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Name: Chloe Jorleen Tomlinson

Age: 68/(22)

Type razz hsychic

Weapons:A mixture of smoke and flashbang grenades, single scoped .44 Magnum and a pair of silver-coated claw'ed gloves.(Gloves with silver-coated claws on them, not silver coated gloves themselves)

Appearance: (Extras: she is 5'6" tall. The picture is NOT my work)

Background story[Be detailed!]: Born on september 7 1919 to Alexandra Tomlinson and Janet Tomlinson, baptised as Mary Jorleen Tomlinson, she grew up in a rather wealthy family for the time. She grew up by the rural outskirts of Leeds, Yorkshire. She attended primary school, but did not further her education, she was instead made to stay at home and learn to be a housewife, as was rather normal for that time.

In 1937 she married and moved to the city of Bridlington.
On the 12th of april 1941 there was an air raid as she was walking through the streets, there was no time to find a shelter, suddenly, she was pulled into a house as the first bombs hit the street.

(I have no idea whatsoever how transformation works in this RP, so im skiping to April 27th)

April 27th hardly anyone had noticed the disapearence of the street gossip or the other. Deaths from bomings were common in those times.

She flitted gracefully across the rooftops under the moonlight, in only a few days, she managed to master the art of not falling off, down or through the roofs. She still had much to learn, but this city was too much of a dank shithole for her.

She lived her life as a vampire in London for the next62 years before having fake IDs forged and moving to the USA.

Extra Abilities: While lacking the strength of a normal vampire, she has extremely heightened Agility and movement speed.

((Lack of information is due to my failures at life. Application approved by blackrogue. Jennie Out~))

Name: Aleister Gravelines
Age: 180 (bitten at 31)
Type: Sanguinarian/Deathdealer

Weapons:

2x P226 X-Five Tactical pistol in .40 S&W, customized: (Tooled grip, ring hammer, adjusted slide fitting, polished breach, trigger pull weight lowered, and thumb safety added, magazine release extended)

1x Saber: From his days in Her Majesty’s Navy, he later commissioned for the remaking of the blade, partially housing traces of silver in order to be harmful to Lycans whilst keeping it’s “structural” integrity.


Appearance:

There are a few things that any casual observer will pick up about this man on first glance. The first will be his stare, the second his clothes and the third how his clothes don’t fit with the way he carries himself. To get a better understanding of this man an individual must first take into consideration the clothes that he does wear.

Now if anything can be said of the clothes is that they are anything but high class in quality and design; from the silver pin at his neck to the silk vest and wool trousers. Such as it is that this man, Aleister, commonly wears a black dyed wool sack coat with wide cuffs and collar, the lapels made of velvet over a dark crimson colored silk vest decorated with pinstripes under which is worn a starched white linen shirt with silver cuff links and a high collar around which is wrapped a wide black neck tie clasped with a silver pin. Black trousers and over coat round out his fashion and he would be a perfect looking gentlemen if only he ever wore a hat, however he does walk around with a rather dandy cane. The final piece which gives evidence to his past are the Wellington boots he wears that have seen many a year of hardship.

With the clothes out of the way the observer can move onto how despite being a sharp dressed man Aleister can’t help but look at odds with his apparel. The main culprit is a device which is unseen and un-noted by most, two holsters hung from his shoulders and concealed by his vest and coat. Each one housing a modified P226 these weapons often force the First Mate into adopting a wide open stance to allow for easy access when others may be more conservative and closed. Over all this display of posture and pose give the look that the man would be more comfortable in a Military Uniform than a Gentleman’s outfit.

The last bit is probably the most important though for it gives the most long lasting impression, his eyes. Cold, tired eyes that never watched or peered at anything; instead those grey eyes observed everything that transposed before them. They stared obsessively as though nothing looked backed into them and all before was naught but prey to be devoured, in fact his other features are often overwhelmed by this aspect of his physiology. The rest of Aleister is rather humble if handsome for his time with only a light scar running along the left of his jaw and done his neck from where shrapnel once tore his flesh.


