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Dion
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erikhCosta Rica went down swinging. That Dutch goalie was a douche but he got the job done.
Sorry about Colombia, Giant. I was cheering for them. And holy shit that is a huge grasshopper.
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5 yrs ago
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I haven't updated this in over 7 years.
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11 yrs ago
I'm so happy, found two orphan newborn kittens and was able to put them in with a nursing momma cat and she adopted them right away!
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11 yrs ago
Ladies, come help me defeat the men in the count down game in Spam. They're just asking for it.
11 yrs ago
Free used couch. Only has three legs and missing one cushion, stains minimal. Please pick up from the curb.
Bio
+18 only, I check IDs
Most Recent Posts
Vasile
Vasile sank back against the stone carved chair, his long legs extended out, elbows resting on the arms. He watched her, so pretty she was, cold and shivering with fear and pain. The deep crimson blood dripping down her pale skin. He would never grow tired of it, his hunger stirred with her whimpers and the tendrils of red coursing down her thighs. He had cut her, she was his latest project, another subject for his flesh carving to create servants. He was pondering his next move, tired already of the same monstrosities he had been making the last few decades. Vasile was bored, he wanted something new, something that would strike fear into the hearts of the mortal sheep.
His fingers touched the silver cross around his neck and he smiled a slow, lopsided grin. He was handsome in a severe way, his high cheek bones and sharp chin gave little room for softness and that was just as well for he had none in him. Vasile turned the cross around and finally stood up, walking over to the girl that lay strapped to the table.
“Good news,” he said, speaking in a low pitched voice that had a hint a growl. A practiced sound that when spoken in the ear of some infatuated mortal would send a thrilled shiver down their spine. “I know what I want with you.”
“P-please,” she blubbered. They always did. “Let me go...I...I can’t...”
“You don’t have to,” he said, taking out a bone saw and he turned back to her, a slight smile on his elegant features. “You just will. You are mine and I use you as I see fit.”
He set the saw against her arm, he used an old fashion one, no electronics that was just tacky.
“You did not mind so much last night, when I ravaged you and drank from that pretty neck?”
He chuckled, a cold dead sound and he began to saw into the soft flesh. Her screams echoed off the stone walls, a sound he had long grown accustomed to and rather liked. They each sounded slightly different but the terror was the same. They just did not understand, their lives were nothing but small tokens, to be used by their elders when the need arose.
Once her arm was off, Vasile set it aside, he could use it later. He tasted her blood off his fingers as she writhed in pain, her eyes rolling back in agony. He dusted the wound with a powder, a potion made by him to stop the bleeding instantly to prevent her premature death.
Vasile’s dark grey eyes moved over her and he playfully pinched her cheek before stepping away to his storage area. He removed the limb of a taloned creature, long and scaled with claw tipped fingers. He had created it, from several sources and now he had a subject to mount it on. The pretty blonde he had picked up in the night club would become his own harpy, a rather interesting idea he had while perusing books of ancient mythology. Chimeras, griffons, harpies, and other such creatures melded from various body parts of human and animal. It had given him inspiration and he set back to his work with a new enthusiasm.
The Archbishop wanted a war and he would gleefully supply new soldiers for it. Hours slipped by as he molded the girl’s flesh and bone into a bent, twisted creature with clawed talons for fingers and a gaping mouth full of razor sharp teeth. She was his ghoul now, she would obey and beg for blood from him. She was under his control, another minion in the ranks that served the Sabbat’s war against the Masquarade and the pesky hunters that pushed their holy noses into business that was beyond their ken.
He was bending one of the girl’s ribs, stretching it to help expand her lung capcity all the while she cried in horror and pain. When one of his ghouls shuffled in,he glanced up, irritated. He was a hulking brute, used by Vasile as a bodyguard, his pale flesh hung in folds, pitted and scarred with thick tissue that acted as armor. The vozhd curled his lips at the smell of fresh blood, his teeth yellow and razor sharp.
“What is it, I’m busy,” Vasile said, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his arms coated in gore.
