Mi nuevo personaje WoD

Francesco Lombardi

I grew up as my family intended to, staying away from those non-Italians in the vecinity, sticiking to my cultural heritage, which came to America just before the war shook the Earth. My great grand father, my young grand father, and some cousins, seeking the shelter from violence that America promised. Peace was found for a short while, my father indeed served under a false name and went to kich some Viet Nam butt, he came back, fortunately, most of him, a shrapnel from a hand grenade lodged into his leg forced the doctors to take out some muscles, he could walk, but never normally.
Still he did show us what hard work meant to some, he was rarely at home, and received a low salary. His employers treating his háving a job as an act of mercy, after all, he was lame, a war hero to my still young eyes, but lame.

His life was short anyhow, died shortly before I did, heart condition the doctors said. I found myself havint to be a man, my older brother trying to be the man of the house, making even less money than the old man. And gramps regreting being to old to get a job and helping out, at least he tried to be the counseling figure my father should have been. I should have listened to the him, but I had hungered and would never feel full, wealth I called and seeked.

I craved for the fancy stuff, the nice cars, the ladies, the ever shining watches, and there was an easy way to obtain them, the Mafia, I joined ranks easily, doing the small errands and stuff, being the bodyguard of the local Capo later after ascending the ladder. I distanced myself from my family and was absent at my grandfathers funeral, too busy making the big bucks and hurting people I was told to hurt.

It seemed well for me, life had had its unfairness so I was unfair myself, stil lthe Capo needed a scapegoat to peace the other druglords and crooks, they asked for a dead man to blame of many crimes and make the police feel as if they were doing a good job, and make the media think likewise. It was me, he chose, I knew it, I would not escape, Death is present everywhere, I saw it whenever it was present near someone, and that usually meant that person would die within minutes, I always knew, I saw it with my father, and with many of the victims of my own crimes.

Yet, they chose me, randomly, just another minion, they set me up and shot. A single bullet to the heart, two to my arm, a gun I had never fired or seen put into my still warm hand: a genuine Tomson, the Tommy gun that was iconic to the romanticist age of the mafia, I held it tightly. And closed my eyes, as the last of the empty bullet caskets rolled infront of me.

As I heard the sound of their cars growing dim as they escaped, A voice called as if coming from inside me, as well as from behind me, a sweet voice as of crystal tinlgings, she said little, a name; Sharon, a young woman, nineteen at much, red eyes, sky blue hair, hands and feet of glass gradually becoming what looks like flesh, and just in the center of her chest, a hole of ever pulsing blood red, where a spear seems to lodge at times. Most strange of all are her wings, sprouting from her back, just below the ribcage, and made of lightning.

Now here I am, new to the Sin Eaters or the Bound, wondering through a New City, escaping from the old one to buy me some time to soon excert my revenge on those that used my death as a decoy, they tried to, I walked out of there briefly after….holding a power I barely understand, and Sharon holding fimly to that last shell that I saw last before I died, she smiles maliciously as she sees it glimmer then the light is bright, the polished surface turns red when her eyes are laid on it.