It’s none of my business what people say of me and think of me. I am what I am and I do what I do. I expect nothing and accept everything. And it makes life so much easier.
6
likes
Bio
“There is no such thing as a new idea. It is impossible. We simply take a lot of old ideas and put them into a sort of mental kaleidoscope. We give them a turn and they make new and curious combinations. We keep on turning and making new combinations indefinitely; but they are the same old pieces of colored glass that have been in use through all the ages.” - Mark Twain
It is up. The CS is in the oth post for you to start whenever you wish.
Awesome.
Whoa, I didn't realize you had a different interest check, because I knew I asked a question about playing a Skiptracer, but i guess its in the other OOC. :)
Anyway, I'll see about tossing in a CS. Prob go with Red because they look like the most trouble...
Love the idea. Haven't read the books but I just might start :)
As of right now all characters will be 10-15. The ones who were in the 8-13 age range when IAAN hit two years in the future so do your character sheet like that. If I end up allowing different variety of characters than I'll let you know how to start with them.
Just to be clear, are all players limited to Psi-children in the beginning or are other groups viable (i.e. Skip Tracers, etc) during CS creation?
[ Gavon TreVayne ] [ Aboard the Paradise | Hangar 2 ] [ Sometime in the evening hours ]
“What would it take to acquire the information we need out of this sad excuse for a human?”
The shorter-than-average Arcona hissed in Huttese, while reaching into a rectangular case laying at the foot of the bed which appeared to hold several small vials and various metallic surgical instruments most likely not approved by the Galactic Medical Association. What was worse, based on the condition of the plasteel shell housing, the tools within were no doubt in dire need of sterilization.
“Ah, this will do just fine.” The creature’s alien lips parted revealing a disgustingly sinister reptilian grin and mangled yellow-green stained teeth that had a strange glow to them in the otherwise dimly lit room. He opened a side panel and lifted up what appeared to be some kind of mesh headcap, with little receptors and wires at each cross section, and a powerpack attached to a longer wire.
“You realize that piece of archaic trash isn’t going to work?” The man’s expression and overall mood was, for the most part, calm and cool considering he’d been restrained in a chair for over an hour, with both hands cuffed behind the seat back, and a stream of blood running down his face. “So let's settle this, man-to, uh...” He arched a thick, dark eyebrow as he stared in puzzlement at the other across from him. “What are you supposed to be again?”
A mammoth-sized fist cracked against the man’s jaw, eliciting little more than a grunt. “Dammit, can you tell your goons to stop hitting like little girls?” He spat blood, as the residual trickled down the side of his mouth.
The “goons” in question, stout Gamorreans dressed in their cultural primitive leathers, furs, and carrying a terrible stench made a series of exclamatory grunts and snorts in response to the remark, ready to pummel the seated and shackled human once again for his insolence. The creature’s twin, who flanked the other side of the chair, egged his brother on, hoping the next punch in the head would be the puny man’s last.
The Arcona stepped up closer to his prisoner as he splayed the gel-like mesh weaving of the neural contraption out as far as it could go and raised it above his head. The alien nodded to the Gamorreans and two large hands held the human’s upper body in place as the net was lowered onto the top of his head like a crown, the receptors slowly burrowing through thick brown hair and attaching themselves to various points along the scalp. The man gritted his teeth, trying to pull away from the grip of the creatures behind him as tiny sharp pin pricks were felt everywhere the device anchored itself.
“Now, misssster, Gavon TreVayne.” The reptilian creature continued, spewing a more ancient variation of Huttese than before. “You’re going to give me the information I am requesting, or I will simply incinerate your worthless mind, reducing you to nothing but a husk where you will be forgotten.” The creature cocked its bulbous head slightly. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal" Gavon’s response almost sounded as though it were a question. “But eh, I have to warn you-"
“Silence!” The Arcona hissed, at the same time urging the two flanking brutes to restrain their captive tighter. “You will say nothing unless it is relevant to the answers I seek!”
The man said nothing, but rather stared lazily at the other and shrugged.
“Good” The reptilian species nodded, and Gavon could have sworn that it even cracked a smile, but it may have only been the unusual formation of its face. “Where is the pirate scum known as Koran Graeff?”
