On the edge of Shanty Town, right along the road leading out of town, is not only a group of houses for Colored laborers-- formerly slaves having been emancipated , having traveled West, and many of them having taken up station as cowboys, bounty hunters, and assorted laborers-- there's of course the local eatery. Started by an old woman by the name of Earlene Dukes, the property was built by her hand and that of her family. It was simply her hospitality, always cooking enough to feed the neighbors or anyone that came by, that launched the idea of opening a restaurant. The weariness and late hours at which some hungry folk came knocking initiated the idea of the "inn".
Early's is a single level wooding building, with four private rooms, but plenty of space in the common area where travelers have propped their feet up, taken rest on the floor, or atop any gap of space in the often crowded inn. For the reasonable price of ten cents, a traveler can eat all day at Early's, and there are even wooden tokens handed out for a "lottery" that awards a free meal to a returning customer.
Currently, Earlene resides in the residence, always keeping the doors open and the stove warm, with two of her seven children in town, and four grandchildren between them. A small farm supplies her food and meat, maintained by several people in the neighborhood-- which largely supports itself. Her loyalties lie solely with the colored people of Serpent's Snag, no matter who or what they are, as long as they keep the peace and take their scuffles outside. Some say that Earlene's husband's ghost can be heard singing from the kitchen on Sunday nights-- that he has a voice worthy of praise and misty eyes.
NPC's Associated: Everyone mentioned in this list is "colored" and have a deep skin tone. Unmistakable west African slave-trade ancestry. Earlene Dukes -- 56 -- Proprietor and Cook: Steel-Willed, Cold Blooded, Warm Hearted, but ain't no fool. Chews tobacco and spits with the best of 'em. Extremely superstitious. Formerly a house slave. Can and Will shoot a man over 100 paces away. Never far from any sort of gun.
Mary Dukes-Freeman -- 25 -- Daughter of Earlene, Wife of Booker, mother of two: Meaner than a starved coyote and always singing beautifully. She can play the piano and fiddle extremely well. Usually babysitting. So short fused she's about to snap on you right now. Has a soft spot for Viernes-- those damn mothering instincts.
Booker Freeman -- 28 -- Husband of Mary, Carpenter, Farmer: Quiet, passive, and loves the hell out of his wife. Loves to smoke and drink with the boys. Stutters when he's excited.
William and Benjamin -- Twins 6 -- Mary and Booker's Children: Extremely curious, never where they should be, perpetually snot-nosed, constantly scraped, and usually dirty. Benjamin has a heavy lisp. William loves toy guns.
Elijah "Kettle" Dukes -- 34 -- Son of Earlene, Husband of The Other Mary, Cook, Butcher: Ill-tempered, loud, but kinda cowardly. Usually taking horses to the stables or cutting meat. Speaks in a YELL.
Mary Dukes aka, "No, no, the OTHER Mary!" -- 28 -- Wife of Elijah, Wife, Cook, Maid, Mother of Two etc.: Always tired, passive-aggressive, aloof as hell, reasonably apathetic, currently pregnant. Always cleaning or hauling something.
Rose and Dandelion Dukes -- 9 and 8 respectively -- Daughters of Elijah and Mary: Skinny, tag-team bullies, love throwing stuff at ghosts and antagonizing animals. Dandelion thinks she's the prettiest "woman in the west." Rose longs to marry a "real Injun cowboy" and won't shut up about it.
Name: Jean Charpentier Nickname: Coffin Jack Gender: Male Age: 28 Occupation: Carpenter known for his casket work District: Night District Supernatural/Human: Human Any associated powers: None Appearance:
Height: 5'9" Build: Average Eyes: Dark Brown Hair: Black Skin Tone: Medium Olive Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: An 'X' branded across his left cheek Personal Style: Aside from his criminal branding, Jean doesn't really stand out partly due to him purposefully wanting to not stand out. The only article of bright clothing he owns is his red kerchief. Personality: Quiet and reserved before even arriving in Serpent's Snag, Jean is slowly descending into paranoia and distrust. Ironically, he feels more at ease with the vampires of his local district than with fellow humans. Due to his aversion to interaction, he can be perceived as asocial or disrespectful but it's mostly bottled up fear that drives his actions. Backstory: While many people know Coffin Jack as a handy carpenter working for the Nightwells, not many know of Sergent Jean Charpentier of the French Chasseurs who had been a wanted deserter back in his homeland. After narrowly escaping the Prussians during the disastrous 1870 Battle of Sedan, Jean took the opportunity to ride to his nearby hometown of Calais and cross the English channel with what little valuables he had taken with him. It wouldn't be long before he had secured passage across the Atlantic to the Land of Opportunity.
As he arrived in America, Jean had decided to settle in Louisiana as the former French colony still had some of the traditions and culture of his old home. However, the American Dream wouldn't be one too kind to Jean and he had resorted to petty theft during his lowest point. He was caught during his second attempt and branded with a hot iron to signify his crimes. Sentenced to hard labor, the chain gang Jean was part of had managed to kill the deputy in charge of transporting them to and from jail during one of their many excursions. After breaking their locks against some desert rocks, it was every man for himself. Aimlessly running from the law, Jean was about to collapse from dehydration before coming across an odd oasis of that he would soon call home.
