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By Eben Rook
29. Half-Blood. Self. Mercenary. Wampus
D.O.B.: April 1, 1982

GENDER & PRONOUNS: Male, masculine

WAND: Dogwood, 11 inches, phoenix feather core

HAIR: Black, styled in a neat, trendy style befitting a businessman. He wears a short beard and mustache, always trimmed neatly.
EYES: Black eyes, no corrective lenses.

HEIGHT: Six feet one inch
WEIGHT: 154 lbs

MARKINGS: Dings and nicks of a rough and tumble life, but nothing overtly telling or apparent.
PLAY-BY: Ben Barnes

MIRROR OF ERISED: Eben would see his mentor and friend Saul Babish restored to life.
BOGGART: Rejection by Saul

TRAITS: Eben is very proud; he hates being teased or picked on, instead preferring to have the social upper hand in a conversation. He likes to lead discussions and enjoys feeling in control of a situation. Feeling out of control will prompt Eben to try and subtly redirect the conversation or situation back towards his advantage or comfort zone. He can be as blunt as any New Yorker and just as brash, but when he is on mission or in an unfamiliar area, he does his best to be suave, observational, and discrete. To this end, he has cultivated a genteel, subtle personality to hide behind when he's not among friends or allies. This impassive, often stony expression is hawk-like and is often mistaken for him being angry or upset. Eben is naturally impatient, but he has trained himself to be patient. He fails at this when he is tired, frustrated, or emotional and will be snappy and brusque when his mood is low. He hates overly flirty women, preferring a straight forward approach to romance and sex. This ties into his high valuation of honesty. Eben does not tie well to other people, taking a long time to form deep bonds. Conversely, he does form connections quickly, but will be just as quick to discard them when they no longer serve his purpose. As a result, he has had many one night stands with many beautiful women across the globe, but he has had no lasting romantic entanglements.


• Father: Augustus Rookwood, aged 50. Blood Status. Halfblood. Unspeakable/Death Eater _Slytherin_.
• Mother: Margaurite Anwise, aged 24 at death. Blood Status. Halfblood. Unspeakable _Hufflepuff_.

• Mentor/Grandfather:Saul Babish, aged 91 at time of death. Blood Status. Muggleborn. Retired union laborer, member of S.A.M. _home schooled due to blood status_.

S.A.M. Team:
• Chapter President: Daniel Prince, aged 107, Blood Status. Pure. Retired Auror, president of the New York Chapter of S.A.M. _Horned Serpent_.
• Enforcer, Combat trainer, book keper: Eddie Delaney, aged 78 at time of death, Blood Status. Muggleborn. Clerk for Martinka's Magic Emporium, member of S.A.M _Wampus_.
• Friend: Drake Freeman, aged 65. Blood Status. Halfblood. S.A.M. team leader, coordinator _Puckwudgie_.
• Friend: Randal Vance, aged 38. Blood Status. pureblood. Retired infantry, paramilitary operations expert for S.A.M _Thunderbird_.
• Friend: Qasim Hussein, aged 28. Blood Status. Pureblood. Graduate Student at Columbia for Chemical Engineering, potioneer and demolitions expert for S.A.M. _Thunderbird_.
• Friend: Brandy Faulkner, aged 34. Blood Status. Muggleborn. Fashion photographer, Charms and Enchantments expert for S.A.M. _Horned Serpent_.
• Friend: Mike, aged 32. Blood Status. Full blood Garou, Bone Gnawer of the Dead Rabbits (Brooklyn based pack). Contact for the Glass Walkers to keep an eye and ear on S.A.M., contact for S.A.M to receive contracts from the Garou nation.

HISTORY: Where to start? I suppose you want to know my beginning, and all that...sure. Why not? I was born in Brooklyn. King’s County Hospital, to be exact, on a breezy April night in 1982. I dunno what ma did to support us, but we lived in a Prospect Park apartment complex until I was about five or so. I was going to school when it happened, so, yeah...about five. Anyway, what happened: Ma took me to the school bus stop, I get on, and I go to kindergarten. Learned colors that day or some shit. Anyway, when it was time for nap, some people came and got me and took me to the principal’s office. There were words said, some social worker or something was there, and that’s when I learned my ma was dead.

Botched burglary, I learned later in life. My social worker was kind enough to keep a newspaper clipping for me along with the box of possessions ma passed on to me. There wasn’t much...a gold ring with an emerald in it, letters from who I assume was my father, and a picture of her and me in Central Park. Everything else had been sold to cover her debts.

