Sly Cats
"Look what the cat dragged in!"
"…What? Cat's got your tongue?"
"Hey baby, come here and make kitty purr."
These Nightmares perhaps resemble Residents the most; though don't let them trick you into thinking they are. Sly Cats look precisely like a person, though have many features that give them a sort of feline quality. All have a slender, unfilled form and upturned noses. Their eyes are slanted, the pupils very subtly slit. Some have strange tans that make their skin appear spotted or striped, and all seem to have slightly pointed ears, which can turn independently of each other. If not for these slight changes that are easily over-looked, a Sly Cat could physically be mistaken as a Resident. They wear the least amount of clothing as possible, preferring to display their sex rather liberally. Those that are under the protection of Granny Greenteeth often choose to wear no form of cloth, instead adorning their bodies with the reeds and mud of the swamp. Sly Cats, however, have affection for shiny accessories, and don them like ranks of power.
Sly Cats are perhaps the most underestimated of all the Nightmares, as they usually don't make trouble. However, they have a nymphomaniac streak, and are known to catch people who travel their alleys to sex them to death. It's rather unpleasant, and often the Sly Cats will fight each other for such a "treasure." Besides this unfortunate quality, they don't both many. They hang around the back ways of the Bizarre Bazaar, or hang from the trees in the 7 o'Clock Swamp. While independent by nature, they've grown accustomed to roaming around in packs, more akin to dogs than cats by this nature. While the singing of the Sly Cats may be horrendous – and they do it often – it serves as an indicator of peace. Whenever fights break out, Sly Cats will vacate the area beforehand.
Over Seer
"I will give you work, I will give you salvation; I will be your prophet."
The Over Seer is a middle-aged man, gray streaking the temples of his dark brown hair. He's of average height, though clearly and morbidly overweight. The fat of his stomach stretches his custom-cut suit. The light gray pinstripes on the dark gray material are stretched near to their steams, the buttons nigh popping from their holes. Above his suit, however, he wears a white cotton robe. There's the single emblem of his religion upon the right breast, and the hems drag on the ground. The Over Seer's skin is pale and blotchy, making a poor frame for his shrewd, gray eyes. They are sunken into their sockets, bruises under his eyes. The strangest piece of his attire, however, is the book chained to his wrist by shackles. It is a large, dusty tome made of white leather, the sigil of his beliefs upon the spine.
He rules over the Factoidaries as a sort of prophet. His minions follow his word as though it were a god speaking through him. The tome in his arms is the rules of his factories, which are also the rules of his religion. While arrogant and elitist, don't mistake the Over Seer as being illegitimate at what he does. He's a cunning manipulator, skilled at turning emotions over against others. This self-named prophet says it's a gift of his god, as he says everything he's given. Though, it's clear that he does not believe in God himself by the ruthless actions to get his means finished. Never does he get his own hands dirty, instead using those under his power to get his deeds done.
Grimlin
"…Didn't you ever wonder why Freshmeat are so happy?"
These nasty little Nightmares like to hide amongst the grime and grit that hides beneath the surface of the Factoidaries. Within the alleys, they linger, devouring the sewage that's produced. Of roughly four-feet tall when standing straight, they mostly resemble children, for all that their hands and feet are too large for their limbs. With oversized heads and shriveled, shrunken bodies, watching Grimlins move is somewhat of a comedy, as they clamber about with heads bobbing and chests heaving. Within their wide, gaping mouths are two rows of razor-like teeth, stained beyond hope and rotten to the core. Still, though their bodies are the same color as the material they devour, the Grimlins enjoy clothing themselves in scraps of fabric, as though attempting a poor imitation of human life. Their large eyes somewhat are akin to Negative Nancies, though vary in hue.
Even with their withered bodies, the Grimlins are a force to be reckoned with. They may not be able to sustain much damage, or deal out much either, yet the amount of these creatures is over-powering. They make it a game, as well, to try and feast upon the Scars of their victims as slowly as possible. The Grimlins devour all pain and sorrow, leaving people shells of mindless optimism. Those who are left become the Freshmeat of the Factoidaries, and the Grimlins scuttle back to their life of constantly eating whatever they find.
Freshmeat
"How may I help you!"
