Sebastian Vincent Kincaid Bloody Bastian That Bastard Bastian
| Age |
332 Born 1686 Died 1722
| Gender |
| Species |
| Nationality |
English/French parentage and born in Nassau
Sebastian has gotten by in life due to his ability to his resilience and his ability to adapt and survive. He has deep and unwavering loyalty to the rare person who can earn his respect, and is fiercely protective of anyone he cares about. He has a great capacity for violence, and while not as savage and cruel as he once was he will not hesitate to shed blood when needed; the wrath of both a pirate and a vampire can be a fearsome one. While his temper has cooled quite a bit over the years when set off Sebastian can be incredibly cruel, he is not the forgiving type, Bastian prefers to get even. He has never been the type to show fear or weakness, things like that were sure to get you killed in his time, and complaining about things that cannot be changed are a waste of time and energy to him.
Although he’s not above lying and decent when useful to him he tends to be both blunt and tactless. His more fearsome and intense side is usually lingering just beneath the surface, and without threat or reason to he is usually a jovial and boisterous guy. He likes to have a good time; share a few drinks and dirty jokes, he likes to make people laugh and, for him, there’s nothing better than a wild night. He’s headstrong and arrogant, impulsive and lacking in inhibition. He doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the future, living very much in the now, and doing whatever seems like the most fun in the moment. He doesn’t dwell on his past, there’s no point in worrying over the lives he’s taken, and what keeps him from murdering is simply his interest in remaining apart of the coven and having just enough common sense to not draw too much hunter attention.
| Equipment |
Fangs-the only weapon he really needs His one true love, Vera, a restored ’67 Mustang
| Appearance |
Bastian stands at 6', broad shoulders and a muscular build Sebastian is an imposing figure to most mortals. His dark hair, which in the past was kept long, is know just beyond jaw length, and his facial hair is normally kept short. His bright blue eyes are piercing and always somewhat predatory, although his charming aura quickly invites people in. His once tan skin is now pale from centuries without sun, and is marked by dozens of scars from his time hunting hunters; various scars from arrows, stakes, and silver blades mare his arms, legs, and torso. Having been sired at thirty six he is eternally that age but many of his old pirate scars and signs of aging healed faded when he joined the ranks of the undead, the scars he gained as a vampire, however, remain. He dresses casually, favoring dark colors, layers, and leather.
| Other |
He loves music, movies, books, rum, muscle cars, and modern technology. He loves new things, anything that’s new when you’ve been around as long as he is a great find. When he does need to fight or kill he prefers to do so without a weapon, up close and personal. He has a considerable amount of wealth squirreled away in various accounts all over the world, having lived for over three centuries he's made sure he'll never be poor again. He loves to sing old songs and tell old stories after a few drinks and still enjoys a good cigar.
| History |
Born in a brothel on the port city of Nassau, an infamous pirate stronghold in the Caribbean. His mother died during child birth but the rest of the women in the brothel helped to raise him, instead of one mother he ended up with many. Although he never met his father the women entertained him with bedtime stories of his father, a brave swashbuckler and fearsome pirate, having all sorts of adventures on the open seas. When he was old enough he spent the day doing various chores and pickpocketing to earn his keep. He played with the various other bastard children that hung around the brothel and dreamed of a life on the open sea. Sure, his childhood wasn’t exactly ideal but Sebastian had no real complaints. He learned all he could from the pirates and sailors that came and went from the port before joining a crew at the age fourteen. Bastian left home for the first time with three goals; to become a great pirate, to make a living, and to see the world.
