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Bio

Name: Belle Laborde

Age: 31 (Looks to be in her early 20s)

Race: Undead

Weapon:

• Tomahawk
• Cranley 1847 double-barrel 10g shotgun (Sawn off)

Power: Nada

Career: Criminal/hired gun- basically, anything violent that'll put cash on the table.

Goal: Riches.

Appearance:

Slim build, 5'7'. Pale, grey skin. Wears a cuir buoilli leather helmet to protect her head, as an 8cm circular chunk of skull on her left forehead/temple area is missing. The hair around this wound has been cut away, but the rest of her dark brown hair remains, reaching to her mid-back. It is usually tied back with leather thonging. Her face has delicate features, and would have been pretty in life. This is marred by the fact that it has been cut and bitten in several places. These wounds have been sewn up wherever possible, but she is missing the tip of her nose and a section of her right cheek. She wears denim trousers and a plain, pale brown man's shirt, leather boots and sometimes a Confederate infantry greatcoat. Several parts of her body are tightly wrapped in cloth to conceal missing areas of skin and other similar damage. The 5th finger on her left hand is missing.

Personality:

Belle enjoys the company of other people, disliking being on her own. She has a slightly macabre sense of humour and is completely amoral. She has sadistic tendencies and will often prolong a fight if she gets involved in one, playing with her opponent. Only a fool would trust her, as she lies and betrays whenever it suits her.

Backstory:

Belle used to live in New Prospect, a small settlement elsewhere in the Territory. More specifically, she lived in the cathouse, servicing the prospecters, cowboys and gunslingers who passed through. It was hardly an enjoyable line of work, but having no skills and coming from a very poor family, she had few other career choices. When she was around 21, she caught a sickness. Some kind of fever, the doc said. It was spreading through the little town like wildfire, and soon the doc grudgingly gave way to the padre. Imagine his surprise when, half way through the Last Rites, Old Man Jenkins sat up and tore his throat out. Belle suffered, locked in her room, and eventually died. Just like everyone else, she rose again. Unlike them, she still knew who she was. Looking out the window, she saw that the town had fallen. Several houses were burning, and there wasn't a single live human to be seen. Belle tried venturing outside of the building, but before she even made it to the sidewalk, she was attacked by her undead ex-colleagues. She managed to escape, but not before they chowed down on her a bit. Searching the guest rooms, Belle found some more practical clothes and a gun. For the next year or two, she stalked the ghost town, steering clear of undead when she could and shooting when she couldn't. Time lost all meaning for her as she just tried to stay alive from day to day. Something cracked in her during this time, the moans of the undead her only company. For all she knew, the whole rest of the world was like this, and she was the only smart corpse around. She was losing hope when one day she saw a dust plume off in the distance. Grabbing her meagre belongings, Belle set out to meet up with this mysterious stranger, her first contact with a living being in far too long. She met up with the wagon causing the dust plume after a day or so. The meeting didn't go too well at first and she ended up shot. Eventually, she convinced the driver she wasn't going to attack him and he gave her a ride to the nearest civilisation. So now she was dead and ugly. her previous job was closed to her, but her time with the dead in New Prospect had learned her a new set of skills- fighting and staying 'alive'. It didn't take long for her to put these skills to effect, selling them to anyone willing to pay and turning to armed robbery when work was tough. Five years ago, she took a rifle bullet to the head in a gunfight. As her head snapped back and she fell, Belle was sure she'd been killed for real. But she got up. She kept fighting and at the end of the day she was standing while the guy who shot her was growing cold. The bullet had torn off a patch of skull though, so she had a saddlemaker fashion her some protective headgear. This, combined with her ravaged face, makes her easy to recognise and hard to forget.