There was long moment of silence, save for the uncontrollable heavy breathing and low snorting of the two Gamorreans. The Arcona was clearly not a patient creature, as its clawed foot began tapping against the tiled floor, and scales along its brow spasmed ever so slightly, awaiting a response. Gavon allowed a drawn out sigh as he stared at the other for just a moment longer and then parted his lips.
“Who?”
The button from the neural device’s remote trigger clicked, yet nothing happened. The creature clicked it several times again, which yielded the same results and followed up with a colorful line of curses in its native language before signalling with his hand.
“Kill him." Came the immediate order from the leader, but before the two lumbering brutes had a chance to react, both of Gavon’s arms swung up from behind his back, small shivs gripped tightly, as they were simultaneously thrust up under the chins of the twin uglies, eliciting a high-pitched squeal as they fell back bleeding profusely while holding their necks.
The Arcona, clearly caught flat-footed, reached for his blaster but the human’s foot swept up and over in a roundhouse kick, the impact knocking the weapon free and several meters across the room.
“Wait!” The alien pleaded, holding both hands out as he backed away slowly, all the while Gavon was pulling the neural mesh from his head and untangling himself from the subpar restraints across his torso. “We can come to some kind of agreement!” The Arcona continued, trying to distance himself from the other.
“I'm pretty sure we're passed that.” The human scoffed, standing to his feet and straightening out his dark gray standard-issue Imperial Navy peacoat, wincing at the patches of his blood -as well as the Gamorrean’s- on the shoulder and sleeves. “Although you'll certainly get the bill from my dry cleaner if I decide to let you walk out of here.”
“Why do you even keep that old coat? Ex-Intelligence Agent...” The reptile cocked its head, the last part overlaid with a venomous tone.
“Sentiment, perhaps.” The human shrugged. “But don’t diverge from the point.”
“Well if it’s credits you want I- “
“I don't want your blood money.” He interrupted cooly, stepping toward the table in the middle of the room to retrieve his blaster, holster belt, and the few other effects he'd been carrying before he was drugged and woke up in the third level suite. “But I do need information.”
“About what exactly?” The other asked suspiciously.
“First, where the hell am I?” He asked, looking around the drab decor of what appeared to be personal quarters.
“My ship” The creature hissed hesitantly. “Which is currently in ‘Docking Bay 3’ aboard the Paradise.”
“Lovely.” He said, shaking his head. “And second...the ‘Shadow Broker’. ” Gavon checked his blaster’s powerpack and gas cartridge to ensure nothing was tampered with before reholstering. “Specifically, engine parts for a LightStealth-18 recon shuttle.”
The Arcona stood speechless for a moment as he thought. “Wait. Those ships were decommissioned years ago, with all the remaining parts sold off for scrap…”
“Not all.” Gavon shook his head. “Which is where you come in...new friend.” He said with a wry grin.
Clan Feeding Restriction: Romani of Eastern European descent. Storytelling Note: Among many Ventrue, it was considered a bad omen to associate with the gypsy people, who they considered thieves and murderers. Regardless, Nicolaus keeps this hidden as best he can.
Appearance: A man of above-average height, Nico stands at six-foot-one, lean muscle, short dark hair with streaks of graying along the sides, and light facial hair which is generally kept short. A series of articulate tattoos of animals, mythos, and symbolic eastern European imagery cover most of his upper body and arms, depicting exploits of centuries past. He carries himself with confidence, tall and proud, a friendly smile to friend and stranger, and a wardrobe designed to accentuate a no nonsense man of integrity and strength of character and will.
Personality: Pure alpha, dominant, even-tempered, mentally tough, and competitive, Nicolaus gleans with a genuine confidence that very few seem to have in this current age, especially among the younger Kindred. Whereas his demeanor may come off as arrogant, it couldn't be further from the truth. His rough exterior is balanced by a charismatic approach to others and generally friendly disposition.
As a creature struggling with a dark past of unforgivable actions and consequences, he is quite determined to right many wrongs and while he strives for perfection in everything, he rarely achieves it according to his own standards and those imposed by the Ventrue. Yet still he persists.
