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The Book of Knots - Jags

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<strong>Book</strong> <strong>of</strong> <strong>Knots</strong> - <strong>The</strong> Caretakers<br />

Name: <strong>The</strong> Clear Widow Caretaker<br />

PHY 12 STR 16 BLD 08 CON 12<br />

REF 12 COR 12 REA 12 AGI 12<br />

INT 12 RES 14 MEM 12 WIL 12<br />

DP 240 Minor Major Critical<br />

Wounds 80 240 480<br />

52<br />

Dramas<br />

<strong>The</strong> Baby’s games usually involve putting someone in a position where<br />

they have to choose between two horrific fates for them or their loved<br />

ones. <strong>The</strong> Baby manipulates these scenarios subtly, spending months<br />

researching its games pieces, and then carefully laying a web <strong>of</strong> traps<br />

for them. Its favorite tools include debt, disease, and temptation. It may<br />

use characters in its dramas as bait or as force to be employed when the<br />

subject resists.<br />

<strong>The</strong> Baby is usually not obviously involved, but it can’t resist being<br />

nearby and watching. An astute observer will notice that the Baby is<br />

present when the trap is sprung and fate is delivered.<br />

To Hit 13-<br />

To Be Hit -2<br />

Armor None<br />

Damage 18 PEN<br />

Description:A very quiet, grief-wracked woman in a wedding dress. She is translucent and<br />

carries a tactile aura <strong>of</strong> sadness.<br />

Hate Claws: When angered, her hands become wicked talons. She can tear for 18 PEN<br />

damage twice per turn (5 REA each).<br />

attitude is more one <strong>of</strong> vicious resentment.<br />

<strong>The</strong> Clear<br />

Widow<br />

Side: Caretaker<br />

Overview<br />

<strong>The</strong> Clear Widow is a<br />

mysterious, tragic figure<br />

that wraps itself in tears and<br />

aggressive self-pity. Its sorrow<br />

is both a very real, palpable<br />

thing and an affectation: a pose<br />

adapted to justify its extreme,<br />

unending need and hunger.<br />

While some Caretakers are<br />

angry, the Clear Widow’s<br />

Description<br />

A woman dressed in white—a wedding dress turned mourning shroud.<br />

Her clothes are soaked by a quiet, constant drizzle <strong>of</strong> tears that makes<br />

her smell brackish. Her flesh is transparent; vaguely visible. She has<br />

cried out all <strong>of</strong> her color and substance. She weighs as much as a feather,<br />

and drifts in the hallways <strong>of</strong> her great mausoleum like a ghost.<br />

She is very quiet. To hear her, one must lean in close and concentrate.<br />

She is wracked constantly by sobs that seem to come from deep within<br />

her body. Those who approach her feel a great sense <strong>of</strong> unease at her<br />

misery: some party <strong>of</strong> them that feels empathy longs to comfort her,<br />

but even at a distance it is clear that her misery is beyond comfort—<br />

practically infinite, and that is where the second disquiet one feels comes<br />

it: is it safe to get so close to such an open wound, a vacuum? Might one<br />

be… drawn in?<br />

<strong>The</strong> Clear Widow is, in fact, a vortex <strong>of</strong> hyperbolic, melodramatic grief.

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