Accepted ~ Mai
Your Nickname: Vic
Have you read and do you agree to the Code of Conduct?: Yes
How did you find us and decide to write with us? Friend
If you have written other characters here: No
If Yes, list them all: N/A
Is this a Primary or Secondary Character?: Primary
Full Character Name: Richard Ian Burke
Character Birthday & Age: 24 October, 1968 // 40
City & Country of Birth: Culmore, Ireland
Blood Purity: Pureblood
Alma Mater: Durmstrang
Cover Job (If any): Smuggler by day and night.
Type of Criminal: Smuggler, Mini-Mastermind, Egotistical Irish Pretty-Boy
Allegiances / Loyalties / Political Faction: Whoever has the fattest purse and doesn’t carry a shiny badge with it. And even then there are some exceptions to that rule.
Have they committed any previous crimes?: Yes
If yes, what were they and were they convicted?:
No convictions, many suspicions. It’s a game you see, a game any and every criminal plays for giggles. ‘How long can I get away with what I’m doing before they know my name’? The horrid ones last less than 48 hours, or they were drunk during the commission of the charge, but the good ones, oh the good ones can go for decades and that’s where the fun comes in. There’s a certain thrill to it all that every criminal seeks. All that stuff about circumstances and economic stressors is just that, stuff. They’d probably thought about it hundreds of times, sure but some human beings just have too big a moral compass and let themselves be grounded by it. Anyway, the rap sheet’s below, probably the only thing you’ll ever find written in his handwriting that has anything to do with business as usual:
18 July, 1990 -> Murdered one Parliament lapdog Jonothan Moyer,turns out the forger had a family….fancy that.
24 September, 1990 -> Successfully trafficked in a half dozen dragon eggs (breeds unknown and uncared about so long as they remained intact) for a Balkan gentleman. Then sold his location to some Russians.
Late 1991 -> 1994 Runespoor eggs and venom. Talk to the Ministry. They know all about it and nothing about me.
21 December 1994 -> Auror Tait Aldridge, murdered. It made the papers, pretty sure.
1994-2008 -> Check with the Jordanians, ask about pretty much anything unsolved that doesn’t have a sexual piece to it. Also see if they still have my coat. I left it on the plane.
30 August, 2008 -> Salwa Bernier. Held the crucio just a tad too long and then she just wouldn’t shut up.
10 September, 2008 -> Kabir Ahmed. Should be dead. He isn’t. Once again I can’t let anyone else do my bloody job.
Presently -> Committing some illegality right under your nose as I write. Oh what fun!
What crimes might you commit in the future? Discuss all possible:
Well, when one considers that a man has already committed torture, murder, extortion, smuggling, assault, battery, attempted murder of a magical law enforcement, actual murder of magical law enforcement (twice), terroristic threatening, torture, various crimes against multiple endangered species, trafficking and pretty much everything shy of perjury over a three-decade period, I suppose the real question is what commanding performance would the public prefer to be otherwise terrified by? Burke can do requests; just post an ad in the wanted section of the Prophet. Problem solved.
Are you currently under pursuit by the Ministry of Magic?: Yes
Wand: 17 inches, Oak with a core of chimera scale
Physical Description: Build/Body type: Tall but muscular, fit, hygienic.
Estimated Height/Weight: 5’11”//184lbs
Hair color: Naturally a medium brown/almond color. Occasionally dyed to fit a part.
Eye color: Milk chocolate brown. (give or take)
Skin color: Currently tan thanks to Jordan, but after a few months of English rains likely to turn back a couple shades of pale.
First Impression:
What you see when you first see Burke is a man who’s good at his trade. His hands are well used, his body well built and maintained, essentially you see a man who puts in more manual labor in one week than any paper pusher does in three years.
Any odd/outstanding features?:
His fingers and hands are dotted with scars, along with a nasty 4 inch long hooked scar on his right calf. In the world of illegalities and typically dangerous goods, these things happen.
