The Nameless Man: The Nameless Man is, well, nameless. TNM for short, he just sorta appeared in the town square one day. He sits under the statue of Smith, gaunt and thin. Nobody ever sees him eat, or sleep, or move. He is unfazed. Theoretically, an H Bomb could be dropped on Boca Diablo and he wouldn't notice. Tall, and thin, he scares children

Luca Petulengro

Nicknames: Father Luca. Because it's his title. He still inwardly cringes a little at being called "Father", because most of his clergy are at least twice his age. But given that he's now a full fledged priest, it kind of comes with the territory.

Gender: Male

Age: 27


Sexuality: Heterosexual, though he leans more towards asexuality in all honesty.

Likes:
The sound of rain
Hiking
Homecooked meals
Curling up to read a good book
Meeting new people and helping others
Sweater weather
Animals

Dislikes:
Crowds
Yelling; having to yell or being yelled at, or just hearing other people yell
Sexual advances towards him; it makes him very uncomfortable
Hot, muggy weather (he probably shouldn't have moved to Florida)
Seeing dogs chained up in yards, or people mistreating their pets in general
People being discriminated against based on race, sex, sexuality, ect. He is very anti-hate.

Appearance
Luca is a very average man. He stands at 5'9" with dark brown hair, light brown skin, and brown eyes. He is of Romani and European decent, being a mix between the two. His clothes are very humble and modest, consisting of dress pants or jeans on days of the week and collared or button up shirts. On Sunday and Wednesday, he dons the iconic priests' robes to preach. He wears the same pair of brown leather shoes just about every day, except on Sunday when he swaps them for his black ones.

His hair is often a bit messy, refusing to be tamed by a comb. He has a little facial hair, which is usually kept neatly trimmed. Luca doesn't have any piercings or tattoos, but his back and arms are marred with scars from beatings he took in his childhood. Because of this, he often wears long sleeves, even in the hot, muggy Florida weather.

Personality: Luca is a gentle man. He loves people. His passion for helping others and his need to share the light of God often combine. He can be found working at homeless shelters on Saturdays, passing out soup and kind words. He lives at his church, along with anyone else who needs a place to stay.

His personality is humble and kind. He can be taken at face value, hiding no secret agendas or lies. Luca is very much the man he appears to be. He couldn't tell a lie if he wanted to.

+Luca is endlessly generous
+Humble
+Gentle

-Meek
-He has trouble forgiving others at times, which is a pretty big deal given his occupation
-He has a tendency to get a little preachy sometimes, which wouldn't seem like a bad thing, but when other people don't want to hear it, it can get aggravating pretty quick.
-He's a bit of a bleeding heart.

Other: Due to traumatic experiences in his past, he doesn't like to be touched without his permission. If someone surprises him with a hug, he stiffens up and is clearly uncomfortable. It's something he's been working on, but it's more or less become a natural reflex.

Luca is a pacifist. It's not so much something he vowed to do, but something that just comes naturally to him. He doesn't like to fight or hurt others, even in self defense. He would much rather try to talk things out, or just run if things get too hairy.

Luca is multilingual. His travels across Europe as a boy taught him to speak bits and pieces of several languages. He speaks fluent German and Romanian. He knew a little English before he was brought to America, but as a whole, he didn't begin speaking it until he was 18. Because of this, he has an accent. However, most people can't really place it. It leans towards a more German-esque sound.

Biography:

Luca came from a hard beginning. His family was a group of oldschool Romani that traveled the European countrysides. When they came into town to sell and buy, they were often met with discrimination and hate. Most places put up with them until they left, but it was when they reached a small town in Germany that their band was met with brutal forces. The mayor of the town called the police on them, having them arrested and shipped from the country.

Some of Luca's family fled, and some were captured and removed. But in the chaos, Luca was separated from them. At the tender age of 9, the boy was left to fend for himself. He quickly left the town that had attacked his family, afraid that they may hurt or even kill him. Luca wandered until he found a new, larger city to settle in. There, he lived on the streets until he was 13. A farmer approached him, offering him work in return for food and shelter. He had no intent of paying Luca, making the transaction completely illegal and slavery by definition. But Luca was desperate, so he agreed.

Luca worked long days on the farm, doing anything asked of him until his body and muscles hurt. He lived in the barn and ate whatever leftovers were brought to him. Although he was no longer freezing to death or starving, he was still miserable. The farmhands took to mocking and tormenting him, calling him a dirty gypsy while he did their work. If Luca ever tried to defend himself, he was typically beaten until he learned to keep his mouth shut.

It was during this harsh time in his life that Luca reflected on his mother's teachings of God. Before, he had never given it much thought. But laying in the straw that was his bed, hurting from both work and wounds, faith made it possible to pull through. He snuck off of the farm one day to visit a bookstore in town. He had scraped together just enough money laying around to buy a Bible. He would hide it under the hay in the barn loft and only read it by moonlight at night. It was difficult, as he practically illiterate, but over the years, it got easier.

