[OOC] World of Darkness (Boston)

[Fallen Muse]

“The night was calm, the moon full overhead, just starting its slow ascent into the sky, announcing that the dominion of the walkers of night had begun once more. The Night brought out the best, and worst, of all sorts that could be found, from the Vampire clans and their ilk, Kindred that forwarded their own agenda's, as well as those of their Clans, and one such being was out that night. He was a member of the Camarilla, stewards of the Masquerade and a sort of balancing, status quo between the Clans and preventing the increasing population of humans to realize their existence and drown them in a tide of hunters and manpower. Others did not agree with their goals, but they had tools and political power enough to make their goals the goals of many of the Kindred.

Said Vampire held a role of importance, a Sheriff of the Camarilla, an enforcer of the laws and traditions of their sovereign prince. This one was of the Brujah clan, powerful warriors in their own right, and this was without the inevitable power that one of the Sheriff role would no doubt hold. His name was Karl Shore, and he was not happy, an understatement if one had ever been said. A harsh scowl permeated his face, hard, solid jaw making this all the more intimidating and clear to those that passed him by. Most wouldn't have trouble justifying placing his home, or his bloodline's home, somewhere in the German lands, though mortals wouldn't dare dream of how old this one actually was. Of average height he was, with brown hair swept back into a pony tail that ran down his back, keen, almost hungry, and certainly predatory blue eyes gleamed out at the night, taking everything in, in a way that mortals couldn't. He was on a mission, a job from his Prince, and he would see it done.

The building he had arrived at was ruined, at least to his eyes. Others assumed it was just abandoned, and as the Sheriff entered, they wouldn't appear to be wrong. But the dark hallways gave way to the scent of death, of blood and instinctual terror. There was blood splattered across the ruined halls, clear evidence of fighting and struggling, the symbols of a very clear opponent to the Camarilla. The Sabbat, those that believed themselves the sword of Caine himself, and would sweep the world clean when the time came. Fools that they were, outcasts and renegades often found membership in their ranks, and that made them dangerous, as such creatures often found themselves talented and without fear of punishment from their former watchmasters, the Camarilla. But the thoughts of the Sheriff were interrupted, as a scream from deeper within, past the bodies that he had started to find, suffering clear injuries from many forms of armed combat.

But this was only side information in the Sheriff Shore's head as he walked into a room, the originating point of the scream, and only a dust pile remained. He kicked it, scattering the dust, finding it was unusually fresh, when a sound made him turn, straight into a blast of twelve gauge buckshot. The creature with shotgun scowled from the doorway, having expected easy prey, but Karl Shore was no easy prey. With a snarl of his own, paired hatchets came from his belt, no fear of breaking the masquerade here, and both flying hatchets struck home, throwing the offending creature to the ground with a gurgling noise. The gut wound from the shotgun wasn't pretty, even for a being of his capability and prowess, but it lacked any specialty or potency to cause long term difficulties. The vampire that had inflicted the wound, and was now down on the ground with a hatchet in his throat and stomach was clearly a shovelhead, petty footsoldier of the Sabbat, literally beaten over the head and kicked off into fighting. No real match for a Brujah like himself, and a Sheriff at that.

Karl approached the wounded vampire, hand wrapping around the hatchet buried in the vampires neck, and glared deep into the beings eyes. It started laughing, pointing out behind the Sheriff. Despite himself, he turned, hatchet in hand, staring dead into a sight he did not want to see, ever. It was a werewolf, and while that was bad enough, something made it worse. It stood in its Crinos form, the feral war form of the Garou, and he barely had time to open his mouth, to let fly a scream of fear, or of rage, or of something else entirely, but such things as these are not nearly as uncommon as one would think. For this is a World of Darkness, maintained behind the Masquerade of the Vampires and the Veil of the Garou, but such things are fragile, and all it could take, is a nudge, to send it all spiraling down into bedlam and chaos, a helter skelter, as it was once called.”

Welcome to the world of darkness, where the dark of night is filled with creatures of your worst fears. Boston has always been a city that harbors in it’s shadows the dregs of society, but it also holds the secrets of a long held masquerade. A Prince with great ambition resides here upsetting the balance of the world around him, his own followers seem to be disconcerted with his actions and his greed. The wolves in the hills of New Hampshire grow restless with each night that passes as their lands grow smaller and smaller by the day.

This will be a rp based off the World of Darkness by whitewolf. I realize that there are a lot of different races and classes to choose from, but with so much variety everything would get so muddled the plot would disappear. So I’m sticking with the most well known factions. Kindred (Vampires), Hunters (Humans), and Garou (Werewolves) will be the three playable races, I’m sorry to those who love mages or changelings, but I feel like that would just be throwing to much in the mix.

To give a little insight to what’s going on with the RP the Garou have reactivated a Caern in the New Hampshire forests and vampire territory has encroached upon it enraging them, Anarchs have grown displeased with the current Prince of Boston, Sabbat have struck out in the city against everyone in a crusade, The Prince in his greed filled lust has begun stepping on everyone’s toes not caring about guidelines that are in place, and Hunters have come to Boston with all the red flags that have gone up and are hunting down the Prince.

The typical rules apply to this RP, don’t make yourself overpowered, don’t god mod, be respectful etc etc. This is a advanced RP so I expect everyone to have the common sense to know what is expected of them.

HUNTERS!
(I’m adding in Hunters again because of the interest I have received in them. Now I’m posting a link to the Society of Leopold as a idea of what you can work with. You do not have to be part of the Society of Leopold, but I’d highly suggest at least working with the hunters that are. A lone hunter usually doesn’t last long among vampires and garou, especially on this scale.)

