#dark-leaning

[lasororiteinfernale]

. G R E N N A L L . F L I N T .

[Open.]

Blackly St., Dark-leaning, Earth.

Twenty-nine.

Right-hand man to the High Priestess. Lady Poison, if you must know- the crafter of any and all things noxious, toxic and deadly lethal. Though quirky, as only one with a proclivity for banes and venoms would be, Grennall has an excellent head for the business of the gang which is why she's charged with looking after many of the street-level businesses that the Blackly coven has their hands in. She sees to book-keeping, maintaining the shops and staffing them- the usual sort of thing. But the lion's share of their income is naturally through back-door dealings of their unique hallucinogenic tab ("Tita", i.e. "Tina Tab" or "Titania"), which Grennall crafted a few years ago on her own, along with a highly addictive poison powder ("Goose", i.e. "Golden Soot") which produces a sensational high but requires a detoxifier ("P" or "Purgo") to be administered within hours of its use. Since the advent of these two drugs, Blackly St. has enjoyed a steady flow of income and wealth to spare. All thanks to Grennall. Seedy workings aside, Grennall has plenty of opportunities to meet all sorts of people in Stregapolis, and thus, has made many connections throughout the city. (She is hardly above greasing palms where necessary for the sake of Blackly St. Coven's survival.) There is some dark talk among Coven members that she has some connection with the necromancers involved in the undead infection- such whispers are hardly tolerated by the High Priestess who grew up alongside Grennall and trusts her implicitly. But even the most trusted general has her secrets- Grennall does, indeed, have certain connections to at least one necromancer . . . her twin sister.

[lasororiteinfernale]

. P L A Y G .

[Open.]

Wands, Dark-leaning, Earth.

Twenty.

Aka "Splinter". Playg is said to have been raised in the sewers of Stregapolis by rats. If it's true, it makes sense- after all, she can turn into a rat (rattus rattus) herself, and she knows the Strega underground like the back of her own hand. Playg can be . . . off-putting. She has a bit of an eerie presence- a small, fidgety shadow-dweller with long fingers and the uncanny power of witherment and decay (which is why she is absolutely prohibited from entering Midsummer's back garden). One half expects to find her hiding under sinks or scrabbling up the walls. For the most part, Playg is tasked with collecting protection money from the local non-magic gangs and their various affiliates- which they seem almost too willing to comply with because they just want her unsettling ass to leave them alone as soon as possible. For the other part, she plays the eyes and ears of Strega, using the sewer system and her Ratskin as handy tools. (Having an eidetic memory also helps.) Traveling via Stregapolis' vast underground is Playg's m.o.- she doesn't know how to drive, and even if she did, it's unlikely anyone would allow her to get behind a wheel anyway. More of a loner, she's likely only around the Coven house for important reasons- namely for handing over the money she's collected. It's for the best, anyway, as Playg isn't generally well-liked among the others. They have their suspicions- that Midsummer will hear none of- that Playg asks for more protection money than she's telling everyone so that she can skim a nice profit for herself off the top. How else was she able to get her needly hands on a brand new PS5 for her rathole in the sewer or wherever the hell she curls up at night? Well, for starters, she stole the PS5, and for another, if she has extra cash, it's likely from her side gig as, the sometimes literal, eyes and ears of the High Priestess of Blackly St., who uses her ability to posses the senses to personally keep tabs on the one Hight Priestess she fears the most- Midsummer. For all of Playg's hard and treacherous work, she receives a tidy allowence courtesy of Blackly St. Coven and keeps her mouth closed where she should. Ask her is she has trouble sleeping at night and you'll find she's already alseep.

[lasororiteinfernale]

. B A D M O U T H .

[Open.]

Neon District, Dark-leaning, Air.

Twenty-two.

