DinoNuts

The Treasure of Emily Gray

The Gray Dynasty: Victor, Abigail, Finn, Reika, Mdazi

Current Deployment: Venus

The door hissed open as a slightly bedraggled and winded young woman came stumbling into the briefing room, holding a black handkerchief to her mouth as she coughed a couple of times. She took a deep breath, pointed at Victor and grinned.

“Told you I’d be on time,” she reported triumphantly as she made a beeline for her luggage. It was clear which ones were hers - the suitcase was horribly beaten up and there was… something else; it was a clunky metal thing, approximately the size of an ice box, covered in stickers with a suitcase-handle. It looked almost industrial and was just as battered as the suitcase.

Victor shot Abigail a warning scowl before turning to address everyone else present in the room.

“We can leave getting acquainted for later.” he indicated, hinting that he’d be starting with their briefing now that the entire crew had assembled...

“My name is Victor Strade, I’ll be taking on the role of your tactical officer for this hunt. As you’re all aware, you’ve been hand selected by Grays for the purpose of discovering the late Emily’s treasure, which, according to the remaining heirs, is believed to be rightfully theirs.”

He paused and placed a folder on the table, opening it up to reveal a hard copy of Emily Gray’s will to use as reference. He then continued, “This is an important expedition with a small crew to accommodate our strategy. Due to the contents of the will hinting towards an investigative treasure hunt, a full scale search of our system would be a cost of resources and time.

"Instead, we begrudgingly have to play Emily Gray’s game and follow the clues which I require all of you to participate in. We have close to no intel regarding any other crew on the hunt, but we have to expect force to be used against us by any and all of them. From here on out we’re all we have; trusting others can be up for discussion, but ultimately something we want to avoid."

He stopped once more, allowing everyone to take everything in and simultaneously taking this time to get another good look at everyone present before continuing. "Any questions so far?”

“Yeah, I have a question...” Reika, the asian woman in black clothes, spoke up. “It’s pronounced ‘White’, but it’s spelled nothing like ‘White’. It'd got a ‘g’ and an ‘h’, like in, uh, ‘enough’. That’s dumb.” She fell silent looking pointedly at Victor as if she expected something from him.

“That's 'cause it's not white - it's Wight,” responded Abigail patiently. “Y’know, like a ghost, a spirit... something that's invisible to the naked eye and evades normal men. A 'g-h' like in 'might', 'slight’, 'fight’, 'light’....” She trailed off quietly, twiddling with her handkerchief before suddenly perking up. “Is our ghost ship on its own or do we get special privileges for trying to bring the Gray's fortune back home?”

“Okay, Ms. Dictionary,” Reika responded, glancing over before someone could answer her pragmatic question, “Got any more words for me?”

Finn shot a worried glance at Strade and the Havikka, hoping that an argument wouldn't break out between the two young ladies.

Victor cleared his throat before the two could further their conversation. “Maybe with the reward we get, you can buy yourself English lessons, Saigyo,” he chirped before continuing with his briefing.

“I’m glad you asked, Harlow. Our strategy will primarily be covert, that means we have to stick with this mining ship. That also means we don’t want to go around flashing any badges and bragging about our task to people that have nothing to do with it. We can get support here and there, clearance… supplies… yadi-yadi-ya...” he trailed off, wafting a hand to gesticulate the final remark.

“Lovely, our high priority support involves skipping toll booths and avoiding speeding tickets,” quipped Abigail with a smile. “And that's miss Abigail 'Dictionary’ Harlow to you, miss Saigyo,” she retorted jovially, pointing a couple of finger guns at the pilot. Saigyo frowned.

“Yeah, well, good. We got rooms in here?” queried Reika.

“Aye, this better not be another case of us all bein’ crammed into some small room,” Finn chimed in, “I've been in too many ships where all I've got is a tiny bed; it's not good for my back and everyone gets grouchy,” he said as he leaned back against the wall and lit his pipe.

Reika nodded in agreement. “Hear that, Victor? Everyone gets grouchy.” Saigyo repeated sagely.

Victor furrowed his brows at being called by his first name, responding, “Yes. Harlow has a copy of the ship plans. Harlow, could you kindly?” he asked her, motioning at the table before the group for everyone to see.

“How come she's able to call you Victor...” muttered Abigail tetchily. Raising her voice, she reported, “Whilst I was ogling the ship I found the plans on the database too, so I can send it to anyone that wants a peek.”

There was a crumpling noise and a slap as she slammed the mess of blueprints down on the table facing the others. “For those who aren't able to interpret the data, I'll give a quick overview - someone gutted a mining Ship and hid a royal class cruiser inside. Must've taken a lot of work to do since the only giveaway are the thrusters on either side, but they could've easily been salvaged for all anyone knows. Everything in here is state of the art... but what I really want to draw your attention to is the Comms system.”

Abigail pointed at one particular paragraph of supplementary print so small that it was hard to read. This was unsurprising, given that some poor engineer had to cram all of the information onto a single A1 sheet of paper for printing. “As it stands there are terminals in every room, corridor and chamber you can think of - even the toilets, be mindful of that - but it looks like I can hook up a set of earpieces for easy communication. Given enough fiddling, I might just be able to extend the range so you can talk amongst yourselves planetside and still send messages to the ship.”

“Very similar to the military hardware we were issued years ago, when I performed combat duties…” the Havikka mused, while sitting on a nearby bench, lowering her cases to the floor. “Will be very useful, presuming the communication antenna does not short-circuit.”

