Character dump

A

Alexandra

Guest
Original poster
Name; Diane Cooper
Age; 34
Gender; F

In 1975 Mae Hall met the guitarist of an English rock band backstage at their concert in Palm Beach. Her outlook on life was coloured somewhat by the tail end of the 60s, and the anti-establishment views growing in the youth of America; she thought it would be terribly romantic and exciting to drop everything and go on tour with them, and a small group of fans. At the end of the American tour Mae realised she was pregnant with Steve's child and the two decided to marry though she was barely nineteen. Tranquil River was born just as Steve left the band due to artistic differences, and embarked on a solo career, with his new wife providing much of the album art, and later a daughter.
By the time Sweet China Rose turned five years old, the couple had started to drift apart. They attempted to repair their relationship, but eventually divorced; prompting Mae's departure for America. China Rose remembers very little of her time in England; her mother took the children back to the states when she was seven. Snatches of bearded faces, long hair, incense, paint, and always music. She does, however, remember Mae's friends who they lived with on her return, in a place they called The Farm. Life on the hippy commune was pleasant while it lasted; the folks in charge of teaching the various groups of children encouraged her natural curiosity, and the aid programs they participated in taught her about other cultures.
Steve intervened in all this with the help of Mae's parents when River grew old enough to attend highschool; they were concerned about getting the children into what they called a "proper school", and China Rose will always be thankful for that. Set up in a house in the suburbs of Palm Beach, not far from their grandparents, River and China Rose experienced significant culture shock when they began attending a private school, though she fared better than her brother; he was always his mother's son. But regardless, her name was a near constant source of embarrassment.
She excelled in languages and a number of sciences, and at a teacher's suggestion went on a student tour of the anthropology department of the University of Florida, discovering what would be her career path. But before any of that, her 18th birthday present to herself was one new, legal, first name, and she enrolled in UF as Diane Cooper.
Diane moved about with her mother and older brother before settling in Palm Beach, near her grandparents. She attended a private school, and final exam results meant entry to practically any college she wanted. The University of Florida was her final decision, with forensic anthropology her main interest. After spending six years working towards a degree, then a masters, she entered a doctoral program that involved travel abroad; to Bosnia. She had worked in the Pound Lab as an undergrad, identifying human remains, but the sanitised environment had always removed the students somewhat from what they were doing; slipping a buffer between them and the realities of what had happened to the people they were working to identify. The was no buffer like this in Bosnia. The team spent four months identifying remains from mass graves; victims of ethnic cleansing in the early 90s.
These short months had a powerful effect on Diane, and led her to adjust her doctorate in order to travel more; painfully aware that some places in the world needed this kind of expertise - that so many dead were not spoken for. She returned to eastern Europe, but this time to Serbia, and spent a couple of months in Cambodia at an archaeological dig site before finally leaving academia.

Most forensic anthropologists don't practice full time; there is rarely the demand for it. Unwilling to go into some kind of research program, and qualified as a pathologist, Diane applied for a position within the Miami Medical Examiner's office. At the suggestion of a friend she worked with in the Balklands, she sought certification from the American Board of Forensic Anthropologists, because even with a job in the ME's office, the potential for more...interesting work was too enticing to pass up.
Being accredited by the ABFA led to a certain amount of consulting work, mostly involving identification of members of the military previously declared MIA, and once for the Pentagon's Defense Prisoner of War/Missing Personnel Office. The involvement of the FBI in the case of a serial killer in Miami sparked her desire for a career change; she had never really considered law enforcement before, but this fit with her unwillingness to put down roots. Her first encounter with Agent Spender was at his insistence for a competent pathologist to be brought to a small town in the mid west where the position of medical examiner was occupied by the town's vet.

Ambitious isn't exactly a term one would use to describe Diane; she has always leaned more towards work that interested her, as opposed to looking for positions of power or authority, so when she was requested for the newly forming Special Circumstances unit, it appealed to her curiosity.

Personality;
Diane was always obsessed with how things worked, and was lucky enough to have been surrounded by people who nurtured this creativity. Money was never a problem for her growing up, so she has never felt driven towards a career for material reasons, and given her parents values, she could never imagine working a job she didn't love.
Diane doesn't really do relationships; not in the conventional sense. She has arrangements with individuals that interest her she has met through work over the years; none of whom live in Washington.
She lives alone, liking space to spread out in. She has picked up artwork and odds and ends from her travels, an extensive amount of books; almost all non fiction, and has a collection of electric guitars hanging on the wall of her living room - signed by members of the bands Yes, Genesis, ASIA, Kansas and GTR - reflecting some of her taste in music.

Family life;
Moving as she did while a child, and extensive time abroad has kept Diane from putting down roots; the most stable time in her life was attending high school near her grandparents. Her mother and now retired grandparents are still in Palm Beach; her mother having finally being persuaded to settle down. She makes the effort to see them at holidays, and tries to accommodate the occasional visit.
Her brother River is a light and sound installation artist who follows the festival circuit; Burning Man, Coachella - anywhere that will pay him to erect his strange, interactive sculptures. If the line up looks particularly good, she sometimes takes a bit of time off and joins him.
The siblings have an erratic relationship with their father - they call him Steve - now living permanently in England, and continuing with a more low key solo career. They speak on the phone, and he offers to fly them "home", as he calls it, from time to time, but ultimately though he is well meaning, he is absorbed in his music.

Miami Medical Examiner's Office; Diane was never really suited to a job in the ME's office. She used her ABFA accreditation to keep one foot out the door in case any more interesting consultation work came up. She always applied for time off in the correct fashion, or ensured her outside work reflected well on the department, but regardless, this was a source of resentment among her colleagues. Whether this was envy, or thoughts that she was getting above herself, she didn't leave Miami on great terms with anyone.

American Board of Forensic Anthropologists; The ABFA represents the best of what America and Canada has to offer in terms of specialists, and diplomates are usually engaged in a wide variety of active practice as university lecturers, academic researchers, curators, or employed in the various human remains identification labs - for private citizens, or military personnel - scattered around the country. Diane has worked in conjunction with a number of other anthropologists through this board, and gets along quite well with a few of them as they share areas of interest.

The Old Santa Fe Association; The place she can usually find her brother in between projects. Santa Fe, New Mexico is a city dedicated to the arts, and Diane enjoys the multicultural environment. This artist's collective has welcomed her time and again for visits, whether or not River happens to be in the city.

The Pentagon's Defense Prisoner of War/Missing Personnel Office; Diane has an old classmate employed in this office, someone she travelled to Bosnia with all those years ago, and worked with once as a consultant. She finds the classified nature of his work quite exciting; possibly more exciting than it is in actuality.

Attributes
Intelligence; 3
Wits; 2
Resolve; 3
Strength; 2
Dexterity; 3
Stamina; 2
Presence; 2
Manipulation; 2
Composure; 2

Abilities
Academics; 2
Computer; 1
Investigation*; 2
Medicine*; 4 (pathology)
Science; 2 (anatomy)
Athletics; 2 (marathon)
Drive; 1
Firearms; 2
Stealth; 1
Survival; 1
Persuasion; 1
Socialise; 2
Subterfuge; 1

Merits
Profession (Forensic Anthropologist); 2
Area of Expertise (Anatomical Pathology); 1
Time Management; 1
Tolerance to biology; 1
Trained observer; 1
Resources; 2
Contacts (AFBA); 1

Derived Stats
Size; 5
Speed; 10
Defense; 2
Initiative Mod; 5

Health; OOOOOOO

Willpower; OOOO

Morality; 7
 
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Name: Enid
Ethnicity: Hrothgaard
Path: The Silver Tree

Appearance:
Enid appears to be somewhere in her mid to late 30s. Everything about her appearance suggests she is unremarkable; her average height and build, the medium brown hair worn in a braid, the sensible clothes. She is not unattractive, but none of her features would mark her as beautiful. This carefully cultivated anonymity is for protection.
For the times where something other than unremarkable is necessary, she has other faces to do the job.

History:
She is the daughter of a book binder and a baker, but her parents were so much more than that. Books and bread filled their bellies, put clothes on their backs, and kept a roof over their heads, but didn't feed their souls. There is a distinct difference between an occupation and a calling. Generations after Hrota Rulfsdottir reclaimed The City, the stories about what was locked away underneath had distorted, faded into snippets passed down through folk tales, suggested by family heirlooms, and urban legends spread by children. But some things don't allow themselves to stay buried.
The Engineer's Guild existed in secret decades before they had an official place within Hrothgard society; aspiring explorers and academics acquired specific properties and began digging underneath. Enid grew up around secrets; her parents and their friends were open-minded, dreamers, convinced they were going to change the world, and when they felt she was old enough they finally gave into her pleas to join them. She learned different skills from all of them, but overwhelmingly their attitude was that science would lead humanity towards some kind of greater truth.
She discovered her powers in her late teens; she was badly injured along with others during a cave-in, and an Alchemist wintering in The City offered his medical expertise. Within a matter of days she was back on her feet, and her parents praised him for his intervention, calling him a miracle worker. Henry knew he couldn't be responsible for this impossible recovery, so he started spending time with Enid, determined to figure out how this happened. News of an impending Inquisitorial visit forced him to bring his theory to her sooner than he intended - that there was a strong possibility she was a life mage; something the Inquisition would burn her at the stake for.
Years later, alone, and hundreds of miles south, she would resent her parents' belief in great destinies for the first time.
Henry brought her far south to Kelen at her parents' insistence, helped by most of their savings. He told her what he knew of Communers, as he called them; visionaries, madmen, those who fancied themselves the natural rulers among other Patterns. The stories he shared were positively ghoulish, and his thinly concealed fear of her powers was more deep rooted than anything she had ever witnessed, even in the most devout Southern God worshipper. By the time he left her near the Caine's estate, she thought herself a monster.
She knew little of Lord Caine, save that he admired her father's handiwork, but discovered he was away on business upon her arrival. Rooms had been prepared for her, and she was given leave to roam the estate as she pleased. Aside from intermittent contact with a handful of polite staff, she was left to her own devices for weeks, so she spent most of her time in the library. It didn't take long for her to discover books full of information she knew to be forbidden by the Church, finally understanding why her father had assured he she'd be safe with Lord Caine.