Once the Grimlins had had their fun with a person, the hopeful husk of a person often wanders back into the bright, shining, public face of the Factoidaries. Here, they are found by the Over Seer. These people, grinning with no reason or wonder as to why, listen to his divine word. Like children, with nothing but naïveté on their side, they believe each and every syllable from his mouth. These Freshmeat are then outfitted in the customary, uniform robes of the workers. They are simple tunics, bound at the shoulders and waists by simple braids of leather, sleeveless and often falling to the knees or ankles. Happily, the Freshmeat make up the majority of the population within the Factoidaries. They are its backbone, each assigned a specific job and endlessly enthusiastic in doing it. These are the most helpless, and the least deadly, of all Nightmares. They do not fight, or struggle, and are more than happy to help as much as their tiny consciousness can.
Rotten Forgotten
"Wait, will you help? Just a moment of time – wait."
There are two types of Rotten Forgotten. The first sort is a person whose Scars were not fully devoured. They were left, wounded and only half-empty of sorrow. For whatever reason, they weren't able to escape the darker side of the Facoidaries. It corrupted this half-eaten soul, slowly turning its duality against it, until their mind snapped in a bipolar rage. The second sort, however, is far more common. A Freshmeat who worked away from the fresh, bright surface too long would become exposed to the corruption. Unable to defend themselves against it, the Nightmare would turn within itself. Every spark of joy moved into a hopeless despair. They would have no Scars, simply the endless wallow of unexplained mourning.
Rotten Forgotten are, as their name implies, quite rotten. Their human bodies have begun to decay and rot even as they live. The corruption that touched their souls also turned their bodies, melding it with the landscape about them. Walls and floors may have distortions, or even bear the wailing shape of a face. They don't die like this, just keep living; begging, pleading for help whenever it passes, speaking nonsense and confusion when it comes. Often times, the corruption of the land drives them mad, and they are able to turn it in anger towards those who are not alike them. Doors, windows, sometimes even the floor may bend at their will, making the insane creatures dangerous of their own like.
King Candle
"It is a borrowed light, given and taken and never keeping an owner."
The lord whole rules the sewers, King Candle sits upon a throne of wax. He seems, in fact, to be completely coated in the wax. It seals his body against the throne, high-backed and narrow, sliding down his arms and torso, leaving only the face and fingers to be seen. King Candle has the face of a withered old man, his skin cracked like leather with deep wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. It's almost impossible to see his eyes, set deep in the shadows of his over-extended brow. Perched upon the top of the King's head is a wick, from which a candle flame flickers, strangely brighter than the small bit of fire ought to be.
While living underground in a land of smoke and candlesticks may have made King Candle a little mad, he still has the lucrative sense of a loan shark. What he takes from the sewers he sells back up to the Factoidaries, which then use the ingredients to make their products. Such products are sold into the Bizarre Bazaar, to people who eventually lose it or drop it, and all such things lost, dropped or spilled all find their way into the Candlewax Kingdom. Where, the cycle starts again. Each shipment is slowly being driven up in payment and King Candle truly owning enough wealth to have his own castle by now. Yet, he remains underground, running his business as well as his kingdom with his slowly degrading mind.
Wax Workers
"They're not human. Never mistake them for being human."
Wax Workers were once people, both Awake and Residents that have succumbed to King Candle's influence. They have tacky, flexible molds of their body encasing them with small holes for the nostrils and slits for the eyes. The Wax Workers seem to have an inability to speak, communicating through grunts and stiff gestures. Typically they are chained together around the ankle and guarded by the Night-Knights and none of them seem quite happy about it.
The Wax Workers are exactly as their name implies. In the Candlewax Kingdom, they are the ones who do all the hard work. They gather the lost and discarded items in the sewage, the ones to carry and labor them. The Wax Workers are a large force, and while they are rather weak-willed and melancholy, they are incapable of feeling physical force. This makes them tough in a fight, though their placid and uncaring nature makes it very hard to instigate a fight with the Wax Workers.
Night-Knights
"There is no honor in mercy."
Night-Knights look like the cut-out silhouettes of a knight in full plate mail, their forms solid yet looking as if made from pieces of the night sky. This makes it hard to see how exactly they move or to predict their movements. Their swords are made of the same material they are and are capable of cutting though stone. When cut or wounded themselves, the Night-Knight bleeds drops of his substance; heavy, liquefied darkness studded with points of light like stars. They seem to move without sound, though always leave a cold chill in the air wherever they go, and their voices are muffled echoes, resounding out from within a helm-shaped head.
