Name: Maurice Messler of Mitrowitz

Physical Attributes: Maurice is well known amongst his peers for his strength, and his appearance certainly does not hide that. While not the tallest fellow around, he still stands somewhat taller than your average person, although Maurice is known more for thickness of limbs rather than height; it is quite common amongst his acquaintances to liken him to a bear or a trunk of wood, often as a compliment and derision at the same time. With thick, shoulder length wavy black hair, a large, bony face, a lazy eye and unevenly tanned skin, he doesn't have the look of a city gentleman, although his blue eyes, clean shave and prominent lips bring a fairly graceful nuance to his look. His clothing is somewhat outdated, with a large hat with upturned brims covering his head, and a blue cloak, dotted with rather large stars and an anthropomorphized sun, draped over a thick and coarse white buffcoat with many buttons covering his body. Around his waist, Maurice wears an orange sash as a symbol of his former position, and hanging from his neck is a large amulet that doubles as a censer containing soothing incense.

Mental Attributes: Maurice is a rather cheerful fellow, although perhaps a rather boisterous one, thanks to a tendency to see the world, and act, in extremes. While not the sharpest tool in the shed, he's fairly receptive to learning by experience, and his presence usually helps others bear experiences more positively, thanks to his uplifting demeanor and presence. He's not exactly what someone would call people-savvy; although he is aware of this and usually puts just enough distance between him and others he's recently met to stay away from possible danger, he's still not very good at reading intentions clearly. Despite this, Maurice is fairly intelligent when it comes to mechanics and mathematics. Being a visual learner, he may have problems visualizing people's intentions, but he certainly has no trouble with levers, gears and estimates.

History: Maurice never had the makings of a great man. Born the third child out of eight to a family of carpenters in the city of Mitrowitz, he had to support the large family somehow. To do that, he was either going to become a cobbler, like his eldest brother, a carpenter, like his father and elder brother, or a soldier. The decision he made at a fairly young age; having seen the royal guard of the Count of Mitrowitz at parade, with their colorful flags, extravagant uniforms, steady marching rhythm and eye-catching cannons, he immediately realized that he wanted to be a part of this marvelous contraption. And he did; thanks to his constitution he was quickly accepted into the army, and although at first an infantryman, he quickly became fascinated with the 'big boom', as he called it, and managed to show enough smarts and eagerness in digging to be accepted into the gunnery corps.

And boy oh boy, was it fun.

His cheery demeanor and diligence to duty made Maurice a popular fellow in the gunnery corps. Although he reached his glass ceiling quick, for the path beyond was either for the nobility or for the gifted, he was content with his rank that he was stuck in, for he was now at the head of a cannon battery, and the big boom was now all his. His position gave him authority, and that authority meant that his subordinates couldn't question him as he tinkered with the cannon, and the spare materials laying around, to make more cannon-like things. Unfortunately for Maurice, firearms had long been discovered, and his creations ended up as little more than gimmicks for personal entertainment.

Even more unfortunate was the result of his last experiment, to attach a rifled choke to the cannon's muzzle, in hopes of increasing its accuracy. When his invention exploded, killing one of his troops, crippling another and permanently damaging his own right eye, Maurice found himself quickly expelled from the army; he did not protest, feeling rightfully guilty for the death of his assistant gunner. He decided to atone for his sins in the Church, although his obsession with the 'big boom' never faded. Caught building makeshift cannons from organ pieces, he was relegated to a line of work where his skills and hobbies would be of more use to the Church of Light.

Abilities:

• Vitality 8 - As the son of a carpenter, it's only fitting that Maurice is built like an oak.
• Strength 10 - Maurice is a big guy. A fairly big guy, for your consideration.
• Finesse 8 - People tend to underestimate how quick Maurice can act.
• Perception 4 - With a lazy eye and mediocre wit, it's no surprise that he can't pick up on subtler things.
• Intelligence 5 - Smart enough to figure out how things work. Just not smart enough to make it better.
• Wisdom 4 - While Maurice has a strong gut instinct, he doesn't have much more on top of that.
• Faith 7 - A simple mind makes for a strong believer.
• Occult 4 - "Well, if we can't simply blow it up, can't we just blow it up with holy water?"

Equipment:

5 Points - Big Boom: Built jointly by a weaponsmith, a gunsmith and Maurice himself, the Big Boom is a hefty combination weapon, consisting of a large, two handed warpick with eight integral gun barrels all pointing towards the tip of the business end. Designed to end the fight in one loud and messy hit by piercing deep into the foe with its spike, and then emptying its complete load of eight rounds into the pierced spot, the Big Boom is frankly a somewhat impractical weapon, seen as more of a gimmick unique to Maurice; yet despite its gimmicky nature, there are few things on earth that can doubt its effectiveness when it lands a proper hit.

2 Points - Lightbringer's Attire: While the cloak draped over Maurice's shoulders make him look dressed like a priest thanks to its celestial pattern, the coat he wears underneath is made of thick, treated buff leather, which provides a surprising amount of defense for its unassuming look.

No Points - Censer Amulet: Engraved with prayers and religious imagery and filled with slow burning coals and herbs said to be effective against impurity, the Censer Amulet somewhat prominently hangs down Maurice's neck, bringing with him a faint, soothing scent wherever he goes. The scent, according to the Church elders, makes for a fairly important defense against things not of this world.

Name: Ivan Sokolov

Physical Attributes: Ivan is a tall, thin man with a lazy way about him, almost mad in a way. He’s a pale gentleman, covered in an array of tattoos, most gang affiliated- his most notable being the Ace of Spades and King of Hearts tattooed on his neck- and scars from stabbing and even bullet wounds. His one dark green eye holds a sinister sort of intelligence that belays the carefree smile he wears everywhere. Ivan prefers being clean shaven, and entirely bald, he’s cagey as to why. Ivan is fond of darkly colored button down shirts and simple dress pants, he’s not big on flashy, or gaudy clothing.

Mental Attributes: “Stare into the abyss long enough and the abyss stares back.” Where once an ambitious, truly focused man existed, now a shade exists, driven, vengeful, a mad jester. Ivan is utterly focused on his goal to eradicate any monsters that slink into the light, grinning all the while. He enjoys killing the things that lie beyond the light with such a zeal, he has often been compared to the things he hunts so fervently. Ivan’s mind is a steel trap, seeing everything and everyone as a puzzle to be unraveled, solved. Blunt is another word for this grinning madman, as he doesn't sugar coat anything.

History: Ivan appeared one day in Perafidion’s capital and began cutting his way through the many gangs. He built up a ruthless reputation and gathered a crew of the blood thirstiest thugs and thieves he could find. Once he had the city’s underbelly under his heel he turned his sights on the aristocracy. He gained momentum, showed himself as more than a thug as he could match wits with his so called betters. In time he enacted a plan that would see the aristocracy choking on its own blood. The night his plans were to come to fruition, something from beyond the Light stole his victory from him. He woke up days later in a chapel, his chest wrapped in bandages and his left eye a ruin. He lapsed into silence. He let the Sisters heal and feed him but he remained silent until one day he simply bega cackling which devolved into a black rage. He shouted frothing at the mouth of how his prize was stolen from him. It got so bad he had to be restrained by the chapel’s Father Donovan, forcefully. For hours he raved before lapsing into unconsciousness. The following weeks the good Father tried to lead the broken man back from the brink, back into the Light. Ivan appeared to take to the scriptures in time, and was even allowed to be unrestrained.

Father Donovan saw a light return to the man’s eyes but it wasn’t redemption, it was rebellion in that lone eye, ruin and rebellion. But even the calamitous flame produced Light so the Father approached him with an offer. Learn to combat the monsters that had broken him, fight for the Light, truly embrace the scriptures he considered mere words. Ivan agreed in time and ook to learning the faith with gusto. For years he trained under Father Donovan, developing skill in putting down monsters with the use of newly acquired skills thanks to the church. He became quite good with pistols but it was the long range, scoped rifles he excelled at using. Monsters and eldritch things never saw him coming.

Abilities

•Vitality: 2. Madmen aren’t too keen on caring for themselves.

•Strength: 5. Ivan’s thin frame belies some strength.

•Finesse: 7. Being among thieves and assassins has its perks as you pick up useful skills, mostly out of necessity.

•Perception: 10. Ivan’s training under Father Donovan sharpened his senses to an extreme.

•Intelligence: 6. Strategy and wit, while dulled some by Ivan’s madness are still rather keen.

•Wisdom: 4. He has street smarts in spades but gives in too much to his wild emotions.

•Faith: 8. Ivan is utterly convinced he is that his a nightmare to any that dwell beyond the Light’s reach; the faith of a zealot.

•Occult: 8. He’s stared into the abyss enough to know it stares back.

Equipment:

Retribution: Tier 5. A masterwork scoped rifle and Ivan’s personal firearm. This rifle is high powered meant for serious long range fire, and stealthy assassination. Though devastating, Vengeance is a single shot breech loaded rifle but can punch through metal plate with ease.

Flintlock pistol: Tier 2. Old, and well worn this single shot pistol is mostly meant to offer Ivan time to cover his escape as it can’t cause any real damage unless up close and personal. Takes forever to load.

Cloth shirt and pants: Ivan puts his mobility above protection as his thin layer of clothing offers him dexterity armor simply doesn’t.

Physical Attributes: An ox of a youth both in stature and stench, Farrow's broad, ruddy features are often caked in a patina of grime. Nearing two meters in height, and approaching 25 stone, Farrow finds little difficulty in his trade as an itinerant daytaler. Despite the immensity of his build, he is more often remembered for two things; the fervor that burns behind the deep ochre of his gaze when provoked and the slick cicatrice of a handprint across the tegument of his throat. An unkempt sable mane frames his square jaw. A brogue tinges the rich baritone of his voice. Farrow is clothed in worn garments donated during his journey, most having been torn accordingly to better fit him while a heavy tartan muffler obscures his scar.

Mental Attributes: His temperament largely hinges on those surrounding him. Those amongst the working classes will often find him a genial and soft-spoken youth; but when met with members of Perafidion's elite castes he has nothing but vitriol. Farrow sees them and their institutions as a means of subjugating the poor in their ignorance. He is apt to use his stature and accent to lure others into thinking him a fool or brute.

History: Farrow's earliest recollection is a voice, commanding yet gentle, urging him to rise. He was a boy, just reaching his seventh summer when he and the other children of Duirvale had been struck with sudden illness. This was but one in a series of maladies to have plagued the small hamlet for nearly a decade.

None of the remedies, old or new, worked and no word could be sent for help. A dense fog choked the land and too often did travelers go missing in its depths. Only the copse of ancient oaks that encompassed the village kept the miasma at bay. After a fortnight and fearing the spread of plague, the children were all sequestered in the McTavish homestead.

None can say what transpired, but when the sun rose on the third day of their isolation, the fog had been lifted. The home had been razed to the ground, all that remained were ashes and iron. As the first of the townsfolk reached the smoking site, they witnessed Farrow carrying the last of the children to safety before collapsing.

Now in his early 20s, Farrow travels from village to village led by the same voice he heard that fateful night.

Abilities:

Vitality: (8) Youthful vigor surges through Farrow, granting him exceptional reserves of stamina.
Strength: (10) The travois that trails behind him is no hindrance, despite its load.
Finesse: (3) No one would call Farrow nimble, but he can move when need be.
Perception: (6) A keen eye and sharp ear are necessary faculties for one who spends so much time on the road.
Intelligence: (4) While not formally educated, he is able enough to learn new skills at a normal rate.
Wisdom: (5) A life of humility and condescension have given Farrow great insight into the minds of Perafidion's people. He has witnessed great acts of charity from those who had nothing while spurned by those who "represented" the Light.
Faith: (10) An encounter in his childhood with the Light's Providence has instilled within Farrow the inferno of a zealot.
Occult: (4)When in doubt, Duirméar is able to come to conclusions.

Equipment

Duirméar: (4) A sturdy cudgel crafted from the roots of an oak from Duirvale's sacred glade. Its haft is bound in the hide of a white stag and ends with a loop to secure it about his wrist. The striking end has been hollowed out and filled with iron. Tip to tip it is 3'5".

Laindéar: (2) A tarnished bronze mantle-lantern fueled by Farrow's conviction. Its empyreal beams can pierce through the Darkness.

Compás: (1) An iron nail hung on cordage made from the hair of the seventh son of a seventh son. Farrow wears it beneath his muffler, moving in the direction of its occasional tug.

Travois: Bearing all of Farrow's earthly possessions, the heavy wooden frame is lashed together with leather bands. Its contents consist of a spare set of clothing, tools of various trades, furs used as bedding and an assortment of salted meats and sacks of grain.

Name: Oswald Chamberlain

Physical Attributes: Oswald Chamberlain is a 49-year-old man of the law. He stands roughly six feet and one inch tall, with a head of short, neatly kept black hair with a bit of grey creeping in around the fringe and the sides and back of his head. He has a mostly gruff-looking face, with a full, graying beard covering his jaw. His physique is that of a well-fit man that's gained some years, muscled but with a bit of flab creeping around his middle. The Temnorapool Constabulary's uniform is a navy blue coat, with the logo of the constabulary emblazoned on the left breast. Paired with the coat are a pair of navy blue pants, and black boots.

Mental Attributes: Senior Constable Chamberlain is a straightforward man. His mind is that of a seeker of justice, devoted in his pursuit of the truth and an honest, trustworthy man. When first meeting Chamberlain, he is amiable and friendly, helpful to those who need help. He is loyal to the Constabulary and to his friends, of which he has a few, both in the police and out. Outside of work, to those who know him, he is a shade different than the image he puts out to the general public; stoic, soft-spoken and thoughtful. Weary with the world and a long time spent in the service, the thing he wishes for the most nowadays is rest. He smokes and drinks, not irresponsibly, and often spends his time off-duty alone if he isn't invited out for a night of drinks with friends.

History: Oswald is a policeman. An old policeman. As a senior constable of the Temnorapool Constabulary, Oswald has seen his fair share of crime, misfortune, malice and corruption in his city. He was born to a poor family in the lower districts of the city, but found his interest in law enforcement from an early age, after getting stolen from one too many times and being powerless to do anything about thieves. As a young man, he originally found work in the city's docks, hauling freight and building up his body's strength. From there, it was all a matter of talking to a local constable out on patrol about an opportunity to join up with the Constabulary.

He started his police life at the bottom of the ladder, as a regular patrolman wandering the city streets by day or at night with a partner by his side, usually a more experienced constable. Together they would find crime where they could, most often a common thief or a beating. They would take the offenders into custody and escort any victims to a local hospital for treatment, or back to their police station for questioning and due processing. This carried on for some years until Oswald earned himself a promotion. From a low ranking constable to a sergeant, Oswald went from patrolling the streets to assisting in criminal investigations of a higher sort. Breaking and entering, kidnaps, to dealing with threats made on local businesses or quarrels at the docks between workers that escalated into brawls. Oswald took every investigation, every case, in his stride, and proved himself of his second promotion to inspector in due time.

It is here that Oswald stands today. A senior inspector of the Temnorapool Constabulary. Often in charge of investigating cases with a team of constables and inspectors in his care, Oswald is a leader to his men, but a firm friend and a father to the younger constables who often look up to him as inspiration. His hair is greying from the stresses of his police life, but he has made some good, long-standing friends and, in the years since joining the police force, found love. Married and with two beautiful children, a boy and a girl. He enjoys and looks forward to going home to see them every day, his place of residence still in the same district that he lived in as a child. His past not forgotten, he still upholds his family's name as the reason why he went into law enforcement.

Abilities:

• Vitality: 6 - Oswald isn't in the perfect shape of health, but for his age group, he's as fit as fit can be.
• Strength: 7 - The brute strength of police work has only partially left Oswald's body, but he can still break down doors without much fuss.
• Finesse: 5 - Being a big, strong policeman doesn't give Oswald much in the way of being dainty or careful.
• Perception: 8 - Years spent in his line of work have given him a very keen eye for his surroundings, assisting other detectives or policemen in securing crime scenes, figuring out where people are hiding or looking for evidence.
• Intelligence: 6 - The years have dulled Oswald's senses, not considerably, but grey hair is more than enough to conceal a sizable wit.
• Wisdom: 8 - Police work lends a lot to a person's talents; being able to read people and situations, as well as knowing when people are lying or concealing information from him.
• Faith: 8 - Oswald is a faithful man; Temnorapool has its fair share of churches, and because of his age and relative rank within the constabulary, he is still able to attend mass once a week with his family.
• Occult: 2 - Oswald has no firm belief in the occult. Well, he knows that it exists, through whispers and rumblings within the ranks of the police. But he is highly doubtful of its actual relevance in the city, or its effects on people.

Equipment:

• Truncheon (Tier 2) - A typically standard make Temnorapool police truncheon; made out of a sturdy oak wood and reinforced with a wrapping of cloth around the grip to provide friction in a policeman's hands. Just above the grip is Temnorapool's coat of arms, engraved in a light silver that stands out against the dark brown of the truncheon's painted wood body.
• Service Pistol (Tier 3) - Being a senior police officer of the Temnorapool police, Oswald is entitled to one of the force's few flintlock pocket pistols. A smaller version of a regular flintlock pistol, with a shortened barrel, tucked away into a pocket on the inside of his coat. There's only a few of those in the constabulary's armoury, issued only in case of emergencies.
• Pencil and Notebook - A generic pencil and leather-bound notebook, full of notes on past cases, with about a third of the book still empty.
• Whistle - A standard issue police whistle, tarnished slightly but still usable.