This is the third continuation of the first Vampire the Masquerade roleplay. (See parts one and two.) All events that took place in that thread are still a part of the story. Nothing in the story has changed.
The reason for the new thread, is because the RP forum rules clearly state that once a thread reaches 1.000 posts, a new one should be started.
Now, we'd also like to think of it as a chance for more people to become interested. New players are always welcome, so please do not be intimidated by the fact that the story has already come a long way. You'll find a brief synopsis of the events below, as well as a list of where the other characters are currently at, thus making it easier for new participants to join.
New players are also more than welcome to approach one of the currents players to form some kind of relationship with their characters, as a way of easily finding a way into the story; you could be someone's childe, Sire, ghoul, boyfriend, girlfriend, lover, niece, etc etc. The possibilities are endless.
If any of the current players have grown bored of their character and wants to replace him/her, it is quite alright to do so. All I ask is that you give it some serious thought before you do, and don't replace your character every other week. This is only meant to serve as a way to refresh creativity, when a player feels he/she has taken their character as far as they can go, and no longer feel they have anything left to do with them.
Last but not least;
Current players - Feel free to re-submit your character applications in this thread, if you want. If you don't, I'll simply link back to the one in the previous thread, and that will be fine too, at least until the old thread is archived.
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Welcome to Los Angeles, home of the Camarilla made up of 7 clans of Vampires and is the largest organization of vampires.
They consist of: Brujah
Camarilla policy is that vampires should try to fit in with and hide from the rest of humanity, as to easily feed on them. For this reason, they created a web of lies and misinformation, called the Masquerade, to make the public believe that supernatural beings like vampires could not possibly exist.
The Camarilla also believes that the only way the vampire species can survive in these modern nights is if it unites - any breach of the Masquerade by any vampire risks exposing the entire race. Any vampire that breaks the Masquerade will have to clean up the mess or face severe punishment.
The Camarilla consider it their duty to protect humans and NEVER advocate killing to feed.
Each larger city has a vampire Prince; a leader that sees to it that the vampires there abide by Camarilla law. If planning to go to war with another clan, or to simply Embrace a human, you’ll need the Prince’s permission to do so.
While the Prince acts as a leader of all Kindred within a city, each larger clan within said city have their own leader, called a Primogen, acting right below the Prince. All clan Primogen are part of the Prince's council of advisors.
This brings us to what actually kills a vampire;
Sunlight, fire, decapitation, being completely drained of blood.
Staking isn’t lethal to a vampire, but it will temporarily stun them.
Holy water will burn their skin, but it won’t kill them (unless, of course, they go swimming in it).
A more extensive list of vampire characteristics, as well as a Vampire the Masquerade glossary, will be found below.
* No spamming (meaning unnecessary ooc posts; if they can wait, please try to include them with your next RP post).
* No powerplaying/godmodding. Try to respect each other and each other's characters.
* No killing another without having permission from the other, even if it means planning the scene in PMs.
* When in doubt of putting another person into a certain situation, PM them first!
* An RP post should be 8 lines minimum. This limit does not include quoted lines from a post you are replying to. While this RP is for fun, it is for roleplayers who take it somewhat seriously.
The occasional exception is, of course, allowed, as long as it doesn't turn into continually posting less than 8 lines.
* If you for some reason have/choose to drop out, please finish up, by either RPing an end for your character, or at least telling us that you will be dropping out. Don't leave people hanging.
* When you are RPing with someone, give them at least 5 days to reply. However, should more than 5 days pass without the other person responding, you are free to move on.
* When making an RP post, please include the name of your character in the header, and preferrably where they are at and what other character they are with as well. This makes it easier for people to keep up with who is where, and with whom.
* Foul language is allowed, but please do tone it down a bit; F***, b****, ***hole etc will get your point across just fine.
* There is no character limit, BUT, in order to have three or more characters, you need to have proven yourself capable of juggling characters and keep them active. One character shouldn't have fade into oblivion (without being officially withdrawn from the RP) in favor of another.
* No characters under the physical age of sixteen.
* Character pictures do not have to be of a sim.
* If you are unsure of something, ask. Either in the thread, or in PM.
* Have fun!
1. What clan you belong to:
(based on these:
-Neonate(s): Just Embraced vampires. They keep this name until they're about 100-200 years old.
-Ancilla(e): Vampires between cca 200 and 350, 400 years.
-Elder(s): Vampires over 400 years.
-Methuselah(s): These are very rare. Vampires over a thousand years old.)
4. Disciplines: (which you have and what level (rules and descriptions are in following post))
5. Short bio:
7. Additional info:
Currently there is no limit on the amount of characters in each clan, but should one clan start overflowing, I will limit the number of slots on that particular clan. After all, having 20 Ventrue running around might be a touch much.
3. Willingness to be a ghoul, or embraced (if so, by what clan):
5. Short bio:
7. Additional info:
Currently there is no limit on the amount of human characters.
* At the beginning of this RP, the Prince called a blood hunt on a Malkavian named Milo, due to him breaking the Masquerade by feeding in public. Milo was hunted down and killed by a Brujah NPC the following night.
Another blood hunt was later called on another Malkavian by the name of Harold Schumacher, for embracing a girl (Melissa) without consent from the Prince. Harold has yet to be officially found and declared dead, but unbeknownst to everyone, Lena and Adrien sought him out and killed him.
* Also a few RP nights ago, Ada von Vita of the Tremere and Beyonca of the Ventrue were banned from the club The Haven, after Ada came dangerously close to breaking the Masquerade by (accidently) using her superhuman strength when shoving a human girl, sending her pretty much flying into a fountain. Beyonca approached to help her sort it out, but they were both asked by Valerian to leave, and let him take care of it. Ada refused, which resulted in an argument that cost both her and Beyonca access to the Haven.
Ada was confronted by her Primogen, Mina Coles, and sent away from L.A. to learn the proper ways and behaviour of the Tremere.
Now, however, she is back and have sorted things out with Valerian, thus she is welcome at The Haven once again, as is Beyonca, who settled things with Valerian the night after the incident.
* Ten RP nights ago (from where we are now, night #18) there was a Ball organized by the Prince to welcome the Ventrue Primogen Archon DeWinter back to Los Angeles, after having spent a couple of months travelling.
Along with most Los Angeles Kindred, this Ball was also attended by Moira Sushill, a visiting Toreador Primogen from London. Though so far, I believe there are only three people aware of who she is; The Prince, Archon, and Valerian. (let me know if I missed someone).
* Also attending this ball was Adrien de la Cour; a notorious (former) vampire hunter that used to pose as a Tremere, until his cover was blown in Los Angeles about a century ago, when he was just about to slay Mina Coles. Since then he's been operating from the shadows, until three years ago, when he was Embraced by the San Fransisco Tremere. This, however, has been a well guarded secret until his appearance at the Ball. Now rumour of his embrace and presence in Los Angeles is spreading like wildfire among the L.A. Kindred, and no one is quite sure what to expect. It is said, however, that he has been bound from killing his own kind, by the Tremere. He resides (most reluctantly) at the Tremere chantry (the Museum). A couple of nights ago an attempt was made on his life by Lena Sayliss, who had recieved a contract on him. However, the assassination failed, and instead the two have started down a road of occasional partnership, seen most recently in their joint effort of disposing of one Harold Schumacher. During this excursion, the two also discovered that there are loopholes in Adrien's supposed inability to kill Kindred.
* Eight years ago, a young mortal woman - Aeode Mallard - was saved from dying by the current Toreador Primogen of Los Angeles, Jessica, who fed her some of her blood to heal her. Aeode doesn't remember much of the incident, but has been searching for the people that tried to kill her, and for her mysterious saviour. She has just recently found out from Andre of the Ventrue that the woman's name is Jessica, and has just happened to cross paths with Jessica at the Haven. Jessica revealed herself as a vampire, setting of a chain of events that caused herself to be banned from the city, and Aeode to end up on the chopping block, only to be saved by Valerian and later also Moira, as they sought the Prince's permission to deal with the situation and make sure that Aeode upholds the Masquerade. They are currently in the process of outlining Aeode's options; death, be ghouled, or embraced.
The Haven, Valerian's chambers: Noah and Valerian
The V, Damian's penthouse office: Damian
Café; Beyonca and Aeode
Moira's condo: Connor and Moira
UCLA library: Lola and Phoenix
Archon's mansion: Archon and Olivia
Hotel: Lena and Adrien
Mia's home: Mia
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If you have any questions please feel free to PM me.
This is a roleplay inspired and freely adapted from the game 'Vampire The Masquerade - Bloodlines'. 'Vampire the Masquerade' is a registered trademark.
Here you'll find description of the characteristics of each clan, along with a small idea of what a vampire from a certain clan COULD look like. Though it's all your interpretation. For more extensive info, and pictures, please visit the website.
The Brujah can trace their roots back to ancient Babylon, and the clay tablets of the first scholars. They were the lovers and guardians of knowledge, and the founder of their line was the inventor of written language. However, in their quest for freedom, they slew their founder and were banished from the first city. Today, the Brujah are scorned as riffraff who have lost their heritage and are without pride. For over a millennium they have been rebels among the Kindred, forever questioning and testing the Traditions. are the brutish, overly physical clan. They believe that might makes right, and have little patience for those that choose not to act. They are seen as anarchistic rabble by the Camarilla. The rest of the vampire community rarely cooperates with them, since they always seem to counter existing authorities. This clan chiefly depends on their body and physical strengths, using blood to enhance their movement and combat abilities.
The clan is very poorly organised; its members meet only irregularly, and share little in common besides their love of rebellion. They are among the supports of the anarchs, and aiding them is one of the only matters upon which they ever agree. They are often underestimated, as much by themselves as anyone.
Appearance: Think punk, or bike riders. Tatty, worn clothes, leather, jeans, anything that screams "I'm a rebel and don't give a ****". Usually with an attitude to match.
Clan Gangrel is said to be the only clan whose founder is still involved in and concerned with the welfare of her progeny. Her concern for them is matched only by her concern for mortal descendants - the Gypsies. Though many Antediluvians use their progeny as pawns in the Jyhad, the Gangrel pride themselves on their freedom from such manipulation. There is a close bond between the clan and the Gypsies. In recent years, as Gehenna approaches, their interaction has been considerable.
Born in the wild, this is a rather interesting sample of vampire species. More feral than other clans, they exist on the fringe of civilization. Since they have such a deep connection with nature, they are able to communicate with some types of animals. As they enhance their special animal-like abilities they become less and less... err... friendly.
Appearance: Well, they're the wildest of all clans. Most of them don't have a residence at all, they like to roam forests and pastures and sleep in the earth. They'd almost always be dirty, with matted hair, ripped clothes, feral. They're also the clan closest to the Beast (the predator in each vampire) - they have an uncommonly close relationship with animals, and many of them have a certain animal-look about them too, whether claws, or cat-like eyes, or very sharp teeth and so on.
The history of the Malkavian clan is completely shrouded in the past. The Malkavians themselves have many tales about their origin, but do not believe most of them. A favored legend among the kindred is that the founder of the house was cursed by Caine, and his descendants have lived with the madness since. The Malkavians have always existed on the periphery of the vampire culture, watching, but never truly involving themselves in it. Long ago, before the curse and the madness, the founder was said to be the greatest among third generation. Now it is his madness that keep the weakest of those involved in the Jyhad "alive".
Extremely unpredictable and dangerous vampires. Blood drives them completely mad, but also grants them extraordinary powers that make them stand out among other vampires. Their chief abilities include seeing things most vampires cannot, manipulating the will of others, etc.
Appearance: It's incredibly difficult to stereotype them. All of the members of this clan have a mental disorder, but that's not so easy to spot. For example, a raving lunatic in bunny slippers could be a Malkavian - but so would an apparently respectable doctor a la Hannibal Lecter... So it's really up to you.
It is the unfortunate plight of the members of this clan to display the beast within their hearts upon their countenances. Though their founder was known for his rabid predilections and monstrous impulses, the Nosferatu of today are known for being cool-headed. Though they tend to choose only the most depraved individuals as progeny, some how the members of this clan seem to retain their sanity better than most vampires. Their hideous appearance makes them quite unpopular and completely unable to exist in civilization. They look more like monsters than men (for an idea of their appearance, check out the classic film of the same name), they are endowed with a unique ability to conceal themselves from sight (called Obfuscate), which makes them formidable spies and ambushers.
The founder is said to have been a man of regal visage who incurred the wrath of Caine for his barbaric activities and was thereby cursed with the face of a hag. The savagery of his soul is reflected upon his face and that of all his progeny.
Of course, many clans have legends in which an all-powerful Caine curses their founder just as God cursed Caine. It is not likely that all of these stories are true, but some, such as this, might be. Presently, the Nosferatu clan is estranged from their founder, and do not serve him - at least to their knowledge.
Appearance; It'll be tricky to recreate them. The Embrace leaves them deformed and unrecognizable - scabby skin, puss-filled sores, bald heads, bat like ears, discolorations of the skin, lopsided fang-filled maws and the like. In one word, very ugly. They live in sewers, crypts etc so they usually smell as good as they look.
Throughout history, the Toreador have been involved in the arts. This tradition is said to have begun with the first progeny of the founder, a pair of beautiful and artistically gifted twins. Their sire was a leader of the cabal of third generation vampires who slew their own sires. Though ruthless, he was very doting upon his progeny, proffering them far more independence than any other fourth generation vampires were given. They used their freedom to nurture the full panorama of the arts, and their sire protected them throughout war and famine. To this day, the Toreador claim that they are watched over by Arikel, their founder. Though the Toreador are not as formally organised as some other clans, they are furiously loyal to one another and to the art they claim to serve.
Debutantes to the end, these vampires are inspired by things of great beauty. A Toreador’s senses are vastly enhanced to see beauty in the most unlikely of places, and they can use this skill (Auspex) to find their way out of seemingly impossible situations. They also have the ability to enchant and charm others (Presence). But, being so sensitive, they are drawn to any beautiful thing and can become completely captivated by it - even at the most inopportune moments.
Appearance: Generally more than average pretty. Think sexy, seductive, enticing. They are usually up to date with the respective age's fashion trends (and indeed, among the only clan who bothers with such things). They're basically the fashionistas of the vampire world.
The Tremere are unique and no other clan has a history as rich, yet short, as theirs. Long ago, there were others of their line who were not warlocks, nor did the clan have mastery over the discipline of Thaumaturgy. Less than 1,000 years ago, a metamorphosis occurred. Deep in the Romanian mountains, in the district known as Transylvania, a group of magi from the ancient order were Embraced by a foolish clan leader. Combining their new powers with their ancient lore, the magi were quickly able to assume control of the clan. They Embraced many others from their arcane order, and drank the blood of all the elders of their clan. It is even hinted that the most powerful among them managed to hunt down and slay the founder of the line. The Tremere have adopted the most rigid hierarchical system among the clans, and this has allowed them to achieve great power within Kindred society. The other clans distrust the Tremere, both out of fear and a sense that something is not quite right with them. The political center of the Tremere is in Vienna.
A malevolent bunch which seem more like sorcerers than anything else. Their powerful ancestry has bestowed great magical powers to the Tremere, passed down from untold generations. Their unique blood type grants them heightened senses, and the ability to force their will on their victims.
Appearance: No real clear stereotype. They're usually scholars, dressed in austere clothes. They don't much care for flashy things. I would imagine a Tremere woman as wearing a pencil dress with a tweed jacket, hair in a bun and with glasses. For example.
The Ventrue suspect that their founder has been slain by one of the Brujah clan. Though this is a blow to their pride, it has given them some distance and protection from the chaos and strife of the Jyhad. Without the intrigue and demands of a god-like founder, the Ventrue have acheived a remarkable independence from the Antediluvians. They do not know how much truth is contained in this legend, but it is nonetheless one of the basic tenets of their clan, no matter how much other Kindred scoff at it. If there is an elite class of vampire, the Ventrue would be the closest thing to it. The Ventrue are the political powerhouses of the Camarilla, and as such, most cities are governed by Ventrue princes. They are a balanced clan that relies equally on physical strength and the power of the mind.
Much of the respect accorded to the Ventrue is due to the independence they are perceived to have from the Antediluvians. It is out of pride for this respect they are given that they conceal their persecution of the Brujah clan. More princes and Justicars come from the Ventrue clan than from any other; they are clearly leaders of the Camarilla. The Ventrue have regular clan meetings in various parts of the world, including a Grand Council in London every seven years.
Appearance: Well, they're the upper class, and they were in their mortal days too. In the past, new progeny were chosen from the ranks of nobles, royalty and so on. Nowadays, from CEOs of companies and the like. They like the finest and most elegant clothes, though not necessarily fashionable. Many of them like to keep the style of their own mortal days in the way they dress. Males would wear impeccable suits, hair short and perfectly styled, women in either business suits, or elegant gowns for social meetings, fine jewelry, all in good taste. They're snotty as hell, and like to think it is their duty to lead the vampire society.
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WHAT IS A VAMPIRE?
