M. Lukas Altair

[Altair]

CHARACTER INFORMATION
Character name: Lukas Altair (officially - going by old first name Marcus usually)

Previous and/or Current Character(s) if applicable: Lilith Ricardus, Jarvis Ricardus, Maximilian Yates, Michael Gray, Eugene Prothero etc...

Character age: 26 (I don't know how that happened)

Character education:
1926-1929: Gokstad Academy
1929-1933: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Ravenclaw
1933-1937: Privately tutored by Francis Turin
1938-1941: Uni self-study/research - specialised divinations

Honours
1930-1933: Quidditch Captain
1931-1932: Spellbound Writer
1931-1932: Prefect
1932-1933: Head Boy
1932-1933: Advance Guard

Work experience
1933-: Member of the Order, Political Party, United Kingdom
1936-1937: Co-professor in Art of Dueling, with Francis Turin, at Hogwarts School
1938-1941: Duelling referee, Hogwarts School and Beauxbatons School
1939-1940: Professor in Theory of Dark Arts, Beauxbatons School

Strength and weaknesses (details please):
Magical strengths - Divination and Conjuring/Summoning
Magical weaknesses - Intermediate at Charms, awful at potions
Personality - Marcus always was a person of contradictions and his strengths can often be turned to weaknesses and the other way around given the situation. The typical Ravenclaw mind mixed with a pinch of what could probably be described as Slytherin ambition, he never learned how to stop when it was enough, mainly because it never is. There is always more - always more to find, more to see, more to learn. The thirst for knowledge and, to some degree, for acknowledgement (although he always had it - more, more, more) had him bite over a bit more than he could chew, perhaps, and it has sent him spiralling a couple of tiems. Marcus never got his feet planted on the earth but fluttered somewhere else, separating himself from everyone in order to find his own individuality, but however he turns it there's always another perspective. He is guided by his goals, and when he has none he gets lost. Selfish, honest to the point of being rude, extremely stubborn. But he has a sharp mind.

Physical description:
He's 6'2'' and slender. There was a time when he trained a lot of Quidditch, but that's some time since now. I don't suppose using magic gives too much muscle, but I wouldn't consider him weak either. Probably somewhere around the "normal" range on that front.

Personality (nice, rude, funny etc. Paragraph please.):
Marcus tends to rely heavily on the sarcasm and he likes to give an impression that he cares less than he does, but he isn't that bad really. He is very mixed in nature and does not really believe in good and bad in terms of black and white. He'll pull things too far just for the fun of it, and considered himself among the worst former Headboys, because he liked to well to play with the rules. He won't be a better professor, that's for sure. But he's interested in teaching, if only because it forces him to view things from a different angle.

Hopes and dreams. Why are you teaching at Hogwarts?:
Distracting himself, research, getting better at magic. Educating himself more than educating the students, always.


BIOGRAPHY

1.0 MARCUS
Biblical - "Polite, shining." Markus; the Norwegian equivalent of Mark the Evangelist.

His mother had known he'd be a thinker even before he was born, the darkhaired boy that she'd seen in her dreams. His eyes would look up at her, bright and lively, but veiled, intelligence conceiled yet visible in little moments. He had been shy back then, hungrily taking in worldly impressions to construct his own universal interior, the architect of his own dreams and beliefs. Blue eyes looked to the sky and when he was up there it was hard to pull him down. She told him of the stars and the myths connected to them, she told him of worlds beyond, and he'd listen, pointing out cracks in her stories that she'd never questioned and she knew he had the potential to look far.

She knew that she would die before the time came to her, and when she entered the waters it had been because of her own curious stupidity. They'd been the rocks of the family - Tiril Eir and Marcus Antares - and with her gone the heavy responsibility would lie upon the shoulders of a father crumbling underneath its weigh. Marcus would critisize him, never forgive him for it, but always love him, silently.

Latin - Marcus: "Hammer. Mars - the Roman god of war."

The boy had been energetic, participating enthusiastically in the sport of Quidditch from age seven and thriving in it until his last year at Hogwarts School. For the over active mind it was exhilarating to empty one's head for the time being and concentrate only on immediate actions and surroundings as a Chaser and a tactician. The Captaining role fell to him naturally once he started to gather a name in this new place, once he managed to push away the insecurities and portray that confident young man destined to get him further in life faster than he'd expected, and more deeply than he'd known he wanted.

