[Medium Sized Model - 25mm Base]
(Two Variants Included - Masked/No Mask)
[Presupported with LYS files in 32mm & 75mm Scale]
A vampire hunter who forsook his own humanity in his quest for vengeance against the ancient wretches that destroyed his life centuries ago. Arkham is something of a legend in folklore in the northern kingdoms of Tharador: a revenant of the night bound to the mortal plane by hatred and bitterness alone.
When death’s clutches latch to you, and your final breath draws near, would you let the darkness take you? Or instead take the hand of a more nefarious entity; one who would rip you from death’s embrace, only to hold you in their own? Arkham Ravenswood lay bleeding out in his family home, a fist-sized hole ripped out of his waist, his body refusing to heed his commands. His children were gone now, carried away screaming by the same beasts that cut down his wife and left him to bleed out next to her. Every morsel of strength left tried to carry him on in pursuit of the wretches, but it was in vain.
As his mind fell back into dreams and flashes of his life before, a gravelly and foreign voice crept into his mind, “Wouldst thou walk hand-in-hand with me on the road to vengeance?” and Arkham replied that he would, and he would do anything to save his children from the beasts that had taken them. A flash of biting cold later, and he awoke. His wife lay lifeless next to him, unmoved from whence he last saw her, yet now her body was decayed, the blood beneath her and himself dried, and foul rot already breaking her apart. Yet the wound at his side bore no scars nor sign it ever existed, save for his tattered and bloodstained shirt. Wherever the creatures were, they had left, and Arkham buried his wife in the yard of their cottage, before leaving out to seek them.
Days swiftly became years in his search, and in all that time, whatever strange entity had borne him back to life lay silent, dormant; Arkham, however, could feel its presence, ever-watching. Within him it was buried, growing in silence until the day of its rapture, where it would emerge in hellish retribution. Often he wondered if he had dreamt those final moments, if they had simply been a play in his mind, orchestrated by the fiends when they took his life from him. Though surely, as he had thought, that darkness emerged. It was a night cast in complete umbra, a lightless sky hanging over the city of Reichweite. There, the voice, after seven years of absence, returned. It ushered him through the winding soot-laden streets of the mining town to an abandoned abode. Within, he uncovered the beasts that had taken his children, and the darkness within finally manifested itself. A firearm spawned from his palm, and with it, six chambered bullets imbued with divine retribution.
A flash of light and a hail of bullets saw four of the fiends perish in a blink, yet the voice drove him deeper still into their lair. Storming through a doorway, he collapsed to his knees at the sight before him. His son and daughter, untouched by time since he saw them, yet their figures were gaunt and pale, their eyes a deep set red with obsidian pupil slits like those of a feline. Blood covered their faces, their mouths, and in horror, Arkham saw before them they were feasting upon the corpse of another child, not much older than themselves. He recoiled, disgust and horror overwhelming him, storming out the room, though the voice whispered back “You’re not done,” and as though a great giant had tugged his arm, he was pulled back into the room. His two children cowered on the floor. Arkham could see in their bestial eyes: they did not know him. No, he was a stranger to them. Perhaps, it would make it easier. It would be a mercy to release them from that fate. With a heavy hand and heart, he summoned his ordained weapon from the floor, and with two more squeezes of the trigger, snuffed out the last lights of his life.
Since that day, the voice has remained with Arkham, never explicitly telling him its name, its purpose or why it chose him. Yet, he is its agent, its enforcer upon the mortal plane sent to hunt beasts like those that took his family from him. Vampires. Now the voice has led him to the latest grand masquerade of Castle Beaufax, held by the esteemed Baroness Noctra de Blanc, a woman with a penchant for dark and broody men; Arkham being just her type.
