Hexbound
Josette Boudreaux, or Jo for short, grew up in a similar fashion to most children raised by a single parent. Most of her childhood was spent visiting her grandmother and aunt until she was old enough to look after herself and then she became another latchkey kid. When she was grown enough to help out she started taking care of the house so that her mother could pick up the extra shift and focus on her work more and more to provide for the two. What wasn't normal was the lessons her grandmother, aunt, and mother gave her in her free time. Most children played with dolls, sure, but few learned how to make their own and weave the spirits into burlap and stitches.
From as early as she can remember Jo grew up steeped in the ways of Hoodoo, learning all the various working and choring that her family could teach her. When asked her grandmother, the current matriarch of the family, would tell her stories about how the family had been practicing for as long as anyone could remember, acting as healer and guardian to the communities they dwelt in. And when needed as soldier against the things that bumped out in the swamps and forests at night.
A young Jo was captivated by these stories, learning that her family were some line of magical heroes, and devoted herself to the practice fully. But as time grew on and each time she failed at a working it became apparent to her family that while she understood the formula and theory behind the craft she lacked a certain spark to put them into practice. While no one outright disparaged her for this lack of "mojo" Jo couldn't help but feel a divide begin growing between her and her family. They still loved her all the same, but the practice and calling was an integral part of their life and something that the young woman couldn't participate in and left her feeling like an outsider.
So when Jo became of age she packed her bags, took her small belongings, and set out on her own, following a few stories and bits of lore about how she could tap into what she knew was her family lineage. She roamed all over the American South, speaking with covens and medicine men, shamans and witch-doctors. She dug up musty old tomes and the scrawled writing in battered journals looking for that key. And finally she found it in an old bit of spellcraft, a ritual that would lace her flesh and turn her body itself into a foci.
Jo gathered up the various ingredients, none too surprising for the workings of the South, grave dirt, sun-kissed dew, locks of the forests, a needle of bone, and so on. Half cloaked in symbolism, the other half literal, but all serving a purpose. She waited until the moon was full in the sky and set about with her copper bowl, herbs, reagents, and a strong will and began to carve the spell into her skin, wincing as the bone needle bit into her flesh but grinning as she felt the working build and the lines take shape.
As the sun began to peek through the heavy boughs of the willows above, Jo let out a long sigh of relief, her skin slick with sweat and her breath ragged. The last prick had been made and the bowl was empty, her arms covered with thick black swirls of power. She brushed a blood soaked rag over her arms one last time and smiled wide, the ritual complete, and admired her work. It was at that moment she heard a quite voice in the back of her mind not her own whisper, "Well, bon ami, allons...".
Unbeknownst to her the cemetery she harvested her grave dirt from had been around for centuries, predating the colonization of US. Originally a burial plot for a French smuggling ship blew off course from the carribean, it repeatedly saw use over the years before officially being sanctioned as a confederate cemetery during the Civil War. The souls of those buried there left an imprint and over time the ground itself developed a limited sentience, drawing on the will and memory of those interred within it. And now that same spirit has been interred inside of Jo amidst the ink scrawled over her body.
It wasn't long before it began making its will known, pushing on Jo's thoughts and encouraging her actions. Luckily this spirit was born of the thoughts and memories of soldiers, shipmates, and those with strong bonds of loyalty, duty, family, and honor. They had their vices, as all people do, but the amalgamation kept the individual aspects from becoming too dominant. What Jo was left with was an almost overwhelming need to serve and protect, much like, according to her grandmother, her family had been doing for generations. Although, she wasn't sure anyone in her family tree had ever insisted on a corncob pipe.
Now armed with a near constant drive to help those around her Jo spent the next several years much as the same as the past, roaming over the American South and with the occasional trip up north following the path of some supernatural or magical problem. Most of her time spent in cheap motels, living on the road, and hunting down whatever nasty creature from folklore decided to prey on some small town or back road. She's performed exorcisms and laid ghosts to rest, broke curses and spells placed on the unwary, and even tangled with a werewolf or two. When not polishing her silver or avoiding the well-meaning but ill-informed local police her nights were spent in seedy dive-bars and pool halls hustling drunks out of their pocket money. Hunting monsters is honest work but it doesn't pay, and Jo learned pretty quick that it wasn't cheap, either.
Her latest case has led her to New England, chasing down the trail of some magical artifacts smuggled out of the deep south by some crime organization from Rhode Island and she has discovered enough trouble to keep her busy for the next decade or two. Seedy cabals and covens, mobsters with charms and trinkets, Asian street gangs with talismans and spiritual enforcers. And then there's Salamanca, an entire tourist resort beset by half the Grimm Brother's book. Jo isn't quite sure she's up to the task, but the spirit within her won't let her call it quits just yet. And if she's being honest with herself, she's a little excited at the challenge.
Now if only people would quit insisting she wear spandex like this was Mardi Gras...
Jo tends to have a carefree and laissez faire approach to most things, letting events play out and accepting things as they come.
A dark skinned woman with her hair pulled back in dreadlocks, Jo stands roughly at an average height of 5'3" and weighs in a little on the heavier side at a 116lbs, with a build that is laced with working muscle and a little bottom heavy. She sports a handful of various piercings and accessories made of what she calls "natural" materials. Copper, brass, wood, and quartz paired with bone, leather, and feather. Her most striking feature, of course, are the large intricate and swirling tattoos that dominate her upper body, stretching down both arms and across her upper back. While they are always present the ink seems to shift and and move, never quite looking exactly the same. Some have said they've even glimpsed more defined and human shapes lurking amidst the swirls, but whether it was true or simply a trick of the eyes they couldn't say.
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