But the wind was only his element as much as it fed his fires. And Marcus was a hungry boy.

Class became a slow business, for the world would never move fast enough, and most of his failures were due to his impatience, for his need to skip ahead even while his friends tried to keep his feet on the ground. His talent for Divination flourished, despite his dislike for the class - he disagreed with the way in which it was taught and the philosophy upon which it was based. Charms and Transfiguration tended to drag behind because their ideas were dry and less stimulating, while the concept of creating something from nothing was endlessly fascinating. But the Ravenclaw also held an interest in everything that was unusual, and books became best friends whenever there were new subjects to explore.

Anything to ensnare the mind of the opportunist.

Marcus Aurelius Antoninus Augustus - Last of the Five Good Emperors, considered one of the most important Stoic philosophers.


1.1 ANTARES
Red supergiant star in the Milky Way galaxy and the sixteenth brightest star in the nighttime sky. The Cor Scorpii, "heart of the Scorpion", the brightest star in the constellation Scorpius.

He could have been kind, like his father, but the boy was talented, and he was caught by all the little disruptions, all the tiny details that were good, but could have been better. As a leader he shone bright, as was quickly recognized - Captain, Prefect, Head Boy - but while he tried to give them all a chance, to encourage, in his heart he judged them. Still he judged himself the most, the dangerous critic that would always push and push again, until he found himself exhausted - there was always some moutain to climb, some crowd to conquer, some competition to win. And he had to win.

As a student he was always surrounded by friends, people as different as the shades of the earth, and sometimes very poorly matched. It took different personalities in order for the world not to become boring, in order to keep the stream of ideas constant. Ironically, he ended up driving them all away in the mission of finding himself, grinding upon his own insecurities. He was a person of extremeties - his smirks and witty remarks drew them to him, yet the shadows of his hidden pessimism would force him to retreat.

In many ways one could said that in the end he proved himself right, that in the end we're all alone. We cannot rely upon other people, cannot blame them for our mistakes, for we carry the full responsibility of our own lives.

Idividuality became his Law. And perhaps, even among friends, he always felt alone.

Greek - Antares: "anti-Ares" ("anti-Mars").


1.2 VEGA
The brightest star in the constellation Lyra, the fifth brightest star in the night sky and the second brightest star in the northern celestial hemisphere.

Already in his sixth year came trouble, in the form of the engagement of his purist girlfriend, Belicose Razi. While the Vegas were pureblood, the English branch of a family derived from Spain, spread and dwindled over Europe, it held impurities and had stepped away from elitist pasts. The two chose to stay together for a while, but it was, perhaps, his need to own her that that finally separated them. Once fiercely loyal, he received a blow to his ego that proved hard to repair and again he disappeared into himself and the philosophies that he cradled so carefully. Few were the bonds that could not be broken.

Irony made him less fond of the people around him the more popular he got, yet he was sick for the knowledge, sick for the power. And perhaps he chose his own suffering, for he saw its value, he saw that he would never gain the experience that he wished for if he did not seek out the very things that he feared.

Knowledge would always have its price.

In his seventh year had he already found his crowd of likeminded and developed the strength, or the coldness, to watch his own school be attacked, without lifting a finger to protect them, while he played out a mock fight with his future tutor, Francis Turin.

Upon his graduation in 1933 his death was faked - as he burned down his childhood home and set fire to a name he'd never carry again (for individuality, for independency) - following the deaths of Esme Faracy, of Orion Crow and Sebastian Petrocci. Out of the four only two should return, stronger, yet never more damaged.

Arabic - Vega: Loosely translated to "falling" or "landing", via the phrase "the falling eagle/vulture." The constellation was represented as a vulture in ancient Egypt, and as an eagle or vulture in ancient India.


