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Procurator

I'd like to start an NPC database of sorts for people of V:tM as both inspiration and as a handy tool for STs and gamers alike.

I want you to bring your interesting, spooky and eerie npc concepts here. We want quality npcs, so think hard! Eventually, I will ask if it's ok to use some of your concepts to start the basis of a vampiric database of npcs that will be hosted right here on SnE. You'll get full credit of course, but we need to get the ball rolling!

If you want to give a summary of the character for now (as people have over there), be my guest. If you want to list the entire character, please go right ahead.

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Please excuse the lack of stats, I couldn't find an online sheet generator and have no requiem books. blush.gif Anyhoo, enjoy!

Justin Solari

Embrace: 1988

Apparent age: Late twenties

Clan: Toreador

Generation: 10th

Concept: Country Painter, traveller.

Growing up on the farm was always a chore, both literally and figuratively, and Justin longed for more but dared not leave with his heart tethered to his family and the farm. While he avidly read whatever books and magazines he could get his hands on, he knew that the homestead came first. Having grown up on stories of the great dust storms in the 20’s, the thousands of unemployed farmers and the ever decreasing number of family run farms he felt guilty about his dream to go out and explore the country, no, the world! Sadly however, there was always another chore after the last, an endless ‘maybe after next harvest, once our debts are clear’ from his father. Slowly, he felt the dream die in his heart a little every day, and tried to get used to the farm life being his only life.

Luckily for him, the world came to his doorstep. Lucius Silver came to small town Oregon in an effort to escape the constant warring of the Camarilla and Sabbat in his city, perfectly willing to challenge the Lupines with his charms if need be. His ulterior motives for the trip were to take ‘…a sabbatical from the decadent and blasé kindred art scene, and work on my own style and return once the fighting is over with a glorious catalogue of my new art!’, as he enthusiastically wrote a fellow artist. He settled down with little trouble and found to his delight that there were no other supernaturals in town to disturb his efforts at creating art. However this also meant he had no one to confer or confide in, and so he quickly grew bored and lonely. Worst of all with no one to show his art to he lacked both a captivated audience and critical feedback.

In one of his supply runs to town (both for art materials and to maintain the pretense of humanity) he ran into Justin at the local booksellers, who was himself there to pick up some of his mail ordered books. Sensing potential and his quiet air of despair, he decided to see if this country bumpkin had at least half an eye for art, inviting him to his haven to show Justin some of his more ‘kosher’ pieces. Justin was stunned with the sculptures, the paintings and the fantastic murals Lucius had painted all over the walls of the old house, and from there they both hit it off. Lucius would invite Justin over to get his opinions on his new art, quelling his growing loneliness and furthering his work, while Justin felt connected to the world in a way he had never imagined.

This went on for some years, and though his father didn’t approve of ‘that albino weirdo’, he saw little actual harm in their relationship. Having his appetite for art wetted Justin asked Lucius if he’d tutor him and show him how to paint, and before long both were painting side by side. Lucius used the tutoring as an exercise in revitalizing his own art, while Justin gained a teacher who knew his craft with centuries of experience. All this time Lucius had been feeding off his own and other local herds, preferring not to chance a death in such a small town or create another kindred or ghoul to unduly strain the blood supply (and inwardly treasuring Justin’s uncorrupted vitality). However as their relationship progressed, Lucius knew he’d nearly finished what he’d set out to achieve and several former associates were sending him letters offering to help set him up with a home and help hosting his art in their peaceful cities.

So the time came when Lucius invited Justin over for the last time, as they said their goodbyes Justin asked if he could come with him and see what the world was really like, damn the farm and the consequences, he’d come back later or not at all. Already Lucius had considered embracing or ghouling Justin several times and resisted the impulse, but having Justin asking to join him, and keenly feeling the loss of leaving this new friend and confidant behind, he embraced him. Since then the two spent many more years together in the city, though Justin hasn’t become a famous artist in kindred circles like his sire (‘only a matter of time’ Lucius keeps telling him). He is nonetheless getting a reputation for his ‘elegant and elemental’ representations of kindred nature, humanity, and the natural world.

His exhibitions can be booked for a modest fee, just enough to cover the travel expenses, and he continues to delight in traveling the country with the determination to see it all. He often personally delivers art pieces of his sires to buyers and friends, relishing the opportunity to travel and see the sights. He maintains a close relationship with his sire though both are moving on to other things and projects. The stereotypical Toreador 'embrace and dump' born out of infatuation has thankfully not been the case for them, though they spend long periods appart (cooling off & exploring) they reunite regularly to catch up and compare new art and techniques.

Justin is a tall and well built man in his late twenties, the kind of corn fed boy you expect to see in a football lineup rather than an art gallery. He has shoulder length auburn hair, brown eyes, a wide plain face, and large calloused yet expressive hands (often dirty with paint). He doesn’t carry the same aloof and snobbish air as most Toreador, being far more honest and frank than his clanmates, he’s nonetheless very observant and has quite a bit of savoir faire, having survived several art shows and lessons from his sire. He’s made as many admirers as detractors with his open manner, but even among the Toreador few can argue that his gauche demeanor is none the less a refreshing break (at least it provides material to snipe about). He still has a ways to go to fully outgrow his naïveté, but he's quickly learned to use it to his advantage and throw people off guard. He still feels the ocasional pang of guilt about leaving home but the embrace has definetly improved his life, he has no regrets.

Discplines: Auspex 3, Majesty 1, Celerity 2, Animalism 2.

Notable skills: Survival, Animal ken, Athletics, Empathy, Craft (painting), Academics (art history), Persuasion, and Subterfuge.

Notable backgrounds: Resources 2, Contacts 3 (travel industry), Mentor 4 (Lucius), Status (Toreador)2 , Status (artists) 2.

Edited by Blank Frank

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Curator

Lesse if I can remember him...

Name: Ashley LeCroixe

Embrace: 1538

Unique Flaw: Terrible Limp in the left leg (missing a kneecap)

Clan: Toreador

Concept: Werewolf Hunter, Empassioned lover

Ashley was a nice young man, French, growing up a days ride west of Orleans, France. He was of the Olde stock, thick, light haired, and still a bit of a heretic (though he attended Mass every Sunday and made certain to attend every ceremony on the Holy Days). He grew up working his small farm with his pa (his mother had passed away when he was younger) and learning the ropes of a small fruit farm.

After his father's death in 1534 to an unknown sickness, Ashley spent most of his time daudling in the orchards or spending time in town watching the artists paint portraits for dignitaries and nobility. He had tried his hand at it once, but found that he was little more than a blunder with the paint and brush. On one of these outings, while he was watching the stars and commenting on a wonderful portrait of the river that ran near his house, he met a young woman with beutiful alabaster skin and a wonderfully resonant voice. They talked into the night, retiring to his home so that she might sleep in comfort, away from the prying eyes of the sun (as she had a condition upon her skin, a curse from her family's breeding, so she says). She burned and boiled easily, so she must remain under covers by daylight.

Over the course of a few months they grew to love each other, and they wed in small ceremony, performed by one of the very few of the Olde Faithe left in pre-Renniseance France. The night of their wedding, she was to impart to him a gift, a wonderful gift of everlasting life. She had bled him into her, letting his blood spill down her gullet, and just as he was to drink from her, they were attacked.

For slights unkown, warriors of a werewolf tribe, twisted mutants from the North, attacked his small orchard, destroying the fruits of his labors, and destroying his newly wed wife. As her blood touched his lips, he felt his ballance give away as his kneecap was crudley ripped from his leg from the powerful swipe of the werewolf's claws.

Hungry, newly embraced, and ferociously angry for the loss of his beutiful wife, Ashley sundered their hides with the large silver cross that rested upon the doorframe, as it had for generations of his mother's lineage, and he was lucky they didn't initially consider him a threat. In a matter of a few minutes, there were 2 dead werewolves, gaping wounds from a blunt silver cross, lying on his floor. His wife, dead. She was torn assunder by the vicious claws of the brutes he dispatched.

He vowed at that moment that he would know them, hunt them, and kill them. He would learn of their tribes and ways, he would learn of the rites and rituals, and he would serve his wife in his unlife by hunting every last were that was party to her death.

Today he carries that same cross with him, in the form of a silver sabre-cane, which he also uses to walk. He has become quite knowledgeable in the area of Werewolves, namely those he hunts, the Black Spiral Dancers. Ashley is known in larger septs as one who has no problem with the honorable Weres protecting Gaia (though he has defended himself against a few hotheads who saw him as nothign more than an abomination) and is well known as the mysterious French Vampire that hunts the Black Spiral Dancers.

Most Toreadors try not to have anything to do with him, as he is plainly crass compared to many others (even the newer members of the clan), but they all respect him. He is an old Vampire, at least, and they fear him because of it. And the man with the limp can move fast, strike hard, and strike well.

Generation: 6

Disciplines: Auspex 4, Celerity 5, Protean 2, Fortitude 4, Potence 2

Notable Skills: Melee (must be at 5, he does hunt Werewolves all by himself), Dodge, Firearms, Enigmas

Notable Backrounds: Allies (local, usually, but powerful old Vamps he knows from Europe and his days as a youngin')

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Here we go... (Excuse my spelling, I sometimes find it lacking.)

Name: Amadeus Rosencrantz

Embrace: 1775

Clan: Nosferatu

Generation: 7th

The late 18th century was a time of elegance in the Kingdom of Sweden. At least among the fortunate few with money to spend. The king (who had usurped his power through a coup), did his best to make Sweden more like the glamorous France, which was all the rage in those days.

In this the young lad Amadeus was thrown. With 'carpe diem' as his motto, he experienced all that society had to offer, squandering his family fortune on wine, women and song (as well as some handsome lads sometimes). Dressing in only the finest clothing, always looking and acting his best, never losing his composure, Amadeus was the perfect wealthy socialite. It was not to last.

In his twentyforth year, a Nosferatu of some age and repute caught notice of the young Amadeus debauchery. Maybe out of jealousy, maybe purely out of spite, the nosferatu cornered Amadeus in an alley on his way home from yet another night. He bashed the youth unconsious and dragged him away to his own temporary lair where he gifted the young Amadeus with the embrace. Watching with glee as the handsome youth transformed into a hideous monster. Then he left him.

Amadeus shock and horror was great when he discovered what he had become, but not as great as his anger against the monster that had bestowed this curse upon him. He vowed to seek out the vampire responsible and kill him.

He soon discovered that the responsible nosfreratu had left the city. A curious game of cat and mouse started, where Amadeus followed the trace of his sire over most of Europa, during almost a hundred years. Being a master of stealth and subterfuge, and neither wanting to give Amadeus the easy escape of final death nor wanting to put an end to the amusing game, the elder nosferatu saw that he always was one spet ahead.

During his travels however, Amadeus slowly strated to come to terms with what he had become. He even started to enjoy the advantages his condition offered him. After a hundred years of travelling, he decided that enough was enough and returned home.

He continued to wander the streets of his home-city, continuing the high-life he was used to, but this time hidden behind the masks his disciplines offered him. Unknown, he prowled the soft underbelly of night-life.

When the 20th centure rolled in however, life simply started to get too loud, dirty, and entirely without the elegance Amadeus had once known. Disillusioned he withdrew to an underground chamber, decorated it as the chambers had been during the 18th century and spent his time reading old books. He rarely ventures out nowdays and are very close to give in to torpor, hoping to awake when the world has become sufferable again.

Disciplines: Obfuscate 4, Potence 3, Fortitude 2, Auspex 1

Notable skills: Dodge, Melee(fencing-sword), Etiquette, Subterfuge, Academics, Linguistics

Distinguishing traits: Amadeus has never really left the 18th century. He still dresses in the trapping of his time, often wearing a large, feathered hat as well. He also has the habit of his time to mix french with whatever language he uses.

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Empty Eyes

Clan: Malkavian

Apparent age: Mid thirties

Embrace: 1857

Generation: 9

Empty Eyes knew peace once, a long time ago. She was an unmarried woman past thirty, which meant her life was essentially over. She passed the days reading, caring for her aging parents, and feeling her life pass her by. A caring and centered person, she was the youngest of three daughters, though far from being spoiled and pampered she was treated much like a third wheel, while attention was lavished on her prettier and more marriageable sisters. Her parent’s had decided not to arrange a marriage and concentrate on getting their two older daughters proper husbands of good standing, and decided she’d stay and care for them, as was the Ashfield family tradition.

She had long ago learned to live off the emotional scraps she was given, learning to be emotionally self reliant in order to survive her neglectful parents and siblings. It was this quality that drew attention to her from the wrong sorts. During the wedding of her eldest niece, a pale guest noticed her, a subtly independent strain in a happy song. When this gentleman enquired for her hand in marriage, her parents chaffed at the idea that anyone would find her desirable, and more so at the loss of their devoted caretaker. Eventually a rather large dowry and other less natural means of persuasion were exercised, and she was finally set to marry the pale stranger.

The ceremony was performed almost immediately on a cold winter night, in a positively private church with only the immediate family. Only the pale man’s mother came, and though she wore a concealing black veil she seemed as pale and young as her son. After the service and the reception, the newlyweds left immediately on their honeymoon, never to be heard from again.

Empty Eyes had a name once, a long time ago. Her new husband was odd, he insisted on traveling at night and slept during the day on the way to his mansion. Over the course of a week she was presented with the most unsettling and discomforting experiences a proper English woman could encounter, visitors at all hours of the night, a husband who was as mad as a hatter, whispered secrets from his manservant and chambermaid as well as a library stocked with the most strange and frightening books. Through this her resolve wavered but held, she was an Ashfield and would not besmirch their name… or hers. She was used to callous neglect and indifference, not subtle exposure to the unknown and forbidden; nonetheless her appetite for mystery grew and she pursued what clues she could to discover what manner of man she was married to. At the end of the week her husband asked if she wanted to know the truth of his odd behavior, if she'd be willing to share his burdens as well as hers and join him in his quest for more secrets. If she refused, he'd merely divorce her and give her a house and large sum of money to live as she pleased, with no regrets. This stunned her, never in her life had she been asked what she wanted, if she'd help. Her parents had archly expected her service and her sisters told, never asked. She helped them all anyway, because it was propper and right, but given the choice to do so she jumped on it, and she cautiously accepted. Since then nothing has been the same.