Vampires are undead beings, meaning their bodies do not function like that of a human;
* They don't breathe, but they can mimic it. Some have even made a habit out of feigning it while among mortals, as it's a way to uphold the Masquerade. However, they can still speak and smell. (Don't ask me how that's possible, because I don't know. *s*)
* They don't have heartbeats
* Male vampires CAN, shall we say, show the signs of excitement, but not due to physical or mental stimulation, but by willing blood to the relevant area. Though few see the point, as Kindred no longer have a sex drive per se. Blood is usually the only objects of their desire.
* They can cry, but as blood is supposedly the only fluid in their system, the tears will be blood.
* They still feel physical pain.
* They do have reflections.
* Fangs; Their canines are long and pointed, and extremely sharp, but only fully extended while feeding, being at other times withdrawn into their sockets by the contraction of a flexible tissue at their base. However, some Nosferatu lack the means to withdraw their teeth, due to their disformed state.
* Feeding; the only thing a vampire craves as far as feeding is concerned, is blood. They can feed on humans or animals, although feeding on the latter is frowned upon by "polite Kindred society". Feeding should occur about once every night, unless they use their disciplines alot (using disciplines costs blood) or get seriously injured, in which case a higher blood level helps them heal faster. To feed, a vampire only needs to bite, retract the teeth from the wound and begin to drink. Once they're done, if they lick the wound it will heal, leaving no trace of the feeding. The victim will experience a feeling of ecstasy during the feeding. Afterwards they won't remember much of the incident, unless they actually know what has just happened (as would be the case with most blood dolls).
However, the Ventrue are a bit different from other clans when it comes to feeding. They cannot feed on the blood of bums, prostitutes, or any other being on "society's bottom", as it will cause them to vomit. Being the snobs they are, they require "higher quality" blood. Some have even developed a taste for one specific kind of blood (for instance, scholars or aristocrats, etc), and thus cannot drink any other kind of blood.
Kindred also usually don't kill when they feed. They take only what blood they need, and that's it. Killing is frowned upon, as it endangers the Masquerade by leaving corpses drained of blood for the police to investigate.
* Clans; whatever clan your Sire is, that is the clan you'll be. It's in the blood. If a Brujah embraces you, you're a Brujah for the rest of your unnatural unlife. Think of it as ethnicity; if you're born caucasian, there's no changing it.
* They can not digest food or drink, simply because their bodies are dead and cannot process it. If they eat or drink, they will vomit.
* Regeneration; Kindred can use the blood upon wich they've fed to heal themselves. Kindred are able to regenerate whole limbs and organs, given time and need. Regeneration always restores the vampire to the physical state he/she possessed when Embraced. This includes hair length, face shape, body weight, etc. When the body is injured or otherwise changed, it will reform in the same mold over and over again.
Regenerating/Healing in public is considered a Masquerade violation.
* As stated above, hair length cannot be permanently changed. It will never grow longer, but a vampire can cut his/her hair and have it stay that way during the entire night. When they go to sleep, the hair will regenerate. The same goes for piercings; if they get something pierced, and take out the ring/stud/whatever, the flesh/skin will regenerate within minutes.
* Final death; Kindred aren't completely immortal. They can die, and when they do, nothing will remain of their body but ash. This is called the Final Death.
What kills a vampire is the following;
- Being exposed to the sun for more than but a few seconds. The sun will burn their skin, and if they retreat back into the shadows in time, they will heal.
- Holy water; works much like sunlight. However, it won't really kill unless you decide to go swimming in it.
- Fire; works the same way as with humans.
- Decapitation; works the same way as with humans.
- Being completely drained of blood.
Wooden stakes will NOT kill a vampire. It will just paralyze them for a few moments, provided that they are staked in the heart.
Disciplines are supernatural powers granted by the Embrace. The origins of these powers are unknown, but some speculate they are gifts from Caine, the father of all vampires himself.
There are two types; passive and targeted.
Passive disciplines target your own character, and affect their perception and their skills. They last for a certain amount of time depending on the caster's level of expertise, but can be broken in advance by the caster him-/herself. Your character will automatically cast the highest level of any passive discipline they have.
The passive disciplines are; Auspex, Celerity, Fortitude, Obfuscate, Potence, Presence and Protean.
Targeted disciplines require your character to select a target on which to cast the spell; friend or foe, or even yourself. They can either harm or strengthen the target. You will also have to select what level to use, as each level represents a different "spell".
The targeted disciplines are; Animalism, Dementation, Dominate and Thaumaturgy.
What disciplines you have/can learn depends on what clan you are. Each clan has 3 disciplines they specialise in, and each discipline has 5 levels.
What levels you have access to depends on the age of your vampires. Neonates don't have access to any levels higher than 2, Ancillae can reach level 4, and only Elders and Methuselas can wield a level 5.
For the sake of 'realism' though, feel free to not have reached the highest level possible for your age, in every discipline you have.
Also, it is important that you are careful using disciplines, as some result in an obvious display of supernatural powers, and using them where the Masquerade is in effect (meaning in public or around mortals) will be considered a Masquerade violation, as it breaks the Masquerade. Other disciplines are subtle enough to use around mortals, as casting them will not be visible to the naked eye.
However, no disciplines are to be used while in an Elysium.
So, what three disciplines do each clan have?
Well, here is a list;
I will not include the names of the various discipline levels, nor what they do. If you are interested in using disciplines, I must refer you to the Disciplines section on the website.
And if you have any questions, do feel free to ask.
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In order to offer players locations and landmarks where there characters can meet, instead of just having them all roam the streets, you'll find a list of current so-called Hot Spots below. These are locations that are open for all characters, unless otherwise stated. You are, however, of course free to have your character roam the streets anyway, or head to other locations.
* The Haven: a night club run by Valerian of clan Toreador and Claudia, a Ventrue. It's dark, with a gothic atmosphere, and offers the usual bar, booths and dance floor, but also a stage for live performances. The open second floor holds a VIP lounge/office to the left of the staircase, and a small passage leading to Valerian's personal chambers and art studio to the right. This has been branded an Elysium. Picture 1, Picture 2, Picture 3, Picture 4, Picture 5, Picture 6
(Pics are not exact, but simply here to give you the general idea of the basic layout. Also, there are tables/booths underneath the VIP lounge and next to the stairs, but sadly items on the first floor don't show when viewing the second floor in-game (referring to Pic 2).)
* The Museum Hermeticum and Internet Cafe: The upper floors remain traditional to an ancient library filled with enough dusty texts and hidden scrolls to set every scholars heart on fire. The basement has been modernised in silver and ruby with the latest electronic equipment and now houses L.A.'s finest internet café. Enter to research online, keep up with the latest communications or stop by for the richest cup of Italian Mocha you’ll ever taste.
The museum is owned by the Tremere and Mina Coles resides on the top floor. This has been branded an Elysium.
* The Rave Arcade: With an eleven dollar admission fee, the Rave Arcade has become L.A.'s hottest gamer haven. The mood varies throughout the night, earlier hours are blanketed with soft techno sounds that are overridden by the endless drone of the arcade games. Deeper into the night, however, many of the arcade games are shut down and the moshers take their spot in the mosh pit as one of the popular local bands enlisted to play take their stage. The presence of the arcade is controversial as, over time, it has become a breeding ground for rowdy metalheads and shady characters. Now closed due to renovation and police investigation (following Flare's rampage).
* Club Diebuk: Diebuk is a rave nightclub where, unlike others in the city, vampires from all clans and backgrounds can come together. Well wishes, or no. The club was founded in 1892 by Cade Vaughn the Brujah Primogen, and is situated in Downtown LA, underground, opening usually around 9pm with no admission fee. It was primarily a location for solace, though as Cade would have it, he allows vampires to use their disciplines inside at will. The club is moderated by Brujah guards and bouncers, though even they involve themselves in bar brawls and punch-ups. Downstairs there is a bar and dancefloor with a plasma TV screen. The interior is lit with spotlights and strobe lights. The music blaring dance music. Off to the right is a black door guarded by burley Brujah vampires, leading to Cade's private room, which can be accessed by invitation. Picture 1
* Algernon: This is a combined bookstore and café not far from The Haven, owned by Ventrue Primogen Archon DeWinter. Julia, a Tremere, helps him run it, selling books and what not. There is also a Ventrue male that has an eye on the business.
It is intimate and cozy with comfortable armchairs, yet it holds a lot of books. Both new ones, and old ones. And also computers with internet connection. All clans are welcome here, therefore it is not as grand as you would assume a Ventrue establishment to be. It is modern, but with a touch of the old days. You can definatley find some gothic design as well as victorian; among furniture, wallpapers and decorations. There are three floors. The first floor contains the bookstore and café. The second floor is for VIP only, which means Kindred. No kine is allowed up there what so ever. It also has books and a comfortable setting, in order for the Kindred to socialize without the interruption of the kine. The books on the second floor are older, and more suitable for the Kindred that wish to engage themselves in search of information. If anyone is looking for more rare books, they would be wise to contact the owner or Julia. The third floor is Archon's private office. This is where he has meetings with other Kindred, and where he spends his time when he needs to work in the center of the city, without disturbance. Picture 1, Picture 2, Picture 3
* The Dive/Posh: One of the many casinos owned by Falesyia Kermode, though this is the only one she considers home. The Dive is one of her smaller establishments, consisting of only three floors. The bottom floor being where you’ll find the usual casino amenities. Plenty of slot machines and tables to spend your wealth in effort to strike it rich. A buffet area is also on this floor. The second floor hosts several suites for those who wish to stay in luxury, and can afford it. Falesyia's private suite is there as well as the offices and security personnel that can see everything going on below. Also located on the second floor is a set of doors that lead to Falesyia’s favorite place.
Behind these doors which are always guarded by two rather large bouncers, you’ll find a stair way leading to the third floor. The third floor is where you’ll find Posh, an invite only private area where only the elite of the elite, the richest of the rich are allowed. A much more intimate area, with only one table of each type is run. The stakes are high, the thrills intense.
While most who enter Posh are well known celebrities or business men, Falesyia keeps watch on the bottom floor. If someone catches her eye, or seems to be on one hell of a roll, they may be approached by her agents and invited to sit with the high rollers.
As mentioned in the first post, every major city has it's Prince. Los Angeles is no exception. Damian Alexander is a Ventrue elder, and has been the Prince of L.A. for well over four decades now. He will be played by me, and will not be taking up one of the character slots, meaning there are still 5 slots initially open for the Ventrue.
For more info on the office of Prince, please see the Glossary on the website.
The Prince will have a Sheriff (see the Glossary), but as I'm not sure how active the Prince will be, the sheriff will be made an NPC, and thus that position will not be up for grabs, simply because I don't want to tie someone up with a semi-active character. Being the Prince's bodyguard pretty much means following him around like a dog.
Should it turn out that the Prince will be more active than I've anticipated, I might consider opening up the position as sheriff.
But for now, picture him being a tall, robust Brujah brute.
Now, without any further ado; ladies and gentlemen, I give to you your Prince, Damian Alexander III;
Clan: Ventrue Name: Damian Alexander (III) Age: Elder (580 years old, embraced in 1429, at the age of 28) Disciplines: Dominate (level 5), Fortitude (level 4), Presence (level 5)
Bio: Born during the Hundred Years War, Damian was destined to end up on the battlefield. Being of noble birth he was raised a knight, being taught virtues such as courtesy and manners, cleanliness and religion, along with various battle skills before even hitting puberty.
At the age of 14 he started serving as a squire, aiding a highly respected knight in battle, and outside. He watched and learned, and at the age of 19 was knighted by his master for saving his master's life on the battlefield.
He served the English with vigor, earning himself a reputation for being the epitome of what a knight should be - couragous, just, merciful, and noble - until he one day was fatally wounded during battle. He was taken back to his tent, and in the dead of the night was Embraced by a Ventrue who'd been keeping an eye on him for the last couple of years. The Ventrue had wanted to wait another year or so, but with Damian on his deathbed, they didn't want him to slip through their fingers.
Since then he's spent his time indulging himself in the virtues of the Ventrue, and has thus become a powerful leader and a shrewd business man.
During the late 1700's, he was lurking around the Swiss court when a young lady caught his eye. She was still only a teenager, but already possessed the poise and manners of a queen. He had one of his ghouls, the King's physician, keep an eye on her and keep Damian updated with the on-goings of her life.
Only weeks after first seeing her, Damian had decided she would be granted the Kiss as she was clearly meant to be a Ventrue. However, he also decided to wait a few years, so that she would first reach her full potential.
However, she suddenly fell very ill, and fearing that they would loose her and that he would suffer the wrath of Damian in the process, the doctor quickly sent for the noble Ventrue.
Damian had no choice. If he wanted her, and he did, he had to Embrace her right then and there on her death bed, much like the way he himself had been Embraced.
These days he resides in Los Angeles, and some two decades ago, was elected Prince of the city.
He's still considered just, noble and couragous, but he no longer shows mercy on those who betray him or let him down in any way, and he's been known to plot and manipulate younger Kindred into serving his own needs.
The Ventrue blood has also turned him into somewhat of an arrogant snob, as he, like any Ventrue, considers himself a born leader with the duty to guide and care for the Kindred in his town.
If you're a vampire and you've just arrived in L.A., it is required that you look up the Prince and introduce your presence in his city, as is it expected that if you wish to Embrace someone, wage war against Kindred, or call a blood hunt you should seek his permission before doing so.
You'll be most likely to find him in his penthouse office, in downtown Los Angeles.
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A Primogen is an advisor to the Prince, a representative of each clan within a domain. Together, all the Primogen form the Prince's advisory council, and all serve as his connection with all the Camarilla vampires dwelling in his domain.
A Primogen is mainly an elder in good standing within the community.
For more info on the Primogen, please see the Glossary on the website.
As each Camarilla clan in every town have their own Primogen, the positions as Clan Primogen are open to players in this game. There's one for every clan. The only requirement is that your vampire is an elder, and someone that would be considered suitable by others.
On this, it's first come, first served.
The Primogen council right now consists of the following;
Brujah Primogen: NPC
Gangrel Primogen: NPC
Malkavian Primogen: Seraphina Christou
Nosferatu Primogen: NPC
Toreador Primogen: TBA
Tremere Primogen: Mina Coles, NPC only to be used very carefully and only if there is no avoiding it.
Ventrue Primogen: Archon DeWinter
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This is where I would've listed common words and phrases used within Kindred society, but as these first couple of posts are already packed with quite alot of information, I will only (yet again) provide you guys with a link to the website, where you'll find the complete Glossary. You are not expected to learn everything there, it's merely there for reference.
Clan: Toreador Name: Valerian (doesn't use a last name) Age: Neonate (Embraced in 1902 at the age of 25) Disciplines: Auspex (level 1), Celerity (level 2), Presence (level 2).
(Not so) Short Bio:
Valerian has always been a dreamer and a fan/lover of beauty. He'll find beauty in any and everything, and everyone. Born into a wealthy family in England in 1877, he was the youngest son of three, and thus the one with the least responsibility, which might explain his lack of interest in businesses, finances etc. Instead he grew up spending most of his time reading, writing, painting, daydreaming and seeking the company of others like him. And it was in this open-minded circle of friends that he first realized he was equally attracted by men and women. Both genders had their special qualities that he loved, though he knew better than to be open about his experiences with men.
At the age of 20, he had a falling out with his parents. They wanted him to mature and start taking responsibility, while Valerian himself kept insisting that he wanted to pursue a career as an artist; as a painter and possibly a poet. He wanted to attend the Chelsea School of Art, in order to develop his skills, but his parents refused to finance such a "waste of time". They even threatened to cut him off entirely if he did not bend to their will. Of course, he did not, and a short while later he was accepted by the school, ending up being disowned by his parents in the process.
Even from the very start money was tight, but luckily, Valerian had a wealthy "friend" who saw his potential and decided to help him out by not only paying for his education, but offer him a place to stay as well. It lasted only for a few months, until rumours started circulating. Valerian's friend claimed he couldn't risk his social status nor his good name, and thus Valerian was once again without a benefactor.
However, he soon found himself a cheap and shabby apartment, and took odd jobs in order to make enough money to be able to stay in school, even serving as a rentboy on rare occasions just to make ends meet.
Finishing his education, things didn't seem to look up anytime soon. He kept struggling for a couple of years, selling a painting every now and then, but it was never enough to make a real living.
Then one night, as he was sitting in the park, savouring the last dying traces of the sunset, he and the painting he'd been working on caught a certain someone's eye. A vampire. A Toreador, who instantly fell in love with the young man's talent. He approached Valerian, commenting on his work, and offering a few tips and tricks. Valerian was awestruck by the man's insight and knowledge, and a friendship was born.
Only a few weeks later, the Toreador embraced Valerian.
Nowadays, Valerian has temporarily settled down in Los Angeles, and runs a night club called The Haven. Or rather, he fronts and co-owns it. The other owner, and the one in charge of really running it (finances, hiring/firing staff etc) is a Ventrue female named Claudia, with whom he's having a relationship of some sort. There is a blood bond between the two, with Valerian being the thrall, and Claudia being the regnant. Thus, she does have him in her power, but does not completely control him. She's the dominant one, and he is her willing plaything, her boy toy. She can sometimes get impatient with him, as he's far too laid back and carefree, only seeking the pleasures of (un)life. He has little interest in how the business is run.
