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 Posted: Tue Jul 04, 2006 12:03 pm
This is where you post your completed character applications.
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Posted: Fri Jul 07, 2006 3:08 am
Obviously, if I made a mistake please correct me. Feel free to work with me to answer any questions you may have, as I've very likely missed at least one thing with this.
Name: Michael Pinmen
Chronicle: Camarilla
Nature: Autocrat
Demeanor: Confidant
Concept: Beloved Deceiver
Clan: Ventrue
Sire: Sarah Higgins
Generation: 11th
Haven: Bellaire Ranch, Apartment A16
Attributes
Physical(Tertiary)
Strength: XX00000000
Dexterity: XX00000000
Stamina: XXX0000000
Social (Secondary)
Charisma: XXX0000000
Manipulation: XXX0000000
Appearance: XXX0000000
Mental (Primary)
Perception: XXX0000000
Intelligence: XXX0000000
Wits: XXXX000000
Abilities
Talents (Primary)
Alertness: X0000
Athletics: 00000
Brawl: 00000
Dodge: 00000
Empathy: XXX00
Expression: XX000
Intimidation: X0000
Leadership: X0000
Streetwise: X0000
Subterfuge: XXX00
Skills (Secondary)
Animal Ken: X0000
Crafts: 00000
Drive: X0000
Etiquette: XXX00
Firearms: 00000
Melee: 00000
Performance: XXX00
Security: 00000
Stealth: 00000
Survival: XX000
Knowledges( Tertiary)
Academics: XX000
Computer: 00000
Finance: 00000
Investigation: 00000
Law: 00000
Linguistics: 00000
Medicine: 00000
Occult: 00000
Politics: XXX00
Science: 00000
Disciplines
Presence: XX
Fortitude: XX
Domination: X
Backgrounds
Allies: X0000
Contacts: XXX00
Fame: 00000
Generation: XX000
Herd: X0000
Influence: 00000
Mentor: 00000
Resources: XX000
Retainers:X0000
Status: X0000
Virtues
Conscience: XXX00
Self Control: XXXX0
Courage: XXX00
Humanity: XXXXXXX000
Willpower: XXXXXX0000
Blood Pool: XXXXXXXXXX
Merits
Ambidextrous
Blush of Health
Enchanting Voice
Common Sense
Concentration
Prestigious Sire
Natural Leader
Unbondable
Flaws
Ventrue Clan Flaw (Restricted feeding): Michael is utterly incapable of partaking of the blood of anyone with a mental age that is under that of a standard 8-year-old.
Age: 29
Apparent Age: 24
Date of Birth: March 31st, 1977
RIP: October 17th, 2001
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Blue
Race: Caucasian
Nationality: American
Height: 5’ 10”
Weight: 150 –ish lbs.
Sex: Male
Detailed History: Michael always was smart. It was something his parents acknowledged from the time he went into kindergarten and got bored to when he failed every class he hated and passed everything he enjoyed. All in all, it was only because he decided it would be a waste of 12 years of so-called “education” if he didn’t at least get credit, that convinced him to do enough work to graduate at all. Of course, the young man’s intelligence had found things to interest him in his relatively few years of life, as well. Initially, it came as the discovery that people would believe anything he said, especially if it was what they wanted to hear.
Oh, and Michael had a knack for knowing what they wanted to hear, and that in turn, gave him a knack for telling it to them. It must be realized that Michael was no fool, he didn’t go around spreading blatant lies, nor did he ever cheat on his girlfriends, or even just say some outlandish thing about himself that was simply not true. No, he was clever enough to realize that every lie had to have a purpose, and every one had to have either a very strong basis in truth, or none at all, in order to stay a matter of his word. Like anyone else, he had his failures, but overall it was a tremendous success, this hobby. He mastered the art of learning all about the people he spoke to while revealing next to nothing of himself. Actually, he found it very easy to do that much: after all, people just love to talk about themselves. Human nature, one might say. But it was the manipulation that came with it that he found fascinating.
As he grew more adept, he began to joke with the people whom he controlled most naturally – his friends, as you might guess – about having “mind powers.” He showed them how it was an instinctive reaction for someone to hand something to him if he held out his hand for it, and how just smiling a small amount would make someone smile back. His friends laughing at his joking, thinking him to not be serious at all. Something he had expected, but found all the more amusing, overall. People are so predictable.
Just as most young men do after graduating high-school, Michael secured himself a job and moved out of his parents’ house. It was a simple task to be promoted to assistant manager – all he had to do was act in the way his manager thought of as ideal. He made a good, steady wage, while essentially his entire job was scheduling the employees and taking job applications, and found himself living the life of many other men his age for a few years. Life was actually to be found more at night than in the daylight, for that was when one slipped off to nightclubs and bars to find women willing to indulge in natural impulses.
It was on one such excursion to a nightclub that he found himself being attracted to a woman, rather than attracting them, as was usual. As the night wore on, he managed to get her interested in him as well, and they went back to her apartment for some carnal play. Well, things didn’t work out nearly the way Michael had expected. He died in that apartment, from bleeding from the neck into the mouth of a deliciously ravenous beast.
To his surprise, he woke up again the next night, craving blood more than he had the moment before his body and mind ceased to function. The woman from the night before explained that her name was Sarah, and that she was the Child of someone she called a Prince. She said they had to go meet this Prince, and explain to him that she had panicked – that the Beast had taken control and she had killed Michael before she could stop herself. Then she had panicked, and Embraced him, as if hoping it would repair some of the damage. Even this day, Michael views her as one of the most foolish people he has ever known.
They went that night to her Sire, and she explained herself, as well as her actions. The Prince was not pleased in the slightest with his Childe’s breach of his rule, and had her staked and left to bake in the morning sun. As callous as it was, Michael felt no remorse at her death – after all, look at what she had made of him. A monster.
Though it was against common practice, Michael was told, he himself was not executed as his Sire had been, but was instead preserved, and raised in the place of the fallen Childe. Experience had taught Michael how to milk these opportunities for the best, and so he did, making connections and allies in both the kindred and kine communities. He played along with his Grandsire’s wishes, until finally, after what felt like another adolescence, he was told to leave and make his own place in the world. And so he stretches his legs, and walks out into the night, confident that he can make this unlife something worth having.
Please note that my 25 Freebie Points were allocated in this manner:
5 Points to get 1 Dot in the Attribute Appearance
2 Points to get 1 Dot in the Ability Leadership
1 Point to get 1 Dot in the Background Herd
1 Point to get 1 Dot in the Background Resources
2 Points to get 2 Dots in the Background Generation
2 Points to get 2 Dots in the Background Contacts
2 Points to get the Merit Enchanting Voice
1 Point to get the Merit Ambidextrous
2 Points to get the Merit Blush of Health
1 Point to get the Merit Common Sense
1 Point to get the Merit Concentration
1 Point to get the Merit Prestigious Sire
1 Point to get the Merit Natural Leader
3 Points to get the Merit Unbondable
I loved your application, i sent you a PM about it but i figured it would be better for everyone to see approval out here. I looked through your dot and point distribution, story, and merits and flaws. They all looked good to me. As promised in character creation I went through and added and subtracted dots in a few places that I felt would work with the character you made. My additions were in bold.
I added a dot in Stamina.
I added a dot in Intimidation
I took away 2 dots in Animal Ken. (Didn't feel the story really justified it)
I added a dot in Drive
I added 2 dots in Survival.
I added a dot in Fortitude
I added a dot in Presence
So yeah, don't complain stare you came out on the VERY positive end in storyteller adjustments ^_^
You were right though... you did miss one thing >.> xd I only need one thing more from you, and that's since you're a ventrue, you're clan weakness is to feed on a specific type of person. (no i'm not talking "oh only people born on a snowy tuesday in july") But you read their clan post, and it talks about it. If you need any advice let me know, and once that's completed, you're 100% accepted ^_^
~Mello~
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Posted: Sun Jul 09, 2006 1:27 am
Name: Masika (True name)
Chronicle: Camarilla
Clan: Followers of Set (Setite)
Nature: Celebrant
Demeanor: Conniver
Concept: Seducer
Sire: Tsekani
Generation: 11th (8th according to the Setite Calendar)
Haven: None any longer
Attributes
Physical = (3)
Strength: XX00000000
Dexterity: XXX0000000
Stamina: XXX0000000
Social: (7, +1 from Freebie)
Charisma: XXX0000000
Manipulation: XXXX000000
Appearance: XXXX000000
Mental : (5, +2 from Freebie)
Perception: XXXX000000
Intelligence: XXX0000000
Wits: XXX0000000
Abilities
Talents (13)
Alertness: XXX00
Atheletics: XX000
Brawl: 00000
Dodge: XX000
Empathy: XX000
Expression: XX000
Intimidation: 00000
Leadership: XX000
Streetwise: XX000
Subterfuge: XX000
Skills (9)
Animal Ken: 00000
Crafts: 00000
Drive: 00000
Ettiquette: XXX00
Firearms: 00000
Melee: XXX00
Perfomance: XXXX0
Security: 00000
Stealth: XX000
Survival: XX000
Knowledges (5)
Academics: XX000
Computer: 00000
Finance: 00000
Investigation: 00000
Law: 00000
Linguistics: X0000 (English)
Medicine: 00000
Occult: XXXX0
Politics: XX000
Science: 00000
Setite Lore: XXX00
Disciplines
Obfuscate: XXX00 (Cloak of Shadows, Unseen Presence, Mask of a Thousand Faces)
Presence: XX000 (Awe, Dread Gaze)
Serpentiis: 00000
Backgrounds (5, +2 Freebie)
Allies: X0000
Contacts: XXX000
Fame: 00000
Generation: XX000
Herd: X0000
Influence: X0000
Mentor: XX000
Resources: X0000
Retainers: 00000
Status: 00000
Virtues (1 starter, +7)
Conscience: XXX00
Self Control: XXXXX
Courage: XXX00
Humanity: XXXXXXXX000 (1 Freebie Points)
Willpower: XXXXXXXX00 (2 Freebie Points)
Bloodpool: XXXXXXXXXX00 (11th gen, 12 point Max bloodpool)
Merits: Enchanting Voice (-2. All difficulty roles involving interaction where she uses her voice are reduced by 2.)
Flaws Enemy (+2), Infamous Sire (+1), Repulsed by Garlic (+1), Prey Exclusion (+1 [Homeless people])
Age: 43
Apparent Age: 22
Date of Birth: 2/17/1963
RIP: 8/29/85
Hair: Black, mid-back length
Eyes: Dark Brown
Race: Middle Eastern
Nationality: Egypt
Height: 5'9
Weight: 134
Sex: Female
Clothing Tastes: Usual, flirtatious clothing. She has a particular taste for things that are light and airy as well as highly revealing. Miniskirts and supermini's are very common appearances in her wardrobe, and she always wears a belt or belly chain. Other than that, things that accentuate her figure are common...but she also always tries to wear shoes good for running. Just in case. Boots and low-heeled shoes are common in this regard.
Notable Inventory: Mundane, everyday things (kept in purse), curved dagger (primary weapon).
History: History: Masika was born and raised in Egypt, in a small suburb of Cairo. She grew up in a lower-middle class family and area, and she was always left wanting more. She was solid in her studies throughout school, but it was at an early age that she discovered her true passion:
Dance. She was six years old when she found her love of it, and she had a profound natural talent for it. In middle school her studies of the art of dance had propelled her to a sort of mini-stardom (at least in her neighborhood), and in high school, her more developed physical form lent an even further...and decidedly more sultry...air to her devotion. She pretended naivete, for another talent she had, only she knew.
Her dance became less of a family affair, and she adopted "odd jobs" in her later years of education, performing her progressively more provocative works to exclusive clientele. Here is where her history truly begins; her interest in occult arts, once merely a passing fancy, flourished now. And as she slipped from high school to university, her more illicit affairs and tastes began to swell as well. Narcotics entered her life, originally as a seed to numb the minds of those she pulled in, but soon ensnared her as well, and her more...personal tastes began to grow with her addiction. But nothing slowed her; in a few short years she'd managed to net herself an impressive web of informants, and she began more tame affairs of information trafficking too.
