[CHAR] 𝙳𝚒𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝙻𝚘𝚜𝚝

[Poet]

𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚎𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚛𝚘𝚗𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚗𝚘𝚗-𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜.

NON-PLAYER CHARACTERS

_{J O E T O L E D A N O}

𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙾𝙰𝚃𝙷 — 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚜𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚑. 𝙰 𝚕𝚘𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚝. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕-𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚎𝚌𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚖𝚞𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚊 𝚐𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙹𝚘𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚕. 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚊𝚝, 𝚊 𝚝𝚑𝚞𝚐 𝚋𝚢 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚙 𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚎𝚕𝚜𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢. 𝙷𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚢, 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚏 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚛. 𝙸𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚍𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚗𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚟𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎. 𝙸𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚙𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚋𝚊𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚞𝚗.

• 𝙷𝚄𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙳 — 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚊𝚝𝚑. 𝙷𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚍 𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚐𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚐𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚙𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖. 𝙼𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚟𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚔𝚜, 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚍.
• 𝚁𝚄𝚃𝙷𝙻𝙴𝚂𝚂 — 𝚈𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚋𝚜 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚌𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 𝚟𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚜, 𝚋𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚎𝚘𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚊𝚙𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚕𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚕𝚎𝚏𝚝 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚘𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚌𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚙𝚒𝚝𝚢. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎, 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎, 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚍𝚘. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚋𝚒𝚍𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗, 𝚊 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚋𝚢. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚋𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚗.
• 𝙳𝙴𝙰𝚃𝙷 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝙷 — 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑. 𝙷𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚞𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚒𝚜 𝙷𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚎. 𝙾𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎, 𝚒𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚖 𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚎. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚙𝚞𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎.
• 𝙿𝙰𝚁𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙸𝙰 — 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚔𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚒𝚜 𝚊 𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕. 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚞𝚗𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚢 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚌𝚔𝚜 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚝𝚜, 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎. 𝙷𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚊 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚑𝚒𝚝𝚖𝚊𝚗. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚛𝚞𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕. 𝙽𝚎𝚠 𝚈𝚘𝚛𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚕’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚑, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎.

• 𝚆𝙰𝚁𝙼𝙰𝙲𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙴 — 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚎. 𝙷𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚋𝚘𝚡𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙼𝚞𝚊𝚢 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚒. 𝙷𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚜𝚘 𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚠𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚊𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚕 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚊𝚢𝚜. 𝚆𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜, 𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚖𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚘𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚌𝚑 𝚐𝚞𝚗. 𝙱𝚞𝚝 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚋𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚊𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚜.
• 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂 — 𝙱𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚕𝚍, 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎. 𝙹𝚘𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚏𝚎𝚠 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝙽𝚈𝙲 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚢, 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚢𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚞𝚙 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚌𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚜, 𝚕𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚜, 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐𝚜, 𝚠𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛. 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎, 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗 𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚞𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏, 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚞𝚜𝚞𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚕.

---

_{Dr. B E N J A M I N M c C O Y}

CRIMINAL — It was many years ago. It was at the beginning of his practice at a hospital. He had only recently been moved to the psychiatric ward, part time. His first case was a young girl, who suffered from a unique case of autism. He was working late one night, conversing with his patient and making progress with her social anxiety. The girl had grown to trust him almost as much as she trusted her own parents. The next morning Benjamin resigned from the hospital. No reason was given and most of the staff were baffled. His last patient, the girl, never spoke a single word after that night. She became catatonic. The following doctor had to keep her sedated every night, so that the girl would not wake up screaming due to nightmares about that last night with Dr. Benjamin McCoy.

• DEPRESSION — The good doctor has been fighting against depression since the late 1980s. He would like to blame himself and his choices in life, but all the horrible things he has to hear on a daily basis certainly play their part. Benjamin has a tendency to see only the bad side of any situation, even if he is supposed to help others with the positive. Because of all this, the doctor prescribes himself a whole slew of pills, which he chucks down his throat every morning.
• DRUG ADDICT — Benjamin is addicted to the anti-depressants that he ensures himself through his profession as a medical doctor and psychiatrist. His wife and children suspect that he is up to something, but they cannot put their finger on it. The old man is adept at covering his tracks and acting as if being sober. Lately, however, he has been dipping into far more dangerous substances, as he has developed a solid resistance towards the usual suspects.

