repair, restore or change various buildings to bring them more in line with some particular standard of universal harmony.
He claims to have been the greatest wrestler and boxer in the entire country (he never says which country) as a young man, generally with the implication that he could still beat just about anyone in either if he wanted to. Stephen tends to keep to himself, is rather curmudgeonly, and treats anyone not visibly as old him with a sort of kindly condenscension. He seems to be considerably more interested in buildings than in people.
Post-game fate: He lives to build another day.
"o/~ Can you take me higher? To a place with golden streets--o/~ Hey, whatup? Oh, that's a song by Creed. It's called 'Higher'."
Yes, Andrew will be playing...himself. More or less. Himself as a Celestial Choruser (apparently a no-brainer, according to everyone else involved).
Andrew is a young man in his mid-twenties, only rather recently Awakened. He very well could have become an Akashic Brother, given his heritage, or a Virtual Adept, given his love of computers. However, it is his being a devout Christian that defined his magic. He finds his foci through prayer and singing in particular.
He is, for the most part, friendly and open. He is of average physical build (if a little bit short) and average appearance, for an Asian-American man (black hair of medium length, glasses, little facial hair, et cetera). He is part of the Alexandran Society, given his technological bent and childhood fascination with science. He also has a good respect for the Akashics, considering his heritage (and the fact that his extended family numbers a few of them, as well).
While he is known rather more for his intellect than his physical abilities, he was on the track team back in his high school days (sprints and long- and triple-jumping), and he seems to be a decent shot with a pistol. Air pistol, at least. And he has a bit of a fascination with Japanese swords, and can use one semi-decently. Still, it's probably best to leave any physical combat to others in the team.
Post-game fate: Thanking God that he lived somehow.
Brother Bomb has been donated to the new cabal by the Holy Fathers of the Perpetual Railgun, a militant splinter sect of the Celestial Chorus. The Holy Fathers are known for shooting great big holes in the servants of Evil. And sometimes in other things, as they often get carried away. They have a somewhat tarnished reputation among the Traditions due to their methods, which tend to attract Technocracy attention. Still, no-one can deny their effectiveness.
Physically, Brother Bomb looks pretty much like your typical freak. Jeans, NRA t-shirt, long coat, combat boots, fingerless gloves, and his holy Symbol of a mushroom cloud from which rays of light emerge. He is of average height, average weight, and has long dark brown hair. He drives around in a battered VW van.
While Brother Bomb is probably a bit of a maniac, he is a genuinely spiritual man who seeks to do good in the world. With a grenade launcher. If pointed in the right direction and adequately restrained, he has the potential to be a great asset.
Post-game fate: Blown to kingdom come. Just like he wanted to die.
"Of course I went into linguistics. How could I not? I had to figure out six just to know what my own name meant. And three more before I could talk to all of my first cousins. It's a fascinating thing, how languages are similar and different, how they change and grow like a living being, how they affect the thoughts, how thoughts affect them."
Marcia Elspeth Ikue Lalita Parola-Gonzales (Mercy to anyone she knows more than 10 minutes), is a fine upstanding woman of mixed stock in her mid 30's. At first glance she appears perhaps Spanish or Italian, but her skin is a little too olive, her nose a touch flat, while her piled hair has decidedly blonde highlights amidst the dark brown and her eyes too pale behind tiny wire-rim glasses. She dresses smart, in business casual, and would not appear out of place anywhere from a boardroom to behind a lectern.
A Hermetic of lengthy pedigree, she's a member of House Shaea, a noted historical linguist and ployglot, and is considered one of the upcoming masters of mind magics, which she usually employs using techniques she refers to as "Awakened Neuro-linguistic Programming". However, she's also proven to be equally adept at purely mundane charm and manipulation.
Despite her ability to trivially wrap most people around her finger when she puts her mind to it, Mercy can be astonishingly rude and demanding of others at times, especially under stress. And as someone who's an acknowledged master of a sphere and noted scholar, she's somewhat short in the humility department, especially when it comes to her works and theories, a trait which has kept her from winning as many supporters as she might have.
Post-game fate: Got herself killed. Three times. No, really. A Mind 5 master's, er, mind can live beyond the body. As long as there's another suitable host to invade.
"You picked the wrong alley, fucker. We can do this the easy way, or the fun way. Now, let go of the dress and- *BANG BANG BANG* BIG mistake, bitch. *CRUNCH* Start running. *BANG* Idiot. *CRACK* Maybe you'll wake up before someone slits your throat. Here's your purse back, miss. And, er, most of your dress. No, don't run awa- dammit. This always happens."
Othello Olathe, a nearly seven-foot tall, egg-bald African man with muscles on his muscles, is one of the Vajrapani sects leading warriors. His mastery of Do, coupled with his potent skills in the Sphere of Time, makes him a force to be reckoned with.
Due to unforseen side effects resulting from his Time magicks, Othello has trouble maintaining a normal life, as Sleepers tend to forget he exists if he's not in front of them. While he spends most of his time wandering the Earth being all Akashic in the style of David Carradine, he responds readily and forcefully when it comes time to take the battle to the Technocracy. The Brotherood has assigned him to Free State, forseeing the need there for some muscle.
His fighting style is very modern, with a heavy emphasis on Kung-Fu and other popularized martial arts, though he uses Do most often. He is known to employ a pair of simple wooden nunchaku, with which he has dispatched several Kindred.
Othello exudes an aura of tragic rage, which is odd considering he's not all that angry a man (his language notwithstanding) and women tend to respond very poorly to him, though this may simply be a result of his deficient social skills.
Post-game fate: Got popped by a primium bullet while unconscious; mumbled something about Desdemona as he expired. A bit sad, really. But at least he saved Stephen's ass earlier.
Mungo is the prototypical Thug. He's the guy you'll see standing next to Boss DeBartello as you're given An Offer You Can't Refuse. Remember when that guy woke up with the decapitated gerbil in his bed as a warning Not To Displease The Family? That was Mungo's work. Mungo is big. Mungo is strong. Mungo is not quite the sharpest tool in the shed, but if you need someone beaten down or some ugly work done, he's your man. Just don't forget to provide chalupas, or else....
To be exact, Mungo stands at six feet and four inches. He's the perfect shape to stuff a doorway, wide enough and tall enough. A small rough mop of black hair tops a very square looking face, and an even more angular, and thick, jaw. Some people have eyes that shine with brilliance. His do the exact opposite, being dull dark orbs hidden under quite an impressive forehead. The word that comes to mind when trying to describe Mungo's physique is.... thick. Very very thick. Small children have hung tires on ropes off of his arms before (he's a big hit at parties with kids...) Mungo's skin tone is a kind of pasty gray, not quite sickly, but not quite right either. When he talks, it sounds a bit more like large boulders grating in a deep chasm. Mungo talks a bit slowly, and every now and then lapses into the third person. He also occasionally misuses words badly ('I'm gonna re-defecate ya on what da rules is around here.'). In his spare time, Mungo pratices floral arrangements.
It isn't certain exactly how Mungo was 'awakened'. Some speculate he might've taken one too many hits to the head and just had a transcendental moment. Others figure he's actually the last surviving neanderthal.
Whatever the case, you really shouldn't forget the chalupas....
Post-game fate: Well, at least his ill-advised kamikaze charge when rather beat up did manage to take out the second Technocrat before he dropped dead.