Her honey-sweet voice, startling good looks, drug trafficking (and use) and slow, sinewy dance and effortless grace won her the hearts and confidence of many men, and even a few women...and it was all behind the scenes, concealed under the guise of a sweet, pretty, innocent young girl.
Or so she thought. But nothing can hide from the watchful, slitted eye of the Followers. She already possessed so many admirable qualities and knew how to use them to her mortal fullest. She was already a creature of vice and passion. She was a powerful figure in the community, if the more illicit and private one.
In short, for the Followers of Set, she was perfect.
In her attempts to deceive and manipulate a charming young gentleman one evening after a dance, she herself was manipulated, tricked, and ensnared. Even her sharp perception was unable to detect the subtle traces of the man's sugar-coated words, the power-laced effects of his subtle manipulations.
It took time; she was never a fool. But in time, he convinced her (with profound chemical assistance) to go home with him, for a "private dance". This, of course, turned out to be very different than what she was expecting. After all, she assumed it was a result of her own machinations, and that she just had one last strand to weave before this man, too, was within her web. How wrong she was.
She vanished for a few days as she suffered through her first gate, and the toxin of the narcotics was burned from her body. She'd found, and been given, a new joy, and it was simply step by step from there.
Masika was embraced and brought into the glory of Set. She believed wholly and fully, and her sire was of a particularly devout sort as well. He taught her the rites of the priesthood, the mysteries of her clan and her disciplines. He taught her to fight, training her in secret even as he sent her out to further cement her ties, in a perfect body that would now never grow old or ugly. He indulged her love of occult lore, sharing with her profound secrets held only by her clan, and pushed her to study other languages as well. He taught her how to command the presence of others without using her disciplines, and how and where to find a network of informants without all the work and effort she'd previously expended. He taught her silence and speed in the dark and how to retreat, and all of the most subtle tricks that he had used for her and many, many others. And most important, he taught her how to listen...to truly listen.
She did not just respect him. She admired and loved him.
But of all that he shared and taught her, her martial training was the most difficult her. Combat, and fighting, simply was not in her blood, nor should it be in the blood of any true Setite. However, after twenty one years, even the most stubborn of mules can, and is, broken. She learned, she flourished, and she became one of her sire's most favored.
It was with true regret that the two parted ways, but she would not disobey, not him or the greatness of the Dark God. Her sire sent her to the states to begin and build her own blood cult, to spread the word of Set among other Kindred and among mortals.
Now set loose on her own, she didn't know what to do. She decided to lay low, but old habits die hard. She could not resist stepping out of her dark shell a little bit and reindulging in some of her old tastes; after all, by indulging in hers, she was fulfilling the will of Set and following her doctrines. It was then, however, that her troubles started. Other Cainites were in the area, and while they might not have known exactly what she was (though some assuredly did), many suspected.
Then the worst of the worst happened. She was saved. Her unlife was spared from the flames of the burning building that she'd claimed as a temporary haven. She'd gotten her favor; unfortunately, SHE was the one who owed it.
(OOC: I've been working closely with Krome throughout the entire project and there are a few ability points in there that she told me to add in that I don't know if she'll bold or not. She should; she's got both the former and the latter versions of the sheets and will be able to tell. But I'm not trying to cheat, I promise, it was her idea ^.^;;; )
You've been working with me pretty much through the entire creation of this character. ^_^ So we've gone through and edited lots of stuff story and characterwise already. I will note that I took out the bad sight merit. Since I couldn't really justify it. Other edits are in bold.
~Mello~
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Posted: Mon Jul 10, 2006 12:34 pm
Character Sheet
Name: Mattieu Mayhew
Chronicle: Camarilla
Clan: Toreador
Nature: Architect
Demeanor: Bon Vivant
Concept: Artist
Sire: Eve Delacroix
Generation: 11th
Haven: A condo in the city.
Attributes
Physical: (5)
Strength: XX00000000
Dexterity: XXXX000000
Stamina: XX00000000
Social : (7)
Charisma: XXX0000000
Manipulation: XXX000000
Appearance: XXXX000000
Mental : (3)
Perception: XX00000000
Intelligence: XX00000000
Wits: XX0000000
Abilities
Talents
Alertness: XX000
Atheletics: 00000
Brawl: 00000
Dodge: 00000
Empathy: XXXX0
Expression: XXX00
Intimidation: 00000
Leadership: 00000
Streetwise: 00000
Subterfuge: 00000
Skills
Animal Ken: 00000
Crafts: 00000
Drive: 00000
Ettiquette: XXXX0
Firearms: XXX00
Melee: 00000
Perfomance: XXXXX
Security: 00000
Stealth: 00000
Survival: 00000
Knowledges
Academics: 00000
Computer: 00000
Finance: 00000
Investigation: X0000
Law: 00000
Linguistics: XXX00
Medicine: X0000
Occult: 00000
Politics: 00000
Science: 00000
Disciplines
Auspex: 00000
Celerity: X0000
Presence: XXX000
Backgrounds
Allies: 00000
Contacts: 00000
Fame: 00000
Generation: XX000
Herd: 00000
Influence: 00000
Mentor: 00000
Resources: XX000
Retainers: XX000
Status: XX000
Virtues
Conscience: XX000
Self Control: XXX00
Courage: XXX00
Humanity: XXXXXXX000
Willpower: XXXXXX0000
Bloodpool: XXXXXXXXXXXX
Merits:
Ambidextrous (1-pt. merit)
Eidetic Memory (2-pt. merit)
Prestigious Sire (1-pt. merit)
Acute Sense (1-pt. merit) Hearing
Concentration (1-pt. merit)
Flaws:
Phobia (2-pt. flaw) Spiders, insects, crabs, anything with more than 4 limbs
Prey Exclusion (1-pt. flaw) Men
Age: 20
Date of Birth: Sometime 1976
RIP: 1996
Hair: Black
Eyes: Brown
Race: Caucasian
Nationality: American
Height: 5’7”
Weight: 156 lbs.
Sex: Male
History
I was born to a life I never really had a chance live. My mother gave me away or some sort the day I was born, unable to take care of a child. I don't know anything about my parents, I used to hate them but as time went by, the hate turned to indifference. It's hard to hate someone you never knew at all. In the end I don't blame them, they were probably young and scared, and did what was best for everyone. Anyway, it's not like that matters anymore.
I was raised at an orphanage run by Catholic nuns from as long as I can remember. We were poor, but we got by with the tithes from the church congregation and the odd jobs we offered to do for the neighborhood and businesses around us. It was a harsh life, but we were happy a small family of runaways, rejects, and outcasts. We were free, the only reason we never tried to run away from the orphanage was because the sisters were cared and even loved us and in turn we loved them. Sister Julia, was our favorite as she was the youngest and kindest of the lot who would let us get away with our mischief as long as promised to do our chores. She had come straight from Ireland, and taken her vows shortly after reaching Ellis Island. She was beautiful in every sense of the word, her green eyes sparkling with her religious fervor and there were many a man that would tip their hat and smile at her when we walked to get groceries or visit the butcher. I loved her because of her love for God was only rivaled by her love for music.
Every evening, after supper and finishing our tasks for the day, we would wash ourselves as best as we could and beg Sister Julia to play her violin for us before we slept with her song in our dreams. It was magical, an enchanting lilting of the notes that seemed to caress your body and soothe your every worry away. Not many of us would make it through to the last note, the warmth of the music soothing us to sleep. The only two left awake would be me and a girl named Deirdre, both of us refused to doze off until we heard the whole song. Every night Sister Julia would say in her soothing irish accent, "Why it's nice ta know that therre be kind folk with the hearrt enough not ta be rrude when a girrl opens up herr soul like that. Sleep well, my darrlings and let the song carry you safely to your dreams." She would smile her brilliant smile, and pack her violin away into her case while the two of us drifted off to sleep.
I didn't like Deirdre at first, but she had the talent for music and it quickly turned into a strong friendship as we seemed to be the only ones at the orphanage that understood each other's pasison for music as neither of us were very strong in stature or had a vigorous stamina. She was a quiet girl, and I thought that she was just a proud snotty girl, but her air of elegance must have been something genetic. The had long black hair, but liked to tie it up behind her, her bangs falling slightly over her face, framing her delicate porcelain white face. Deirdre despite her lady like demeanor at times was headstrong, fiery, passionate, and would never back down from a fight. Once I saw her take down a boy twice her hight for making fun of her white skin. She wasn't a strong girl, and there was many a time I had to bandage her up from her brawling, but that didn't make her anyless a fighter than she was in spirit. About the same in age, we rarely went anywhere without each other, almost as if we had been given to each other as surrogate brother and sister.
Deirdre and I started taking violin lessons with Sister Julia, and she marveled at how quick both of us picked up the skills, though I admit Deirdre was more gifted. She could play ballads before I mastered scales, and she should play arias before I could play conciertos. Part of me was jealous, but Deirdre would never lord it over me so I couldn't hold it against her. Sister Julia was so proud of the two of us and by the time we reached 14, we could play better than any of the professionals we had ever heard in our time, whether they were on records or when we sneaked into the sympony orchestra concerts in the city.
There was a small music shoppe five blocks from the orphanage. Every morning we would stand their gazing at the stained wood of the violins that hung from the walls through the big glass window in the front. One morning, the owner came out and greeted us and asked us if we would like to play one of them, but we declined as we did not have the money to pay. "Aw, that's alright. Just you can play here until you've saved enough to buy it for yourself," the kind owner said to us. So every morning, before we set off to do our chores, we would play in the shoppe to the delight of the owner and the customers, so much that we became legends in our own right. When we finally had the money to pay for the violins ourselves, the owner went into the back and brought back 2 violins of exquisite make and design that both of us were shocked and the quality of the violins he was giving us. We did not have nearly enough money to pay for violins of this caliber, but he took what little money we had and said because we came in every morning and played to our heart's content his business had never been better. He said he would give us this violins as long as we promised to come back every once and a while to play for him. We promised.
Life was just as hard as it had ever been, but we had found our passion in life and we played whenever we had the chance, giving up of our being to be lost in the ecstasy of music. As we grew older, we fell in love with each other as much as we fell in love with our music. One night, we went to the old music shoppe to fulfill our promise to play for the owner. By this time, the years had gone by where we had grown up into young adulthood, the owner hand become grayer with the years. We had a small following of musicians, fans, and children that would gather in front of the shoppe waiting for us to arrive, and when we played they lost themselves in their own reveries and let our music take them away.
This particular night, there was someone there that I had not seen before, as we knew most of the folk by face or name. She dressed in a simple form fitting dress of a pale blue that cut short just below her shoulders to expose the graceful lines from her shoulders to her neck. She had a light brown hair with natural blonde streaks that raced along her tips curling slightly toward her face as if she was a Greek or Roman goddess come to life. There was an air of evident grace and nobility about her, that just seemed to radiate from her posture and her intense gaze. She stared back at me and I turned away embarrassed realizing I had been staring. Sitting in one of the chairs slightly apart from the rest of the crowd, I was surprised no one else seemed to notice her. Deirdre and I played as we had also played, impromtu and reacting to each other's rhythm. The elegant woman seemed to be captured by our song more so than the others and her gaze had seemed otherwordly. By the end of our playing, we recieved a warm round of applause, as well as a dollar bills people waved at us which we declined.
As the crowd dissipated, the woman that had been hauntingly watching our performance glided over and spoke to us with a hint of a French accent telling us her name was Eve Delacroix and she had just moved to the city. Her face was an unemotional mask that seemed not to betray any sense of emotion. She expressed her wonder at our ability, especially at being at such a young age and wondered if we would like to come live with her as our patron to get us more training and exposure to our art. We readily agreed, and made our way back to the orphange where we woke one of the nuns and told her of our pending adoption. Strangely the woman did not enter the orphanage, instead choosing to wait in her car with her driver. Sister Julia came down to bid us farewell, half crying at the thought of her two pupils leaving the orphanage though she was happy for us. We promised to come back and visit her when we got the chance.