Background story[Be detailed!]:

A boy was born in the winter of 1892, it was a typical birth, rather boring, and without any complications. Named William by his peasant parents, the boy went on to live a rather simple, though poor life in the slums of London just before the onset of the Victorian age. By the time he would reach military age, both his parents had died of influenza, and the great Queen Victoria had ascended to the throne. He took the first door out of a seemingly pathetic life; joining the Royal Navy and quickly excelling during naval training, and had even more successes while committing to his duties. These included - while sailing on naval vessels for months on end - mapping vast parts of the planet, suppressing Piracy, and enforcing the ban on the slave trade. He ascended in the ranks through his quick-wit and mettle in battle. While docked in Ireland, during the year 1860, he was bitten by a ravenous man while walking through the dark streets alone. Unbeknown to William, the ravenous man hadn’t just been a local lunatic or drunk, but rather a Vampiric creature of the night. Upon figuring out his condition, William deserted the Royal Navy, changing his name to Aleister Gravelines as to hide his tracks, and continued on without much goal or purpose. Then, he discovered the existence of the Lycan, and soon grew to hate them. He made it his lifelong goal to cleanse the world of the other Immortal creatures, including the Tainted when he discovered them as well. New York City seemingly had a surplus of other creatures of the night and that was all the incentive Aleister needed.

Name: Khyra Angelos (formerly Amilia de Vert as human)
Age:about 420 (slept or studied through most of it)
Type razz sychic Vampire
Weapons: a pair of small daggers she keeps in her hair as hairpins.
larger dagger in her boot, the only thing she has left of her human father.
Appearance: a 15 year old girl standing about 5' 4" with bright blue eyes that twinkle like little stars when she finds something even a little interesting. long flowing brown hair that she keeps down, and uses her powers to make sure it stays out of her eyes. well kept nails, although never pained. her eyes turn violet or snow white when her powers are in use.

Personality: almost always found with a book in her hands, her dislike of conflict is only match by her desire to learn. always very cheerful unless something's terribly wrong, she treats just about everyone with smiles and idol conversation. her peaceful nature can only be broken when someone she cares about comes to harm, where she turns into almost the exact opposite. she has an absolute love for humans and won't let anyone shorten their already short lives while she can do anything to stop it. these two factors often put her at odds with other vampires and sometimes even make a small squabble. she also won't let anything disrupt normal human lives. "if all these other people are gunna try to make live miserable, the least i can do is help the my old people live in blissful ignorance". if a human oversees something that shouldn't have, khyra will often try to use her power to erase/replace that part of their memory to preserve not only the secrecy of her own race, but allow the humans to continue on with their normal life. she sees her powers as more of a danger then a gift, and tries only to use them when she believe she has complete control over them or is too angry to care.

Background story: Born in Paris in the year 1573, she always showed a love for books and learning. every day til she was 11, her father Lord Raynald would take her to the castle's library, sit her on his lap and ask what story she wanted to hear. she always insisted on finishing at least one book before he had to go.
one day at the age of 14, a knight ran into the library and whispered something in Raynald's ear as the two of them were looking around the library for a good book. her father smiled gently and told her "i'll be back soon, my little rose. stay right here." overwhelmed by her usual inquisitive nature, she left the library and went to a window to watch what her father was doing. as she looked outside the window, she saw two men dueling with swords. one was her father, but the other man she had never seen before. although her father had the upper hand at first, when they locked swords, the other man pulled a pistol from his belt and shot Raynald. before the guards could catch him, he ran to his horse and galloped away. as she ran outside to her father, tears streamed down her face and she tripped over her feet. she quickly pulled herself back up and darted out the door, but by the time she reached her father, he was already dead. Amilia fell to her knees and only wept more, pound in her fathers chest telling her daddy to wake up. the guards tried to pull her away, but backed down when she lashed out at them screaming. finally, her tears slowed as she saw her father's dagger, still in his boot. she grabbed it and ran after the man who killed her father. she reached the woods at twilight and almost fell to the ground, completely exhausted. she suddenly heard the clanging of swords in the distance and her heart leapt. springing to her feet, she ran in that direction as fast as her worn out body would carry her.
she finally found the man who killed her father, standing over the bodies of twelve of the guards from her castle who chased after him on horseback. her heart screaming with rage, she ran quickly from behind the man, and jumping into the air, drove her father's dagger into his neck. she didn't stop stabbing as soon as the man went down, and by the time her rage was finished, she was covered in blood.
mortified by what she had just done, and still holding her father's dagger, she ran back to the castle. as she ran, it started to rain, and she began to wish the water would wash away what she had just done.
when she reached the castle, she learned her father had already been buried and she rushed to the graveyard. all night, she lay at her father's grave in the rain, wondering why.
unknown to her, someone was actually watching the day unfold through his mind's eye, and saw the child's determination as an extraordinary gift, and decided to give her one of his own.
when she awoke, she found herself in a dark castle, yet it seemed to her as bright as day. a dark figure stood in front of her, and slowly spoke in a soft, but present voice "you survived the cold quite well... as you did this day... you must be made of ice to live through such chilling times..."
"i... who are you?" she said looking around.
"my name is unimportant. but you, my dear... you are mine... my little 'rose of ice'. from this day on, you shall be known as Khyra."
and so ended her first life, and her new life began...
centuries have past... years locked away...sleeping... reading about what she has become and about the world she never knew existed. her master sent her to "the new world" to serve the elders here. for the first time in hundreds of years, she will finally see the sky again...

