DinoNuts

Cardinal Rift

Victor Moltke

ℂardinal ℝift

---

---

ℙersonal 𝕀nformation

Name: Victor Moltke
House: Balaur
Age: 52
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Appearance: Height, build, any notable features. Pictures are encouraged!

---

𝕊o 𝕆n & 𝕊o 𝔽orth

Reputation: A Black Knight of the Steppes, loyal to his lord and country. He's an educated nobleman who holds both magic and technology in high regard.
Alignment: Leaning slightly towards technologist, but primarily neutral due to his upbringing.
Skills: Victor excels at analysis and assessing his adversaries’ strengths and weaknesses, utilising his knowledge and experience to exploit those weaknesses. Victor approaches his problems with aggressiveness, prefering to always take the initiative and remain on the offense. In terms of notable education, he has been taught to hone his magic in Teglo and went on a three year research journey into Kothlin. He has been learning swordsmanship since he was ten years old and can ride a horse.
Backstory: The Moltke family is elaborate and slightly eccentric, given that most of the Balaur nobility tend to err towards religion. Whilst still respecting the holy scriptures, the Moltke family holds knowledge as just as important and often produces scholarly field agents that go abroad for research. Victor was not to be denied his birthright.

He was homeschooled by tutors until he was ten, and began combat training on top of his studies from then on. His gate was a generalised skillset but a versatile tool and, whilst shoddy during his youth, he was promptly transported to Teglo at seventeen for several years of magical training. When he returned at the age of twenty three, his swordsmanship was his primary focus. He was titled as a Black Knight at thirty.

One of Victor's first adventures was to the northern snows of Kothlin, where he delighted in the technological advances of the civilisation and did plenty of studies of his own. During this trip, he made sure to keep his blades sharp by joining in various duelling clubs which gave him a lead into the higher echelons of Kothlin society. He spent three years there, studying and learning from their libraries, before returning to his home country.

Once in Balaur, Victor released a statement. During his tour of the country he will be looking for a suitable companion, one sturdy protégé who was unafraid of rough conditions and hard work. The offers came pouring in, and he had to make several loops around the plains to review his choices, but ultimately a young farmgirl caught his attention. Her fire gate gave them common ground, and she had a keen look in her eye that showed promise. It would be a hefty investment - he had to pay simply for the pleasure of having her - but her noble blood and wary demeanor stood out to him more than the clamouring masses that shouted empty promises and false claims.

Miscellaneous:

---

𝕄agic

Gate: Fire
Flow: High
Favour: Low
Field: 35m radius maximum

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

Brooks

Brooks Lockwood

Basics

Name: Brooks Lockwood
Age: 54
Gender: Male
Height/Weight: 1 meter 80 cm, 102kg
(Former) Occupation: Bootlegger
Appearance: Brooks has built up muscle from constant labour, but it's padded with a significant amount of fat as well. Despite his imposing figure he tends to hunch a little to make himself seem smaller than he actually is. His hair is fully grey, long and unkempt; his body is littered with various scars, some of them more recent than others. He has age lines on his face and a full beard which is poorly groomed. He has the same hard, greenish eyes as his niece. His clothes aren't anything too specific; he tends to wear simple dark outfits, and errs towards outdoor wear. Sometimes he'll be carrying a backpack.

---

Biography

Brooks was the older sibling, but he wasn’t the favourite. That reward went to his little sister, and was well-deserved; Louise (or Loulou, in his childhood days) was bright, charming and pretty whilst he still had trouble talking to hia friends. Even though he grew up in her shadow, he was just as ready to dote on her as everyone else. He was doing okay in classes, kept going to soccer practice but wasn’t the best nor the worst player in the team; his childhood was punctuated with the adventures he took by the old quarry with his friends and Louise in tow. They used to make pillow forts during the evenings and watch VHS tapes of their favourite films. His parents were Catholic republicans and he had a nice house with a huge back yard. Things were simple and happy.

It all started to go a bit awry when Brooks reached middle school. Even as a kid he was content when left to his own devices and he missed out on making friends, which pushed him deeper into his own introversion. Meanwhile Louise was starting to get a different sort of attention and the friction started to build up in her own teenage rebellion against their parents. Brooks was often made to pick sides and, fearing the belt buckle, tended to openly support his parents whilst sneaking snacks to his sister’s room after the arguments. They drifted apart as each made their own friend groups and had studies to attend to, but still confided in one another. In particular, Brooks was at a loss on what he wanted to do once he graduated high school. With no clear passion shining through, he was instead gripped by his parents’ glorification of the Vietnam War during his youth and started to edge towards the draft, as it would at least give him some time to figure out what he wanted to do in college.

By this point Louise had only doubled down in her resistance against her parents’ old-fashioned ideologies. She had gotten into the anti-war movement pushed on by the atrocities of the Vietnam war (atrocities which her parents refused to acknowledge), and eventually her party lifestyle started to dip into drugs. Brooks was decidedly anti-confrontational - he had it beaten into him from an early age - and seeing the dysfunction in his home was beginning to alienate him from his family and push him even more into his bubble. When he did eventually admit he wanted to join the army, his parents gushed over him. The sudden swell of attention and pride was intoxicating at first, but his spirits were dampened when Louise turned her back on him with disgust. He wanted to explain that he was just doing it to buy himself some time, but he never knew how to put it into words. They grew apart. Unwillingly, Brooks became the favourite child.

Brooks turned 21 at the cusp of the invasion of Panama and he immediately enlisted. Then he briefly went home to find out that Louise had ran away with her meth head boyfriend. He was sent out to the Gulf War without complaint. The military hardened him and made him stronger, but he was exposed to such nightmarish scenes of civilian slaughter and ill practice that they continue to haunt him more than thirty years later. He never had a very high regard for his fellow man and the experiences that lingered past his military service (which was rudely interrupted by a bullet through the leg, permanently damaging his knee) cemented his general distaste for mankind. Brooks, now the wounded veteran, came back to a listless home. His parents had doubled down hard on Catholicism, adamant that God would protect him out in the deserts and would eventually bring their wayward daughter back to the fold. Their zealotry frightened Brooks enough to push him out of home and into employment on the oil fields and into lumberjacking operations. The long absences from home and the high pay were addictive; most of these jobs were gruelling for their employees because they had family, but Brooks never had much of a quarrel with hard work and a lack of creature comforts.

Eventually Brooks had more money than he was able to spend on his own. Finding a partner and making kids frightened him; he didn’t want a repeat of his childhood. He thought of recontacting his sister from time to time but couldn’t bring himself to face her. All his friends from high school were god knows where, and he wanted nothing to do with the army. At this point he was embittered and jaded, feeling the pangs of loneliness but too nervous to jump back into society properly, especially after 9/11. Instead, he started to look into living out in the country, somewhere in the midwest where nobody would bother him anymore. This interest paired with the gradual accumulation of guilt over his years which manifested in a constant sort of restlessness. He used to be able to satiate it with travel but could no longer live transiently with his knee. He ended up being enamoured with the thought of living off the grid and started to pool his funding into an old cabin in the middle of backwater Iowa.