• ALTRUIST — Despite his shortcomings, the doctor possesses true unselfishness. It is a rare virtue in this decadent city they call New York. Benjamin has no limit as to how many patients he will take under his wings, even if it means that he has to sleep at the office. One could even argue that his drug addiction is for the sake of keeping up with all of his patients. Or perhaps he feels guilt because of the young girl, his first patient and what he did to her. Either way, he is doing an outstanding service.

ENVIRONMENT

𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝙳𝚛. 𝙱𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚌𝙲𝚘𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝟻𝚝𝚑 𝙰𝚟𝚎. 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙴 𝟾𝚝𝚑 𝚂𝚝, 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚝𝚘𝚗 𝚂𝚚𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔.

[TrippyNightmare]

Wish this came back.

[Ashgan]

Hider

_{T R I S H A H A Y E S}

What drives a man who has sworn to protect the law and its people?

Is it the earnest desire to promote justice and order?

Is it the thrill of authority and control over others?

Or is it the base desire to inflict judgment and violence without reprisal?

Ask enough cops and you will hear all of these if they are honest. They are human reasons, reflective of human nature – their desire for safety. Safety in the illusion of order. Safety in the domination of others. Safety in raw power over the fellow man.

But sometimes, a man sees things so terrible that they stop believing in the concept of safety and must embrace other, more desperate reasons to continue their futile existence – or, finally, embrace the sweet nothingness that desires to consume us all.

Trisha’s reason to go on is guilt for the crimes of another. Ten years have passed since she saw the painfully distorted face of the Violator’s first victim. Ten years in which she has risen from the ranks of an ordinary brass to that of a highly ranked detective – and fallen through her eventual discharge for insubordination. Ten years in which the Violator has left over fifty victims dead in his wake. Trisha has seen them all; and sees them still in her dreams.

A world that harbors such a monster cannot be a safe haven to anyone. Nor can justice find clemency in such a place. Yet, what alternative do we have? Shall we submit and do nothing? Watch on as vile things despoil and murder us as they please?

No. Even if the entire world is telling her to turn back, she would never surrender. The obsession has already consumed her; burned all of her bridges. The Violator has ruined her career, her marriage and, ultimately, her life. The only thing left in her life is he.

In my dreams I see him pile them up. One small body on another, victim after victim, as he builds himself a carrion stairway. For up above, cradled by shivering stars, looms a great and blood-soaked moon whereupon a vacant throne has been waiting for a claimant since the world was young.

And the next coronation is nigh.

---

As a result of not having a stable job anymore and essentially living off of her savings, Trisha cannot afford (or wants to afford) her own living space. Instead, as luck would have it, she’s been able to convince an old friend of hers, who happened to live in the city, to let her stay in her flat from time to time. Trisha is hardly a bother; she only comes in to take a shower every so often and maybe to crash on the couch. She keeps her clothing in a small, easily storable bag. Often she is gone for days on end, catching a few Z’s in a café or a motel if needed.

Her possessions are few and humble; other than a small selection of clothing articles and a cell phone, she has a motorcycle and, not quite legally, a 9mm handgun tucked inside of her leather coat.

As for the group therapy: in truth, she does not want to go and thinks of it both as a waste of time and an obstacle to her mission. The only reason she will go is because her friend, Abigail, has thoroughly insisted she do so because it was tearing her apart to see Trisha sabotaging her own physical and emotional health the way she does. In this way, she is only really going to do Abigail a favor.

