It’s none of my business what people say of me and think of me. I am what I am and I do what I do. I expect nothing and accept everything. And it makes life so much easier.
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Bio
“There is no such thing as a new idea. It is impossible. We simply take a lot of old ideas and put them into a sort of mental kaleidoscope. We give them a turn and they make new and curious combinations. We keep on turning and making new combinations indefinitely; but they are the same old pieces of colored glass that have been in use through all the ages.” - Mark Twain
Age: b.1981, apparent age is 25 (retained when she was taken to Arcadia) but more likely in her mid-late thirties
Gender: Female
Seeming: Elemental (Woodblood) - crafted from the very essence of her mortal and Fae being.
Court: None at this time...
Appearance: Standing tall and lean at almost six-foot-one, Bryn’s Mask changed drastically from her shorter and thinner mortal self from whence she was pulled from years ago. She'd retained, for the most part, her identifiable facial features, light brown skin, and dreaded locks of dark hair that now seemed to be more on the wiry side from her “woodblood” Fae form. Very rarely, if at all, does she wear shoes, as they cause discomfort and possibly wounds, as though the very roots of her true nature scream out for freedom.
Her Mien, a literal “walking tree” of sorts, slightly taller in stature than the mortal shroud she now wore in her homeworld, with thick corded branches, vines, and various sweet smelling flora which adorned her feminine shaped frame. Her long hair, made of deep emerald vines twisted and contorted around her head and draped over her angled shoulders, slowly ripple independently or perhaps when certain emotions present themselves.
Until I can find a suitable image, I'll keep it to the description...
”Where words fail, music speaks”
The dark-haired girl stared intently at the quote scribbled along the top of the promotional poster hanging just outside the Boston Symphony Hall on Massachusetts Ave, that portrayed one of her favorite violinists. Not just a favorite, but a mentor of sorts, an inspiration and reminder of how much greater her talent would need to be in order to make it to the top one day. To be admired by others rather than simply passed by on the street like a nobody. Although contrary to these fleeting thoughts, Bryn was never much of a social person, nor did she enjoy being in any kind of spotlight. In fact, she hated it. Mostly self-taught, her musical talents were above average, and she found the violin to be a most pleasant instrument in her grasp, as each note and melody produced a vast mixture of emotions that she could relate to on many levels. In the grand scheme of things, however, the girl didn’t need to be on top, but rather sought affirmation that she hadn’t wasted her years plucking at the strings of a tool which didn’t produce some kind of enjoyment for herself, or for others. Bryn was still an artist, and the perfectionist side never seemed to allow her to move to the next level, no matter how hard she worked.
An artist had to eat, right? And so came the small venues here and there throughout Boston, as well as paintings she’d created in her spare time that connected to the music she wrote. Bryn made a decent living from the meager earnings her artist talents produced, and to an extent, she’d become content with the lifestyle and “romanticized” living of a young bohemian Boston-born artist. As time passed, she’d fallen in love and married, eventually had two kids, and did her best to carve out a life with a new family, all the while continuing to pursue a more lucrative musical career.
Yet, little did she know that on any given Saturday afternoon while taking her young children for a stroll through Boston Commons, her life would be drastically altered forever.
As she approached the large brick laden tunnel she’d crossed through dozens of times in the past, a young dark-haired woman about Bryn’s height and weight, barefoot and dressed in a flowy lavender sundress that looked strangely familiar, stood at the very opening. The stranger held in one hand a dark wood violin, encrusted with small shimmery gems, and in the other, a deep brown lacquered bow with a series of beads at the base. As Bryn approached, still pushing the doublewide stroller with her twin infant girls, she slowed her pace to a crawl, noticing for the first time that the woman’s facial features resembled her own! The stranger, void of any real expression, cocked her head slightly to one side and lifted the stringed instrument to her chin, where she began to play a low key and rather morbid sonata.
At first glance, Bryn was stunned, unable to vomit out a single word in protest, and certainly had no idea what was going on as this seemingly average “clone” continued to play a tune which held the young woman’s attention against her own free will. Was this a dream? A dream within a dream? Bryn hadn’t realized that time around her began to slow to a standstill and it was only her, the two children, and the other moving in real time. Curiosity took hold, as the music called to her, chiding her to approach the stranger. As she passed the front of the stroller, the girl noticed that both her kid were asleep, which hadn’t been an unusual occurrence during their afternoon walks. Her attention then pulled back toward the other until they were both within arms length, and the stranger ceased her playing, but rather holding the instrument out for Bryn to take, which she did without much hesitation to her own surprise. The violin felt heavenly within her grasp, a surge of excitement and wonder that she hadn’t felt in a long time surged through her, and she immediately closed her eyes and began playing music she’d never played before. Musical compositions that were on a level she’d never reached before, and yet there she was, playing them effortlessly and for that small moment in time, the world she’d been born into and raised up in was forgotten as the music enraptured her very being.
