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Scion: Legends of the Wild West - Scions of the Gods

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Birth Name: Luke Njorling

Nick Names: Lucky Luke

Aliases: The Dandy-Man, Snake-Eyes McGuinness, Robert K. Corman, Preacher Jimmy

Calling: Card Sharp, Con-man and Huckster

Known Relatives: None

Age: 22

Gender: Male

Ethnic Background: Norwegian

Nationality: American

Height: 5'11

Weight: 160 lbs

Eye Color: Grey

Hair Color: Dark red

Handedness: Left

Distinguishing Marks:

Appearance: Handsome, debonair, with dark red hair, grey eyes and a wry smile. Usually dresses in snappy clothing, with flashes of colour evident in his kerchiefs and cravats.

Personality: Sly, with a wryly humorous ironic outlook on life. He enjoys taking advantage of others folly and weakness, whether for his own gain or amusement.

Interests: Gambling, cheating at gambling, magic and the occult. The lighter side of his personality loves to entertain, if only in small ways. The devil on his other shoulder, on the other hand, loves nothing more than to bring out and exploit the foolishness in others.

History: 'Lucky Luke' Njorling grew up in Boston during the Civil War, the son of a Norwegian immigrant mother and (he thought) an Irish dock-worker. It was a relatively happy childhood, despite their poverty. Luke discovered a talent for street-level conjuring tricks and more dubious acts of misdirection at a young age, but kept his predations to the rich swells who would move through the streets with 'more money than they deserved to have', in his opinion. Needless to say, his real father's Visitation on the eve of his 16th birthday was a shock, and somewhat of an unwelcome one. Of all the gods that could have cuckolded the decent man who'd raised him by impersonating him and seducing his mother, it would have to be the black sheep of the Aesir. Still, at least he was a god, and he seemed to approve of Lucas' sly nature...

Since then Luke has struck out West, wandering from town to town: sometimes on a stagecoach, other times on a stolen horse. It all depends on how he left the last town. Along the way, he has built a small but growing reputation as the proverbial eye of the storm, the bringer of change. His antics tend to be of the Robin Hood variety, puncturing the egos of (and in some cases destroying) the rich and/or oppressive folks he meets. He tends to leave the poor and downtrodden alone. He'll tell you that's because there's little fun and no profit in playing his trickery on them, but under his cold-blooded exterior, Luke has actual moral standards. The way he sees it, when he isn't doing his father's bidding he is free to visit real divine retribution on those that truly deserve it, and in the best way possible: letting their own vices and foolishness destroy them.

Among the Native Americans he has encountered so far he is considered a kid brother to Coyote and Raven: foolishly wise, cunning yet impetuous. Those who have heard his tales marvel that he still lives, even as they laugh at his antics. His legendary trickery is responsible for the preservation of Indian lands: Luke arranged some misfortune for some white landowners who were getting greedy and trying to provoke an Indian attack so that they could grab some more land. Under his clever manipulations the two allied landowners wound up going to war with each other, their hired guns causing so much chaos and disruption to the nearby settlements that finally the Marshals were forced to ride in, shoot a bunch of the thugs, and levy huge fines against both ranchers for the damage their men had caused. After that, neither man was in a position to wage a land-grab. From that day forward, Luke has been accompanied by a large raven that is nearly always perched nearby or on his shoulder. The superstitious whites whisper that it's the Devil, and murmurs secrets of people's sins into his ear. The Native Americans recognise the bird for what it is: a sign of favor and good fortune.

Among the white settlements, those who have heard of him view Luke with some wary admiration: his freewheeling nature and tendency to prick the egos of the rich and greedy have garnered some respect among the common man, but after shaking hands with Lucky Luke a cautious person still checks his rings, then his wallet, then his fingers and finally his female relatives.

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Birth Name: Cora Magnolia Greene

Nick Names: Maggie

Aliases: Miss Magnolia Turner, of the Charleston Turners

Calling: Wayward dilettante and woman scorned

Known Relatives: James T. and Eugenia Mae Greene, of Athens, GA

Age: 22

Gender: Female

Ethnic Background: Caucasian/Greek

Nationality: Southern, and don't you forget it.

Height: 5'4"

Weight: 108lbs

Eye Color: Dark brown

Hair Color: Brunette

Handedness: Right

Distinguishing Marks: None

Appearance: Pretty, cultured and petite, with creamy, olive-toned skin and dark, glossy hair that tends to defy her best efforts to tame it. She typically wears dresses or skirts and blouses with all the associated underpinnings, embellished here and there with embroidery or ribbons she's added herself to elevate it slightly above the utterly mundane.

Personality: Cora is something of a coquette, having been raised among Southern ladies of good breeding, and despite her interest in the advancement of the fairer sex, she feels not a single pang of conscience for using a man's weaknesses against him. She feels compelled to help those in need, especially if the soul in question happens to be a woman who has been wronged, and will often go out of her way to help the sick, the wounded, or the grieving.

Interests: Needlepoint and sewing, hearth lore (planting, seasons, moon phases, old wives’ tales, etc.), dancing, gardening, gossiping, women’s rights

History (In Brief): Cora grew up on Greenmont plantation in Athens, GA and spent her girlhood learning simultaneously of the beauty the idyllic South could provide, and the horrors man could inflict on it. When their lands became the site of bloody skirmishes, the young girl was called upon to help the women of the family in tending wounds and dulling pain, and, occasionally, listening to the last, blood-filled prayers of the mortally injured.

Her Visitation came when, betrayed by the man to whom she'd given her heart, she was sure that her world had crumbled around her. The revelation of her birthrights gave her a renewed sense of purpose, and now she seeks her former lover with the spirit of righteous vengeance that only a daughter of Olympus can sustain.

Since departing Athens, she has traveled through a dozen cities east of the Mississippi, pursuing the scoundrel and spreading word of her gifts through the countless farmsteads who have benefited from sharing a meal or a hearth for the night. Struggling families, lonely war widows, emancipated slaves and more have borne witness to her gift with the land, banishing pests and blight and coaxing even the most pitiable fields into producing bumper crops. For some it is a miracle, but Cora herself will only say, with a disarming smile, that she takes after her mother's side of the family- "And they've been involved in agriculture since the invention of dirt."

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Personal Information:
Birth Name: unknown
Nicknames: Cherry (somtimes just ‘Red’)
AKA: la Cereza
Occupation: Bounty Hunter
Legal Status: questionable
Marital Status: single
Known Relatives: none
Nature: Loner
Allegiance(s): if she knows, she’s not telling

Physical Traits:
Weight: 97 lbs.
Height: 5’2”
Age (apparent age): 25 (early twenties)
Gender: female
Ethnic Background: unknown, generally assumed to be Mexican
Nationality (place of origin): Barbary Coast district of San Francisco, CA
Eye Color: amber
Hair Color: rich, dark brown
Handedness: right
Appearance: Exotic and beautiful, with honey-dipped mahogany skin, hair the color of ebony, and amber eyes that blaze like gold in the light. She typically dresses in standard 'cowboy' clothes: button up shirt tucked into a pair of Levi's jeans (yes, they were making them back then) with leather chaps over that, a bandanna around her neck, worn and frayed straw cowboy hat on her head, and a brown duster coat over all of it. Occasionally, Cherry will dress the part of a 'scarlet lady' again, and when she does people are quickly reminded of why she was once the most popular dance hall girl in all of San Francisco.

Legend, Skills and Personality:
Personality: Hard as diamonds and just as beautiful, la Cereza is as tough as they come. She is pragmatic but open-minded, with an iron will, a broad perspective and a sensitive streak that she tries to hide from everyone. Something of a loner, Cherry doesn’t normally speak unless it’s necessary, and when she does her manner of speech is usually direct and straightforward, but not without a sense of humor. Because of her stoic and silent nature, people are often surprised to discover just how passionate, vibrant, and at times sensual her personality really is.

Skills/Interests: Cherry has a broad range of talents and skills, but one outshines them all and that is her skill as a marksman. Her ability to hit her targets from impossible ranges – and with all manner of firearms – is fast becoming legend, and makes her feared by her enemies. She is also known for being astonishingly tough – especially for a woman – and for being able to outfight, out-smoke and out-drink almost anyone.