---

• Nemesis
  In her game of cat and mouse with the Violator, it is difficult to establish who is the hunter and who the hunted. As a mere human, she is ill equipped to deal with someone who is awakened, or close to being. And he, in turn, has begun to notice her. He could kill her easily, but he has more ambitious and amusing plans for her…
• Discharged
  The investigation surrounding the Violator consumed untold amounts of manpower and resources without bringing up anything. The case was put on ice years ago but, in spite of this, Trisha has never stopped following the trails, no matter how hot or cold they were. Because of her inability to move on and comply with the wishes of her superiors, she’s been removed from the force.
• Sleepless
  A mix of insomnia and an unhealthy work ethic leave her with precious few hours of sleep. She is constantly in a state of fatigue and often finds herself falling asleep for minutes or hours in quiet moments. Essentially being homeless does not aid her in finding a good night’s rest either.
• Addiction (Caffeine tablets)
  To combat her crippling fatigue, rather than finding the time to sleep, she has come to rely on caffeine tablets to combat drowsiness. While being perfectly legal and affordable, the extent of her consumption strongly exceeds the recommended parameters.
• Paranoid
  Over the years, her fruitless pursuit has made her so suspicious of others that she has practically become paranoid. Believing that the media and the government are somehow colluding to protect the Violator, her trust is given rarely and in limited quantities. In her dreary grey eyes, everybody is a suspect and every face simply a mask behind which the Violator could hide.
• Failed Family
  Her obsession did not only ruin her career but her family life as well. Having found herself unable to spend any meaningful length of time with her son and husband, he finally filed for a divorce after many arguments. She did not contest his decision and the affair was settled surprisingly quickly, as far as these things go. She regrets this and often thinks about them, but also believes that by distancing herself from them she is affording them greater safety from her quarry. Besides, she reminds herself, she spends far more time thinking about the Violator than she had ever spent thinking about her husband – but does not draw any conclusions from this.

---

• Old Favors
  Although she’s been dishonorably discharged from service, she still has old friends in the force – and even more people who owe her a favor. In time she may come to rely on the support of those she has helped in the past.
• Skilled Investigator
  She’s had relentless practice in her abilities to search for and identify clues and evidence, interrogate witnesses and suspects and create criminal profiles. If her quarry were human, she would corner and bag him in a few weeks. It’s unfortunate, then, that her target has shed all humanity long ago.
• Hundred Yard Stare
  In the course of her ongoing investigation and hunt, she has seen some truly disturbing and despicable things. Scenes of violence, the sight of blood, pain and corpses, are all things that do not easily upset her. It would take something remarkably horrifying – or supernatural – to frighten her.

---

• Fortitude: 2
• Willpower: 8
• Passion: 2
• Perception: 7
• Violence: 4
• Soul: 2

[Trivval]

Hider

_{J O H N " H E R B " D O R M A N – S M I T H I I I}

John Dorman-Smith the Third is a product of a bygone age. Born in the early stages of the Cold War, “Herb” (for this middle name, Herbert) jokes that he can no longer remember his actual age, though he claims he was raised in the turmoil of the Malay Emergency putting him well into his sixties. Though the Empire was slowly divesting its overseas holdings, life was still easy for the former gentry. With government transitions across most of the known world as major powers slowly decolonised, the Dorman-Smith’s had to diversify.

As a child John found himself travelling the world, being groomed to be the next patriarch of the family and to take on the reigns of a multi-generational empire of their own. Middle-East, Africa, South-East Asia, the Orient and the Sub-Continent; as a young lad he travelled across most of the earth. But, somewhere he went astray. Oxford didn’t appeal to him, to just be another rich boy living off his family’s wealth. Herb wanted to strike out and make his own riches and being constantly so close to conflict gave him many paths to wealth of his own.

Herb put a lot of money into capital venture, coming to be a well-known figure to the attorneys in the Southern District of New York. Though no charges could be specifically laid, Dorman-Smith became a name spoken in the same tone as Stephen Cohen and Rajat Gupta. Thus far he’s been able to fly just far enough under the radar to coast to retirement.

Unfortunately a man like that needs constant action in his life, and no longer trading with such intense stakes leads a man to find himself lost.



Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos, Burma, Malaysia, Rhodesia, South Africa. Tractors, Fertiliser, Weapons, Drugs, Women, Children. As profit margins increased, morals and ethics went out the window. Anything that could make money, would make money. For decades his private shipments slipped under various subsidiaries under the governorship of the Dorman-Smiths and profits hidden under massive Wall Street investments.