After that, all our wildest dreams came true. Taken away from our rustic beginnings, we lived in the mansion that our patron owned. The estate was vast, with everything in particular order and beauty to it as if every facet had been carefully planned to reflect the epitome of aethetics. We learned under the best musicians of our time, traveled far and wide in pursuit of our talents. It was with Eve that we learned ettiquette, how to sit at a dinner table, which fork to use for what dish, and every other stricture and rule there was under the sun. We rationalized that we were not barbarians, we were artists, a class set above mere men alone born with the gift to create, a divine power all on its own. During the day we would go out and learn new theories or write our own music and we'd meet with our patron at night for dinner to discuss our discoveries. After dinner we would play for her and then retire to our chambers to sleep.
We were allowed to go any where within the masion except for the basement, where the patron told us we were never to enter under any circumstance or risk being thrown out of our lives of luxury and we agreed. There were many a restless night when I went down to the kitchen to get a glass of water when I could almost hear the whispers of music floating on the air through the door of the basement. I asked Deirdre about this, but she said she did not hear the same. I thought I might have been hallucinating due to the insomnia.
When were about 19 years old, Deirdre and I began to play concerts to grand audiences of the wealthy, nobility, and the upper class people of the city. We became famous in our own rights, often many of the people coming from all over the nation to hear us play. Making our own money, we donated to orphangage, visited Sister Julia when we didn't have concernts, and even found time to visit the old owner of the music shoppe until one day we learned of his death from old age. We played at his funeral in gratitude for his kindness and his role in giving us a better life. It was during this time, that I asked Deirdre to marry me, which she excitedly and enthusiastically said yes. We were so happy, living our dream, and it seemed like nothing could go wrong. They say that pride always comes before the fall, and I say when it seems to good to be true, it usually is.
One night after one of our performances, I was heading back to my dressing room when I heard the sounds of struggle and muffled screams coming from Deirdre's room. Upon opening the door, I was stunned and shocked when I saw a strange man tearing at her clothes trying to force himself onto her. He wasn't a large man, long black hair down to his shoulders, and an undescript face. What scared me the most was that he was pinning her against her dressing room mirror and I could not see him in the reflection. Her eyes were wide with pleading, looking at me to do something to save her and I tried to pull him off of her, but his strength was so immense the he through me backwards into the wall knocking the breath out of my lungs. Trying to get back on my feet, I felt him pick me up and throw me through the old floor boards. I heard Deirdre screaming "Mattieu!" and that was the last thing I ever heard from her as I fell down into the blackness.
I don't know how long I fell and I did not know how long I was down there. I remember feeling the blistering pain in my side upon waking up to find a splintered board stabbing into my side. It was painful, then it just became cold as I started to lose blood. I was scared, the darkness coming at me from all sides, and I could hear the sounds of skitterings in the darkness as spiders began to crawl over my body causing me to scream in revulsion. I screamed until my voice was hoarse, and I could no longer move, just shuddering at the feeling of thousands of tiny little legs crawling over my skin, under my clothes, and the sound of thousands of spiders in the darkness around me.
I don't know how long I was down there, but the darkness would not take me. When they finally found me, I was rushed to the hospital where they did their best to take care of me, but I had lost a lot of blood. The doctors did all they could, but in the end they tried to make me as comfortable I could before I would pass on. Then something strange happened. My patron Eve arrived shortly after nightfall. She stood next to me while slowly stroking my arm as if I was a wounded bird she had found. Her touch though slightly cool was soothing and the pain subsided from me. What struck me as strange was that she seemed saddened, the first of any emotion I had ever seen from her in teh past and asked me a question "What is more imporant: Art or life?" I had said, "Art" and with that, she leaned over and kissed me on my neck, and all I could feel was a rush of ecstasy as she kissed me there. I started to grow week and faint, my eyes half closed when I heard her voice, though sounding like from a great distance. "Come, drink of me and live forever." I drank from her wrist and began my unlife in the world of darkness.
Freebie Points
Two points in Celerity
One point in Fire Arms
One point in Dexterity
Two points in Resources.
Status point in Fame.
Whoooaa K. The history on this character was fairly good, borderline cliche in a few places but you toed that line very very well ^_^ So congrats on that. The history was well done and was pretty much accepted as is, though i need you to be able to get your character to America.
However, there were some major problems with the distribution of points with this character. You very much tried to make a combat munchkin. Your entire history is about your character *NOT* being a fighter, but being a social person. Yet you gave your character dexterity SEVEN!?!?!?!?! (which also means you completely ignored the whole "no attribute above 5" part that was in the character creation not ONCE but TWICE. And at least once in bold.
Then, compounding on this, you gave your character firearms FIVE? Despite the fact that firearms were mentioned not ONCE in your story.
Then, if that weren't enough! you give yourself celerity FIVE. Which in and of itself isn't against the rules, but when you did that you made it obvious you wanted your character to be a combat monkey.
Needless to say, i edited all of those down. The firearms retreated to 3 (though it should have been 2, i was feeling vaguely generous) The celerity retreated to 1, and the dexterity to 4. I was *VERY* nice when i then gave you points in strength and stamina, and points in presence. When I could have just taken the points away, since there was a big note at the end of character creation. you abuse points you lose them. The reason i took celerity away is the fact that the *character* you created, says very clearly he wasn't a fighter.
Outside of that you gave your character humanity FIVE but said that he was very expressive and empathic? O.o
If you decide these edits are unacceptable, then either make a new character or play somewhere else. I can suggest a VtM guild where they might let this character in.
~Mello~
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Posted: Wed Jul 12, 2006 5:14 pm
Name: Alessandra Erika Smith
Chronicle: Camarilla
Clan: Malkavian
Base Nature: Curmudgeon
Base Demeanor: Trickster:
Child Nature: Conniver
Child Demeanor: Child
Protector Nature: Monster
Protector Demeanor: Bravo
Seductress Nature: Bon Vivant
Seductress Demeanor: Celebrant
Concept: Writer, junkie. Multiple personalities. Child, protector, seductress. Base: insecure and codependent.
Sire: Ezekiel
Generation: 11th
Haven: An empty asylum
Attributes
Physical (3)
Strength: XX00000000
Dexterity: XXX0000000
Stamina: XXX0000000
Social: (5)
Charisma: XX00000000
Manipulation: XXX0000000
Appearance: XXX0000000
Mental: (7)
Perception: XXXX000000
Intelligence: XXX0000000
Wits: XXX0000000
Abilities
Talents (9)
Alertness: XX000
Athletics: XX000
Brawl: 00000
Dodge: XX000
Empathy: XX000
Expression: 00000
Intimidation: XXX00
Leadership: 00000
Streetwise: XX000
Subterfuge: XX000
Skills (13)
Animal Ken: X0000
Crafts: 00000
Drive: 00000
Etiquette: 00000
Firearms: 00000
Melee: XXX00
Performance: 00000
Security: XXX00
Stealth: XXX00
Survival: XXX00
Knowledges (5)
Academics: 00000
Computer: 00000
Finance: 00000
Investigation: X0000
Law: 00000
Linguistics: X0000
Medicine: 00000
Occult: XXXX0
Politics: 00000
Science: 00000
Disciplines
Dementation XXX
Obfuscate XX
Auspex XX
Backgrounds
Allies: 00000
Contacts: X0000
Fame: 00000
Generation: XX000
Herd: 00000
Influence: 00000
Mentor: X0000
Resources: X0000
Retainers: 00000
Status: 00000
Virtues
Conscience: XX000
Self Control: XXXX0
Courage: XXXXX
Humanity: XXXXXXX000
Willpower:XXXXXXXXXX
Merits
Catlike Balance
Immaculate Aura
Enchanting Voice
Unbondable
Medium
Time Sense
Efficient Digestion
Flaws
Eerie Presence
Phobia
Age: 45 (24 Dead + 21 Alive)
Apparent Age: 21-22
Date of Birth: July 22 1961
RIP: December 25 1982
Hair: Short and black
Eyes: Blue-grey
Race: Caucasian
Nationality: American
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 133 lbs
Sex: Female
Detailed History: Alessandra’s mother never knew who her father was. Or rather, if she did she never bothered to impart Aless with that knowledge. During her childhood there was a steady stream of boyfriends, all of whom her mom would make her call ‘dad’. This never bothered Aless. At least, it didn’t until the first one started hitting her mother. He didn’t try to lay a hand on her, but her mother ended up with multiple bruises. Aless was only ten at the time, and her psyche couldn’t handle it. So instead of admitting what was happening, even to herself, she regressed. Suddenly instead of a mostly self sufficient child there was one that couldn’t take care of herself. One who didn’t know what the cries or the sounds meant, and was perfectly happy to just lie on her floor, coloring and humming to herself and ignoring the chaos outside.
It didn’t happen till the third or fourth man raised his fist to her mother--The first abusive boyfriend had broken up with her, only to be followed by a slew of others. She’d been trying to sneak a midnight snack and the adults were occupying the living room which lay between the kitchen where she was and her bedroom where she wanted to be. She didn’t know what to do. For a chunk of time she hid in the kitchen, letting the innocence of her childlike persona protect her--but it wasn’t working and the screaming and the begging of her mother--Not for the man to stop, but a desperate plea for him to not leave her--wasn’t stopping and she couldn’t make it stop and why wasn’t it stopping?
She couldn’t deal with it, and suddenly childlike Aly was running into the living room, confused, flustered and yelling for it to stop. The boyfriend, who never before bothered with the little girl, took exception and, in his drunken rage barely even noticed the girl sounded much younger then she was, backhanded her. Aless didn’t know what to do. Suddenly Aly was hiding and this huge man was hitting her and, a few more slaps later, Erika came into existence. The new persona dodged the blow that was coming for her head, and darted forward to punch the drunken beast in his family jewels. The blow wasn’t hard enough to do any real damage, but it did cause the brute to pause long enough for the girl to grab a knife from the kitchen, snarl at the man to leave her alone, and to retreat to her room.
Since then Erika showed up whenever Aless suspected she was in any kind of vague danger. The persona was a street smart girl with an attitude who never hesitated in any situation and could always protect herself. And with those two personalities, Aless dealt for four years. She was childlike-Aly when the boyfriends hit her mother, and aggressive-Erika when they tried to raise a hand to her. And nearly all backed off. But one day the boyfriend was being especially persistent, she just wanted to go to her room and write in her journal, but he wouldn’t let her. So she did the only logical thing, she pulled a switchblade out and made sure he didn’t try the same with her again. The man was fairly bad off by the time the police got there to pull the girl off of him.
At first it was simply assumed that she was trying to protect herself, but after speaking to a psychiatrist, she was diagnosed with multiple personalities. She was proscribed medication which she took for awhile. Her mother straightened up her act, or as best she could, and it seemed like everything would go well for Alessandra. She and her mother began to bond over books of occult, something her mother had been interested in before Aless's birth, and something Aless was interested in as well. And everything was going fine until her mother picked another bad egg as a boyfriend. Aless moved out of the dingy apartment at eighteen and started trying to live her dream. She wrote. She had one book of short stories half way done and a compilation of poetry that was undergoing it’s final stages of editing when her proscription was changed. She meekly followed the instructions and tried to go back to her normal life. However the new medication was stronger, much stronger. And suddenly she found she didn’t have inspiration to write. This terrified her. She started to despise her medications; they stopped her creative flow, they blocked her mind, they made everything so very, very dull.
It didn’t take her long to find that instead of simply flushing the pills instead of taking them, she could make some extra cash by selling them on the street. She didn’t sell them directly of course, but a pusher paid her for them. One day the man offered her something along with the cash, a little baggy. At first she refused, but later her boyfriend of the time made a comment which she took to mean she wasn’t ‘cool’ enough. She’d always been codependent, though wildly intelligent--if without common sense. She already had the habit of dumbing herself down to make her boyfriend stay with her, and she hardly saw trying this drug as anything worse then that. So she did. And shortly there after found herself addicted to heroine.
