Character(s) A Rogues' Gallery

[Grime and Drama]

A Rogues' Gallery
Salon des Refusés

╔═══════╗
Prologue
╚═══════╝


A cadre of characters gathered around the common banner of criminality and sleaze; from rogues to raiders, conmen to charlatans. Seeking original characters to explore a range of themes and settings, partners or adversaries, good times or bad times, romance or ravaging. I play characters who aren't the heroes of the world, nor rarely ever the main characters in their own story, just individuals on the wrong side of the fence trying to make their own out of the world in any way they can.


Desired Themes​

Fave Yes No Alcohol & Drugs Brain Storming Conflict Drama Game Mastering NPCs Original Characters Plot Power Imbalance World Building​ Aggressive Romance Bad Ends Character-Specific Kinks Death Dice Hatred In Media Res Non Linear Storytelling Setting Realism Tragedy Trauma​ ⠀ ⠀ Canon Characters Cartoon Villain Evil Flat Characters​

​

 

[Grime and Drama]

╔════╗
Act I
╚════╝

Shadowrun / Cyberpunk

⇥ Neon lights. Transhumanism. Dystopia. High tech, low life. ⇤

Spoiler: 'King' George Gibson

Retired Runner Mage - Seattle Fixer - Proprietor of Woden's Nightclub.
Theme Song


Provider of jobs. Provider of drinks. The one bar you don't want to start trouble in. Whether it's guns, drugs, chips, fake SIN's or just about anything else under the sun - he can get it, for a price. A firm believer in the concept of meritocracy, you're either an assets or a liability. Assets get benefits, steady work and pay. Fuck ups get pruned or geeked. Someone has to be the middleman between the corps and the dregs of society, and it's something he's gotten quite good at.

Loves new talent, especially when he can plausibly deny them. Always willing to send some fresh faced new prospective runner or team on their flagship first 'milk run'.

Stop on in, have a drink. See what you can do for him, and what he can do for you in return.

Spoiler: 'Background

A Texan born and raised mage shithead who spent his formative years with his older brother making nuyen along the hot border between UCAS and Aztlan, smuggling everything from Bliss, BTL's to crates of AK97's and Ingrams for La Venta. After the quake of '62 wrecked havoc on the area he decided to get with the times, cut his losses and make the trip to Seattle before the Azzie's claimed all of Texas for themselves - or at least the rest of Austin.

He's a mage face through and through with an award winning smile able to disarm his scumbag exterior, often dressed in a 'pre-owned' Mortimer of London suit that's good enough to make him look respectable, even if a thorough check reveals it doesn't fit quite perfectly. Dealing with the funk of essence loss from having to get some augs under the hood to 'get with the times' and a slow career shift into getting into the world of Fixing to keep his ass out of the line of fire from running - his future is far from certain. For now he's content to run his game out of Seattle, making and solidifying contacts and getting himself set up within the Johnson sphere. Always looking for fresh talent, especially the ones that won't get geeked by the first rent-a-cop with an American L36.

Discovering his magical abilities early, and living in an existence of self imposed excess and hedonism - he went the route of Black Magic. It took him years before he realized what he did was actually a thing and not just something the nu-goths and LaVeyites rambled on about. Sure, any street wiz can sling a manabolt or stunball - but the true skill lies within getting someone to do what you want them to do and be convinced they were the ones wanting to do it. That's black magic. Slinging euphoria on a go-girl at the club to convince her to swing back to the lockup with you? Well, sure, that's also black magic.

Usually always has his trusty Savalette Guardian on him. As someone who's been on the receiving end of 'geek the mage' - he'd rather pull steel first and resort to spell slinging if he actually needs to.

Spoiler: Freight Train

Trog Street Sam - Chrome Monster - Redmond Barrens Alumni.
Theme Song


A trog from the barrens of Redmond that made it 'out'. Every bad stereotype out there of a troll fits him, and fits him perfectly. Big, mean, boisterous, loud, aggressive and usually drunk. He works hard, and plays harder. Machine guns and grenade launchers during the day, racking up four digit tabs at the clubs during the night. Keeping up with him isn't easy, and ill advised, but for those wanting to live life on the edge there's no better to be around. When he's not on a run it's easy to find him frequenting runner bars and the downtown clubs. When he is on a run, it's even easier to find him - just follow the sounds of automatic fire, explosions and police sirens.

