Nightshade

Race: Elf

Age:318

Appearance: She stands at 5ft 11inches in height, she is in fantastic physical shape, extrememly athletic and nimble, she is well aware of her physical features and often highlights her stunning eyes with various shades of eyeshadows.
Nightshade has no problem with flaunting her assets if she thinks they will help her get the better side of any deals she makes.

Personality: Nightshade is as callous and as deadly as her name, image and reputation suggest. She will kill anyone for the right amount of money, has no qualms with selling enchanted items, narcotics and weapons to any of the various gang members. She is very aloof in her dealings, making sure that whoever she deals with understands that it is only because she allowed the transactions to commence in the first place.

Alone in a world dominated mostly by men, Night has made use of her feminine wiles and charms numerous times, although she would kill anyone in an instant if they were to utter any of this in her presence. She has hardened herself to the daily killings, rapings and gang related crimes that happen right outside her door. She does have a soft side though, any orphans that happen to be around her shop when she is ready to leave, will more often or not be given a handful of coins or several days worth of food.

Bio: She has been the proud owner of the finest pawnbrokers shop for a long time, it seems that her, along with the "Broken Cutlass" have been a permanent fixture in the squalor and misery of the slums. Night lives alone, in a small apartment above the shop, although her numerous caches of hidden wealth could have her living in luxury, she remains adamant that if she lives in luxury she will lose her edge, and in her line of work, she needs to be on the top of her game.

She is a highly competent shopkeeper, keeping her customers satisfied with her fair prices and dealings, however this is not how she has earnt the majority of her wealth. Nightshade is one of the deadliest assassins, she is often called on when the local mob bosses want their problems taken care of. Skilled in unarmed combat, swordplay, knifeplay and educated in a lot of different types of poisons, she is not a female to be messed with.

Other: Nightshade's shop, "the Broken Cutlass" sits on top of an abandoned railway station, it is also home to her secret benefactor and long time ally, a red dragon known as "Furien", He knows all of the secrets throughout the slums, and major players of all the families. He is also the one who gives her the name of her latest target.

Name: Ricardo Vigil
Known As: Vigil, most of his family introduce their surnames first as a proud tradition. Though it makes even more sense now that there are more Ricardos in the city than any Vigils left.

Race: Human*
Age: 29





In his right pocket, a small effigy of twisted wires and glaze preserved herbs in the rough shape of a two dimensional humanoid hangs casually. A remnant and indication of someone well-versed in the art of Charmcrafting.

Personality:


Vigil's Keeps







Other:

Name: Lilith Altessa

Alias: “The Predator”

Race: Human

Age: 26

Appearance: Standing at 5’9”, her time with the Reapers has honed her physique into a thing of beauty, both in terms of appeal and combat. Unafraid to show off the eery markings caused by the injection of her Runez, Lilith wears usually rather revealing outfits. She knows the distraction she poses to others, and utilises this fact when she strikes at her prey.

Personality: Working with the Reapers for many years, and honing her abilities with the Runez injected into her body, Lilith has become as ruthless and brutal as the best of them. Though she no longer works directly as a Reaper, she still does their bidding, tied down by their control of the Runez in the city. Of course, that isn’t to say she’s not enjoying it. After all, she didn’t pick the her nickname.

Bio: A former drug addict and street rat, Lilith barely survived the harsh, monster-filled environment of Santa Somabra. Scuttling through the alleyways and hiding out in the shadows, she had gotten into many a scrape with the local ‘wildlife’, a few scars cropping up from the less pleasant encounters. Living on the edge, Lilith’s life would have been one disaster after another, if it hadn’t been for her angelic saviour. Ironically, this ‘angel’ was in fact a member of the Reapers, and saw her tenacity and will to survive as strong assets for their goals.

Enlisting at a young age, only 17 when she first joined the Reapers, Lilith began cleaning up her act, for the most part anyway, where she once was addicted to the sweet release of other drugs, she suddenly and quickly became infatuated with the power that Runez gave her. Her neck quickly riddled with dots where the Runez had been injected, and her skin began to glow with the characteristic tattoo-like markings that signified one as a Reaper.

As she worked, she quickly gained a name for herself, the ruthless killer who always hit her target, no matter how long it took. By her 25th birthday, she had quickly climbed the ranks of the notorious gang, her name igniting fear in the hearts of many a Santa Somabra citizen. Eventually however, she realised the Reapers were tying her down, and took a backseat to their dealings, becoming more of a shadow agent for their interests. Keeping within their good graces for the steady supply of Runez, Lilith now hunts the streets, doing the bidding of the Reapers while still looking for more thrills to spice up her new, dangerous life.

Other: Lilith has some skill with hand-to-hand combat, though she prefers to utilise her weaponry. Whether up close and personal with her falchion (a personal weapon with embroidery carved into the hilt and a select few gems encrusted into the crossguard), or from a distance with her AMT Hardballer pistol (though she does enjoy using it for juicy executions), Lilith will use everything within her arsenal to take down her target.

Alias



Race



Age



Occupation







Bio



Other

• Dagmar simply abhors the color red - it reminds him of blood, and placing a werewolf in close proximity of any sort of blood has, historically, never ended well. Naturally, he makes a concerted effort to wear it as often as possible.
• Due to Dagmar’s disdain for combat, and the physical enhancements born of his lycanthropic lineage, he remains unarmed at all times. He can't abide heedless bloodshed - has a difficult time maintaining a steady hold on his faculties when he gets a whiff of freshly-spilled blood, you see - and he loathes the acrid reek of gunpowder.
• So as not to remain totally defenseless - he can’t exactly toss someone across a room without arousing some suspicion - Dagmar’s chosen a weapon complementary to his flair for unconventionality. He carries a small bag of individually-wrapped sour candies, most of which contain a deadly poison. The green ones are commonly regarded as the worst, most sordid, vilest-tasting flavor ever to desecrate the sanctity of candy itself, and those are the only ones not tainted. (The green ones are Dagmar’s favorite, and the only ones he’ll eat, so this does wonders for dropping his target’s guard.)
• Dagmar has imbibed demon's blood only three times in his entire life - during three extremely dire situations, of course - and all of those times were the only instances in which he instigated the ensuing carnage. He's still haunted by the aftereffects to this day.