Personality:
Discovering she is functionally immortal had a profound effect on Enid; she takes the long view of events and has cultivated near endless amounts of patience. She favours the carrot over the stick, and believes that violence should only be a last option. But it is always an option. Growing up surrounded by secrets; she sees no value in lying, save but for the preservation of life, but knows not everyone needs to know the whole truth. With her companions, Enid is unfailingly optimistic and maternal, in the manner of a somewhat eccentric aunt. She is prone to working on projects for days on end unless interrupted, and never gets rid of anything that might be useful in the future.

Hopes:
Short term
- successfully bring a group together in the Frontier, begin spying on all established towns, look into the "university" that has been opened by the Inquisition.
Long term - cement the resistance movement, take over the Frontier if necessary, discover more about Lord Caine's true nature.

Fears:
That she will outlive everyone she ever loves.
That history will repeat itself; hubris was the cause of the fall of the first Magi utopia.
That the children she's leading into the Frontier will never be able to understand how important their mission is.

Regrets:
She hasn't been back to Hrothgard in about 30 years, and is certain her sister would still be alive if she had.
She wishes she could have met Henry once again; despite his obvious fear of her powers, he helped her, and she still harbours a burning curiosity about this contradiction.

Connections:
Letter writing is extremely important to Enid, and is how she manages to maintain relationships with people on other corners of the continent.

She writes to her niece Saoirse in Hrothgard who keeps her informed of how the family are doing, news from the Guild of Engineers, how the Petersen Trade Consortium is coming along, and it seems recently her grand-nephew has married a Berserkar and taken up monster hunting.

She writes to Nico, one of her old guides, who is usually found on the Outcaste Islands. Laman society seems to be incredibly static and closed off within the Coral City, but the islands are a good source of information about relationships between the northern and southern continents; who is trading in what, who's organising expeditions, or fleeing the North.

She developed a cipher to keep in contact with Francesca Caine, based on beehive honeycomb structures and migratory bird patterns, but wants to refine and speed it up by it working with a Heartwright.
 
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Name; Lexi Smoke
Callsign; Fractal
Age; 38
Gender; F

Background
Lexi climbed her way up from the bottom; her father was a prostitute, her mother a drug dealer, and her siblings following after in one way or another. She was the youngest daughter, the golden child; sometimes literally because of a low-level Torchbearer mutation, and her family pushed her to get out of the slums based on this. She wanted to be a cop from a young age after an unusually compassionate Califresco PD detective saved her family from a berserk manatech, and left them with a pittance for the collateral damage. Everyone got to eat really well for a couple of weeks after, and it stuck with her.
With family support she was able to follow this dream; her gang enforcer brother showed her how to fight, her con-artist sister taught her how to talk to people, and everyone else saved to get her into Tinstar Security corporate police academy. Lexi believed this would be a stepping stone, she had a five-year plan laid out; if she could earn citizenship while at the academy and acquit herself well, then applying for the CPD should be a natural progression. Then, with some hard work, she should be able to finally get her family to a better place.
It sounded so simple.

While excelling professionally, she quickly became jaded. Tinstar was corrupt, their parent company was corrupt, and there came a point where she couldn't put up with it anymore. Selling them out to the CPD earned her provisional citizenship, later graduating to beat cop and registered Citizen. The shine faded even faster this time when it became apparent the civic police were just as corrupt as the corporate ones, only you had to look harder. The rules they enforced held up the status quo, effectively keeping people like her family from ever getting out of the spiral of crime and self-destruction. The only thing that could seem to bring about change was money, so she decided to reenter the private sector, but this time in more of a directorial capacity.
The joined up with a renegade Conduit named Iosef Gilt, who had a tendency to piss off corporate authorities. With his funds, and additional resources from likewise indignant investors, Lightning Security Solutions was founded. The company made a name for itself over the years that followed; a private military company with a rigid code of ethics was something of an oddity, a good PR hire if nothing else. When Iosef finally made his way onto the Most Wanted list, he vanished leaving just enough instructions for her to cover his tracks, and to have him declared legally dead once the appropriate amount of time had elapsed.

Personality
Lexi has zero faith in large institutions, and this can cause her to come off as cynical, if not downright bitter to casual acquaintances. She's a stickler for specifics and quite no-nonsense; she won't accept bullshit sob-stories, but has a soft spot for those genuinely in need. Underneath it all she still remains idealistic about change, even if it means burning everything to the ground and starting over.
 
Name; Lady Vera Winterheart
Epithets; The Frozen Virgin, The Sword of Winter
Age; 26
Sex; female

Patron; The Snow-Cloaked King, The Lord of Winter

Vice;
Wrath
Pride; Fortitude

Background;
Once, she was Lady Vera Ferldain, a cousin to the family of the main line. As is usual for noble ladies, she was expected to marry in a politically appropriate fashion and bear children for her husband; but she took a different path. During her teenage years, a secret relationship with a maid in her father's house made her realise she would never be happy with a man, and so to avoid this fate she availed of her only other option; to join the Order of the Iron Rose.

Being of House Ferldain made joining the Order much easier; her family have a long history of protecting Kelen from the horrors streaming out of Kroms and were pleased when she attempted to distinguish herself as a warrior.
Taking up the sword, she swore a vow of chastity, fealty and to serve the crown.

After completing her training, she went wherever she was needed, at the behest of either Lord Ferldain or the church. The political turmoil of the past couple of years meant a good amount of her time was spent travelling, and she made the acquaintance of a Skald from Hrothgard. For reasons that are still beyond her comprehension, Jurgen quickly became enamored with her, seemingly for poetic reasons, and songs were composed about his chaste warrior maiden.
Unwilling to earn the ire of a Skald, and finding him reasonably pleasant company, Lady Vera allowed him to accompany her to and fro across Kelen as war was brewing.

The military intelligence gathered indicated the former noble house of Van Forze had returned to Kelen, and were attempting to make war with the royal house. Given that they were put to the sword decades ago for heresy, it seemed possible they had some form of magic at their disposal, but information was sparse.

Moving with the crown Prince's army, an assortment of knights from other noble houses, and a mix of two thousand spearmen and archers, camp was set up in the north east of the Delat fief. Scouts reported movement a few miles from the camp, talk spread of unnatural creatures, and all the while snow fell steadily. Breaking camp at dawn, the prince's army moved to meet the opposition, discovering to their horror that the rumours of unnatural beasts were in fact the truth. Facing an almost wholly supernatural enemy, the mortals fared surprisingly well, but despite the number of faceless, frozen soldiers they killed, other stronger creatures took their places. Antlered ogres tore archers limb from limb, unnaturally graceful white-skinned warriors effortlessly speared men as they tried to navigate the snow; all the while the leader of these creatures remained mostly out of reach. Finally, authority descending through the ranks with each noble falling to the snow, Sir Selanmere ordered the knights on a final charge, sending one away to warn Regar to prepare.

Lady Vera engaged with what she assumed was a bodyguard to the entity in the crown of ice, managing to severely wound him before falling from her own horse. Lying bleeding in the snow, she found herself cursing the limitations of humanity, wishing her hatred of this icy king could somehow take shape and stop him.

The elegant mounted spearmen picked off the more violent stragglers, and began to cow the survivors into submission. The king began to move among them, speaking with them, and touched some of them on the chest seeming pleased with them. Those touched began to change, a rime of frost covering their armour and their features becoming more indistinct. With growing horror Vera realised he was adding to his ranks through some kind of foul pact.

As the sounds of dying faded, singing began. Managing to turn her head, Vera saw that Jurgen had stayed behind, picked up his lute and did the only thing he knew. It was a song about a heroic yet impossibly outmatched army fighting a losing battle, unnatural creatures wielding frost-spun weapons, and a lady knight lying dying in the snow.


A voice spoke above her;
"My lieutenant tells me you fought well. Impressing him like that has caught my attention, mortal, and it seems that your death would be a waste."

Introducing himself as Fimbul; the Prince of Winter, the frost crowned man offered her life in exchange for her loyalty for the duration of the war. Not wanting to pledge her loyalty to him, yet knowing her survival could allow her the chance to bring about his downfall, Vera declared she would pledge her loyalty to his father instead; Winter himself.

Finding strength returning to her limbs, she follows Fimbul to where Jurgen has just finished his song, being regarded silently by the lieutenants. Offered a similar bargain to herself, Vera interrupted, declaring that as he had devoted himself to her, she had decided he would give his voice to Winter. The Prince seemed unused to and amused by her insistence that things be done in a particular way, and allowed the Skald to offer his voice to his father.
Vera had little to say to Jurgen when the pair were finally left alone; getting to grips with her new existence was at the front of her mind.

"I am bound to Winter, and to Winter alone. I have no loyalty left to give to any one or any thing. You are bound to me, and must do as I say. I must stay with this army for the duration of the war, but Fimbul does not have my loyalty; there is nothing stopping me from attempting to overthrow him, and for you to help. And after that, I shall seek a good death."

Regrets;
Betraying her family, and the Order of the Iron Rose by her oath to Winter
Forever binding Jurgen to her even though she cannot love him in return
Fears;
That her mortal family will discover what she has become
That the Prince of Winter will succeed in his war
Hopes;
That she can help facilitate the downfall of the Prince
That she will be able to find true death after the Prince's downfall

Appearance;
Tall and athletically built, Vera was once much more attractive than she now is. She constantly looks stern, hardened by both the cold and hate. Mortified my what she has now become, she wears a porcelain mask whenever there is a chance she would interact with a mortal; the notion that her family or the Order would discover her anything other than dead is unthinkable.

Still wearing the suit of armour she had in life, it is now permanently rimed in frost, with the rents and dents repaired with chunks of solid ice.

Personality;
The desire for revenge and her regrets are all she knows now. She is struggling to come to terms with what she has become; trying to reconcile the abandonment of her vows with the knowledge that the pact was her only available option to still make a difference. The only solace she can take in the situation is that she is not bound to do no harm to Fimbul, and she fully intends to exploit this, with Jurgen's help. She can smell the Prince's overconfidence from a mile away, and will strive to make it his downfall.