And then an abrupt push from the clone -the Fetch as is later realized- that plunges the girl into another realm altogether, with the last visions of her two sleeping children and their new “mother” at their side, smiling wryly and waving as the portal closes behind the now lost young woman...
An undetermined amount of time had passed, and even as Bryn opened her eyes from what seemed as though it were a long slumber, she was greeted by a lush and beautifully maintained garden, one of which seemed vaguely familiar. Even the scent that permeated throughout brought her joy and comfort, a place she hoped to never leave again. Her mind told her to rise up, as though she were actually laying down, yet it occurred to her that she was standing all along. Even moreso, the young woman felt as though she’d been here before...many times, in fact. Bryn tried to walk as she’d done every day of life, but she was stuck, rooted into one place and as her stiff neck turned and pivoted her head toward her legs, the realization struck her like a thousand blades to the heart. What replaced her lower body was the massive trunk of a tree, it’s roots spread in every direction, going deep into the ground to soak up the water and nutrients it offered. Her arms and hands, thick twisted branches and vines that took the shape of what was once human appendages of flesh and bone. Even what she could see of her upper body, was covered in bark and more corded and woven vines that made up the rest of her body. She brought a shaking limp up to her face, and without being able to see her own visage, knew that it was less than what it was, but still a shadow of it’s former self. She was what one would consider a Dryad from folklore, a hauntingly beautiful creature made up of an array of wood, thorny vines, various flowering plants, and the blackest of soil to bind it all together.
The girl wanted to scream in protest to whatever had happened, her mind raced and thoughts carried her back into time, countless years to the point of her first being pushed through the gateway and into the darkened Hedge. The massive Ogre who carried her nearly unconscious body through the thorny pathways into Arcadia, where he’d kept her for many days in a workshop full of sculptures made of every kind of element you could imagine. Bryn grew weaker as the days passed, still in her human form that slowly felt as though it were fading away, as though her flesh slipping away from the skeleton that held her up. The Ogre -her Keeper- had bled most of what was left in her body into a pot, adding it to the strange brew that was simmering day after day within the morbid workshop he considered his home. As the last vestiges of life drained away into whatever concoction the beast had, Bryn died, but only her body faded away. Her true essence, her soul if you will, carried on into the wooden golem that she now inhabited, its structure, once just a base design, twisted and formed into a closer image of what her mortal form had once been. Just more…tree-like.
Time passed, and the Ogre continued on with his new bondservant, treating her as less than equal but paying little attention to her other than being a mere tool for his trade or an exquisite “show piece” for his vast architectural landscapes and gardens. It was then, surprisingly, and after several years of hard labor, that the Ogre presented Bryn with a beautifully crafted violin that had a rich, deep red color soaked into the wood itself. The beast never forgot the girl’s true potential and gift of music, and he wished to take advantage of yet another aspect of the Changeling's rebirth into the land of Fae: Magic.
Learning to play this newly crafted instrument all over again as a reborn Woodblood was challenging but the girl was determined to bring back the one thing that truly kept her happy and at peace. She brought herself up to speed in no time, playing tunes she'd remembered from her mortality and learned new songs by simply listening to the environment all around her. The Ogre’s work flourished with each harmony, and many of his sculpted pieces came to life as a result of the magic that flowed through the red violin. The instrument was a part of Bryn, and she, a part of the instrument.
Forever inseparable. Or so she thought.
Many cycles later, in a fit of rage, the Ogre ripped the instrument from his slave’s grip in a single violent stroke, taking with it pieces of her wooden limbs that slowly regenerated. The violin body cracked, and strings broken away from the tuning bolts, an emotion erupted in the girl that has never been there before. Where fear and subjugation had been the dominant factor, they were quickly replaced by a heated anger that unleashed in a flurry of attacks against her keeper. The first of many, gouging the beast's eyes out with the sharpened ends of her fingers, causing the branches to grow and penetrate into the creature's brain matter until it reacted by swatting her arm away, snapping it in half and leaving the wooden shanks lodged in his head.
Bryn shrieked as she’d lost her forearm, but knowing full well it would regenerate with time, but at that moment she only wanted to flee and create as much distance between her and the Ogre as possible. So she scooped up the broken violin and ran, using the time that her Keeper was blinded and distracted to hide in the thick of the dark forests, a place she knew would allow her sanctuary, if even for a little while.
And so the two worlds collided once again.