• Crippled – Herb has a prosthetic right arm from the shoulder down. He says he lost it fleeing Persia during the Revolution, though in reality it was almost a decade later during an unfortunate business meeting.
• Old – John Dorman-Smith is approaching his latter years. He’s not as spry as he used to be and everything is an effort. Accordingly, there’s a veritable cocktail of drugs to keep things running at a hundred percent and to try and reverse over half a century of abuse.
• Near-blind – unfortunately Herb’s eyes haven’t held out nearly as well as the rest of his body… and his body hasn’t been held together spectacularly well.
• Suspicion – there’s always been an assumed dirty air around Dorman-Smith, though of course he’d say that he hasn’t done anything that everyone else on Wall Street does. Admittedly, probably not many others in the heart of the worlds financial sector trafficked children from rural India to hotels frequented by the rich and powerful… but that’s not something the Securities and Exchange Commission would typically be concerned about.
• Vultures – Family circles the aging financial goliath, waiting for his bloated carcass to surface. Unfortunately some look for a more… proactive inheritance.
• Ghosts of the past – Herb is haunted by ghosts of the people he sold into slavery and the lives he extinguished, directly or indirectly. Voices haunt dreams, skittering and yammering, and he finds himself involuntarily scratching or harming himself in times of stillness, as though someone tries to take control of him.

• Fuck-You Rich – John Dorman-Smith is a name that is known and carries the weight and colour of gold (or green, depending on how you prefer your currency).
• Prophetic Vision – where his eyes have slowly failed him, fleeting visions of the future have replaced them.
• Well Read – Herb has spent a lifetime to scour the globe for treasured books – first edition copies fill his libraries. Among his troves are scrolls, stone tablets and tapestries which describe the demons that haunt the corners of his vision and whisper in his ears.

• Fortitude: 5
• Willpower: 3
• Passion: 6
• Perception: 1
• Violence: 3
• Soul: 7

[Bishop]

Moriarty Dreymund

_{M O R I A R T Y D R E Y M U N D}

It all started in one of his trips to Africa, where he went as an investigative journalist to interview a tribe that was rumored to hold sacrificial rituals and other voodoo crap. He didn't believe in any of that, of course, but the audience that the magazine/youtube news channel he was working for catered to loved it. He volunteered to undertake the trip, the only one in his whole department. Bunch of lazy bastards, they just didn't want to deal with the mosquito bites or traverse the flora. That, however, was negligible for him as the money more than made up for some small discomforts. To be honest, all he was expecting were the usual human sacrifices, blood drinking, child killings and maybe some cannibalism, all things that have been documented before and that are still happening in that part of Africa. He got way more than he bargained for...

Let's just say that their guide bailed on them halfway, his film crew perished, the whole tribe was slaughtered, he blacked out for 10 days and eventually found himself back where he left from, before taking the plane...naked. The police and ambulance caught up with him, after patching him up he was sent to a psychiatrist for a psychological assessment and... he was in perfect mental condition. Until he blacked out again, this time for 13 days and when he got to it he was locked in a white room being served food and water along with pills on the side, on top of a tray that slid through the bottom of a locked door.

The blackouts have been happening constantly since that day and every time he regained conscience he tried to explain to anyone who would listen that he didn't do those things "they claimed" and that he had no recollection of them. He was locked for 7 years total until the blackouts stopped around 5 years in. He behaved in an exemplary manner for 2 years and even contacted his lawyer for further assistance to convince the administrators to let him go. Now out and about he is still compelled to visit a therapist 3 times a week until the specified time mentioned in the order is reached and the therapist deems him of sound mind.



"I was possessed" holds no value in a court and even the most devout of Christians or fanatics of other religions will say "you are long past the chance of redemption" while looking at him with disgust for the things he has committed, and that is if they actually believe he was possessed. That tribe, his crewman, animals, other people, he killed a lot of them and in a brutal and painful fashion. The only reason that he is free right now and not sentenced to death is the claim that he was attacked and all these "blackouts" that are proceeded by violent outbursts have root to that gruesome massacre that left him scarred for life.