Though, he would collapse just before reaching the city limits. It's been a few years since that day. He's not entirely sure he didn't die and now spends the rest of eternity sentenced to work his namesake. What he is sure of though is that he can really make a casket fit for any corpse or vampire. Skills/Specialties: From his time as a cavalry officer, Jean is skilled at operating rifles and horseback riding. Also, while he has a reputation for caskets, he can do most other woodworking projects as well. Anything Else: Still speaks in a heavy Metropolitan French accent.
Gender: Woman Age: 32 Occupation: Nun/Nurse District: Night District Supernatural/Human: Human
Any associated powers: Whatever holy effects can be drawn from Catholic rituals (laying on of hands, exorcisms, blessings, etc.) and whatever miracles the Lady chooses to work.
Appearance
Height: 5'10" Build: Matronly Eyes: Brown Hair: Dark brown Skin Tone: Latina Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: None Personal Style: Catrina Luna wears the standard habit and wimple of her order. Her mission favors a linen habit with a light grey apron, which is cooler than the stereotypical habit and easier to clean from the staining of a nurse's duties.
Personality: Soft spoken, polite and eternally calm. Steely when pressed. Has a special affection for the outcast, and a disdain for the upper classes and the undead. Has a special dislike for the Blackwood vampires.
Backstory:
Catrina Luna was born, lived and took vows in a small village in the south-west of Mexico. Her order trained her as a nurse and put her to work in the local hospital. She excelled at working with mentally disturbed patients because of her placid temperament and calming demeanor. She gained a reputation for being unshakable, even in the face of non-human patients and hazardous situations. Her reputation eventually led to an invitation to work at the Silver Birch Sanatorium to help with the prisoners that have become mentally unstable.
On the surface, Catrina is a loyal and pious Catholic. But she has never abandoned the folk religion of her home. Quietly, in secret, she is a devotee of Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte, Our Lady of the Holy Death. In a small rock alcove in The Hill, she has a small shrine with black votive candles and a small skeletal figurine. There she prays and leaves offerings of flowers, apples and whiskey. She believes that Lady frequently works miracles at the Sanatorium, protecting the staff and cutting the ties that bind harmful conditions to her patients. She sees no contradiction between her Catholicism and her devotion to the Lady.
Skills/Specialties:
Catrina is a fully qualified nurse with a specialty towards those with mental problems (from a late-19th century perspective, at least.) This gets complicated in a supernatural world. She can council vengeful ghosts and tend to werewolves who have lost control to their wolf-mind. She is educated, can speak/read english, spanish and french fluently, and can debate the finer points of Catholic theology.
Anything Else:
Catrina tends to a small pack of werewolves who have slipped completely into a feral state. They live in a fenced field just off the Sanatorium proper, roaming admits a small forest that they consider to be their territory. Catrina is accepted by the pack and tries to model human behavior for them. She hasn't had much success bringing them back to humanity, but it has gained her some respect from the Werewolf gangs.
Name: Barnaby Thorne Gender: Male Age: Died at 30 -- Current age 135 Occupation: Former pirate and smuggler District: Shanty Town Supernatural: Ghost Any associated powers: Selective Visibility -- Barnaby can appear to anyone, to select individuals or to no one at all, being rendered invisible.
Matter manipulation -- A ghostly trait that allows him to manipulate objects without physical interaction which can be used in a variety of ways. Akin to telekinesis.
Astral relocation -- Having no physical form, Barnaby is not limited to physical travel and can, in fact, traverse distances through will, though he personally prefers a good walk. This acts similarly to teleportation.
Possession -- Barnaby, with great effort, can temporarily possess the bodies of the weak willed
Appearance:
Height: 6ft 3in
Build: Wide shoulders, athletic build.
Eyes: Where he once has beautiful hazel eyes, they are now hazed over since his death.
Hair: Long, dark hair that typically falls to his shoulders.
Skin Tone: Pale
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Naturally, Barnaby's ghostly visage reveals his fatal wound. However, with effort, he can change his form to hide this defect and look relatively normal, all things considered.
Voice: Barnaby's voice is gruff with hints of an English accent, though the company he kept at sea was a melting pot and his adoptive accent has become hard to place.
Scent/Aura: When Barnaby is in the vicinity, the area around him drops in temperature as he absorbs the energies to manifest himself. The more power he uses, the colder and more widespread it gets.
Personal Style: Barnaby died in his seafarer's attire and is forever linked to it. A black coat with dark pants and black boots.
Personality: During his life, Barnaby was very much a natural born leader. He was strong, confident, strategic and, above all, mischievous. Since his death, though, his demeanor has grown quite different.
Having gone stark raving mad in the years after his death, Barnaby's attitude can change at the drop of a hat. He can be jovial and nice one minute, intense and murderous the next. Typically he remains a loner, seeing the rest of the world as pawns of temporary entertainment, but secretly he would love companionship.
Backstory: Born in 1710, Barnaby lived the life of a street rat before being introduced to the wonders of the sea. Stealing a man's billfold might feed you for a night. Stealing a company's precious cargo in the middle of the ocean might feed you for months. Taken under the wing of an older pirate known by most as Draven, Barnaby learned everything he could about smuggling goods, stealing, fencing (not swordplay, moving stolen goods), and even naval combat. Once Barnaby put in some time and earned his stripes among the crew, Draven then revealed that he was no longer just a man but a vampire. Barnaby, trusting Draven already, took the news well and remained with the crew and their devilish captain.
