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A woman with dark olive skin and dark slightly greying hair, and always with a grin and a twinkle in her blue eyes, as if calculating and judging the area around her. Goliath is not imposing in presence, but in deed and arrogance. She carries Binoculars, a repeating rifle with a bayonet attached.
Goliath is dressed in a Navy Blue leather military coat, modified to carry a good deal of ammunition, and two pistols. She sold her military honors and covers the buttons – so as not to have them be caught.
Under it is an armor made of thick white silk, both for warmth and due to early reports of silken cloth deflecting bullets slightly. It comes down to act as a short skirt, and she has been able to wear that in “civilized” environments.
She carries an old cloak that acts as a sleeping bag. It has pockets that store food and other necessary supplies – from a compass to a computing sliderule. Though difficult to find, she wears blue leather jeans and thick combat boots.

These people must know me if I am to be their conqueror. Like little savage badgers crawling across the ground, begging for an end to their struggles. Ha! As if a superior would waste the time. The beasts outside this city offer a greater challenge. Death takes all eventually, and as a dealer of destruction, that makes me an agent of Death.

Oh how I miss the early days, where I would squash the houses aligned against the Lords. The beauty of their children’s dead eyes as the Lords established power decades ago. Order to the chaotic world, or so they believed. We are all beings of chaos, but chaos is weak – easily domesticated under the shells of machines.

Oh, the artillery. Such an unrefined monster. I still remember my map of the city and wildlands. Region 12, 7 degrees south, 54 degrees west. Area shelled: 160 meters. At an estimated downward velocity of of 242.16 meters/second towards the Earth, the canister-shot would unleash hundreds of bullets shredding the area. And I was the one responsible for it’s target. Technology is truly a beautiful, obedient thing.

Sad that those days against other lands are over. The fools saw fit to betray those of us who gave them power. They tried to force us back into normal life. After the glory of seeing a building reduced to its base components? No. Better that I keep my standard weapons and work in these dredges, fulfilling my destiny.

These people see fit to pay me in what I need in exchange for meat and protection. It is a convenient deal, and all deities of old had their clients. I am an avatar of Death.

Username: Suze
Character name: Laurentian Sicari Schwarzstein

Age: 39
Height: 6'1”
Weight: 193 lbs
Appearance: Powerfully muscled, Laurentian cuts an imposing figure, standing with impeccably-straight posture. His face is haggard beyond his years from the harsh life he has lived, and his hair has faded to a premature gray. He dresses in elegant but functional garments and carries a great many weapons on his person. He wears a glass eye in the empty socket where his left should be.

Profession: Mage-exterminator

Skills: Extensive knowledge of alchemy, Exceptional discipline and pain tolerance, Assassin's marksmanship and hand-to-hand training, Working knowledge of sorcery and the anatomy of magical beasts

Flaws: Lack of depth perception, homicidal inclinations, addicted to a variety of alchemical drugs

Possessions: Compactible repeating crossbow with silver-tipped quarrels, a pair of revolvers (with various specialized ammunitions), several throwing knives, extra-long rondel dagger, sword-breaker, scramasax, a lining of six-weave tempered steel maille worn under his clothing, fire- and waterproof cloak, stockpile of alchemicals (bombs, poisons, stimulants, esoteric drugs), a collection of Madness Grimoires stolen from the libraries of mages he has killed

Bio: The disciple of a master whose name he will never speak, Laurent's past is a mystery best left undelved. He appeared in the city some ten years ago, taking contracts with the wealthiest barons and criminal bosses who had need of his particular qualifications. Suffice it to say, if a personage of power and station in Atticus requires the elimination of a sorcerous rival, Laurentian is the first name on the list. He has been responsible for the assassination of several high-profile mages over the years, all of which are now classified as cold cases. He maintains several hideouts throughout the city, especially in the lawless outskirts, and one can only lament the fate of the occupants of the homes before he chose to re-purpose them. For that is where Laurent's other pursuits intersect with his work: perhaps as a result of damage done to his brain by alchemical stimulants, he routinely takes it upon himself to massacre entire families in the slums. Sometimes the attacks are executed with the precision that is the hallmark of his professional work; other times, the crime scenes are the sight of mutilations, vivisections, and sheer butchery, likely as the result of fits of drug-induced frenzy.

When he is not engaging in such activities, Laurent obsessively studies his collection of Madness Grimoires, memorizing the deranged rituals and invocations of the True Ones scribed within. He flirts with the idea of attempting a summoning, but has as yet refrained.

His only companion, if the term has any relevance for him, is his sometimes-partner Herbert Mansfield, an unfortunate necromancer who had a nonconsensual transcranial encepheloplasty performed on him by some mad mage-doctor, imprisoning his brain in the body of a greyhound. Herbert provides Laurent with aid in his magical research and occasional assistance on his assassination missions, in exchange for shelter in Laurent's many bases of operations and the odd table-scrap.