[CHAR] Vampire: The Masquerade - Scriptures

[Saarebas]

"It all comes so easy to me."

Name
Donovan "Dawn" Sanguina

Age
"Age is merely a number darling."
694

Gender
"I have long since transcended the constraints of such titles."
Changes gender quite frequently, though was born a male

Appearance
Like many members of his clan Dawn is known to change his appearance rather constantly though he does seem to have a preferred appearance when making his identity known to other Kindred. This "favored" appearance is rather androgynous, though he does alter it slightly towards one gender or the other when the situation calls for it. The form has a lanky frame, standing at 6'4" and having a thin body build. His hair is messy, reaching just down below his neck, and dark-red. He has brilliant yellow eyes which have a unsettling gleam in them. His skin, like most Kindred, is deathly pale. What is most unnerving has to be his teeth, which are razor sharp and beast like. His typical attire consists of a black vest over a crimson dress shirt, a black tie, black gloves, a pair of red-framed glasses which are accessorized with a chain with skulls, a black fedora with a deep red ribbon tied around it, and red and black ankle boots.

Generation
11th

Clan
Tzimisce
"Such a harsh title is lent to me and my ilk. Fiends they call us, but I assure you we are no more damned than other Kindred. We merely accept the gift of unlife with stride."

Disciplines
Vicissitude

Koldunism

Animalism

History
Donovan Sanguina was born over half a millennia ago into a small village nestled in eastern Europe. Donovan was the eldest child of one of the noble families of the town, his father being a highly respected merchant within the community. Ever since a young age Donovan had a fascination with the inner functions of the human body. His family's wealth allowed him to pursue his scholarly passions with virtually no hindrance, his father employing some of the brightest professors of the time to the sole purpose of the instruction of Donovan. His family's high place in society forced Donovan to become accustom of such social activities as masquerade balls and family rivalries, though they never interested the young lad.

Through years of study Donovan was able to escape the monotonous life of high society by becoming a physician. The young man traveled from town to town preforming grand medical feats, from curing ailments that plagued whole villages to preforming life saving surgeries. He built up such a renowned reputation that when the Black Death eventually appeared in Europe that he was highly sought after to become a Plague Doctor. For years Donovan studied victims of the dreaded Black Death in order to better understand the disease, but the more the physician studied the plague the more impressed he became with how it wrecked havoc on the human body. It eventually got to the point that Donovan would secretly infect people with the Black Death just so he could watch them succumb to the illness. Eventually his actions were noticed, but by someone who shared his views, someone who admired the young man's passions. This kindred spirit was a Cainite by the name of Thyia who was of the Tzimisce clan. The Kindred was so impressed with Donovan's mastery over the human form that she offered him the chance to improve it past any mortal understanding, Donovan accepted and began his unlife anew with his Sire.

Donovan and Thyia spent lifetimes in each others company, traversing the world and indulging in all the pleasantries allowed to the damned. Alas this time of enjoyment came to a rather vicious end when Sire and Childe had a falling out, over what is a well guarded secret that is only known to the two of them. At this point Donovan, or rather Dawn, had cut a quite the quaint little corner for himself in this world of darkness. He eventually entered the employ of Prince Cranston as an advisor, more particularly on matters involving the Sabbat as Dawn has quite the understanding of the group's inner works and tactics. There are many in the Camarilla that view Dawn with a mixture of hatred and fear do to rumors of him being a Sabbat agent as well as the horror stories that are told about members of his clan.

Personality
Dawn on the surface is a sensual individual, almost on par of that of a Toreador. He has a fascination with the body, breaking what would normally be considered personal space boundaries with little thought in order to "examine fascinating subjects" as he puts it. He is a scholarly soul who constantly seeks out new information even if it means performing dastardly deeds in order to gain the knowledge. Dawn apprentices art in all of it forms, but majorly body modification. He has quite the wit, most of what Dawn says is some sort of sarcastic or smart mouth quip. But Dawn's true nature is much more sinister. He truly enjoys his undead state, he revels in his power, and he loves manipulating both Kine and Kindred alike, both mentally and physically. Dawn loves over powering others and subjecting them to his twisted will and his monstrous experiments. When angered Dawn is truly the embodiment of all the horror stories that spoken of his clan, committing heinous acts that would unsettle the coldest of Kindred just to get back at those who offended him.