As the years went on, it wasn't long before he found a woman in a small town who he took a shine to. Rose Everly, a feminine form of perfection with porcelain skin and long dark hair, caught his eye and the two fell in love. He even went so far as to introduce her to his mentor but felt some unease in the way Draven looked at her. It didn't matter, though. Barnaby knew that to have a life with Rose meant he would have to drop anchor leave the pirate life behind. He decided to go on one last big outing that would bear fruit valuable enough to ensure that he and Rose could live in comfort for the rest of their days.
After robbing a ship that was transporting gold, Barnaby revealed to Draven that he was going to take his share and leave it all behind. Furious, Draven pointed his gun to Barnaby's head and angrily reminded him all that the vampire had imparted upon him. Clothes, riches, a trade, a home, and now he was going to throw it all away for some pretty faced woman. Barnaby held his ground and said that only death would stop him and so Draven delivered upon that threat and pulled the trigger. As Barnaby life began seeping out of his body, Draven sneered over him. "If she's good enough to die for, perhaps I should have a taste," he sneered. Soon, everything went black.
When Barnaby opened his eyes once more, the world had changed... he had changed. He was under water next to a decaying body... his decaying body at the bottom of the sea. He panicked and cried out, wishing only to be back in Serpents Snag to find his beloved or his killer. Suddenly he found himself there in the middle of Shanty Town and over the years he continued his hunt to find the vampire that did him in or the woman whom he lost.
Skills/Specialties:
Basic First Aid: Though the skill is now useless to him, Barnaby retains the knowledge of administering first aid and can be a helpful guide.
Stealth Thievery: From sneaking into homes or buildings to picking a pocket clean, Barnaby used to be a heck of a thief.
Combustibles: Explosives, cannons and gun powder, oh my! Barnaby is well versed in things that go boom from application to chemistry.
Name: Nadezhda Alexandrovna Zubova to strangers, Nadya to acquaintances, Nadyusha to close friends, and Nadyushen'ka to only her most intimate associates. Nickname: Known simply as Madame Zubova to citizens of Serpent's Fang, although those of an Eastern European persuasion tend to respectfully refer to her as Sudarynya Zubova. Gender: Female Age: 185 Years Old Occupation: Saloon Proprietor District: North Species: Vampire Any associated powers:
Vampiric Powers - As a creature of the night, Madame Zubova commands all of the terrible powers associated with vampires. She possesses the heightened senses of a predatory monster. She is markedly resistant to even the most grievous physical harm. She has an insatiable appetite for blood, human blood. Worse still, she is inhumanly charming and can lead others toward damnation with but a flutter of her eyelashes.
Appearance:
Height: 5 ft 5 1⁄2 in
Build: Nadya possesses the lithe, graceful build of a dancer.
Eyes: The vampire has brilliant green eyes, deep pools of emerald that seem to draw the viewer in closer.
Hair: Madame Zubova has black hair the color of midnight that reaches well past her shoulder blades. She keeps her hair pinned in an elaborate chignon knot at the nape of her neck. To secure the chignon, Madame Zubova uses a modest collection of antique hairpins.
Skin Tone: Madame Zubova has pale skin the color of alabaster.
Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Far too proud to mark her skin with ink and a creature of great privilege, Madame Zubova's skin remains untouched by time or life.
Voice: A gifted actress, unless she permits it, there is no trace of her Russian origins in Madam's Zubova's accent. Instead she frequently speaks with a posh accent that one might best place as being Southern English in tone and measure. She speaks with a cool, teatime voice.
Scent/Aura: Being a dreadful creature of the night known as a vampire, Madame Zubova exudes all the terrible, inhuman grace and charm of an undead monster. For a vampire, she takes great care to hide her predatory nature and instead appears to most as a very alluring young woman.
Personal Style: Full of poise and grace, Madame Zubova dresses elaborately, favoring long dresses and elegant gowns that would be suitable for far more elegant settings than Serpent's Snag.
Personality: Madame Zubova is a meticulous monster, touched with a melancholy smile and thoughtful eyes. Warm, engaging, and a master of entertaining, she is only reserved when it comes to discussing her own person or past. Confident, she nonetheless moves with great propriety and is audacious only in her art. She is kind, in so far as a vampire, a predatory monster can be considered to be kind. She is fiercely protective of her employees, but reluctantly continues to bind them to her service and use their blood and bodies for her own economic gain.
Backstory:
Thomas spotted the woman walking down a boulevard in Serpent's Spring. It was her eyes. Staring into her eyes he could feel himself sinking. But he welcomed it. He wanted it. He wanted her. No, he needed her. She moved down the street slowly and he followed. She was young. Twenty five at best. He'd never seen a woman dressed like that before. Elegant. Royal. Beautiful. He didn't know her, not yet, but he was going to change that. He knew what love felt like. He wasn't a coward. He tapped the cowboy that strolled lazily next to him on the shoulder. Lawrence was a native, he had to know who the woman was.
"Hey Lawrence, who's that?"
He didn't need to point, Lawrence simply laughed and let out a low whistle as he nodded in the direction of the woman.
"That my dull friend, is Madame Zubova."
"Madame Zubova?"
"The one and only."
"Do you know her, Lawrence? Who is she?"
"Everyone in Serpent's Fang knows who she is, Thomas."