He worked hard as the ship’s cook, having learned many a culinary trick or two from the working women who raised him, and trained hard with the other men to improve his skill with a sword and his aim with a pistol. After a few rough nights, Bastian quickly developed his sea legs, he impressed his peers with his hard work, loyalty, and bravery. He remembers his first attack, when they boarded another ship, all hell broke out and he took his first of many lives. His first kill was the only time he hesitated, if only for a second, and the guilt he drank away with whiskey and rum. After that his crew was his family, he never hesitated to defend them or to kill for them. Taking what he needed to survive had been a necessity all his life; from picking pockets to taking lives, Sebastian did what was necessary for his survival. During his time on the sea he rubbed shoulders with the likes of Stede Bonnet, Charles Vane, Calico Jack Rackham, Anne Bonney, and Blackbeard.
He became a skilled sailor, as well as being known for his ferocity in battle, earning himself the name Bloody Bastian, and eventually became one of the Boatswain for Bartholomew Roberts, or Black Bart. He was there the day the Swallow attacked, drunk yes but not too far gone to do his job unfortunately the same couldn’t be said for many of the men. Their captain was killed, the crew captured and many were sentenced to either jail or death. He escaped death by signing up for indentured servitude and then escaping. Bastian, a lifelong wanderer could think of nowhere he’d rather be than his home in Nassau. Sadly, for him, things were no longer the same, and never would be with the British taking control of the Caribbean. He spent several months drinking his senses away until the fateful night that a woman he’d never seen before lured him into an alley way. Bastian found himself completely enchanted by her, to point where he didn’t even feel her teeth penetrate his neck.
He awoke that night in dark room with an insatiable hunger that never left him. Moving faster than he ever had in his life he snatched a rat from the floor and ripped into it with his newly discovered fangs. His eyes adjusted to the dark like they never had before and he noticed the same woman from the night before, Eva, a woman already a few centuries his senior who had chosen him as a member of her coven. Although hesitant at first, he understood that his old way of life was ending, and being unable to go out into the sun ruled out sailing for him anyway. He accepted his place in her coven. They fed when hungry; Bastian found human blood significantly more palatable than rodent, and took what they needed. Slipping into the role of vampire came as easily to him as piracy had; when alive he rarely paid much consideration to his fellow man so why should that change after his death?
Other coven members came and went but through the decades Sebastian stayed loyal to his sire. He killed for her, he loved her in an unhealthy and all-consuming way and would have gladly died for her but she would have it the other way. One night when cornered by hunters she gave her life so that he could escape. As he fled the hunters burned her alive, he couldn’t see it nor could he hear her cries but the smell of a burning vampire carried by the wind was unmistakable. For the first time in his life he was completely alone, no one to serve or makeshift family to show him how to be.
Sebastian wandered, filled with rage and confusion, and he tore through any hunter he could find. He tried to cleanse his sorrow with blood until became convinced that there wasn’t enough blood in the world to wash away the grief he felt. He was attacked in France by large party of hunters, he barely managed to escape into sewers, pulling dozens of stakes and arrows from his body, weakened to the point where he couldn’t even hunt. For the second time as a vampire he was forced to eat rats. As he slowly regained strength he realized he couldn’t throw his life away after someone had given their life for him. He needed to keep surviving and to find something new worth living for.
He remembered dreaming, as a young man, to see the world, to explore and discover. He traveled and along the way spent his time in the bars, pubs, and taverns around the world. He got to know so many different kinds of people and developed an interest and respect in his fellow man that he’d never had before. While he still hunted and enjoyed a good kill he no longer took more than he needed and much of his cruelty was tempered out of him. From time to time he would sire a vampire of his own, a friend or lover, a vampire companion to whom he could relate. Some would simple grow apart from him while others would succumb to hunters or the loneliness that plague his kind.
He enjoyed watching the world grow and change, he made every attempt to stay a part of the world as it did, throwing himself into new roles. Many lives as revolutionaries all over the world, fighting to overthrow cruel governments, time spent running wild in the old west, as a bootlegger during prohibition era America. He followed any group that reminded him of the pirate lifestyle he missed. He watched the world change completely and the more modern the world became the more accessible things for vampires became.