Dulce María Chavez Garza was the proudest, most beautiful, and most successful ‘dance hall lady’ in all of California, or so the story goes. Regardless, despite her somewhat dark complexion and strangely exotic looks, Dulce had no trouble winning the hearts of every man who saw her, and in no time she was engaged and then married to one of the wealthiest and most respectable prospectors in San Francisco. In no time at all Dulce was with child, and nine months later she gave birth to a baby girl. When the father was shown the infant, he was shocked to see that ‘his’ baby girl was as dark as any Mexican and immediately flew into a rage, believing the child was the product of an illicit affair between his wife and some other man, but when he stormed into his wife’s chambers to confront her she was nowhere to be found. Though the entire house and surrounding neighborhoods were searched thoroughly and for weeks, no one ever saw Dulce María again. About three days after her disappearance, a newborn baby girl, dark of skin and hair, was found outside of an orphanage in what would later be called the Barbary Coast district of San Francisco.
The girl grew up quickly, but chafed under the strictures of the orphanage, and so ran away by the time she was seven years of age. She spent the next several years living on the streets as an urchin and petty thief, until she reached her teens, when she suddenly blossomed in ways that surprised everyone, most of all her. Inevitability followed, and by the time she was fourteen, around the year 1864, the young girl had become a ‘dance hall’ girl herself – unwittingly following in her long-lost mother’s footsteps – working nightly at ‘Fat Ann’s Saloon’. If the orphanage had ever given her a name, the girl refused to share it with anyone, and so the less-than-respectable sorts of persons who frequented the most notorious neighborhood in San Francisco’s history soon took to calling her simply ‘Cherry’ – or ‘Cereza’ when they wanted to show a little respect (or at least feel clever).

Though not exactly proud of her new line of work, it allowed her to survive, and Cherry would have been lying if she’d claimed she didn’t enjoy it at times, and she certainly wasn’t ashamed of what she was doing either (despite what the morals of so-called ‘society’ had to say about such things). It wasn’t long before her extraordinary beauty had made her one of the most popular girls not just in the Barbary Coast district, but in all of San Francisco, and the former street urchin found herself making more money in a month than she would ever have believed possible. She was quieter than Fat Ann liked her girls to be, and there was something about her, a kind of aloofness that set her apart from the other girls, but she was a hard worker and her customers weren’t exactly complaining about the lack of conversation. Had that been all there ever was to the story, Cherry would probably still be dancing and ‘working’ at Fat Ann’s to this day, but Fate had other plans.

Towards the end of 1868 a series of brutal killings occurred all throughout the red light districts of San Francisco and all of the victims had been so-called ‘shady ladies’; dance hall girls, ‘sporting women’, and streetwalkers. The killings were strange and sensational, because no positive identification of the killer could be made, despite some of the killings having occurred inside of various Bordellos and Saloon. Even so, as none of the victims were of the ‘respectable’ class of San Francisco’s citizenry, the authorities and the newspapers had not yet begun to make a very great affair out of the matter.

Soon after the killings began Cherry began to have dreams, or rather, she had one dream that repeated itself night after night. This dream always began with her walking down the hall of a bordello that seemed familiar, though she had never been in such a place in her waking life. At the end of a hall was the door to a room she knew belonged to one of the girls who worked there, the door slightly ajar and a dim light glimmering into the hall from within. Every night she fought to keep from approaching the door and opening it, knowing before she ever reached it what she would find within, and yet every night she did approach the door, and she did open it and cry out in horror at what she saw there. Sprawled across her own bed was the girl, her dead eyes staring at the ceiling and her throat a gaping bloody wound. A beautiful red fox stood over the girl, with piercing green eyes that gleamed in the lamplight and jaws that dripped with the dead girl's blood, and it had six tails.

Cherry always froze in terror under the fox's cold gaze, but just as it seemed that it was about to pounce on her and tear out her throat as well a voice would call out, clear and beautiful and otherwordly, saying "Who will protect them?". And Cherry knew the voice referred to the dead girl, and all those like her, who died defenseless. Suddenly freed from her terror, and forgetful of the fox's presence, Cherry would turn at this and find her mother standing in the hall behind her, except it was no longer a hall and her mother was a Goddess. The divine figure that was also her mother radiated a glorious light and had ten hands that seemed to reach out protectively to all directions at once, and she possessed three eyes. The moon was her left eye, which was also desire, while her right eye was the sun, and from it poured forth the power to create worlds. And the third eye was fire.

Then a bright light would seem to appear from behind Cherry, and the Goddess would stretch out one divine hand, seeming to point past her. "Look", she would say, and Cherry would turn, and there would be the fox, snarling as he leapt at her and clamped his jaws around her throat. Night after night the dream would end this way, leaving Cherry shivering in her bed and unable to return to sleep. But then one night, her mother pointed behind her and bade her look, and as Cherry began to turn around to see the pouncing killer she already knew was there, she felt her mother's hand on her shoulder. Turning Cherry back to face her, the Devi gazed upon her daughter with terrible and wonderful eyes and said again, "look". And suddenly Cherry was aware that the bright light was not coming from behind her, but from within her, pouring out of her in waves. Again, she heard her mother ask, "Who will protect them?", and this time, when Cherry turned to face the fox it cringed in the face of her radiance and, howling in rage and pain, was reduced to ash by the fierceness of the light. After that the dreams stopped, and Cherry slept peacefully each night.

And then, one hot summer night, a strange-eyed and dashing stranger came calling at Fat Ann’s and hired Cherry’s services for the night. After some time spent dancing, the two of them retired to Cherry’s quarters. Almost as soon as the door to her room closed, the stranger’s guise melted away and Cherry found herself face to face with a fox spirit (though obviously she didn’t know that’s what it was at the time) who immediately launched itself at her with murderous intent. To the fox’s great surprise (and Cherry’s, for that matter), the young woman responded not with fear or panic, but by launching herself at the fox spirit and meeting it halfway.

The fox spirit discovered to his astonishment and dismay that his opponent was stronger than he and, when he attempted to flee the room (as fox spirits are wont to do when things do not go their way), that she was faster as well. Grabbing the creature by one of his tails, Cherry prevented the unearthly creature from escaping and placed herself between it and the exit. Once cornered, the fox spirit attacked her with renewed force, but Cherry met its attack blow for blow. Though the creature struck several telling blows against her, the young woman barely felt them, and in short order she had literally beaten her attacker to death with her bare hands.

To her amazement the inhuman corpse at her feet transformed into a very human-looking ‘Celestial’ (a common term for the Chinese immigrants in California in the 19th century) whom she had never seen before, and there was no evidence of the stranger who had first hired her services. Alarmed but exhilarated at the same time, Cherry plucked her attacker’s corpse up from the ground as though it were no heavier than a hand bag, slung the man over her shoulder and walked purposefully out her room and down to the main saloon hall. Ignoring the appalled looks and shocked gasps of the saloon’s gathered patrons, she draped the body across the bar and proceeded to calmly explain what had happened to the alarmed bartender.

Of course these strange events quickly drew a crowd, and one of the men gathered exclaimed that he recognized Cherry’s attacker as being a notorious outlaw by the name of ‘Six-tails Charlie’, and added that he had a reward on his head and was wanted ‘Dead or Alive’. As soon as she heard this, Cherry would not quit the subject and questioned the man thoroughly about the nature of the reward, it’s amount, and whether it were true that a reward might be collected for this Charlie’s dead body alone. Having satisfied herself on these points, the young woman wordlessly took up the man’s body and slung it over one shoulder and stalked out into the night in search of a duly appointed officer of the law from whom she could collect her reward; heedless of the crowd’s amazement that such a delicate and lovely creature could (or would!) carry a full-grown man’s corpse with such apparent ease and scandal that she would venture out in public in such a state of déshabillé.

Cherry collected her reward, but rather than spending the money on lavish clothes or trinkets, she pocketed it away and would tell no one what she planned on doing with it (mostly because even she didn’t know herself yet). Upon the person of Six-tails Charlie were found one or two personal effects of every one of the slain streetwalkers that had been discovered in recent weeks, and it became apparent that Six-tails Charlie had been the killer. This was confirmed as the weeks passed without another slaying. Cherry had continued to work at Fat Ann’s during that time, but her heart was no longer in the work. Though she enjoyed bringing pleasure to men (most of them anyway), she was slowly realizing that she had found a new calling.

In killing Six-tail Charlie, she had not only brought a wanted fugitive of the law to justice, she had stopped the senseless killing of who-knew-how-many other girls like herself. Cherry was surprised at how much it affected her, knowing that through her actions she had protected others, and that she had played a part in bringing some measure of peace, order and harmony to the otherwise degenerate neighborhoods of the Barbary Coast. And she had made a bundle of money in the process!

One month to the day after her encounter with Six-tails Charlie, Cherry packed up her few belongings and left Fat Ann’s Saloon for good. On her way out of San Francisco she stopped to purchase herself a Colt Dragoon revolver and a horse, and then she left in search of her fortune.

For the first several months of her new life everything went well, and the stories of la Cereza, the lady bounty hunter, were already becoming the stuff of legend, but as often happens, Cherry’s luck ran out sooner rather than later. Her most recent target were a group of outlaws known as the Tillbury Boys (as their leader was a man named Jonas Tillbury) that had been wreaking havoc across much of southern California and into Arizona, and the reward on Jonas Tillbury himself had recently become quite large after he had shot and killed two marshals during his most recent escape. Cherry made the foolish mistake of thinking she could take the entire gang in an ambush at the cabin they were hiding out at.