Brooks was already well-established in his forest by the time the first wave hit. He subsisted off a mixture of hunting and trading with a nearby small town, giving them venison and scrap metal in return for supplies he couldn’t forage, fish or filter out from his surroundings. He didn’t know what it meant, but what little he got from his trips into town was enough to start work on his very simple underground bunker project - just in case. It was only after the third wave that the fugitives started to trickle into his neck of the woods. The first group of people he came across were a starving family; the father, Nicolas, was capable of abilities Brooks had never even seen before. It frightened him to no end and made him wary, but the sight of their pinched faces and grubby children was enough to allow him to reluctantly shelter them in his home. Soon he experienced a gradual trickle of refugees running for their lives, and hearing their stories brought back unpleasant parallels to his time in the military. Because he hadn’t seen the chaos that mages could inflict first-hand, he was more sympathetic to their cause than the usual citizen.

Unbeknownst to him, his good deeds had made ripples that reached the Violet Underground. Last year he negotiated an agreement; he’d take in mages throughout the year in return for supplies. Soon this elaborated into the collection of mages from difficult situations and he became a newly-hired Bootlegger. Being in contact with these fugitives helped to bring him out of his shell somewhat, though none of it could prepare him for his first ‘real’ assignment with the organisation.

Around fifteen years ago, somewhere in Texas, Louise had a baby. She was in and out of jail for possession of narcotics and, despite her estrangement from her family, she was able to convince his parents to take in the little girl. At this point they had gone off the deep-end and used their pensions to buy an RV, driving up and down Arizona and barely settling as they made a life for themselves in trailer parks. The girl - his niece - was due to manifest her abilities this year. As both a rite of passage and a small mercy for both the teen and Brooks alike, Brooks was assigned to collect her and bring her to safety.

---

Skills and Weaknesses

Skills:

• Survivalist: Since his deployment, Brooks has been living practically off-grid for over a decade. Through sheer experience alone he has become self-sufficient; he tends to hunt and grow his own food, repairs whatever he can and scraps whatever he can't for parts. He's good at cleaning and meticulously organised. His rough lifestyle has helped him develop a self assured demeanor and remain calm under pressure.
• Combat Training: Brooks not only went through full military training, he then spent several years in the frontline. For better or for worse, Brooks knows how to maintain and fire rifles and pistols as well as some hand-to-hand combat manoeuvres. He also picked up some more brutal and unsavoury tactics through experience alone. Like riding a bicycle, it's not something one can easily forget how to do, and even now his instincts can lead the way.
• Tough: Brooks has not lead an easy life for the past thirty years. He is no stranger to inclement weather, hard work and all manner of injuries, some of which he's sustained in the past two years looking after unstable mages. His knowledge of first aid is rudimentary at best (and falls under the category of a survivalist skill) but his stamina and ability to endure are above average.

Weaknesses:

• Isolationist: like his survivalist skill, this is a blanket term that encapsulates a myriad of shortcomings that come with a life of limited contact with the outside world. His social skills leave much to be desired; he's alright in one to one conversations but tends to shut off somewhat in groups. He's out of touch with modern technology, and only has a loose grasp on what's been going on for the past twenty or so years beyond the mage crises. He still drives a stick shift and his repair skills are consequently somewhat dated.
• War Wounds: Not all of them are visible, but the main issue seems to be with his knee. It was shattered in the Gulf war and reconstructive surgery could only do so much. He lives with a stiff leg and bad memories, both of which equally affect his quality of life.
• No Magic: Brooks is a Mundane; he wasn't affected by the Violet Dawn and consequently cannot cast any sort of spell. In some very specific circumstances he can employ the vehement belief that the FOE use to dispell magic, but only when he genuinely believes someone not to be a threat. As a disillusioned war veteran who secluded himself in the wilderness, these exceptions to the vast majority of potential threats are hard to come by.

ꇙ ꒤ ꋊ ꋪ ꒤ ꋊ ꋊ ꏂ ꋪ ꇙ

Buldgie Rockstopper

Buldgie Rockstopper

s p e c i e s
Dwarf

a g e
190
h e i g h t / w e i g h t
4'5, 120lbs

g e n d e r
Male

Attributes

s t a t s (All stats are on a scale of 1-20)

• Strength - 16
• Agility - 9
• Endurance - 13
• Will - 7
• Intelligence - 9
• Charisma - 14

s k i l l s

• Blacksmithing - Buldgie has put over a century of dedicated practice into the art of metalworking. Though materials are scarce, he is well-known for his ability to reforge high quality products from broken and scavenged metal objects.
• Long Hours - Buldgie has spent innumerable nights standing by his forge, working on time consuming projects. He needs less sleep than the common man, and gets work done faster as a result without detriment to quality.
• Explosives - Buldgie has a bit of a hobby dealing with, producing and controlling explosives from his time in the mines. He maintained this hobby despite moving out into the desert.

Inventory

w e a p o n s

• Blacksmith Hammer (1h) (x1)
• Knuckledusters (X2)
• Shrapnel bombs (x12)
• Metal shield (x1)

a r m o r

• Head - Leather
• Chest - Leather and cloth
• Left Arm - Leather and plate
• Right Arm - Leather and plate
• Left Leg - Leather and cloth
• Right Leg - Leather and cloth

e q u i p m e n t

• Portable Forge - More akin to an oven on a sled, this squat box of stone has an anvil resting on top. Abaegel’s Dhuuna, Buddy, drags the load.
• Smithy Gear - Resting on Buddy’s saddle packs are the tools required for Buldgie’s work. Hammers, tongs, buckets and a few premade moulds are among the list of things the poor creature has to carry.
• Fireworks and Dynamite - Every time Buldgie leaves a town, he uses his knowledge of crafting explosives to perform a brief fireworks show for the locals to thank them for their business and hospitality. The dynamite is similarly a constant, as it's a good tool to eliminate roadblocks on their route.

Info

a p p e a r a n c e
Broad shouldered and stern of brow, Buldgie's physique has been moulded over decades of long, hard laborious work. His fiery hair is kept short and out of the way but, as per dwarven tradition, his beard is untouched. The markings covering his face are painted in thick black oily gunge built up from his tools; they denote his status as a blacksmith with the added bonus of reducing glare to his eyes. His arms and shoulders are peppered with burn scars of varying severity. His hands are calloused and fingertips cracked; the searing heat has set the scowling lines into his features with all the assured precision of his hammer on softened metal. Though he prides himself in his craft, he seldom wears plate armour that isn't affixed onto leather and makes sure it is nowhere near bare skin, for the burning sun can melt his body to his work. The sole exception to the rule is his codpiece. He always, always wears a cup.

p e r s o n a l i t y
Buldgie is a curmudgeon and a salesman. He's loud, boisterous, and hard to miss in a crowd. As master of his own forge for over a century, Buldgie is accustomed to managing his own and naturally carries himself with an ease bordering on arrogance. He takes pride in his reputation and works hard to maintain it. He enjoys being the centre of attention, though perhaps not for the right reasons. He's old, and uses this as an excuse for his somewhat derisive comments towards women, Fae and the natives of the deserts. He also uses his age and experience to explain why he is almost always right, even if he isn't.