---

ᴀɢᴇ — _{"but tell of days in goodness spent."}


ᴀᴘᴘᴇᴀʀᴀɴᴄᴇ — _{"she walks in beauty, like the night."}


ᴘᴇʀsᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ — _{"where thoughts serenely sweet express"}


ʙɪᴏɢʀᴀᴘʜʏ — _{"one shade the more, one ray the less"}


ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ — _{"meet in her aspect and her eyes"}

---

I

"Listen buddy, I've been around as long as Santa Somabra's been a city. Seen big shots come and go, seen fortunes made and lost. This city's a hellhole, no denying it. Only thing that matters is what you make of it."

| Name/Nicknames |

"Andy Fontaine diMaggio. But to those in the know, they know me as Font. Everyone calls me Andy. Just Andy."

| Race |

"I'm a fuckin' zombie, what d'you think?"

| Age |

"Y'know? I'm not really sure myself. I've been around for a while since the city got started as a city, then I died and got rezzed, um, so I think I'm about 90 ish. It doesn't matter to me anyway, I can't age, I'm not even alive to begin with."

| Appearance |

"Where to start? I'm five feet ten, give or take an inch or two, with salt-and-pepper hair. Funny how it's all stayed up there even though I'm dead. Can't grow, can't die, so it's like I've got a perpetual widow's peak. Cool beans.

Anyway, I'm from a long time ago, so I dress with the times. Slick black fedora, with a white band around the body of the hat. Got a playing card in there, the Jack of Clubs. Got a white tie, black shirt, black vest, black suit jacket with a white pocket square. White scarf. Black suit pants, black shoes, black socks, black gloves. Black everything. All the better to hide my deadness from the world.

I'm not as decayed as that picture up there either. Most I got is a whole chunk missing off my right cheek, it exposes my jaw and teeth and everything. And then there's my chest, got a hole clean through where my heart used to be. I'll get to the why in a bit."

| Personality |

"Oh hell I'm not taking some psyche test am I? Ah screw it.

Some people say I'm slick. Others say I'm cruel. Whatever the case, that's me when I'm on the job. I gotta be, y'know? My line 'o work, chump needs to be both 'a those, with a good dash of cunning put into there too. This city's a cruel mistress. Guy's gotta do what a guy's gotta do to survive.

Off the job? Sure I'll drink with you. Sure I'll chat. I'm real nice if you want to get to know a walking corpse. Just don't test me. There's only so far I'll go before I have to slap a bitch."

| Bio |

"History, huh? Well lemme share some with you, kiddo.

I was human once. Way back when the mob ran this town. No, not those idiot ogres, the real mob. Humans. People. People who wouldn't hesitate to put a pair of concrete shoes onto rats and send them to the bottom of Butcher Bay. People who would gun down their opposition by the truck load. A brutal, violent time, it was.

I was an enforcer for the biggest family in Somabra. The Santoni family, real big shots. The money they raked in from the bootleg liquor and guns they ran built this city, kiddo. It built the foundation for many, many things. However, not all of it was smooth sailing. I was the guy Mr. Santoni called when he had a problem he couldn't solve on his own.

Yeah, yeah I whacked people. What's so surprising about that? These days it's hard to find someone that hasn't killed someone else on the street. I've sent many a crooked man to hell, either with a bullet or a blackjack to the back of the head. Mr Santoni never let me put concrete shoes on anyone though, that was his shtick.

One day, he sent me to the mansion of a rival family. He wanted me to whack them all. Sent a crew of guys with me to make sure the job went right.

Long story short? We fucked with the Nyctari. And they fucked us back.

When I woke up I was tied to a chair in the basement of the mansion. Fella interrogating me was a sucker, of course. They all were. Asshole wanted to know who I was working for.

Rule number one about working with organised crime: never rat. If I'd ratted, I'd have been the one with a pair of tailor made stone footwear sitting at the bottom of the bay. So I kept my mouth shut, and boy oh boy did they try. Cut me everywhere, stabbed me, even branded my cheek.

Then one of the others caved and suddenly we were all expendable. The sucker tore my throat open and drank me dry, then staked me in the heart and buried my body in a plywood box under the dirt.

I didn't know how long I was out, I only knew that when I came to, I was pissed. Broke out of that box and the dirt like a demon enraged, but by then everything was over. Santoni was dead. Family scattered. City under the Nyctari. I found myself out of work. And also very, very dead but still standing and moving. The only thing that had prevented me from being a sucker like them was the stake in the heart. Turned me into a dead man walking instead.

So I survived the only way I knew how: whacking people. I sold my services as a gun for hire, destroying lives for money like I'd always done, and still do today. People in the undercity know me. I know people.

You be thankful I'm not on a job right now, kiddo. I wouldn't be talking to you otherwise."

| Other |

"Well I guess my personal armaments will do. I got myself an old Thompson, nice little Chicago Typewriter. Classic, that one. I use it every job I got. Other than that, I have myself one of those newfangled pistols, the M9. Dinky little thing but it's accurate. Also got a Benelli twelve gauge pump action too, and a sawn off in a coat. And if all those don't work, I got a pair of knuckles, for the real dirty work.

I know people too. Gun runners, Dust dealers, you name it. The undercity is one place I feel safe in, kid. You make connections, and people will know when you go down. Sometimes people will know beforehand so they can warn ya.

I tell ya, in all my years this city hasn't changed much. Sure the people at the top of the pile of shit are different, but it's still a pile of shit in the end. Can still do the same things to get what you want here, just like the old days. Don't let anyone tell you differently."

Maxine Lewis. These days she prefers to go by Max.
Vampire
119
Max stands at an average 5’7” and is somewhat thin, with modest curves. Her wavy, dark brown hair falls to the middle of her back, but it is usually kept tied back in a ponytail, if somewhat messily. Her pale green eyes are framed by long, dark lashes. She has fair skin, and is as pale as one might expect from someone who hasn’t seen direct sunlight in almost a century. Despite her age, Maxine still looks like the 26 year old woman she was when she became a vampire.