Powers and Abilities
enhanced speed and perception, but less strength then most vampires
Psychic powers (tied to my emotions, anger makes them run rampant, while calm keeps them more controlled and less powerful)
minor telekinesis, enough to stop a few bullets, a thrown vase, or move books around shelves in a library, maybe throw a small blade. can cause an aura of pure cold around me when i'm angry, causing water and sometimes even blood to become very cold or even freeze completely (very draining and i have no control over it)
Empathic/Telepathic, picks up on the feelings and even thoughts of others, and occasionally influence them (this power completely vanishes when i'm angry)

Name : Madeline Dye
Age : 18 year old by appearance . Truly 557 years old . ( Birthday : February 18th , 1452 )
Type : Psychic Vampire
Weapons : Mainly her mind . She can read almost everyone`s mind , control newer ones . Form strong psychic barriers around both her own and a few others . Levitation of small inanimate objects . Also carries around holy water in a small glass vial ( currently broken ), and a silver dagger . For last resort self defense only , of course .
Appearance : Ice Blond hair , with lots of body . Dark grey eyes , with petite features . 5' 10" ( despite her picture ) , small frame . Washout look . Currently is wearing a silk black tutu and a black and dark purple bustier . Black leather boots up to her knees , and matching gloves that end right above her wrist on her palm .



Background story : Born February 18th , 1452 in London England , Madeline was daughter to a noble and was indeed quite wealthy . She married at 14 to a man named William , who was actually a vampire . He was 200 years old at the time and loved her dearly . On her 18th birthday , numerous solders stormed through their house , and had greatly injured both Madeline and William . William then picked up a heavily bleed Madeline , and ran her a great distance up north until they had almost reached Scotland . With the last of his strength , he gave her , what she considered , the most wonderful gift of all . Vampirism .

Early 1600s she departed for the New World , landing in Boston . She made quite a living selling marvelous paintings and performing quite skillfully on a violin . After a couple centuries , she grew bored of Boston , and decided to make a trip to New York . She`s been there ever since and never doubted her decision to move , and continues selling and performing wonderful art and music .
Personality : Always looking for fun , mostly in the form of life-threatening situations . She doesn`t care about most other people , but when found valuable , she will go to far lengths to protect it .

Name: Luther Crepsly

Nicknames: Mr. Creepy

Age: 389

Type: Voidmaster

Weapons: A long and sleek black cane with gold trim with a small button on the top, when the appropriate amount of pressure was put on this button a small blade emerged from the end. A ceremonial dagger is attached to the belt, hidden in the side of his coat. the hilt is a chipped and dull gold and the blade is a bright, unnatural silver.

Clothing: An elegant red suede tail-coat that reaches down to about mid-leg, the lining of it is pure silk and the trim is a somewhat darker and more saturated crimson. Very neat and meticulously pressed dark red trousers that fit him perfectly, not too tight and not too baggy. A dark crimson, almost maroon waistcoat with crimson trim, above which is a similarly colored bow tie, and beneath which is an off-white button up shirt. A pair of unremarkable off-white gloves are the only accessories found on his hands, and on his feet, a pair of beautifully crafted pointed tipped boots. The final touch to his Ringmaster-esque ensemble is a once again dark red/maroon Top Hat, with a bright crimson band across the bottom of the tube.

