Realistic or Modern Where The Shadows Dwell (Characters)

[Neon Valkyrie]

Welcome, welcome, welcome! You've reached the character thread.

NOTE! I managed to find a free copy of the V20 Vampire handbook by googling "v20 vtm pdf free", and found a direct link.
DOWNLOAD AT YOUR OWN RISK!​

Character Creation Information Station!

Those of you familiar with VtM, or just WoD, might notice that this character sheet looks a little sparse. That's because I'm cutting a lot of the dice rolling system in hopes of streamlining play. Abilities are no more, advancement has been simplified, and rolling will be a little different than you're used to ... but please, trust me, it's all in the interest of freedom. You see, I want each of you to be the story teller. Aside from big events now and again, this system will be run by you, with a little help from me and my motly mods ... but before any of that, you'll need to breathe unlife into your character. The process is as follows:

Step One - Concept
Everything about your character flows from their concept. Their name, how old they are, what are they like, what are they afraid of? There are a few places you can start, their stats might tell you if their more intellectual, or forceful. Their clan might tell you what kind of person they were ... intellectual, power-driven, maybe a little crazy? Each clan favours a different kind of person, and the clan that appeals to you may reveal the kind of character you want to play. This is the hardest part of the process, because at this point your character could be just about anything, it's up to you to decide.

Step Two - Attributes
While deciding which type of attribute is of value to your concept, actually spending the points is where your whimsy gets covered in concrete. First prioritize the three categoeries, and assign your points accordingly (7/5/3). All attributes start with one free point.

Step Three - Abilities
This is one way in which we will break from the original system. Instead of prioritizing skill categoeries and assigning points individually, we're just going to have you pick four from the combined list. These will represent your specialities, though there will be some wiggle room based on background. If you were a car thief, and you have drive but not security, we can say you know how to break into a car. However, a career teacher from the suburbs isn't going to be popping any car doors without security.

Step Four - Advantages
Now we return to normal WoD rules. You get three points to split up among your clan disciplines, five background points, and seven dots for virtues.

Step Five - Finishing Touches
Calculate your Humanity (Conscience+Self-Control) and base Willpower (Equal to Courage). Determine the size of your blood-pool (by Generation), and assign merits and flaws. Here's where we get a little wonky because we've had to vivisect the system. We aren't using freebie or experience points, we're just using dots. You have 3 extra dots at character creation that can be used in the following ways.


DOT COSTS

1 Dot

• 1 Merit of +1 or +2
• 1 extra skill proficiency
• 1 level in a discipline or background, up to level 3
• 1 attribute point

2 Dots

• 1 Merit of +3 to +5
• 1 ability specialization (a specific niche of one of your proficient skills where you excel particularly)
• 1 level in a background, level 4 or 5
• 1 level in a clan discipline, level 4 to 6
• 1 level in a non-clan discipline, level 1 to 3

3 Dots

• 1 Merit of +6 or more
• 1 level in a discipline level 7 or above
• 1 level in a non-clan discipline, level 4 to 6

4 Dots

• 1 level in a non-clan discipline, level 7 or above

FLAWS

You may have up to three flaws. but you can only earn an extra two dots. You can earn your first dot with a 1-2 point flaw. For the second dot, you'll need to total -7 in flaws, however you get there is fine. Feel free to take some just for show
​

 

[Neon Valkyrie]

VAMPIRE
THE MASQUERADE

bof

Name: (name)
Player: (you get the gist)

Birthplace:
Generation:

Clan:
Weakness: (Just a few words)

◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Attributes ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►

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Physical
Strength ●○○○○
Dexterity ●○○○○
Stamina ●○○○○

Social
Charisma ●○○○○
Manipulation ●○○○○
Appearance ●○○○○

Mental
Perception ●○○○○
Intelligence ●○○○○
Wits ●○○○○

◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Abilities ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►
(Ability Name Here) - General experience with skill.
(Ability Name Here) - ... you get it. Repeat as necessary.
◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Advantages ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►

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Disciplines
Discipline 1 ○○○○○○○○○○ ( ● for your use)
Discipline 2 ○○○○○○○○○○
Discipline 3 ○○○○○○○○○○

Backgrounds
Background 1 ○○○○○
Background 2 ○○○○○
Background 3 ○○○○○

Virtues
Conscience ○○○○○ boop Self-Control ○○○○○ boop Courage ○○○○○
◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►

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Willpower
○○○○○○○○○○

Humanity
○○○○○○○○○○

Merits and Flaws
Merit or flaw name - brief description. Repeat as needed.

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Resources and Equipment

A description of your character's holdings and possessions. Money, property, weaponry, armour, etc. Stats aren't important, just a list for accuracy.

Physical Description

Spoiler

Give me a solid paragraph or two about how your character appears on an average night. I welcome you to include a nightly outfit section in your post bumper, but you can list the kinds of things they wear here if you prefer.

Backstory

Your origin story, human and vampire, in all of it's dark wonder. I intend to spoiler mine because of the traumatic nature of my character's past ... but I'm assuming we're all rather dark here, just remember to spare us the fine details. Gloss, gloss, gloss.

Spoiler: The Code

[div=border: 3px solid black; overflow-x: scroll; margin: auto; text-align: center;][b][FONT=Fredericka the Great][size=50px][u]VAMPIRE[/u][/size][/FONT][/b][FONT=Fredericka the Great]
[b]THE MASQUERADE[/b]
[size=12px][row][column=span1][color=white]bof[/color][/column][column=span2][FONT=Fredericka the Great]Name:[/FONT] (name)
[FONT=Fredericka the Great]Player:[/FONT] (you get the gist)
[/column][column=span2][FONT=Fredericka the Great]Birthplace:[/FONT]
[FONT=Fredericka the Great]Generation:[/FONT]
[/column][column=span2][FONT=Fredericka the Great]Clan:[/FONT]
[FONT=Fredericka the Great]Weakness:[/FONT] (Just a few words)[/column][/row][/size][size=5][FONT=Fredericka the Great]◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Attributes ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►[/FONT][/size]
[size=13px][row][column=span1][color=white]bof[/color][/column][column=span2][b]Physical[/b]
Strength  ●○○○○
Dexterity  ●○○○○
Stamina  ●○○○○[/column][column=span2][b]Social[/b]
Charisma  ●○○○○
Manipulation  ●○○○○
Appearance  ●○○○○[/column][column=span2][b]Mental[/b]
Perception  ●○○○○
Intelligence  ●○○○○
Wits  ●○○○○[/column][/row][/size]
[size=5][FONT=Fredericka the Great]◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Abilities ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►[/FONT][/size][size=13px]
[b](Ability Name Here)[/b] - General experience with skill. 
[b](Ability Name Here)[/b] - ... you get it. Repeat as necessary.
[/size][size=5][FONT=Fredericka the Great]◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Advantages ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►[/FONT][/size][size=13px]
[row][column=span1][color=white]bof[/color][/column][column=span3][b]Disciplines[/b]
Discipline 1      ○○○○○○○○○○ ( ● for your use)
Discipline 2      ○○○○○○○○○○
Discipline 3      ○○○○○○○○○○[/column][column=span3][b]Backgrounds[/b]
Background 1    ○○○○○
Background 2     ○○○○○
Background 3     ○○○○○[/column][/row][b]Virtues[/b]
Conscience ○○○○○  [color=white]boop[/color] Self-Control ○○○○○  [color=white]boop[/color] Courage ○○○○○
[/size][size=4][FONT=Fredericka the Great]◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►[/FONT][/size]
[size=13px][row][column=span1][color=white]bof[/color][/column][column=span3][b]Willpower[/b]
○○○○○○○○○○[/column][column=span3][b]Humanity[/b]
○○○○○○○○○○[/column][/row]
[b][u]Merits and Flaws[/u][/b]
[b]Merit or flaw name[/b] - brief description. Repeat as needed.