Underneath all the flair and colour of his demeanor lies an old veteran of the wastes, a master craftsman and a commendable survivalist. These traits are so heavily engrained into his psyche that they bleed into his showmanship. When the situation calls for a level head and some quick decision making, he's quick to stop griping about his aching old bones and start getting him and all he cares for back into safety - even if it is to continue complaining about his hip in peace.

l i k e s
Peace and quiet
Cool, dark places
Mindless labour
Good food

d i s l i k e s
The Fae
Scavvers
Gleekos
Loss of bodily function [Fear]

Paradigm Shift: Agents of Fate [Currently Accepting!]

CS

Brooks Lockwood

Basics

Name: Brooks Lockwood
Age: 54
Gender: Male
Height/Weight: 1 meter 80 cm, 102kg
(Former) Occupation: Bootlegger
Appearance: Brooks has built up muscle from constant labour, but it's padded with a significant amount of fat as well. Despite his imposing figure he tends to hunch a little to make himself seem smaller than he actually is. His hair is fully grey, long and unkempt; his body is littered with various scars, some of them more recent than others. He has age lines on his face and a full beard which is poorly groomed. He has the same hard, greenish eyes as his niece. His clothes aren't anything too specific; he tends to wear simple dark outfits, and errs towards outdoor wear. Sometimes he'll be carrying a backpack.

---

Biography

Brooks was the older sibling, but he wasn’t the favourite. That reward went to his little sister, and was well-deserved; Louise (or Loulou, in his childhood days) was bright, charming and pretty whilst he still had trouble talking to hia friends. Even though he grew up in her shadow, he was just as ready to dote on her as everyone else. He was doing okay in classes, kept going to soccer practice but wasn’t the best nor the worst player in the team; his childhood was punctuated with the adventures he took by the old quarry with his friends and Louise in tow. They used to make pillow forts during the evenings and watch VHS tapes of their favourite films. His parents were Catholic republicans and he had a nice house with a huge back yard. Things were simple and happy.

It all started to go a bit awry when Brooks reached middle school. Even as a kid he was content when left to his own devices and he missed out on making friends, which pushed him deeper into his own introversion. Meanwhile Louise was starting to get a different sort of attention and the friction started to build up in her own teenage rebellion against their parents. Brooks was often made to pick sides and, fearing the belt buckle, tended to openly support his parents whilst sneaking snacks to his sister’s room after the arguments. They drifted apart as each made their own friend groups and had studies to attend to, but still confided in one another. In particular, Brooks was at a loss on what he wanted to do once he graduated high school. With no clear passion shining through, he was instead gripped by his parents’ glorification of the Vietnam War during his youth and started to edge towards the draft, as it would at least give him some time to figure out what he wanted to do in college.

By this point Louise had only doubled down in her resistance against her parents’ old-fashioned ideologies. She had gotten into the anti-war movement pushed on by the atrocities of the Vietnam war (atrocities which her parents refused to acknowledge), and eventually her party lifestyle started to dip into drugs. Brooks was decidedly anti-confrontational - he had it beaten into him from an early age - and seeing the dysfunction in his home was beginning to alienate him from his family and push him even more into his bubble. When he did eventually admit he wanted to join the army, his parents gushed over him. The sudden swell of attention and pride was intoxicating at first, but his spirits were dampened when Louise turned her back on him with disgust. He wanted to explain that he was just doing it to buy himself some time, but he never knew how to put it into words. They grew apart. Unwillingly, Brooks became the favourite child.

Brooks turned 21 at the cusp of the invasion of Panama and he immediately enlisted. Then he briefly went home to find out that Louise had ran away with her meth head boyfriend. He was sent out to the Gulf War without complaint. The military hardened him and made him stronger, but he was exposed to such nightmarish scenes of civilian slaughter and ill practice that they continue to haunt him more than thirty years later. He never had a very high regard for his fellow man and the experiences that lingered past his military service (which was rudely interrupted by a bullet through the leg, permanently damaging his knee) cemented his general distaste for mankind. Brooks, now the wounded veteran, came back to a listless home. His parents had doubled down hard on Catholicism, adamant that God would protect him out in the deserts and would eventually bring their wayward daughter back to the fold. Their zealotry frightened Brooks enough to push him out of home and into employment on the oil fields and into lumberjacking operations. The long absences from home and the high pay were addictive; most of these jobs were gruelling for their employees because they had family, but Brooks never had much of a quarrel with hard work and a lack of creature comforts.

Eventually Brooks had more money than he was able to spend on his own. Finding a partner and making kids frightened him; he didn’t want a repeat of his childhood. He thought of recontacting his sister from time to time but couldn’t bring himself to face her. All his friends from high school were god knows where, and he wanted nothing to do with the army. At this point he was embittered and jaded, feeling the pangs of loneliness but too nervous to jump back into society properly, especially after 9/11. Instead, he started to look into living out in the country, somewhere in the midwest where nobody would bother him anymore. This interest paired with the gradual accumulation of guilt over his years which manifested in a constant sort of restlessness. He used to be able to satiate it with travel but could no longer live transiently with his knee. He ended up being enamoured with the thought of living off the grid and started to pool his funding into an old cabin in the middle of backwater Iowa.

Brooks was already well-established in his forest by the time the first wave hit. He subsisted off a mixture of hunting and trading with a nearby small town, giving them venison and scrap metal in return for supplies he couldn’t forage, fish or filter out from his surroundings. He didn’t know what it meant, but what little he got from his trips into town was enough to start work on his very simple underground bunker project - just in case. It was only after the third wave that the fugitives started to trickle into his neck of the woods. The first group of people he came across were a starving family; the father, Nicolas, was capable of abilities Brooks had never even seen before. It frightened him to no end and made him wary, but the sight of their pinched faces and grubby children was enough to allow him to reluctantly shelter them in his home. Soon he experienced a gradual trickle of refugees running for their lives, and hearing their stories brought back unpleasant parallels to his time in the military. Because he hadn’t seen the chaos that mages could inflict first-hand, he was more sympathetic to their cause than the usual citizen.

Unbeknownst to him, his good deeds had made ripples that reached the Violet Underground. Last year he negotiated an agreement; he’d take in mages throughout the year in return for supplies. Soon this elaborated into the collection of mages from difficult situations and he became a newly-hired Bootlegger. Being in contact with these fugitives helped to bring him out of his shell somewhat, though none of it could prepare him for his first ‘real’ assignment with the organisation.

Around fifteen years ago, somewhere in Texas, Louise had a baby. She was in and out of jail for possession of narcotics and, despite her estrangement from her family, she was able to convince his parents to take in the little girl. At this point they had gone off the deep-end and used their pensions to buy an RV, driving up and down Arizona and barely settling as they made a life for themselves in trailer parks. The girl - his niece - was due to manifest her abilities this year. As both a rite of passage and a small mercy for both the teen and Brooks alike, Brooks was assigned to collect her and bring her to safety.