Empty Eyes faced her worst fears in her embrace, the fear of growing so small as to be forgotten, becoming confined in her role and station. To this night she has a crippling fear of Claustrophobia, and will avoid even situations that put her in a considerably bound or powerless position (such as blood oaths, vinculums, etc). The long years after her embrace she spent at her sire’s side, learning and understanding the movements of the shadows behind the scenes. She cared for her husband as well, carrying the burdens of his madness as well as hers, offering him respite in his long nights. Despite her efforts she has only stopped (perhaps slowed?) his downward spiral, she's since been studying psychology in an effort to better treat her ailing husband. His slow descent has forced her to take more and more of her sires power and responsibilities into her hands, something which terrifies and excites her as they both become more closely bound.

She's been serving as his proxy in Elysium and to the prince, and often serves as intermediary between him and his associates (making sure they don't abuse him). She knows she's gone beyond the bounds of propper Victorian behaviour appropriate to a lady, but this is the other side of her service to her husband, in being more bound to him she has freed herself of her cage.

Plot hook: Her husband is slipping down faster now, and she's not able to stop his descent. One evening she found him on the roof minutes before sunrise, and another night he begged her to diablerise him. If something doesn't change soon, she may have to end his unlife.

With his tutelage she's learned to see behind deception. She’s a master at going unnoticed by mundane and supernatural means, the fear of her irrelevance always reminds her how to hide in plain sight and from plain sight. She refuses to use her old name out of a new disdain for her parents contempt and her desire to be unbound from them. She chose the name Empty Eyes to remind herself of the ignorance she lived in, and as a form of self mockery for her skills at stealth. She’s average height, has a sallow complexion from a life spent indoors, and rough careworn hands and face. She usually wears her black hair in a sensible if old fashioned bun, and usually dresses like someone older than herself in understated clothes.

Disciplines: Auspex 4, Obfuscate 4, Dominate 2.

Edit: Added some extra history and inner conflict/plot hooks.

Edited by Blank Frank

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Donor

I have many more, But I thought i would share one or two characters now till I find out where Morland wants the rest...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Caroline Butler

Nature: Thrill-Seeker

Demeanor: Confidant

Born in England in 1838 to a middle-class family, Caroline longed for adventure from a very young age. She and her three sisters were carefully guarded, as her social-climber mother hoped to advance the family through her daughters' accomplishments and charms (and her father spent most of his time away on 'business', drinking with his cronies in London). On their small estate, Caroline learned to ride, dance, read, write, sing, paint, speak French and play several instruments - all the necessary accomplishments of a young lady needed to snare a husband.

When she turned fifteen, Caroline was introduced into 'society' just as her sisters had been. However, Caroline had the advantage of coming out during the Crimean war, when all the eligible young men were off at the front and the local gentry were desperate for amusement. By being consistently charming and friendly, Catherine fulfilled her mother's fondest dreams by becoming acquainted with Diana Wentworth, the only daughter of the local gentry. After a year's companionship, she and Diana were the best of friends, so when Diana suggested that they take a trip to the Crimea to "see the war," as all the other young ladies were doing, both Caroline and her mother leaped at the chance.

The boat ride was long, but the girls' anticipation made it seem short. A battlefield! A real battlefield - and young, handsome, heroic soldiers of precisely the sort that were so lacking at home! While the girls were quite effectively chaperoned from one sanitized point to another, Caroline managed to slip away. Wandering about under cover of her heavy cloak, she made her way into the heart of the encampment, where no respectable young lady (other than these new-fangled 'nurses') would go. Here she saw the reality of the war: sick men screaming for water, filth everywhere, rats, panicked soldiers trying to be brave, grief, death, terror and despair. While most girls of her age and background would have been horrified, Caroline was inspired. On their return to England, she painted picture after picture of the heroic soldiers of her dreams - but drawing on the reserve of passionate emotion she had found when walking among the dying and the dead.

Her paintings might never have become noticed but for Caroline's and her mother's social ambition. The pair presented one of the paintings to the Wentworths, who hung it in their hall, where a visitor from London saw it. One thing led to another, and within a year Caroline was installed in a small townhouse in London, fending off suitors and turning out canvas after popular canvas which was quickly snapped up by a greedy public. While in an ordinary woman this lifestyle might have raised questions of propriety, Caroline had also been able to use the Wentworths' patronage to meet many influential tastemakers. That added to her extreme care to always appear in public with a chaperone and never allow a hint of scandal to be breathed about herself kept her moving in relatively rarefied circles.

It was four years later, at her third solo exhibition, when the stranger approached her and frankly informed her that she hadn't done a thing worth the canvas it was painted on since her series of battle paintings in 1854. Though she protested his judgment, she knew in her heart that he was right - so when he offered her the chance to see if she had real talent, she couldn't refuse. He took her into Whitechapel, a terrible neighborhood of the city, and forced her to watch the prostitutes at work with their johns. Again she felt that strange, passionate inspiration well up in her, and her next paintings (a series of female nudes) showed the same brilliance as her first work.

Davis was satisfied: his hunch about Caroline had proved correct. The following year, when the hue and cry over her latest series had died down, he Embraced her. Over the next thirty or so years, he progressively exposed her to more and more dramatic events, satisfying her need for intense stimulation in order to create. (Note: this is her Tortured Artist flaw.) By the end of this time, Caroline had seen nearly everything that London had to offer - and it was no longer working for her to create. Watching was not enough anymore, but she did not know what would be. Her sire suggested she participate herself, but her innate sense of decorum caused her to refuse him - a rude enough refusal that he suggested she was no longer welcome in any city he lived in. He felt that he had made her what she was, and he refused to allow her to refuse him. In 1893, Caroline took ship for New York City, looking for new stimulation and a new home away from her sire's anger. (Note: this is her Sire's Resentment flaw.)

Turn-of-the-century New York was an excellent place for a young lady who needed to discreetly experience things that were not at all ladylike. With the locally famed poet Richard Gilder, she slummed through the streets of Chinatown and Little Italy, managing to regain some of her inspiration from the shocking sights. At the balls of the Astors, the Rockefellers and the Martins, she moved among the cream of society and witnessed their own, sometimes stranger, excesses: naked debauches, public executions of animals, and the like. Even when the Great War interrupted the whirl of pleasure, Caroline found her inspiration in the passionate moments of farewell between soldier and sweetheart, and in the anguish of those whose soldiers would never return.

It was the twenties that forced Caroline to find other ways of keeping her inspiration. This new mode of life - fast cars, short skirts and even shorter hair - overwhelmed her. It was so alien to her world that watching could not inspire her, and participating was abhorrent. Instead, she learned to absorb the memories and experiences of others from the things that meant a great deal to them. She could never appreciate the pleasure of a fast car ride with the wind streaming through her hair, but by experiencing the memories of someone who did, she could be inspired by it to paint.

Over time, her paintings continued to be successful, but at a terrible cost. As time passed, she needed more and more intense experience, more new experience, to fill the void in her heart. She found the new world to be slowly becoming more and more alien to her, these new pleasures not her own. As her ennui deepened, she eventually began to resort to staging events that would provide her with the emotional jolt she needed. These events ranged from simple joys to horrible crimes. She didn't care - the powerful emotion was what she needed. (Note: this is her Ennui flaw, but it is only intermittently active - only when she hasn't recently "fed" emotionally.)

In her house, she still keeps two galleries: one of the paintings she has done, one of the objects charged with memory and feeling that inspired them.

Note: All events here are relatively historically accurate, including the visits by young ladies to the battlefield and the fame of a woman named Butler's painting called "Scotland Forever" which depicts the Scot's Greys charging the viewer. Feel free to do more research and fill her in as you like. I made a point of leaving her recent history very vague so you could run with her in any direction you wanted.

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I have many more, But I thought i would share one or two characters now till I find out where Morland wants the rest...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~

Well, here she is... and quite a piece of works she is too. She has a massive backstory with quite alot of detail about the time before her embrace. After embrace is merely hinted at so as to give you more freedom. The CS is included and is made with the Sanguinus Elder stats. They work well as I am sure you'll agree. She has lots of useful skills and should be a blast to play. { I'm envious wink2.gif } In my opinion she works out best as 8th gen though you could make her 9th. {8th is 1 more Bp in her pool and 3 instead of 2 to spend a round. } She is not physically powerful but Mentally ... Watch out!! Her disciplines compliment her as well as I am sure you'll see.

If you have any questions... Just ask.... icon1.gif

~ Kel

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Victoria Elizabeth Penellope Marshfield was born Victoria Elizabeth Penellope Cardigan in 1900 in London England to her loving parents Lord and Lady Cardigan. Their only child Victoria grew up in a world of luxury but also of strict moral values and upbringing. Her educations was handled by tutors and leaning slightly towards the Victorian style for a "Proper Young Lady". If Victoria had one fault it was her temper and ambition, but since neither of these qualities was Lady-like she learned to subvert them internally and channel them through other means.

In 1917, at the age of 17, Victoria met Peter Gabriel Marshfield Esq. a young and up and coming attorney who worked closely with her father managing accounts and business. They soon began talking whenever he came by the London house, which was often, and soon started courting with the blessings of her aging parents. Soon after they officially announced their engagement they were married in the summer of 1922 and went on a world tour of a honey moon, a gift from Lord Cardigan himself. It was while on the way back to Europe from New York that Howard Carter made his famous discovery of King Tut's Tomb. Enthralled by the reports coming from Egypt they changed their itinerary to go immediately to Egypt to see the sites instead of Greece. Arriving in late November they took rooms at the world class Mena House Hotel which of course is famous for its location close to the Great Pyramids of Giza. There they were swept up in the craze of Egyptian Treasure and had a great time meeting Archaeologists and Treasure hunters and going to the fancy dinners and balls held at the hotel. They loved it so much they held over their stay and Peter was able to get on with one of the local British law firms starting to deal with antiquities and investments.

They took a rather lavish house in the British sector of Cairo and settled in to their new life as husband and wife, while continuing to go to the many parties and events held weekly at the Mensa House and other social functions and as guests of their many friends. The only darkness to mar their happiness at this time was the passing of Lord Cardigan do to a failed heart and then soon after Lady Cardigan back in England. But they continued on with Peter managing the rather large inheritance left to Victoria by her father. In all they were very happy with Peter moving up to junior partner in his firm and Victoria entertaining the wives of local and visiting lords and other prominent members of British society. In February of 1924 at the age of 21, Victoria and Peter were blessed with the birth of her first child, a son they happily named Oliver Henry Marshfield after Victoria's late father. But happiness was not to be theirs...

The summer of 1924 was hot and during the night many of the windows and patio doors were left open to help circulate the cooler air. Victoria, thinking he heard a noise from the nursery padded sleepily down the hall in her nightgown and silk robe to check on little Oliver.. What she found was a large Egyptian Cobra { Naja haje } coiled over the infants sleeping form. Terrified and without thinking, Victoria lunged for the snake, grabbing it by the body and pulling it off her son and hurling it into the far corner... But not before the scared reptile managed to sink its' fangs into her neck. Crying out in terror and pain, Victoria roused the household who found her slumped over the baby's crib, the offending intruder having slithered back out to the garden.

A telegram was immediately dispatched to her husband Peter, who was away on business in America while a doctor was fetched from the hospital. The doctor soon arrived, theirs being a prominent and well known family, to find her laying in bed with her personal maid Amina, which means trustworthy, at her side mopping her brow with cool cloths and making her sip water. Seeing the bite the doctor held little hope of survival but went through the motions giving her Morphine and as a hope against hope he bled her a little. Leaving instructions and medications with the staff he returned to the hospital to see if he might find an answer, however remote for a cure. Amina, unimpressed with the Doctor or his *Medicine* and greatly concerned for her mistresses life, took matters into her own hands...

Wrapping her mistress in a red wool blanket she had the other servants help carry Victoria downstairs and out into the automobile. Then, harassing the driver/gardener to hurry she had him drive to a run down house in the old quarter of the city where two swarthy servants carried Victoria inside under Amina's guidance. The house belonged to a woman known simply as Samya, which means Exalted, who was greatly feared and respected in the old quarter for being a dabbler in the ancient arts. Here, Amina brought Victoria in the hopes the bite could be cured... Samya was more then a dabbler in the ancient arts, she was a direct descendent of the High Priestess of the Cobra Goddess Wadjet and was a keeper of the traditions running back thousands of years. She took Victoria down into the basement of her humble abode and there, under the light of oil lamps and the gaze of ancient statues she practiced her *Magic*, feeding Victoria potions made to recipes long forgotten. The ceremonies went on for hours till noon the next day when Samya collapsed from exhaustion, Victoria, still feverish and mostly unconscious except for small bouts of delirium was still alive...

Amina, trusting in the ancient ways bundled her mistress back up and led her up and out to the car. But Victoria, seeing the blazing sun and half delusional on Morphine and the drugs of Samya's cures, threw off her maid and ran off into the old quarter where she was quickly lost... She wandered through it for hours, out of her mind and terrorizing the locals who thought her a Dervish in disguise. Finally, nearing exhaustion and wracked with pain she stumbled into a rather unsavoury public house and into the back rooms seeking a cool place to lie down. There she found a padded divans to lie down on. But this public house was not ordinary, for its back rooms served as an Opium den where rich foreigners seeking anonymity came for a few hours or days of escape... Victoria, while one of the few women there was not remarked upon. And in fact, Amin, which means trustworthy, who worked there and was considered slow, served her both Opium and Absinthe which in her state she took greedily to kill the pain of the poison in her veins...

It was two days before Amina and the driver found her and took her from that place back to her home. The Doctor, furious at her state but secretly glad she was still alive, attributed her continued health which was slowly improving to his skill and once again bled her and gave her large doses of Morphine. The strain was to much and somewhere, amidst all the drugs and poison Victoria's mind snapped... When she came too late that night she woke Amina and demanded to be taken to Samya's house at once. Terrified, Amina complained and took her secretly back to the old quarter where Victoria secretly met with Samya for the first of what would be many occasions...

Peter returned to Egypt later that week to find his son safe and his wife alive though weakened from her ordeal. No mention was made of the Opium den or the nightly visits to Samya's house in the Old Quarter... Victoria tried to maintain the outward appearance of being a proper British wife but soon rumours spread through the staff and a few of them left without giving notice. Rumours were also spreading through the old quarter bringing many to secret meetings in dark cellars and old tunnels under the city. Five months after the night of the attack, Victoria disappeared....