He can often be found at the club, either socializing at his usual table along with his ghoul Melody, or in the VIP lounge upstairs, where he willingly serves as a blood doll to both male and female vampires (mainly regulars). He loves the intimacy, and drinking from him is a highly sensual experience, even for vampires. Keep in mind though, that he is not a prostitute. Drinking from him doesn't hold a price, and he'll only share his blood with whoever he wants to.
However, he doesn't limit himself to sharing intimacy with vampires only, but will also on occasion indulge himself in real lovemaking, with mortals. Because, while vampires no longer have a sex drive per se, they can still perform the act of lovemaking, and being the sensual, sexual creature that he is, Valerian cherishes the intimacy shared with another beautiful being - be it a mortal or an immortal - even though the physical pleasure is not nearly as intense for him as for his parter (in case of a human). He simply finds his pleasure in pleasing others.
He doesn't care a whole lot about the feuds and disagreements between the clans, nor does he pay much attention to it. If he's up to date on things, it's simply because Claudia insists on trying to keep him in the loop. He rarely participates in any schemes, unless asked by her. He'll go along with running her errands every now and then, and help her succeed with whatever plans she might have. Be warned though, he's not naive; not in the way that he doesn't see what part he's playing in her (or anyone else's) schemes. He's usually very well aware of things, once he's gotten involved, even though he might not always seem to be.
As for the club itself, it is indeed a haven, like the name suggests, as it serves as an Elysium for the local vampires; a place where all fights and blood feuds are left at the door.
Except for the VIP lounge/office, the upstairs also holds Valerian's art studio and personal chambers, that he often shares with either Claudia, or his ghoul Melody.
(((ooc: I know the club name is a bit cheesy, but it's me paying homage to "Kindred; The Embraced". )))
An exotic, striking beauty, a wilful temptress, devastatingly seductive vixen out for her victim.
Hmm. Very film noir.
Yes, she was out for her victim, and that did aptly describe her, but not how or why everyone would think so...
But still, there was potential for a cult classic.
She was dangerous, a beguiling light, flame that drew everyone in like unwitting moths, her masks flawless, ranging from that derisive siren to the comforting soulsoother, anything and everything. But there she was, perfect as anything could be and enticing everyone in even before she spoke a word. It was subliminal charisma at it's very best.
Now, now, there are two sides to every wall. And the one that was visible to the outside world was anything Lena Sayliss painted and, really, anything goes. The usual composed of her best, her most natural tricks; that electrifying sensuality, that sparkling wit, that disarming smile and those excruciatingly piercing eyes... that was one side of the wall, for the other side harboured a formidable mind. All her tricks notwithstanding, if Lena was anything, she was a powerful mind. She was logic and sense, cause and consequence, reason and rationale intertwined with the magic of mischief. Assassin aside, she was bad news to the sanity of any man or woman who answered her subliminal call - and so many were willing to take the bait. They always had been.
Lena is somewhat of an enigma, not very keen to reveal much of herself. For this, she is known (or rather, not) to adopt several different identities to get what she wants. Thoroughly deceptive, she is well aware of her charms and enticing nature, allowing her to pass off as a Toreador vampire when occasion calls for it. She has little morals about who she works for just as long as she gets what she wants - and its not always money.
Arising from a wealthy family, everything she’d wanted had always been accessible, but having distanced herself from them, she only had her trust fund to depend on to being with, but the cunning girl put to use her disarming business acumen, profiting from both business investments as well as her… interesting and lucrative occupation. Now, she lives in a lavish Los Angeles apartment, kept secret from all her clientele, just in case she is traced back. Ever the Loki reincarnate, she takes pleasure in playing mind games with people regarding exactly what it is that she does.
She does have a penchant for beautiful, aesthetically appealing things – she dresses impeccably and insists on owning high quality things, not compromising on cost because she had never really had to, let alone these days.
The story of Lena Sayliss begins with a girl born as Alexandria ‘Alexis’ Ashcroft, the only daughter of the affluent chairman of a leading pharmaceuticals company, resigned to comparatively stereotypical life to begin and yet gifted with the sort of nature that made everything around her come alive with her electrifying presence, as if Alexis was born to set the world alight. Seemingly perpetually infused with energy, she indulged herself in not only the best and most challenging education to feed her impressive mental prowess, but also extracurricular activities such as martial arts, fencing, shooting and archery, yet always yearning for more and more excitement, because she was never satiated.
Forever the independent non-conformist, there was seldom anything that stood in-between her and what she wanted – she did exactly as she pleased, even in the face of her rather coldly manipulative mother. She was always the type to follow her own mind, her own desires. Hence, determined to prove that she didn't have to be born with a silver spoon to get anywhere in life, she made it a point to get into which ever walk of life she wanted, rather than best advised by well-wishers, by her own merits and thus successfully secured a place at Oxford.
Finally entering university, she didn’t realise exactly what she had to be careful about, for all her savoir-faire, she had no idea how clueless she was. Her beauty, charm and talent caught the eye of a Toreador vampire, Christian. Lena, who was under the impression that he was just another human, proved to be a conquest he just couldn't resist. Always playing hard to get with him, it was more her sharp wit and spirit that kept him hooked once he'd been lured, unable to stop playing along with her games because he enjoyed the difficulty that she was. She didn't know he was a vampire, and when she did find out... well, in hindsight, she could guess he'd warped her mind somehow by using his powers on her.
He'd wanted to embrace her and she'd refused. No-one really understood what happened after that and thus, the questions surrounding the disappearances of both herself and Christian were largely unanswered. The truth, however was very convoluted, because he wasn’t ready to give up and she wasn’t ready to give in. She had no knowledge of what a ghoul was, she had no idea of what the blood bond did and when she did find out – largely thanks to the Society of Leopold, right before they decided executing the ghoul would be the best way to teach the dormitor a lesson – she knew she needed to get out. Needless to say, since then, those responsible for her almost-execution paid dearly.
Though it was true that Christian had been closer to her ideal of an equal than anyone else, things turned sour and quickly so. Insulted by her refusal to become his childe, it seemed that Christian had sought to make her his ghoul at least, enticing her by feeding her his vitae - mostly without her knowledge. He used the initial effects of the blood bond to wear her down, to leave her more vulnerable to his persuasion, for he knew that taking her by force was mistake that he wouldn’t have eternity to regret. She had no idea what was going on, only that something was… off and thus, attempting to Withdraw from his support, Lena discovered that the feat was easier said than done as she was addicted to vitae and he’d already begun playing other mind games with her.
While not entirely his servant, she still needed - craved - what he had to offer. She'd even started to become progressively alienated from her life - the changes in her psyche scaring herself and everyone who knew her. Worse yet for her, Christian knew this and used it as means to taunt her, further draw her into his trap.
Right before the cat was out of the bag.
As far as Lena was concerned, in this game, she only had two options; give in to him or take what she wanted. The former was never an option and therefore she had to take matters into her own hands. Manipulating him into the belief that she had finally caved into his demands, she stunned Christian with a stake, drawing as much blood from him as possible before preparing to kill him. However, the truth was, she hadn’t planned any of it. There was no set premeditation, given that only on some distant level she realised she’d have to kill him and when it came to it; she acted because there was no other alternative for her. All that stood out in memory was that he was about to turn her seconds before she staked him.
Calming down to think logically, she slowly planned the rest of her life. She knew exactly how things would go from here; there were others, other vampires who could be used to sustain her addiction – because she just couldn’t fight it. She'd manage, she had to. A vocation as a hired assassin would help, if anything. She'd drain any vampire she can before finishing the hit. It would work. It had to work. Once Christian Clare was out of her life.
But it didn't work. Of course it didn't. Killing him, as much as she desperately wanted to, was almost painfully impossible. She couldn't bring herself to do it. Was it love for her master? No… no, it wasn't possible for her to love anything human at this rate, forget this abomination. It wasn't love, it was dependency, it was the blood-bond. In his moment of death, he was still laughing away at her. She couldn't do it. She didn’t want to physically hurt him. So, she did the next best thing; she set fire to the warehouse while he was still strapped down helplessly in place.
She fled, shamelessly, unaware of whether he lived or died that night. It wasn't as if she left unscathed; she still had to deal with this addiction to vitae....
Now, after moving to America, she continued to work alone, knowing the demand for someone of her calibre and - lack thereof – morals, eventually adopting the persona of Lena Sayliss. She is an excellent actress, therefore attributing to her extreme capability and exercising of deception. The flipside to Lena's charm and dark humour is that she exhibits mild paranoid disempathetic sociopathy - possibly a result of psychological trauma.
She has since developed - or rather exacerbated - a pathological inability to form close associations with people, to actually recognise them as people and not just games and objects to be played with or used, and thus, she’s mostly unable to form emotional bonds with, unless something finally got through to her. Though she has the ability to decipher between right and wrong, she is unable to accept and abide by the gravity of it, not considering rules as anything even vaguely important; if there was anything she could get away with, she'd do it. Hence, she has no tangible conscience, though any morals – few and far between – truly stick because they result from her own judgement.
Though devastatingly charming and alluring superficially at least, she is deceptive, duplicitous, elusive and cruelly manipulative.
Her behaviour stems from being taught that that's how she should behave by coldly manipulative parents and a backstabbing social environment. As far as her natural temperament goes, Lena is quite charming, gregarious, and charismatic, but her upbringing brings with it a deeply driven, almost crippling mistrust fuelled by being burned everytime she didn't abide by it. She has become accustomed to keeping her garde up at all times, years of said practice leading to an entire mirage that she projects to fit in with the society as she sees it; delusional, repressive and wrong and sadly, more often than not, she's proven right everytime she tests her own hypothesis.
Deep down, she's entirely dissatisfied with her life, but doesn't let herself understand it for the simple fact that she has no way to correct her circumstances and therefore oscillates between extremes of being entirely smug, satisfied and reckless and admitting the empty, meaningless nature of the world around her and secretly seeks to be proven wrong.
She is originally of British origin, and having lived most of her life in Europe, normally speaks with an English accent. However, she is known to switch accents in order to appear less conspicuous in LA. Brought up in the upper class British ways, she is, by nature, very much a lady, though her current occupation tends to hinder the fact somewhat.
As far as Lena is concerned, everything has it's price.
Her real name is not 'Lena Sayliss', given the need to keep her original identity secret, she has burned off her fingerprints, adopted several aliases having faked her own death first to let everyone in her past believe she was dead. Of course, the people who were out to get her would not rest until they saw her dead with their own eyes. She also has a Siberian cat named Sandler.
7. Additional info:
Is 5' 7" tall, wears heels, so looks taller and weighs about 100 to 105lb, has golden green eyes, long espresso brown hair, but changes hair colour a lot and sometimes wears contacts and/or wigs. Almost always wears a platium ring on right hand thumb. She's frankly chameleon-like in consideration to her appearance.
Always open to storylines and connections
"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Name: Adrien de la Cour Clan: Tremere Disciplines: Auspex (level 1), Dominate (level 1), Thaumaturgy (level 1) Bio: Born a French nobleman in 1765, during the Enlightenment, Adrien was destined to have a talent for learning. At an early age he discovered the power of knowledge, and was taught a number of languages, sciences and arts. A romantic at heart, he found himself spending hours and hours playing and composing music. The harpsichord was his instrument of choice, and it was there he felt the most comfortable, and at peace.
However, late 18th century France was a turbulent time and place, and during the French revolution, Adrien's family were amongst the unfortunates that the people turned against. Both his parents and older siblings were arrested and executed.
Adrien himself, however, had caught someone's eye. And not just one person's. It was two people, who for different reasons desired him. Both of them vampires. One Toreador female, who had fallen in love with him while watching him perform one of his sonatas at a party. The other a man of the Tremere clan. Adrien's vast knowledge and hunger for learning tickled his interest.
But while the woman waited for just the right time to approach Adrien, the man wasted no time.
In a dirty back ally, attempting to escape from the angry mob, Adrien was embraced and quickly taken to a crypt at the cemetary. There he learned about his new nature, the Camarilla and the Masquerade, and he was delighted. He thouroughly enjoyed being a vampire. It opened up so many doors, so many new dimensions to life.
He's travelled the world, to study cultures and technology, and recently ended up in Los Angeles.
Yes. This was the story used to help decieve the Kindred of Los Angeles a long time ago, in the early light of the 20th century.
The truth of the matter was that Adrien was not born in 1765.
He did not experience the French revolution.
He was not a Tremere.
He hadn't even been Embraced.
Adrien de la Cour, was a vampire hunter.
Born the son of a mortal woman of the French court and a vampire, a so-called thin-blood, Adrien is a dhampir.
His real date of birth was in 1854. As a child he aged normally, but once he reached adulthood, the aging process started slowing down; with his body fully developed, his dhampir powers had kicked in.
Being the rare offspring of a vampire, Adrien was raised with tales of the Kindred, and to him, they were a natural part of life. Until they brought about an end to the (un)life of his thin-blood father. Only then did he see what they truely are (in his mind); monsters. Monsters that need to be exterminated. And he decided he would be the one to rid the world of them.
But in order to do that, he needed to learn more about them. With time being on his side, he began studying the Kindred, learning the basics of their society and their rules. Once that was done, he had to pick what clan he would pose as. He realized that killing Kindred would be easier if he managed to weasel his way into their society, as it would mean that he would be aquainted with his victims, instead of having to track them down from the shadows.
The Nosferatu would have been perfect, had they not been deformed to look on the outside what they truely were on the inside. All the information and knowledge they had would've made Adrien's mission alot easier. But they were simply impossible to imitate. And the same went for the Malkavians.
The nature of the Brujah and the Gangrel were both something Adrien couldn't relate to, and so trying to pose as either of them meant his cover would be easily blown. The Ventrue and the Toreador would be simple, and that was exactly why he dismissed them. If the Kindred started suspecting that they had a traitor among them, the Ventrue and the Toreador would be the first clans to be scrutinized.
But the Tremere, with their complex and mysterious ways, their strict hierachy and well guarded secrets... Even to the undead, they would be a challenge to imitate. And so they were the perfect clan. Adrien always did harbour an interest for the dark side of life, and actually fit the Tremere bill quite well.
Once he had learned what he needed to know in order to be able to present himself as a Tremere neonate, his vampire hunting days began.
This was in 1887. He had spent fifteen years studying, researching and perfecting his new persona, and was now 33 years old. Although his appearance and vitality was that of a man in his early 20's.
He spent a couple of months earning the trust of the Kindred around him, before he made his first kill. It was a Toreador neonate, so easily blinded by Adrien's good looks and charming ways that it took almost no effort at all.
After that, the number of Paris Kindred started rapidly decreasing. But before the risk of being found out got too big, Adrien bid his "fellow Tremere" farewell, telling them some excuse about wanting to leave Paris before he too suffered final death at the hands of this unknown vampire hunter.
However, unbeknownst to them, he stayed in secret to assasinate a few more Kindred. Because, if the killings ceased with his departure, it wouldn't take the survivors long to put two and two together.
And ironically, it was they who provided him with the perfect get-away. The turmoil caused by the many deaths had the same effect on Kindred as it would on humans; they started searching for a scapegoat, and even killed one of their own, a Brujah Ancilla, believing she was the traitor.
After she was dead, Adrien left Paris for real, leaving the remaining Kindred thinking they had indeed killed the hunter.
He repeated this pattern in various cities around Europe, before deciding the European Kindred had grown far too careful and suspicious for him to earn their trust. Instead, he crossed the Atlantic Ocean. The turn had now come to the Kindred of America.
By 1897, he had ended up in Los Angeles. There is where he met Mina; the first Kindred to ever spark an emotion in him. So much so that when came time to end her life, he hesitated ever so briefly. Not to take pleasure in the look on her face, not to savour the moment, but to apologize. If there had been one Kindred that could've made him think differently about their race, it would've been her.
But while it pained him to do this to her, he knew he had no choice. If he'd allow her to live, she surely wouldn't rest until she held in her hand his dying heart, ripped from his body by Mina herself. His betrayal had been too big for her to ever forgive him. She had confided in him, told him things she hadn't dared tell anyone else.
But, lady luck had been on Mina's side. Another Tremere interrupted just as Adrien was about to go in for the kill, and as it would've been impossible for him to take on two Tremere at once, he had to flee. Not just from the mansion they had been in, but from Los Angeles altogether. Staying would've been far too dangerous, as the Kindred now knew who he was and what he looked like.
Since that night, he roamed the various states of North America, tracking down Kindred and killing them when he got the chance. Though infiltrating the Tremere clan, or any clan, was no longer an option. He had long ago struck fear in Kindred society, as a nameless, unstoppable hunter. His anonymity had been his only protection. But with his appearance known, he would've roused suspicion the moment he waltzed into a Prince's domain, and so he'd had to settle for hiding in the shadows and striking when the right opportunity presented itself.
That was until three years ago.
In 2004, the Prince and the Primogen council of San Fransisco were informed that someone resembling Adrien had been spotted in their city. The Nosferatu were immediately sent to track him down. It took a while, even for these experts, but finally they found him.
Now, it was payback time.
Ambushed in a dirty back alley, to fit the story he had used to decieve so many of them throughout the years, Adrien was Embraced. And not just by any randomly chosen clan, but by the Tremere themselves.
Age: 150 dhampir years (appears to be in his mid/late 20's), three vampire years. Neonate.
