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Any movement on your Brujah idea? We're still here or in the Discord if you'd like to discuss character ideas or how they'll fit into the storyline
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Hellion Nulla Dies / Sine Linea
Member
Seen
16 days ago
Any movement on your Brujah idea? We're still here or in the Discord if you'd like to discuss character ideas or how they'll fit into the storyline
coGM
wots all this then
Name:
Violetta Kyborowski
Age:
Appears mid-twenties to early thirties.
Species:
Kindred (Clan Ventrue)
Disciplines:
Dominate, Fortitude, Presence, Potence (gained through diablerie).
Generation:
7 through Diablerie (8th upon embrace).
Appearance:
It is unusual for Vi to be seen smiling. She often wears a cold, grim expression, whilst an unwelcoming look burns in her steadfast gaze.
The scourge dresses stylishly, but not to the point of ostentatiousness. She favours a sort of elegant minimalism.
Not particularly tall, or brawny, Violetta stands at average height, and boasts a fairly ordinary build. Her hair is cut somewhat shortly, and her petite form is coated in a myriad of eccentric, twisting tattoos.
She carries herself well, maintaining the resilient posture of a staunch business woman.
Personality:
Vi is a cold, steely woman.
Whereas many entrepreneurs favour charm, and allurement, this kindred’s weapon of choice is fear. She terrifies her prey, using pragmatic precision to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies.
She has the fierce determination of a warrior, and the dispassionate practicality of a schemer.
Violetta does not preen and perform, as many at elysium do. She has no interest in flimsy platitudes, or banal niceties. She carries herself with relentless determination, and has earned herself a reputation as someone who is not to be fucked with.
Biography:
The Kyborowskis are old blood, deeply ingrained into the pedigree of the slavic world. Before the second world war, the Kyborowski’s were a distinguished revenant family, in service to the Tzimisce Maria Bassevi.
Bassevi met her final death at the hands of the Third Reich, and the Kyborowski clan was shattered into withering disorder.
Vi’s family migrated to the UK in 1947, following the Polish Resettlement Act. Violetta herself was born in England, in London, and grew up as the youngest sibling in a large, raucous household.
As a young woman, Vi’s first “proper job'' was selling weed, for some of the petty local gangs. It was during this time that the future-Ventrue came to realize that she had an aptitude for business, and a keen entrepreneurial mind.
She would shortly pursue a more legitimate career, using her profits to support herself, whilst she obtained a degree in business studies, which swiftly served as her gateway into a career in banking.
Violetta excelled at her job, via a deadly combination of backstabbing and plotting. Within two years of starting her career at Bradford and Bingley, the young woman had become the managing director of her branch of the bank.
Shortly after, Vi was brought on-board as a senior-analyst, at Grimoard Asset Management. Unbeknownst to the up-and-coming business tyrant, the hedge fund group was an instrument of Anne Bowesley, the ventrue prince of London.
Whilst working at Grimoard, Violetta caught wind of attempted corporate espionage, by infiltrators working on behalf of the firm's competitors. Vi responded mercilessly, using connections from her days as a drug dealer to have the moles framed as sexual predators.
It was this devious ploy which drew the self-proclaimed vampire queen of London’s gaze upon Violetta, and quickly lead to Vi’s embrace, at the hands of the prince of London.
Having been enthusiastically accepted into the ranks of the Ventrue, Violetta continued to demonstrate her cunning and commercial-acumen. Vi was swift to secure herself a reputation as an avaricious, and hard-hearted hunter.
Violeta spent many years enjoying the unlife of a scourge in London. Queen Anne’s cutthroat attitude towards unregistered kindred in her domain meant that many unfortunate refugees were considered to be fair-game by the Camarilla, if they fell outside of the Court of London’s protection.
This ruthless environment was ripe for exploitation by the Ivory Tower’s more bloodthirsty up-and-comers, and Vi thrived within it - quickly expanding her power and influence, at the cost of untold unfortunate souls.
During her stretch as a scourge of London, Violetta thwarted a plot by the anarch agitator Alessandro Luzzago against the Ivory Tower, decimating his coterie in the process. It was during this time that the young ventrue adopted her sire’s predilection for diablerie, and drank Luzzago’s soul.
Eventually, having grown increasingly impressed with her childe’s initiative, Queen Anne assigned Vi to work directly beneath Cyril Masters, the ventrue sheriff of East London, and master manipulator of the city police.
Vi was still working as a bounty hunter for Masters when Operation Antigen sprung into action, and the Second Inquisition launched their crusade against the Kindred of London, during 2012.
As London’s Ivory Tower fell, Violetta fled to the US, joining the West Coast Camarilla, and Vannevar Thomas’ crusade against the Anarch’s. As a prominent member of Thomas’ court, she reports to Teach, the Camarilla-aligned Brujah sheriff of LA.
Violetta Kyborowski
Age:
Appears mid-twenties to early thirties.
Species:
Kindred (Clan Ventrue)
Disciplines:
Dominate, Fortitude, Presence, Potence (gained through diablerie).
Generation:
7 through Diablerie (8th upon embrace).
Appearance:
It is unusual for Vi to be seen smiling. She often wears a cold, grim expression, whilst an unwelcoming look burns in her steadfast gaze.
The scourge dresses stylishly, but not to the point of ostentatiousness. She favours a sort of elegant minimalism.
Not particularly tall, or brawny, Violetta stands at average height, and boasts a fairly ordinary build. Her hair is cut somewhat shortly, and her petite form is coated in a myriad of eccentric, twisting tattoos.
She carries herself well, maintaining the resilient posture of a staunch business woman.
Personality:
Vi is a cold, steely woman.
Whereas many entrepreneurs favour charm, and allurement, this kindred’s weapon of choice is fear. She terrifies her prey, using pragmatic precision to strike fear into the hearts of her enemies.
She has the fierce determination of a warrior, and the dispassionate practicality of a schemer.
Violetta does not preen and perform, as many at elysium do. She has no interest in flimsy platitudes, or banal niceties. She carries herself with relentless determination, and has earned herself a reputation as someone who is not to be fucked with.
Biography:
The Kyborowskis are old blood, deeply ingrained into the pedigree of the slavic world. Before the second world war, the Kyborowski’s were a distinguished revenant family, in service to the Tzimisce Maria Bassevi.
Bassevi met her final death at the hands of the Third Reich, and the Kyborowski clan was shattered into withering disorder.
Vi’s family migrated to the UK in 1947, following the Polish Resettlement Act. Violetta herself was born in England, in London, and grew up as the youngest sibling in a large, raucous household.
As a young woman, Vi’s first “proper job'' was selling weed, for some of the petty local gangs. It was during this time that the future-Ventrue came to realize that she had an aptitude for business, and a keen entrepreneurial mind.
She would shortly pursue a more legitimate career, using her profits to support herself, whilst she obtained a degree in business studies, which swiftly served as her gateway into a career in banking.
Violetta excelled at her job, via a deadly combination of backstabbing and plotting. Within two years of starting her career at Bradford and Bingley, the young woman had become the managing director of her branch of the bank.
Shortly after, Vi was brought on-board as a senior-analyst, at Grimoard Asset Management. Unbeknownst to the up-and-coming business tyrant, the hedge fund group was an instrument of Anne Bowesley, the ventrue prince of London.