2.0 LUKAS
Biblical - "Light." Lukas; the Norwegian equivantent of Luke the Evangelist.

Symbolism always stayed strong with the divination talent, he'd always been interested in history, in ancient objects, in everything that was conceiled yet open in the light to see for all who wanted and all who dared. He stayed in the darkness for a year, before he came back out, and the light burned him like the flames that had engulfed him and scarred his soul and his body. And perhaps had been always been shy, but he'd always been greedy, desperate as he realized his own meaninglessness, the way that he was forgotten, the way in which they lived on. He was changed and he was ever the same, but pursuing a game now, a purpose. Yet it was to disappear through his fingers like wisps of smoke - he could not catch the light within his hands and he could not give it back to those that he'd taken it from.

Betrayal came to be connected with his person, shame with his mind. The cold walls of Azkaban prison would stand between blood brothers, while he chose his own name. Reborn, renewed, but never satisfied.

He wanted to pay his price to humanity, but humanity turned away.

The madmen burned their own purpose, and those who didn't go down with the ship would flee.

There was nothing left to lose.

Latin - Lukas: "Light."


2.1 ALTAIR
The brightest star in the constellation Aquila [the Eagle] and the twelfth brightest star in the night sky. Is one of the verticles of the Summer Triangle, together with Deneb and Vega.

[November 1974]
"Thirty degrees South of Vega, and one hour and fourteen minutes apart on ascension, you'll find the star called Altair," he said, and why he said it didn't matter. She could call him a nerd. And he could call her one back.

"But I'm all the way down here." Marcus looked at his shoes, blue and white sneakers where black jeans ended, at the muddy ground beneath.

Why did it all matter so much?

"Join me?" It was a request and not a demand. He'd grant her the opportunity to turn him down.

Arabic - Altair: An abbreviation of the phrase "the flying eagle".

He'd always been there, never left - Esme would know, for she could still see him as the child he had been, could probably still conjure the image of him dancing on top of the Ravenclaw Table as they announced him as Head Boy.

And it had always been him, for there was no way that he could imagine himself choosing differently. The world moved one part at a time, and the patterns would be readable, if you had the patience to wait for the appearing picture. Marcus Vega had never been patient though, diving into things as they appeared before him. But his falls had never been graceful, crashing against the ground where he thought there'd be water always bloody and painful.

He liked the shadows, and he needed them.

But the shadows could be frightening, and peace could turn into danger. For he had always loved being the centre of attention, no matter how much he tried to deny it. Maybe if Lukas was the anxious part of him in fear of too much light, then Marcus was the one who would bask out in the sun, all confident and full of himself.

He didn't regret it though. And there were certain things that he wasn't going to quit, no matter how many walls life decided to toss him into.

In the end it was his freedom to be himself that mattered.

"Does it really matter?"

He looked up again, smirking evidently, for she was reading his mind, not only once, but twice. And her question could be put into whichever context he wanted to choose.

He chose them all.

"Of course it matters," he replied, for he would always challenge what seemed obvious, and most of all would he challenge himself. He protested more because he wanted to agree with people than that he wanted to disagree with them. Somehow he thought that Eve would understand that pattern of reasoning, however illogical it might seem to others.

Smirking still, he turned, taking a few steps back into grimy leaves. There was no fun to following paths that other people had created.

He stopped, looking back over his shoulder.

"Are you coming?"

As if they'd been friends forever.

Chinese - Altair is known as the Cowherder Star, known from the legendary love story in which the Herder [Altair] is separated from the Weaver Girl [Vega] by the Milky Way. They are only permitted to meet once a year, when the Milky Way is crossed by a bridge of magpies.


3.0 STAR EATER

[1938]
Fate had always been cruel, unpredictable, pulling a long finger into people's matters to stir up their lives - their deaths, and everything inbetween. He'd been aboard the rollercoaster for as long as he remembered, then he'd reached out his own hand to grab it, separating himself from everybody else in a stunt that in the end left him feeling desparate more than anything. Slipping his palm around that wild wagon hadn't granted him control, only consciousness about the little details that could be moved and arranged - luckily he was good with strategy, with tactics, but this only left him addicted, always, wanting more.

It had been a circus, him and Esme grasping for the only thing seemingly somewhat stable, ironically turning them against themselves and each other. Francis had been a bomb waiting to happen, thrown out once he was showing any sign of wanting to explode. Spencer had never been stable, only cold, and in that way able to keep calm, until that moment he sat fire to everything and ran away. Everyone that ever mattered had stopped caring, and the girls that he'd once had - Belicose was gone, most likely because she didn't want to see him - Esme... Esme had never been his and in a way he had never wanted her.

