Fallen Muse

World of Darkness (Boston)

Kaylan you're accepted

World of Darkness (Boston)

if anyone needs to talk. I'm on the RPG IRC

World of Darkness (Boston)

Roadrash and Justric you both meet approval with the modification i mentioned for you Roadrash. Wonderful background stories. I really like the way you captured the horror aspect from a human point of view in your backstory Justric.

World of Darkness (Boston)

Hunters this is purely for you. It was brought to my attention and it’s partly my fault for overlooking it. Your knowledge of the supernatural creatures of this lore will naturally be limited. You don’t know about septs, tribes, clans, factions etc. You will just know “vampires” “werewolves” “ghosts” etc. Now I’m not saying you CAN’T Learn of it in some way through detective work interrogation etc. Now that being said I have something else on the subject of knowledge. You aren’t reckoning hunters. So your eyes aren’t opened to the world of the supernatural around you. You gotta do hard nosed detective work to figure stuff out ask questions look for clues break into former crime scenes snag police reports etc watch the new. Things like that. When you see a vampire unless they are actively acting like a vampire you’re probably just gonna think it’s another person unless they have physical traits that are obviously not human. The same goes for Garou. Unless they aren’t in homid form you probably won’t know they’re not a human unless they’re like a metis or something. That doesn’t mean you can’t connect dots etc to figure it out, but you won’t just know. Places of power and caerns, and vampire hideouts you won’t be able to tell them from a hole in the wall unless it’s just pretty obvious. You’re human you have obstacles to overcome so overcome them. Frankly I think that’s what makes the hunters so cool. You overcome things by the sheer tenacity of your own will rather than the fancy powers that others have. Be badass I wanna see some dick tracys in this muthafucka.

@ Roadrash that all said and done. Your going to warn garou of your benign intentions or your knowledge of their not really wanting to fuck with hunters isn't really practical. I'm not asking to change anything major about your character. Just that knowledge of those actions when you arrive at cities wouldn't really make sense. You're a hunter you're still gonna be against garou. They're not humans and they "pose a threat' to humanity. Now not saying you have to be hateful towards them or go out of your way to find them at all. Just saying that your knowledge of the way they act or where they stay is limited.

World of Darkness (Boston)

Okay, so you want my verdict on this. Now I have to be fair on both ends of this, but at the same time Hunters are vastly underpowered as it stands (since you are not reckoning hunters) therefore I am going to give you a little bit of edge (not the reckoning power edge)

1. Hunters are not affect by delirium of a single garou in crinos form
2. Hunters in groups equal to or more than the amount of garou in crinos form are not affected by delirium
3. If the amount of garou in crinos form are more than the group of hunters then the hunters are affected by the delirium, but not in a way that makes them forget what happened. They will likely flee in terror, though if you wanna go the extra mile while roleplaying your character and have them shit their pants and pass out you can do that too.

Now that being SAID I HIGHLY HIGHLY suggest anyone playing a hunter to talk to others playing hunters. Plan on grouping up etc. Being a hunter by yourself in this world is just horribly dumb. Just about everything can kill you easier than you can unzip your pants

Sound good? Sounds good to me! Issue resolved.

World of Darkness (Boston)

Idle, Due tot he almost NPC nature of the sabbat you are making. This is one approved lol

@EVERYONE the IC has started.

World of Darkness (Boston)

Ellri you're approved.

Rat you're approved though you need to add your gifts before you can post.

World of Darkness (Boston)

It was a clear night in the city of Boston, quarter moon shining overhead. The rain had cleared out, and the night was young, which would bring out all sorts from all walks of life, and this would lead to friction and deals being made. Police sirens could be heard from parts of the city, the occasional staccato of gunfire could also be heard echoing from the distance, always just a few blocks closer than one could consider being comfortable with. But this was the reality of living in the city of Boston, gunfire and police action wherever people and criminals got too rowdy, and too bold and were incapable of handling the police that were brave, or stupid, enough to show up and attempt to enforce the law wherever the violence or trouble was going on. It was business as usual in a city like Boston, and even more so if you would look beneath the surface of petty violence and police action.