Whilst working at Grimoard, Violetta caught wind of attempted corporate espionage, by infiltrators working on behalf of the firm's competitors. Vi responded mercilessly, using connections from her days as a drug dealer to have the moles framed as sexual predators.
It was this devious ploy which drew the self-proclaimed vampire queen of London’s gaze upon Violetta, and quickly lead to Vi’s embrace, at the hands of the prince of London.
Having been enthusiastically accepted into the ranks of the Ventrue, Violetta continued to demonstrate her cunning and commercial-acumen. Vi was swift to secure herself a reputation as an avaricious, and hard-hearted hunter.
Violeta spent many years enjoying the unlife of a scourge in London. Queen Anne’s cutthroat attitude towards unregistered kindred in her domain meant that many unfortunate refugees were considered to be fair-game by the Camarilla, if they fell outside of the Court of London’s protection.
This ruthless environment was ripe for exploitation by the Ivory Tower’s more bloodthirsty up-and-comers, and Vi thrived within it - quickly expanding her power and influence, at the cost of untold unfortunate souls.
During her stretch as a scourge of London, Violetta thwarted a plot by the anarch agitator Alessandro Luzzago against the Ivory Tower, decimating his coterie in the process. It was during this time that the young ventrue adopted her sire’s predilection for diablerie, and drank Luzzago’s soul.
Eventually, having grown increasingly impressed with her childe’s initiative, Queen Anne assigned Vi to work directly beneath Cyril Masters, the ventrue sheriff of East London, and master manipulator of the city police.
Vi was still working as a bounty hunter for Masters when Operation Antigen sprung into action, and the Second Inquisition launched their crusade against the Kindred of London, during 2012.
As London’s Ivory Tower fell, Violetta fled to the US, joining the West Coast Camarilla, and Vannevar Thomas’ crusade against the Anarch’s. As a prominent member of Thomas’ court, she reports to Teach, the Camarilla-aligned Brujah sheriff of LA.
ReedeThe23rd ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Member
Seen
11 mos ago
This seems like its still got some activity going, so I figured I'd poke my head in and ask to make sure before suddenly trying to join a discord that turns out to be dead.
coGM
This seems like its still got some activity going, so I figured I'd poke my head in and ask to make sure before suddenly trying to join a discord that turns out to be dead.
We are still very much going! The discord is active :)
1x Like
ReedeThe23rd ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
Member
Seen
11 mos ago
Both are WIP at the moment as I hammer out backstories, feel free to snoop around and poke and prod every hole you think you've found in what they are so far.
EDIT: More or less done, barring any changes/additions that might be needed.
EDIT: More or less done, barring any changes/additions that might be needed.
Name: Luther Hofmeister
Age: Actual Age of Approx. 800 years, Physical Appearance Age of 30
Species: Kindred, Clan Tremere
Powers/Skill: Uses Auspex, Dominate, and general Thaumaturgy like many of the Clan, but places particular emphasis on Thaumaturgy's Paths of Movement of the Mind, Conjuring, and the infamous Lure of Flames.
Generation: 8th
Age: Actual Age of Approx. 800 years, Physical Appearance Age of 30
Species: Kindred, Clan Tremere
Powers/Skill: Uses Auspex, Dominate, and general Thaumaturgy like many of the Clan, but places particular emphasis on Thaumaturgy's Paths of Movement of the Mind, Conjuring, and the infamous Lure of Flames.
Generation: 8th
Luther stands at an average five foot ten inches and with a proportionate, if undefined, body shape and muscle tone characteristic of a healthy bookworm. His hair has rested in the same careful cut trimmed and shaped around his head since the days natural blood flooded his veins, with a carefully-sculpted beard defining his upper lip, jawline and chin in a similar fashion.
For normal wear among the Kine and those Kindred not of the Clan, Luther dresses in a finely-tailored, Austrian-made three-piece suit consisting of a blood red collared shirt, and matching black tie and trousers. His usual footwear are firm, polished leather jackboots, and he regularly dons a long, gray double breasted coat. A ring bearing the symbol of Clan Tremere adorns his left ring finger.
When among others of his Clan and blood, his outfit becomes much more traditional. A set of flowing red-gray robes give him the usual scholarly appearance expected of the Warlocks, if a bit old-fashioned for many of the newer members.
For normal wear among the Kine and those Kindred not of the Clan, Luther dresses in a finely-tailored, Austrian-made three-piece suit consisting of a blood red collared shirt, and matching black tie and trousers. His usual footwear are firm, polished leather jackboots, and he regularly dons a long, gray double breasted coat. A ring bearing the symbol of Clan Tremere adorns his left ring finger.
When among others of his Clan and blood, his outfit becomes much more traditional. A set of flowing red-gray robes give him the usual scholarly appearance expected of the Warlocks, if a bit old-fashioned for many of the newer members.
Luther Hofmeister is an old Kindred, and it shows. He carries himself with wisdom, authority, and a healthy dose of arrogance characteristic of all Elder Kindred. He does not consider himself to be wholly above all others, however, and has high respect and courtesy to those who have proven themselves capable, reliable, and hard-working. He has a personal fondness for those who show themselves to be open to study of the mysteries of the universe, whether they be Kindred or otherwise, and adores sharing trivial knowledge of the occult arts and mystic sciences with those of similar ilk, though the secrets of real power remain with him.
When it comes to Clan Tremere, its ilk, and their secrets, he's a vehement loyalist to the bitter end. He continues to practice their customs and traditions even in the face of the collapse of the Clan, and his wandering across the globe is as much a catalog of the status of the Tremere in various corners of the world as it is a quest for knowledge and survival. The pyramid hierarchy may have had its blood bonds broken, but in the mind of Herr Hofmeister, it is alive and well.
When it comes to Clan Tremere, its ilk, and their secrets, he's a vehement loyalist to the bitter end. He continues to practice their customs and traditions even in the face of the collapse of the Clan, and his wandering across the globe is as much a catalog of the status of the Tremere in various corners of the world as it is a quest for knowledge and survival. The pyramid hierarchy may have had its blood bonds broken, but in the mind of Herr Hofmeister, it is alive and well.
Luther’s history stretches back to the Middle Ages, to the very beginning of Clan Tremere. Unlike the other Kindred clans and bloodlines, the Usurpers tie their history to another supernatural element of the night, the Mages of the Order of Hermes and their former House Tremere followers. Luther’s foray into the supernatural began here, as one of the last members inducted into the ranks of the Mages of House Tremere, and thus one of the last Embraced into the numbers of Clan Tremere. The conversion to Vampirism took from House Tremere the source of their original Hermetic magic, the spiritual Avatars that allow a Mage to work their forces. With the physical death of their bodies, the Mages of Tremere also experienced the loss of their Avatars, for the soul connection forged could no longer exist without a soul.
This loss is something that has driven Luther’s career ever since. Having been a member for only the briefest amount of time before his Embrace, the loss was sudden, and has clung to the edges of his mind for nearly a millennium now. As the newly-founded Clan studied their condition and learned to manipulate the powers of vampirism, many in the Clan desired to find a way to either use the powers of their condition to forge new connections to Avatars in an attempt to restore their magic, or to emulate their lost abilities through the use of Vampiric powers such as the signature Thaumaturgy discipline the Clan had developed. Among those who worked Thaumaturgy in an attempt to recover or replace their lost magic was Luther, and this desire quickly helped him climb the ladder of the forming Tremere Hierarchy.