---

Skills and Weaknesses

Skills:

• Survivalist: Since his deployment, Brooks has been living practically off-grid for over a decade. Through sheer experience alone he has become self-sufficient; he tends to hunt and grow his own food, repairs whatever he can and scraps whatever he can't for parts. He's good at cleaning and meticulously organised. His rough lifestyle has helped him develop a self assured demeanor and remain calm under pressure.
• Combat Training: Brooks not only went through full military training, he then spent several years in the frontline. For better or for worse, Brooks knows how to maintain and fire rifles and pistols as well as some hand-to-hand combat manoeuvres. He also picked up some more brutal and unsavoury tactics through experience alone. Like riding a bicycle, it's not something one can easily forget how to do, and even now his instincts can lead the way.
• Tough: Brooks has not lead an easy life for the past thirty years. He is no stranger to inclement weather, hard work and all manner of injuries, some of which he's sustained in the past two years looking after unstable mages. His knowledge of first aid is rudimentary at best (and falls under the category of a survivalist skill) but his stamina and ability to endure are above average.

Weaknesses:

• Isolationist: like his survivalist skill, this is a blanket term that encapsulates a myriad of shortcomings that come with a life of limited contact with the outside world. His social skills leave much to be desired; he's alright in one to one conversations but tends to shut off somewhat in groups. He's out of touch with modern technology, and only has a loose grasp on what's been going on for the past twenty or so years beyond the mage crises. He still drives a stick shift and his repair skills are consequently somewhat dated.
• War Wounds: Not all of them are visible, but the main issue seems to be with his knee. It was shattered in the Gulf war and reconstructive surgery could only do so much. He lives with a stiff leg and bad memories, both of which equally affect his quality of life.
• No Magic: Brooks is a Mundane; he wasn't affected by the Violet Dawn and consequently cannot cast any sort of spell. In some very specific circumstances he can employ the vehement belief that the FOE use to dispell magic, but only when he genuinely believes someone not to be a threat. As a disillusioned war veteran who secluded himself in the wilderness, these exceptions to the vast majority of potential threats are hard to come by.

ꇙ ꒤ ꋊ ꋪ ꒤ ꋊ ꋊ ꏂ ꋪ ꇙ

@Stitches's friend, paired with Abaegal

My Hider

Buldgie Rockstopper

s p e c i e s
Dwarf

a g e
190
h e i g h t / w e i g h t
4'5, 120lbs

g e n d e r
Male

Attributes

s t a t s (All stats are on a scale of 1-20)

• Strength - 16
• Agility - 9
• Endurance - 13
• Will - 7
• Intelligence - 9
• Charisma - 14

s k i l l s

• Blacksmithing - Buldgie has put over a century of dedicated practice into the art of metalworking. Though materials are scarce, he is well-known for his ability to reforge high quality products from broken and scavenged metal objects.
• Long Hours - Buldgie has spent innumerable nights standing by his forge, working on time consuming projects. He needs less sleep than the common man, and gets work done faster as a result without detriment to quality.
• Explosives - Buldgie has a bit of a hobby dealing with, producing and controlling explosives from his time in the mines. He maintained this hobby despite moving out into the desert.

Inventory

w e a p o n s

• Blacksmith Hammer (1h) (x1)
• Knuckledusters (X2)
• Shrapnel bombs (x12)
• Metal shield (x1)

a r m o r

• Head - Leather
• Chest - Leather and cloth
• Left Arm - Leather and plate
• Right Arm - Leather and plate
• Left Leg - Leather and cloth
• Right Leg - Leather and cloth

e q u i p m e n t

• Portable Forge - More akin to an oven on a sled, this squat box of stone has an anvil resting on top. Abaegel’s Dhuuna, Buddy, drags the load.
• Smithy Gear - Resting on Buddy’s saddle packs are the tools required for Buldgie’s work. Hammers, tongs, buckets and a few premade moulds are among the list of things the poor creature has to carry.
• Fireworks and Dynamite - Every time Buldgie leaves a town, he uses his knowledge of crafting explosives to perform a brief fireworks show for the locals to thank them for their business and hospitality. The dynamite is similarly a constant, as it's a good tool to eliminate roadblocks on their route.

Info

a p p e a r a n c e
Broad shouldered and stern of brow, Buldgie's physique has been moulded over decades of long, hard laborious work. His fiery hair is kept short and out of the way but, as per dwarven tradition, his beard is untouched. The markings covering his face are painted in thick black oily gunge built up from his tools; they denote his status as a blacksmith with the added bonus of reducing glare to his eyes. His arms and shoulders are peppered with burn scars of varying severity. His hands are calloused and fingertips cracked; the searing heat has set the scowling lines into his features with all the assured precision of his hammer on softened metal. Though he prides himself in his craft, he seldom wears plate armour that isn't affixed onto leather and makes sure it is nowhere near bare skin, for the burning sun can melt his body to his work. The sole exception to the rule is his codpiece. He always, always wears a cup.

p e r s o n a l i t y
Buldgie is a curmudgeon and a salesman. He's loud, boisterous, and hard to miss in a crowd. As master of his own forge for over a century, Buldgie is accustomed to managing his own and naturally carries himself with an ease bordering on arrogance. He takes pride in his reputation and works hard to maintain it. He enjoys being the centre of attention, though perhaps not for the right reasons. He's old, and uses this as an excuse for his somewhat derisive comments towards women, Fae and the natives of the deserts. He also uses his age and experience to explain why he is almost always right, even if he isn't.

Underneath all the flair and colour of his demeanor lies an old veteran of the wastes, a master craftsman and a commendable survivalist. These traits are so heavily engrained into his psyche that they bleed into his showmanship. When the situation calls for a level head and some quick decision making, he's quick to stop griping about his aching old bones and start getting him and all he cares for back into safety - even if it is to continue complaining about his hip in peace.

l i k e s
Peace and quiet
Cool, dark places
Mindless labour
Good food

d i s l i k e s
The Fae
Scavvers
Gleekos
Loss of bodily function [Fear]

Read Only Memories

Vincent Bloom

Picture

Citizen Registration:
8728641

Name:
Vincent Bloom

Alias:
Punchy

Gender:
Male

Age:
33

Blood Type:
A+

Height/Weight:
5.9

Occupation:
‘Bodyguard’

DOOM Counter Reading:
285 days, 11 months, 45 days, 12hrs, 44sec

Physical Description:
His attire is ever only constant when working as a bodyguard to BAMBI; a practical motorcycle helmet, and a pink neon vest that shows off his muscular arms. Due to lack of stature he uses them as intimidation instead. His body is littered in scars and it isn't too uncommon for him to show up with a fresh bruise or a bandage. Vincent rarely takes off the helmet in order to preserve his anonymity.

Personality:
Meticulous, serious, quick to the point and seemingly indifferent to the world around him, Punchy’s streamlined with an unrevealing personality. Forever moving forward with no fear or anxiety of what’s in front of him, as if he has no concept of what it would mean to stop. Underneath a sometimes docile exterior he’s hardwired for violence, constantly chewing and scraping his tongue against his teeth as if ready to remove the flesh of victims of his heinous crimes from his maw.