Up ahead, canvassed by large trees and flanked by two pillars of layered stone and glass, a tall but narrow rip in the fabric of Arcadia revealed the mortal realm, a world where Bryn knew she'd belong to many years past. Slivers of memory came back as she gazed into the gateway, keeping focus on what lied beyond, and using what little she could remember about the portals to make a possible escape. At that moment, however, fear and doubt once again rose up and kept her petrified. She wanted to run, to escape the unknown years of slavery and reclaim what was once hers on the other side of the gateway. But what did await her? The girl could hear voices in the distance, and she'd realized that it was now or never to cross. With a deep breath and a renewed sense of purpose, Bryn bolted toward the portal and leapt through the narrow passage just before the glamour which held it open dissipated and the spot where the gateway appeared returned to its original state.
Most of what happened next seemed to be a blur, memories of the transition from Arcadia to the mortal world again hit her hard. Her body took on the Mask of a rather close approximation of her former self, but still different, with certain aspects of her true form, her Mien, seeping through the magical disguise she wore to protect her identity. She'd landed in a place that was foreign to her, a city that had never been her home before, and was far from where she'd started. What's more, she knew she had to escape to the mortal realm, yet she could not recall who or what she had prior to being taken all those years ago. Did she have family? Was there a home for her to go back to?
The basics of survival were still with her, and little by little, she discovered that the Fae magic coursed through her veins even in the strange new city. Her arm, the one damaged during her escape from the Ogre, formed properly but was still not fully functional, and felt weak compared to the rest of her body. A small price to pay she supposed, but hopefully something that could be rectified as her journey begins in New York City.
Personality: With the heart of an artist and the grace and temperament of one who allows classical music to influence her very being, Bryn does her best to keep the dread of her captivity at bay with the beauty and harmony created through her own musical works. Meditation and focus is also a significant part of her life that she kept from her mortal days, surrounding herself with the beauty of the outdoors as she allows her body to recharge. Due to her Fae nature, she also has an empathetic connection to the flora, sensing it’s own emotions, which in turn, influences her own well-being, whether good or bad.
Skills: Primarily a professional-level violinist and painting enthusiast, her magically imbued violin has a chance to animate objects and artwork that are otherwise inanimate.
Supernatural Powers: Redwood violin she plays -one carried over from Arcadia- is imbued with her own Fae & mortal blood, causing it's music to bring certain plant life, and to a certain degree, inanimate objects. Her skin is tougher than most, a sort of “bark skin” that will activate seamlessly when under duress as a defense mechanism. Empathic connection with flora, can feel their emotions, which can empower or perhaps disable her depending on the severity.
Weaknesses: Due to her nature, her Mask’s skin can become rather dry or cracked in appearance and she may become weakened physically and mentally unless she is properly hydrated with water throughout the day. Because of this drawback, Bryn has been known to spend time in areas that have a higher degree of moisture, especially during the colder, dryer months.
Note: Certain waters -whether bathed in or ingested- imbued with magical properties allow her to heal from wounds or general ailments at an accelerated rate.
Possessions: Violin, crafted from her own Fae blood, wood, and hair (bow string)
Appearance: 6’1, 225lb lean muscle, olive skin, neatly combed dark hair and trimmed beard, showing more streaks of gray than when he first step foot onto the Vitae five years ago. A scar -the remnants of a wound from attacks on his first away mission five years ago- on his right side runs from forehead to cheek, a reminder that not all life on new planets is friendly. When not dressed in the standard navy blue ARK Security uniform or coat, he prefers simple t-shirts, slacks, and boots during his off time. Although he always carries a sidearm and a collapsible electro-baton, whether concealed or otherwise.
Profession: Chief of Security
Nationality: European Confederacy
Languages: Russian/English/Portuguese
Strengths: - Leadership that inspires others - Knowledge in both Law Enforcement & Corporate Physical Security - Cold weather adaptation (inherent in his Russian lineage) - Attention to detail/sizing up certain individuals - Crowd Control - Small Arms Specialist (ranged & melee) - Close Quarters Combatant (primarily in defensive/take down/disarming techniques)
Weaknesses: Regarding his past with the Brotherhood, he still has a rather soured outlook regarding AIs, and would much rather rely on human intuition and skills if necessary.
Perfectionist, especially when it comes down to the standards and practices with regard to the ships internal security. This personality can sometimes conflict with military-secured sectors as Gavon sometimes feel it “could be better protected”, whether it’s factually true or not.
Uncompromising when enforcing a law that some might consider unfair, impeding on personal rights, or perhaps a conflict of interest.
Personal Effects: - Duffle bag of civilian clothes - Two modified Trak Kingmaker IV handguns - Bowie knife (gift from his father, more or less a prized possession - A media card full of 20th Century Jazz & Blues recordings (Something he confiscated during his time with The Brotherhood.