She turned to the engineer, tilting her head back to look her in the eye. “If your ability to mend wires and metal is of the same proficiency of my mending of bones and flesh, I would doubt that such a thing would happen.”

Reika, still leaning against the wall, looked down at the extraterrestrial, a bemused look on her face. “Wait, you’re the doctor?”

Abigail shifted in her seat, giving Reika a dirty look and a quick eye-roll before attempting to busy herself in her blueprints.

Victor quickly chimed in, noticing some minor tension, “Yes, she is. And judging by the personnel file I was given about her, she’s more than competent; something I’ve done with all of you, as well. The importance of this mission is grave, so I’m expecting none of you to faff about. Pick your quarters, set up your luggage, and meet back here to discuss our first course of action,” he practically demanded, eager to get moving.

Reika shrugged in response, before Abigail spoke again. “I'd call dibs on the big room but their dimensions are exact to the micrometre,” Abigail remarked as she hefted her luggage with a grunt. “Try not to miss me too much, Boss,” she jibed.

With a polite nod of her head and an equally respectable “Gentlemen,” Abigail made as swift of an exit as her entry into the briefing room at the start.

Saigyo picked up her cylindrical bag and followed after Abigail, giving the Havikka doctor that she still didn’t know the name of a sidelong look as she went.

The Havikka doctor picked up her cases, and hefted the giant backpack once more. Quizzically, she pondered the girl’s words as she made her way aft to the lower deck access. “I am not gentle, nor a man…”

Stunned by the sudden disappearance of his colleagues Finn let out a puff of pipe smoke before slowly collecting his things and meandering down the corridor after them, with only a quick glance back at Strade to check that he was doing the right thing by leaving.

The Treasure of Emily Gray

The Gray Dynasty: Victor Strade

Current Deployment: Venus
Current Time: 14:26, Earth Standard Time, 2207.

Victor was already busying himself with organising several files located on one of the digital desks around the briefing room as Reika walked in and introduced herself. Without looking much in her direction, and instead focusing on scrolling through a particular folder, he responded: “Wight. Like the color,” and finished up his work before turning the chair to finally face her. He hadn’t previously worked with a non military pilot; in fact, his rank never needed him to talk to his crew in general, which is exactly why he had asked for the woman and other members personal files. She seemed capable enough, and he knew better than to judge someone before any blatant mistakes. Nevertheless, Victor knew it would take a while to adjust his cold, curt attitude to better suit the new conditions he was working in.

“Victor Strade. I was just looking over what files they’ve left.” he scowled, not particularly at her, but more so out of habit. “We’re just waiting for our navigator and doctor it seems, the engineer is already gushing over the equipment they’ve got for us. Place is a lot bigger than you’d think. Judging by what they’ve given me about your past that shouldn’t be an issue for you though.”

Just as the duo were engaged in conversation, in walked a weathered old man that Victor could only assume was Finn Olsen before having his suspicions confirmed by the mans introduction. Finn was a bit more of a peculiar sight, if he remembered correctly the man wasn't any older then himself but easily looked twice it. “Victor Strade. We were just getting over our introductions.” he explained.

“I gave my copy of the layout to the engineer, she should be with us before we get briefed. It’s rather roomy however, so we don’t have to worry about privacy. I hope you both enjoyed your trip here more than I did, I’m not used to public airport customs.” Victor continued, by now he was stood in front of the circular table that was positioned in the middle of the briefing room.

The Treasure of Emily Gray

Victor Strade

Large Img.

Name:Victor Strade

Race: Human

Age: 47

Sex: Male

Appearance: Victor is a tall, stocky, hairy man with the physique of someone who gained muscle through intensive labour. He has dark hair which he combs back, thick eyebrows, dark eyes and a prominent mustache. More often than not, Victor has faint stubble around his jawline. His nose is ever-so-slightly crooked and the lines on his face appear to be from decades of frowning. His hands are calloused and his nails kept short - he wears no wedding ring yet the pale tan line of a ring is still barely visible. He has no piercings and no tattoos, but he does have a few scars on his left shoulder, abdomen and knuckles.

History: Overview: A prominent military captain descending from a family of career militarists, who were using a combination of hard work and cutthroat politics to groom Victor for Admiralty. After a disastrous military screw up during his rise through the ranks, Victor’s hopes of reaching the Admiral rank he was meant to achieve were ruined. He rank was preserved but his reputation was heavily slandered. He could barely receive authorization for managing grunt work on low-priority planets, let alone aspire to be promoted once more. After several years of highly effective operations, Victor was given the opportunity to prove himself on a mission that required his particular talents…

The Strade family are a family of loyalist aristocrats that lived on Mars. Victor was born on Mars to an incredibly strict domestic life - private tuition from an early age gave Victor a head start on his education. He had the influence of his parents and several successful relatives in the military to emulate. From as early as Victor can remember, his life at home was expertly crafted towards a single goal; achieving the rank of Admiral in the royal fleet of the Human Empire.

At the meagre age of 17 Victor joined a military academy and spent 4 years passing his assessments with flying colours. When he joined the army, he was immediately posted as an officer escorting passenger ships through dangerous territory. He spent decades working his way steadily through the rankings to reach the position of Captain of the RS Hemlock, a dreadnought-class battleship that patrolled the weakest points of the Empire’s influence, routinely taking out pirates, terrorists and bandits.

