Blameless In Your Ways
Afghan war vet/ sniper
Profession: Odd jobs laborer
Compact/ Conspiracy: The Union (Home First faction) *
Concept: Unrelenting soldier
Initiative Mod: 4
Intel 2 | Wits 2 | Resolve 2
Strength 4 | Dex 2 | Stamina 2
Presence 3 | Manipulation 2 | Composure 2
Academics 1 | Investigation 1 | Occult 2
Brawl 1 | Firearms 3 | Survival 4 | Weaponry 3
Animal Ken 2 | Empathy 1 | Intimidation 2 | Streetwise 2
- Meditative Mind 1 [WoD pg. 109]
- Combatant 2 [Armory Reloaded pg. 181]
- Union Endowment 2 (Safehouse with Size 1 & Trap 1) [Compacts & Conspiracies pg. 44]
- Favored Weapon 2 [Vigil pg. 67]
- Laborer 2
- M-16A4 | Size 4 | Range 150/300(-2 penalty)/600(-4 penalty) | Capacity 30+1 | Strength 2(2/3/4) | Size 3 | Cost $1000
Conrad grew up in Longmont, the oldest son of a family whose tradition of proud military service dated back to the American Revolution. After the events of 9/11 and the fever of payback loud in his blood, Conrad knew it was high time to step up, and enlisted in the Army.
He became an Army Ranger, and was deployed to Afghanistan. His unit was tasked with hunting down Osama bin Laden, spending months searching the caves around Tora Bora for him. One day, while deep in the dark network of tunnels Al Qaeda had dug out, his company encountered something he could never have imagined. At first, it started out with whispers… then grew to loud voices. Then, without warning, there was a storm of panic. An inhuman scream shot out over their comm equipment. Night vision goggles flaked out and in between the glitches, blurs and shadows darted around them.
Conrad felt something brush past him and knock down Pvt. Clemons, whose panicked yelps were cut short by choking, popping sounds and then wet gurgles. Then it got Fletcher. Then Neilson. Then Hawkins. Some of the other men lost their shit, and started firing on shadows and echoes, only to kill more members of their squad.
As the survivors tried to find their way out of the underground maze, the thing appeared in dim light. A huge howling beast, unaffected by the rain of bullets and flash grenades heaped upon it. It was enormous and unnatural, clambering about on clawed limbs the size of Humvee tires. Conrad and a few of his fellow soldiers managed to scramble out of there, spraying the cave walls in bullets, covered in blood but thankful to be alive.
In the end, they had lost 20 of their fellow soldiers. They didn’t speak about it. And if it had ended there, that night, they would’ve written it off as a something from a gas attack. Or some kind of PTSD hallucination. Something only talked about when you were sure you weren’t going to be sent to the head-shrinking wizard.
But in the days that followed, two of the survivors committed suicide. Another ran off into the hills, never to be found. By the time the rumors had spread around camp and the follow-up squads hadn’t returned, it had become too big of a potential press disaster. The last thing Conrad had heard, on the flight back home from Ramstein, the Air Force had dropped a half dozen bunker busters on those caves…sealing them, and hopefully the nightmares they contained within, forever.
Honorably discharged and back home in Boulder, he found it difficult to adjust to civilian life, and even more difficult to hold down a regular job. He would rage at the littlest thing, the smallest push or jab by a boss or a co-worker. His apartment soon evicted him and, with only a bed roll and his duffel bag, he soon found shelter on the streets and under bridges. He started doing yard work and working part time at Labor Ready, while living in the bushes around Boulder Creek.
Around this time, he became interested in the Jon Benet Ramsey murder, convinced there was a supernatural element to it that the cops would never have pursued.
Doing his own research at the Boulder Public Library, Conrad became convinced the murderer was a registered sex offender named Richard Douglas. Armed with only his handgun and the certainty this was the guy, he spent a day or two finding the man’s new address and confronted him.
That’s when he ran into Cesar Contadino, his future Union rep. Together they managed to bring down Richard Douglas and agreed to work together if ever the other needed help.
Still homeless, he was soon befriended by some students at the nearby Naropa University, who allowed him to stay with them over the winter. They were spoiled trustafarian pacifists, sure. But given the brutal cold that year, he didn’t feel like judging them. While there, he managed to learn meditation, finding that it helped him get past the nightmares that haunted him day and night.
The following spring, he and one of the students got involved with a local ghost hunting outfit (which turned out to be little more that a bunch of bored college kids running around in the dark with flashlights). It was through them that he chance encountered Father Guzman. Grizzled and tough as nails, Father Guzman saw something in Conrad he didn’t see in the others. A watchful and precise eye, an awakened experience to the supernatural and a roaring drive to hunt it down.
When he finally broke down and wept in front of Father Guzman, telling the consoling priest the story of his brothers in those caves, Conrad knew. The compassionate light of this man would guide him on the right path to avenging them.
In the days that followed, he joined Father Guzman’s cell, the Shadow of Wings. A hodgepodge, sometimes internally turbulent group, it was made up of a wide swath of hunters; Fareed Hamza, an Illuminated Brotherhood drug dealer and crackshot marksman; Annie Singleton, a member of Maiden’s Blood Sisterhood who Conrad adored like a little sister; Jason Chapman, a cocky, loudmouth Taskforce VALKYRIE operative who managed to land a gentle-heart like Annie for a girlfriend; and Virgil Wolfe, a Network Zero hacker/cracker and freelance photojournalist. The group was fairly successful for the five months Conrad worked with them, cleaning up the back alleys and darkened parks of all supernatural in the city.
But after a disastrous attempt to purge a nightclub of demonic influence, the cell lost Father Guzman to a vicious Infernal named Castigar. Flashbacks of retreating from the cave haunted Conrad as they raced out of that nightclub. And in the aftermath of the cell’s loss, the group began to unravel in a self-destructive power grab. Conrad managed to hold on as best he could, maintaining a support roll, in the field and out of it. Until the night Jason, drunk with authority and reckless in his need to prove himself as worthy a leader as Father Guzman, put Virgil and Fareed in harm’s way. And ultimately got them gutted by a werewolf.
At that point, Conrad called it quits. He retreated more into his former transient street life, leaving the cell to Jason’s suicidal tendencies, and managed to find a demolished house with a functional basement he could sneak into. He’s been taking refuge there ever since.