There was a massive search throughout the city by the British authorities and Peter Marshfield while wild rumours were on everyone’s lips. Some speculated she had been murdered by her maid Amina who had also disappeared, others that she had run off with a young American and others still that she had run out into the desert in a fit of madness, the lingering affects of the poison... Peter, resigned to the idea that Victoria was dead after months of fruitless searching resigned himself to the loss of his young wife and taking his son moved back to London to be closer to family. But Victoria was not dead, though she was no longer Victoria either...

The nights spent at the house of Samya had transformed Victoria from a staid and proper British housewife into a strong willed Priestess of the ancients, for during her drug clouded torment Victoria's mind broke, fixating on the ceremonies and rituals used by Samya she had come to believe herself to be the reincarnation of an ancient priestess. At first, Samya was happy to take Victoria's money and feed her delusional dreams but soon she started to fear Victoria who appeared even to her to be possessed. The anger and ambition, so long subverted by her outward demeanour drove Victoria to seek out more and more of the ancient ways... Not only from Samya but others, even more feared for their knowledge till she stumbled across Kamal Malik Hessad, which means Perfection and Master, who taught her even darker, more ancient arts then those embraced by the Pharaohs of old....

Now Victoria, is the head of a strong and secretive cult of the ancients. Known to her worshippers as Khalidah, High Priestess of Set. Her name, which means Immortal, Eternal was taken by her at the time of her embrace by her sire Kamal Malik Hessad a powerful Setite and Priest who taught her the dark arts. Now, Khalidah presides over a large temple dedicated to the Dark God under the very streets of modern day Cairo. No traces of her old life remain except her dedicated servant and ghoul Amina. Her will and word absolute in her dedication to her reborn life....

** Khalidah is barely recognizable as her former self. Her back is covered in smooth scales that cover the nape of her neck in the colours and patterns of the Egyptian Cobra. Her manner and style of dress are also radically changed.. Born with Dark Auburn hair and Green eyes, Khalidah often dyes her hair black, wearing it in the style of the ancient egyptians. She is partial to silks and fine cottons in either robes or revealing dresses, all the better to show off her slim curved youthful body... She likes Older styles of modern clothes, especially those of the 30's and 40's though she can, when she wants look very modern and powerful in a business suit or "power dress". Her voice is cultured with a slight British accent. When speaking other languages though she sounds like a native. She has an uncanny ability to read other people like a book, moods and intentions, and then play on them manipulating them to her own ends. She has a moderately quick temper though she can control it very well. Those she is angry at would do well to be careful as she carries grudges till she feels the time is right. Ruthless when needed she can *Seem* quite understanding and compassionate until she stabs you in the back...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: Khalidah, High Priestess of Set

{Formerly: Lady Victoria Elizabeth Penellope Marshfield}

Clan: Setite Age: 99 Aage: 21-23

Nature: Fanatic/Visionary Demeanour: Director: Competitor Concept: High Priestess

Haven: Underground Temple Sire: Kamal Malik Hessad Generation: 8 Blood Pool: 15

Path/Road of the Serpent {Or Power & the Inner Voice}: 6 Willpower: 7

Weakness: Susceptible to Sunlight, x2 damage from it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Attributes:

Strength: 2

Dexterity: 2

Stamina: 2

Charisma: 4 - Regal

Manipulation: 3

Appearance: 3

Perception: 3

Intelligence: 3

Wits: 3

Abilities:

Talents:

Alertness: 2

Brawl: 1

Dodge: 1

Empathy: 2

_Expression: 2

Intimidation: 4 - Veiled Threats

Leadership: 4 - Compelling

Streetwise: 1

Subterfuge: 2

Skills:

Crafts: 1

Etiquette: 2

Melee: 1

Security: 1

Stealth: 1

Survival: 1

Knowledge’s:

Academics: 2

Investigation: 1

Law: 1

Linguistics: 3 - English {Native}, French, Egyptian, Latin

Medicine: 1

Occult: 3

Politics: 2

Science: 1

Backgrounds:

Generation: 4

Elder Status: 2 - Respected

Retainers: 1

Status: 3 - Elder/Respected

Disciplines:

Obfuscate: 1

Presence: 4

Serpentis: 3

Dominate: 2

Virtues:

Self-Control: 4

Conscience: 1

Courage: 5

Merits & Flaws

Eidetic Memory: +2

Poisonous Bite: +2 {Lethal to mortals}

Enchanting Voice: +2

Scales: -3 - {Her entire back and nape of her neck is scaled with the markings of an Egyptian Cobra}

Driving Goal: -3 {To gain power and spread the beliefs and corruption of Set}

Prey Exclusion: -1 {Children below the age of 10}

Finishing Touches:

Humanity: 6

Willpower: 5

Derangement: Megalomania

Secondaries:

Talents: Seduction: 3 Masquerade: 2 Diplomacy: 3 Interrogation: 1

Skills: Body Reading: 2 Hypnotism: 3 Lip-reading: 2 Torture: 1

Knowledge’s: Clan Lore: 3 Kindred Lore: 2 Rites: 3 Sacred Scriptures: 3

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Please excuse me for borrowing a bit from the vtr Morbus to make this character, with all the conversions from one game to the other, hopefully this won't be such a bad thing. blush.gif

Kyle Weiss

Clan: Ventru

Apparent Age: mid twenties

Embrace: 1917

Generation: 10

Path: Humanity (7)

Nature: Caregiver

Demeanor: Architect

The war to end all wars was rising in intensity, every day relations with Germany became more strained and the prospect of American intervention loomed larger. In this context, the Ventru Alistair Masterson grew worried that the youth he’d been eyeing as his childe might not return from the war on the continent, or do so in a condition less than suited for the embrace. The young Kyle Weiss was pampered youngest son of a successful iron mine owner, and though it looked unlikely that he would inherit his fathers business (being the youngest of three) he had inherited his fathers business savvy, making him an ideal candidate for the embrace into the noble Ventrue clan.

Alistair prepared for his embrace and arranged to use his ghouls to help ‘convince’ the army officers he was far too young to enlist when his brothers were conscripted. All went smoothly and Kyle adapted surprisingly well to his new condition, being the youngest child of a rich family and being reborn as the youngest childe of a successful Ventrue proved a comfortable and minimal change that provided many more benefits. That is, until his palate began to choose his favored vessel. As fortune would have it, he accidentally fed on people who were sick with varying illnesses both congenital and infectious, since the conscriptions had carted off most healthy men and left only the unfit at home. The result was that he could only feed from vessels who were either suffering from an illness or subject to some inherited illness like diabetes.

This complicated matters. Alistair knew that if other lords and kindred found out about his childes' feeding habits the shame would never be lived down, so he had his childe tutored extensively in Obfuscate so that he might feed in secret. Meanwhile he had his ghouls bring in healthy kine and infect them with one disease or another while his childe studied, telling Kyle he fed on kine out of a hospital who would be looked after for their trouble so that he wouldn't unduly worry himself. All the while he simply had them dumped back on the street. Without a means to properly discern who was and wasn’t healthy Kyle had to resort to stalking hospitals, clinics, slums, and individual doctors offices to find suitable vessels to feed on. At first he was shocked at the piteous condition of many of the ill and poor he fed on, he had never been exposed so thoroughly to the downtrodden of the American dream. He hardened himself to his task as best he could, but found himself unable to resist caring for the people he was hurting even further. More and more often he’d put a dollar in the pockets of the poor he fed on (this is 1920's money, okay? wink2.gif ), and the hospitals he visited received donations from anonymous benefactors.

In his regular feedings on the sick and poor, he had the pleasure of meeting several Nosferatu, the downtrodden of the damned. They hated him. A lord feeding on the scum of society? On the people many of them fed on and were embraced from? The insult was too raw to let pass, and if it weren’t for the protection of his sire’s name they’d have acted on that hostility. They settled for treating him with contempt and veiled hostility, and the more affronted even spread unsavory rumors about him. However, once the sewer rats realized that he didn’t feed on particular poor like other Ventru would, they noticed he wasn’t just feeding on the poor but also from those in hospitals. They quickly deduced his favorite vessels were the infirm, and casually revealed it in Elysium.

As Kyle became more thoroughly immersed in kindred politics he began to see more and more how shallow it was, how insulated it was to the mortals it lived on. When the Nosferatu revealed his shameful secret to all and sundry, he was humiliated in front of all kindred society, and no one would associate with one whose vitae was more disease ridden than a plague rat. His sire was forced to cut him loose and pretend he knew nothing of his childes shameful feeding practices, he became a laughingstock and whipping boy that even the Nos could kick around with near impunity.

For the next decade, his attitude changed dramatically. He transferred his frustration on those he fed on, feeding indiscriminately with regards to the health or the state he left the kine he fed on (often leaving homeless weak and anemic in the winter). He fostered a particular hate for the Nosferatu, who always hung just out of his reach to hurt. Eventually he sold his shares in his fathers iron mines and became the hidden owner of several of the cities hospitals. He ran them like a businessman, caring more for profit than the health of patients, even abusing their ill health to further weaken them with feeding. This lasted for seven hate filled years, where he severed what little contact remained between he and his family by faking his death.

It ended one night as he went to the ICU to feed, with the intention of feeding until sated or the patient died. What he found was his brother Marcus. He had come back from the war weak from exposure to mustard gas, he had contracted the flu and was quickly losing what little strength he had left. Seeing his brother dying in pain made his frozen heart roll up and down, finally realizing that in his hate he had lost all care for the lives of those he fed on. Under the influence of morphine, Marcus looked up and saw his dead brother standing distraught over him. He asked his brother not to mourn for him, since they would both be together soon in God’s kingdom, and thanked him for coming to take him there. Now utterly devastated, Kyle dropped down to his knees and wept, begged for his brothers forgiveness, and promised him that he would meet him in Heaven soon, once he atoned for his sins.

He looked over his brothers chart, saw that there was no chance for recovery, and remembering what his sire had taught him about the limits to the healing properties of vitae, he decided to do out of mercy what he had done out of spite. He hugged his brother and fed on him slowly and calmly, waited until his heart slowed and stopped, and mourned.

Since then he devoted himself to reforming the hospitals he owned, even at the expense of his own easy feeding. He even opened up several free clinics and soup kitchens in the midst of the depression. This sudden change of heart did nothing to endear him to the cultured kindred who continued to spurn him, many not even deigning to notice the change. However, the Nosferatu did notice. Though they never apologized for outing him they stopped spreading vicious rumors and antagonising him, and offered a tentative truce in their mutual hostility. He accepted, and from there relations have slowly warmed to the point that local Nos take sick kine they care for to his clinics, or get themselves cleaned of lice or other diseases they might pick up. In exchange offering information that helps keep the clinics and hospitals safe from other greedy kindred looking for easy meals.

He still occasionally goes to Elysium, and weathers all the sniggers and jests with Ventrue savoire faire. He’s medium build and height, has dark blond hair and brown eyes, with a slicked back dapper hair do from the twenties. He often dresses in white with red accents, but doesn’t accessorize at all save for an old Red Cross pin from the twenties on his lapel. He is currently lobbying the prince to get exclusive domain over Hospitals and clinics in the city, but is being contested by several other kindred. Having fed on the sick for almost a century Kyle's vitae carries several dozen diseases, which has forced him to abandon ghouling because of the incredible health risk his vitae poses. His flaw of disease carrier forces him to spend a BP upon rising or manifest symptoms of one or more of the diseases he carries (anything from rickets, jaundice, or sores), more often than not he simply covers it up with obfuscate unless he has important business at Elysium. He'll often drop his obfuscated fascade and deal with his Nos allies in his 'morning face' as a sign of respect, though the gulf between their positions is till deep, the gesture is appreciated at face value (In a clan as deceitful as the Nos, the simple act of revealing a hidden face carries much value).

Attributes:

Strength 2, Dexterity 2, Stamina 3,

Charisma 3, Manipulation 4, Appearance 2

Perception 3, Intelligence 3, Wits 4

Abilities:

Talents: Alertness 2, Brawl 1, Dodge 1, Empathy 4, Expression 2, Intimidation 2, Streetwise 3, Subterfuge 2 (forgery),

Skills Crafts 1, Etiquette 2, Melee 2, Security 1, Stealth 3, Survival 2

Knowledge’s: Academics 3, Investigation 2, Law 1, Linguistics 2 - English (Native), French, German, Medicine 3 (pathology), Occult 1, Politics 2, Science 2,

Backgrounds:

Clan Status (Nosferatu): 3 - Ancilia/Respected

Status: 2 – Ancilia/infamous

Haven: 3

Resources: 4

Disciplines: Obfuscate 3, Presence 2, Dominate 3

Flaws: Disease Carrier - 4pt

Edited by Blank Frank

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Some characters who didn't make the final book in Caine's Chosen: the Black Hand:

Lamont Delacroix

Assamite antitribu dominion and shakar, code name "Jafar"

Background: A native of New Orleans, Lamont grew up surrounded by voodoo cults, jazz, Catholicism and segregation. To escape his family's poverty, he volunteered for the army and served in a colored regiment in World War I, but not even an army paycheck could not support the kind of life he craved. Upon his discharge, he sought to make something of himself in the growing black urban subculture of New York's Harlem renaissance.

Jazz was king, and a sharp young man with smooth, Southern charm, an ear for music and an astute business sense could go far. However, a police raid on his Harlem club cut his managerial career short, and ended with the shooting of two police officers and a city-wide manhunt. Finally cornered on a rooftop, exhausted, bleeding, expecting to be shot rather than arrested, a dark-skinned stranger offered Lamont another alternative to ignominious death, and more importantly to Lamont, an opportunity to be in undeath far more than he could ever be in life. He accepted and joined the warrior sons of Haqim.

Lamont uses an Arabic code name, but otherwise takes little interest in Islam or the ancient Middle-Eastern heritage of his clan, preferring to exist, as he says, "in the current century." Eschewing the squalor in which many Sabbat seem to feel at home, Lamont luxuriates in elegance, music and art, and has even passed himself off as Toreador while working undercover. He is soft-spoken and persuasive, with a talent for presenting the "reasonable" solution, but doesn't hesitate to use a bit of creative violence when necessary to make his point. Raised to the rank of dominion in the wake of the Sabbat's East Coast campaign and the desertion of so many of his clanmates, he now spends much of his time rubbing elbows with Sabbat cardinals and archbishops. But he's also no slouch when it comes to field work, and despite his slender build and his fondness for expensive suits, luxury cars and imported cigarettes, his peers have learned not to underestimate him.