Never complaining or allowing morality to impede his actions helped him thrive in New Babel. Drifting through an almost dream-like trance in between work as a bodyguard to “jobs” he performs for people who want no questions asked. It wasn’t always like this, no one turns into what Vincent has become overnight, but whatever he used to be doesn’t matter in the city of DOOM. Ever since the installation of his own counter, his psyche has involuntarily altered itself to better survive in the hive of degeneracy a criminal had to endure in New Babel.
Summary:
Vincent, without a memory of his past, was thrust into new and harsh environment. He was previously nothing, and was now worth even less. Without any form of support aside from the credits he was given and the roof put over his head by his generous government he became a follower, latching onto what the majority of people around him swarmed towards. This just so happened to be working at a production facility, operating heavy press machinery for products he would never use or see. With a lack of any former education, the only experience he gathered was from watching and learning from his older and more experienced co-workers; this was enough to at least not lose his head from working amongst deadly and seemingly ancient machinery he interacted with.

Life wasn’t easy, and Vincent grew frustrated at the constant problems that kept springing up. Wages stolen by a superior, falling into credit scams only a naive boy would and simply the cost of living in a place packed with people with the same living standards as him. It was almost destined for him to begin steering towards crime, the constant ticking of his DOOM clock giving him the necessary push into a life of depriving people of their own time and money.

It started off small, simple. Delivering packages, standing watch, pickpocketing. Then the reality of the life he had entered began hitting and one petty crime began turning into a crime scene. The added history of betrayal he had suffered amongst his co-workers within the factories he spent his time in caused him to push anyone - even his accomplices - away from him. As he delved deeper and deeper into committing atrocities he became disconnected, he couldn’t stand or work with others anymore so he began to work alone. This proved more difficult, but at least this way he had only himself to blame if anything went awry.

It wasn’t long before Vincent had become completely desensitised to the world around him, helping him continue doing his work with more precision and apathy, utilising ultra-violence to achieve his given tasks and jobs. Debt collecting, murders, torture, stalking; these had all become a commonality. However this had also put him on the radar, building himself somewhat of a reputation and it wasn’t just amongst fellow criminals...
He was well aware that dealing with rival gangs of drug dealers or families of the mafia was different from dealing with the minds and force utilised by the government, and he wasn’t dumb or smart enough to take them on. He needed to change pace, he needed to slow down, until he could figure out something cohesive.

That was where BAMBI came in. Back then she wasn't anything more than a barmaid in one of Vincent's local haunts. He was just curious enough to start following her home one night when she was jumped by a group of addicts, hoping to tear the chip clean out of her neck and siphon whatever time she had left. Frustrated that they got in his way, Vincent responded in kind; he dealt with the scumbags without having to kill them. The girl was tearfully grateful, said she'd never forget him, probably didn't mean it, and ran the length of the street all the way home. Vincent watched.

After that, he just couldn't stop thinking about her - primarily because her face started popping up everywhere he looked as her career skyrocketed. What was once a hesitation to plan his next move became a stasis and he gradually dropped off the map, only taking jobs when he needed the credits and never putting in as much enthusiasm as he used to. What surprised him the most was BAMBI'S honesty; an associate of BAMBI Ltd came up to him with a short term proposal, suggesting that he look into the administrators of a particular online forum that was sexualising their main product to lengths that far surpassed any common decency and threatened their star's safety. He did as he was told, was paid generously, and left alone again. Then he was called back in. Then he was left alone. The contracts increased in frequency until he landed a spot in BAMBI'S personal entourage, becoming one of her 24/7 bodyguards, given the Alias he currently wore, and dressed up to suit her aesthetic.

If BAMBI was the product, Punchy because the terms and conditions. He was seemingly insignificant when stood next to her, but to get to her you had to agree to his rules and many people did - partially in eagerness to get to the star of the show, and partially because they were too intimidated by him to bother arguing.

Cybernetic Enhancements:
Vincent's one cybernetic is as haphazardly created as you can imagine a low life criminal to have. It needs constant tuning and can break down when utilised carelessly. Low level cell regeneration is the name of its game. It can’t mend torn limbs, bring your heart to beat again, or reattach a blown chunk of your brain back together- all that it’s used for is to allow Vincent to slug through less downtime between contracts he finds himself receiving serious injuries in. Aches, cuts, slashes, broken bones are all accelerated to prevent him from remaining bed bound for months for recovery.

Possessions:
A toolbox packed with various types of conventional melee weaponry that he specialises in, prefering to stick to personally tried and tested forms of fighting over being adaptive. A butchers knife, a hatchet, knives.

A shopping bag full of cleaning supplies, spare rags, brushes, rubber gloves and other janitorial material.

His sports bike, because he can't afford a car and commutes are expensive. Probably one of the few machines left that doesn't run on electricity or fuel.

9mm pistol and spare ammo clip (2), for the situations where a knife just won't cut it.

Skills:

Close Quarters Combat: The asphyxiating jungle of buildings, alleyways, warehouses, and ghettos that Vincent carried out his contracts in caused him to excel in moving and fighting in that form of environment.

Interrogation: Vincent isn’t particularly good at utilising technology, especially when it comes to computers and utilising the internet for his job; after all, the ministry is watching. Instead he’s had to rely on more interpersonal forms of information gathering. Bribes, threats and other forms of terror is the name of his game..

Tracking/Stalking: Following groups or individuals and camping outside their apartment or office for hours, sometimes even days, is something Vincent found himself doing many nights. He knows when to back away from being under risk of detection or worse, and patience has become an old friend and ally.

Cover-up: the ability to clean up after a crime is essential. Vincent knows how and where to get rid of a body and remove evidence from a crime scene, but it's dependent on time and materials; if he's short on either, the job will get sloppy.

Read Only Memories

Heya, finally got around to finishing my CS as well. Holidays forced me to stall it for a while but I hope it's to the GM's liking. If you need me to add any weaknesses that aren't obvious to counter balance him, or just change anything in general just let me know! :)

Vincent Bloom

Picture

Citizen Registration:
8728641

Name:
Vincent Bloom

Alias:
Punchy

Gender:
Male

Age:
33

Blood Type:
A+

Height/Weight:
5.9

Occupation:
‘Bodyguard’

DOOM Counter Reading:
285 days, 11 months, 45 days, 12hrs, 44sec

Physical Description:
His attire is ever only constant when working as a bodyguard to BAMBI; a practical motorcycle helmet, and a pink neon vest that shows off his muscular arms. Due to lack of stature he uses them as intimidation instead. His body is littered in scars and it isn't too uncommon for him to show up with a fresh bruise or a bandage. Vincent rarely takes off the helmet in order to preserve his anonymity.

Personality:
Meticulous, serious, quick to the point and seemingly indifferent to the world around him, Punchy’s streamlined with an unrevealing personality. Forever moving forward with no fear or anxiety of what’s in front of him, as if he has no concept of what it would mean to stop. Underneath a sometimes docile exterior he’s hardwired for violence, constantly chewing and scraping his tongue against his teeth as if ready to remove the flesh of victims of his heinous crimes from his maw.