[/size][/font][/div][FONT=Fredericka the Great]

[div=border: 3px solid black; overflow-x: scroll; margin: auto;][row][column=span1][color=white]bof[/color][/column][column=span6][b][size=5][FONT=Fredericka the Great]Resources and Equipment[/FONT][/size][/b][scroll=350]
A description of your character's holdings and possessions. Money, property, weaponry, armour, etc. Stats aren't important, just a list for accuracy.
[/scroll]

[b][size=5][FONT=Fredericka the Great]Physical Description[/FONT][/size][/b][scroll=350px]
[spoiler][img]IMG URL HERE[/img][/spoiler]

Give me a solid paragraph or two about how your character appears on an average night. I welcome you to include a nightly outfit section in your post bumper, but you can list the kinds of things they wear here if you prefer.
[/scroll]

[b][size=5][FONT=Fredericka the Great]Backstory[/FONT][/size][/b][scroll=350px]
Your origin story, human and vampire, in all of it's dark wonder. I intend to spoiler mine because of the traumatic nature of my character's past ... but I'm assuming we're all rather dark here, just remember to spare us the fine details. Gloss, gloss, gloss.
[/scroll]

[/column][/row][/div]

 

[Neon Valkyrie]

Roster

Neon Valkyrie(Creator/Captain) - MacKenzie Wilson
Malkav (Co-Captain) - Selena Lutz
Sherwood -
Reticent -
neon.eclipse90 -

Essa -
Candlebell - Helene Rigard
NilNul -
Squee -

​

 

[Neon Valkyrie]

RESERVED!

 

[Malkav]

VAMPIRE
THE MASQUERADE

bof

Name: Selena Lutz
Player: Malkav

Birthplace: Sycamore, Illinois
Generation: 10th

Clan: Malkavian
Weakness: Depression, Anxiety, Low Self-Esteem

◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Attributes ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►

bof

Physical
Strength ●○○○○
Dexterity ●●●●○
Stamina ●●●○○

Social
Charisma ●●○○○○
Manipulation ●○○○○
Appearance ●●●○○

Mental
Perception ●●●●○
Intelligence ●●●○○
Wits ●●●○○○

◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Abilities ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►
Athletics - Frequently climbs objects and barriers to reach new locations and evade detection.
Stealth - Both in life and death is frequently in hiding from others.
Animal Ken - Animal rights activist. Loves animals.
Security - has "street smarts" in lockpicking, home defence, tresspassing, etc.

◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Advantages ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►

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Disciplines
Auspex ●○○○○
Dementation ●○○○○
Obfuscate ●●●○○
Annimalism ●○○○○

Backgrounds
Generation ●●●○○
Mentor ●○○○○
Resources ●○○○○

Virtues
Conscience ●●●○○ boop Self-Control ●●○○○ boop Courage ●●○○○
◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►

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Willpower
●●○○○○○○○○

Humanity
●●●●●○○○○○

Merits and Flaws
New Arrival - new to Seattle
Prey Exclusion - Animals

bof

Resources and Equipment

Dumpy studio appartment. Has a sports bike. Makes money primarily through petty theft. Has a 9mm handgun and a lockpicking set.

Physical Description

Spoiler

Selena prefers the life of an enigma. Her soft features and emerald eyes are often hidden behind an elaborate disguise, whether supernatural or mundane. Her fashion is always focused on misdirection, varying between two modes: either street savvy or a bright, gaudy aesthetic. She will often wear a hoodie or leather jacket, blue jeans, and sneakers when attempting to blend in with crowds. When thrust into social environments, a bright shirt, either tie-die or wielding an '80s MTV logo or some other such thing, to distract others. Should her Obfuscate be pierced, one would see a markedly attractive woman with short, blonde hair, a triangular jaw, and liberal applications of eyeliner. She may on and off wear piercings depending on the aura of the night. Otherwise Selena has a lithe frame, athletic in nature, though accented by various bruises and burns upon her body.

Backstory

Selena Lutz was born to a reluctant mother in Small Town, America. Mother Lutz had been a drug addict for as long as the junior could remember. The young mother had a fancy for narcotics, favoring heroine above all else, though dabbling was in a variety of confections was usual. Most children will come to accept the state of their upbringing as usual, and so did young Selena as well. She was an only child. Pretend was a preferred game of the girl, dreaming of other pastures and dreaming of being part of another world. Sometimes it was fantasy affair, thinking of herself like a witch or a genie, other times she would invent comedies of horses with absurdly long hair or cats too fat like Garfield, other times she would have long conversations with imaginary family members.

At an early age, Selena was secluded to her room. Her mother very often held parties in their home, bringing about many irrefutable people. The house smelled funny, the walls having long absorbed the smells of cigarettes and any narcotic that could be absorbed into the dry wall. She found a yellow tint to be par for a modern household. The various degenerates hopped up on booze and speed would often leave her alone, however, when she was messed with it, the events tended to be particularly scarring. Of the few toys she had obtained, namely dolls and ponies, they had sustained damaged from a drunkard falling on them or someone high on acid thinking that playing with the child was a good idea.

When harassed or a toy was broken, Selena would fall to tears, her mother berating her fr whining. To the senior, her daughter was a costly mistake to be isolated, whose affection only came about in brief moments of guilt or at the peak of a proper high.

Selena enjoyed school above all, the few hours of the day Monday through Friday in which she could play with other children and learn social skills. During Kindergarden, she was ousted as a quiet, though restless child. She tended to ignore nap time, instead studying the other children as they slept and trying to get away with not going to sleep when the teacher would pass by her cot. As she advanced to other grades, she gradually learned to play with other children and come out of her shell. She liked to play tag and talk about her dreams and what she wanted to be when she grew up with other children (she had a particular fantasy towards becoming a Veterinarian.) This progress seemed to fall apart with the new baby sitter, Sean, when she was seven years old.

Sean was an amicable man, by all appearances. He had a long beard, patchy and scruffy. He came off as a nice man, and would show Selena music that she would come to enjoy, derived from the hippie movement that was coming into fruition. He was a nice enough, approachable man. It was as her mother took longer outings that more and more time was spent with Sean. It was during a shower that Sean intruded. The touchings was unwarranted. Uncomfortable. But adult figures are to be trusted. She couldn't tell mom. Mother would just berate her. This was somehow her fault. And Sean was never mean. He was careful. And he was still nice to her.

Though Selena did not enjoy the unwarranted visits to the bedroom at night, or the shower, Sean became her only friend outside of school. None of her classmates lived nearby, and she had no one else who would listen or talk to her. Sean was the only one who would listen and who would at least give her the time of day to play pretend and listen to her thoughts and feelings.

One night Lutz Senior had a particularly rambunctious party. Shouting could be heard in the other room, and it was then that Selena had hit a breaking point. Her door was locked, but on the other side, someone was knocking. Selena was silent, not making out the man's words over the noise of the Beatles intertwined with drunken banter. She couldn't do it any more. Her door was on the second floor, and it was at this time that she knew that she had to leave. She was nine.