• Blackouts - He never knows when they might reemerge to ruin his life again..
• Alienated - His wife has left him for another with full custody of their 10 year old daughter, all his friends have abandoned him, utterly forgotten. At most he might be mentioned in a conversation during a drunk night out by one of his ex-friends.
• Weak Willed - Things...creatures from beyond the veil have sensed his weak spirit and mind and clutter around him before they stop just short of reaching him, like they see something else before scuttering off and away.
• Haunted - Some though, some decide to stick around, watch his every move, waiting and looking for an opportunity to take control. He can see moving black shapeless figures just at the edge of his vision.
• Loss of control - Besides the blackouts, he often experiences his body doing motions without his knowledge. Not going against his will per say but more like moving some body part or muscle group that he isn't focusing on or paying attention at the moment.
• Spiritually Attuned - When he closes his eyes he can feel a presence, if he is lucky, moving about, circling him. He never feels safe, like constantly having a loaded gun pointed at the back of your head which always stays at your back even when you turn around to look.
• Emotionally deficient - With all the things that have happened during these last 7 years, the toll that the stress took on his mind, he has grown apathetic. Could be seen as a defense mechanism, a way for the mind to cope with what was happening. He lacks the natural reaction that a normal person would have in their daily life or in different scenarios. If he isn't constantly trying to emulate them everyone can tell that he is missing something.
• Pretend it's all fine - With all the other issues he has, he needs to put up a front every time he visits his therapist. And it's not like he is visiting some friend or ordinary person, they are licensed in read the mood and body language. He uses an illegal prescription to calm his nerves and dull his senses.

• Evil Within - Something is inside him, maybe the classical spooky ghost, maybe it is him but a split personality or maybe something much more powerful and evil...I'm certain it's the spooky ghost...Whatever it is, it has kept other supernatural creatures at bay, even that constant lurker at the edge of his vision doesn't dive in. It also affects other outside supernatural forces that attack his mind and spirit to a certain extent.
• Quick Reflexes - You see that sniper far away? He can react to it and possibly dodge or sidestep the bullet much faster than a normal person.
• Life Trained Actor - For years now he has learned how to act his part, the part of a normal person going about their daily life. All those emotions, facial expressions and body language need to be emulated on his part. He has to pay attention to every move of his body in order to mimic an action or response adequately.
• Fear the Pain Away - If you were running from a pack of 2 meters tall rabid wolves with red eyes, midnight black fur and blood dripping from their fangs, and in order to escape you'd have to run barefooted across a pathway, littered with burning coal and broken glass, that stretch for meters on end in front of yo-...wait, when did it get behind you?

• Fortitude: 2
• Willpower: 1
• Passion: 0
• Perception: 10
• Violence: 2
• Soul: 10

[DJAtomika]

The Journalist

_{D A V I D S A W Y E R}

"I've seen things."

"Things that you wouldn't believe. Things that no one would ever believe. But the stories are true. Journalism is all about reporting the truth, no matter how fucked up it is."

A weary sigh. The drag of a cigarette and a long, slow exhale.

"When you've been behind the lens of a camera as long as I have, covered the stories I've written, you'll start seeing things too. Weird things. Horrible things. Man twisted into the very essence of evil. Places and things turned on their heads, the very environment turned into a grotesque display of the very savage core of evil."

The soft tap of a cigarette on the rim of an ash tray, the falling ashes gathering in a pile underneath the smoldering tip.

"And...sometimes you find things that keep you awake at night. The stories that linger long after they've been buried by the press. The ones that had...unusual circumstances."

Another drag on the cigarette and the soft crumpling of paper as it was ground into the ash tray.

