Vanq

Game of Thrones - A Song of Ice and Fire

The Gulltown Tourney
Who: Any Lords and Ladies of noble birth
What: A grand tourney and feast
Where:The port city of Gulltown, both at the Grafton keep and in the outlying areas
When: To begin at the onset of the IC
Why: To honor Lord Jasper's sixteenth nameday as well as his regency's end

Mechanics:

• Invitations and notifications would have gone out some months previous, assume your lords and ladies were well aware of this in advance.


• You need not send any representative if you don't wish to


• There will be a joust, a melee, and squire subsets of both, in addition to the feasts culminating in the honoring and blessing of the winners


The winner of the squire's joust and the squire's melee will be knighted


The winner of the knight's joust will be granted a suit of armor


The winner of the knight's melee will be granted a new weapon of their choosing


• Winners will be decided by dice rolls, 1 for skill (weighted) and 1 for luck


PC participants must send me a PM of their entrants in addition to a skill #/10, 10 being the best knight in the existence of Westerosi history.


That number is then multiplied by a d10 dice roll, ex: 5/10 knight rolls a 6 = 30 points


Luck is calculated with a d10, and is added to the weighted skill roll, ex: luck roll gives a 4, knight from the previous example would have 34 points


Winners will be the entrants with the highest points

Most importantly, remember that this is a small game in the greater story. It is an IC competition, don't make it an OOC contest. Be honest in your submissions, and have fun with it.

Game of Thrones - A Song of Ice and Fire

Name: Elyn Tarly
Affiliation: House Tarly of Horn Hill, currently residing at Highgarden
Age: 18

Personality:

Boisterously unladylike, Elyn has never fit in well with her peers, with the highborn ladies she has spent much of her life around. She never attempted to be like them and was well regarded as a nightmare to her mother and the septas charged with her education. More apt to anger than sadness, more likely to bellow her disapproval than sob, she is more likely to take a swing than make use of cutting words. Her mother despaired that she should have been born a man, and a common man at that, to which Elyn never disagreed. Her laughter is loud and unbridled, without care to her company. She will interrupt a conversation without a thought to who is speaking. Rough and uncouth, she has lived her life largely without friends, at least not of the sort her parents would approve of.

History:

Born to Alester Tarly, the master-of-arms in Horn Hill and brother to Lord Alan, and his second wife, Cyrenna Swann, in 191. Elyn was a fat, happy baby who grew into a persistently plump young woman. Alester was nearly an old man when he married Cyrenna, a cousin of the ruling Swanns, in 189. Elyn would be their only child, her mother unable to conceive again. Alester's previous wife had been just as barren, a sore spot for Ser Alester, more so only because she had lived such a long life.

Elyn saw the loveless nature of her parent's union from an early age. They fought often, when they thought she wasn't around hear or that they did so softly enough for her not to notice. But take notice she did, and some of her earliest words were picked up in the things they said to each other. She took refuge amongst the servants of Horn Hill, with the rough and tumble sort of play that made her mother cringe and the septas slap her hands and rear. Nothing could dissuade her though, no matter who tried or what methods attempted could calm her into a genteel, noble sort of girl. She would not pray, refused to learn to sing sweetly, Elyn would instead run from the keep to go down to the local village. As she got older she would sneak away to the stables and entertain the lowborn men with raucous stories and lewd songs. Some whisper, of course, that she entertained them in numerous other ways as well.

There was, quite simply, no hope for the girl. She was quite marriageable, men who met her wouldn't dream of a wife like her, and even those who didn't had heard the rumors of her unsavory behavior. She was a disappointment and shameful to the proud House Tarly and the Lord of Horn Hill gave an ultimatum when she turned 16. She would be wed in two years or she would be sent away, so thoroughly had she found ways to disturb his household and court. Her parents despaired, their fights turned uglier, until Ser Alester died just over a year past. With his death came rumors, whispers that had been kept at bay while the man still lived.

Elyn was not his daughter.

He had been sterile his whole life.

Neither wife pregnant, save for Elyn's birth, no whore or lover ever pregnant by his seed, and he was a known philanderer.

The Lady Cyrenna must have been an adulteress, it was no surprise Elyn was such a vile woman.

As the terms of the ultimatum came to a close, Elyn no closer to marriage than when it had been issued, her mother confessed while in the throes of a bad fever. Racked by guilt and feeling sorrowful over the loss of her daughter, no matter how very different they had been, she told Elyn the truth. Or at least, what Elyn considers to be the truth. The maester tried to tell her otherwise, that the fever had made it so nothing she said could be trusted, but even if that were the case, she chooses to believe it. Lord Vyman Tyrell had bedded her mother, a brief affair that only lasted long enough to put her with child.

Rather than have her future decided for her, she left nearly immediately, for Highgarden. If her mother spoke the truth she was no Tarly anyways, just a Flowers, but a bastard who could claim the Lord of the Reach as a half-brother. She had never been to his court, the bizarre atmosphere and scandals that erupted from it had made it so her father never stepped foot near Highgarden, and barred his family from doing so as well. Her decision did not sit well with her mother or Lord Tarly, but there seemed little to be done if Lord Leos did not wish to turn her out.

Vampire: The Masquerade. Dance of the Damned

Zacharius said
Get well soon! Or failing that, don't kill yourself trying to write.

This ^

Game of Thrones - A Song of Ice and Fire

Zacharius said
Urg, don't remind me, I loved my RaymunNa, last game's Starks were the worst........Joking.

And my Skags...I saw that and instantly wished I still had their sheet.

Vampire: The Masquerade. Dance of the Damned

Sorry to hear Wernher. Good luck with everything!

Posted the collab between Zach and myself.
Will be looking to get a post of the band up, Myst. Post-show.

Vampire: The Masquerade. Dance of the Damned

Welcome to Watts

A few nights previous...

In the neighborhood the Plebes called home, there was no right side of the tracks, not to outsiders at least. Within the community, though, lines were clearly drawn, territory fiercely protected by the gangs the kine flocked to. Within their world, tucked away in an unassuming house, the Plebes oversaw it all.

Lily did not care for the neighborhood one bit. The house that the Vadim and Ivan had claimed as their headquarters had been untouched from its previous state, rundown, paraphernalia strewn about, it had been disgusting. Though she had only been there two years, her renovations had begun nearly instantly and had been finished less than a year ago. The house had been split into numerous rundown apartments at one point, but all that had been fixed. The basement and downstairs were left to the “brothers,” as they liked to call themselves, while she had set aside the upstairs into a spacious and open floor layout of a penthouse. It only took a few steps into the abode to see that a Toreador called it home, and to travel upstairs was jarring whenever there was a need to peer out a window to the outside world.