“Master, the message has come for the meeting,” the ghoul gurgled out in his ruined voice.
“Ah, damnation now?” he hissed.
The meeting that Gunnarsson called, he was going to have that bitch Thorhild in attendance and he disliked the she wolf. He sighed with annoyance, finishing up what he was doing and giving the subject a shot of tranquilizer to settle her down so she would not move around and ruin his work while he was gone.
“Carl, come with me and send Frank in here to guard the room,” Vasile ordered.
He cleaned up, dressing in a dark suit, his hair slicked stylishly back. Vasile made his way down into the meeting, walking through the winding tunnels. He was late and stood in the back, listening to the plans against the Camarilla. He watched the Archbishop, they had known each other for many years and he wondered what Gunnarsson had up his sleeve. Why bring in that Garou? War against the Masquerade was nothing new, they could take back Boston without the help of dogs. He shot a look toward the attractive black haired woman and felt a small shiver of desire, what a ghoul should would have made if she had been human.
Vasile sank back against the stone carved chair, his long legs extended out, elbows resting on the arms. He watched her, so pretty she was, cold and shivering with fear and pain. The deep crimson blood dripping down her pale skin. He would never grow tired of it, his hunger stirred with her whimpers and the tendrils of red coursing down her thighs. He had cut her, she was his latest project, another subject for his flesh carving to create servants. He was pondering his next move, tired already of the same monstrosities he had been making the last few decades. Vasile was bored, he wanted something new, something that would strike fear into the hearts of the mortal sheep.
His fingers touched the silver cross around his neck and he smiled a slow, lopsided grin. He was handsome in a severe way, his high cheek bones and sharp chin gave little room for softness and that was just as well for he had none in him. Vasile turned the cross around and finally stood up, walking over to the girl that lay strapped to the table.
“Good news,” he said, speaking in a low pitched voice that had a hint a growl. A practiced sound that when spoken in the ear of some infatuated mortal would send a thrilled shiver down their spine. “I know what I want with you.”
“P-please,” she blubbered. They always did. “Let me go...I...I can’t...”
“You don’t have to,” he said, taking out a bone saw and he turned back to her, a slight smile on his elegant features. “You just will. You are mine and I use you as I see fit.”
He set the saw against her arm, he used an old fashion one, no electronics that was just tacky.
“You did not mind so much last night, when I ravaged you and drank from that pretty neck?”
He chuckled, a cold dead sound and he began to saw into the soft flesh. Her screams echoed off the stone walls, a sound he had long grown accustomed to and rather liked. They each sounded slightly different but the terror was the same. They just did not understand, their lives were nothing but small tokens, to be used by their elders when the need arose.
Once her arm was off, Vasile set it aside, he could use it later. He tasted her blood off his fingers as she writhed in pain, her eyes rolling back in agony. He dusted the wound with a powder, a potion made by him to stop the bleeding instantly to prevent her premature death.
Vasile’s dark grey eyes moved over her and he playfully pinched her cheek before stepping away to his storage area. He removed the limb of a taloned creature, long and scaled with claw tipped fingers. He had created it, from several sources and now he had a subject to mount it on. The pretty blonde he had picked up in the night club would become his own harpy, a rather interesting idea he had while perusing books of ancient mythology. Chimeras, griffons, harpies, and other such creatures melded from various body parts of human and animal. It had given him inspiration and he set back to his work with a new enthusiasm.
The Archbishop wanted a war and he would gleefully supply new soldiers for it. Hours slipped by as he molded the girl’s flesh and bone into a bent, twisted creature with clawed talons for fingers and a gaping mouth full of razor sharp teeth. She was his ghoul now, she would obey and beg for blood from him. She was under his control, another minion in the ranks that served the Sabbat’s war against the Masquarade and the pesky hunters that pushed their holy noses into business that was beyond their ken.
