Sylvester Curtis Kellogg

Don’t mistake my shelves for generosity. Every item here cost me, and it’ll cost you too.

— Sylvester Curtis Kellogg

Mr. Sylvester Curtis Kellogg is a man carved out of lean years and harder lessons. From nothing, he built a general wares shop in the heart of Camp Hope, a place where every nail, every hinge, every scrap of fabric on the shelves carries a story of bartered goods, scavenged treasures, and deals struck in the ashes of ruin. His shop is more than four walls—it is his pride, his purpose, and, in his eyes, a lifeline to the community. Where the world has withered into scarcity, Kellogg’s shelves still stand stocked, a fragile flame against the darkness.

He favors humans and their struggles, holding them above all other races. To him, The Awakened and The Others are lesser things—useful sometimes, dangerous often, but never quite trustworthy. That bias, combined with his natural suspicion, makes him a cautious man, slow to warm, quicker still to weigh the worth of those who come through his door. He measures people much like he measures goods: with a keen eye, a wary hand, and an instinct for value.

Kellogg’s mind is sharp, especially with numbers. He can juggle tallies and equations in his head with unnerving ease, forever tracking his margins and debts. But that gift is balanced by a quirk: his habit of misusing words without noticing, creating muddled conversations that leave others scratching their heads. He never stops, never corrects himself—just barrels on as if he’d said it right all along.

I built this shop piece by piece, and I’ll be damned before I let it fall apart for lack of backbone.

— Sylvester Curtis Kellogg

Suspicion defines his interactions. He does not part with his coin easily, and haggling is not just his business—it is his sport. He will grind a deal down to the bone to ensure he gets the better end. Still, beneath the stubborn thrift and mistrust, there is a lawful core. Kellogg believes in community, in the necessity of people standing together, even if he keeps them at arm’s length. His shop, in his mind, is proof of that duty: a steady place where survivors can find what they need to endure another day.

He is proficient in the arts of the alchemist and the apothecary, with a drug kit and alchemist’s tools tucked neatly behind the counter. He can teach, concoct, or provide when the need arises, though he guards such services carefully—nothing is given without weighing its cost.

The flaw that dogs him is the same trait that built his success: a stubborn self-reliance. Kellogg will not take help, even when drowning in his burdens. To him, leaning on others risks debt, weakness, or betrayal, and he would sooner collapse under the weight of his own pride than admit to needing aid.

Sylvester Curtis Kellogg is a man of numbers, bargains, and suspicion, but also of endurance. His life’s work is a single store in a fractured world, but for Camp Hope, that store is a promise—that tomorrow, at least, there will still be something left to trade.

Community’s not about kindness—it’s about keeping each other standing when the ground wants to swallow us whole.

— Sylvester Curtis Kellogg