Badmouth is infamous within the Coven for being a vessel for Chaos- her scream can shatter glass, her words can undo reality, her touch can crack stone and command the wind. She's a force on her own, slicing through the night on a breeze- like a bat flung across the pale moon. Not surprisingly, Badmouth's an adrenaline junkie; if she isn't jumping off of high-rises to show-off, she's betting on underground cage matches or stealing something shiny for the Coven-run chop shop (which is how she came by her slick little bike by the way). Her mechanical skills are decent- and she likes the smell of gasoline and oil . . . would probably bathe in it if she could- which is why she's can be found more often than not at the Coven's hidden garage. Badmouth's made friends with some of the mechanics Drew keeps running the place, and she often crashes there overnight to avoid the piling onto the sofas and the floor with everyone else back at the apartment. Recently, in a fit of brilliance, Badmouth realized there's a treasure trove of scrap for the taking concealed within the Necropolis. It's not like the undead drive cars, and since they aren't using them anymore, she sees no reason why she shouldn't pop over with her designated scrapping crew to take advantage of a good deal. Since she started lifting parts from the Necropolis, she's also realized (That's right- two big ideas in a single month!) that the Neon District is underutilizing what is essentially in their backyard. The Necropolis will, therefore, become the setting for a motorbike raceway as well as a demolition derby- entry prices may vary. The Necropolis is absolutely a dangerous area to be in, but Badmouth has every confidence that the undead can be handled well enough with the Neon Coven's modified flamethrowers (pilfered from the SPD armory, thank you) and strategically placed electrified fencing. Where else can a witch safely demolish various vehicles for bragging rights, away from the prying eyes of law enforcement, if not the Necropolis?

[lasororiteinfernale]

. S A B L E .

[Open.]

Blackly St., Dark-leaning, Water.

Thirty.

Stregapolis' foremost crimelord. To her mother (who, in fact, lives on a yacht far away from any one country's legal jurisdiction), however, Sable is merely the city's most eligible bachelorette. Nevermind expanding Blackly St. territory, drug operations, attaining a third Rolls Royce- naturally, what matters most is a husband of some sort. Sable hardly has the time to entertain her mother's flights of fancy, but the old woman has run out of patience of late and she's seen fit to deliver a suitor straight to Blackly St.'s doorstep. In the form of a rapacious young realestate mogul, well-known in Stregapolis for his outrageous, playboy lifestyle. Grotesquely charming, slick and money-driven- willing, and even happy, to overlook Sable's so-called "little operation" as if he finds Sable and her Coven to be so terribly quaint. Sable would have liked to kill the man on the spot, but upon being gifted a rather splended black diamond collar (an engagement gift), well, she's realized there's still much to consider . . . and it's not as if killing him later isn't still an option. Anyway, nuptials are not at the top of Sable's mind, and neither are the romantic whims of the madwoman that raised her. After all, there's a Coven to oversee and many black deeds to be done in order to maintain it, including but not limited to wiping out the rival Covens to make way for her own grand ambitions and continuing her extortion campaign on SPD. For the moment, things are hairy (especially with the erection of the Necropolis which has placed a considerable strain on her supposed fiancé given many of the buildings within the contained area belong to him), but Sable has every confidence that once she has the SPD safely in her back pocket that it will be simple enough to get rid of the other Covens. Soon enough, the whole of Stregapolis will belong to Blackly St. And, in the meantime, there are lavish engagement parties to plan and realestate moguls to break.

[lasororiteinfernale]

. F O R T U N A T I .

[Open.]

Wands, Dark-leaning, Fire.

Twenty-two.

Fortunati is the embodiment of free-will. An aggressive and stubborn hedonist with a wild-streak similar to feral street cats, she's been, for several years, serving Wands in good faith- protecting territory with fire and sigil- but certainly on her own terms. Spitting flame into the path of her foes without so much as a single blink. With the recent upheaval and the construction of the Necropolis, however, things with Fortunati have taken a turn- beginning with her capture on the wharf, where she was unceremoniously lit aflame by a handful of livid non-magic Strega citizens who scorned her for the undead plague as she screamed bloody-murder. Being impervious to flame, Fortunati came away from the attempt on her life, physically, unscathed- though the recovery of her flesh and hair took weeks. But the trauma of the burning agony . . . was supremely difficult to forget. During her recovery, Fortunati was tended to carefully by her sisters in the Wands Coven. Her dedicated healer was one who has always refused to acknowledge Fortunati's advances, but perhaps, due to her pathetic state, she believes she's finally managed to worm her way into her healer's heart and mind. This remains to be seen. For now, there are more pressing matters at hand. Vengeance, or else recompense. The people who attacked her were most certainly incited (or even paid) to do so by another gang- Blackly St., if she had to guess. Payback for the engulfing fire she'd caused at one of their many "phamaceutical" shops a few months prior. But Fortunati didn't experience rebirth through the ashes for nothing. Being given another opportunity to raze Blackly St. to the ground is a gift not to be squandered.