Thomas resented the smirk that flashed across the cowboy's face. Lawrence never seemed to take him or anything seriously. Much less matters of the heart.
"What do you mean?"
"I know who she is, Thomas, but that doesn't mean I know her."
"Then tell me what you know."
"She keeps a saloon in the City Center. She's got some real pretty girls. If you've got the cash to spend that is."
"She's a brothel madam?" Thomas croaked, feeling a sudden sweat growing on his brow.
"Oh, I don't think she'd like to hear you say that, Thomas, not one bit. She's very particular about what you call it. Prefers to call it a saloon. A bit of a sore spot, you might say."
"You've been there?"
"A couple of times," Lawrence continued, a smile crossing over his lips. Thomas did not ask him to elaborate. "But it's a bit too pricey for me to make a habit out of it."
"That expensive?"
"That expensive...but that good."
"Did you talk to her?"
"To Madame Zubova?"
"Yes! Who else?"
"Besides paying her and thanking her very much for hospitality, I didn't say a word. Women like that aren't for me, compadre. And they're not for you. They're for a whole other kind of man. A very rich one I would wager."
"Save your jokes," Thomas scoffed, his cheeks turning bright red with embarrassment. "Surely, you know something about her? Rumors? Stories? Anything?" he pleaded desperately.
Lawrence let out a low laugh, "About her? Nothing. Nobody does. She's a woman of mystery. Showed up a couple of years ago to open up her saloon and hasn't said much about herself since. Why? You hoping to have a private chat with her? You think you're up to it, campadre? Your wallet heavy enough for that sort of lady?"
"N-no...I was just curious! Why do you always have to be so difficult, Lawrence?"
"Ah, Thomas, brave, foolish Thomas," Lawrence began, wrapping an arm good-naturedly around the youth's shoulder. "A word of advice to you, my young compadre, drop the matter before you are burned. Better men than you have tried to win the heart of Madame Zubova and it didn't end well for any of them...Now about that drink..."
"Pardon me sir, but if I might trouble you for a moment," the vampire politely intoned, as he doffed his wide brimmed hat. He was a stranger to the western reaches. He was a stranger to Serpent's Fang. Days of travel had covered him in a fine layer of dust. It had been days since he had last fed and he could feel the hunger growing inside of him. He could hear the beast within clawing at his skin, gnawing at his bones, and howling at his soul. He could contain it, but not for much longer. The night was upon the city and it only strengthened his need.
The inn keeper smiled, waving a hand deferentially from behind the oaken counter. The old man did not seem overly concerned or surprised at the lateness of the vampire's arrival. Bent over and ancient, he was a hideous creature that filled even the vampire with a sense of loathing. "Of course, of course, what can I do for you?"
"I would be grateful, most grateful indeed, if you could direct me to a place still serving food at this hour? You see it has been many days since I had time to eat and the road has sapped me of my strength."
"Ah! A discerning customer I see. I understand you! I am sure of it, sir," The inn keeper smiled and the vampire could not mistake the sharp fangs that lurked beneath his lips. The wretched figure leaned closer and spoke mirthfully, "I would recommend the House of Earthly Delights, sir. Without hesitation may I humbly add! You will find the food to your liking, of that I am certain! And Madame Zubova is discreet, very discreet."
"Many thanks," the vampire replied with a grateful smile. He had never had much of a taste for drink addled fools stumbling into the wrong alley. The flavor had never grown on him, despite years of effort. No, no, he much preferred a clean and attractive young lady. The aftertaste was so sweet, so full of life. He could feel the strength growing in his legs with each step that he took towards the saloon. He would feed. He would be restored.
"Let me tell you a story, devushka, my story."
"Your story?" the girl gasped, her lungs fighting to draw more air. She felt weak. Her skin felt as it if was on fire and was covered in a layer of sweat. Yet deep within she felt cold and shivers ran through her. She lay in the bed where Madame Zubova had carried her, wrapped in fine Egyptian cottons and resting on a mountain of soft pillows.
"Sssh, my dear girl, my sweet girl, do no waste your strength."
"Madame Zubova," the girl persisted. "Why would you tell me? You never told anyone. You said we shouldn't ask. You always looked so sad when you said it."
"Call me Nadyushen'ka, we are of the same heart now, are we not?"
The girl's lips moved as she repeated the strange, foreign name. She found it beautiful. She felt warm. She felt loved. Madame Zubova drew closer, pulled the girl's head gently onto her lap. Her smile was sad and the sorrow danced in the light of her eyes.
"I was born in the year of our Lord, 1690. Oh, it was a lovely age, how I wish you would have seen it. There was so much hope, so much potential. The world has become so ugly since then. So much hatred. So much violence. So much war. I hate it."
"But...Madame...that's almost two hundred years ago?"
"Yes, my sweet," the vampire said softly stroking the girl's hair. "One hundred and eighty five years to be precise. I have lived many lives. I have seen many things. My night is long and does not end with the sunrise."
"How- How is that possible?"
Madame Zubova smiled, allowing her sharp fangs to show. The girl shifted away from her in a slow panic, eyes turned wide with fear. Madame Zubova patiently held out her hand, beckoning the girl to grab it,"Do not worry, child. Do no be afraid. I am your tyotenka. I am your aunt. I am your guardian. I will not harm you. I cannot harm you. I love you too much to hurt you."