Helpful Character Creation Info

Vampire Clans
Tribes
Garou
Auspice
Breed
Gifts
Clans Disciplines
Hunters Society of Leopold

Approved Characters

Kindred

Pree: Isabel Mrosovsky

Eisenhorn: Inigo Malzahar

Navy_Vet: Tosh

Noxious: Eriko Nishimura

cider: Gareth Allard

Ellri: Eilwen Ferch Gruffydd ap Llywelyn ap Gruffudd ap Rhys ap Ellis ap Dilwyn ap Taliesin

FallenMuse: Hallr Gunnarson

Garou

FallenMuse: Nora Myrna

HeySeuss: Michael McCaskill

idlehands: Jocasta Ochoa

FallenMuse: Cecilia Torhild

Rat Tat Tat: Michelle Darrens

Vampire CS

Faction Name: (i.e. The Barony of Hollywood, Ventrue of Beverly Hills, along those lines)
Allegiance:
Location:
General Information: (alternative to summing up the foundation/general character of the faction in charcter biographies)

Character Sheets:

Name:
Generation: (Nothing below 8th generation)
Clan:
Disciplines:
Personality:
Biography:
Appearance:

Limit of 5

Garou CS

Name:
Breed:
Auspice:
Tribe:
Rank: (Nothing over 2nd rank)
Gifts: (3 gifts at rank 1, 5 at rank 2)
Personality:
Biography:
Appearance:

Hunter CS

Name:
Age:
Sex:
Skills:
Personality:
Bio:
Appearance:
Equipment:

[Pree]

Location: Boston

Character Sheets

Name: Isabel Mrosovsky

Generation: 10th Generation

Clan: Toreador

Disciplines: Auspex, Celerity, Presence

Personality: Isabel is independent and creative, but her narrow mindedness causes her to live inside her own box, which is generally good for her considering she is generally overwhelmed by most new things. She does not dwell in the past and is uncomplicated in search of beauty. She is generally self-critical, always seeking the approval of her sire, but after his disappearance has resorted to not showing her work, generally in her workshop for hours and days, till she hunts out consumed by hunger.

In the right mind, she could solve problems critically, and has a good memory, but tends to probe into the lives of others and tends to never exhume the details before making a decision. Driven purely by her lust for the arts, she is unpredictable and of unstable temperament. Sometimes passing her needs for the art is her need to be worshipped by others, and this tends to, usually to her sire, come out as a need to be important and essential to his life, and after his disappearance has spiralled to a depression ending with an endless trail of human and vampire lovers, generally one night stands.

Isabel exists in her mind. She has a carefree and delirious exterior that covers an uncontrolled intensity. Her willpower is generally very low, but she tends to not find beauty as she once did in nature – the sunrise and sunset, but more interest in the creations of others, in terms of their creations, and themselves, a deep affliction to the beautiful.

Biography: Isabel was born in Graivoron to a noble family, and her father grew to be the mayor of the town. As a very sickly child, her mother had always encouraged her to read and create, and got her into painting and writing at a very young age, when she realized her daughter did not have the voice to sing. Growing tired of her life, she enrolled herself in the Imperial Academy of Arts and finally left home to open a Photography Studio in St. Petersburg.

She was one of the first to adopt into new technology, first the camera, but then moving to interchangeable decorative backgrounds, but when her business ran dry, she went to Paris to study photography with Nadar. She was renowned for her works in landscape and constructivism, but found her obsession in portraits. She was always nominated for and won several accolades from the General Arts Emporium at Stockholm and Exposition Universelle.

She met her Sire at Liege International, and he asked her to take several portraitures of him. Though she had waited for him at the studio all day, he had only come at night, and her photography changed forever. He had hinted, requested and then finally demanded things she had never done before, and when he was done with the shoot, he turned to her, inviting her to his bed, and then finally turned her.

For years after they had obsessed, created and destroyed, and she fell in love with him as much as she did the art. But at the dawn of the 21st Century, she had woken up to an empty bed, and no one could find him again. Most had tried to convince her of his death, the suicidal nature he lived in, but she knew better than that. Bitter and lost, she went into the world of developing technology alone, moving with another of her clan to Boston, still searching for the perfect piece of art.

Appearance

[Eisenhorn]

Character Sheets:

Name: Inigo Malzahar

Generation: 9th Generation

Clan: Tremere

Disciplines:
+ Auspex
+ Dominate
+ Thaumaturgy
-Path of Mercury
-Path of the Father's Vengeance
-Prey on the Soul's Fear

Personality: Inigo moves in his own ways, often times in apparent contradictions and illusions of aid and help offered to those around him. To those that have only met him, he is a curiosity and oddity, with an apparent inability to simply speak plainly and clearly, always dancing around a subject for the apparent sake of his own amusement. This maddening habit of his has often driven people off or made them vastly underestimate the Tremere Vampire, all of which was to his own personal plans and schemes. But they need not know this, and unless one gets to know the vampire, one only sees the maddening, albeit relatively harmless, scholar mage of the Tremere clan wandering about, doing his own thing.

The truth is far more shockingly clear, both in his own thought process and his goals. Inigo manipulates his foes, and the foes of the Tremere and Camarilla in general, without bloodying his own hands. He hides behind his words and his apparently unassuming demeanor, gathering a disturbing amount of information, both with and without his Disciplines, and can be found plotting and scheming in his abode. Indeed, such round about and indirect methods of conflict suit Inigo, however, others are rarely so patient with the apparently mad vampire and his methods, taking the information and acting on it without waiting for Inigo, and often times failing because of a missed key point that further analysis would have revealed.

Inigo relies on this scholarly, studious mentality when dealing with those that deserve to see past the facade he maintains, focused on his information network and his research into further applications of Tremere Thaumaturgy and mixing of paths, especially when it comes to breaking his foes, he finds a morbid fascination with how a being reacts to being forcefully confronted with that which they fear the most and so man times break down in the face of such things, but he often keeps such opinions to himself, saving such dark commentary for when he has broken another fool who crossed him, his work, the Tremere or the Camarilla.

Biography: Born into a family of scholars, who resided within Spain, Inigo could claim to have no real hardship in his early life, exploring both the realms of knowledge and magic, fascinated by the rituals and power that was fabled to be brought about by such things. Raised to revere knowledge and its tenants as sources of great power, he would leave home at a young age, for the never ending pursuit of knowledge, of those known, unknown, lost and forbidden, no such things would keep him from delving deeper into many a sane and maddening text at the same time. All this would lead up to his first encounter with his future Sire.