“If you’re really up there God, just as you’ve been preached about countless times enough over the years for me to have listened, then I promise to turn things around once and for all. I know I’ve been a mudak, made wrong choices, but I’m not doing this for myself anymore…”
Gavon peaked around the corner of the large steel pillar he’d been huddled behind for the last hour during the firefight, catching a glimpse of his former comrades armed to the teeth, intent on ending the female Relief Soldier’s life -and his- to preserve their own sadistic lifestyle. There were four of them, one with a pistol pressed firmly against the girl’s temple, she couldn’t have been much older than eighteen and damn sure she didn’t expect this to happen. Or maybe she did? Either way, he could see the fear in her eyes, a life that was ending even before it really began. It was hard enough for him to believe that he’d fallen in with such psychopaths, but equally understandable to a degree considering the world they were thrust into, and the lengths people had to go to survive in a wasteland...
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Russia, the once capital of the European Confederacy, had been torn down to essentially nothing after the Third World War, leaving its people and those surrounding countries, to pick up the pieces of their life and pride. Gavon only received these as stories, passed down through a generation or two, trying to picture in his own head what his homeland must have been like before war came to rear its ugly face and spit blood on civilization. His father went off to help in the war efforts, his whereabouts never revealed, and mother, a school teacher, assisted in rebuilding the educational infrastructure that was so desperately needed. Fortunately for Gavon, aside from his native Russian, he was taught to read, write, and speak in the English language, as that had been more or less the universal tongue and would serve him well.
To eke out a life from the ashes of a once proud legacy was anything but simple, and the difficult choices had to be made in order to preserve what was left, to rebuild something out of literally nothing, and hold on to the hope that one day you would put all of the chaos behind you. Either by means of a one-way ticket out, perhaps to another stabilized nation, or from a bullet to the head. Gavon was born and raised in a wasteland that looked like a hopeless case, a place nothing good could ever come from again, and yet he held onto the values passed from his parents:
Work hard, stay true to your homeland, protect its people, and have faith in the One who creates rather than destroys.
As time passed during the adolescent years however, his values and beliefs wavered greatly, and more out of necessity he fell in with a group who promised greater things than he’d ever had. The Solntsevskaya Brotherhood, a name derived from a Russian mafia of the twentieth century had been one of the major factions who recruited and labelled themselves as “Resistance Fighters”, when in fact they were no better than vicious street thugs. Stealing illegal technology, weapons, and supplies -ripped either from opposing gangs or from relief convoys sent down to assist in rebuilding and revitalizing- only to have their goods sold on the black market to other gangs and corporations waging their own civil wars. The Brotherhood took no sides, but rather reaped the benefits from whoever had the means to pay.
Even as he learned several useful skills and trades through his teenage years such as armed and unarmed combat, guerrilla tactics, and negotiations through intimidation and blackmail, he just didn’t see a future in taking from a society who was already buried in shit and piss. In his early twenties, as relief convoys began hiring additional protection for their goods, the gangs found it increasingly difficult to overrun them, and Relief Soldiers began pressing down hard on their assailants. Gavon saw the potential of joining such a faction of people whose sole purpose was to help, not hurt those nations who needed the means to a better future. A life of crime at the expense of the innocent was no life he’d ever intended, and the opportunity finally came to prove where his loyalties lay.
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“I’m doing this for the people and values I swore to my sem'ya I’d protect…”
He slid the ammo magazine out from the modified handgun gripped tightly in his hand, doing a quick ammo check, before clicking it back into place and sliding the next bullet into the chamber.
“...and I intend on keeping that promise...”
With a smooth and effortless roll to the side, he kept low behind a table tipped over, and fired off several rounds, the first hitting the man next to the girl, which knocked him off balance, giving her the opportunity to disarm the guy and finish him off with his own weapon. The other bullets went wide, a few hitting non-vital body parts and scattering their ranks. Curses were screamed out in Russian, English, and some other unknown languages, as bullets flew in both directions, one of which nailed Gavon in the shoulder causing him to fall backward. The firefight alerted nearby Relief Soldiers, who charged in and swept up what was started, and in the end, three assault rifles were aimed at the lone man laying on the ground with a bullet in his shoulder and a wry grin across his lips.
“Who the hell are you?” The girl asked him, flanked by her team, as she wiped sweat from her brow.
“Just a nobody trying to get the fuck out of this place...”
In the years following, due to heroics, sacrifice and a lot of charm, Gavon was part of the Relief Convoy, assigned as a soldier tasked with protecting the ships, it’s cargo, and delivery of goods. A position he grew to love, embrace, and would die for. That female soldier he saved? As fortune would have it, they grew close and married a few years after, working together to recruit more to the relief cause while maintaining a personal life. The idea of children had come up several times, but they both knew their duty came first and accepted it all the same. When the Genesis Project rolled out publicly, relief efforts turned into riot control, and soldiers were needed in every capacity to keep the peace. Gavon was eventually given the opportunity to become the Vitae’s Head of Security, based on his combat skill set, loyalty to team, and leadership qualities.