She had surrounded herself with seduction, a large sitting room resplendent in its decor and details that lead into an equally large master bedroom. There were no doors, no real separation. Few people met her in this environment, it had been a selfish pursuit, but completely worth it to sooth her sensibilities and desires. For this Mr. Saxon, however, it seemed an appropriate place to do business; to have him travel through the ghettos of LA and to be met with the luxury hidden within it.

This had been years in the making, but only recently had she found the right connections to make her way to the mysterious kindred that she would finally meet tonight. Vadim and Ivan were unaware of her activities, and she doubted they would appreciate what she looked to do. Vadim perhaps would understand her desires, her desperate need for revenge. What they wouldn’t understand is the danger she threatened to put them in. Jean-Marc was primogen of the Toreador now. One of the highest ranking kindred in LA. And she wanted to tear him down from that precipice and watch him burn for his sins against her.

It was exhilarating.

While Lily readied herself inside, upstairs, in her penthouse, outside, two gang bangers squatted on their stoop. Both were ghouls, their orders to watch the place and street for outsiders who didn’t belong, for those who could threaten them. Hunched over, they sat smoking. Few words passed between them, their eyes ever vigilant even if their bodies didn’t show it. They knew they were waiting for someone, a white man, the only guest they would allow entry to for this night.

For once, Saxon did not appear to have stepped out of the world of noir, instead, a large Superdry coat covered his appearance, appropriately scuffed and torn to further give the impression he was someone of no consequence. The hood pulled up around his features, the only looks he received, despite travelling through gang territory, were of pity and contempt. He could tell he was not what the ghouls were expecting, at least until he pulled back the hood, straightening up to stand an inch or two above them. It was a cold night, at least for this time of year in LA, the sea wind biting harsher than normal, but the three figures didn’t feel it so badly, all three imbued with the powerful blood of the kindred, in some way or another.

“I believe you’re expecting a Mr. Saxon.” With a shared glance, one of the ghouls eventually took it upon himself to show him in, before pointing him in the right direction. The initial inner sanctum was as much to be expected, not quite as run down as the area outside but not far off it. However, as he approached his eventual destination, the trapping of luxury became even more prevalent, until he felt like he was standing back in Post-war Berlin, the first war, enjoying the glamourous sights of a defeated nation. It was only when he was within sight of his contact, the toreador, that he finally removed his coat, hanging it up as if it were an expensive jacket, not something to be found curled around a street bum. Beneath, he was Saxon once more, suit trousers, white shirt, thin black suspenders, just missing his blazer.

“You called, Madame.” The cigarette was in his lips as he finished speaking, using a spark simply from brushing his fingers together with the force of supernatural strength. Fine quality, from far afield, the aromatic smoke soon billowing forth from him.

Lily, as she had taken to being called again, a former stage name of sorts, sat perfectly lady-like, reclined on a long and plush chaise. Most nights she had taken to emulating the style of the brothers, though anyone with real knowledge of the underground punks that called LA home would know her to be a fake, to be a poseur. Tonight though, she was back into the style of old Hollywood, a glimmer of the life she had once wanted so badly, she had given up everything for it. Red hair done up in soft, rolling curls that framed her angular face, deep red lips against her pale face, and a vintage black dress that flowed from her hips.

She looked up, meeting Mr. Saxon’s eyes as he spoke to her. “Welcome, Mr. Saxon. I hope the journey here was without any inconveniences.” She reached, gracefully, for the cigarette holder that lay on a nearby table. Made of ivory, and cocktail length, it was just one more touch, one more detail, that had cost a pretty penny. She breathed in, the cooled smoke a pleasant sensation. Sitting up and crossing her ankles, she revealed the slit of her dress and a brief glimpse of her perfectly paled thigh. “Sit, put yourself at ease, if you will.” She gestured to the matching chair across from her, a welcoming and seemingly genuine smile across her face. “Pour yourself a drink if you desire, the cabinet is well stocked.” She would play hostess for the moment, for as long as the moment called for it. “But tell me, is there much word of my presence in the city?”

“A few whispers of a Toreador making her home in a place she doesn’t belong, none who may even have an idea of who you may be seem to find it overly..critical.” He spoke as he moved to the seat, coming to a halt and reclining into the welcome rest of the chair. Saxon took a long drag, blowing out the smoke as he paused for a moment, allowing some manner of suspense and pause before he continued. Attractive though she may have been, he managed to keep any visible sign of his eyes being drawn to the games she played with her legs. As a detective in LA, he’d learned to sidestep such things long before he was born again as a kindred.

“The journey was fine, I’ve walked these streets for far longer than this coterie of yours, the gangs may be working for new people, but I still know how to get around them.” Replying to her first question, in opposite order, a slight grin pulled at his lips. Many of the newer additions to the city often forgot that, they may claim certain territory as their own for now, but the natives, well it had been their city for far longer.

A small dose of relief flooded her, it had been two years-a second really in the life of the kindred-but it was good to know that she had not caught the wrong sort of attention yet. Vanity though, a most selfish trait, tugged at her, illogical as it was. In time, she told herself, she could set free that side of her. "Of course, but there seems to more tension in the night air then even my young mind can remember." The smile remained, friendly and welcoming, even as she drew another long breath on the cigarette.

"You strike me as a man who likes to get to business, so let's, shall we?" Lily leaned forward, letting some of her curls fall over bare shoulders. “Jean-Marc Fais.” The words left her mouth with a noticeable bite of bitterness. Even saying his name brought a bad taste to her mouth, and sent her anger spiking. She could see him, in her mind, like it was the first day she had met him, beautiful man that he was, the cruelty it hid. “Since you are here, I must assume you have something that I can use, and price you would like to exact.” If she still had a soul, she would sell it if it meant getting what she needed on the primogen. She flicked the ash off the tip of her cigarette and looked up expectantly.

“There’s an abandoned industrial estate, near Nickerson Gardens. Except, it isn’t abandoned, hasn’t been for a long time. The Sabbat have claimed it as their own. I need a… significant amount of muscle to expel them from the premises, but leave the place as intact as possible. I want to uncover what the Sabbat are doing of late, not simply stomp down on a minor operation. If you can secure that for me, then we can keep talking.” He didn’t bother assuring her that he even had information to give, if she knew enough of his reputation, and practically anyone observant within the city did, then it was more than an educated guess that he’d be able to provide. Straight to the matter, his own interest, and followed by another long drag and puff of his cigarette. His eyes met her’s after that, able to ignore the pull to examine the room he was in further, both the lure of investigation, and the toreador urge to regard such things put aside, for now.

“Otherwise, this isn’t worth the potential upheaval. I tend to sympathise with neonates, but we’re not so familiar for me to swing in your favour out of preference.”