Operation Eridanus

A confidential counter-terrorism mission that took place in interplanetary space, on the outskirts of Pluto. The mission was to locate and intercept a cargo ship that would allow insurgents to establish a base on the planet. The intel that the RS Hemlock had received was falsified to place the Dreadnought-class ship in open territory, where agents placed within the crew had enough time to strategically place, arm and detonate several explosives within the ship. Whilst the crew evacuated via escape pods towards Pluto, several smaller insurgent spacecraft ambushed the stragglers and gunned down several pods. The complete destruction of a large military vessel and the deaths of over a dozen personnel were recorded.

Personality: Victor Strade is a product of his surroundings. He is a cold, emotionally reserved military veteran with a very strict moral code. He has accumulated an aristocrat’s careful etiquette and a precise time schedule. He likes to strategize and compartmentalise whenever possible. The only way to see his humanity is through his treatment of those who work with him; he is unflinchingly loyal to his crew and goes above and beyond the necessities to ensure that every member is not only healthy, but content with their position. Unfortunately, his tastes are a little outdated; Victor is a highly conservative man with xenophobic tendencies and high expectations. He often overestimates what the average crewmember is capable of doing and falls quite quickly to stereotypes when it comes to alien races, holding a clear bias towards a primarily human crew. As such, Victor is easily disappointed and hard to impress.

If one manages to chip away at that hard exterior, Victor can come off to be a bit socially awkward, as if genuine affection and a lack of formality are completely foreign concepts to him. However his ability to read other people and their emotional states comes as part of the job, so he seems to know the right words to say and when - even if he can’t quite figure out how to formulate those concepts into sentences.

Push Victor the other way and he turns out to be a destructive force. A lifetime of pent-up emotion can, under terrible influences, burst out in episodes of rarely-seen and rightly feared violence. In other instances he can quell his compassion to become as cold and as ruthless as the situation requires, performing acts of unspeakable cruelty out of sheer spite. This side of Victor is rarely seen in his day to day activities - he would have to be under extreme duress to break from his shell of civility.

Allegiance: The Grays

Occupation: (Disgraced) Captain

Personal Effects: Silver Locket with the picture of his mother inside it. The cover of the locket has the initials “E.S.” engraved on it. His most prized possession.

Other: (Anything else you want to note.)

Numenera: The Ninth world (Interest Check)

Another one of Benny's players here! Great DM, and allows a lot of creative input from the players, definitely signing up and looking forward for this. <3

[HIGH CASUAL] Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

Brooks Lockwood

Brooks Lockwood

_{{ "We all make mistakes. I’ve made plenty of them. But nothing that ever cost me my freedom." }}

---

| {Full Name} |

Brooks Lockwood

| {Nickname} |

Brooksy, Lockwood

| {Date of Birth} |

July 20th

| {Age} |

51

| {Gender} |

Male

| {Sexuality} |

Heterosexual

| {Relationship Status} |

Divorced

| {Role} |

Hunter

| {Occupation} |

Former Police Officer

| {Face Claim} |

Jeffrey Dean Morgan

| {Dialogue Color} |

Blue

| {Appearance} |

Brooks is a tall, stocky, hairy man with the physique of someone who gained muscle without trying to show off. He has dark hair which he combs back, thick eyebrows, dark eyes and a prominent mustache. More often than not, Brooks has faint stubble around his jawline. His nose is ever-so-slightly crooked and the lines on his face appear to be from decades of frowning. His hands are calloused and his nails kept short - he wears no wedding ring yet the pale tan line of a ring is still barely visible. He has no piercings and no tattoos, but he does have a few scars on his left shoulder, abdomen and knuckles.

Brooks has a penchant for freshly ironed shirts and faded jeans topped with his old leather jackets. He doesn’t own many clothes, but the ones that he does own are well-kept. The most expensive part of his wardrobe is his shoes - he owns three pairs. One brown pair, one black pair, and a pair of boots for wandering in the woods. They’re built to last and kept as clean as possible. He wears very few accessories, save for a wrist-watch and, sometimes, a thin gold chain under his shirt.

| {Habits & Quirks} |

Sighing, pacing and glowering at people.

| {Hobbies} |

Golfing, playing the piano, working out.

| {Likes} |

Cigars, scotch, blues music, strong coffee, his car, old movies, reading, training.

| {Dislikes} |

Trespassers, New technology, Children, Hippies, Most of the latest trends, Paperwork, Disloyal people, most Supernaturals, waiting.

| {Fears} |

Abigails well-being: Abigail has by now become a long-term emotional investment of Brooks, placing her at the top of the list of important people, places, and things.

Not being in control of a situation: Contingency plans and pre-preparations are a necessity for Brooks’ lifestyle, feeling lost and powerless to harm being caused to him or his loved ones would be nightmarish.

Bayous: Due to past, unspoken, experiences he went through regarding the bayous near New Orleans, Brooks formed an incredible dislike and fear towards the terrain.

| {Secrets} |

A cellar built underneath an abandoned hunting shack lays locked, deep in the woods behind his residence is used for “interrogation” purposes

| {Abilities} |

Trapping: Brooks grew up in a world where the odds were stacked against him; guerilla warfare is second nature to him now. If Brooks has access to the right materials, he can produce some makeshift and very deadly traps for supernatural and human foes alike.

Sharpshooter: With the exception of witches, most Supernaturals have to get close in order to inflict any real damage. Brooks has trained tirelessly to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Light-Footed: Walking down a dark alleyway without night vision leaves you out in the open. Compared to most other humans, Brooks knows how to keep himself quiet and hidden away until he’s ready to fight.