He was bending one of the girl’s ribs, stretching it to help expand her lung capcity all the while she cried in horror and pain. When one of his ghouls shuffled in,he glanced up, irritated. He was a hulking brute, used by Vasile as a bodyguard, his pale flesh hung in folds, pitted and scarred with thick tissue that acted as armor. The vozhd curled his lips at the smell of fresh blood, his teeth yellow and razor sharp.
“What is it, I’m busy,” Vasile said, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his arms coated in gore.
“Master, the message has come for the meeting,” the ghoul gurgled out in his ruined voice.
“Ah, damnation now?” he hissed.
The meeting that Gunnarsson called, he was going to have that bitch Thorhild in attendance and he disliked the she wolf. He sighed with annoyance, finishing up what he was doing and giving the subject a shot of tranquilizer to settle her down so she would not move around and ruin his work while he was gone.
“Carl, come with me and send Frank in here to guard the room,” Vasile ordered.
He cleaned up, dressing in a dark suit, his hair slicked stylishly back. Vasile made his way down into the meeting, walking through the winding tunnels. He was late and stood in the back, listening to the plans against the Camarilla. He watched the Archbishop, they had known each other for many years and he wondered what Gunnarsson had up his sleeve. Why bring in that Garou? War against the Masquerade was nothing new, they could take back Boston without the help of dogs. He shot a look toward the attractive black haired woman and felt a small shiver of desire, what a ghoul should would have made if she had been human.
Fallen Muse said
Idle, Due tot he almost NPC nature of the sabbat you are making. This is one approved lol@EVERYONE the IC has started.
I might expand on the bio once I have more time to do proper research. :P
Jocasta and Eddie
Jocasta sat at the counter, watching her mother, a tall powerfully built woman with thick black hair streaked with silver. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing the tattoos of their tribe and kuklos and she was glowering at the other woman. Both were warriors, mothers, and at odds about some mission. Jocasta pretended to not listen, instead she slowly rolled a cigarette, Eddie watching her nimble fingers intently. He hated when people argued and she could feel the tension coming off the Metis male. He was in his Crinos form, comfortable at the sept behind the Veil so he was not forced to shift to the homid form. His golden green eyes were bright and Jocasta always thought there was an air of innocence about him, even in his most brutal rages. Her dark eyes cut to her mother who was growing louder and more adamant, the other woman also raising her voice. Something had gone wrong, somewhere south in Mexico, Chiapas perhaps. There was unrest in the jungle there, Wyrm creatures appearing where they had not been expected.
Her mother's shoulders were bunched, she was growing to the point where her temper would explode and it could mean a vicious fight between the two Garou warriors. Delia was snarling back and there was no backing down between the two proud veterans. Jocasta slowly brought the cigarette to her lips and lit it, inhaling deeply and blowing out the smoke toward the pair. She peered at them under her straight bangs when her mother whirled around. She was a health nut, always working out and insisted on organic meats and food, no alcohol or drugs of any kind. Jocasta raised her eyebrows and took another drag.
"Jocasta! By the Goddess what are you doing?" Atalanta shouted, watching the curl of blue smoke rise and her nose wrinkled at the stench. She had the gift of wolf senses even in her homid form and the acrid tobacco smoke stung her nostrils. "Put that out!"
Jocasta took the cigarette from her lips and held it, as if to examine it. "Calms the nerves, maybe you should try it, Mother?"
"Calms the...put it out now and open a window," she snarled, taking a step toward her daughter.
The other woman, Delia, coughed at the smell, her short blonde hair waving back and forth as she shook her head. "Really that's not necessary, Jocasta. Your mother and I were just having a discussion."
"Is that what you call it? Because I was certain she was about to go for your throat," she eyed her mother who was wrenching open one of the kitchen windows. "And you're both making Eddie upset. He doesn't like fighting."
Eddie looked up at his name from where he sat on his haunches at her side. His heavy shoulders were tense and his clawed fingers flexed constantly with nervousness. Delia looked at the Metis, her face revealing her loathing for a brief moment before she smiled but long enough for both of them to see. Jocasta would not have been fooled anyway, Ahroun were terrible liars in her experience. She took another deep drag as her mother turned back from the open window, her face still in a mask of anger. Her dark arched brows drew together and she put her hands on her hips.