Maxine prefers to dress casually, and often wears little to no makeup. Despite the frilly lace dresses she wore when she was growing up, she now easily chooses jeans and a loose shirt, often paired with a leather jacket or long coat, and sturdy leather boots. The only hint to her upbringing can be seen in the cameo necklace she wears on a long golden chain. Given to her by her mother when she was just a child, Maxine almost always wears this trinket, though it is often hidden beneath her clothing. Also hidden beneath her clothing is a pistol, most often a glock, and one she can use quite well.
Max was never good at pretending to be a proper young lady when she was younger, and stopped bothering to try a long time ago. She is very logical and intelligent, and extremely independent. Max has a dark sense of humor and is extremely prone to dry sarcasm. She’s not one to put up with fools or needless bullshit, and though she isn’t quick to start fights, she is willing to finish them. Max tries to stay calm in all situations and while she is very good at keeping a cool head at stressful or dangerous moments, she can be rather easily angered and annoyed under the right circumstances. Max does not particularly like playing games.

Maxine is no stranger to violence and crime, and isn’t very bothered by most of the happenings in Santa Sombrada. The years have given her a rather detached view of violence, and it no longer fazes her in the slightest. While she tends to be a bit of a loner when not working, she is loyal to those closest to her, and can be rather protective of those she cares about. As someone who owns a bar, she’s also a very good listener.
Born in 1896 towards the end of the victorian era, Maxine Lewis was the only child of an upper middle class family living in upstate New York. She had a rather happy childhood, all in all. Maxine was always a bit of a rebellious child, tending to run from the ideals of class and propriety held by her mother and father. Max was one to scuff her new shoes playing with the boys and rip her dresses while climbing trees. Maxine always endured her mother’s scoldings about scraped knees and lost jewelry, giving the expected apologies only to do the same things the next day. Maxine lived with her family until age 22, still unmarried despite her mother’s not so subtle hinting and even less subtle attempts at arranging matches for her. In 1918, sudden tragedy struck as both of Maxine’s parents fell victim to the influenza epidemic that was sweeping the world. Maxine had loved her family dearly despite their constant squabbling, and could not stand to be in their home by herself.

Grief-stricken, Maxine sold the family home and accepted an offer to stay with her father’s brother in New York City. Life in the city gave her the new start she needed, and she was suddenly introduced to a life with far less restrictions. Maxine began to end her time of mourning, and instead embraced the busy city life and her newfound independence as New York made its way into the 20s. Her uncle gave little value to things like propriety and often ran somewhat less than legal operations. The space beneath his store often housed gambling, and as prohibition began the next year, drinking. The speakeasy was quite popular among those who knew it was there, and Maxine was there to help him run things, be it serving drinks or handling the finances. Max quickly became accustomed to the drinking, gambling, and violence that seemed to be commonplace in the city.

Maxine had been living in New York City for just over three years when one of the stranger patrons of her uncle’s speakeasy took a liking to her, and approached her as she was heading home one night. Maxine soon discovered that the slightly deranged man was not even fully human, and before she knew what was happening she suddenly found herself waking up on the city streets, running for cover as the sun rose and having to come to terms with her new life, if you could call it that, as a vampire. The stranger, for she had never learned his name, was gone, and Maxine spent her first few nights terrified and confused by the sudden changes, with no one to help ease the transformation.

She didn’t stay with her uncle for very long after that, and soon left to live on her own, to protect her new secret. It was too difficult to stay under her uncle’s roof at this point, and Maxine was adamant that he never find out she was no longer human. She saw him infrequently after that, eventually stopping when too many years had passed to explain her unchanging appearance. She did return one final time to attend his funeral. She’s spent her years flitting from one city to the nex. She ran with the occasional group of vampires here and there, and slowly became more involved in the night life and underworld crime that could be found in every city. She became a bit of a drifter, never staying in one place for too long, and leaving when things became too intense. By the 50s she had amassed a rather large group of contacts from every place imaginable, and began fencing stolen goods to those who would better appreciate them.

Max moved to Santa Sombrada seven years ago, and has been the owner of a bar called the Steel Thorn for the last five. The Steel Thorn, or Max’s Place as it is occasionally referred to by some of her regulars, may be in one of the more crime-ridden districts of the city, but it isn’t as if there are really any crime-free districts to begin with. Max doesn’t discriminate, and all manner of people, human or otherwise, are often seen in her establishment, though she does try to stay away from gang business as much as is possible when one lives in Santa Sombrada. She’s no newcomer to running bars, and the room in the back provides the perfect place for her to work at her somewhat less legal job. Max has a good reputation among certain crowds for being an excellent fence. While those closest to Max as well as many of her connections are fully aware of her less than human status, she does not openly advertise this fact, knowing that it’s smarter to keep it to herself.

• Max runs her somewhat small bar with the help of her two employees, a young, petite human girl named Emily and the much, much larger yet still human Isaac. One of them is always there to take over when Max needs to deal with her second business.
• Maxine lives in a small apartment less than a block away from her bar, though she often ends up staying the day in her office instead of heading home.
• Max first learned to shoot in the 20s and has developed a rather spot on aim in the decades since then. In addition to always having one gun on her, she has several others she keeps in her apartment. She likes her guns.
• Being a fence and having traveled extensively throughout her life, Max has many connections to people from all walks of life.

• Chase lives alone in a surprisingly neat (thanks for the manners mom and dad) one bedroom apartment. The bachelor life is fun, kinda.
• He has two mutts for pets. One big headed pitbull looking brindle pup, and an older black lab mix looking dog. They're illegal in the apartment, but surprisingly quiet, so all is good.
• His brother is the only one that knows about his lycanthropy. His parents still live a blissful life in deceit.

