Adélaïde Bechard

Adélaïde Bechard is a 19 year old Parisian magician, actress, and performer; she's currently doing a one-woman magic show on the streets of Paris. Her troupe consists of Penneg the Brownie, a long time family friend and her Phoenix, Pierre.

Description:

Abilities

  • Great Performance (Cups)
  • Great Charisma (Cups)
  • Good Connections (Swords)
  • Good Comeliness (Cups)
  • Good Sorcery (Pentacles)
  • Good Fisticuffs (Wands)
  • Poor Exchequer (Swords)
  • Poor Fencing (Wands)
  • Poor Physician (Pentacles)
  • Poor Tinkering (Pentacles)

Health: 5
Improvement Points: 6

Possessions: Red Silk Cloak with Gold clasps (my mother’s), an amber ring from my father), top hat with veil, 2 costumes for my stage show, a dagger, deck of cards, book of spells, medicine bag full of various magical props (rings, silk handkerchiefs, wand, juggling balls etc…)

Languages: French (N), English

Name: Adélaïde Bechard
Dramatic Character: Actress/Street Magician
Age: 19
Heroine Type: Fallen Heroine
Race: Human
Hair Color: Coiffed in the latest Parisian fashions, her hair is long, chestnut brown shade with gentle waves
Eye Color: Hazel
Skin: Pale with Olive Undertones
Magical Order: The Cabinet of Cups and Wands
Familiar: Pierre, the Phoenix
Bond: Penneg, the Brownie is my stage hand/assistant and friend. We work the streets of Paris with our street magic act, trying to get some coin.

Goal: To improve her ability to shoot and aim firearms so that she doesn’t have to rely so strongly on her magic if she gets into a scuffle with ruffians

Goal: Attract the attention of an agent who could help her get better bookings and hopefully help make her more financially stable.and be able to afford to develop even more elaborate illusions..

Goal: To become better acquainted with her fellow colleague (maybe love interest) John Nevil Maskelyne.

Bio:

I’m trying to fight through a long bout of depression that has led me to question my magical birthright and love of the stage. I can finally talk about what happened on that dreadful day last May, although I’m sure this page will be stained with my tears and will be illegible to anyone but me.

My mother, Pierre (my Phoenix), and I had performed our signature floating fire acrobatics routine hundreds of times. I don’t know if I had become too comfortable in our routine, maybe I used too much kerosene lighting Pierre afire or moved my mother a fraction of an inch too far in the wrong direction, but I will never erase the haunting image of her dress lighting afire and her body being consumed by the flames that could never harm my phoenix. I tried to put the flames out ( still have scars on my forearms, an eternal reminder) but the damage had been done and she died minutes later. I can only be thankful that she didn’t have to suffer for long, but I will never forgive myself for her death. All I can do now is try to live my life in a way that would bring honor to her memory an fulfill the dreams she had for me.

And so, I begin this diary in search of clarity and to center my focus. To understand how I ended up where am currently, penniless and without a theater to perform in (the theater I used to work in would not allow me to continue my act because of how much the death of my mother traumatized the audience), I must reflect on my own origins and how I became interested in the magical arts.

I began my life long obsession with magical theatre by watching my mother, Marie Bechard, perform with my father Louis Comte in his magic show. She began as a dancer, but when she couldn’t fit her corsets and costumes any longer (she was six months pregnant with me at the time), he gave her the position of his personal assistant. She had billowing, silken robes that worked wonders at concealing her swelling belly.

My father, while several years my mother’s senior, was very quick and spry, and always stumped all of the professional magicians he worked with as to how he could perform his astounding feats, including sawing my mother in half (her top half would crawl onto the stage and her legs would do a can-can, and then come back together as the grand finale. They didn’t understand that he was a real sorcerer, conjuring and enchanting miraculous magicks night after night like it was the easiest thing in the world. There was a reason he dubbed the “King’s Magician”; he performed for all the nobles of Paris and was also the head of the Cabinet of Cups and Wands, a magical order of magicians and performers in Paris.

He died when I was but four years old, I barely remember him apart from the fact that he always smelled of peppermint and that he taught me my very first spell, the ability to light a candle by channeling the forces located in the ether. My mother took over his act when he died; worried that her stage magic (she could never catch on to using real magicks) would pale in comparision to his former glory, she turned her act into a comedy routine, making the audience laugh was her real magical gift. I only hope I can have one fraction of her charm and grace if I ever get my one-woman stage show off the ground.

Things were very bleak after her death, I almost starved to death on the streets with no income and no ambition to continue without my mother. Luckily Pierre, and my good friend and my mother and father’s stagehand, Penneg the Brownie, helped me come to my senses. They reminded me that my mother would never forgive me if I threw away my talent and my dreams because of an accident that I couldn’t have prevented.

Anyways, I have motivation now to improve my lot in life. A member of my father’s magical order, The Cabinet of Cups and Wands, saw me perform on the Parisian streets with Pierre and realized I had true magical ability. He asked me become an initiate of their order, and I happily accepted. After much grueling initiation, I am now officially a novice in the order and am allowed to live in the dormitory there as long as I continue my magical studies.

My current goal is to find a financial backer to fund my own magic/vaudeville act at the Comédie-Français. I hope, one day, to fuse the true magical skill of my father with the stage presence and wit of my mother to impress those who do not believe women capable of real magickal skill.

I have recently found my mother’s personal diary amongst her things, I hope to learn more about her life before my birth; I long to be close to her again and learn all I can from her own experiences.

Adélaïde Bechard

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