The girl wanted to object. There was something she wanted to say. Some part of her brain screamed at her to run. It shouted at her to flee from the predatory creature that sat next to her. But she was so tired. And Madam Zubova's eyes were so beautiful. She didn't want her to look so sad. She wanted her to be happy. She wanted to see her smile again. She grasped Madame Zubova's hand desperately and buried her face against her chest. Warm tears streamed down her face and onto the other woman's dress.
"There, there, sweet girl, it is nothing, all is well, all is bliss," Madame Zubova spoke softly, sweetly even. Her voice banished the fear the girl had felt. "I am from a distant land. I was born the youngest daughter of an ancient noble family. My family had served the Muscovite dukes since the 15th century. We were Russian, you see?"
"Russia?" the girl asked, her reddened eyes staring eagerly into Madame Zubova's eyes.
"Yes, a cold and dreadful place," Madame Zubova replied gently wiping the tears from the girl's eyes with the a silk handkerchief. "Sometimes, but other times it is a place of great beauty."
"Do you miss it? Your home I mean?"
"I do, but it is not there anymore. It is not as it once was. My home is here now. With you, my sweet girls."
"So you were a princess?"
Madame Zubova laughed with kindness in her eyes,"No, never. I was simply a member of the court of Peter the Great, greatest of all the Tsars. I was a lady in waiting to a princess only five years my elder. I learned much in the Great Tsar's court. I learned much about the ways of courtly matters. I learned much about men. I learned much about women. I learned much about vice. And I learned much about the world. Not all of it was welcome, but that is the way of things. We suffer for our art, do we not?"
"Art?"
"Yes, my dear, art," Madam Zubova said, the sadness vanishing from her features for a moment. "Art is what we live for and it is what we die for."
The girl began to cough. Her chest heaving with each heavy shudder of her lithe frame. She held onto Madame Zubova's arms with weakening strength. Fighting. Still fighting the wicked illness that assailed her. Madame Zubova was patient. She took no offense. She did not move away from the girl like the others had begun to. She did not look angry. She did not look afraid. She fussed lovingly over her charge and carefully brought a cup full of cold water to the girl's parched lips. When the girl had ceased coughing, Madame Zubova continued.
"My parents, may they rest in peace, had high hopes for me once," Madame Zubova began, crossing herself in the Orthodox fashion. "They brought me up as our station demanded it. My life was an endless string of carefully chosen nurses, servants, tutors, and friends. I was taught to be a lady, a proper lady. I learned to dance, I learned to sing, I learned to play instruments, and I learned to entertain."
"Why did you learn all of those things?"
"An excellent question, dear child," Madame Zubova replied. "My parents wished me to be the perfect bride, you see? To find a respectable suitor. To bring prestige to our family. To produce respectable heirs. To build a respectable family. To die a respectable woman in my old age."
Madame Zubova smiled, "I was never good at being respectable. No, not in the way they wished. I did not live for the affections of some stuffy noble. I did not dream of a boring husband. I dreamt of art. I wished to be Rembrandt. I wished to paint. I wished to be Shakespeare. I wished to act. Oh, how I wished to be Mozart. To compose great operas that would s So I ran away. I ran away with a soldier to spite them. A common, brutish man, a simple solider in the Tsar's army with not one drop of aristocratic blood coursing through his veins. But he was proud and he was brave. He was an interesting man."
"Did you love him?"
"No, but he could be kind, he was not a good man, but he was kind to me. He taught me much about the world. Your world. The world of the common people."
"What happened to him?"
"He died," Madam Zubova said, her throat tightening as the girl reached out to her. "I was pretty then, a young thing of great beauty and full of life. Another soldier challenged him to a duel. He meant to take me for himself. Dima fought for me. He died. My hope died with him."
The girl wondered what Madam Zubova was or how long she had appeared young. She had heard the stories in the Old Country. Stories about the dead. Stories about the dead rising from the grave to feast on the blood of the living. Stories about the Count, the long dead Count Dracula and his cursed castle. She had never believed them. They had seemed such quaint, silly stories. But now she believed. Madame Zubova didn't seem mad. Not in that sort of way.
"What happened then?"
"I fled. I traveled west. I made my way to France. I arrived in Paris in 1723," the girl felt Madame Zubova pull her closer, warmth radiating between them. "Oh, how I wish you had been there with me, my sweet girl. It was a wondrous age. So beautiful. So wonderful. So full of art. So full of knowledge. The reign of Louis XV brought so much joy to my life. If could live only one more day, I would live again in one of those happy days."
"It sounds wonderful," the girl gasped, closing her eyes for a moment. She was so tired.
"I met her then. I met her there. My mistress. My creator. My muse. My heart. My soul," the girl opened her eyes and studied her own mistress. She had never heard Madame Zubova so enraptured. So in love.
There was a desperate longing in Madame Zubova's eyes as she spoke of her creator. The girl felt her own heart skipping beats as it lurched against her chest. She would have done anything to please her mistress. She would have killed if Madame Zubova had asked her too. She just wanted to see her smile. She would have consigned her own soul to damnation if Madame Zubova had suggested it. She just wanted to feel the warm touch of her hand again and to see her bright emerald eyes. Lost in her memories Madame Zubova continued,"She embraced me. She killed me. She gave me this endless dream, this endless night."