All was not peaceful this night, and for more than the usual reasons. The city was controlled by Vampires, and the Prince of such beings in this city lived well, to put it simply. His mansion was grand, the porch had great old columns resting upon it, towering upwards to support the building while oaken double doors provided the gateway into the private realm of this being of wealth, importance, and extravagance. Such places would also invite the heavy security required to maintain them, and such men and beings of power were indeed here. They were normally about the lawn, patrolling and looking for interlopers, while others would man the gates and posts there, only admitting those who were on the authorized list for that night, and knew the proper security protocols to even gain entry. But this was not a normal night, for this very same security was dead, slaughtered to the man and scattered about on the grounds outside, indicating a far greater trouble going on than usual.

Those grand double doors were blown down, a clear indication of the invasion of the Prince's realm by men unknown. More guards were dead within, the grand hall ruined and destroyed in many places, leading deeper into the private quarters of the Prince himself. Said prince was staked in the chest, an action that paralyzes any vampire until it can be removed, while he had been strung up onto a piece of wood by several men who now surrounded him. Crosses hung from their necks, and while they were clearly nervous, their garb clearly spoke of their Catholic origins. From this scene one could draw a whole myriad of conclusions, few of which would fit the apparent capture of this vampire Prince by mere mortals.

They had specific orders on how to kill this Prince of the Vampires, and they enacted such things quickly, unsure of how long the paralysis would last, unaware of its permanent effects until removal, or Final Death. They removed his fangs, per the odd instructions, dousing him in gasoline while reciting prayers to their God, for the blessing that would free this wretched creature from its fate of Undeath, whether it wanted to be freed or not was another matter completely. A match would then see the Vampire prince burst into flames, unable to scream or fight back because of the stake of wood rammed into his chest. This affair, and whatever dark thoughts that went through the prince's head, were the last moments of this Prince, for there would be no recovery from such an event.

With the Prince ablaze, and fangs in possession, the god fearing men starting dousing everything in gasoline, praying the whole time, breaking windows as they went to feed the oncoming blaze, as they slowly worked outwards, having worked through much of the gasoline that they had brought with them, using what was left as they walked out the main gates to provide a path to light so they would not have to be close to the building when the blaze started. The eldest, and in charge, man of the three lit a cigarette with a match, taking a drag before releasing the smoke into the night air, before tossing the match upon the trail of gasoline, sending a rush of fire into the mansion, which quickly erupted into great flames and billowing black smoke, the wooden, gasoline soaked building burning eagerly and greatly, the lack of rain only accelerated this process further. Such a blaze was clear for miles around, which was the goal all along.

- --

Archbishop Hallr Gunnarson & Cecilia Torhild

In another part of town, beings of another sort and creed were gathering. Underground, within a network of tunnels, all part of the old 'Big Dig', Garou and Vampire convened to discuss dark things, none of which would be within the Camarilla's interests. The tunnels were dank, wet, and cramped at spots, but a larger, foyer like area had been discovered and was being used to convene the meeting, which had all sorts of odd, outcast beings. For the Sabbat were here in force, long time enemies of the Camarilla, and there was a Garou present that was not, in many cases, welcome by any other of the more mainstream Garou beings. The Black Spiral Dancer Cecilia Torhild was in attendance, and wherever she went, the Garou would be ready to fight her and stop her goals whenever possible, but were not everywhere to stop her. Here was one such gathering.

Arch Bishop of the Sabbat, Hallr Gunnarson, was face to face with the Black Spiral Dancer, a Cecilia Torhild, and they were currently dicussing nothing in particular while the last stragglers trickled in for the meeting. Gunnarson had very specific plans and strategies, while Cecilia was more interested in the slaughter and the fight than the not so gory details of such affairs as their own, but that is what sparked their partnership in this case. Gunnarson could do the underhanded, the sneaky political backstabbery, while Cecilia got to just go after her enemies and loosely keep that in line with the plans and orders of the day. The Arch Bishop knew what he was getting involved with here, but it was all part of the plan, and as the last of the members required entered, he turned the topic to strategy and plans.