---

---

• Johanssen coincidentally lives in the same apartment as Chase, on the same floor as him too, though her apartment is at the end of hall, two doors away from his. They live on the second floor.
• She has her license, but can't afford a car of her own. She kind of wishes her mom would be merciful and loan her the money for one, but she's not about to ask.
• From her father's side (her paternal grandmother), Johanssen is 1/4th nymph. What this denotes for Johanssen is the ability to charm people. The supernatural charm is perhaps not as severally magical as a pureblooded nymph. The charm is not, like, a lusty, sort of seductive thing, but instead she is just charming. It does, however, work better on those who are attracted to her gender. People, weather they find her attractive or otherwise, find her presence to be calming as well as uplifting. It can cause weird affects, essentially on people who hate or are fighting her; they would feel somewhat compelled to like her, whilst also wanting to kill her, forming conflicting emotions. It can also produced weird feelings in those who are already negatively emotionally compromised; feelings of anger, and sadness can turn into confused frustration as the client to her supernatural charm tries to fight off the urge to be clam, happy, and enchanted with her. This charm, however, is clearly a part of the reason Chase gravitates to Johanssen so much. He keeps her calm and levelheaded.

Name: Madeline “Mad Maddie” Hollinghurst

Race: Vampire

Age: 91 (Approx.)

Appearance:


Maddie’s face is lean and slender, with a small cluster of freckles gathered around her slim nose. Her eyes are a reddish maroon, and her eyebrows have been finely plucked. She has a sharp chin, broad forehead, and a wiry neck. Maddie has raven hair that flows down past her shoulders. She has a skinny build, with faint curves, and a surprising amount of muscle for someone with such delicate features. Her body is fairly toned, with a hint of softness.

Personality:In life Maddie was unhinged, maniacal, and otherwise sick in the head. In Death, Maddie’s madness has only increased in severity. A volatile young Vampress with an aptitude for violence, Miss Hollinghurst is an amoral individual, possessing a complete disregard for the rights and feelings of others. Impulsive and aggressive, Madeline has a long history of behavioural problems, vicious outbreaks, and sadistic tendencies.


Bio: Maddie was born in Liverpool, England, initially being raised by a family that were troubled in both the psychological and financial sense. Madeline’s father was a dockworker who put in multiple shifts, before spending all of the day’s earnings on drugs and booze, and then going home and beating his mother and his baby girl. When he was particularly irate, daddy Hollinghurst would lock young Maddie in her room for days on end, accompanied by several fresh bruises and scars for good measure.

The young girl grew up without friends or siblings, and spent her leisurely time catching rats and birds in traps that she’d set up about the family’s home, before breaking their necks once she’d claimed her bloody prizes.

The start of the Second World War saw Madeline evacuated to Devon, where she was taken in by the eccentric Doctor and Mrs Blackwood. The radical change in lifestyle took some adjusting to, but Madeline quickly became very fond of the pair, liking them a great deal more than her birth parents. The Blackwood’s tutored young Maddie, and she soon fell in love with the vast expanse of books that were available in their homes library, after the Doctor had taught her how to read and write.

Despite finding life more enjoyable, Maddie continued her old hobby of capturing and torturing animals, up until one fateful evening where Doctor Blackwood caught the young girl in the act. Fearful of how he might react, Madeline was rather surprised to the find that her foster father was not so much horrified by what he found as he was fascinated, taking an even greater interest in young Madeline. The Doctor begun to develop a physiological profile of Madeline, based off of both behavioural observations and interview sessions he held with her, diagnosing her with several different personality disorders, as well a plethora of psychopathic tendencies. Rather than try putting her in therapy or giving her medication, Doctor Blackwood instead encouraged her to take her urges out animals, in an attempt to placate the “darkness” inside her, and make her less of a threat to other humans.

Taking a fondness to his adopted daughter, Doctor Blackwood begun to pay for Madeline to be tutored in several extra-curricular activities, buying her lessons in everything from art, literature, and ballet, to fencing, marksmanship, and martial arts. While she really took a shining to the combat based activities, Madeline still immensely enjoyed the less-aggressive classes.

Madeline spent the duration of the war under the Blackwood’s tutelage-growing especially close to the good Doctor, as they bonded over their butchering of woodland animals-and grew to become a rather intellectual and competent young woman, becoming somewhat forwards thinking for someone with such an arsenal of mental defects.

During the course of the war Madeline’s birth farther was conscripted into the army, ending up being killed by friendly fire, while her mother died during the Liverpool Blitz. With no parents to return to, Maddie remained with the Blackwood’s, living out her idealistic lifestyle within Devon.

Unfortunately, even in paradise the sunsets.

One of Doctor Blackwood’s former patients, Edgar Burgan, broke into the Blackwood estate in the dead of night, slipping into their mansion without being detected. Unhinged and completely unstable, Edgar butchered the Doctor and his wife in their sleep, only missing Maddie because she was in the basement fiddling with her rat traps.

Upon discovering the bodies of her dead foster parents, Maddie slipped into a state of complete physiological madness, breaking down to the point where she was no longer functional. With no one else to care for her, Madeline was dumped in the young person’s ward of the Arthur Derrington Private Clinic and Asylum, being confined to an enclosed cell, without access to the outside world, which only served to worsen her already damaged state.

Madeline spent many years within asylum, during which she attracted the attention of one Archibald Walden; a rather well composed but completely insane vampire, masquerading as a doctor within the facility.

Archibald pulled Madeline from her cell, and dumped her back in his small woodland cottage. Madeline’s vampric sire was fond of hunting townsfolk through the woods at night, before bringing them back to his abode and then draining them of blood and using his surgical skills to create twisted artworks out of their bodies. Thankful for Maddie’s company, Archibald imparted his talents onto the young girl over the years, continuing the Blackwood’s tutelage, whilst also imparting his medical talents onto her. However, as is the nature of psychopaths, Madeline eventually grew bored of the doctor, and it wasn’t long before he found himself on his own dissecting table.

After a fair few decades of stomping around England, brining terror wherever she went, Madeline eventually made her way over to the American West Coast; specifically the city of Santa Somabra.

Living in the vast tunnel network beneath the city for some time, Madeline befriended an undead named Diego Treviño, and together they formed a gang that would come to be known as the Snatchers. Madeline and her thugs would kidnap high-profile characters from the surface world, and Diego would then masquerade as a stealthily bounty hunter, ‘rescuing’ the individual back for their relatives, for a hefty fee of course. The Snatchers only existed for three years, but within that time they grew to become one of the most prominent crews in all of Santa Somabra, and Madeline and Diego grew to become immensely wealthy.