I was in a foster home briefly, but after a few months, it didn’t work out. I wound up going with the social worker to a group home in Flatbush, transferred schools, yadda, yadda yadda. There wasn’t shit I could do except survive, right? So I did. Got picked on for my name, because kids are shit. Got into fights at school for being a group home kid. Got the best grades I could to defy that punk ass teacher that told me I didn’t have a future, what with being a system kid...I was angry a lot. I think that’s what made Saul tell me to go home the first day I met him.

I was about nine when I met Saul. I was walking back to the home after school and kicking a rock down the sidewalk. I saw him in a rocking chair on his porch. Our eyes locked, and he seemed surprised I was looking at him. This old man stopped me and told me that I needed to be careful. There had been riots in Harlem that year and we were in a mixed race neighborhood. Jews and blacks weren’t too keen on each other and, my complexion being what it is, I looked like any other little son of Abraham running around. Me being the asshole little kid that I was, I said something rude back to him. Saul took it kindly enough and told me to “stop bein a snot nose little dick and keep an eye on yeh back. Now gedoudda heeyah” with all the aged splendor a Brooklyn accent can give. I was vowed by his gruffness, so I went back to the home. Next day, I went by his house again, curious and and a little more polite. So we started being friends. He introduced me to Dodgers on the radio, I introduced him to Transformers and the Simpsons and comic books. He liked comics; he told me all about Superman from the sixties and I told him all about the X-men. He helped me with my math homework and told me about being a construction worker back when he first moved to the city.

He never really talked about life before the 1950’s. He’d regale me with this and that about “dem Bums at Ebbets Field” and seeing them play in ‘52, but nothing about his old country, or what growing up was like for Saul. To me, he came into existence at the age of twenty eight, stepping off a boat and falling in love with Lady Liberty, then with the Big Apple. Everything before he was reborn as an American was unspoken. When I left elementary school, I learned enough about the faded numbers on his forearm in history class to know that asking any more questions was out of the window.

Heh...high school. I should say private school. I didn’t go to a traditional public school. I went to an ultra private institute in Massachusetts. Maybe you heard of Ilvermorny? Yeah. My time there was alright. It was my summers that I lived for...see, Saul was a wizard. I was taught lessons in school, but it was with Saul I really got my education. The old coot didn’t tell me until I was visited by Professor Carlow, who spoke to the group home supervisor about my ‘excellent grades’ and ‘full scholarship’ to the ‘finest preparatory school North America had to offer for students of Ebeneezer’s kind.’ A load of kelpie dung to say that it was a wizard school without letting the No-Maj in on the secret...but Saul...he acted like he knew I was magical the whole time. I asked him about it and all he said was that I saw him on the front porch and that was enough. The summer of ‘93, he took me to celebrate by introducing me to SAM.

Any time he talked about SAM I thought he was talking about some old friend of his in Manhattan. He told me about adventures Sam had been on, daring escapes, was enough to fill a boy’s head. Anyway, in June of 1993, we got on a train headed into the downtown area. I followed Saul through the subway stations, up onto the street, and down a moldy alleyway. We went into this skeevy looking shop. It was a rat nest of stuff. Just, stuff. Everywhere. Automatons, ring puzzles, block puzzles, decks of cards, you name it.

The owner waved him to the back and watched me with green eyes. I later learned he was Eddie, and he could throw a mean curse and a meaner left hook. SAM, I learned that day, was the Society of American Magicians. They were a brotherhood of wizards for hire who did the work that others wouldn’t, or couldn’t, do. Members were hand selected back from their bygone days in 1902. They were originally formed to combat incoming mafia members trying to run New York. They had eyes in every major city, and players all across the country. They’re smaller now, a collection of old men and their special chosen few. The New York chapter, housed in the old building where Martinka’s once stood, is long past its glory days. More on them later. I first met them when I was eleven, and I became a full member when I was seventeen. I graduated Ilvermorny at eighteen and got kicked out of the group home for aging out. Saul gave me a room to stay and started really training me for what SAM did. He also helped me get my name legally changed. Originally, I was a Rookwood, but with the news coming from across the pond about the dark wizards over there, it was better for me to just be Rook. I wanted to take Saul’s name, but he refused, saying that I hadn’t done anything wrong to be saddled with his last name. He was funny like that, sometimes. He did let me start taking SAM contracts, though. And boy howdy were they doozies. He only gave me easy ones at first, but we built up.

You’ve heard of the Dark Web, right? We do some of that. We take contracts from the governments, too. Yeah, plural. No-Maj government agents will hire us for assassinations, extractions, spying, and the like. MACUSA hires us to track down illegal exports, take out vampires or werewolves that are preying in No-Maj’s, or any other magical creature who feels they don’t need to listen to law.