Never complaining or allowing morality to impede his actions helped him thrive in New Babel. Drifting through an almost dream-like trance in between work as a bodyguard to “jobs” he performs for people who want no questions asked. It wasn’t always like this, no one turns into what Vincent has become overnight, but whatever he used to be doesn’t matter in the city of DOOM. Ever since the installation of his own counter, his psyche has involuntarily altered itself to better survive in the hive of degeneracy a criminal had to endure in New Babel.
Summary:
Vincent, without a memory of his past, was thrust into new and harsh environment. He was previously nothing, and was now worth even less. Without any form of support aside from the credits he was given and the roof put over his head by his generous government he became a follower, latching onto what the majority of people around him swarmed towards. This just so happened to be working at a production facility, operating heavy press machinery for products he would never use or see. With a lack of any former education, the only experience he gathered was from watching and learning from his older and more experienced co-workers; this was enough to at least not lose his head from working amongst deadly and seemingly ancient machinery he interacted with.

Life wasn’t easy, and Vincent grew frustrated at the constant problems that kept springing up. Wages stolen by a superior, falling into credit scams only a naive boy would and simply the cost of living in a place packed with people with the same living standards as him. It was almost destined for him to begin steering towards crime, the constant ticking of his DOOM clock giving him the necessary push into a life of depriving people of their own time and money.

It started off small, simple. Delivering packages, standing watch, pickpocketing. Then the reality of the life he had entered began hitting and one petty crime began turning into a crime scene. The added history of betrayal he had suffered amongst his co-workers within the factories he spent his time in caused him to push anyone - even his accomplices - away from him. As he delved deeper and deeper into committing atrocities he became disconnected, he couldn’t stand or work with others anymore so he began to work alone. This proved more difficult, but at least this way he had only himself to blame if anything went awry.

It wasn’t long before Vincent had become completely desensitised to the world around him, helping him continue doing his work with more precision and apathy, utilising ultra-violence to achieve his given tasks and jobs. Debt collecting, murders, torture, stalking; these had all become a commonality. However this had also put him on the radar, building himself somewhat of a reputation and it wasn’t just amongst fellow criminals...
He was well aware that dealing with rival gangs of drug dealers or families of the mafia was different from dealing with the minds and force utilised by the government, and he wasn’t dumb or smart enough to take them on. He needed to change pace, he needed to slow down, until he could figure out something cohesive.

That was where BAMBI came in. Back then she wasn't anything more than a barmaid in one of Vincent's local haunts. He was just curious enough to start following her home one night when she was jumped by a group of addicts, hoping to tear the chip clean out of her neck and siphon whatever time she had left. Frustrated that they got in his way, Vincent responded in kind; he dealt with the scumbags without having to kill them. The girl was tearfully grateful, said she'd never forget him, probably didn't mean it, and ran the length of the street all the way home. Vincent watched.

After that, he just couldn't stop thinking about her - primarily because her face started popping up everywhere he looked as her career skyrocketed. What was once a hesitation to plan his next move became a stasis and he gradually dropped off the map, only taking jobs when he needed the credits and never putting in as much enthusiasm as he used to. What surprised him the most was BAMBI'S honesty; an associate of BAMBI Ltd came up to him with a short term proposal, suggesting that he look into the administrators of a particular online forum that was sexualising their main product to lengths that far surpassed any common decency and threatened their star's safety. He did as he was told, was paid generously, and left alone again. Then he was called back in. Then he was left alone. The contracts increased in frequency until he landed a spot in BAMBI'S personal entourage, becoming one of her 24/7 bodyguards, given the Alias he currently wore, and dressed up to suit her aesthetic.

If BAMBI was the product, Punchy because the terms and conditions. He was seemingly insignificant when stood next to her, but to get to her you had to agree to his rules and many people did - partially in eagerness to get to the star of the show, and partially because they were too intimidated by him to bother arguing.

Cybernetic Enhancements:
Vincent's one cybernetic is as haphazardly created as you can imagine a low life criminal to have. It needs constant tuning and can break down when utilised carelessly. Low level cell regeneration is the name of its game. It can’t mend torn limbs, bring your heart to beat again, or reattach a blown chunk of your brain back together- all that it’s used for is to allow Vincent to slug through less downtime between contracts he finds himself receiving serious injuries in. Aches, cuts, slashes, broken bones are all accelerated to prevent him from remaining bed bound for months for recovery.

Possessions:
A toolbox packed with various types of conventional melee weaponry that he specialises in, prefering to stick to personally tried and tested forms of fighting over being adaptive. A butchers knife, a hatchet, knives.

A shopping bag full of cleaning supplies, spare rags, brushes, rubber gloves and other janitorial material.

His sports bike, because he can't afford a car and commutes are expensive. Probably one of the few machines left that doesn't run on electricity or fuel.

9mm pistol and spare ammo clip (2), for the situations where a knife just won't cut it.

Skills:

Close Quarters Combat: The asphyxiating jungle of buildings, alleyways, warehouses, and ghettos that Vincent carried out his contracts in caused him to excel in moving and fighting in that form of environment.

Interrogation: Vincent isn’t particularly good at utilising technology, especially when it comes to computers and utilising the internet for his job; after all, the ministry is watching. Instead he’s had to rely on more interpersonal forms of information gathering. Bribes, threats and other forms of terror is the name of his game..

Tracking/Stalking: Following groups or individuals and camping outside their apartment or office for hours, sometimes even days, is something Vincent found himself doing many nights. He knows when to back away from being under risk of detection or worse, and patience has become an old friend and ally.

Cover-up: the ability to clean up after a crime is essential. Vincent knows how and where to get rid of a body and remove evidence from a crime scene, but it's dependent on time and materials; if he's short on either, the job will get sloppy.

The Saltaire District

Victor Strade

A thin man sporting the beginnings of a pot belly. Victor has dark hair, scraped back into a ponytail and a bushy moustache. Depending on how long it’s been since he’s been to a barber, he’ll also have the makings of a beard starting to grow in. His face is weatherbeaten and his body covered in scars. His nose has been broken and reshaped. Age lines have started to show on the creases of his brow and the corners of his eyes.

---

Victor Strade.

Male, 43

Human

Monster Hunter

Victor is world-weary. He has seen most of what he needed to see in order to mature, has suffered enough, and consequently understands the strife others go through. He has a temperamental nature, but his aggression is held back by his level-headedness and common sense. He knows how to pick his battles and is very aware of his limits. He carries himself with stoicism but there’s a faint warmth to his personality that makes him a little more welcoming than the an adventurer of his stature. He still operates under his own strict set of morals though, quick to be disapproving or to congratulate people for doing what he saw as ‘the right thing’.

Victor had a rather middle-class upbringing. Born to a merchant father in a town nestled safely amongst the core territories of the North, Victor spent his childhood assisting his father with his travels for sales or covering the homestead with his mother. Although he wasn’t admitted to higher forms of education, he was luckily taught literacy and competency.

The constant traveling with his father was something he enjoyed, not due to the nature of his profession but due to the occasional adventurers they met or sometimes just glimpsed preparing for a expedition. He was truly in awe of not only their status but also often heroic deeds.

