Retired A Snake in the Grass

Name: Harold Jameson III

Alias: Snake Charmer

Age: Mid to late Twenties

Appearance: Though rarely seen but often dealt with, Snake Charmer is rumored to be of strong body, tall and lean with defined muscles and covered in a maze of tattoos. He is often depicted wearing a hooded robe or tattered cloth that obscures his face. What he truly looks like remains a mystery to most, though it is likely he has intentions to change that.


Originally a skilled magician and illusionist, what once had been slight of hand and misdirection has become something more visceral as Snake Charmer possesses the ability to create convincing hallucinatory illusions that incorporate any or all of the five senses, allowing him to effectively alter his target’s perception of the world. The more complex the illusions he casts the more concentration and effort he is required to expend. Despite this limitation he has a small following of loyal men and women who assist him in escaping complex situations in exchange for a potent combination of drugs and illusion he calls Dreambringing. Though few in number his Dreambringers are organized enough to assist Snake Charmer in many plots and ploys from afar, or allow him time to escape as they are captured or eliminated. It seems his network is always expanding in influence, the innate hunger for a better reality the only gateway he needs into the hearts of those he enthralls.

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L.A. is the place where magic happens. Movie magic, street magic, stage magic, love magic. You can find anything glittery and beautiful in the City of Angels, and Hollywood is a sparkling diamond atop that magical dream land. A shining dream that everyone wants to grab with both hands.

As a man born and raised there, I too wanted that crystal in my hands, though I wanted it for other reasons. The streets are not kind in this dingy shit hole, the blinding lights of pickpocketing street performers and smooth fingered prostitutes hide the filth that covered me in my youth, that clings to me even now that I am far from those bug catching neons.

No, I wanted to entrance the City of Fallen Angels and watch them burn each other to cinders. Picking up magic was easy, finding an agent even simpler. As a teen I performed across the city in ratty venues, paying my dues until my big break finally came. My agent, though, felt like I needed more experience. As if six years wasn’t enough time to perfect my skill. As if my stolen watches and wallets hadn’t padded the seat of his pants for the length of our partnership. I was distraught, disappointed, and I showed it to him in violent communication.

It was easy, my illusion cast for the first time and without warning, the slimy thief startled by the snakes covering his body and falling to the floor at my feet as I caved his head in with the heel of my boot. He whispered out thanks for my help removing the snakes even as bits of his skull crunched beneath my weight. In his death he showed me far more gratitude than he ever had in our half a dozen years working with each other.

I wondered how thankful someone would be if I gave them dreams, instead of a nightmare. With nothing left for me in Tinsel Town I left for greener pastures, and there I met Rebecca. She was a small town girl with big city lights in her eyes, dreaming of adoration and wealth. An all too easy target for my illusory bills and feigned interest in her ridiculous dreams. But she gave me everything I needed on that first night. She became tied to me, followed me for more tastes of what I had told her were visions of her future. She called me a messiah.

I rather liked the sound of that.