Ruthless: A distinct lack of inhibitions makes Brooks into a very nasty fighter in close range. He specifically targets weak points and uses dirty moves to gain an advantage.

Makeshift Monster Hunter: Everything’s a weapon if you try hard enough. Brooks has the creativity to comble together various ordinary items to make grisly butchering tools, provided he has the materials for it.

Interrogator: Sometimes the best way to track down a monster is to ask around. Brooks knows how to coerce Supernaturals into compliance, using all sorts of holy and silver tools to make sure he gets what he needs. His methods are unconventional but effective.

| {Limitations} |

Prep time required: A well-executed assault requires a fair amount of preparation. Brooks doesn’t work as well in the heat of the moment as he does when he’s given a few minutes to gather his thoughts and hatch a plan.

Short-Tempered: Sometimes Brooks can be so blinded by rage that his attacks become sloppy and leave his vulnerabilities open.

Service Costs: Brooks is almost entirely dependent on his tools when he works - if any of these machines are broken, the measures required to repair them takes money and time. Some of his armoury can be out of service for certain fights.

Rattling the Chains: Carrying all of his weaponry makes noise and leaves heavier footprints. The more Brooks equips, the easier he is to spot and track down.

Too Old for This Shit: Brooks’ age is slowly catching up to him. Sometimes he tires out faster than usual, especially if he hasn’t fully recovered from a previous battle.

| {Personality} |

♦ Reliable ♦ Destructive ♦ Determined ♦ Short Tempered ♦

Brooks Lockwood is, first and foremost, a man with a very lenient approach to the law. His stubborn determination to ‘do the right thing’ means that he will genuinely do whatever it takes in order to get the job done. He has very little patience for people who get in his way and is known to cuss and yell when he’s angry - and Brooks spends more time being pissed off than he does sleeping. He’s a cynical and rude individual who wouldn’t waste a minute telling someone exactly what he thought about them, but ultimately his heart is in the right place and it’s the lifestyle that made him into what he is today.

Brooks is often wary of strangers and gives little regard to social etiquette or manners. Whilst he is unafraid of conflict, Brooks’ aggression is held back by his level-headedness and common sense. He knows how to pick his battles and is very aware of his limits. He carries himself with stoicism and tends to show very little visible emotion aside from general annoyance. Brooks wouldn’t describe himself as the most intellectual person but he has a lot of wisdom to dispense if needed. His view on the supernatural is rather old-fashioned; it’s clear he holds a grudge against the monsters roaming around Salem but this is tempered by his strict moral code.

| {Place of Origin} |

New Orleans

| {Background} |

There’s not much to note about Brooks’ past. Born and raised in New Orleans, he was practically destined to join law-enforcement and follow in the footsteps of mediocrely decorated soldiers and officers alike. Life was simple; he had a job to do and that’s exactly what he did, slowly working his way up through the ranks to become a prominent member of the police force but never quite managing to get promoted to chief.

Working in the shadier parts of New Orleans meant an early and very bloody introduction to the supernatural. Covens were just as frequent as gangs and all sorts of dark creatures lurked in the shadows and hung off the boughs in the bayou. As a police officer, Brooks was under equipped and completely out of his depth when he had to face these beasts. It didn’t make things easier that most of the supernaturals there viewed humanity as inferior at best - cattle at worst. Brooks had witnessed many people injured, killed or worse at the hands of a supernatural being somewhere in the city and it tainted his view on the creatures forever.

Still, Brooks tried to lead a fairly average life. He wanted to gain just enough money to settle down with his new wife, Molly; a young lawyer he met during his shifts where romance blossomed amongst the blood and criminal charges. His desperate need for a normal life clashed with the horrific events he was forced to face; it started to seep into his personal life, killing his brother in-law Jean Harlow. This started a chain reaction of events where he reached out to his deadbeat sister Elisabeth and supported her financially, getting to know his young niece Abigail whilst pressuring her mother to quit the booze. These visits and monthly allowances put more unnecessary strain on his marriage. It was already hard enough with the long shifts and the ever-increasing amount of work; when desperate times required desperate measures Brooks cut off Elisabeth in an attempt to save his marriage. It ultimately failed and left him in an unfair divorce.

By this point, Brooks had no idea what to do next; work seemed pointless and he had nothing to spur him on in life. That was until his sister reached out to him when she found herself in what seemed to be an inescapable time in prison. He got the call late one November evening and agreed to meet her out of the little remaining love he possessed for her. Upon confronting her she asked him something completely unexpected; Brooks thought she’d beg for bail, she instead pleaded that he take her daughter to look after. It took a lot of time and consideration for him to eventually wholeheartedly agree; his agreement was the catalyst that set in motion his pre-retirement plans of leaving the busy city police force in favour for a full time monster-hunting job in Salem. With the recent divorce and his worries for the young Abigail's unhealthy past within the city, he believed it’d be best for the both of them to leave the place behind. After dealing with the paperwork and leaving his precinct with a suitable replacement the two made the move.

With Brooks working on a case-by-case basis instead of shift work, his biggest issue was making sure the young Abigail settled in properly. He kept himself largely unaffiliated with the official hunter force in Salem to avoid taking part in the conflicts and blood feuds. He took contracts from both humans and supernaturals alike; it would’ve doubled his profits were it not for the fact he refused to take a job he saw as immoral. Compared to the things he faced in New Orleans Brooks found the lesser monsters of Salem to be easy pickings, even without the proper equipment. This greatly facilitated his job by bringing in more money for better gear. With the extra space to work out and the free time to train properly, Brooks found that his pre-retirement plans were becoming a well-paid occupation.