Powers: Luther had plenty of time to hone his skills with the art of shadow manipulation, his brief life being ended at the bright young age of 23. He can conjure physical objects from the shadows some times as big as a 6'1" man, but these items quickly dissolve in less than half an hour, meaning he couldn't use it to particular benefit. He is often able to use the shadows to imbue him with brief moments of incredibly improved strength and speed, absorbing them is able to EMPOWER him somehow.

Personality: Luther is possibly one of the biggest manipulative bastards of his time, he would do anything to improve his standing in the Vampire world, including pillage, murder, slave-trading, capturing humans and draining them to make vials of blood to supply the local covens, thievery, and even going as low to murder his own kind. He is completely sociopathic, cruel, cold, and ruthless. He puts his needs in front of everyone else's, especially if it meant he is given more power. His attitude to his own kind is cold, so all of the other races are given enough frost and contempt that it would make Scrooge himself seem like Mother Theresa. His disregard for life is often made plainly obvious, and his Nihilism, while slightly more subtle, is nevertheless blatant if you talked to him for more than a nanosecond.

Special Accessories: A talon thumb ring which he often uses in place of a letter opener, but it can be used for more sinister purposes.

Abilities: While Luther is as sharp and intelligent as he is twisted and debauched, he makes up for this in his lack of fighting prowess. He learned enough in the years to get away fighting a weaker immortal creature, but anyone at his or above his level could best him easily. This is why he often use his manipulation abilities to worm his way out of fights, but when he is up against a weaker opponent he is ruthless and cruel, putting them through as much pain as possible before finally finishing it.

Background story: Born into a simple peasant family in an unsure month in a little hamlet in England, around 1620, the only thing he can clearly remember is that in that year the modern Violin was created, something his parents later took great pride in, when they weren't tending to the dung fields. He was often mocked and bullied by the local children, calling him dung boy and mocking his unusual red hair. He buried himself in education, begging to be taught how to read by any nobles that passed, earning him a brutal beating on more than a few occasions. He didn't fight back; he knew that it would be worse if he did. He did this for a good four years every weekend in town, relentlessly pestering the nobles and even noble children, desperately trying to make more out of him. He was told to piss off on more than one occasion, and at one point was even threatened with a halberd.

Eventually however he was offered a respite from his awful lifestyle when a kindly old lord name Finchley took him in as a houseboy, in exchange for being sent to the same school as the noble children, who were all guaranteed a good education from their tutors and teachers, unlike the mediocre education in keeping your head down and shutting up that his fellow peasant children were given. However, Lord Finchley had a darker nature then Luther could've predicted, he had often been accused of molesting local children, and had even once been caught in the act by his Manor's butler, he was the one that had warned Luther of this. Luther was sure nothing bad would happen, until Finchley came home drunk from a royal banquet he had been attending in the palace, drunk and angry, and made his way up to Luther's room. Luther's never disclosed what had happened that night, and the mere mention of it can send him into a highly deadly rage.

He continued with his education, but he spent as much of his time out of the Lord's manner as possible, sleeping in local taverns and inns, going to work and cleaning up around the house before heading to his classes. The other children relentlessly tortured him for his peasant upbringing, something he felt he didn't deserve; he had clawed his way up in the world! And what had these peons done? Nothing! Suckled on the teet of their doting noble parents, not offering anything! It tortured him more than the kids, the knowledge that they had all of this and didn't need to do a damn thing, and he had had to do awful, horrible things just to get the opportunity to BEG to be let into this class! And what would it get him? Probably nothing, an advantage among the worse than dead, but just the knowledge that he was BETTER than the peons who had called him dung boy years ago, even if he had to put up with a more high class brand of idiot.

It was a few years later, when he was 17 that he snapped once and for all. The tutor had left the class on some urgent business and the biggest bully of them all, Winslow James, was once again mocking Luther relentlessly. It had been like this ever since he got into school, the fat idiot had taken it upon himself to make Luther's life more of a living hell then it had previously been, and it often worked. But one single thing had set him off good and proper, a comment that Luther remembers to this day "So, dung boy, has old fiddler Finchley tried anything yet? He often tries his way with the common filth". Luther had simple smiled slightly, closed his eyes, and swung his arm in an arc, straight into the fat idiots' face. He then stood up, and still without a word escaping his grinning lips kicked the little bully in the face repeatedly until blood was streaming on the floor. The other classmates had stood still, afraid to intervene, something Luther took to his advantage. He had picked up a chair and quickly smashed it across Winslow's back, hearing a loud snap, the force of the blow obviously breaking some sort of bone. He put his foot down on the chubby moron's upper arm, and pulled up on his forearm while pressing down on his upper. This caused the arm to break and twist in several places as Winslow screamed in absolute agony. Luther knelt down and whispered in the boy's ear "My name is Luther". He then stomped on Winslow's head with such force that a sickening crack alerted him to the fact he had just cracked open the boy's skull, as the inner juices started pouring out and across the ground.