[Subject Zero]

Raven Brooke

Name:
Raven Brooke

Age:
535

Gender:
Female

Appearance:


Generation:
11th

Clan:
Gangrel

Disciplines:
Animalism
Fortitude
Protean

History:

Forevermore

Born in London, England in 1485, Raven had the good fortune of being born into a relatively wealthy family. She never wanted for anything. She had good food, a large home, fine jewels and invites to all of the most elegant dances...And it was all so incredibly boring.

Raven hated it. All the fake smiles, the catty women and obnoxious men. The rigid rules of manners and etiquette. And the corsets. Oh the corsets! What kind of civilized society would force a woman to wear just a painful contraption? Raven felt like she was suffocating. Not only because of the bloody corset but also because of her entire life. Always being forced to be so prim and proper. Elegant and dainty. She secretly wanted to run away from it all. To run free. She secretly wanted to batter each and every one of these insufferable brats she was forced to socialize with over the head with Mr Jenson's cane. But that was just a fantasy. She was destined to spend the rest of her life with these people she secretly hated. Her life was all planned out for her. She would one day be married off to one of the boorish pigs her father worked with, pop out a couple of loathsome little brats and spend the rest of her days silently resenting the fact that she had never actually lived until she finally shuffled off this mortal coil. It was a bleak view of the future but the only one Raven could see. At least until she met Gabriella.

When Raven could no longer bare the fake smiles and pleasantries of yet another social function that she had been forced to attend, she fled into the garden. She kicked off her shoes, relishing the feel of grass beneath her feet as she casually strolled towards the treeline marking the boundary of the estate. Slowly, the world around Raven started to quiet. Raven found her attention drawn to the treeline. There was a woman. The most beautiful woman Raven had ever seen. Like a dream, she emerged from the trees. She was like a wild animal. Feet caked in mud. A wild mane of hair. Flawless dark skin and a glint in her eye that was at once soothing and menacing. Raven felt an urge to run. To flee for her life. To escape this woman and her almost predatory stare. And yet she couldn't move. Her feet felt like they were rooted to the ground. She had locked eyes with this mysterious woman and sealed her fate. She couldn't look away. Awe and terror set into her heart as the woman grew closer. Closer still. Until their faces were practically touching. Raven almost resigned herself to the fact that her existence was about to end. But then she heard the woman whisper...

"Don't worry. I'm going to save you."

All at once, the fear and sadness left Raven's heart. The woman smiled and Raven smiled back. She didn't even react as the woman, in the blink of an eye, sank her teeth into her neck. She just kept smiling. Somehow, inexplicably, Raven knew that everything was going to be alright. She knew that things were going to change. She knew that she would be happy. As the world began to darken and Raven slipped into unconsciousness, she smiled.

Raven awoke several days later under a starlit sky. The mysterious woman lay next to her. The two shared a moment of silence as they lay in the middle of a forest, watching the stars above. When the woman finally spoke, she introduced herself as Gabriella. She explained to Raven what had happened. That she was now stronger, faster...Free. Raven didn't even care that she was technically dead. She was free. Free from the confines of societal niceties. Free from constraints of a mortal body. And free from that bloody corset. She was finally...free.

Raven had always felt the need to run free. Now it was a far more literal need. Adrenaline surged through her body. She was filled with a need to hunt. To eat. Gabriella, over the next few years, taught Raven all about her new life. How to hunt and feet without being caught or revealing their existence to the mortals. How to communicate with the animals and even how to become animals. Gabriella also taught Raven about the Camarilla. Raven wanted nothing to do with the Camarilla. She saw them as just another face for that society that had restrained her for so long. But Gabriella knew the value of staying connected and having powerful allies so both women maintained ties to not only their own clan but also to others. For centuries, Gabriella and Raven ran free. They always lived on the edges of society, never venturing too far into the city but they also wouldn't risk moving too far into the wild for fear of running afoul of the lycanthropes. Gabriella also taught Raven to embrace her wild side while also maintaining her humanity. Though Raven has come close to fully embracing her inner beast, Gabriella was always there to pull her back to humanity...Until she wasn't.