Reading the Bible helped him endure years of physical, emotional, and even sexual abuse at the hands of the farm workers. He was 18 when a couple of Christian missionaries happened to come to the farm to buy fresh produce. They saw the boy in such poor living conditions. After pulling him aside to speak with him, hearing his story, they couldn't leave him there. By this point, Luca had become so accustom to his loss of freedom that when the farmer refused to relinquish him to the missionaries, he didn't even fight it. It didn't occur to him that he didn't actually belong to the man and his awful farmhands.

The missionaries went to the law. Police came to the farm and demanded that Luca be set free, eventually arresting the farmer for unlawful imprisonment and several workers for their treatment of the boy. The missionaries convinced Luca to come back to America with them, where he wouldn't face such cruelty and discrimination. They brought him to the church, where he learned to speak English and live like a civilized person. It took him a while to come out of his shell, but with gentle coaxing, Luca came to regard the clergy as his family.

With the oldest priest's help, Luca studied to become a priest himself. It took several years of hard work, as Luca was so behind on his schooling. But he was very passionate about it. He put a lot of hard work into helping those who lived on the streets, like he once had. He was the driving factor in getting the church's new homeless ministry off the ground. His kindness and drive made him very well accepted among the clergy.

Once he finally became a full fledged priest, he worked alongside his elder. Father Walter was a little strange sometimes; he would often disappear for a few days before coming back with strange bruises and cuts. He never told Luca where he went or what he was up to, and Luca never pressed. Then, one day, Father Walter never returned. Luca and the church still aren't really sure what happened to him, but his duties have now fallen on Luca's shoulders. Being the only other priest in the church, despite his young age, Luca now leads Mass and attends to all other priestly work.

Appearance: Jack is tall man, standing over 6’1” when he’s not in boots. He’s quite rangy in his build, but his well enough muscled not seem insubstantial, hard work has kept him fit and he is yet to begin softening into middle age. His dirty blonde hair is normally pushed back off of his somewhat angular face. Around its lower half he is normally wearing several days’ worth of stumble and a cigarette can often be found dangling from the corner of his mouth. He has distinctive tattoo on his right forearm of a snake circling its away around a dagger.

Clothing wise Jack prefers muted tones, leather and denim make up a large part of his wardrobe both in and out of work. Underneath or when it is too hot he favours faded plaid shirts and vest tops. On his left hand he is large ornate silver ring with a garnet set into the centre.

Personality: Jack is a somewhat reserved man. He seems very hostile on the surface things but that’s mainly a front due to his reputation in town. In reality he’s quite a relaxed person with a dry sense of humour coupled with a healthy dose of cynicism. There’s nothing more that he likes then to take time off, have a drink, and shoot the breeze the regulars that prop up the bar out at the Roadhouse. However, he does have a temper on him, one which has cooled over the years, but can be still be woken if the right buttons are pushed.

He doesn’t talk about himself much, or appreciate people trying to pry into his life. When he wants he can be charming in a roguish sort of way, and when he first came back to the town after his self-imposed exile, he was quite a ladies man for a few years. That quietened down when the women around these parts learned more of him and his ways. He likes the chase, but doesn’t do well with commitment. Despite his seeming transition to honest labourer, there’s still something secretive and slightly shady about Jack. But he gives respect if someone’s willing to give it back, and there are a fair few people in town who do appreciate his presence.

Biography: The Walker families are one of the old families of Boca Diabola, but one of those that never really prospered. There were Walkers in that second wave of settlers that came in 1765 after the first ill-fated lost expedition. But most of branches of the family have either died out or moved away. Used to be they owned a good chunk of land in around the Keep, but bad harvests and personal tragedies have seen the families land has shrunk down to a simple small holding on the very eastern edge of Cooper Keep. Not even a proper farm, it comprises of a few acres of scrubland, woods and swamp with a rundown cabin with a rickety old barn and twenty rusting cars sat on top. Jack Walker is the last custodian of the Walker property.

It was the cabin that Jack grew up in, built by his grandfather, after his great grandfather was forced to sell off their old farm. His upbringing was fairly hard, his father, James Walker, was a man left embittered after seeing his fortunes sunk low. The small holding was a complete and utter failure and his father ended up working as an agricultural worker for other landowners, an utter humiliation for such a proud man.

They had strained relationship, Jack grew up never knowing the better times for his family, he never had the same notions about their respectability or their heritage. He made friends with other kids from the lower echelons of the town’s community. When his father tried to impress on him the impropriety of the company he was keeping, it just drove more a wedge between them and encouraged Jack to act out.

During his youth he quite the town hoodlum, getting into a helluva lot of fights and scuffles, most of which he ended up winning. He used to drink underage in the old roadhouse, and fell in with an even worse crowd than the other farm hand kids. He slung dope for a while and did worse, until he got caught trying to commit burglary on a house on the good side of town. He managed to get off light and escape charges. But none the less, his life changed that year when he was called up in the draft of ‘69 to go to Vietnam. Jack never saw much action while he was out there, the horrors of Tet offensive were already over, and later the peace held mostly until the complete withdrawal of American forces in ’73. But what did see wasn’t pretty, around 15% of G.I.s were on smack around that time, and Jack was one of them. He kicked the habit as part of the Golden Flow program (no ride home until you pass a urine test) but that and the war changed him.