Of course her plan failed horribly. As an unvisited (and unwitting) Scion of the Gods, she was a potent force to be sure, but she was no match for an entire band of hardened criminals. Cherry managed to kill one of the Tillbury Boys, and wound two others before she herself was wounded and brought down. The outlaws were astonished to find that their attacker was a woman, but more than pleased to discover how fine she was. They searched her (roughly and very thoroughly) and were amazed to see that what they’d thought had been a straight shot to the poor girl’s gut seemed to be little more than a bad scratch (which itself faded after a little longer, not that the Tillburys noticed), and seeing that she was not in any danger of bleeding out just then they immediately set about ravishing her brutally for the remainder of the night.

It was in the small hours of the morning, after the men had tired themselves out on her and left her naked and bound in a filthy corner of their dirty cabin, that Cherry’s mother finally came for her in person. And not as the long-vanished Dulce María Chavez Garza either but as the Hindu Goddess Durga in all her glory: radiant and shining and beautiful beyond comprehension. Her mother knelt by Cherry’s side and embraced her tenderly, telling her how proud she was of her and revealing to her for the first time her true heritage. Bruised and battered, in both mind and body, Cherry believed she was experiencing a hallucination, and so she did not find it odd that the sudden appearance of a luminous and divine being, who spoke to her at length in normal conversational tones, did not wake any of her captors. Nor was she troubled that though her mother seemed to spend hours telling her many wondrous things, yet the sun failed to climb over the horizon.

Finally, as the Goddess Durga’s time with her daughter came to an end, she took from around her neck a gleaming necklace made of fiery red gold, inset with rubies and diamonds, and placed it around Cherry’s own neck, saying “These jewels were given to me by the God Himavat, God of the Himalayas and of snow. Receive this now from me as a gift, and like the snows atop Mount Meru, all the glory and radiance of the Sun itself may shine down upon you and be reflected back for all to see, and yet its heat shall never harm you, nor will the fires of Agni hold any hurt for you.”

And so saying, Durga stood up and made to leave, but Cherry called out to her weakly and begged that her mother at least untie her before she go. But the Goddess only smiled sadly and explained that she had already provided her daughter with a means of escape and freedom, and that Cherry would have to take care of the rest herself. And with that, she was gone, and Cherry found herself cold and alone and surrounded by vile and evil men, and only the weight of a fortune in gold and jewels hanging around her neck as proof of what she had just experienced.

But it was as she considered the cold weight of her mother’s necklace against her skin that Cherry’s eyes fell on the oil lamp that still burned near her feet, abandoned there – still lit – by her captors as they’d stumbled to their bed in exhaustion from all the night’s activities. The girl stared at the flames within for only an instant and then she kicked out with her feet, knocking the lamp over and spilling its flaming contents onto the nearest bed. She did not yet know if her mother’s words had been true or not (or if her visitation had even happened in the first place), nor did she care at that moment. She wanted only to escape from the torment she knew awaited her by any means possible, even if it meant death – a death she would welcome all the more willingly if it claimed the lives of her tormentors as well.

The flames from the lamp spread so quickly and blazed so brightly that they seemed to be alive, and almost before the men had awoken from their slumber, screaming as their flesh began to boil and blister, the fire had spread throughout every corner of the small cabin. Cherry only closed her eyes and let the flames wash over her, cleansing away the filth and stink of the men who had ravaged her, and let their screams of agony burn away the shame of their taunts and lustful grunts as they’d ravaged her. When it was all over, Cherry was covered in soot and ashes, but the ropes she’d been bound with had burned away, her captors were dead, and she was free.

People round those parts still talk about the day that la Cereza rode into town covered in ashes and soot, her hair wild, and wearing nothing but an old hemp blanket, sitting atop a shabby wagon piled with charred skeletons and a large chest that turned out to be the very chest the Tullbury Boys had stolen in their last stagecoach heist. Despite the impossibility of positively identifying the body of Jonas Tillbury or any of his men, no argument was made to Cherry’s claim of the bounty on their heads. Cherry left town later the very next day with a large wad of cash, new clothes, a new horse and – most importantly – a new birthright.

From that time forward Cherry has been a Scion of Durga. She has had many other adventures, many at the behest of her mother, and not the least of which was the quest to slay the mad Alger Grant, who had fought like a demon throughout all the worst battles of the Civil War, who had survived when his Henry repeating rifle was struck by lightning – twice – and who had even raided Richmond with Dahlgren’s company in their failed attempt to assassinate the Confederate president. Cherry still carries his Henry rifle, now renamed the Vajrayudha (called Thunderbolt by the common man), to this day and her enemies know to fear the sight of it. But these stories are for another time.
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Birth Name: Daena Saighead

Nick Names: Dani, Little Otter (childhood nickname)

Aliases: Daniel Smith

Calling: Mother of the new line of Irish Kings, Seeker for the Stone of Destiny

Known Relatives: Brigid (Mother), Nuada (Grandfather), Nathaniel Stagman

Nature: Visionary

Age: 24

Gender: Female

Ethnic Background: Irish

Nationality: American

Height: 5 ft. 6 in.

Weight: 128 lbs

Eye Color: Green

Hair Color: Red

Handedness: Right

Distinguishing Marks: Scar running from her collar bone down her chest from slight left of center to slight right.

Appearance: Pale and thin, Daena is the epitome of the Irish woman of legend. She gets her red hair and fiery temper from mother, and the piercing green eyes indicative of her paternal grandfather. She usually dresses conservatively but practically and will cross dress if necessary to pass as a young man.

Personality: Passionate and focused, Daena will sit in the background and observe until she decides that action is necessary; once she moves, though, she becomes an unstoppable force.

Interests: The Stone of Destiny, finding a worthy husband or lacking that a worthy (and uninvolved) father for her children.

History: Daena was born from the seduction of a Scion of Nuada that was the current keeper of the Stone of Destiny; raised by a following of Brigid's in New York, Daena was groomed from a young age to fulfill her role as the future wife and mother of a new line of Irish kings. When Brigid learned that Nathaniel, the holder of the Lodestone, current Scion of Nuada that knew the location of the Stone of Destiny, and Daena's father, had joined in the war, the Goddess sent Daena in the guise of a drummer boy to get the Loadstone from him. Daena found him and was able to strike up a relation with him in the final days of the war; he was mortally wounded in a fight with a Scion of Thor. Daena tended to him and he recognized her for who she was just before he died. He gave her the Loadstone, but died before he could tell her where the Stone was located. Brigid Visited Daena at the point, claiming her as a Scion of Brigid and gifting her with the birthrights and boons of her blood: healing power that could have saved her father had it been gifted before Daena was traipsing halfway across a war-torn continent. Loyal and proud enough of her Irish blood and divine heritage, she took up the quest for the Stone and husband worthy to be her king and the father of a line of kings to rule Ireland and rid it of the British, but she does so in her own way and has neither welcomed nor followed the direction of Brigid since then. She is her mother's daughter in her anger and capacity to hold a grudge.

Brigid has managed to gain a level of influence over her wayward daughter in the form of a Traveler's caravan that Daena "stumbled" across in her wandering. The caravan is actually members and the extended families of the Red Branch Knights, a knighthood once dedicated to serving Irish kings. Daena has traveled with them for several years now, and if she has noticed the unusual fighting prowess or focus of some of her companions, she's given no indication of it. The company is headed towards the coastline itself now, having exhausted their search for the Stone in the Great American Desert.

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Birth Name: Olivia Jennings
Nick Names: Boss, The Baron's Lady, Crazy Bitch
Aliases: Liv Jennings
Calling: Defender of Oppressed
Known Relatives: Father: The Baron
Mother: Angela Sheridan, and her half siblings: William, Morgan (m), Jackson, Leah and Ruth-Marie
Foster family: Jonas Jennings, Mariah Jennings, and their children: Silas, Paul and Peter
Nature: Judge

Age: 28 (DoB: September 20)
Gender: Female
Ethnic Background: Mixed American/African American
Nationality: United States
Height: 5'5"
Weight: 133
Eye Color: Black
Hair Color: Black
Handedness: Right
Distinguishing Marks: Whipping scars on her back

Appearance: Liv is almost petite with an average frame. Her dark hair curls wildly and is borderline frizzy, which creates interesting hair days. But she's always been a pretty girl, and she's learned to make her wild tresses work for her. She dresses like a man most of the time, something which has both helped and hindered her.

Personality: Dynamic and outgoing, Liv always manages to be the life of the party. She likes to be everyone's friend, but won't tolerate fools or jerks for long. She has a temper which she works to control, but it flares from time to time.

Interests: Liv works to help former slaves get on their feet after the aftermath of the War of Northern Aggression. She has a knack for handling animals, and is often seen working with wild horses, taming them. These horses then go to black farmers and cowboys, helping them get ahead a little.

History: Angela Sheridan was a very happy woman; she was married to a rich plantation owner named Ronald and wanted for nothing. They lived in Central Louisiana, not far from New Orleans. Life seemed perfect with their first children on the way. However, the birth introduced tragedy into their marriage; she had twins, one of which died soon after birth. The slaves were the only ones to see the Baron slipping into the house to claim one of the boys.