There was a moment of hesitation, of silence, once Saxon’s price was put on the table. Lily flicked the cigarette once more, inhaled one last draw, before rubbing it out in the ornate ashtray before her. That their target would be Sabbat meant both Russians would go for it, there would not be much argument over it. Ivan had been craving a fight, a real fight, for months. “I see.” Softly spoken while exhaling a small plume of smoke. “It seems what I have heard of you is quite a fair assessment.”

She wasn’t in a position to negotiate. Some part of her wondered at whether she was already getting a much better deal than she deserved. They had manpower, in the form of kindred rejects, and too often that felt stretched so thin. “We will pay this price, but we will have whatever information you currently have on the pack.” Numbers, clans, you never knew what exactly would make a difference in a fight. Lily leaned onto the high armrest of the chaise, a mischievous smile flickering. “But I think such details could be discussed under more pleasant circumstances.” It was a ridiculous notion, that surrounded by the opulence she had created was somehow less than pleasant. “Why don’t you join me for dinner, Mr. Saxon.” The Russians’ tastes were deplorable, their fancy being in the drug-addled groupies that hung about, and it had been too long since she had the company of a like-minded individual.

“I would hardly send you in unprepared. Your coterie will know all that I do, in regards to the operation.” The cigarette, by now, was little more than a stub and it soon joined her own in the ashtray, a smile, not quite spreading across the whole of his face, touched his lips, although at what comment it was hard to tell. “Dinner, would indeed make for a more appealing conversation. Do you have a place in mind?” He lent back into the confines of the chair, raising an eyebrow at her suggestion. He had not drank his fill in a few nights, enough to sustain himself without discomfort, but hunger was never far off.

“If not, I’m sure I can find somewhere to your liking.”

“Lovely.” She stood, slinking from her chaise. “Please, I’m sure you are much more aware of what the city offers now, much more than I. I have trusted you so far, I think I can trust you in this. Allow me a few moments to find something more fitting.”

Lily moved to the opposite end of the room, skirts flowing around her legs, to the area she had designated as her bedroom. A wide arch marked the entrance to it, and all that closed it off from the main room was a couple of layers of sheer golden fabric. As she rummaged through the walk-in closet and pulled out a new ensemble, she couldn’t help but feel a spur of excitement. She had closed herself off to much of the world, through necessity and because of fear. Choosing this moment to allow herself some freedom in the type of environment she craved, with the kindred in the other room may not have been the wisest of decisions, but perhaps it would allow her a chance to make herself more favorable. She could only hope.

It didn’t take her long to gather the outfit and change behind the curtains. Lily didn’t spare a glance to see if she had managed to entice the former detective to sneak his own glance, or to see if he had contented himself to exploring her abode as she was certain he must have wanted to. “As long as our dinner is beautiful, I will have no complaints.” She spoke as pulled aside the curtains once more. It was a tougher look now, with a feline grace to her curves. Tight black pants that ended at sky high heels, a metallic plum shirt that plunged, and covered, almost tastefully, with a black leather jacket. She had even taken the time to pull her waves back into a tight ponytail. “Shall we?”

Saxon had taken the time she was away to further examine his surroundings. The manner in which he approached this was more in the style of a detective than an admirer, but nevertheless, there belied his true reasoning. The blood of the Toreador clan was strong in him, and while he may show his own art through his work, he still felt the pull towards artificial beauty. It had been many years since the curse had worked him into a state of bemused wonder, and that had been because he had attempted to suppress what he found to be an embarrassing addiction. Now it was moments like this, of quiet appreciation, that kept such things at bay.

When she returned, some time later, he turned to face her, another smile spreading across his lips. She was a sight, it was clear why a Toreador elder in one of their many flippant phases might choose her for a childe.

“I feel remarkably unprepared, had I known what company I would be entertaining.” A lie, he knew exactly of course, but it was an easy compliment to make, and to be fair, he hadn’t known he would be ‘dining’ with her. He left his coat, instead, offering his arm for her to take while he made a call, a cellular conversation of a few short words. By the time they had reached the less profoundly well maintained sections of the hideout, the sound of a powerful engine could be heard outside, alongside the startled voices of the ghouls on watch. He opened the door to a sedan, Hans Achen, the older ghoul, sitting in the driver’s seat glaring rather unimpressed at the two gang banger ghouls now seemingly ready to pounce.

“If you wouldn’t mind calling them off.” Saxon spoke, little more than a whisper to the kindred beside him, so as to not worsen the situation. Ghouls may have been loyal, but they weren’t drones, and particularly when it came to gang members, he was not certain that if aggravated, she would have complete control.

Lily had eased herself to Saxon's side, nothing so close that any observer would call it an intimate distance, but it was a pleasing thing, to have herself in an attractive man’s company. This sort of experience had been sorely missed of late; she hadn't even found a kine man to wine and dine since returning to LA. It had always seemed too dangerous, to expose herself as such. Making a ghoul of LAs top men seemed a poor decision if she wanted to stay beneath the radar. The kindred took his compliment in stride, a light squeeze of his arm in acknowledgement, anticipation of the coming meal heightening her senses and sharpening her desires. It had not been easy to become accustomed to hunger feeling so similar to what sexuality had during life. She had come to appreciate it though, the pang, the conquest, the victory.

The sound of his car roared into the neighborhood, her ghouls quickly at the ready to defend, to fight. She turned her head as Saxon offered his advice to see just bad they had been. They were coiled, eager, their hands itching to move to their weapons, and all she could do was roll her eyes and sigh.

"The ride’s for me, boys. Back off." She had turned, pulled her arm away from Saxon reluctantly when they didn’t immediately respond. She’d have to talk to Vadim about these two. Just a few steps away, hands on her hips and her lips turned down in displeasure, a low hiss came from her throat. “Back off.” They shared a look, hands hovering against the small of their back, one of them spat to the side. They nodded, and the tension passed, their bodies no longer coiled for attack. “Keep an eye out until we’re all back. And one of you make sure Betty gets dinner.”

Lily returned to her companion's side, the anger smoothed away from her face, a coy smile taking it’s place. "Problem solved." She gave a quick, soft pat to his arm and eased herself into the back seat of the car, long legs pulled in slowly. He might have the sense to not react to her, but she doubted he didn’t notice.

"Where are we off to tonight, or is that a surprise?" Her voice came from within, having slid over just enough to give him space to sit.

“The Los Angeles County Museum of Art has recently opened a new gallery, showing off up and coming talent from across California. While that may be an interesting sight in and of itself, what’s more appropriate for the current circumstances is the party the Museum is throwing tonight, for these young, talented artists. While a humble investigator like myself doesn’t have the financial clout to earn tickets, my company helped locate the Museum's curator’s missing son a few years back. I have a permanent RSVP on such things.” Saxon explained with a slight grin as Hans began to drive, the engine roaring to life once more as the car moved through the gang territory. People weren’t caught here for speeding, much less anything else. Hans knew the route well, had made many a similar drive before.