And a quirk, some would consider “bad form” for a Ventrue (let alone a vampire in general), is that Nicolaus holds onto certain humanistic qualities, such as having food set out during meal times but -as expected- not actually eating, smoking cigars, or simply leaving a pair of glasses in his shirt pocket. Many of his peers consider it a negative reflection on him, but it does little to dissuade the gestures.
Prague | Blackriver Citadel | circa 1785
“You've been found guilty of treason against your Sabbat brethren, sharing secrets that jeopardize the interests and security of this Sect, and conspiring with the Camarilla!” The thin, pale, dark-haired Lasombra read from an unfurled scroll, eying the caged vampire across from him with much gile and suspicion. “In turn, you have been stripped of your title as ‘Inquisitor’ amongst the Black Hand and are hereby subject to summary judgement by way of a thousand blade cuts and incineration until Final Death has destroyed your existence.” A wry grin formed across the creature’s dried lips. “And mark my words, your confederates will be found and destroyed and you will therefore be stricken from the manuscripts, never to be remembered again.”
“Remembered for what exactly?” The other scoffed, clearly unimpressed with the series of charges that, while true, were still overly exaggerated.
The Lasombra tilted his head slightly as his face contorted into the epitome of anger and disgust. “You Ventrue lackeys are all the same, stubborn to the last, and yet you insult my intelligence by assuming I am not aware of the prestige, the Dignitas, that you’ve managed to acquire for the past one hundred years as a member of the Sabbat?”
He stepped closer to the thick steel bars of the small cell holding the prisoner.
“And if it wasn't for your Sire advocating on your behalf, the Black Hand would have had considerably less tolerance for your continued insolence. In fact, many of us within the Circle are convinced she is just as guilty as her half-wit childe.”
“Kivaria has no part in this I assure you. Keep her out of your little ’witch hunts’.”
“Perhaps.” He paused, steepling his hands. “Regardless, your betrayal has ended here, and will prove fruitless as countermeasures are in place to ensure our secrets are kept well hidden from the outside clans.” The Lasombra smirked, his yellowed teeth peeking through the small slit between his lips. “You know nothing Nicolaus, and you will die a most horrible death with nothing.”
The prisoner stood for a moment as though he were contemplating the words of his accuser. “You may be right, but I am aware of one important fact...”
The Lasombra arched a single eyebrow. “Humor me Ventrue.”
“That you, and you alone, were responsible for the rape, sodomy, decapitation, and burning of the only woman I ever loved. And rather than owning up to such an ’accomplishment’ against a defenseless mortal, you pinned it on my Sire, causing decades of tension and mistrust in the wave of your deceit.”
The Lasombra cackled in a most horrific manner at the other's words. “So this was the catalyst of your treason? A mortal woman? Oh Nicolaus...you are a weaker fool than I thought- ”
“No!” He interrupted, leaning closer to the cage bars as he stared deeper into the darkened eyes of the Sabbat Inquisitor. “You, my friend, are a disgrace to your kind and an insult to all those who follow your skewed perceptions. You are a sack of sludge unworthy of the unlife Caine has granted.”
The Inquisitor snorted as he took a half-step closer to the cage, whispering to the condemned only inches from him. “You will die in the most painful way imaginable, Nicolaus Strøm. Your body will be divided and sent to the four corners of the world as a warning to all who would even consider betraying the Sabbat. You will-”
The Lasombra’s vile speech was suddenly cut short by a long silent dagger jabbed under his chin, and forced up through his skull, penetrating the gray matter within and causing a low guttural sound of blood and bile as it forced its way through his severed vocals. His expression, once full of smugness, had transformed into petrified fear, as streams of thick blood ran down the assailant's weapon hand and his target’s ceremonial black cloak.
“I will live...” Nicolaus hissed through clenched teeth as he twisted the steel dagger, causing the low squishing and popping sounds of cartilage and brain tissue. “And I will see that the Sabbat pay in blood, even it takes me until my last nights.” He pulled the dagger quickly from the vampire’s bloodied head, and immediately pierced his heart, which caused the Lasombra to instantly go rigid as the very source of the creature’s unlife was struck the final debilitating blow. And with the blade embedded firmly in place, Nicolaus grabbed the keys to free himself from the cell, allowing the stiff body to fall hard against the stone floor, before kneeling down next to the dying Sabbat Elder.
