|
Character Name: Dreadlock Alternate Identities: Ben Wilson Player Name: NPC |
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|
|||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
|
|||
| APPEARANCE | |||
| Hair Color: | Brown | ||
| Eye Color: | Yellow | Height: | 6' 11" |
| Weight: | 300 lbs | ||
| Description: | |||
| BACKGROUND | |||
|
When you meet Ben Wilson, you find he is a man you have to look up to. Just shy of seven feet tall, his powerful body alone is enough to scare most shit-heads into wetting themselves. That’s what Ben figured, that’s what his boss figured. Twice Ben stepped in front of death, the first time taking a slug to the gut and the second a slash to the face with a jagged broken beer bottle. But they say the third time’s a charm. Ben pulled the 1937 Rolls Royce Phantom III limo up to the house, paused a moment to make sure his pistol would slide smoothly out of the holster in the pit of his arm, then pulled his huge body from behind the wheel. Eyes constantly roaming, he walked around the car and opened the rear door for his boss, Angelo Policy, mob boss. He had warned Policy that it was a bad idea to have this meeting at midnight. With regal dignity, Policy exited the limo and shrugged his shoulders to settle his coat. It was always cold at night in the City, that’s why he preferred Oakland. Ben waited for his boss to clear the car then closed the door and took up station at Angelo’s left arm. Together they made the short walk up the stairs of the stylish Victorian manor. Ben touched the bell set in the jam of a broad oaken door inset with twelve leaded windows and a brass mail slot. The woman that opened it made Ben’s façade of imperturbability slip. She was tall, perfectly shaped with long, long legs and a skirt so short Ben hoped the breeze would flip it up. Her hair was a lustrous titian with long, thick waves that begged to be touched. Her face was a perfect oval, her skin flawless. Twinkling green eyes seemed amused at the effect she was having on both men and full, sensuous lips parted slightly in a smile to reveal brilliant white teeth. “I’m Angelo Policy,” he boss said, his voice not totally under his control. “I have an appointment.” The woman stepped back with a gesture of welcome and Angelo moved by her into an entry hall out of the 1890’s Ben followed close on the heels of his boss but nearly staggered as he passed the woman. Her scent flashed images of naked flesh across his eyes and he had to struggle to gain control of his lust. His danger senses began to scream at him but the nearness of the woman dulled them, made them seem unimportant. The woman slid a pair of doors open to reveal a library. Two couches faced each other across a small polished coffee table. “This way please.” Just the sound of her voice sent a shiver up Ben’s spine and again the warning bells clanged in his head but again he ignored them. Policy entered the room and took a seat on the couch facing the room’s draped window. Ben stood silently behind and to one side. To their surprise, the woman seated herself in the couch opposite and slowly crossed her impossibly long legs. She gazed at Policy through smoldering eyes then smiled. “I am Christina Vallejo,” the woman said, her smile disappearing. “Ms. Vallejo,” Policy’s voice had grown cold. “I hope we can come to an agreement, I would really hate for anything to happen to someone as beautiful as you.” Christina leaned forward, the vee neck blouse falling away from her body, and lowered her voice, “That sounded very much like a threat, Mr. Policy.” Ben’s eye strayed to the woman’s cleavage and for a moment his concentration slipped. That was all it took. Nothing in Ben’s experience could have prepared him for the woman’s speed. Before he could shift his gaze from the top of the woman’s breasts, she was across the table and on Policy’s chest, her mouth glued to the man’s throat. The couch toppled over backward and Christina rode Policy to the floor. When she lifted her head and looked at Ben, blood was smeared across her face and her red eyes met his. Ben almost got his gun free but the woman was on him so fast and she was kissing him. His mind whirled, confused by the contradictory events. Was she a killer or a lover? Then . . . it didn’t matter anymore. Her kiss was all that was important. He relaxed in her arms and lifted his chin, exposing her throat. Her teeth flashed and the blood burst from his vein in a torrent. Deeply she drank, drawing his life from his body but he didn’t care. All he felt was the incredible heat of her body and his growing desire for her. Just as suddenly as she had moved, she stopped moving. Over her shoulder he saw the man in the grey cloak lift a sword, the silver flashing at the woman’s head. With all his remaining strength, Ben twisted to the side and the sword’s tip sliced through only an inch of her neck. A gout of her blood hit him in the face and flowed down into his mouth. He drank it in, savoring the wonderfully rich taste of it. Then she was gone, moving so fast he didn’t see her go and the man in grey stood over him. His eyes were as grey as his cloak and there was something deep in them, a kindness Ben had never known. Ben seemed to fall into those eyes and knew this man would only do what was best for Ben but he also knew the man would kill him if he had to. “If you want to live,” the man said. “You must come with me now.” Ben looked up at him and began to struggle just to sit up. The man grabbed him by the left bicep and hauled him to his feet where he put an arm around the grey man’s shoulder to steady himself. “Who are you?” Ben gasped. “My name is Darke.” “What happened to me? What was that woman?” His mind was still a little fogged by her lips. Darke ignored the questions and dragged him out into the night. A white Cord was parked at the curb. Pulling the passenger door open the man pushed Ben into the seat then ran around the car and climbed into the driver’s seat. A turn of the key and touch of the starter and the car roared to life. Ben awoke and tried to sit up but chains held him down to a wooden table. Somewhere he heard low voices. “I can only tell you what I saw,” one was saying. “His history though . . . the man worked for Policy!” the second voice sounded older. “It’s up to you,” the first said. “But I think he’ll be an asset to you.” “Alright, Warden.” The older voice replied. “But if he turns, you are responsible.” “If he turns, I’ll take care of it,” the first voice sounded as hard as steel. A door opened out of Ben’s sight and the man called Darke stepped into his line of sight. Beside him was an older man in the robe of a priest. “This is Father Malloy,” Darke said” “He’ll explain everything.” It was then Ben smelled the blood and his mouth began to water. |
|||
| POWERS/TACTICS | |||
| PERSONALITY/MOTIVATION | |||
If you have questions
or comments please contact