One day, out of the blue, Gabriella was simply gone. No word of explanation. No sign that it was even coming. She was simply gone. And Raven was alone. Painfully alone. Raven spent decades searching for her missing sire with no success. She had always been a talented hunter but it seemed the one target she couldn't track was Gabriella. And so Raven eventually, reluctantly, gave up searching.

After Gabriella's disappearance, Raven found herself slowly moving further into the city where she found that she could use her skills just as well. While she didn't like the city as much as the open wilderness, it did have its charms. She found that she was a skilled thief and would often use her skills to steal from the homes of the wealthy and often acted as a fence for other thieves. What she did with the money she received for selling her stolen wares was a mystery to everyone. She didn't own an expensive home or cars or flash money in any way. She seemed to simply put it aside for some unknown reason.

It was during this time that Raven came to the attention of Nicholas Cranston who would often put her skills as a tracker and thief to use whenever he needed to find someone or something. Raven didn't much care for Cranston but he paid well. So she kept her distance but also kept in touch and over the years she has became one his top agents, albeit an elusive and mysterious one.

Raven continues to linger on the fringes of society. A notable but mysterious presence.

Personality: Alluring and mysterious, Raven is often quiet and standoffish. She is by no means shy but rather likes to observe before interacting. She at times seems more like an animal than a person with an almost predatory glint in her eyes and when angered can sometimes be heard growling. Of course she will often take on personality traits of the animals on which she feeds which can lead to her being somewhat unpredictable in terms of personality. In general though, Raven has become far more moody than she once was. Something that can perhaps be attributed to the loss of her sire.

[Lady Absinthia]

Veta Norton

Name: Veta Norton
Age: 298
Gender: Female
Appearance:


Generation: 12th
Clan: Tremere
Disciplines: Auspex, Dominate, Thaumaturgy

History: Veta came to her life as a vampire under odd circumstances when she was in her early second decade of life living on the outskirts of London. In the middle of the night several mobs had broken out within the city and Veta stayed behind the mental safety of her home walls waiting it out.

A cloaked figure broke its way into her home and quickly over powered her, cupping his hand over her mouth to keep her silent. Unlike others that might have fought she simply nodded and took note of a bleeding wound on the mans exposed chest.

The man's name was Grandal, a Lord in the House Tremere. He was weak but dared not reveal what he was in case Veta chose to scream or try to fight. It took some coaxing but her kind nature eventually led him to release her as he head the mob come close. He thought this was the end but a quick ruse by Veta drove the mob away from her doors and she tended to him, keeping him hidden for the night and until the following Sun set.

He was set to leave, having been tended to by the gentle Veta and had told himself her life would repay the one he had given her. To his surprise she refused to let him leave, knowing he was what he was. This intrigued him. Why would a mortal help and not be fearful? She was not under his spell, he had not drunk from her. Her will was her own.

The only thing she wanted in payment was help to leave the city to settle elsewhere and for some reason he could not refuse her. Taking her along with him and together they traveled together for the next several years. Until one night when Veta became ill with plague and neared death.

So much kindness he had received from Veta over the years, he could not stand to see her perish from such a mortal thing. The evening embracing her finally and so starting her life as a Tremere.

Since then she has traveled and worked for Grandal, ever learning and honing her skills, especially those of blood magic. Quickly rising in the ranks of House Treme despite her generation and age. Even with the rise of Rank to Lady, her name is relatively unknown, keeping more of her work signed by her Sire.