“The location precisely, the Omni, California Plaza. Something of a luxury hotel.” He leant back into the comfort, if not overly luxurious feel of his seat, for a few moments watching the world go by out of the window, before turning back to face his ‘date.’

“Will that suffice?”

If her heart still functioned, it would have skipped a beat. She couldn’t remember the last time she had been truly entranced by beauty. Ivan joked too often that there was plenty of “urban” artwork in their neighborhood she could go stare at if she missed beauty so much. Lily breathed out sharply and shook her head with a small laugh. “I said I wanted dinner, not a childe, Mr. Saxon…” She winked at him before leaning her head back to rest against the seat, her body angled such that she could still see him.

“It will suffice very well, I think.” A knowing, hungry grin passed her lips before pulled it back into something more controlled, more suitable.
She watched the city pass by, the neighborhood change to that of the middle class. “You have a file on me. My short, terrible history of being an embarrassment to all Toreadors, all Kindred depending on who you ask, I’m sure.” She was musing aloud, she hadn’t been able to pull together why exactly he would have agreed to even toy with her request. The Sabbat pack may have been a problem for LA, but putting the pieces together mattered, and this puzzle didn’t make sense, not yet. “I don’t mean to look a gift horse in the mouth, but what did you see that made you decide to even meet with me?”

Saxon had been switching between watching the outside world and cursory glances at his travelling companion, so as to not appear to be ignoring her, until the conversation changed to her own failings. Now his eyes honed in on her, not predatory or probing, simply focused, before he replied.

“From a pragmatic point of view, those on the lower rungs tend to be willing to sacrifice more to climb a few more, or pull others down behind them.” He didn’t speak in a particularly mean tone, but it was clear he wasn’t honeying matters, but then, there was no need to, empty words would only make her less likely to follow his plans. Things needed to be done to the letter.

“From a personal point of view. I too had...misgivings in regards to my sire. Admittedly I wasn’t shamed. Instead for decades she tried to kill me because I dared to rescue a female kindred from persecution in the Middle East. It was satisfying, to watch her burn. You are yet another wrong childe. That connection alone makes me want you to feel that same satisfaction.” It was almost as if the fires of that night gleamed in his eyes as he spoke, until and oddly jovial, thus slightly disconcerting, smile spread across his lips.

“Now, that was dark. Hopefully the fine company of artist may be a little more upbeat.”

She believed the first without doubt. What she had heard of the man who sat beside her seemed to fit that explanation to a T. What came after, was surprising, if true. Everyone worked towards their own goals, kine or kindred, but the machinations of a kindred ran deep. Omissions, half-truths, lies, everyone manipulated everyone else. And he was a Toreador, a much more experienced one than she. If she was being played, she doubted she would ever know for sure. But it was a pleasing story, the fire in his eyes igniting the need for revenge that at times felt as if it would consume her. She would believe it, whether because he wanted her to or she did, mattered not.

Lily nodded her acceptance of what he had said and let the city pass by in silence until they reached the bright lights of true civilization, and their destination.

Game of Thrones - A Song of Ice and Fire

House Arryn of the Eyrie is one of great houses of Westeros, and is the principal noble house in the Vale. Their main seat is the Eyrie, but they have many other holdings, including their winter castle at the Gates of the Moon. Both of these fortifications sit astride the Giant's Lance, the tallest mountain in the Vale, and the Eyrie is considered impregnable. Their sigil is a white moon-and-falcon on a sky-blue field, and their words are "As High as Honor". Their line dates back to the old Andal peoples that invaded Westeros. Usually marrying other Andal nobles, House Arryn to this day has the purest line of Andal nobility.



History Largely courtesy of aWoIaF

Prior to the arrival of the Andals, the Vale was ruled by the First Men under the Mountain Kings. Ser Artys Arryn, a legendary Andal leader, crossed the narrow sea with his forces and slew the Griffin King. And so the Arryns became the Kings of Mountain and Vale, according to semi-canon sources some six thousand years ago. In honor of Ser Artys, now king, they renamed the Vale into the Vale of Arryn, and he was given the Falcon Crown, which was henceforth passed down his line.

Notable figures during the Arryn rule as kings include Alyssa Arryn, whose name was given to Alyssa's Tears, a waterfall on the Giant's Lance, when she did not shed a tear for her murdered husband, brothers and children, and King Osgood Arryn, who, with his son the Talon, went to war with House Stark of Winterfell.

The Arryns bore the Falcon Crown until the Wars of Conquest, when they submitted to House Targaryen. During the Conquest the Arryn and Targaryen fleets fought it out in the Battle of Gulltown, which resulted in the destruction of the Targaryen fleet and the death of its commanding officer, Daemon Velaryon. Visenya Targaryen, on her dragon Vhagar, burned the Arryn fleet in response. Since both fleets were destroyed, the battle was considered a tactical draw, but a strategic defeat for the Targaryens as they were unable to take Gulltown. For House Arryn the trouble did not end there, since the Sistermen on the Three Sisters revolted against House Arryn after the destruction of its fleet.

In a later stage of the War of Conquest, Visenya was charged with subduing the Vale. Sharra Arryn, Queen Regent of Vale of Arryn, ruling in the name of her son, the boy-king Ronnel Arryn, amassed the Vale army at the Bloody Gate. Visenya however, simply flew on her dragon Vhagar straight up to the courtyard of the Eyrie to obtain the surrender of the Vale of Arryn. When Sharra Arryn returned to the Eyrie she found her son sitting on Visenya's lap asking if he could ride the dragon with her. Sharra yielded and bent the knee and Ronnel would get to fly with Visenya and Vhagar twice. Since then, the Arryns remained Defenders of the Vale and were also named Wardens of the East, a title that they have held since.

Over a century after the Conquest, the Arryns were involved in the Targaryen civil war, the Dance of the Dragons. It was a contest of claims between Viserys I Targaryen's issue, Rhaenyra Targaryen, from Aemma of House Arryn, and his issue, Aegon II Targaryen by Alicent of House Hightower. The head of House Arryn at that time, Jeyne Arryn, supported the blacks and her kinswoman Rhaenyra. At the start of the civil war, Prince Jacaerys Velaryon, Rhaenyra's eldest son, came to the Eyrie to secure aid for his mother's cause. Lady Jeyne, called the Maiden of the Vale, kept true to her promise and sent men by sea by way of Gulltown to join Rhaenyra's hosts.

Decades later, during yet another Targaryen civil war, this one called the Blackfyre Rebellion, the house remained loyal to King Daeron II Targaryen. At the climactic Battle of the Redgrass Field Lord Arryn's van was smashed by Daemon Blackfyre, who had been unstoppable that day.