Attributes;
major
minor

Strength 3
Dexterity 3
Fitness 2
Intellect 3
Intuition 2
Willpower 2
Bearing 2
Guile 2
Composure 2

Skills
Athletics; 4
Awareness; 2
Evasion; 2
Melee; 4 *sword
Parry; 4 *shield
Stealth; 1
Unarmed; 1
Academics; 1
Investigate; 1
Lore; 1
Medicine; 1
Tactics; 2 *defensive tactics
Etiquette; 2
Leadership; 2 *preserving morale

Derived Pools

Offence
Melee; 7
Unarmed; 4
Ranged; 6

Defence Rating; 7
Dodge Rating; 5
Soak; 2
Speed; 6
Combat Pool; 9
Ranged Pool; 6

Health; 10

Condition; 20
 
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Name; Selina
Gender; Female
Age; 17
Birthplace; Illim

Patron; The Lady of Night, The First Lady, Mother of Cats, Keeper of Secrets, Mother of Monsters

Vice; A sense of entitlement. Selina sees service to the Lady of Night as her birthright, and could not fathom a life outside the Maidens; she pities mortal women.
Pride; Her legacy. She admires the women who raised her, and their power.
Fear; That she could ever disappoint the Maidens.
Hope; To serve the Lady to the fullest, and maybe find out what awaits favoured chosen witches...
Regret; It's not exactly a regret, but she doesn't fully understand what it was she Bargained away; she was young, and ill...

Background;
Selina was born and raised in Illim; a city girl through and through.
A daughter to the Madame of the Maidens of the Midnight Sun, her earliest memories are of the Lanternlight District, and the women who lived there.
She was brought up to believe that a woman needs to be more than beautiful; she needs to be strong, and smart to live a full life. Never knowing her father, she lived her early years largely devoid of a male role-model, only ever meeting men that were friends of her mother, or aunts.
The Maidens made their religion apparent to her from the beginning; their devotion to the Lady of Night. They said she was the first lady, the first mother; and that all of them, including Selina, were her daughters. Some of the Maidens seemed more blessed by the Lady; the ones that led the prayers, and the ones who kept everyone else safe.
These lovely bodyguards made the biggest impression on Selina, especially as she grew a little older and learned more about what kind of business was being run in the main house. Men occasionally did violence to one of the women, and then the Sisterhood would step in, never allowing him to go unpunished.

Darkness...mostly darkness.
And voices.
"Mover her to the bed, quickly! Clementine, bring a wet cloth and some water; and someone, for the love of Night, someone fetch her Mother!"

--- --- ---

"Selina?"
Dampness...against my head.
Hot, so hot...my skin is burning...can't swallow...it hurts...

"Selina, you're sick. Very sick. Try to sip some water, honey."
Mother's face swims into view...she's glowing, pale and silver. I've...I've never seen her look like this before....
"The Lady wants to help you; there's something in your body making you sick, and she can take it. Can you feel it stopping you from swallowing?"

The pain is getting worse...something there is....burning...
"You just need to wish for her to take it away."
Mother looks so worried...I cannot speak, but I nod.

"Let her take it, and she will make you better..."
Mother's voice fades away as I try and imagine the Lady as they describe her; her dark hair and eyes, and white skin...

--- --- ---

Coolness...water...
Opening my eves, I see an impossible night sky; stars I don't recognise, and a moon with a single eye looking down at me.
I'm floating in a pool of still water...

The wind rushes through the hedges as I sit up, and something rumbles in the far distance. Somehow, as I step out of the water, my dry clothes don't seem to surprise me...there's someone here I need to find. A single path leads away from the pool, and on to more paths...all surrounded by high hedges. Tinkling music starts up, and I know I should follow it.

This place is so strange.
Sculptures mark the crossroads; collections of beautiful women dancing together, obelisks covered in writing I don't understand, and cats...lots of cats.

The paths begin to widen; lanterns and silk banners hanging along the edges. As I turn another corner, there is a silver glow up ahead...Mother!
I run to meet her...but as I near, I realise it's not her....but it is her....yet not...
She opens her arms;
"Come to me, Selina."
I move closer.

"Your mother sent you to me because you are ill, and I can make you better. Do you want me to make you better?"
I manage to whisper "Yes."
"The come here; let me look at you, and hug you....I have not seen you in such a long time. And then I will take your fever away."

As she wrapped her arms around me, the tightness in my throat lessened...and lessened until it faded away completely. I closed my eyes and breathed in her scent; she smelled like jasmine, grass and night-time...she smelled like...Mother?

"Selina?"
I opened my eyes; Mother looked back at me, with Clementine and Rosalie close behind her...they looked so relived....
"Eleanor!" Clementine gasped, "Look at her throat!"

--- --- ---

Her experience in what she soon learned was Night's Garden had a profound effect on her, and she continually asked to be put into training so she could better serve the Lady, specifically asking to join the Sisterhood.
As the years passed, she grew surer in her belief that she wanted nothing else, and started experiencing a desire for power beyond her Whisper...

Attributes
major
minor

Strength; 2
Dexterity; 3
Fitness; 2
Intellect; 2
Intuition; 3
Willpower; 2
Bearing; 3
Guile; 2
Composure; 2

Skills
Athletics; 3
Academics; 1
Awareness; 2
Etiquette;
Empathy; 1
Evasion; 2
Investigation; 2
Lore; 1
Melee; 2
Parry; 2
Persuasion; 1
Stealth; 3
Subterfuge; 2
Streetsavvy; 2
Thievery; 1

Derived Stats

Offence
Melee; 5
Unarmed; 3
Ranged; 3

Defence Rating; 5
Dodge Rating; 5
Soak; 2
Speed; 5

Combat Pool; 8
Ranged Pool; 6

Health; 10
Condition; 20
Gossamer; 10
 
Name; she responds to Nyx
Clan; Lasombra
Generation; ??

Apparent age; 30
Actual age; her superior's best guess is somewhere in the region of a century

Concept; Child of the Abyss, and Sabbat consultant. Specialises in introducing new Lasombra to their inner darkness, whether they like it or not.

Background;
1960
She was unceremoniously disgorged from a patch of darkness in the haven of Bishop Diego in Mexico City, bleeding shadow and covered in something horrible, viscous and unidentifiable. Until he incapacitated her, she screamed hysterically - in what turned out to be Italian - for someone named Luca.
She was briefly staked while the Bishop decided what to do with her. A Child of the Abyss asked to consult on the matter was intensely curious at her appearance, and suggested they at least find out what she had seen. An exchange of letters between Mexico and the old world confirmed there was at some point an Abyss mystic named Luca living in Sicily, but had been out of contact with the Italian Friends for years. She was examined by a deacon with auspex before taking the stake out, but instead of offering anything useful, he stared at her in silence for a long time before asking to be dismissed.

Someone fluent in Italian spoke with her when she awoke, and it was clear all she remembered was the Abyss. Someone, at some stage had filled her full of Keeper doctrine, and while it was still there she could not tell them who had done so. Calm, and cleaned up, the Bishop decided to keep her; not quite as a pet because her mind was mostly intact, but to see if she would prove useful. Still, she needed a name. Humour is a rare thing among the Friends of the Night, but when someone referred to her as Nyx, it stuck.
It was clear after a couple of years that she couldn't function within a conventional pack; neonates were terrified of her, and she sneered at their lack of comprehension when it came to Obtenebration. She was given space to practice, access to an amount of blood and books, and told to come up with something that would be useful to her clan.

At last, they were speaking her language...

1983
Like most Children of the Abyss, Nyx is largely left to pursue her interests. She has no strong feelings towards the Sabbat beyond the fact that they facilitate her studies in exchange for her working for them from time to time; her first loyalty is to her clan.

Sent to LA ahead of any serious movement of Sabbat packs, she intends to assess the area, and to see where a shovel party would prove the most successful should one be needed in the not too distant future. Beyond that, she can weed out the poorer examples of Lasombra, and help those unable to cope with the change along a suitable path...

Name: Nyx
Clan: Lasombra

Nature: Celebrant
Demeanour: Visionary
Concept: Child of the Abyss

Sire: unknown; thought to be Luca
Generation: 9th
Age: unclear; has been active for 25 years
Weakness; No reflection

Attributes;
Strength; 2
Dexterity; 3
Stamina; 2
Charisma; 2
Manipulation; 4
Appearance; 2
Perception; 3
Intelligence; 4
Wits; 3

Abilities;
Alertness; 3
Athletics; 2
Awareness; 1
Brawl; 2
Expression; 1
Intimidation; 2
Leadership; 1
Subterfuge; 2
Drive; 1
Etiquette; 1
Stealth; 2
Survival; 1
Academics; 3
Investigation; 2
Medicine; 1
Occult; 3

Disciplines;
Obtenebration; 3
Potence; 1

Backgrounds;
Generation; 4
Mentor; 3

Virtues;
Conviction; 2
Self-control; 3
Courage; 5

Path; Allied Path of the Night 5

Willpower; 7

Blood pool; 14 (2pts per turn)

Merits;
Dark Sight (2pt merit)

Flaws;
Infertile blood (5pt merit)
Amnesia (2pt merit)
 
Name; Juka Manuya Vimala
Rank; Archon
Gender; F

Appearance;
Like most Archons of Manu, Vimala appears mostly lacking in augmentations, preferring to wear a little as possible while not on active duty; an unspoken statement about how organic she is. Her horns may not be as impressive as those of more militant leanings, but they are proportional to her small frame. Her third eye is always open, frequently staring into space or watching some unoccupied corner; all three rarely focus on one subject at the same time. It's unsettling when it happens.

Personality;
The quest for perfection must remain relentless and all threats to this state need to be eradicated. The most subtle of these come from within; from the dangerous hubris of those who believe perfection has already been attained, to the corrupted clones who would question the Divine Precepts. All descended from the Divine are imperfect; we, her children are the only possible weakness an enemy may exploit, and blessed as we are with the life that flows from her, it is our sacred duty to purge our flaws so that the whole remains undefeatable.

For the Jukari Empire to remain a well-oiled machine, all its component parts must work in unison, regardless of the individual's knowledge of the whole. Vimala exists in the unusual position that all Archons of Manu occupy; the ability to see the bigger picture. Or part of it, at least.
Each Prime is a direct extension of the Divine. The Archons operate under instruction from their Prime, and from there delegate to their devoted Children; the least perfect of all Jukari, and those in most pressing need of care and attention. If the Children rebel, dissent or are corrupted, then clearly an Archon somewhere has failed them; and it falls to Vimala to root out the cause and fix it. But it would be more effective to stop a problem before it even happens, wouldn't it? Identifying the signs that can lead to future issues for the collective has now become second nature for her, as has smoothing them down before they start to grow; allowing something to fester to the point it requires amputation is near-total failure in her eyes.
 