Additional info: 5'10 tall, has 'IX' tattooed in black on the small area just below the nape of his neck (explanations here and here), and wears two charms around his neck; the alchemic platinum symbol and the Egyptian 'sa' hieroglyph. Always armed with a bowie knife in his left boot, and a small gun hidden in the folds of the long, black leather coat he usually wears.
5. Short bio:(Ahem, depends on how you define 'short')
Claudia, Clarice as she was then, was a slave bought to work for in a household so hectic and immense that it was easy for the girl of 9 to lose herself in it and not be missed for days. As the master, Nobile Alberto Verdicchio’s personal handmaid, she continually spent time tending to his and his guests’s demands, tirelessly crushed into further submission and further injured by Verdicchio’s dire cruelty to those lesser than himself in status quo. To be fair to Alberto, his arrogance was not unfounded; he was one of the best of his time; rich and accomplished in education at least. However, he lacked the acumen and cunning to ever be a successful businessman and that kind of weakness was a fatal flaw for himself and his lands. Fortunately, Alberto had the aptitude to realise and accept his shortcomings and began to rely on the words of advisors to compensate. But such men were easily bought by others, given enough incentive.
While Clarice worked relentlessly for him, serving meals and refreshments in his study, she had the privilege to secretly listen in on the conversations during which Alberto gained his direction, picking apart the arguments and advice with her own shrewdness. Furthermore, she hid another secret; Clarice, having watched Alberto’s wards being taught to read, diligently and devotedly learned the art of literacy herself, allowing her to indulge in the endless philosophical books that Verdicchio horded but never took a moment to appreciate. And she did learn, so much more than Verdicchio could ever hope to achieve with all his hired brainpower, for she had something that he could only dream of; the power of her own mind, the ability to think without restrictions. Of course it became clear to Clarice that her predicament was far from what she deserved. He had no right to keep her – or anyone – this way and yet she was prisoner here, with only his books for company.
But of course, by the twist of fate, no such secret remained undisclosed for long, as Clarice learned when a furious Verdicchio found her pouring over his prized yet neglected possessions. Clarice, his slave, enjoying the books he had probably never bothered to look at once he’d shelved them. Of course, how dare she. That was probably the strongest notion of fear Clarice had ever felt, the pure wrath that manifested on the man’s face almost radiating out towards her, threatening to choke and wreck havoc. Well, he almost did. He probably would have had she not pointed out what he’d created – a powerful, incisive, uncompromising psyche with something his money would have never bought him; loyalty. Pushed in the right direction, Verdicchio saw his advantage in the situation and Clarice was allowed to continue her indulgence while she played his clandestine advisor. Again, Clarice was reminded of her lowly origins and sex; unable to rightfully accept acclaim because she was a slave and a woman.
While he became increasingly triumphant and tryrannical wielding Clarice’s mind, Clarice found herself wielding Verdicchio’s cruelty and malice. However, unbeknownst to both of them, the Venture Primogen, Calvino watched patiently the rise to infamy that Verdicchio enjoyed, with pure admiration and ardour for the man’s mental capability. Though his unrelenting interest in his potential protégé, Calvino began to notice something, Verdicchio scarcely travelled from his estate and when he did, he was careful not to make any decisions during his time away. The curious Venture nature led Calvino to assume that it was not the old man’s own mind at work, no, that brilliance belonged to another. Yet, the façade that Verdicchio forced Clarice to play out was much too solid for anyone – even Calvino – to prove. Relentless in his pursuit to uncover and Embrace the master of Verdicchio’s thought, Calvino watched and waited, patiently as ever noting the unnaturally dependent relationship Verdicchio had with his slave girl and the unusual freedom he gave her at times. He realised.
From the girl aged 9, Clarice had blossomed in both mind and body, becoming beautiful and wise, while Verdicchio declined in both, descending into dementia and decay and yet they shared the same prison; each other. While Clarice fought for her freedom, Verdicchio fought for control and the stalemate reached was torturous to sustain and destroy. Therefore, when Calvino approached Clarice, offering her everything she had wanted, she was more than willing to accept the Embrace. Again, fate intervened as Verdicchio discovered her secret once more and Clarice realised there was no compromising this time. It was either him or her.
And yet, with all her intellect, she had never considered, even for a moment on that fateful night that she would have to watch Verdicchio burn the man who had granted her immortality and liberty. And he did burn, so furiously that it seemed in an instant that he had never existed. Clarice’s mind had fought for survival then, searching frantically, in that horrific window of time, for anything that would ensure her continued existence. She understood, Verdicchio was not just angry, he was afraid –terrified – of losing his strongest advisor. Now, it was possible. What she had always wanted wasn’t just freedom, it was also revenge.
She offered him everything the way Calvino had, except Verdicchio had done nothing to deserve it. He fell for it beautifully, the idea of immortality and indestructibility to enjoy his infamy and of course he’d always have Clarice by his side, where else would she go? He underestimated the hate and resentment she harboured for him, the every present flaw of Alberto; his inability to think. She did turn him, not into a vampire, however, but into a ghoul. Her ghoul. The master became the slave and the latter gained her rightful stance, with him grovelling at her feet. It was a fitting revenge indeed.
After her thirst for revenge was quenched, she let it go, let him go, it wasn’t worth destroying herself over. Clarice abandoned him, leaving him for death and madness to find while she abandoned herself. Clarice D'Agostino died and Claudia was born, Claudia the elusive nomad who travelled Europe through it’s years, watching and learning from the great thinkers of time as they passed, while she had an eternity to spend. Finally, she found her way to America, the ‘new’ lands, settling in Los Angeles to run a club with a Toreador named Valerian. It was easy work, given what Claudia was capable of.
Ah, yes, Valerian. He adored her, that much was evident, but not enough, not devotedly. For all the denials Claudia liked to inflict upon herself, she was something Verdicchio had created; she was possessive, cruel, jealous and destructive when anything threatened her. She was now unable to tolerate the same type of submission that was enforced upon her. Not just unable, outright unwilling. Yet she felt it appropriate to inflict that kind of abuse on others. While Valerian, under her spell and refusing to stand against her, still found his way to invoke the sleeping monster.
Beautiful in his own right, Valerian was far from dim, Claudia knew that much. And she knew he was far more than just reluctant to antagonise her, perhaps that was because he lingered on the edge of becoming her eternal servant. He just had to realise he already belonged to her, that was all...
7. Additional info:
Is 5' 8" tall, wears heels, has intense blue eyes and golden blonde hair.
Always open to storylines and connections
"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Lady Seraphina Christou was a princess of Epirus, far from ascension to the throne of the dying lands. In her youth she was carefree and wild spirited, the life and soul of every party. Blessed with angelic appearance, Seraphina had been mischievous, impish and the darling of the royal household. Taught to curb her wildness as she grew into a lady, Seraphina paid little attention to the best advices she was given. She was a snake charmer, possessing a rare ability to wield serpents whom most others found terrifying.
One of the last of her kind, it was no secret that Epirus stood on it’s last legs, no longer a country of it’s own and therefore undeserving of it’s own lands and royalty. In an attempt to smooth over neighbourhood relations, she was given to an influential and rich old Albanian count as a gift. It was no simple choice to hand her over in hope of appreciation, the Count had visited before and made remarks about Seraphina. Whether these were hints or not, sixteen year old Seraphina was handed over to the fourty-eight year old Count as a gift.
Thankfully, or rather, as following events would prove, unfortunately, she was not meant for the Count. Yes, he had admired her spirit and beauty, but not for himself, rather for his son. The soon to be young Count was practically indifferent at his impending marriage, but everyone, particularly the Count and Seraphina herself, had hoped it was a phase that was soon to pass.
It was not. It simply continued, the indifference, the ignorance and the inability to simply acknowledge her existence. The old Count met his death and soon Seraphina was left with only her husband, Count Loran Berusha for company. An Epirote princess in Albania, she was deemed unacceptable by society, her pets were apparently mortifying, her friends and family all left behind by the traditional ‘passing over’ ceremony and now left with no-one. It was lonliness at its worst.
The years passed slowly, painfully as Seraphina was unable to comprehend what exactly about her it was that Loran found so unappealing. For years and years on end there was no clue, for how could one possibly decipher someone they’ve never held a complete conversation with? Stuck alone in the vast mansion with no-one but herself and servants who wouldn’t or couldn’t speak to her, Seraphina was almost driven to madness through self-inflicted imprisonment. The running of the household kept her somewhat occupied, but it was superficial control that that often relinquished to the dragon-like housekeeper.
When she finally did discover the reason for Loran’s disinterest in her, Seraphina soon wished she had her oblivion back. It was nothing she could have helped with, ever. It became obvious, during one heated argument – practically the only one as Loran was hardly ever home and in Seraphina’s company – that the Count’s dissatisfaction with his young bride came about because his interest lay with young gentlemen rather than ladies.
An unbearable stigma at the time, Seraphina, unable to tell anyone or do anything about her predicament, sank further and further into depression. It was a process not helped – even accentuated – by the bleak house and weather, with nowhere to go and nothing to do except mull in one’s thoughts. However, while the young Countess received no deserved attentions from her husband, she attracted those of a far more dangerous kind.
Agron, a Malkavian Elder, watched her with unrelenting interest. An eight hundred year old slave boy trapped inside a nineteen year old body, he himself was once a ‘whipping boy’ – raised and educated akin to and aside a Prince, but punished for all of the Prince’s crimes and mistakes. He had been driven insane by cruelty to a point where he knew no other way of existence but to inflict it on others.
Therefore, posing as servant in the household, he worked diligently and inexorably on Seraphina’s mind. Moving things and then moving them back after she had raised a fuss, sending her letters and then hiding them, planting thoughts and doubts in her head, he drove the young Countess further and further from sanity and further and further into depression, isolation and fear. While the feisty young girl of Epirus had progressively diminished through the years anyway, the work of Agron replaced her with something else.
Alone and afraid, upon his occasional attentions to and considerations for her, Seraphina took Agron as her lover, soon driven further into guilt and isolation through shame of having given herself to commoner. With this, Agron did not stop, simply continuing his psychological torture of the Countess until she was finally declared insane by Loran.
Simply unable and unwilling to cope with the idea being locked up for the rest of her life, Seraphina stabbed him through the heart with a fire poker and fled into the night. There, she was found by Agron, finally declared to be his masterpiece and Embraced into the clan of Malkavian.
Together, the years continued to pass, less slowly and less appreciated as now nothing mattered. Seraphina, who had come to care little about what the society’s formalities in her youth, came to inflict them with cruel precision as a vampire. Still a snake handler, she was declared Malkavian Primogen of Athens.
After the death of her sire, Seraphina continued her travels, finally resting in Los Angeles.
7. Additional info:
Is 5' 6" tall, has turquoise eyes and caramel coloured hair. Always open to storylines and connections
"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
Willingness to be a ghoul, or embraced (if so, by what clan): Is already a Toreador ghoul, and has been for about a year and a half. Wants to be embraced eventually.
Twentyfour year-old Connor is the kind of young man whose image your are likely to find plastered on the walls of many teen girl bedrooms. A star on the rise, he's the charismatic heartthrob singer for L.A. based, upbeat electronic pop band New Empire, who during the past two years have been climbing the charts, mainly in Europe and Asia. They are by no means super stars, and can still walk the streets without being instantly recognized, but they have made a name for themselves, and frequently appear in various media.
Before his musical career took off, Connor lead pretty much the life of any normal young man. A native of Los Angeles, he was born an only child to working class parents, both of whom he has and always has had a good and close relationship with. Already as a child he took a great interest in music, preferring his small plastic drum kit and tiny keyboard over G.I. Joes and toy cars, as well as his father with a guitar over the usual bedtime stories. It was also as young child that, like most children, he went through a phase of being teased by his classmates, the reason in Connor's case being that he looked "like a girl", with his fair complexion, clean cut features and golden curls. Little did they know then that he would get his revenge, starting when puberty hit, and the girls in school started taking an ever growing amount of interest in the comely youth.
Following in the wake of that change, was another. Over the course of the years in high school, Connor transformed from a shy, withdrawn boy to a rather laidback and outgoing young man, with enough confidence to pursue his dreams of a career in music, or musical theatre.
Thus, when came time for college, he set off to study theatre, and took a job working as a waiter at a restaurant to pay for school and for his small apartment. Though always on the look-out for a better job, it was when browsing the bulletin board on campus that he noticed an announcement regarding an audition for a band looking for a new singer. Music being the business he had always wanted to work in, Connor figured it was worth a shot. After all, what did he have to loose, except maybe a little bit of self-esteem?
But, as fate would have it, loosing self-esteem was not in his stars that day. Although he was not the best singer to audition, he was the one that appealed to the other band members the most, due to the instant chemistry, and, of course, Connor's good looks and charm. After all, when were such qualities ever detrimental when trying to make it big?
Now, while the band, then called Trial By Fire, already did have an album out and another one planned, the first one suffered from a severe lack of attention and publicity, and had been left to end up way back in the racks at all the record stores. The second one, Connor's first, did somewhat better, but not by much. Until the release of the second single. During the promotion, the band - now renamed New Empire - appeared on a fairly known music show on British TV - their biggest commercial appearance yet - and the rest is, as they say, history. The audience took an immediate liking to the young, charismatic frontman, and the band's popularity has been slowly growing ever since.
However, their modest success story can not be told, without the mention of a certain lady that would come to have quite an influence on several aspects of the band, and most of all on Connor.
Shortly after what would be labelled their breakthrough performance, New Empire played a gig at a small club in London, after which Connor was approached by a striking readhead. A redhead who, incidently, Connor had distinctly spotted among the sea of faces and bodies that was the audience, while on stage, and to whom his gaze had returned quite a few times during the show.
The redhead was, as you may have guessed, a certain lady Moira Sushill, and as fate would have it, she and Connor instantly hit it off. So well, in fact, that a romantic affair seemed inevitable. Though in Connor's case, it would be a romantic affair unlike any other he had ever experienced. The intimacy they shared would be so intoxicating that he would often find himself unable to remember exact details, yet somehow be aware that it was the sweetest kind of bliss he had ever experienced in the arms of a woman. Until, in the wake of one such amorous encouter, he tasted Moira's blood for the first time. What he felt then shattered any previous notion he'd had of what sweetest bliss was like. In a flash, he had the strength of ten men, the speed of any world champion runner, and he was more alive than he had ever been. And he knew, that whatever it was Moira's blood contained, he needed more.
Since that night, he's been Moira's ghoul, and while he still doesn't fully understand the world of the Kindred or the full extent of his 'condition', he has learned that Kindred exist and what they are, as well as what the Masquerade is, and why the Kindred need it.
He's an outgoing and spirited young man, though in a fairly mellow, soft-spoken way, and while he is a good-natured person at heart, his recent success and finding himself occasionally surrounded by swooning teenage girls, has gone somewhat to his head, and thus awakened a slightly more conceited and self-centered part of him. Not in the way that he's mean or overly arrogant, or even unpleasant; he's simply trying to adjust to the lifestyle of (semi-)famous heartthrob, with being recognized, writing autographs and being fawned over as a part of his everyday life.
However, the last year and a half has seen some other slight changes in his personality as well. He's grown more prone to throwing violent temper tantrums when life gets too stressful - something that never used to happen before - and there has appeared a somewhat paranoid streak, in that while on tour, he carries with him a shoulder bag that he never lets out of his sight, unless it's safely locked away and out of reach to everyone else.
Having been on tour in Europe and Asia for the past couple of months, he and the rest of New Empire have just returned home to the US.
((OOC: Happy birthday to Ghanima! And incidentally, we have the exact same birthday, so yay me too
Updated app with some art inspiration pics too. At bottom.))
Willingness to become a ghoul or embraced:
Her nightmares make her terrified of the idea. She would not want to be a ghoul or embraced. OOC, I'm open to the idea given the right plot.
At night, Lola works in a Sexy Java shop. It’s basically a little shack in the middle of a parking lot that people drive up to in order to get coffee from a girl in a revealing outfit.
Almost every teenage girl dreams of love. She dreams of strong, fast men. Men who will sweep her off her feet, pluck her out of a dreary life, and fill her world with fire. A man under whose touch her body can blossom into a woman's. And in her dreams, she gives herself to him completely, and he, in turn, is hers.
Somewhere, Lola still dreams about such fanciful things. Somewhere, she yearns for those teenage fantasies. Somewhere.
Lola is a girl who grew up too fast. At the age of 11, she already had breasts the size of C-cups and the attention of older men with desires far removed from those of a teenage girl’s. And at that tender age, she dated a boy 7 years her senior who ended her childhood permanently. She thought he loved her, and the realization that she had been used ravaged her teenage heart. What began after that was not the starry-eyed teenage life she should have had. What began after was the jaded world of womanhood.
Lola is a cynic. To her, that means being realistic and honest about the world around her. She puts on a tough countenance and speaks with irreverence and blunt sarcasm. She tries to act aloof and doesn't let herself become too emotionally attached to anything or anyone. After all, once she reveals that she cares about something, it can just be used to hurt her later. Unwilling to let others do it first, she will often be matter-of-fact about pointing out her own failings. It's better to admit your weaknesses and act like you don't care than to let someone else make the first strike.