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Blackhorse Tanner

Ventrue antitribu shakar, code name "Otaktay"

Background: Born in the 1830s to the Oglala Lakota people, Blackhorse survived the battle of the Little Big Horn; but the discovery of gold in the Black Hills soon brought more perils to the Lakota than mortal freebooters in search of easy wealth. He sacrificed himself to save members of his family from a night stalking monster with the appearance of a white man but the appetites of a wolf. The Ventrue kept Blackhorse as a ghoul, Embracing him some years later when he needed a distraction to escape a pack of hunters even more ferocious than he was himself.

The hunters were Sabbat. Though newborn in the Blood, Blackhorse faced them bravely, instinctively using his Disciplines to appear far older and more powerful than he was. Among the hunters was a powerful warrior, cloaked in shadows. Impressed with the Lakota's courage and tenacity, he made the fledgling an offer... and since it began with the promise of revenge against his sire, Blackhorse accepted it. Twenty years later, it was Corvus himself who initiated Blackhorse into the Black Hand, taught him to read the languages of many peoples, and inspired him with the thirst for knowledge of the most ancient of Cainite lore. The Seraph's promise has yet to be fulfilled, but Blackhorse is a patient man; when fate decrees it, his sire will know the Lakota's vengeance in full.

Blackhorse follows the Path of Death and the Soul, balancing the traditions of his people with those of the Sword of Caine and the Black Hand. He believes he has been held back from completing his spirit journey into the next life for a reason, and in addition to his duties as a Black Hand shakar, devotes much of his time to Noddist research and conducting ritual experimentation into the nature of unlife and death. He has become somewhat notorious among his fellow Hand operatives for his practice of skinning his victims (usually before killing them) and tanning their hides using traditional practices, or preserving portions of their bones or skulls, out of respect for the spirits of fallen foes. He has also begun an ambitious and secretive project of researching and recording Cainite lineages (on parchment made from the appropriate clan's skins, of course). What he plans to do with this information is not yet entirely clear.

Colonel William J. Brannigan

Malkavian antitribu dominion and remover, code name "the Colonel"

Background: William Joseph Brannigan was a graduate of the Virginia Military Academy (class of 1848) and a career military man, eventually rising to the rank of Colonel in the Army of Northern Virginia. He sacrificed home, two sons and his right leg in service to the Confederacy, and when the war was over, so was his useful life as he knew it. There was nothing for him but to live on the charity of others, playing with tin soldiers on the porch, bumming whiskey at the tavern, or talking about past battles with passing strangers. One such stranger took greater interest in his stories than he had ever expected, and gave him the opportunity to fight again, in a war against a greater enemy than the Yankees.

The curse of Malkav could not restore his missing leg, but it did give new brilliance to his tactical genius, which was no longer hampered by pedestrian logic. Unfortunately, what goes up must eventually come down, and so it is with Brannigan's very mind. Brannigan's true genius lies in his ability to ride the waves of his own bipolar cycles. He takes full advantage of his periods of rising energy and clearest focus to research and plan, often staying awake all day as well as all night for weeks. His need for blood rises substantially during this stage as well, and he can easily frenzy if not adequately supplied. By the time his cycle peaks and his mind begins whirling too fast to think coherently, he's usually moved into the actual combat phase of the mission, where his manic rage makes less of a handicap and indeed inspires the Licks under his command. At his low points, he is likely to spend several months in torpor until he has recovered sufficiently to start the cycle again.

Brannigan is one of the few dominions to have a Black Hand pack; they help carry out the missions he plans, supply his demands for information and disposable vessels, and protect him during his times of torpor. They also assist in leading the training camp Brannigan heads (the Seraphim's means of keeping him busy when no overt siege action is planned) when the dominion is incapable of fulfilling his more routine and "less challenging" responsibilities.

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Johnny Dawson

Gangrel antitribu dominion and remover, code name "Shaggydog"

Background: If asked about his background, Johnny will claim to be anything from a former Hessian mercenary to a knight of the Round table to a Viking who sailed with Leif Erickson; it's not even clear if John is his real name. However, from his knowledge of 18th and 19th century cultural trivia, his sheer ferocity in a fight and the ease with which he can transform into a patch of mist, it's clear that Johnny's been running the night for a long, long time. Johnny was a nomadic Sabbat when he was initiated into the Black Hand back during the Civil War. Now he's a nomadic Black Hand remover and trainer, taking his pack of cadets across the country in a dusty SUV, a refitted vacation trailer, and a couple of motorcycles. Those who earn acceptance to his mobile boot camp learn via the Gangrel's personal school of hard knocks and develop hunting, fighting, and wilderness survival skills unmatched in either the Camarilla or the Sabbat.

Johnny's wanderlust is also a survival mechanism. From his feral yellow eyes and powerful fanged jaws to the thick patches of coarse fur that cover most of his body, it's been decades since he truly passed for human. His hunting style is swift, brutal and deadly. He's as quick to stalk an unwary vampire target as he is a mortal, and his aura is heavily scarred with black veins. Usually he targets Camarilla or other non-Sabbat for his training exercises. However, his cadets learn to pay close attention to the stories the old Gangrel tells to illustrate his points, for those who screw up once too often may discover themselves demoted from packmate to object lesson.

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Fantastic entries everyone! Keep it going because we need tons more! Janet, I know you have plenty more as does ole' Kel. Keep em' coming. All you new folks out there come on in and post your characters. These entries will be used to help kickstart things for our Downloads section as well as our V:TM website. Keep it up!

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Darla Johnson aka "Charise DuPres"

12th generation Ravnos antitribu

Black Hand double agent in the Camarilla

Darla has a gift. Call it presence, call it poise, call it talent worthy of an Acadamy Award... she'll never get an Oscar, but her talent keeps her alive. Darla has always been a mimic,with a keen ear for the nuances of accents, vocal tones, use of language, and body movement. Her talent got her into dance, into theater, and even into a few low-budget movies, but it was not enough to support the lifestyle of an actress who was neither rich nor yetfamous; Darla found herself in serious debt. In order to pay off her credit cards, she took a job in show business: as the assistant of a traveling stage magician named Raoul DuPres, who had spotted her talent (so he said) and offered her a piece of the business. Of course, he also wanted a piece of her ass...but he was an incredible charmer, and she found she didn't mind, even if he wore her out...she'd always find herself sleeping most of the next day after one of their nights together. Before she knew it, she was madly in love, never thinking to question why she only saw her partner and lover after sunset.

As it turned out, stage magic was only a sideline for Raoul (although his talent for it seemed nothing short of amazing). His primary interest was high-stakes robbery, preferably jewelry, though he'd also not shrink from credit card fraud to fund his rather expensive hobby. With her talent (and body) she became part of his team, flirting with patrons in the casinos after the show, so she could let him into their rooms later. One night, things didn't work out as planned...their victim proved resistent to the narcotic she'd managed to slip into his drink, and woke up as Raoul was taking the "house cut" from is winnings. Before she could move to stop him, the man had pulled a handgun from a bedside table and shot Raoul three times in the back. The fourth shot went through Darla's belly, and she fell...

She awoke to Raoul forcing something down her throat, something cold and burning all at once — Darla became one of the Ravnos that night. Her partnership with Raoul continued, although she now worked only at night. Their scams together were exciting, daring, and brought them into contact with the very highest society — including that of the night.

Unfortunately, Raoul's taste for expensive baubles that belonged to someone else led him into dangerous territory, when he set his mind on a diamond necklace belonging to a notorious Toreador harpy. Darla's own sense of self-preservation kicked in, but nothing, not even the threat to leave him to pursue his mad quest on his own, would dissuade him. Her pride and anger at his mulishness forced her to carry out her threat. Raoul, angry and hurt, went off by himself. She never saw him unalive again.

The official charge for which he was executed was for a Breach of the Masquerade; Darla knew it was spite, for his affrontery to rob from the bitch-queen of Elysium. She would have saved him if she could, even attempted to kill the ones who so smugly sentenced "another thieving Ravnos" to the sun... but someone stopped her. Rather forcefully, in fact, with a stake through the ribs.

Later, in the darkness of an abandoned warehouse, when he unstaked her, he made her the offer that changed her unlife forever. "If you truly want revenge, if you have the courage to do anything it takes to see that happen... come with me."

Her rescuer — and new mentor — was Sahid, a Ravnos antitribu, and a talented shakar of the Black Hand. Recognizing her clan heritage, he had salvaged her, and now he sought to fine-tune her talent into a weapon, to be able to pass in Camarilla society as his eyes and ears, and help him assemble the intelligence necessary for his own superiors in the Black Hand.

Two years later, pleased with her progress, he invited her to join the Black Hand, and she has finally found her new unlife to be as exciting as she had ever dreamed...her only regret was that Raoul was not there to share it with her....and the bitch Victoria Ash still walked the night.

The Week of Nightmares turned all her world upside down. Darla survived only because she was with other Handers at the time, who staked her rather swiftly in order to preserve their security. Yet even so, the terrible trauma of those nights still haunts her dreams; one of the few of her clan left in the world. Even Sahid is gone; she believes she saw him perish in her dreams, too weak from barely defending his unlife against three of their kin to escape the rising sun. The emptiness in her soul only reinforces the Black Hand's philosophy of death in her heart; she now feels truly dead. Only the thrill of the game, the danger of her work, brings purpose back to her night.

For the past year, her assignment has been to penetrate the Camarilla in New York. With a slightly altered face, her talent for credit card fraud supplementing her meager expense budge, and her talent, she is ready to take on the Harpies... Charise DuPres, Toreador neonate and survivor of the fall of Atlanta, is making her mark on New York's patchwork Kindred society... and Darla Johnson is going for her Oscar-winning performance in the Big Apple.

Darla is a tall, slender, classically gorgeous African American woman (slightly enhanced by "plastic" surgery), who radiates grace, poise, and a Southern charm. She uses Auspex, her knack of impersonation, and quick thinking in order to pass herself off as Toreador. Her vice is the thrill of deceit. She throws all her effort into her work for the Hand, and tries not to remember the emptiness in her soul, or the echoes of the screams she still hears in her daytime sleep.

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Marius dell' Aquila

6th gen. Lasombra, Black Hand Dominion

Mario di Alessandro della Torre was born to a powerful family in 12th century Milan; as a younger son in a large family, he was one more knight in a city swarming with knights. He went on Crusade to the Holy Land, and survived; but his luck could only carry him so far. Soon after his return to Milan, he became caught up unknowingly in Cainite plots; finding himself Embraced as a Lasombra, and then exiled from his home, along with his beautiful and calculating sire. He learned too late why she had been so desperate to escape the city: her sire, the tyrannical prince of Milan. Living in a Ventrue court in Germany, he first met Gabriel Kristevani, a young Ventrue sorcerer; by the time Gabriel's terrible secret was discovered and he was forced to flee, the two had formed a close friendship. Marius, as he became known, always yearned to go home, and when his grandsire was overthrown and needed allies to regain his throne, finally was accepted into House dell'Aquila, a name the family retained even centuries after the old tyrant Gaius was finally ashes.

Marius first met Etienne de Vaillant in 1490, when the Tremere was sent to Milan from Florence to investigate the mysterious disappearance of both Milanese Tremere. Proud and bitter (for Milan at that time was under a Ventrue prince, and the Lasombra were the minority clan), Marius was deeply suspicious of the Tremere investigator, for the most likely culprit in the murder of two missing Tremere was the warrior-kuldun Jovan Ruthven, Milan's only resident Tzimisce, and the consort of Mario's sire. He was later convinced of this particular Tremere's dedication to the truth by his brother-in-blood, Monsignor Francesco Dantini, whose short-lived, but intensely strong friendship with Etienne has colored relationships between House dell'Aquila and Etienne de Vaillant for five hundred years.

Later, after the ill-fated Convention of Thorns, Marius rose to become Prince of Milan in his own right, with his sire and Jovan Ruthven supporting his leadership. Etienne de Vaillant visited Milan again, presumably to pursue peaceful negotiations between the anarch leaders meeting in Milan and the new Camarilla, but Marius, though he treated him as cordially as he dared, given the political situation, could not afford to trust him. Marius' rule lasted only ten years; the Camarilla attacked in the wake of invading French troops, and the members of House dell'Aquila were scattered. Marius lost his beloved wife Teresa, and Jovan Ruthven was sent into torpor; afterwards Marius gave his support to the nascent Sabbat, often as a pirate captain (for like many of his clan, Marius discovered he had a great love of the sea). The capture and execution of gentle Francesco Dantini in the late 16th century was a painful shock to both the surviving members of House dell'Aquila and to Etienne de Vaillant; that his death could be blamed on a particular Tremere elder did not endear the clan to Marius in the least. Hunting down clues to solve his brother's death, Marius was himself attacked, and though he destroyed all his enemies, was sent into torpor himself. He survived due to the aid of an ally, who made sure his body was safely hidden.

When Marius awoke, some decades later, he learned the devastating news: during his torpor, Jovan and Alianora had tangled once again with that same cursed Tremere elder and destroyed him. But then they had then in turn been hunted down by one of the Camarilla's most fearsome justicars, the Gangrel known as Artigal the Hunter, who had killed them both. Of all of House dell'Aquila, he was the only survivor.

Mario did survive, however. Encountering an old flame, the Ravnos courtesan Ayesha, he first persuaded her to accompany him to the New World, and then to become his wife. Dwelling in Caribbean Port Royal, he heard rumors of a beast hunting down villagers, especially children, on the plantation island of Cayman Brac, and was easily persuaded to investigate the matter, especially when other Kindred hunters had failed—or been killed in the attempt. The discovery of the 'beast's identity nearly broke his heart: the killer was his old friend and companion Gabriel, clearly lost to the Beast. Or was he simply possessed? Marius' attempt to free his friend nearly resulted in both their deaths, but was in the end successful, and resulted in Gabriel accepting a bloodbond to Marius, so that he could draw on the strength of the stubborn Lasombra's own will when he needed to resist his own darkest nature, and the curse in his blood.

Marius and Ayesha settled in Charleston, while Gabriel founded his own haven on the island that had seen the worst of his curse, Cayman Brac. But the times of peace, of relative détente between civilized Sabbat and independent-minded Camarilla in the American colonies could last no longer than the colonies' own loyalty to the British crown that exploited them. The Camarilla elders in Europe attempted to crack down on their rebellious childer in the new world, and the conflict spread, threatening even the most tolerant of princes and bishops.