"Out now, take that and your little friend with you," she said, though Jocasta could tell she had calmed down from the angered pitch she had been at before the argument had been interrupted.
"Now, now, Mother...you know Eddie is my son now," she pointed out much to the chagrin of Atalanta who shook her head. Eddie seemed pleased with it and made a growling, chortling noise of pleasure. "Since I couldn't keep my own pups, he's all I have."
Jocasta stood up, the cigarette now planted between her lips. She still was raw about having to give up her twin boys, to the Get of Fenris of all tribes, in exchange for two female pups who were likely to have a very hard time growing up in the patriarchal tribe. It was a typical trade, the Black Furies simply did not keep boys but for select Metis males since they were sterile and generally rejected by other tribes. Despite their fierce feminist nature, the women of the Furies also held a nurturing side and took in the unwanted offspring of the taboo inter Garou matings. Eddie was one such creature. His name was not really Eddie but he responded to it and no one seemed to recall what his real name was. It was Jocasta's sick little joke, calling him Oedipus as a play on her own name which was the same as mother in the Greek myth of the man who would kill his father and marry his mother. It caused offense to many of the elders, who did not see any humor in the fact that inbreeding and breeding of Metis were becoming a bigger problem among the Garou.
"You girls behave now, I don't want to come in here and find fur all over," she said as she strolled out the door, still smoking. "Mother, I'll be leaving tomorrow by the way. I'm taking Eddie on a little road trip."
Atalanta shot her a look, it was the first she had heard of it. "Where?"
"Northeast," she replied, standing back as Eddie ducked down and went through the door. "Seems like a place to be now. I always wanted to see the Green Monster."
Atalanta frowned, unfamiliar with the term as she was not a fan of sports or other silly games men played for too much money, "A Green Monster? Is it some sort of Kindred ghoul? A wyrm corruption?"
Jocasta laughed, her dimpled smile flashing, "Yeah, something like that."
Eddie looked back and replied in a deep rough voice, "We're gonna see the Red Sox."
Delia smiled and chuckled, "Baseball, Atalanta, they're going to Boston."
Her mother stiffened, she hated being made a fool and her daughter frustrated her constantly, "Fine. Why can't you just say Boston? Everything must be a riddle with you."
She waved them off, her New Moon daughter was not what she had expected and she grumbled to Delia, "If only I could have crossed my legs and held her in another week or so. I would not have to put up with that. How she managed to even rank up, I will never know."
Delia shrugged, "She is Ragabash, it is her nature to be contrary and speak in riddles. And she is not without bravery and honor, though she plays it down. You don't see what she did?"
"What start smoking in my house even though she knows I hate it and forbid it?" Atalanta retorted, watching from the open window as her only Garou daughter sauntered down the walk with the big Metis shadowing her steps.
"No she turned your anger on herself, derailing our fight," Delia replied, "It's what they do, you know that."
She sighed and twitched her nose, the odor of cigarette still rank in the air, "Yes, that she did. I'm still not done with you but I'm not ready to tear your throat out."
"As if you could," Delia replied, smiling slightly at her old friend. "We'll get it situated, bring back those that were lost."
Jocasta snuffed out the cigarette on the gravel, she was not much of a smoker but it had it's advantages. Eddie trailed her, sniffing here and there, looking for prey as they passed by the large empty field that lead to the brush where deer, wild hog, and rabbits would abound.
"Go on," she said, waving at him, "Hunt now because tomorrow you'll be in homid form."
Eddie curled his lips, revealing the long white fangs and snorted. He did not particularly care for being in homid form but it was necessary. He bounded off, his hulking form moving swiftly, faster and quieter than he seemed he should be. His nose picked up the trail of a young buck nearby and he was hungry.