Inigo has long since forgotten her name, but he remembers the meetings clearly in his mind, memories of better days. He was a mortal still, and crossed paths with the Tremere woman, although he had no idea what he was getting himself into. Forbidden knowledge, ancient power, all offered up in a package that would have tempted any sane, grounded being. And Inigo was hardly grounded or sane by that point in time, forbidden tomes and knowledge tended to have that effect on the merely mortal mind, no matter how potent or effective it might prove to be in such acts.

His madness and sheer drive for knowledge impressed the Vampiress, who quickly garnered the permission necessary to Embrace the mad scholar Inigo. He didn't see it coming, but the Embrace and binding with the Clan elders had a stabilizing effect on his mindset, but he was still unstable at best at times for a long while, as he grew more mature, so did his control over such madness, although it often remained as a cover for when dealing with other beings. Such madness sometimes took charge early on, and memories of his Sire both tutoring him, and restraining him, were frequent and intermixed at times.

The two eventually parted ways, once Inigo was stable, though the reason why now eludes the vampire scholar, who assumes there is a very real reason that he can't remember when he can recall other events with such clarity. While he resolved to figure it out one day, he had more pressing matters at hand as he advanced further in his clan standing, finding himself an information broker and seeker for the Camarilla, often times going well out of his way to accomplish this goal, developing his insane, round about manner of doing work, much to the aggravation of the less patient, some warrior clans came to mind here, but he did not seem to mind. He was thriving on such things in his unlife, and he gladly kept at it. But his own goals and plans were hardly forgotten, even if others would believe they were, and he has the means to seek them out now.

Appearance:

Image

Equipment: Colt M1911A1, Silver edged Sword cane, $222 Cash, Cellphone, notepad and pen

[Fallen Muse]

Name: Nora Myrna

Breed: Homid

Auspice: Ahroun

Tribe: Fianna

Rank: 1

Gifts:
Master of Fire
Salmon Leap
Falling Touch

Personality: For one that resides within the Veil of the Garou, Nora is an odd one. She is highly musically inclined, fitting considering her tribe, the Fianna, are keepers of music and lore, while she remains an oddity amongst her peers, her quirky nature goes hand in hand with her musical inclination. Creativity spouts from her easily, even more so when she has her violin in hand, playing musical pieces learned and handed down to her from her tribe mates and peers in the fields of music.

Do not let this initial appearance fool you, however, for Nora is still a Homid of the Ahroun auspice, bloody warrior types born as humans. She is fierce in her way of life, from the pursuit of creativity and music, to the hunt against those that trespass against her and her kin, which demonstrates her loyalty, which can often prove nigh unshakeable when properly earned, all things that make a valuable ally to any who can prove themselves worthy of such a position in her mind.

But her enemies see only a roaring creature of vengeance and rage. Mercy does not exist for those that beckon the claws and teeth of this fierce being, such loyalty and ferocity turning into a brutal combination, determined to see it through for the sake of her kin, and the great ferocity turning a deadly assault even more feral and passionate. Creativity does not suit her foes after she has them trapped, making them sing tunes all their own.

Biography: Nora Myrna was born as normally as you would expect a Homid to be born. Her mother was human, her father Garou, and she was raised surpisingly well, considering how much flak and problems being born non human can cause for a family, let alone one with multiple members of the same tribe living together. But raised well she was, even plagued by dreams of wolves, of wild hunts against all sorts of things, some she didn't recognize, some she did, but under her father's careful tutilage, and her mother's care, she made it through her childhood with little incident or attention, dual blessings.

Puberty is a problem for many a person, but for a Garou of the Homid it was another matter entirely. They began to change forms during puberty, and a poorly guided one can end up dead rather easily. But, her father a blessing once more, kept her in line, showing her how to not only control her form, but take the advantages that being Homid had when in and out of her transformed states. Of course, she would move out on her own eventually, acting for the sake of the tribe, the same as her father's, the Fianna, and would often act in their favor, spreading tales of music and history to other tribes, while defending such lore against interlopers with vicious claw and tooth.

A notable achievement in her life was single handidly taking out a nest of Vampires. They had cornered her father, leaving him in bad shape when help arrived, and in a fit of rage Nora had pursued them. She would track them easily to their lair, a ruined mansion, stereotypically enough, and a priceless piece of Garuo music that had been put to paper before its owner died, so one might have use for it one day. But her fury consumed her, catching the nest utterly offguard, and slaughtered the bloodsuckers to the last undead, avenging the actions against her family and tribe in the ways of blood and talon.

The music she found was of interest amongst her peers, and Nora was granted leave to keep such music for future decryption, should she prove talented enough to do so. Whether she would, or not, her future history would decide. But for now, she would continue to act in the name of her Tribe, for her family, and for the Garuo that earned such loyalty. It would not be an easy life, but it never was for those of supernatural origins, and how they survived truly defined the being. And the being of Nora would prove hardy indeed, no doubt about that.

Appearance:

Homid

Crinos

Equipment: Boarding Axe, .45 Magnum Revolver, Leather Jacket, 120 dollars, Brass Knuckles, Zippo Lighter, pack of menthols, Cellphone

[HeySeuss]

Name: Michael McCaskill (or, among his tribe "Nakhti Looks-Twice")
Breed: Homid
Auspice: Ahroun
Rank: 1
Gifts:

- The Falling Touch (Ahroun, 1)
- Smell of Man (Homid, 1)
- Speed of Thought (Striders, 1)

Psychological Profile:

Michael McCaskill is a hardluck, hard case kid. He was raised badly and had to fend for himself much of his life, and that prepared him to be a self-sufficient, streetwise loner. He's wary and careful around cops and other authority figures and lives a lot like a Bone Gnawer in many ways -- off the grid. He picked up a smattering of outlaw biker philosophy from his (now-incarcerated) father. He's worked odd jobs for the quick pay before, just to make the ends meet, and probably will have to again.

In a fight, he doesn't believe in fair; fair was beaten out of him from an early age in the system, and in foster care. He doesn't practice any particular formal martial arts system, but he knows how to give a punch and, more importantly, take one. He has trust issues, even among Garou, and finds it very easy to keep his mouth shut. At first glance, he seems misplaced in his auspice, though Striders of all stripes are known for their circumspection.