Living for a time in what became for a time the Confederacy, Marius and Ayesha had learned to hide their true clans, in order to live in relative peace under Camarilla rule. But such peace was not to last; ambitious young northern Kindred coming south during reconstruction needed domains—and when Ayesha's true clan was discovered, her fate was sealed. Her executioners hoped to draw Marius into a trap; however, they had grossly underestimated his age, his cunning, and his capacity for revenge. None survived his vendetta.

Grief—and guilt, that he had not been able to save his love—all but consumed him for a time. Not even Gabriel could soothe Marius' hurt, or ease the bitterness in his soul. A cocky challenge from a Black Hand remover who should have known better ended with the challenger's ash floating away on the tide, and far older and more powerful members of the secretive sect gave his killer an ultimatum: to join the Black Hand or suffer the consequences of his deeds. Marius accepted, seeing in the Hand what he could not see in the Sabbat: a power strong enough to take on the Camarilla.

Since that time, Marius has both succumbed to the darkness in his own soul, and fought his way back out of it, with the aid of Jovan Ruthven, who did in fact survive the Justicar's judgment. He had little choice in joining the Black Hand; yet, he found the sect's goals to be his own, and has become one of the subsect's dominions, a strategist, tactician, undercover spy, and deadly front-line fighter. It was on such an undercover mission, posing as a Tremere at a Boston Elysium, that he first met the Tremere apprentice Sarah McCullough. He has encountered her several times since then, and each time he finds it harder and harder to part from her—even when it is his old ally Etienne de Vaillant who stands in his way. He has done so, nonetheless, because whether he likes admitting it or not, de Vaillant is right—he is a danger to her, and he knows from experience that no Tremere can walk away from the clan and survive. His friendship with Gabriel Roark, and his relationships with his kamut, are what gives him the emotional resilience to hold on to his soul, and yet fulfill his duties to the Sabbat, and the Hand—yet that friendship is his greatest weakness, and he fears the night it shall be discovered.

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Sometimes Stereotypes are ok to keep, and sometimes they are not... I rather like the idea of a Gangrel not compelled to wander...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: Christopher Anthony Logan

Nature: Competitor

Demeanour: Alpha

Age: 60 Apparent Age: 28

Clan: Gangrel

Born into a small Chicago family in 1942, Christopher as he prefers to be called, was a bright caring boy. The only son of a Marine sergeant, Christopher grew up to stories of the War and with a strong sense of responsibility.

At the age of 10, Christopher's father moved his family out to California where he had a job overseeing Survey Crews for the California Highways Department. During the summer he'd take his only son Christopher out on the job with him for weeks at a time, and during the school year there was rarely a weekend they weren't out camping in the hills and forests of California. Christopher flourished under his father's love and attention growing up into a confidant easy going young man.

In high school Christopher not only excelled at his studies which his father had drilled into him as Important but also at sports which were only slightly more important in his father's eyes. Christopher enjoyed high school, especially the sports, but the sports he truly loved were Hiking, Camping and Mountain Climbing. And he often got out with friends or with his Father as often as he could. At graduation, Christopher declared his intentions to join the Marine Corp like his father, and though his mother didn't fully approve she did support him, and so of Christopher went to join the Marines.

Fast tracked into Officer training, Christopher soon achieved the rank of 2nd lieutenant at the top of his class which gave him his choice of assignments. Christopher jumped at the chance to join 2nd Recon a force being put together to receive specialized training, training at which Christopher was well prepared for already being an avid mountain climber and hiker. But it was during training that disaster struck....

During a training mission where Christopher and his platoon were to rescue a "Downed" pilot in enemy territory, Christopher was severely injured when the Helicopter he was in crashed, killing half his men. He spent a full year in traction and had multiple surgeries before undergoing intense physiotherapy. And although he made a full recovery, Christopher left the marines which were embroiled in the Vietnam war, a war he and his father, objected too, as it was not a true war yet American soldiers were dying in it.

Getting a job with the Parks Department, Christopher returned to what he loved, being outdoors in nature and occasionally helping out rescues for lost hikers or during forest fires. It was while out in the bush of Colorado that Christopher had a run in with a Gangrel who, having noticed Christopher before over the last few days embraced him on the spot.

Christopher was at first outraged at what had happened to him, but was to proud to take his own life those first few months when his sire "Abandoned" him to fend for himself... After the anger came acceptance and even curiosity so that by the time his sire showed up again, Christopher was a most willing student. In fact, he was to mushy for his own sire to help so Christopher struck out on his own, searching for answers and finding them and more questions.

Not driven to wander like most Gangrel, Christopher goes where he wants when he wants. Often staying for years at a time. He still challenges himself physically and has increased his already formidable skills. He is not a fighter though his training as a marine helps when he has no other options. Christopher is a very open and likable guy and an easy leader. He is not dumb and never acts that way or resorts to lies. Not blunt he is nonetheless plain spoken and honest. Able to think on his feet Christopher has many connections and allies throughout Vampire society.

Edited by Lord Kelemvour

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I normally don't play with the Tremere, but I created this character when I was challenged to show how you could create a Tremere that was not your typical power hungry neonate/elder. I think he turned out rather well myself... evilgrin.gif

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tremere Enforcer:

Brother Augustine was born the second son of a powerful family with many ties to the Royal court in Madrid. Happy to be the dutiful second son Augustine enjoyed his studies and looked forward to taking the cloth, the traditional duties of the second son, and when he was 18 his wishes were fulfilled. Augustine was soon ordained as a full priest in the Dominican order and at the age of 21 took the vows of a Confessor.

"Brother Augustine was very content with his life. He enjoyed the order brought by the Rules of Saint Benedict, and he enjoyed the physical labour and companionship of his fellow brothers. But what he most enjoyed was the chance to study and learn. When not needed for duties, Brother Augustine was to be found in the Abbey Library studying the Older works, learning from the greats....

In 1484, when Brother Augustine was 34, he was asked by the abbot to travel to the Capital to help the Inquisition to root out Heretics and unbelievers. Being an expert on Church law and Mysticism he readily agreed to go and stamp out such a threat to mother church.

By 1486 Brother Augustine was highly involved in the Inquisition, already an ardent follower of the faith, he was, like so many corrupted by zealousness and power and soon started going farther and farther to discover those who did not believe or who lied about their faith. He even went so far as to study the "Dark Arts" that he might better know his enemies. This of course was his downfall, but not in a way you might think....

It was a dark stormy night, {Is there any other kind for such a tale?} in 1489, that Brother Augustine, disguised as a merchant followed a man he suspected of being False to a cellar under an old house. It was there that brother Augustine started down a path that would end his life... for what he saw there that night was not only non-Christian magic, it was also Thaumaturgy. When he was discovered spying he was dragged before the Regent who, instead of killing him outright questioned Augustine on why he was there. Brother Augustine, still believing in the power of righteousness and God explained that he was an Inquisitor and that he had seen their foul rites and that they should all surrender themselves to him there and now before God. The regent found this amusing but was also intrigued by Augustine who clearly knew quite a bit about the magical arts, so he had him taken away to be questioned.

2 weeks later, Brother Augustine died in a horrible accident when a wall under construction collapsed... at least, that is what everyone thought. In actuality Brother Augustine was moving to Vienna where he was to begin his studies as a Tremere Ghoul.

Now the year is 2002, and Brother Augustine, as he still likes to be called is again chasing down those who are not loyal... those that are deemed Unfit by higher powers.... but now those he chases are fellow Cainites. Well versed in the more powerful aspects of Thaumaturgy. Brother Augustine keeps the laws of the Masquerade enforced. This one Man Inquisition is not to be taken lightly....

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In the White Wolf book Gypsies, it talks about how the Gypsy peoples are tied to both the Ravnos and Gangrel clans. So here is what I came up with for an interesting Gangrel that is anything but your typical "Woodsman"...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Gypsy Gangrel:

Sarrina went into labour 3 weeks prematurely and the baby wasn't expected to live... But he survived his birthing, entering the world with a caul over his face and his mother, who had lost her husband only that winter wanted very much to keep this memory of her lost love took him to her breast, feeding him even as she named him... whispering his true name in his ear so the devil would not know it, naming him among the Romanni and naming him Nicholas to the outside world...

Nicholas was small, even for a premature baby he was small and the smug girls and wives of the others of the troupe talked about how the first wolf to see him would mistake him for a baby hare and snap him up in a single bite.... They did not like Sarrina or her son, for they were from another Troupe, and where only here because Sarrina had come to live with her husband and his family. Her Beloved Andre, dead now 4 months had been a kind and loving husband, but a run in with a starving lone wolf this past harsh winter had ended his life in it's prime, and so now Sarrina and her little Nicholas lived in their small wagon, following her dead husband's troupe around, clinging to them like a whipped dog clings to a brutal master.... for scraps and what else it needs to survive...

Nicholas survived his first year, and another Brutal winter that saw the troupe eat half of their animals just to survive... He survived his second and third years which were better and then his 4th and 5th years when the other kids of the family, for the troupe was all related as all gypsy troupes are, started to pick on Little Nicolas... Nicholas was still a small boy, thin and scrawny with blonde hair not the black of his mother or father and with eyes the color of dark smoke... He was also quiet though that might have been shyness... The women of the troupe used to spit around him and joked about making him into rabbit stew... And the kids through mud and worse at him, calling him names... Only his mother and the Animals of the troupe loved him... The horses never stamped near him where he might be hurt and even on Victor's huge hunting hounds, the ones that could kill a bear or a boar with their powerful jaws just licked his small hands....

But it was not until his 8th year that Nicholas' life improved... He was at the stream collecting water for his mother's cooking pot so that they might make soup from the scraps and bones of the deer caught last night when a group of older boys, led by Joska, the largest boy in the camp, came up and surrounded him... Nicholas was scared inside, but he dared not let it show as he stood up, balancing his small pails on the yoke his mother taught him to use to carry them... Joska, sensing restlessness in his followers levelled an excellent punch into Nicholas' face breaking his delicate nose in a spray of blood, much to the amusement of the other boys who wanted a fight, even one so obviously one sided...

Nicholas went down in a heap, his pails spilling their carefully collected water, his blood pouring down his face... The pain was not new, having been hit with sticks and even stones when he was younger and before he learned to dodge them, but the blood... That bright crimson blood that tasted like metal was a shock... And as he sat up, Nicholas put all of his anger that he had kept to himself and whispered only to the darkness at night into his heart as he glared up at Joska...

Joska, waiting to throw a second punch was not prepared for the anger he saw, and it chilled him... somewhere deep inside where he feared that others would treat him like he did the small boys... That fear put the fight out of him... Throwing his hands up in disgust and claiming Nicholas a waste of time he stalked off with his followers in tow... But he did not make it far... Not a dozen steps from Nicholas a branch, seemingly hale and whole one minute cracked with a great sound and fell on Joska, splitting his scalp and dazing him... The other boys shocked and scared grabbed up their fallen leader supporting him as they ran him back to his mother... Nicholas, shocked but pleased, cleaned up in the stream before recollecting the water for his mother and returning to her side... She was upset at his injuries but pleased to see they were so small and reset his nose as good as new... He didn't cry out once as she did it...

The next day a slightly dizzy Joska tries throwing a rock at Nicholas... Not only did he miss the boy but he broke Tanna's new clay pot which got him a beating... The Day after while trying to grab Nicholas he stepped in a rabbit hole breaking his leg... The other boys started to whisper about Nicholas having the evil eye.... And that soon spread to the other wives and mothers of the troupe...

A week later, Sarrina was shocked to open her wagon door to find old Katrina, the grandmother and great grandmother and even great great grandmother of the troupe at her steps... helping the old woman inside and giving her tea laced with lemon she told her all about Nicholas and even called him in to meet the old woman who rarely left her own large decorated wagon..... Nicholas stood quietly before the old woman, answering her questions truthfully and recounting the day of the fight repeatedly till the old woman was satisfied...

The next day the troupe broke camp earlier then expected, as they had just barely arrived but a few days ago, and off they went, north by north east into the heart of their homeland... The trip took many weeks and old Katrina was often with Sarrina and her Nicholas, which stopped the gossip of the other wives and mothers and even afforded Sarrina and her son better portions of the hunt....

Eventually the troupe arrived at the camp of another troupe... But this troupe was unlike all others they had seen, for this troupe was the troupe of the Babbas, the old, and some said Immortal, grandmothers of *ALL* the troupes... the Babbas were the lore keepers and seers of the Romani people and it was to them that Sarrina and her Nicholas were brought.

What went on there, none can or will say... But when Nicholas, now a young man and his mother, now a bit older left the troupe of the Babbas, Nicholas was a changed man... Skilled in the Secret arts, almost never taught to men folk, Nicholas could charm the animals from the trees, make it rain or cast one of the many dreaded magic of the seers... The spells that would sick spirits on you day and night making your life a living hell... He could also sing and dance and play the violin as well as anyone, and while still quiet and slim of build he was very handsome and many girls desired him, though he did not seek their company.

As the years passed, Nicholas honed his powers and then one day he woke from a strange dream... He immediately packed what he felt he needed and saying good-bye to his mother who was once again married and happy, he left the troupe, striking out on his own.... he traveled very far for many weeks before coming to the spot he felt was right and there he sat, waiting...

He did not have long to wait, for shortly after sunset the earth before him opens and out climbed a tall woman dressed in furs... she hissed upon seeing him with fangs like a bear, but she listened as he spoke. Then she left, with him following her at a distance..... Day after day this happened... He would be there when she woke from the earth and would talk to her and then follow here when she left.... Weeks and even months went by until finally... One night, upon waking she listened to him and then gave him his wish... she embraced him....

Now Nicholas wanders where he wants, playing his violin and telling stories while honing his powers...

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I have always loved the Tzimisce clan and usually play them almost as much as I play my beloved Lasombra. But what I don't like is how all "New World" Tztimisce seem to be tattoo artists... confused.gif So here is a Tzimisce for the "New World" that is definately Not a tattoo artist or a Twisted plastic surgeon...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tzimisce:

Name: Vannessa Pavel {Pa-vel = Pa > like Pat < -Vel -> Like Well < }

Age: 32 Apparent Age: 21

Nature: Monster

Demeanour: Bravo/Loner

Vannessa Pavel was born to a whore... A whore who more over didn't want her and only kept her because the state said a baby was worth 450 dollars a month and extra food stamps... But this situation didn't last long... And after Vannessa's mother was busted a second time for selling crack for her pimp out of her basement apartment Social Services stepped in and took 3 year old Vannessa away for keeps...

