Pour son premier travail dans l'obscurité, Arn avait espéré trouver du travail sur une grande aventure. Un plan massif avec un énorme bénéfice, loin dans les royaumes de Vienne ou de Hong Kong, ou même d'Hollywood! À mesure que le temps passait, et que les grands braquages demeuraient à peine hors de sa portée, Arn avait abaissé lentement les normes. D'abord c'était n'importe où hors du pays, puis c'était n'importe où dans le pays. Alors n'importe où dans sa ville damnée.
Même cela n'avait porté aucun fruit. Le destin a fait rire de lui dans son malheur : il n'avait que commencer à désespérer quand un ami d'un ami d'un ami l'a contacté au sujet d'un travail. Il avait accepté presque trop avidement, son analyse cool habituelle étant suspendue par un désir ardent de faire enfin quelque chose.
Il avait été facile de convaincre son père que rien ne manquait. Einar était habitué aux manières étranges de son fils. Le garçon passait souvent des jours dans la rue, habituellement en ramenant des nuyens, de la nourriture ou des médicaments. Au début, Einar avait exigé de savoir où son fils avait obtenu de telles choses, mais comme la lutte pour mettre de la nourriture sur la table continuait, Einar vint peu à peu accepter les contributions de son fils à la famille comme s'ils avaient toujours été là.
Sa mère était à peine là, et son grand-père passait la plupart de son temps à dormir ou à regarder par la fenêtre, et Arn s'est contenté de dire à son père qu'il serait parti pendant un moment, a saisi son manteau, a emballé ses sacs, et est sorti de la porte d'entrée.
Il fit signe à Skuggi alors qu'il passait la chaise sur laquelle le chat dormait. Skuggi bâilla, révéla des dents pointues, pointues, puis disparut, rencontrant Arn sur la route à l'extérieur avec une grâce insouciante. Ils se tournèrent à l'unisson pour admirer brièvement la maison familiale. Ce n'était pas un manoir, mais c'était spacieux, confortable, et -- surtout, et peut-être miraculeusement -- appartenait entièrement à la lignée d'Arn. Aucune société ou gouvernement ne pouvait revendiquer la petite parcelle de terre.
Elle était restée intacte pendant des années par n'importe qui, sauf la famille d'Einar. La mère d'Arn lui avait dit il y a longtemps une puissante protection qui reposait sur la terre, accordée ainsi par un dragon, ou un être de l'autre monde qui avait favorisé la famille d'Arn. Arn était plus d'avis que la terre avait simplement... prouvée particulièrement difficile à prendre en charge. Quelle que soit la raison mystique de l'indépendance de la terre, Arn était heureux d'avoir sa maison.
Il a serré ses épaules contre le froid. Un blizzard s'agitait à mesure que le soleil tombait. Pas tant qu'Arn s'en souciait. Il tenait une flamme devant lui alors qu'il marchait, Skuggi perché sur son épaule. Entre la chaleur et le manteau, Arn se sentait plus à l'aise qu'il n'en avait le droit, et il lui a fallu peu de temps pour se rendre au lieu de réunion.
Pourquoi la Johnson a-t-elle insisté sur le Fljót? C'était un dud pub, s'il l'a dit lui-même. Bien sûr, certains poissons étaient frais, mais l'alcool était aussi susceptible de vous donner VITAS que de vous saouler. Il savait que VITAS ne pouvait pas se propager par la boisson, ce qui, selon Arn, rendait encore plus risqué de boire à l'endroit. Mieux vaut aller à l'Öldungur en bas de la rue. Au moins, on vous a assuré de passer un bon moment.
Naturellement, Arn avait visité le Fljót plus de fois qu'il ne pouvait s'en souvenir. Il a hurlé à l'homme au comptoir. Bien sûr, la bière était pleine d'esprit, mais l'atmosphère était imbattable. Il marcha vers l'une des tables vides. Puis il a vu deux personnes très différentes assises à une table et a changé d'avis.
-- Bonjour, dit-il, assis à table et abaissant son capot. Skuggi s'est installé autour de ses épaules et a clignoté deux fois, puis a commencé à nettoyer ses pattes.
Arn n'a rien dit d'autre, se contentant de demander à l'entretien de lui apporter un verre. Quelque chose de non-alcoolique. Soykaf était bon marché.
Arn Einarsson | 26 | Species: Half-Elf
"I would tell you to go to hell, but I do not want to see you there."