Jocasta waited, watching the sunset in the west, the golden light touching the mesquite trees and glittering off the water of the Rio Grande. The heat would cling to the night, it was never quite cool in the Valley, the rural area of South Texas full of cattle, barb wire fence, scrub land and little else. The sept was on the border with Mexico, a convenient way point for the Black Furies as they dealt with the wars and issues that arose south of the Red River all the way to the vast Amazon jungle. It was quiet and other than the occasional wandering immigrant crossing their grounds, none bothered them. They were viewed askance by the local ranchers as a hippy feminist cult and they were happy keep their distance.
The journey was uneventful, a two day drive across the eastern half of the United States with Eddie hanging his head out the window, even in his homid form he enjoyed the blast of smells the wind brought. The caern in Massachusetts was opened and vulnerable now to the encroaching Kindred. The urge to go there tugged at her mind, her connection to Gaia was deep, as it was to all Garou but in particular because she was born into the Black Furies. The Theurge Ianthe had bid her to go and while Jocasta was taken aback that she was the one chosen among the warriors and more spiritual Furies, she obeyed.
Jocasta sat at the counter, watching her mother, a tall powerfully built woman with thick black hair streaked with silver. Her sleeves were rolled up, revealing the tattoos of their tribe and kuklos and she was glowering at the other woman. Both were warriors, mothers, and at odds about some mission. Jocasta pretended to not listen, instead she slowly rolled a cigarette, Eddie watching her nimble fingers intently. He hated when people argued and she could feel the tension coming off the Metis male. He was in his Crinos form, comfortable at the sept behind the Veil so he was not forced to shift to the homid form. His golden green eyes were bright and Jocasta always thought there was an air of innocence about him, even in his most brutal rages. Her dark eyes cut to her mother who was growing louder and more adamant, the other woman also raising her voice. Something had gone wrong, somewhere south in Mexico, Chiapas perhaps. There was unrest in the jungle there, Wyrm creatures appearing where they had not been expected.
Her mother's shoulders were bunched, she was growing to the point where her temper would explode and it could mean a vicious fight between the two Garou warriors. Delia was snarling back and there was no backing down between the two proud veterans. Jocasta slowly brought the cigarette to her lips and lit it, inhaling deeply and blowing out the smoke toward the pair. She peered at them under her straight bangs when her mother whirled around. She was a health nut, always working out and insisted on organic meats and food, no alcohol or drugs of any kind. Jocasta raised her eyebrows and took another drag.
"Jocasta! By the Goddess what are you doing?" Atalanta shouted, watching the curl of blue smoke rise and her nose wrinkled at the stench. She had the gift of wolf senses even in her homid form and the acrid tobacco smoke stung her nostrils. "Put that out!"
Jocasta took the cigarette from her lips and held it, as if to examine it. "Calms the nerves, maybe you should try it, Mother?"
"Calms the...put it out now and open a window," she snarled, taking a step toward her daughter.
The other woman, Delia, coughed at the smell, her short blonde hair waving back and forth as she shook her head. "Really that's not necessary, Jocasta. Your mother and I were just having a discussion."
"Is that what you call it? Because I was certain she was about to go for your throat," she eyed her mother who was wrenching open one of the kitchen windows. "And you're both making Eddie upset. He doesn't like fighting."
Eddie looked up at his name from where he sat on his haunches at her side. His heavy shoulders were tense and his clawed fingers flexed constantly with nervousness. Delia looked at the Metis, her face revealing her loathing for a brief moment before she smiled but long enough for both of them to see. Jocasta would not have been fooled anyway, Ahroun were terrible liars in her experience. She took another deep drag as her mother turned back from the open window, her face still in a mask of anger. Her dark arched brows drew together and she put her hands on her hips.
"Out now, take that and your little friend with you," she said, though Jocasta could tell she had calmed down from the angered pitch she had been at before the argument had been interrupted.
"Now, now, Mother...you know Eddie is my son now," she pointed out much to the chagrin of Atalanta who shook her head. Eddie seemed pleased with it and made a growling, chortling noise of pleasure. "Since I couldn't keep my own pups, he's all I have."