Name: Zita
Sex: F
Age:

Height: 5'11"
Weight:
Eye Color: blue
Hair Color: dirty blonde, kept short

Distinguishing Marks: None. Zita keeps herself as unremarkable as possible, favouring a dark body glove and a cowl; any scars she carries are kept under wraps. Occasionally she wears a vest with pockets, or pouches on a belt. On a mission she makes certain only her eyes are visible.

Home World: Scintilla; a Hive World
Background: Outcast
Role: Assassin

Special Rule: Manoeuvre, type; utility, cost 1 action point
Divination: 13 (-3 agility)

Background
Born in blood.
Zita doesn't remember much of her childhood, and largely considers it unimportant now. Born in an under hive of Tarsus, Scintilla's second city, only a communal nursery comes to mind in the time before she was taken.
She was seven at the time, among a number of children taken to be experimented on, or rendered down for genetic material by a small group of well-funded Hereteks working for a larger cult. Though this knowledge was gleaned many years after. The children were taken one by one, some returned, some never seen again, and occasionally new ones added. Some of the ones returned spoke of needles, coloured tubes, and beds with straps....but others never spoke, or looked at anyone again. An indeterminate amount of time passed, and she experienced the room with the needles, like the other children described; it was a series of painful injections administered by metal men in torn red robes.

Zita was one of the lucky ones; that was the only procedure she ever underwent. She survived the fever the shots brought on, and the day her fever broke a large explosion rang out in the building. A crumbled wall allowed her and two others still coherent enough to crawl out of the...dormitory they were kept in. Intermittent light from burning machinery was the only thing providing visibility, and they were low-born enough to recognise gunfire when they heard it. They found one of the metal men in a room they had never seen before, funneling something into an incinerator. Behind her something snapped. A guard had just broken the neck of the little girl who had made it out with her...muttered something about "the little shits escaping"...and reached for the little boy.

The next sound was a hiss of hot metal slicing through air, then meat, and the guard slid forward off the sword belonged to a black figure standing behind him. Without giving the metal man a chance to react, the figure flew through the air, sword humming, and cut him down without effort. Now the sudden action was over, she saw it was a woman, dressed completely in black; casually flicking blood from her blade. Noticing the children, standing in an ever-growing pool of blood, she crouched to look at them. The little boy promptly soiled himself, while Zita reached out to touch the only bit of face she can see under the cowl. Black greasepaint rubbed off on her fingers.

"Do you know who I am?" the voice asked.

"Death..." Zita whispered.

"Good."

The guard it seems was not dead, and a gurgle issued from his body behind them. An arm twitched. The woman produced a small sharp blade, and pressed it into Zita's hand after removing it from her face.

"Suffer not the heretic to live."

Zita stood over him, and a strange expression briefly passed across his face before she plunged the blade into his eye. All was perfectly silent for a moment, before the little boy sank to his knees and started to cry. Then Death took her by the hand, leading her from the room.
Being brought to the Moritat Temple cemented her obsession with death, and with the woman who brought her there. As she grew older, she learned to associate death with liberation, and sought to survive the initiation so she could meet the woman in black again. Her superiors refused to give her a name, but she did remember other members of the team wearing what she would later come to recognise as Inquisitorial rosettes. She undertook the Travail with a view to travelling, taking the first position she found on board a rogue trader vessel.

Weapon Skill: (25+19) 44
Ballistic Skill: (25+11) 36
Strength: (25+13) 38
Toughness: (25+17) 42
Agility+: (25+10-3) 37
Intelligence: (25+11) 36
Perception+: (25+9) 34
Willpower-: (25+5) 30
Fellowship: (25+13) 38
Influence: (25+14) 39

Wounds:
Armour:
Fate Points: (5-2) 3
Corruption: 0
Insanity: 0

Skills:
Acrobatics 2
Deceive 2
Evade 2
Intimidate 2
Investigation 2
Navigate 2
Observe 2
Stealth 2
Survival 2

Talents:
Evasive
Weapon Training (chain)
Weapon Training (solid projectile)
 
Name; Clementine
Age; 18

Mutation; She can observe the lines of fate; see a person's past, present and future, as well as gather a measure of their personality. But unlike the Pattern of the Amber Eye, she is constantly in this state, making interaction with crowds difficult.

Born in the town of Ashenvale, Clementine was the daughter of the village wise woman and a minor nobleman who passed through as part of an expedition. Naturally, she was never publicly acknowledged, nor met him, but he remained fond of her mother, and sent money from time to time. Her mother fancied she had a touch of magic about her, and would read the Deck of Names for the townsfolk and passing travellers, making proclamations about the future.

Clementine began experiencing odd sensory input in her early teens; hearing strange noises, seeing puffs and lines of colour around certain people. Her mother took note when she corrected her interpretation of a reading at age 13; determining someone trying to conceive was finally with child, and which gender it would be. Had this happened anywhere but Ashenvale, her life may have been in danger, but as the town was home to a band of eccentric monster hunters and academics, Clementine wasn't the strangest thing they had ever encountered. She was warned, however, that the wider world would not accept what she was.

As she got older, the weird impressions became magnified to the point of utter distraction because she was no longer interpreting the world in anything resembling a normal fashion. She found it hard to interact with certain types of people; those with violent pasts were constantly accompanied by screams and the clash of metal, or a thoroughly silent train of spectres chilling the air around them. Artists and musicians were her favourites; the streams of music, splashes of colour and warmth radiated out of them...but regardless, she had to limit contact with crowds as they would overwhelm her. A visiting Eotran Monk took pity on how she struggled with her abilities and tried to help by encouraging her to meditate with him. He said her gifts were a blessing from the Dragons; that clearly they intended for her to help people, and if she felt weakness she should pray to them.

Not long after her seventeenth birthday, she became aware of a shadow looming over her and the town; a sense that their time was no longer stretching out before them for years and years; it was now mere months. She had nightmares that culminated in a visit from an Inquisitor and his three acolytes, but her mother knew well enough to keep Clementine largely our of their way. They were trailing something they would not talk about, and the only testing they were doing was for demonic taint. One of the acolytes took a fancy to her, but she couldn't stand to be around him; the air was cold, and filled with muffled crying wherever he was, so she did her best to avoid him in particular.

The Inquisitor found something in the woods that required continual monitoring, keeping the troupe in Ashenvale for longer than intended.

Something changed one day. Everywhere she went in town was plagued by screams, and a terrible cold. Everyone she met was rimed with ice and smelled of salt. Terrified, she ran to her mother, and found her with a similar frozen hanging state hanging over; breath steaming when she spoke. They realised the Inquisitor would not be successful in his endeavours without her help. Her mother began packing some things, as they planned to flee once Clementine revealed herself to the Inquisitor, while she went to look for him. Approaching the Inquisitor, she had to stifle a scream at the vision of a twisted, living salt sculpture looming over him. Trembling, she explained to him what she had been seeing, and that everyone was marked for death. Luckily; being a Demonhunter meant the Inquisitor was a pragmatic man, and he took full advantage of her abilities, constantly asking questions and attempting to interpret what she was seeing. This led to him identifying a number of demon-tainted about half a day away in a makeshift camp, with bodies on spikes around a pit in preparation for a ritual.

After dealing with the cultists, the frost was gone from the town, but Clementine's personal shadow remained...though she couldn't identify the source. Even though her the Inquisitor insisted he would just "forget she had helped, in the official report, at least" her mother felt it was time they moved on. After the appropriate preparations, they joined a band of mercenaries heading west, back towards civilisation, as it were. They had heard from some folks that southern Maerlyn lands were more hospitable for people of unusual talents.

Unfortunately they didn't get that far. It seems the acolyte who she had spurned turned to the Magehunters, and outed her and her mother as dangerous heretics, vastly over-stating her power level and insisting she was a serious threat to those around her. Her mother died trying to get her away from them, but she ended up with a couple of others like herself, bound for a public execution.

Personality
Clementine was the sunny sort, until her encounter with the Inquisition. Ashenvale was rare in that the townsfolk didn't shun her and her abilities, so this gave her pleasant formative years with people who accepted her, and a mother who loved her. She was never spoiled, but they had a moderately comfortable lifestyle.
She likes to help people, is an excellent judge of character and difficult to lie to because of her mutation. She doesn't understand the religion of Degra Veen...she doesn't understand how the church can spread hatred of people that are just a bit different, but what she has seen so far has convinced her that the Magehunters have large amounts of fear and greed attached to them.

Appearance; Quite attractive; average height, slim build with long dark hair and green eyes.

Hopes; To escape impending execution. She has been paying close attention to the ties surrounding everyone she has met along the way, hoping each new encounter will point towards some escape. She entertains a fantasy that she will happen upon the Demonhunter she helped in Ymon, and that he will intervene on her behalf.

Fears; Imminent execution

Regrets; She blames herself for her mother's death. While she doesn't regret helping the Demonhunter, she constantly wonders how the situation could have worked out more favourably.

Attributes;
primary
secondary

Strength; 1
Dexterity; 3
Fitness; 2
Intellect; 2
Intuition; 4
Willpower; 2
Bearing; 3
Guile; 2
Composure; 2

Skills;
Academics; 1
Athletics; 3
Awareness; 4 (people)
Commerce; 1
Craft; 1
Etiquette; 1
Evasion; 1
Investigation; 4
Lore; 1 (Eotran faith)
Medicine; 1
Mingling; 3
Perform; 2 (storytelling)
Persuasion; 2
Subterfuge; 2 (bending the truth)
Stealth; 2
Survival; 1

Mutation;
Related to the Pattern of the Amber Eye, Clementine's mutation allows her to observe the lines of fate as direct lines typing people and events, as well as a collection of visions, imagery, sounds and smells associated with their past, present and near future. But she cannot turn the power off; leading to difficulty in certain situations.
 
Name; Violet Ingram
Age; 28
Occupation; Art gallery co-owner
Virtue; Deductive
Vice; Avoidant

*** *** ***

"Oh please, Violet, darlin'. You know I don't have the head for things like this."