Originally he was adamantly against the use of chrome - at least until a Halloweener blasted off his arm to the shoulder with a hail of buckshot from a T-250 after a bar brawl outside the 495.

Like the slow onset of a tattoo addiction, he didn't stop after the first arm. Not even close. He got what he could in Redmond, and once he was able to officially turn runner, get a fake SIN that could get him through something more secure than a Stuffer Shack, he was out getting work done. Troll kind don't have a long life expectancy to begin with, even less as a runner - he truly believes he'll be dead long before he has to worry about augmentation rejection or the onset of palsy from the wired reflexes.

If a ghoul ever gets the drop on him for an easy meal, they'll be picking more metal out of their teeth than a goose taken down with a full-auto blast from an Auto-Assault 16.

Spoiler: Redmond Days

Higher education, let alone basic education wasn't something on the menu in Redmond. He had to use what he had to make amends, something being a troll made far easier. The best slice of luck he could've had, being a trog in the barrens, was being raised up along Touristville. Occasional Star patrols, usually working electricity and the funds from those coming in to shop and sling nuyen was a lifesaver.

It didn't take him long to get in with the Crimson Crush, after fitting into the 495 for his local watering hole, he wasn't about to stand on the sidelines when some humans rolled up to cause trouble against the trog bar. While he was more into guns blazing and busting up with their rivals, orders were orders and he had to get in on the more 'community focused' things the Crimsons pushed out across Touristville. That forced deescalation was probably the only reason he learned the restraint he needed to not get whacked by by an HTR team the second he made it into Downtown.

A fixer scouting the 'local talent' swung through one day, and after a long escort and protection job of some do-gooder keebs trying to expose the horrific conditions of the Glow, he had a fixer and finally his ticket out. The elves had their salacious story and he had a fixer willing to drop a few stacks on him to get him a fake SIN good enough to make it out. He's been back, but he's never looked back.

​

 

[Grime and Drama]

╔════╗
Act II
╚════╝

Forgotten Realms / Medieval Fantasy

⇥ High adventure. Low fantasy. Magic & marauders. Brigands & arcanists. ⇤

Spoiler: Dietrich Vorgrimmler

'Retired' Luskan Rogue - Tavernkeep in Daggerford - Illicit fence and appraiser
Themes: Adventure, Conflict, Consequences, Drama. Law & Crime, Moral Ambiguity, Thievery, Violence.

A marginalized race in a marginalized district in a beatdown of a city. A half-elf in the Docks District of Neverwinter. His options were either get out or give in, and give in was the only choice available to make. With a city that had done him no favors and a broken, infighting series of gangs, when the Luskan based Dead Rats came to town he joined up. From stickup kid to bagman to shotcaller, he put in his time. Traveling between Neverwinter and Luskan, working what needed working and solving problems that needed solving. When the 'unpleasantness' broke out during the assembly to elect a King of Luskan that concluded with a melee, major casualties including the death of his boss, and the appearance of a demon - he made the wise choice of relocating to somewhere not Luskan. Quickly.

If someone asked him where he thought he'd be 5 years prior, a tavernkeep in Daggerford would not be the answer he would've ever gave. But here he is. The price was right, and his stashed up 'rainy day' fund wasn't going to do him any good traveling around. Suljack's End, his crown jewel. A quaint name that the locals love, especially the ones that don't realize it's making fun of a murdered political figure of Luskan. The man has learned a lot of skills over his life, but cooking and brewing have been the newest. It brings people in, keeps him busy, pays the bills - and most importantly, is the perfect front for him to ply his trade.

Spoiler: Ulrich Krieger

The Stormbringer
Tempest Cleric - Devotee of the Gods of Fury - Zealous Talos Worshipper
Themes: Adversity, Contrasting Partners, Destruction, Devotion, Drama, Might Makes Right, Order vs Chaos, Strict & Stern, Unchained Passions, Wild Magics

Preachy clerics are bad enough, but give one a fanatical zeal and the ability to call down storms and they tend to get worse. A man with a lifelong belief in the tenants that nature is chaotic and cruel, and all should be in fear and awe of it. The laws of man will be and should always be secondary to the laws of nature, if not outright ignored.

