RATTLE PACK
Bones. Beats, & Bedlam.
Rattle Pack is the untamed heartbeat of Chaos within the WRAITHRealm — a faction of bone-clad wildcards who treat war like a street performance and rebellion like a lifestyle. They don’t glide. They stomp. They don’t erase. They explode.
There’s no strategy, no symmetry — just motion. Just noise. Their missions are improvised, their victories accidental, and their entrances unforgettable. Rattle Pack doesn’t plan the battle. They kick the door off the hinges and make it up on the way in.
To wear their mark is to align with disorder, freedom, and glorious noise.
No ranks. No rules. Just rattle.
Role in the Realm
CHAOS
They’re not here to win clean.
They’re here to make sure no one forgets the mess.
Rattle Pack is chaos with a grin — reckless, rowdy, and loud enough to wake the dead twice. While others strategize or sanctify, they improvise. Bones cracking. Glyphs screaming. Plans? Optional. Mayhem? Mandatory.
They don’t arrive quietly.
They crash in, laugh first — curse later.
If you hear the riot coming,
you’re already invited.
No tactics. No rules.
Just glorious, glorious disorder.
SNAPZ
Role:
Full Skeleton Commander (Squad Leader)
Style:
Tactical beret stitched with a dirty ‘X’, chalk-stained fingerless gloves, always holding a skull like he’s mid-monologue. Probably is.
Signature Move:
Headspin — Whips a skull like a smoke bomb, vanishes in the dust, and reappears with a tactical strike.
Bonus: leaves motivational quotes in the dirt where he stood.
Bio:
Snapz is the bone-boss of the battlefield — commanding with the confidence of a war general and the sass of a deadbeat drama teacher.
Carries every mission like it’s his final scene, and treats strategy like stand-up comedy.
Draws chalk outlines before a fight — not because you’re dead yet, but just to save time.
Vibe:
Overly dramatic. Loudly brilliant. Definitely thinks he’s the star of the movie — and if you question it, he’ll narrate your downfall in real-time.
Operational Attributes:
(Scored out of 10. Based on intel, psychic banter, and whistle acoustics.)
Stealth: 5/10
Carries a literal skull, lectures mid-mission. Not built for subtlety.
Speed: 6/10
Nimble for a guy missing kneecaps. Gets there eventually, with flair.
Chaos: 7/10
Keeps it controlled… right up until the whistle blows and bones fly.
Intellect: 10/10
Runs rings around the living. Probably planned your mistake in advance.
Sarcasm: 10/10
Motivates with roasts. Tactical abuse is a love language.
Power: 7/10
Doesn’t need brute force—just timing, precision, and an army of boneheads.
Style: 7/10
War-room couture. Ghost-commander aesthetic with theatre kid energy.
Loyalty: 10/10
Ride-or-rot. Would reassemble the squad by hand if needed.
RIBZ
Role:
Frontline Bruiser / Bone Collector
Style:
Wears his own ribcage like a bandolier, X-marked shin guards yanked from fallen enemies, one shoulder pad made of mystery. Often accessorised with a snack-filled skull.
Signature Move:
Crack Slam — Launches skyward with zero warning and drops like karma in bone form.
Impact radius: wide. Survival rate: low.
Rattles loud enough to reset nearby car alarms.
Bio:
Ribz is a full-volume, full-skeleton menace. He hits first, shouts second, and asks questions after piecing himself back together. Known to use his own bones as drumsticks. Once got distracted mid-battle by a packet of crisps. Surprisingly effective, mostly by accident.
Vibe:
Loud, clumsy, loyal. Thinks subtlety is a seasoning and chaos is cardio. Always the first to fight, the last to shut up, and the one who’ll crack a joke while cracking ribs — yours or his.
Operational Attributes:
(Scored out of 10. Based on noise complaints, impact craters, and field bandages.)
Stealth: 4/10
Literally rattles. Once high-fived a lamppost mid-sneak.
Speed: 7/10
Faster than you’d expect from a guy who forgets where his femurs are.
Chaos: 10/10
Explodes into every scene like he was thrown there. On purpose? Unsure.
Intellect: 5/10
Not stupid — just too distracted by snacks and violence to strategise.
Sarcasm: 8/10
Trash-talks mid-air. Bone puns at bone-breaking volume.
Power: 9/10
Hits like a graveyard riot. Once suplexed a vending machine.
Style: 6/10
Skeleton swagger with no symmetry. Shin guards.... really? Somehow works.
Loyalty: 10/10
Would break himself apart to shield the squad. Already has.
VISUAL IDENTITY
Primary Colour: Electric Blue
Core Elements: Ghost silhouettes, glowing linework, semi-transparent garments, minimal branding
Design Motifs: Cloaks that taper into signal dust, glowing masks, cyber-spectral outlines
Tone: Clean. Precise. Cold.
CHATTA
Role:
Distraction Ops / Noise Tactician
Style:
Bandana strapped across a grinning jawbone, X-spray tags on each knuckle, chains that jingle on purpose. Wears his volume like body armour.
