The criminals in Bedlam don’t talk to nobody. Except you. You’ve got ins with the major families, the syndicates, even a couple with the white-collar crooks. You’ve got a mainline to the dirt other people need, and those other people? They pay you well for what you know. But you’re aiming a gun with two barrels, pal. All that intel you’re scrounging is a bullseye on a bulletproof vest, you understand. That’s why you only move in circles that protect you, talk to people you trust.
The criminals in Bedlam don’t talk to nobody. But you, you don’t talk to nobody. What you know is your ticket to better things. Those connections you’ve made are worth more than gold. Well, wait, how much gold we talking about? It’ll have to be a lot because the names you’ve heard, the faces you’ve scanned, the deals you’ve seen go down, are worth good money. And if a potential buyer isn’t willing or able to pony up your asking price, you’ll find somebody who will. Cuz, pal, on these streets, there’s always someone willing to pay more.
Trouble. You’re either in it or causing it. It’s not that you necessarily mean to. Half the time, it finds you. At least, that’s your take on it. Trouble comes in ages young and old, sizes big and small, male and female alike. How it shakes down is folks are attracted to you, your looks, your style, that hint of innocence on your face. Some people just aren’t alive unless they’re saving somebody. You’re not a pretty princess, some damsel-in-distress, but you’ll play the role. For a moment, you give their life purpose, you fill some hole in their sad existence. Sometimes you’re the center of their universe and sometimes you’re their dirty little secret. Sometimes you’re both. All that is fine by you.
You focus on yourself because you’re the only one who really cares about you. The adoration others heap on you is nice but it’s fleeting. Either you’ll get bored or they’ll get distracted. Sure, you’re in the prime spot now, but every time you wake, you’re one day older. You know you’ll have to use what you have while you can to get what you need. You’re not into tying yourself down though you’ll take the benefits while they’re offered. Every relationship is an affair, every friendship is fleeting, and every connection you make will ultimately end in heartbreak. You’re just making sure it’s you who delivers the bad news. Nobody’s breaking your heart, that’s for sure.
* The TROUBLE character option is one of the two Kickstarter-exclusive Archetypes given to backers who pledge $60 or more as a special thank-you for their support!
People want to be controlled. They need it. Left to their own devices, people will seek someone to tell them what to do. Sure, they’ll run around like headless chicks for a while, grinding and sweating and giving themselves over to their base impulses, but once the fun of freedom fades, they will look around at their meaningless existence and cry out, “What should I do?” That is, after all, how gods were invented.
In Bedlam, that’s what regents are: gods. Gods of commerce, gods of industry, gods of the people. Those who give and those who take away. Regents made Bedford just like regents broke Lamrose. Those who excel within the boundaries you draw are rewarded. Those who reach beyond their pens must be put into place. The question for regents isn’t “How should I use my power?” It’s “Who will stop me from doing what I want?” As someone who wields the power, you have to decide the devil you serve. You can fall in line with those who cannot see beyond the ivory towers or change the beast from within. When you’re a regent, very few can or will call you out for your decisions. But beware, oh beware, those who do.
Vice is gonna flow in Bedlam and nobody can stop it. Someone may as well as make some money off it. Maybe you can flip that cash into something good, y’know? Help the homeless, feed the hungry, right? Turn the bad into good, maybe? It’s not that you’re into exploiting misfortune. Hey, look at it this way: If it’s not you governing the stream then someone else will, and then your customers are at the mercy of some unscrupulous backdoor chemist putting who knows what into the mix. Sure, you may cut powder with the occasional baby laxative—gotta stretch out resources when supply is tight—but you’re not stirring industrial cleaner into the spike.
Folks ask what your career plan is. Where do you go from here? Your plan is simple: buy, sell, retire. At least get enough cash to get the hell out of this town. What, go into politics? Yeah, that’s much more honest work. The church? The cops? Please. What kind of world is it where a supposed criminal like you has stronger moral fiber than the folks who swear to protect people? You may be “part of the problem” but at least you have standards.
Evil lives in Bedlam, infecting the spirits of the citizenry and darkening the skies in its wake. The people of Bedlam are not lost—not permanently—though they are horribly misguided. Redemption is possible even if the means to such get a little extreme now and then. You have taken up the challenge of saving those who seek salvation and sometimes those who actively resist it. You often put yourself directly between evil and its victims, beating back abusers, pushers, and other villains in order to protect a lamb from slaughter.
You shepherd back to the fold those who wander, whether into the arms of the Lord or simply away from the perils of vice. Catholicism rules Bedlam, there’s no debating that, but not all Samaritans are members of the Big Church. Many are of other faiths, a lot are non-denominational. Samaritans can be social workers, youth center volunteers, or anyone trying to staunch the flow of crime. No matter how their methods, they all have the calling to do Good and help their fellow men and women however they can.
Lots of streets in Bedlam are unsafe but the cracked red veins of Bricktown doubly so. When the cops stopped patrolling the area, the crooks moved in, and the boys and girls who made their trade on the district’s corners were at the mercy of unkind and unscrupulous men who doped their “workers” to keep them complacent, treated them like unwanted pets, and traded them on whims for whatever the highest bidder was willing to pay. A decade went by and Bricktown descended further. That’s when Queenie and her girls took it upon themselves to rid the area of the pushers and pimps who had taken over their town.
The Valkyries began as a response to a bad situation but soon became so much more. Once the dealers and slappers were pushed out, the Valkyries went about clearing out the rest of the unwanteds, turning Bricktown into a place professionals could entice clients without fear. As long as the workers pay into the protection pool, that is.
Bricktown was the root but the Valkyries have expanded well beyond, becoming vigilantes dedicated to keeping all the streets free of rapists, muggers, murderers, junkies, and all manner of eternal loser. Hail, hail your guardian angels, Bedlam.
Violence is your stock in trade. It’s how you get by and how you settle scores. You don’t make friends easily but you’re dog-loyal to those few you have. Those that cross them will have to answer to you. You’re a protector of the weak but you’re no hero. Hell, sometimes you’re just the biggest thing in the room. When you do have to tussle, you get the job done—the quicker, the better. It’s the big enemies, the rare trophies, the ones that make it personal, that you take your time with—make the pain last nice and long. Teach them sons of bitches the true meaning of retribution.
Some folks call you a monster—and maybe that’s just what you are—but you’re the closest thing to a savior these streets’ll ever see. Because you know the truth. You can smell the stench of bullshit under all the flowery talk, and you know the system is just as crooked as that busted nose on your mug. You don’t buy into the spin or hollow promises—you know what makes Bedlam tick. And you know that one day, that tick is gonna go boom.
