Phineas J. Beauregard
Col. Phineas J. Beauregard is an agent of the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Defense and a member of the Enhanced Talents Taskforce.
Contents
[hide]Background
Scotchmo was a colonel in the Confederate Army during the civil war. After the war, he fled the south to escape from the "justice" of the North and essentially became a desperado; his plantation had been burned during Sherman's March to the sea, his slaves had been freed. He'd lost everything and he was going to be forced to live in a South he didn't recognize anymore and be a sort of pariah within it, if he would be allowed freedom at all. He became a cattle rustler, a train robber, that sort of thing. A cowboy; when that term wasn't used in friendly company. Over time he shed the identity of Colonel Phineas J. Beauredard, scion of the South'uhn aristocracy and adopted the persona of Scotchmo, ust another black-hat bad guy. He eventually got the attention of the Texas Rangers early in the 1870's and they sent a man after him to bring him back dead or alive. Scotchmo knew the Ranger was gearing for the former rather than the latter, so he had a duel to the death with him on the long plains, and survived. The Ranger's spirit has haunted him to this day, hounding him for the Ranger star he took as spoils.
Being wanted all over the West, he had to lay low for a while and strike out for new stomping grounds. This caused him to run afoul of some injuns while searching for some ancient treasure he'd heard about that might have allowed him to exorcise the Ranger's spirit. While fighting the Redskins, who were trying to protect their sacred lands, he managed to stumble across the holy site. Before he could do any pillaging, he inadvertently woke an ancient spirit, Estsanalehi, one of the Navajo divinities, and she laid a curse upon him. She could instantly see what kind of a man he was and crafted a punishment suited just for him. It was not something that would lay him low; instead, her plan was to force him to live, to give him ample time to make amends for his lifetime of evil, cruelty and pain. Hers was a curse that might give him a chance to turn into a better man that can one day die in peace, and offer balance to the world. She laid upon him a curse of eternal life to atone for his greed and his transgressions against the freedom of people and the irreparable harm he'd done to their spirits. Scotchmo found that when he committed acts of evil, his body aged and decayed, but when he obeyed the wishes of good, kind-hearted souls, it repaired some of that decay. It took him a while to get it into his stubborn head that his path in life was quickly turning him into a ghastly, mummified ghost-skeleton, and he needed to find a way to break the curse.
So, for several decades he haunted the southwestern United States, then traveled the world attempting to learn more about the supernatural and how to break his curse. During his travels, many years passed and he saw the aftereffects of the war he'd fought in, and the changes in society all over the world. He witnessed hate and discrimination and racism. Travelling abroad, he saw it in other places, too. Apartheid in South Africa, religious persecutions, and then, the Nazis and their "final solution." His brushes with the Nazis gave him the insight to finally lift his curse and he returned to where it all started to have a showdown and get his life back...
...Except that by the time he faced off with the spirit who had cursed him, armed with what he needed to beat her and free himself once and for all, he'd seen so much of the world that he hated, and that hate was what he'd always been. He couldn't bring himself to vanquish the spirit just to go back to his old life and his old way of thinking. The spirit's curse had given him a chance to see the world, and himself differently, to become a better person, even if he was still a withering corpse. With that realization, he backed away from the fight and accepted his punishment as a gift and vowed to embrace it for all time, or until some evil is finally able to end him...but not without putting up one helluva fight, first.
Appearance
Scotchmo is tall and gaunt, standing at 6'6" with his boots on, but due to his withered nature, he weighs much less than one would expect. He wears a dark, long-sleeve shirt with a noose of thin rope as a bolo tie, with a shiny Texas Ranger star for a clasp, over which he wears a tattered vest. His outermost layer is a voluminous, dark gray sarape, usually worn like a cloak. His hands are covered in long-cuffed, almost furry riding gloves that, upon closer inspection look like the skin of a tarantula, and he wears black cowboy boots made of same. Covering his shoulder-length, wispy gray hair is a flat-brimmed black cowboy hat with a crow skull on the hat band at the front of the crown. He wears both his pistols on his left side, being a southpaw. One is in a low-slung speed draw holster on his hip and the other in a cross-draw holster under his arm. On his right hip is slung his cavalry saber, along with a coil of dusty rope. His black breeches are unremarkable except for their thread-bareness.
