Martin "santa" Miller

Ex-cop, Fishing shop owner, private eye of sorts


Stats and stuff





Miscellaneous stats

Pace:4 running die d4

Edges & Hindrances:

Code of Honor…
Veteran: Hunted


Brawler +2 melee dgm bare handed
Connctions: Capones outfit
combat reflexes +2 to shaken
command +1 to shaken rolls to those under my command
Hold the Line +1 to toughness under my command

Bare knucklefighting
Bartending &jrewing

Gears and goods

Revolver S&W
shotgun double-barrel
2x extra guns
Clock and bell


Story of one named Martin Miller

He was only an infant when his parents father Mark and Mother Helena decided to move to Chicago in search of fortune brought by quick industrialism in late 1870s in the area. Things didn’t however go as planned and quickly they were faced with hard realism of the situation that shady characters were those with real influence. Under the circumstances Martins father sunk into a gambling and drinking problems which in turn he brought home in a form of beating living daylights out of his wife and oldest son Marcus. After every time police would take him away but every time Mother took him back, probably in fear what he might do to not herself but to her kids.
One night when Mark came home and in drunken rage started his beating. When Martin heard a crash and a sound of something falling from upstairs to down, a scream that told of a pain more excruciating than normally, Martin had had enough and went to a kitchen grabbing tenderizer and rushing to master bedroom with intent to put an end to it once and for all. Helena was lying down on hallway floor her legs bend in unnatural way, she was already unconscious from the pain. Martin leapt the stairs as fast as he could with only one thing in his mind, this was enough this would be the last time, old man will pay. He rushed to the bedroom but what he saw there wasn’t anything he would have expected to find he was sure there would be his old man in rage still steaming or that he would be already passed out, instead he found his older brother standing in the middle of the room with old man lying in the floor, not moving, only when he regained his senses did Martin notice a knife in his brothers hand, dribbling with blood, then he saw a little stain of red in his father’s chest and a small pool was already forming under him. Martin didn’t even notice dropping tenderizer, next thing he remembers was that he was pushed to a wall with such a force he felt drywall cracking. Marcus dropped the knife and started to shout to Martin but he couldn’t listen only thing he was able to do was to stare that unmoving body in the flood on master bedroom and then he vomited.
Next few days, weeks, months and even years were cloudy to Martin. All he knew was that he didn’t want to grow up to be anything like his father and that he wanted to be close to those kind of people trying to guard them. That was how he found himself in a jail working as a nightshift guard in G wing where violent and troubling offenders were put. His brother was there to except only in another side of bars. Thou Marcus got a shortened sentence he still had to sit 12 years and that was more than enough for him to start associating and connecting with wrong kind of people. After he got out he was to much of a changed man to ever be considered to be a part of a family, thou Martin despised His older brother for his actions he can’t say that he wouldn’t love him for it, thou their mother lost her mobility waist down she was still alive.
During his years as a guard he befriended with a man named Frank Atlas, a regular visitor to his nephew serving his sentence in Martins block, Frank was also a policeman responsible for escorting would be prisoners from stations hold up to jail. Frank shared Martins view of justice but told him that if he would want to make a real difference he should join the force because that’s where real change can be made. Shortly after their talks Martin started to notice truth in Franks talks, same faces with same charges came and went, In one night shift he heard of the inmates bragging to others how he beat her woman and is going to do the same cause she rattled to cops about it, after that Martin saw read, old feelings boiling to surface he told his fellow wardens to take an extended brake without hurrying back and that no one should be allowed in to block G before he would say so. After that night one of the inmates couldn’t eat with nothing else than straw for couple moths and after that he would be allowed to get wooden false teeth’s, After that night his lone patrols became regular thing in his block and he soon got a his nickname, thou if you get in this Santa’s list you haven’t been good but really, really bad.
In a year’s time after first nightly visit to naughty kids cell he left jail Franks words echoing in his head he joined to force to violence, his nickname preceding him, he quickly gained himself a certain kind of a reputation among his colleagues. In few short years he became a detective and he became painfully aware of mafias grasp on the city, if you wanted anything to be done right it had to be done by mafia’s rules. Ten years passed in this cat and mouse play which made him more and more cynical and doubtful and he wasn’t alone Frank to had had enough of Polices inability to make any real difference. He had changed to private sector and was making good work as one of the pioneers of the field. Martin found another way of doing his job….


Martin "santa" Miller

Deadlands Noir: Chicago Nights Honk1n Havu