We also broker arms deals. Maybe it’s playing both sides of the law, since MACUSA trusts us on occasion with upholding the rules, but profit is profit is profit, and bagels aren’t free, says Danny, the chapter president.

Most of our contracts are above the board, though. 9/11, as an example. Both the No-Maj government and MACUSA contacted us five minutes after the first plane hit the tower to get us bloodhounding who dared attack our city. Saul took me on that contract. It was my first time in Europe and his first return since leaving. He taught me some German, we made contact with some of our less reputable contractors, and we got names.

One thing led to another, as they do. We may have started a war by pointing our finger at the root of the attack, but we also made decent money off it. I earned my reputation as a jack of all trades in that time of my life. I could sell a crate of weapons, self a service, and get my hands dirty. I showed Danny and Eddie and Saul that they did right by hiring me. In addition to the money they paid me, they taught me all they knew of blade fighting, brawling, and shooting. They were old war dogs, and I flourished under their tutelage. I became the face for SAM, leaving them to the bookkeeping and recruiting.

By 2008, we gained four more members, all around my age. Randal Vance, former army; Qasim Hussein, a master potioneer and chemist; Brandy Faulkner, charming, in all senses of the word; and Mike, a werewolf. He was a good contact for the packs. He hated being called a werewolf, though, and said the right term was a Bone Gnawer. Cagey bastard refuses to explain the difference and why ‘werewolf’ was wrong. He hardly spends his time around Martinka’s anyway.

In 2009, I became our resident vampire hunter. I wish I had a better motive than revenge, but a set of Welsh vamps turned on Saul during a deal and killed him. I was able to get one before they left the country. The other got away, though. She fled back to Europe and Danny hasn’t let me go after her yet.

Saul left me everything he had, including his house in Flatbush. He wrote in his will I was his only family and that he loved me. He was ninety one when he died. It was quick, and I don’t think he suffered too much...but that vampire will, once I find her.

2010 and 2011 saw Eddie pass, me get a team leadership position, and business flourish. The headquarters in Denver have taken notice of us and given us an official “attaboy,”. If that weren’t enough, I got word that the vampire that I want is in London. With my father supposedly being from there, and two years of hard work and no break, I think it’s time I took some personal days and go hunting.

ANYTHING ELSE? Ebeneezer Rook prefers going by Eben, Evan, or Ben. He has a strong distaste for vampires. He has twelve years of martial training, using knives, pistols, bare hands, wand fighting, and rifles.

I'm only available Monday, Tuesday, and Thursday nights due to my work schedule.

HOW'D YOU FIND US? The Bear. This is all his fault.

RP Sample:

"I could have just as easily taken the bus, Brandy,"

Eben's smile warmed the admonishment he cast at his team member and friend. His protests didn't prevent him from loading his one suitcase and laptop bag into the back of her Tesla.

"Oh sure," she drawled back, punctuating the reply with a snap of bubblegum. "I can just see you, mister three-piece-suit sitting in some kid's sloppy mess that he left for you, ignoring the candy wrappers and the Gawd knows what-else junkin' the floors of the bus. Your new shoes and that mess do NOT need to meet, Benny."

Eben chuckled at Brandy's emphatic and horror-driven imagination. She was a fashionista through and through. Not only were clothes the lens she viewed life through, but also her paycheck. It was no surprise that she was more concerned about his wingtip oxfords than for his safety on his trip.

"So how long you planning on being away?"

Well, maybe she was concerned after all. Eben settled into the leather seat of the Tesla and looked over at Brandy, really appreciating her looks and her concern. Her eyes were as dark as his own, but rather than smiling, they had that crinkle of concern, like she was scared he wouldn't come back. Add her magenta pouting frown to that and she actually looked sad, despite telling him at the bar last night that she was happy to see him leave.

"As long as I need to be, love."

Heh. Love. Yeah, they'd taken their spin through the bed sheets. She was still in his top ten for call backs, and he in hers, but neither of them wanted anything more than the physical. Or so he had thought...the flawless mocha diva sitting next to him actually was disappointed. Go figure that. Who knew that she cared that much? Eben watched her critically as she navigated through Brooklyn towards JFK. He didn't distract her with conversation or needless explanations. They'd all felt the blow when Saul had died. Being, as the old man had said, the closest thing to a son he'd ever have, Eben was going to take great delight and pleasure in staking out the vampirella bitch that killed him. Moira Darkling. He'd make sure that her grave was properly inscribed before he returned to his city and his work. He smiled at the thought, then settled in for the ride.

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