“And by the way.” He said, pushing the vampire’s head to one side and exposing his long, veiny neck. “Kivaria gives her regards...”
And with that, the Ventrue sank his fangs deep, draining every last bit of the creature’s vitae, his essence, his soul, and with it a renewal of strength surged through Nicolaus as the stroke of Final Death took the withered and rotting corpse of the Sabbat.
Countless decades ticked away on the great clock of immortality, as time was trivial to one who lived forever. Nicolaus was on the run, embedding himself into the Underground realms of Europe, Asia, and eventually, the Americas, building up what he had lost when he severed his ties to the Black Hand of the Sabbat, and much of the Kindred world for that matter. For over two centuries he kept hidden among the mortals, gaining vital contacts, amassing wealth from various business deals, investments, and black market transactions. If living amongst the Ventrue had done anything, it increased a sense of resourcefulness and survival, and his various professional backgrounds and a solid business acumen allowed access into the upper echelons of society where he could keep tabs on both kindred and kine from a safe distance. However, as with any influential individual with a network spanning multiple continents, the shadow that once covered him was slowly fading away as the light of truth and Kindred interests crept back into his life.
Among the handful of Camarilla clans, Garou within the Glasswalker tribe, and mortal business partners who had dealings with him, his Ventrue brethren had the most interest (and gain) from his influence, and as trust developed over many decades, his acceptance into their Sect had become a natural occurrence. The Elder Ventrue of Los Angeles invited him to join their ranks and enter into a pact with the Camarilla, hoping his vast network would allow their clan to continue greatness and stability in an otherwise Anarch-driven society. Even as much, Nicolaus not only had to prove himself to the Inner Circle -and those leaders within control of the Free State-but to his own clan, gaining sought after Dignitas that was lost to the ages, which would again place him amongst the elite of his kind.
Eventually he was appointed the “Servire” position, assisting the Archons of that time with intel and just about any other duties required. Near the tail-end of the Twentieth Century, as Lucinde was selected as Justicar representing clan Ventrue, one of her first tasks was to hunt and capture the notorious Samedi diablerist, Genina, which she did, increasing her prestige amongst much of the kindred population. For Nicolaus and his part in assisting Lucinde and her coterie, he was appointed position of Archon, allowing virtually unhindered freedoms in order to bring those kindred who are in severe violation of the Traditions to justice, whether by trial or fire.
Nicolaus knew, however, that the exploits of his life leading up to present would come full circle, and that two events were inevitable: His sire would resurface and come for him as either friend or otherwise, and the Sabbat would track him down to exact their own twisted brand of judgement…
Aside from several Servire at his disposal, below are key NPCs utilized to better solidify the information gathering network:
Jack: (Nosferatu) contact and friend. Works as a jazz pianist. Was quite a handsome man before being embraced by the singer, who'd use Obfuscate to mask her true image. Nico saved his life during a Sabbat attack on his lair. Jack keeps tabs on the comings and goings of those kindred and kine who may frequent establishments he plays at and also uses what pull he has to lend any Underground intel. He also acts as a guide to Nico if the need arises to traverse vast networks of sewers and tunnels.
Detective Marcus Elliot: (Mortal retainer) Works out of LA precinct
Samuel Hunt: (Mortal retainer) High-powered Corporate Lawyer working out of LA
[center][i]“There is no such thing as a new idea. It is impossible. We simply take a lot of old ideas and put them into a sort of mental kaleidoscope. We give them a turn and they make new and curious combinations. We keep on turning and making new combinations indefinitely; but they are the same old pieces of colored glass that have been in use through all the ages.”[/i]
- Mark Twain[/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><span class="bb-i">“There is no such thing as a new idea. It is impossible. We simply take a lot of old ideas and put them into a sort of mental kaleidoscope. We give them a turn and they make new and curious combinations. We keep on turning and making new combinations indefinitely; but they are the same old pieces of colored glass that have been in use through all the ages.”</span><br>- Mark Twain</div></div>
Fuzzybootz,
Heat