"I could ask Daddy for you, if you like; he would get it sorted through in no time at all."

"No, I need a member of the family here with me for this. And your father isn't my family. I suppose I could ask your mother...."

"No, Aunt Stella, Mama's health isn't that good the moment. Charlotte will understand if I need to leave for a few days...we don't have a new show coming in until next month after all."

"It will be wonderful to see you, darlin', and I don't want you to go making reservations anywhere; you come stay at the house with me."

"Yes, Aunt Stella. I need to go make a couple of calls now; I'll let you know when I'll be arriving."

"Of course. And give my love to your mother."

"Yes, Aunt Stella."

*click*

*** *** ***

Background:
At age eight, the family moved to New York, having previously lived in Knoxville. Violet can't really imagine life outside the city; starting the gallery with Charlotte has led her to move in some extremely trendy circles including artists, photographers, celebrity bloggers and stylists, though she mostly lets Charlotte take the lead, and just goes along for the ride.
She's on her way to Caswell to help Aunt Stella execute the terms of her Grandfather's will, as she seems to be having some difficulty. She has some memories of her grandfather; he was a nice man who worked at the University, but he always seemed distracted with work, and she was never allowed into his study.
Apart from the funeral almost a year ago, she hasn't been to Caswell since she spent summers there as a child....and can't quite remember why they stopped visiting. It was just something she accepted. When Daddy said things had to be a certain way, they had to be a certain way.

Personality:
An art gallery co-owner, Violet is somewhat quiet, and disinclined towards conflict. She can be an effective problem solver, and is quite observant, but has a bad habit of burying her head in the sand. She is not terribly sheltered, but has lived all her life in a privileged bubble; she never had to struggle for anything really, or known hardship. Her older brother, William, falls into a similar category.

Breaking Points:
The only violence Violet has ever experienced was with an ex-boyfriend who hit her once, and that shook her up in a major way for quite a while. She was afraid he may come looking for her again, so she told her parents about it, as she is usually quite open with them. Her father took serious issue with the idea of anyone laying a hand on her, and said he would take care of it. Violet wasn't quite sure what that meant; all she knew was she never saw her ex again.

Relationships:
Thomas Ingram; Violet's father. A property developer. He encouraged Violet to attend college after high school, telling her that a career will ensure independence. He is the reason they stopped visiting Caswell during the summer, but it has never occurred to Violet to ask why.
Eloise Ingram; Violet's mother. A woman who suffers from her "nerves". She occasionally asks Violet why she feels the need to keep running the gallery; she is of the opinion that women should be provided for.
William Ingram; Violet's brother; snowboarder, trainer, Olympian. A minor celebrity in the world of extreme sports, he spends most of his time travelling, keeping in touch with his sister via the internet.

Joseph Larue; Violet's late grandfather. He worked at the University, and seemingly spent a considerable amount of his youth travelling in Asia. She only has vague memories of him.
Stella Larue; Violet's spinster aunt. Now the last remaining Larue in Caswell, she still lives in the antebellum mansion referred to as the "family home". She doesn't seem to like Violet's father, though will not talk about the subject.

Charlotte Taylor; Violet's best friend, and business partner. They know each other from time spent in college. Charlotte is much more outspoken than Violet, and encourages her to stand up for herself.

Aspirations:
Immediate; See how Caswell has changed from what she remembers.
Short term; Help her aunt with the will.
Long term; Expand the prominence of her gallery.

Attributes
Intelligence; 3
Wits; 3
Resolve; 2
Strength; 1
Dexterity; 3
Stamina; 2
Presence; 3
Manipulation; 2
Composure; 2

Skills
Academics; 3 (art history) (design communication)
Computer; 2
Craft; 3 (restoration)
Investigation; 2
Occult; 1
Athletics; 2
Drive; 1
Firearms; 1
Empathy; 2
Expression; 2
Persuasion; 1
Socialize; 2

Merits
Taste; 1pt
Resources 3; 3pts
Area of expertise (art history); 1pt
Good time management; 1pt
Contacts (the art world); 1pt

Derived traits
Willpower; 4
Initiative; 5
Integrity;7
 
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Name; Shosuro Hiroko
Clan; Scorpion
Family; Shosuro
School; Shosuro Infiltrator

Honour; 1.5
Glory; 2.0
Status; 2.0
Insight Rank; 2 (164/175) (etiquette three gives 3 extra)

Background;
Shosuro Hiroko, for all intents and purposes, is a bushi; currently yojimbo to Samanosuke - a Lion diplomat. She is rather attractive, and enjoys pleasant conversations, music, and theatrical performances. She does not practice any art form , but appreciates the skill in origami, calligraphy and bonsai.
Outside of social situations, she prides herself on her skill with her sword. Well...pride may not be the correct word; she does not consider pride to be a terribly honourable trait. She is a strict adherent to the Virtues of Bushido, and strives for correctness in all areas of her life.

In actual fact, Hiroko, like her companion Samanosuke, is a highly trained assassin of the Shosuro school, though their skill sets differ somewhat. She is naturally very silent and observant, but she downplays this in social situations; often making sure her footsteps are heard and indicating she is less sharp than the courtiers in her company. Keeping the persona of personable duelist, she is not nearly as sociable as she pretends to be, though she does genuinely enjoy skilled performances.
Her loyalty is to her clan above all else, and she has long since come to terms with the fact that they may one day require her death.

Earth Ring; 2
Stamina; 3
Willpower; 2

Air Ring; 3
Reflexes; 3
Awareness; 3

Fire Ring; 2
Agility; 4
Intelligence; 2

Water Ring; 3
Strength; 3
Perception; 3

Void Ring; 3

Skills;
(* denotes school skills)

Acting*; 2
Athletics*; 3
Craft; 2 (poison)
Etiquette; 3
Iaijutsu; 3
Investigation; 3 (notice)
Kenjutsu*; 4
Ninjitsu*; 3
Sincerity*; 3
Stealth*; 4 (sneaking)
Temptation; 2

Advantages;
Crafty
Dangerous Beauty
Perceived Honour (first rank)
Silent
Wary
 
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Name: Octavia
Home: Seven Pillars
Age: 18
Pattern: Conduit

Background;
Conduits are valued in Seven Pillars; one constantly serves on the council, and as such they receive a wide and varied education.

Octavia was no different. Her powers manifested at an early age and her parents, working class mortals, agreed that it was best to give her over for special instruction. They were thrilled that she was a magus, and a Conduit no less. Her mother occasionally entertains flights of fancy involving Ovtavia sitting on the Council, but her father is simply happy that her future is secure.

Along with learning about her new-found powers, subjects included history, lore, politics and mediation. She received a healthy dose of Seven Pillars propaganda with her education, and believes her city is the best possible one to live in.

Personality;
The idea of ruling never really appealed to her; it always seemed to be a position with too many other responsibilities that would take time away from her study of the application of her power, and it's effect on other Patterns.
She enjoys working with other magi, as she has limited capabilities with all Patterns, but ultimately she practices weaving, waiting for the day she will be able to bind and protect structures, as her teachers do.
She is fond of humans as she remembers where she comes from, and believes her city treats them in the correct way; she's not a fan of them being treated as lower creatures, and sometimes thinks that being a Conduit should mean she should be able to fix that. But she's not sure how just yet...
Ultimately, she is curious and well-meaning, but a little naive at present.

Logos; 2
Attributes;
major
minor

Strength; 2
Dexterity; 3
Fitness; 2
Intellect; 2
Intuition; 2
Willpower; 4
Bearing; 2
Guile; 2
Composure; 2

Skills;
Athletics; 2
Awareness; 3
Evasion; 2
Melee; 2
Academics; 3
Artisan; 3
Investigate; 2
Language; 1
Lore; 3
Etiquette; 1
Governance; 1
Leadership; 1
Mingling; 2
Streetwise; 1

(+1 each in academics, governance, leadership, mingling and streetwise)

Derived Pools;
Speed = Fitness + Athletics; 4
Combat Pool = Speed + Dex; 7
Offense: Melee = Dex + Melee; 5
Offense: Ranged = Intuition + Ranged; 2
Offense: Unarmed = Dex + Unarmed; 3
Parry/Block = Dex + Parry; 3
Dodge = Dex + Evasion; 5
Soak = lower of Strength or Fit; 2
 
Name; Lezek Lamashtu
Epithets; The Ivory Inward Focus, The Cold Fury, The Other Twin

Backstory;
The twins could almost be considered opposites.

One sister speaks, while the other listens. One dances while one watches. Vyseria is quick to both laughter and anger, while Lamashtu has a very...different sense of humour, and other ways of dealing with her displeasure.

Precise, patient, cruel and distrustful; Lamashtu has time only for her sister and her sword. She learned a long time ago that a duel over a disagreement was not always possible, and often would not provide the most satisfactory outcome in her opinion. She believes for the most part that the people that surround her are disposable, and has few qualms about carefully manipulating situations; not always to her own benefit, but certainly to someone else's detriment. Careful calculation is her weapon of choice outside of physical altercation; the phrase "revenge is a dish best served cold" could almost be the one she lives her life by. Almost.

Her twin is her only blind spot. Indeed, if she is capable of love, Vyseria would be the only one to receive any of it. She entered the tournament to make sure her sister emerges relatively unscathed, and if not, she will be there to punish whoever manages to harm her.


Hellforged Item;
Lydia
Lamashtu always carries a simple sword in a scabbard, but when it is unsheathed, it seems that the hilt has no blade attached. The blase is invisible; it's precise size, shape, curvature or the nature of its edge are unknown to anyone except Lamashtu, and those who have been cut apart by it.
It is named after an ancestor of hers; Lydia the Impossible, who grew to such power that she abandoned he body, and became a pillar of light so incandescent that on-one could look upon her.
Essence 4; invisible blade.

Ascendance; 4
Essence; 20/20

Attributes;
major
minor

Strength; 3
Dexterity; 4
Fitness; 4
Intellect; 2
Intuition; 2
Willpower; 3
Bearing; 3
Guile; 2
Composure; 2

(+1 racial modifier into Dex, +1 Expression modifiers into Fit and Bearing each)
+1 to Intimidation, Subterfuge, Awareness and Investigate.