Personality: Veta might be what you call a kind and social vampire, still holding on to much of the humanity and caring soul she had during her mortal life. This however does not mean she is a push over, she is bold and undaunting in her tasks and honing of her skills. Ever training and researching when not out on task or the hunt. She is loyal to her clan above all else but her mingling with other clans and friendships she had built over the centuries make even her elders nervous at times but this does not bother Veta. She will do what she wants, when she wants and has learned as long as she keeps certain foot steps in line she can get away with much of whatever she pleases.

[murdoc]

Reginald Marlowe

Reginald “Reggie” Marlowe

Age: 134 (Embraced in 1919, aged 36.)
Gender: Male
Appearance:

Hider

Standing at a solid 6’1”, and weighing in at around 180 pounds, it’s safe to say that Reggie cuts a pretty intimidating figure. This stature of his is something he often uses to his advantage when dealing with others, and the effect is magnified by a smattering of tattoos all across his skin. Just get a look at him without his shirt. Each has meaning, and can be explained if asked, but whether he’d grace you with an answer or bash your face in is a whole ‘nother matter. There are a few that he’s particularly fond of, however. The words “LOVE” and “HATE” are tattooed across his knuckles (a massive fucking cliché, but what’re you gonna do?), half-sleeves of dragons and women, a Union Jack over his left pectoral (sentimental nonsense, really), a small, black crown on the side of his right hand, and finally, twin pistols crossed at the small of his back.

Reggie’s eyes are a pale, washed-out blue, nearly grey, in fact, and he often bares his crooked teeth in a too-wide grin. He’d almost be handsome in a gruff sort of way, if you could actually see his face underneath that beard of his. Not that he’d ever cared much about his appearance, anyway. All the same, his fingers are often decorated with stolen rings - gold, mostly, though he isn’t prejudiced against other precious metals. His dressing style can best be described as “non-committal”, in that he just throws on whatever he manages to excavate from his disaster zone of a closet. Most of the time, it’s t-shirts, flannels, and ratty, old jeans, though he isn’t against dressing nice, every once in awhile.

Generation: 13th
Clan: Brujah
Disciplines: Presence, Potence, Celerity

History: Edward “Ned” Marlowe was the only person Reggie could look up to as a child. His mum wasn’t the best person to have around. She was there - but barely. Always had this faraway look in her eyes as she puffed away on an opium pipe all the livelong day. And Ned, of course, Ned couldn’t care less. His girl was content, high as a kite, and Ned was too busy working at the factory to pay for their crummy apartment in East End. Back then, Reggie’d follow Ned to work. He’d follow Ned around London. He’d have followed Ned to the ends of the Earth if it meant being alongside his father.

The people who accused his father of being a deadbeat loser were a pack of stupid gits who could take their shit for brains elsewhere. Ned was a good father, even if he spent most of his off days hanging around bars, leaving with some slag, forgetting that his son was still waiting outside. Ned was a good dad, even if sometimes, when he got really drunk, he’d hit him. He was a real good parent, if you could look past the fact that he wasn’t much of a parent at all.

But Reggie felt that Ned was enough, and that was all that mattered. He had a father, a mother, and a roof over his head. What else could he want? There were people all over the world who had a hell of a lot less. Ever since he was a lad, Reggie knew that he had to count his blessings each night and say a quick prayer to whoever it was that listened, if anybody at all.

By the time he’d gone and turned fourteen, Reggie found out about something; he had a memory that’d put a bloody elephant to shame. Hyperthymesia, it was called, a name that would only pop up decades later - a condition where a person remembered an abnormally vast amount of their life experiences, and Reggie utilized it to the best of his abilities. He was smart. Unable to forget; able to remember everything - the ace in the hole for any street gang looking to make it big.

And that was when Reggie, barely grown into his limbs, found one.

No name to them, not even a symbol to set them apart. Just a group of kids, looking to make it big.

It started out with petty thievery, nothing too dire. The last thing they needed was the coppers on their ass. In time, however, they moved on to more daring jobs, and that gave Reggie and his pals the money they needed to really get started.