The day came, however, where his life would take an unexpected turn, when the bullet of a sniper passed through his armor, piercing his heart, before exiting through his back. Gavon instantly fell, his wife Natalie rushing to his side, and her screams for help fading as all went dark. His body was carried away by the medical AI units , sustaining his life through temporary means while they transported him to the Vitae -an Ark that would become his new home- in hopes of saving his life and retaining a great asset. On board the Ark, they quickly went to work, replacing his damaged human heart with a newly developed artificial unit, and allowing him the time needed to rest and recover while his new robotic heart adapted to its host.
Natalie, who was assigned as Security Chief on the Vitae until her husband’s full recovery, began structuring the department for additional personnel, and amassing a loyal group of men and women who would serve as the ear, eyes, and law aboard the Ark.
A responsibility she knew Gavon would uphold with his life...
Five Years Later: As in any situation that keeps one busy, time seemed to fly by, and it was no different aboard a hung of metal floating through unknown space as time and tide tested everyone’s meddle, only to filter out the weaker links and fill the voids that were found within the ship’s security. As months turned into years, and plans for further development within the Ark continued, Gavon’s focus shifted toward physical security, ensuring that entry/exit doors, cameras, alert systems, and a myriad of measures were taken to upgrade and maintain safety and security for both civilian and military personnel. Natalie’s, aside from her continued work in Dispatch and Communications, had focused on the ship’s network and firewall system security, working with NOAH and Engineers on a daily basis and filling any gaps that were needed so necessary data flow was encrypted and running smoothly throughout the mainframe.
Relationships: While over the last five years, Gavon has cultivated a healthy relationship with many colleagues and friends, a few do tend to stand out more than others:
- Natalie TreVayne (Wife) - Rear Admiral Williams Locke (Commander) - Dr. Melanie Denise Larson (Psychologist) - TBD - TBD
Clan Feeding Restriction: Romani of Eastern European descent. Storytelling Note: Among many Ventrue, it was considered a bad omen to associate with the gypsy people, who they considered thieves and murderers. Regardless, Nicolaus keeps this hidden as best he can.
Appearance: A man of above-average height, Nico stands at six-foot-one, lean muscle, short dark hair with streaks of graying along the sides, and light facial hair which is generally kept short. A series of articulate tattoos of animals, mythos, and symbolic eastern European imagery cover most of his upper body and arms, depicting exploits of centuries past. He carries himself with confidence, tall and proud, a friendly smile to friend and stranger, and a wardrobe designed to accentuate a no nonsense man of integrity and strength of character and will.
Personality: Pure alpha, dominant, even-tempered, mentally tough, and competitive, Nicolaus gleans with a genuine confidence that very few seem to have in this current age, especially among the younger Kindred. Whereas his demeanor may come off as arrogant, it couldn't be further from the truth. His rough exterior is balanced by a charismatic approach to others and generally friendly disposition.
As a creature struggling with a dark past of unforgivable actions and consequences, he is quite determined to right many wrongs and while he strives for perfection in everything, he rarely achieves it according to his own standards and those imposed by the Ventrue. Yet still he persists.
And a quirk, some would consider “bad form” for a Ventrue (let alone a vampire in general), is that Nicolaus holds onto certain humanistic qualities, such as having food set out during meal times but -as expected- not actually eating, smoking cigars, or simply leaving a pair of glasses in his shirt pocket. Many of his peers consider it a negative reflection on him, but it does little to dissuade the gestures.
Prague | Blackriver Citadel | circa 1785
“You've been found guilty of treason against your Sabbat brethren, sharing secrets that jeopardize the interests and security of this Sect, and conspiring with the Camarilla!” The thin, pale, dark-haired Lasombra read from an unfurled scroll, eying the caged vampire across from him with much gile and suspicion. “In turn, you have been stripped of your title as ‘Inquisitor’ amongst the Black Hand and are hereby subject to summary judgement by way of a thousand blade cuts and incineration until Final Death has destroyed your existence.” A wry grin formed across the creature’s dried lips. “And mark my words, your confederates will be found and destroyed and you will therefore be stricken from the manuscripts, never to be remembered again.”
“Remembered for what exactly?” The other scoffed, clearly unimpressed with the series of charges that, while true, were still overly exaggerated.
The Lasombra tilted his head slightly as his face contorted into the epitome of anger and disgust. “You Ventrue lackeys are all the same, stubborn to the last, and yet you insult my intelligence by assuming I am not aware of the prestige, the Dignitas, that you’ve managed to acquire for the past one hundred years as a member of the Sabbat?”
He stepped closer to the thick steel bars of the small cell holding the prisoner.
“And if it wasn't for your Sire advocating on your behalf, the Black Hand would have had considerably less tolerance for your continued insolence. In fact, many of us within the Circle are convinced she is just as guilty as her half-wit childe.”
