This post contains official NPC's, the known bestiary and information regarding the Great Old One. [i]Large images may be present within hiders.[/i] [u][b]NPCs[/b][/u] [hider=The Professor] [center][img]http://publicdomainarchive.com/wp-content/uploads/ewpt_cache/240x0_100_1_c_FFFFFF_7536209011260767164be53199f0c66b.jpg[/img][/center] [b]Name:[/b] Professor Seamus Filo - prefers Mr. Filo [b]Age:[/b] 68 [b]Occupation:[/b] Miskatonic University professor of archaeology [b]Personality:[/b] Mr. Filo retains a somewhat stern demeanor, never crossing the fine line of professionalism with his students. A quiet intellectual; he is hopeful of youth, especially those individuals of promise, but nonetheless possessing a very coarse persona. Few can claim to have seen the man smile. [b]Typically found:[/b] About the Miskatonic University campus [b]Background:[/b] Seamus Filo is a visiting professor at the Miskatonic University from Chicago, having come in accordance with an intercollegiate program that seeks to promote the exchange in ideas regarding history, the liberal arts and applied sciences by giving students the opportunity to learn under new mentors. While the professor is held in some esteem back at his home campus, and could have well chosen a place far more luxurious than Arkham. A man both learned and practical, he is almost instinctually driven to look for patterns in the ancient texts and ruins he teaches of - patterns that may have very well brought him to the fabled town of Arkham. While his history is widely unknown by Arkham due to his short sojourn there, some may remember Seamus for his work in uncovering Mesopotamian maps, deciphering the hieroglyphics and attempting to assuage the fear of fabled curses of ancient holdings to those locals whom aided his dig team. And though Mr. Filo, be he strong in his convictions and fully backed by a mind of logic and science, was able to reduce these ominous myths to historic hearsay in the minds of his camel guides and diggers, he has not been able to shake the feeling that the uncovering of those blood-baked cities and cavernous sites was indeed a sort of sin. Whether disturbing those ancient stones and blocks from their sandy slumber served as the invocation of a real omen or not, Seamus has made certain he does not forget the dark wisdom that seemed to ebb from its niches and crags. [/hider] [hider=The Locksmith] [center][img]http://media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/26/9f/4b/269f4bf9784fefc7df03bab07739d328.jpg [/img][/center] [b]Name:[/b] Kevin Gilbey [b]Age:[/b] 26 [b]Occupation:[/b] Locksmith and (unbeknownst to most) weapons dealer [b]Personality:[/b] Kevin has managed to hold on to the disciplined, mannerly demeanor that was instilled in him during his service in the Great War. Most Arkham residents know him by name-[i]if not face[/i], and treat him with an adequately warm reception for his services rendered. When not the locksmith, Kevin retains this seemingly unshakeable aura; indeed, perhaps the only concerning thing about his projected self is how collected he remains for a front-line veteran. [b]Typically found:[/b] Anywhere about Arkham if on a job, although he maintains a small residence and shop on East street. Kevin knows the vast majority of Arkhams shady locations - be they literally shrouded or otherwise of ill-repute. [b]Background:[/b] When asked about his past, young Gilbey will coolly claim that he was conscripted while learning to smith in upstate New York, did his time as an infantryman and was indeed honored to do so, was injured and simply picked up where he left off. Given the mild-mannered nature of most of his customers, the prying typically ends there, as the young ex-serviceman clearly is not concerned with his past, nor is it questionable enough to arouse suspicion. The calm attitude, discipline; the scar, a mere shrapnel wound. This, as anyone may suspect, is not the whole truth. Kevin Gilbey knows his trade and seems to have a "metal thumb", as it were, expressing the ability to repair and tinker back to condition any lock, contraption or firearm. Of course, such talent comes from years of experience and a proper apprenticeship, but Mr. Gilbey did not learn to sell guns to criminals as a smithhand. Before the war, Kevin grew up in a fairly well-to-do family, but found the humdrum of school to be so rudimentary and predictable that he could hardly stand it. His father an established gunsmith whom taught him much of the metal-working practice, he became a thief, trespasser, home-invader and gun toter much for the mere amusement of it; for Gilbey had a bright mind, but one that was fueled by miscreant action. When the conscription came around, he found not only his immature, delinquent way of life was at risk, but so was his schedule of ne'er-do-well activities. Since there were no personal belongings to steal, Private Gilbey stole his company's armaments, ammunition, parts, anything of a slightly valuable and violent nature, and bartered them off not only to fellows, but to the enemy. When American-made weapons and rounds started ending up in American serviceman, the stench lead right to Gilbey. In hindsight, Kevin made it out of his predicament with what must have been God-given luck, as he was thoroughly beaten, his face scarred and quietly discharged from service to avoid a public spectacle. Whether Kevin carried something away from this experience is still unknown, but he now resides in Arkham, wearing his disciplined attitude like a cloak of irony. [/hider] [hider=The Psychic] [center][img]http://i.telegraph.co.uk/multimedia/archive/02145/Kate-Ellick_2145700i.jpg[/img][/center] [b]Name:[/b] Elspeth Broadmoor - Claims to prefer "Ellie" but never responds to it, occasionally referred to as "Mother Magi" [b]Age:[/b] 77 [b]Occupation:[/b] Psychic [b]Personality:[/b] Ms. Broadmoor is a woman who, in her many years in Arkham, has not taken to the "norms" of social interaction. While one may at first get the impression that she, like many of those in her duties, speaks from a lack of full mental facilities, it is evident that she draws some quiet amusement from speaking in riddles, fragments and idiosyncratic phrases. She is kind, if not very mannered, and can boast a tame temper. On the occasions she is riled however, she tends towards shouting inane, often ominous pieces that are not limited to curses, damnation, profanity and utter gibberish. Ms. Broadmoor is fond of children and those not welcomed by others in Arkham, namely, foreigners and those of varied race. [b]Typically found:[/b] In public areas, the nearby woods, or her practice on Gedney street [b]Background:[/b] Ms. Elspeth Broadmoor is a 77-year long native of Arkham, and though is possessed of some peculiar traits not typically attributed to community figures, she is something of a keystone in the town. Although there have been more than a dozen stories (most woven by Ms. Broadmoor herself) about how she discovered her clairvoyant and mystically-attuned nature, there exists an unspoken, respectable understanding that there is some manner of truth to her words in both the best and worst of times. Ms. Broadmoor will predict love failing or flourishing, the collapse or triumph of a business venture and the likelihood of a candidate becoming mayor or sheriff, among a plethora of claims related to the cosmos and sea behavior, all for her loyal "children". Despite this [i]flamboyant[/i] character and a readily-admitted lack of evidence, attempts by public figures and her enemies to dismiss her have almost always ended up in the scoffing party losing the respect and credibility of the people of Arkham, and often a mythological chewing out by Ms. Broadmoor herself. [/hider] [u][b]Bestiary[/b][/u] [u][b]The Great Old One[/b][/u] "[i]There has only ever been whispers, some hushed voice that coils itself around the ear from time and space, and then is whisked away to the shutters and clouds. Indecipherable, dismissible, reappearing only in scattered collections of children's stories, ever-changing myths and fables. Indeed, there are forces here we cannot, and likely are meant not to grasp; and only by these may we piece together a notion - a feeling that the void is all around us, beckoning.[/i]" - The Forbidden Conpendium, Ernest Valch, c. 1883