Little Webster was buried, but William was a strong child. When he was two months old, his parents went out for the first time, to a neighbor’s masquerade party. There, the Baron was hovering, waiting for a moment to spread Death. When he saw the pretty white woman again, he drew her into a corner and seduced her.

Angela was mortified and never spoke of it to her husband. All she tried to do was forget the handsome black man who had convinced her to toss up her skirts. Soon though, she realized that there reason to worry. She was with child.

Glibly, she pretended the child was Ronald’s, and the couple prepared for their second child. After all, Angela reasoned, there was every reason to believe that the child was her husband’s. To be safe, she arranged for him to be away when she was due. He wasn’t sure about leaving her, but she convinced him that she was due later than he thought, and he knew he had business to tend to. So he wasn’t home when the truth was revealed.

Angela was horrified. Threatening to have the slaves attending her beaten if they revealed the truth, she ordered the child to be smothered and buried. The slaves hesitated, and into that moment, the Baron walked in, cloaked in a disguise. He agreed to get rid of the child, and the slaves stood back and allowed him to claim his daughter. He took her out to the slave’s quarters and gave her to a couple who had just had a stillborn child. The Baron ordered them to care for his child like their own and warned them that he would return to claim her. Jonas Jennings obeyed out of fear, but his wife had always wanted a daughter, and the wee babe stole her heart instantly. They named her Olivia Jennings, and presented her as their own.

Olivia grew up happily enough; the Sheridan’s were not cruel masters and her foster family loved her dearly. She was a pretty, charming child, always smiling. She was quickly put to work in the house, where her looks earned her cushy jobs working for the mistress of the house. Angela was even charmed by the child, ignorant of her parentage. For her, she was able to see a life denied her; she stood in the shadows and watched the parties. Even during a time of war, and with Ronald gone serving, the house entertained, though not as it had.

All was good until Olivia was fifteen, when she caught her half-brother, Morgan’s eye. He was too young to go to war with his brother William and his father, but he was old enough to know what girls were for, and happy to take advantage of the older slave. Troubled, she told her foster mother what he had said to her, and the woman she thought was her mother told her why she couldn’t let him ever do as he wished. For months, she staved off his affections, but he finally cornered her, and she desperately blurted the truth.

Morgan went to their mother, his questioning her based on the accusations of a slave. Enraged, Angela let slip that the child had been killed, then took it back. But the damage had been done; Angela continued to deny, but tipped her hand further when she had Olivia whipped and sold. Her foster parents actually tried to stop the beating, but Angela persisted and had them beaten, too.

Olivia’s life changed overnight. She was sold to a cruel man named Carl Hatchins, who mistreated her badly. He delighted in tormenting her. One night, when she thought that she couldn’t take any more of her cruel owner, the Baron arrived. He told her what she was and awakened the ichor in her blood. That night, Hatchins was the prey, as Olivia tormented him. When he was dead, the Baron took her to a temple in New Orleans to heal. When she was ready, he gifted her with Relics, including a thigh bone that summoned five older shades. By the time she was fully into her power, the Civil War was over.

Full of her freedom, Olivia went west, traveling as a man much of the time or with other former slaves, all seeking a better life. Slowly, she saw that though they were proclaimed free, the former slaves were treated poorly. They often had no money or resources, and she’d found her calling. She began to help them whenever possible, including defending them. She gathered a following of men who believed in her power and cause, including her foster brother Peter Jennings, who had gone to fight for the Union.

She met other Scions, sometimes as allies and sometimes as opponents. One of these, a Scion of White Buffalo Woman, nearly killed her. She claimed his lariat as reward. Another, Maxtla , a Scion Tezcatlipoca, found another way to hurt her; he seduced her for his own ends, and when she finally wised up, fought with him. Unlike the Scion of White Buffalo Woman, she couldn’t bring herself to kill Max. She let him live, but took his relic, a hat-band, as her prize for defeating him.

Once she had the lariat, helping her people became easier; she developed the Animal purview and became a horse tamer. She rounded up wild horses and broke them to saddle and harness, then gave them to former slaves or sold them and gave the profit to them.

Her father came to see her at this time, and noting her affection for one of the horses she’d tamed, turned him into a Companion for her. Olivia was delighted that Cobalt would be bound to her more closely, and grateful to her father. He had a price though; it was time for her to truly become his child, and do his bidding. He’d let her have her time to run wild, and now she would give him the time he deserved.

Misc. Equipment: Leather Browncoat, Peacemaker Revolver, Remington Revolver, Clothing

Coby is a Spanish mustang. Liv met him the day the Riders killed a band of renegade Lakota. He was completely wild, but she refused to give up on him, and has been rewarded with a faithful steed.

Peter “Pete” Jennings – Pete is Liv’s foster brother and rides with her out of a mixture of duty and love. Their father charged his son with protecting the Baron’s daughter. Even though their father died, Pete kept his word. He rides with Liv and watches her back. He admires her vision, but he doesn’t believe in it the way she does.

George “Spots” Shillings – Spots is ¾ white, the son one plantation owner and grandson of another. His nickname comes from the dark freckles that spot his dusky skin. Liv found him stinking drunk in a ditch in Carson City. She hauled him out of it, sobered him up, and got food in him. The entire time that she did this, she was talking to him. By the time she was done talking, Spots was her devoted follower.

Archibald Castor – Archibald is the youngest member of the band, a mere lad of twenty. He was about to be hung in Arkansas by a lynch mob. The leader of the mob thought he’d whistled at his daughter. Liv, Pete, Froggy and Spots rescued him from it and nursed him back to health. After he was well enough to ride, he started riding with them. He feels a sense of devotion to them for saving his life, and he intends to honor that feeling through service.

Joseph “Froggy” Williams – Froggy simply fell in love with Liv. While that emotion has faded into a much more platonic feeling, Froggy likes what she does and wants to help. He believes that his place is at her side, whether she’s rescuin’ people from lynch mobs or herding wild horses.

Miles “Left” Tolling – Left is a poet stuck in the body of a brute. The big man is strong but soft-spoken. When he’s at rest, he creates poems, but because he can’t write, they remain in his head. He doesn’t mind; his art is his comfort. He follows Liv because she inspires him to do greater things.

Click to reveal.. (Papa's Thigh)
Papa’s Thigh
“Pull up a chair, chile. I’m gonna tell you a story about da Baron’s Lady, as she’s called. She shore is da one who got Unca Jeremiah that fine-steppin’ mare, so you listen close.

“I done tole you she was a slave, birthed by da plantation lord’s wife. Huh? Oh, you wanna hear about The Baron quickenin’ her, do ya? When you’re older boy, and don’ think I don’ know what you boys were whisperin’ about in church. Later, boy. Later.

“After she was sol’ by her momma, she was put into the care o’ Carl Hatchins. Oh, but he was the white devil, born mean, with a scorpion in hi’ heart. He like ta hurt black folk, cause he could – he’d buy them, an’ the lucka ones got sol’ later. The unlucka died at hi’ hands. Oh, and he liked killin’ black men who faught for the North. He di’nt try to make any money on them. He just hurt ‘em and kilt ‘em.

“Then da Lady’s momma sol’ her… I done tole you that story already. I’s gonna finish dis one first. Da Lady was offered to Hatchins, and he done bought her. Any black folk coulda tole him he was messin’ with a real power, bu’ all that heartless man saw were the Lady’s purty eyes and sweet smile. And he hurt her goo’ for it, too.

“Why? Chile, I tole you – he born mean, born to be heartless. There weren’t no goo’ in him. So then The Baron come into his house, proud as kin be, and picked his chile up off the floor. ‘Ged up,’ he tells her, his voice gen’le for her. ‘You gots my work ta do.’

“An’ that night, she did his work real good. She gave dat devil what for dat night, while The Baron hel’ death from him. He suffered real good before she was done. Then The Baron reach his hand dow’, and he pulled that man’s leg bone right outta his flesh. He shook da bloo’ all from it and gives it to her. ‘A papa’s gift to hi’ cheri,’ he tells her. Together, dey prepare it, burnin’ the bloo’ away ‘till the leg as black as da night. Den The Baron works some of his magics on it. ‘Dese ghosts,’ he tole her, ‘dey will defend ya from other devils.’ An’ when she took da leg from him, shore enough – she could see ten dead soldiers, all kilt by Hatchins, all reada to do The Baron’s biddin’. An’ dat chile, is why ya shoul’ never cross da Lady. She walks with da dead, ain’t nothin’ a mortal kin do agin soldiers like dat.”

Click to reveal.. (White Horse Lariat)
White Horse Lariat
“I will tell you the story of White Buffalo Woman’s son, Running Horse, and the tale of the White Horse Lariat. Once, White Buffalo Woman shared sleeping skins with a man of the Latoka, though he did not know it. She returned to him again to leave his son for him to raise. He saw her glory unmasked, as though she were the sun poking through a cloud, and he knew he had been blessed. He raised their son, proud of the honor granted him.