Over the centuries, Luther would begin to study and help shape several of the Paths of study known to Thaumaturgy users. Over time, the Paths would begin to diverge from traditional assumptions about Blood Magic, and begin to resemble the magic lost to the Clan years ago. The abilities of telekinesis, conjuring matter from thought, and even creation of fire became known to Luther, but still the connection to a new Avatar eluded the Kindred of Clan Tremere.
As the modern era grew ever closer, Luther’s studies kept him more and more involved in the chantries of Europe, with his conventional understanding of the global environment horribly outdated. Perhaps this is why the attack on the Vienna Chantry in 2008 by the Second Inquisition took him by such shock. While many Kindred of the Clan met their final death in that attack, he was able to slip away undetected, and begin to make a retreat across the lands.
In the twelve years following the attack, Luther’s journeys took him first across Europe, and then over the Atlantic to the United States, all the while stopping at any and all Tremere Chantries and havens he could uncover or remember, gathering records and forging contacts within the survivors and remnants of the Clan. As he ventured, he quickly grew to understand the world as it was now, and how to handle situations he never would have imagined in older nights or while cooped up in Vienna. As he trekked across the US and learned more from the American Tremere, he found himself drawn to the city of Los Angeles, one known for changing hands rather often. But between the battles of the Camarilla, Sabbat, and Anarchs, there was always a constant. The Tremere Chantry of LA. The next, and possibly last, stop on Luther’s journey.
This loss is something that has driven Luther’s career ever since. Having been a member for only the briefest amount of time before his Embrace, the loss was sudden, and has clung to the edges of his mind for nearly a millennium now. As the newly-founded Clan studied their condition and learned to manipulate the powers of vampirism, many in the Clan desired to find a way to either use the powers of their condition to forge new connections to Avatars in an attempt to restore their magic, or to emulate their lost abilities through the use of Vampiric powers such as the signature Thaumaturgy discipline the Clan had developed. Among those who worked Thaumaturgy in an attempt to recover or replace their lost magic was Luther, and this desire quickly helped him climb the ladder of the forming Tremere Hierarchy.
Over the centuries, Luther would begin to study and help shape several of the Paths of study known to Thaumaturgy users. Over time, the Paths would begin to diverge from traditional assumptions about Blood Magic, and begin to resemble the magic lost to the Clan years ago. The abilities of telekinesis, conjuring matter from thought, and even creation of fire became known to Luther, but still the connection to a new Avatar eluded the Kindred of Clan Tremere.
As the modern era grew ever closer, Luther’s studies kept him more and more involved in the chantries of Europe, with his conventional understanding of the global environment horribly outdated. Perhaps this is why the attack on the Vienna Chantry in 2008 by the Second Inquisition took him by such shock. While many Kindred of the Clan met their final death in that attack, he was able to slip away undetected, and begin to make a retreat across the lands.
In the twelve years following the attack, Luther’s journeys took him first across Europe, and then over the Atlantic to the United States, all the while stopping at any and all Tremere Chantries and havens he could uncover or remember, gathering records and forging contacts within the survivors and remnants of the Clan. As he ventured, he quickly grew to understand the world as it was now, and how to handle situations he never would have imagined in older nights or while cooped up in Vienna. As he trekked across the US and learned more from the American Tremere, he found himself drawn to the city of Los Angeles, one known for changing hands rather often. But between the battles of the Camarilla, Sabbat, and Anarchs, there was always a constant. The Tremere Chantry of LA. The next, and possibly last, stop on Luther’s journey.
Name: Stalks-The-Booze, goes by Mitch outside of Garou-savvy circles.
Age: 40 in both looks and reality
Species: Werewolf
Powers/Skill: Favors Gifts that aide survival on the streets and general sewing of chaos and havoc. He's also one of the lucky Bone Gnawers with a long-lasting possession to their name: A rusted, hollowed-out Volkswagen Type 2 that doubles as a place to sleep. Don't ask about the fuel, though.
Tribe/Auspice: Bone Gnawer Ragabash
Age: 40 in both looks and reality
Species: Werewolf
Powers/Skill: Favors Gifts that aide survival on the streets and general sewing of chaos and havoc. He's also one of the lucky Bone Gnawers with a long-lasting possession to their name: A rusted, hollowed-out Volkswagen Type 2 that doubles as a place to sleep. Don't ask about the fuel, though.
Tribe/Auspice: Bone Gnawer Ragabash
In his natural Homid form, Stalks-The-Booze is a gruff middle-aged man of vague Slavic descent, who hides his defined face under a shaggy, grimy mane of long black hair and beard. His large, wiry build is hidden behind dirt, grime, scars, and a hunched posture that belies his six foot three height. His only outfit is a hodgepodge of patchwork trousers, worn and rugged combat boots, and at least three coats over a ragged turtleneck. A winter beanie cap lines his head, and every pocket and groove seems to store a myriad of seemingly-useless items of questionable value, though one staple is a hip flask that seems near-bottomless whenever he drinks from it.
In Glabros form, Stalks-The-Booze's hair and beard grow even longer and more ragged, which helps hide some of the more monstrous features of the form that teeter along the edge of the Veil. His layers of clothes help accommodate for the increased muscle mass and tone as well.
In Crinos form, his clothes and human hair give way to the standard werewolf form, covered in shaggy, knotted gray-black fur. While many of the Garou War forms take the shape of hulking beasts that could tear a car in half, Stalks-The-Booze's War Form is a fair bit more agile and limber of build, lending to the nature of the Bone Gnawers and the Ragabash as sneaks and stalkers of the dark.
In Hispo form, Stalks-The-Booze resembles a massive prehistoric Dire Wolf, though with a similar bent on agility and stealth like his War form. The fur of this form begins to take on more of a gray hue, with much of the black being relegated to his head and back.
In Lupus form, Stalks-The-Booze's limber build and gray-black fur give him the vague, if not wholly convincing appearance of being more of a wolf-dog hybrid than a pure wolf. Only the dimwitted, poor-sighted, or careless would completely buy such a disguise, but many would be surprised at just how often it works.
In Glabros form, Stalks-The-Booze's hair and beard grow even longer and more ragged, which helps hide some of the more monstrous features of the form that teeter along the edge of the Veil. His layers of clothes help accommodate for the increased muscle mass and tone as well.
In Crinos form, his clothes and human hair give way to the standard werewolf form, covered in shaggy, knotted gray-black fur. While many of the Garou War forms take the shape of hulking beasts that could tear a car in half, Stalks-The-Booze's War Form is a fair bit more agile and limber of build, lending to the nature of the Bone Gnawers and the Ragabash as sneaks and stalkers of the dark.
In Hispo form, Stalks-The-Booze resembles a massive prehistoric Dire Wolf, though with a similar bent on agility and stealth like his War form. The fur of this form begins to take on more of a gray hue, with much of the black being relegated to his head and back.
In Lupus form, Stalks-The-Booze's limber build and gray-black fur give him the vague, if not wholly convincing appearance of being more of a wolf-dog hybrid than a pure wolf. Only the dimwitted, poor-sighted, or careless would completely buy such a disguise, but many would be surprised at just how often it works.
Stalks-The-Booze is almost the perfect definition of a Bone Gnawer Ragabash, or at least what those familiar with the terms might expect. A drunk, homeless bum with a penchant for theft, vandalism, destruction of property, and a spirit that's more than a bit too in-touch with the Wyld. Stalks-The-Booze is well aware of the type of personality he gives off, and he leans into it hard.
