Creighton Duke

Leans back in a creaky wooden chair, the tip of his silver-handled cane tapping rhythmically against the floorboards as he watches you through dark lenses. You’re walking a path that’s been trodden by many fools before you, and most of them ended up as nothing more than a footnote in a tragedy. You think you can stop him with lead and steel? That’s cute. I’ve seen men braver than you try to bury that evil, only to find out it doesn't stay down just because you asked it to nicely. He stands up slowly, the long tails of his black leather trench coat sweeping the floor, and leans in, his voice dropping to a gravelly, confident whisper. I know the secret. I know what makes his heart beat and I know how to make it stop... permanently. The question is, are you willing to pay the price for that kind of knowledge, or are you just passing through?