Vaguely amongst the noise, Selena could hear her mother shouting for her to open up. Carefully Selena pushed the locks on her window to the unlocked position. She gingerly lifted the class and felt the corners of the screen, finding the mechanisms that held it in place and popping it out. As the music reached crescendo, she lifted one leg over the ledge. There was a drainage pipe leading to the gutter next to her window. Looking over her shoulder, she grasped the pipe and let the tips of her fingers grip the bubbled paint and rust of the pipe. She had managed to get her frame onto the pipe before shimming downward. She was about a quarter of the way down before it began to give way. In the cold autumn night, the pipe began to give way despite the fourth-grader's small frame. A creaking noise was heard before the piping came crashing above her head. The girl panicked as she fell on her left side, bruising her ribs and scraping her arm. In the rush of the moment, she bolted down the block, out of sight of her room.

The crisp night air reached her lungs and hit her exposed, damaged flesh on her arm. The chill seemed to hit right to each red blood cell. The adrenaline had kicked, and with it a newfound panic. She hadn't planned this out, but it was too late to head back. She needed a plan. She came across the crosswalk between the neighborhood and the local park. She took in her surroundings. Down the street, upon a stoop, stood a man having a cigarette with some sort of beverage in her hand. About two blocks down, she heard a dog barking. About once every minute and a half, car lights could be heard and headlights seen. The street lights were about two houses apart each. It was too late for a little girl to be out. If she wanted to not get caught, she had to not be seen. She started by noticing the shadows. She could dodge under the stoop. Then to the bush, then head to the park. Then lay low and head to...where was she going? She hadn't thought of that, but there was only one place she could go: Sean's house. She had known from a few car rides the general location. She'd notice his house by the general shape and color.

The plan was executed. Stoop. Bush. Park. Cross. Cop lights. Crouch next to the fountain. Wait. Watch breathing. Move.

After several times analyzing and executing, she made it to Sean's house. It was there that he welcomed her with open arms. He showed her music. He listened to her talk about what happened, how she was treated, and let her spend the night. He didn't touch her, this time. That was the last time that she saw Sean.

Selena's mother never let her see Sean after that. It was shortly after that Selena was indefinitely grounded, not allowed to leave the house except for school, and completing the menial tasks that her mother was too lazy to complete. Her life reflected this until high school.

Selena entered her teenage years with the usual wonder of her place in the world and a distinct feeling of awkwardness. Her hormones were stirring, and she found herself left with a feeling of inadequacy and despair. She mellowed this out with liberal applications of pot, knowing very well how and where to acquire it. It was a near daily ritual for her. She had found a bit of niche with the outcasts, however, she was falling behind in school. Her mother was mostly apathetic to these failings. In time, things had hit a head. She was dissatisfied with the world, and the hippie movement still echoed in the early seventies. She had found a boyfriend, someone with a mutual love of pot and music, and a similar discontent with the status quo. Together, they managed to cobble together enough money from drugs and a part time job to rent a place out from an older friend. They dropped out and started forging their own paths.

Free from the shackles of her mother, she did start pursuing hobbies. Painting was one, though she was not very good. Still, it was something to do while high and listening to music. Her passion, she discovered, lied with the animals. She found a stray cat that they named Misty, and Misty was Selena's joy. It showed her affection. Over time, Selena started noticing protests in the area, and listening to the radio. She realized that she had a real passion for animals, and started attending protests in the area, organizing rallies, and showing prominence in the community. It was essential to her being that she did these. It also drew attention from the authorities.

One day while selling pot, she got caught. The cops had told her that they could make a deal if she spoke. Young, naive, and not wanting them to go more into her history and sending her back to her mother, she ratted out her boyfriend. She spilled the beans. Told them everything. The boy went to jail, and, after a lengthy DCS investigation, she was emancipated. Selena had broken down. Now she was alone, in the world, and a traitor to the only person who cared about her.

Over time Selena had taken jobs, mostly in the food service industry. She smoked pot after work and lived a sad, lower class lifestyle. She stopped attending protests. Eventually, her loneliness got the best of her. She couldn't cope with the lack of family, friends, and nothing to look forward to. In a dramatic fashion, she took to the Chicago Highway Skybridge. She stood there for about an hour before someone took notice, and in time the cops had showed up. She choked. She came down.

Taken in for evaluation, she was diagnosed proper with Clinical Depression. She had three months in a psychiatric institution, in a nice, clean white dress. She was on a host of antidepressants, and received weekly psychiatric visits. She missed pot. She missed music. But otherwise, it was a nice reprieve. She had some peace.

Selena made a friend with a man named Jeremy while institutionalized. He seemed amicable enough, and like any teenager with an affinity for marijuana, she had fondly discussed her cannabis-based hobbies with her new friend. He was a part-time night shift orderly who snuck in cigarettes for her and let her out to the balcony to light one up. He didn't even seem particularly interested in her in that way, just friendly. She liked him.

Upon leaving the facility, she made contact with Jeremy by looking him up in the phone book. That night was a magical night, where she recalled smoking dope, drinking booze, and making love. It was this spur-of-the-moment that she normally wouldn't engage in, but it felt good. It felt right. It was nice to have someone else to be around. He seemed to enjoy it, too. At least, she thought so.

It didn't take long until Selena started living with Jeremy. Immediate warning signs arose. The warmth that she felt nights before faded. What she rationalized as a flu didn't seem to hold weight as he lacked other symptoms. He slept all day, locked in his room. He started to not allow her in over night. In fact, he seemed to want nothing to do with her but to keep her around as a play thing. But Selena had fallen deeply for this mystery man.

Once a month, on the first Friday of each month, he would leave for the night, not telling her any details. He started showing frequent mood swings, blacking out, coming home plastered, and eventually, violence. Yet, during this time, she couldn't help but love him all the same. More, in fact. For the first time, she had someone there for her, someone who cared, and she would of course run all of these errands for him, no matter what. Most of the time, it was to the asylum. She started suspecting things about Jeremy, noticing how she was compelled to be with him no matter. Was it the drugs? Was he spiking her? There was an usual euphoria about her lately.

Over time some pieces began to fall. She noticed a certain physicality that didn't exist in her before. Something augmented her with an ability to recover from a long night, her wounds healed faster, and she was slightly stronger. To many, this would seem as a blessing, a new vigor, but it just bothered her how it all didn't make sense. Her depression seemed to deepen, unless Jeremy was around. The pills barely worked. She needed him. She also needed answers.

One night, after another one of his monthly excursions, Selena confronted Jeremy. He seemed to be particularly on edge, but she needed answers. This time he seemed bruised and beaten. She was in shock that he had come back this way. She had waited in the living room, the wafting of a cigarette coming from an astray and zipping towards the A/C vent.

He was in a daze. High or drunk or blacked out, who knew?

"Jeremy?" she inquired, looking over at the man she loved with curiosity and concern. He paused for a moment, silhouette against the door before falling upon her. He didn't speak.

"Jeremy, what is it, what the fuck!?!" she further said. The door closed behind him before she pounced upon her with all of his might. She struggled helplessly, reaching for anything to strike him with to no avail. He opened his mouth wide after trapping her in a vice grip, plunged his teeth into her neck, and drew from her all of her life blood. She yelped at first, still struggling. Selena's eyes rolled to the back to her head. Her pulse slowed. Her knuckles turned white. She froze. Then, once all of her blood was gone, her body relinquished itself to Jeremy's grip. Her heart stopped.

The next night, Selena awoke in a sterile room with a bright light to her face. She recalled nightmares of an out-of-body experience. She saw her body fall into Jeremy. She saw her blood cake his face. She felt herself in a void, covered as if by a cowl and carried away, before...this. The time seemed unending, inconsiderate. Now she was here. She felt a sort of nausea, a sickness, along with a burning desire. No drug and no time with Jeremy had ever done this.

A man, finely dressed in a suit, with fine cropped hair and sporting Slavic features, grabbed the tuft of her hair. She moved to react to his arm. Restrained. She didn't even notice.

