OWL - The Occult Wildlife Landing

Quincy takes a moment to straighten his appearance and dust himself off - wipe blood from his nose, straighten his clothes, etc. As he does so, he seems to emit a gravity: small objects around him rattle and air rushes into his body as he takes an impossibly deep breath. When he exhales, he's stable again.

At one time, Amaryllis's arms were normal, unscarred, and white as a dove. She would wrestle with her brothers, surrounded by soft and fluffy couches, plug protected outlets, and edge protected tables. They were safe, mostly, until one gave another a shallow scratch with their fingernail. From even a single scrape, the children would ruin rugs and throw pillows as the Fleischer Family Curse took its toll, forcing them to make a sizable plasma donation to the house. They all knew the risks, of course, they had the band-aids and medical bandages on hand to stop the bleeding. They continued their roughhousing beyond earshot of their parents...

Amaryllis's mother, Dahlia, knew the truth of their family's curse. She understood that time was running short as Sorin had already passed away years before. She and her husband studied the occult, making a fortune by reading futures, holding seances, and investigating hauntings. The greatest ritual they ever developed was one to break their curse. She knew Amaryllis, the first-born, would need to be saved first, as soon as possible, before she followed Death to meet her husband.

Something was not right, Amaryllis had passed out early in the bloodletting phase of the ritual. She struggled against her bindings and exasperated the new cuts on her wrists. The long gashes and otherworldly lettering on her arms wept until they went blue. Dahlia completed the runes and smeared a circle in blood around her daughter before realizing that the ritual was faulty. She then realized that her baby girl was on Death's door. She rushed Amaryllis to the hospital in heavy bandages, but her body would refuse to close her wounds. Dahlia would die a year later, consumed by the knowledge that the ritual failed.

She was wrong.

Amaranth is perhaps the progenitor of the vaunted berserker state, in moments of intense stress he is able to work himself into such a frenzy that pain and fear become motivators rather than detractors and in a screaming ball of frothing fury he can throw himself towards his opponents as a ball of teeth, fury, and displeasure.

Hardened by the heinous happenings in his recent jobs, Frank's froze up emotionally. Detachment's allowed for him to power through stress, he now somehow manages to thrive even in the most hopeless of shitshows.

The mobster's been through tougher scrapes than this. A few cuts and bruises won't stop them.