To those he doesn't have a vested interest in, he's just a mangy wolf-dog who cackles like a hyena, sticks his muzzle where it doesn't belong, vanishes at the first sign of trouble, and reeks of hard liquor. To those who've earned it, he's a shrewd spymaster, cunning fighter, wise critic, and a master boozebrewer.
In his own heart, he's an unconventional thinker who feels the best savior of the Garou Nation, and humanity as a whole, is saving the supernatural world at large from the humans themselves. To him, every human who's ever staked a Leech, burned a Witch, or excised a Spirit is a hole in the veil that needs patching, and if that means working with Leeches, Witches, and Spirits to do it, then by Gaia and Rat it'll be done.
To those he doesn't have a vested interest in, he's just a mangy wolf-dog who cackles like a hyena, sticks his muzzle where it doesn't belong, vanishes at the first sign of trouble, and reeks of hard liquor. To those who've earned it, he's a shrewd spymaster, cunning fighter, wise critic, and a master boozebrewer.
In his own heart, he's an unconventional thinker who feels the best savior of the Garou Nation, and humanity as a whole, is saving the supernatural world at large from the humans themselves. To him, every human who's ever staked a Leech, burned a Witch, or excised a Spirit is a hole in the veil that needs patching, and if that means working with Leeches, Witches, and Spirits to do it, then by Gaia and Rat it'll be done.
Before his First Change, Mitch was already fitting the stereotype of a Bone Gnawer rather well. A high school dropout making ends meet by selling recycling cans and scrounging junkyards, it's a wonder the Gnawers didn’t already have him around as Kinfolk before it happened. But it's easy to lose track of one man in the streets of LA, especially when he hasn’t yet transformed into a hulking wolf-monster. But when he does, it’s like a neon sign saying “Come get me!”
The Tribe found Mitch in the scrapyard of one of the city’s train depots, tearing a pair of guard dogs to ribbons. After the Garou equivalent of an argument, they finally brought him back to his natural Homid form, and dragged his unconscious body back to Tribal grounds. After waking him up with a boot to the head and a splash of god-knows-what, they gave him the rundown and introduced him to his family.
It wasn’t long after that they set him upon his Rite of Passage, and it was certainly one befitting the Tribe. The goal was to strike a blow at one of the corporate holdings of the Wyrm-controlled Pentex organization. The target was a massive triple-trailer transport truck full of King Breweries-brand Wyrm-tainted booze. Mitch and his first pack needed to find a way to dispatch the cargo before it made its first dropoff. What should have been a simple case of “Hijack the truck and drive it into the bay.” became a whirlwind adventure of “Drive across the city chasing this damn truck.”
It was during this trial that Mitch picked up the same trusty van he still operates today. Having just lost track of the truck, Mitch rushed his pack to a nearby car graveyard, where he jump-started an abandoned van, loaded the pack inside, and began tracking down the truck in question. Cutting through alleys, weaving through traffic, and using the guidance of a friendly spirit, they managed to follow the truck to a dockside convenience store.
It was there that the pack quickly stopped the delivery of the first shipment, the pack’s Theurge worked a Gift to drive any existing Wyrm spirits from the drinks, and a cinderblock on the gas pedal drove the now-clean shipment into the waters of LA’s oceanfront. Upon returning to the tribal grounds with the driver’s company ID as proof of their feat, celebration for passing the Rite was dolled out, and Mitch became known to others of his kind as ‘Stalks-The-Booze’ for his efforts in tracking the cargo truck.
In the years that have passed, he’s worked his way up the proverbial totem pole of the local Sept, taking the position of Warder and thus garnering a bit of room to work and operate independently, directing younger warriors and operatives in the Sept while working his own plans and schemes. His unconventional views on cooperation with others of the supernatural spawned from this, and as a long-term cover to those he doesn’t want prying in, he quickly took up the guise of a drunkard, learning many a Gift that help summon food and drink for a ‘party’ atmosphere, using the back of his van as a makeshift home distillery, and even making a fetish out of a dinged up, old hip flask to infinitely refill itself(unbeknownst to others, it’s only full of booze when someone that’s not Stalks holds it)
As the new decade opens, and the city once again becomes rife with conflict and strife, Stalks-The-Booze begins working his plans into action, hoping to rally together both his Sept and other creatures of the shadows to strike against those that would see them all destroyed.
The Tribe found Mitch in the scrapyard of one of the city’s train depots, tearing a pair of guard dogs to ribbons. After the Garou equivalent of an argument, they finally brought him back to his natural Homid form, and dragged his unconscious body back to Tribal grounds. After waking him up with a boot to the head and a splash of god-knows-what, they gave him the rundown and introduced him to his family.
It wasn’t long after that they set him upon his Rite of Passage, and it was certainly one befitting the Tribe. The goal was to strike a blow at one of the corporate holdings of the Wyrm-controlled Pentex organization. The target was a massive triple-trailer transport truck full of King Breweries-brand Wyrm-tainted booze. Mitch and his first pack needed to find a way to dispatch the cargo before it made its first dropoff. What should have been a simple case of “Hijack the truck and drive it into the bay.” became a whirlwind adventure of “Drive across the city chasing this damn truck.”
It was during this trial that Mitch picked up the same trusty van he still operates today. Having just lost track of the truck, Mitch rushed his pack to a nearby car graveyard, where he jump-started an abandoned van, loaded the pack inside, and began tracking down the truck in question. Cutting through alleys, weaving through traffic, and using the guidance of a friendly spirit, they managed to follow the truck to a dockside convenience store.
It was there that the pack quickly stopped the delivery of the first shipment, the pack’s Theurge worked a Gift to drive any existing Wyrm spirits from the drinks, and a cinderblock on the gas pedal drove the now-clean shipment into the waters of LA’s oceanfront. Upon returning to the tribal grounds with the driver’s company ID as proof of their feat, celebration for passing the Rite was dolled out, and Mitch became known to others of his kind as ‘Stalks-The-Booze’ for his efforts in tracking the cargo truck.
In the years that have passed, he’s worked his way up the proverbial totem pole of the local Sept, taking the position of Warder and thus garnering a bit of room to work and operate independently, directing younger warriors and operatives in the Sept while working his own plans and schemes. His unconventional views on cooperation with others of the supernatural spawned from this, and as a long-term cover to those he doesn’t want prying in, he quickly took up the guise of a drunkard, learning many a Gift that help summon food and drink for a ‘party’ atmosphere, using the back of his van as a makeshift home distillery, and even making a fetish out of a dinged up, old hip flask to infinitely refill itself(unbeknownst to others, it’s only full of booze when someone that’s not Stalks holds it)
As the new decade opens, and the city once again becomes rife with conflict and strife, Stalks-The-Booze begins working his plans into action, hoping to rally together both his Sept and other creatures of the shadows to strike against those that would see them all destroyed.
coGM
Our Final Nights just smoothly chugging along, inbetween month-long breaks.
Lightning Fast Aspiring Lawyerguy
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
Character sheet is finished! Behold, my 7'1 Romanian sunovamage. There may be a few changes here and there to better suit the campaign, but the gist of the sheet will remain the same.