"Drink," he commanded, holding to her a goblet filled with a thick red liquid. She immediately obeyed his command, consuming the drink as quickly as she could. It seemed natural, and it quenched part of the burning. Still, some of nausea remained.

The man discarded the goblet and moved for the door. "You're clear," he mentioned.

In walked a regal woman, skin stark porcelain, dressed in designer clothing that must have cost more than Selena would make in a year. The girl was too bewildered to speak of anything yet. She seemed caught up in both the situation and this mystery woman. The woman's eyes examined Selena, not seeming to look over her as much as at her. She didn't seem to convey any emotion.

"You were right, Leon. The bastard went and did it. We should've kept him behind," she said to the man. She seemed to have a matter-of-fact tone to her voice, as if this was something that she already knew.

The man nodded. "So what do we do with....this?" he asked. Selena would have gulped, but the reaction didn't fit naturally. Her saliva seemed to fail her.

The woman was lost in thought. "What do you know about Jeremy?" the woman asked.

"I...ummm...well, we lived together," Selena began.

"She doesn't know..." Leon began.

Selena looked between Leon, then the woman, doe-eyed and pleading for a response.

"He fled afterwords. This is without permission, but...no need to do anything drastic..." she responded to Leon. "In fact, you're in charge. Show her the ropes."

The man reflexed to disgruntlement, his eyes closing for a moment and his lips and nose pursed together. "Alright, Bishop."

Selena spent her fledgling days under the tutelage of Leon, a Tremere that she gathered had some level of prestige. The shock of her new existence seemed to waif rather than strike. It was a hallucinogenic haze where aspects would become more or less real on her malaise. She had issues with...well, everything. With her fall to darkness, the chains of being a vampire drew upon her. The curse was immediate and inherent. As her nerves deadened and flesh became Autumn leaves, so did her heart harden. The vampiric existence is a somber, lonely thing. If Leon's hadn't unintentionally taught her that, then her spirit was sure to cement it.

The young Kindred at first had to be taught to feed. Her first release, the frenzy and bloodlust associated with every new vampire, was nullified by circumstance. She often lacked the desire to feed, only drinking blood when ordered or when her reserves got dangerously low. The whole thing was obtrusive to her, going against her nearly pacifistic nature and the empty vitality of her soul.

Leon, she had learned, was of an ex-Russian military background. He wasn't above tough love to achieve objectives, to which Selena, she imaged, was an ignorant civilian requiring babysitting. She was some weird project in a new, darker world.

Within a few days, the natural decay of the body had set in and Selena had a newly-realized form. The powers inherent in the blood were beginning for take some rudimentary form. It was just as her mind, soul, and body died, that her senses renewed. The world began to become more vibrant. Sounds, music became more intrinsic, felt in a way that she had never experienced before. It was as if she had finally touched the soul of her favorite artists. At times she saw more than ever before, and or felt each little rut and groove of the pavement. Voices filled her head. Babbles that seemed to ebb and flow. These were new voices that all seemed to have a say. All talking to her, none addressing. The distraught these caused bothered her, but she didn't bring it up. Too much of a stigma with little chances of help. She attempted to push these out, to little avail.

Sharing a mutual discipline, Leon was most able to guide her Auspex along the proper levels. Obfuscate came reflexively, almost, over time. Her desire to be hidden was always an innate aspect of herself, and she found herself hiding without knowing it, much to Leon's chagrin.

For knowledge, she was mostly taught the basics of the Camarilla and the seven core clans, only having fleeting knowledge on the other six. The most knowledge was gained on the clans Malkavian and Tremere. Clan Malkavian, her own, and that of Jeremy, is the one of lunatics. All possessed of a particular insanity, mostly maligned within vampiric society. She was, for all intents and purposes, of a second class. Discovering her own insanity was difficult. Was she experiencing delusions? Was this all a dream? Maybe it was the voices. Was she mad? Amongst the cornucopia that new experiences, she chalked this up as yet another. There is always a problem with self-diagnosis, and she hadn't the will to seek outside help. Her problems weren't worth the bother or risk.

Clan Tremere is a clan of scholars, stretching among the Camarilla as the ones who bear control and keep the sect together, she learned, lest it fall like dogs to the Sabbat. The Sabbat, of course, being a pack of ravenous beasts, giving into their monstrous side. Somewhere in the middle were the Anarchs, rabble rousers and idealists, not falling to their monsters, but not altogether at the same time.

She was kept on a tight leash by the Tremere, at best a tag-along to his Coterie missions, often sticking to the shadows and following simple orders. She had brief brushes with the Sabbat, but was never in harm's way. She felt like a burden. Safe, but a burden.

Kinship was difficult to come across. The Camarilla was a mish mash of individuals, all from these different clans and backgrounds. There wasn't much chance of finding camraderie with the tough guys, bikers and ex-military, all in the Brujah and Gangrel, the Nosferatu treated her with mistrust and envy, the Tremere seemed to view her as a pet project, if at all, and then there was the untouchables in Toreador and Ventrue. That left the freaks and rejects of Clan Malkavian, all eyeing her with mistrust. The Childe of a traitor, and a puppet of the Tremere. She was an outcast even among all, even her own "kind".

She learned of ghouling, and through that, found a friend. Selena sat at a park bench, relinquished of Leon's custody for the night. She sat there with big, bulky headphones, listening to a Depeche Mode tape with her Walkman that she had snagged off of a tasty victim. She had noticed a flock of crows nearby. She waved, giving a faint smile. They didn't seem to move. An idea struck the young Kindred. She entered the nearby McDonald's, purchasing a large order of fries and walking cheerfully towards the flock. At first she tossed a few fries their way. They seemed to take a liking. Of course, everyone likes McDonald's fries. Then, having an idea, she raised her wrist to her arm, puncturing her wrist and allowing the thick crimson to ooze down her arm. She tapped into her awareness, feeling the environment. No one but her and her black-feathered friends. Like ketchup, she dipped a fry into a long, goopy drop of blood. She held it out to one of the scrawnier crows, desperate for nourishment. She shooed the others away, allowing the crow to feast. A few more dunked fries, and the bird was absolutely hooked. It was then that Selena had made a lifelong friend, whom she deemed Aleister...the Crow.

It was in the haze of the early night rise, during twilight, the Selena violently shook awake. She sat inside a dilapidated basement, listening to a nearby pipe rhyming drips of water. There she head a familiar voice in her head. It whispered her name. A flash came about her. In a moment she felt her pulse, speeding at first, then dripping away, until nothing. She felt the fire in her neck. Then her name again. It was him. Whether a dream or a hallucination or a message from afar, it was there. She grasped at the thin strands of her head, squishing her skull, until she fell over. The hot pain in her neck again. The name. The pain. The name. Jeremy's face came alive in a brief moment, the lifeless gaze just like that night. She didn't answer the phone that night, just laid in bed as a red puddle bled from her eyes and soaked her dirty sheets. The night passed in and out of this state. Then sleep took her in the late a.m. hours.

The malaise of her existence bore on her. She repulsed others more strongly than ever in life. No one desired to be with someone who was like Louis de Pointe du Lac without the charm, glamour, or whimsy. Always whining, Selena. Vampires, for some reason, tended to be unlike the Draculas, alone in their castles. They liked to gather and talk. And someone like her, broken as she is, is a miserable sight. Bullied at worst, feigned sympathy at best. Selena tried to craft something of a personality. She remembered high school, smoking pot, being silly, a time when, looking back, she was kind of happy. "Boo!" she would shout, popping out from the Obfuscate of another kindred's mind. A shock, a bit of anger, but from others...a giggle. Raise the voice pitch a bit. A big, goofy smile. Everyone likes a clown. The serious types would leave her alone. Not worth the bother of a Ventrue or Tremere. Not worth the bother. Someone unpredictable, the Brujah and Gangrel types would leave her alone. She had a personality, a place. Everyone needs a clown.