Soon information was so readily available he became more educated than he had ever dreamed of; an illiterate orphan, raised in a brothel, could now learn anything he desired with a single device. Then there was the literature, movies, cars, technology, and best of all the music. There was always something new to hold his interest, to discover, and consume. Sebastian indulged in everything around him, he kept moving from place to place and by the time he ended up somewhere he’d already been it was practically new again. He made temporary connections to the mortals around him and leaving always got a little harder but time spent with his own kind seemed to make him revert to a more reckless and animalist version of himself.
Eventually he found the coven in Middleborough, the vampire’s there were different from the one’s he had known. They seemed more in control, more grounded but their agreement to not kill seemed a bit too far for him. Animal blood was barely palatable, although watered down with enough alcohol almost made it bearable, but having a group who could feel like family, those of his own kind, made the sacrifice worth it. He does however, on occasion, like to steal blood from local hospitals to avoid drinking animal blood.
Having lived as long as Sebastian, he completely embodies the “gives zero fucks” ideal. The only time he can spare a fuck is when it’s in memory to the love of his long life. Besides that, it’s hard to get Sebastian to care about things. It’s hard to get him to talk a lot. He can go days without saying anything, and be just fine. He’s the type that sits in the corner, observes, and that’s it. He doesn’t care about voicing an opinion, even if he has one, which is rare. It comes with that “gives zero fucks” ideal.
But, don’t let that part of his personality fool you. He is always listening. If somebody is having a conversation near him, he’s listening. If somebody is having a conversation across the room, he is listening. If somebody is having a conversation a room away from him, he. Is. Listening. He learns from people and others. He had discovered long ago, to survive, one has to adapt. So, he sits, he observes, and he learns.
He is hard to get a reaction out of. He’s very emotionless. He has an almost constant blank stare on his face; maybe, sometimes, his lip may twitch, or his eyebrow raise, but for the most part, he seems devoid of emotions. But, he does have them. He has lost some of his humanity, not all of it… though, still a good chunk of it, resulting in him not being sympathetic. At all.
Need a shoulder to cry on? Don’t come to Sebastian. He’ll wave you off, and if you attempt to get near him, he’ll make sure you’re crying. He doesn’t like anybody near him, and he doesn’t like to be touched. He’s a creature that often isolates himself. He isn’t used to much contact anymore.
So, to get a reaction out of Sebastian, sit beside him. Touch him. Or force him into a small space. He hates those. Small spaces make him fidgety and angry. He has enough control to not immediately lash out, though. He'll give warnings. Polite, stiff warnings. Once he does settle somewhere, and get more comfortable, he'll be a little more warm towards his people. Since he has been in town for a couple months, he's a little better with his fellow vampires, but he still keeps his distance from others.
Sebastian is not materialistic at all; after all, he has lived for so long, he has seen how things come and go, not truly mattering in the end. Yet, he is sitting on a pretty hefty sum of money. He still has coins dating back to 1200; whenever he needs money, all he has do is sell one. Which, he has only done once. It gave him enough money to sustain him since he rarely spends money anyway. So, he owns an RV that he travels around in, customized to suit his needs, plus several outfits.
Sebastian doesn't very much care for clothes so, as a result, his closet is full of a lot of dark colors. Black slacks and jeans, black t-shirts and sweaters, a black leather jacket, even black socks and underwear. He does have a pair of black glasses that he wears, because for some reason, he likes them. He enjoys nibbling on the ends of them. He has a couple of darker colors besides black, but not many. His skin seems to always have a light tan to it, a result of his mother being Middle Eastern, though he takes after his father. Even in bone structure, but he does have his mother's dark eyes.
He has dark hair that is cut shorter on the sides, the top pushed back with his fingers often. Grey can be seen throughout the dark brown of it. He always has a beard, which is more grey than brown, darker around his mouth. He has a lean and muscular body type, and he unknowingly improves it through his darker choices in clothes. He, naturally, has scars. Having lived as long as he has, he hasn't always avoided hunters. He has a long, jagged scar on his left arm, going from his elbow to his wrist. That had been a nasty fight. He has a couple more small ones scattered, but his biggest one was a nasty bullet scar on his chest, right beside his heart.