Several months ago, life threw a wrench in the works. Brooks received a call from the hospital about his niece - hardly surprising, considering the young girl had a penchant for getting herself into accidents. When he arrived, however, he was shocked to hear that she was nearly torn apart by a rogue werewolf. All of a sudden Abigail was Brooks’ priority; he took on more jobs if only to pay the medical bills and kept a close eye on her as she recovered. When it was apparent that she really was cursed, Brooks spent the best part of his day making sure Abigail learned how to control herself. Because of this Brooks has been largely absent from the hunting scene for the past few months, despite the anonymous tip-offs that something big was headed towards Salem...

[HIGH CASUAL] Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

Heya, Stiches' friend here, finally managed to sort out my CS. Have a read and lemme know if anything needs changing =)

Character Sheet

Brooks Lockwood

_{{ "We all make mistakes. I’ve made plenty of them. But nothing that ever cost me my freedom." }}

---

| {Full Name} |

Brooks Lockwood

| {Nickname} |

Brooksy, Lockwood

| {Date of Birth} |

July 20th

| {Age} |

51

| {Gender} |

Male

| {Sexuality} |

Heterosexual

| {Relationship Status} |

Divorced

| {Role} |

Hunter

| {Occupation} |

Former Police Officer

| {Face Claim} |

Jeffrey Dean Morgan

| {Dialogue Color} |

Blue

| {Appearance} |

Brooks is a tall, stocky, hairy man with the physique of someone who gained muscle without trying to show off. He has dark hair which he combs back, thick eyebrows, dark eyes and a prominent mustache. More often than not, Brooks has faint stubble around his jawline. His nose is ever-so-slightly crooked and the lines on his face appear to be from decades of frowning. His hands are calloused and his nails kept short - he wears no wedding ring yet the pale tan line of a ring is still barely visible. He has no piercings and no tattoos, but he does have a few scars on his left shoulder, abdomen and knuckles.

Brooks has a penchant for freshly ironed shirts and faded jeans topped with his old leather jackets. He doesn’t own many clothes, but the ones that he does own are well-kept. The most expensive part of his wardrobe is his shoes - he owns three pairs. One brown pair, one black pair, and a pair of boots for wandering in the woods. They’re built to last and kept as clean as possible. He wears very few accessories, save for a wrist-watch and, sometimes, a thin gold chain under his shirt.

| {Habits & Quirks} |

Sighing, pacing and glowering at people.

| {Hobbies} |

Golfing, playing the piano, working out.

| {Likes} |

Cigars, scotch, blues music, strong coffee, his car, old movies, reading, training.

| {Dislikes} |

Trespassers, New technology, Children, Hippies, Most of the latest trends, Paperwork, Disloyal people, most Supernaturals, waiting.

| {Fears} |

Abigails well-being: Abigail has by now become a long-term emotional investment of Brooks, placing her at the top of the list of important people, places, and things.

Not being in control of a situation: Contingency plans and pre-preparations are a necessity for Brooks’ lifestyle, feeling lost and powerless to harm being caused to him or his loved ones would be nightmarish.

Bayous: Due to past, unspoken, experiences he went through regarding the bayous near New Orleans, Brooks formed an incredible dislike and fear towards the terrain.

| {Secrets} |

A cellar built underneath an abandoned hunting shack lays locked, deep in the woods behind his residence is used for “interrogation” purposes

| {Abilities} |

Trapping: Brooks grew up in a world where the odds were stacked against him; guerilla warfare is second nature to him now. If Brooks has access to the right materials, he can produce some makeshift and very deadly traps for supernatural and human foes alike.

Sharpshooter: With the exception of witches, most Supernaturals have to get close in order to inflict any real damage. Brooks has trained tirelessly to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Light-Footed: Walking down a dark alleyway without night vision leaves you out in the open. Compared to most other humans, Brooks knows how to keep himself quiet and hidden away until he’s ready to fight.

Ruthless: A distinct lack of inhibitions makes Brooks into a very nasty fighter in close range. He specifically targets weak points and uses dirty moves to gain an advantage.

Makeshift Monster Hunter: Everything’s a weapon if you try hard enough. Brooks has the creativity to comble together various ordinary items to make grisly butchering tools, provided he has the materials for it.

Interrogator: Sometimes the best way to track down a monster is to ask around. Brooks knows how to coerce Supernaturals into compliance, using all sorts of holy and silver tools to make sure he gets what he needs. His methods are unconventional but effective.

| {Limitations} |

Prep time required: A well-executed assault requires a fair amount of preparation. Brooks doesn’t work as well in the heat of the moment as he does when he’s given a few minutes to gather his thoughts and hatch a plan.

Short-Tempered: Sometimes Brooks can be so blinded by rage that his attacks become sloppy and leave his vulnerabilities open.

Service Costs: Brooks is almost entirely dependent on his tools when he works - if any of these machines are broken, the measures required to repair them takes money and time. Some of his armoury can be out of service for certain fights.

Rattling the Chains: Carrying all of his weaponry makes noise and leaves heavier footprints. The more Brooks equips, the easier he is to spot and track down.