Jocasta stood up, the cigarette now planted between her lips. She still was raw about having to give up her twin boys, to the Get of Fenris of all tribes, in exchange for two female pups who were likely to have a very hard time growing up in the patriarchal tribe. It was a typical trade, the Black Furies simply did not keep boys but for select Metis males since they were sterile and generally rejected by other tribes. Despite their fierce feminist nature, the women of the Furies also held a nurturing side and took in the unwanted offspring of the taboo inter Garou matings. Eddie was one such creature. His name was not really Eddie but he responded to it and no one seemed to recall what his real name was. It was Jocasta's sick little joke, calling him Oedipus as a play on her own name which was the same as mother in the Greek myth of the man who would kill his father and marry his mother. It caused offense to many of the elders, who did not see any humor in the fact that inbreeding and breeding of Metis were becoming a bigger problem among the Garou.
"You girls behave now, I don't want to come in here and find fur all over," she said as she strolled out the door, still smoking. "Mother, I'll be leaving tomorrow by the way. I'm taking Eddie on a little road trip."
Atalanta shot her a look, it was the first she had heard of it. "Where?"
"Northeast," she replied, standing back as Eddie ducked down and went through the door. "Seems like a place to be now. I always wanted to see the Green Monster."
Atalanta frowned, unfamiliar with the term as she was not a fan of sports or other silly games men played for too much money, "A Green Monster? Is it some sort of Kindred ghoul? A wyrm corruption?"
Jocasta laughed, her dimpled smile flashing, "Yeah, something like that."
Eddie looked back and replied in a deep rough voice, "We're gonna see the Red Sox."
Delia smiled and chuckled, "Baseball, Atalanta, they're going to Boston."
Her mother stiffened, she hated being made a fool and her daughter frustrated her constantly, "Fine. Why can't you just say Boston? Everything must be a riddle with you."
She waved them off, her New Moon daughter was not what she had expected and she grumbled to Delia, "If only I could have crossed my legs and held her in another week or so. I would not have to put up with that. How she managed to even rank up, I will never know."
Delia shrugged, "She is Ragabash, it is her nature to be contrary and speak in riddles. And she is not without bravery and honor, though she plays it down. You don't see what she did?"
"What start smoking in my house even though she knows I hate it and forbid it?" Atalanta retorted, watching from the open window as her only Garou daughter sauntered down the walk with the big Metis shadowing her steps.
"No she turned your anger on herself, derailing our fight," Delia replied, "It's what they do, you know that."
She sighed and twitched her nose, the odor of cigarette still rank in the air, "Yes, that she did. I'm still not done with you but I'm not ready to tear your throat out."
"As if you could," Delia replied, smiling slightly at her old friend. "We'll get it situated, bring back those that were lost."
Jocasta snuffed out the cigarette on the gravel, she was not much of a smoker but it had it's advantages. Eddie trailed her, sniffing here and there, looking for prey as they passed by the large empty field that lead to the brush where deer, wild hog, and rabbits would abound.
"Go on," she said, waving at him, "Hunt now because tomorrow you'll be in homid form."
Eddie curled his lips, revealing the long white fangs and snorted. He did not particularly care for being in homid form but it was necessary. He bounded off, his hulking form moving swiftly, faster and quieter than he seemed he should be. His nose picked up the trail of a young buck nearby and he was hungry.
Jocasta waited, watching the sunset in the west, the golden light touching the mesquite trees and glittering off the water of the Rio Grande. The heat would cling to the night, it was never quite cool in the Valley, the rural area of South Texas full of cattle, barb wire fence, scrub land and little else. The sept was on the border with Mexico, a convenient way point for the Black Furies as they dealt with the wars and issues that arose south of the Red River all the way to the vast Amazon jungle. It was quiet and other than the occasional wandering immigrant crossing their grounds, none bothered them. They were viewed askance by the local ranchers as a hippy feminist cult and they were happy keep their distance.
