"There is no peace on Earth that can quench this fire, until I have satisfied my thirst both for power and knowledge."
-Name: Pascal Vallotton, but nobody calls him by his first name. He is simply Guardian Vallotton to everyone.
-Blood: Pure
-Age by appearance: A resilient, but refined with age, 53 year old man
-Immortal age: He has lived for 652 years. Of those, he has been an Afflicted for 599 years, 11 months, 2 days, and 3 hours at the time of writing. He will never fail to deliver the exact time when asked; he never forgets how long it has been.
Appearance:Vallotton has been compared to a black-and-white piece in a game of chess. His short (so short that it rarely needs combing) and masculine hair is a dirty pearl shade, flecked with strings of black. It frames his head, never making contact with the forehead or ears. Instead, it seems to stand guard for them both. Beneath that lie his strong and angular, somewhat wrinkled features, leading to a chiseled chin. His wide nose has that tell-tale bent that reveals it was once sorely broken. His eyes are inscrutably blackened, although they were once a glimmering blue. There's something of a strict soldier in Guardian Vallotton, and an aloof nobleman.
His body is well-formed, rearing itself up to a full height at 6'2. He is fairly muscular, but the signs of human age had already begun to take their toll before his turning, leaving him a little weaker than most other vampires, but still athletic enough to take down most any human prey. His hands are broad and firm, his feet are wide, his chest is a barrel. He shows himself, and indeed carries himself, as a physically powerful man, with dangerous looks and a sturdy make.
-House: House of Ventrue
-Rank: Guardian, but this does not satisfy him. He hates dealing with the lower ranks, managing the menial tasks. It is life consuming and intolerable. One can and should expect Guardian Vallotton to take each and every opportunity to prove himself for greater privileges. He's as ruthless in this as he is in all other goals.
-Needlessly long biography:Pascal has never told another vampire the true story of his transformation into the fatal creature he is today. Any one below his rank uninformed enough to ask is brushed away with a curt glance or a threat regarding what happens to inferiors who pry into his personal life. Even those outranking him, including the Prelate residing over him and his own Elder Ventrue, are fed on a measured diet of lies.
The fictional story Vallotton told his Elder knows is actually half true. Every believable lie has a bit of fact in it, afterall- the start of the story is a factual account, but how it ends is completely fictional. He claims he was once a French medieval nobleman during the early thirteenth century, gently but firmly ruling over a small village dubbed "Toriturey". There, his wealth was substantial but still intolerably insufficient- Vallotton is a greedy man that can be pleased only by the sort of disgustingly overflowing wealth Kings or Gods possess. Needless to say, such idiotic dreams were far out of his grasp.
That is, until the vampire attacks started.
Vallotton had never believed the tales of blood-sucking creatures of the night, servants to Satan and doomed to walk this world forevermore. Oh, he had
heard the stories- who hadn't?- but always dismissed them as the doings of bored peasants with too much to drink. His view changed drastically, however, when the bodies of seventeen (previously missing) denizens of Toriturey were discovered inside a cave, piled one-on-the-other like a rotted mountain. Every corpse was cleanly, professionally sliced at the throat, and most shockingly devoid of any blood. They were bone dry.
Against the pleading of his loyal guards, Pascal Vallotton insisted on walking this cave himself. He needed to see this nightmare with his own eyes. Otherwise, how could he ever believe it? And so, the well-meaning Nobleman entered the cave with only a single bodyguard.
The reports were true, of course. The corpses were there, all bone dry, all decayed. Some of them were naught but skeletons, clearly rotting in this spider's web for years- but others were fresh, only a few weeks old at the most. Those new bodies were the frightening ones: the look of shocked horror was still frozen on their faces.
Noble Vallotton heard a stifled scream and the quick draw of a blade behind him. He turned his head, and almost fainted. His guard was dead. He had been cut from the bottom of the throat up to the chin. Thick blood was splattered from the walls to the floor.
But that wasn't why he almost fainted. No, he had seen death before. The real horror was in the shadowy being that pressed itself against the throat of the corpse. It looked like a woman, but it slurped up the red liquid like a hungry wolf. The monster glanced up at him with sanguine eyes.
He ran for his life, and the creature followed him with a famished scream. It was fast, far too fast for any normal human to flee from. It caught him by the end of his cloak. He twisted around and pulled his sword from it's sheath. Whatever this monster was, he didn't expect to kill it, but he would go out with a weapon in his hand...
This is where the truth and the lie differ. To hear Vallotton tell it, he cut a nice half of the vampire's lip off, and it's blood dripped into a newly opened wound on his hand (courtesy of her dagger). He shoved the blade through her heart and killed her, but remained infected with her foul blood.
But that's not the truth.
In actuality, the vampire woman tripped on a rock while chasing him through the caverns. Seeing her spill, he took the opportunity to make a quick jab through her heart with his sabre. He could have just left the cave then, and lived content with the knowledge that his town was safe and, more importantly, his humanity intact.
But curiosity kills. He couldn't resist the temptation to tread deeper into the earthy cavern. Lifting his torch into the air for the light to spread, he cautiously sneaked past the passageway, the mound of corpses, and into a chamber he discovered wedged between the body-mountain and a massive boulder. The refined, cultured nobleman had to dig though several cadavers with his bare hands to reach it.
Oh, but it was worth it! The vampire had clearly created a makeshift home for herself down here, right under Toriturey's nose! Resting on a rotted oaken table was a dusty, moldy, stained, dirty little book. Being the royal blood he was, his first instinct was loath to touch the record, and certainly not read it. But his intellectual side one out again, and he spent the night immersed in the diary of a vampire by torchlight.
It taught him amazing things: the legacy of vampires, everything the woman had learned during her 300 year life, and so, so much more. Knowing what he did now, he couldn't resist. The temptation of strength and immortal life was too much to bare. Vallotton sought out the slain vampire's blood-soaked body once more, knelt beside her, and began to drink.
Personality: As you've probably gathered by now, Vallotton is a violent and greedy man, consumed with the idea of power. But that is not to say that he is heartless. In fact, unlike most vampires, he still feels a pang of guilt with every victim he takes. His goal in life is to find a way that vampires may subsist without the need for human blood, thus creating immortality without penalty. But in 650 years, he is no closer to discovering such a power as he was the day he turned.
Side note: I apologize for not using a picture for appearance, like everyone else, but I hate using pictures instead of detailed descriptions. I hate it with the burning of a thousand suns. I hate it like water hates fire. I hate it like Satan hates God. I hate it like... well, you get the idea 
Side note 2: I realize that some parts of this are a little over-dramatic, and other parts a little dry or basic. I can't help it, it's just how I write x'D. 
except his left eye is green instead of red further showing his half breed status 