Lord Arryn did not die that day, but suffered a grievous wound that would plague him through the rest of the war until he would die less than a year after returning home to the Eyrie. It was a gruesome, painful death, his wounded leg infected until it consumed his body. A bout of ill luck plagued the Arryns, for the new Lord Paramount ruled the Vale just six years before being taken by a fever. His son, the current Lord Arryn, was but a child of nine when he inherited.

Members of the House

• Lord Jasper Arryn - Warden of the East, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, 16


• Leonella, Marsella, Jonella - Elder sisters to Lord Jasper, 22, 21, 19 respectively


• Septon Gilwood - Great-uncle to Lord Jasper, his grandfather’s youngest brother, 64


• Lord Danwell Arryn - Uncle to Lord Jasper, 36


Lady Carolei (Hunter) - Lord Danwell's wife, 29


Donnel Arryn - Their son, a boy of 9


Mariya Arryn - Their daughter, a girl of 7


Petyr Arryn - Their son, a boy of 3


• Ser Artys (Stone) - Name subject to change, Knight of the Vale - Ruby


• Jeyne Arryn (Corbray) - Widow of Lord Ronnel Arryn, 39

Character Sheets: WIP

Lord of the Vale

Lord Jasper Arryn
16

Personality:

Jasper has the arrogance of a boy just become a man. Years of careful tutelage have resulted in a young man certain of his intellect and moral superiority. Any attempts to temper his intellect or piety with humility were made in vain. Attempts to best him, whatever the subject, were met with a renewed vigor to prove the person wrong. He would be right, whatever the cost. He does not take advice well, resistance even worse. He is obsessive, most notably regarding his Andal heritage and in matters of the Faith, and has spent more than one night with only the company of candles and texts spread across a desk. Reserved when his ego is not tested, he is distant. Smiles and laughter never seem to reach his eyes, a great sorrow to his mother who on occasion still tries to instill in him some of the life that his father held.

History:

Jasper was just a small child, a toddler, when the Blackfyre Rebellion erupted. He has scant memories of the grandfather who returned with a terrible injury that would take his life. His earliest memories are of his father. The only son, when Lord Ronnel and Lady Jeyne had had three daughters before him, he was a thoroughly spoiled child. Rarely told that he was wrong even at such a young and irrational age. No expenses were spared for the young boy, and Jasper proved to be a voracious student. There seemed little wrong with overly praising his achievements, as he was a smart, quick boy, whether in academics or martial studies.

The sudden fever that extinguished Lord Ronnel's life in just three days, put Jasper in bed and under the watchful eye of maester and mother for over a week. When he awoke from the fever haze, he had changed. Having only seen nine namedays and the faced the Stranger only to find that he had taken his father instead, took a toll of the young Jasper's disposition. It was a phase, something he would grow out of once he had grieved and come to terms with the event, was what most hoped. It was not to be, though. Shortly after, Septon Gilwood, Lord Ronnel's uncle, returned from Oldtown. Word had been sent to him that he might attend the funeral, but he instead returned for good.

Jasper, who had become so withdrawn from mother, maester, and uncle, found the peace he sought in Gilwood. The two formed a close bond, Gilwood taking over the tutelage of the boy, and oversaw the Eyrie as an adviser to Lord Danwell, in conjunction with the maester, until Jasper would come of age. It became quickly apparent that the boy would take after the Septon, no matter the interventions of any other, including the Lady Jeyne. Jasper found the answers he had been asking since his father's death and his own brush with it. It was punishment of the gods; the Arryns, the purest of nobles, had forsaken their duty to the gods. They allowed corruption to run rampant in the Faith, turned their backs on the most basic of the gods' laws, supported the filthy and incestuous Targaryen overlords. Their ancestors had brought the true faith to a heathen land, and then faltered. Fallen short for so long now, the gods needed a mortal warrior to rekindle the faith, and Lord Jasper would be that man, should he stay true.

Imbued with a sense of purpose, his piety turned to zealotry. He prayed daily, hours spent at the sept until he felt cleansed or answered. His path began to seem clear. The Hills of Andalos were lost to invaders, to heathens of false gods. He would need to see them returned to their true purpose, to worship of the true Seven. He would retake the land and built a great new sept for true believers from all corners of existence to pay homage. He would be blessed, and then he could turn his eyes to the filth that plagued Westeros. The first men's blood, strong in the North would need to be dealt with. The blatant disregard for the laws of gods and man by the royal Targaryens would be punished at long last. The corruption in the Faith at Oldtown and King's Landing would be excised to leave only the pure and true.

Having recently reached his 16th nameday, a grand tourney and feast is in motion, Jasper's plans to finally be put in motion now that he is Lord of the Vale in his own right. Beyond that, the need of an heir presses on him. Still a very young man, had his father still lived, he would not be looking to wed for a decade. However, there is already contention in the Vale over who his heir is, uncle Lord Danwell, the next male in line, or his eldest sister Leonella, married into House Belmore.

The Septon

Septon Gilwood
64

Personality:

Passionately disillusioned with what he has devoted his entire life to, Gilwood is a man prone to what he calls righteous anger at the state of the realm. He had always been pious, naively so in his youth, romanticizing the calling of the gods he felt all those who entered the service of the Faith must have had. This view became tempered, and quickly, for he went to the Starry Sept in Oldtown at the young age of 13. Faced with the reality of the Faith and its servants, Gilwood could have lost his faith, he could have secluded himself away in quiet contemplation among those of a similar mind.

But he was an Arryn, regardless of having cast off that name to serve the gods. His people had ruled the Vale as kings, he would not bend to the corruption he saw. He would not run from what seemed an insurmountable problem. He would face it, chip at it day by day, until he could find a way to cure the disease than ran rampant. Dedicated and focused would be too polite of a description. Gilwood is zealous, judgmental, and absolutely relentless in his pursuit. He does not consider himself to be the gods' chosen one, but he would not hesitate to consider himself a prophet.

History:

Born during the reign of Aegon III, one nephew of many to Lady Jeyne, the Maiden of the Vale, he was the youngest of the Arryn lord who would inherit upon the death of the unwed Jeyne. In his youth he showed no great inclination to martial matters, no great mind for coin or academic pursuits. He knew this from a young age, that his place in the world was tenuous, regardless of his family name. What he had though, was belief, a romanticized view of the men and women who joined as servants of the gods and Faith. For five years he prayed in the Eyrie's sept for at least two hours a day. After seeing thirteen namedays, he had his father convinced to pay passage to Oldtown so that he might join the Starry Sept and don the simple cloth of a septon.