“Running Horse grew up as wild as the horses he loved to chase. No one could tame him or break him. He was beautiful and his heart free – of pain, jealously, even women. No one guessed that he could be touched as a man could be; the Lakota thought that his heart was forever wild.

“Then he saw White Thunder. The chieftain of horses was a proud stallion, as wild as Running Horse. Finally, something touched the young man’s heart, and he tried to put his lariat around the neck of the horse. But White Thunder could not be lassoed, and he could not be compelled to serve a man. White Thunder was made from the bones of the first white buffalo to be born. His hide was made from the white flowers that bloom in the spring; his mane and tail created from clouds. When he whinnied, the heavens called back with thunder. When he ran, the rivers echoed the roar. He was made by Inyan, the First God, as a companion for his daughter, Snow Flower. After her death, White Thunder could not bear the touch of any other creature.

“But Running Horse knew he must befriend his creature. He followed White Thunder for twenty days and nights, but the stallion remained ahead of him. He couldn’t even grasp a silken thread of his white tail. Panting, he considered, and finally took the long journey to Inyan Kara, the sacred mountain. There, he passed the tests to climb the mountain, but that is another story. At the top, he found a Wakinyan. The great thunder bird looked into his eyes and knew the truth of his heart. ‘I will need you to bring me three hairs from White Thunder’s tail,’ the thunder bird told him.

“ ‘I cannot,’ Running Horse said, frowning. ‘No man can catch him.’

“ ‘Then I cannot help you,’ the thunder bird said, spreading his wings and lifting into the air.

“Dispirited, Running Horse returned to his camp. For three days, he neither ate nor drank. When his body had purified itself, he laughed, for he knew how to capture the hairs. Rising to his feet, began to search for the perfect mare. She had to fine and beautiful, strong and blessed. He looked among the Medicine horses of the Lakota and didn’t find her. He spied on the Sioux, and didn’t find her. Finally, among the Dakota, he found her, Feather in Flight. She bore a bear paw on her shoulder to show her courage. She had Sky-eyes, as blue as the winter sky, to show her far-vision. She had a medicine bonnet on her head to show her intelligence. Running Horse knew this was the mare he sought. Cunningly, he stole her from the Dakotas, though that is another story.

“Running Horse set his trap. When Feather in Flight came into heat, he put her in a narrow canyon and waited. He chased other stallions away, until White Thunder came. Hiding, Running Horse waited. When White Thunder mounted Feather in Flight, Running Horse slipped out of his hiding spot and grabbed the hair. White Thunder was gone in the blink of an eye, but Running Horse had his prize.

“Running Horse returned to Inyan Kara, and there, he watched at the Wakinyan created a lariat for him. ‘This will help you befriend White Thunder – for know this: White Thunder can never be tamed. Like the thunder of the heavens, he is always free to go as he wills. You cannot catch him or force him, but you speak with him, and convince him to walk with you.

“How Running Horse did this, and what he said to White Thunder is a mystery, for Running Horse would never speak of it. ‘What my friend and I said is for my friend and I.’ When Running Horse was killed by the black-faced daughter of Death, White Thunder screamed to the heavens in grief. He ran away then, his hooves making the ground quake in his fury. The great horse has not been seen on earth since the day he left his friend’s corpse at her feet. It is said that he went to the Spirit World to continue walking with Running Horse.”

Click to reveal.. (Night Eyes)
Night Eyes
“Once, Tezcatlipoca lay with a woman, the wife of an Aztec chieftain. She gave him a daughter, and the daughter grew up blessed with the knowledge of her father. She was called Nopalxochitl, and beautiful and strong, and wise in the ways of the people and the gods. Her people honored her, and Tezcatlipoca blessed them with peace while sowing discord among their neighbors.

“One of the men in the village sought her hand. After the proper courting, it was given, and they were to be married. Tezcatlipoca was not pleased, for he had another man in mind. But his daughter was devoted to the man she’d chosen.

“To show his displeasure, Tezcatlipoca took the young man away, chaining him to the top of a mountain that he clouded in darkness. Nopalxochitl climbed anyway, seeking her lost love, but couldn’t find him in the darkness. Weeping, she came back down far enough to see.

“As she cried, she felt something brush by her leg. Looking down, she saw a small spider. ‘Why do you cry?’ the spider asked her.

“ ‘I cry because I can’t find my love in the dark at the top of the mountain,’ Nopalxochitl told her.

“The spider sighed softly. ‘I see. Perhaps we can help one another. There is a monster that keeps coming in the night and eating my children. If you could slay it, you could use its eyes.’

“Nopalxochitl stopped crying, considering the offer. ‘You will take me to this monster? And show me how to use its eyes?’

“ ‘Yes,’ the spider told her.

“And so the two agreed. The spider took off at a run, and Nopalxochitl followed her to a cave. ‘There,’ the spider said. ‘It lives in that cave.’

“ ‘Thank you, spider,’ the maiden said. ‘I will be back soon.’ Taking a torch in one hand, she walked into the cave, listening closely. She heard the monster moving around, and she was afraid. But she held fast to her courage. Listening closely, she heard the monster draw closer and closer. And when she was sure it was close enough, she called on her father’s gift of fire.

“Light filled the cavern as her torch caught fire, and she faced the monster. It was a many-legged creature made of night and shadows. They fought, darkness and fire set against one another, their terrible battle shaking the mountain. Then Nopalxochitl thrust her torch into the mass of darkness. The creature screamed, a terrible noise but the body smoked visibly and began to burn. Soon, there were only black gems lying on the ground. Nopalxochitl gathered them up and took them outside, where the spider began to weave. She created a band and stuck the stones to it. ‘Tie this around your forehead,’ the spider said. ‘This will give you eyes to see in the night.’

“Nopalxochitl did as the spider said and found that while wearing the band, she could see in the dark. She climbed the mountain and found her love, freeing him. With his hand in hers, she lead them down the mountain into the light.

“From her, the Night Eyes has passed from Scion of Tezcatlipoca to Scion of Tezcatlipoca, an unbroken chain of half-god siblings. It passes now to you, Maxtla, to aid you in carrying out your father’s purpose for you. Guard it and keep it safe, always."
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Character Details l_e971ccbac1884ab3a8230a23c0659956.jpg

Birth Name: Killian Gallagher

Nick Names: Ian, "Killer" (but only to those who know him, and they're mostly being ironic)

Aliases: John Ryder, Rides-Like-A-Demon (translation from name given by Cheyenne natives)

Calling: Reckless Adventure Seeker

Nature: Bravo

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Ethnic Background: Half-Greek/Half-Irish

Nationality: American

Height: 5'- 7"

Weight: 142 lbs.

Eye Color: Dark brown

Hair Color: Brown

Handedness: Ambidextrous

Distinguishing Marks: None

Known Relatives:

Father: Hermes, Greek God of Messengers, Travel, and Communication

Mother: Kathleen Gallagher (Mother, widowed)

Personality: Ian is a smart-ass, daredevil ladies man who doesn't turn down dares and rides like the hounds of hell are at his back. He figures life is for livin' and once it's over you'd better not regret a minute of it.

Interests: You name it.. riding, shooting, gambling, and womanizing - but more than anything, he loves to travel, and hates to stay in one place for very long.

History: Ian's parents were newlyweds when they came to America on the McCorkell Line in 1848 - both of them had lost several relatives to the Great Famine, and finally Kathleen's father - after the death of his wife and being forced to move in with Kathleen's older brother Colin because of an eviction - insisted that the two of them leave Ireland for America. He wouldn't see his youngest daughter suffer the same fate that the rest of the family was suffering through - she'd been the only girl of seven children, and she was his precious little darlin'. So the couple - who'd grown up in the same village together as wee children, and were deeply in love - set off at the behest of Kathleen's father to America.

That was the same year the gold rush began, and Brian Gallagher jumped at the opportunity. He'd hated the factory work he and Kathleen had found the first few months straight off the boat, though they'd been relieved at the time to find anything at all. They'd been saving up what money they could, and decided to use it to head out west. Kathleen was miserable the whole way, and more than happy to finally reach California so they could settle down and stop moving, but Brian had a hell of a time - he'd never enjoyed any moment in his life so much as he had enjoyed traveling across the vast American wilderness.

Once they reached California, Brian went to work with the miners, and Kathleen found a job as a nursemaid to a mother of four for a few months. Because they were some of the earlier prospectors, they actually got lucky and made a fair amount off of the gold Brian prospected. And perhaps because he was one of the few men who had traveled west with his wife instead of as a single man, he didn't drink or whore it all away like so many of the others. Kathleen Gallagher put her foot down, and they quietly stashed away Brian's hard-earned wages. They hadn't arrived early enough to strike it rich, but they did alright. After a close call in a mining accident though, Brian decided to call it quits before it got any more dangerous, and Kathleen was more than happy to let him.