One evening, the snatchers were pulling a con where Madeline kidnapped the then mayor of Santa Somabra, before dragging him down to the tunnel network for safe keeping, when Diego double-crossed her, tipping off the SSPD as to her whereabouts. A swat team stormed Madeline’s hiding place, rescuing the mayor, and the vampress barely managed to get out alive.

On that day the Snatchers split into two gangs: The Reapers –lead by Madeline- and the Rotfaces –lead by Diego-.

The bad blood between the factions has only turned even sourer over the years, as both groups take every opportunity to undermine the other.

Utilizing her vast wealth, Madeline began buying up as many street-level goons as she could, before leading a mass takeover on the turf of the Hanged men; the gang who controlled the Runez market in Santa Somabra.

After a series of bloody skirmishes, the Reapers soon had control over all of the Hanged men’s territory. As a symbol of her victory, Madeline ripped the still-beating heart from the chest of the Hanged men’s leader, before eating it infront of what remained of his old crew.

Fast-forwards a few years or so, and the Reapers are one of the major contenders in Santa Somabra. Part of their proficiency comes from the fact that all of the money which Madeline makes she pours back into her gang, building them into a terrifyingly powerful faction. Madeline rules largely through fear, as both rival gangs and her own men have witnessed far too many times what she is capable of in order to get her way.

Other: Given her unhinged mental state, a few of the Reapers question Madeline as the choice of leader, however they are too terrified to speak out against her.

Having become infamous for her complete lack of morality, and her sadistic tendencies, Madeline Hollinghurst is generally regarded as one of the most monstrous characters in Santa Somabra.

Name/Nicknames: Arman Murphy

Race: Human

Age: 46

Appearance:


Despite nearing the end of his crooked career in the Santa Sombara Police Department, Arman remains relatively unscathed. Being the all-so careful Irish-Russian-American that he is, the worst injury he has received was a slash across the face by an armed robber addicted to Runez. He stands at a modest 5"9 but as old age catches up with him, he finds the pounds are easier to put on but harder to lose. While still quite skinny, flab has replaced muscle on his stomach and limbs. Armans clothes bare the look of someone who has stopped caring or has no fashion sense to begin with (probably both). A long, beige coat clings to his stained, white dress shirt. A tie attempts to make him seem more formal but only enchances the "I was probably homeless once" look.

His trousers are of a boring, dark colour and are tucked in to a pair of heavy, cracked workmans boots that he looks far too old to be wearing. His hair, in his youth a lovely mane of brown, is now showing the same, grey signs of age as his unshaven face. His voice is deep and gravelly due to years of cigarette abuse. Probably the youngest part of Arman's face are his eyes, intelligent and not yet dulled by the concrete jungle. On the surface, he is a downtrodden cop on the wrong side of 40. Within, he has a cunning and selfish mind, concerned with only his own well-being.

Personality:
When he was lined up for promotion in the police force 15 years ago, the big wigs at city hall praised his no-nonsense attitude to the rising crime rate, his loyalty to the city and commitment to the force. The long fingers of the criminal underworld had tainted even the police department by that point, however and most of the force was in the pocket of one criminal or another. Arman has received bribes, passed on information, advised mobsters and even killed when the money was right. While he does his job on occasion and has assisted mobsters, his loyalty remains firmly with himself and his only drive to assist others is money. Some would describe him has selfish and materialistic for accepting bribes. Others would say he is a cunning genius for playing the politics of the city for his own gain. He personally would describe himself as a guilt-ridden, old, alcoholic who has betrayed his friends, his family and his job for extra money that goes straight into his addictions. In the underworld, he is known among certain circles for being a mercenary who'd do anything for the right amount. In the police force, he is known as one of many veteran crooked cops who spends more time in bars than arresting criminals.

But Arman doesn't care. When alone in his cold, drafty apartment at night or sitting in some seedy bar getting drunk, he can only think about what a failure his life has turned out to be. He never met a girl, he never had kids or did anything good with his life. He no longer cares what his friends or contacts think of him since it is usually the same things he thinks about himself. Crooked, selfish and old.

Bio:
Born on the east coast to a Russian mother and a dead-beat Irish father, Arman spent his childhood like any normal antebellum-era child would. Playing with his friends, going to school, working when he was old enough, falling in love, fighting and then finding purpose in his life. The only girl he ever loved ran off with some ditzy Frenchman to Paris and his mother died when he was in his early 20's. He found no reason to continue living on the East Coast and moved to Santa Somabra. He took the job his father was said to have held and joined the police force. In those early days as a cop, he was naive and wet behind the ears. He still thought cops in that town were good people who protected the citizens from crime. But that changed when he began accepting bribes in his early 30's. Everyone else was doing it, so why not him too? Guilt accompanied these bribes as he realised he was assisting the rapidly rising crime rate by letting criminals go and he fell into the spell of drinking and cigarettes.

He began working closely with his boss, another crooked copper, who had him promoted to a plain-clothes officer to do his dirty work. His boss, who has since gone into retirement, worked closely with local mobsters and Arman was often out assisting their operations. He was giving vast sums of money for these ventures but drowned it all in alcohol and cigarettes to fight off the guilt that gnawed at his conscious. Through his years assisting the police and the mob, he built up an extensive list of contacts and often trades information for money. On the outside, the police force is seen as poorly funded but trying its best to fight back the crime. Newspapers and politicians alike are intimidated by the police to keep the image of being non-corrupt all the while being in the pockets of criminals.

In some ways, you could call the S.S.P.D a gang of loosely-connected criminals, who work for the highest bidder. Most cops are affiliated to some kind of criminal leader but Arman tries not to affiliate himself with anyone for too long (partly for his own safety - crooked cops working for some mob bosses have been known to kill their colleagues working for rivals).

As of now, Arman is drifting between crime bosses and has recently been working for the police force properly. But the rise of theis new brand of criminals, The Forlorn Disciples, has all levels of society worried and none more than Arman himself.

Name: Arcan
Nickname: Razor

Race: Goblin

Age: 44

Appearance:
Sharp is the best way to describe Arcan, sharp teeth sit beneath a pointed spike of a nose. Long ears frame the sharpest part of his features, sparkling blue eyes. These eyes seem to light up and glitter with a hungry hidden malice almost of their own accord, dull and lifeless at times of stress or excitement blazing into life at an innocuous comment. Rumour has it, this is because Arcan is four steps ahead of everyone else, others claim its because his mind has been shattered by a sickening madness that runs riot within him.