What he found was nothing like he had envisioned. His name and blood gave him lenience not afforded to others. He had chores and lessons like the others, but mistakes made were brushed over. Insubordinate behavior was disregarded, his sins less likely to be punished. Gilwood tested his belief that he was being treated much differently than nearly of all his peers and sought out one of the Most Devout to have an answer on the matter. That a lowly initiate to to Faith was able to be granted that audience was disturbing enough, but the frank truths told to him in a gilded room jarred him most. Hypocrisy and corruption were not rare events, but seemed to be the very foundation of the life he had chosen. He had forsaken his family, turned his back on the politics of Westeros, only to find it living alive and well just beneath the surface of the Faith, of the mortal representation of the gods.

Gilwood was disgusted, disillusioned, and unsure of where to turn next just five years into his studies in Oldtown. His superiors, thinking to show him that it was not so vile as he had concluded, sent him across Westeros, to show that what they did was necessary. He spent time in the courts of the Lords Paramounts, even a year spent under the hot Dornish sun in Sunspear. Their plan had failed, for Gilwood only grew more disillusioned at the end of his decade long search for "perspective." He returned to Oldtown, a man of nearly 30, with a clarity on what he would need to do. He would fix the Faith from within, he had to, it felt as if it were a mission given from the gods themselves.

He began to make a name for himself, and quickly earned enemies from those in the ranks of the Most Devout, or from those who aspired to join their ranks. He knew there were those of a like-mind, but few who would openly join the faction that had formed within the organization. To make some form of appeasement to him, he was allowed for a time to preside over disciplinary action for septons charged with the most egregious of sins. His punishments were swift and heavy, and just a few years after being given the post, it was stripped for his overly zealous handling of it. With little left to turn to, he applied himself to the texts of the Faith. Having never been a man of great intellect, he nevertheless applied himself with great fervor to translating old texts, comparing them to the current interpretations and the writing up of treatises. The work was largely ignored, but he carried on, devoted wholeheartedly to the cause he had created.

It wasn't until word reached him that his nephew had been taken by a fever that any thought of returning home took root. Starry Sept was all too eager to see him on his way, and little fuss was made of his return to the Vale. The young, impressionable Jasper, broken by his near death and loss of his father, was an opportunity that only the gods could have bestowed. It seemed obvious then, that his life had been a path to this very moment. The punishment of those who should have held most dearly to the gods and the ideals of their ancestors, but had instead ignored it and allowed the corruption to grow and spread like a rotting disease of the flesh. Much to the chagrin of his nephew Lord Danwell, and of the boy's mother, Jeyne, Gilwood retained his place as advisor and mentor to the boy regardless of their attempts otherwise. The plans that Lord Jasper has made were made with Gilwood, his guiding hand heavy over the course the Vale was now set for.

The Forgotten Falcon

Lord Danwell Arryn
36

Personality:
History:

The Maiden Fair

Jonella Arryn
19

Personality:

Sweet-tempered and gentle-hearted, Jonella has never been without friends or companions. She has an easy smile, and optimism to put a positive glow on most anything. She is a charitable soul, and popular amongst the smallfolk of the Vale, known to give alms personally and see to the needs of the sick or infirm. Where her brother sees morality in black and white, Jonella is just as pious, but is focused entirely on the gods' love for the world, and seeks to espouse that in her everyday life. Slow to anger and easily injured by harsh words, she is a stark contrast to Jasper, no matter their similar appearance.

History:

The youngest of Lord Ronnel's and Lady Jeyne's daughters, she did not receive the sort of attention her older sisters had bestowed on them, for three years after her birth, her parents at long last had a son, an heir. She found solace in the sept from a young age, and wormed her way into her uncle Danwell's heart quickly, even after he wed and had children of his own to care for.

Gentle and lady-like as she was, she was not a delicate flower entirely, not physically. Under her uncle's tutelage she took up an interest in archery and falconry. Though no great protege in either, she finds them to be enjoyable and has several birds that she sees to the care of personally. At nineteen she is perhaps growing a bit old to be a maiden still, but marriage has never been a concern for the girl. Unlike her sisters and many of her friends, finding a suitable match has not been a pressure. There are times that the maiden thinks to join the Faith as a Septa, but she is not sure that that is the calling of her life. Should her brother insist she marry, she would do so, but of late that does not seem a concern for him either.

NPCs:

Leonella Arryn: A woman of 22, married to a member of House Belmore
Marsella Arryn: A woman of 21, married to Lord Faedric Tully. Wed at 19, a betrothal that Lord Danwell had arranged with Lord Janos some years previous.
Jeyne (Corbray) Arryn: Widow of Lord Ronnel, 39
Lady Carolei (Hunter) Arryn: Wife to Lord Danwell, 29

Game of Thrones - A Song of Ice and Fire

House Arryn will be up...sometime.
Expect an ultra-religious, militantly ethnocentric take on them.

A Game of Thrones - A Song of Ice and Fire

Present of course. Arryns represent, woooooah.

Vampire: The Masquerade. Dance of the Damned Character Sheets

Faction Name: The Plebes

Allegiance: Anarch

Location: Watts is a roughly 2 sq mile neighborhood of LA. It's a severely low income area and incredibly densely populated. The Crips and the Bloods are the most influential gangs in the area, but certainly not the only.

Map

The Plebes make their home and headquarters on a street between Wilmington and Compton Ave, near the tracks, not quite central to the area, but close enough.
Through the use of members of the smaller gangs, they keep the area patrolled loosely. They warily allow others of their kind into their territory, as long as the Masquerade is upheld. The invitation is based on the third tenet of the Status Perfectus, and is held up about as well as the actual document. But, it sure does sound good.

General Information

Now containing three central members, the Plebes have existed in some form for about 150 years, although their location in LA is much more recent, having arrived and set up base in 1987.

In 1859, Vadim became the founding member of the Plebes, the name a play on the social unrest that had scattered throughout the world of the Kine. He pulled together a small and tightly knit group of other Brujah. While not the eldest of the bunch, Vadim was a powerhouse nonetheless and won his right to lead in a particularly raucous Rant. Based in Saint Petersburg, he lead his group to a position of influence within the Brujah and Anarch hierarchies. Ivan would join, sired by one from Vadim's inner-circle, in 1894, and though he would remain on the lower rungs of the coterie, his presence and ambition were impossible to ignore.

When the Russian Revolution began, the Plebes, although not front and center, were a heavy presence in the happenings. Vadim and his right-hand were brought in to the plot to see Lenin dead and Trotsky installed. That the plot was initially successful yet ultimately failed due to Ventrue interference, was only the beginning of hard-times for Vadim and his Plebes. When the Brujah reluctantly stepped up to support Staln, Vadim pulled back, whether voluntarily or forced depends on who is asked. Regardless, the next few decades saw their influence wane, their members killed or scattered, and relocation necessary for survival. Vadim, with his his right-hand Boris, and Ivan were all that remained of the mighty Plebes by the 1960s, Ivan's sire having met his final death at the claws of a garou.