He does not deal well with authority figures or 'the system' though that is a common enough situation with a lot of young garou; they're a headstrong people, and their subconscious antipathy for things of the weaver and wyrm often color their experiences. As a survivor of foster care and child welfare, he's duly wary of police, bureaucrats and people that claim to know one's best interest better than the person themselves. Garou elders, of course, tend to despair of this sort of anger even as they try to preserve its roots and redirect its energy.

Background:

Michael's mother was a noted Strider theurge; she, however, was something of a free spirit and found herself running with a Fianna kinfolk by the name of James McCaskill, a member of the violent outlaw biker gang of kinfolk known as the Unshriven. Her mother died, and he was being raised by his father when he was arrested on RICO charges along with much of his gang . When that happened, Michael was eight or so years old and without anyone else to claim him, he was forced into the foster care system along with his half-sister Charlie.

He was a strange boy, and assigned a group home. It was a bad fit from the start; a gladiator school of sorts where the kids were constantly fighting for what little they had. Years of this upbringing made him both withdrawn and wary, having been raised in an environment that was a parody of the wilds; the strong did as they would, the weak bore what they must.

The first months of the institution were bruising affairs that involved a lot of fighting, stealing and protecting one's own things. During this time, he and Charlie only had each other. She was the only friend he really had on the inside, and when they both found their way into nearby foster homes and maintained contact despite separation. When she decided to flee an abusive foster father that was molesting her, Michael decided to run away from his own with her. He had his reasons; at nights, he started to see apparitions around the house, particularly at night, and couldn't seem to get a good night's sleep; the apparitions kept gesturing, trying to communicate something to him. When his sister ran, he realized that the spirits -- no, ghosts -- were telling him to run for it.

During their time as runaways, they scrounged on the streets and hitch-hiked around, trying to stay a step ahead of the system and the authorities and off the grid. Charlie, for her part, started to see a fellow that she thought was a romantic interest, but he got her hooked on pills and started pimping her off. Michael, working menial jobs under the table for almost next to no pay and living on his own, but rough, realized what was going on, tried to pull Charlie out of the situation.

While he couldn't find Charlie, he did find the pimp, Henry, and the ensuing argument was nasty-- Michael managed to acquire a gun and pulled it, which turned the situation from the pimp laughing contemptuously to an actual problem. Watkins and three of his men started to work over Michael, all three of them bigger and meaner than he was at age 15. The men were probably as surprised as Michael was when the young werewolf went through his first change. Michael didn't remember anything of it, just waking up with the blood of Henry Watkins and two henchmen, dudes with guns, all over him, the body parts strewn all over. The lone survivor ran like hell away from it all, screaming.

There was a manhunt for the person that killed one Henry Watkins, a well known dealer and pimp, and Charlie and Michael both got pulled in by the authorities. The survivor from Watkins' crew had a good attorney that was trying to get the blame pinned entirely on the kid, who had motive. It was all about using every trick in the book (and police contacts) to frame the kid up, including motive and who his father was. (Not actually believing that, yes, Michael McCaskill did actually shred three hardened gang-bangers to ribbons.) About this time, other Garou, a Sept of Children of Gaia, caught up with the cub and managed to get Michael a slick Glass Walker kinfolk attorney that shredded the one thug's account of a howling monster tearing two other men apart; the man didn't just have a record, he was on a battery of anti-psychotics and was in a secure psychiatric institution, leaving the prosecution and the thug's attorney empty-handed -- there was no way some kid did that. Charlie, because she was not actually charged, also walked, in part to the slick attorney that showed up to do pro bono work for her.

Michael was taken off to learn the ways of the Garou while Charlie was left with a kinfolk-run group that dealt with recovery and counseling for troubled youth, kept out of the loop. For the best, he was told by the elders. And it was all for naught. The Children were more tolerant than most Garou, but the elders knew how to handle an Ahroun pup. While not abusive, they were stern. At the same time, they knew this was not one of their own, because the breeding of the boy was evident - his father's eyes, but his mother's coloration. He was a Strider, plain enough for any to see.

A passing Strider was finally gotten ahold of and the boy's rite of passage was overseen in the form of a typical Strider's rite; the delivery of a message to a sept via the 'scenic route', dealing with some ghost's troubles and, finally, the hunting of a wyrm beast. During the hunt of the wyrm beast, he found himself in the umbra, beside a sandy patch of river and reeds, in conversation with a crocodile who told him things, and counseled him to fight with cunning rather than with rage when he hunted his foes, tutoring him in the way a crocodile hunts. They parted ways as friends, the Crocodile implying that they would speak again.

The boy survived the Rite of Passage and became a man, but in the eyes of human law, he had a year left to go. His tribe quickly found him guardians, his mother's sister and her husband, near a sept in Ohio, a stable home of Strider Kinfolk, who taught him a little of the heritage and the trail signs they left each other to communicate as well as giving into his hands the only legacy he had of his mother, her D'siah.

Things at the local sept seemed a little sedate for him and his feet started itching. When the next Strider came through, Michael hooked up for a while, figuring to move in the direction Charlie was headed, after running away, last he heard -- back to Boston. He had a little business to settle up in Boston anyway. His father is still sitting in prison along with most of the Unshriven and probably will be there until he dies, so he has no one in Boston except Charlie and she's god knows where. Luckily, the name McCaskill has some juice in South Boston still, and it's as good a place to start as any. Also, there are Fianna in the area -- and he has a missive for them from the caern in Cleveland. He might be related to some of the local kinfolk, it's hard to tell. That, of course, would be awkward, as he was put into his mother's tribe. On the other hand, the rule for inter-tribal Garou-kinfolk mating is that the offspring is the tribe of the Garou parent. So it's clearcut that Michael would never be Fianna.

Appearance:

Looks that would let him pass as native anywhere from Andalusia to Marrakesh to Cairo to Tel Aviv to Palermo to Miami from his mother, blue eyes from his father, Michael is an 18 year old with pretty boy potential though he is rather guarded in his demeanor, more likely to watch than talk. He has a lean endurance runner's build, long, flat athlete's muscle, rather than body-building bulk. Fully clothed, he doesn't particularly stand out, which is an advantage in many ways. He can't afford better clothes than some off-brand jeans, some off-brand running shoes and a hoodie and doesn't bother with more. He prefers durable, cheap and easily acquired, not to mention things that make a fellow blend in. His clothing is washed, but well-worn in. In the summertime, he strips the hoodie and wears a t-shirt. In Crinos, he has the look of the Striders stamped all over him, longer and leaner in Crinos, with much softer fur, though a bit of the mixing shows in the ruddy gleam of his fur; it's not entirely black. Similarly, his hair is wiry stuff in homid, but with a brush of the ginger.