Soon enough, the sprawling spiderweb that was Reggie’s empire began to weave its way through East London. It was a slow process; one that took nearly a decade to build, and another to solidify, but God, was it worth it. Plenty of older groups thought that they were encroaching on territory that’d been claimed decades ago, but Reggie was undeterred. He’d had seen countless good friends get gunned down in showdowns between rivals. But at the same time, they spilled their fair share of blood in the streets; ridding the world of their enemies.

Things could only go up from there.

And for years, that’s how it went. Up, up, up. They needed to expand their territory, really push their borders outwards; something they accomplished with gang fights that stained the streets with blood. Reggie told himself that in the whole scheme of things, these sporadic explosions of violence were nothing. If they truly wanted to make it into the big leagues, what were a couple of casualties on the way there? For the first time, Reggie truly felt like he had found his place in the world, like he could tackle anything that came at him.

...Not that he had much time to savour the moment.

They’d come for him before he could seek them out. Reginald Marlowe - crimelord of East End - so caught up with the success of their recent foray into bootlegging, was caught off guard. A man dressed entirely in black had attacked him on the walk to the distillery, the pointed toes of his Italian leather shoes digging into his ribs. He’d fought back, but what good was it? The stranger seemed to have the strength of ten, no, twenty men. Maybe he’d beat him to death. Maybe this was how his story ended, the story of a man whose ambition got the better of him.

Whatever he imagined might happen, however, Reggie soon learned that he was meant for a different path. A bag was thrown over his head and he was hurled, kicking and screaming, into a car.

He’d thought they’d kill him after that, too. When he saw a bright light and found himself tied to a chair, taking in his surroundings to be a warehouse. A man stood in front of him, with eyes like ice. He’d introduced himself and promised Reggie that their time together could either be painless, or the exact opposite. It all depended on him.

That day, he learned of the Camarilla. Of its reach. Of its existence and its ways. That day, they would either exterminate him or induct him into his ranks.

A choice. Accept the offer, or watch everything he’d work so hard for crumble to dust? It was obvious, at least it seemed to be, at the time.

Reggie died that night, but it only served to free him from that dreaded mortal coil. He wasn’t the clan’s best, but if they wanted a job done, and they wanted it done right, they trusted him with it. He had the connections. He was strong where they couldn’t be. He was willing to make the decisions that nobody else could. He was intellectual, but equally bestial if need be. He was everything and nothing. A ghost at sunrise, and a phantom at nightfall. He stood among gamblers and killers and sadists and could only grin wildly at how far he’d come.

Since then, he’s been part of the Brujah, handling the more criminal part of their operations. Sure, it’s not the most glamourous of jobs, and frequent changes in identity are bread and butter, but he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Personality: To those with a discerning eye, Reginald Marlowe might seem a little off his rocker. While his levels of crazy are nowhere near close to those of Malkavians, the black streak in him is unmistakable. Needless to say, he is an extremely passionate, and emotional person. When he truly takes interest in something (or someone), he puts all of himself into it, and momentarily forgets about everything else.

One of Reggie’s defining traits is his volatility. To say that he has a bad temper - well, that’d probably be the understatement of the century. When he gets angry, he yells. When someone disobeys or frustrates him, he either puts a gun in their face, or breaks their jaw. For Reggie, violence is always the answer. Even when he talks, his speech is flavoured with language vulgar and graphic enough to make a sailor blush. He was raised Cockney, after all.

Interestingly, while he has a rather obnoxious habit of grandstanding, he has very little tolerance of it in others. Reggie frequently admonishes others to get to the point. It’s a powerfully controlling behaviour, subtly belittling others for wanting to make an impression, and gaining him back control of the situation. But whatever one might be led to believe, Reggie is a Brujah, through and through. With a keen wit, a penchant for absurdism, and a horrifyingly macabre streak, you get the sense that Reggie always has a snicker hidden at the corner of his mouth, even if everyone around him is a little afraid to join in.