He had been arrested by the Guard for this crime, something he had anticipated, but he maintained it was worth the torture and inevitable death he would be given if that little sh*t Winslow was finally shut up once and for all. He was kept in a dank little cell where they inflicted excruciating pain upon him with every non-fatal torture in the book, cutting his arms and legs and dribbling the juice from lemons and only the strongest salts onto them, depriving him of food and water, the endless whippings and beatings, it snapped his already fragile mind in two. By the time Morlianos found him he was better off dead.

Morlianos was one of the deadliest Voidmasters that you could hope to meet, he had apparently been around since biblical times, hailing from some village deep in the tundra’s of Russia. Morlianos of course wasn't his real name, or his assumed one, but it was the one he was known by to all of the aspiring young Voidmasters of the time. He saw what potential Luther held, the potential to cut a bloody swathe through England, and even through the whole of Europe, the potential he held to destroy, scheme and murder. He saw what he was looking for in a protégé at the time. He had been down in the dungeons doing what every Vampire must do to satisfy their twisted hungers when he found Luther, and made with the cackling teen the deal that would save his life, and doom the lives of everyone else in the manor. He managed to get enough coherency from Luther to ask him the fatal question, which Luther hastily agreed to, the horde of pain and suffering that was setting every one of his nerves alight making him agree to every single condition, the unwavering loyalty, the annual gift of a dozen new human cattle to be made yearly, and the job of running the front of a Freak Show, which would mask the true intention, which was pure and simple harvesting. He would find all of the finest examples of human, capture them, beat them into submission, and then chain them and send them to Morlianos.

He was renewed with life and energy as soon as Morlianos swapped some of their blood, the twisted cocktail of his and Morlianos' blood culminated in a sudden burst of strength which let Luther tear the chains binding him from the walls themselves. With this new found power he quickly and messily dispatched every damn lord and lady in that estate, as well as the peasants and houseboys, dogs, horses, cattle, in hindsight he often pondered that he may have taken it a bit too far when he killed the pigeons they used for target practice.

It was from then on that he donned the Ring-Master outfit that would become his trade-mark and started to fulfill his promises to Morlianos, riding across central and then eastern Europe on his convoy of wagons and carriages, all containing diabolically ugly freaks, created by the will of Morlianos himself. He had morphed them into something disgusting and even sinister, which is why Luther had always sought to please his master; despite his otherwise cavalier attitude towards most aspects of life, he himself was very vain. Even as a child he had been attractive by the time's standards, but this is nothing compared to what he did afterwards. He had beseeched the shadows themselves to give him a new, attractive face to match the amber eyes that vampirism had awarded him. He also begged for power, something they rewarded him with in abundance, after he discovered that the shadows were his play things, their very shape and volume easily manipulated by his fractured, empty mind.

He arrived in Russia sometime in the 1800s, where he met his very first Hunter. By now he had learned quite a bit about the shadows and combat, and as such was perfectly ready for whoever was coming to find him. A psychic freak by the name of Fontaine had told him, the deformed mutant had spilled all of the details from his pustule covered lips, his slack-jawed, elephantiasis misshapen head craning as the pictures of the future spilled into it, his twisted and broken arms swinging madly as he explained every facet of the vision, earning a punch in the stomach from Luther should he ever start to lull or pause. When the deformed malcontent had finished his vision, Luther begrudgingly gave him a piece of raw pork in reward and kicked him rather forcefully out of his carriage.

He prepared for days, mentally conditioning himself for the battle that was about to occur. The one thing he was not expecting, however, was that the Hunter who was coming after him was also a Vampire. He had heard they were accepting other Vampires into the ranks at this point, but he was not expecting one of the few to be targeting him. He knew that he wasn't the subtlest of the Vampiric hordes, but he felt that there were bigger threats to tackle. He was only a cattle herder, why wasn't this blood traitor going after one of the higher-ups? For one reason; they had worked out that if Luther was taken out of the picture then the Morlianos wouldn't have any cattle until he worked out what was going on, and by then he would be SEVERELY weak from blood hunger. It was a good plan, but Luther didn't plan on being killed that easily.

