Well-dressed British aristocrat turned merchant-vigilante.
Agility: d6 Smarts: d6 Spirit: d6 Strength: d4 Vigor: d8
Cha: 4 Pace:6 Parry: 5(6) Reason: 0 Toughness 6(7) Status: 18
Shooting: d8 Fighting: d6 Guts:d6 Pursuasion:d6 Gambling: d4 Intimidate:d4 Notice:d4 Riding D4
Fine Clothes (3) Custom Pistol Sword Cane Sawed-off Shotgun Heavy Coat Derringer Brush Matches Pocket Watch Reaper-trained Horse / riding gear
Pistol ammo silver/cold iron Shotgun ammo silver/cold iron
He also has “well-appointed” rooms.
Father: Gilbert Henry Heathcote-Drummond-Willoughby 1st Earl of Ancaster, 25th Baron Willoughby de Eresby Mother: Lady Evelyn Elizabeth Gordon Brother(heir): Gilbert James Heathcote-Drummond-Willoughby
I was born second son to an aristocratic family, so knew I was destined for military service from an early age. This did not make me angry or bitter, it was the way of life and I was happy to serve my family in such a way. Much of my younger years involved leaning history, riding, shooting, and swordplay, as well as other education that benefited a gentleman of my station. My formal education was at Eton College like the rest of my family, and though my scores were not the best, I did well. My professors said of me that I was sharp and quick thinking, but sometimes lacked in focus. My response is, what focus I lacked for book learning, I made up for in sport and leadership. What I also developed in these years was a love of the aristocratic social scene. Many of my nights were taken up with a rather wild bunch of younger sons and daughters of the British elite. When not at our parents’ approved dinners, balls, and galas, we dove into the earthier establishments found in London. More than one night started with dancing, moved into drinking and gambling, and ended in a tavern brawl. That’s enough of my halcyon youth. For the next phase of my life was my induction into manhood, or the death of childhood, both are accurate. After Eton, I spent several months in advanced military training and preparation for deployment to the British Raj, otherwise known as British India or just India. Specifically, I was assigned to a unit in Lower Burma, along the border with Siam. Not for me the trading towns of Bombay or the palatial estates of the Governor-General or the Viceroy. I stayed briefly in a compound of the East India Company, but that was just while waiting for transport to the eastern provinces. There were many things I expected while growing up on my parents estates, dreaming of my future life as a soldier; cholera, smallpox and famine were most definitely not among them. The misery I saw in those years would haunt my nights for the rest of my life, were it not for what else happened during that time. War. Battle. Glorious words to a young man destined for a soldiers life. The reality of those words, I found, was quite different. War is hours or days of waiting or travelling for a few brief minutes of focused violence, accompanied by screaming, gunfire and dying. Friends I knew, some from Eton or military college after, died horribly along that border. To quote Kipling: A scrimmage in a Border Station— A canter down some dark defile— Two thousand pounds of education Drops to a ten-rupee jezail— The Crammer’s boast, the Squadron’s pride, Shot like a rabbit in a ride! None of us were prepared for the horrors of war. I don’t know if anyone ever is. Eventually, the horrific became the everyday and I became a soldier. After three years, and having attained the rank of Captain, an event took place that could not be explained, though I did try. Late one night, while on patrol, my unit was attacked by a creature. Our native conscripts had warned us we were in the territory of a fight-ful monster, but of course we assumed it was superstitious nonsense. The rakshasa, as I later found its name to be, killed nearly my entire unit. We survivors barely escaped, though I did take some injury to my leg that still gives me pains to this day. The after-action report would have read as a fairytale, saving that the higher command officially reported it as an ambush. My debriefing back in London was more detailed and involved gentleman that, to this day, I do not know the name of. When I showed a desire to pursue the mystery of the creature that attacked us, I was told that there were many such creatures in the world and that I could better serve my family and Empire closer to home. I left the military under honorable discharge to find the truth of their claims. At the time I left, the military and crown had no ties to me, or so I thought. Returning to my family estate, my career left behind, I had to find a new avocation to follow. I spoke to my father, and using some contacts I had made in the Raj, I went into trade. To my father’s shock and surprise, as well as my own, I was good at it. More importantly, it allowed me the excuse to travel and the money to throw at my obsession. I use all the tools available to me: my military skills, education, money, even my social nature. And what is my obsession you ask? To find the monsters and kill them before more good people die.