Name: Mihail Dobrescu (nicknamed “Count Blockula”)
Age: 21
Species: Human
Powers/Skills: Around-the-basket finishing, rim protection, defense. He is working on his three-point shot, but it is not quite there yet. He also speaks four languages: English, Hungarian, Romanian, and Vlax Romani.
Generation: N/A
Appearance: The first thing one will notice about Mihail is that he is tall. At 7’1, he is definitely one of the tallest people in Los Angeles, which is saying something given the city’s population. He has very short dark hair, blue eyes, and long, lanky limbs. While clearly athletic, he moves in a manner some might find clumsy. When not on the court, he can be seen wearing a navy blue tracksuit, or a casual t-shirt and shorts. Though his salary affords him some luxuries, he is used to the austere life of rural Romania, and so doesn’t have much drip to speak of except for a nice watch and a silver ring which belonged to his father. The ring bears a Romanian Orthodox crucifix and is allegedly magical, though Mihail is not sure what it does or how it works.
Mihail wears #45 for the Los Angeles Lakers. His jersey has sold very well in Romania, though until recently he was less well-known in Los Angeles.
Personality: Mihail is a fairly relaxed and friendly individual off the court, though somewhat shy around large crowds of fans... he is not used to the attention. Since his rediscovery of Los Angeles’ own World of Darkness, he’s been a lot more on-edge, and has few people to talk to about it aside from his mother. Mihail has a competitive streak, and is no stranger to multilingual trash-talk when engaged in a contest of physical skill. Although the glitz and glamour of the NBA haven’t changed Mihail too much, he perhaps enjoys the nightlife more than he ought to.
Age: 21
Species: Human
Powers/Skills: Around-the-basket finishing, rim protection, defense. He is working on his three-point shot, but it is not quite there yet. He also speaks four languages: English, Hungarian, Romanian, and Vlax Romani.
Generation: N/A
Appearance: The first thing one will notice about Mihail is that he is tall. At 7’1, he is definitely one of the tallest people in Los Angeles, which is saying something given the city’s population. He has very short dark hair, blue eyes, and long, lanky limbs. While clearly athletic, he moves in a manner some might find clumsy. When not on the court, he can be seen wearing a navy blue tracksuit, or a casual t-shirt and shorts. Though his salary affords him some luxuries, he is used to the austere life of rural Romania, and so doesn’t have much drip to speak of except for a nice watch and a silver ring which belonged to his father. The ring bears a Romanian Orthodox crucifix and is allegedly magical, though Mihail is not sure what it does or how it works.
Mihail wears #45 for the Los Angeles Lakers. His jersey has sold very well in Romania, though until recently he was less well-known in Los Angeles.
Personality: Mihail is a fairly relaxed and friendly individual off the court, though somewhat shy around large crowds of fans... he is not used to the attention. Since his rediscovery of Los Angeles’ own World of Darkness, he’s been a lot more on-edge, and has few people to talk to about it aside from his mother. Mihail has a competitive streak, and is no stranger to multilingual trash-talk when engaged in a contest of physical skill. Although the glitz and glamour of the NBA haven’t changed Mihail too much, he perhaps enjoys the nightlife more than he ought to.
Mihail was born on January 1st, 2000, in Brașov, Romania, not too far from the birthplace of Vlad the Impaler himself. The Dobrescu Family had been prestigious vampire hunters dating back to the 1300s, and so Mihail knew about the World of Darkness from a young age. Despite the supernatural bonafides of his vampire-hunting father and Romani mage mother, his parents had no interest in the young boy pursuing the family business. The supernatural world was dangerous, and they did not wish to force the responsibilities of a hunter or mage onto the young Mihail. It was unavoidable that Mihail grew up aware of supernatural beings, but he was largely indifferent to their existence.
Perhaps due to some blessing given as a reward for past deeds, or some distant giant-blooded relative, there had not been a Dobrescu man in the last three hundred years who had not grown to be at least 6’8. The young Mihail was no exception. Despite the sport not having much of a following in Romania, Mihail naturally took to basketball. By the time he was 15, his skill and athleticism led his highschool to two local championships, and he’d received offers from American athletic prep schools.
But, as tends to happen with the supernaturally-inclined, tragedy struck. After two consecutive blocks from Mihail sealed a particularly close game against a divisional rival, Mihail and his mother Malina returned home to tragedy. Mihail’s father had been butchered in gruesome fashion, his body left crucified in the front hall in some sick mockery of religious imagery. Written on the ground in blood was an oath of vengeance, vowing to exterminate every member of the Dobrescu Family line in retaliation for all the vampires killed over the centuries. Malina and Mihail sold their property and fled the country shortly thereafter.
After finishing his last two years of highschool at a midwestern athletic prep school and attending two years of college at Duke University, Mihail declared for the 2020 NBA Draft. He was selected late in the first round by the Los Angeles Lakers. After a short stint in the G-league, Mihail began to find success as a rotational power forward and center for the reigning NBA Champions.
Roughly two months ago, Mihail had his breakout game. With the Lakers down by 21 points at the start of the 4th quarter and the stars out due to injury, Mihail was given significant minutes for the first time. He recorded twenty-two points, eleven rebounds, five assists, and four blocks in just twenty minutes of total game time. He played for the entire fourth quarter, bringing the Lakers back to eventually win the game 111-106. For his efforts, local media dubbed him “Count Blockula” due to his Transylvanian heritage.
Though he cannot explain this publicly, Mihail despises the nickname because he believed that when he came to Los Angeles, he would be done with vampires and the paranormal entirely.
He was wrong.
Perhaps due to some blessing given as a reward for past deeds, or some distant giant-blooded relative, there had not been a Dobrescu man in the last three hundred years who had not grown to be at least 6’8. The young Mihail was no exception. Despite the sport not having much of a following in Romania, Mihail naturally took to basketball. By the time he was 15, his skill and athleticism led his highschool to two local championships, and he’d received offers from American athletic prep schools.
But, as tends to happen with the supernaturally-inclined, tragedy struck. After two consecutive blocks from Mihail sealed a particularly close game against a divisional rival, Mihail and his mother Malina returned home to tragedy. Mihail’s father had been butchered in gruesome fashion, his body left crucified in the front hall in some sick mockery of religious imagery. Written on the ground in blood was an oath of vengeance, vowing to exterminate every member of the Dobrescu Family line in retaliation for all the vampires killed over the centuries. Malina and Mihail sold their property and fled the country shortly thereafter.
After finishing his last two years of highschool at a midwestern athletic prep school and attending two years of college at Duke University, Mihail declared for the 2020 NBA Draft. He was selected late in the first round by the Los Angeles Lakers. After a short stint in the G-league, Mihail began to find success as a rotational power forward and center for the reigning NBA Champions.
Roughly two months ago, Mihail had his breakout game. With the Lakers down by 21 points at the start of the 4th quarter and the stars out due to injury, Mihail was given significant minutes for the first time. He recorded twenty-two points, eleven rebounds, five assists, and four blocks in just twenty minutes of total game time. He played for the entire fourth quarter, bringing the Lakers back to eventually win the game 111-106. For his efforts, local media dubbed him “Count Blockula” due to his Transylvanian heritage.
Though he cannot explain this publicly, Mihail despises the nickname because he believed that when he came to Los Angeles, he would be done with vampires and the paranormal entirely.
He was wrong.