The Hunter entered the main tent of the traveling circus of freaks, his stakes and daggers ready to eviscerate poor little Luther. But unfortunately Luther wasn't foolish enough to actually go through with a one-on-one duel, ordering the freaks at his disposal to attack the intruder. They were pathetically outmatched, even the emaciated Werewolf that Luther had kept as a seat-filler, but it was enough time for Luther to manipulate the various shadows in the tent around the Hunter and seal him in place. What was carried out on the Hunter could only be described as one of the most horrific tortures seen in centuries, heated spikes and hooks forced into every single orifice, every nerve burning in the white hot flames of pure, exquisite agony. Luther greatly enjoyed this ritual, and as such made it a habit to capture any Hunter he came across and apply his sadistic talents upon them.

After all this time he had finally learned to respect the social positions of people, mainly because it made it much easier to manipulate somebody who thought they were the superior one. In Luther's twisted mind however this mutated into a sort of affection for the social classes, he felt it separated the dregs of society from the nice people, who incidentally were also dregs, but dregs in expensive finery, which made it perfectly all right. This managed to get him into the court of a certain French Lord, which also meant that he was given certain reign over the Lord's land, giving him the perfect opportunity to set up a permanent place for his traveling circus of horrors.

He ran the undercover cattle well into the 1900s, which is incidentally when the French equivalent of a SWAT team descended upon it. They had pegged Luther for a cannibalistic serial killer with legions of minions and cronies, and as such shot and killed all of them. Every single one. Except Luther. He had used the Elephant Man as a literal human shield, thrown him at the Officers, and escaped into a shadow. One of the many tricks he had learned over the years, it was a good escape plan, but he had to be at full power and not in dire danger, as when he emerged he was only a few hundred feet away and drained of all energy. He had luckily landed the roots of a massive oak tree, shielding him from view.

It was then he found out what had happened to Morlianos, his mentor, his sire, his master, had been killed by a group of rogue Hunters who had chased him into Notre Dame de Paris. He died right in front of the circular plate glass window, his silhouette visible to the square of cheering citizens. Apparently most of them were wise to Morli's act, and had only put up with it due to inability to fight back.

Luther descended into an empty, inertial parade of self-pity, he was without a home, without a master, and without a steady flow of blood. He was quite literally doomed. He stayed in the various basements and cellars of Paris for a while, his quite subtle influence allowing him to remain relatively unnoticed. He spent his nights prowling the backstreets for homeless and orphans, taking only a little. He wanted the whole body’s worth of blood, but unfortunately that would get him noticed by the higher-ups, something he couldn’t do at that moment in time.

He was living like this for a few years; it was depressing, horrible and unworthy of a Vampire of his status. He often played violin on the side of the road for spare money, his subtle influence managing to get him so substantial “donations”. When he had enough he bought a set of relatively normal clothes and went for a job interview. It was literally the most awful thing in the world. They asked him for REFERENCES and QUALIFICATIONS; did that bald peon know whom he was talking to? He had watched armies be wiped out in an instant and toyed with the heart of darkness itself, he had manipulated men greater than he into madness and done things that would make Ed Gein blush, and THIS MORON was asking him for qualifications He felt like reaching across that desk and ripping the scag’s sagging wrinkled face right off, but he didn’t. He simply stalked him home, burned his house to the ground and trapped him and his fat family inside. He was a subtle gentleman.

It was when he was caught feeding on a sleeping Homeless man that his secrets were pieced together. The witness was a fellow Vampire, doing the same thing as he, but now he had something even better: Black-mail. He approached Luther and startled him, causing Luther to suddenly lash out wildly. The Vampire, obviously much more powerful, grabbed his wrist and subdued Luther for enough time to explain his position. In exchange for the Vampire’s total silence, Luther will be forced to leave Paris and find his way to New York. The vampire explained that a war was happening in the shadows, and they needed men like Luther to aid the Vampiric cause. Unfortunately, Luther wasn’t a fighter, but he gladly agreed to travel to New York.