Their take from the gold rush was enough to settle in Sacramento, but the cross-country journey had changed Brian. He was no longer content to stay at home and settle down, and he had taken his promise to Kathleen's father to heart - that he would take care of his little girl and make sure that she lived well and never suffered through the kind of hardship that they'd had to endure back home. So he got a lucrative position with the Pony Express, and began a life of long hours and hard riding. He loved every second of it. Back in New York he'd earned about a dollar a week for pay in the factory.. riding for the Express he was earning $15 - $20 a week instead. He indulged Kathleen, buying her fine cloth for her clothing, and nice pieces of furniture and china for their home. The only thing he hadn't been able to give her so far was the thing she wanted most desperately - children. For some reason, Kathleen and Brian were unable to conceive, and it made Kathleen miserable.

She tried to keep up her spirits whenever Brian was in town, but he knew how hard it was on her. He even confided their troubles to his best friend, a Greek man named Andelko Mikos (known as Andy), whom he rode with frequently. Their particular branch of the Express liked to send their riders out in pairs, in case something happened to one of them.. and one day, just a day and a half into a route that Andy and Brian were riding together, it did. While crossing through the Sierra Nevada's, there was a landslide, and before Andy could react Brian was caught in it, crushed by the weight of the rock. As he lay there dying, he made Andy promise to deliver a message to his wife, Kathleen - that he loved her, and that he was sorry. Andy promised, and he loaded Brian's body onto the horse (which had somehow managed to avoid serious injury) and took him home, back to Sacramento, for the last time.

As promised, he delivered the news to Brian's widow, Kathleen. She was heartbroken. Brian had been her life, the only family she had in America, and all her hopes and plans had rested with him. Now she had a beautiful home, lovely clothes, even enough savings to tide herself over for a long time. But she was totally, completely, and hopelessly alone. And so Andy took her into his arms that night, and consoled her. He helped her with funeral arrangements, and he was her rock to lean on during those first terrible weeks following Brian's death. He suggested Kathleen turn her home into a boarding house for ladies in difficult situations - ones new to town who had come to work, who had lost their fathers or husbands and were responsible for themselves now. That way she would never be alone, and Brian had certainly well enough for her to do so. He promised he would check in on her when he was in town to make sure she was doing well, and then he rode off again, anxious to let her get on with her life and quite certain having her husband's best friend around would only make it more difficult. But within a couple weeks of his departure, Kathleen discovered he had left her with one more parting gift - a baby. She couldn't be sure of course, she had been with Brian only a few days before his death, and there was every possibility the baby could be his. But after so many years of trying, to finally conceive at such a time - she knew in her heart that it wasn't Brian's. Friends and neighbors consoled her by reminding her that even though Brian was gone, at least the good Lord had blessed her with a child to remember him by. But when little Killian was born, with his mischievous dark brown eyes, she knew for sure whose baby it was. She never breathed a word of it though - other than those eyes he looked enough like her and Brian that no one ever suspected.

Andy still came back to the city every once in awhile to check on Kathleen, and he served as the closest thing the young lad had to a father figure - appropriate, since the handsome Greek with the charming smile was his actual father. It wasn't until Ian was a teenager that Andy - Hermes of course, beginning to finally tire of the American frontier and ready to move on to other ventures - pulled the boy aside, and told him the truth.. the whole truth. He didn't want the kid to think he'd abandoned him or anything. But he was going to be gone for awhile, and the boy was old enough for the truth.

Like his fathers - both his true, divine father (and the closest thing he'd known to a living one anyway) and the one he had been raised to idolize - Ian grew up with a restless streak as wide as the Mississippi River. As a child he used to sneak away from the boarding home whenever his mother got busy with her daily duties, and no matter how hard she tried she could never stop him. By the time he was school-age, he would attend school when it interested him and skip it whenever he bored of it - not that the teacher could ever stay angry at him, nor his Ma either. And he did well enough in school where it was hard to reason with him as to why he should keep a steady attendance. The one thing he would never tolerate was a bully.. no matter how big or tough they were, Ian always got pissed off when someone picked on someone else. Sometimes he talked them into apologizing. Sometimes he gave them a fair fight. Sometimes he even got the tar beat out of him, though usually by the time the person was done with the fight they felt doubly guilty, because of the way Ian handled the beating. It was always obvious who was the better man. In those rare cases where the other person truly didn't give a shit.. well, they may have gotten their fun in, but they always paid for it later, though they could never seem to link their later suffering back to Ian Gallagher.

Ian's Ma convinced Ian to stick around until he was sixteen - he stayed that long because of loyalty to her, and because he knew how deeply she loved having him around. But by that age, he could tolerate it no longer - he had to leave, he had to go places and see things. He had a divine level of wanderlust, and so with a promise to return as often as he could, he kissed his mother goodbye and hopped onto his horse - a gift from his divine blood father at the time of his revelation - and rode off to explore.

Since then, he's been all across the United States, from the Eastern seaboard and back. He's spent most of his time in the rough and tumble Wild West, though - in saloons, in bordellos, in poker halls, on riverboats. He's hooked up with outlaws, pulled heists, and even gotten himself caught on purpose to save the rest of the gang - though he always escapes before the authorities can even figure out who the hell he is. He believes in living life to the extreme - and if he can serve the will of the Gods by delivering news and keeping the children of the gods in touch with one another, all the better.

Creature: Xarian, mortal offspring of Xanthus


Xanthus was one of two immortal horses gifted to Peleus upon his marriage to Thetis, the ocean goddess. These two great horses were gifted to his son, Achilles, who used them to pull his chariot during the Trojan War. Patroclus, Achilles' comrade-in-arms and dear friend, was the only man able to fully control the two horses, and upon his death Xanthus was rebuked by Achilles for allowing Patroclus to die. At that time, Hera granted Patroclus human speech (accompanied by a certain level of human intelligence to accompany it properly) long enough for the horse to prophesy that Patroclus had died at the hand of a god, and Achilles would as well. Soon after that the horse was struck dumb again by the Erinyes. But before that happened, Xanthus ran off into the hills, and to assauge the stunning creature's grief, Artemis sent to him a stunningly beautiful mare, sleek and strong, and he mounted her, and for awhile it eased the pain of his loss. Eleven months later the elegant creature birthed an equally graceful foal, born with exceptional speed and the abilities temporarily granted to his sire. He was without peer amongst horses, but shunned because of his superiority over the rest of them, and likewise knew that he deserved better company than his fellows.

He sought out the god of travel, Hermes, for with his speed and intellect, he felt himself to be worthy to serve someone greater than a mortal man, and knew that it was only with men that he would find any form of companionship and understanding. Hermes had no use for him at that time, but offered to keep him - and keep him alive - until he could serve a noble purpose for the messenger god.

So put into a magical slumber he was and secreted away until Hermes decided to bequeath him to his child, a Scion who rode like the devil and was born in a land where a man lived or died by the speed of his horse. Then Xarian was awoken, and introduced to the Scion known as Killian Gallagher, and they have traveled together ever since.

Relic: The Compass of Emmanuel Wynne


There once in the day was a privateer for the French, went by the name Emmanuel Wynne. Like most privateers Wynne liked his drinking and his gambling almost as much as his privateering.

One day he met a man in a bar in Port Royale who claimed to be a sorcerer, and challenged Captain Wynne to a hand of poker. The game grew to high stakes, until finally the magician threw in his last bid - the promise of a charm for his compass that would direct Wynne properly when he was anywhere he was familiar with. To a man like Wynne - familiar with most of the high seas of the Caribbean, it was too good of an offer to pass up. So they laid out their cards, and sure enough Wynne was the winner. The sorcerer laughed with good nature at a game well played, and cast the promised charm over Emmanual Wynne's compass, with a promise that he would win it back from him one day. Wynne laughed, swearing that such a day would never come, because he'd never be fool enough to face him in cards again and risk such a loss.

He used the compass for many years, and it served him faithfully. But one day in Panama, after a hard run where his crew had been forced to unload their goods over the side of the boat to avoid capsize after a particularly vicious battle, he found himself in a high-stakes game with a rich plantation owner. He held five spades in his hand - numbered three through seven, and felt assured of his chances of winning. If he landed this game then he recovered his losses, and could purchase cargo and sail out a happy man. But he was low on cash, so he laid down the compass and explained it's history, with a promise that it had served him faithfully and was indeed an ensorcelled item. The plantation owner took his bet, and laid down his hand - a full hand of hearts, royal flush. He laughed as he picked up the compass and stood up, leaving the rest of the earnings on the table for Wynne. Then he leaned down and whispered in Wynne's ear a single sentence before leaving the tavern.

"I told you I'd get it back one day, Captain."

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Birth Name: Hadicall Cerauno

Nick Names:


Calling: Gunslinger Outlaw

Known Relatives: Elysia Cerauno (Mother), Zeus (Father)

Nature: Penitent

Age: 26

Gender: male

Ethnic Background: Greek

Nationality: American

Height: 6’2”

Weight: 185lbs

Eye Color: Brilliant blue

Hair Color: Black with grayish/white streaks.