The voices tell him it is the latter but Arcan is sure it's the former. It's a constant source of contention between them.

Well muscled, he moves like a whippet with a sinuous grace, a single ponytail whipping behind him seeming to lash out behind him like a striking snake. Scars run down his back from the days when he used to attatch a knife to the ponytail and use it as a weapon in combat yet no more. They are a remenant of his past, this is his future.

SANTA SOMABRA POLICE RECORDS

ID NO. 07514631831
LAST NAME: UNKNOWN
FIRST NAME: UNKNOWN
OTHER OR PREFERRED NAME(S): CICERO
DATE OF BIRTH: UNKNOWN
SEX: MALE
RACE: UNKNOWN
HEIGHT: UNKNOWN
WEIGHT: UNKNOWN
HAIR COLOUR: BLONDE
EYE COLOUR: GREEN/BLUE
SSN: UNKNOWN
BIRTH STATE/COUNTRY: UNKNOWN
CITY: SANTA SOMABRA
STATE: CALIFORNIA [SORRY GUYS, BEST GUESS?]
AGE: UNKNOWN
SCAR MARKS: NONE
SKIN TONE: MID-EUROPEAN TAN
MILITARY SERVICE: UNKNOWN
ADDRESS: NYCTARI DISTRICTS
KNOWN ALIAS: CICERO

ADDITIONAL DATA:

REPORT #547: 25/4/15 INTOXICATED CITIZENS (NAMELY OGRES) FOUND RIOTING IN THE NYCTARI DISTRICTS, AN UNIDENTIFIED INDIVIDUAL WAS SEEN FLEETING OVER THE ROOFTOPS, AFTER A SMALL CHASE THE SUBJECT ESCAPED. WITNESSES DESCRIBE THE SUBJECT AS A 'TANNED' VAMPIRE WITH THE VISUAL APPEARANCE OF AN OLDER ADOLESCENT, AROUND 17-18 YEARS OF AGE. DUE TO THE UNRELIABILITY OF THE WITNESSES AND THE OBVIOUS CLASH OF INFORMATION WITH A 'TANNED' VAMPIRE, THE POLICE DEPARTMENT HAVE WITHHELD ANY INFORMATION FROM EFFECTING THE SUBJECT'S RECORDS.

REPORT #236: 13/2/15 POLICE AGENT WORKING COVERTLY INSIDE THE NYCTARI FACTION REPORTS AN OUTSIDER. THE INDIVIDUAL IS ACCEPTED AND INVITED TO ALL MEETINGS OF THE UTMOST IMPORTANCE AND SECRECY. THE REPORT DESCRIBES THE SUBJECT AS A MID-EUROPEAN TANNED ADOLESCENT MOST LIKELY 17-18 YEARS OF AGE, WITH HAIR COLOUR RANGING FROM DARK BLONDE TO LIGHT BROWN AND EYE COLOUR RANGING FROM BLUE TO GREEN. THE INDIVIDUAL IS DESCRIBED AS QUITE MELLOW AND DEPRESSIVE IN MOOD WITH A RELUCTANCE TO UTTER ALMOST ANY WORDS WITHOUT NEED; THE ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF THE SUBJECT, OR ANY OTHER CONTEXTUAL INFORMATION, SEEMS TO HAVE ALLUDED THE AGENT LEAVING HIM A CITIZEN OF HIGH INTEREST WITHIN THE POLICE DEPARTMENT.

REPORT #227: 5/1/15 UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS TO RADIO TOWER 54; ADOLESCENT, MID-EUROPEAN INDIVIDUAL SEEN AT THE TOP OF A RADIO TOWER SURVEYING THE LANDSCAPE AT 6:30PM, FOUND BY GUARD AND QUESTIONED ON HIS PURPOSE OR AUTHORISATION. SUBJECT DIDN'T REPLY LEAVING THE VICINITY IN A MATTER OF SECONDS; GUARD WAS INDIFFERENT AND UNABLE TO HINDER HIS ESCAPE.

END OF REPORT

Name/Nicknames:
Atticus Carver

Race:
Human

Age:
28

Appearance:
Atticus was in the past referred to as a bit of a ‘pretty boy’, his features being defined with a strong jaw, carefree smile and piercing green eyes that could melt the heart of anyone. His mahogany coloured hair was short and messy and was hardly maintained but always seemingly perfect, adding further to his charming appearance. Today he is almost unrecognisable when compared to his former self.

His once carefree expression and generous smiles are now all but strangers to his features which are now more of a stoic shadow of what they once were. His hair, whilst still unmaintained is now streaked generously with flecks of grey and even white showing that the years have not been kind to him. When combined with his often unshaven appearance this leads him to be seen in a slightly more rugged and sinister light. His eyes are somewhat dulled and now gleam with only a predatory hint of the darkness that lies within him just beyond the surface.

That being said Atticus is far from having lost his looks and despite his somewhat worn appearance he could still easily considered handsome and dashing if he makes the effort to present himself. He dresses himself however the occasion calls for, smart or casual it matters not to him. To him how he chooses to appear is simply a tool to portray whatever impression he wants to on those around him and nothing more.

Physically Atticus appears unremarkable, on first glance not seeming to be under or overweight to any particular degree. In truth his body is lithe and muscular, lacking any excess fat or tissue caused by his somewhat ‘spartan’ lifestyle. It could be said that he is tall, but again not excessively so.

Personality:
Like his appearance, the personality of Atticus seems to change to best suit his situation and needs. A chatty neighbour, a gentle and caring friend, an indifferent stranger seemingly going about their own business, these are just a few of the guises that Atticus regularly falls into. To him it is easy to flow and ebb his mannerisms and demeanour to whatever would be expected of him, none seeing his true personally shine through until it is far too late.