Too Old for This Shit: Brooks’ age is slowly catching up to him. Sometimes he tires out faster than usual, especially if he hasn’t fully recovered from a previous battle.

| {Personality} |

♦ Reliable ♦ Destructive ♦ Determined ♦ Short Tempered ♦

Brooks Lockwood is, first and foremost, a man with a very lenient approach to the law. His stubborn determination to ‘do the right thing’ means that he will genuinely do whatever it takes in order to get the job done. He has very little patience for people who get in his way and is known to cuss and yell when he’s angry - and Brooks spends more time being pissed off than he does sleeping. He’s a cynical and rude individual who wouldn’t waste a minute telling someone exactly what he thought about them, but ultimately his heart is in the right place and it’s the lifestyle that made him into what he is today.

Brooks is often wary of strangers and gives little regard to social etiquette or manners. Whilst he is unafraid of conflict, Brooks’ aggression is held back by his level-headedness and common sense. He knows how to pick his battles and is very aware of his limits. He carries himself with stoicism and tends to show very little visible emotion aside from general annoyance. Brooks wouldn’t describe himself as the most intellectual person but he has a lot of wisdom to dispense if needed. His view on the supernatural is rather old-fashioned; it’s clear he holds a grudge against the monsters roaming around Salem but this is tempered by his strict moral code.

| {Place of Origin} |

New Orleans

| {Background} |

There’s not much to note about Brooks’ past. Born and raised in New Orleans, he was practically destined to join law-enforcement and follow in the footsteps of mediocrely decorated soldiers and officers alike. Life was simple; he had a job to do and that’s exactly what he did, slowly working his way up through the ranks to become a prominent member of the police force but never quite managing to get promoted to chief.

Working in the shadier parts of New Orleans meant an early and very bloody introduction to the supernatural. Covens were just as frequent as gangs and all sorts of dark creatures lurked in the shadows and hung off the boughs in the bayou. As a police officer, Brooks was under equipped and completely out of his depth when he had to face these beasts. It didn’t make things easier that most of the supernaturals there viewed humanity as inferior at best - cattle at worst. Brooks had witnessed many people injured, killed or worse at the hands of a supernatural being somewhere in the city and it tainted his view on the creatures forever.

Still, Brooks tried to lead a fairly average life. He wanted to gain just enough money to settle down with his new wife, Molly; a young lawyer he met during his shifts where romance blossomed amongst the blood and criminal charges. His desperate need for a normal life clashed with the horrific events he was forced to face; it started to seep into his personal life, killing his brother in-law Jean Harlow. This started a chain reaction of events where he reached out to his deadbeat sister Elisabeth and supported her financially, getting to know his young niece Abigail whilst pressuring her mother to quit the booze. These visits and monthly allowances put more unnecessary strain on his marriage. It was already hard enough with the long shifts and the ever-increasing amount of work; when desperate times required desperate measures Brooks cut off Elisabeth in an attempt to save his marriage. It ultimately failed and left him in an unfair divorce.

By this point, Brooks had no idea what to do next; work seemed pointless and he had nothing to spur him on in life. That was until his sister reached out to him when she found herself in what seemed to be an inescapable time in prison. He got the call late one November evening and agreed to meet her out of the little remaining love he possessed for her. Upon confronting her she asked him something completely unexpected; Brooks thought she’d beg for bail, she instead pleaded that he take her daughter to look after. It took a lot of time and consideration for him to eventually wholeheartedly agree; his agreement was the catalyst that set in motion his pre-retirement plans of leaving the busy city police force in favour for a full time monster-hunting job in Salem. With the recent divorce and his worries for the young Abigail's unhealthy past within the city, he believed it’d be best for the both of them to leave the place behind. After dealing with the paperwork and leaving his precinct with a suitable replacement the two made the move.

With Brooks working on a case-by-case basis instead of shift work, his biggest issue was making sure the young Abigail settled in properly. He kept himself largely unaffiliated with the official hunter force in Salem to avoid taking part in the conflicts and blood feuds. He took contracts from both humans and supernaturals alike; it would’ve doubled his profits were it not for the fact he refused to take a job he saw as immoral. Compared to the things he faced in New Orleans Brooks found the lesser monsters of Salem to be easy pickings, even without the proper equipment. This greatly facilitated his job by bringing in more money for better gear. With the extra space to work out and the free time to train properly, Brooks found that his pre-retirement plans were becoming a well-paid occupation.

Several months ago, life threw a wrench in the works. Brooks received a call from the hospital about his niece - hardly surprising, considering the young girl had a penchant for getting herself into accidents. When he arrived, however, he was shocked to hear that she was nearly torn apart by a rogue werewolf. All of a sudden Abigail was Brooks’ priority; he took on more jobs if only to pay the medical bills and kept a close eye on her as she recovered. When it was apparent that she really was cursed, Brooks spent the best part of his day making sure Abigail learned how to control herself. Because of this Brooks has been largely absent from the hunting scene for the past few months, despite the anonymous tip-offs that something big was headed towards Salem...

Born in Brimstone

The phone kept ringing for a solid 3 minutes before Brooks’ attention was shifted towards the mysterious and persistent caller just into his night shift. Three minutes is a long time when you're sat alone in a small office in the dark. He continued to glare at it, irritation turning to disbelief as the ringing persisted. It was only a matter of time before every ring, and appropriately timed pause of silence before the next one, caused him to physically flinch from frustration. It was the Sheriff's -personal- phone, and the last thing he wanted to do was butt into the guy's private affairs. Was it an emergency? Did something happen to the sheriff and his own number was the only thing he had time to call?

Brooks, being the irritable man that he was, could only stand it for so long. He stood up in a seething fit of annoyance and stomped his way angrily towards the device, picking it up with equal harshness and almost barking down the other end.