Handedness: Left

Distinguishing Marks: None, but his graying hair at such a young age makes him stand out.

Appearance: Tall, broad shouldered and handsome like his father, Hadicall Cerauno is quite the sight to behold. He wears his hair about shoulder length and at the young age of 26 is already showing signs of severe graying around his temples that streak back behind his ears. As his legend grows his hair gets whiter and whiter until one day it’ll be as white as the clouds in the sky his father commands. Olive skinned and sun drenched, Hadicall wears years worth of hard work well upon his hardened frame.

Personality: Honest, forthright and gallant. Although once an outlaw and scoundrel his fathers visitation has awakened him to a threat in the world he never dreamed possible. All he wanted was a little fun before he died, but never at the expense of the people around him. Now however he applies his skills learned as an outlaw to help people who cannot help themselves.

He’s still trying to get the ‘do the right thing’ feeling down pat, but he was never really a bad guy to begin with, it just feels weird doing for others instead of himself for a change. He’s also not the sharpest tool in the shed, he’s impulsive, not a thinker.

Interests: Drinking, poker, and his libido equals that of his fathers… there’s always time for a little love, especially when the world may end tomorrow…

History: Born to Elysia Cerauno a Grecian woman whose family found a new life in America after coming over from Victorian England.

When she, and eventually her employer discovered she was pregnant he cast her out into the streets, not wanting to have to care for a child when all he wanted was the gorgeous mother as eye candy and eventual concubine. Zues watched from mount Olympus and was furious at the mortal, but Hera quickly reminded him of his own decree that the gods would not interfere with the lives of mortals and until their visitation, no God was to have contact with their Scion offspring. Shackled by his own decree Zeus could do nothing to change the Fate of his son or his mother.

Life was hard for Elysia after that, but she grew into a fine southern woman but a jaded mother always blaming her misfortunes on the son she never asked for. In fact when he was born he got the name Hadicall because frankly the law demanded she ‘hadicall’ him something. Despite her hatred for the child Hadicall always showed his mother the deepest respect and showed her nothing but the finest love a son could offer.

Eventually Hadicall grew up to be a man, and that man grew up to be an outlaw. Not a good one… but an outlaw! When he was about to be gunned down by his gang after botching a stagecoach robbery to save a little girl who would have been trampled by the horses his father appeared in a brilliant display of fireworks and booming voices. The men fled and Hadicall was left slack jawed and bewildered.

It was like waking from a dream after Zeus explained his destiny and the trials that lay before him, everything he needed to know about the battle ahead, he knew… and believed it all. Titans, Gods, the war on its way… all of it was crystal clear and he finally had found his calling. The Gods were in a war and could not spare the time to assist their worshippers, the mortals were in danger and they needed heroes. People like Hadicall to stand up and defend them, watch over them, and keep them safe.

It was time to make Momma proud.



Poena, or ‘Betty’ as Hadicall calls her, is a massive peacemaker revolver crafted from pure electrum giving the weapon shimmering bluish-silver hue. Along the barrel are inscribed ancient Grecian runes that spell out judgment and retribution. The barrel has the diameter of a quarter, meaning that it would appear the weapon shoots massive rounds, not regular bullets.

Zeus went to the spirit of justice and retribution, Poena, and demanded that the spirit aid his son during his ascension to godhood. Compelled to obey the Lord of Olympus her physical form was dissolved and her essence placed within the specially crafted vessel, the peacemaker. She can speak, but rarely does so as the young Scion has yet to prove that her is worthy of her attention, her presence however allows him access to the justice purview. She despises the name ‘Betty’.

Poena was forged by Hephaestus, and imbued with the spirits power of justice. What’s grander still however is that it is powered by a fragment of Zeus’s Master Bolt itself, when unholstered it crackles lighting across it’s surface and snakes bolts up and down the users arm. When the trigger is squeezed the weapon blasts forth bolts of lightning, not bullets.

Mark of the Regulator

The Mark of the Regulator is brightly polished electrum badge (a trypical sheriff’s star) with the embossed Greek letter ‘Omega’ clearly visible.

There are penitent criminals and thugs all over the world who would give their life for a second chance at freedom. Down and outs who have come to realize the foolishness of their mistakes and now strive for a second chance to set things right. The Mark of the Regulator is their chance.

Mark of the Regulator will summon to Hadicall’s side penitent outlaws who suddenly find themselves bound to the Scion’s service. They are summoned from prisons and work camps, disappearing only to reappear fully armed and ready to do the God-son’s work.

Their freedom is their payment and their desire to right the wrongs of society generally ensures their loyalty. When summoned they are aware of who summoned them, and that the owner of the Mark or the Regulator is a Scion.

When one is slain, the Mark of the Regulator replaces it with a new penitent criminal. In effect, like Hadicall himself, the Mark calls on outlaws to do the laws work.

Click to reveal.. (Character Sheet)

Birth Name: Hadicall Cerauno

Calling: Outlaw Hero

Nature: Penitent

Pantheon: Dodekatheon

Patron: Zeus

Physical: Strength 4, Dexterity 3, Stamina 4

Epic-Physical: Epic Strength 2, Epic Stamina 1

Knacks: Epic Strength (Holy Bound, Hurl to the Horizon), Epic Stamina (Raging Bull)

Mental: Perception 2, Intelligence 2, Wits 3

Epic-Mental: None

Knacks: None

Social: Charisma 3, Manipulation 3, Appearance 3

Epic-Social: Epic Charisma 1, Epic Manipulation 1

Knacks: Epic Charisma (Charmer), Epic Manipulation (Takes One to Know One)

Virtues: Expression 2, Intellect 2, Valor 2, Vengeance 3

Abilities: Academics, Animal Ken, Art, Athletics 3, *Awareness 2, Brawl 2, *Command 2, Control, Craft, Empathy, Fortitude, *Integrity 4, Investigation 3, Larceny 2, Marksmanship 3, Medicine, Melee 2, Occult 1, *Politics 1, *Presence 3, Science, Stealth 2, Survival, *Thrown 4

Birthrights: ‘Betty’ 5, Bull Amulet 1 (Purview: Sky), Mark of the Regulator 3 (Followers 3, Purview: Justice))

Boons: Arete (Integrity) 1, Justice (Judgment 1), Sky (Sky’s Grace 1, Wind’s Freedom 2)

Join Battle: 5


Unarmed, Heavy - Acc 4, Dmg 7B, Parry DV 4, Sp 5

Unarmed, Light - Acc 6, Dmg 4B, Parry DV 5, Spd 4

'Betty' - Acc 9, Dam 5L, Rng 20, Clip 6, Spd 5, Piercing (Electricity)

Thrown - Acc 7, Dam 4 (Bashing or Lethal), Rng Doubled, Spd Varies


Stamina: 4B / 2L

Epic-Stamina: 1B / 1L / 1A

Armor: 2B / 0L (Heavy Leather Duster)

Total: 7B / 3L / 1A

Health Levels: Standard

Dodge DV: 4

Willpower: 5

Legend: 3

Legend Points: 9

Misc. Equipment:

Click to reveal.. (Experience)
Date          Trait/Exp. Type         Rank    Gain/Cost  Balance
20 Apr 2010   Month of March             -        +10      10
11 May 2010   Month of April             -        + 2      12

Fun facts:

Cerauno means 'Thunder' in Greek.

Elysia means 'lightning struck' in Greek

Poena was a Greek spirit of justice and retribution.

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Birth Name: Craig William Rogers

Nick Names: CW, Cowboy


Calling: "White Hat"

Known Relatives: Mother (Elena Rogers), Cousins,( Denise Metcaf, Lisa Metcaf)

Nature: Gallant

Age: 24

Gender: Male

Ethnic Background: Caucasian

Nationality: American

Height: 6'3

Weight: 200

Eye Color: steel grey

Hair Color: dark brown

Handedness: Left

Distinguishing Marks: Has a scar on his right shoulder from the night he was shot, when Thor visited him.

Appearance: He's possessed of above average looks, with the tan of a man who's spent alot of time outdoors. Currently wears the attire of a US Marshal. He takes pride in being a marshal and does his best to keep his uniform looking relatively good.

Personality: Craig's a fairly genial fellow, easy and quick to befreind someone. He isn't the smartest man around, but he's generally quick on the uptake, and knows other people pretty well. He loves to help others, and nothing makes him happier than defending people who can't defend themselves. That gives him a true sense of purpose.

Interests: He loves horses, and does his best to keep up with the latest innovations in firearms.

History: Born to his governess mother he joined the army when he came of age, After an honorable discharge he became a hand on a ranch in Colorado, driving cattle and eventually becoming a cowboy before nearly being killed in a rustling attempt. Using his newfound power he caught up with the rustlers and finished the drive on his own. Afterwards he left the ranching trade and became an official US marshal.

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  • 2 weeks later...