The journey was uneventful, a two day drive across the eastern half of the United States with Eddie hanging his head out the window, even in his homid form he enjoyed the blast of smells the wind brought. The caern in Massachusetts was opened and vulnerable now to the encroaching Kindred. The urge to go there tugged at her mind, her connection to Gaia was deep, as it was to all Garou but in particular because she was born into the Black Furies. The Theurge Ianthe had bid her to go and while Jocasta was taken aback that she was the one chosen among the warriors and more spiritual Furies, she obeyed.
Position: Sabbat Priest
Name: Vasile Dalca
Generation: 8th
Clan: Tzimisce
Disciplines: Vicissitude, Animalism, Auspex
Personality: Vasile considers himself an artist in flesh molding, he can be vain, creative, and charming when he wishes to be. He lacks any empathy to the humans he carves up, seeing them as little more than subjects, pieces for him to use. He is a monster, in every sense of the word, a sadist. While he wears an attractive mask, he is able to mold his own looks into whatever is useful and he has long separated himself from humanity. What joy he does get out of life is usually involved finding the perfect victim and in his studio where he creates the horrible revenants.
He is not a leader, but a creator, following his own whims and desires unless confronted with a more powerful leader. He is content to create for the Sabbat, to help fill their ranks not only with shovelheads but with ghouls molded to szlachta and vozhd.
Biography: Vasile is a native what is called Romania now, when he was alive he was a lord in service of the Prince of Transylvania. In the beginning of the 18th century, they went to war against the Habsburg royal family to keep their independence but they eventually lost. He faced execution and hid away in his native Carpathians. He was found by the one who would become his sire, a dark figure in the history of the land. Vasile does not speak of it much, the long years of learning to be a vampire, to understand his craft and his purpose. As a man who is focused more on the goal than the journey, he looks ahead, while keeping with the Tzimisce traditions.
Appearance: Tall, lanky, pale skinned with dark brown hair, an elegant handsome face with sharp cheekbones and piercing dark grey eyes. He wears black, elegant clothing, a silver cross worn ironically around his neck. On his right hand he wears a silver ring with a large garnet cabochon carved with the dragon sigil of the Tzimisce.
Name: Vasile Dalca
Generation: 8th
Clan: Tzimisce
Disciplines: Vicissitude, Animalism, Auspex
Personality: Vasile considers himself an artist in flesh molding, he can be vain, creative, and charming when he wishes to be. He lacks any empathy to the humans he carves up, seeing them as little more than subjects, pieces for him to use. He is a monster, in every sense of the word, a sadist. While he wears an attractive mask, he is able to mold his own looks into whatever is useful and he has long separated himself from humanity. What joy he does get out of life is usually involved finding the perfect victim and in his studio where he creates the horrible revenants.
He is not a leader, but a creator, following his own whims and desires unless confronted with a more powerful leader. He is content to create for the Sabbat, to help fill their ranks not only with shovelheads but with ghouls molded to szlachta and vozhd.
Biography: Vasile is a native what is called Romania now, when he was alive he was a lord in service of the Prince of Transylvania. In the beginning of the 18th century, they went to war against the Habsburg royal family to keep their independence but they eventually lost. He faced execution and hid away in his native Carpathians. He was found by the one who would become his sire, a dark figure in the history of the land. Vasile does not speak of it much, the long years of learning to be a vampire, to understand his craft and his purpose. As a man who is focused more on the goal than the journey, he looks ahead, while keeping with the Tzimisce traditions.
Appearance: Tall, lanky, pale skinned with dark brown hair, an elegant handsome face with sharp cheekbones and piercing dark grey eyes. He wears black, elegant clothing, a silver cross worn ironically around his neck. On his right hand he wears a silver ring with a large garnet cabochon carved with the dragon sigil of the Tzimisce.
That's just wrong.
If you're into roleplaying real people, go out and live a life.
If you're into roleplaying real people, go out and live a life.
Sole said
Every song I listen to is old. Why must you torture me with deciding ;-;Duran Duran or Men At Work; can't decide
You don't have to decide now.
All that 90's.
You're adorable. Those freckles are so cute.
Check the OOC in the RP section
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