Darian

IMPORTANT NOTE : These pictures represent Darian if he ever gets off the streets, cleaned up and has a normal, nutritional diet. At the moment he is dirty and such.

The Occult Undergrounder Full Name: Darian Harris Birthdate: October 29th, 1995 Apparent Age: Late Teens Hometown: Chicago, IL Occupation: Homeless Orphan Demeanor: Survivor Faction: Traditions (Eventually) Tradition: Orphan Kinain To: Sidhe Confused and Broken Chicago. Darian grew up in Chicago, IL. He had an average middle-class life for much of his childhood. His father was a cop, and his mother was a stay at home mom. Nothing was really out of the ordinary. At first. Death. When he was ten his father was killed in the line of duty, and his mother almost immediatly remarried his former partner. The man was a monster, and abused Darian quite often. The step-father was Fae, just like Darian's father was, but he was dark and monstrous while his real father had been a hero. Runaway. He ran away at the age of thirteen, and began living in the underground community beneath Chicago. It was there that he Awoke amid desperation. Awakening. He has never heard of the Traditions or the Technocracy. He has been an Orphan for five years, basing his Paradigm off of pop occult lore, strange numbers and phrases, and magical artifacts. (For those familiar with Unknown Armies, he is very much a Thaumaturge from it, with many of the UA beliefs) Sutter. Lacking a mentor or father figure, he was taken in by another street mage by the name of Sutter. Sutter helped and guided him to a point, but didn't teach him so much as abuse him, though he was even worse then his step father. Eventuallty Darian discovered that Sutter's magic was twisted and wrong, and he fled. The Road. He's been on the road for two years now, finally arriving on the west coast. He's homeless, but there arre far worse places to be homeless then Prospect. Songs The Servant - Cells On the city's skin they move on mass Like a rash on the back of a manky cat Now in I go like a fool I can't resist dipping in the pool I watch them watch me I watch them too MIracle of Sound - The Best Of Us Unlikely guide I will follow you Stay by my side See tomorrow through Two roads Merging in one line Contacts The Obsessed None - None. The Bizarre None - None The Family None - None Obsession xxxxxBeneath the living mirror of Heaven, beneath the world of our desires, there are streets with secret names. They connect the back alleys of civilization with the urine-stained vacant lots of the cosmos. They take you to the Occult Underground. xxxxxYou can't call information for the Underground's phone number. It doesn't advertise in Rolling Stone. There are no maps that show its borders. Yet you know it exists - or rather, you know it has to exist. You know it in your bones. xxxxxYou know because you've heard the rumors. A song that drives people to suicide. A man whose face melts with each dawn. A videotape that shows the birth of a Goddess. xxxxxThere are lots of rumors. These are different. The people you hear them from are different, like the weird drunk in the bar who lit his cigarettes without matches, or the street performer whose juggling pins pirouetted in unison between his hands. When you asked them how they did it, they smiled and said, "Eh, it's just a trick." Then the drunk sloppily pulled a quarter from behind your ear and the juggler dropped a pin and the moment was gone. But that feeling of truth remained. xxxxxFinally you knew what it was: the look in their eyes. Once you noticed it, you couldn't help but see it. Maybe every week or two you'd pass somebody on the street and for a second your eyes would meet and there it would be. You can't describe that look. Sometimes it seems like the hunger of a junkie, and other times its the smug satisfaction of a fat tycoon. In the mornings when you're half awake, on the weekends in the nightclub bathrooms, you catch yourself staring into the mirror, looking for the look. It's not there yet. But you feel it coming on, the way the tickle in your nose tells you you['re getting a cold. xxxxxThe Occult Underground is not made up of ordinary people. It comprises obsessed visionaries, mystic degenerates, hardcases with doctorates, dallen pagans, renegade scholars, drug-dealing hermaphrodites, actors who refuse to be seen or heard, military vets bent for Masons, children raised as Gods, sewer dwellers, kill-crazy psychos inspired by Logan's Run, worshipers of cardboard boxes, those who know the language of cats, secret societies of grocery store clerks, the followers of James Dean, holistic terrorists, stigmatic talk-show hosts, that kid in third grade who ate his thumb, autistic clairvoyants, old souls in new bodies, practitioners of Tantric channel-surfing, JFK-suicide conspiracists, people who believe we never landed on the moon, people who believe they landed on the moon, and people who believe they are the moon. xxxxxThese are your people. You are one of them. Every one of you knows a secret nobody else understands. It is not enough to believe in something. You have to BECOME that belief. The belief that the world is you and when you change yourself the world changes with you. xxxxxBeats the straight world any day of the week. Stories No pages meet these criteria.