“Sheriff Cart-” was all he'd manage to get out before being interrupted by a deep voice from the other end.

“Missing? Look we got an actual police line for this, if it's the sheriff you're lookin’ for he's not in till tomorrow.”
Brooks stood in the dark and in silence as the muffled noise of the callers voice filled the sheriff's office room, replying to him.

“Right. Ahuh. Okay. Can I have your name please? Thank you. I'll be there in thirty, please wait patiently.”
He shut the phone back in its place, sighed audibly and left the sheriff's office, closing the door behind him and snatching his jacket off the hanger by the door. He had strict orders not to do this exact thing but he was feeling defiant, and just didn't care enough about consequences for something potentially interesting to happen, it -had- been a while.

Just as Brooks was about to leave the door his line started ringing, with furrowed brows he approached it cautiously before lifting it up to his ear.

“Hello? Deputy Lockwood speaking.” He paused, listening carefully.

“Oh hey sweetheart. Everything alright?” He eased up, glad it was just Abigail instead of another surprise.

“Oh dear… alright we'll talk about it tomorrow morning if you're heading to sleep. And check behind the mirror In my bath we got a small kit there you can use.”

“Yeah, sorry sweetie. I won't be home for a few more hours. Same old same old.” he put the phone down as soon as Abigail ended her call.

The car ride towards the hotel was filled with curiosity, his mind racing ahead of itself before reeling back into reality, and assuming the outcome to be as realistic as possible. Even with the “ban” on the hotel and the seemingly calm and collected voice of caller, this was Kansas. He had gotten used to mundane issues.

With another deep sigh Brooks exited his patrol car, slamming his door shut and approaching and entering the front door of the suddenly suspicious looking hotel.

Born in Brimstone

Brooks shot a deathly glare at the radio, its static adding insult to injury as the sheriff made fun of his plight. He could hear the sheriff's booming hyena cackle through the device, adding a tinge of annoyance to the whole situation that was eventually enhanced by the star-badged man's hysteria. He shifted his gaze up at the ceiling, almost rolling his eyes back in his head, remaining painfully silent as the sheriff's laughter dragged on and on.

“But in all seriousness, just wanted to let ya know I am goin to be callin it an early night. A big city cop like you should be able to handle things here alone, right?”

Just to humour the sheriff he picked the radio up and replied, keeping it short and sweet: “Sure thing, sheriff.”

‘Big city cop’ he thought. He could put up with the sheriff's attitude, gruelling tasks and public humiliations. He was his superior and brooks learnt to deal with horrible bosses years ago. It was that specific string of words that just got him every time though. It reminded him of when he felt like in the right place, doing the right things. Now it made him feel washed out, downgraded. But it didn't matter, he moved here for reasons. Life goes on.

He sighed, going back to paperwork about those missing pets, just to have something to kill the upcoming lonesome shift.

Born in Brimstone

Hey there, [@Stiches]'s friend here. I know the GM saw bits of my CS and asked if swapping to deputy is fine and it absolutly is, here's my CS to look over. Please let me know if you need any further alterations =)

P.S. couldn't figure out how to spoiler tag the whole thing.

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Brooks Lockwood

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"We all make mistakes. I’ve made plenty of them. But nothing that ever cost me my freedom."

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| {Full Name} |

Brooks Lockwood

| {Nickname} |

Brooksy

| {Age} |

47

| {Gender} |

Male

| {Sexuality} |

Hetero

| {Appearance} |

Brooks is a tall, stocky, hairy man with the physique of someone who gained muscle without trying to show off. He has dark hair which he combs back, thick eyebrows, dark eyes and a prominent mustache. More often than not, Brooks has faint stubble around his jawline. His nose is ever-so-slightly crooked and the lines on his face appear to be from decades of frowning. His hands are calloused and his nails kept short - he wears no wedding ring yet the pale tan line of a ring is still barely visible. He has no piercings and no tattoos, but he does have a few scars on his left shoulder, abdomen and knuckles.

| {Clothing Style} |

When he isn’t wearing his uniform, Brooks has a penchant for freshly ironed shirts and faded jeans topped with his old leather jackets. He doesn’t own many clothes, but the ones that he does own are well-kept. The most expensive part of his wardrobe is his shoes - he owns three pairs. One brown pair, one black pair, and a pair of boots for wandering in the woods. They’re built to last and kept as clean as possible. He wears very few accessories, save for a wrist-watch and, sometimes, a thin gold chain under his shirt.

| {Likes} |

Scotch - he’ll settle for whiskey if there isn’t any
Decent cigars
His car
The strongest coffee he can find in Brimstone
Jazz music

| {Dislikes} |

New technology
Children
Hippies
Most of the latest trends
Paperwork

| {Fears} |

Alligators
Not being in control of a situation

| {Personality} |

Brooks is a hardened life veteran with very little patience for stupidity. He has a sharp tongue and a short temper, often wary of strangers with little regard to social etiquette or manners. Whilst he is unafraid of conflict, Brooks’ aggression is held back by his level-headedness and common sense. He knows how to pick his battles and is very aware of his limits. He carries himself with stoicism and tends to show very little visible emotion aside from general annoyance. He operates under his own strict set of morals though, quick to be disapproving or to congratulate people for doing what he saw as ‘the right thing’. Brooks wouldn’t describe himself as the most intellectual person but he has a lot of wisdom to dispense if needed.

| {History} |

There’s not much to note about Brooks’ past. Born and raised in New Orleans, he was practically destined to join law-enforcement and follow in the footsteps of mediocrely decorated soldiers and officers alike. Life was simple; he had a job to do and that’s exactly what he did, slowly working his way up through the ranks to become a prominent member of the police force but never quite managing to get promoted to chief.

