Myung-Sun Davenport

Artist on the Edge



Path: Moros
Virtue: Fortitude
Vice: Gluttony


Intelligence: 2
Wits: 2
Resolve: 3

Strength: 2
Dexterity: 3
Stamina: 3

Presence: 2
Manipulation: 1
Composure: 3



Academics: 1
Computer: 0
Crafts: 3
Investigation: 0
Medicine: 0
Occult: 0
Politics: 0
Science: 0


Athletics: 4 (specialty in climbing)
Brawl: 0
Drive: 3 (specialty in stunts)
Firearms: 0
Larceny: 0
Stealth: 1
Survival: 3 (specialty in foraging)
Weaponry: 0


Animal Ken: 0
Empathy: 2
Expression: 2
Intimidation: 0
Persuasion: 1
Socialize: 1
Streetwise: 1
Subterfuge: 0


Death: 3
Fate: 2
Forces: 0
Life: 0
Matter: 1
Mind: 0
Prime: 0
Spirit: 0
Space: 0
Time: 0

Health: 8
Willpower: 6
Gnosis: 1?

Mana: ?
Wisdom: ?

Size: 5
Speed: 10
Defense: 2
Armor: 0
Initiative Mod: +5


Sanctum: 3 (warehouse: size 3, security 0)
Hallow: 1
Iron Stomach: 2
Resources: 1 (parental safety net)


Like most twenty-somethings, Sunny Davenport doesn’t know exactly what she wants out of her life yet. Lucky for her, she hasn’t really felt much pressure to figure that out.

Myung-Sun was adopted at the age of 4 from an orphanage in South Korea into a loving family of intellectuals in Jaffrey, New Hampshire. She spent most of her childhood trying to fit in. Then she went to UNH Falstead, and suddenly found the need to stand out. Big fish, small pond and all.

Sunny never thought of herself as particularly smart or funny or charismatic, but she’s always been unflappable in the face of new people, new places, and new experiences. Her favorite campus pastimes involved impressing any willing onlookers with the gross things she’d eat, or the campus architecture she’d climb, or the wild parties she’d throw. She majored in art, but aside from a vague tendency towards photography, never was able to decide on a medium to focus on. College was a string of one novelty after another, semesters abroad, and alternative-spring-breaks building houses in Guatemala, and why should her career be any different?

Determined to be independent and self-sufficient, but not really completely aware of what that means, Sunny pursues a career in photography with a sort of meandering devotion. She comes up with ridiculously complex projects involving huge installations or expeditions to the ends of the earth, on wildly varying subject matter. Sometimes they turn out well and net her a good bit of income, which she excitedly and immediately invests in her next big adventure. Sometimes they don’t, and she grumpily makes ends meet shooting senior portraits and weddings, sewing dance costumes, designing logos and web pages, illustrating children’s books, and doing whatever ridiculous odd jobs she can find on Craigslist.

Sunny works hard to make a living solely on her creative pursuits, and she just barely squeaks by. It doesn’t help that she’s ridiculously irresponsible with money. This is the first time in her life she’s ever had to work, and at the back of her mind, she knows that her parents will always be there to bail her out if things go poorly. Of course, she’d never go to them unless it was an emergency, but when you allocate all your spare cash to that projector screen for the living room or those awesome vintage loafers you found on Ebay or biweekly Trapeze lessons, even little things like that parking ticket or that trip to the ER when you fell out of a tree qualify as “emergencies”.

Unable to reliably afford her own place, Sunny rents a room from Emily’s Character. A year ago, she stumbled onto this sweet abandoned warehouse while Urbexing on the south side, full of old discarded medical supplies, ancient children’s toys, files, and god knows what else. On a whim, she bought it off the city for a steal, planning on transforming it into a “totally radical home slash gym slash studio”. Too bad she didn’t do anything remotely responsible, like getting it appraised, or finding out what Asbestos looks like. It’s falling apart, utterly without any kind of reliable electricity or plumbing, full of carcinogens, and just overall 100% unlivable. Not to mention that things seem to vanish and turn up weeks later for no reason, and anyone that would try to sleep there is haunted by hideous nightmares. She’s gradually making progress, hauling away the old junk and cleaning it up a bit. She still goes there from time to time to paint or sculpt or dig for treasure in the piles of abandoned merchandise, or just sit on the roof, look at the stars, and wonder why we’re all here. But like Sunny, the warehouse still isn’t doing anything particularly productive. Maybe eventually, reality and necessity and mortality will come knocking at Sunny’s door, but for now, she’s just going to do her thing. You know, once she figures out what “her thing” is.

Myung-Sun Davenport

The Falstead Mysteries Pterodactyl