The Night-Knights' primary job is to guard King Candle. They do this with an unyielding devotion, blindly following his word and completely obsessed about his welfare. The knights will do anything to serve their king and if an Awake decides to test their loyalty or to threaten their king, they will pursue that man or woman without rest. The second job of a Night-Knight is to manage the Wax Workers, who have a tendency to wander off when left alone. They oversee these figures with the restlessness of a marine on guard duty, never quite content to just be. These figures seem to also have a hive mind capability, able to speak to one another telepathically and spread the knowledge almost instantaneously. This makes it hard to fight them as they unify in mind, but they also have strict sense of morals and a code of honor to abide by.
Granny Greenteeth
"Such a sad, lonely heart… don't worry, Granny has just the thing. All we ask is just a small favor first."
This Nightmare takes the appearance of an elderly lady. She was once tall, but age has withered her bones and caused her to hunch over, clinging to a gnarled, root-like cane to keep upright. Purple-black hair is tattered and unwashed, gray and white flecking throughout it randomly. Mud, twigs and other brackish items mat up her long hair, white bones, bells and beads twine about it, as though trying to keep the thick mass from being too raucous. Her clothing consists of simple, drab rags. They all used to be of vibrant colors, now muted and thin from ages of use. Beads and shiny bits of mirror hang from her neck and sewn to her clothing to create strange flashes of color. Her old, wizened face is tan and strangely merry-looking, though her narrow, tilted eyes are blacker than her swamp water. Granny Greenteeth's teeth, at first glance, seem normal, though when angered they have the ability to become pointed like stakes, green staining the edges of her teeth. Her eyes fill black when angry as well, and her broken nails become long like claws.
Granny Greenteeth rules the 7 o'clock Swamp, though this place is so putrid it's hard to imagine why. She hardly ever leaves her shanty, and when she does, she's never gone long. The old lady has a fondness for the Sly Cats, and sometimes even can take up their mannerisms. She deals with desires and emotions, and is said to be able to restore anything stolen by other Nightmares. Yet, ever a lucrative businesswoman, Greenteeth will always ask for a price in return. She isn't very loyal – no Nightmare is – but she has a keener sense of allies than the others do. Her alliance with the Creeper is more beneficial to him than it is to her, yet Granny understands that her reach beyond the Swamp will need his influence. Likewise, she is cruel to those Nightmares who are not aligned to her. Her sense of justice is harsh, and she particularly begrudges those who embody masculinity, order and structure. Because of this, the old lady has made an ancient feud against Mister E and his companions. She despises him, and does everything in her power to vanquish his. Underestimate Granny Greenteeth for her age is a poor idea, for it's widely claimed that the Granny chooses to appear the way she does, and may actually be able to change age and shapes. She also has the habit of talking in the plural.
Negative Nancies
"…Laugh? But… there's nothing left to laugh about. Nothing left at all."
These rather grim girls always run in packs of three. They have strangely similar appearances, as well, with dark hair and pale skin. Sometimes there are minor differences, such as one has bangs or the other braids her hair. Each has a tattered gown, once white and now murky brown, stained with blood and scathed by fights. Of ages six to fifteen, they're all young and helpless looking. Inhumanly large eyes fit upon swollen cheekbones, their lids always half-closed in the impression of everything being boring or hopeless.
These young females are under the employment of Granny Greenteeth. They have earned their name well enough, never owning anything kind or positive to say. Still, like every Nightmare, the Negative Nancies are deadly in their own way. The girls use their powerfully negative comments to physically attack their foes, the words often taking shape in a person's greatest fear. When pushed to the ground, the Negative Nancies become completely different. Their long hair merges into their skin seamlessly, large eyes widening into full. The young ladies become wolf-like creatures, claws and teeth upon their young bodies. And they pin their foes to the ground, eating every hope and positive emotion from their foe's soul, feasting upon anything that could give them the will to live. Yet, the girls never kill their prey, instead dragging the remnant of a person to Granny.
The Creeper
"I want a perfect body
I want a perfect soul
I want you to notice when I'm not around"
-Radiohead, Creep.
The Creeper himself is a mass of shifting, substantial shadows. He may change sizes, and has a foggy, almost ethereal shape to him. He takes the general form of a male, though sometimes appears more like a cloaked figure. Just like the Lurklarks, two flat, bulging eyes may flash from within the black mists of his form. They appear only when he desires, just as he may appear more solid or more incorporeal as he pleases. The Creeper hardly ever speaks, though when he does, his voice is low and rusted. Sometimes, it echoes or repeats words, making him all the harder to understand. This mass sticks to the darker areas of the Mad City, shy around large crowds, or even not showing up at all. He disobeys the laws of physics in that he is able to pass through solid objects as he wishes, or even blink out of existence.