Name: Malina Nechita
Age: 45
Species: Mage
Powers/Skill: Divination, crossbowmanship
A thickset, 5’7, generally cheerful Romani woman. She is a pianist, and weaves wards against evil into her enchanting melodies. The lounge bar where she performs is a hotspot for upper-crust supernatural types, mostly fey, who appreciate the extra protection she provides. She keeps a silver-tipped hand crossbow hidden on her at all times. Don’t worry, she’s licensed to carry.
Unlike Mihail, who does his best to avoid the World of Darkness, Malina actively engages with all sorts of magical (non-vampiric) creatures.
Various Members of the Los Angeles Lakers Organization: Because he is a rookie with England as a fourth language, Mihail generally has a closer relationship with the younger players on his team. Mihail will try to be polite when asked about his more famous teammates, but is understandably tired of constant questions about them.
Age: 45
Species: Mage
Powers/Skill: Divination, crossbowmanship
A thickset, 5’7, generally cheerful Romani woman. She is a pianist, and weaves wards against evil into her enchanting melodies. The lounge bar where she performs is a hotspot for upper-crust supernatural types, mostly fey, who appreciate the extra protection she provides. She keeps a silver-tipped hand crossbow hidden on her at all times. Don’t worry, she’s licensed to carry.
Unlike Mihail, who does his best to avoid the World of Darkness, Malina actively engages with all sorts of magical (non-vampiric) creatures.
Various Members of the Los Angeles Lakers Organization: Because he is a rookie with England as a fourth language, Mihail generally has a closer relationship with the younger players on his team. Mihail will try to be polite when asked about his more famous teammates, but is understandably tired of constant questions about them.
coGM
Ruby No One Cares
Member
Seen
3 days ago
Character sheet is finished! Behold, my 7'1 Romanian sunovamage. There may be a few changes here and there to better suit the campaign, but the gist of the sheet will remain the same.Name: Mihail Dobrescu (nicknamed “Count Blockula”)
Age: 21
Species: Human
Powers/Skills: Around-the-basket finishing, rim protection, defense. He is working on his three-point shot, but it is not quite there yet. He also speaks four languages: English, Hungarian, Romanian, and Vlax Romani.
Generation: N/A
Appearance: The first thing one will notice about Mihail is that he is tall. At 7’1, he is definitely one of the tallest people in Los Angeles, which is saying something given the city’s population. He has very short dark hair, blue eyes, and long, lanky limbs. While clearly athletic, he moves in a manner some might find clumsy. When not on the court, he can be seen wearing a navy blue tracksuit, or a casual t-shirt and shorts. Though his salary affords him some luxuries, he is used to the austere life of rural Romania, and so doesn’t have much drip to speak of except for a nice watch and a silver ring which belonged to his father. The ring bears a Romanian Orthodox crucifix and is allegedly magical, though Mihail is not sure what it does or how it works.
Mihail wears #45 for the Los Angeles Lakers. His jersey has sold very well in Romania, though until recently he was less well-known in Los Angeles.
Personality: Mihail is a fairly relaxed and friendly individual off the court, though somewhat shy around large crowds of fans... he is not used to the attention. Since his rediscovery of Los Angeles’ own World of Darkness, he’s been a lot more on-edge, and has few people to talk to about it aside from his mother. Mihail has a competitive streak, and is no stranger to multilingual trash-talk when engaged in a contest of physical skill. Although the glitz and glamour of the NBA haven’t changed Mihail too much, he perhaps enjoys the nightlife more than he ought to.Mihail was born on January 1st, 2000, in Brașov, Romania, not too far from the birthplace of Vlad the Impaler himself. The Dobrescu Family had been prestigious vampire hunters dating back to the 1300s, and so Mihail knew about the World of Darkness from a young age. Despite the supernatural bonafides of his vampire-hunting father and Romani mage mother, his parents had no interest in the young boy pursuing the family business. The supernatural world was dangerous, and they did not wish to force the responsibilities of a hunter or mage onto the young Mihail. It was unavoidable that Mihail grew up aware of supernatural beings, but he was largely indifferent to their existence.
Perhaps due to some blessing given as a reward for past deeds, or some distant giant-blooded relative, there had not been a Dobrescu man in the last three hundred years who had not grown to be at least 6’8. The young Mihail was no exception. Despite the sport not having much of a following in Romania, Mihail naturally took to basketball. By the time he was 15, his skill and athleticism led his highschool to two local championships, and he’d received offers from American athletic prep schools.
But, as tends to happen with the supernaturally-inclined, tragedy struck. After two consecutive blocks from Mihail sealed a particularly close game against a divisional rival, Mihail and his mother Malina returned home to tragedy. Mihail’s father had been butchered in gruesome fashion, his body left crucified in the front hall in some sick mockery of religious imagery. Written on the ground in blood was an oath of vengeance, vowing to exterminate every member of the Dobrescu Family line in retaliation for all the vampires killed over the centuries. Malina and Mihail sold their property and fled the country shortly thereafter.
After finishing his last two years of highschool at a midwestern athletic prep school and attending two years of college at Duke University, Mihail declared for the 2020 NBA Draft. He was selected late in the first round by the Los Angeles Lakers. After a short stint in the G-league, Mihail began to find success as a rotational power forward and center for the reigning NBA Champions.
Roughly two months ago, Mihail had his breakout game. With the Lakers down by 21 points at the start of the 4th quarter and the stars out due to injury, Mihail was given significant minutes for the first time. He recorded twenty-two points, eleven rebounds, five assists, and four blocks in just twenty minutes of total game time. He played for the entire fourth quarter, bringing the Lakers back to eventually win the game 111-106. For his efforts, local media dubbed him “Count Blockula” due to his Transylvanian heritage.
Though he cannot explain this publicly, Mihail despises the nickname because he believed that when he came to Los Angeles, he would be done with vampires and the paranormal entirely.
He was wrong.Name: Malina Nechita
Age: 45
Species: Mage
Powers/Skill: Divination, crossbowmanship
A thickset, 5’7, generally cheerful Romani woman. She is a pianist, and weaves wards against evil into her enchanting melodies. The lounge bar where she performs is a hotspot for upper-crust supernatural types, mostly fey, who appreciate the extra protection she provides. She keeps a silver-tipped hand crossbow hidden on her at all times. Don’t worry, she’s licensed to carry.
Unlike Mihail, who does his best to avoid the World of Darkness, Malina actively engages with all sorts of magical (non-vampiric) creatures.
Various Members of the Los Angeles Lakers Organization: Because he is a rookie with England as a fourth language, Mihail generally has a closer relationship with the younger players on his team. Mihail will try to be polite when asked about his more famous teammates, but is understandably tired of constant questions about them.
Let me dust off my stamp. Oof, that dust.
Approved!
Dead Cruiser Dishonour Before Death / Better You Than Me
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
Hi, just dropping in quickly to say that I may be interested. This seems to be mostly a discord affair?
coGM
Hi, just dropping in quickly to say that I may be interested. This seems to be mostly a discord affair?
The RP all happens on here, but we use discord to communicate, and plan :)
GM
Hi, just dropping in quickly to say that I may be interested. This seems to be mostly a discord affair?
We currently have a few scenes being written in google docs, and we use the discord for OOC communication but all finished posts end up here :)
Please feel free to hop in the discord for a chit chat with us all if you feel like it.
Apollosarcher Knight with the Rowan Shield
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
"Sic semper tyrannis"
Name: Abraham, Gaius, Praetor, and many more.