Equipment:

About fifty bucks to get by with, his clothing, a good backpack with assorted minor stuff and a fang dagger, a fetish-knife carved from some sort of tooth that is impossibly large to match up to anything still in existence, and engraved with ancient Strider runes. The grip is rawhide and the weapon is bound with a crocodile spirit. He travels light and is used to sleeping on the streets or out under the stars. Not having a bank account never bothered him. After the Henry Watkins thing, he stopped fucking with guns; he has a fang dagger, his teeth and his claws.

[Fallen Muse]

All apps so far are approved

[Navy_Vet]

Name: Tosh
Generation: 9
Clan: Gangrel
Disciplines: Animalism, Protean, & Fortitude

Turned in the early 1600's

Personality: Tosh is very independent, having grown up an orphan he was forced to fend for himself from an early age. He prefers quiet dark areas and does not associate with humans or others of his kind unless it is for monetary reasons. He gets his thrills from the hunt of information as he likes to call it, which is just a nice way of saying he likes to eavesdrop and listen to conversations. He is socially awkward among his peers and tends to always retreat to a corner of the room when available. He tends to always carry a foul odor due to so much time spent underground in sewer tunnels. His clothes are usually a patchwork of whatever items wash through the storm drain. Most people that meet tend to perceive him as cold, callous, and uncaring; and they would be absolutely right. Unless the situation affects him directly Tosh will stay out of it unless there's a way to make a profit from it. He has used his wealth over the years to start a coin collection which began in the sewers of London several hundred years earlier. His weakness is feeding on drunk humans in an attempt to feel drunk himself though it never seems to work out quite right.

Biography: Tosh was an orphan boy in London, to survive he became a tosher. Basically someone who went through the sewers looking for dropped coins, jewelry etc. He made a decent living but eventually became more comfortable mucking about in the sewers with the rats than he did with the humans above him. As he grew older he acquired a taste for ale and spent the majority of what little income he made on booze. One evening as he was walking through the rough side of London, a beastly looking man appeared in front of him. Dressed in animal skins, Tosh almost swore the man was an animal himself. He turned to run from the man and the man impossibly quick was in front of him. Tosh threw his nearly empty bottle of wine at the beast and slid quickly into the sewers. Having toshed there for years he knew his way about them like the back of his hand. He was able to avoid the man for awhile but eventually once more the man appeared in front of him. The Beast smiled and thanked him for the pleasure of the hunt. Tosh was confused at the remark and was about to reply when the man bit him. He awoke later in the sewers alone, but he felt different, slowly things began to change for him. He realized he became a vampire.

After his embrace his sire had left him alone in the sewers to survive the first few days on his own. They were traumatic and difficult days but through sheer willpower he overcame them. Unknowingly his sire had been watching him from the shadows to see if he was worthy enough to be trained. Tosh slowly earned his master’s trust and began his rigorous training. His sire went by the nickname of Bear, whether he had another name Tosh did not know. Bear taught him not only to control the beast but how to use it.
Over time Tosh saw less and less of Bear, Tosh returned to the sewers where he was comfortable and lived there peacefully for a short time. His acute sense of hearing and the echoes of the sounds in the sewer tunnels gave Tosh the ability to collect information discretely. He began to spy on rival storekeepers earning coins for insider information. His reputation of an informant began to grow until one day a gang decided to flush him out of the sewers once and for all. He was cornered in a dead when he gave way to the beast but this time was different, he had a searing pain in his eyes and hands as he gave way to the blood lust in those dark tunnels, afterwards when he saw his reflection his eyes had become more rounded and black, and his fingers began to turn more claw like.

He fled to Paris where he once again lived in the sewers. This period of his life would always be remembered as his learning stage. He learned a lot by hiding near the university campuses and became quite educated, but deep down at heart Tosh was still a rat. The years spent in Paris were bloody, there were several revolutions, that he had sold information to both sides just to make a few extra coins. He didn’t really care for humans much other than for feeding on when necessary.
After the violence of the French Revolutions died down, there was no longer an opportunity to make money there so once more Tosh traveled. Eventually he made his way to New York City and then to Boston making his home once again in the sewers below the city.

The years have not been kind to Tosh, most vampires remain somewhat ageless; but due to his rat-like nature and Gangrel behaviors he has turned more and more into his fellow sewer companions. It is even rumored that Tosh can turn himself into a rat at will.

Due to his solitary personality Tosh tends to leave most everyone alone including members of the Camarilla and Sabat. His only dealings with them have only been for monetary purposes. Each side knows that his services go to the highest bidder but sadly that is a risk that is acceptable. Because whether or not Tosh sells you out, his information has always been accurate.

Appearance:

Appearance

[K-97]

Ahh good all WoD, I'll put up a Cs.

[idlehands]

Name: Jocasta Ochoa

Breed: homid

Auspice: Ragabash

Tribe: Black Furies

Rank: Rank 2

Gifts:rank 1: Spirit Smuggler (Black Furies, Sisterhood), Open Seal (Ragabash), Climb Like an Ape/City Running (homid); rank 2: Taking the Forgotten (Ragabash), Curse of Aeolus (Black Furies)

Personality: Jocasta is rather lighthearted and facetious compared to most of her more stoic sisters but when it comes to doing her job, she takes it serious, even if it does not appear so on the surface. Unlike the elders of her tribe, she does not generally have issue with men and will work with them though they are often targets for her barbed tongue. She has a playful nature, her humor encompassing silliness to dark, whatever the situation calls for. As a ragabash, she often tries to calm the hotter tempers of her kin with jokes, even self deprecating, whatever distraction it takes to ease the tension.