Through more subtle manipulation he managed to stow-away on a frigate at the stroke of midnight. Luther quickly settled in, finding a deserted area of the storage area and setting up a little living space. He ventured above during nights out to feed on a grease-monkey mechanic in his hammock, and then crept back down into the depths. It was easy living, but he soon became bored. He decided to play a game. He smashed all of the controls in the Captain’s area, tied the crew up, lit the boat on fire, and escape in the life raft. It took him 12 hours to reach New York, but he still looks back on that memory as one of his fondest of the arduous move to America.

When he reached New York he immediately became apparently infatuated with another vampire named Cosette, while she was clearly manipulating him he took comfort in the fact that he was blatantly manipulating her as well. He got her addicted to his blood, a concoction so thick with hemoglobin that it was basically maple syrup of the deranged variety. He had consumed so much in his long career as the veritable manager of the Freak Show Blood Bank that his blood had been affected somehow, he couldn’t explain it, but it was delicious. She wanted him to garner more power for herself, and he wanted her so he could continue receiving a steady supply of test subjects. Her feminine wiles managed to lure in quite a few before the Hunters caught on.

Luther, sick of the drama that he had drawn to him, fled. He fled far, he fled long, and he ended up in a mountain cave in Colorado. There he began to think, and he realized that had been focusing too much on science in his tests; What he NEEDED was right there in front of him, the Void itself. Whether it was a creature IN the Void or just the Void incarnate he didn’t know, but every Voidmaster was able to communicate with it when under intense meditation. It may take weeks, months, years, but eventually they will find a connection. After seven months, five weeks and two days, he did. He sought to make a deal with The Void itself, he needed the secret to Vampiric evolution, or at least a serum that would mimic its effects for a long period of time. This came in the form of an extract of pure Vampire DNA, something that could be mass-produced and diluted very easily. Unfortunately, the downside was that the Void needed something in return. It demanded one-hundred supernatural sacrifices, be it Werewolf, Vampire or Tainted, once he had collected the blood of one hundred and put a trace of it into one hundred identical ceremonial candles, the Void would supply his demands. Luther only knew of one woman who could do this for him, so he ventured back to New York, renewed with the energy of a younger-man, ready to make his mark on the city.

Cimm mule

Name: Katarina ‘Quicksilver’ Belmont

Age: 967 (sired at 24)

Type: Voidmaster/Deathdealer

Weapons: Various blades, always has one silver blade on her specifically for the purpose of killing lycans.

Personality: Where Katarina is concerned, before she will respect you let alone allow you to live, you must earn it. Nothing is given freely where she is concerned making her a very hardened, opinionated individual. She naturally possesses deep rooted biases and hatred that developed long ago that have since been seasoned with age. To her enemies she is ruthless, to those she considers friends they find she is a very delightful, cultured individual who is very pleasant to chat with. Very quick with her wit and equally as quick with her blades, she is a long standing vampire that has earned her reputation through centuries of warfare. She is well known for her ruthlessness and it is to New York she comes, hearing of the ever growing infestations there. In the name of her agenda she seeks to purge New York of everything she perceives to be corrupted.

Appearance: A Norwegian beauty that has not shed a sliver of it since the day she was sired, Katarina possesses very typical features of a Norman person. She possesses piercing pure celestial blue eyes that are capable of captivating and demanding attention even from across a room. Many have described her as the personification of an angel and with her dazzling smile and silken blonde lockes, it proves easy enough for her to convince them of said impression.

Background story: Katarina’s past is a long and blood-filled one. In the beginning, however, she was mortal and innocent just as any child was. She was fortunate enough to be born into an aristocratic Norwegian family that was decently wealthy. While Katarina’s family originated from Normandy, with the succession of king William following the battle of Hastings they immigrated to England to partake in the glory, her father having been a soldier of high standing (general) within the battle.

Her family was soon shipped to England where they expected a glorious reception they never received. A lot of the Englishmen and women revered the sudden migration of Norwegians to their country with fear and suspicion. Eventually it lead to English and other outside forces terrorizing many of the Normans by various means ranging from vandalism to murder. It was not long before Katarina’s father decided his family was unsafe and sent them back home to Norway. He, unfortunately as a soldier, had to remain within England to serve his king and keep him safe. A dutiful, loyal and honorable man, Katarina had always respected and loved her father.