By the late 80s, Vadim faced increasing pressure from both Boris and Ivan to leave Russia. Multiple attempts at reintegrating themselves into Brujah and Anarch affairs failed or ended in near disaster. After some deliberation, the decision was reached to relocate to the Anarch Free State, half a world away, but with enough promise to move the increasingly idealist Vadim towards it. In leaving Russia behind, the trio became a foursome, with the addition of Betty, a lone Gangrel they stumbled upon. The decision to take her in was Vadim's, though responsibility for her ultimately went to Ivan once it became apparent she could not control herself.

It was a very right decision in the end, to leave Russia. Their arrival in LA saw them rise in influence quickly, their coterie grew to a size comparable to what Vadim had managed during their golden days in Russia. They were good times for the group, Vadim's leadership again cemented.

It was a short lived revival. Beginning in 1998, petty infighting began to grow and become more heated. Anger, resentment, rumors abounded, and the Plebes were embroiled in it from the start. Looking back, it is hard to gauge just what set it all off, little differences became insurmountable odds. The Plebes took out two smaller coteries that had been at their borders. Slights and rumors fueling their vengeance and blood thirst.

Information came in that set their eyes on the Pyromancers. They had been complacent too long, peaceful too long, the beast within was woken and there was little any of them, particularly Vadim, could do to quell it. Taking on the Pyromancers was not something they would do alone, they allied with another faction, slightly smaller and less powerful, lead by a fellow Brujah. They built their battle plans together, an all out assault on their headquarters. Vadim could taste the victory and ignored the feeling that something was off about it all. He had listened to that voice before and was paid with expulsion. He pressed the Plebes on.

The night of the attack, the Plebes lead the main assault, relying on their allies to swoop in afterwards for support.

They never arrived.

The Plebes met huge resistance, their information horribly wrong, their allies no where to be seen. Boris met a gruesome final death. Vadim and Ivan barely escaped with their own lives in tact. Their small army of ghouls and kindred was decimated. Those that survived quickly took refuge with other stronger coteries or disappeared from LA all together.

Vadim nearly left the city himself. Embarrassed, ruined yet again, he wouldn't fully recover from the events of that night. Ivan convinced him otherwise, the Plebes stayed together. But Vadim's leadership was at an end. Ivan didn't need to fight hard for it, and it is Ivan who currently leads the coterie in the current nights. Vadim has accepted his role as Ivan's righthand, though the coterie is still barely a glimmer of what it once was. A burning hatred of the Pyromancers remains, a desire to exact revenge once they rebuild.

Ivan has been a temperamental, brash leader, kept in check by Vadim's increasingly conservative advice. Mina joined the Plebes similarly to Betty, Vadim found her in one of the alleys of their territory. Mad, as all Malkavians are, she told of her abandonment by her sire, and it was clear how new to the Kindred world she was. Vadim had a choice, for the mess she had made would certainly draw attention, even in their neighborhood. The Brujah cleaned up what was needed and had a ghoul take the fall for what the kine would see as gruesome murders. It would be hard to say just what role Mina has in the Plebes. They try to keep her happy, as a slighted and angry Malkavian would be an unfavorable thing to have, but neither is she present when making plans for the coterie. For now, that has seemed to sate her, while the two Brujah present themselves as brothers in a punk band to the kine world, Mina has become their drummer. Known as the Damnation of the Saved, they play underground gigs throughout the city, and receive a steady supply of groupies for the nights.

Lillian, the newest addition to the coterie, appeared in the aftermath of the Attacks that saw the Prince and Baron killed. She sought refuge, and at Vadim's insistence, Ivan accepted her into the Plebes. The Toreador has proven to be an asset even with her past, and she quickly set herself on near equal ground with Vadim in Ivan's eyes. Her own machinations may not always put the Plebes first, but they usually benefit the coterie in some manner. Between Betty, Mina, and Lillian, castaways and unwanteds, the Plebes have earned a reputation that has given them a nickname best not used in their presence, the Orphanage.

For now though, the Plebes are biding their time. They've rebuilt in Watts, control of their territory is sound, and their network is being rebuilt one night at a time. Perhaps the Plebes are not knocked out of the game as Vadim believed.

Vadim on the left, Ivan on the right

Name: Vadim "Abaddon" Durov
Generation: 7th
Clan: Brujah
Disciplines: Celerity, Potence, Presence
Personality:
Vadim is a softer sort of Brujah, if such a thing were to exist, but he has become less brash, less brawn over brains, perhaps only because of the depression he battles following the losses during the Kuei-jin incursion. That he was not always this way is stranger still. He considers himself to be an idealist, with a renewed interest in the philosophies that lead him to create the Plebes, that lead him to the idea of the Free State. If only he were an Elois, able to disentangle himself from the rage that builds within him, he could focus on these things that truly matter.

Vadim truly believed in the Free State and the Status Perfectus, and though he cannot always follow its tenets, they were a guiding influence in his creation of their new territory in Watts. More and more these days, he is to be found in the small library he built into the slum house they call their headquarters. The walls are covered in bookcases, the shelves filled with philosophical treatises, political histories, memoirs and biographies of activists-both kine and kindred, and on and on. He has instead tried to fuel the rage, the beast within, to the music of the band. Something that had been a cover, and provided access to easy meals, has become something much more to him, though he is uncomfortable at anyone else knowing that truth about him.

Biography: See General Information

Name: Ivan "Sammael" Durov
Generation: 9th
Clan: Brujah
Disciplines: Celerity, Potence, Presence
Personality:
Everything your sire warned you about regarding the Brujah. Wild, unruly, and rough, Ivan's anger and passion that were once kept under control by Vadim's leadership, is now only tempered by his peer's advice. Ivan is much the same as he always was from the time he was embraced. Ambitious, if not the brightest, he has a hunger for power that is not easily sated or diluted even with failure. He has seen what happened to Vadim after their loss of power in Russia, and now in LA, but where Vadim has become introspective, Ivan has ignored it, seeing the way forward as needing to do something big. Something bold. He wouldn't risk taking on the Pyromancers so soon, but he knows the longer they hide and bide their time, the more irrelevant they will become. Irrelevance, tossed aside to become little more than targets for others, is not something his ego can stand the thought of, is not something the rage that boils within him can allow.

Biography: See general Information

Name: Lillian Dolan, "Lily Ellis"

Generation: 8th
Clan: Toreador
Disciplines: Auspex, Celerity, Presence
Personality:
She is a typical Toreador in many ways, always publicly displaying an air of beauty, grace, and seduction. It is a facade, but a well maintained one. Anger, resentment, and a need for revenge are what fuels her, what drives her ambition. Her years of exile though, have made her cautious to act. She knows she will not have a second chance.