Because of his ghostly attributes, it's all the harder to fight the Creeper. He does not have much strength, or endurance, but proving to hit him is a trial all in himself. And, even worse, the Creeper may be able to penetrate the thoughts of a weaker willed person. This gives him the advantage of, not only predicting their movements, but using their doubts against them. The Creeper may not seem as much as, say, a Misogynist, but his loyalty to Granny Greenteeth is fierce. It gives him a deep fire to fight those against her goals, where he would be otherwise disinterested or more preoccupied in gathering information elsewhere. It's well-known that the Creeper has a curiosity as strong as his loyalty, as much a gift as a weakness.
Lurklarks
"Yea, they may not look like much trouble… but what they bring is."
Much like anything related to the Creeper, these things have a constant shadow about them. Their bodies are dark, as if coated in soot, though have brilliant, gleaming eyes that seem to see all, yet somehow look bulging and dead all the same. These tiny creatures take the form of various birds, most commonly larks and finches; though sometimes undersized ravens as well. Lurklarks are very hard to spot, often hiding out in tiny niches or about the darkest corner, the only thing giving them away the reflective-like surface of their eyes. Strangely, these birds hang out alone, and have been seen to be unexplainably territorial. Sometimes, Lurklarks have been known to make nests out of trash and hair.
The most notable ability of the Lurklarks is not their habit of vanishing into nothing – eerily as if they'd never been there – but that they're the figurative eyes of the Creeper. Whenever a Lurklark's dead eyes see you, so does he. Worst yet, like an alarm, this will summon him to the nearest place they saw you last. These birds are not strong, or fast, but can fly and are allies to the shadows. Good luck killing them before the Creeper gets there… good luck getting away, for that matter. It's best to avoid these birds, unless you're looking to be caught by his sentries.
Creeper's Crawlies
"Lurklarks might be his eyes, but these ugly fuckers are the body."
Just as Lurklarks are seemingly covered in soot, so are Creeper's Crawlies. They come in many different sizes, and take the form of a number of different insects. Each one has the same flat blackness, and turn into a soft puff of ash whenever stomped upon. Seeing them is a rather uncommon occurrence, as the Crawlies hide beneath items and within the grit of the Mad City. The only time one can predict their forth-coming is after a Lurklark spots their prey. Then, the Crawlies converge from every corner of the area. They amass and squirm together, taking the shape of their master. So much so, that when they seem to condense into a single entity, they are the Creeper. All of this takes a matter of seconds, so swift that it's hard to tell what happened.
Mister E
"Child, stop praying; God can't hear you when the Devil is near."
Mister E cuts a mean, angular figure. He wears a black pea coat, the seams sewn and ironed to make impossibly sharp angles, the hem hanging down to his knees. He's a tall, lean man, with a rectangular face. Drooping, hooded eyes are cast in a rectangular face, with high cheekbones and gaunt cheeks. With a large nose on his long face, Mister E seems to be more of a cartoon than a man. However, it's often quite hard to make out the man's features, as he often wears a large fedora, the brim casting shadows across his face. But if anyone were to see, pale scars, poorly healed and lined in angry red welts, criss-cross all about his face. His lips are dry and cracked, and his weathered face often appears haggard. This tall, worn leader is constantly clad in black, with the badges of rank pinned across his breasts and an air of authority hovering over his shoulders.
As the leader of Asylum Island, Mister E fancies himself the Secretary of War for a tiny nation of its own. He idealizes order and strength, and greatly dislikes anything that disagrees with him. This Nightmare has ties to King Candles, often trading with him as well as the neutral-party Over Seer for supplies to man his army with. He has made a life-enemy out of Granny Greenteeth, as well as the Sly Cats, despising their chaotic and sexual existence. He hardly ever fights them himself, instead sending out his various soldiers or allies to do the battle. Yet, he does not make himself idle, and he is to be seen at every Bizarre Bazaar. Whatever he does, he makes a point of doing well, and is proud enough to take it personally when a goal fails. No one is quite sure how Mister E is in a fight, though by his manners of negotiation, one could expect it to be a predatory and cruel as his typical attitude to inferiors.
Minutemen
"May we have a minute of your time?"
