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.