Overall, Sebastian doesn't really care what he looks like. Just if he's comfortable.
Known languages (writing, reading, and speaking): English, Tibetan, Hungarian, Arabic, Chinese, and Spanish.
Sebastian has lived a long, long life. He can't recall all of it, but he can recall the things that shaped him into the being he is today. Born around 1200, Sebastian came into the world during a religious war that set Christians and Muslims apart. Though, somehow, his parents found love through it all. His father was English, his mother Middle Eastern. That didn't mean his childhood was free of tension, though. He felt stuck in the middle of his parents, stuck between two different backgrounds. Instead of turning to one religion, or embracing both, he shunned it altogether. He saw how religion torn people, families, apart. Even his parents struggled at times. He wanted no part in it. He spoke against the crusades, against religion itself, for all his human life. Fighting in the name of religion was bad, no matter what side a person was on.
Once he was old enough, he said heartfelt goodbyes to his parents, and left. He wanted to travel the world, see something other than war and heartache. He wanted to find somewhere he could feel at peace. He ended up in Transylvania when that fateful night happened. The night he was changed into something other than a human. He had unknowingly befriended a vampire, even grew close to him, and the vampire didn't want to risk losing that closeness. His name had been Gerald Petrov, a detail Sebastian has never forgotten. A vampire never forgets the name of the one who changed them.
Once Sebastian found out the truth, and was forcibly changed, he was angry. He didn't ask for it, he didn't even want it. He was content in his life, having traveled the world, met many different people. He was almost forty, and he was fine with getting older. He ripped Gerald's head off the next chance he got, and never looked back.
For a long time, he was an animal. He stayed in the shadows, watching the world grow and go by, and killed. He didn't just drain people. The longer his life went on, the more he found himself fascinated by the different ways people screamed, or the sounds their bones made when broken. He had a few close calls with hunters, but he always won in the end. Always enjoyed watching the life bleed from a priest's eyes. He would taunt them, ask them where their God was now, ask them if they could see the light. He loved destroying lives.
Then, something shifted inside of himself. Being a heartless animal for so long... for hundreds of years... he accepted he would always be one. It was 1901, in Spain, when he found her. As cheesy as it sounded, he called her his heart. She had been the thing that had been missing from his tiring life. She breathed humanity back into him, taught him kindness and gentleness again, loved him for who and what he was. He can still see her, on the first night they met. She hadn't been scared of him, not when he flashed his fangs or snarled at her. She had been concerned, curious, loving, even. She spoke to him like he was a person, rather than a monster.
Valentina Olivia Orizaga was a blessing, and Sebastian had never believed in those until the moment he met her. She was his angel, the only true one to ever exist. And he killed her. They had been together for almost two years. Earlier that year, she had been dropping hints at being changed, to be like him. She had experienced his bite; she begged for it during their lovemaking, and it intensified it for them both. He had always been careful, never taken too much, and been in control.
Something was different the night it happened, though. He hadn't eaten in a few days. She had gotten him on a diet of animals and nasty humans, ones who sat in the shadows and waited for unsuspecting women to pass. She was always the bait, and if he killed the man that attempted to touch her slowly and painfully, that was his business and nobody else's. He thought he had been okay. They were in the throes of passion when he sunk his fangs into her neck. Her blood was sweet, like her.
He hadn't stopped himself in time, and drained her completely. He almost couldn't believe he did it. He was in such shock, he sat there for hours, staring at her lifeless form. She was gone. Really, truly gone, because of him. It suddenly hit him he could change her, have her again. He ripped open his wrist with his fangs and rubbed it against her chilled lips. He waited... and waited... nothing happened. He tried again... still nothing. He had waited too long. He screamed, he broke things, he sobbed, he held her limp form and wondered why. Why did he find something so pure and ruin it?