These Nightmares all seem to come from the Colonial times of America. They have the same uniform, and each carry muskets upon their backs. Aged from sixteen to thirty, they're rather militaristic, though a lot looser in ranks than Misogynists. Despite all being rather average men, they have the appearance of death over them. With white skin and haunted-looking eyes, Minutemen all could be mistaken for ghosts at first appearance. They might even be on the brink of death, for their quiet and solemn attitude towards things. The Minutemen shuffle about, for all purposes appearing slow in body and mind.
Appearances, while ironic, are deceiving in the Mad City. The Minutemen live to be the first on the battlefield. Because of this, they are the quickest to mobilize and while not the fastest, the most able to get to scenes before others. Their typical shuffling is just a guise, for when combat is about, the Minutemen are agile and swift. They have an accuracy too much to be human, especially with their ancient muskets. Yet, they are even better in melee combat. Just don't let the militia look you in the eyes. For, they are able to steal time from others. Minutemen exist off of stolen time. Without taking the time of life from others, they eventually just fade out and cease existing. Like vampires, when freshly replenished with time, the Minutemen move quicker, hit harder, and are generally more of a threat to all.
Nimble Jacks
"Jacks be Nimble, Jacks be quick, Jacks jump over the candlestick."
Nimble Jacks, upon first appearance, look like orphaned, uncared for boys. They have self-mended clothing, all of which just seem like old, castaway outfits from the Misogynists. Upon a closer look, one could notice these little boys have no gender at all –perhaps stolen by the same figures that clothe them, or perhaps just born so. Either way, the Nimble Jacks seem to have a wide, haunted look about their unanimously dark eyes. Their hair is generally worn long, and hats are a favorite decoration of status for these boys, as it makes it easier for them to hide shifty looks during poker (their favorite sport). The only thing that might look remotely new about these youngsters – despite the cigarettes hanging from their mouths – are their shoes. Knee-high cloth boots, pointed in the toes, in a sort of Wicked Witch-meets-Peter Pan look.
Nimble Jacks are rarely seen alone. When milling about off-duty, they come in clumps of twos and threes, and are very easily overcome. This is because the Jacks are unbelievable weak. They don't even carry any sort of weapon on their person. However, when they're playing games, the Nimble Jacks can show up in the numbers of fifties and sixties, if not more. Worst of all, they're not exactly the most trusted legion of Mister E, and so are always under one to three of the Misogynists' cares or maybe even a Minuteman's. These rascals make such good footmen because of their speed. They're able to move at unprecedented records, and so while it's easy to move on through them, it's hard to escape the little buggers. A good note to remember is that the Nimble Jacks are scared of fire, and will run from the sight of it.
Misogynists
"You seem be a little gender confused. Let me fix that for you."
These vaguely humanoid people are quite strange when first seen. Their appearance is downright androgynous, from their build to their hair and clothing style. While each may appear different, insinuating that at one point they'd all be people, they're all uniformly unisex. The Misogynists' clothes are vaguely militaristic, though have seen so many battles that they're torn and stained red. The clothes have a dusty, grimy look that tells of going for many, many days without being washed. The people themselves, however, have a trimmed and pristine appearance, as if the gore that stains their clothes does not touch the skin. Misogynists are solitary figures, and don't really enjoy being in other's presence.
As their name suggests, the Misogynists hate women more than anything. They target the unfortunate female gender above all, though it'd be fair to mention that these Nightmares hate gender in general. If there are no females to destroy, then they'll target men as well. Beware a kiss or touch of the Misogynists, for within their palms is a deadly oil that, when mixed with your own, causes a body to become paralyzed. Their lips have some unexplained potential to suck the very gender from a person, to steal it with their mouths, upon any point of contact with a person. Wounds or the mouth works best, but it's been known to have worked on wherever a Misogynist can get to. They also, when they're not hunting down women, carry Uzi submachine guns to get the job done.
Alone, Misogynists aren't funny, and while it's possible to take one down, they are Mister E's left-hand men. They're of about average speed and strength, but have an uncanny way of withstanding attacks. These androgynous folk are durable and with great stamina. Whittling them away would take a long time, and all-out attacks are just about useless. So, while one is to be feared, when they manage to work together in teams, it's best just to run the opposite direction. Though, that might not even work, since Misogynists are smart, unlike the Nimble Jacks. They're able to conceive and plant traps, but it's no good trying to talk your way out. All of Mister E's troops are aggressive, and won't take mercy as an option.