Birth Name: Michael Cooper

Nick Names: KC

Aliases: Kentucky Cooper

Calling: Wild Frontier Guide

Known Relatives: [in descending age]Step-Father Anders Cooper 38, Mother Heidi Cooper 37, Half Brother Eric Cooper 17(married to Brandi Cooper), Half Sister Ingrid Patjens 15(married to Jorgen Patjens), Half Sister Astrid Cooper 11, Half Brother Jonas Cooper 8, Half Sister Ida Cooper 6.

Nature: Rogue

Age: 21

Gender: Male

Ethnic Background: Scandinavian

Nationality: USA (damn Yankees)

Height: 5'9"

Weight: 150lbs

Eye Color: Blue

Hair Color: Brown

Handedness: Right

Distinguishing Marks: None

Appearance: A rustic trail guide that refuses to let the South die, he wears the Private's hat he was given when assisting on the field of battle. He is usually wearing good sturdy clothes of neutral colors. His brown hair is always shaggy, barely ever seeing a brush except the when he comes to town and visits the barber. Because of his heritage, he has a fair complexion, giving him a particularly youthful look which he tries to hide behind what facial hair he can grow. By today's standards he would have a 'goatee'. He carries himself well, a man used to walking and riding anywhere he needs to go, someone that has seen it all, then went back for more.

Personality: Lighthearted and bright, with a dash of trickster. Kentucky is the first to lend an ear to help people through a decision or problem they may have. Anyone who has known him since his childhood knows that much of his personality is in reaction to his years serving in the civil war as a child. He seeks to forget the atrocities he witnessed by guiding others to happiness. Atoning in his own mind for what he had a part in.

Interests: The road, nothing makes Kentucky happier than being on the trail going somewhere with a purpose, all the better if he is guiding someone there. When time allows, he whittles small figurines that he gives to children or occasionally trades.

Click to reveal.. (backstory spoilers)
History: In a rare moment when Loki managed to escape the careful watch of Thor, Loki managed to lure Kentucky's mother away just before her marriage ceremony to Anders. Through his quicksilver tongue and 'priestly' powers he convinced her of his earthly need and impregnated her, swearing her to secrecy for the incident. It was assumed that the child was Anders, no one knew the difference. The only suspicion was the color of Kentucky's eyes, which were a different blue than either of his parents, but even that was never assumed as suspect.

When Odin traced back Loki's path of destruction to Kentucky's parents, he all but forced Loki to give up the child, and arranged for Heimdall to give the visitation. Loki, none-too pleased about the idea that one of his 'wet nurses' would have one of his children, let alone the one fated to kill him, approached Legba and offered Kentucky to him.

Legba, none-the-wiser, and buying into Loki's words, was all too eager to have a Scion since he rarely got away from guard duty. Legba visited Kentucky, claiming him and enraging both Heimdall and Odin in the process. Loki was all too happy to take their anger, having seen it as a victory.

Kentucky gets an inordinate amount of attention from the Asgard as a result, as they still wish to claim him as their own.


Kentucky was a messenger boy during the Civil War, serving with the Confederates. He primarily carried orders, but was occasionally called to serve in the hospital tents as extra hands as needed.

His entire family and their families moved west after the end of the war, to Kansas. A journey in which he fell in love with the road and one where his heritage was revealed to him. He was visited by Legba, while scouting the trail ahead and hunting for food. Legba represented himself as St. Anthony, who told the story of Kentucky's inception, though replacing Loki with himself as the priest.

This pissed off Kentucky to the nth degree to begin with, but with the war still fresh in his mind and having had his fill of violence, he managed to accept it. The accompanying boost in his otherwise mortal abilities and gifts didn't hurt either.

Deeds: Upon arriving in Kansas, he tracked down and killed a titanspawn that was terrorizing a farming town, saving the town from nigh destruction. [to be fleshed out]

On one of his trips west, he was hired to escort freight on a train that would then go to wagons to finish its journey. During the travels, the Engineer was killed/died and Kentucky managed to stop the train and apprehend the culprit, once again saving the day. [to be fleshed out]

Deed #3: TBD

Birthrights: Relic *** Skin of Survival: Grants access to Animal and Guardian Purviews. Never is more than halfway empty of pure, clean, cool water. From the outside it has the form of a standard waterskin, though appears to be constructed of many small leather scraps. In reality, it is formed of the skins of many different animals. This relic was constructed by Odin and given to Heimdall so that he would have one less reason to ever need to leave his post. Heimdall in turn, gave it to Legba on the condition it went to Kentucky, considering it a gift to a lost son.

Relic * Monocular of St. Anthony: Grants access to Psychopomp Purview. The Monocular St. Anthony took with him from his parents inheritance when he left for Morocco. History says that the ship was blown wildly off course by wind, forcing it to land in Sicily. In reality, Anthony, using his Monocular saw the dangers that lay ahead from an approaching Triton and had the ship change its course, saving himself and the crew.

Misc. Equipment: Horse and tackle, saddlebags, rifle, bayonet, shaving kit, blankets, backpack, a spare set of clothing, whetstone, gun cleaning kit, assorted dried fruits, oats

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Birth Name: Chrysanthemum Hammersmith

Nick Names: Chrys

Calling: Blacksmith

Known Relatives: None immediate; she has an aunt and uncle in Virginia, but she's only met them at her mother's funeral.

Nature: Architect

Age: 19

Gender: Female

Ethnic Background: Caucasian

Nationality: North American

Height: 5' 6"

Weight: 134lbs

Eye Color: Brown

Hair Color: Sandy Brown

Handedness: Right

Distinguishing Marks: Hammer-shaped birthmark on right hip. Front tooth has small chip in it.


Seen around town, Chrys is charmingly pretty, though never in a studied sort of way. Her dusty brown hair is almost always a disaster zone, held in check only by a bandanna tied around it, or her forehead, to keep it out of her deep, dark eyes. Her face with its roundish cheeks and snub nose is almost always marred by at least a spot of soot or grease, and after a full day at the forge it can look as thick as makeup. She's not tall or especially large, and her strength is far out of proportion to the appearance of her muscles...though a sharp eye will note that while her arms are not big, they possess excellent tone. The same is true of the rest of her, though few are in a position to know that. Chrys wears functional clothes, like overalls and work shirts and heavy jeans. Despite this tomboyish choice of garb, she finds ways to 'feminize' herself, like rolling up her cuffs or adding little sprigs of flowers or painting little designs on the fabric. She loves skirts and dresses, but has learned her lifestyle is not kind to such affectations.


Chrys is characterized by nearly bulletproof optimism and cheerfulness. She's unfailingly pleasant-natured, and always seems to assume the best of herself and others. The other side of this coin, almost never seen by any living soul, is her capacity for 'righteous rage' at injustice, or the injury of innocents and loved ones. Regardless of what she's feeling, she feels it very strongly; hiding her emotions is entirely foreign to Chrys.


Most people are startled when they find out Chrys is rather bookish in her off hours. In fact, most people are startled when they find out she HAS off hours. The sound of the forge and the clanging of hammer on anvil sometimes goes on at all hours; a fact that neighbors have resigned themselves to. It's true too that Chrys loves to make things...and not just to make the same old stuff time after time, but to make NEW things. And to make things BETTER. She has pages and pages of sketches and designs for things she wants to build, and is always drawing more. The idea that the world might be better off without some of them is something that hasn't yet crossed her mind. Her interest in metals and learning different ways to change the properties of alloys led her into a study of chemistry as well. True to form, anything Chrys does, she does with zest. After losing the spare bedroom of the house to an explosion, she set up a reinforced 'kem'stry shed' out back where she does her experimenting now. Recently she's found herself called on by the town sheriff to help him with a case or two, due to her ability to find and process clues and information with astonishing speed. It was great fun for her, and she looks forward to being called on again...maybe even being a deputy!


By the time Chrysanthemum was born, her father had already long since moved on. Her mother, Aimee Menard, named her daughter with her father's last name; Hammersmith, and raised her in the house behind the Hammersmith Foundry & Metalworks, a business that had been started by Virgil, her father, and left to Aimee when he departed. Aimee hired local hands to run it, and it kept the family in decent living. Chrys loved the smithy, and spent much of her time there watching the men work, helping wherever she could. An accident with one of the machines Virgil had created unfortunately led to some controversy though, and the business started to fail. The winter that Chrys turned eighteen at last, Aimee finally succumbed to an infection in her lungs. That very year, as spring approached and Chrys was most alone in the world, she was visited by her father...and everything changed.

Months later the smithy re-opened, with Chrysanthemum at the helm. Folks around town chuckled at the thought of that...until she unveiled her new helper; a towering brute of a man she called 'cousin Cyrus.' The first hesitant orders were not only filled quickly, but with amazing craftsmanship of the sort not seen since old Virgil Hammersmith had founded the business years and years back. More and more work came, and the reputation of Hammersmith grew again.

Most folks now assume that Chrys runs the business and shop end of things, while her 'cousin' does the physical labor. Rumors and gossip about the two is common enough, but the most malicious rumors have a tendency to peter out. It's just hard to imagine Chrys involved in anything unsavory.

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