ragnarockandroll

Ruckus Ragnarok, as much as he may have wished otherwise, was not a stage name. Ruckus was born
with a problem to say the least and, it was one no pediatrician had yet figured out how to fix. His
parent's were assholes. Devout fans of anything anti-establishment with little regard to what said
establishment was or represented and of vague Scandinavian he was named for the calamitous end
times his parents hoped he would help to foster just to set the world ablaze. Ruckus was an asshole too
and for most of his life it wasn't just a hobby but a career. One could make some excuses for the man,
though himself these days would simply say he always had choices and admit he rarely made the right
ones. He was raised on a steady diet of things such as Varg Vikernes, Deicide, Gorgoroth, and a legion
of others his parents encouraged anything that fostered his sense of hate and nihilism until there was
only one sensible outlet for his juvenile pathos. Ruckus you see was in a band. Several through his
teenage years in fact but the important one was The End Times. This band was hardly just any band
either just any band but one of the most popular black/death metal bands. A niche genre to be sure and
by far nor the most popular band in the world by a long shot but he had legion of screaming fans and
rabid fanatics willing to do any atrocity put forth as proper by his violent lyrics. To be honest the young
man had talent, his skill with stringed instruments and his rich baritone were the only outlets of a secret
desire for creation allowed by his parents entropic dogma. The others in his band were for the most part
equally talented but between Ruckus and them there was always one major difference. While
doubtlessly the young man was selfish, short sighted, greedy, jaded, and angry at the sorry state of the
world he at his core was not really what one could call evil. He had no interest in violence or pain for
their own sake, no sadism, or blood-lust lurked in his breast. He simply never knew better then to be
what he had always been, what he had been trained to be. A vortex that did nothing but consume for it's
own sake. And all it took to change this was one simple little thing. Sacrifice. Not his own, the idea
would never have occurred to him, but that of others... many of them. With each new show a fan or
three was lost and a thousand more were gained. Ruckus didn't know, he never would have trucked
with demons, not because they were evil but because in his eyes relying on anything but ones own
blood, sweat, and talent were weakness and weakness was unforgivable. So he never let himself put the
pieces together until it was to late. Until the arena burned. No one was ever able to put together the
cause of the fire because it had no natural source but over a thousand souls were offered up to dark
powers that day. Ruckus heard the rest of his band talking about it one night after the fire when he
should have been passed out drunk like usual but a small quirk of fate kept him from drinking that
night. The only beers to be found were IPAs. Vile brews suitable only for groupies, hipsters, and
mentally disabled roadies. Ruckus would drink no ale so pale that light could be shone through. So by
chance alone he overheard his band talking about weather or not to bring him in on it but it was decided
that he was to chaotic, to proud of his own talents to call upon the forces of hell. They weren't wrong.
He stormed in kicking the door off it's hinges with fury in his eyes and the small spark of decency in
his breast fanned for the first time into flames. It did little good for his band had bargained well with
the dark forces… And a righteous man is still a man. When they forged a suicide note and hung him
from a tree and were it not for three things the story would end here. The first thing was for once he got
into a fight for the right reasons for others instead of himself. The next thing was something that only a
few would have been wise enough to understand in this day and age. The tree they hung him from was
an Ash. The final thing that tied it all together was centuries ago when his distant kinfolk of the past
lived in squalor somewhere in northern Europe they had done a good deed towards and received a
blessing from a one eyed vagrant. The last thing also few people in this day and age would be wise
enough to see the importance of. Ruckus thrashed on that stout limb for hours trapped just before death
as visions assaulted him with the most dangerous of knowledge. By the time the sun rose and the noose
snapped Ruckus knew himself. Every flaw or blemish of character and stupid decision laid bare and
illuminated by the harsh light of Ansuz. Truth, Insight, and unfathomable endurance were now his
blessing and penance… No longer would he be able to use ignorance of the right thing to do as an
excuse.

Ruckus Ragnarok – Bass, Banjo, anything the fuck else with strings, Vocals, Growler
Jessica Rapture – Keys, Vocals
Johnny Apocalypse – Lead guitar, Screecher
Krieg Holocaust – Drums
Diego Día del Juicio Final – Rhythm guitar

A strong brow covers partially hoods over a gaze that can be almost felt, those deepset storm-cloud
gray eyes seem to look through or into rather than at whatever they fall upon. What of his features that
can be seen are rough but handsome in a sharp northern European sort of way with the rest covered is a
massive full beard split down and braided along either side of his face following but not quite revealing
the shape of a strong chin and wide jaw. The sides of his head have been shaven around the ears to
display a pair of tribal style raven head tattoos with one looking forwards and the other backwards. His
long reddish blonde hair is swept up and back into a braided topknot. Between the touches of gray in
his beard and the lines of his face he's obviously experienced several decades of life, likely more than
three but less than five. His expression is often bordering on grim but when he smiles it's with a
genuine enough warmth that it melt's the otherwise frosty severity of his general disposition despite the
slightly predatory look of his strong white teeth. %R %T The man definitely knows how to take up
space, standing tall and proud his unslouching bulk between six and a half and seven feet in height has
a carriage that suggest's he's used to attention from other people and is largely unconcerned by it. His
physique is muscular but not particularly lean or defined. A powerful bull like neck leads into a wide,
heavy chest framed by linebacker broad shoulders. He's a bit soft around the middle the slightest curve
of a padded belly dips just slightly over the waist of his pants but it's hardly enough to make him seem
fat or slovenly especially when combined with the thick muscular strength obvious in his long arms and
legs. %R %T He dresses with little concern for the weather his personal tastes being his only muse.
Nearly nothing but dark leather or denim ever makes up his clothing though which of the two is on his
upper or lower body changes from day to day. His fuzzy arms, belly and hairless chest are always
partially out, the ruddy pale skin exposed to the elements displaying an multitude of tattoos and the odd
tracing lines of of obvious Lichtenberg scarring. The scars at his chest in particular from a shape
somewhat remanicient of the letter F over his heart though the bars angle diagonally down. His
unending series of cut style vests have clearly recently had some form of large patch cut or ripped from
them, though those in the know would understand that it's never in the right position for a MC chapter
patch. Only two real parts of his outfit conveniently at opposite ends remain unchanging. Atop his head
is a black straw cowboy hat primered black as sin and doodled on with a silver paint marker with
various symbols of chance and fate from occult, to norse, to even a magic 8 ball and the suits of a deck
of playing cards. A single black feather glued into the hatband. On his feet are a pair of hot rod flamed
red and orange flamed cowboy boots with copper toecaps. A near constant companion of the big man is
an electric guitar molded and lit up to look like it's crafted from molten metal.

Gumption