When it comes to mercenary contracts, those involving villages or small settlements in danger are his first to pick. Either through conversion and devotion, or fear, he'll find his way to ensure at least some of the townsfolk follow the will of Talos when he's done. Calling down a torrent of a storm to water dangerously dry fields is an effective way to earn respect - and praise. Kind words and a smile fail in the face of a storm manifested purely out of spite and wrath alone.

Unlike the majority of his kind, he's learned to keep the more extreme aspects of his worship and practice to himself. Mostly. For one reason or another, temples dedicated to Talos tend to find themselves destroyed and their clergy slaughtered. Often this is done by those looking to rid their section of the world from Talassan, but it wouldn't be the first time a clergy's lust for a wrathful storm became more than they bargained for either. Many kingdoms outright banning the worship of Talos doesn't help things either.

Controversially among his kind, he forgoes the required eyepatch. He's found over the years that not having the obvious mark of Talos makes things easier in less friendly places.. and purposefully handicapping yourself to only one eye as a fighter isn't the smartest move for long life. He can't preach the will of Talos if he's dead. Given he's still bestowed with the blessings of the god's power either Talos forgives him, or just doesn't care.

Spoiler: Rogak Shazorwyn

Born Half-Orc - Raised Elven - Matured in battle
Themes: Adversarial Relations, Character Growth, Conflict, Drama, Grittiness, Rough Passions, Unconventional Pairings, Violence.

The dress styles of lesser nobility, deep voice that speaks both elven and the common tongue with equal measures of grace and a subdued, relaxed personality give one an impression unlike the blood running in his veins. But buried inside, the long-suppressed orc instincts slowly filter to the surface. Every battle or fight, every argument or brawl, brings it out just that little bit more.

Shunned by those that raised him, he's struck out on his own, doing the only thing he's discovered he's talented at - warfare. Without the overbearing nature of his foster culture to press down on him, the world is his to wander. Contracts to get enough coin to get by, driven by a lust for conflict that he can't explain; or more accurately would try to avoid dwelling on. Whether he maintains his upbringing of civility and the respect of law and order or gives in to his repressed instincts of violence and chaos is to be determined by the fates - or those around him.

Spoiler: Background

Born a mutt to parents unknown, his birth event beset not with good cheer and celebration but with warfare. Another village lost to war, another tribe wiped off the map. The war between orc and elf had claimed another victim in the long standing tit-for-tat spat that at this point was being fought for reasons that couldn't even be remembered. Unlike parents never known and family never discovered - he wasn't tossed into the mass graves but instead claimed by his captors. While his foster parents weren't overtly loving, his childhood was as close to reasonable as one could expect, given the circumstances. A basic education, a roof over his head and food. Rogak wasn't the only orc, either. A few others were growing up in the enclave with him. It wasn't a mystery they were different, nor did it take long to ascertain what had happened. The story was that his foster parents and their society felt bad for the losses and took them in for purely philanthropic reasons. As he grew he'd realize this was far from the truth. Teenage years are hard for anyone, but they were worse for him. His mind mature enough to see the segregation and see things for how they really were. For one reason or another, not that he found the explanations satisfactory, the other orcs that had been raised began to disappear. Still, his training persisted and it was no surprise to anyone that he was trained in the art of elven fighting: Lance, blade, and bow. It was during his training of the military arts that the prejudice and elven disposition towards him started to really become apparent to him; especially when he was besting his elvish peers during spars. The only silver lining he had to call his own was that being something different in a city full of elven homogeny tended to occasionally reap him rewards in no-tell tavern bedrooms or back alleys. When maintaining plausible deniability is a required part of your foreplay, it tends to ruin ones concept of what a stable, healthy relationship should be. A chance night of drinking with one of his Sergeants was all it took to solidify what he already suspected. It wasn't philanthropic, it was cultural. To try and culture the orc out of the orc. He couldn't speak for the others, but it was a failing prospect. A few choice words and some flared temper and he was scolded for being a 'savage'. It only went downhill from there, the cracks began to show clearer and clearer. He could read the writing on the wall, he was an initiative and it had clearly failed. The last of a bad, generational long idea. Leaving was the only logical thing to do. There's no higher calling, no crafts to ply or trades to work, no career to filter into. There's only one thing he knows, and only one thing he was trained to do, because it was all they expected he was good at. They were right.