“Kivaria has no part in this I assure you. Keep her out of your little ’witch hunts’.”
“Perhaps.” He paused, steepling his hands. “Regardless, your betrayal has ended here, and will prove fruitless as countermeasures are in place to ensure our secrets are kept well hidden from the outside clans.” The Lasombra smirked, his yellowed teeth peeking through the small slit between his lips. “You know nothing Nicolaus, and you will die a most horrible death with nothing.”
The prisoner stood for a moment as though he were contemplating the words of his accuser. “You may be right, but I am aware of one important fact...”
The Lasombra arched a single eyebrow. “Humor me Ventrue.”
“That you, and you alone, were responsible for the rape, sodomy, decapitation, and burning of the only woman I ever loved. And rather than owning up to such an ’accomplishment’ against a defenseless mortal, you pinned it on my Sire, causing decades of tension and mistrust in the wave of your deceit.”
The Lasombra cackled in a most horrific manner at the other's words. “So this was the catalyst of your treason? A mortal woman? Oh Nicolaus...you are a weaker fool than I thought- ”
“No!” He interrupted, leaning closer to the cage bars as he stared deeper into the darkened eyes of the Sabbat Inquisitor. “You, my friend, are a disgrace to your kind and an insult to all those who follow your skewed perceptions. You are a sack of sludge unworthy of the unlife Caine has granted.”
The Inquisitor snorted as he took a half-step closer to the cage, whispering to the condemned only inches from him. “You will die in the most painful way imaginable, Nicolaus Strøm. Your body will be divided and sent to the four corners of the world as a warning to all who would even consider betraying the Sabbat. You will-”
The Lasombra’s vile speech was suddenly cut short by a long silent dagger jabbed under his chin, and forced up through his skull, penetrating the gray matter within and causing a low guttural sound of blood and bile as it forced its way through his severed vocals. His expression, once full of smugness, had transformed into petrified fear, as streams of thick blood ran down the assailant's weapon hand and his target’s ceremonial black cloak.
“I will live...” Nicolaus hissed through clenched teeth as he twisted the steel dagger, causing the low squishing and popping sounds of cartilage and brain tissue. “And I will see that the Sabbat pay in blood, even it takes me until my last nights.” He pulled the dagger quickly from the vampire’s bloodied head, and immediately pierced his heart, which caused the Lasombra to instantly go rigid as the very source of the creature’s unlife was struck the final debilitating blow. And with the blade embedded firmly in place, Nicolaus grabbed the keys to free himself from the cell, allowing the stiff body to fall hard against the stone floor, before kneeling down next to the dying Sabbat Elder.
“And by the way.” He said, pushing the vampire’s head to one side and exposing his long, veiny neck. “Kivaria gives her regards...”
And with that, the Ventrue sank his fangs deep, draining every last bit of the creature’s vitae, his essence, his soul, and with it a renewal of strength surged through Nicolaus as the stroke of Final Death took the withered and rotting corpse of the Sabbat.
Countless decades ticked away on the great clock of immortality, as time was trivial to one who lived forever. Nicolaus was on the run, embedding himself into the Underground realms of Europe, Asia, and eventually, the Americas, building up what he had lost when he severed his ties to the Black Hand of the Sabbat, and much of the Kindred world for that matter. For over two centuries he kept hidden among the mortals, gaining vital contacts, amassing wealth from various business deals, investments, and black market transactions. If living amongst the Ventrue had done anything, it increased a sense of resourcefulness and survival, and his various professional backgrounds and a solid business acumen allowed access into the upper echelons of society where he could keep tabs on both kindred and kine from a safe distance. However, as with any influential individual with a network spanning multiple continents, the shadow that once covered him was slowly fading away as the light of truth and Kindred interests crept back into his life.
Among the handful of Camarilla clans, Garou within the Glasswalker tribe, and mortal business partners who had dealings with him, his Ventrue brethren had the most interest (and gain) from his influence, and as trust developed over many decades, his acceptance into their Sect had become a natural occurrence. The Elder Ventrue of Los Angeles invited him to join their ranks and enter into a pact with the Camarilla, hoping his vast network would allow their clan to continue greatness and stability in an otherwise Anarch-driven society. Even as much, Nicolaus not only had to prove himself to the Inner Circle -and those leaders within control of the Free State-but to his own clan, gaining sought after Dignitas that was lost to the ages, which would again place him amongst the elite of his kind.
Eventually he was appointed the “Servire” position, assisting the Archons of that time with intel and just about any other duties required. Near the tail-end of the Twentieth Century, as Lucinde was selected as Justicar representing clan Ventrue, one of her first tasks was to hunt and capture the notorious Samedi diablerist, Genina, which she did, increasing her prestige amongst much of the kindred population. For Nicolaus and his part in assisting Lucinde and her coterie, he was appointed position of Archon, and more specifically “Alastor”, allowing virtually unhindered freedoms in order to bring those kindred who are in severe violation of the Traditions to justice, whether by trial or fire.