Four years later, it was to her great regret that she was informed of his death. A revolt had broken out in England and her father had been sent to fend it off, ultimately perishing in the incident. Her widowed mother was in grieving along with her daughter but they immediately arranged to make their way to England to be present for his burial. It was back in England again that Katarina’s life would forever alter.

Following her father’s funeral, which conceded just after sunset she was approached by an evidently well-established gentleman. He was charming and very comforting in the condolences he offered her regarding her father. Judgment clouded by grief, she trusted the gentleman and allowed him to ‘take her out on the town’. Little did she know she had just made a permanent decision that would change the rest of her life.

After that evening, as per many newborn vampires, she was disoriented and soon enough became thirsty. Her sire had completely abandoned her. However, until a human physically crossed her path her bloodlust was not incited. Once an unfortunate individual, a young man with the intent to help, was unfortunate enough to cross her path the frenzy began.

Soon after she fled to the countryside where she could be alone and where she would not hurt people who only intended to help her. It would take years for her to learn how to control what she had become. However, after she became the master of herself again she continued living her life, pretending to be a human in the night. Those who would try to mug her or rob her soon became her victims, receiving no mercy from the vengeful vampire.

Throughout the centuries she traveled across Europe, adopting countless aliases to keep from being tracked by anyone. During her travels she always held onto her quest: to purify the world, ridding it of the corrupt. Many wars she oversaw, a specter until the night time fell. Throughout history she lived her life this way, ridding the world of those who did not deserve to live in it. Her immortality was her gift from god.

In 1869, Katarina decided she wanted a change of pace and moved from her homeland of Europe to that of North America. It was there she would eventually meet a loyal friend and companion. One dark evening in 1870 (a year later), Katarina was performing her usual routine as a typical damsel in distress to weed out the corrupt. However, it so happened the human she targeted belonged to a fellow vampire. Being a new comer that hadn’t established herself with a coven, she was dubbed an outsider and the close network of vampire was quick to hone in on that. The fact she’d ruined their ‘property’ had been the final straw.

Another vampire capable of utilizing the void prevented her escape through using his own abilities to bar her, essentially canceling both their abilities out. (Later she would find out he was the elder at the time, even older and greater in power than she.) He was accompanied by a fellow vampire who was quick to seize her, possessing the strength to hold her in place. Unable to do anything the other vampire capable of using the void put a knife to her throat, threatening to sever her head from her limbs.

It was by some miracle a sheriff happened to walk down the alleyway and attempted to intervene. Unfortunately the sheriff was human and had completely walked in over his head. However, the sheriff’s presence was enough to cause the elder to back off, ordering his sanguinarian companion to do so. However, the human blood had already been shed and it was far too late. Within a manner of moments the vampire had fallen into the frenzy of bloodlust and violently attacked the human sheriff that had gone to help her.

With the elder no where to be found, Katarina’s abilities were useable again. She was swift to intervene on the sheriff’s behalf, not wanting his death on her hands. He was innocent in this matter and had only been doing what he perceived as right. For that she could not fault him and refused to let him die. She used her abilities to save the human. However, she was far too late. By the time she’d killed the sanguinarian the human was bleeding out on the ground, unable to fend for himself.

It was in his moment of helplessness and the reason he’d come to be that way that Katarina felt guilt for the first time in centuries. She had to help the man and by this point there was only one way she could. Within a manner of moments she’d bitten into the near lifeless human’s wrist, not even taking the time to taste his blood in her urgency. Immediately after she bit her own wrist and told him that if he wanted to survive he was going to have to trust her and drink her blood. He weakly accepted her terms, saving his life if one chose to look at it that way.

She remained with him afterwards, assuring to be responsible for her actions unlike her sire had. Katarina refused to abandon him as she had been. She assured he was taught the ways of a vampire, how to hunt, what was detrimental to him, prevented him from going on frenzies and living the with guilt of killing the innocent and so forth. After she assured he knew everything she could teach him, he was given the option to do as he pleased and she was surprised to find he chose to remain with her. Ever since the pair has been inseparable, sharing a special bond that has become a rare occurrence among sires and their sired in modern times.

Since 1870, 143 years have passed and the two still remain inseparable. Tales of New York and its peril has passed by word of mouth, bringing the duo of vampires to the city. Katarina choosing to continue her quest, makes her appearance within New York to cleanse it of those unworthy to live.