Inside, she is a vulnerable girl who has been burned one too many times. Despite her best efforts to control it, her vulnerability and sensitivity will occasionally come bubbling up in shows of emotion. Though she would never admit it, she would still love to be swept off her feet by Prince Charming. However, she thinks that she is doomed to continue dating jerks for the rest of her life.
Ever since she began menstruating, Lola gets nightmares so horrifying that she hardly sleeps during the night anymore. Instead, she sleeps for short periods of time during the day, often in school, and she rarely lets herself sleep for longer than 3 hours. The dreams often have metaphorical clairvoyant messages, but they are too oblique for her to understand. This prolonged sleep deprivation has mildly affected her acuity. Lola regularly sees a shrink about her nightmares, but has yet to make any progress in reducing them.
Lola has several major emotional outlets. She is an excellent artist, and her paintings and drawings are highly sophisticated for her age—professional quality. They usually depict heavy themes, a mix of the imagery from her nightmares and the distilled angst of her sex life. Once she finishes her disturbing pieces, she covers them and rarely looks at them again.
In addition, one of her ex-boyfriends taught her how to shoot a gun while trying to impress her, and since then she regularly goes to a shooting range to practice. She finds comfort in the sense of control and power. Aside from an isolated incident of one of her ex-boyfriends trying to knock her around, which ended their relationship, Lola has never been in a fight.
Lola is 15 years old. She has blonde hair with highlights and tanned skin. Her body is curvaceous and developed, but her face still looks young and fresh. She dresses casually, like a high school or college student, in clothes that are more revealing than normal. She is well aware of the effect her appearance has on men. She has blue-gray eyes that have the wearied look of a cynic.
She lives with her mother who refuses to tell Lola anything at all about her father except that he was a good man. Her mother is a quiet, introspective woman who reads all the time and works as a librarian. Financially, they are lower-middle class.
((Artwork: I imagine her art style being ephemeral, gut-wrenchingly evocative. There's something intangibly sad about them, excruciating facial expressions, and a dreamlike mix of elements that symbolize sex. Being a shameless James Jean fangirl, here are the pieces I'm thinking of for inspiration: pic1, pic2. Except compared to JJ, her work would have less manga/illustrator influence and be more gritty, gorey, sexual, & disturbing))
Seeing the light of day in 1438 in Târgoviste, Wallachia (the southern region of what would later on become Romania) Moira (born Moira Badea) was not born in a family of nobility – she was the daughter of an influential merchant in the area, who had acquired enough assets to make his family’s life comfortable, without being luxurious.
At the age of 16, Moira was wed to the boyar (nobleman) Mircea Sutu, 27 years older than her, a match her family considered extremely favourable and in which she had no choice, although the crafty girl saw a more considerable advantage than wealth in this marriage. As wife of Mircea Sutu, Moira convinced her husband –who, in his self-induced illusion believed she was in love with him – to let her see the only learned man at the court, a monk by the name of Arsenie and learn to read and write.
But learning was not all that Moira enjoyed doing; she took a deep liking to the arts of drawing, painting and music, but in a country forever under the threat of imminent wars, such trivialities were frowned upon and neglected. It was thus that soon after her 21st birthday that Moira once again compelled her husband into sending her to the Hungarian court, where she would remain with some of the Sutu family relatives for a month or two. The month became an year, fueled by Moira’s constant letters that the environment and climate did wonders for her health, which apparently had withered between the brick walls of the Wallachian fortress. In reality, Moira felt she would rather have drowned herself than return to the boring, tedious and stagnant life she had had at Mircea’s side, especially after encountering Matthias Cornellus, scholar and artist whose skilfully painted canvases decorated the walls of the Emperor’s palace. Seeing a bright spark of passion and talent in the young woman, Cornellus taught Moira more than old monk Arsenie ever could, the two spending countless hours into the night pouring over manuscripts and poetry novels.
Naturally, the young woman became fascinated with this man as well as his mystery: certain things about him raised questions, like the fact that he was never to be seen during the hours of daytime, and even after the two became lovers, Cornellus refused to talk of his past or tell her the reason why he was always away except the evenings and nights. But there was more than that: being close to him always, Moira started to notice her lover’s eerily perfect skin and features, a certain rich quality his hair had which she had never seen before, or his fluid movements that at times defied the laws of nature: lingering at her side until dawn one night, Matthias Cornellus leaped out of the window in his urge to find shelter before the sun rose, leaving Moira perplexed and astonished.
The following evening, she demanded answers, cried, threw a fit of rage which Cornellus withstood calmly, or rather with apparent calm: he compelled her to calm down using his Dominate powers for the first time on his lover, then explained the truth which turned out to be more frightening and incredible than anything Moira had expected to hear: that he, Matthias Cornellus was Kindred, vampire…member of the Toreador Clan. He also warned her that his mistake and her resolve to know his terrible truth left him with two choices: modify her memory that she would not remember he ever existed and leave her, or make her one of his kind. At the time, the Camarilla was in its cradle, and Cornellus desired Moira too much to kill her, but he would not risk his exposure by giving her such information without its inherit consequences. Not being able to bear the thought of loosing him, Moira accepted immortality under her lover’s fangs and thus became part of Clan Toreador. The couple remained together for nearly three centuries, traveling all across the civilized world and enjoying life’s finest pleasures that immortality could offer. For a long time, Moira was completely entranced with her new senses and heightened perceptions, and especially the way her artistic flair and talent became augmented by the Blood. However, even hers and Cornellus’s passionate lovestory came to an end once dissensions began to form between the no-longer young vampire Moira and her sire, dissensions that eventually ended with them parting. Moira was no longer content with just being the companion, the apprentice…she wished more than that and knew she was capable of it – thus after a painful separation from Matthias Cornellus, she relocated herself in Italy, where she remained for one more century. There, she encountered the girl who would inspire her greatest masterpiece, as well as her greatest failure: Josephine was her name, a runaway from the distant land of Poland, whose perplexing beauty and sweet disposition inspired Moira to begin a close friendship with the mortal woman, during the many nights she posed as Moira painted: it was not a sexual relationship, though perhaps as intimate as any love affair, Josephine playing the triple role of muse, friend, and ghoul.
During one such nights, the door to the studio burst open and an enraged, insanely jealous Matthias Cornellus stormed in, fangs bared, attacking and killing helpless Josephine where she stood, no warnings given. Shocked and filled with such a rage she had never believed she could feel, Moira challenged he Sire, who made the big mistake of underestimating her, forgetting his wits in his madness. In an impulse she would regret ever since, Moira drained Matthias dry, delivering her revenge and his final Death in a way condemned by the Camarilla: Diablerie was considered a heinous crime, in which only the Sabbat revelled, punishable by death.
Disgusted and ashamed, Moira fled Italy and settled in London, England, where she hoped to make a fresh start, changing her name to Moira Sushill to better blend in with the society. She became actively involved in Kindred politics, ascending to the rank of Primogen towards the mid 20th century; her masterpiece however, Josephine's unfinished portrait she never completed: her muse had died that night, and Moira had not been able to regain the heights of creative inspiration she had known then.
-for the purpose of this RP, Moira is visiting Los Angeles-
Willingness to be embraced: yes, if the story leads to a plausible embrace scenario
Occupation: something that pays the rent and allows her to keep a low profile (currently a bartender)
Short bio: Aeode is an enigma to most people she meets: a nomad who has been everywhere from Phuket to Istambul, has never kept a job longer than a couple of months and whose real name few know: secretive, insightful, and very opinionated, one can often get the feeling there is much she harbours to herself. But it hasn't always been this way, in fact, until her 18th birthday, life for Aeode had been very, very different. The Mallard family dabbled in may different ventures, some more legit than others, enough to ensure their lives remained carefree and privileged. One of their preferred investments was sponsoring talented artists: this stemmed from the fact that their own daughter, Aeode, had musical talents and a sweet, yet vibrant contra-alto voice which she hoped would one day place her name among the well known opera singers.
A lavish party was organized on the occasion of Aeode's 18th birthday, celebrating her passage into adulthood as well as her engagement to Thomas Caulfield, her childhood sweetheart. An unusual age for marriage by modern standards, perhaps, yet both Tom and Aeode were convinced it was the best decision for them. It all however turned to tragedy when a group of masked individuals bearing weapons and Molotov cocktails descended upon the gathering, incinerating and killing everything and everyone in their way. Aeode's parents died that night, as did many of the terror-stricken guests. In a frantic attempt to escape with her fiancé, Aeode sacrificed a few precious seconds to give Thomas enough time to reach his car and start it up; unfortunately, a few seconds too long for her. Two individuals captured her, beating her viciously, mercilessly, leaving her for dead: and indeed by the time they were finished, Aeode thought she was dead, and that the vague figure descending upon her in a glyph of pale light was the angel taking her away. She did not even register the moment when the stranger allowed several drops of blood to fall in between her parted lips, mingling with her own life essence and as they did, infusing her with a new-found strength and will to live. Even as the mysterious benefactor carried her to the nearest hospital, Aeode never saw his...or her face ( although her identity remained hidden, none other than Los Angeles Toreador Primogen Jessica had given her blood to the dying Aeode)
Despite her terrible wounds, and grim expectations, Aeode lived, and recovered which such speed the doctors were baffled: she was a walking medical miracle (she, of course, never remembered the blood she had received). She was left with a burning desire for revenge and an equally powerful fascination with the unknown person whom she remembered as though from a dream, but felt an inexplicable connection with nonetheless. She ached to see him or her, longed for it in a way that frightened her, but an even more acute urge dominated her mind: The young woman, an orphan, quickly realized the obvious: her family had been targeted by unknown factions who wished them all dead: she did not know why, and certainly not who, but for her only one option existed: she needed to disappear, hoping that with her gone, they would at least not harm Thomas, one of the few survivors, even though it would mean never having contact with her love again.
During the following 8 years, Aeode travelled far and wide; having emptied one of her father's secret bank accounts, she could afford to, keeping to herself, learning whatever she could from those she met on her way, most importantly how to fight. With the help of an ex martial arts teacher she became close to in Spain, Aeode diligently honed her skills, whether bare handed or using a wide range of weapons from guns, knives and even sword fighting. She then swore she would never again be a victim, and if she came face to face with them again, she would have her revenge on those who had ruined her life.
Eight years later, Aeode once again walks down the once familiar streets of Los Angeles, renting a small derelict apartment and working in bars, having long since exhausted the money taken from her father's account.
2. Age: 32, but appears to be in her early 20s thanks to a regular intake of Vitae
3. Willingness to be a ghoul, or embraced (if so, by what clan): is already a ghoul, and secretly harbours a strong desire to be Embraced
4. Occupation: freelance sketch artist, also working at a local veterinary clinic
Melody's life began in a fairly conventional way, as the daughter of a middle class couple living in San Francisco for six years prior to her birth, when her father acquired a well-paying job as chief of surgery at a prestigious hospital that was located in the city. This allowed him, his wife and two children to lead a comfortable life, materially speaking, though the tensions growing between James and Amelia Hart began affecting the family from within. Melody and her older brother Kevin remained on good enough terms with both each other and their parents until their mid teens, when Amelia Hart threatened her husband with a divorce, which was never accomplished but nonetheless served as the final tear into a marriage that had been falling apart for years. From then on, James and Amelia focused more and more on their respective careers and the education of their children who, much like James, his father and grandfather before him, were encouraged to pursue medicine.
At the time, Melody was a girl with a head full of dreams and a passion for drawing, something she had always shown aptitude for. Sweet and sociable, with the face of an angel and the disposition of a playful imp, she enjoyed a good outing with her friends as much as an afternoon tucked in bed with a good book or her sketchpad, fantasizing about a future as an artist; James and Amelia humoured her, without taking their daughter's hobby as anything truly serious until the day that she claimed the opposite. Her ambitions clashed with her father's plans and, for all her objections, three years later Melody enrolled into Med School to be trained as a general practitioner. By that time, she had more or less agreed that it offered better prospects for the future than the life of a 'starving artist', though deep down her passion for drawing hadn't diminished and sometimes, when those suppressed feelings emerged to the surface, she regretted not having had the courage to pursue her art. For as long as she could remember, Melody had been the artsy girl who always scored full marks in art classes and drew portraits of her friends and class-mates, something she continued to do in college, though for just as long, her parents had gently insisted her work was pretty and fit for a hobby but nothing truly special or ground-breaking, chipping away at her confidence until, eventually, she came to believe it herself, draining her very inspiration and desire to create.
Everything changed dramatically one evening when Melody sat alone, crying on a park bench just outside campus. She had just ended a distressing phonecall with her father, who was displeased with her results in school and threatened to cut off her allowance, blaming it on irresponsibility and time wasted on frivolities such as drawing instead of studying and attending class. It wasn't completely untrue – as a Sophomore, the requirements were increased and, because her heart did not lay in medicine, Melody took refuge in drawing. Angry and sad at the same time, the girl pulled out her sketch book and began tearing out the pages, scattering them around herself in helpless rage before burying her face in her palms but the sound of footsteps on the grass caught her attention: someone was approaching. She watched, bemused, as the graceful dark-haired stranger smiled at her with such compelling warmth Melody all but forgot her distress in a skipped heartbeat: he crouched down and picked up one of the fallen drawings, giving it an appraising glance, then proceeded in retrieving all of them and finally placing them in her hands with just one comment: “Beauty should never be discarded in such a way.”
It was the beginning of an extraordinary relationship that would span a decade and leave Melody thoroughly changed. The stranger, who soon became her Valerian, the warm, gentle, understanding Valerian who offered Melody for the first time in her life something she had always craved: acknowledgement, and acceptance. An accomplished painter, he showed vivid interest in her art and even began giving her tips and advice on new techniques, encouraging her to be herself and not who others wanted her to be. Needless to say, the young woman was drawn to the handsome stranger who seemed to exude an aura of gentility, infatuation developing into something stronger as they became romantically involved in what was from the very beginning an open relationship both had agreed upon. Melody was happy, though there was much about her new lover that often surprised and confused her, culminating with one night when Valerian's lips closed on her neck and the world spun wildly into a whirl of motion. She was not meant to remember what had happened, but she did, bits and pieces of it. Valerian then confessed to her what he was, a flesh and blood vampire and with a pained expression, explained it was a secret not meant for human ears and that he had wished to spare her the knowledge and the complications it brought. Though it seemed to pain him terribly, he had no choice but to tell her things could not remain as they were, and her choices were limited: death, being transformed into a vampire or becoming bound to him by sampling his own blood. Before it happened, Valerian also described the effects it would have on her, including a bond that upon an eventual third drink would be complete and equal to the strongest love. Although frightened and bewildered by his admissions, Melody accepted without a moment's thought: it didn't matter what he was, she already loved him anyway, so it made no difference, convincing him that it truly was what she wanted as well, an answer that remained unchanged on the occasion when she, now a ghoul, received her third drink of Valerian's blood. She saw it then as the perfect compromise: she remained human while technically immortal and they could be together.
Melody never finished Med school, and followed Valerian during his travels and eventually to his new residence in Los Angeles. Having dropped out college in her 3rd year and her apparent unhealthy infatuation with Valerian drove a wide and final wedge between her and her family whom she has not had contact with in years and who still believe she eloped with her boyfriend to a different part of the country. Apart from aiding Valerian at The Haven and drawing, Melody also works part time at a local veterinary clinic.
name Born: Mieke Chiemi Kuhn || Goes by: Mieke Uehara-Khun
age Twenty seven
willingness to be a ghoul or embraced I wouldn't say that Mieke would
be thrilled about leaving her perfect life behind. However, I do believe that
she would most likely attract a Ventrue (and, with enough coaxing, she might
actually agree). Toreadors could also be in the running (but there are so
many Tories!), and Malks would make for an interesting story. Basically, if it fits, drop me a line and we'll discuss it .
occupation Ex-model turned vp of the LA-based Deep Models -
a high profile modelling agency based in various cities around the world
Born on the island of Okinawa, Mieke was primed and prepped for world
domination from the very beginning. Born of mixed blood, her mother
being Japanese and her father being a German-American naval officer,
Mieke grew up multi-lingual - not only learning her parents' languages,
but German, French, Spanish, and Italian, as well. This was all due to
the trio's constant travelling.
Discipline was first and foremost in the Kuhn household and Mieke was
expected to excell not only as a student but as a lady, as well. Her
childhood consisted of voice and speaking classes, violin and piano lessons,
sailing with her father, and etiquette classes on top of her home schooling.
This is not to say that Mieke Uehara-Kuhn grew up sheltered. It was the
exact opposite, really. Worldly and open-minded, Mieke learned through
her travels and experience what it took to make it in the world.
However, a turn of events lead her in a completely opposite direction than
originally intended. The Kuhn's were based in Italy at the time and a
fourteen year old Mieke caught the eye of a manager of a modelling agecy.
From the start, Mieke had her mother's exotic looks. Yet it was her father's
height - which, initially was a hinderance - that made Mieke what she was.
Tall for her age, the lanky pre-teen still managed to carry herself with grace
and poise which lead to her start in the modelling world. She was tauted as
the next best thing and did not disappoint.
Years later, she was the face of various perfumes, designer labels, shoes, and
a certain well-known French-designer's muse. She was feautured in catwalks
from New York to Tokyo. And don't think she was just another pretty face.