She was lucky her book of short stories and poetry had already been published, because while they were only mild cult successes, they and the pills she was still getting helped support her habit. She tried to write again, but as on the medication, she was completely unable to form anything of quality. But she couldn’t give it up, the feeling was too good. Besides, it helped her keep her boyfriend.
It was five days before Christmas when she found out and a new her was born. Her boyfriend, though she was positive he was going to propose on Christmas Eve, thought she would be out for the day, visiting her mother. In actuality she’d just said that to get him out of their small apartment so she could surprise him with having decorations set up for the holidays. She was expecting him to be at work until that evening, so it was surprising to her when, after buying a wreath and other assorted holiday cheer, she came home to find the coat her boyfriend had been wearing that morning thrown on the floor. Carefully she hid her shopping bags, then crept to the bedroom. Instead of finding him napping or wrapping presents, she found him ‘unwrapping presents’. And not any of hers.
She watched for a moment, neither aware of her presence, before she calmly shut the door and walked out of the flat. As soon as the sight had cemented in her mind, a new her was born. Sandra. And she made her way, hips swaying, to the nearest bar. There she came to life, flirting, giving full throated laughs and a little more.
She never went back to the apartment. Rather that night she went home with someone else, and the next, and the next. Then she picked up the wrong man. Or should we say Vampire. She did her best to seduce him, she did. But the things he was saying, he acted as if he could see straight to her soul. It scared her. She tried to get away. He wouldn’t let go. She regressed and hoped it would go away. It didn’t. She tried to fight him. That didn’t work either. By this point he was laughing and he wouldn’t stop laughing and there was so much laughter and why was there laughter and--
When she woke she could feel something new tugging at her mind. She couldn’t think correctly, she could think incorrectly, but that wasn’t right was it? No of course it was. It was how she protected herself. Thinking never worked anyways, it just thought.
Needless to say, Alessandra did not fight the Malkavian curse, but rather embraced it and plummeted into madness. Madness had always helped her write before, perhaps it would help her right again. As she went, so did her personalities. Everything became more twisted, darker. The skills she’d learned on the streets became sharper, and sometimes duller. She followed her Sire, sometimes wandering, or maybe he wandered off? It was always so hard to tell if here was there or there was here. But there can’t be there if one is there for then it becomes here, so perhaps they both wandered off?
In any case, she’s fallen deeply in and all four of her seem to be enjoying it.
Freebie Points:
1pt to 1 Humanity
1pt to 1 Resource in Background
1pt to Catlike Balance in Merits
1pt to Immaculate Aura in Merits
2pts to Enchanting Voice in Merits
2pts to Medium in Merits
3pts to Unbondable in Merits
2pts to 1 Occult in Abilities
7pts to 1 Dementation in Disciplines
5pts to 1 Dexterity in Attributes
1pt to Time Sense in Merits
3pts to Efficient Digestion in Merits
Flaw Points:
2pts to Eerie Presence
2pts to Phobia
*Pokes and Pats Pansa teh Night Bunny* Great application hun ^_^ All edited and taken care of!
~Mello~
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Posted: Sat Jul 15, 2006 2:45 pm
Name: Dominic Xavier Braden
Clan: Brujah
Player: Galateal
Chronicle: Camarilla
Nature: Rebel
Demeanor: Bravo
Concept: Spiritual Avenger
Sire: Father Denys
Generation: 10th
Haven: Church
Attributes
Physical
Strength: XXX00
Dexterity: XXX00
Stamina: XXXX0
Social
Charisma: XXX00
Manipulation: XXX00
Appearance: XXX00
Mental
Perception: XX000
Intelligence: XX000
Wits: XXX00
Abilities
Talents
Alertness XXX00
Athletics XX000
Brawl XXX00
Dodge XXX00
Empathy XXX00
Expression 00000
Intimidation 00000
Leadership 00000
Streetwise XXX00
Subterfuge 00000
Skills (+1 difficulty if lacking dots)
Animal Ken 00000
Craft 00000
Drive X0000
Etiquette X0000
Firearms XX000
Melee XXX00
Performance 00000
Security 00000
Stealth XX000
Survival XXX00
Knowledges
Academics X0000
Computer 00000
Finance 00000
Investigation XX000
Law 00000
Linguistics X0000
Medicine X0000
Occult 00000
Politics 00000
Science X0000
Advantages
Backgrounds
Status X0000
Resources XX000
Generation XXX00
Disciplines
Celerity XX000
Potence XX000
Presence X0000
Virtues
Conscience XXXX0
Self-Control XXXX0
Courage XXX00
Other
Merits/Flaws
Prey Exclusion (Age 14-)
Ophidiophobia
Enemy
Code of Honor
Ambidextrous
Blush of Health
Humanity XXXXX XX000
Willpower Rating XXXXX XXX00
Willpower Pool 8/8
Blood Pool 13/13
Health
[ ] Bruised
[ ] Hurt (-1)
[ ] Injured (-1)
[ ] Wounded (-2)
[ ] Mauled (-2)
[ ] Crippled (-5)
[ ] Incapacitated
Weakness
Frenzy +2 diff
Freebies: 25
+1 Prey Exclusion (Age 14-)
+2 Phobia (snakes)
+4 Enemy (Camarilla-influenced crime syndicate)
===============================================
32
-2 Saints' Code of Honor
-1 Ambidextrous
-2 Blush of Health
===============================================
-4 +2 Alertness
-2 +1 Dodge
-2 +1 Streetwise
-2 +1 Etiquette
-4 +2 Stealth
-2 +1 Science
-2 +2 Generation
-7 +1 Potence
-2 +1 Self-Control
Age: 42
Apparent Age: 22
Date of Birth: December 18th, 1964
RIP: 1986
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Pale blue
Race: Caucasian
Nationality: American
Height: 5'7"
Weight: 105 lbs.
Sex: Male
Languages: English and Spanish
Detailed History
Quote: "Destroy all that which is evil so that which is good may flourish."
Prelude: Dominic was a good Irish-Catholic boy raised in South Boston. He was very religious, even at a young age. Some of Dominic's favorite passages in the Bible came from the last chapter of Ephesians in the Bible, saying that God's witnesses should actively take up arms against evil. This lead to many fights in middle and high school as he would scrap with just about anyone he was aware was doing vile things others, such as stealing, doing drugs or considering aborting an unborn life. Despite this conviction, Dominic managed to graduate high school with an A- average and capable ability to communicate in Spanish as well as his native English.
Unfortunately, there wasn't enough money to pay for college with his extensive family of 3 brothers and 2 sisters and his mother's medical bills. After a three month period of soul-searching, Dominic left home for the city, planning to find a job. From what he saw on the news at least once a day, criminals that had done outlandish things were getting away with them; receiving weak punishments like a year in jail for murdering another man in a fit of road rage. He saw this sort of lax enforcement everywhere.
During this point of his life, Dominic worked at a noodle factory, living in an apartment in an unsafe part of town, only finding real comfort in a local church, where he would help the clergy as best he could. It was during this time that Dominic actively sought out to do things against the evil men and women of his neighborhood, and was also when he met Father Denys (a Brujah), whom seemed fascinated with Dominic's perspective on the evils of man, as well as how proactive he was in solving it. This relationship started late into Dominic's 19th year. Sensing a possible scout or squad leader for the Sabbat-Camarilla Jyhad, one night Father Denys asked "Why must you destroy evil Dominic?," to which he replied "So that which is good may flourish." "And what if you would be doing evil in the process?" "My acts would pale before the evils of my enemy."
Satisfied with Dominic's responce, Father Denys brought him over to the Kindred. Initially reacting with total horror, Dominic slowly came to accept that even if he could no longer reach the kingdom of Heaven, that it did not prevent him from doing God's work. During his time as a kindred, Dominic has become accustomed to his supernatural speed and strength, as well as continual practice with pistols and knives. This self-imposed training has focused on hiding until just the right moment, making sure to pay attention to your surroundings, then striking swift and furiously. His time as an avenger has also given him a hold on the basics of criminal examination and a good capacity to survive in less than ideal conditions (one of his missions had him 5 minutes away from Final Death via sunlight). It was through these raids on the evil of men, that Dominic was able to quit his job, relying on the income from fencing the goods of defeated criminals (they're certainly not going to be able to use them anymore).
Realizing he could do greater things now than he ever could as a mortal, Dominic took the fight to the criminal underworld. During this crusade Dominic has gained a potent enemy in the form of organized crime augmented by Kindred-influences (though he has not yet come across this arm of the syndicate's influences. Despite how much bloodshed and death he's caused, Dominic seems to remain relatively human. His religious upbringing (as well as his humane-coloring, [[Blush of Health]]) helps him to interact and to empathize with the downtrodden. This upbringing is also why he refuses to feed from young children, and may yet be the source of his phobia of snakes (the serpent in the Garden of Eden).
Concept: A spiritual man who will not hesitate to destroy that which inflicts evil upon others.
Possessions: Bible, pair of heavy pistols, pair of daggers, wooden stake, trenchcoat, mask, grappling hook with rope, van.
Took away two dots in resources since you lived in a poor apartment, and now with only night hours couldn't be a tutor. I didn't add many points because i started to go through and fix the app so i could see the X's and 0's and then decided it wasn't worth it. So most of your points remained as they were.
The history is fine.
~Mello~
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Posted: Mon Jul 17, 2006 10:14 pm
Name: Marie Antoinette Dalton
Chronicle: Camarilla
Clan: Ventrue
Nature: Competitor
Demeanor: Gallant
Concept: -
Sire: Gabriel Harrison
Generation: 10th
Haven: Penthouse Suite #16, 14th floor
Attributes
Physical - (tertiary)
Strength: XXX0000000
Dexterity: XXX0000000
Stamina: XXXX000000
Social - (secondary)
Charisma: XXXX000000
Manipulation: XXX000000
Appearance: XXX0000000
Mental - (primary)
Perception: XXX0000000
Intelligence: XXXX000000
Wits: XXX0000000
Abilities
Talents - (secondary)
Alertness: 00000
Athletics: XX000
Brawl: X0000
Dodge: XX000
Empathy: X0000
Expression: XX000
Intimidation: 00000
Leadership: XXX00
Streetwise: 00000
Subterfuge: 00000
Skills - (tertiary)
Animal Ken: 00000
Crafts: 00000
Drive: X0000
Etiquette: XXX00
Firearms: XX000
Melee: XX000
Performance: X0000
Security: 00000
Stealth: 00000
Survival: XXX00
Knowledges - (primary)
Academics: XX000
Computer: XXX00
Finance: XXX00
Investigation: 00000
Law: X0000
Linguistics: X0000
Medicine: 00000
Occult: 00000
Politics: XX000
Science: X0000
Disciplines
Dominate: X
Fortitude: XXX
Presence: XXX
Backgrounds
Allies: 00000
Contacts: 00000
Fame: X0000
Generation: XXX00
Herd: 00000
Influence: 00000
Mentor: X0000
Resources: XXX00
Retainers: 00000
Status: X0000
Virtues
Conscience: XXX00
Self Control: XXX00
Courage: XXXX0
Humanity: XXXXXXX000
Willpower: XXXXXXXX00
Bloodpool: XXXXXXXXXX000 (this will vary)
Merits:
1 for eat food merit
2 for blush of health merit
1 for natural leader merit
3 for lucky merit
1 for Prestigious Sire merit
Flaws:
Ventrue Feeding Restriction: Marie only feeds upon those who are (or look to be) between the ages of 18-30. They must be attractive; this means they must have no major blemishes upon their complection, be physically fit, have little excess body fat, and look generally pleasing to her. Note that gender does not matter (though it's easier to get men), and, while it is not necessary, she prefers to feed upon those who have personalities she doesn't like (who she likes to classify as 'jerks.')