In his vest pocket he carries a bandana that he can use to cover most of his face, and a pair of spectacles with dark lenses. With these, and keeping the brim of his hat low, he can usually withstand casual scrutiny when travelling amongst the public, even if he does look extremely weird; at least he doesn't look like a skeletal, undead gunslinger.
Capabilities and Equipment
First and foremost, Scotchmo is immortal, cursed by Estsanalehi. To ensure his ability to further her will, he also heals quickly. What sort of a pawn would he be if he had to spend weeks or months on the mend after every brush with death? His unseeing eyes allow him to gaze perfectly into the darkness, and since he no longer "sees" through any physical or biological means, he is resistant to mundane attempts to blind him. Additionally he requires little sleep, an added touch that gives him more hours of the day to reflect on the life he once led and the evils that brought him to his current position. He does need to eat and drink, however. This allows him to maintain a connection to his human nature, but he usually attends to this in private if possible. For anyone to encounter his death mask of a visage would be enough. To see that same face bereft of lips and cheeks to hide the masticatory carnage of Scotchmo devouring a hamburger would be, in a word, horrific, and a sight that no one really deserves.
During his travels around the world, Scotchmo sought enchanted items that would help him in a duel with Estsanalehi, or enchantments that he could bestow on his equipment. One of these are his vestments, which provide significant protection from harm, and the Ranger star he wears to grant some spiritual defense. He has gloves and boots made of spider hide that allow him to scale sheer surfaces like an arachnid. Probably the most notable entry in his personal arsenal are his Haunted Six-Shooters, a pair of revolvers that convert regular bullets into ghost-blastin' energy bolts. For when a quieter touch is needed or when bullets run low, Scotchmo has his Ghost Blade, a cavalry saber that cuts through the soul of his enemies, but due to the spectral nature of the blade, cannot really harm inanimate objects. Lastly, the coil of rope at his hip is the Ghost Rider's Lariat, and as the legends go, it was used to catch the Devil's herd across the endless skies. He currently uses it to restrain foes who are a little too feisty, or hogtie them to keep them from running away like yella cowards.
From decades of chasing leads and learning the lore of the supernatural world hidden behind the tapestry of the world he'd known all his life, Scotchmo knows a bit about the arcane and history of the hidden world behind the veil of normalcy, and has used this knowledge to trace myths and legends in his pursuit of artefacts to aid him in his cause. His withered nature grants him an unexpected level of toughness, since normal wounds tend not to hit a body like his with the same kind of oomph. That being said, Scotchmo is an expert at playing dead, and there have been times in the past when he has used this ability to pull the wool over the eyes of a less scrupulous opponent and dry-gulch them when they least expected it.
Scotchmo is a crack shot with his pistols, and can shoot a flea off a dog's behind.
Lastly, from robbing stagecoaches, trains and banks for so many years, Scotchmo managed to amass a sizeable nest egg that he eventually laundered into something more fungible than gold bars, and he eventually deposited them, ironically, into the banking system. This allowed him to fund his travels, and whenever he needs cash for operating expenses, he can swing by any number of banks and skim off some of his dividends to get by.
Recruitment
Perhaps poetically, it was Scotchmo's reliance on the modern banking system that brought him to the attention of the BPRD. When making a withdrawal at the First National Bank of Colorado in Denver last year, a keen-eyed teller made a panicked report to the police of a "suspicious, masked man with a skull for a face" at her bank. Key words in the 911 call were picked up by the NSA and flagged for BPRD attention. A task force was set up and within a few weeks they had captured Scotchmo, and after being on the lam for almost 115 years, he was finally brought to justice.
Once his identity was confirmed and a psychological profile was conducted, the BPRD felt that Scotchmo could be utilized as an asset. Scotchmo had confessed to being a murderer--a crime for which there is no statute of limitations, so the agency might have been able to use that against him, but good luck in bringing charges against him and having him stand trial; it would violate countless security protocols. Fortunately when the offer was made for him to join the Enhanced Talents Taskforce, there wasn't any need for the stick. When he learned that there was an agency out there in the world that could help him bump back against those things in the night, it was just the sort of carrot he needed, and Scotchmo happily--if cautiously--agreed to join.
