Eldritch Descent, or Things Which Should Not Be
Birthplace: Matheson, VA
Personal Description: Dark brown hair, goatee and scruff, blue eyes. Tall and lean, and a little gruff.
Ideology: The world doesn’t care, why should I?
Significant People: Corbin O’Leary – War buddy, died in the war.
Treasured Possessions: Lucky lighter, saved his life in the war. Flask for carrying whiskey.
Traits: No SAN loss when viewing corpses/gross injuries. Drinks to forget. Helpful for the right price.
Injuries/Scars: Three bullet wounds just above his heart. The fourth bullet would have killed him, but was stopped by his Lucky Lighter.
Spending Level: 1000
He wasn’t a boy when he went to war. But set against a war like that, he realized…we are all children.
After the Great War, Karl Davis returned home to his native Matheson, Virginia. He tried to go back to his old life, but his time in the trenches left him…different. Sure, he wasn’t the only one who came back from that hell to try to live a life all but forgotten. But most of them, the horrors they remembered were of chemical weapons, No-Man’s-Land, and muddy trenches. He had all that, but then…there was something else. Something he didn’t like to think about, much less talk about.
Karl’s unit was called upon for a mission behind enemy lines. They witnessed something dark, some eldritch ritual. There’s not much he can remember from that night, just the screams of his brothers in arms. Karl was the only one in his unit to survive that night…but not the only one who walked away.
Among the men lost was Corbin O’Leary, a great big bear of a man that Karl had known since they were teenagers. He brought his best friend’s dog tags back home to his family. He wanted to tell them the bad news himself. He went to the funeral. They didn’t bury a body, just a casket.
After the war, Karl took to private investigative work. It wasn’t much, but it paid the bills. His disposition and harsh looks were shaped by the war. That helped whenever he needed to shake someone down for information or “talk” some deadbeat husband into paying his alimony. Easy work. Then the murders started.
A serial killer in rural Virginia was something Matheson’s sheriff was ill equipped to deal with. The authorities pulled Karl in to assist with the case. He was a local boy, knew the town and her people. They trusted him. He followed the leads, kept a close eye on the no-goodniks. The murders didn’t stop, they didn’t even slow down. They got sloppier though, and Karl discovered a pattern.
He narrowed down the list of potential next victims to three women living near his old stomping grounds. The police and FBI would stake them out. Karl requested to sit in with them, and stake out the one he thought the most likely target. He caught a glimpse of the murderer. It was that night, when Karl saw a dead man walking, that he learned he couldn’t trust his senses.
After witnessing Corbin flee from the murder scene, Karl dropped out of the investigation. The murders stopped, and the trail ran cold. His best friend’s face haunted his nightmares. After one too many sleepless nights, he decided that he had enough of Matheson. It was time to move on.
He made his way up to Massachusetts, although he was unsure if he was running away from or towards something. Unable to maintain a normal job, he continued working as a Private Investigator. His experience in the Great War helped him, and he quickly earned a reputation as a man who could get things done. Discreetly. In Arkham, MA, that is a valuable skill.