"You want to hear a story? I'll tell you a story. I was overseas, in Africa, covering a story about piracy. Mogadishu, Somalia. I was alone but I had locals who'd been paid very, very generously to bring me around town to show me the good side of the city that was rebuilding after a disastrous civil war. It was just me, my camera and about a week's worth of time to document how well the city was doing. And it was doing pretty well, all said and done. Up until, one day before the flight back, our convoy was touring the outskirts of the city when it got hit by an extremist group ambush. I had to defend myself in all the chaos and... I had to kill a child. A ten year old with an assault rifle leveled straight at me. I had no choice. With all the chaos, he was right in front of me and my life was in danger. I... I grabbed a rock and smacked him in the head with it as hard as I could. He dropped right to the floor and, in a haze of defensive anger, I got up and bashed his head in. His skull popped like a watermelon, blood poured out all over the dirt."

"I... I've told no one except you this. By the time the dust settled, no one realised what had happened. It was assumed that an explosion knocked a piece of debris into his head that killed him. I flew back to the States with blood on my hands. A secret I've not told anyone until today."

---

"I've been an investigative journalist and part-time photographer for well over thirty years. Covered my fair share of everything, from the mundane to the extreme. Everything from the state spelling bee championships to the most gruesome murders. I've taken assignments from my bosses to go overseas, covering wars, famines, police in Africa fighting back against poachers, the culture of the Yakuza in Japan... I've taken millions of pictures, written thousands of words, published articles about how shit our world is for a variety of news agencies, licensed and independent. My camera has been my best friend through all this, capturing what my eyes see and the emotions I've felt over the many years I've worked at this job."

"Lately, however, the recent case that I told you about that...impacted my life? I left my job because of it. Done a fair bit of soul-searching, trying to get over it. Nothing helped, not until I told myself I needed help. Went to see a local shrink, who told me that the years I spent on the job had given me a major form of PTSD, and that the story I'd just returned from was the biggest tipping point. My personality was acting in defense of all these negative emotions, walling off all feeling and making me numb. Emotionless. A blank. The only triggers were the things I'd seen and witnessed during my stories. The blood, the gore, the noise. It all puts me on edge. When I get nervous and paranoid, the feeling doesn't go away. I get afraid of things. Opening doors, checking the mail, even eating. Sometimes it lasts for a few minutes, other times it goes on for days. I can't stand it."

"I guess...that's why I was referred to this new shrink. My old one recommended me to this one, even wrote a referral letter. Said that there was not much he could do now that my...state of mental health was deteriorating. First session for this new shrink is some sort of...group therapy session, like Alcoholics Anonymous."

"I...one of the things that my old shrink told me to do was to keep a diary. Written or otherwise. This is my diary. One, single voice recorder. This is my first entry. My name is David Sawyer. I'm an investigative journalist. And I'm going crazy. Kinda. I guess."

---

• Post Traumatic Stress Disorder - "Loud noises startle me, triggers the stress and breakdowns. Stuff like exhaust backfires, firecrackers, even doors slamming. It puts me in a state of general unease and paranoia."
• Nightmares - "Not a night goes by when I don't dream about what I did and what I've seen. It haunts my being, exhausts me, tires me out, waiting until I make a decision to end it all."
• Paranoia - "It comes after I get startled by any really loud noises. I get paranoid about doing things like eating, drinking, even sleeping, for fear of something untoward happening to me."
• Shellshock - "I've spent the last three decades and then some covering some of the most gruesome news stories I've ever seen. At this point, for all the blood and guts I've seen, I'm numb to it. And I'm not sure if that's a blessing or a curse, because I don't even feel for things any more. I...I've lost control of my feelings."
• Smoker - "Yeah, the stress I've felt is only alleviated by my cigarettes. Before I started, I didn't even smoke. Now I'm up to almost a pack a day. Doesn't help my lung capacity."

---

• Perceptive - "Thirty years behind a lens has honed my eye to a very good degree, I have to admit."
• Tough - "And those thirty years gave me an edge against others. I have more stamina than most people my age; run farther, walk faster, stuff like that."
• Well-Traveled - "Show me a picture of a place and I can probably identify it if I give it enough thought."

---

• Fortitude: 4
• Willpower: 2
• Passion: 4
• Perception: 8
• Violence: 5
• Soul: 2