In truth Atticus is cold, unforgiving and dismissive. Quick to judge others and mark them off as useless and unworthy of life like the vast majority of the beings that exist and inhabit the world around him. He is somewhat detached from the realities of the world and cares for little other than his own interests and desires, which are as warped and distorted as the man’s broken mind. He lives for misery and pain, or rather lives to inflict these onto those who he targets for such treatment.

Atticus of course shows his true self to no one, a master at controlling his emotions and masking his distaste for the lives of others easily. He considers himself superior to most and generally considers the other races to be little more than a curse or illness inflicted upon the undeserving or foolish.

Bio:
Atticus Carver was born to a wealthy and high-class couple, his father the director of several companies and his mother a lawyer for a global corporation. As such his life was very different from those who are forced to live and fight for everything they have. His upbringing was relatively speaking uneventful and he became a happy, well rounded young adult who was very articulate and caring, though he did have something of a restless side to him. He also had a thirst for knowledge and studied a great deal of subjects including art, medicine and history amongst other things at several of the world’s leading universities and academies. It was during this time that he met a young and beautiful woman who he became completely and totally infatuated with, the pair falling in love and marrying within a year. Her name was Kitiara de Folie and she brought to Atticus a feeling of completion and serenity, it was if they were two parts of one whole finally brought together as always intended.

His father died of sudden heart attack when he was 21 his death having quite the impact on the young man who was distraught over the loss. Two years later his mother followed suit and died suddenly after being diagnosed with cancer only a week earlier.

The sudden losses were both difficult for him to face and if it were not for the support and love of his wife Kitiara he surely would have spiralled out of control. With the wealth that was left to them the pair had the world at their feet and had oh so many plans together. But of course the world had other plans in mind for the young couple and they only had another seven blissful months together before tragedy struck.

The pair attended a charity ball event on the east coast, a city far too close to the monstrous beast that is Santa Somabra – the cities dark tendrils outstretching and corrupting everything it touched. The event was targeted by a criminal enterprise who realised that there would be many wealthy individuals to both threaten and kidnap, with too much money to be made. The event itself however was more well protected than they realised, a brutal and panicked shootout occurring filling the ballroom with screams, gunfire and blood.

It was all over in the blink of an eye. Atticus only remembers flashes from that evening, the look of Kitiara’s lifeless face gazing back at him as he held her, the shots ringing through the air as a chorus of panicked screams echoed. Atticus himself was also shot, a mostly superficial wound that grazed his neck only millimetres away from ending his life in an instant.

Atticus plummeted into a pit of depression and misery, he stopped talking, eating or doing anything else, unable to tear his thoughts away from the events that had occurred. Atticus threw his fortune into the occult, seeking any way to return his love to the mortal realm no matter the cost. Finally able to function once more this became more than an obsession for him. It was during this time that Atticus killed for the first time, a sacrifice required by a supposedly dark and powerful deity. He slaughtered a young beautiful woman with no hesitation and no remorse, before later killing the ‘druid’ after it had become clear that the ritual had failed to bring back his love as promised. He continued in this fashion for weeks, his body count starting to grow as he killed those who failed to bring his wife back to him along with any sacrifices that were required or anyone who got in his way.

After some time it became clear that what he hoped to achieve was impossible despite his every effort. As a result he soon looked to end his life and join her in whatever afterlife there may be, once more sinking into a deep depression. With the barrel of a gun pressed to his temple Atticus took what he intended to be his final breath, however he was stopped by a voice that he instantly recognised. Kitiara was suddenly sat beside him, her face unmarked by the bloody smears that plagued his nightmares and her eyes gazing once more into his.

That day she came back to him, real or not it didn’t matter to Atticus. To him she was as real as the world around him, he could see her, hear her and feel her touch once more and that was all he wanted – whether others could or not he did not care. Several conversations with his wife later his purpose became clear once more. She wanted him to go to Santa Somabra and continue his ‘work’ there, Kitiara apparently feeling that each and every citizen of the foul place needed to be judged and punished appropriately. Atticus needed very little convincing, selling what remained of his possessions and travelling to the city. He has spent the last several months in the city moving from hotel to hotel as he searched for the perfect location to carry out his trade. Unfortunately for the residents of Santa Somabra he has found what he was looking for.

Other:

Atticus is of course insane, if not in a sophisticated kind of way. His wife is of course long dead, the woman he sees being nothing more than a very convincing figment of his mind. He knows others cannot see or hear her and as such only interacts and speaks with her when alone (or when with someone who will soon be in no position to tell anybody anything).

Atticus uses any weapon or method to his killings that fits the time and situation, having no such ‘pattern’ or set modus operandi that has thus far developed. His greatest tool is his mind and his ability to behave in a totally ‘normal’ way.

Name/Nicknames: Nyxvira Bloodbloom (Nyx)

Race: Faerie

Age: 117

Appearance:



Nyxvira is a squat and thickset young Faerie, with blotchy pale skin and a corpulent form. Even for someone of her age she is short, which only serves to accentuate her weighty build. She has a giant waist, very broad hips, and meaty legs; with her thighs brushing together. A huge gut protrudes from beneath her clothes; a great white boulder that juts out in front of her, with faint stretch-marks criss-crossing around its edges.

Her hair is a dry auburn, flecked with strands of bright red, and has been cut short, falling down around her shoulders.
While she has noticeably chunky arms, which is due to a mixture of both fat and muscle. Nyx possessing great deal more upper-body strength than one would commonly attribute to a faerie girl. Her legs are thick with muscle from supporting her full-figure, with a dense layer of fat adding some extra padding to them.

She has a round face, with a noticeable second chin, and the beginnings on a third. Bright orange freckles are scattered across her likeness, her nose is broad, and she had close-set sparkling gold eyes. She has a plump mouth, with full dark red lips.
Ethereal yellow wings, streaked with faint golden lights, protrude from her back; great incorporeal appendages that flitter in and out of existence, adorned with ornate swirls and patterns, which phase into being at her bidding.

Personality: A self-aware narcissist, Nyxvira cares about one thing, and one thing only; herself. Whilst not completely sadistic, Nyx does draw a slight sense of satisfaction from the suffering of others, and delights in meddling in affairs that aren’t her own. A survivalist at heart, Nyxvira is good at adapting to hazardous situations, and is able to keep a cool head in the face of danger.
Delighting in causing mischief, as most Faeries do, Nyxvira is right at home in Santa Somabra, where misery and malice are as much a part of the city as the grimy roads and streets.