Spoiler: Valdax Auvrylyl

Eye of Lolth Mage. Bastard Drow Half-Breed. Slaver.


A half-breed that 'escaped' a harsh life of death and violence and started it all over with a humble ranch estate, living life in cooperative harmony among the surfacers, a place of sanctuary for others like him. A rough looking dark skinned elf that's managed to earn the trust of the local populace through his hard work and charitable contributions. He's a symbol to the locals on the ability to put aside racial bias and accept an outsider. And it's all fake.

In reality the estate is a den of crime and misery. A staging area for drow espionage. A secured and concealed access route from the underdark. A hot bed of criminal smuggling activity and arms trade. And most importantly and financially lucrative..a slave pen. It's subterranean cells lined with enemies of the drow and those unable to be flat out killed. Whether they're trained to be sold to discerning clientele, broken down to be sold to others, used for magical research or just kept alive and out of the political arena of the underdark - it's all coin, and it's all business.

Spoiler: Background

A bastard half-drow that was doomed to a miserable existence down in the Underdark. A good dexterous physique saved him from the labor pits or worse. A better grip on the arcanum saved him from a life in the noble quarters. A long life of sneaking, framing, problem fixing and violence crafted him in the fires to be as vicious as any full blooded drow. To the surfacers, it was a life of misery, strife and petty violence but to him it was just life. His family had pushed too hard for control, and had gotten just a bit too big. What happened next was a story of many powerful families. The purge was swift and bloody, the matriarch and heads of the family cut off like a hydra. His fate momentarily spared only for the fact he was out on a job, and even he could see the flames from the distance as he approached. The half-breed was left in a precarious position. With the house all but destroyed, the protections it offered were all but gone. He was now just a lone half-drow. A dangerous one, but still a lone one. As much as he was thinking about which family to retaliate against first, so were they planning for that to happen. Eventually he decided to go for the family that benefited the most, though when he finessed his way into the matriarchs chambers it wasn't violence he wanted as she fully expected - but a sit down. The meeting was as cordial as one could be while having a crossbow leveled at them as he laid out his demands, which were few and fairly simple. In return for agreements from the families to drop any attempts against his life and 'forgive' past grudges, he would leave the politics and powerplay realm of the Underdark and move to the surface. His abilities and services were no longer to be leveraged by a specific family but for the whole of the race, and he promised if he got the resources he'd sought, he'd make it worth everyone's while. It's worked. So far.

​

 

[Grime and Drama]

╔═════╗
Act III
╚═════╝


Modern / Urban Supernatural

⇥ Urban Wasteland. Crime & Punishment. Decay & Decadence. ⇤

Spoiler: Ian Madsen

Desert Burnout. Narcotics Courier. High-Functioning User.
Theme Song


Born to a Mexican father and a Danish mother in the dusty Arizona desert, a unique combination that he never had the opportunity to learn about. A dysfunctional and broken home all but pushed him away from family life. He was selling loose cigarettes by 5th grade and helping a small group of friends shoplift from convenience and liquor stores before he was in highschool. A teen who spent his days chugging cervezas and bumping lines instead of studying and college. A normal job, or more importantly, a normal life were something that just wasn't in the cards for him.

When highschool ended and everyone he knew was going to college, getting corporate jobs and getting married, he was getting high and elbowing up with sicarios and coyotes. Outside of a few minor run ins with the law he had yet to get a real record, had a working car and knew how to smooth talk his way out of sketchy situations. If he could talk his way out of a gun to his head from an enraged cholo in the parking lot of the watering hole, surely he could talk his way out of a simple traffic stop. His job prospects were obvious. It started easy, Tuscon to Phoenix. Then Las Vegas. SLC. ABQ. Suddenly he had a career combining the unrelated skills of driving and narcotics. Bulk product transportation was his new game, and it paid for his habit and then some. It gave justification to his desire to wander and ramble. Having a trunk full of snow had it's own rewards, learning to give some out as party favors at bars and clubs around the southwest and beyond even if those 'samples' weren't sanctioned by his bosses.

There is no retirement plan, no long term goal, no happily ever after. He knows he's one bad traffic stop away from prison, or one rival cartel hit away from being put in the ground. But it's all he knows, and it's all he's good at.

It's not all bad. When your job is as simple as driving stacks of polvo from Point A to point B without getting pulled over, there's a lot of downtime for enjoying the local city scene and its populace.