Years passed and he was granted the choice of picking up his father's mantle which he obliged to, forcing himself to appease his parents. Luckily his miserable behaviour wasn’t ignored by them, prompting up discourse whether he’d rather pursue a different career. Victor was adamant with his want to chase after the career of an adventurer, something his parents weren’t keen on due their more realistic understanding of the skills that would require. Nevertheless his persistence convinced his parents to trial him, something he eagerly accepted and began preparations for.

After his fitting for barebone armor purchased from the cheapest smith, Victor joined a small party to start his journey with. He began completing miniscule contract after contract, racking up measly pay. The job was tough, and he had to hop from group to group due to the disbandment or loss of the previous one.

As time passed, Victor was met with the harshness of the world they lived in. Failed contracts with loss of life left him and whatever adventurers he joined up with not only without pay but emotional, physical, and eventually financial scars. As the work he took up began increasing in difficulty, failure turned from a farmer losing his tools to the villages losing their loved ones, families being destroyed, homes being annihilated. Every escape from death turned into luck, the feeling of control over the outcome of his tasks slipping. All these surging discoveries caused Victor to begin distancing himself from family and friends to allow him to more focus and dedicate his time to preparing and succeeding with his contracts. Then, his peers and their attitudes began displeasing him too. Their behaviour turned lacklustre and their desire for fame and glory trumped over the genuine need to help those who require it. This disgusted Victor and encouraged him to distance himself further from group work.

As such, Victor was left to his own devices. Dedicating so much time to this craft drove him to adapt and continue by taking contract after contract on his own. He started to find that avoiding needless bloodshed kept his health and his nerves in check. Most monsters had some capacity for sentience, and he tried to solve issues peacefully. This was not always the case, which meant he needed to be prepared for anything.

Many years have passed. Early mistakes made when contracting alone, even with permanent damage done to his body, were seen as valuable lessons. He picked up alchemy to accommodate for his lack of magic. He relied on tools and traps to compensate for his lack of party members. He invested in scrolls and trinkets to trivialise certain monsters. Large gashes and scars that taught him which limbs to plate and armor and which to free up to allow agility. All these lessons and more are what allowed Victor to survive this long and hopefully continue surviving.

Of course, life had a way of complicating things when everything starts to get simple. When a girl came headlong from the forest, begging Victor to help her find her way back home, Victor was hardly aware of the task that lay before him. The girl barely knew the Common language and didn’t even know which way was home other than ‘north’. Still, Victor relented, and within the week he accidentally discovered her status as a Skinwalker. Fearful of the needless attention and worried about what those powers would do if she mistakenly helped the wrong people, Victor decided to keep her with him at all times.

They are both recent arrivals to Heston, after Victor received word from the Prince himself that his skills were needed to investigate a disappearance. Although Adrian was not invited, she could not be left alone. They both ventured into the city the night before the start of the RP.

---

As a hunter, Victor's kit is never constant and is pre-prepared and set specifically for each hunt.

One of the truly constant items he has on his person at all times is a rather large encyclopedia detailing information about common monsters in primary regions.

Obviously the book wasn’t designed for hunters, but it allows him to piece together information about specific species he hasn’t encountered before. The book is rather large too, so it’s only ideal purpose is to be read while encamped in safety.

An adventurer's kit, an advanced one in his case, is a must have for anyone in the monster hunting business. Whetstone, bandages, torches, maps of the local region, mortar and pestle, sleeping sack; every common item that someone in the wild would need to survive is always strapped to the sides of his mount.

Basic potions, tonics, and poisons. A man physically much less capable than the foes he faces requires special medicinal boosts to grant boons in certain situations. The alchemical solutions he carries on him are minimalist at best and cause clutter, forcing him to only carry the bare minimum and craft any specifically necessary ones beforehand.

Due to most of his fights facing him off against beasts and monsters, the combat training he had accumulated over the years have been molded to best deal with them. Traps, tools, lures, makeshift rituals, and caution have helped him achieve victory more so than sword play.

Years of monster hunting have taught him important lessons to take into account when chasing a or fleeing from a monster. He possess the basics of dealing with common creatures.

Tracker. Years of experience have granted Victor the art of reading prints, scents, droppings, and rituals to help him understand the behaviours and movement of common monsters.

Information gathering. Victor is no clairevoyant. Most of his hunts force him to not only interact with nature, but the people affected by the monster. Talking to the commonfolk to piece together information to paint the bigger picture is second nature by now.

Alchemy. Due to his lack of magical affinity Victor was forced to adapt or fall behind with the hunting of monsters. To counteract this Victor began dabbling in alchemy at an early age. This has now left him with a mediocre understanding of crafting and consuming mixtures that either benefit him or harm his target when applied.

Victor possess no magical skills, forcing him to rely on trinkets and scrolls he might purchase or identify in the wild.

---

The Saltaire District

Hi! Stitches' friend here, just dropping my CS down for you to review.

Victor Strade

A thin man sporting the beginnings of a pot belly. Victor has dark hair, scraped back into a ponytail and a bushy moustache. Depending on how long it’s been since he’s been to a barber, he’ll also have the makings of a beard starting to grow in. His face is weatherbeaten and his body covered in scars. His nose has been broken and reshaped. Age lines have started to show on the creases of his brow and the corners of his eyes.

---

Victor Strade.

Male, 43

Human

Monster Hunter

Victor is world-weary. He has seen most of what he needed to see in order to mature, has suffered enough, and consequently understands the strife others go through. He has a temperamental nature, but his aggression is held back by his level-headedness and common sense. He knows how to pick his battles and is very aware of his limits. He carries himself with stoicism but there’s a faint warmth to his personality that makes him a little more welcoming than the an adventurer of his stature. He still operates under his own strict set of morals though, quick to be disapproving or to congratulate people for doing what he saw as ‘the right thing’.

Victor had a rather middle-class upbringing. Born to a merchant father in a town nestled safely amongst the core territories of the North, Victor spent his childhood assisting his father with his travels for sales or covering the homestead with his mother. Although he wasn’t admitted to higher forms of education, he was luckily taught literacy and competency.

The constant traveling with his father was something he enjoyed, not due to the nature of his profession but due to the occasional adventurers they met or sometimes just glimpsed preparing for a expedition. He was truly in awe of not only their status but also often heroic deeds.

Years passed and he was granted the choice of picking up his father's mantle which he obliged to, forcing himself to appease his parents. Luckily his miserable behaviour wasn’t ignored by them, prompting up discourse whether he’d rather pursue a different career. Victor was adamant with his want to chase after the career of an adventurer, something his parents weren’t keen on due their more realistic understanding of the skills that would require. Nevertheless his persistence convinced his parents to trial him, something he eagerly accepted and began preparations for.

After his fitting for barebone armor purchased from the cheapest smith, Victor joined a small party to start his journey with. He began completing miniscule contract after contract, racking up measly pay. The job was tough, and he had to hop from group to group due to the disbandment or loss of the previous one.