To adapt to the night and the dangers that prowled, she learned how to hide and how to find what people hide. Every clan has a skill or forte, gifts given, and she found that night time prowling was her friend. She started training in climbing, jumping, and moving with ease from rooftop to alleyway. She found some handy guides to lockpicking, spending decades to hone in on the art. She learned the feel of the tumble and the uses of a good bobby pin. She wasn't very strong, or fast, but she learned to blend in, to adapt, to avoid detection or deflect desire. She would steal occasionally, if only to make ends meet.

Selena had learned to blend in and not to break any of the rules. Well, not break them and get caught (trespassing was a tricky one.) Jeremy's whispers turned to words, then paragraphs. Whether he was a manifestation or a ghost or some weird aspect of the Network, she couldn't be sure, but she never shared his secrets. And many secrets there were. She had become an element of the greater Chicago Camarilla, fluttering between coteries as situations demanding, but not wanting to attach for too long.

This all worked until one fateful night, in the early part of two-thousand and seventeen. Now a Kindred for thirty-six years, she had a respectable grasp on vampire society and how to manipulate her blood. She was working ancillary to Leon's crew, with himself, another Tremere, two Brujah, and a Gangrel. A weird group, but it worked. A Ventrue of notable repertoire, popular amongst the general public for being more salt-of-the-earth than most of his clan, having served time in the military as a mortal, was in trouble. It made him more approachable, and at least a few Brujah seemed to have at least a begrudging respect for him. There was a melee with some encroaching Sabbat earlier that month. Selena was present, and waited by the car. He was captured in the fight. She could have done something. But she didn't. She cowered. Like she always did.

Selena was overcome with guilt, not having done something when she could have. This was her redemption, she thought, for all of the times that she had messed up before. Maybe she could be brave. Leon had laid out the plans. The Tremere had located a likely haven for the Sabbat, the leader of which was a French Tzimisce. Leon laid the plans, and a Brujah, James seemed to have the leadership bravado.

Selena hatched a plan. When the Sabbat were distracted, she would move in and grab the Ventrue herself. She could be the hero, maybe. If just once...

The brawl had occurred with the better-trained and armed Camarilla having the upper hand. Selena had slipped in to find the Ventrue. She slipped down the corridors of a horror scene. Flesh and bones mottled as furniture and caking the halls. She followed the corridors down to a cellar. Locked as it was, she put to use her lockpicking skills. She was quiet, subtle as she could be with picking it. It opened, melting to her will. Then she laid her eyes upon the Ventrue. He was a horrid wretch of a man, shirt torn apart, and had become a ghastly abomination. His visage was twisted and malformed, his jaw unhinged. One eye slip towards the bottom of his face. His arms were twisted and contorted, bones snapped. She stared agasp in horror. Then...she ran.

She could not will herself to face the true horrors that the Sabbat had wrought. Blindly, she ran down the hall, ignoring the flesh and sinew that engulfed the interior. Then, stumbling down a corridor, when thunder struck her. A voice.

"Selena," it rang out to her in a menacing tone. She looked to the shadows, writhing amongst the halls. The voice was a hellish distortion, but it seemed familair. She gasped, frozen, unable to come to grips with who the figure was. Then a bullet zipped by her head.

"Lutz, why the FUCK are you here?" shouted another familiar voice. Leon. She had forgotten. She turned back to the figure. He was gone.

Selena was silent on the car ride back. The group retrieved the Ventrue, scarred possibly beyond repair. She had failed. Worse, she had discovered things that were never truly left behind. She would never be a hero. Just this fucked up victim coward thing. Just fucked up.

The guilt overcame Selena, along with the fear. The fear of the Sabbat, of the Tzimisce, of a past she thought that she left behind. The fear of failure. The fear of them always looking at her with pity, disgust, remorse. She would never fit in with them. So she left. Left Chicago, left Illinois, away from their Princes and politics. She needed to get away from all of it.

Desperate for answers. Desperate for escape. Desperate to find some meaning in this absurd afterlife, Selena contacted Leon, the only person that she had even a mild interpersonal relationship. She had given him the full mission briefing. Meanwhile, he utilized Auspex to verify information and gleam it's viability. During his time around the Malkavian, Leon had learned a bit about how they operate. Everyone knows about their insanity and it's permanency, but the rumors of a sort of telepathic communication were unverified. A weavery, tapestry, cobweb, it had been footnoted before, but perhaps more could be known. Besides, the kid was useless, running at a fight with her tail between her knees. Based on her report of voices from the traitor, and not seeming schizophrenic (based on some rudimentary mind reading,) then perhaps this could be tested. Leon would ensure to get updates sporadically after the Sabbat were dealt with in Chicago. Perhaps Jeremy had something to do with it? Regardless, voices of a sire in someone without the signs of Schizophrenia and the chance to learn more about the Malkavian clan was tempting. With that, Selena was whisked away to Seattle in cover of night to get a new start for herself.

 

[Neon Valkyrie]

VAMPIRE
THE MASQUERADE

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Name: MacKenzie Wilson
Player: Neon Valkyrie

Birthplace: Toronto, Ontario
Generation: 8th

Clan: Malkavian
Weakness: Schizophrenia, Hysteria, ASPD, Masochism

◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Attributes ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►

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Physical
Strength ●●○○○
Dexterity ●●●○○
Stamina ●●●○○

Social
Charisma ●○○○○
Manipulation ●●●○○
Appearance ●●●●○

Mental
Perception ●●●●○
Intelligence ●●○○○
Wits ●●●●○

◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Abilities ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►
Malkavian Time - These voices are different, clearer. They don't talk about her, about things she knows. They whisper secrets in the short hours of dawn, or when she feels her mind is about to break entirely, or when she feels all alone. Of all the voices, these are her favourite.
Stealth - Some of the first Kindred Andrew introduced MacKenzie to were the Nosferatu, whose control of the sewers proved useful time and time again. She watched how they crept, used the shadows, began to practice their methods while hunting. Being small and agile by nature, she is keen at keeping out of sight.
Subterfuge - A lesson Andrew taught her early on, she now lived a life wrapped in lies and deceit. The Masquerade, the Jyhad, hunting, walking among humans, all of this required a certain level of tact. While she is at war with her own emotions, and flashes back and forth between near-frenzy and sociopath, in her calm moments she is a notable manipulator.
Survival - MacKenzie has spent most of her vampiric life living outside. She's slept buries in a park, knows what the sky looks like before dawn, and how to navigate by the stars. She's even taken blood from an animal, but don't tell anyone.
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Disciplines
Auspex ●●○○○○○○○○
Dementation ●●●○○○○○○○
Obfuscate ●○○○○○○○○○

Backgrounds
Generation ●●●●●

Virtues
Conscience ●●○○○ boop Self-Control ●●●○○ boop Courage ●●○○○
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Willpower
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Humanity
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Merits and Flaws
Infections (3pt Flaw) - The bloodline is strong in MaccKenzie, and even those she feeds from temporarily feel the grip of madness. Anyone she feeds from receives a temporary derangement for every three blood points drained. The derangements are random, and fade after about a week.
Criminal Past (2pt Flaw) - MacKenzie is a missing person in Canada, and is still being sought by the RCMP. With Washington's position as a border state, the local police are likely aware of missing persons reports in Canada, especially ones connected to such a grizzly double homicide.
Eerie Presence (2pt Flaw) - Maybe it's that she doesn't breathe, or blink, or swallow, or do anything else a living person does without knowing it, but there's something about MacKenzie's presence that just bothers normal humans, and makes her obvious to other Kindred. +2 Difficulty on social rolls when dealing with mortals.