Personal Complications
Operative Profile by Dr. Sebastien Faulk, BPRD PsyOps
As a BPRD operative, "Scotchmo," as he insists on being called, does bring some baggage to the table. Probably the biggest issue for our purposes is his appearance. Scotchmo is very nearly skeletal, with lean muscles clearly visible beneath withered, mummified skin. The skin of his face is almost completely gone to reveal a death's mask of a skull, his eyes are nothing more than empty sockets, and furthermore, a bright pinprick of ghostly blue flickers in those sockets like a pilot light when he uses his ability to see in the dark! Unless special, frequent care is taken, such as regularly hosing him down with cologne, he exudes a faint smell of mustiness and the grave. The olfactory aspect isn't a deal-breaker, but it can be off-putting. While his vestments cover most of this, to conceal his face requires a bit of extra effort, and when he breathes, it comes out as an audible, low, dusty wheeze. And, as his capture in Denver by the BPRD shows, his efforts at disguise are absolutely not infallible. His cover was blown by a bank teller, for crying out loud. This can make his usefulness in some operations limited, especially if there is a focus on interpersonal activities or daytime urban operations. We could probably get him a rubber mask, but that might be even more conspicuous than his so-called disguise of a bandana facemask and sunglasses. This is ridiculous. Why do we keep working with these people? The man's a criminal. He should be behind bars if it weren't for the fact that he should be six feet under. He's a hundred and fifty-eight years old, for Pete's sake.
Therein lies the bulk of the remainder of his issues: His age. While, due to his particular circumstances, this is not a physical limitation, it poses some psychological challenges. Scotchmo was born in a much different time, and he tends to act it. He has odd notions about class and gender roles that are...anachronistic, if one wants to be kind. If one doesn't want to be kind, they can say that Scotchmo can act with dismissiveness or surprise whenever he is presented by a woman or non-Caucasian person doing anything other than menial labor. He makes an effort not to be racist any longer--did I mention that he owned slaves? Well, he did. He fought for the Confederacy and had a plantation and bought and sold human beings. But I digress. He is making an attempt to put his old views behind him, but one can still see his confounded reaction to certain people in certain roles. Additionally, he seems to hew to some code of honor or "Southern Chivalry," or some such nonsense, which I personally find pretty rich since he went off to be a murderer and bank robber when he was done being a slave-owner and traitor to this country.
Oh, and before I forget, Scotchmo appears to be haunted by the vengeful spirit of Buford D. Hollingsford, the Texas Ranger he murdered in 1874. Fortunately, this apparition is weak enough that he doesn't have the coherence to cause much in the way of damage or injury, and as an organization we are well-suited to deal with this sort of nuisance. However, if this character shows up in the middle of a field operation, issues could arise if he is not banished or exorcised quickly enough.
Another issue is that due to the nature of his curse and quite possibly his smell, dogs and cats almost always have a negative reaction (fight or flight) to Scotchmo. This has led to instances where Scotchmo's cover has been blown by a cat going into full Halloween-mode, or he gets spontaneously attacked by random dogs. One would hope that it might make guard dogs run away sometimes--law of averages, you know?--but that never seems to be the case. It's probably for the best that the BPRD chose to assign him here instead of Fairfield, since he'd be such a hit with Hellboy's cats that Big Red would probably bounce him out of the place.
This brings up the last major liability in Schotchmo's profile, the alleged curse under which he operates. As he puts it, "Estanatlehi's Curse compels me to help and defend the weak and downtrodden, to obey the righteous words of the good and pure, and to steer away from the path of darkness." When he fights against the curse, he withers more and more. When he obeys, he slowly regains his human appearance, which I personally have seen no evidence of yet. To judge by his present appearance, Scotchmo has spent a lot of time fighting the curse, and if what he says is true, this might be a better indicator of future behavior than any. But it does raise operational concerns. Whoever he's teamed up with might have to steer him away from any damsels in distress or woe-begotten street urchins, lest he be seduced by their plight and go off mission in order to help them at the least opportune moment.
This aspect of his psychology is not without its usefulness, however, and it can be manipulated. Since being assigned here, a minor functionary from finances has been assigned as his impromptu "handler," a job which I'm pretty sure she doesn't want, and one we had to up her security clearance level for. It's all well and good for mission orders to come from EADFO Cross or hell, even Director Manning, himself. Scotchmo will follow them, sure. But if the nice girl from the office downstairs asks him personally? Well, then, his heart is in it that much more.