She has a contrary nature, a joker, a thief, a manipulator. Jocasta is skilled in the art of stealth but not as much as one born in the waning of the New Moon. She is no warrior and it takes much to anger her but when she is confronted with the enemy and those she cares for are threatened, she will kill ruthlessly. Her strengths lie in deception and trickery, in disguise and stealth.

Biography: Jocasta is a homid, born to a homid mother and a human father though she does not ask questions about him. Males play no part in raising their children in the tribe of the Black Furies and what she knows of him was that he was a fine specimen of a human male and that is about it. Her mother, Atalanta, is an honored and feared Ahroun and she wanted the same for her only Garou offspring but alas, Jocasta was born in the dark of the moon. They are both members of the kuklos Sisterhood and live in a small rural sept in deep South Texas, near the Rio Grande.

She is twenty six years old, having achieved some notable assassinations of vampire leaders in their masquerade as cartel drug dealers in Mexico as well as handling the deaths of some rather nasty characters who were trafficking women and children for the sex trade. Like the other Black Furies, she takes issue with abusers, especially those that target females. She has also recovered lost fetishes and assisted in hunts for lost cairns. She has been asked to become a Freebooter, hunters of relics and may leave the Sisterhood. A trickster thief by nature, she has stolen from some of the most dangerous criminals and escaped without their notice, utilizing mouse's gift of the forgotten.

In her right of passage, she was gifted with visits of the raccoon spirit and that of the coyote. She accomplished the mission that was set before her, to steal back a stolen fetish of the Gorgons and was granted adult status among the Black Furies. She still was unsure of her place among the brave, honorable women warriors, especially in the shadow of her mother. It took her years of fighting her true nature and accepting her role in the pack but once she did, Jocasta bloomed into a formidable Fury.

At age twenty, she met a human male who she fell in love with, running off with him in a wild, tempestuous affair that ended with her pregnant and she left heartbroken, the young man unable to cope with the idea of a child. Jocasta could have easily tracked him down but decided it was best that he was not in the picture anymore since he would not be allowed a role in raising the child. She went back home, bitter, sad and clinging to the hope of her unborn child. She prayed to Gaia for a daughter, so that she might keep the child but delivered a pair of twin boys. They were taken from her soon after birth and the rumor was Jocasta had been infected by the Metamorphic Wyld Plague since male births were supposed to be more rare among their tribe. Whatever the reason, the Black Furies do not allow homid males to stay and they were taken in by the Children of Gaia, a peaceful tribe who had good terms with the Furies. She had argued against it but lost in the face of the elders who kept the old ways.

Always one to pick the side of the underdog, she found herself defending a young Metis male, who was on the verge of being thrown out of the sept for fighting, unable to control his wild mood swings. He is seven years younger than she but took to following her around everywhere and she took on a maternal role for the boy. She adopted him, jokingly referring to him as her ‘son’ and calls him Eddie, short for Oedipus, a play on her own name which is the same as the mother in the myth and just to piss off the elder matriarchs by mocking the serious issue of inbreeding among the Garou.

Eddie is her muscle, she is the stealth and the brains. He is not the brightest, suffering from learning disabilities and mental issues. Usually easy going and affable, he does can have violent mood swings and it is hard for him to concentrate anything more than the simplest tasks. When he reverts to human form, he stands about 6’4 and is brick wall solid. His thick dark hair worn long and loose and has excessive body hair. He is nineteen but could pass for someone nearly ten years older with his heavy brooding features. Despite his fearsome appearance his green eyes are clear and have a look of innocence to them. He enjoys being in his Crinos form, as he feels it is natural state but living where he must interact with humans he is forced to revert to his homid state. He was taken in by the Black Furies as a child from his birth tribe, the Red Talons who are notorious for their poor treatment of Metis.

She is often called on for scouting missions and those involving the taking of a particular item. Skilled at disappearing and confusing the enemy and getting into places she should not be, she delights in stealing, sometimes just for the joy of getting away with it. More comfortable in an urban setting and working with males than most Black Furies, she is deployed often to cities where her skill would be needed.

Equiptment: A satchel containing the tools of her trade, including gloves, lock picks, pliers, etc; a pouch of loose tobacco and rolling papers; a zippo lighter; smartphone, brass knuckles, and a Glock 30S .45 APC, fetish weapon: An ancient Greek designed sword that has been in her family for a long time.

Falcata

Appearance: Jocasta is about 5'4'' with an average build, neither overtly muscular nor soft. Her blend of Greek and Hispanic blood has given her light olive skin, black hair and warm brown eyes. A smile teases the corners of her mouth more often than not, showing the hint of dimples in her cheeks.

Jocasta

Crinos Form

(let me know if I need to make changes, as I'm unfamiliar with the original RP and I haven't made a proper CS quite a while)

[Fallen Muse]

Name: Cecilia Torhild

Breed: Homid

Auspice: Ahroun

Tribe: Black Spiral Dancer

Rank: 3rd Rank

Gifts: (3 gifts at rank 1, 5 at rank 2)
Rank 1:
+ Toxic Claws
+ Rat head
+ Sense Wyrm
+ Resist Pain

Rank 2:
+ Wyrm Hide
+ Sprint in Shadow
+ Ears of the bat

Rank 3:
+ Wind Claws
+ Blue Breath

Personality: Cecilia is a being of pure, unadulterated evil. Those that have crossed her path know full well the depths of cruelty and subsequent depravity that often follows such a mentality. Those that survive are often times considered less fortunate than those who have died, for she will continue to scar and haunt them for the rest of their days, her continues and ruthless nature in all things even extending to the nightmares and fears that are left behind after her encounters with those that displease her, or just simply are there and she happens to need to make an example of someone or something, because she can.

Such inspired cruelty and malice for those around her stems from homicidal, sociopath tendencies. More than willing to shift and slaughter, tearing apart entire crowds of enemies and bystanders, and even allies should they make the fatal mistake of ending up between her and whatever she has set her mind to slaughtering in the darkest, most disturbing way possible, Cecilia should not be trifled with, unless one enjoys angering a being that is cruel beyond belief, who's wickedness knows no bounds, is ruthless enough to put to shame any other being in the world of night, and more than ready to charge down the murder of someone or something with an almost unholy fervor.