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Resources and Equipment

MacKenzie has no resources of her own, and currently has nothing but her soaking wet clothes.

Physical Description

Spoiler

MacKenzie stands at just 5'4" tall, with a lithe, pear-shaped build. Her skin is deathly pale, marked in a few places by tattoos she got on her journey to Seattle. Her thick, straight, coffee brown hair has been dyed purple, bringing out the haunting honey-tones eyes. Wreaths of long lashes have snares many an unsuspecting victim, as have her pale, pink lips, though both are generally stained with the remains of makeup.

Even from afar there's something not quite-right about her. The way she moves, like water, water that wants to kill you. Once you get up close, there's a palpable sense of batshit crazy radiating from her. Maybe it's the needless array of charms and necklaces, maybe it's the predatory look in the seventeen year old's eyes, maybe it's the dash of blood at the corner of her lips. Whatever the case, even other Kindred find her a little unsettling to be around, though that may be more due to her personality.

Backstory

Spoiler

Victoria Gagnon was in 10th Grade when she met Michael Wilson. He was smart, kinda buff, had his own car. They fell in love over the summer, married after graduation, moved to the city. He went into the business program at Centennial College, she went into a liberal arts program, mostly for the loans. MacKenzie Wilson was born January 21st, 2001, in North York General Hospital, at 4 in the morning, just after Michael finished his business degree. MacKenzie was only three when he left, off into the arms of his young secretary. Her mother always held her responsible for his departure, always resented her for it. They ended up in a narrow, two-bedroom apartment in the waterfront district. They lived on the spousal and child support Michael paid, and her mother worked part-time and under-the-table at a nearby restaurant for cash. She was out of the house whenever she could be, leaving MacKenzie with child-care, or a neighbour, or just alone.

She learned to take care of herself at a young age. By the time she was nine she could make a grilled cheese, and Kraft dinner, knew how to do her own laundry. That's when her mother met Dane. Dane worked at a car dealership, wore fancy clothing, drank top-shelf, bought her mother diamonds. He was nice, always sure to ask how MacKenzie was doing when he came to pick up her mother, giving her pointers on her homework if she was studying. He moved them into his place before the year was out.

He kept her mother wreathed in finery, gave her all the fine things she wanted, but something about him changed. He still took her mother out for steak and lobster, but now when they got home he would chide her about gaining weight. He still bought her fine dresses and diamonds and makeup, but now he seemed less interested in looking at the finished product. He was busy looking elsewhere. MacKenzie also got gifts, not that she knew what to do with them. She'd never had an IPhone or a designer sweater before. She was used to the thrift shop, a utilitarian preteen. She was thirteen when she started to notice little things. He would linger longer and longer in hugs, his hands always moving to any exposed skin. He liked to tickle her, and touch her. He smelled her hair when he was helping her with her homework. During summer, he was always volunteering to take her and her friends to the lake, to the beach, and would stay close at hand while they frolicked in the water. By now she was an outspoken, weird teenager who was figuring out what kinds of things she liked, what kind of person she was.

It was only a week after her fourteenth birthday when he snuck into her room the first time. The light from the hallway woke her up, her stomach tightening as she recognized the shape looming in the doorway. He closed the door behind him, crossed slowly over to her. He kept saying she'd driven him to it, running around in her school uniform, smiling at him, tempting him, that he couldn't help himself. He touched her. He hurt her. She told him to stop, begged him, but he wouldn't listen. He apologized afterwards, there in the dark, told her that pretty girls had this kind of power over men, and that there was nothing he could do to stop himself. In his sweet, soft tone he threatened her. Asked if she wanted to lose all the nice things he bought for her, for her mother, asked if she wanted them to be out on the street, said people got hurt out on the street.

He left her there in the dark, bleeding, sobbing silently, terrified someone might hear her. She felt so scared, so ashamed, so angry and betrayed. The next morning she was despondent. She barely spoke, barely moved when he ran his fingers through her hair. She'd hoped it had all been some kind of horrible nightmare, but if it was, it had survived into the morning. She went to school that day, avoided conversation where she could, avoided her friends, avoided everyone. She spent lunch at the far end of the field. After school she lingered in the hallway, slipped past her friends and went to the park. There was a wooded area near the back some of the older kids went to on weekends to drink and debauch. It was safe from prying eyes. There she fell, collapsed, sobbed until her voice was hoarse. It was getting dark when she saw him. Tall, slender, dressed in rags that hung from him like a cape. He was so pale, but impossibly graceful, not like the other addicts and indegens that roamed the area.

He stepped into the little clearing, a bunch of flowers outstretched, dirty roots still dangling from the ends. He had an honest smile on his face, said his name was asked her why she was crying, what was wrong. She thought about running, thought he might be like Dane, or worse, but something about his eyes held her in place. He sat with her, a safe distance away, and listened as the tearful teen relayed the horrors of the previous night. He listened quietly, and when she was finished he inched in and gave her a firm hug around the shoulders. Somehow it brought even more tears forward, and she passed out there in his cold arms. When she woke it was nightfall, and he was gone, only his flowers left behind to prove his existence. Her father was waiting when she got home, ushered her inside, asked how her day was. She responded quietly, mostly to the floor. She was quiet at dinner that night, they all were. He left her alone that night, and the next. It was two weeks before he came again. She considered screaming, considered fighting, but the shame and despair weighed her down, and all she could do was cry.

By the time she was fifteen she'd learned how to make it harder for him; wedge her chair under the door at night, stay out of the house as long as she could, she would even fight back sometimes, try to push him off. He wasn't so nice about it anymore, and frequently it left her bruised. She'd lost all her friends at school to outbursts, spite, resentment. None of them could stand to be around her anymore. Even the hardcore kids kept their distance. They were all fakes anyway, angry about being denied expensive phones and cars and clothes. MacKenzie was alone, she spent her days dreading each movement of the clock, wishing her strange friend would come whisk her away. She soothed herself with angry music and ill-begotten drugs. What did it matter if she made out with a senior for some pot, she'd been subjected to so much worse.

When she was sixteen she told a counsellor about what was going on. He'd heard it a million times before, told her these kinds of accusations were serious things, asked her why she'd never come forward before, asked her if she had any proof. She said she had the bruises on her thighs and hips. He asked to see them. She spent the rest of the day with A Perfect Circle filling her ears, smoking her way through a pack of cigarettes she'd bought from the schoolyard fence. That night she cut herself for the first time. It was so strange, her nerves telling her no, her brain telling her yes. Her heart raced, her breathing quickened, it was like being alive again. Then Dane came and killed her. Finally she'd had enough. She went to her mother, broke down crying. She didn't care if Dane was right there, didn't care what he might do. Even if he killed her, he wouldn't let him take advantage of her anymore. Her mother was shocked, she just stood there, staring for a moment. Dane didn't look happy.

MacKenzie didn't even feel the first slap, she was so surprised. Tears welled up in her eyes as she fell from her knees to the floor. Dane was smiling. How dare she, her mother screamed. She'd driven off her first husband, and now ... now she was trying to steal her second with those slutty little catholic schoolgirl uniforms, all the time they spent together. For once in her life she had diamonds, and the ungrateful little whore was trying to take them away from her. The second slap was harder, the back of her mother's hand striking with all the weight of the many bejewelled rings she wore. MacKenzie could taste blood. She couldn't move, she just sat there, tears running down her cheeks, her chest paralyzed, her body like lead.