[Grimoire Gaming]

Peridot Hayashi

Name: Peridot ‘Peri’ Hayashi
Age: 54 (embraced at age 20 in 1983)
Gender: Female
Appearance:


Generation: 12th
Clan: Toreador
Disciplines: Auspex, Celerity, Presence

History: Peridot is a second generation Japanese-American, born in the summer of 1963. The Hayashi’s moved to the states with little to nothing and built their family wealth through good old fashioned hard work. Peridot’s parents wanted the best for their little girl and pushed for her to participate in as many extra-curricular activities as she could, on top of keeping high marks in school. Peri took a particular liking to martial arts and dance. As a teenager, Peridot combined her two passions in her recitals, dancing with weapons as if she were in an elegant battle on the stage. It was during one such show that Peri caught the eye of her Toreador sire. Toreadors are known for their obsessions with beauty and art, and her sire was no different, insisting Peri’s instructor that he must meet the ‘Asian dancer’.

Peridot was 19 years old when Roman first started attending her shows. At first, his attention put her off, but eventually they grew to become quite close. Roman would request that she dance for him and him alone, little did she know that his use of presence left her no choice but to entertain him, despite her lack of interest in men. Eventually, Roman offered her a gift: admission to his ‘family’ that was always recruiting young talent. Reluctantly, Peri agreed to her own embrace, not realizing that this change would cause her to sever ties with her family to uphold the masquerade.

The loss of her connection to her parents and siblings left Peri feeling empty for many years, but she eventually took to being a Toreador like a horse to water. Torries like to keep close to the human world, and as such, Peri kept dancing and even opened up a school to instruct young humans in the art. And Roman, well, Roman quickly grew bored of his childe and moved onto another pretty thing a few years after embracing Peridot. Peri harbors no ill will towards him, however, as that is just the Toreador way.

With a background in martial arts, Peridot has been able to easily defend herself against supernatural aggressors and makes good use of auspex and celerity while fighting primarily with a katana. Despite her young age and generation, Peridot’s skills were noticed by the higher ranking Toreadors and propelled her into becoming one of the Agents of Cranston.

Personality: Like most Torries, Peridot is lovely and seductive, but a slave to her artistic vision, feeling like she can never truly perfect her dancing (a word that she also uses to describe her sword fighting). Peri is easily distracted by beauty, be it in art or in a person, and although she was strictly a lesbian as a human, her embrace lead her to find beauty and love regardless of gender. Peridot walks a thin line in terms of humanity, one bad choice can send her into a frenzy, and one good choice has her feeling like a saint. One thing is for sure, though, don’t call her a Kuei-jin!

[Major Ursa]

Antares

Name: Antares
Age: 500+ (Though he forgot his own birthday, date and year he was turned)
Gender: Male
Appearance: White albino hair with light pale pink eyes, handsome, standing six feet. His hair has been grown out, mainly because he ‘keeps forgetting to get it cut’. He tends to pin it up in a man bun and go for the more reserved office worker sort of look, when his mentality is more stable.

Generation: 11
Clan: Malkavian
Disciplines:
Dementation
Obfuscate
Auspex
History: Anything more than a hundred years back is too fuzzy to recall. His most recent fond memories involve moving in with a young female blood doll of a friend and, oh, and meeting the druggie who believed he was turning into a ‘fucking cheese sandwich’. Life is magical. His current work in the city is to make sure certain vampire activity goes largely ‘unnoticed’ by the human population, keep the ignorant human population from important vampire activity unless otherwise notified.
Personality: At his worse, memory problems as part of his derangement, and any sort of speaking with him usually leads to be talked around in confusing circles. Don’t even get started about the few occasions in which he regresses back into a child, just, don’t.
At his best, he’s more of a normal individual. Compulsively normal, even, and a little bit OCD in odd ways. He’s sympathetic when discussing things of importance to an individual, but a bit oblivious when it comes to whole scenarios…his memories don’t usually go back more than a hundred years, but even then, there are gaps...

[AtlasRedfox]

Ignore.