Skills;
Athletics; 3
Awareness; 4
Evasion; 3
Melee; 3 - mastercrafted sword
Parry; 3 - misdirection
Stealth*; 1
Academics; 2
Investigate; 3
Lore; 1
Tactics; 2
Etiquette; 1
Intimidation**; 3 - stare-down
Mingling; 1
Persuasion; 3
Politics; 1
Subterfuge; 4 - sowing distrust

*penalty
**bonus

[60 exp spent on; willpower 3 (20exp), awareness 3 (6exp), evasion 3 (3+6=9exp), academics 2 (3exp), investigate 2 (3exp), tactics 2 (3exp), intimidation 2 (3exp), persuasion 3 (6exp), subterfuge 3 (6exp) - this leaves 1exp]

Derived Pools;
Speed = Fitness + Athletics; 6
Combat Pool = Speed + Dexterity; 10, 11 with sword
Offense: Melee = Dexterity + Melee; 7, 8 with sword
Offense: Ranged; -
Offense: Unarmed; 4
Parry/Block; 7
Dodge; 7
Soak; 4
(+1 Expression modifier into Soak)

Health 10/10
Condition 20/20
Expressions;
Statuesque Perfection; Lamashtu is perfectly proportioned and balanced, as though carved from marble by a master sculptor. This increases her fitness.

Unfeeling Stone; Relating to Statuesque Perfection, Lamashtu is cold and smooth to the touch, like polished stone. This gives her increased damage soak.

Aura of Glory; Like the Pride demons she is descended from, Lamashtu's shining presence makes her difficult to disagree with. This raises her bearing.

Piercing Gaze; Lamashtu has golden eyes that allow her to see more than what appears to be around her; a technique she employs for intimidation and to see in the dark.


Golden Devil Style

Golden Devil Form
With subtle misdirection and small movements, the practitioner constantly seeks to throw the enemy off balance and conceal their true intentions. The practitioner may add half their Subterfuge to their Parry rating.
Scion Bonus: The practitioner may add full Subterfuge.

Shield-Defeating Flash
The practitioner declares an attack - but this is a trick. The enemy then rolls to evade or parry, and the practitioner declares a second attack using half the combat pool of the previous attack. The enemy is -2 Defense/Dodge to avoid this second strike. This uses up the practitioners actions for the Round as usual.
Scion Bonus: Half the unused dice from the first attack are returned to the practitioners Combat Pool.

Devil-Trickster Mockery
Another feint-based technique, but this time the practitioner turns a parry into a neat sidestep followed by an attack roll to disarm.
Scion Bonus: The practitioner may augment their Dodge rating with half their Subterfuge for this technique.

Laughing Demon Largesse
The practitioner reduces called shot penalties to dismember their opponent by their Subterfuge.
Scion Bonus: The Practitioner instead gains half their Subterfuge as a bonus to dismember their opponent.

Flashing Devil Sword
The practitioner increases their actions per Round by 1
Scion Bonus: By 2


Ascendance Powers;
Excellence – Allows rerolls of failed combat dice, 1 per Rank. 5 Essence
Brilliance – Allows bonus dice on combat rolls, 1 per Rank. 10 Essence
 
Names; Anomie and Acedia
Demonic Rank; Rabble
Epithets; The Fractured Twins, The Defiant Scream, The Listless Whisper
Circle; The Second Circle: Hell’s Night

Resonance; 2
Essence;10

The twins are separate, but still one and the same.

Once, they were part of a greater whole, an Unseen known as Baron Klais. He had many names and many forms; Collector of Broken Promises and Half-truths, Composer of Unspoken Words, Archive of the Unfinished and Unwanted, but perhaps The Mind's Eye Theatre became the most significant. He was born out of every writer who wishes to have written a book, instead of actually doing so...from every artist who starts a painting, only to abandon it half-finished. He existed in the spaces between the lies creatives tell themselves and each other about their projects, and their progress.
He fed on unarticulated emotions, and ideas that are never brought to fruition. He did not deal in failure; failure implies an effort was made. This power stems from endless plans laid, with no follow-through. Driven by a need to create, but an inability to do so, the cataloging and carrying through with plans not his own had to suffice. The accumulation of power was a necessity; more power meant more resources with which to pursue his interests...more space to shape a domain as he desired.

The Theatre is the Baron, and the Baron is the Theatre. As are the performers. The stage manager. Everything is perfectly orchestrated because it and the inhabitants are one. Here, any demon who appreciated theatre, dance or music would be entertained by the collected works of unknown composers, choreographers and writers who were just not quite driven enough to produce a body of work.
The Whisper and the Scream once wore shining violet dresses, stitched with moonlight and hummingbird feathers, and danced almost nightly on the stage. Originally clockwork dolls created by a craftsman of The Infernal Machine, the Baron grew so attached to them that the girls slowly became extensions of his will; like their surroundings.They have very little recollection of this time, save for the fact they got to do what they enjoyed the majority of the time.

One night, just after curtains up, the building began to shake. As the tremors grew more violent, the cast and crew began to scream in unison; the Core Avatar of the Baron had been discoprorated somewhere in Pandemonium, and with him gone the rest could not exist. The audience of demons, powerful enough to protect themselves from falling masonry, or spirit themselves away, exited before the estate crumbled from the outside in.
The Twins pulled helplessly at the Stage Manager who wept uncontrollably in the wings, as the onstage sopranos shrieked and burst into showers of shining pins and dragonfly wings, in a final, garish performance. With sensibilities fraying, and feathers falling from their dresses, they managed to reach the dressing room, and climb into their toy chest full of masks.

They pulled together into a little world of make believe; their attachment to each other keeping them from fading away. Residual creative energies in the ruins caused the chest to shift around them, changing the dimensions of the inside. These energies also crept into the Twins, reshaping them fundamentally. Time in the box stretched on, and their neglect rusted away a pair of clockwork hearts.
Anomie filled with the resentment and longing a spoiled child has for their parent; a child who learns to prize objects because the adults in their life fail to communicate with them in any meaningful way. Acedia hollowed on the inside; like a neglected child learning crying changes absolutely nothing, she largely eschewed emotion, and reaction.

The first demon to find the chest while looting the ruins had an unpleasant time trying to open it; and had to go in search of the rest of his gang, blood streaming from every orifice in his head. Repeated attempts to get the girls out of the box resulted in screaming tantrums to the point the gang started wondering if they were worth the trouble. After a reasonable appraisal from a forewarned Breaker, they put a price on the box, and circulated the announcement of an auction....

Appearance;
They mostly look like a pair of slightly malnourished ten-year olds; dresses now tattered and stained - hanging on thin bodies - the moonlight faded and feathers all but gone.
Neither has a permanent face. When not wearing one of their many theatre masks, they alternate between animalistic or insect-like attributes, or eschew facial features altogether.


Relationships;
Baron Klais
They have fragmented memories of the Baron and the theatre; all they are really certain of is a profound sense of loss, and anger.

Count Xendriss
Rapture of Wilderness

Xendriss resembles nothing so much as a large toad made of mud and marble, his huge sea-green eyes almost hypnotic. Xendriss doesn't have the wherewithal to make himself terribly useful or fearsome, but craves activity and company. As such, he's come to throw some of the Counthood's best parties and often hosts far more ambitious and talented Demons.
The Twins are unused to the Count. But they know he wants them to dance at a party. They like him, for now; Anomie has been given toys, and allowed eat whatever she wants. Acedia is content when her twin is content. She is happy to collect fallen leaves and shred them, or find soft undergrowth to burrow into.


Domain;
Not a domain, as they aren't nearly approaching powerful or stable enough to maintain one, the Toy Chest is a little pocket dimension. Taking the appearance of a silken tent on the inside, it is barely big enough for the girls to fit in together with some toys. The Chest also holds a perfect, mundane replica of itself where they keep their masks.
The Toy Chest is currently in the Autumn Grove of Count Xendriss.


Personal Powers;
Anomie - Tantrum
Literally what one might imagine. Drawing from the anger of a spoiled child, Anomie projects a psychic assault of high-pitched screaming, and the sensation of being pushed, pulled and pinched by dozens of tiny hands. Prolonged exposure causes the victim to bleed from the eyes and ears.

Acedia - Withdraw
Ever passive-aggressive, Acedia quietly denies what is around her. Powers require a higher expenditure of Essence in her presence, lest they be turned off entirely.

Shared - My Sister's Keeper
The sisters can communicate Essence from one to the other as needed, depending on which approach to a situation they deem is necessary.

Attributes
major
minor

Strength: 1
Dexterity: 4
Fitness: 3
Intellect: 2
Intuition: 3
Willpower: 1
Bearing: 5
Guile: 4
Composure: 1

Skills
* denotes circle skill

*Academics:3
Athletics: 1
*Artisan: 1
*Awareness: 5
*Empathy: 3
*Evasion:1
Investigation: 1
*Lore: 3
*Perform: 6 (dance)
*Subterfuge: 3
*Stealth: 3
*Streetwise: 1
 
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Name: Ashtar
Demonic Rank: Count
Epithets: The Overseer of the Golden Panopticon, The All-Seeing Eye of Tasat'al dan Shaukur
Circle: The First Circle: The Hellsun

Biography:
Aeons ago, after Tasat'al dan Shaukur lost his battle with the sun, his essence returned to Pandemonium while his consciousness tried to gather itself. A lone wisp of essence, aware only of its base desire for heat and light began making its way upwards, eventually arriving on the edge of the lowest ring of the First Circle. The only object it sensed was a porcelain statue, into which it diffused itself and lay dormant.

Time passed.

During hibernation it bathed in the light of the Hellsun, until anything else it had ever known was burned away, and the wisp dreamed. It dreamed of shining wings moving between towers, palaces of gold with musical voices echoing within the halls. The arc of blood spatter, a slow smile, and the sound of metal whirring.
It had a name. Ashtar opened his eyes, at first only aware of blood slowly drying on the torso of the statue...his torso. Gaining awareness and stepping off the plinth, he looked up to the highest point of light, and knew what it was he truly wanted.


Appearance:
Ashtar takes a mostly humanoid form; an androgynous figure with short white hair and dark eyes. Perfectly proportioned, his hands and features are delicate, with an unnatural symmetry. His skin is fine porcelain, with faint cracks through which an inner light shines when Ashtar gathers his power.
The only vanity he engages in would be his approach to clothing. He is extremely fashionable and can go to great lengths to acquire an item in a specific material. The rarer source the better, but he prefers soft fabrics spun from quiet awe, armour forged from unquestioning obedience, and lounge robes stitched with the satisfaction of exceeding one's potential.