Bio: Nyxvira grew up in her family’s ancestral grove in the county of Surrey in England, and lived her first years completely separated from outside influence, dwelling solely within Faerie society. Out of her six siblings, the gift of magic was most present in Nyx, and so she was made Matriarch of the House of Bloodbloom, and given dominance over her family’s grove and the other faeries within it. Once she was an acceptable age, Nyxvira received some tutelage within the primarily human outside world, and began attending various classes.
Initially, Nyxvira was tormented for her weight and narcissistic personality, cast out by the other children, but through a mixture of flaunting her prominent status, arcane charms, and intimidation, Nyxvira managed to work her way the social hierarchy; asserting herself as one of the dominant bullies and manipulators in her school.

Throughout her time in school Nyxvira would lure off unsuspecting children and painfully metamorphosize them into Hobb servants for her household. Several police investigations were launched into the House of Bloodbloom, but no concrete evidence was ever found. Whether this was due to careful planning on the arrogant Faeries part, of a hesitance by authorities to spark an incident with notoriously powerful faeries is unknown. For a period in time Nyxvira was the resident drug dealer at her school; using Hobbs to transport her wares back and forth, until she grew bored of her primarily human clientèle.

Disgusted by her francizing with humans, and the poor manner by which their sister mistreated them, the other children of the house of Bloodbloom eventually rose up against Nyxvira, casting out her and her Hobb thralls, and assuming control of the family grove for themselves.
Nyxvira moved from country to country, soaking up a great many languages and cultures; spreading mischief and discord as she went, constantly being chased out by furious communities. Overtime, Nyxvira honed her criminal arts, eventually building up a large network of contacts within the nefarious underworld.

By the time Nyxvira arrived in Santa Somabra, she had built herself a thriving gang of zealously loyal Hobb thralls; ready to tend to her every whim. Moving into Chinatown, Nyxvira and her Hobbs launched a vicious gang war with the local tong, eventually culminating with Nyx assuming control of Chinatown, via a mixture of sending her Hobbs on deadly suicide missions, and cleverly manipulating the local population with a mixture of skulduggery and smoke and mirrors tactics.

Nyx began running smuggling operations out of Chinatown, as well as offering mercenary work for up-and-coming hired guns.
Nyxvira’s gang endured throughout both world wars, thriving off of prohibition, and in the modern day the Bloodbloom Syndicate has grown into a force to be reckoned with; having enveloped several smaller gangs into its vast expanse.

Other: Faeries are universally feared and mistrusted for their wicked ways, but also held up as diety-like beings by some, more superstitious cultures, which is something Nyxvira uses to her utmost advantage.

Personality: Clara is a young and idealistic detective who plays it by the book. Nigh incorruptible and willing to see each case through to a just end, Clara may be the cop this town needs: but definitely over that it doesn't deserve. While rather naive about how deep corruption runs in the department, she's not entirely oblivious to it and it'll be a while yet before she learns what it takes to be a straight-and-narrow cop in this crooked city.

Bio: Clara was born in Los Hermanos, a rural town about an hour away from the bright lights of Santa Somabra. There, her parents run a bed and breakfast that caters to all types passing into - or out of - S.S. While travellers through the area are in no short supply, the town itself is home to a little over 100 residents; most of which are undocumented farmhands. From a young age Clara was drawb towards police work and the bright lights of Santa Somabra.

At eighteen years old she moved out of Los Hermanos and joined the Santa Somabra Police Department. The papers had always painted the department as a candle in the darkness, a place that the corrupting tentacles of the city could not reach. Working on the street level, Clara never caught as much as a glimpse of how deep that lie ran. She did her work and she did it damn well and after five years on the beat she put in for a promotion for detective work and plopped into a small-time arson desk.

"Arson is always about insurance," her mentor told her, "a regular Joe, who lost his job and needs a way to pick up the slack." His words rung true for a solid year of arson investigations. A year of scavenging through the coals of houses and interviewing owners and putting them in irons for insurance fraud.

Clara caught the eye of her police captain and he put her in to be promoted to a homicide desk: not because of her skill as a detective, but rather to create a literal poster-child for the department. Clara is, after all, a young, pretty girl and her incorruptible nature is that of the model policeman.

She, as of yet, has not been involved in an official murder investigation. But with trouble stirring in Santa Somabra, she's sure to get her chance.

Name/Nicknames: Gruthgar Bronzepeak

Race: Dwarf
Age: 200

Appearance:

Gruthgar stands at 4'8 With a deep orange beard with iron clasps and buckles fixing his thick braids. He is well built and muscular but has a prominent beer belly. Gruthgar sustained an injury, which took his eye and a portion of his cheek. It has since been mended via skin-graphs but his eye was unable to be fixed, thus he wears a sturdy leather eye patch, and his beard around the wound has turned white. He wears a loose leather jacket with pin striped white trousers a white button shirt. Around his neck he wears a bronze pendent with his family emblem carved into it.

Personality: He has the mentality of someone with experience beyond his years and has an outwardly gruff personality. He is brash but plain with a hard working demeanour. He’s suspicious, with a fierce sense of honour and duty. Foolhardy and stubborn, Guthgar will see something through even if others believe it the worse option and is renowned for sticking to his plans.

Bio: Guthgar is originally from Scotland, with a light Scottish accent, and was raised with in a tightly knit clan society, brought up with the values of honour and integrity. His community was raided by a Scottish branch of the Hunters, during which he was knocked unconscious and believes he should have died in the raid. After some years of wondering working in an underground fighting ring, where he obtained his eye wound, he encountered Nyxvira Bloodbloom; who invited him to work for her as an enforcer, after words reached her about his prominence as a fighter. He moved to Santa Somabra with the Syndicate, where now he works as an enforcer of Nyxvira, and in return uses her name as crowbar to find information on the hunters.

Other: Gruthgar has runic shotgun which has been imbued with magic and Dwarven engineering to allow it to serve as a long range weapon and an axe in close quarters.
Name/Nicknames: Gruthgar Bronzepeak