It was the worst thing that could have happened to her...

Vannessa become flotsam on the ocean of apathy and overwork that is Chicago's Social Services... Behind in her development because her mother had been too busy turning tricks, Vannessa was catalogued on the system as a Special Needs Child and that of course was a huge Red Flag against her when it came to adoption. It wasn't that people didn't care, a few families did look at her, but they never worked out... So Vannessa stayed an official Ward of the State moving from one Foster Home to the next...

Vannessa was not mentally challenged as the Politically Correct people demanded she be called but she never showed her intelligence because asking questions and speaking out got you hit, and so 5 year old Vannessa learned her first lesson... Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut... Because the Social Services department was so swamped, Vannessa's case file was shuffled around almost as much as she was, which meant no clear record of her progress was ever kept... And soon she was deemed to old for much chance of adoption unless a Foster family decided they wanted to keep her, but none did, because most of them were in it for the benefits the state gave them as opposed to being there for the kids...

So Vannessa grew up learning everything the hard way... Love she decided at an early age Hurt or at least it was supposed to... And if you wanted something, you better learn how to get it on your own or do without... These and other lessons taught by an uncaring system were about the best things Vannessa got in life... And she would need them...

Vannessa reached High school and was shipped off every day to the local public school which was only slightly more over taxed then Social Services... And I know what you are thinking... That Vannessa found some loving teacher who touched her and showed her how to grow, how to harness her natural talents and flourish... Well you're wrong... There were no such teachers in Vannessa's school and even if there had been they wouldn't have touched the animal that was Vannessa...

Her first Boyfriend was the first boy to rape her... When she didn't cry and didn't object to his forceful attentions and actually seemed to like them he kept her around and got her to do stuff, like keep Obo {Observation} for cops or store Fuzz when he and his friends helped themselves to CD's and things from the downtown department stores. And when she was caught with the stuff being the "Bag Man" she took the rap in silence... Because Vannessa always remembered Rule #1... Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut... And when she got out of Juvenile Hall she had learned a great deal more... Her first order of business outside was to rat out her EX to some of the Druggie seniors at school who fixed him with a .38. After that Vannessa started taking things into her own hands... Rule #2... If you want something, you better learn how to get it on your own or do without... So Vannessa learned...

Now 16 and in Grade 11 Vannessa learned everything she could from anyone she could... If it meant selling herself for a night to raise the money to buy an old .38 special then what did she care... The .38 brought power and an old book in the public library down the street told her exactly how to take care of her new power... Soon if she needed money she found people to take it from, and she made new friends... Much Older friends who treated her both as a possession, nothing new, and as a little sister... Something very new in Vannessa's life...

Soon she was "Wearing Colors" and hanging out with the Big Boys down at the local biker bar, things still occasionally went wrong for Vannessa, like the 16 months for Armed Robbery of a Liquor Store, but she was out in 8 for good behaviour and was a step closer to having what she wanted most....

Control...

She had just turned 21 when everything changed forever...

Things had been going from bad to worse for Vannessa and the biker gangs she hung out with... A rival gang with backing from the Hell's Angels had been muscling in on their turf with some hard hitting results... Quite a few of Vannessa's Friends had had their cards punched lately, but hopefully tonight they were going to be avenged... The plan was simple... but even the simplest plans have a way of going wrong...

This one did it with a bang.... a very Large bang....

The rival gang, instead of being caught with their pants down was waiting in ambush for Vannessa and her friends, and the RPG round, bought on the black market easily blew up the stolen fuel tanker Vannessa's gang had hoped to crash into their rivals club house... In that single second when hundreds of gallons of refined unleaded fuel went up wiping out half of the bikers riding shotgun... Vannessa, one of the lucky ones far enough back not to be caught in the inferno, saw death... and not just death but DEATH and she new then, in that second as darkest night became as bright as noon and the impact of the air threw her 40 feet into a wall dislocating her shoulder and giving her a major concussion, despite the helmet, and 6 shattered ribs, that if she lived, she'd never be anyone's property ever again...

Then everything went black...

........

When she woke her world had become pain... Pain screaming from her ruined shoulder, pain from the shattered ribs that made death by fire a vacation... Pain from the endless throbbing of her still beating heart inside her bruised skull.... They say pain tells you you're alive... It wasn't worth the message...

But then pleasure came... More pleasure then she'd ever known in her entire 21 years of life... more then the pleasure of the drugs she had "Tried" but could never get into... more then the buzz alcohol had given her the few times she drank... this was pure pleasure... sweet pleasure without end...

Only...

It was ending....

She could feel it.... Flowing out of her and into something else... something or someone...

She forced her eyes to open and focus on the person that held her so tenderly and yet who was sucking the life out of her... Her *Own* precious life, and it was precious to her because it was hers, though many had threatened or tried to take it away before. And it was this last violation... This violation to the one thing she had always felt was hers and hers alone that caused the beast she had become to lash out, despite the waves of pleasure, and fight back...

In all his many years Damian Kross had never been so shocked as when the knife sank into his throat and tore it open... Never had he been so shocked and rarely had he been in such pain... And *Never* had he been so attacked/hurt by one of his meals... His first thought was that someone else was attacking him... His second was that he hurt! This time from the knife tearing out his left eye...

Vannessa was going to face Death on her own terms...

Damian howled in pain and lashed out... Shattering Vannessa's arm and then her jaw... This new assault tore her right lung on her ribs... But even as her blood frothed pink at her lips and with half of her body shattered, Vannessa still fought.... She clawed his chest with her ruined arm, her shoulder screaming with each movement, and all she accomplished was to smear blood on the Mettalica logo... But Damian blinked... the spirit of this one... Ruined as she was, to still defy him... He had to save her...

Those that Hesitate are lost, but Vannessa was not about to be lost...

Now... 11 years later Vannessa runs with a new crowd... She still struggles to be in control and still can't always avoid trouble, but she's never been happier, and while those around her might try and put her down or take what's hers, they soon find out what a mistake that is...

Because Vannessa is in Control now... In control of the Beast inside and she's never going to surrender again...

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Vannessa favors Mentals and Physicals, with Socials being last. She has quite a few skills, especially in fighting, which she does dirty, and in things like Larceny, pickpocketing and other "Street Skills" like repair and stealth... Her knowledges are low but specialized...

Discipline wise, Vannessa hasn't specialized but has her powers about even between Auspex, Annimalism and Viccissitude... {She likes animals, as they love her unconditionally} She's highly interested in Dominate and Presence...

Being a loner as she is Vannessa has a hard time Trusting others and being a team player but will work with others as long as she sees that she'll get something out of it, and she's willing to throw her chips in and fight with the group, mostly out of a sense of proving her worth if only to herself but she is a stark realist and will bail if things get dicey... She still has fears to overcome from her former life and finds threatening or overbearing personalities bring back a meeker side which she hates... This will cause her to lash out, often dangerously and unpredictably... Vannessa doesn't volunteer much, especially her opinion but she's always observant and willing to use and do anything to get what she wants... She's very private and sometimes goes away on her own, but her need to be accepted as well as her fears and insecurities always bring her back to the group...