Age: 29
Apparent Age: 23
Date of Birth: June 16th, 1977
RIP: August 29th, 2000
Hair: Brown
Eyes: Dark brown
Race: Mixed (African American/Caucasian)
Nationality: American
Height: 5'6''
Weight: 130 lbs
Sex: Female
Detailed History: Marie Antoinette Dalton was born in the early summer of 1977. Her father, Stephen Dalton, always told her it wasn't her fault that her mother had died giving birth to her. Christine had always been somewhat ill throughout her life, and the stress of childbirth was too much. And so Marie accepted this fact, and always made sure to say hi to the picture of her mom on the wall when she walked by.
She lived alone with her father. And the cook, maid, butler, nanny, and gardener. Only the nanny lived at their house though; the rest came when they were needed. But when she was 10 the nanny was fired, because Marie didn't need a nanny anymore. She didn't like her much anyway; the nanny nagged her too much. A quick complaint to her father got the woman out of her life. Besides, the cook, Sarah, gave her better company during the day while her father slept.
Oh yes, he only conducted business at night. Marie always wondered why. After all, it seemed illogical for the founder and CEO of a prominent technology company to have meetings and paperwork to do at night. But that was the way it worked, and Marie did not discover why until it was too late.
She later felt she should have guessed. All the evidence was there- but it would've been preposterous to claim that her father was a vampire! No one in their right mind would've believed her; no, not even her, the prodigy child who graduated from high school at the age of 15, and college at 17. She who was a genius with computers, codes, maths, sciences, and not to bad with all the other subjects either. The charming girl who was the bright star of the business community, well on her way to helping her dad expand their company.
Life had been going so well for her before she found out. Nearly every month one of the local New York newspapers would have a little blurb mentioning her; sometimes even a full blown article with a picture. Once for the tennis championship she had won; another for her high academic achievements at a young age. Sometimes the business section would mention the innovations she used to rejuvenate the Computer Software and Hardware component of her father's conglomerate (which she had been in charge of ever since she earned her bachelor of science). Even more stories popped up around her other activities in one of the City's Youth Choirs, her volunteer activities at the Red Cross, the local Horse Fair (where she often won a ribbon in the junior competition for jumping), the area high school's swim team, and the New York City Fencing club. Occasionally some of her more noteworthy activities would even make national news. And sometimes the area news channels would get her to interview for them; she was usually the first picked out in a crowd for those kinds of things. Always made the spokesperson, captain, leader, what have you. She had a persona that just seemed to make people pay attention to her. It wasn't as if she was absolutely beautiful or stunning to behold (not to say that she was ugly; quite the contrary, as her smooth dark tan colored skin looked quite lovely with her shoulder length brown wavy hair). She just... attracted people, which suited Marie just fine. She enjoyed their attention.
As she got older, Marie found she had less time for all the fun activities she did in her 'youth.' Most of her time was spent focused on the company, and the lessons her father taught her. Every evening he would find time to teach her more details about how business finance worked; why it was important for her to be learning Spanish and not shrug off her studies because they were 'boring'; how to deal with pesky lawsuits; how to behave properly in important meetings and coax that multi-million dollar deal out of someone by asking them how their kid was. It was about the closest thing they got to father-daughter bonding; once Marie had proven that she knew much more about technology than her slowpoke father, he had stopped babying her and treated her more like a business associate (with perks).
Not to say her life was all work and no play. While she did enjoy working with computers, she also liked to party. Often their large New York apartment would be host to a large gathering of the younger members of high society, where there would be karaoke, dancing, and other forms of revelry.
It was at one such party that led to Marie's eventual discovery of her father's secret. Near Halloween in 1999, she held a costume party, as was the proper thing to do. She chose to wear clothing from the Victorian period, under the advice of her father; a nice frilly dress, with a corset too, to be authentic.
While at this party, Marie found herself drawn to a young man- younger than her by a few years, she thought. He too was dressed in a Victorian period outfit, with a top hat and cane to boot. He had a charming smile. She ended up spending the rest of the evening with him, chatting the night away. She felt they really made a connection.
That young man came to every party she held after that, sometimes in his costume, sometimes not. He'd seem to fancy it. They'd talk about this and that, laugh, flirt. It wasn't long before Marie had a boyfriend. His name was Gabriel. She thought this was the one that would last, unlike all the others. How wrong she was.
They had been going fairly steady for almost a year before the... event. It was at a party Marie was holding, as she often did. She was a little tipsy from drinking when Gabriel steered her up to her room, like he usually did before they had a make-out session. But then he started acting strange as they made their way to her bed. He was asking weird questions: Did she want to stay young and beautiful? Did she crave power? To run her company? Did she want a challenge, an adventure?
Marie laughed, and considering his questions to be some sort of game, answered yes to all. It wasn't as if her answers were untruthful; in fact, alcohol had a tendency to make her more truthful. Nor did his questions seem completely out of the ordinary, as every now and then he would get philosophical and ask her strange questions, which she would of course answer to the best of her knowledge. She didn't know why (just writing it off as a quirk of his), and thought today was no different. But it was.
Upon hearing her response, Gabriel smiled. He swept her into his arms, kissed her, and then bit her neck.
For a split second she felt like protesting- she didn't want someone to bite her! How... crude! But then everything faded into euphoric bliss, and she no longer cared. At first, that was because of the sheer ecstasy of the moment; then it was because she died.
She didn't stay dead for long though.
And boy, was she pissed.
That came slightly later, of course. She didn't remember what happened right after she awoke (though she had a suspicion some party goers never went home that night). But oh, did she remember the smug look on Gabriel's face, no longer the look of her young lover, but of a wise, calculating man. Gabriel patiently explained that he was 101 years old, a vampire, and she had been specially chosen by the Ventrue to join their family. And then that was when her father walked in, and Gabriel explained that he too was a vampire. For her entire life.
"You see, dearheart," Stephen explained to her, "you were perfect for them. For us. When Christine- who I did love, my dear- came back to me pregnant after cheating on me with that nasty man, I took it in stride. I always wanted a child, someone to help with the company, but I never dreamed that you would be so suited to it. When you showed exceptional cognitive skills, we decided you would be embraced into our ranks to help further our cause. Feel fortunate to have Gabriel as your sire; he is one of the board members for this city. He is my sire as well, and through him the resources of this company are directed to the benefit of the clan. You see, now it will be much easier for both of us to work for the same goals. So do not fret, dearheart."
Marie was not placated by their words. They spent several days trying to properly explain why it was such a good thing for her to finally be a vampire, but she would not listen. In fact, she swore never to speak with her 'father' again, for it seemed that he was not her real father at all. Several months were spent in a self-pity, closeted away from the world, coming out only when Gabriel made her feed. Then finally, one day, she came to the realization that sulking wouldn't fix anything- she was a vampire and that was that. And, she considered, it wasn't too bad, besides that whole avoiding the sun and feeding on people. She could still go to parties, still run her business, still have fun. Apparently she was lucky to still look healthy, and to be able to enjoy food (she was thankful for that; gallons of ice cream certainly helped her feel better). And if she was going to have to a be a vampire, she'd play along with their games. They 'bred' her to be the ideal vampire? Well! She'd be the best vampire ever!
With those ambitions set, she continued to live her 'normal' life as best she could, while adapting to the new vampiric mannerisms. She continued to not speak to her father.
As it turned out, she never got a chance to speak with him again. He was killed- permanently- while on a business trip to Chicago. The clan covered it up as a disappearance to the public eye, but they knew it was a murder. Marie didn't really care; he had cursed her, though somewhat indirectly, and (she guessed) probably killed her mother too. However, her sire charged her not only with taking control of the entire company, but also to investigate the death of her father. Marie wholeheartedly accepted the first task, and grudgingly the second. She moved her main headquarters over to the Windy City in order to be able to track down her father's killers better. Or at least that's what she told stuffy old Gabriel. Mainly it was for the adventure- a new city for her bloom in.
Freebies - Spent as follows:
1 for humanity
1 for eat food merit
2 for blush of health merit
1 for natural leader merit
3 for lucky merit
1 for prestigious sire merit
5 for appearance attribute
2 for generation background
2 for melee ability
7 for presence
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Posted: Thu Jul 20, 2006 7:30 pm
Name: Fiona
Chronicle: Camarilla
Clan: Malkavian
Nature: Competitor
Demeanor: Thrill-seeker
Concept: Psychotic Fencer with an everpresent wild grin
Sire: Changes his name frequently; "Sir" usually suffices.
Generation: 10th
Haven:
Dementia: Habromania
Attributes
Physical = (7)
Strength: XXX0000000
Dexterity: XXXXX00000
Stamina: XXX0000000
Social: (3)
Charisma: XX00000000
Manipulation: XX00000000
Appearance: XXX0000000
Mental: (5)
Perception: XXX0000000
Intelligence: XX00000000
Wits: XXXX000000
Abilities
Talents 13
Alertness: XXX00
Atheletics: XXX00
Brawl: X0000
Dodge: XXXXX
Empathy: 00000
Expression: 00000
Intimidation: XX000
Leadership: 00000
Streetwise: XX000
Subterfuge: 00000
Skills 9
Animal Ken: 00000
Crafts: 00000
Drive: X0000
Ettiquette: XX000
Firearms: XX000
Melee: XXXXX
Perfomance: 00000
Security: 00000
Stealth: 00000
Survival: X0000
Knowledges 5
Academics: XXX00
Computer: 00000
Finance: X0000
Investigation: X0000
Law: X0000
Linguistics: X0000 (English, French)
Medicine: 00000
Occult: XX000
Politics: X0000
Science: 00000
Disciplines
Dementation: XX000
Auspex: XXX00
Obfuscate: X0000
Fortitude: XX
Backgrounds
Allies: XX000
Contacts: XX000
Fame: 00000
Generation: XXX00
Herd: 00000
Influence: 00000
Mentor: X0000
Resources: XXX00
Retainers: 00000
Status: 00000
Virtues
Conscience: XXX00
Self Control: XXX00
Courage: XXXX0
Humanity:XXXXXX0000
Willpower: XXXXXXXXXX
Bloodpool: XXXXXXXXXX00 (
Merits Tell me how much each is worth as you take it.
Flaws: Phobia (+2), Heights; Short Fuse (+2); Cast no reflection (+1),
Age: 53
Apparent Age: 25
Date of Birth: 1957
RIP: 1977
Hair: Blonde, Middle back length, curly.
Eyes: Green
Race: Caucasian
Nationality: French
Height: 5'5
Weight: 132
Sex: Female
Appearance: She wears her long hair loose and is always easily identified by her expertly tailored pinstripe pantsuits, heeled boots, white silk gloves, and fedora hat, as well as her constant grin. She tends to sway and shift her balance regularly as she talks, and always seems to have a little skip in her step as she walks. Her clothing is usually in dark or neutral shades such as grey, deep purple, or even red, though gross alterations of that are not at all unknown, varying as much as white, blue, and even pink. One of the main things to note is that she goes literally nowhere without her long, solid, polished black oak "gentleman's cane", within which is concealed a brutally edged and pointed sword. This she uses as she would a fencing sabre, and it's single-edge more than adequately allows for this. And after a couple of decades of practice, she's grown quite accustomed to the weapon.
Inventory: Sword-cane, a wooden stake (kept in a shoulder holster), and as often as she can find a way to carry one, any kind of firearm. She prefers submachine guns, but will just as quickly use a pistol or rifle if she must. She is usually counted on to carry a pretty solid billfold with her as well, although that's pretty trivial.
Detailed History: Character History: The life of Fiona is both straightforward and convoluted. Many an unexpected twist and turn did befall the lass before she reached her present state; but I digress. Let us, as they say, start at the beginning.