Personality Description:
To delve into the mind of a criminal, be they hardened or petty is very much comparable to walking into the mirror room of a fun house. It varies exponentially dependent upon the situation they find themselves. However like anyone else, upbringing in childhood molded the building blocks of his personality. First off, he was raised in an aristocratic household, and therefore demands the respect of both his clientele and associates. He will willingly be no one’s lapdog for longer than necessary, and hates playing second fiddle to anyone. If it’s not his plan, it’s not going to be your item up for auction. Essentially caging him is impossible.
Second. He’s manipulative. One thing early on that he learned was that people are stupid and predictable if you apply yourself to noticing what they want. If you get what they want, they owe you. Get them a lot of what they want and they’re in your pocket. The downside to this is although usually predictable, one cannot be perfect in planning and sometimes things go wrong. It never hurts to have much more than a Plan B on hand Burke prefers up to E. And they can all still go wrong.
Third, Probably the only outright downfall of his entire life is his constant self-absorption. Richard is incredibly narcissistic, not that he has to be the focal point of attention but rather that he constantly has to relish in his accomplishments. This need to consistently one-up personal records and standings, as well as his business rivals can lead to some daring attempts that even other experienced criminals may not be willing to risk themselves. To be the best you have to perform the best.
History:
On paper his name is Iain Wesley Burke, he is twenty-two years of age, long deceased and longer still buried in the ground. But that’s boring and it’s also merely what’s on paper. And this? Well this is supposed to be interesting isn’t it? Are you paying attention yet? Good.
There is an old saying that the colder months of the year produce the colder, harder and more nefarious people in society. Makes sense since anyone born in July seems as loveable and welcome as a summer rain. By theoretical folklore then, October shouldn’t be a bad month but on the 28th in 1968 it brought a most unusually cold winter along to the Isles. Winter came early and so had Iain. His parents were typecast from the same mold as any other aristocratic couple. They were rich, pureblood, affluent and well respected members of wizarding society – regardless of which side of society they chose to show themselves on. They were also the very same Matthew and Mrs. Fiona Burke, Matthew being the brother estranged of Caractacus. And let’s face it, if you had a brother with a name like that, you would put some distance there as well. Nevertheless, however estranged they seemed in the public eye, behind closed doors the two brothers were key to much of the family’s success. This is also rather dull but intriguing will show itself in due time.
Magical prowess and performance was a given due to heritage and at eleven years of age Iain was shipped off to Durmstrang for enlightenment and carried with him a profound childhood love for all things relating to potions, poisons and making things twitch. And while such qualities would raise flags and alarms at Hogwarts or any other magical academy with any moral grounding, at Durmstrang these qualities could be allowed to flourish. Since the choice of schooling was his own, flourish they would uninhibited by needless regulations. The only rules were that there could be no death nor lasting bodily harm which if you took time to think about it – and Iain did think about it – left a lot of room for fun. The real fun was when you connived your way into the dinnertime punch before it was served.
Jokes, plunder and hijinks aside, relationships were a much different matter for the budding alchemist. Pranks and potions could always be improved upon. They could grow bolder, become more technically intricate and most importantly they could become more dangerous and volatile. Effectively speaking the sky was the limit with potions making and humor since he was surrounded in a target rich environment. Romantics had limits and gates, lines, rules, restrictions… There was just too much order required in them to make them much fun. It became very apparent to Iain that once one removed the potential sexual aspect from the table that these sorts of things were in fact quite unimpressive and comparable to the lighting ability of a torch.
Quite frankly unless being your friend served a secondary and rewarding purpose, chances were that you wouldn’t remain his friend for very long at all. Now that certainly didn’t mean he didn’t take his liberties and enjoy himself either. In his sixth term he set a personal record in making a relationship last from November to April, mind you there had been a course grade on the line and he was more than determined to pass it but must we analyze the finer details? In and out of relationships from one to the next, he was a loner by definition but by trade he was a con. His only friends were those he could manipulate, extort, blackmail or otherwise control. Now that same term he found himself earning some extra social credits by smuggling in more and more items off the banned list or books from the Restricted Section – yes you Hogwarts chumps Durmstrang has one of those too. Big deal. Anyway, profit he found, was tastefully addicting and when one finds something that they like, they embrace it. It wasn’t just the profit he enjoyed though, although it was a wonderful bonus, no most of his enjoyment came from the thrill of the sneak, and now we can conclude the dull and the dry.