"Why didn't you stay there?"
"We did my sweet, we did, we stayed for many decades. We traveled across Europe," Madame Zubova said, wrapping the girl in her arms again. "We sought out the great artists of the age. We saw so much, my dear girl. We lived many lives. I remember Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, and Schubert. All young men then, when I knew them. Such wonderful musicians, such wonderful artists. I loved them as soon as I met them. Oh, how I miss their music, their gifts, their art. It is not the same to hear their music through others, is it? I remember Watteau, Lancret and Boucher. Their paintings move me still. Such color, such joie de vivre. However, my passion in this age was the theater..."
"What happened to your...mistress?
"Ah, sweet girl, my mistress and I parted ways," Madame Zubova said, her voice breaking. "It is sad, I know, but it is the way of our kind. I had to be free. I had to find my own way. She would not permit me fear to constrain me. She would never have forgiven me."
"Madame Zubova, how did you end up here?"
"Europe became so ugly, so full of hatred, so full of small minded fools with cruel weapons and crueler hearts. I am afraid even my kind did not embrace my artistic aspirations. They felt I was too human, too involved. They said it was wrong to love your kind, to love your art. They did not understand. They never understood. Art sustained my soul. It curtailed my damnation. I left before they could chain me to their traditions. I sailed across the sea, to this land, to a land of new opportunities and new freedoms."
"You look sad, are you not happy here?" the girl said, feeling a pang of pain. She had hoped Madame Zubova was happy. She had wanted to please her. She had lived to bring her joy and to receive her compliments. The notion that she had failed brought new panic to her heart.
"Things did not turn out quite as I had planned, my sweet girl. I had hope for so much more. I had hoped to find such great art, such beauty. But it is all the same, is it not? I cannot escape it? This filth, this horror, and this ugliness. Your kind are so cruel, so cruel, and I feel your pain as if it was my own."
"You feel my pain?" the girl asked, placing a hand softly against Madame Zubova's cheek.
"Yes, always, always my dear girl."
"Madame Zubova...I'm dying aren't I?"
"Yes."
"I don't want to die."
"I know, my dear."
"Save me."
Madame Zubova smiled but the girl could see the tears traveling across her cheeks. She took the girl's hand and held it with fond pressure, gazing into her face with languid and burning eyes. The girl felt Madame Zubova's lips brush softly over her own. Her hot lips travelled along the girl's cheek in kisses, caressing her neck with their touch.
"Oh, my dear, you do not know what you ask for...what you wish me to do..." Madame Zubova whispered between soft sobs.
Skills/Specialties:
Mistress of the Arts - If it is an art, then Madame Zubova has studied it. If it involves creativity, then Madame Zubova has worshiped it. If it is beautiful, then Madame Zubova has coveted it. An immortal artiste, Madame Zubova has dedicated herself to the perfection and proliferation of all forms of art. She wishes to fill the desolate Wasteland with the sound of music, with the culture of the theater, and with beautiful paintings equal to the works of the greatest masters. Her unbeating heart yearns only for more beauty, for more art with which to paint over the ugly cruelty of life.
Rudimentary Medicine - Running a place of entertainment that caters to the many desires of mundane and supernatural creatures in equal measures necessitates a certain level of understanding of medical matters. While certainly no doctor, Madame Zubova knows enough to treat the common wounds and ailments that her employees might suffer from. More importantly, the kind Madame knows when to seek out the services of a proper professional.
Noble Upbringing - A true blue-blooded aristocrat, Madame Zubova is a true master of the habits and etiquette of the upper class and moves as easily through complex social situations as a fish swims in water.
Noble Education - Although no scholar, due to her privileged birth, Madame Zubova has benefited from an exemplary education. She was tutored by learned men in advanced fields of study such as arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy, philosophy and theology. Further, she can read, write, and converse fluently in several languages (French, German, English, and Russian).
Professional Bookkeeper - Managing the financial health of any business is the first step to success and Madame Zubova takes great pride in her abilities as an accountant.
Anything Else: Madame Zubova is the proprietor of reputable saloon called the House of Earthly Delights located in the City Center district.
The House of Earthly Delights is a saloon located within the heart of Seperent's Snag. A most reputable establishment in a city known for vice, the saloon is run and owned by one Madame Zubova. Catering to a wide range of mundane and supernatural clientele, the saloon offers all manner of elicit entertainment to the discerning customer with a heavy wallet.
The saloon is elaborately decorated, with imported European decor, modern stemware, and oil paintings, some of the rumored to be painted by the Madame herself, hanging from the walls.
By way of entertainment the saloon offers games of chance, a five-piece orchestra, and dancing girls. Retaining the services of a foreign chef, Madame Zubova provides her patrons with food or drink to suit their pleasures.
Making no effort to hide her love of art, Madame Zubova is known to host exquisite musical and theatrical events in her venue. However, it is an open secret that the House of Earthly Delights, like many saloons, provide the intimate services of the dancing girls provided patrons present the proper qualifications and appropriate payment to Madame Zubova.
Keen to avoid trouble, Madame Zubova maintains a position of cautious neutrality. She pays homage to the Blackwood vampires and Central Pack werewolves in equal measure, trading money and information for her own protection and the security of her establishment. Although not all are welcome in the House of Earthly Delights, Madame Zubova makes sure that even those turned away are turned away with the utmost politeness.