That was his problem, he never wanted any of them - nor Damien, nor his family. Not enough that he wasn't willing to sacrifice them, always for something greater.

Marcus wasn't willing to sell his freedom for stability.

He might be unhappy, he might be lost, but he had never stepped away from himself, and it was up to others to judge whether that was extremely courageous or just incredibly selfish.

And then, of course, he had to run into people like Hero Savage. Her name implied she should be some sort of Pocahontas figure, the noble barbarian, but she was nothing more but a girl he'd once gone to school with.

He didn't want to see her.

Looking in a different direction, towards a large, steaming machine, he was reminded of how very little he liked places like these, and he missed her stunted reply. The Vegas had never been elitist, but they were ugly these muggles, these people, although no more ugly than the witches and wizard surrounding him every day, if he dared stepping outside of his dark cave.

"You were meant to be dead."

Blue eyes flicked back to her, and she might as well have spat him in the face. There was little comfort in the fact that he'd brought this on himself, for this was exactly why he kept avoiding them, their constantly judging eyes, manners, body languages. People never saw deeper than just beneath their own skin - they were concerned only with what was just in front of their noses, or more importantly, missing from there.

Then again, no matter how much he told himself he'd done it for them all, he knew he'd done it first and foremost for himself.

He wanted to punch walls, but he'd gathered a huge amount of self control in the years of training that Francis had put him under. Still, Marcus had never been a good liar, perhaps because he'd rather see people facing the truth, and there was a fragile layer of poison on top of his words as he spoke.

"You were meant to be alive."


SAMPLE ROLEPLAY

It was the largest office in Hogwarts and, perhaps to students and newcomers, the most intimidating. The shelves were filled with various odds and ends, with a place of honor for the Sorting Hat, and the walls held all the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses.

In the middle of the room sat a large desk. Everything was in order, for the current occupant had always despised a messy desk. It was the sign of a messy mind, and she had always favored neatness.

A clock sat on the desk, which currently showed the time to be 2:05. The meeting was supposed to begin at 2:00 precisely.

Along with order, Anneka valued punctuality. She was a very busy woman these days. Even during the summer, she had a number of matters to attend to. Interviewing and hiring staff was only of those matters. The newest potential member of her staff wasn't making a good impression.

She paced the room, black heels clicking against the stone floor. When the door finally opened, Anneka turned, her expression reminiscent of a Russian winter. "You are late."

Explain yourself was what her face said.


Roleplay Response:

Marcus had never been punctual. Not when it came to time. He'd been punctual in many other ways, having his weird way of sorting things until he held their absolute control, and then to let them deteriorate again. He supposed that came with priorities.

And his bookshelves had always been tidy to the extreme.

Maybe it came with all Ravenclaws. Although the know-it-all attitude had always bothered him in school. Most people who acted like they were above others were the ones who had the longest way to fall. He knew, because he'd been one of them. Still was. Not by blood - he had never cared about blood, perhaps because he was as close to a halfblood as a pureblood could get - but intellectually. And it wasn't that he claimed to be smart (truly, he didn't), it was just the way that he found others to be so ridiculously stupid.

There had been a time at which he had liked to get into trouble just so he could have the challenge of wriggling himself back out of it.

Then there was the pointlessness to people's lives. The way in which they were satisfied with doing the same thing over and over and over again. But perhaps his own way of fleeting restlessly across the world had to more to do with escapism than it had to do with knowledge. More to do with the fact that they all had to die and be forgotten. And Marcus didn't want to be forgotten.

Ever.

Yet he preferred the shadows. Didn't like screaming for attention. Preferred to allow people find him. Paradoxically.

Found her expression slightly amusing.

"I'm not that late," he said, keeping the smirk just at bay. Perhaps she knew him better than anyone there (and he would have preferred nothing more than to wave the invisible Supra Mortalitas banner right in from of her face just there and then), but in his case it was precisely the reasons why this was the place to go. To return to.

Again.

He sat down, put one leg across the other. Leaned back.

"So, what's up?"

He didn't care too much for staring contests.