That was until his sister reached out to him when she found herself in what seemed to be an inescapable time in prison. He got the call late one November evening and agreed to meet her out of the little remaining love he possessed for her. Upon confronting her she asked him something completely unexpected; whereas Brooks thought she’d beg for bail, she instead pleaded that he take her daughter to look after. It took a lot of time and consideration for him to eventually wholeheartedly agree; his agreement was the catalyst that set in motion his pre-retirement plans of leaving the busy city police force in favour for a more easygoing position somewhere out in a quiet town in middle America. With age catching up to him and his worries for the young Abigail's unhealthy past within the city, he believed it’d be best for the both of them to leave the place behind. After dealing with the paperwork and leaving his precinct with a suitable replacement the two made the move.

It had been two years since the duo settled into Brimstone. Crime was non-existent and yet he’d still receive a full-time salary, so it was the obvious choice for him; Abigail had no say in the matter. He made the transition from high-speed chases and tense hostage situations to quiet days in the office and speeding tickets with little resistance whereas his home life was another issue entirely. He wasn’t used to being a guardian and it wasn’t as if the kid was making things easy. They eventually sorted out their differences though, and life went on.

| {Other} |

N/A

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Royce/Summer - Sandy Coves Inn / Salem Clinic

Royce waited for the designated woman to collect the requested supplies before idly following her out of the inn and towards the clinic. The woman introduced herself as Frieda, to which he replied with a simple “Royce”.

Summer propped herself up on one elbow to watch the Doctor rant about the greed of the wastelanders. “Oh...a vault-dweller,” she murmured with intrigue. She couldn’t help but feel a little bit sorry for Arthur as he dismissed Steve and went back to tending Summer’s injuries. “Your heart’s in the right place but I’m afraid the Commonwealth’s gonna fix that soon enough,” she rasped. Her gaze was unfocused and she seemed quite interested in twitching her fingers, focusing intently on them instead of the fussing that Arthur was doing to keep her comfortable. “Nevertheless, you at least have the common sense not to accept chems from someone who you don’t know. I think you’ll go far in life - at least, in your life on the surface.” She was rambling, most of it was conversational and coherent but she still slurred her speech from time to time. Summer fell silent after that, aside from the odd question of whether or not ‘The Big Guy’ was going to come back with the supplies.

Both Royce and Frieda entered the Clinic. Frieda began to eagerly converse with the Doctor, eventually moving towards the back of the church, Royce himself didn’t interfere with their conversation and instead averted his attention to the now lonesome woman resting on the makeshift bedding. He approached the woman asking: “Are you dying?” inquiring about how she was feeling.

Summer tilted her head to the side and stared Royce down. “Feels like it - but I’ll live,” she groaned wearily. “They’re mostly surface wounds and the ones that matter have been dealt with, I’m just-...trying to remain conscious until I know I’m not going to die of an infection in my sleep. You brought the antiseptic, right?”

“Yes. The doctor is discussing payment right now.” Royce paused, shooting a brief glance around the empty first floor and then over summer. “The five men outside Salem are your doing?” he wondered, by now kneeling beside her as they carried on their conversation.

Summer sighed, nodding. “Four, technically. Looted me for everything I had then left me for dead. Typical…” she spoke of it with such nonchalance that it felt like she was talking about a chipped nail instead of a serial killing. Then again, that might have been due to the sorry state she was in; it didn’t look like Summer was thinking straight anymore. “The worst part, the worst part….” she hummed thoughtfully, “is that research. My kit. All the shit I was working on earlier and they took it. Motherfuckers don’t even know how to read.” Whatever it was that Summer had lost irritated her to the point of reinvigoration. She practically snarled the last sentence and clenched her fists. Then she stared at Royce thoughtfully. “Wanna make some caps?”

Royce listened silently, the mention of research barely piquing his interest. He wasn’t exactly an expert when it came to technology of any form, let alone scientific research. After the brief pause the woman took to gather her bearings, and the mention of caps, it was more the sense of purpose that her offer entailed which interested him. With his lips still pursed, Royce eventually spoke: “You have no caps, you were robbed.”

Summer grinned mischievously. “I said I was robbed - I didn’t say WHAT they took. That being said, I can’t offer up much...just the opportunity to bash some skulls in and also dig into whatever else those chemheads have hoarded over the past few weeks. After all, it’s not as if I’m going to be in there demanding my share of the loot.” she gestured down to herself folornly, seeming much more awake than earlier. In fact, she even lifted herself up a little to lower her voice with the severity of someone who’s been double-crossed many times before. “But I want my fucking research. As much of it as possible. Big green dufflebag, full of machinery and notes. Bring that back to me and you can keep whatever else you find in there, but if I don’t get that fucking bag then don’t bother coming back at all.”

Royce could feel her anger and frustration seeping into her words. He replied, almost too eagerly: “Very well. I will find your research and bring it back.”

Summer smiled - all of that energy went into relief and she sank back onto her back again, shutting her eyes. “One more thing,” she spoke but it was barely more than a whisper. “Before you go, make sure those wounds are disinfected for me, will you? It doesn’t help to...to have an employer be dead before…” her voice trailed off meekly as she went limp, falling unconscious at long last.