"Cecilia of the Black Spiral, I have a task for you that should be enjoyable for yourself, if nothing else, as it seems everyone is finally present." Cecilia quieted down for now, humoring the Sabbat vampire and feigning interest, in case it proved boring and nothing to her interest at all, unlike his suggestions indicated. Gunnarson continued, apparently unphased by this. "We know not where the Garou mainstream like to huddle down for a night or day, resting to gather themselves again. I figure you would enjoy knowing where they are living, so I would request that you take several of my vampires and figure this out." Cecilia smirked, she had to admit that would be interesting, and shrugged as several vampires that would be appointed this task stepped forward, and she spoke. "Yea, I can go sniff em out. If your vamps can't keep up, don't expect me to wait for em. Let's go." With that she was gone, the vampires having been specifically chosen to keep up, and Gunnarson turned to the assembled mass and continued.

"Each of you have been called here to receive orders, to know your roles in the days to come. The Camarilla, weak as they are in mind, took Boston from us some time ago. We are here to return it to the control of the Sabbat, which is why you are all gathered here tonight. You have your orders, but some of you I wish to see personally, in my quarters. Leaders of packs, masters of war, priests, and others who are noted in your orders, come with me. The rest of you, execute your duties, for the Sabbat, have returned to Boston to reclaim what is theirs." The meeting dispersed, while Gunnarson retired to his quarters in the tunnels, awaiting those that were to report to him, sitting at a desk and looking at the intelligence gathered so far, silent as they trickled in one at a time.

- --

Nora Myrna

Outside of Boston by, roughly, 30 miles or so, a newcomer to the area is traveling progressively closer to the area. This person is known as Nora Myrna, a Garou that did not serve the darker powers like the Black Spiral Dancers did, she herself was a member of the Fianna tribe, patrons of preserving the artistic past of the Garou, of music and art, and would hold such things close to them, as fierce about the arts as they were about defending themselves and their kin. As she was a Homid, born of humans yet able to control her beastial self after growing into her first change, she could walk among humans more comfortably than others of her kind, but that did not mean she would take them over the wilderness itself.

Arriving at a pond, one could marvel at the lush, verdant growth of the area, and wonder how it had gone unscathed by the ravages of the marches of industry. Looking closer, Myrna would find the markings of her people, the Garou, in this grove, providing the answer as to why. There was a small cave in this grove, verdant wild life and crystal clear water perhaps indicating the place as of some importance to the Garou. Of course, such places of beauty were not unsullied in their view to others, as one could easily see plumes of smoke in the distance, of the fires of industry, often times caused by the Kindred and the humans themselves, never halting to consider the impact on Gaia, or simply not caring.

Myrna could see all this, and cursed the Kindred for what they had wrought upon this land, and all land they would tread upon. For they did not seem content in simply letting their curse be contained to themselves, no, they had to go about ruining the land and the lives of others with their miserable suffering and thoughtless, careless actions. She had seen the land ruined by the Kindred before, who many times were the inadvertant source of a place's woes and troubles, and no matter where she went, this always seemed the case. And it was infuriating, how they scurried about like cock a roaches, refusing to die long after they had overstayed their welcome and draining the area of its life, like parasites, for their own selfish gains.

Such thoughts would echo in the mind of Myrna as she descended from the hill top she had spotted the grove from, her long journey had left her thirsty, and the land still provided for those who respected and protected its ways. This grove was one such place, and as she arrived at the bottom of the hill and reached the grove, she knelt by the pond side, dipping her hands into the water. She drew the water up, drinking from it and quenching her thirst, all the while her thoughts still dwelled upon those smoke plums she had saw, and how much work clearly was to be done here to free the land of the parasitic Kindred.