Fiona D'aubigne was born to a wealthy family in a mid-western province of France, near to Orleans. Her parents were influencial in politics and business alike, and she enjoyed a certain upper tier placement in society. She would receive the best schooling, the finest clothes, and only the very wealthy would be allowed to court her. So it was meant to be, at least. But fate has a funny way of intervening.
Indeed, Fiona grew up well within the sheltered confines of her family's prodigious home and gardens. However, instead of being a natural lady and finely-bred aristocrat, she was a tomboy by nature and was athletic in an extreme. For years, her parents tried their best to curtail this through punishment and strict private tutoring. And while not, perhaps, the most attentive student in the world, she did learn her lessons in a wide berth of fields; science, politics, business and finance, and she even received extensive training in foreign languages. At the high point of her ability she could speak fairly fluently in no less than four.
But, even in spite of her fledgeling academic success, she was still a consistent headache for her tutors. Having no real friends of her own, she often made up new ones to spend her free time with, and these "friends" always seemed to lead her away, back out into the gardens, in the dirt and grime that her parents so loathed.
Her family, family's servants, and tutors were at a loss, until an off-hand suggestion from a lowly butler turned her life around. Why not indulge her love of athletics but give her a "proper" discipline to study and focus upon?
The suggestion slammed home like a stroke of lightning. Immediately her parents bombarded her with new thoughts, ideas, and activities. She, at a still tender age of fourteen, found herself (and all of her little friends) in a heaven of blurring motion and activity. The only trouble she had was finding something she liked. Horsemanship bored her. Archery was dull. Track and field, at least what she was allowed to participate in, was just too slow. Skating offered a challenge for a while but eventually she grew tired of that as well. She, and many around her, were at their wits end when she stumbled upon her calling.
A long, slender length of steel, with a rubbered tip and a firm grip. A fencing foil.
She took to it with a passionate vengeance, and her parents were overjoyed. They brought in the best fencers that they could afford to train her.
Her tutors were a little less thrilled; more often than not, they would find her sweating in the practice area instead of over her arithmetic. But nothing could deter her. She became obsessed with her new study, in no way like she had before. It eventually got to the point where she spent every waking moment either with her sabre in hand or very close by. Her instructors were bombshelled by how rapidly she was learning, and how much raw untapped talent she had for the art. She surpassed them, one after another.
Now, one might well ask why no one was concerned with this behavior. Why no one made a mention of it, and why this charming young lady was allowed to fly so far down the path of obsession. It might lead one to believe that no one cared. Such was not the case. Many did. She received constant psychiatric evaluation to try and find the root of her problems. But nothing ever found the answer, because she never seemed to care enough to answer the questions being asked of her in the first place.
At age twenty, she began entering competitions. She threshed through them like wheat, as well. She was incredible, her confidence unshakable. She was invincible, until she was twenty two, and one day she lost. Her old obsession exploded back into the forefront, fueled and enhanced by her own impotent fury and disappointment in herself. For each level she failed to obtain, her self-abuse grew. She would often order her meals to be brought to her in her practice areas and not leave them for weeks. She was entirely obsessed now, and certifiably unstable even at this stage. But for all her practice, for all her work, all of her pain, blood, sweat, and tears, she could of course never obtain the perfection she so sought. For all of her incredible skill and focus, she was never good enough for herself.
Fast forward three years. She was twenty five now, and had reached both a pinnacle...and a chasm. Her skill was unparalleled, as was her misery. What time she did not spend in practice, she spent in solitude, often crying or simply sitting quiet. Other skills and knowledges, talents, had already well begun to leave her. Her languages faded. Her business sense fell behind the times. Her science was forgotten; the only bit of it that she still even remembered or cared about was anatomy, which she studied extensively so as to hopefully find some way to better herself by understanding the way her body moved.
However, nothing seemed to work. She was still never good enough for herself. Every time her muscles failed her, she screamed in frustration. When she collapsed from exhaustion, she cried and vocally berated herself. Whenever she was just a bit too slow for her own good, didn't strike just a bit harder, or missed by an inch or more, her despair only grew.
Then, salvation appeared. How he found her, she knew not. How he gained entry to her home and her private practice area, she did not fathom. But she hardly cared when he made his offer: He could give her what she was missing to achieve the perfection she so desired. He was tall, pale, and handsome, and had a wild gleam to his eyes. His extended hand, a bridge to that which she so desperately desired, was simply too sweet for her to resist.
The Malkavian never planned to help her; she was just a vessel, a cattle, as far as he was concerned. An intriguing cattle, one driven by wild passion, yes. But mere cattle all the same. He was going to simply drain her dry and leave her.
As she lay whimpering on the floor after his attack, the very last bits of her life fleeing her, something flipped a switch in the Cainite, which you will likely laugh at. Of course it did; we wouldn't be telling this story if something hadn't "saved" her, would we?
He spared her, completing her Embrace, and brought her past the veil of undeath. It would later become a common joke with them that the only way to "spare" her was to kill her, which the both of them always got a good laugh out of.
And, amazingly, he was true to his word. Her new form was indeed stronger, faster, and much more resilient than her old one had been. She was more alert, more awake, and infinitely more perceptive. Ironically, she was now more alive than she'd ever been before, at least as far as she was concerned. She was closer to her perfection than she'd ever been, but...why had she cared so much about that in the first place? She couldn't remember; her obsession had, for the most part, utterly perished with her mortal life. Now things were different. Much different. A new perversion clawed at her.
Apalling situations pulled wild gales of laughter from her. Scenes of grotesque horror would make her titter and giggle. The more uncoordinated and horrible a place or scene was, the more she loved it. She reveled in the carnage she could now wreak; with her life's skill and her new powers, she was a machine of injury and death. And in fact, she might well have been slain early on, like so many upstart, power-drunk childer had her sire not intervened.
Showing a patience that you might not expect from a raving lunatic, he broke her of her homicidal impulses. Naturally, he couldn't possibly completely snuff her love of carnage, and nor did he really want to. Her natural propensity to fly into a wild and explosive rage and cut everything around her to ribbons was, at times, a blessing. And he even went so far as to put her through a rigorous training regiment involving all types of small arms, as being able to strike from a range was a very useful quality.
But in the end, he taught her a better way. Many battles could not, and were not meant to be, won with swords alone. Words could strike as heavily as any sword. Contacts meant more than a blade. Allies were more valuable than any amount of money.
He taught her the incredible talent for prescience that so many Malkavians are renowned for. He taut her the paths and roots of madness, and how to inflict it's sting on others. He taught her the darker secrets of knowledge and of Cainite history, and she made for quite the eager student.
It was during this time that she aquired her unique sense of fashion as well, and her sire quite frankly loved every moment of their time together. She was an eager and devoted student, with intelligence and proven skill. He quickly found that she was useful as both a tool and as a blunt bodyguard. And there was literally nothing that she would not do for him; she was slavishly devoted to his every whim and action.
Naturally, when he announced his intentions to travel to America, she was nipping right at his heels in an all but literal fashion. Things had gotten a little out of control in Europe and her sire had elected to cut his ties, and his losses, and restart somewhere else. She was the only one of his childer that he took with him on the trip.
Using her considerable resources (as her family had long since passed...or been exterminated to tie off loose ends), as well as his own, they quickly established a haven and spread out a network of contacts all over the city. She herself was only a pawn, and she knew it. But that didn't keep her from setting up a few networks of her own, even as she was working for her sire's benefit.
So what has become of this little whirlwind, my friend? That's hard to say, in truth. She's actually doing an admirable job of laying low for now. Just if you ever should meet her...try not to make her mad. You likely won't last long if you do.
Freebies: Already Distibuted and Discussed in detail with the Storyteller.
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Posted: Thu Jul 20, 2006 10:42 pm
OOC: Here it is... dun be cruel. nn; The last three aren't as effective as I'd like. I might go back and make them more dramatic if I feel the need.
3nodding
Name: Alexander Trabia
Clan: Gangrel
Nature: Competitor
Demeanor: Celebrant
Concept: Badass
Sire: Wertreim Hollidae
Generation: 10th
Haven: None (Wanders about Chicago, sleeps in parks using Earth Meld)
Attributes
Physical (Primary)
Strength: XXX0000000
Dexterity: XXXXX00000
Stamina: XXX0000000
Social: (Teritary)
Charisma: XXX0000000
Manipulation: XX00000000
Appearance: XX00000000
Mental sad Secondary)
Perception: XXX0000000
Intelligence: XX00000000
Wits: XXXX000000
Abilities
Talents (Primary)
Alertness: XX000
Atheletics: XXXX0
Brawl: XXX00
Dodge: XXX00
Empathy: X0000
Expression: XX000
Intimidation: 00000
Leadership: X0000
Streetwise: X0000
Subterfuge: 00000
Skills (Secondary)
Animal Ken: XX000
Crafts: 00000
Drive: 00000
Ettiquette: 00000
Firearms: 00000
Melee: XXX00
Perfomance: XXXX0
Security: 00000
Stealth: XX000
Survival: XXX00
Knowledges (Teritary)
Academics: 00000
Computer: 00000
Finance: X0000
Investigation: 00000
Law: 00000
Linguistics: X0000
English, Romany [Gypsy Speak]
Medicine: X0000
Occult: XX000
Politics: 00000
Science: 00000
Disciplines
Animalism XX00000000
Fortitude XXX0000000
Protean XXXX000000
~**Gleam of Red Eyes**~ LEVEL 1
May see in the dark. Eyes glow red, 1 turn to complete power.
~**Cougar Claws**~ LEVEL 2
1 blood point, 1 inch claws from fingers, deal aggrivated damage.
~**Shadow of the Beast**~ LEVEL 3
Fight Form: Cougar Sense: Smell/Taste -2 Difficulty
+3 Dexterity, +2 Strength
Flight Form: Housecat; Hearing -2 Difficulty
+2 Dexterity, +2 difficulty to attacks
~**Earth Meld**~ LEVEL 4
Can meld with the earth and sleep under dirt, avoiding the sun.
Backgrounds
Allies: XXX00
Contacts: 00000
Fame: X0000
Generation: XXX00
Herd: 00000
Influence: 00000
Mentor: X0000
Resources: X0000
Retainers: 00000
Status: 00000
Virtues
Conscience: XXX00
Self Control: XXXX0
Courage: XXXXX
Humanity: XXXXXXX000
Willpower Rating: XXXXXXXXXX
Willpower Pool: XXXXX XXXXX
Bloodpool: XXXXX XXXXX XXX
Merits
Catlike Balance: -2 Difficulty for balancing actions.
Daredevil: With exceptionally risky actions, +3 dice, and negate one botch.
Concentration: Ignore penalties for distractions.
Light Sleeper: Ignore rules regarding how Humanity/Path restricts number of dice during day.
Natural Leader: +2 dice for all Leadership rolls.
Iron Will: If affected by Dominate, may spend a willpower point to shake off the effects. Gain +3 dice when assaulted by any magic that attempts to alter his mind.
Flaws
Gangrel Clan Weakness: For every frenzy, gain one animalistic feature. For every five animalistic features, take a permanent. -1 penalty to one social attribute.
Phobia: Wolves: Must make a courage roll or flee from wolves.
Mistaken Identity: Looks like Gregory, a Tremere of a similar age.
Enemy: Said Tremere.