Nicolaus knew, however, that the exploits of his life leading up to present would come full circle, and that two events were inevitable: His sire would resurface and come for him as either friend or otherwise, and the Sabbat would track him down to exact their own twisted brand of judgement…
Aside from several Servire at his disposal, below are key NPCs utilized to better solidify the information gather network
Elizabeth Salahori: (mortal) Retainer & companion to Nicolaus. Has vast connections with Romani, even those within kindred society. Her and Nicolaus have kept their nearly fifteen year relationship on the downlow, and while their closest associates are aware of the bond between the vampire and mortal, they also fear it may upset the integrity of the long-standing Traditions.
Jack Frost: (Nosferatu) contact and friend. Nico saved his life from a fiery attack years ago. Jack uses what pull he has to lend any Underground intel, also acts as a guide to Nico if the need arises to traverse vast networks of sewers and tunnels.
Detective ? - Mortal retainer- works out of LA precinct
...or vampires that morph into bears when they're mad...
Idk why this made me lol, but I know "werebears" do exist in the fantasy realm. Still, just pure comedy :D
Anyway, I may check out the "Vampires!" site just to familiarize myself with the lore as I do have a vamp and/or wolf available for parties & bar mitzvahs :D
Very interesting concept. I came from the World of Darkness tabletop RPs so the rules and mechanics (to an extent) are quite familiar, and I assume that the "Vampires!" game pull much of their inspiration from WoD.
That being said, are vampires the only playable class, considering in IC seemed to allude to "more than humans and vampires" populating the city.
So I'm thinking that the Ark needs an unofficial/official civilian "leader", so how about you insert "Eva" in there (sans the whole undead thing of course) and we call it done?
Alrighty peeps, just a reminder, that you are free to post at will, based on the recent return trip from the away team and Admiral Locke's "ship wide" message. For any new players, don't get hung up on any story arcs right now as I'd rather like to see a good intro of your character to establish a baseline before we jump head first into anything serious. Have fun with it!
Also, don't forget that we are on Discord and generally do most of our character discussions/story plottings/general banter on there so if you can jump in from time-to-time then that would be great. Don't be afraid to chime in any ideas you may have that could be interwoven into the existing stories, especially when it comes to being able to collab with fellow players.
Remember, this is an RP community and while the GMs have their own plots in mind for the long game, it's really the players and their interactions and experiences that binds everything together and makes things flow and feel more lively.
Dirt and grime clung to him like an unwanted friend, as even the stench of the planet was hard to shake, even when they were now hundreds of miles away by now. It seeped into his skin, his hair, the very follicles within in nose, all tainted by the away mission that should not have gone as sideways as it did. The entirety had only been less than forty-eight hours, since first leaving the Ark and returning, much of the time spent on the planet’s surface collecting what the teams could as well as escaping from the many threats that beared down on them like a plague. And for many who hadn’t experienced the first-hand challenges of field assignments in otherwise hostile territory, the nightmarish realities would stick with them for a long time to come. Fortunately for Gavon, he’d been born into worse shitstorms than that, but either way, loss was never easy, but loss at the expense of gaining what? No one really knew. One thing was for certain in the forefront of the Chief’s mind, that any business with SecCom could wait until next shift, and he hoped not to be summoned anytime soon to delay the one thing he longed for since stepping foot back onto the Ark.
It was good to be home...
A relieved smile crossed his lips while he stood in the midst of the dimly lit quarters, quietly placing his camo rucksack in the seat of one of the leather armchairs, and taking a moment to finally breathe now that his evening was coming to a close. Oddly enough, he never much paid attention to the nuances of his own living space considering the number of hours he’d spend within Security Centre -even sleeping in his own office from time to time- and yet aboard such a large scale ship, he could always consider the standard issue quarters his “home away from home”. The Chief stepped across the room, his thick leather and rubber composite boots causing a low thud sound with each footfall, as he made his way past the partition which lead into the bedroom area near the far wall. Stepping up onto the raised platform, he could see his lovely wife sound asleep in the center of the bed, the thick comforter pulled up to just under her chin, and the mild scent of lavender hair conditioner permeated throughout. The large rectangular window that encompassed most of the wall, looked out into the blackest of voids, with only the unknown stars to remind them that they were still in space. Gavon stepped over to the edge of the bed and sat, admiring Natalie’s perfect features even in the low lighting, listening to her even breathing, and simply relieved to have such a partner with him on this journey. His hand, still marred with a bit of dirt and oil residue from the mission, ran gently over her smooth skin and straight hair, which startled her from an otherwise sound sleep.
