Ex-daughter of wealthy corporate execs and former leader of The Rust Scopions turned information broker and mercenary, suitable for sci-fi/cyberpunk games
Like the mythical hydra, the Illuminati have many heads and even more hands. The minions of the Illuminati might work to their hidden master's ends without ever knowing the design of their work, or for whom they indeed work for.
The rain poured down on the city of Grathen in a relentless beat that would marvel the best of drummers. It beat down on the public buildings, with pedestrians streaming in front of, with eyes cast upwards and lips mumbling prayers to Rain Gods. It beat down on the Slums, where thieves were mumbling thanks to their gods for all these people looking up and not at their purses. And it beat down on Ariel Lorette, a girl of 13, escaping from horrors beyond the common person's imagination. Ariel Lorette, with rain streaming down her face and hiding her tears of pain and sorrow and, above all, victory. For Ariel had escaped them. Ariel was free.
A sadistic murderer.
More than one convoy crossing the Southwest, traveling through the Republic of Texas and Rocky Mountain Republic has found themselves in the crosshairs of a heavy black transfer truck and it's deranged driver.
A burned out cop with very little to live for finds that you can't take the fight out of the dog. (NSFW language.)
The Tlu ‘che a Naust lu’ Phlithus a Jal is not an easy path to walk, and none take it lightly, or willingly.rnrn~ Faerlani lu’Noamuth Che’el
You should probably get ready for some trouble...
The Baron Trotha is responsible for most of the recent trouble in Vallermoore, and yet not even his most trusted minions have ever seen his face, as he wears crimson robes and a skull-like mask of black-painted steel. Why he is attacking the Kingdom is unknown, as he has never bothered to explain his actions. But with the kidnapping of King Montor's daughter, he may have gone too far this time...
Baugl, lost in the darkness beneath Hydra keep. Would that he had stayed in the shadow.
"I can acquire the item you seek, for a price… No I assure you the presence of dark tainted evils will in no way impede my ability to recover this artifact for you, now let’s discuss the details…"
(A character for the Warhammer Fantasy rpg setting, but can be easily adapted to any fantasy setting.)
-Heroes scatter under barrage of grey energy spheres-
"You know kids, you didn’t mind when Captain Liberty took you down. He did it with honor, with respect, and followed the rules. Not you kids today. For you, it is all about The Power. Just as soon shoot you as take you in. And really young lady, would your mother approve of that costume? Not that the rest of you dress much better. What standard are you idiots setting for the young kids of today?"
"Get up. Don’t you have any pride? A novice should have been able to avoid that attack. You have a total lack of grit. Don’t lie there and moan. Get up. And that surprise maneuver you two are attempting. I have to tell you, not so much of a surprise. Now, stop standing there wide eyes and slack jawed. Do something. "
"You are heroes for Gods sake. Start acting like it."
"The Dark One, he looks like anybody you see on the street. But when he grins, birds fall dead off high places. When he looks at you a certain way, your humors freeze and your urine burns. The grass yellows up and dies where he spits. He’s always outside. He came out of time. He doesn’t know himself. His names are legion as are his faces. He’s afraid of us. He is always on the outside looking in; hating people who have good fellowship and good conversation and friends - things he can not have. We’re inside. He knows magic. He can call the Night Beast and live in the shadows. He’s the king of nowhere. But he’s afraid of us. He’s afraid of . . . inside." The Book of Cauldius, found in the Royal Archive 828 by Arthurus the Wise
He is the master of more than just the piemakers.
These be the tales of The Golden Prize, the most feared ship on The Liquid Sky.
Renik Kavios is the leader of the dockworkers’ union. He is also a smuggler for stolen goods and illegal contraband. Through his power, he has the leaders of a city locked under his control.
“They took you away from me, Victoria. They killed you. Those fools took away the only thing I had, and they turned me into a monster. Well, I’ll make them pay, Victoria. I’ll avenge you, beloved. I’ll kill all of them.”
Pataket is a criminal unlike any others for he has been working at his trade for centuries, and it is rumoured that he can break into anywhere.
‘‘A thousand of the vile things we set alight, crying aloud the prayers of the Holy Redeemer as the demonic abombinations screamed in a chorus of almost human agony, utterly helpless against the flames that consumed their monstrous and deformed bodies. Never again will another human grace the banquet of these accursed fiends. But it pleases me even more to say that the gold which is so abundant in this heathen land, is now the sole propety of a nation blessed by the One God. No more will these repellent false deities lay claim to that which we have wrested from their worshippers’‘. -Corand Rogad, Conquerer of Tahutol
The object of many a sensual fantasy, few thieves garner as much attention as this leather-clad halfling
Cold Comfort is a long-sword of star-steel, its blade giving off a wan, blueish light. Its grip is wrapped tightly in snow-serpent hide, and its pommel bears a single opalescent gemstone.
This blade is enchanted in such a way, that whoever wields it, begins to fall completely and irrevocably "in love" with the weapon. This love does not manifest itself as the expected reverence and bond formed between any warrior and his weapon, but as a deeper, truer love, one has for a soul-mate of the same species! The longer the wielder carries Cold Comfort the stronger and more disturbing this love becomes, and only the most powerful of magicks can potentially break the sword's insidious spell. The blade's owner will even speak to and coo to the weapon, convinced that the sword understands and returns this epic love.
If the blade's wielder somehow loses the weapon or has it taken away, they will become inconsolable, and will predictably go to "ends of the earth and back" to retrieve it at any cost. Such is the weapon's curse that even separation from it does not damper the feelings the owner has for the sword. Legends tell of several distraught and mind-addled knights who even years after losing the blade, still wander the country-side searching for their lost love. And woe be to the "new lover" if and when they find him or her.