Freebie Point History (In chronological order)
Spent 2 for Light Sleeper [Innate, Ch. 1]
Spent 1 for Natural Leader [Innate, Ch. 1]
Spent 3 for Daredevil [Gallant Acrobatic, Ch. 2]
Spent 1 for Catlike Balance [Acrobatics, Ch. 2]
Spent 1 for Concentration [Acrobatics, Ch. 2]
Spent 2 for 1 Self Control [Year-Long Abandonment, Ch. 3]
Spent 6 for 3 Brawl [Vampiric Training, Ch. 3]
Spent 2 for 1 Courage [Night of the Lupines, Ch. 4]
Spent 7 for 1 Protean [Vampiric Training, Ch. 4]
Spent 3 for 3 Allies [Gypsy Friends, Ch. 5]
Spent 1 for 1 Resources [Independence, Ch. 5]
Spent 3 for Iron Will [Independance, Ch. 5]
Gained 2 for Phobia: Wolves [Innate, Ch. 1]
Gained 2 for Lunacy [Passed on from Wertreim, Ch. 3]
Gained 1 for Mistaken Identity [Innate, Ch. 6]
Gained 1 for Enemy [Studious Tremere, Ch. 6]
Age: 43
Apparent Age: 28
Date of Birth:
RIP:
Hair: Deep Brown
Eyes: Baby Blue
Race: United States Native
Nationality: United States Native
Height: 5'4"
Weight: 122 lbs
Sex: Male
~Detailed History~
A comfortable life would have been Alex's choice. He supposed unlife had its privelages... guaranteed unending existence being one of them... but after a while, he realised that, perhaps death would be a better alternative to becoming a blood-sucking creature of the night.
Sunrises were the only thing he missed, really. Perhaps one day, he'd just sit back and let the sun take him. Then again, perhaps not.
-Chapter 1: Birth
A young boy stood, alone, in the pen of several cows. He was smiling, kicking a ball with his bare feet and jumping around, fruitlessly attempting to catch butterflies on his family farm, with cows chewing grass somewhere nearby. His father was in the fields... but keeping a close watch on his favorite, and only, son.
Then, the strike occured.
Gigantic wolves of tremendous stature leaped from the forest bodering the den for the cows. In seconds, the cows were ripped to peices... spinal columns ripped from their bodies, and carried off by the strange, carnivorious creatures.
The bloody scene around him was imprinted into his mind.
But all he could speak of were the feirce eyes of the predators. Something that wanted to kill him... yet held back for some unfathomable reason.
Later that day, the family had moved out, forced out of their farm after their investment in cattle had been taken by something they couldn't possibly explain. But none could deny the fact that Alex's eyes looked different... his face a little more pallid.
---
Alex's childhood was relatively normal, him being the son of a farmer. However, on his 3rd year of life, he was given a powerful imprint into his mind, and he never was truly the same, despite himself being able to revert to a semblance of normality.
-Chapter 2: Mortality
Jump. Jump. Roll. Flip. Flip. Fl- ECK!
This would be the train of his thought... for some reason, he could never succeed on three consecutive flips. Despite his intense training, the third flip always gave him trouble.
As he let himself rest, squirting the water bottle he'd kept for so long, he began to wonder if he were truly cut out for gymnastics. Genetics were definitely not in his favor. He had a good amount of talent, but his body simply wasn't as lithe as those of his peers... and, often enough, they made fun of his spectacular falls.
Today would be different, though, as he soon found out.
"Class, we have a new student today. Her name is Annalita. Say hello, Annalita."
His eyes were graced with the beautiful form of a 12 year old girl, with blonde hair, and the deepest, calmest gaze one could possibly imagine, skin of a healthy flush, and demeanor the most serene imaginable.
"Um... hello."
He was deeply entranced... and, as soon as one of the ego-centric freaks smacked him across the back of his head, he managed to gather some courage.
'I'm gonna make that flip.' Smiling, he wandered towards the long trampoline that was the subject of his training.
"Hey! Look at me!" A grin graced his face...
Jump. Jump. Roll. Flip. Flip... Flip.
---
Most of the rest of Alex's childhood and teenage years were involved in gymnastics training. He wasn't the best in school, but he managed with piss-poor grades, and the second he turned 16 he dropped out of his own accord, spending time with Annalita, whom was, in his decision, his life. Because he needed a job, he managed to try out in the Olympics... and just barely earned himself a silver medal, despite the fact he sprained his ankle in the process of his attempt. Despite this, however, he continued on, and that was what earned him respect. After his silver medal, Alex never returned, instead working in a circus as their star trapeze artist.
-Chapter 3: Death
It was a day of intense sadness. The black clouds above didn't do much to ease the young man's spirits. The death of his one and only had caused him that much grief. Stricken with cancer from an early age, Alex knew that this day would come, but nonetheless, he found himself unable to cope with the loss of the person who'd so captivated him 10 years past.
The day was no less sad when he was embraced behind a dumpster, chased throughout the city by a vampire known as Wertriem.
"You were pathetic. I was expecting more of a flight out of you..."
The man before him was cold, despite the fact he was very close. His eyes blinked, staring into the eyes of a creature that seemingly felt no pain.
"What? You expected me to be nice because your girlfriend died? Pah. You're a weakling, I should not have let you die..."
"Shut up." Alex's growl reverberated through the air... eyes stuck in a glare. "Wha... what did you do to me...?" He felt a sharp pain in his neck... and winced. "Damn... what is that...?"
"You have been bitten by a vampire. You now bear Gangrel's blessing! Be proud... but, do be careful. I won't save you if you die..." Grinning... the vampire began to walk off.
Alex felt too weak to move... but one verse erupted from his lips. "******** you."
He gracefully accepted unconsciousness... for a short while.
---
Undoubtedly, this was Alex's worst time. He was left alone to figure out his vampirism for a year, as required by the Gangrel clan. He nearly frenzied plenty of times, not realising just how much blood he needed, but he always managed to pull through. Somehow. After his year was up, Wertriem taught him how to fight, in addition to pursuing the Protean discipline after observing Alex's lack of caring for controlling animals.
-Chapter 4: Night of the Lupines
"GET AWAY FROM ME!" Alex screeched from the corner of the room, shutting his eyes and barely holding his arms out to defend himself. Before him was a wolf. A wolf with the glimmer of intelligence beneath its gaze... and quite a bit of amusement, as well. Swiftly, the wolf turned back into the firey form of Wertriem, who mockingly pointed a finger at his student.
"If you cannot face your fear of wolves, what good are you? Lupines would rip you to peices!"
"Lupines?" Curiously staring at the man... staring to the side angrily. "I'm fine with wolves."
"Lupines, my idiotic friend..." Wertriem started, a small chuckle growing within. "... are wolf-men, and they especially hate us vampires. You would indeed do best to evade them. Now, come. We will go for a hike in the forest."
They did indeed go for a hike in the forest... but, when Wertriem went to take a piss off a cliff... he disappeared. In his stead, a pack of feral wolves... all with the glimmer of intelligence locked away within their predatory eyes...
That night was the worst night of Alex's life.
---
These were the final years in Alex's training.
-Chapter 5: Independence
"Well, you might still be fresh meat for some of the older vampires..." Wertriem began... slowly staring his companion in the eye, the office where he sat becoming a pathetic attempt for a graduation hall.
"But so am I." Laughing, Wertriem shrugged. "I don't care if you die, however, so please, leave my home and never come back."
Alex silently cheered. He wouldn't have it any other way.
"Oh... but before you go... please, take this calling card. I have a few friends that would in fact love to meet you."
A card would be flickered in Alex's way... and he slowly quirked a brow.
"Professional Gypsies...? What kind of bullshit is this?"
"I s**t you not, friend. They were particularly interested in the fact you worked as a trapeze artist. They have... a little show of their own, if you are so interested... and, they will probably help you more than I can."
"Huh. Right." He slowly pocketed the card... giving his 'mentor' a strange look... before beginning to head out.
"And, remember! If you do not call them... they will call you..."
"Sure..." Alex sighed, wondering just what the hell he was talking about.
Five minutes later, as he passed a pay phone, it rung.
---
Alex would spend another 2 or 3 years with the gypsies, gaining a few friends who could provide him with a great deal of gossip. During this time, he learned a few things about pinching pennies and several random, assorted knowledges that he might need in the coming years. But more importantly, Alex learned how to party pretty damn hardy.
-Chapter 6: Studious Tremere
"You! I thought I saw you slinking around in *my* territory!"
Alex turned his head... and slowly quirked a brow in the speaker's general direction. And then his jaw dropped. He thought for a moment that he was looking in a mirror. "What the hell? You look just like me... but... different." Slowly, Alex took note of the differences. There weren't many, to be sure, but they were there. Alex was told he had his mother's nose. That was not apparent on his... "clone."
"What are you talking about!? I don't look anything like you, simpleton!" It was true, Alex mused. The Tremere in question was dressed in utter finery.
"You didn't even report yourself to me, when wandering in MY territory. Be more careful next time, urchin! I'll report this to my sire, right this instant!" Alex's eyes narrowed... then, he shrugged. "Mmm... I *could* have repoted to you... but why would I bother reporting to anyone in such a piss-poor neighborhood? Go ******** yourself."
Alex then was off... bolting in a direction that he hoped would lead him away from the ranting, irate Tremere... knowing better, from Wertriem, than biting the poor b*****d. Probably had some vile blood, no less.
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Posted: Sat Jul 22, 2006 9:50 pm
Name: William Talbot
Chronicle: Camarilla
Clan: Tremere
Nature: Celebrant
Demeanor: Bookwormish
Concept: Bibliophile
Sire: Elizabeth Bouch
Generation: 10th
Haven: Chicago Chantry
Languages: English, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Russian, German, French, Spanish, Japanese, and Italian
Attributes
Physical (3)
Strength: XX00000000
Dexterity: XX00000000
Stamina: XXX0000000
Social: (5)
Charisma: XXX0000000
Manipulation: XXX0000000
Appearance: XXX0000000
Mental: (7)
Perception: XXXX000000
Intelligence: XXXXX00000
Wits: XXX0000000
Abilities
Talents (9)
Alertness: XXX00
Athletics: 00000
Brawl: 00000
Dodge: 00000
Empathy: XXX00
Expression: XX000
Intimidation: 00000
Leadership: 00000
Streetwise: 00000
Subterfuge: X0000
Skills (5)
Animal Ken: X0000
Crafts: 00000
Drive: 00000
Etiquette: XX000
Firearms: X0000
Melee: X0000
Performance: 00000
Security: X0000
Stealth: 00000
Survival: XX000
Knowledges (13)
Academics: XXXX0
Computer: XX000
Finance: 00000
Investigation: X0000
Law: X0000
Linguistics: XXXX0
Medicine: 00000
Occult: XXXX0
Politics: XX000
Science: XX000
Disciplines
Thamaturgy-
Lure of Flames: XXX
Levinbolt: XX
Dominate:
Auspex: XX
Backgrounds
Allies: 00000
Contacts: 00000
Fame: 00000
Generation: XXX00
Herd: 00000
Influence: 00000
Mentor: X0000
Resources: XX000
Retainers: 00000
Status: 00000
Virtues:
Conscience: XXXX0
Self Control: XXXX0
Courage: XXX00
Humanity: XXXXXXXXX0
Willpower: XXXXXXX000
Bloodpool: XXXXXXXX00000
Merits:
Eidetic Memory
Concentration
Flaws:
Shy
Deep Sleeper
Age: 42 (23 Dead + 19 Alive)
Apparent Age: 18-19
Date of Birth: October 12th, 1965
RIP: October 12th, 1986
Hair: Short and blonde
Eyes: Blue
Race: Caucasian
Nationality: American
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 130 lbs
Sex: Male
Detailed History:
William C. Talbot of St. Paul, Minnesota was a quiet, well mannered and extremely bright child, which many parents wish dearly for, born to two people that had never so much as wished for a child at all. Joseph and Ashley Talbot, both moderately successful as a doctor and actress, respectively, did not know how to raise the child and had no interest in learning to do so, and it was for this reason that young William was left largely to his own devices and the guidance of his nanny, a somewhat portly, English descended old woman by the name of Bernice Strivel. Ms. Strivel, who lived in the house, was solely responsible for his upbringing, teaching him manners and how to read at an extremely early age until the age of 6, when she suffered a fatal stroke, leaving William alone and horrified for the several days it took for his parents to return.
The following year William entered his first year of school, years overdue. The gap between the age of him and his classmates, combined with his worsening shyness, following Ms. Strivel's demise, resulted in a rather poor reception, and he retreated further into himself, and books, as he learned more and read at a steadily rising rate. He read almost constantly, at home, during class, and even while walking, and it was not long before he was advanced several grades to children of his own age, and the appropriate grade. By then, however, he had already surpassed the mental capacity of his classmates, and there he was once again the sin eater; the scapegoat and source of all that could possibly be ill or wrong within the sheltered world of children.