Mieke made it to the top through sheer determination, business savvy, and
Despite her rigorous modelling schedule, Mieke still found time for studies,
always knowing that beauty could carry her only so far. She put herself
through University in Paris and graduated with honours in 'gestion des
entreprises' (business management). Upon completion of her degree, she
immediately started finding her way up.
Now, don't think she used her looks to get to where she is. There was no
bedding of bosses, no brown-nosing, no 'do you know who I am?'. She
got to where she is now through fierce determination, ingrained discipline
and an inherent need to be something more. She wanted to run the thing.
Now Mieke is a true woman to behold. Best described as cold, fierce, and
cutthroat, Mieke is a force to be reckoned with. She's gone from being a
model on the cover of a magazine to running one of the biggest agencies in LA.
At the age of twenty seven, Mieke has no desire to slow down. Or settle.
She believes there's more to be done. A perfectionist to the point that it's
almost a fault, she carries an autocratic air about her. She's a no nonsense
kind of woman who is happily independent. A man - or woman, in her mind,
would only hold her back, slow her down. That's not to say she doesn't
Mieke Uehara-Kuhn has a love of all things style. She lives in a luxurious
penthouse in the city's hub, spends her days in designer duds and heels,
adores jewelry, and is the sort who always looks flawless, regal, and
elegant yet with an intense, untamed edge.
She knows that money, knowledge, and contacts equal power and she
works hard to keep all at full capacity. She lives a fast life, but does it smart.
(pixillated version up soon - these will do till then)
[[ Mieke and myself are open to storylines ]]
// sun is in the sky oh why, oh why would I wanna be anywhere else //
[ not so short] bio
Setúbal, Portugal, nineteen twenty two. A lowly fisherman by the name of Cristovo de Gusmão
gave his twelve year old daughter, Madalena, to a wealthy merchant as a way to pay off
previous wrong-doings. The girl complied with her father and went to live with Basílio dos
Santos Diniz, becoming his wife and servant, unaware of the chain of events which were to happen
that would change her life forever. Basílio, who was much older than even her father, suffered
a stroke upon their first night as a couple and was found dead the next morning. All blame
fell upon the young bride and she was hastily returned to Cristovo to await her fate. Infuriated
by his daughter's dishounorable act, Cristovo beat Madalena and, in the thralls of rage,
later raped her before tossing her away on the streets where she 'belonged'. And thus, Ché came
to be. A bastard. An inbred. Madalena de Gusmão could not bear what had happened, finding
herself trapped in a personal hell, harbouring an abomination. No matter how many Hail Mary's
and confessions she made, she could not escape the torment in which she put herself through
day in and day out. She later sought refuge in a convent and, eight months later, gave birth
to a boy whom she refused to name. She wanted nothing to do with the bastard child and
he was passed over to the local orphanage to be cared for.
Nameless for the first few years of his life, only known as Menino, Ché later, like many others,
fell through the cracks of the faulty and poor orphanage system and found himself living on
the streets of old Setúbal. But there, in the barrios, Ché thrived. He began going by the name
of Coelho Gonçalves, since he very well couldn't call himself Menino ('boy'). He fell in with a group
of boys and young men of varying ages that would, by all intensive purposes, become the only
family he ever knew. Coelho was a sponge. He soaked up anything and everything he
could from those in his 'family', paying particular attention to the older boys who, by and large,
had the most experience. He learned the tricks of the trade: how to steal, fight, and bribe.
He learned how to get out of sticky situations. And, most of all, how to evade those of
higher authority. And with knowledge came hate. Hate for all that made them - lost boys -
who they were. The rich, the church, the police. And, more so than anything for Coelho came a
hate for women. Unlike the other boys who had been runaways or who's mother's had died,
Coelho had been abandoned. Discarded. And a nihilistic chauvinist Coelho became.
The years went on and so did life, and Coelho soon left Setúbal and his gang to put his skills and
knowledge to good use. A right of passage, if you may. He ventured to Spain where he came to
be known as Diogo de Cunha e Saraiva - and, later Brás Azevedo - and conducted numerous
assaults and robberies. Never caught, he continued this life, eventually finding work as a
jewel theif. It was then, at the age of seventeen, that Brás Azevedo committed his first
murder, bludgeoning a man to death.
The years continued on in much the same fashion as before, but with Brás becoming taller, heavier,
and far more savvy. He ventured to France and learned to speak the language (he already
knew Spanish on top of his native Portuguese) and he used his knowledge of these languages to
his advantage to find work. He became José Manoel de Sousa. And this man was a cut above those
that preceded him. At the age of twenty two, José Manoel knew how to drive, blackmail,
and use his presence to his advantage. Despite working for higher powers, he still had his freedom,
for José Manoel would never be mistaken for a servant. With a rough, intimidating exterior
and a wealth of knowledge between his ears, José Manoel was not a man to be crossed.
However, no matter how street savvy or quick-witted a man may be, one can never get away
scotch-free everytime. As was the case with José Manoel. The time would come when his number
would be up, and it came on a sultry hot day in northeast France. José Manoel found himself
involved in a police chase and, instead of running, he turned the car on the encroaching policemen.
Tried and charged, José Manoel was sent off to rot in Clairvoux Prison.
José Manoel went into prison a rebellious thug and came out a hardened anarchist. He had
not taken to being an animal locked in a cage well at all. The only good thing that had come from
the experience, despite his increase in knowledge of demolitions, torture, and libertarianism, came,
suprisingly, in the form of a woman. José Manoel was not the sort of man who turned away a
woman's company when offered. He simply would never consider her an equal. She would be
nothing more than a thing. But this woman tested his beliefs. She was a tiny spanish woman with
a massive name and an even bigger bite: Inéz Valencia Ximena Sastre de Aguilar. To say she
satisfied him would be an understatement. She tested him mentally and physically. Provoked him.
The six foot three, nearly two hundred pound José Manoel had found his match in a five foot nothing
woman. And it was nothing short of a mind fuck. Yet it was oddly liberating.
What he didn't know was that tiny Inéz was actually a Brujah ancilla who had been keeping an eye on
him since he had entered France. Their encounters were a way for her to test him to see if he
measured up the way she figured he would. And, to her delight, he had. And the night after his release,
she found him and embraced him. For a man like José Manoel to be embraced by a pint-sized feminist
would be disgustingly ironic but it was nothing short of the truth. Despite the fact that the two
couldn't be any more opposite, they did share one common view: their hate for anything in a uniform.
Aside from that, however, the bond the two shared was a volatile one. But it was something that
José Manoel found himself craving.
José Manoel, who slowly transitioned into a new alias - Joaquim Moreira da Costa, had no trouble
transitioning from life to unlife. Instead of feeling cheated or sentenced, he felt renewed and
empowered. His new found powers and senses enthralled him and he wasted no time trialing them
out. The only downside was that everything was now in shades of grey. Joaquim had gone colour
blind. Despite this, it didn't take him long to learn how to differentiate different colours based
on the shade of grey he saw. More of an annoyance than a hinderance, it didn't stop Joaquim
from becoming a tenacious tracker. A skill he put to good use once his sire disappeared.
His search took him to London, Budapest, Egypt, and eventually New York. But that's where it
ended. Being that he didn't know English, Joaquim found living in the bustling city tremendously
difficult and thus abandonded his pursuit, opting, instead, to venture south to Brazil.
Once in Brazil, Joaquim fell in with a small band of guerilla terrorists; a pack made up of a handful
of Kindred, mostly Brujah, who went by the name Olmeca and became what he'd like to call an
'urban revolutionary'. Arson, sabotage, and kidnapping became the name of the game and Joachim
prospered. It didn't take long, however, for him to miss the dank of the city and, after years spent
with Olmeca, he opted to trade in the lush greens for the buzzing pollution.
He chose the name Ché Santiago Vargas da Silva and headed north, spending some time in the
border town of Tijuana in order to pick up the bare basics of the English language before
he tackled Los Angeles.
Still new to the city, he's finding his bearings and anticipating what is to come.
[[ Open to storylines ]]
[[ Happy Birthday you two! ]]
// sun is in the sky oh why, oh why would I wanna be anywhere else //
John resides in a sewer underneath Algernon. How long he’s been there, no one really knows. He has just always been something of a fixture. No one knows his background and he has always been careful to keep it that way.
He was born in London circa 1593. He is unsure of the exact date since time was not marked as precisely back then, at least not for the common folk. He grew up as a scrawny beggar boy, clawing out an existence on the mean streets of London, getting kicked around by strangers and familiar faces alike. He liked to boast that he was the bastard son of a lord, but he never had any way of backing up his claims. After all, what lonely, starving peasant wouldn’t wish to have some claim to noble blood?
There isn’t much to tell about his youth- it was all the same, one horrid story after another of the rich abusing the poor, of the poor at each other’s throats trying to claw their way up from the bottom. He thought he’d gotten lucky when he was offered a job in Yorkshire. At last, paying work! It turned out not even close to the thrill he’d hoped it would be. He ended up working in a coal mine, toiling in the dark, with only kerosene lamps and the other filthy, disgruntled miners for company. It was wretched, back-breaking work, and he despaired of ever attaining the “good life” that he’d dreamed of for his whole existence.
One day it happened- there was a cave-in and he along with three other miners was caught in the crushing debris. Pinned, he was unable to move and all four of them were rapidly running out of the musty air it took to survive down there. Futilely he swore and cursed the fool that had not shored the tunnel up properly. One by one, his companions suffocated and died. Soon, he would be like them, he thought. But he was wrong. Though one might hope for an angelic rescue from dire circumstances such as this, it was no angel that found him that night. It was a Nosferatu that went by the name of Mouse, a wretched creature that took pity on him. That night, he was welcomed into their ranks. One might have thought that such a wretched existence would have embittered him, but it was quite the opposite, in fact. Though he was reviled, this was nothing new to him. The stench and darkness did not bother him as much as his newfound power thrilled him, and he spent centuries learning to be one with the shadows. His skills in intelligence gathering were unmatched. He grew bored in his native England however, and after about 200 years, he set out for the New World. Early in the last century he found himself drawn to the excitement and promise the City of Angels boasted and before long, he established himself there as a Kindred to be reckoned with. Of course, there was always the Nosferatu primogen to deal with, an insufferable prat named Esther Rosenberg. He feels she is far too ready to rely on his talents and never giving him the credit for it that is due him. So he is biding his time, plotting a way to usurp her position without breaking the traditions and bringing the wrath of the Prince upon his head. Still, cunning and ambitious though he is, it is widely known throughout the Kindred of Los Angeles, that if there’s something you need to know, John is the best one to tell you. If he doesn’t know, no one does, except perhaps the Malkavians with their eerie little insights. And most of the time, no one can even understand what they’re talking about when they’re rambling anyway.
5. Short bio: Melissa didn’t grow up with a whole lot of friends. She had a couple of close friends in high school that were willing to put up with her eccentricities, but that connection vanished when they both moved on to college and she didn’t. She liked to do things to get a reaction out of people, to goad them into giving her a response. She was the consummate prankster, always out to scare the willies out of someone. Frequently, her pranks alienated her from those around her, which limited the number of people willing to get close. You see, her pranks usually walked the line of the macabre. What no one knows is why she developed her rather twisted sense of humor.
Melissa’s father and mother never knew how to take care of a child. They never had a clue how to relate to her, and whispering neighbors often said that her parents never should have been allowed to breed. They were cold and exceedingly unfeeling individuals, making them the perfect match for one another, but leaving them unsuited for raising the spirited Melissa. Try as she might, she could never get the attention she craved from them. That’s when her pranks started. They grew increasingly bold and obnoxious until one day she finally got her father to notice her when she was 14 years old. He did more than notice her, in fact. He pushed her down the stairs of their home and she ended up in the hospital with a broken leg and collarbone. She’d hoped to find some comfort in the form of her mother, but the unfeeling woman only had this to say about the matter, “Well, if you weren’t such a pain, this never would have happened.”
From that point on, Melissa believed that she must have been deficient, with something vitally wrong in her make-up. She still played her pranks on them and everyone else around her, and when they began to regularly beat her for her troublesome behavior, she grew numb, acting the part because she thought that because they said she was a problem and a pain, that was the way she was meant to be. Sometimes her hijinks earned her admiration in school, but only because she was utterly unafraid to incur the wrath of her teachers. The teachers often complained about the way she wasted a brilliant mind on pointless tomfoolery.
Now she’s an adult, and she still doesn’t know what to do with herself. Trapped in a cycle of self-sabotaging behavior, she flits from job to job, doing menial work. The nicest job she ever had was working at the local mall at a record store, but that lasted only two months. Hence, her perpetual lack of funds. She wants to make friends, but is starting to wonder if she even knows how. She’ll admit to herself that she’s very lonely, but her parents had it ingrained in her that she was unworthy of notice, of companionship, and ultimately, of love.
That all changed four nights ago, on her 21st birthday. She was just getting off her shift at the diner where she currently works, and was walking to the bus stop with the intent of going home to her dingy little apartment when she looked up and saw a mass of people going in and out of a nearby place called Club Diebuk. Seeing as she had nothing better to do and it was her birthday, she went inside, planning to celebrate her 21st the way most people did, by getting drunk.
After she had downed several drinks, most of which by this point she couldn’t even remember the names of, a man joined her by the bar. He started chatting with her and struck up a rapport, not too difficult to do with someone as inebriated as she was. She joked with the man, and talked into the late hours of the night as he kept buying her drinks. Simply happy that someone was showing an interest in her life, she soon ended up telling him her life story. While he was sympathetic to her childhood plight, the man seemed the most intrigued by the things she had done, the capers she had pulled off. Whenever she told of them, a look of childish delight would cross his face. What she didn’t know, was that her offbeat sense of humor had unwittingly attracted a Malkavian vampire. He offered her a ride home, as if exercising consideration for her drunken state. What he really wanted was to get her alone and away from the public eye. Uncaring of Camarilla law, and with no respect for his prince, he pulled into a dark alleyway with a passed out Melissa in his passenger seat and embraced her.
When she woke up, he was gone, and the sun was just beginning to peek over the horizon. It felt like fire, and she scrambled into the closest shelter she could find- a nearby dumpster. For the past three nights, she’s been wandering L.A. without a clue as to what she is or what happened to her. She isn’t even sure how long it’s been, because she feels so strange. She’s filled with an incredible hunger she can’t identify and she’s started hearing voices in her head that tell her all sorts of strange things. When she’s lucid, she promises herself that she’ll never touch another drink again. But the strange craving is really starting to get to her, and the hallucinations are growing worse. She is so scared by what the voices are telling her to do that she runs away at the first hint of a human presence, unwilling to bite as her instincts are screaming at her to do.
Though his sire still lives, Alfmundr has never forgiven her for embracing him in the first place. To this night, he struggles with a strong sense of displacement. Although he shares the same passion for beauty and perfection as the rest of his clan, he never seems to have quite the same definition for it. His human life has influenced the way he thinks far too much for him to be the average Toreador.
As a human, Alfmundr lived the life of a Viking, and a warrior was all he had ever wanted to be. It was how he was raised, and it was the core of what made him the person he is to this very night. In the year 865 A.D., he was one of several raiders that followed under the leadership of Ivar, Halfdan and Guthrum in their attack against York. A favorite among his fellows, he was a strong fighter and a young man of exceedingly comely countenance. So stunning were his fair locks and ice blue eyes that they caught the attention of one Elizabeth Wainwright of England, a Toreador woman that was struck with a deep melancholy at the sight of him. To her mind, he was more beautiful than all the mortal men she had seen in her long years, and she knew that his life was destined to end early because of the Vikings’ violent ways. So she decided to preserve him for all time.
One night during a lull in the conflict, she caught him by surprise. Used to the fear and suspicion the locals treated him and his brethren with, Alfmundr was intrigued when his soon-to-be sire sidled up to him and invited him to follow her to the nearest inn for a night of entertainment. Such were the events of that night that he remains wary of casual encounters to this day. After she got him into one of the private rooms, Elizabeth looked at the stunning warrior in front of her and beckoned him closer, pursing her lips in invitation. An irresistible invitation for the young Alfmundr. When he drew close he experienced a kind of pleasure he hadn’t dreamed of in all his adventures- the Vampiric Kiss. Lost in the ecstasy of her touch, the Viking raider was alarmed to find his limbs growing weak, and when his knees buckled, the dainty woman held him up as easily as if he weighed nothing. He began to struggle, but could not throw his heart into this battle as he had so many others. Lost in her beauty, he wondered confusedly if he had really died in battle and she were some dark goddess come to escort him to the afterlife.
Inches from death, Alfmundr lay on the splintery floor of the inn’s room, listening to the last few beats of his heart, unable to move. Then something hot and coppery flowed past his lips and trickled down his throat, leaving a fiery thirst in its wake. He awoke that night into the unliving existence of the Kindred, a fighter stuck in an artist’s body. He made one attempt to kill his sire shortly after his creation, but she was still too strong for him, and she regretted now the life she had forced upon the young man so unfit for it and she fled, never to be heard from again.
