BrokenWashing — Roleplayer Guild

I've edited into my sheet but it's here as well so people can find it.

Duke grew up on a farm in the deep south in the 1950s. He lived with his parents up until the ripe old age of 14 where he packed a bindle with his worldly belongings and decided to make his own way into the wide world.
In his first years on the proverbial street, Duke lived off of busking with his banjo. He would sit on a street corner in the blazing hot sun and play until day became dusk.
This routine continued for three years, three glorious years. Of course he had no luxuries in his life but he made enough money to have at least 2 meals a day and a thick blanket to sleep in at night.
This all changed when one Winter night he came across a gang of Street Urchins no older than himself but all armed. They robbed him, kicking him to the ground and smashing his treasured instrument purely out of boredom. Broken and bruised, Duke crawled back to where he was staying the night and wept himself to sleep.

During this sleep a voice reached out to him through the mist of his dreams. The voice said, "embrace me . take my power . enact revenge . kill them all."
When Duke woke he found himself surrounded by the bodies of the kids who had cornered him the night before.
Each one maimed beyond recognition and posed, pointing at his resting place with a single outstretched finger. Some were missing limbs, others had had there faces burnt off. Those that still had a face, showed an expression of utter fear. Somehow, Duke knew he had committed these murders (COULD IT BE THE FACT THAT THEY WERE ALL POINTING AT HIM!? WHO KNOWS?)

The demon that had reached out to him had only intended to use him as a host for a single night. The plan was to siphon Duke's energy and then once it was more powerful it would move on to a new host, one with more power, more strength. That was the plan anyway.
When the demon tried to leave it's host's body, something inside of Duke held on, pulled back even. Such was Duke's will that Plaixare the demon found itself unable to leave this mere mortal.

As time went by and Duke aged he began to forget this ordeal and write it off as a bad dream induced by a bad choice of mushrooms in his stew. He got on with his life and even started work in a car factory of which he worked in for 20 years. The powers that he had witnessed that night never manifested themselves again but they still lay dormant, waiting for the moment to strike out with the rage and fury of an immeasurable force trapped within an unbreakable cage.
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