For now...

~~~~~~~~~~

Playing Tips:

Backgrounds...

Contacts for sure... Especially amongst Biker gangs and Local Fences...

She won't have allies as she doesn't trust anyone that much, and she'll never have a herd...

She might have built up enough money to classify as 1-2 dots of resources... and she more then likely still gets a welfare check... if possible...

She probably won't have status above pack member/acknowledged, but she probably does have a reputation as being a fighter or loner if not both...

Suggestions

She'll have a secret place - Cellar, Abandoned Building, storm sewer that she will use as a hideout haven. She won't tell anyone where it is and will go to great lengths to keep it secret. If it is ever found, she'll abandon it immediately and make a new one....

She'll carry a gun, nothing fancy but with allot of stopping power. Like a Magnum .357 revolver or double barreled shotgun. She'll want reliability and power over automatics that might jam and she'll maintain it meticulously so she car rely on it. She might also have a Holdout gun, hidden somewhere like an ankle or upper arm, something smaller like her .38. She will also have a switch knife, one of the large versions...

Despite her upbringing Vannessa lives clean - no drugs or smoking, but she has a weakness for coffee and she can probably eat food. Sex on the other hand means nothing to her; it's a way to get things...

She'll like new things but will only buy stuff she needs, though CD's will be a particular delight to her as the music cuts her off from the world when she is alone so she'll have the best CD player she can steal or buy. She has no compunctions against petty crimes and will do them any time she thinks it's safe enough, even on the way to something else. She may often look at luxury items - juicer, toaster oven, big screen TV with longing but will feel they are beyond her... She will live simply with very few personal possessions, which she will abandon if she feels she must... She might have a few personal mementoes she wears from those that have treated her nice in the past. She will also probably be closer to guys then girls.

She can be very impulsive and excitable and doesn't like planning things out especially if she's asked/told to help or partner with someone - Trust again - so will often deviate from plans. If she feels the battle is lost she will run while trying to save others, but will abandon them to save herself.

Clothing is probably both important and not important to her... important in she'll want to fit in but not enough to look good, she will probably wear leather clothes and jackets and anything that is comfortable with it.

She's probably cocky allot of the time to cover her lingering insecurities, and will often insult and push away those trying to help her... She has allot of guilt about things so having her cry and storm off would be an idea...

She probably owns or drives a Harley, a small one... Though she can Boost and drive a car at need....

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Here is another Tzimisce, this one from Russia during the time when the Cold War was ending...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tzimisce:

Name: Tatiana Vadisvolkoff

Apparent Age: 26 Age 30

Nature: Tyrant

Demeanor: Director

Tatiana Vadisvolkoff's Father was a "Big" man... He ran a state run factory and that made him very important indeed... Tatiana knew nothing about her father's work except that he ran the plant and was a Big Man... After all they had everything they could want... Tatiana’s mother wore furs not rags... and there was always plenty of sausage and potatoes and black bread, which her father said was the food of a real man.... a worker as he drank his Stavka Vodka, sometimes with, pepper... And their house had plenty of wood in the winter to stave off the cold... Yes, Tatiana’s father was a Big Man...

Yes... he was a Big Man who took wood from the factory furnace to heat his house and who skimped on wages to buy his wife furs and bribe the baker and butcher for the food always on the table....

But you know what happens to Big People?? Do you?? They Fall Big... and when Communism fell so did the Vladisvolkoff family... They were 2 steps ahead of the police and 1 step ahead of angry workers when they slipped across the former border into East Germany... From there is was a long train ride in cramped stuffy nightmarish cars clutching what little possessions her father had allowed her to grab... Something Tatiana would never forgive her father for....

3 years later, in a small 2 bedroom apartment above the tiny drycleaners her father had managed to buy when the previous owner died Tatiana still grew angry at the thought of that long horrible flight to America... Peasants... Common Grubby peasants had dared... Dared to come after her family... Swearing violently and, admittedly quite spectacularly, Tatiana threw the Hooked on Phonics English primer against the wall in a fit of rage... Looking around her room she considered throwing more things against the wall witch her "Cossack" anger as she called it was demanding... but the things most in sight and reach were too precious to hurt... And the filthy peasants weren't worth it...

2 Years later Tatiana graduated her American high school... a little later then most of her classmates but that had been because of her need to learn English first... But she had quite mastered it now... There was still anger inside her... Deep Down...

4 Years later now with a bachelors of Languages Tatiana was going home... not to her parents new house they had bought when they opened their 8th dry-cleaning store... No... Not that new American home... But Home... The Rodinia... The Motherland... Russia...

It was different... It was America!!!

The rage inside Tatiana was intense... It had never been this intense... And the world became a sheet of red...

The cold air was crisp in her lungs... Her muscles ached as if she had been working out in the gym too long... The air smelled of blood...

The old woman lay staring up at the sky, her throat a clawed mass of torn flesh and bruises... Her crushed Larynx had made her death painful... Leaving frothy pink blood frozen on her lips... Tatiana found she didn't care... She didn't care one single tears worth that she had just killed another human being...Someone’s mother or even Grandmother by the white in her hair... In fact besides not caring... she felt GREAT!!!!

They said in her Psychology classes that the First one is always the hardest... Hers had been so easy it was laughable... Shows what those Americans know... They know Nothing! AS she walked out of the alley her mind was already wondering what the next one would be like...

She soon found out...

Peasants... They were getting boring... True, they all deserved to die but so many of them seemed to go willingly that there was no fun in it any more... It was time to find new prey... Perhaps an American... They were all about Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness... The Pursuit of Money... Surely they would fight to stay alive...

She laughed at the cold night and pulled her fur closer and started off for the American section of Moscow...

Ohhh the rush was better then ever... As the light left the American Sluts eyes Tatiana reveled in the pleasure and the Power of Life and Death... Such awesome power... To hold a life in your hands... To crush it out...

Little did Tatiana realize she was not alone in her reveling... Far above, on the fire escape sharp eyes watched this little hunter... Just as they had all week since first seeing her kill a young girl on the way home from music lessons...

Quiet as a ghost the eyes drew closer to the little huntress... Soon to be shown a whole new way of Hunting...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tatiana is high on Mentals and Socials and while Physicals are low she is growing in them... Her knowledges and Talents are strong, her skills are weak especially survival... She prefers a "Hands On" approach and specializes in Pain with a secondary of Torture.... She is not a political creature, preferring to Enforce the will of those she considers Valid Superiors... That being the way the Party Politick did things she feels herself an extension of the will of the Pack leaders and is content to follow...

Amongst her peers she is outspoken wanting to control a situation as much as possible, and she is loyal to those that win her respect... Those she sees as under her she treats like dogs... And she has a strong hatred for Rich Capitalists as well as Weak Peasants...

Discipline wise Tatiana has specialized her Auspex and Vicissitude... She desperately wants Celerity, Potence and Fortitude as well as Obfuscate...

Tatiana prefers taking on single targets and is always looking to up the thrill of killing with bigger and bigger challenges... But she is not reckless. She does not want the game to end...

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Breaking away from stereotypes to create characters that are interesting and work is always fun, but I am espescially proud of this one. She was created when a friend created a way to select character concepts based on die rolls. I wish I still had the formula he worked out because it made for some interesting possibilities... But I digress... Here is my creation...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Toreador Enforcer:

Name: London McKenzie

Age: 28

Nature: Competitor

Demeanour: Judge

London McKenzie had always wanted to be a Nurse or a Librarian or a Farmer, mostly because they were the farthest things she could imagine from what her parents wanted her to be, which was a bimbo. At least, that is how London always thought of it... Socialite was the term her mother used, but a Bimbo was what it came down to....

The only daughter of parents that had more money then they knew what to do with London never wanted for anything... at least, that is what her doting parents thought, after all, Daddy bought everything his little "Princess" could want and then some.... But what London really wanted, and which her parents could not buy her, which was a shock to her when she realized it, was a *Normal* life... Yes the money was nice, yes the food was good though even crepes and grilled Atlantic salmon and mousse éclairs gets tiring after a while, and yes the toys and parties were nice to, but everyone was so shallow that Little London started to fear she was the only smart person in the world. Of course there were occasionally men and even women her parents dealt with that seemed very smart, but they had no time for children, and so London hardened herself to the shallowness she saw around herself and determined to escape at the first opportunity she found.

That opportunity finally came when London was in her senior year at oxford when she signed up for a "Women's Self-defence" class offered by the local church and women’s clubs. That very first class when London realized the small woman standing talking to the Pastor was the instructor from the police was just the first of many changes that London would soon be facing. After that class as the others broke into groups to gossip on the way to the showers London approached the instructor and started asking her a barrage of questions. Caught off guard at first, the instructor soon realized that London needed a focus in her life and that she had a definite interest in the police. The next day, the instructor swung by London's dorm and dropped off a veritable crate full of recruitment information and forms, much to London's delight. A few months later having completed her O Levels in Languages and History, London reported to the local station for the bus ride to the police-training center in Metropolitan London.

Police work was the answer to all of London's prayers, not only was it exciting, but she excelled at it. She made top of the class in all fields, much to the annoyance but grudging respect of her male classmates. London's instructors realized they had a rising star on their hands and fast tracked her for a spot on the vice squad, specifically that dealing with white-collar crimes and blackmail. London's background of wealth and privilege served her well, allowing her to circulate with Socialites and Debutants, Bimbos and gropers in London's mind, with ease and familiarity, easily gaining their confidences and learning who was who and what was going on with whom... But it was this very ease that would spell London's destruction...

At a gala coming out party for the season’s newest star artist, London was once again on duty undercover as she tailed a young heiress from America who was being blackmailed by a as yet unidentified man who London was determined to capture and thereby make her 40th case since she joined the force. Little did she know or realize that she herself was being followed at that very moment by a young Toreador, he was only 75 years old at the time, who had become smitten with her good looks and quick wit and who wanted to make her his childe...

The next night, London woke up wondering where she was and what had happened to her, all her memories were an alcohol induced haze and she immediately cursed herself for drinking on duty, something she had never done before. It was while she was looking for her cell phone that she realized the bed she had been sleeping in was an open coffin and that her dress was not the dress she had worn the night before. To say she was angry, when her "Sire" came in was an understatement of the first water and she immediately let him know it in all of the languages under her command as well as physically, and he soon learned his mistake. And to say that the Prince upon learning of London's embrace was angry was also an understatement of the first water as well, and he immediately had both London and her fool of a sire brought before him in chains. London, not knowing much of what was going on having only been embraced a week before knew that she had to do everything to survive like she had before. She needed to be sharp and learn the rules of this new "game" and fast because everyone seemed to mean business... And survive is what she did, though her sire fell by the roadside and paid for his crimes with a suntan, London impressed her judges and the prince and so she was allowed to live. But that was not enough for London and she set about using her wits to get ahead. Realizing her old life was no more she set about making herself a new one, and she used every trick she new how and soon she came to the attention of quite a few powerful elders as someone to watch. Soon she was called before the prince again only this time it was to be presented with the Duties of Scourge for all of Greater London...

Now, older and wiser and much more deadly London runs her duties as she used to work as a mortal cop. Finding out who is who and what is being done with whom. Neonates and Elders alike fear her attention, and London... She couldn't be happier...

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Sometimes you just have to step away from the clans and let your imagination wander... happy.gif

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: Jack Templeton

Age: 34 Aage: 32

Height" 6'1" Weight: 210lbs

Eye Colour: Dark Brown Hair: Dark Brown

Clan: Caitiff ?? Generation: 9

Nature: Survivor

Demeanor: Lone Wolf/Bravo - Protector

Attributes:

Strength: 3

Dexterity: 3

Stamina: 4 - Enduring

Charisma: 3

Manipulation: 2

Appearance: 2

Perception: 3

Intelligence: 2

Wits: 3

Abbilities:

Talents:

Alertness: 2

Athletics: 2

Brawl: 2

Dodge: 2

Empathy: 2

Intimidation: 1

Leadership: 1

Streetwise: 1

Subterfuge: 1

Skills:

Drive: 2

Etiquette: 1

Firearms: 2

Melee: 2

Security: 1

Stealth: 1

Survival: 2

Knowledges:

Investigation: 1

Law: 2

Medicine: 1

Occult: 1

Science: 2

Backgrounds:

Generation: 4

Resources: 1

Disciplines:

Presence: 1

Auspex: 1

Fortitude: 1

Virtues:

Self-Control: 3

Conscience: 3

Courage: 4

Merits & Flaws

Eat Food: +1

Baby Face: +2

Criminal Record: -2

Slow Healing: -3

Nightmares: -1

Prey Exclusion: -1 {Those seen as Innocents - Women/Children/Most Men}

Finishing Touches:

Humanity: 7

Willpower: 6

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

" I've got a secret... a really horrible secret deep inside me just waiting to claw it's way out and I don't know what I'm going to do.... Nothing is Real for me anymore... I've seen too much... Hell.. I'm Fucking Part of it and I Still don't Believe it!!!! .... I'm just so tired.... It was bad enough when the cops wanted me though I had nothing to do with the little girls death... I was just Jack on the spot and the Sheriff hates me so why not right?? Hell.... Maybe I did kill her.... Maybe I cracked and I did what the local rag says I did... But see.... If... And I mean IF I did kill her... Then how did I get like this??? And can I stop it??? I don't want to go on like this... but I will until I can get my family back... I swear it.... "

......

Jack Templeton has never had anything easy... Sure he's always been well known, and many people like him... Even those that hated him realized that people just naturally Like and Trust Jack... But they'll be the first to tell you that that trust will be betrayed... That jack's a two-timing lowlife that needs to be put away... or better yet Put down like a rabid dog... but it wasn't always this bad...

Jack grew up in a small town in Texas... He grew up on a dust farm with his Dad and Younger sister who had him wrapped around her finger the day she drew breath... He went to school... scraped by and helped his dad here he could... Got into the same trouble all boys that age get into but was never overly bad... Managed to get into and through high school, and married his high school sweetheart when she got pregnant with his child....

He too odd jobs around town because he'd always been good with his hands and gave up on the idea of college and maybe playing college football... His young wife Meredith managed to get her Hairstylist License and get a job in Betty's Beauty parlor on Main Street... They rented a small 3 room house a block away by the old train station long since condemned back in the 30's when the town died... it's heart just not knowing it....

Jack and Meredith and their daughter Heather, named after Jack's mother who died giving his sister Sally life, did ok... Though the local Sheriff who had a grudge against Jack's father and therefore Jack always said he'd turn bad just like his old man who was a reformed con who did 10 years for Bank Robbery a long time ago... But Jack and his family did ok, and heather grew up in a happy if not well off family....

But one night, late, when Jack made a run to the next town over that had an all night general store, because it was just off the interstate, to get Meredith some pain medication, Jack's luck turned bad...

It was raining like God wanted to drown the earth again when he saw the stranger on the side of the road and being a decent fellow, Jack's never really pulled over Known God, offered the man a lift... The man.. a stranger to those parts he said had "Gone off the Road back there" and needed a " Lift into town buddy?? Thanks", which Jack was happy to give... But as they were driving up the stranger, grabbed the wheel and reaching over slammed his boot down on jack's foot, flooring the gas which sent the old pick-up straight through the drugstore window and right Over Mary Jane Dales, crushing her chest and breaking her legs in 10 places...

As Jack lay against the steering wheel, his head exploding with pain he watched, dreamlike as the stranger grabbed Mary Jane and tore her neck out... Like he was a wolf with a goat... And then... Worst of all he started lapping and slurping up her blood like there was no tomorrow...

Thankfully darkness claimed Jack briefly, but when he came too the stranger was standing over him, blood all over his face and teeth that would do a rattler proud... The stranger grabbed Jack and hauled him from the truck like a sack of beans... " I want to thank-you buddy... I've been on the road for days and I've been starving so bad but nobody would stop till you... you did me a good turn... so I'm going to do you one... "

The pain... The pain was short and the pleasure was intense... But then came the Hunger and nothing in all of Jack's life, not even breaking his leg when he was 7 and fell of the barn roof, prepared him for the pain of that hunger... But the stranger had the relief for that soon enough...

" Now listen buddy... I got to a go... I have people after me, and no time to chitchat... so listen up.... I've given you my gift... made you just like me though I doubt you'll use it wisely... find some shelter from the sun... It ain't your friend no more... and remember the blood... Mmmmm... you can never go wrong with that... now be a good boy and scamper off now... maybe you'll get through everything ok... but I doubt it.... "

The laughter as he threw Jack into the cellar of the old Mining Office was the last thing Jack remembered till sunset the next night when he woke... That was when he found out he was wanted for 3 counts of murder, destruction of property, Grand Theft and Grand Theft auto...

So... Jack's on the road... He can't go back... Not just yet... And the way forward is unclear, but the road as they say leads ever onward and that's the only way Jack has... If he can find the strength to take it...

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I hate the ventrue... But they can make interesting characters...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: Damian V. Killborn

Age: 65 Aage: 48

Height: 6'2" Weight: 205 lbs

Eye Colour: Hazel/Grey Hair Colour: Light Brown

Nature: Visionary

Demeanor: Architect

Clan: Ventrue

Generation: 9

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian Vincent Killborn, born Peter Vincent Wells, grew up in a working class neighbourhood as the youngest of 4 children of working class parents. His father was a Sergeant in the police force and his mother worked shifts as a janitor in large office buildings downtown and while both were good parents who did their best to raise their kids with good morals, money was often tight, which left little Pete as they called him getting the hind end of the stick... Hand me down toys... Hand me down clothes and books. There simply wasn't that much to go around and while he never complained, Peter was always a little resentful of his older twin siblings his brother and sister, Greggory and Elizabeth, and his slightly older, by a year and a half, sister Megan.

Peter's father was a strict man, but not harsh, and while his bite was worse then his bark, he rarely had any cause to even bark at his 4 well behaved children. A religious man, he made sure his family, dressed in their best which for Peter meant Greg's old suit tailored by his mother to fit, was at church every Sunday for mass, and every holiday for evening services. A well liked man in the community, Peter's father tried hard to teach his children responsibility and self-respect as well as the value of hard work... It is those very values that Peter would use later in life, and still credits his father for instilling in him...

When Peter graduated High school he was top of his class and was able, with a small scholarship plus all the money he had saved over the years from birthdays and working odd jobs, to enter the local college. And while not the first ion his family to ever do this he was the first in quite a while on either side and he was determined to succeed... In fact, peter was more then just determined. He'd succeed or die trying...

Studying whenever not in classes or working whatever job he could get to help pay tuition, Peter became somewhat reclusive, shunning most school groups and even girls for the chance to excel. Applying for more scholarships, Peter managed to get a bursary that would allow him to transfer to a better college in the next state and while his family was sorry to see him go, they had come to realize that Little Pete was destined for greater things... Peter excelled at the new school and graduated with a degree in Business and a major in Finance within 4 years. This got him better and better jobs with which he financed more studies at night school into Business and Law soon getting his duel Masters degree. From there, with the help of some friends and some major risks, Peter now preferring to be called Damian, started his own finance and accounting firm....

Taking overflow work from larger firms as well as clients, Peter's company quickly grew, and with some shrewd and careful investing, it soon became a major player in the state, buying out some smaller firms and making a network of companies handling both small and large business accounts... But this wasn't enough for Peter and so he got his PhD in Business Finance and Law and working nearly 18 hour days, expanded his company further at a steady, careful rate... Not one to take unnecessary risks, peter was not above making a gamble on occasion, and while he didn't always succeed, he succeeded more then he failed which helped his company and his reputation as a smart and shrewd business man in control of one of the largest financial companies in the tri-state area.

Peter, unlike most CEO's, never forgot his roots and while making sure his family was now well off he did not revel in his wealth and power, instead he continued to strive to do better, remembering the teachings of his now passed away father. Peter also kept control of his company in his own hands by keeping control of company stocks, he was able to make sure his company stayed *His* and went where he steered it... But it was his growing fame and power that would attract the interest of darker, more shadowy powers...

Peter first met Vannessa at a charity auction and was soon deeply involved with her. She was, as far as he was concerned, the perfect woman. Not greedy as she had her own money and understanding of his long hours and travelling they soon became engaged and then married. It was then that Vannessa introduced Peter, who had long ago now changed his name to Damian Vincent Killborn, to her Domitor. A powerful Ventrue who had plans for the powerful corporate empire Peter controlled. Peter, seeing the possibilities of eternal life, was soon ghouled by his domitor and not long after both he and his wife Vannessa were embraced...

Now Peter runs more then just a Corporate Empire... With his wife at his side he oversees vast Ventrue interests around the world, using his corporation and personal talents to increase the clan's wealth and control. And there are rumblings in the local vampire community that Peter will be the next Prince...

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I like characters that can be used in one or more clans which just a little tweeking as it gives you a greater flexibility and variety to deal with...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: Danny Fletcher

Age: 42 Aage: 29

Height: 5'10" Weight: 165 Lbs

Eye Color: Light Brown Hair: Black

Clan: Caitiff - Possibly Ventrue or Nosferatu

Generation: 9th - Maybe 10th

Nature: Bon Vivant

Demeanour: Loner/Bon Vivant

~~~~~~~~~~

Danny Fletcher grew up in an orphanage, and while there were a few attempts at adopting him, none of them ever seemed to work... Many of the would be parents found him to be a " Problem Child " with " To Much Energy " and so Danny always returned to the Orphanage run by the local nuns. There he would sit and doodle in his scrap book watching the other kids play in the yard....

Danny had always been quiet, and not because the other kids were mean to him because they weren't, or because he was shy, which he wasn't, but because he was slightly different... Danny's mind seemed to be about 10 jumps ahead of everyone, though not necessarily on the same track as everyone most of the time. A curious boy, Danny wanted to know everything about everything and his mind was always running through possibilities... When prospective parents too him home he'd bombard them with questions and get into everything, not caring if he left it out as his attention would wander to the next thing. And his " nervous habits " of doodling and squirming in his seat as well as his " Far Off Stares " were seen as anti-social. And so the nuns and the other kids left him alone...