Spoiler: Izaiah King

Entrepeneur. Innovator. Community Leader.
Con Man. Hustler. White Collar Criminal.
Theme Song

Lighter Side Themes: Clubs, High Society, One Night Stands, Romance, Slice of Life, Wine & Dine
Darker Side Themes: Abuse, Addiction, Blackmail, Crime, Drugs, Gangs, Prostitution, Violence


On the Surface
Izaiah is a business and community leader, an activist, advocate, and diligent member of the local baptist church. Dressed to impress, always on site at some new urban renewal project unveiling or other inner city initiatives. Known to speak on abstaining from drugs, and working hard to stop youths from falling into the ghetto trap of getting into 'that life'. A common fixture among the higher tier nightclubs and restaurants to meet and greets with activist defense attorneys and politicians. A voice for the marginalized and vulnerable, and a bulwark against the death march of big money gentrification.


Beneath the Surface
Izaiah is a criminal. Fingers deep in every white collar scheme he can get invested into. Card theft, boosting, high ticket price retail fraud, identity theft, tax return fraud, HUD abuse. If it's something too dirty or messy to touch directly, he uses cut outs. A small army of hood rats, drop hoes, addicts and thugs to work the hustle and help him do his grind. Whether dealers, pimps, trigger pullers or corrupt cops, there's connections and money to be made. King makes sure everyone gets their cut and gets their bread. Gang feuds and drug beefs get put on hold when a plot is in motion, because everyone benefits. Keeping the hood fed is a full time job, and just like the church, he gets his tithe.

Spoiler: Clayton Black

8th Generation Gangrel - Old West Pinkerton - Hound for the L.A. Camarilla.
Theme Song

A gunslinger with a knack for finding people and putting them down, his job was to track down wanted men — until one day what he tracked down was no normal man, but a lycan. When the gun-smoke cleared, somehow he was still alive. The beast wasn't. It was too big to drag back to town, and as he expected when he got back no one believed him. No one, except for one shadowy figure. Her only question to him was if he thought he could do it again. Turned out he wasn't the only one. Even in the dusty desert, the masquerade was still something to be followed and respected. Vampires losing themselves to the beast, and lycans going on a rampage, it was his job to grant them the final death.

He passed on offers to be sired while he was still young, an irony he'd only appreciate later. It was a club he wasn't particularly interested in joining, having seen first hand what happens when frenzy takes over a cainite. But, plans changed when he found himself bleeding out atop the rocky sand. His partner, both in work and romance, gave him the curse of Caine. It was either that, or death. Clayton didn't want it. He had trouble accepting this was who he'd be from then on. The relationship ended, and by the time he came to grips with his unlife and went to apologize, she was gone.

It's been a century and a half since. Somehow, not much has changed.

​

 

[Grime and Drama]

╔══════╗
Epilogue
╚══════╝

Spoiler: Other Themes

→ Blades in the Dark / Victorian-Gothic Punk
→ Fallout
→ Fading Suns
→ Modern Supernatural
→ Space Faring Scifi
→ Star Wars
→ Warhammer
→ Wild/Weird West
→ World of Darkness / VtM

Kinks
​

Fave Yes Maybe Anal Sex (Giving) Choking Consensual Drug / Alcohol Use Dub-Consensual Fantasy Females Femininity Hair Pulling Intelligent Characters Magic Users Modern Settings Nightclubs / Bars Nonsexual Roleplay Oral Sex (Giving) Oral Sex (Receiving) Original Characters Realism Sci-fi Slice of Life Story Driven Throat Penetration Vaginal Sex (Giving)​ Abuse Adultery Androgyny Bad Ends Breath Control Coercion Blackmail Degradation Dirty Talking Face Slapping Femboys Foreplay Gangbangs Interracial Multiple Character Nonconsensual Plot Twists Potions / Injections Prostitution Racism Risk of Pregnancy Roughness Storytelling Tomboys Transgender Vanilla Violence​ Anal Sex (Receiving) Male Unintelligent Characters​

Lack of "No's"
I'm from the world of ride or die roleplay. I'll write just about anything if there is a good plot and story behind it. My limits are purely beholden to a good story. I write characters, not self inserts. Whether it's something me the typist would approve of is irrelevant. For a good story I will literally write anything, and happily so.​