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In 1888, Anthony Joshua Vasquez, the son of an old money Don from California, became the mayor elect of the rapidly growing city of Munceford, Illinois. Until a few years before, Muncceford had been little more than a small travelling stop and fishing village built on territory taken from a native tribe some years prior. By the time Vasquez took the reigns, the town had grown; first from nitrate mining in the area and then later from the building of the railroad which took a turn in the area. As with a lot of mayors, Vasquez's first move was popular, beginning a scheme of public works that were needed but thanks to the ongoing hostilities just a thousand miles to the south, the town could ill afford.
Despite some initial misgivings, the projects took off and soon the older, wooden buildings of the town's core had been replaced by brick constructions and things of fine imported granite. The town's civic hall and basilica instantly became famous across the north; a haven of sorts amongst the virtual decay that the Long War was bringing to the Union.
The trouble was, to prevent atrophy, Vasquez had to keep pushing; a decision that would cause the town's fortunes to begin to change a little. Taxes went up and money being taken from departments like the civic police, leading to an increased dependence on private security for the rich and increased corruption elsewhere. As always, Vasquez had a response to this, setting in place a selection of building standards that required specific decoration and tending for all properties, with fines being levied against those who failed to meet them.
This led to greater uniformity and a constant feeling of the loss of individuality, especially as corrupt police and corporate strongmen made life difficult for folks during the little freedom they had outside their long working hours.
No-one is sure who the first graffiti artist was in the town, but one sunny morning, a giant caricature of Mayor Vasquez appeared on the side of one of the warehouses near the railway tracks, for all coming into the town to see. Vasquez started an investigation, informing the press that this menace would be brought to justice and "public order" would be restored as soon as possible. The culprit was never found and new paintings would appear.
Some days, it would just be a single slogan that could be scrubbed off simply, almost always directed at Vasquez and sometimes pointing out some questionable dealings that he had made over the years; on others, great images, some of shocking skill would appear, as often as not, signed by the name "Banksie." This was too much for Vasquez.
He focused almost entirely on Banksie when speaking to the media, partially because he was uncatchable and partly because of a preternatural knowledge of Vasquez's underhand dealings with the railways. He was condemned in the press and it became very clear that the mayor's office believed Banksie to be a single individual, possibly one of the magic users that folk had been hearing tell of. The truth was far simpler; Banksie had originally been a single, disgruntled butcher's apprentice by the name of Duane Towers. After his father was fined repeatedly, as a result of the fines keeping him too poor to correct his home's design to public board standards, Banksie took to the streets at night and painted in two colours, white and black, using skills gained painting the signs in the morning.
The trick was, after the name Banksie became known, others began to use the alias. Duane was arrested while painting his sixth picture and viciously beaten but the paintings continued to arise and both Banksie's name, skill and inside knowledge continued to grow.
It was around this time that Vasquez bribed the papers to report about the disease of graffiti that was spreading through their fair town and the breakdown of peace and order that was coming with it. In truth, crime hadn't actually worsened besides the graffiti but that didn't stop anything and everything getting embellished to high heaven. Tattoos were more common, the red light district was corrupting the souls of those around, dogs were eating babies. And it was all Banksie's fault, this cancer spreading through the city.
Duane was eventually released but by that point, the belief in Banksie had begun to crystalise into a set image, rather like that of Robin Hood or Johnny Appleseed. Worry starts to do strange things and business men would leave out small drinks of beer to prevent Banksie from getting to their shop windows. In general, the taggers took a sip from everywhere and went home without painting anyway, but Banksie himself kept attacking Vasquez. Thing was, Duane and the four or five others who had gone by the name of Banksie weren't doing it anymore…
Tensions continued to rise as Vasquez's campaign continued in force; Banksie was at fault, a moral disease and only through vigilance could they inoculate themselves. Between the rising tensions with the police and detectives [private armies for the most part] and the constant bombardment about plagues, people began to get sick with worry, to the point that no-one noticed that people were starting to go missing.
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As I turns out, the focused belief and fear that Vasquez had mustered for this artist thief with a grudge against him had pushed the creature into the status of local legend and as people seemed to have this odd idea that the paintings were appearing as if by magic, that became a part of the deal too. All that nascent belief coalesced into a creature with just the faintest hint of divinity, that was fed by fears. This entity was simply Banksie.
The disappearances in town weren't originally anything to do with Banksie, but as the trend for tattoos based on Banksie's work became more and more popular, so did the number of people going missing with such tattoos. This trend caused further additions to the Banksie legend, ones that would soon be his fault, but were originally the doings of a couple of bone-collectors operating out of Chicago and using H.H. Holmes' hoo-ha to cover their trail. Soon, the paintings themselves were alive and able to possess people.
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At least two agencies, including the Pinkerton's Special Investigations Division and the Royal Society Executive have started to pick up on the trends, but theirs is a race against time before Vasquez goes and says something else stupid and makes the whole thing worse. Again...