World of Darkness (Boston)

Sabbat Arch Bishop[/b]
Name: Hallr Gunnarson

Generation: 8th Generation

Clan: Lasombra

Disciplines:
+Potence
+Obtenebration
+Dominate

Personality: Gunnarson is, first and foremost, a manipulative, powerhungry ruler. Wielding a vicious intelligence and brilliant strategy, Gunnarson can often be found at the true, black heart of many a Sabbat plan or scheme, pulling the strings and playing men and creatures against each other as easily as one would go about a casual game of chess, or discussing the weather. He lies as easily as he speaks truth, and many times such falsehoods are indistinguishable from the truths he might reveal for the sake of his own plans. He enacts all these plans and schemes without mercy, and without heart, for if one allows their heart to get in the way, they will taste the bitter defeat more often than the honey sweet nectar of success.

But do not take these scheming, underhanded means as the only facet of Gunnarson. No, he is a warrior, and proud of it. His power was earned through bloodshed, violence, and stubborn determination. His merciless nature shines as a warrior, ruthlessly hounding any in his way, his strategical mindset guaranteeing that such enemies will not get far. And one will quickly notice how proud he is of all this. His ego is second to none, gladly basking in the glory of his work, of the fear others have of him, and the envy that others have of his power, confident in that none of them will ever eclipse his glory, nor will they ever escape his thumb. Such is his ego, but one cannot argue there being just reason, after all, he is an Archbishop of the Sabbat, and one does not arise to such a post without merit.

Biography: Hallr Gunnarson has spent many, many years upon the face of the planet, and almost none of them have seen peace or a lack of bloodshed. True to his name, Gunnarson was born of Viking tribes, at the height of their activity and power, and he was the son of a notable warrior. This, of course, would put great expectation upon the boy and his family, the family to train and raise him well, and the boy, of course, to bring them glory and the spoils of raiding and war. Growing up, he was naturally gifted with the tools of war, from the spear and throwing hatchet, to sword and shield, and every weapon you could imagine a viking warrior using, he rapidly mastered. As a leader of men, he was no slouch either, capable in commanding respect and giving wise orders, rallying them better than some men many times his age and wisdom.

While this would make him some enemies, too many men would realize that young Gunnarson was destined for great things, and would make, in time, a fine addition to the halls of Odin, but until then, a great commander of raids and attacks into the trembling realms of Europe and beyond. Of course, his coming of age was well earned amongst the ranks of men like his father and warriors like his teachers and mentors, and he was quick to rush out to try and get his place onto the first raid he possibly could. But it would be a few months before this would happen, as they were returning, rather than leaving, so Gunnarson would have to listen to the tails of glory and see the spoils of war, lustful for both and grew more eager and bold with each passing day, hounding the men who led such raids when they planned to sail again.

The days would come that he would prepare to set sail upon his first raid, the young Gunnarson was seen off by his family and friends as he set foot upon the boat, chain hauberk and armaments of war in hand, gifted to him by his father. Armor sturdy, weapons sharp and thirsty, and the man eager and brave, he set sail with his fellow warriors out into the ocean, where a boy fresh into manhood would prove just that, that he was a man, brave in heart and strong in arm, that would bring great wealth and glory to the Viking people. They would find themselves sacking a well to do priory and surrounding lands, taking many lives and collecting many spoils, and loading them onto the longboats before sailing back home, Gunnarson himself having found and claimed some of the greatest items hidden within the ruined Priory, and was received like a hero back home, the blooded warrior with the grand spoils of war.

But not all of his time was spent raiding the Europeans, he would spend plenty of time fighting the other Viking tribes, especially when the would encroach upon his people and his family. Feuds were fought, bloody and violent with less in the spoils of raiding, but honor and station of his clan above the others was at stake. The name Gunnarson would begin to strike fear into his enemies, and they would whisper that he was no more a man than the daemons were, that he was immortal and no mere man could ever bring him low. Such rumors would eventually spread, as the Europeans grew to fear this Gunnarson being as a spawn of hell itself, sent to pillage, rape, and plunder god fearing men and women everywhere. Such rumors would garner the attention of beings unwelcome, and would change the life of this viking warrior for eternity.