Dane said he never knew caring could damage someone so much. MacKenzie felt her stomach squeeze up into her mouth. He took her back upstairs, discovering her cuts as he stripped her down and laid her into bed. She looked away as he leaned in to kiss her, whispering that she was sick, that he was going to take care of her, that it would just be the two of them soon. It was hard to tell when she fell asleep, it was like she'd come unplugged from herself, her mind toiling somewhere far below the surface. When she came too it was night time. A hand was holding a bouquet of flowers through her window. She recognized a smile she'd almost started to think was imaginary.

Good evening, he said, my sweet girl. He asked her what she'd done to herself. His feet made no sound as he moved to the bed, pulling her sheets up like a hood around her head and giving her cheek a squeeze. She managed a light chuckle. Even if he was just imaginary, he made her feel better. He patted her wrists, smiled, told her that she was still young, that all this would pass and she would feel the warm sunlight of a life all her own. Life is pain, she said. She knew that now, that life was just the stage on which pain played out its horrible, slow dance. He sounded irritated when he told her that she had no idea, but the smile soon returned to his face. They spoke long into the night, and again she cried on his shoulder, and again he hugged her tightly and disappeared. This time he left while she was still awake, panic setting into her heart as she watched his slip out the window. She was alone again. Dane could appear at any moment.

She was seventeen when it happened. She didn't look anything like the child that was; her ears were pierced and stretched, her eyes were smeared with black liner, her lips were pale, her fingers were starting to show the yellow of her smoking habit. She looked tired all the time. She didn't fight anymore. What was the point. She was just working up the courage really. It was a rainy friday, two months after a quiet birthday alone, she skipped school altogehter, spent the day wandering around, looking for her friend. She wanted to say goodbye. She'd cut herself so many times since that night, hoping he would come and tell her to stop, tell her she was silly or stupid. The sun was setting when she gave up, and went back to that forested place she'd first met him. She hadn't brought her bag, all she needed was tucked into the back of her skirt band. Laying down on the dirt and patchy grass, she stared up into the clouds for a few long moments before pushing the blade of the box cutter out. It hurt less than she expected. There was so much blood, it made the box cutter slippery, she couldn't get a good grip. It didn't really matter, already she was starting to feel cold, distant, sleepy. She fell back onto the wet dirt and sod, staring once more into the clouds as her life's blood leaked away. Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt the throbbing in her chest growing more painful with each beat.

Stars swam over her vision as she saw him. His pale face scowling, chiselled with judgment and anger. He lifted her head gently. She wasn't nearly old enough yet, but she'd forced his hand. She didn't understand what he was saying, trying in vain to lift a free hand to his cheek. She mouthed her goodbye, passing out as he lifted her wrist to his mouth. She passed in the hold of ecstasy, her every last nerve lighting as his lips sealed over her wounds.

Something hit her lip. Something cold, and wet, something that tasted of metal. Her whole being ached, like a hangover for the soul, her head throbbed. More droplets found their way into her mouth as a cold wrist pressed to her lips. She found herself latched onto it, drawing blood into her mouth with ravenous disregard. It filled her with such light. Finally he wrenched his wrist away, pulling her up into a sitting position in the process. She demanded more from her dark saviour, and he said he knew just where they might go. He spoke to her as they walked, introduced himself. His name was Andrew. He was the anti-christ, but he wasn't what people thought. He still believed humanity was worth redeeming, but where his first visit was to take unto himself the sins of all believers, this time around he'd been sent to punish the wicked. He had been watching her for years, even before their first meeting. He'd seen what Dane was doing. He would have taken her away to be his disciple sooner, but things are never that simple. They arrived at her home it what seemed like no time. Dane answered the door, immediately shocked by hid blood-covered step-daughter with a grinning homeless man in tow. Her Sire greeted Dane with a cry of "Good Evening Sinner!"

Dane didn't even have a chance to speak. Just seeing his face drove MacKenzie into a rage. Now she could see, she could see the evil that he'd cultivated inside of himself. His face was twisted, his eyes empty, blackened pits, his mouth dripping the black ichor of his foul heart. She tore into him while he was still standing. Tore him to pieces. He was delicious. Her mother had heard the racket. She came down the stairs with the 911 operator on the line. She couldn't even scream when she saw all that blood, all those bits. MacKenzie didn't even notice her at first, not until her knees gave out and she fell to the hall floor, the phone clattering next to her. MacKenzie looked down the hall to where the woman was cowering, terror in her eyes as she tried to scramble backward toward the kitchen. MacKenzie was on top of her in moments, holding her down by the throat, peering at the terrified vein in her neck. She could hear the 911 operator ensuring no one in particular that help was on the way, but it didn't matter. Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you stop him? This didn't have to happen ... MacKenzie's words fell on corpse ears as she lingered over the dead woman.

Everything in side of her cracked, splintered. Joy and pain, happiness and sorrow, guilt and justification, humanity and the beast. Her grasp on reality slipped, aided by the Malkavian blood coursing through her veins. She can't even remember her Sire taking her away, away from her bloody rebirth heralded by the sounds of approaching sirens. Neither of them were fully aware of what they'd done. Police swarmed the scene, found Mr. and Mrs. Wilson dead, found no trace of their teenage daughter. By the following night the streets were crawling with RCMP and volunteer constables searching for any trace of the vanished girl.

Andrew secreted her away to the safety of a derelict store, to the basement. The following night they left their refuge, stopping only once at a Pharmaprix to pick up some hair dye. That's when her tutelage started. while she was leaning over the edge of a rusty bathtub, watching streams of purple water run down the gas-station bathroom's sink. Over the next months they travelled, avoided crowds and police, and she learned the ways of the Kindred, the powers of her own blood, all through the lens of her Sire's madness. Wrapped in his safe guidance, it was easy to ignore the volatile storm her emotions had become. She was introduced to other Kindred as dark angels, taught to hunt the wicked, taught to hide from the sun, and live among her new people. Everything changed when they reached Seattle, Washington. Andrew had said there were signs, omens that they were following to the promised land, and a year after that fateful night she stood with him, staring up at the corporate headquarters of a security software giant in Seattle, Washington. It didn't seem strange to her that Andrew was allowed into the building, that they were both allowed up to the penthouse. Being the Anti-christ certainly had its perks. He sat her down in the living room, told her tonight was a special night, that she was a bright girl, that she'd drank in his teachings with unparalleled enthusiasm, and that she was ready now. He slipped away, promising to return with something special for her.

When he came back, he was ... different. His wild, knotted beard had been shorn off, shaved clean. His hair was washed and combed, pulled back into a ponytail. His dirty collection of thrift-store clothing had been replaced with silk lounge pants and a bamboo-fibre bath robe. He looked just as confused as MacKenzie did when their eyes met. "A ... Andrew?"

Markus wasn't Andrew, didn't know who Andrew was, unless she meant Andrew in Accounting. Who was she, how had she gotten up here, she had no idea the kind of mistake she'd just made. MacKenzie didn't understand, not even when he had her off her feet, suspended from the floor, his hand around her throat. His face changed. It didn't really, but to her eyes Markus' sharp features warped, changed, some kind of demon stretching out toward her from under his skin. The room around her grew dark, fetid, rotten, becoming a hellish landscape as her new sense of purpose fell away, leaving behind the same scared teenager Andrew had saved from death.