This of course gave Danny time to " Explore " and the more he explored the more he wanted to know. And this soon led to him breaking into offices and the sisters’ rooms looking for more things to see... Of course his messy habits soon led back to him and caused him to be punished so he soon learned to put things back where he found them. This "Secret "looking soon became a thrill all on it's own and when he turned 14 he started sneaking out of the orphanage and into peoples homes...

The next step of course was stealing, which was an even greater thrill. But when one of the sisters discovered his secret stash of items he was again punished. Now 16, Danny ran away from the orphanage, taking to the streets where his loner nature allowed him to avoid trouble while he learned the " Rules ". Making a few friends, Danny was able to live comfortably on the proceeds of his nightly prowling. taking both money as well as other items that caught his interest he made a tidy sum, selling only those items he already had or didn't want anymore.

Always looking for bigger and bigger challenges to test his developing skills, Danny started working on bigger and bigger jobs, sometimes for hire for local gangs or criminals. It was while doing one such job that Danny found the " Golden Fleece " as it were... A large mansion, just outside of town, supposedly heavily guarded with a mysterious owner....

The temptation was to much for Danny who started preparing to break into the place. It took 3 months to prepare, but finally, on a night with no moon, he did it... The walls and outer cameras turned out to be slightly easier then suspected and while the alarm system was brand-new there was a flaw in it's wiring Danny had found to exploit. But it was while he was exploring the study that Danny's luck again ran out...

The monster was on him in a flash, slamming him around like a child's toy, growling and cursing all the while. Danny tried to get free, screaming in pain... The last thing he saw were the glittering fangs as the darkness of unconsciousness leapt up to claim him when his head hit the bookshelf...

He woke in a stark room, chained to a metal cot, starving and thirsty, his body weak. It was all he could do to swallow down the food left for him before he again passed out... Days... Weeks... Danny could not say how long he was in that cell... he was always tired, hungry and thirsty and one meal blurred into the next, and then he came... Tall and pale, the man entered the cell where Danny sat wolfing down his meagre meal. Danny kept eating even as the man sat down next to him, and it was only when the man commanded him to look up that he stopped. Then the questions started... Danny could never remember what was asked or what he answered, he only remembered the man's pale blue eyes and that the questions went on a long time before he was allowed to finish his meal and sleep...

There were other visits on other days that blurred together but soon the stranger started to feed him blood... Danny was scared at first but the taste, and the need to drink soon over came his revulsion and soon the stranger explained everything...

That was a few years ago and now Danny operates on his own... He's still occasionally in touch with his sire, doing the occasional job for him or " Others ", but he's still very much a loner.

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The Nosferatu are not an easy clan to understand or to play well. But I was rather pleased with how this character turned out....

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: Steven Green - a.k.a. - Mr Snitch

Age: 50 Aage: N/A

Height: 5'10" Weight: 165 Lbs

Eye Color: Brown Hair: N/A

Clan: Nosferatu

Generation: 9th - Maybe 10th

Nature: Sycophant

Demeanour: Confidant/Conniver

~~~~~~~~~~

Steven Green was so unremarkable a High school date once called him a hypoallergenic date... He grew up in a plain, ordinary household, the only son of plain ordinary loving parents... Even his dog Spot was plain...

He went to school, high school and even got a diploma in business from a small unremarkable community college. He married a plain girl, who he loved, that he met in college and they lived in a nice unremarkable house...

Steven's life was so ordinary as to be boring... But he liked it. He liked routine and predictability and so everyday he woke up, showered, dressed and ate breakfast, kissed his wife good buy and drove 5 miles under the speed limit to work, a small Pawn shop he had inherited from his parents who were now retired and living in an RV in the warmer climbs...

Once at the store, Steven would check the doors and cameras and then open the store for business while reading his morning paper and having a coffee.. 2 sugars a little milk...

See.. Ordinary...

Or was it...

Steven had more business then just customers looking to get cash for goods... He ran two businesses on the side... One was bookkeeping for some of the local bookies... Taking bets and passing them on... A clean and well run operation as the police don't suspect anything about the types of customers pawn shops get except perhaps that some of the goods might be stolen... But Steven's records were so neat and thorough they’d put an accountant to sleep... His other business was information... Steven... plain ordinary Steven knew everyone, and he heard things... Though how is anyone’s guess... But if you wanted info, you went to Steven and if he didn't have the information on hand he'd get it for you or get you to someone who had it for a price within a few days...

Steven was able to broker information like this because of a few well-placed connections... The most important of which was Rat... Or MR. Rat as he liked to be known who often came to see Steven once a week on Fridays when Steven worked late balancing his books for the past week.

Rat, was very secretive, but he often had nice things to pawn in Steven's shop and he liked to talk, and Steven, being polite liked to listen... And so, with a good memory and organization, Steven was able to broker information and make a nice profit... And he was very happy to do so till...

Going home early one Friday feeling sick, Steven stumbled into his house to find his " Loving " wife sharing her love and her body with another man... Steven snapped... He more then snapped... He went, to borrow a phrase.. "Postal"... Hours later, when the red anger in him cooled, Steven found himself in the middle of his bedroom, his wife and her lover lying dead from many vicious stab wounds He himself had inflicted with a letter opener... Panicking.. Steven tried to cover this horrendous crime by burning the house down but passing neighbors walking their dog saw Steven, covered in blood fumbling with the gas can for the lawn mower and called the cops... Steven however was able to escape though the police found the bodies and enough obvious evidence plus the witnesses to immediately put out an APB on Steven....

Scared and Confused, Steven went to his shop, though he had no clear plan in mind except to run... Fortunately, fate, or at least timing was smiling on Steven because just as he arrived at his shop he ran into Rat, who was very sympathetic to poor Steven's plight and more then willing to help him...

And Help him he did...

Now a days, Steven is still in the information brokering business... But now he doesn't just pass it on to interested parties, he collects it as well... Steven... or Mr. Snitch as he likes to be called now is very grateful to Mr. Rat, who has shown him so many amazing things and taught him so much... They hang out regularly now, sharing information and talking the night away...

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Generally, I hate the Giovanni but that's mostly because I prefer the Cappadocians in the Dark Ages and it's made me Biased. But even without that Bias, I doubt I would like the Gio's as necromancers... It just doesn't make sense to me... confused.gif

The following character concept has 3 different possible outcomes which allows him to be altered to fit almost any game. I'm sure you, the readers will be able to think up a couple more as well...

~ Kel

> Watching from the Shadows.... <

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Name: Leonard "Lenny" Giovanni

Age: 32 Aage: 30

Height: 6'1" Weight: 130 Lbs

Eye Colour: Brown Hair: Black

Clan: Giovanni

Generation: N/A

Nature: Survivor

Demeanour: Conniver/Conformist

~~~~~~~~~~

*** Story 1 ***

Lenny grew up in The Family and from the start he new about the truth behind it. It was more then just the crime, the gambling and racketeering, the bookkeeping and drug running, the prostitution and extortion... It was much more then that and from as early as he could remember, Lenny wanted in... He wanted to be one of those picked for the kiss and he tried all he could to get noticed...

Unfortunately, those around Lenny often took the credit for his good jobs and often shouldered him with the blame for those jobs that went wrong... This frustrated Lenny but he knew that Dissent within the ranks got you a completely different kind of Kiss that it was best to avoid at all costs... So he worked and schemed harder and harder trying to be noticed so that he might be picked and Elevated up through the ranks of the chosen.

But as the years dragged on Lenny became more and more bitter deep inside as he saw others given the blood, making them stronger and elevating them closer to becoming chosen. But still he tried hard, working for the family in the hopes of being noticed... And then one day, a great opportunity seemed to land in his lap. He got chosen to go on a small raid against some smugglers bringing weapons into the city down at the docks without Family Permission. Accompanying him were two ghouls as well as Vincent who was a full-fledged vampire. Lenny was so excited it was all he could do to get ready for the job while waiting for the sun to set.

Just after 8 pm they set out in a large black van driven by Mario who had been a ghoul for 3 years. Nicolas and Lenny and Vincent crouched in the back reviewing the dock maps while getting their weapons ready. As the van came to a stop, Lenny opened the back doors and all three of them hopped out leaving Mario who was to be back-up with the van. Moving quickly the three of them moved to the warehouse doors where Vincent's strength made quick work of the pad-lock and chain, and then they were inside....

Moving as silently as possible, they split up to find hiding places among the heavy crates from where they could ambush the smugglers. They had just settled into position when the smugglers arrived with the 6-ton truck at the large doors and began to load up the crates with the weapons... Vincent was the first to act, lobbing 2 stun grenades with deadly precision into the cab and rear of the truck while Nicolas opened up with a heavy .30 cal from the catwalk along the left wall. Lenny, taking a deep breath started sniping in with his rifle from the right wall, taking down those smugglers taking cover from Nicholas on the left. That is when Vincent waded into the survivors, hands and teeth brining quick death... But that's when things started to go wrong...

******* Story Break ********

One of the smugglers in the truck, recovering quickly from the stun grenades and seeing what was going down pulled an RPG from it's crate and opened fire right where Vincent was dispatching another smuggler. The blast tossed smugglers and Vincent aside like a rag doll, throwing him on fire back into some empty crates, which splintered under his weight, one of them piercing his heart. Lenny's bullets found the smart smuggler but not before he had shot and killed Nicholas. Lenny, shaken at seeing Vincent nearly destroyed hurried down to his side, after first making sure the last of the smugglers was down. Calling for Mario to bring the van, Lenny gingerly picked up Vincent's partially burned body and ignoring the stench and blood, carried him out to the van ordering Mario to get them home as fast as he could.

His quick thinking was well rewarded by those higher up the chain of command and a week later Lenny was given the kiss he had been waiting for so long...

***************************

Name: Leonard "Lenny" Giovanni

Age: 32 Aage: 30

Height: 6'1" Weight: 130 Lbs

Eye Colour: Brown Hair: Black

Clan: Independent Ghoul

Generation: N/A

Nature: Survivor

Demeanour: Conniver/Conformist

~~~~~~~~~~

*** Story 2 *** {Put after Story Break}

One of the smugglers in the back of the truck recovering quickly from the stun grenade tried to get an RPG from it's crate, but luckily Lenny shot him before he could get it set up and turn it on Vincent. As Vincent snapped the neck of the last smuggler, both Lenny and Nicolas came down from their perches to survey the carnage. That was when Lenny recognized some of the smugglers as being foot soldiers for a rival mafia family. "We're in deep here.. "he told the others, fearing that maybe a mistake had been made. " We're not in deep Lenny.. "Purred Vincent... " But You are... " call it 6th sense, call it spider sense, call it deja-vu... Whatever it was saved Lenny's life for as Vincent started talking he shot Nicholas and dove for the RPG knowing his life was going to be sacrificed to cover up this " Botched " hit... Nicholas went down in a spray of blood and brains as Lenny grabbed the RPG just as Vincent lunged towards him... Unthinkingly Lenny shot off the RPG getting burned in the flash of the explosion, which flung Vincent back like a broken toy into some shattered crates. Shaken and in pain, Lenny called in Mario who he shot dead as soon as he entered the warehouse... Then, limping over to Vincent he knelt down and Took some of the blood, lapping it even off the floor...

Feeling the power of the blood he had wanted for so long surge through him, Lenny grabbed a slat of a crate and shoved it Hard into Vincent's heart to stop him recuperating. Then, quickly grabbing some weapons off the smugglers truck and loading them in the van he grabbed Vincent's now staked body and drove off, leaving the city for parts unknown...

Now, on the run from the Family, Lenny struggles hard to survive doing jobs for criminals here and there. Keeping Vincent staked, he feeds off him once a month to maintain his ghoul life but he knows he'll have to get another source of blood soon. Hoping still to become a vampire, Lenny looks for companions to help him.

***************************

Name: Leonard "Lenny" Gabone { Formerly Giovanni }

Age: 32 Aage: 30

Height: 6'1" Weight: 130 Lbs

Eye Colour: Brown Hair: Black

Clan: Caitiff {Giovanni}

Generation: N/A

Nature: Survivor

Demeanour: Conniver/Conformist

~~~~~~~~~~

*** Story 3 *** {Put after Story Break}

One of the smugglers in the back of the truck recovering quickly from the stun grenade tried to get an RPG from it's crate, but luckily Lenny shot him before he could get it set up and turn it on Vincent. As Vincent snapped the neck of the last smuggler, both Lenny and Nicolas came down from their perches to survey the carnage. That was when Lenny recognized some of the smugglers as being foot soldiers for a rival mafia family. "We're in deep here.. "he told the others, fearing that maybe a mistake had been made. " We're not in deep Lenny.. "purred Vincent... " But You are... " call it 6th sense, call it spider sense, call it deja-vu... Whatever it was saved Lenny's life for as Vincent started talking he shot Nicholas and dove for the RPG knowing his life was going to be sacrificed to cover up this " Botched " hit... Nicholas went down in a spray of blood and brains as Lenny grabbed the RPG just as Vincent lunged towards him... Unthinkingly Lenny shot off the RPG getting burned in the flash of the explosion, which flung Vincent back like a broken toy into some shattered crates. Shaken and in pain, Lenny called in Mario who he shot dead as soon as he entered the warehouse... Then, limping over to Vincent he knelt down and took some of the blood, lapping it even off the floor...

Feeling the power of the blood he had craved for so long, Lenny grabbed a slat off a shattered crate and shoved it hard into Vincent's heart, then, quivering hard, he cut his wrist with his pocket knife, letting his own blood gush out into Vincent's mouth. Shuddering with fear as he watched his very life pump out of his body Lenny kept his mind on his goal waiting and waiting, as he grew weaker and weaker... Then, fearing he couldn't last much longer he fell on Vincent, shoving his face into a gaping wound and biting in hard he drank and drank and drank the strong blood he found until he was so full he thought he was dead... falling back, he felt the change rip through his body, killing him and yet bringing him across to unlife... The pain was terrible but bearable and soon over....

Cleaning up, Lenny surveyed the wreckage of the job and made some quick decisions..

Now, he moves from city to city, taking jobs from those Vampire and even mortals willing to pay him well. Shunned by his Family, he ekes out a living as a Caitiff as best he can...

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