The stranger that arrived at their village by dead of night gave his name as Kavar, if history was to be believed, which it is flimsy and subject to the views of its writers. The details of this strange man are lost, as only Gunnarson knows them now, and he will not speak of such affairs. But arrive this man did to the village Gunnarson called home, and it was a night of celebration and festivity, one that was willing to be welcoming to such an odd being. This Kavar was impressed with the tales and exploits of Kavar, further still with the feats of strength displayed during the games and bets placed during that night's festivities, and as the vampire slept, using the excuse of a long days travel, he decided that the man would be his, but not without testing and absolute assurance that he would prove an asset, not a liability. By the morning after, both the strange man, and Gunnarson, were gone, much to the surprise and shock of the village.

Gunnarson was a ghoul, turned by the Vampire Kavar the moment the viking warrior had fallen into slumber. As the pair travalled, Kavar explained much to the confused, angry warrior, of his new place in life, and how he would perform his duties with the utmost loyalty to the vampire. Gunnarson would find himself stronger and better than he had ever been, with more power and standing gained under this man than he could have dreamed possible as a mere viking warrior before, all for the price of obedience. This was a price Gunnarson had been paying already, so he cared little for paying it to another being now, and for the sake of power and standing, he would pay it gladly. So Kavar would make him his favored servant, so long as Gunnarson would prove himself worthy of such a title, and in return, the Viking would know standing and power unlike anything he had ever dreamed of before.

Gunnarson would prove himself masterful at any task placed before him, learning fast and mastering faster. From extorting humans that lived in fear under the shadow of Kavar, to those that tried to muscle in on his master's territory, he was both underhanded, and fearsome, lying coming as naturally as swinging an axe ever did. He would protect his master's holding in both open and shadow warfare, while he would expand such holdings as well, through force of arms or, more commonly, deceit, falsehoods, and outright theft when the time came down to it. Kavar was impressed with his servant, having chosen wiser than he had previously imagined when taking the Viking as his ghoul many years ago. The man was earning more and more of a place in his permanent band, and soon would be prepared to bestow a gift unlike any that Gunnarson had received, and would be changing the ghoul's life drastically again, the source of yet another harsh shift in life that would require adaptation and skill to manage. But Gunnarson had proven himself able before, and would inevitably prove able again.

Gunnarson would find his master Kavar waiting for him upon return one night, and he would retire in the morning, Embraced by his mater and now a Vampire instead of a mere Ghoul. He would learn of his bloodline and lineage, the one that his master Kavar passed down to him through embracing, the Lasombra clan, and what would be expected of him, the powers he would gain, and the weaknesses that could be exploited. He was a fast study, knowing his weaknesses now would mean he could exploit the same ones that vampires hostile to him would have, and how he could ply his strengths against enemies of a more mundane nature, should they prove foolish enough to do so. Of course, he would not simply learn from training and instruction from his master, the outbreak of the Anarch Revolts wold give him first hand experience in combating his fellow vampire.

A civil war would rage between the vampires over and over, and Gunnarson was always in the thick of it, slaughtering for his master Kavar, and for the advancement of his clan's standing. Blood against blood, blade against blade, all the while humanity grew increasingly afraid, and angry, at the vampire creatures, starting to come up with the means to stop them, one way or another. Sure enough, with the revolts ended, vampire kind would face its greatest threat yet. The Inquisition arrived, purging by fire the Vampire infestation where it was blatant, carving great tracts of holdings clean of vampire control, restoring hope and power to humankind by brazingly exposing the weaknesses of their enemy, equipping many to defend themselves in ways that were never possible before. The political landscape was changing, and the vampires needed a new strategy.

A council was called, one that the master of Gunnarson, Kavar, and the viking vampire himself attended. The plan offered was a Masqerade, an illusion to hide behind and blend with the mortals, to hide amongst their kind like rats and cowards and survive like that. Like his master, they walked out on them, refusing to surrender what they had rightfully earned as their own. So another meeting was called, this time between those that were not ready to surrender to this new formed Camarilla, to found a group of their own to stand united against them with. Between those scorned by the Camarilla, survivors of the Anarch Revolts, and vampires like Kavar and Gunnarson, they had a new organization founded that Gunnarson himself had a personal hand in starting. The Sabbat, those that would reject what the Camarilla said all must accept, and would fight to see their beliefs vindicated.