Because he was a monster, and that was it. He had found a peace he had been searching for, for so long, and took it away from himself. He almost became the thing he was before, but her quiet voice was in his head, telling him he was not a mindless beast. He could still think, he still had choices, he still had life. So, he ran off, in search of something, anything. He found himself in Tibet, where he settled down to become a monk. He learned to find peace within himself, to find quiet in the outside world, and most of all, to control his baser urges.
He was trying to do better, like Valentina said he could. Many years passed, the monks never questioning why he didn't age, just quietly letting him live beside them. He eventually forgave himself for Valentina, though to this day, he still feels intense sadness over it. In 1950, Sebastian's monastery was invaded by Chinese rebels; he saw his fellow monks get slaughtered. He killed every rebel and fled. The peace he had been searching for and found, shattered again.
He was tired of it. He arrived in America and isolated himself for a long time afterward. Living off of animals, sometimes a hiker or two. In 1969, he moved around a little, still keeping to the shadows. He happened upon some sort of festival, with loud music and lots of warm, happy bodies. He had had humans before that were on drugs, but something was different this time. There were so many, and the buzz he got from them helped him forget, for a while, everything he kept losing. He got addicted to drug addict's blood.
For years, he'd linger in crime-ridden places, filling himself of drug addicts and enjoying the results. In 2010, he nearly got killed. He had been dodging hunters since he was changed into a vampire. It came with the territory. This one, though, nearly got him. She was an expert, that much was obvious. She left a nasty scar on his chest, right by his heart. He had been fast enough to just miss her bullet, that tore through him and nearly nicked his heart. He had experienced pain as a vampire before; being burned by holy water, cut by a stake, stung by silver. This was almost unbearable pain. It took all his strength to get away from the hunter, to flee and hide. It took him weeks to recover, hiding in an abandoned warehouse, feeding off of rats and the occasional hobo.
He wasn't sure what that bullet packed, but it made him sick. He kept dry-heaving, heavy breathing, getting the shakes, having fever dreams which he was pretty sure wasn't normal. He saw Valentina, though. She cried and expressed to him how she had been so happy he found peace within him, but let himself lose it again. She begged him to become better, to be the man she knew him capable of. He promised her, that if he lived through this, he would. He would try his damnedest to settle down and be something more than just a walking, snarling monster.
He did make it. He pulled through, surprising himself. He had to keep his promise to Valentina. He owed that much to her. Even if it was just his imagination... he knew that would be what she asked, anyway. He couldn't back away from the promise. He traveled some more, let himself go out into the real world, catch up on the news, the advancements, what human life was like. It was hard, at first, but he remembered his training to be a monk, and practiced it again.
He had seen so much, and missed so much. The advancements amazed him. Today, though, everything blended together. So many memories were blurry, but some were still crystal clear. Like Valentina's face. He still struggles, with finding his inner peace and holding onto his humanity, but he's trying. He stumbled upon the town of Middleborough just a couple months ago. He liked their way of life. It was what he had been attempting to find for a while now. He does wonder if he'll lose this hope, too.
"Every vampire has to choose how they survive the darkness. Me? I made it fear me."
Name: Marianne Scabbi
Age:600 (Turned at 25)
Personality: Marianne has seen the heights of humanity's goodness, and how low they've sunk as a result. As of late, she's chosen to keep beyond the edges of influence. Often preferring to keep to her studio, recording, painting, writing, choosing to create beauty instead of indulging in the petty acts of humanity just outside her door. She believes humanity can be helped, and tries to aid from the shadows whenever possible.
She's been alive long enough, she has grown wary of humanity as a majority. She will play the humble artist, and talk about whatever this era's idea of beauty turns out to be. Yet there are tiny slivers of interest, other artists who have proven their dedication to the craft resulted in her fascination. To those artists, she is a kind guiding hand, helping influence to those she feels can benefit from her experience.