As with all Toreador, Alfmundr found himself plagued with a fascination for art and all things lovely. After all, that was what had gotten him into this mess in the first place. The problem was, that out of all the wonderful talents of his fellows, he had neither the inclination nor the necessary aptitude to paint, sing, or dance like so many of them. He began to travel, and found his true calling when he discovered the many wonders of the Orient. The graceful movements and fierce power inherent in the martial arts struck a deep chord within him and he knew then that this was his destiny. For many hundreds of years now, he has devoted his time to making himself his masterpiece, his work of art. In battle his grace and skill are legendary, and many have trouble believing that this fierce man could be a Toreador. When he is not seeking out new martial arts to learn and master, he whiles away the time hiring out his services as a mercenary. However, he has begun to feel the itch to stay somewhere for a while this time and L.A. looks to be as good a place as any with its many avenues of artistic expression and display.
New introduction for Archon DeWinter - Ventrue Primogen
Presenting Lord Archon DeWinter - the Ventrue Primogen
Name: Lord Archon DeWinter, Primogen of the Ventrue Clan
Age: 508 years old Elder (Sired in 1499, when he was 35 years old.)
Disciplines:Dominate - Level 5 (Mass Suicide)
Fortitude - Level 4 (You can withstand a great deal of damage.)
Presence - Level 4 (Mesmerizing targets)
Many battles were fought in the year of his birth, making sure Archon would have the blood of both a warrior and a nobleman. The Battle of Hedgeley Moor shed blood on his very birthday, taking the life of his father on the Yorkist side. Some used to say that is why baby Archon screamed on the top of his lounges.
Being from a powerful family, adressed as a Lord, the sky was the only limit. In his fathers absence, Archon grew up in great haste and became a intolerable youth, soon to take over his heritage. Archon lived with kine for 35 years, demanding aristocratic rank and had control over a portion of land and the produce of labor.
1499 would be the Julian calender year Archon drew his last human breaths. This was the year Perkin Warbeck and Edward Plantaganet were executed for treason against the English trone, and for attempting to excape the Tower of London. To Archon, these two men were examples for everyone who thought they could just rise up and overthrough the nobility. If you had it in you, you were either born with the heritage or you took it on the tip of a sword. You took it successfully, you didn't fail. Failure is not an option, and if it occures men are defined by their actions to redeem themselves. It was notions like this that made Archon enticing for the Ventrue clan, and the vampire that was about to sire him had followed him for weeks to make sure he was a appropriate specimen. She also believed in being thorough, and wouldn't dream of seeking audience with the London Prince, also a Ventrue, based on a whim.
The blood of the Ventrue clan was the last piece of the puzzle. Archon had just the right constellation for a aspiring Kindred, and one bite from a undead perfected it. Most newborns found the transition difficult and often horrible. But Archon was only too delighted to learn that he would live for ever, having the world at his feet. It was becoming of a true Ventrue. The only imperfection was the vampiric nutrition. "Blood?" Archon would utter the word as if it was the first time he tasted it on his tounge. He said it with contempt, as if his beautiful Sire asked him to conduct himself in a shameful manner.
Archon had never loved anyone, although 35 years at that time was almost a whole life. But when he met his Sire to be, he felt for her. It might just have been the lust of the human flesh, aching only to be touched by her, but to Archon this was sufficient to make his sharp business intellect scatter. And he had been around beautiful women before, surronded by them actually as his outlook on the world made for a charming gentleman in some women's eyes. But he had never deviated from his goal before. When he learnt of what she was, what he would become, that offer became bigger that his passion for her.
Archon lived through the ages, seeing more than his share of historical events. His nature prevented him from sharing the fate of others. Be it natural causes as well as sickness and additional quirks of life. He might take part in their demise, being both a highbrow illuminato and a man of sometimes vast antipathy, but he would never breake the Masquerade. Archon's Sire walked beside him from time to time, making sure he blossomed into a spectacular vampire leader some day. Altough the leaders of man are great, the leaders of vampire's are even greater. This was all most welcomed by Archon, as his taste for excellent distinction had no end to it. And the Ventrue blood would in time only make it stronger.
Even though Archon raised his brow now and then, wondering what on earth made some clans tick, he did in fact appreciate the contrast between the clans. Because if they were all Ventrue, who would the Ventrue lead? In his book Nosferatu were information, Tremere mystery, Gangrels integrity, Malkavians well disguised wisdom, and Toreador beauty. The Brujah added anarchy to the mix, being the nemesis of the business men and women of the Ventrue clan.
Above all, Archon appreciated something being well done, regardless of lineage. Being excellent was clanless, no matter how he sometimes flattered himself and his brethren with thinking no other clan held a candle to the Ventrue.
Archon sometimes enjoys giving humans vampire characteristics. He would simply point out to himself who would go with what clan. It was like playing a puppeteer, a vampire master. Not many would be given the honour of even the mere thought of belonging to the Ventrue. Historical landmarks were one of his favourites, like the Gunpowder Plot in 1605, instigated by Guy Fawkes. It was such Brujah behaviour. Trying to blow up the House of Parliament - what a discgrace! It was an oxymoron to say the least. They wanted to overthrow leaders, but of course the anarchy scum couldn't organize themselves in order to choose the perfect plan, stick to it and execute it flawlessly. Archon had a good laugh at that, and when the Guy Fawkes Night passed by each year he remembered the unsuccessful assassination attempt with a smile.
Although he travell throughout the world, his main residence now resides in L.A. He still adores London, where he was first made Primogen. They had been waiting for him to turn from Ancilla to Elder, in order to lead the Ventrue of London. This pleased Archon for a great deal of time, but he was still not entirely content. Being a member of the supreme clan, he had to choose his Prince carefully. Damian Alexander III was an excellent choice, making it not only tempting but an offer he could not refuse when crowned Primogen of the L.A. Ventrue. Besides being Prince no other title in the world, kine and Kindred alike, is as dignified, chivalrous and aristocratic as the Primogen title - of the Ventrue clan. Archon believes he is put on this earth for no other reason.
When love and death embrace.
"Even the man who is pure in heart
And says his prayers at night
May become a wolf when the wolf bane blooms
And the moon is pure and bright"
Native Tribe: Cheyenne
Name: Noah (His native name is Maiyun, which he uses as a surname if needed.)
Age: 144 years old Neonate. Embraced in 1864, when he was 28.
Disciplines:Animalism - Level 2 (Using the Beast within to contact and manipulate nearby animals.)
Fortitude - Level 1 - almost 2 (Increases their ability to withstand blows.)
Protean - Level 2 (Allows the Kindred to manipulate his/her physical form.)
Additional information: The Gypsies, also known as the Rom (singular) and the Roma (plural), are human allies to the Gangrel clan, due to the fact that they have blood relations going way back. They help each other out. The Kindred never hurt the Gypsies, since they are protected by the Gangrel.
"A Promise of Peace"
A tale of blood and sorrow unravels itself, as you will learn about Noah. In the course of one fateful day, enough pain and unrest seared through the Cheyenne tribe to last a thousand lifetimes, within a weary soul that would be doomed to live forever. Three words have been etched into the history books; Sand Creek Massacre. It all started with a promise of peace, giving the Cheyenne chief Black Kettle a false sense of security, as he sent most of his warriors to hunt, leaving only around sixty men in the village. Most of them were too old or too young to hunt - or protect the women and children from the evil about to come.
Noah was one of the few great Cheyenne warriors that was left behind, since he wanted to stay with his pregnant wife. He had a beautiful woman, her name was Onone'e, and he had challenged other great warriors for the right to her heart. She had given him a son, Voaheso; his pride and joy, and now they had another one on the way. A man happier than Noah would be hard to find. He thanked Heammawihio and Ahktunowihio - gods of the sky and the underworld - for the blessing of having a family. He knew he would die in order to protect them, should anyone try to harm them. He was not only a proud Cheyenne, he was also the son of a great warrior, and his father told him their blood could be traced back to the mysterious Sutai, a tribe within the Cheyenne tribe until 1820.
No matter what Noah's blood contained, drops from great ancestors or that of a mystical bloodline, he made it his own. He was such a fierce warrior, he could just as easily have been a Dog Soldier. These highly aggressive and effective combatants, that would pin themselves to the ground through an unusually long breechcloth, as if to say to the enemy that they were not going anywhere.
Though even the greatest warrior could tell when defeat was close at hand, when the opponents were so many, it felt like they could block out the sun. Noah could see the American flag and the white flag flitting in the wind as the soldiers attacked that day.
It spread like fire on a dry prairie, and despite how brave the Cheyenne were, they couldn't stop the madness. Noah killed several soldiers, all while hearing the cries of battle and fear, and somewhere in the chaos were his wife and son. He did find them alive, one last time before it was their turn to join all the slaughtered brothers and sisters around them. A soldier even got the upper hand, almost bashing him to death with the rifle, since it could not be fired. While trying to shield his family, his wife and son were killed by the relentless enemies. As it dawned on Noah that he had not been able to protect them, a pain greater than any physical wound consumed him. It didn't matter that no one could blame him, since his tribe had been tricked and now swarmed with soldiers. After a sharp blow to the head, Noah went down in the ground. He felt that he was being stepped on, he could hear the fire from the many rifles, the screams and then came images his mind had tried to hide from him...
His beautiful wife being shot to death, falling to her knees with a frightened look in her face, as she searched for her husband's eyes. And their little Cheyenne boy was right beside them, as his short life came to an abrupt end, just before Noah almost blacked out from the head injury. He layed completley still, couldn't move a muscle. Since his head was turned to the side, he looked right into the eyes of his dead son, Voaheso. He tried to form the name on his lips, but nothing happened. It was as if the violence they had put him through while he had tried to fight back had shut him down, to the point where he could see and think but not move. He could not even cry. His family was gone, and every other tribe member in the village had met their demise. Or so he thought.
Noah could hear the soldiers leave, almost convinced he was dead himself, having a lingering soul that took its time to abandon his body. But when the smoke cleared, the soldiers returned. There was still life in some of the Cheyenne, still breaths within some wounded bodies. But there was no hope left. Not only Noah thought he was dead, but even the soldiers passed him by as if he was just another "dead indian". Instead they targeted his tribe, killing anyone who moved. No prays to the gods would stop the enemy from sacrilege.
This was where history was written for the Cheyenne, and where Noah's life as he knew it came to an end. He drifted away that day, laying among his people, deadened by loss and failure. By nightfall, something came from the plains, to take him away. A Gangrel Elder, out of nowhere, would be the only one who could sense a heartbeat in the grieving fields of the Nephilim.
Among his tribe, Noah was a great storyteller, keeping the legacy alive, the traditions and the proud history. After this day, he was not prone to tell stories anymore, even though the clan who choose him had even greater storytellers than the Cheyenne. His Sire had his work cut out for him. He had had his eyes on Noah before that dreadful day, and though the warrior had not weakened, his spirit had. Without his wife and son, life had lost its meaning. It did not prevent the Gangrel from embracing Noah, adding a new strong member to the clan. Noah had almost begun to understand that he had in fact not died on the plains with the rest, when he also had to learn about his new nature. Keeping to tradition, his Sire left him alone in the beginning, watching him from a far.
Noah on his own, it was not the wise choice as it did not do wonders for the sorrow within. He wanted to retaliate, or at least die with the others. And since he had been claimed by some mythical creature, he couldn't even join the warriors that came back from the hunt. Only to find the village slaughtered.
It took time, but the Gangrel watched as Noah came around, finding some peace in the knowledge that he now was one with nature. More so than he could ever have hoped for as a human. He could soothe the savage Beast inside like no other Gangrel Neonate his Sire had ever seen, just like the Beast could rage inside him with an unusual stamina. They shared many years together, enjoyed the hunt for blood and sometimes they encountered their kinsmen. It was as if the pain Noah carried got silent, the chaos and the screams died down. He had almost become that same strong confident warrior he had been, when another evil came along. Adrien de la Cour crossed his path, and he found himself without a Sire. Also an additional new Gangrel acquaintance was killed, and Noah was the only one who got away. Again, the only one.
When still a worshipper of the sun, his name was not Noah, but Maiyun. It meant "wolf" and the irony of the name in his immortal existance did not escape him. Also, it was the name of a man who had lead a different life, until the white man came and took it all away, took everyone he ever cared for. In order to mark his new life, to put all else behind, his Sire one night declared that he would be named Noah - meaning "rest". It was time for him to settle down; in the soul, if not in the world.
As time went by, more alone than any lone Gangrel, Noah feared he would never find peace.
"I cant remember anything
Cant tell if this is true or dream
Deep down inside I feel to scream
This terrible silence stops me
Now that the war is through with me
Im waking up I can not see
That there is not much left of me
Nothing is real but pain now"
((( ooc: Footnotes - The first quote, about love & death, is from a song by HIM.
The second quote, about becoming a wolf, is from the movie "The Wolf Man" (1941).
The third quote, about what's true or dream, is from the song "One" by Metallica. )))
(((ooc: Decided to delete the original post, and re-post instead, in order to tidy things up. Looks better with most of the bios posted together.)))
The horrid experiences of the previous night had done quite a number on him. Connor knew that. Now perhaps even better than he had only an hour ago, before Moira had told him more about ghouls and the Kindred's general attitude towards them. Because, while everything he had just learned may not have explained what had happened to him, what exactly those two blood thirsty women had done to him, it had explained at least part of why they had done it, and as disconcerting as it had been to realize that he was thought of as a lesser being, at least it offered him a chance to try and wrap his head around it, and learn from it. Learn how to hopefully avoid it ever happening again, because even if it or something similar never ever did happen to him again, it would still be far too soon, in his mind. It was an experience he wouldn't wish even on his worst enemy.
Furthermore, the knowledge bestowed on him had sharpened his mind, and had, at least partly, brought it out of the daze of blinding fear and confusion that it had seemed to be wallowing in, since first his two assailants had drawn him in. Moira had woken him up to the understanding of a ghoul's reality - at least on a faint, logical level, since his own reality was still far from that of what most ghouls were subjected to - and in doing so, had made him begin to understand why those two had treated him with such disregard for his protests and his apparent torment. He had begun to see it all with new eyes, and did therefore also recognize the possibility that the entire experience may have scarred him into actual paranoia, making him "sense" Kindred everywhere, even where there were none. Ever since last night, he had been jittery and on edge, and so when he had just now questioned Moira about his gut feeling regarding that Claudia woman, it had been because he wasn't sure that he could trust his own perception. It had obviously decieved him the previous night somehow, when he had seen Moira simply turn her back on him and walk away, and so who was to say that hadn't all been the case with Claudia as well? Who was to say paranoia hadn't tainted his imagination and drawn forth that inkling in him, simply because he found her... less than pleasant, and donning an attitude of complete disregard for the person that he was, quite similar to that of those two who had made the night before a living nightmare to him? In his eyes now, it seemed possible that her demeanor had conjured memories of that experience to his subconscious, and made it see a possible connection between her and those other two, and thus instilled him with the feeling that she was like them in several other ways as well.
However, now that Moira had just explained to him about disciplines, and how humans could learn them, as well as the fact that there was one that allowed you to sense Kindred, and that she, the one whose blood Connor was regularly given, possessed it, he had to wonder. Was it "just" paranoia when he had believed Claudia to be Kindred, or was there more to it than that? And if it was only paranoia, how did that explain how even before the horrors of last night had started unfolding, when the first woman had suddenly shown up in his path, he had gotten the feeling that she was Kindred? There had been no reason for paranoia back then, since the reason had been injected into him only when their fangs had pierced his flesh, and taken from him what he hadn't been willing to give.
There had to be more to it than that.
"It is entirely possible", Moira said at last, after seeming to have pondered the question for a few moments, and now confirmed his suspicion, twice over; both that there was a chance that he could already sense Kindred, albeit far from with certainty, and that his feeling about Claudia in particular might have been correct indeed; "In fact, if the woman you speak of is who I think it is, you're absolutely correct."
Not really having expected her to know who he had been talking about, or to have that particular suspicion so bluntly confirmed as plausible, those were words that had Connor blinking with surprise at first, although he did remain quiet, allowing Moira to carry on;
"I see you've developed a knack for sensing other Kindred – good, trust it. The ability to pass correct judgement will in many cases prove more valuable than anything I can teach you."
Oh, if she was certain he could sense Kindred, he would be sure to trust it alright, and use it to stay as far away from them as possible. Given his very limited and thoroughly negative experience with their kind so far, save for Moira, Connor had no desire whatsoever to have anything more to do with them than was absolutely necessary. No matter how curious he was of their kind, and of learning more about them, he would be perfectly content if in the future Moira was the only one he'd find himself around. Hardly a likely scenario, considering what Moira had said and how she wanted to teach him disciplines in order for him to keep himself as safe as possible, but one could still hope, right?
However, he still said nothing, but merely gave a slow, grave nod as a sign of having understood. Then, only moments later, a faint smile emerged on his lips once more, as Moira reached to remove one of the unruly locks of silken gold from his face, and pressed her scarlet lips against his pink and most welcoming ones in a tender kiss.
"There will be time to discuss all of this later though, once it's had some time to settle in", she said, further reassuring him and soothing his mind's core, which even though he may now appear fairly calm and collected, had been fundamentally shaken, and thus had left him still far from feeling his usual easygoing self.