Name: Oswald Krate Gender: Male Age: 30 Occupation: Writer/Historian District: North District Supernatural/Human: Human
Any associated powers: Stand User-He can summon a manifestation of his spirit to defend himself against would be aggressors. It also allows him to pull out a book from a living organism, which will contain the history of that being's life. It is connected to the said being via a chain, and if broken, it would remove that creatures memories altogether. The book needs only be placed against the creature for it to be returned if broken.
Even though stands can only be seen and interacted with by other stands and their users, those whom are undead, are able to at least see them, but ghosts can actually "physically" interact with them.
Appearance: -Height: 5'8 -Build: Average -Eyes: Brown -Hair: Short, Dark Brown -Skin Tone: White -Personal Style: Wears a Bowler hat, a light brown tailed coat, white shirt, dark brown waistcoat and plain black trousers with simple black shoes.
Personality: Oswald is a curious and curtious individual, respecting those who deserve respect, and making sure others feels at ease around him. He also has a habit of losing control of his temper when someone knocks off his hat.
Backstory: Originally from North London, Oswald was always fascinated about the stories he was told by his grandfather. And ever so keen to learn more about the world and its many secrets, he would visit the library frequently. He would eventually work there for a time. During his twenties, he decided to go travelling around the country, purely due to his deep interest in history. And during a journey through Northern England, he visited the ruins of a small fort. Whilst climbing the stairs of a ruined tower, he had lost his footing, and expected the worst as he fell back, but was saved by a spectral hand grasping onto a sturdy bit of stone sticking out of the wall. At first he thought it a ghost or even a guardian angel come to rescue him from certain death. But he'd soon know how to use and control it.
Years later, he would turn his historical research toward the colonies of the Americas, as it is a land rife with adventure and curios, as well as business and opportunity. The land had some quite interesting folk and locations, with equally as interesting stories in turn. He would go on to become an author for detailing and sharing these stories to all.
Skills/Specialties: Oswald is a fast reader, and an accomplished writer. He has written four books already about some of the lesser known, and somewhat bizarre towns, in both the U.S and Canada. Though Serpent's Snag will prove to be the most bizarre of the lot.
Name: Nuala Pubul Aiseir Nickname(If any): Nala Gender: Female Age: 15 Occupation: None District: In the Sanatorium Supernatural/Human(If supernatural, which one): She is a Witch and comes into the story possessed by a demon.
Any associated powers: 1. Astral projection 2. Blunt telekinesis 3. Telepathic Empathy- she can project emotions and receive emotions. It mostly helps with animals but it has unpredictable affects on ghosts because they use their emotional power to manifest, zero or limited use on vampires. 4. Can start fires with her mind but not easily nor is it always predictably. *NOTE: In the beginning of the story she will not really be aware of what she can do and so her powers will unfold as we go along.
Appearance Height: 5'0 Build: Thin but stocky Eyes: Green Hair: Red Skin Tone: pale with freckles Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: 1. A burn scar on the palm of her right hand and 2. A long, inch thick, red scar that snakes up the left side of her back over her left shoulder and ends halfway down her left arm. It is her witches brand to remind her that she belongs to the devil.
Personal Style: She's terribly self-conscious about her scar and tends to dress very conservatively. She likes to wear bulky clothes with lots of pockets.
Personality: She doesn't trust anyone quickly, she feels like a fish out of water and has no place to call home. She is intelligent and resourceful but she has been through a lot and she has not been able to process the events of her life thus far.
Backstory(At least two short paragraphs)
Nala's grandfather emigrated to the Americas as an Ulster Scot, someone who lived on the borders of Scotland and Ireland, in order to free himself from the state Church of Scotland and practice his more Puritanical Christian religion. He and Nala's grandmother first settled in the Carolinas and the family did well as farmers for a time. Eventually, they gave birth to Nala's father and her aunt's.
When Manifest Destiny caught fire in America the Aiseir family felt the call of the Lord to spread the good word of the Gospel to the untamed and savage people of the West, overnight Nala went from a simple farm girl to a homesteader and a missionary for the Lord.
The long trek across America butchered the family in the way that it did to so many during that time. Nala was there as first her grandfather died of dysentery, then one of her aunt's died from a snake bite. Shortly thereafter Nala experienced a tragedy which broke her spirit. It happened on a bright, full moon night when a group of werewolves waylaid the caravan and she watched as the rest of her family, along with the remaining members of her Puritan congregation, were slaughtered like so many helpless lambs.
The night the caravan was attacked she had been exploring some caves she had seen when they crossed the Mississippi river earlier that day. Inside of one of those caverns she met an old hag sitting by a fire. The hag told her that her family was being killed right at that moment. Nala didn't believe her of course until the old witch showed her a vision in the fire. Entranced, Nala watched the bloody chaos, and her heart sunk in her chest. The hag then tempted the young girl with promises of comfort, power, and strength. She told Nala that her father in Hell loved her, and could protect her, for her father in Heaven had abandoned her. Nala succumbed, and took the vow that night to serve the darkness in exchange for what solace the Devil would give.
The Devil is the father of all lies, and tricked the poor girl. Later that night, when the hag told her it was safe, Nala quietly began walking back to the camp. With every step she felt colder, number, until her body felt like somebody else's. Her vision clouded and seemed to float out of her head. Suddenly, she was watching herself walk, but she had no control of her body. Helpless, she watched her body walk faster, and faster, until it was hoping across the prairie. She saw her body begin to twitch and flail as it ran, and it began to make grotesque, inhuman noses.