She often chooses to listen, before speaking her mind. Lately, she has taken to listening to the stories of humanity. She is often found in bars, coffee shops, galleries. Quietly listening, looking for something she isn't always sure of herself until she finds the right muse.
Maybe just something that makes her feel alive once again...
Equipment: A set of weighted throwing knives. Her sketchbook. A 1988 Harley Softail, with a full set of sun protected leathers. Her studio is full of art from years of painting, whenever she needs money she releases one into the markets. She loves to see each piece on a new wall in the world, to let others take in the beauty she spent so long to create.
Appearance: Marianne has long raven dark curly hair that she often draws back in some form of a braid. If she's going to a gallery showing, she prefers to keep it hanging long and free. Her face is angular, sharp pronounced cheekbones, and green eyes that almost seem to shimmer if you stare into them for too long.
Fashion choices, Marianne is a lover of her black angel winged duster. Otherwise she prefers to dress in whatever is fashionable for the era. Often choosing leather, black skirts, dresses with fun patterns painted on them, or just tshirt and jeans if she's lurking at a coffee shop. Tattoos of greek muses run along her arms, stylized with inks, paints, and even digital pixels. Her back has one large tattoo across her shoulderblades, a jet black wolf that almost seems to be standing defiant against the sunrise.
History: Marianne was born during the Renaissance, in Italy. Thus, she was exposed to the wonders and beauty of her time. She found herself in love with art, modelling, studying how the great masters went about creating such amazing works. As a woman in that era, she was never destined to become a master herself. Yet she refused to believe her gender should not dissuade her desire. So she continued her search for someone to help her desire to become an artist worthy of her peers.
Eventually, word came to her about a mentor who agreed to teach her. Marianne was elated, travelling to the mansion of the artist left her with nerves that almost jangled and clashed more then her cart. Arriving to the large mansion, Marianne noted most of the windows were shuttered even during the day. Maybe he liked to paint with his own light instead of the sun?
A woman answered the door, Marianne introduced herself and asked if her master was available. The woman, who later introduced herself as Lucia explained that she simply used her last name to sign her works and sells through her patron in town. Marianne was stunned, a woman who not only painted, but had a talent she'd never seen before. She apologized profusely about the mistake and requested to apprentice under the woman.
Lucia invited her into her home, and the apprenticeship began. Often Marianne wondered why she primarily painted at night, or her fascination with the many deep reds that accentuated Lucia's palette. Yet she continued through the years to study, paint, and even create portraits of several well known patrons of her very own!
Then she got sick...
Constrained to her bed in Lucia's home, she grew weaker by the day. Lucia tended to her as best she could, but Marianne knew her time was coming to and end. Yet, there was so much more she could paint, she had to, she needed to! Her struggles reached something in Lucia, who after a great amount of consideration had brought an offer to Marianne.
She could die, and pass on. She would be loved, and remembered fondly.
She could live forever, and vanish into the shadows of time and obscurity. As a vampire.
That was the night Marianne died, and changed forever. She had no regrets about her choice, art was everything to her, and now she could continue to paint! She found her new body stronger, faster, even the colors seemed to radiate brighter then before! As time passed, Marianne felt her desire to adventure to new worlds, and find new subjects could not be resisted.
Bidding a fond farewell to Lucia, Marianne arrived in the new world...
Afterwards, the tale of the artist who's work transcended time began to resurface. Each time a piece appeared, critics just assumed it was another who followed in Marianne's stylistic choices and heralded it as another amazing piece of art. Yet the same raven haired woman, with subtle changes to her style humbly accepted the praise at each showing.
For any hunters, you can read about the show on the web, magazine, or be watching the same program. Research will show hints of the same woman through stories, portraits, as well as songs. Marianne's way of holding onto humanity is through art, and inspiring others to create. She just believes no hunter has figured out she's real.