"Now, go", Moira then concluded, with mischief seeping into the look in her eyes, and stealing across the lips that Connor had not yet - nor would he ever - had enough of, "meet your fans – a few of them saw us walk in here, their imaginations must be running wild by now."
A soft laugh escaped him then, his smile widening slightly into the genuinely charming one that amusement tended to bring to his lips, softening the creases that had seemed etched between his eyebrows during the majority of the conversation, and bringing some of his usual vibrancy back into his eyes. Yes, he could well imagine what some of the fans must be thinking, especially given that the current venue was not one that allowed the younger crowd with their innocent, uncorrupted minds, but rather the slightly older one, who during a Friday night of clubbing usually only had two things on their minds; party and sex.
"Alright", he said, but instead of rising he leaned closer for a few more swift kisses, before he was finally able to tear himself away from her, and get back up on his feet. "I need to take a quick shower, and to chat with them for a bit. Will you wait? I won't be long."
Not that he was particularly keen on the idea of having Moira possibly return to the company of that raven-haired stranger he'd seen her with earlier, but he could hardly ask her to wait backstage, where currently the most fun to be had was to stare at the wall, or possibly watch the rest of the crew start packing up. The best he could do was simply to hurry up, and to hope that the stranger had already left, and so when he and Moira finally left the room in which they had been cooped up, and went their seperate ways, Connor immediately headed off to the dressing rooms, for a quick five-minute shower to freshen himself up. Before long he then emerged from the backstage area, now dressed in a pair of jeans, sneakers, and a simple white T-shirt; an outfit that even though it was casual, he still managed to pull off with the same style and class that he had become known for. His hallmark locks looked a few shades darker than usual, still damp from the shower, and from between his fingers hung a half empty bottle of beer. Flashing the small crowd of fans - the ones who had gathered by the barriers on a quest to meet the band - a dazzling smile in greeting, he joined his bandmates and got to work, writing autographs and posing for pictures, giving and recieving hugs, all the while doing his best to stay focused on it and chatting cheerfully, and not let his mind wander back to the conversation he'd just had. Though while the fans didn't seem to notice, he did still register the concern in a few of the glances that Jesse, who was standing right beside him, shot him every now and then. Apparently, despite his best efforts, he still didn't look his usual sprightly self.
Though he didn't stick around to explain himself, nor to answer any possible questions, but simply took off as soon as they were all done, giving the other members of the band little more than a "great show, good job you guys" and a "catch you later", before starting to make his way towards the back of the club, where he had already spotted Moira. She was the first thing he had looked for when first he had emerged from the backstage area, and as always, he'd had little trouble finding her, even in a club as packed with people as this one currently was. And, he had been most relieved to discover that she had appeared to be alone. Had she not been, he would've probably had an even more difficult time devoting himself to the fans, and he most certainly would not have taken the small detour to the bar in order to get his now empty beer bottle exchanged for a new, full one, even though he knew he actually needed it. He needed to try and calm his nerves.
Not that it would do him much good. He had just started nearing the table at which Moira had seated herself while waiting for him, and his eyes were casually scanning the crowd in search of the familiar faces of friends, when without warning a flash of memory from the previous night suddenly struck at his mind, hard, halting him immediately. Yet not quite sure of who or what had caused it, only that it was something that his gaze had just touched, he scanned that particular area of the club again. And paled.
Only a few tables away from the one Moira had chosen, he saw two women, one fair and one dark-haired, with faces that only a minute ago, he had not been able to recall no matter how hard he'd tried. But when his eyes fell upon them now, his mind suddenly started whirling with memories. Visuals of monsters with huge fangs tearing into his flesh, tearing him apart, and a terror so strong it had rendered him paralyzed.
Paralyzed back then, and paralyzed right now.
"Moira...", he whispered, his widened, horror-stricken eyes locked on them, as though he feared they might hear him and turn their heads his way, or as though if he himself looked away, even for a moment, they might see him, and in an instant attack once again without him seeing them coming.
However, only a few seconds later, it was as though the initial shock was hurled right out of the way by the instinct to take action, to run, to flee from his possible aggressors, and his limbs unfroze. Only for his knees to begin to buckle, sending him dropping heavily onto the seat opposite of Moira, yet with his eyes still fixed on the two ladies/witches/monsters.
"Moira, that's them", he whispered. "That's them."
Panic started seeping into his eyes, and he finally managed to tear them away from the two beautiful monsters, though only to start looking around himself anxiously, in search of a possible escape route.
"I wanna go."
(((ooc: I know that Melissa hasn't stood yet in actual RP, but since WannabeSith let me and Alissa know it was ok to godmod her, I figured I'd have her be standing right now, and so Alissa and WannabeSith can just fill in the blanks for things to fit, time-wise. Hope that's ok with everyone.)))
Claudia and Valerian - Valerian's chambers, The Haven
In a world with the degree of intricacy as this one, truth and honesty were priceless to come by. There were those who believed that those two virtues simply did not exist, all invented as a mirage to safeguard the society from the cracks in it’s foundations, but Claudia had lived for long enough to know that honesty and truth, in their purest forms, did exist in rarity. And she knew that Valerian was one of the closest embodiments of those virtues and it was another one of the things that kept her so fascinated by him, because in the crux of it all, he was a treasure.
However, nothing is truly perfect and soon enough, flaws do begin to show.
The fault in this case was that the honesty she’d been offered was not absolute. Despite the love and affection that she harboured for him, Claudia remained perceptive enough to see that he still held back, perhaps from his other friend too, in favour of the loyalty he felt that he owed someone else. She did have to wonder who else ranked above her in this chain, for clearly, she wasn’t very close to the top and that stung. It stung enough to truly infuriate her.
"No,” he began slowly in hesitant contemplation, clearly perceptive enough to know that Claudia knew what the truth was, or brave enough to admit the pitfalls of his actions – now that was a man, to admit his mistakes. To cover things up by constantly making excuses was cowardice. "No, you do not."
Yes, she had expected as much, and she truly had expected this acceptance from him, for though she considered him quite exasperatingly pacifistic at times – thus her compulsion in testing the limits of said serenity just to see how far she could stress it before it almost broke – she did know that he was no coward. Otherwise, her appreciation for him would have been pitifully little.
"You know more than her,” he revealed in reference to this mystery woman that he had taken an interest in, and it was another in a long line, to a point which Claudia had to step back and ask herself whether she should still even care enough to see it through to ruin. "But not everything.”
The two sets of blue eyes, one carrying justified wrath and the other filled in protested innocence remained locked together in defiance of opinions as she waited for him to continue.
“And I need your word that you won't use any of it to harm or otherwise get at Annie, before I can tell you,” he ascertained first. Oh, he thought he was in a position to make demands, did he? Well, well, he really was growing too big for his boots, wasn’t he? What else could she look forward to in this vein of rebellion? Just more lies or some more interesting tricks that he’d managed to learn? “Lord Alexander has shown great leniency and compassion, and trusted me to keep her out of trouble.”
While Claudia was hardly likely to question Lord Alexander’s judgement regardless of Valerian’s… persuasive nature, she did have to wonder how exactly Valerian intended to keep that girl – who seemed to be the type to generate trouble where there was none – out of trouble.
“And that is what I intend to do.”
She’d wish him luck – for he most definitely needed it for a multitude of reasons – but she didn’t want to.
It was a brave offer to make, for she could demand that he tell her everything – and absolutely everything – and he’d be honour bound to comply, though, now there was the added question of whether he’d actually feel quite so compelled as before to comply, given that he’d tasted the urgings of the deception that now threatened to taint him in her eyes. Alternatively, Claudia simply wanted to know the truth, for all that it was, for one needed information in order to ascertain the details of their plans. Of course, there was no doubt in the fact that Claudia would – well, she already had begun to – indeed plot her movements in this situation, for she simply wouldn’t let it rest.
So, yes, she wanted the information he was offering, and she was unsure about the asking price.
Letting Annie off unscathed in this would letting her get away with what Claudia considered to be a gross misdemeanour. It wasn’t just the fact that Claudia wanted to punish her, but the fact that Claudia had to do it – after all, that girl was in dire need of a lesson, and if Valerian was so interested in protecting her, who better to learn said lesson from than Claudia? However, she did realise that that was hardly likely to prompt Valerian to tell her what she wanted to know and thus, the art of compromising – somewhat – came into play and she made her offering for the deal he had suggested;
“I give you my word, I will only interact with her in our respective capabilities as employer and employee,” she thus replied coolly, letting him infer from that what he wished, for he must know that when her word was given, she did stick by it, one way or another, abiding by his request just for the sake of putting him at ease and therefore moving onto the act of making hers; “Now… tell me everything.”
(((OOC: Sorry for the delay and hope this works for you, Atropa )))
"Life is just a chance to grow a soul" - A. Powell Davies
The sugar-sweet honey smell was in the air again and it's intoxicating aroma beckoned to the Little Fly. A tantalizing memory of crimson heaven tickled her senses, pulling her from her despair for one blissful moment, only to plunge her back in.
The tide was coming in and ugly things were washing up on the shore. Corrupted grace, a stolen Kiss, innocence gone sour. Her bright eyes widened not with wonder, but in fear as they fell once again on the bane of anyone that bore a secret guilt- the person that they had wronged. She sucked a tremulous breath in through her teeth and clutched her bag of dominoes close.
Yes indeed, fear was in the air, but whose was more potent: the hunter or the preyed upon?
Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Once more she heard the sound of a tile hitting the ground as she pushed it over, concerned only with her own enjoyment. Ah, but that wasn't strictly true. She had desperately wished to please the angel that possessed this Domino, as the pleasure of this surrogate was nothing less than the deepest wish of her dead little heart.
The others were speaking to her too, the flies in her head, and she wondered if the Broken Dolly could hear them too. They screamed malevolently at her, for her weakness prevented her from acting. She could neither force herself to no longer care how her Danse Macabre affected the innocents around her, nor could she do as her tattered shreds of humanity demanded, and humbly implore him for forgiveness.
Her chaperone's eyebrows shot up as he traced her gaze to Connor Hale, the popular young musician that had performed not long ago this very evening. Even his calm demeanor was visibly shaken by the obvious fact that these two knew each other in a less than positive light. His Mistress was undoubtedly on the way here, but if the situation were not diffused and fast, it could potentially wreck the Masquerade if unbridled Malkavian Madness were unleashed in the middle of a crowded club.He placed a firm hand on Melissa's arm and began leading her towards the back exit of the club, hoping for a discreet retreat.
The fly was balking though, despite her knowledge of his authority in her princess' place.
"Dolly?" she mouthed, shaking when she saw him draw close to a beautiful Thorned Rose, a butterfly. Was his angel to be an avenging one come to punish those who played with her toys without asking first? In a voice that in no way could be heard over the music piped in through the speakers, she stared and whispered, "Sorry."
Valerian and Claudia - Valerian's chambers at The Haven
Bargaining with Claudia, Valerian had learned rather early on in their acquaintance, could be a bit of a slippery slope. Not just for him, with his tendency to bend to her will in order to accomodate her, but for most people who'd try to barter with her as well. Pragmatic and with a brilliant head on her shoulders, Claudia had the true Ventrue touch when it came to deals and agreements, she knew what guarantees to make, and she knew the loopholes they left her with even better. She could turn what had seemed like an equally profitable deal, or even a somewhat disadvantageous one, around in a second flat, and come out on top, without ever coming near having to go back on her word, or even giving her opponent the right to feel she had tricked them. Outsmarted them, yes, but rarely using questionable methods. She was a lady after all. Cunning and shrewd, but still every bit a lady.
There were few more familiar with all this, than Valerian. For while he and Claudia for obvious reasons didn't very often find themselves at opposite ends of a business arrangement, due to now being partners, Valerian still had his fair share of first-hand experience - stemming from the time before they had become partners in the first place, as well as from more private matters since - and an abundance of experience from watching from the sidelines as Claudia conducted business with others. Therefore, he knew that when making an agreement with her, the rules had to be clearly stated, or else it might all backfire on his end. Not because Claudia would deliberately try to trick him or set him up to not get everything that he wanted out of the deal, but simply because winning and achieving what she herself wanted, was a talent so deeply rooted in her that it came effortlessly, much like a natural instinct of sorts. And while most of the time, he'd gladly accept her coming out clearly on top, mourning not what he may have failed to achieve because it pleased him to know that she was content, and recognizing her as the one who deserved it due to her awe-inspiring aptitude, this was one time when he was not ready to leave himself at the mercy of her benevolence, and let her decide what to grant him and what to withhold. Because this time, there was more at stake than just what he himself desired, and what he could afford to do without, as long as it pleased her.
He had to do this one right.
And that was why he remained somewhat wary, knowing that despite the fact that Claudia was not likely to deny him the promise he asked of her, nor to ever break it, that did not necessarily mean that the promise she would give would include everything he wanted it to. She had given indications that she wanted Aeode away from him, or rather the other way around, considering it was him hanging onto to Aeode more than it was Aeode hanging onto him, and so he didn't expect her to give up on it all too easily. When she set her mind to something, she usually would accomplish it, one way or another.
"I give you my word", she said calmly, yet sounding none too please about having to give it in the first place, "I will only interact with her in our respective capabilities as employer and employee."
Indeed, there it was. The promise that even though it narrowed down her chances of getting at Aeode, still didn't obliterate all of them. Crafty as she was, there was still so much Claudia could do within the frames of her role as employer, that Valerian doubted he could ever think of even half of the ways that she'd be able to come up with. In that regard, her mind was a thousand times sharper than his was.
"Now...", she then continued, "tell me everything."
However, even though Valerian couldn't know for certain whether or not she planned on using any of whatever methods she might come up with, or rather because he couldn't know, he felt that he had to narrow it all down even more, as much as he could in order to keep Aeode out of the most dire kind of trouble. The kind that would see her ending up either discovered by what she had been fleeing from all these years - the Sabbat - or at the wrong side of the Prince's generous but fragile good grace, through no real fault of her own, other than possibly innocent ignorance. There was still so very, very much she didn't know about the Kindred and their way of life, or unlife, and so it wouldn't take much for someone to send her unknowingly off in the completely wrong direction.
"No loopholes, Claudia", he thus said while looking gravely at the blonde beauty standing infront of him, with a hint of something as rare in him as actual sternness in his voice. "I'm not asking you to like her, or even be nice to her. I only ask that you don't harm her, directly or otherwise."
For no matter how much he would like for Claudia to just leave Aeode alone altogether, and refrain from possibly antagonizing the girl even more, he knew better than to demand it. The only thing he would accomplish by doing so, would be to appear not just protective of Aeode, but downright overprotective, and that wasn't likely to go down well. Not with Claudia and, from what he had seen of her assertiveness and independence so far, probably not with Aeode either.
So then, it was much to his relief and his peace of mind, that Claudia, despite still not looking all too pleased with his insistence, apparently saw fit to agree and grant him his request by giving a curt nod. And despite the cool, inscrutable look on her face as she did, signalling that he was far from out of the woods where her temper was concerned, he couldn't help but to give her a faint smile in gratitude, as if to say that he knew he was testing her tolerance, and both recognized and appreciated her patience with him. Then, as he saw no further reason to withhold what he had promised to tell, he took a moment to find where to start, before his soft voice was once again heard;
"Her real name is Aeode", he said, knowing that even if he'd tried to avoid mentioning that particular part of it all, Claudia would not only have been able to still figure it out, but would also know that he still had not told her the whole truth; and tell her the whole truth, he intended to do. "Aeode Mallard, the girl whose life Jessica saved years ago, after that Sabbat raid that was all over the news. Do you remember?"
Well, of course Claudia remembered, since she was far more updated on important events and far more involved in Camarilla politics than Valerian had ever been, and so if someone like him remembered the news story about how a prominent family and their friends had been gunned down at a party eight years ago, and how that had tied in with Kindred affairs, then surely Claudia remembered it as well.
Thus, he did not pause to await her reply, but simply continued;
"The reason why Jessica told her about our kind a few nights ago, was because they ran into one another. Aeode recognized Jessica, and demanded answers to the questions Jessica had left her with all those years ago. And for some reason, Jessica just told her. I really don't know why."
There, he finally did pause for a few moments, while his gaze drifted off to something in the distance again, as if he was going over what he had learned in his head, in order to make sure he had indeed told Claudia everything he knew. He'd told her about why he had wanted to help Aeode, why he had offered her a place to stay, how this had all come to be in the first place, that Prince Alexander was aware of it all and had granted Valerian permission to take on the role with Aeode that Jessica had so thouroughly neglected. He had told her of what he knew of Jessica's and Aeode's joint history, Aeode's real name and how an event eight years ago had lead to this entire tangled mess, and how and why he had intervened when a fellow Kindred had attempted to feed on her. He had left nothing out.
"Aeode has this friend, who helped her find Jessica. Somehow, he managed to hack into a Nosferatu database, and find things he shouldn't have. Since then, he's gone missing... I suppose the Nosferatu got their hands on him..."
After all, he still couldn't be one hundred percent sure they had, even though everything he'd heard had pointed towards a Nosferatu embrace. And he was still hoping desperately that he was wrong on that one.
Having told Claudia all he could think of, he then lifted his gaze to look at her once more in silence, visually marking the end of his confession, before his words finally did;