Alias:
Aeon
Appearance:
Arn is stylistically a street mage. He wears their stereotypical long coats which ward off the cold and disguise him from prying eyes. When more natural clothing is required, he wears graphic tees and jeans. Shorts are a rarity, if ever. His hair is dyed blue, but only because his hair glows blue when casting spells. It's harder to tell when Arn is using magic when his hair is always the same color. Instead, one must watch his eyes, which also glow brightly when channeling.
Background:
Arn has traveled to many places over the course of his short life. He was born to Einar, a human and Oddny, and elf, who had made their home in the then-Flux State of Berlin. He grew up running the streets of a chaotic microcosm. His friends were drug dealers, shadow-y tech salesmen, and street urchins. By all accounts, he should have ended up as an addict, selling his body, mind, and soul for another dose of Cram.
Instead, his father Einar found employment as a guard working for Sternschutz Security. He was a big man, given some low-tier chrome as part of his job. Once, Arn went wandering through the streets with his father, and became separated. When Einar found a junkie trying to hook his son up on something or other, he separated the dealer's arm from his shoulder.
Nobody tried to sell to Arn after that. Instead, the streets adopted him into their fold. None of the gangs cared enough about him to go after his father, and the unaffiliated were so terrified of Einar that, more than once, Arn returned home with more money than he'd left home with.
In retrospect, Arn should have been killed, or eaten, or mutilated, but he survived through a combination of luck and the watchful eyes of his father and friends.
When the corporate forces invaded in 2055 on behalf of the German government, Einar had been informed in advance by his employers of the event. He somehow managed to leave Sternschutz amicably, choosing instead to return to their home country, partially due to the failing health of Einar's father.
Once in New Reykjavik, Arn resumed his youth, growing from boy to young man. His father cared for his grandfather, and his mother returned to work as a Saeder-Krupp employee. He saw little of his mother after that. If not for the family home passed down through generations, Arn's family would have lived in a tiny corporate-owned apartment.
Then, one day, as Arn left to travel the streets of New Reykjavik on his thirteenth birthday, he accidentally set a cabbage cart on fire. As an elf, he'd known he was likely to have magic, but he hadn't ever expected it to actually happen to him. As it turned out, that cabbage cart was part of a series of carts who frequented the city, and now they were out for his blood.
For months after that, Einar kept Arn inside, shuttered away from the outside world. Arn became more and more rowdy, until he was liable to set the house on fire as well.
On an utterly unimportant day, a small, indo-chinese man knocked on their door. Einar nearly sent the man sprawling until the man, whose name was Talc, created fire in his hand. It took only a short time for Talc to convince Einar of his legitimacy.
From then on, Talc trained Arn. They started in Einar's home, practicing spells under Einar's watchful eye. As Arn's skills grew, he and Talc hit the streets, and Arn found that the cabbage stall was much less irritated with him when he created a new stall for them, bigger and better than the old.
Arn ran the streets with Talc for a decade, learning his craft, talking with the locals, and coming to call New Reykjavik his home. During that time, he lived as a rat. His mother made little money, and Talc was destitute as well. Together, with their illusions and light hands, the pair pulled off plenty of pickpocketing and con jobs on the upper-middle class. Enough to get by.
It didn't last. When Arn was twenty-three, Talc was caught trying to get into a Saeder-Krupp vault. He'd flown too close to the sun. Arn never saw the man again, and he was left to make his own living on the New Reykjavik streets.
Luckily, he'd made friends and built bridges, and while it isn't the easiest living, he manages. He keeps his head down when he can, but is capable of biting wit when required. Recently he made the jump from street rat to shadowrunner, with the promise of a great profit overriding his self preservation.
Skills:
Arn is a well-versed mage who specializes in battlefield control and manipulation. He is primarily skilled in illusions and manipulation spells, though he is competent as a healer and a combat mage. Detection is his weakest category of spellcasting.
Due to his movement throughout various areas of the world as he grew up, Arn can speak multiple languages, including English, French, German, Icelandic, City Speak, and rudimentary Mandarin (which he learned from one of his magical instructors).
Other skills include:
-lockpicking/knot tying
-sleight of hand/pickpocketing
-climbing
-handwriting forgery
-rudimentary hacking/hotwiring
-???
Equipment:
-General Mage materials
-Commlink
-Knife for self defense and carving
-Empty Credstick
-Fake SIN under the name "Kennedy Snow"
General Nonsense:
One day, when Arn was fifteen years old, a little black cat followed him home from his instruction. He's named it Skuggi. It seems to be a fairly magical cat, as he has witnessed it disappear and reappear through doors. Also, it may or may not be immortal, as it doesn't seem to be getting any older as time goes on.