When he came back to the states and was discharged he couldn’t stand go back to Boca Diabola, so he spent the next five years travelling around the west on the back of a motorbike. He lived in San Francisco for a while, just long enough watch the demise of the hippy dream before he headed back south. A few years in Dallas and then onto Atlanta, it was in ’78 that he heard his father was head.

He thought he was coming back for the funeral, but somehow he never left. The property fell to him since his mother hadn’t been around since he was little, and his only sibling (a younger sister) was starting a new life in L.A. last time he heard from her.

Jack’s never been in the same level of trouble that he was as a kid, although in small towns people have long memories, and there are rumours. He works odd jobs most of time, either agricultural work, or as a mechanic, one of the few things he is genuinely considered to be good at. He’s been quiet, but folks are still somewhat wary of him, and he isn’t particularly well liked in the town.

Likes:

- His job
- Closing cases
- Old paperbacks
- Jazz fusion and the Blues
- Old, brown liquor

Dislikes:

- Disrespect
- Criminals
- Alcoholics
- Would-be tough guys

Personality: Morgan has a fierce devotion to his job that can make him seem cold and distant at first meet, but once you get past his work ethic you'll find he's a calm, down to earth man. Albeit one who has seen far too much of the handiwork of serial killers and violent criminals and knows he's bound to see more right up until retirement, so he may still keep you at arms length. He generally prefers not to tread on toes, but if someone pushes him, he has no qualms in shoving them back with his authority.
Typically, whatever it takes to get the job done.

Biography: Morgan was born in Flint, Michigan to Barry and Rosa Daniels. Two of the hardest working people he'd ever known. It wouldn't exactly be unfair to have called the Daniels' poor. His parents worked hard to keep the lights on and the table set, and as a consequence Morgan didn't get to spend much time with them. It was hardly a unique story, with many of the kids on his street in the same boat. They would race home from school on their second hand bicycles and do their chores at the speed of sound so they could take the last remaining shreds of sunlight to go and explore. This is where Morgan derived his inquisitive nature, and knack for investigation.

His teenage years came by, and his parents seemed satisfied enough with his grades. Their shifts got longer, and the meals got cheaper and Morgan couldn't help but notice that his dad was spending more money on beer and more time on the couch. They never said it, but work was growing scarce for them and the other salt-of-the-earth folks in their neighborhood. Crime was on the rise and things were just all around looking bad.
Morgan doesn't claim to remember much of the years between age 11 and 16, but he recalls them being very negative. His father slid all too comfortably into abusive alcoholism, and his mother grew only more and more shrewish as the yelling turned to beatings.
Morgan survived his father's wrath by sinking into his studies and excelling at track and field events, ignoring it like a coward.
"That's my boy," his father would slur from the couch, drowning out Johnny Carson's witty banter, "You're either gonna be an athlete or a scientist!"
It kept the man pleased until his mother placed food down on the table. Heaven forbid the peas had mingled too much with the corn. Sadly that was all it took to set him off these days. All the while, he never even noticed the dark fire growing inside his son every time he saw that man clench his fists.

At age 18, Morgan graduated with high honors. The first thing he did was apply for the Police Academy. He was as shocked as anyone to learn that he got in. He attacked his training with a tenacity seldom seen in the increasingly corrupt ranks of the Michigan police department. Upon graduation he was placed back in Flint, where he could protect and serve his home town. He was happy, his parents were proud of him. He still knew his father was beating his mother.
It all culminated in the worst way when he was dispatched to a domestic violence call early one evening. His stomach dropped to his feet when he heard the address.
It was the worst he'd ever seen the man do. His mother was bleeding, cowering in the corner. Morgan claims to have no recollection of what he did next, but his father spent the next two months in hospital.

Morgan was thankfully not fired, but was placed on administrative leave. He used this spare time to take better care of his mother. Her health was failing thanks to years of domestic abuse and chain smoking. He loved her dearly, and he was shattered when she died.
He came back to work after his leave, but found he couldn't commit to it the way he once had. He wanted to do more, he had to do more. He applied for the Bureau. Rejection. He applied again. Rejection. He applied more times than he would care to admit. Finally, he got the letter he had spent three years dreaming of.

Five years later, he received a call that his father was in hospital. It would be his last chance to see the man.
"There he is," he croaked through the oxygen mask, "there's my boy."
Morgan could only stare back at the shriveled old bastard with contempt. He couldn't even bring himself to say anything to him. When he left that room, the doctor told him, "it was your fathers time to go. There's nothing we could have done."
Only Morgan knew what happened in there, and he knew how to make it all look. He was only sorry he hadn't done it sooner. Too . I love you, mom.

The years continued to go by and he enjoyed a successful and fulfilling career as an FBI Agent.
His boss just slapped a heavy file on his desk, "You look like you could use a tan, Daniels."
His next assignment was taking him to a small town in Florida, Boca Diablo.