Open warfare would break out between these two disparate groups, running warfare and battles that Gunnarson would not taste defeat in, but the Sabbat would suffer overall for the longest while. The Inquisition ran rampant, slaughtering any vampire of supernatural creature they could find, no one was safe from their torches, no one. Many would succumb fully to the Beast within for the sake of killing as many foes of their kind as they could, Gunnarson himself coming close a few times, only saved by his master Kavar. For they would quickly see that the transformation into a Wight was irreversible. With the warfare between Sabbat, Inquisition, and Camarilla so brazen, one would think that the world would have no choice but to plunge into chaos and darkness, constant conflict and fear ruling the day. But such is not the course of history, whether some would wish it that way or not.

But things would not always be this easy for Gunnarson, especially once his sire and patron in the world of the Vampire would be brought low. The Camarilla would utilize their greatest enemy, the Inquisition, against him this day, and while Gunnarson fought fiercely, he would fail to save his master. This final act would free him to act independently for the first time in his unlife, and he would take full advantage of this, despite the mourning he did feel for his sire. He would gather his own following of those enthralled by his words and impressed by his deeds, taking his master's place as a force of note within the Sabbat, but this would also bring unwanted, as well as wanted, attention from other Vampires. The obviously wanted attention came from his superiors, few as they were now, who granted him titles and power anew for his service and potency within the Sabbat, but his foes would hound him relentlessly.

As the Sabbat Civil Wars broke out and raged, Gunnarson found himself the target of many an attempt by the Camarilla to slay him. From ambushes after skirmishes with opposing Sabbat members during their civil wars, to chasing him to the ends of the world and back, the Vampire could never seem to shake his pursuers for long, the Camarilla did not want him to last long enough to grow powerful enough to face down their forces, and would hound him until the first civil war ended, and a united Sabbat would protect Gunnarson again, or at least aid the vampire as he had survived well enough with only his resources, while still fighting admirably during the first civil war. The Camarilla had failed this time, but it would hardly be the last time they would try, indeed, the history behind Gunnarson would be rife with attempts on his unlife, many trying to force the Final Death upon the vampire, and they all would fail.

Of course, history is long, and rife with such things. Gunnarson would live to see many great and terrible things, from the horrors of the World Wars, at least, horrors to human kind, to the various and bloody medieval wars that would populate time before that, Gunnarson would live and thrive within all of it. The Camarilla would not leave him alone, even after moving to the new world while he remained in the Old, fighting off the enemies to his power and holdings time and again, all the while time marched forward, bringing him into the time where things of note and importance began happening in his life, instead of simply building his holdings and power within the Sabbat, across old and new world alike, and becoming a force to be feared and reckoned with.

Gunnarson would confront a rival of some time once and for all, despite how the Sabbat constantly attempted to prevent infighting time and again, as it often had led to civil wars between their kind in the past. Sure enough, even though he had bested his rival, the confrontation itself cost him his holdings and standings within the Old World, a final stroke of vengeance from his former rival. This pressure from the Sabbat, and the blood smelling Camarilla who started hounding him with vigor anew, would drive the vampire Gunnarson to the new world, forever now, to start his holdings anew there, solidifying what he had and expanding, arriving in the city of Boston, to grow in power and prestige there, and would take the city for his own, and for the Sabbat of course, but he would gain greatly from such things, both from holding the city, and from the Sabbat themselves.

Boston was a grand place for Gunnarson, and he would grow fast in power. But the Camarilla would arrive, and once again he would find himself driven off what was rightfully earned. But this time, this time he would not idly stand for letting such things happen. He had standing and influence, and it was time to use it, Gunnarson would come back to Boston again before long. He went to the Sabbat, and many would arise and stand with, and under him, as he called for the hounds of war to arise by his side, to ready the black banners of Vengeance, and many would answer. Gunnarson could count on many, many vampires and even more servants of such beings to support his Crusade into Boston, to reclaim it for the Sabbat, and more importantly. Gunnarson himself.

Appearance:

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World of Darkness (Boston)

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