Age: Over two thousand
Species: Kindred
Powers: Fortitude, Potence, Celerity, Auspex, Necromancy
Clan: Caitiff
Generation: 5th
Appearance: He carries himself upright and with a quick step, remnants of his days on the march for glory and conquest. His list of names and titles is long, so the short and sweet name of Abraham was taken after an old friend. His clothes clean and freshly pressed, he carries himself well but their a sadness in him and tiredness. He looks remarkably alive for a Kindred, though he carries an aura of man who carries the weight of the world. His body is fit and lean, a surprising amount of scaring dots his chest and his chin is a familiar scar of chin strap from a Legion helmet. With raven black hair and short beard, he looks the part of a young soldier and even has the manners and discipline to prove it.
Personality: Rugged, careful, and patient. One does not live two thousand years without serious consideration and planning, even as a kindred it comes down to skill and planning. Yet behind his eyes there is a burning hatred, for himself, for kindred, for all his misbegotten species. To the mortals he meets he a caring and compassionate man, yet against vampires especially those that lord and rule over he colder than artic wind. For he believes that the mortal world ought to rule over all, that men kindred, not werewolves, or magic should rule over those mortals beneath them. An eternal soldier, who refuses to stand for anything but the man he once was and hopes to be again one day.
Biography: Once, long ago in the city of Pompey, he was the man, the general, the soldier Gaius Aurelias Antonius Britannia. Praetorian, general, commander, explorer, but most of all son of Rome. He was enthralled by a leader, a general, and a good man, at the end of the Republic... The world was short on those. So he followed into war, first in the Legion then from the back of a horse his uncle in politics and him exchanged letters often. His uncle a friend of Caesar noticed his skill an competence, so under the tutelage of the man who would birth an empire Gaius would find himself a personal guard to the conqueror. Then they set for Britannia, Gaius remembers the way Caesar brought order and strength to those savage lands. Even gaining his first true glory slaying a tribal chieftain and earning glory in battle after battle. This is when he first caught the eye of his betters, the kindred of the era took note as they realized
Gaius became a general when they decided to march on Rome, to take what they were owed and to save the Empire from the greed and stupidity of it's ruling elite. Yet as this clever and capable young general fought and won, with no other ambition than to serve his commander and people. When death of the Caesar came, he wept and swore to avenge the death of his leader at any cost. When it was won he faced a choice Octavian or his uncle Marc Antony? So blood being blood he swore to follow his uncle, but Clan Ventrue saw the winds blowing and bet on Octavian. In a Skirmish in Anatolia with Gaius would meet his end. Yet fate is strange, Ventrue's warriors fell upon the General and though the mortals were brave and honorable they could not hope to win. A miracle of sorts came, a woman, Gaius himself remembers muttering the name Bellona for she fought like a good of war struck down his foes. Then without a word of explanations she took the wounded general into her arms and drank of his blood... Then gave of her own, before collecting weapons and armor then vanishing back towards the desert.
Gaius awoke in the coolness of night alone and thirsting for blood, he drained half a dozen cattle that night before starting to realized what had happened to him. He could not go home, so he vanished only appearing rarely he learned much of what he could from others... More importantly he learned of the Ventrue's secretive rule of Rome, the secrets of the world he'd never fully understood as a soldier. But he knew one thing when he saw it, tyrants ruling in secret like cowards. Taking the alias Praetor he donned his old praetorian gear he would silently strike again and again, he had no one to educate him instead traveling from Europe to Asia and into Africa learning bits and pieces. But where he went he brought his sword and a promise, to bring low those who their power to become rulers and despots.
It would take centuries for him to start to understand what he was, by then he grown to view this as an order from Roman Goddess of war. Bellona had commanded him, bring war to those who had so quietly and underhanded ruled he would bring war in all forms to those like himself an eternal war for the freedom of mankind. The Praetor learned more as he violently survived year to year alone, feeding off animals or asking humans to offer him the blood in exchange for service. He never took or demanded of mortals, no instead he consume his own kind. Upon learning that the blood of another vampire could nourish him and kill them, he turned to that as a solution. He walked many paths in his new state sometimes with trusted friends, others with childer, and sometimes at the head of forces.
The Dark Ages as they are known were a tough time for many, yet when forces needed to hunt and kill a vampire a full plated warrior would arrive. He would teach knights how to decapitate, the cleansing power of fire, and remind the strength faith can have should they truly be devote. One could say Praetor was not only outside vampire culture but actively culling it, yet unlike so many of his kin he depends not on others but on his own hands. He lived in wilds, traveled from place to place served in armies and more. He chose a life spent learning to kill man, beast, or kindred at any turn. Serving with knights, mercenaries, and more from one side of the world to the other he fought and bled Cainites where ever he found them.
When the Masquerade began he learned to fade in among them, princes would hire a Caitiff to handle problems then one day when he was close he would kill the prince and vanish. He had one simple rule to his violence, no harm to mortals and no feeding without permission few took his threats seriously one Caitiff alone? What could they do? Over the centuries, quite a lot. Though as he grew older his targets became more powerful and high generationally the only way to feed well enough to survive without the topor. Fighting in one war to the next, from one continent to another he would one day be remembered Abraham. Taking the name from a friend of an Abraham Van Helsing with whom he had once challenged the rule Dracula unsuccessfully. Now two thousands years of warfare later he knows the final battle is coming, he knows he cannot fight the topor for many more years unless he commits Diablerie upon someone a greater rank than himself.
So he chooses to face the end times sword in hand, spitting in the face of his enemies ready to die a final death in much the way he died his first death.
Gaius became a general when they decided to march on Rome, to take what they were owed and to save the Empire from the greed and stupidity of it's ruling elite. Yet as this clever and capable young general fought and won, with no other ambition than to serve his commander and people. When death of the Caesar came, he wept and swore to avenge the death of his leader at any cost. When it was won he faced a choice Octavian or his uncle Marc Antony? So blood being blood he swore to follow his uncle, but Clan Ventrue saw the winds blowing and bet on Octavian. In a Skirmish in Anatolia with Gaius would meet his end. Yet fate is strange, Ventrue's warriors fell upon the General and though the mortals were brave and honorable they could not hope to win. A miracle of sorts came, a woman, Gaius himself remembers muttering the name Bellona for she fought like a good of war struck down his foes. Then without a word of explanations she took the wounded general into her arms and drank of his blood... Then gave of her own, before collecting weapons and armor then vanishing back towards the desert.
Gaius awoke in the coolness of night alone and thirsting for blood, he drained half a dozen cattle that night before starting to realized what had happened to him. He could not go home, so he vanished only appearing rarely he learned much of what he could from others... More importantly he learned of the Ventrue's secretive rule of Rome, the secrets of the world he'd never fully understood as a soldier. But he knew one thing when he saw it, tyrants ruling in secret like cowards. Taking the alias Praetor he donned his old praetorian gear he would silently strike again and again, he had no one to educate him instead traveling from Europe to Asia and into Africa learning bits and pieces. But where he went he brought his sword and a promise, to bring low those who their power to become rulers and despots.