“Gav!” She rose up almost immediately to wrap her arms around him. “Shit, I’ve missed you.” She breathed in a hushed tone as her arms held him tightly, not wanting to let the man go as they embraced in a long-awaited kiss.
“Are you okay Nat?” He asked in a concerned tone of voice, sensing her body trembling.
“Yeah.” She sniffed, even as tears began welling up around her eyes. “I am now.”
He’d known Natalie for over ten years, long enough to understand some of the more complex parts of her thinking and emotions, but still eluded by many, purely by the simply fact that he was not as emotional as she when it came to certain things. But at the same time, there were very rare occassions over the course of those years that they’d been apart on such critical terms, and uncertainty was always a breeding ground for anxiety.
“I’m here now.” He said in as much of a reassuring tone of voice as he could.
“I know” The other smiled, wiping tears away she’d almost felt embarrassed to have.
“What’s this?” Gavon narrowed his eyes to focus in the low light, on the unusual blemish he noticed along her cheek, leaning over toward the nightstand console to manually raise the lighting in order to see.
“Oh, it-it’s nothing.” Natalie’s smile was rather sheepish, eliciting a doubtful expression from her husband. “It’s...
“A bruise?” His voice grew slightly louder, and more grave. “Nat, what the hell happened? Who did this?”
“Gavon, no one did anything. It was me. I was…” Natalie closed her eyes, trying to allow the earlier incident of her hazy trip on the tram and into Eden to come back to her clearly enough that she didn’t sound like a complete moron. “After work I decided to go out, and had an accident on the tram, but I’m fine, trust me..” She kissed him again. “I’m fine.”
Natalie couldn’t mention the pain killers, she couldn’t allow the man she loved to see such a broken woman. Not now and hopefully not ever. It was a one-time thing, a way to forget why she’d been so depressed, why she couldn’t handle her husband being away. Never again though. Never again would she allow such an impulsive decision bring her down like that. Gavon stared into her beautiful eyes for several moments, eyes that have never betrayed him, and yet this time he’d been unsure of what she was telling him was all truth. But at the same time, this just wasn’t the time for either of them to be upset. Perhaps if it still concerned him after a good night’s sleep, then he’d inquire about it.
“Fair enough.” He smiled and nodded. “I’m just glad you’re safe and I’m back where I belong.”
“My great protector” The other smiled, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. “So why don’t you carry me to the refresher, where I can help you out of these clothes, because as much as I love you m’dear, you smell like an animal farm.”
For once, Gavon had to agree.
[:: Deputy J. Haas | Security Command ::]
There seemed to have been many firsts since the launch of the Arks, and in light of the recent away mission, for Deputy Jerrol Haas, he had the privilege of “acting Chief” for time enough to realize that he did not envy the amount of work that his boss had to shoulder on any given day. It’s true that there were an ample number of Security related departments to handle virtually any incident and crisis that would befall such a vessel as the Vitae, threats that would otherwise cause lives to be lost. But in this particular case, as Haas scanned through incoming reports and calls, one particular came up as quite the urgent matter, and one he’d never imagined would have been so soon.
[:: incident report 00-CA1257 ::]
Summary: Dr. Emilie Stone contacted dispatch regarding allegations of the rape of a minor. Her initial statement was taken over ship communication, and flagged for immediate follow-up by Ark Sec Investigation, as well as medical personnel to conduct full physical on victim for signs of violation.
[:: end ::]
Back on Earth, when there was an Earth, cases such as these seemed to be overlooked by law enforcement as though they were dealing with the plague on an epic level. Sex crimes happened, unfortunately, and yet whether it was lack of resources, training, understanding, or a little of everything, many cases went unsolved and were locked away and the only one truly suffering in the end without closure was the victim. He needed someone who had the experience to handle such a delicate case.
Deputy Haas added his own notes into the report as well.
[:: incident report 00-CA1257 ::]
Notes from J. Haas: Recommend lead investigator Lee Reynolds to handle full investigation into case as utmost sensitivity is to be exercised considering the nature of these allegations.
[center][i]“There is no such thing as a new idea. It is impossible. We simply take a lot of old ideas and put them into a sort of mental kaleidoscope. We give them a turn and they make new and curious combinations. We keep on turning and making new combinations indefinitely; but they are the same old pieces of colored glass that have been in use through all the ages.”[/i]
- Mark Twain[/center]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;"><div class="bb-center"><span class="bb-i">“There is no such thing as a new idea. It is impossible. We simply take a lot of old ideas and put them into a sort of mental kaleidoscope. We give them a turn and they make new and curious combinations. We keep on turning and making new combinations indefinitely; but they are the same old pieces of colored glass that have been in use through all the ages.”</span><br>- Mark Twain</div></div>
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