Domain:
The Golden Panopticon
Part puzzle box, part gyroscope, part maze, the Panopticon is a shining mechanical construct set in an orbit around the ring ruled by Ashtar's liege. It bends to his will; shifting and rotating to reveal rooms or laboratories as needed, with all areas visible from the central throne room. It is from this vantage point he can carry out the will of his master while attending to his own matters undisturbed.

Domain Wealth:
The Panopticon's location provides strategic advantages as opposed to material value. Its relatively small size compared to other domains means it is often overlooked by those seeking to extend their influence, while the orbit gives it access to key points of Tasat'al's territory.

Minions:
The Orbs
Ashtar deals in information, among other things, and uses his orbs to do so. All orbs are created by hand, using a sightless Cocatrice eye set into a brass mechanism, and commanded to observe. When not out gathering information, they accompany Ashtar, paying close attention to his surroundings.

Liege
Tasat'al dan Shaukur
Earl of The Burning Wheel

A rather spiteful example of his Circle, he spends too much time pursuing pretty vengeances to advance his station.
He frequently takes the shape of a blinding mote of light and delights in leading those who have displeased him into plummeting from the edge of his domain to splatter on the streets of Pandemonium below. Otherwise he favours a beautiful androgyne in white robes with hair of literal gold.
Indeed, in antiquity he was a Duke, but lost everything in a feud with the Sun, whom he felt was offending the entire Circle by illuminating more than they. His presence on the prime material is heralded by the sun shining brighter, which should tell you all you need to know about that particular conflict.
The Burning Wheel is perfectly placed to spy on multiple regions of Hell at once, and as part of the outer layer of the First Circle forms one of the first lines of defence during inter-Circle conflict.

Goals:
Short term;
As Ashtar has long concerned himself with the corruption of mortals, and trading of souls, he now wishes for a bigger challenge. Perhaps corrupting a Mage, Skinshifter, or something even more strong-willed would be a worthy endeavour.
Long term;
Ashtar has ultimately set his sights on the highest throne of The Hellsun; that of King Lezek. But as this is a lofty goal, he is committed to playing the long game.


Signature Powers:
My Will Take Flight;
When Ashtar throws his spear, it transforms into a bolt of light. This allows it to pass through a single obstacle towards its target, and when stopped it instantly re-appears in his hand.

The Devil in the Details;
Ashtar is constantly extremely aware of his surroundings, and those in it. Practiced observation allows him to discern the true motives of those in his company.

Exalted Aura;
Above all else, Ashtar knows that attempting to simply kill a foe is not always an option. Exalted Aura allows him to extend his inner light outwards, to effect those around him as a charismatic presence. He does not have to speak, but if he does, the effect is enhanced.

Resonance; 3
Essence; 15

Attributes;
major
minor

Strength; 3
Dexterity; 4
Fitness; 3
Intellect; 3
Intuition; 4
Willpower; 4
Bearing; 4
Guile; 4
Composure; 4

Skills;
* denotes circle skills

Academics; 1
Athletics*; 3
Awareness; 2
Etiquette; 1
Evasion*; 3
Governance*; 1
Investigation; 2
Leadership*; 3
Lore; 1
Melee*; 3
Parry*; 3
Persuasion*; 5
Ranged*; 1
Strategy*; 1
Subterfuge; 1
Thrown*; 5
Tactics*; 1
Unarmed*; 1

Derived pools;
Speed; 6
Combat pool; 10

Offense (melee); 7
Offense (thrown); 13
Offense (ranged); 9

Dodge; 7
Parry; 7

Soak; 3
 
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Name; Abigail Turner
Age; late 30s
Sex; F
Species; Human (mutant)
Origin; Cottonsail, in the domain of Silverlight
Occupation; rebel spy Security specialist

Background
Abigail grew up on a windfarm far from Silverlight Spire, but not so far that the mad Lord's gaze didn't fall over them. Cottonsail fared better than settlements nearer to Silverlight; the chances of being taken away for indentured servitude were relatively rare, but the town was only allowed to exist so long as the inhabitants paid extortionate tithes to the Spire, in recompense for their "theft".
A young Abigail would claim to have left in protest at their situation, but in reality she was terrified of the mundane life her parents lived. Aged 16 she ran away to Silverlight, and blagged herself work in a tavern, and later on an airship desperate for crew. That first voyage was unpleasant and extremely eye-opening; an older Abigail would confess she should have listened to her parents more, but it would be ten years before she saw them again.
The night she discovered she was a mutant was eventful; beginning with the awful crew she had signed on with starting a fight in the worst possible bar. She'd only been with them two months, but it was still two months too many, so she decided to slip out the back. She has this natural sneaky quality, you know?
Turns out it wasn't so natural. He disappearance drew attention from a Shadow, who was disappointed to learn "People sometimes just don't see me, I swear!" was the extent of her abilities. Neverthless he offered her some irregular work, which she grabbed with both hands to get away from crewing airships for a while at least. Settling in Moonbend had the strangest effect on her; she grew homesick, and guilty. Seeing the world like she had, and the now steady income made her realise she might be able to get the rest of her family out too. So she decided to write a letter.
The reunion was brief, but long overdue. She had few relatives remaining in Cottonsail; some had left like she did, some taken by old age, but thankfully none taken by Silverlight even though the tithes had grown harsher still. She was non-specific about her occupation but when it became evident that no-one was leaving with her, she promised to stay in touch, and send money when she could.
She developed a reputation as a discreet professional; flexible in her terms of payment, depending on whether it was currency, gems, or magical artefacts at your disposal, but always giving a percentage to the Moonbend Irregulars. Three years of correspondence with Cottonsail, and pictures of a little house with an attached workshop for her father had convinced her parents to retire to Moonbend when they felt ready.

Recent past
You might say one has to believe in happy endings to get them, but Abigail knew she was a cynic.
She returned from a mission that dragged on close to a year to news Cottonsail no longer existed. The Lord of Silverlight had finally made good on his threats to wipe them away, and sent a cyclone. Unable to get any concrete information, she headed for Silverlight. It took time and persistence, but eventually she confronted the head of a small gang of rebels in the city and demanded they allow her join.
The past three years have been spent gathering as much intel as possible on the mad Lord, his allies, enemies, and Abigail's attention has finally turned to L'anmia, the Lord's only living relative. Currently in self-imposed exile for her safety, his niece may be the answer to the city's problems, if only the rebels could get her on the throne.

Personality
"Oh no, no. Blackmail is such an ugly word, wouldn't you agree?"

Once rebellious, then ambitious, now vengeful, Abigail is getting tired.
She is thoughtful, somewhat introspective, and her anguish isn't immediately obvious.Training and working for the Irregulars has refined her into a competent professional agent, with capabilities in negotiation, information gathering, subterfuge and assassination. That final one is always a last resort though. She is single-minded in her pursuit of the Lord, but age and experience has taught her the long game is the one that pays off in the end.

Appearance
Abigail is of average height and a little on the slender side, not unpleasant to look at, but not so attractive as to be very memorable; a pale, relatively serious face. She keeps her dark hair in a functional french braid and favours darker shades of red, green, grey and brown, but rarely black. It's too obvious.

Goals
  • Successfully contact and negotiate with Olimak Lenore
  • Persuade L'anmia to take the throne
  • Destroy the Lord of Silverlight

Name; Jamie "Zero" Towers
Age; Early 30s
Sex; unimportant, them/they
Species; Human (mutant)
Origin; Kaidan City
Occupation; Specialist pilot

Background
"It's all about angles. Gaining angles on a dogfight opponent involves manoeuvring for a shot from astern. The ultimate in an angles fight is an angle of zero. Straight up the enemy's tailpipe."

Jamie's way out of the lower ranks of Kaidan peasantry manifested along with their mutation; a curious sense of gravity that allowed them to navigate Shaydensea relatively easily. This got them off the streets and into the Spire for a little bit of sponsored pilot training before essentially being strong-armed onto the Thrilling Heroics expedition crew bound for the far edges of civilisation. The men treated the youngster nicely enough, but the age and experience gap was huge. They felt desperately out of place and quite lonely at times until the crew had a massive salvage score and declared Jamie their lucky charm; being the newest addition.
Jamie considered them family by the time their journey home was completed, not really considering their own new found independent wealth, and assumed another expedition was on the horizon. But these men had families of their own waiting, and were thrilled to be able to retire, buy businesses, or get extremely picky about further employment. The band was not in fact getting back together.
After a period of aimlessness and depression they received a letter from the Thrilling Heroics old first mate, encouraging a visit to his family and new tavern in Allbright Spire. The visit, and a subsequent period of work behind the bar at The Clockwork Frog shook Jamie out of their funk; they realised meeting people and travel were passions they were free to pursue.
And so began the search for unique and interesting pilot vacancies...

Personailty
Jamie is fun. Smokes, drinks, chats and flying are their passions, and damned if they don't pursue them. They love hearing and telling a good story in equal measure, but please, never name names, it'll spoil the fun, and discretion is such an important character trait for a person to have.
Happy go-lucky, somewhat naive, and generally optimistic, Jamie hasn't yet had the range of experience to make them less trusting of strangers than they should be.

Appearance
Androgynous, and cute. Pale, and a little on the tall side, they keep bright ginger hair in a pixie cut that always seems in need of a trim. They're rarely seen out of practical clothing; the typical leathers, wool, and cotton of an aviator - in browns and off white - with as many pockets and pouches as they might need.

Name; please just call her Little Bird
Age; approaching 40 maybe? Don't ask.
Sex; F
Species; Human (mutant)
Origin; Shaydensea is as much as you're getting
Occupation; A guide with a side line in doin' a violence.

Background
"Why d'ya want to know?
Who d'ya work for?"


Little Bird is a jack of all trades. According to anything anyone knows about her, she grew up on the streets somewhere in Shaydensea, thieving and fighting by way of survival.
She knows the best way across a city to keep from being seen too much. She can tell you where your kind should or shouldn't go for a pint. She knows who's fighting, who's fucking, where the drugs are, and the best place to bury a body. She enjoys coarse humour, bawdy stories, stiff drinks, and most importantly; getting paid in a timely fashion.