The Nala creature made it to the caravan and there the thing possessing Nala's body gloried in the unholy violence of the scene. It feasted on the human remains sprawled around the site, painted her body in blood, and lit the wagons on fire. It then looked over it's shoulder and locked eyes with spirit Nala, and with a sickening grin it took a red hot railroad spike from the fire and carved a deep, burning groove from Nala's back and down her arm. Then, everything went dark.
Nala woke up in the Sanatorium. She doesn't know where she is or how long it's been since that night or how she got to the facility. The first thing she did when she woke up and was looking through her own eyes again was weep, and she wept until she fell asleep. For the moment she is back in her body and in control, who knows what might happen next.
Skills/Specialties: 1, farming, sewing, coming, and other common skills for a girl her age. 2. Archery, she's always liked using a bow and arrow set 3. Singing: she sang hymns for her congregation and was asked frequently to do solo performances. 4. She was brought up speaking Gaelic as her first language and she still speaks with a little bit of an accent.
Name: Luna Aricia (Real first name, Fake last name)
Nickname(If any): Lou, Lulu, Red Moon (by Rebecca)
Gender: Female
Age: Bitten age 21 (real age unknown)
Occupation: Dressmaker
District: North District at a dress emporium store
Supernatural/Human: Vampire
Any associated powers: Luna has abilities that every vampire has, enhanced strength and speed and the ability to see in the dark.
Appearance •Height: 4'11 •Build: Slim •Eyes: Former blue, now red •Hair: short jet black hair •Skin Tone: pale •Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Vampire bite mark on her neck •Personal Style: Luna is the lady with a very fancy fashion sense, like dresses and suits all that but she always wear her earrings and necklace
Personality: Luna is calm and polite young? lady who treat everyone with respect, just as long as they respect her, if not well......I hope you can sleep with one eye open
Backstory: Luna is a complete mystery to this town, she just appeared one day without questions and made her own dress emporium store. There be some rumors of what she is and where she came but for now, like stick with one rumor, shall we?
Luna was born before the Victoria era and was raise in a very poor family, only thing to make sweet money for herself her family is to work at a old dress emporium and had work there throughout her childhood to her teenage years. By the time she turn twenty-one, Luna soon met the love of her life HA! Alexander Chandler. Luna thought there someone love while others, even her family, never did...But then, one night change everything. One night, Luna and Alex were having a lovely night together, just enjoying the moon and kissing and....Bite
When Luna woke up the next morning, she was cover in blood and a chop up hand in her...well hand. Apparently, Alexander turn Luna into a blood sucky vampire! And how does Luna react to this?! ".....Eh"
Since then, Luna Aricia have been traveling all the world and meeting new people, she decided to settle down and live in Serpent’s Snag to made a little dress store.
Skills/Specialties: • Dressmaking - Luna can make dresses out of thin air • Weaponry - This doesn't shock anyone at all since after spending years being a vampire, a girl need to learn a new trick or two, like swordsmanship, knifesmanship and guns
Name: Rebecca James
Nickname(If any): Becca
Gender: Transgender Female
Age: 30
Occupation: Running from the law and her ex-coven Jobless for now
District: Just move here, living with Lulu in North District for now
Supernatural/Human: Witch
Any associated powers: Just like all the witches in the world, Rebecca James has magic! Her main Specialties are potions, Alchemy, Elemental Magic and Curses
Appearance •Height: 5'7 •Build: Slim •Eyes: Green •Hair: Blonde •Skin Tone: tan •Tattoos/Scars/Piercings: Becca have a few scars on her arm, leg and hand and a bullet wound scar on her shoulder •Personal Style: Rebecca James just likes to wear casual clothes like coats, a white bottom shirt, black pants and black boots
Personality: One best describe to our dear Rebecca personality is arrogant, sarcastic trickster who steasl wherever she goes and just being non-apologetic person but there more then meets the eye, Rebecca can be charismatic, friendly person once you get to know her.
Backstory: When Rebecca James was born, her rat-bastard parents left her at the doorsteps of an orphanage at England but little did her parents know, that orphanage was actually a witch coven, The Circle of Lunar Owl. Rebecca was a trouble child at home and at the streets of London, the adults don't know how to work with that child but one person can and that person was Sister Ariel.
Sister Ariel was the one person that Rebecca considered her as family, she was there when Rebecca needed her most, she teach her magic and she love Rebecca as if she was her own daughter, she thought her and Sister Ariel would be together forever....Until one night, Sister Ariel woke Rebecca up in the middle of the night, telling her that she love her and she hope that Rebecca have a bright future, after saying that, Sister Ariel just disappear without a trace the next morning.
After Ariel disappearance, Rebecca decided to run away from the coven and go find her mother figure but along the way, she soon lost her way, Rebecca rob, lie, cheat and steal and overall, she became a criminal of the wild west. Rebecca decided to lay low for awhile and move to Serpent’s Snag and stay with a old friend
Skills/Specialties: • Thief - When Rebecca was a little girl, she used pickpocketed rich people where ever she goes. • Cooking - This skill may surprise to everyone, Rebecca is really made some really damn good food