William, however, lived within no such world: books had brought with them an entirely different universe, filled with knowledge, and knowledge had brought with it an erosion of the innocence and ignorance of childhood. His apathy towards the trivial worries those his age faced unnerved many, and his status as the pariah of his grade, year after year, grew firmer still, but he no longer cared. He acted as he deemed it appropriate to act, and spoke as he deemed it appropriate to speak: left alone he flourished, where so many would have and had floundered. It could also not be said that he held a grudge: the emnity between himself and his classmates was entirely one sided, and whenever someone asked for his help, despite the numerous jokes of similar sorts in the past, he still tried.
The years passed in this very manner as elementary school faded into monotony with middle school following, the names and faces of students and teachers with it: all of his learning, then, was done independantly through his growing library, funded and added to by the ever uncaring Mr. And Mrs. Talbot. It was at whim, and was sometimes erratic, containing almost any subject besides medicine and matters of fame, the former having been tainted to him, through his father, and the latter too trivial to bother with: fiction contained more truth. High school brought him more trouble, with the retained jealousy and resentment of his fellows given wheels, muscle and hormones with which to enact their revenge. Violence was not uncommon, and was encoraged by his continued apathy, as were the vandalisms that occured early in his sophomore year.
It was then that the Talbots finally took notice: not for their suffering son William, but rather for the cost of repairs to their estate and the blow to their pride. Their solution was to push William more forcibly through his courses, resulting, through special circumstances, in his resulting graduation that very same year. There was no cap, no gown, and no merry making: in a rather unceremonious affair, which hardly extended beyond a handshake, a scholarship, and a roll of what was to him useless paper, he had passed high school.
Soon after, with a farewell that had a pin number and plastic card instead of a mother and father, he was sent away to the University of Illinois. After a lifetime of being surrounded by suffocating ignorance, in a world completely unlike the one he wished for, this was a surprising and incredibly refreshing change. The difference in age was almost staggering, to his experience, but it was largely ignored once he proved his worth; his personality, introverted and disinterested as it was, stopped few from introducing themselves. These were the best years of his life. He made a few friends, and gained many associates, earning the respect and even, in some cases, admiration of his professors, when his fancy, or reading, led him to go above and beyond what was called for of him in class.
Despite this, however, his sole, true interest lay within books; his nights, which may have otherwise contained companionship and fraternity, which was offered to him, were instead devoted to reading and the pursuit of books, in what could be described as an addiction. It was in this way that he came into contact with Elizabeth Bouch, an english woman that reminded him almost eerily of a thin Ms. Strivel, at the age of 19, in his junior year. She owned a small shop near the campus, that only a few people knew of, much less went to: late, irregular hours, high prices, and books of an almost esoteric stature caused many to shy away. Trying night after night, however, out of curiousity and a familiar urge that was coupled with an altogether foreign one, he finally managed to catch the shop open.
The books were beyond even his budget, but this seemed to be expected by Ms. Bouch: reading desks were avaliable, and night after night he frequented the shop, reading as much as he could of what was, indeed, nearly too much for any mind to comprehend, in languages dead by modern standards. Were he to have actually taken a look, he would have realized that he was the only one that ever did enter the shop, but such was not his nature.
Several weeks passed and he had finally managed to finish one monstrous tome concerning lay magicks and sorcerey, more of a grimoire than anything, and instead of being allowed to sit and read, he found himself under the rather unnerving gaze of Ms. Bouch herself, whom he had rarely seen, save for when she opened shop. She began to discuss the material he had just read, and, since he didn't want to be rude, he was just begining to offer to purchase the book when the world suddenly went blank.
Upon waking, he found that the life he had cultivated for himself, since he had left home, had been stolen from him, that a cup was at his lips, and that he was expected to listen to and repeat an oath he knew nothing about on pain of death, or redeath, for he did notice that he did not seem to be alive. No breathing, or heartbeat: no aches and pains from sleep depravation remained, though they had been replaced by the fire in his veins that urged a begrudging body to move once more.
Thus was his cruel induction into the world of Kindred and the clan of Tremere. He remained with Ms. Bouch for some time, reading more, still, and learning well the ways of unlife before being sent to the area's chantry. As with all other times in life, readjustment was unexpected, as he never changed himself to suit others, and, left to his own devices again, he did what he always did: he read.
Freebie Points:
6pt to 6 Willpower in Willpower
2pts to 1 Investigation in Knowledges
2pts to 1 Science in Knowledges
14pts to 2 Thamaturgy in Disciplines
1pt to Concentration in Merits
2pts to Eidetic Memory in Merits
Flaw Points:
1pts to Deep sleeper
1pts to Shy
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Posted: Sat Jul 22, 2006 11:56 pm
Applications for the first chronicle are closed.
Depending on interest, applications for a second chronicle are open.
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Posted: Thu Oct 26, 2006 3:20 pm
Name: Malaki Herkis
Chronicle: (I'm not sure about this)
Clan: Cappadocian
Nature: Loner
Demeanor: Rogue
Concept: Monk
Sire: Karannus Sereddus (Deceased)
Generation: 8th
Haven: None, his old haven brings back naught but bad memories
Derangements: Habromania
Attributes
Physical:
Strength: X000000000
Dexterity: XXX0000000
Stamina: XX00000000
Social:
Charisma: XX00000000
Manipulation: XXXX000000
Appearance: XX00000000
Mental:
Perception: XX00000000
Intelligence: XXXXX00000
Wits: XXX0000000
Abilities
Talents
Alertness: XXX00
Atheletics: 00000
Brawl: 00000
Dodge: X0000
Empathy: 00000
Expression: XXX00
Intimidation: 00000
Leadership: 00000
Streetwise: 00000
Subterfuge: X0000
Skills
Animal Ken: 00000
Crafts (flesh): XXX00
Drive: 00000
Ettiquette: 00000
Firearms: 00000
Melee: 00000
Perfomance: 00000
Security: 00000
Stealth: 00000
Survival: XX000
Knowledges
Academics: XX000
Computer: 00000
Finance: 00000
Investigation: X0000
Law: 00000
Linguistics: XX000 (French, English, Hebrew, German)
Medicine: XXX00
Occult: XXX00
Politics: 00000
Science: XX000
Disciplines
Backgrounds
Allies: 00000
Contacts: 00000
Fame: 00000
Generation: XXXX0
Herd: 00000
Influence: 00000
Mentor: 00000
Resources: 00000
Retainers: X0000
Status: 00000
Virtues
Conscience: X0000
Self Control: XXXX0
Courage: XXX00
Humanity: XXXX000000
Willpower: XXXXXXXX00
Path: Path of Bones
Bloodpool: XXXXXXXXXXXXXX00
Merits:
9 lives (+6)
Concentration (-1)
Flaws:
Dark Secret (-1)
Enemy: Most Giovanni (-3)
Touch of Frost (-1)
Age: Over 600- old, but not an elder
Apparent Age: A withered 26 year old
Date of Birth: 1582
RIP: 1608
Hair: Faded black, wiry
Eyes: Green
Race: Caucasian
Nationality: French
Height: 5'10
Weight: 78 kilos
Sex: Male
Detailed History: Malaki lived his life as a catholic monk for 8 years before the embrace. He was a well-educated student from a fairly well-off family, but he chose his life in the clergy after he realised that his life was going in no particularly interesting direction, and that the only thing he attempted and was good at was hypnotism and magic, but such a thing would be shunned in his culture.
The Cappadocians realised his intelligence, and took him as their own. Malaki didn't want to follow their way of life, as many newly embraced kindred would, but he failed to settle in. He grudgingly studied the secrets of death, but only so he could use them for his own desires in revenge.
4 years after becoming a vampire, Malaki slew his sire, Kerannus, and was concequently staked by the rest of his clan. He was locked in a crypt, where he would stay until his blood dried up. Luckily, Kerannus had thought ahead, and had crafted a crude zombie from bits of flesh, which he ordered to remove his stake. He was no longer paralysed, but he was still trapped with nothing but a pile of rotting bodies and a walking corpse to comfort him.
Malaki knew he would not last long without blood, so he drained the corpses and implanted all of the blood into his minion, whom he had named Damaran, in honour of his father. Over the years, he drained Damaran dry, and after 10 years, he was left alone again. Still, during that time, he had become more familiar with the human body, and he allowed himself to enhance his study.
This isolation caused him to develop a serious case of habromania, stemming from the disturbing and occasionally perverse things he would do with the corpses that surrounded him. This was, or course, not helped by the dizzying lack of blood, which he seeked to conserve as much as possible. At this point, about 100 years had passed, and the remnants of his religious mind, and his clan, had all but died. He soon realised that with no blood to access, and very little left in his body, he would soon fall into torpor, and thus he crafted himself a coffin from bone and flesh and all that remained of his robes, in which he slept.
Many, many years later, a young explorer by the name of Sophie entered the ruins of the monastary that the Cappadocians resided in. By now, all that remained was a few rocks and a secret passage leading below the ground, which still contained little other than some rubble. However, Sophie soon discovered the sealed entrance to Malaki's tomb, and she foolishly decided to enter. She was greeted by festering bones and a cage draped in tattered rags. She approached the cage, not knowing what it contained, and she opened it. In doing so, she had awakened Malaki, who was not at all happy. He burst from his coffin and proceeded to ravage Sophie in a frenzied state, feeding from her and abusing her still living body in unthinkable manners. After hours of this torment, with Sophie still alive, but only barely, Malaki grew bored, and ended her pitiful life. He crafted her soft flesh into a creature, whom he named Damaran. Damaran still slightly resembled a human, but was of a similar appearance to a Nosferatu that even the Nosferatu themselves who find repulsive.
Still in a mad and frenzied state, and still naked, Malaki raided a nearby farm, slaughtering the residents and adding their flesh to the festering beast at his side. He soon became less of a zombie and more a flesh golem. Malaki, with nowhere to go, took the now abandoned farm as his haven and lived there for a few years. He fed of the residential animals, sustaining him for the whole time. However, when the animals dissappeared, Malaki soon realised his own mortality, and left his frenzy for a second, but that was all it took. He realised the lives he had taken, and the abomination he had created... but all he could do was laugh. Inside him he felt a deep pain, but he could do nothing but laugh it off. He returned to the monastary, and lived there for a long time.
In the year 2002, exactly 400 years after the embrace, Malaki left his home and his past behind. He got on a boat and set sail. He didn't care where he was going, he just wanted to be away from wherever it is that he was. After many journeys, he found himself at a crummy dock in LA. He was tired, and final death seemed like something fun for him. He had been spending the last years acting as a human, and finding impossible. He stumbled around, wanting nothing in particular, but he got something very interesting. On his travels, he lost track of Damaran. He was hidden in some luggage on a journey to Prague, and they had gotten separated. However, at the docks, who was Malaki to meet? None other but Damaran itself. Upon witnessing the return of his creation, he was spurred into victory. He followed Damaran until he found who had recovered him. A small coterie of Brujah had taken in Damaran as a pet, and they were willing to accept Malaki into their gang. From that moment forth, Malaki would from then on be known as Malaki "bloodjuggler" Herkis. Though it was not the life Malaki was used to, it was a life nonetheless. He still had many things to learn about big city life.
Freebie points:
Willpower: 2
Disciplines, Mortis: 21
There ya go. I think I've missed something out but I can't be sure. Also, I have a tendancy to go off on one in my descriptions. Sorry about that sweatdrop
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Posted: Fri Nov 03, 2006 10:32 pm
I'm not sure if you're applying for the first or the second chronicle . . .but you're supposed to PM stuff to us first . . . >.>
And there's something called rules that everyone should read.
Sorry for being a**l about it, but unless you have a deathwish . . .i'd suggest you follow the creation guidelines.
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