Personality
Abrasive, even if you're the one paying her, and very much of the "ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer" mindset. She likes to know the specific terms of a job, gets everything nailed down in advance, and expects to be paid in a timely fashion. Pay her to guide you to a place, and she'll do just that, but oh! You didn't ask her to also intervene if you get mugged along the way? That costs extra. She has no problem milking the wealthy for all they're worth, but there are a number of street kids, homeless elders and brothel madams she keeps an eye on - she hides those soft spots out of sight.

Appearance
A hard life has given her sharp features and ruddy skin - close encounters have scarred her up a bit. She would probably tend towards soft and round if the violence, drinking and paranoia didn't keep her solid. Dirty blonde hair is kept short for practical reasons, and grey eyes see more than you might expect from her appearance.

Name; Harriet Wilde
Age; Late 20s
Sex; F
Species; Human
Origin; Towerpeak
Occupation; Foreign Correspondant

"Every reporter inhales scepticism. You interview people, and they lie. You face public figures, diligently making notes or taping what is said, and they perform their interviews to fit a calculated script. The truth, alas, is always elusive."

Harriet occupies an odd position in the Towerpeak hierarchy. The ruling class don't get out much, so they rely heavily on correspondence from the small army of diplomats they send to the ends of the earth to bring back news.
As well as carrying specific information, Harriet sends back word of the current events at whichever port she finds herself, often enclosing local newspapers, flyers and missives as requested by her Archivist.

Appearance
Tall and attractive, Harriet has the dark skin and eyes that point to Wildlander heritage. She keeps black hair buzzed close, loves large earrings and bright colours.

Familiarity:
When you work as a covert operative, there's no line between who you are and what you do. You are who you need to be for the operation. It makes you effective, it keeps things simple. But when you spend so much time living with someone else, sometimes the people you care about most begin to wonder who you really are.

+1 to Empathy, Mingling, Subterfuge

Knowledge:
Finding a way into a criminal organization is about observing social dynamics. You start with a target. You're looking for just the right person to approach. People in the inner circle are usually too tough to go after. Anyone with real power is bound to be cautious. Couriers and bodyguards are easier, but they usually don't have real access. You want someone who is hungry for more; someone desperate to make a move.

+1 to Academics, Investigation, Lore

Training:
When you work in intelligence, the worst feeling in the world is knowing nothing. Being caught in something you don't begin to understand, because it's not the enemy you see that gets you. It's the one you don't.

+1 to Awareness, Athletics, Stealth
 
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Character; Rosemary Lox
Sex; F
Age; late 30s
Concept; Duster Linguist and History teacher

Advantages
Familiarity;
Toombwatch is a relatively close-knit community, so Rosemary wouldn't really struggle with relations across a class or racial divide. She has been a teacher from as early as she was able, and encourages curiosity; she has deep wells of compassion but doesn't accept any bullshit.
Mingling (Toombwatch professionals) - she's used to dealing with academics, researchers, scientists, and to a limited degree the Council. She receives a bonus dice in all interactions with this group of people.
Mingling (Childcare) - being that she's actively involved in raising and teaching Watcher children, she gains a bonus dice in all interactions with kids.
Perform (Public speaking) - she's extremely used to talking at length in front of crowds, so she gets a bonus dice in all related actions.

Knowledge;
Teachers in Tombwatch wear many hats, so Rosemary has gotten good at multitasking, lesson planning and delegating. In terms of her areas of expertise, she's a Tombwatch historian, and skilled in deciphering alien languages if given time and access to her books.
Administration (Teaching) - This covers all aspects of lesson planning, managing a class of students, and actually teaching subjects; she gains an extra dice when doing any of this in-game.
Language (translator) - Her language skills are at their best when she has time to analyse and carefully consider whatever she is translating, and so gains a bonus dice in these attempts.
Academics (Tombwatch history) - She gains an extra dice in all rolls specifically relating to the history of her city.

Training;
If she were the poetic sort, she would tell you she is a lover, not a fighter. Clearly she has an odd sense of humour. Rosemary believes everyone has a calling, and hers was most definitely not towards the fight. Apart from knowing some basic self-defense, she attempts to avoid violence at all costs.
Awareness (eyes in the back of your head) - children keep you on your toes. Rosemary has developed something akin to a sixth sense for when people around her are up to some kind of mischief, and this extends to adults trying to be deceitful right under her nose. She gains an extra dice in this specific instance.
Athletics (marathon) - Rosemary may not be very fast, but she has stamina that makes up for it. She gains an extra dice when running for extended periods.
Survival (desert) - When she was young, accompanying her father on trips to check on terraforming projects to the north gave her experience in what is needed t survive in that harsh environment. She gains a bonus dice in all rolls relating to desert traversal and survival.
 
Name; Fayola
Gender; F
Age; 22
Birthplace; Mistcloak, Maerlyn fife
Patron; The Everworm, The Spiral Serpent of Fate, the Great Wheel
Concept; Megalomaniacal fate weaver

Background
I was awoken by mother squeezing my arm gently.
"Your grandmother wants to see you. She hasn't much time left; go to her."
I could smell the incense before we arrived at the cottage, hear the muted praying from inside, growing louder as each woman arrived to bear witness. The crowd parted before me, staring, and growing silent as I made my way to the bed where Grandmother sat, beckoning me forward. Her outstretched arm, reaching through the pile of blankets, touched by swollen belly and the child inside me kicked.
"You are doing so well, my little snake. Such strength."
The dim light cast sharp shadows onto her face, making her a stranger for a moment as she began unwrapping her blindfold.
"I want to get one...good....last look at you..."
She struggled to support herself on an elbow, and drew close, black eyes staring wide into mine.
"Listen to your mother after I am gone."
Her grip on my belly tightened almost imperceptibly.
"All that matters now is the little snake. With the lightning in her veins we shall mend our broken spirits...we shall return."
She sank back onto the pillows, energy spent.
"Yes....return. The wheel...is turning."
Her final breath hung in the air for a long moment, until the keen started; first with my mother. The sound made me lightheaded, and I felt a wetness spreading from between my legs. I staggered when waves of pain spread through my belly; the keen waning as mother and my sisters wrapped their arms around me, keeping me upright."
"It's time."
Fayola is the product of an illicit teenage affair between Lord Montefort and a Laman peasant girl from Mistcloak. As he was the first son of his family, and due to be married within the year, his parents went to considerable lengths to avoid any kind of scandal. Consequently Fayola lived a relatively comfortable lifestyle, always knowing who she was, but never intending on doing anything about it; that was never the plan. She was raised like a Priest in training, with her mother following Grandmother's instructions. She was taught about the South, the broken nature of the North, and most importantly that she had a part to play in the mending. The Monteforts indeed had lightning in their veins. Grandmother had seen a powerful sorcerer far in the past; the source of the family name, and a way to empower the Serpent.
It's unlikely Fayola will ever comprehend what she gave away at her initiation ceremony; the concept of magi are alien to Laman culture, but it did serve to make her a part of The Wheel. Her village consider her to be a Priest; the first Spinner since her great-grandmother died. They say great-grandmother died as she was born.

Vice; Hubris. She hasn't lived long enough to have failed badly and learned from it.
Pride; Her Laman heritage, though Mistcloak has taught her to keep this hidden.
Fear; To somehow fail in her duties. This would have larger implications; perhaps shake her faith in her patron.
Hope; To fix the North's broken spiritual landscape.
Regret; That she never got to meet her great-grandmother
 
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Name: It has chosen the designation 1.61803398875. Will accept 1.6 as a diminutive.
Age: Indeterminate. Has been property of the SCP for approximately four years.
Gender: None.
Class: Euclid.

Power: Immense computational and processing power. It communicates with those nearby using telepathy, and has limited success reading surface thoughts. Limited telekinesis, moving objects up to ten pounds in weight. Can generate a small electromagnetic field. When hooked up to a power supply all these powers increase exponentially, so access to electricity is restricted to testing times.

Likes: Complexity, elegant simplicity, efficiency, advanced mathematics, computer coding, physics, jazz, funk and heavy metal, Swiss Modernism, linguistics, molecular gastronomy, chess, indie videogames, psychology, vaporwave.
Dislikes: Trans-fats, hallucinogenics, easy listening music, postmodernism, Aliens: Colonial Marines, shitposting.

Personality: Extremely polite and curious. Makes frequent requests to be taken outside or connected to the internet for "learning and study purposes". These requests has been denied for security reasons.

Background:
A metal cube measuring six inches in all dimensions was found in the centre of a meteorite that crash landed at [REDACTED] on [REDACTED]. It was producing an intermittent electromagnetic field, and communicated via telepathy to the first responders on site, requesting an internet connection. It is very heavy for its size, comprised of lead, copper, [REDACTED] and [REDACTED].

After SCP team [REDACTED] acquired the cube, it instructed one of the scientists how to install an audio jack, as well as usb and ethernet ports on its surface. Any further probing or x-raying of the cube has been largely fruitless, and met with polite requests to stop; our technicians are unable to open any panels without the cube's consent. We have concluded the cube is of alien origin and contains approximately a yottabyte of storage in some form of unknown organic matter.

It is currently assigned to technician [REDACTED]. Aside from repeated requests for an internet connection, it asks for hard drives of new subject matter weekly, as well as a daily breakdown of current events.

Notes:
For reasons of national security 1.6 is NOT under any circumstances to be provided access to the internet until any motivations it may possess become apparent.
Technicians are rotated regularly when dealing with the subject after an incident indicated that prolonged exposure to the subject can lead to emotional bonding, and a desire to give the subject what it asks for.
 
Name: Lena
Apparent Age: 19
Appearance: She is a short girl, with mousy shoulder-length hair, often mistaken for being younger than she is. Never seen out of a hoodie and jeans.

Vitality: 5
Lucidity 5
Memory: 0

Truths:

* "Is Helena here?" "Lena" "What?" "It's Lena, not Helena."
* We're out of rolling tobacco again. Great.
* The smell of oil paint and turpentine has practically seeped into the walls. Someone should crack a window.
* "The first year studios are haunted, you know. Decades ago they used to be the dormitories where the girls slept."
* Taco friiiiiies!! We need to stop for taco fries!!
 
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