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Razor McGowan

Finn Malachy McGowan

Description

Finn McGowan is all angles and tension—a coiled spring wrapped in denim and leather, with a permanent smirk that promises violence. His wiry frame is covered in old fight scars, and he moves like someone who’s always calculating the distance to the next target. He wears fingerless gloves, a patched bomber jacket, and a belt with more knives than sense. His face is a map of old breaks and fresh cuts, and when he laughs, it’s the kind of sound that makes sane people back away. He lives for the thrill—the rush of combat, the scent of blood, the moment just before everything explodes.  

Personality

Razor is volatile, charismatic, and utterly fearless. He speaks in rapid-fire sarcasm, sharp jabs, and the occasional burst of poetry when he’s feeling theatrical. He thrives on confrontation and sees violence as the purest form of honesty. While completely devoted to the Sinners, he’s constantly pushing the limits—of authority, of strategy, of patience. Razor wants to win, but more than that, he wants the win to mean something. He’s no tactician, but he’s an inspiring chaos engine.  

Habits

  Spins a knife in his fingers while thinking or talking—especially during tense negotiations   Keeps a tally of his fights scratched into the inside of his coat   Quotes old Irish war ballads before going into a scrap
  • “They say death rides fast, but I ride faster still.”
  • “When the hounds of war start howlin’, I don’t run—I whistle back.”
  • “Bless me blade and bloody my boots—tonight we dine with the forgotten.”
  • “With one foot in the grave and the other in fire, I’ll dance ‘til the devil claps.”
  • “Tell the crows I’m coming—they’ll eat well tonight.”
  • “Strike hard, strike cruel, and leave no names behind.”

  • Carries a bloodstained handkerchief he refuses to wash—“from the night we earned our name”  

    Hooks & Angles

      Instigator: Razor can’t let slights go. If someone disrespects the Fangs or the Sinners, he’ll answer with blood—even if it’s not smart.   Warrior Poet: Despite his violence, there’s a strange depth to Razor—he talks about fate, death, and glory like he’s got a personal appointment with all three.   Loyal to the Core: He’d die for the Sinners. If someone higher up tells him to back down, he will—but it’ll boil under the surface.   Liability on a Short Leash: One bad day, one spark too many, and Razor could start a war the crew wasn’t ready for.
    Year of Birth
    1915 CE 38 Years old
    Birthplace
    Chicago, IL (Back of the Yards)
    Children
    Eyes
    Pale blue and piercing, always looking for an opening
    Hair
    Dirty blond, messy, kept under a black knit cap or spiked with sweat
    Skin Tone/Pigmentation
    Fair skin, heavily scarred face, broken nose, and a wolfish smile that rarely fades
    Height
    5'11"
    Weight
    167 lbs.
    Belief/Deity
    “Fists, steel, and saints—whichever gets me through the fight”

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