Crue, wicked, ruthless, homicidal, sociopath

Biography: Madness, corruption, hate, despair. All negative emotions in the minds of many more normal, saner beings. But to the Black Spiral Dancers, mad Garou that have fallen under the sway of the Wyrm, such things are merely another days work. Such is the same for Cecilia Torhild, who has had the, depending on the outlook, fortune or misfortune of being born into such a wild, corrupt lifestyle. The parents in this case are meaningless, for such things would not define the woman. She was raised in the truest sense of a Black Spiral Dancer, in depraved, corrupt violence and scheming that would kill most, lesser beings.

Cecilia did not fail, did not falter, and as she grew into a young woman, relished in the hunt, especially after her first shift into a feral form. Cruel hatred filled her eyes that first night, and her masters knew they had a fine servant to the Wyrm before them. She took glee in kidnapping Garou of other tribes, subjecting them to abstract, unspeakable horrors and breaking them, watching them swear fealty to the Wyrm just to end the pain and suffering she would bring them. But the Garou were not her only targets. Kindred would find themselves at claw and tooth's edge against this vile being, all for her own goals and missions that brought her in conflict with many.

Her human form was deceptive, and allowed her far easier access to hidden secrets and forbidden objects that should be better guarded, but a pretty face and whispered word, no matter how dangerous or false, would get her far enough that tooth and claw would sustain her the rest of the way. She has grown into a powerful, dangerous, and demented member of the Black Spiral Dancers, capable of acts that the most heartless beings might consider too far, or too extreme. But in the end, it all matters not, for so long as she meets the goals and missions within her mind and the Black Spiral Dancers, it is a day well done.

Appearance:

Homid Form

Crinos Form

Equipment: Harley Motorcyle, Sawed off double barreled shotgun, silver Morningstar, 18 pairs of garou ears on a necklace

[Rata Tat Tat]

Planning on getting a CS up for a Garou by tomorrow, just so people are aware.

[Shurikai]

I am also claiming a slot for a wolf. Though Id rather be a cat.

[Fallen Muse]

So far everyone is approved, and all garou slots have been claimed.

[Noxious]

Name Eriko Nishimura
Generation 8th Generation
Clan Ventrue
Disciplines

• Dominate
• Fortitude
• Presence

Personality

Her own mind is a sordid place; shallow emotions (including reduced fear, a lack of empathy, and high stress tolerance), cold heartedness, egocentricity, superficial charm, manipulative, moral ambiguity, a lack of remorse, and a strictly usefulness based gauge of acceptance and respect for others. She is extremely focused and social. She adores leadership, is tactful and goal driven, as most Ventrue are. To see the girl wearing a happy disposition is usually indicative of something malicious playing through her mind. She truly is what the Camarilla seek; even before gaining her disciplines she was mastering them in her own human right. Her small stature has suited her well, ensuring she is almost always underestimated.

Biography

Other kindred talk about their life as a mortal as if it was some bastard at the dinner party. They narrow their eyes and stare down their nose at it; knowing they can’t remove it, yet shoving it away in an irrelevant file of the eons. Maybe it was the time period she came from, maybe it was the culture, but Eriko did not share these feelings. It wasn’t as if she valued humanity, no, she mirrored the majority of the kindred’s feelings in that. She did value her own morality. There was something strangely alluring about morality though and what it did to a species; it made them stronger and it gave them drive, and that was worth value.

Eriko was born in Hakata, Japan. The port town was just awakening to its promise and her father jumped at the chance to monitor the pulse of this growing industry. He and Eriko’s mother, both business minded but weary of sea travel, opened a tavern in which they negotiated trade between arriving/departing merchants and the land based merchants of Japan. In modern times they would say Eriko married young, then there really was no concept of that. Her husband was an adequate merchant managing operations between Shandong and Hakata, lacking the business sense of her parents but making up for it in a true love for Captaining. She couldn’t remember now if she loved him then, but she likes to think they were happy.

The competition was growing in the industry, making it difficult to distinguish themselves and maintain steady client flow. Eriko, who had in everything but title taken over the business management began to wonder down the alluring capitalistic road, long before it had been paved. Your position in life was what you created for yourself; it was with this philosophy that their reign of piracy began. At first they only raided small towns on the coast of China, but soon they had amassed a multitude of ships and an arrogance that did not go unnoticed by the Camarilla.

Her husband spent months away, managing the ships from the deck while Eriko sat in their lavish home; mapping, evaluating, negotiating and recruiting. It was during her husband’s absence when she met Domitius. Being in the sea merchant trade she had met a greater number of foreigners, but none quite so foreign as he. He was alluring, charming and spoke of exotic places, people and things; wooing the girl with her own curiosity and insatiable need to possess. He courted her late in the night when none of her husband’s men were around; whispering great promises.

When her husband returned he was greeted by a changed Eriko. It wasn’t long before her husband, in a drunken stupor, challenged the new Eriko and was put down. She continued to manage the business and raise her 3 children; allowing everyone to believe that her husband was simply traveling. Death was not rare then and it would have been difficult, if not irrelevant, to attempt to blame Eriko for her husband’s loss. She began to collect Ronin and pirates of note; becoming a fierce and shrewd businesswoman, as well as a Captain and warrior. The Ventrue and Domitius were pleased.

While her mortal life seems crystal clear it was her undead life that became a blur of moments, places and faces. She grew bored of her tyranny in the East China Sea, though around what year she can only approximate the 10th Century. She learned that missing sailors were often forgiven in light of her crew’s superiority in battle. They lost few on land and those lost at sea were credited to disease, common accidents and superstition; all of which ran rampant in the field of piracy. She traveled the Northwest Pacific, the Archipelagic Seas, and the Indian Ocean to the Southeast Atlantic. She gained joint stock in the East India Trading Company and had a sizable hand in the exploration and colonization of Africa. She resided in the Cape of Good Hope, long before it acquired its ironic name. She pillaged in the Mediterranean, centuries after the slaughter of Pirates undertaken by the Romans. She saw the Caspian, the Black Sea all the way to Barents and then she traveled to the America’s, almost all the way to Weddell Sea and back up to Bering. She found a true love in the Caribbean which stays true even to this day. A place reminiscent of debauchery and degradation, just the way a pirate would like it.