Seventh year. Graduation. Blah blah blah. School life was over and it was time for reality to begin, but while everyone else scurried off to get real boring jobs or join Death Eater hit squads, for some reason that really was all the rage…he never understood the point. Still, even those death squads needed suppliers, everyone needed suppliers and it was a lot safer doing that than it was chasing muggles around and killing them. Not to mention far more lucrative on the shadier side of the industry. The problem with venturing into the criminal underworld though is that it has an entirely different code of ethics, a different set of people, social circles and most importantly a very, very strict entrance exam of proving ones self to the right people who given his social status he could never be seen associating with. At this time his estranged Uncle was hardly worth counting as a right person.
The right person in this case was well suspected and connected Runespoor dealer David O’Rourke; in the back room of a club called Kelpies in late August of the following year. Sure the ground floor was essentially an errand boy. But if you made a few little mishaps here, took notice when others had missed or short deliveries, the ladder suddenly became open for advancement up pretty quick. By 1992 he was well established and using his own network of contacts (as well as a new name because lets be honest, Iain is a very uncommon Irish name and Richard isn’t.) to make his well oiled smuggling machine run. He was even giving his own employer a run for his money until O’Rourke disappeared in mid 1993. Some things never change through history though and that is that the main part of bureaucratic systems – even law enforcement – can be made corrupt. His primary client had been the very bottom of the Ministry (level wise anyway), the ever secretive Department of Mysteries. What did he care who wrote his checks? If they went to the aurors they were just as screwed as he was, not to mention the hush-hush Department would have to be cracked wide open by an internal investigation. At the end of the day they paid him well and they got their goods so everyone was bloody happy.
Until late 1994.
One tiny mistake, and not even on his part for Merlin’s sake! Some paper pusher found a log sheet that he’d told them specifically NEVER TO MAKE and handed it off to a low-level Auror, who started turning over every tiny bloody pebble looking for his shot at the promotion grid. Git. Well now attention like that is bad for business, actually it’s downright horrid for it. It had to be dealt with, and it had to be dealt with personally to ensure success since let’s be honest, it’s the only way anything gets done anymore. So as a wonderful Christmas present to a then charming but feisty young lady, the auror met his end in a dark and cold alley, at night. Eight in, six out and since Burke wasn’t one of the dead, he didn’t really mourn the loss. Following that of course, he had to disappear, for some reason the Department of Magical Law Enforcement doesn’t take kindly to finding one of their own face-down in the street. Can’t imagine why, he was only one man, and he was certainly replaceable by some other brainwashed, justice –blinded cadet.
Anyway, by the New Year he was in Jordan with the sun and the sand…basically it was an uninhibited, target rich goldmine that he capitalized on and made a second small fortune – you know the rule. A rich man can never have enough money. So after creating more mayhem and money abroad and letting the home fires stop burning and lusting for his corpse to cremate, it was time to return home in 2008 to see how many of his old clients were still alive and who the new young players were. He also needed to make a new hitlist and let’s face it; you can only kill so many people who look alike before it gets boring.
So presently life’s back to normal, or on its way there if a criminals life has a sense of normalcy. Just in time to pay a visit to a grave or eight, too. It’s even almost Christmas!
Writing Sample:
Dunshaughlin, Ireland
12:17pm 18 July, 1990
Why muggles seemed to enjoy convincing themselves that all criminal meetings and wrongdoing took place at night and commonly in the rain was a mystery to him. Beyond the fact that they were incredibly inept, stupid, naive and lately completely unreliable. The lunchtime hour had struck fifteen minutes ago, it was as sunny as could be with a slight easterly breeze and Moyer was being his usual time consuming pain in the arse once again. The muggle didn’t know it yet but this would be his last dealing with Iain Burke, for today was Iain’s last day among the living. The time for planning was over, all that was left to do now was mop up some rogue spills, move on to execution, and then disappear into the underworld. He was done being a small fish in the industry, and the only way to become bigger was to immerse himself untraceably into that realm.