Signature Move:
Chatterbox — Unhinges his jaw and floods the zone with ghost-static, banshee feedback, and layered roasts.
Overwhelms enemies’ senses and egos alike. Once made a banshee cry and quit mid-fight.
Bio:
Chatta is noise incarnate. The mouthpiece of mayhem. He doesn’t sneak—he announces. Distracts squads with insults, limericks, fake intel, and spontaneous freestyle rants.
Got banned from a haunted house for heckling the ghosts. Probably has a mixtape. Definitely has an ego.
Vibe:
Think walking megaphone with bars. Fast-talking, loud-dressing, always vibing on 100 decibels.
The kind of wraith who moonwalks into battle yelling his own name — and still wins.
Operational Attributes:
(Scored out of 10. Based on decibel spikes, audio bleed, and shattered egos.)
Stealth: 1/10
Literally allergic to silence. Once shouted his own location on purpose.
Speed: 8/10
Quick with feet and even faster with punchlines.
Chaos: 10/10
Is the chaos. Turns strategy meetings into rap battles.
Intellect: 7/10
Smarter than he sounds. Weaponises distraction as psychological warfare.
Sarcasm: 10/10
Professional loudmouth. Every sentence comes with side-eye.
Power: 6/10
Doesn’t hit hardest — just makes sure you’re too rattled to block.
Style: 9/10
Street-ghost swagger. Bandana, tags, volume-based fashion.
Loyalty: 8/10
Loud loyalty. Will fight for the squad — and narrate it live.
DUSTY
Role:
Full Skeleton Commander (Squad Leader)
Style:
Tactical beret stitched with a dirty ‘X’, chalk-stained fingerless gloves, always holding a skull like he’s mid-monologue. Probably is.
Signature Move:
Headspin — Whips a skull like a smoke bomb, vanishes in the dust, and reappears with a tactical strike.
Bonus: leaves motivational quotes in the dirt where he stood.
Bio:
Snapz is the bone-boss of the battlefield — commanding with the confidence of a war general and the sass of a deadbeat drama teacher.
Carries every mission like it’s his final scene, and treats strategy like stand-up comedy.
Draws chalk outlines before a fight — not because you’re dead yet, but just to save time.
Vibe:
Overly dramatic. Loudly brilliant. Definitely thinks he’s the star of the movie — and if you question it, he’ll narrate your downfall in real-time.
Operational Attributes:
(Scored out of 10. Based on intel, psychic banter, and whistle acoustics.)
Stealth: 5/10
Carries a literal skull, lectures mid-mission. Not built for subtlety.
Speed: 6/10
Nimble for a guy missing kneecaps. Gets there eventually, with flair.
Chaos: 7/10
Keeps it controlled… right up until the whistle blows and bones fly.
Intellect: 10/10
Runs rings around the living. Probably planned your mistake in advance.
Sarcasm: 10/10
Motivates with roasts. Tactical abuse is a love language.
Power: 7/10
Doesn’t need brute force—just timing, precision, and an army of boneheads.
Style: 7/10
War-room couture. Ghost-commander aesthetic with theatre kid energy.
Loyalty: 10/10
Ride-or-rot. Would reassemble the squad by hand if needed.
Home City
THE BONEYARD
The Bone Yard isn’t designed — it’s detonated. A scrapyard-turned-warzone-turned-nightmare-festival. Nothing stands straight, nothing shuts up, and everything glows in neon yellow like it’s daring you to blink. If cities were built to last, the Bone Yard was built to laugh at them.
Flashing hazard lights glitch in and out. Runes are graffitied across wreckage in bone-white and acid-bright yellow. Sirens blare with no source. Skeleton banners flap from twisted scaffolding. Here, Rattle Pack doesn’t patrol — they riot. Every rooftop is a stage. Every alley is a drumline. The buildings rattle when they pass — and it’s not just the music.
Graffiti is sacred and messy. Neon-tagged skulls, spray-bombed slogans, cracked sigils and smiley faces with too many teeth. It’s part warning, part artwork, part therapy session for skeletons with attitude issues. Nothing is untouched. Everything is expressed.
At the epicenter is the Clatterdome — part arena, part rave, part group therapy for the aggressively unhinged. Here, missions are shouted over bass drops. Bones fly before orders land. Nothing is planned. Everything is personal.
To outsiders, The Bone Yard is chaos in a trench coat.
To Rattle Pack, it’s rhythm, rebellion, and radioactive glow — a neon-yellow punch in the face of silence.
Environment:
Endless scrap valleys, skeletal remains of titanic wraiths, echo fields
Visuals:
Neon-yellow graffiti pulses over shattered skull-structures
Vibe:
Chaotic, irreverent, noisy — a graveyard turned theme park of rebellion
Lore Hook:
Rumour has it, the Bone Yard moves. No map is accurate. No entry quiet.