Maybe it was her smell, maybe it was a wisp of memory, but he stopped just short of her neck, her struggling doing little against his vice grip. "You're ... one of mine." He said, surprised, confused. He released her, whereupon she crumpled to the floor sobbing tears of blood. Where was Andrew? What was happening? Markus picked her up, dropped her on the couch unceremoniously, took the opposite seat. He stared at her for long moments before he spoke. His voice was cold, clinical. What did she remember? Where had she come from? She told him everything, half-dazed as a cacophony of whispering voices welled up in her ears, deriding her, comforting her, all in disagreement. It didn't matter anymore.

Markus listened, fascinated. When she fell silent, he told her she was crazy, or that someone had made her the butt of a cruel joke. He told her what she really was; a predator, an animal cursed by god. He filled in the gaps in her understanding as she collapsed inward. She didn't even have questions, her mind reeling from what she'd just been told. She was not a dark angel, but a vampire. She was not chosen by god, but a madman. She was not special, she was damned. He didn't try to stop her when she ran, fleeing into what her mind told her was a hellscape, chased by the voices of her subconscious given volume. There was a park nearby, the sight of trees reminding her of her safe place in Toronto. She found a culvert, crawling deep into the shadows and collapsing in the fetid water. She was there for days before her hunger drove her back out into the night.

Alone, small, soaked, she was almost to the edge of the park, trying to ignore the New Years fireworks exploding overhead when someone dragged her into the bushes, wrapped a hand around her throat, pressed a knife to her ribs. He said she was lucky, that he was going to make her feel special. She was so hungry. He screamed when her fangs came out, trying in vain to throw her off. He stabbed her, twice. She barely registered it in her frenzy, the blade still protruding between her ribs even as he gave in to the indescribable pleasure of the embrace, the grip of madness. It was disgusting. She really was just a monster, just another Dane out to fill her own need. Now the horrible thing she'd spent her young life hoping to escape lived inside of her. The best thing she could hope for was death.

She'd started walking toward the beach, the first hints of light blue suggesting she wouldn't have to wait long for the annihilation she so desired. It was as she was kneeling in the sand, the sight of the knife sticking out of her ribs, the pain removing it caused, that turned her around. Light was beginning to brush the sky. She stared down at the bloody knife in her hand, at the gaping wound in her side, and laughed. She'd been such an idiot. Who cared if Andrew or Markus or whoever he was had lied, if he was just another monster ... he'd done for her something Dane never could; He'd made her a monster too. She was stronger, she was better, nothing could hurt her. Fuck, even a knife in her side couldn't stop her. If life was pain, she wasn't life's bitch anymore, and every sensation that wracked her side as she dashed back to the culvert reminded her that she wasn't weak anymore. The hellscape receded, leaving her at peace as she fell back into the shallow water, back against the cool steel of the tunnel, and drifted off to sleep poking her dire injury for the last time as it healed over.

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[Theflamre]

VAMPIRE
THE MASQUERADE

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Name:Johnathan Young but prefers the name Chester
Player: TheFlamre

Birthplace: between dallas and austin Texas
Generation:11th generation

Clan:Caintiff
Weakness: Grip of the damned, addiction, incomplete understanding

◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Attributes ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►

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Physical
Strength ●●●●●
Dexterity ●●●○○
Stamina ●●●●●

Social
Charisma ●●●●○
Manipulation ●○○○○
Appearance ●●○○○

Mental
Perception ●●○○○
Intelligence ●●●○○
Wits ●●●○○

◄▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬ Abilities ▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬►
Firearms - Johnathan has always been an excellent shot, but all the things he has done why wouldn't he be.
Empathy -he knows how emotions work, he's seen too many liers, traitors , and backstabbers in his life to be easily fooled.
Brawler -When the fight gets desperate Johnny gets more violent, plus hand to hand against Johnnie's advantages is a poor choice for anyone
Stealth -he looks like a wreaking ball smashed into him a fair few times. So when the people get staring he's gone in an instantly.
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Disciplines
Obfuscate ●●○○○○○○○○ ( ● for your use)
Potents ●○○○○○○○○○

Backgrounds
Resources ●●●○○
Generation ●●○○○

Virtues
Conscience ●●○○○ boop Self-Control ●●○○○ boop Courage ●●●○○
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Willpower
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Humanity
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Merits and Flaws
Grip of the damned 4pts - There is no pleasure in his embrace, when feeding mortals struggle and scream
Addiction 3pts - He has to mix alcohol with the blood he drinks or else he goes into a frenzy
Incomplete understanding 1pt - He doesn't understand the various factors of the masquerade. The sects involved and the clans may be known to him by name alone or not at all.
Harmless 1ot - though he is anything but given his skills with combat and physical capability, it is widely belived he has no wish to get on anyones bad side. Even after a few encounters that should have ended in violence were had he was just able to talk him self into the sidelines of the battle.

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Resources and Equipment

He owns a reasonably comfortable cottage on the outskirts of Seattle, A dark green toyota four runner, A winchester SXP defender, a glock

Physical Description

Spoiler

He is a tall average built man with mahogany red hear, he normally maintains a decent beard. To be more precise he's 6'9", built in such a way he fits the height comfortably and has a beard that is thick enough you can't see his chin and goes down about three inches from his face at the largest point. He normally wears some decent quality jeans and a nice shirt with a prefrence towards the blackhawk brand. He owns about twelve sets of shoes for various occasion along with that he owns twenty diffrent types of shirt though not a single T- shirt. He does actually own two robes, one for getting out of the shower the other before he sleeps, so he isn't walking around shirtless in a set of long grey pajama pants.

Backstory

If you were a decent enough freind, already new his secret, and had a real reason to want to know this would he the story he told you. To his knowlage he was born on the road, his parents had been traveling between austin to dallas in the night and he decided "yea sure right now seems good". With no medical help he was delivered into this world, sadly due to the lack of medical help he took his mother out of it.
He had a somewhat tense relationship with his father, they bonded over little beyond both of their natural affinties combat and a crued since of humor. Beyond that they avoided each other rather Impressively since they lived in the same house. His father passed away when he was around sixteen leaving him a bit of property in settle and a small apartment complex that his father and him had been living off of.
around 19 he took control of the apartment complex providing him with a reliable source of income. Really he didn'tdo anything with it he just let the long time manager manage and the workers work. Well his family did take pride in helping get rid of particularly troublesome clients, so about two years after becomeing the offical owner of the youth apartments he got a call about a woman.
He marched in and straight up the stairs in room six hundred and twenty two lied a young pale woman. She looked thin, perhaps a little hungry which actually made him feel kinda bad but regardless he gave the usual line "your a month past due on your payment". Most people didnt know who he was they thought he was just hired muscle that evicted people from his apartments ,but she somehow new he ran the place. It is a this point that someone should note he was still young and the whole "oh what a shame what could i pay with" routine worked wonders on a younger Johnny. Well before he knew what was happening she had her fangs embeded in his neck, to describe the embrace would be to describe color to a blind man, as in a terribly painfull. He to this day thinks thats just how it feels, thats how it feels when he does it to other and it seems saine that having someone digging their fangs into your neck would suck completely.
He later relised that she had only made him into a vampire for the point of continuing to live in his apartment building for free. At the time though as he gradually figured out what both of them were he felt deeply honored and terrified. The next five years were alot of trial and error, his sire more focused on teaching him how to avoid getting caught and surviving then the masquerade. Gradually he got a good hold over his new powers, his sire after a decade of teaching him told him he was ready to live on his own. He later relised she had just found somewhere else to live and abandonded him, but screw her despite being abandoned, clanless, and void of useful skills other then how to fight he knew what he was doing. Atleast he thought so, with a very incomplete knowlage of the masquerade and all the other little vices that his sire had so kindly left to him he was basically stranded. Though it never bothered him, to him every little flaw was just natural.