Biography:
Lillian was born into lucky circumstances, though it was the midst of the Great Depression, her father was a banker who had managed to keep his job, food on the table, and a roof over his family's head. She was the youngest of three children, her parent's only daughter, and duly spoiled. From childhood to adolescence she bloomed into a beautiful young woman, and with some help from friends of her father, she entered the modeling world. She wanted to be a star, to move to LA and be an actress. This world was much harsher than the one she was raised in though, and she was quite unprepared for dealing with it once she left behind the small roles gotten for her through nepotism.

At 18 she got herself an agent and moved, against her parent's wishes, to LA as she had wanted. The next few years were dark and she quickly wanted to return home to her parents only to find that she couldn't. The agent she had hired was a shady man, the contract she had not read but signed stipulated the payment she owed him for finding her work. With few options to take work elsewhere, or return home, Lillian, did the work gotten for her. Bit pieces if she was lucky, photo sessions that she was ashamed of. Her career, if she had ever had one, was spiraling down quickly.

On the precipice of giving up, on everything, Lillian met Jean-Marc Fais. She had heard his name whispered, a god of sorts of aspiring models and actresses. If he took an interest in you, your success was nigh guaranteed. With the jobs she had, and her dire straights,she doubted that he would ever have any cause to even hear her name, much less see her work. And yet, one day, she received an invitation. The next night, she dined in an exquisite penthouse suite as she received the best news of her life. He had seen her work, a careful and meticulous man such as himself had to look everywhere to find the real talent, he explained. So close to wanting it all to end, Lillian ate it up with no questions asked. She didn't care what he would ask of her, she would do it.

He only asked for her life.

Waking as a kindred was overwhelming. She hadn't really believed the story he spun in explaining what he wished to do, what was done was done though. Her Embrace, in 1955, provided a short-lived high point to her existence. Jean-Marc held a comfortable position in the Camarilla hierarchy, and Lillian, now going by Lily Ellis, would reap the benefits of it. Actual jobs came in and it seemed like any day would be her big break, any day her position with the Toreador as Jean-Marc's childe would be solidified. She just needed to prove herself worthy.

It never came, Lily may have had a pretty face and body, but even with the benefits of her kindred nature, unless her sire pulled strings, the job offers dried up just as before. She was given one role as the leading lady in the booming movie industry, and the film died during testing. The reviews of her acting were deplorable, and just two years into her new life, her sire abandoned her, too ashamed and angry at what a mistake she had been.

Too young to be on her own, Lillian drifted from one coterie to the next. There was too much she didn't understand, but what she quickly learned, was that Jean-Marc was out to ruin her. Any time she did find a home, someone to take her in and teach her, a rumor would come out, whispers into her "adoptive" sire's ear, and she was sent packing. It all came to a head in the 70s, when fed up with being black-listed from Camarilla society, that she found Jean-Marc in Elysium and publicly charged him with abandonment, with blacklisting her, with spreading lies so vicious that none would touch her.

It didn't end well in any sense. She was forced to leave LA, though there was little that Jean-Marc could "legally" do to her, she was sure there was to be no safety left at all in the city. The coming decades proved to be trying. Lillian knew few people outside of the area, and fewer still who were not connected in some way to her sire. Still so very young, and without a teacher or surrogate sire, she needed something to replace the gaping emptiness she felt night after night.

Ignoring the kindred for a time, she latched on to wealthy old kine. If she could not be famous, then she could at least see to it that she lived well. Staying mostly on the east coast, back to NYC, to Miami, even a brief stint in DC, but always teetering on the edge of Camarilla society. And always, always watching the ever rising star of Jean-Marc. And as the years passed, a new art form was discovered within her. Revenge, "justice," she had heard a few others call it, burned white hot within. Lillian began to make a name for herself within the kindred world along the east coast. There was no coterie, just herself and whatever ghouls she could support at that time, but she was effective and it finally seemed like she might have overcome the shadow of her sire after all.

The rumors, dark and nasty, returned and brought death to her fledgling hopes. She had become too successful, and though she couldn't find anyway to point the blame directly at him, there was no doubt in Lillian's mind that Jean-Marc was to blame. Business dried up nearly over night, kindred walked away without a word, her kine lovers or beneficiaries turned their backs. It was the final straw.

News of the disaster in LA reached her ears before she was halfway across the country, headed back to seek her own revenge. With a mix of disappointment and relief, there was a brief moment where she thought that she had been too late. That Jean-Marc had already been ruined. It was not to be; instead, in the aftermath of the chaos, he had been raised to Primogen of the Toreador. There was only one position hire than his, and she doubted he would stop before he achieved it.

Certain that none would touch her, especially now, especially with the prominent role and power her sire held, she balked outside of LA. Revenge was necessary, but it wasn't a road she could travel alone, not this time. Just how she came to find the Plebes and their HQ in Watts, she has never fully disclosed. She simply showed up on their stoop one night and explained who she was. She offered a subtlety and tact that they had been without, and they offered apathy for her past. It was an uneasy alliance to begin with, but she has become somewhat fond of the philosophical Vadim, and there are times that she is fascinated by the fire within Ivan. Betty and Mina are anomalies to her, but tools to be used in her eventual crusade against the Toreador Primogen.

Name: Betty

Generation: 11th
Clan: Gangrel
Disciplines: Animalism, Fortitude, Protean
Personality:
Biography:
Just where exactly Betty came from, what her actual name is, and anything at all about her past are largely unknown. Found by the two Brujah in Russia, and that she could speak Russian, lead to the belief that she had been Russian in her life. That she was of Clan Gangrel was also immediately clear, though how long her un-life had been was also unknown. She had already developed the feather's on her arms, the predatory eyes, and the skin on her legs toughening to resemble that of a bird when they had found her. She had frenzied too many times, and it was taking a toll on her body. That she had been alone, barely able to speak, seemed to point to the fact that she had not been brought up properly. Either no other Gangrel had found her, or the one that had had not done well in raising their pup.

Betty isn't sure either. Memories of her life are dulled to oblivion. The passage of time from when she entered this new life to the present at times seems like forever, and at other times all too recent. Vadim and Ivan explained as much as they could to her, some of which she understands. The Masquerade, the need for her to remain largely unseen, that does not overly bother her, especially since they are in a city. She also knows that she would leave, if she could. There are times where hates Vadim and Ivan, particularly Ivan, more than anything else. Yet she finds herself incapable of leaving or even lashing out. Ivan had explained that as well, the blood bond between them.

NPCs of Possible Importance: