Name: Nathaniel Wilmer
Title: Lust
Age: 22
Gender: Male

Appearance:


Nathaniel doesn't demand much by way of clothing. At a height of 5' 9", most everything picked up at a local thrift shop would fit him without much issue. He prefers dark, solid-colored button-up shirts, gray jeans, and some sturdy sneakers in case things get hairy.

Personality:

Nathaniel is a fetishist.

He didn’t realize he was one until he bit his sister’s thigh so hard he broke skin. Even as she screamed for him to stop, he couldn’t find a shred of emotion other than the blinding euphoria of watching the blood push itself out of her damaged capillaries, onto the surface of her pale skin, and smeared across his lips and chin. Her pain delighted him, but it was a specific part of her body he craved more.

A soft and slender human thigh is his drug. The rest of a person hardly mattered.

He could waste an entire day doing nothing more than caressing, licking, and biting a thigh. It was the sturdy length of the thigh, the clear seam of the sartorius muscle as the thigh lifted, the slight curve of the biceps femoris as he ran his hands over it, the tension of the gracilis as he slid his tongue along its length. It was all of this and more. He wanted to dig his fingernails into the thigh’s flesh, get as much of it wedged beneath his nails as he could. He wanted to pierce the taut skin of its ventral surface with his incisors, reveling in the increasing severity of the depression made by the thigh’s skin as it tried in vain to cope with the pressure of his teeth, reaching his climax just as the skin tension broke.

He doesn’t want love and he doesn’t want friends. He just wants to feel the endless ecstasy and fall into that bottomless abyss.

His mind is consumed by a mantra that ticks away at his self-control as steadily as a well-oiled clock.

“Don’t love me. Don’t need me. Don’t want me. I just want this one part of you.”

Yet, somewhere in his heart, he thinks he hears his own muted screams.

Background:

Nathaniel grew up in a financially stable middle-class family consisting of one younger sister and a domineering mother. His younger sister, Amelia, was never privy to the days when both his mother and father were present in the house, and he considered her blessed for that.

There was never a peaceful day to be had in the family back then. If his mother wasn’t furious with his above-average elementary school grades (“What? You can’t get an A?”), his father was busy wheedling him to learn martial arts (“Stop hiding in your room all day!”). He was supposed to be grateful for life, shelter, food, and education, according to his mother, and he supposed he was. Despite everything he considered wrong about his parents, he supposed he was.

Then Amelia was born in his first year of middle school, a byproduct of careless, drunken sex and a badly worn condom nine months prior. His father couldn’t handle the strain of raising another child and his mother refused to consider abortion. The divorce was bitter, sudden, and left in its wake the shreds of a barely happy family.

Nathaniel took care of Amelia in place of his mother, who pretended buying diapers and petting her daughter’s head was sufficient care for an infant. Amelia grew up dependent on her brother, who took strange pleasure in her reliance on him. He always held her whenever he was free, always rubbed her cheeks and kissed her forehead with the utmost tenderness. He was a loving brother.

When she was seven years old, he loved her a little more, kissing her chubby legs and nuzzling her thighs with his cheeks. When she giggled and said it tickled, he nibbled on her skin. When she squealed with laughter and the flesh of her thighs trembled against his lips, the warmth of her legs and the blood rushing to his head forced a gulp of air into his lungs. Before he could resist, he teeth had found hold on little Amelia’s inner thigh.

His mother heard the screaming, saw the blood. For the first time since Amelia was born, she behaved like a mother. She sent her son to a juvenile detention center under charges of physical assault.

Nathaniel’s case was deemed severe enough to warrant a two-year stay in secure confinement. When he was finally released at the age of 18, neither his mother nor Amelia welcomed him home.

He took to the streets to survive. It was during this time period that he met Sloth.

Abilities:

Nathaniel is a good butcher. Quick with knives and firm with shears, he has taken a twisted liking to torture and vivisection. Having trained his hands on a multitude of whores, he knows where to cut for a delicious scream, what tendon to sever to mitigate movement, and how to seduce to procure easy prey. Through it all, he holds onto any particularly enticing thighs until decomposition sets in, after which he disposes of them in bits and pieces to starving stray animals.
While he has some basic knowledge of firearms, he’s much more adept with sharp edges.

Power:

After the black miasma engulfed them, Nathaniel awoke to a world that looked drawn in smudged charcoal. His world was nothing but black, gray, and white, with varying shades in-between. It was after a few moments of reorienting that he realized the only colors left to him were the varying shades of blood—the dark red of deoxygenated blood, the bright red of freshly oxygenated blood.

The vivid red permeated the charcoal-gray of human flesh and the soot-black of walls and partitions. He could see the glowing red map of arteries, arterioles, and capillaries in a human body up to the far-point focus of his eyes, as if he was an x-ray that pierced everything but blood.

It was after touching his own injuries from the fight that he realized the irony of his abilities. He could heal what he directly touched so long as the heart was beating. The larger the wound, the longer it took for the veins and arteries to heal, muscles to reattach, and flesh to knit back together. His attempts to test on the dead yielded no results. In his vision, blood from a dead heart ran black as tar. Those hearts still beating glowed brighter than traffic lights. The fervor of human life set against the backdrop of a gray-washed world cut him to the quick. He couldn’t even make out their faces anymore.

All he could see was the pulsating of their blood. He couldn’t even enjoy the sensations of caressing a thigh. All he could hear as he pressed his face against grayscaled flesh was the accusing red of blood. All he could comprehend was the panic inside his own mind. What did he have left if not that broken euphoria of the dying and the wounded?

This was a punishment.

Yet, somewhere in his heart, he thought he felt relief.

How you joined the sinners:

Nathaniel’s stay in a juvenile correctional facility for two years had changed him, only for the worse. If he had any morals before, however skewed, they were nonexistent now. He had learned to play by the rules of the facility only to get back into the outside world, where he hid himself for four years amongst the small-time gangs roaming New York City. During this time, his fetish had taken a horrific turn. Starved for endorphins and the physical sensation of freely caressing flesh during his two years of confinement, his first opportunity to make up for lost time started with a few prostitutes and ended with dismemberment.

He found he quite liked cutting their thighs off. Legs were easier to enjoy without the pesky person attached to it. With the consternation he had caused in the prostitution rings with his atrocities, however, Nathaniel was not safe from repercussions. In an expected progression of events, a gang purported to control one of the strip clubs whose members he had amputated found him and cornered him. His small-time gang offered no resistance and left him to die. It was Sloth who saved him, though he didn’t bother asking her why. Her thighs, after all, were not his cup of tea. When she offered him a position in her gang, he figured she just wanted a butcher to clean up her messes. As long as he got to keep the body parts he wanted, he considered it a win-win situation.

Personal Arc:

13-year-old Amelia Wilmer has been going to therapy ever since the incident that sent her brother to juvie. Traumatized by her brother, but still unable to hate him, she still sees him in her nightmares and is only just beginning to put the past behind her. Nathaniel hasn’t forgotten about his dear little sister, though. During one of Sloth’s dead periods, he attempts to reach out to Amelia again, but she fervently rejects him. Too scared to call the police and too scared to speak to her brother, Amelia stops going to school for a week, hoping Nathaniel will disappear. He isn’t so easily deterred, however, and one last conversation between the two of them promises closure for the mixed feelings she has for her brother.

Name: Sam Kennedy

Title: Pride

Age: 19

Gender: Male

Appearance: Sam is a handsome man with at least some Asian heritage in his blood. His ebony hair is kept short and neat. His eyes are a bright emerald green colour, and are often seen wandering as he analyses his surroundings. Sam stands at six foot four inches in height, and his body is filled out with lean, powerful muscles: perfect for a brawler and perfect for Sam.

Personality: Sam is a man who takes pride in himself and in everything he does. He remains a cool and collected perfectionist: undertaking even the smallest task with the utmost effort. Because of this perfectionist attitude, Sam can come across as very intense; especially to other people in the Sinner’s gang not of his status. He takes a great amount of pleasure in any and all adoration that he receives from people, and as such, he often seeks to ‘subjugate’ people into revering him. Before he joined the sinners, he had a small gang of his own that revered the man with a frightening reverence.

Sam seems apt at attracting trouble: as he has a very loose mouth and isn’t afraid to call someone a dickhead, should they act like a dickhead. This blunt honesty generally has two effects on people: as it either garners respect for the man or encourages a certain loathing. Sam prides himself on being dependable, and as such he refuses to let people see him at his worst and will often take on ridiculous tasks for the few people he respects.

The other key factor of the intense Sam Kennedy is his fervent pursuit of new thrills. He is an adrenaline junky in his free time and won’t hesitate to jump head-first into danger: should it seem ‘fun’

In short, Sam is an intense, dependable man whose mysterious charisma and blunt attitude makes him likable, while his adrenaline-seeking stubborn-ness can make him lovable or loath-able in equal measures.

Abilities: Sam is, in his own words, not that clever. His wit is above average, as is his intelligence, but Sam’s true talent is his knack for learning. Sam has a near-perfect eidetic memory and internalises information very quickly. This led to a lot of useful talents being picked up very quickly: namely four martial arts, the ability to hotwire a car in fewer than seven seconds and, his personal favourite, the ability to tie a cherry stem with his tongue.

Powers:
[Perfection] – The host of Pride does not hinder to such pitiful forces as injury or even death.
Sam’s most important gift is his ability to heal. It sounds mundane, but in reality, the host of pride appears to be immortal. Every injury is healed in a matter of moments, with any wound seeping a black miasma that only seals when the injury is fully healed and Sam is fully recovered. So far, Sam has tested a number of injuries: broken fingers, dismemberment, burning, drowning and a bullet in the head have all been healed by the black miasma. Interestingly, Sam seems hungrier after major recovery: and the sense of hunger and thirst are not maintained by this ability.
[Perfection imparted]-Pride demands the finest from himself and the finest from his followers for it is a matter of pride
A lesser sub-ability of Perfection, Pride is able to imbue a slight amount of his powers onto others with the passing of bodily fluids. The most convenient measure is through the application of saliva or blood, and the ability has greatly diminished results. The greatest injury that has been healed through this sub-ability is a broken rib, and that was through a small blood transfusion. The ability only seems to work if the bodily fluids are direct from the source. Bottled blood has proven ineffective.

How you joined the sinners: Sam was born as the umpteenth son of a boring and poor family, who had succeeded a long line of boring, poor families before him. He didn’t have anything to his name except his name and he resented that. He demanded more from his life than a time spent wallowing in the filth of an underclass or demeaning himself as some low-class peasant. He strove for perfection in everything he did and demanded nothing but his personal best on all occasions. He didn’t get a chance to shine until it came to going to school though, where he trounced all expectations by his ruthless pursuit of knowledge and power.

He crushed the school’s preconceptions, ultimately succeeding in everything he pursued: academics, martial arts and any other opportunity the school offered were subjugated by the skills of Sam and he gave his family hope for a child that might breathe life into the family name. Instead, he left home at sixteen and had his name legally changed to Kennedy: after the successful Kennedy family.

Alone and without funds, Sam found himself doing odd jobs for money. The work was demeaning and he became heavily frustrated by it all. Life was becoming as mundane for him as his family before, and suddenly he was alone in a world that would swallow him whole. The youth came close to despair

…Until his first mugging.

Sam was on the receiving end of a mugger’s attack, and Sam used his martial arts to dislocated the thugs shoulder and broke two ribs. During the scrap, the mugger’s knife scraped Sam’s knuckle, and he was left bleeding and in pain and, for the first time in a long time, pumping full of adrenaline and excitement.

Something awoke in Sam: A carnal desire for danger and pleasure and thrills unnatural. Instead of having the thug arrested, he took the man home and re-set his attacker’s shoulder. Instead of enacting some vengeance on the thug, Sam thanked him.

Sam struck up a friendship with the street-kid: who went by the nickname of ‘Little C.’ Little C showed Sam the underworld and started to hook Sam up with little jobs here and there: small time gang jobs and basic enforcer work and eventually, Little C introduced Sam to the underground fight-clubs.

The fight clubs were everything Sam dreamed of: A place to fulfil his dangerous addiction to adrenaline while not being persecuted for his ruthlessly efficiency. He thrived in the den of fighters and made a name for himself as a vicious and cunning fighter.

At the age of eighteen, it seemed that Sam had attracted a number of offers from various gangs to become a member. They used various titles: Enforcer, lieutenant, bodyguard and various other titles. All of them were boring to Sam. They all required subservice to a lesser man or woman.

That was until he got an offer from Sloth, in an arcade no less.

Sam had taken to arcades as a new distraction between scraps. They offered something he couldn’t so easily master and that challenge was enough to interest him. He was especially fond of fighter games and was considered a champion amongst the kids. That was until Sloth came along and offered to pay for a few games of his time.

The pair talked for a while, and eventually Sloth offered him a job in her own fledgling gang. Not as an enforcer or a lieutenant or a wingman or anything as boring as that: but as a sin. The position was something worth fighting for and worth keeping.

…An offer worth being proud of.

Personal Arc: Sam’s one true friend, Little C, always had a penchant for getting himself into trouble. No matter what he did, he always seemed to find a way to get his nose in the deepest pile of dog shit he could find and only through some divine providence did he ever escape with anything more than a few broken ribs. Little C would not struggle to get into trouble with all sorts of forces: rival gang members, the police, the sinners themselves or perhaps even with other infected.