It would take centuries for him to start to understand what he was, by then he grown to view this as an order from Roman Goddess of war. Bellona had commanded him, bring war to those who had so quietly and underhanded ruled he would bring war in all forms to those like himself an eternal war for the freedom of mankind. The Praetor learned more as he violently survived year to year alone, feeding off animals or asking humans to offer him the blood in exchange for service. He never took or demanded of mortals, no instead he consume his own kind. Upon learning that the blood of another vampire could nourish him and kill them, he turned to that as a solution. He walked many paths in his new state sometimes with trusted friends, others with childer, and sometimes at the head of forces.
The Dark Ages as they are known were a tough time for many, yet when forces needed to hunt and kill a vampire a full plated warrior would arrive. He would teach knights how to decapitate, the cleansing power of fire, and remind the strength faith can have should they truly be devote. One could say Praetor was not only outside vampire culture but actively culling it, yet unlike so many of his kin he depends not on others but on his own hands. He lived in wilds, traveled from place to place served in armies and more. He chose a life spent learning to kill man, beast, or kindred at any turn. Serving with knights, mercenaries, and more from one side of the world to the other he fought and bled Cainites where ever he found them.
When the Masquerade began he learned to fade in among them, princes would hire a Caitiff to handle problems then one day when he was close he would kill the prince and vanish. He had one simple rule to his violence, no harm to mortals and no feeding without permission few took his threats seriously one Caitiff alone? What could they do? Over the centuries, quite a lot. Though as he grew older his targets became more powerful and high generationally the only way to feed well enough to survive without the topor. Fighting in one war to the next, from one continent to another he would one day be remembered Abraham. Taking the name from a friend of an Abraham Van Helsing with whom he had once challenged the rule Dracula unsuccessfully. Now two thousands years of warfare later he knows the final battle is coming, he knows he cannot fight the topor for many more years unless he commits Diablerie upon someone a greater rank than himself.
So he chooses to face the end times sword in hand, spitting in the face of his enemies ready to die a final death in much the way he died his first death.
GM
"Sic semper tyrannis"
Name: Abraham, Gaius, Praetor, and many more.
Age: Over two thousand
Species: Kindred
Powers: Fortitude, Potence, Celerity, Auspex, Necromancy
Clan: Caitiff
Generation: 5th
Appearance: He carries himself upright and with a quick step, remnants of his days on the march for glory and conquest. His list of names and titles is long, so the short and sweet name of Abraham was taken after an old friend. His clothes clean and freshly pressed, he carries himself well but their a sadness in him and tiredness. He looks remarkably alive for a Kindred, though he carries an aura of man who carries the weight of the world. His body is fit and lean, a surprising amount of scaring dots his chest and his chin is a familiar scar of chin strap from a Legion helmet. With raven black hair and short beard, he looks the part of a young soldier and even has the manners and discipline to prove it.Personality: Rugged, careful, and patient. One does not live two thousand years without serious consideration and planning, even as a kindred it comes down to skill and planning. Yet behind his eyes there is a burning hatred, for himself, for kindred, for all his misbegotten species. To the mortals he meets he a caring and compassionate man, yet against vampires especially those that lord and rule over he colder than artic wind. For he believes that the mortal world ought to rule over all, that men kindred, not werewolves, or magic should rule over those mortals beneath them. An eternal soldier, who refuses to stand for anything but the man he once was and hopes to be again one day.Biography: Once, long ago in the city of Pompey, he was the man, the general, the soldier Gaius Aurelias Antonius Britannia. Praetorian, general, commander, explorer, but most of all son of Rome. He was enthralled by a leader, a general, and a good man, at the end of the Republic... The world was short on those. So he followed into war, first in the Legion then from the back of a horse his uncle in politics and him exchanged letters often. His uncle a friend of Caesar noticed his skill an competence, so under the tutelage of the man who would birth an empire Gaius would find himself a personal guard to the conqueror. Then they set for Britannia, Gaius remembers the way Caesar brought order and strength to those savage lands. Even gaining his first true glory slaying a tribal chieftain and earning glory in battle after battle. This is when he first caught the eye of his betters, the kindred of the era took note as they realized
Gaius became a general when they decided to march on Rome, to take what they were owed and to save the Empire from the greed and stupidity of it's ruling elite. Yet as this clever and capable young general fought and won, with no other ambition than to serve his commander and people. When death of the Caesar came, he wept and swore to avenge the death of his leader at any cost. When it was won he faced a choice Octavian or his uncle Marc Antony? So blood being blood he swore to follow his uncle, but Clan Ventrue saw the winds blowing and bet on Octavian. In a Skirmish in Anatolia with Gaius would meet his end. Yet fate is strange, Ventrue's warriors fell upon the General and though the mortals were brave and honorable they could not hope to win. A miracle of sorts came, a woman, Gaius himself remembers muttering the name Bellona for she fought like a good of war struck down his foes. Then without a word of explanations she took the wounded general into her arms and drank of his blood... Then gave of her own, before collecting weapons and armor then vanishing back towards the desert.
Gaius awoke in the coolness of night alone and thirsting for blood, he drained half a dozen cattle that night before starting to realized what had happened to him. He could not go home, so he vanished only appearing rarely he learned much of what he could from others... More importantly he learned of the Ventrue's secretive rule of Rome, the secrets of the world he'd never fully understood as a soldier. But he knew one thing when he saw it, tyrants ruling in secret like cowards. Taking the alias Praetor he donned his old praetorian gear he would silently strike again and again, he had no one to educate him instead traveling from Europe to Asia and into Africa learning bits and pieces. But where he went he brought his sword and a promise, to bring low those who their power to become rulers and despots.
It would take centuries for him to start to understand what he was, by then he grown to view this as an order from Roman Goddess of war. Bellona had commanded him, bring war to those who had so quietly and underhanded ruled he would bring war in all forms to those like himself an eternal war for the freedom of mankind. The Praetor learned more as he violently survived year to year alone, feeding off animals or asking humans to offer him the blood in exchange for service. He never took or demanded of mortals, no instead he consume his own kind. Upon learning that the blood of another vampire could nourish him and kill them, he turned to that as a solution. He walked many paths in his new state sometimes with trusted friends, others with childer, and sometimes at the head of forces.
The Dark Ages as they are known were a tough time for many, yet when forces needed to hunt and kill a vampire a full plated warrior would arrive. He would teach knights how to decapitate, the cleansing power of fire, and remind the strength faith can have should they truly be devote. One could say Praetor was not only outside vampire culture but actively culling it, yet unlike so many of his kin he depends not on others but on his own hands. He lived in wilds, traveled from place to place served in armies and more. He chose a life spent learning to kill man, beast, or kindred at any turn. Serving with knights, mercenaries, and more from one side of the world to the other he fought and bled Cainites where ever he found them.
When the Masquerade began he learned to fade in among them, princes would hire a Caitiff to handle problems then one day when he was close he would kill the prince and vanish. He had one simple rule to his violence, no harm to mortals and no feeding without permission few took his threats seriously one Caitiff alone? What could they do? Over the centuries, quite a lot. Though as he grew older his targets became more powerful and high generationally the only way to feed well enough to survive without the topor. Fighting in one war to the next, from one continent to another he would one day be remembered Abraham. Taking the name from a friend of an Abraham Van Helsing with whom he had once challenged the rule Dracula unsuccessfully. Now two thousands years of warfare later he knows the final battle is coming, he knows he cannot fight the topor for many more years unless he commits Diablerie upon someone a greater rank than himself.
So he chooses to face the end times sword in hand, spitting in the face of his enemies ready to die a final death in much the way he died his first death.
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