The rendezvous for this exchange was the Avalon Print and Design shoppe inside the city limits of Dunshaughlin, more specifically the alley next to it. Thirty-eight thousand euro for a passport and birth papers. Highway robbery at it’s finest of course, but he had wanted the best and Moyer was one of the best forgers operating this side of London. If the bloody tart doesn’t get here soon with my paperwork I’ll have to go to Plan B, that’ll offset everything by another week but what’s another seven day delay to fun? Thought swirled around his mind as a man who looked much more like an American golfer than his day job as a lackey to ‘some obscure member’ – if there was such a possibility in politics - Parliament. Iain looked much more like his upbringing only with a far more muggle appearance, not that he had much of a choice. Although he did think the pilfered derby hat was nice touch, definitely hanging onto that.
“Can we just get this over with and be on our way, I have another arrangement to make. My money?”
Moyer was nervous, but then who wouldn’t be in his line of work with unpredictable company? Iain motioned passively to the trash bin that Moyer had passed. “I’m afraid I’ll need to examine the papers first though, I can’t afford to be making bad business deals now can I?” Burke quipped with an ironic chuckle. There was enough distance involved to stop him if something was wrong, but when you planned on stopping him anyway, it was better to keep appearances simple. Moyer handed over a sealed manila envelope, and it stayed that way for a whole two and a half seconds.
“Well, everything seems to be in order. As I said, money’s over there. Shoo, shoo.” He dismissed with a wave, trying his hardest not to betray the smirking grin that was forming inside his head. In truth, Moyer’s tardiness only gave him a small excuse to kill him. Surely the man had enough sense not to be stupid with his clients? No matter, since they had operated solely on a last name basis for the past two months the next few moments would be gleefully entertaining. Especially since Moyer had just grabbed the briefcase.
“Oh, Jonothan, hold on just a moment would you?” If a man could freeze quicker than what he had just witnessed, his breath would have to be as cold as liquid nitrogen. “There seems to be a small problem with the passport.” As the middle aged man turned around, Iain’s wand twirled in his hand. Two words could end this chapter quick, but he never liked quick. Quick wasn’t fun. “Imperio.” To say he looked ‘undead’ would be a crude understatement from the drained look on the man’s face. Actually it was much more like ‘comatose drooling mental patient’, but that detail is irrelevant. Amusing, but irrelevant. “First things first, take a swig of this and give me your wallet, actually, no, drink all of it. Drink. Every. Last. Drop. ” It just happened to be the strongest transfiguration potion he’d attempted to date. He wasn’t sure if it would continue to work after the fact but he had no intention of waiting around to find out either. Muggles tended to flock toward sounds like part two, and speaking of…
“Now then, that’s a good lad. Couldn’t’ve made myself look any better.” Burke took several steps back. “Here’s your wallet back. Now then the firearm in your coat, left waist side? Yes that’s the one, be a good chap and use it to end it all for yourself. Make my day for being late.”
In truth the resulting gunshot was much louder in the confined alley than he’d thought it would be, messier too. But ‘Iain Burke’ was dead; all the documentation on him would back it up now he needed to get back to his home get cleaned up and have a nice stiff drink or five. It had all been easy until the aftermath, it was an image he would most definitely soon not forget.
With an audible crack much like the first, the Irishman vanished and Richard Thomas Burke/James/Wollaston/Hargrove as well as others, could be born. Aliases were fun.
Tomorrow it was off to see a man about some packages.
Sum up your character in one paragraph: (**Asking me to sum this character up in one paragraph is like asking Beethoven to play only one note. It’s cruel, and I hate you, but I’ll do it. Grr. That is all.)
Short version, short version. Richard Burke is a one of kind entrepreneur. He can talk himself into any business deal and he doesn’t really care how or who comes out of it as long as he’s still breathing when the trading gets done. He’s classy, but not overly so, and if you want something odds are he’s the man to find it and move it. Keep in mind that anonymity from is his number one rule. No one knows him so far, and one doesn’t stay in business in this line of work for this long by making friends with badges. Weak points can include but certainly are not limited to lemon pastries, crème sodas, all things relating to potent potions/poisons, redheads and a good old fashioned lunch of fish and chips.
Richard Burke: Smuggler