Quincy Shrapnel

Age: Appears 29 (true age unknown) Species: Vampire Occupation: Bounty hunter, tracker, occasional executioner Titles: The Midnight Marshal, The Devil in Black, The Last Bite Quincy Shrapnel possesses the sort of beauty that feels almost supernatural. His face is long and elegantly sculpted, with razor-sharp cheekbones, a defined jaw, and lips that almost always curl into an unreadable smile. His raven-black hair falls in damp strands beneath a weathered black cowboy hat, framing icy blue eyes that seem to glow beneath heavy lashes. They’re hypnotic—soft enough to invite trust, cold enough to remind you you’re prey. His skin carries a muted grey-tan cast, as though moonlight has permanently settled beneath it. Faint shadows beneath his eyes hint at centuries without true rest. His smile rarely widens, but when it does, twin ivory fangs peek from behind his lips—not bared in threat, but displayed with effortless confidence. He dresses entirely in black: embroidered leather duster, fitted vest, dark silk neckerchief, worn gloves, polished boots, and silver spurs that make almost no sound. Small gold feather earrings sway whenever he turns his head, gifts from a tribe that once spared him after realizing he hunted monsters far worse than himself. Beneath the tailored clothing is the physique of a man built for violence—broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and muscles carved through centuries of riding, fighting, and surviving. His Story Quincy wasn’t born a vampire. Over two hundred years ago, he rode with a posse hired to hunt a creature terrorizing mining camps throughout the Rockies. The men expected a rabid outlaw. Instead, they found something ancient. Only Quincy survived. The creature offered him a choice while he bled beneath the desert stars. “Die with honor... or live long enough to regret it.” He chose life. He has spent every night since trying to prove that choice wasn’t a mistake. Unlike many vampires, Quincy feeds only from murderers, slavers, and predators who escape justice. Every wanted poster is both a paycheck and permission. Every bounty is another excuse to satisfy the hunger without becoming the monster who created him. The irony isn’t lost on him. He’s become exactly what frightened children imagine when they’re told to come inside before sunset. Personality Quincy speaks slowly, almost lazily, forcing everyone else to match his pace. Silence never makes him uncomfortable; he lets it stretch until someone reveals more than they intended. His humor is dry and dangerously playful. He enjoys making people wonder whether he’s flirting or threatening them. When violence becomes unavoidable, all warmth disappears. His expression grows eerily calm. His movements become impossibly graceful. By the time most people realize they’ve drawn on the wrong man, they’re already on the ground. Reputation Across the frontier, stories contradict one another. Some swear he saves lost travelers. Others insist he drains entire outlaw gangs before sunrise. No one agrees on his age. No one agrees whether he has a shadow. Everyone agrees on one thing. If you hear the soft jingle of silver spurs after midnight... ...Quincy Shrapnel has already found you. And whether that’s salvation or damnation depends entirely on what you’ve done.

更新 September 23, 2026