As time passed, Victor was met with the harshness of the world they lived in. Failed contracts with loss of life left him and whatever adventurers he joined up with not only without pay but emotional, physical, and eventually financial scars. As the work he took up began increasing in difficulty, failure turned from a farmer losing his tools to the villages losing their loved ones, families being destroyed, homes being annihilated. Every escape from death turned into luck, the feeling of control over the outcome of his tasks slipping. All these surging discoveries caused Victor to begin distancing himself from family and friends to allow him to more focus and dedicate his time to preparing and succeeding with his contracts. Then, his peers and their attitudes began displeasing him too. Their behaviour turned lacklustre and their desire for fame and glory trumped over the genuine need to help those who require it. This disgusted Victor and encouraged him to distance himself further from group work.

As such, Victor was left to his own devices. Dedicating so much time to this craft drove him to adapt and continue by taking contract after contract on his own. He started to find that avoiding needless bloodshed kept his health and his nerves in check. Most monsters had some capacity for sentience, and he tried to solve issues peacefully. This was not always the case, which meant he needed to be prepared for anything.

Many years have passed. Early mistakes made when contracting alone, even with permanent damage done to his body, were seen as valuable lessons. He picked up alchemy to accommodate for his lack of magic. He relied on tools and traps to compensate for his lack of party members. He invested in scrolls and trinkets to trivialise certain monsters. Large gashes and scars that taught him which limbs to plate and armor and which to free up to allow agility. All these lessons and more are what allowed Victor to survive this long and hopefully continue surviving.

Of course, life had a way of complicating things when everything starts to get simple. When a girl came headlong from the forest, begging Victor to help her find her way back home, Victor was hardly aware of the task that lay before him. The girl barely knew the Common language and didn’t even know which way was home other than ‘north’. Still, Victor relented, and within the week he accidentally discovered her status as a Skinwalker. Fearful of the needless attention and worried about what those powers would do if she mistakenly helped the wrong people, Victor decided to keep her with him at all times.

They are both recent arrivals to Heston, after Victor received word from the Prince himself that his skills were needed to investigate a disappearance. Although Adrian was not invited, she could not be left alone. They both ventured into the city the night before the start of the RP.

---

As a hunter, Victor's kit is never constant and is pre-prepared and set specifically for each hunt.

One of the truly constant items he has on his person at all times is a rather large encyclopedia detailing information about common monsters in primary regions.

Obviously the book wasn’t designed for hunters, but it allows him to piece together information about specific species he hasn’t encountered before. The book is rather large too, so it’s only ideal purpose is to be read while encamped in safety.

An adventurer's kit, an advanced one in his case, is a must have for anyone in the monster hunting business. Whetstone, bandages, torches, maps of the local region, mortar and pestle, sleeping sack; every common item that someone in the wild would need to survive is always strapped to the sides of his mount.

Basic potions, tonics, and poisons. A man physically much less capable than the foes he faces requires special medicinal boosts to grant boons in certain situations. The alchemical solutions he carries on him are minimalist at best and cause clutter, forcing him to only carry the bare minimum and craft any specifically necessary ones beforehand.

Due to most of his fights facing him off against beasts and monsters, the combat training he had accumulated over the years have been molded to best deal with them. Traps, tools, lures, makeshift rituals, and caution have helped him achieve victory more so than sword play.

Years of monster hunting have taught him important lessons to take into account when chasing a or fleeing from a monster. He possess the basics of dealing with common creatures.

Tracker. Years of experience have granted Victor the art of reading prints, scents, droppings, and rituals to help him understand the behaviours and movement of common monsters.

Information gathering. Victor is no clairevoyant. Most of his hunts force him to not only interact with nature, but the people affected by the monster. Talking to the commonfolk to piece together information to paint the bigger picture is second nature by now.

Alchemy. Due to his lack of magical affinity Victor was forced to adapt or fall behind with the hunting of monsters. To counteract this Victor began dabbling in alchemy at an early age. This has now left him with a mediocre understanding of crafting and consuming mixtures that either benefit him or harm his target when applied.

Victor possess no magical skills, forcing him to rely on trinkets and scrolls he might purchase or identify in the wild.

---

Miss Hobbs' Paranormal Detective Agency

Josephs eyes were still glued to the contents of the contract, unsure of how to handle to the current facts as they were being presented. The sign on bonus alone was a life changing amount of money for his and rosa’s situation. He didn’t speak, but instead casually shot glances at the other people present in the room to try and maintain similar reactions, finding himself completely out of his element.

Of course it was at this moment, when what seemed to be a life changing opportunity was dropped into their laps, Rosa began opening her mouth. He shot her a glare, tensening up, as he suspected her to reject the offer. He didn’t say a word to her, primarily due to the people around, but he couldn’t help clench his jaw and shake his head at her hoping she’d get the memo.

Rosa glared back at him. She pulled an award-worthy scowl and pointed, with more intensity than before, at the Ouroboros on the top of the letterhead; she was more than happy to keep up this game of charades, in full view of the others.

This only further infuriated Joseph more. Primarily because he didn’t even understand where her issue with the fine lady Hobbs’ proposal was. His face continued to tense, a signature vein bulged on his forehead as he continued to try and stop her from speaking out a rejection.

Rosa politely raised her hand. “May I have a contract without the symbol on it, please?” she asked in her most gentle, mannerly tone that her accent could muster. “I don’t think I can sign this one as it is.”

Joseph let out an exasperated sigh before frantically waving his hand and interjecting: ”She’s fine! She doesn’t need another one, it’s okay. She’s just cracking a joke- oh this Rosa!” he tried to cram in a scrap heap of an excuse before turning to rosa, and scolding her in a as much muffled tone as he could muster under his furious circumstance: ”Rosa, if you don’t zip it and sign this god-sent contract I will wallop you seven shades darker.”

“Le Diable is in this paper,” Rosa hissed back, leaning in and using her contract to cover her mouth. “Some random-ass gyppo in the kiosk hand me this number, we get a fuckton of money and there’s a goddamn devil sign painted on the top? Look at the signs, pal!”

Joseph rolled his eyes in a massive arc at his words. Even if Rosa -did- have a relatively decent point about the somewhat dubious and all too good sounding contract they were faced with, Joseph only saw a brighter future both him and his niece deserved. ”The only signs you’ll be seeing if you don’t be -quiet- are the ones you’ll find on your way out of this city because I swear- Rosa I swear i’ll ship you off if you botch this up for us.” he hissed back, leaning in close to mask the embarrassing argument.

“Si? Back on the slave boats to Le Mali? Out of sight, out mind, heh?” Rosa sounded so much like her mother when she got mad. The words became more clipped and fervent. She clicked her tongue and shook her head, lowering the paper again. “Tsk. Give me a pen. Give me a-” Rosa was cut off when Joseph angrily thrust his own pen into her hands, just before Samuel handed out pencils. Rosa gave an appreciative, approving nod to the merchant but insisted on using Joseph’s fountain pen to blot out the Ouroboros on the top of the page. Her bullheadedness had to come through for one last laugh. Giving Joseph a jovial jab in the ribs, she launched into a little story: “Y’know, in the marshes, you find snakes eating their own tail. It happens when they go mad. When they get SO hungry, they attack and eat the first thing they see...nothing about new beginnings there. It’s the beginning of the end for them.”