Throughout all of this the crews were buried and replaced, the boats evolved, the modes of operation evolved, and Eriko evolved as well, though her appearance remained the same. She dabbled in everything from common pillaging to fisheries, logging to slave ships, oil drilling to communication cable laying. The latter two being her current industry of choice. She excels in almost all subjects relating to maritime including: international maritime law, naval history, ship design, ship building, navigation, oceanography, cartography, hydrography and maritime economics and trade; almost as if she lived through it all.

During an extended stay in the Americas she discovered Stephen Bishop. He was cunning, cruel and ambitious in all the right ways and spoke to something deep within herself. She saw what he could become and she was already weary of the Camarilla’s pressure for her to settle down. In a way he was created to be an extension of herself; someone she could live vicariously through, but soon she came to respect the Kindred in his own right as someone whose opinion was not always her own, but was valued none the less. Shortly after Bishop was accepted into the ranks of the Ventrue and the Camarilla Eriko took up the position of Primogen in New Orleans. She enjoyed the city and the anonymity it favored amongst residences. With enough money you could be an Empress, or you could be invisible.

In recent times she has moved to Boston under the order of Camarilla to take up the position of Seneschal, an honor to be sure. Her operations were relocated and she continues to manage a plethora of cargo ships, container ships, tankers and cable layers; though now this is done almost entirely through proxy.

[Fallen Muse]

I was wanting everyone to check in so I know who all is waiting who I need to PM to see if they're still interested etc. Cause I'm only seeing half the CSes of like the people who showed interest.

[idlehands]

You know I'm in.

[Fallen Muse]

Get on IRC Idle!

[Shurikai]

I'm almost done, working on bio right now.

[cider]

Aw, too bad you removed hunters. I'd happily play a ghouling one, as nasty as the prey he hunts. But whatever, here's what's coming instead;

Name: Gareth Allard
Generation: 9th
Clan: Malkavian
Disciplines: Auspex, Obfuscate, Dementation
Personality:

Gareth is obsessive, cunning, unyielding and not a little bit mad. He lives for his job, and his personality accomodates for it. Naturally investigative and curious, smart enough to know not to poke his nose where it doesn't belong yet clearly deranged enough to do so anyway. When Gareth is given a mission - or picks one - he will follow it through no matter what. As determined and brutal as he is in these aspects, as contradictory is other parts of his personality. Gareth is social and witty, laidback in conversations as well as life in general whenever not working.

When he keeps his madness in check, Gareth is an exceptional detective and informant. He knows a lot of stuff and a lot of people, and a lot of stuff about a lot of people. His main hobby in life (death) is indeed his job, and he works with serious tenacity. Gareth has a photographic memory, something he makes use of along with his analytical skills. Gareth doesn't employ a large network of contacts like many others in his business do, but opts to go places and physically finding out stuff himself. He has contacts, of course, just not the numbers one might expect of a man in Gareth's position. He is not beyond using technology, but it's generally just not his forte. It is a common belief amongst people who know him that the only way to keep Gareth "sane" is to keep him working, as his focus seems to at least temporarily overcome his curse.

He acts irratic, and can often be found writing nonsense on walls whenever he has a pen and time in and on his hands. He is impossible to offend, and treats others as if they were the same. He understands nothing of art, but loves it and collects it. Paintings, in particular. He likes plenty of other people, but isn't above killing any of them. Some (most) would call him a sociopath, but Gareth merely views himself as Gareth. He talks and laughs when he wants to talk and laugh, he snuggles and fucks when he wants to snuggle and fuck, and he tortures and kills when he wants to torture and kill.

Speaking of which, Gareth firmly believes that the laws of Camarilla should be upholded no matter what, yet seemingly has tremendous troubles not to break them himself. His mad streaks includes, but are not limited to, an incessant need for torturing and murdering various creatures, preferably Kine or Garou, a very strong need to drink blood no matter how recently he fed, a compulsive repression of his human memories and very, very real nightmares that sometimes occur when he is awake, as if they were visions. Indeed, he believes some of them are. Moreover, he doesn't even dislike Kine nor Garou, he just wants - needs - to brutally murder them.

Biography:

Gareth is the proud proprietor, owner and only employee of Allard's Agency, a private detective firm that isn't actually a private detective firm but rather a room in a deserted office building in the outskirts of Boston, with a homemade sign reading "Allard's Agency" nailed to the door. Since the early 20's, Gareth Allard has been part information broker, part private detective and part hitman in employ of the Camrailla. During later years he has, however, had that hitman "license" revoked by the Camarilla as these murders seemed to ramp up his madness rather than take off the pressure, leading to less than satisfying results. Today, Gareth is the go-to-guy for many of Boston's vampires (assuming they belong to the Camarilla - though he does sometimes help third parties against other third parties) whenever they need information, be it about other Kindred, Kine, companies, history or even themselves. He also undertakes missions of his own, merely in order to satisfy his curiosity, which is never satisfied.

Gareth remembers little of is human life, but he believes he was a math teacher. Or a janitor. Or something else. Likely a murderer or similarly depraved individual as well, or so Gareth has concluded based on his own behaviour. What he does know is that he originally comes from Wyoming, that his father was a dentist and that his mother was not. He also knows he was embraced in 1863, because his now dead sire has told him so.

He has had many dealings and contacts throughout his years in Boston, and had he not been mad and actually cared about power and influence, chances are he would have been a very powerful and influential person by know. Instead, he has often been used by his ungrateful peers - but Gareth simply never gave a fuck. He is popular amongst many Malkavians and have been so for quite some time, and while most vampires would never trust Gareth, they tend to like his antics whether they want to or not. Paradoxically, the orderly Camarilla clans seem to have the most problem with Gareth as a person, yet the most use of him as a professional.

Presently, Gareth Allard is the premiere information broker in Boston, and he has gathered a vast amount of sources throughout the years. If one were to make him an enemy, he would be a very dangerous indeed - but how do you make an enemy out of someone who literally can not be offended?

Appearance

[Fallen Muse]

Due to a influx of interest for Hunters I'm reinstating them.