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[Isi Runasimi]

Alias: Forfax

Name: Dabriel Enoch Dantalion

Age: 287

Gender: Male

Species: Vampire

Specialties: While a competant fighter, especially in hand to hand, unarmed combat and in swordplay of all kinds, Forfax's skills mainly lie in the area of words. He is, first and foremost, a writer, a scribe. He was to become a monk before being turned into a vampire, and he developed an affinity for books and writing at an early age, encouraged by the monks with whom he lived. He has also developed many skills relating to travel and navigation, since much of his life has been spent on the road. He can read the stars better than any living (or undead) being he knows of, as well as navigate from signs in the world around him. His fighting skills are relatively rough, honed through necessity rather than being taught, but they serve him well enough and have helped him elude many scrapes in his travels. He also has a working knowledge of many languages, picked up along the roads, and the latin which was obligatory for manuscript writings. He is also a fairly adept artist, though his style is considered very old-fashioned, and can bind and mend books with a great deal of finesse, using many tools and materials. He can make ink from almost any natural ingredients available.

Weakness: As a traveller, he has always had difficulties with forming relationships. Though at first he seems at ease with people and sociable, he lacks the necessary experience to form permanent or long-term bonds. As such, he has no allies, and is unlikely to gain any, with the exception of his sire. This has led to a solitary nature, and an unwillingness to seek help from others.
He is also very inept around things of the modern world, even modern navigational aids. When confronted with the computer, the typewriter, the telephone even, he is utterly at a loss and will ultimately turn to a more familiar and more difficult method. In some cases, this ineptitude has transposed into fear, and Forfax will rarely travel on planes, in cars or on other forms of transportation that he is unfamiliar with. He therefore resorts to slower methods- walking and ships- both of which is is perfectly happy to cope with, but which slow him down and leave him tired and unable to function as well as he might.

Physical Appearance: Naturally inclined to be pale, vampirism has only increased the pallid nature of his skin. His hair is palest ash blonde and cut relatively long, slightly curly. His eyes are equally pale, one blue-grey, the other lightest green. His nose is thin and slightly too long for his face, giving him a very pointed look, and his lips are thin and cold seeming. He rarely smiles, and when he does, it doesn't sit well on him, seeming to be forced.
He has long, thin limbs and a slim body, both from undernourishment and from natural inclination. Since he was turned at mid-teenage, he still retains the somewhat gawky look of one who has not yet grown into his body.
His fingers and hands are permanently ink-stained and calloused, both from travel and from his writing. But despite the well-worn look, his fingers are pretty nimble and able.
He generally wears travelling clothes, well-worn and often dirty. He favours jeans or similar trousers and loose shirts with jumpers, though he has a long coat he wears in winter. His shoes are permanently dusty from roads, and almost never look new, even when they are.

Personality: From his time with the monks, he is prone to silence and introspection, and this was accentuated by his time travelling alone. He feels emotions less than others, seeing the world with a cold disregard, its people too. He is very determined as well, and will persevere upon any task he has chosen for himself until it reaches fruition. He has a voracious appetite for knowledge, and goes out of his way to read and find things out. He can have a softer side though. He considers all of his actions very carefully before undertaking them, aware of other people's needs, even as he feels detached from them. He knows of his lack of emotions, and can sometimes compensate to make his passage through life easier on himself and the world.
Surprisingly, given his upbringing, he is relatively irreligious, reserving his adoration and worship for books and his work.

History: Forfax was born to a rich Italian family in 1720. His mother and father were both from noble families, though not particularly powerful ones, and as a third son he enjoyed a comfortable life without the pressure of heirdom. When he was four, however, his parents and one of his brothers died mysteriously, seemingly of a sudden sickness. Forfax was left alone with his eldest brother, Samael, but was soon turned out of the family home and left in the care of the local monastery, since his brother neither wanted him nor cared for him. Forfax did not resent this, since he and his brother had never got on well, and threw himself into monastery life with an eagerness that surprised and delighted the monks. When he was twelve, it was discovered that his brother had in fact poisoned the rest of the family to inherit his position and pay off debts to various powerful people of whom he had fallen foul. His debts had continued to mount even after he inherited though, and soon even the family home and lands were not enough to pay the creditors back. Samael decided to make use of his brother, who had survived the poisoning by not having eaten with his family that night, and sold him to the individuals who wanted his money in return for not being killed. He then fled the country to France. The creditors arrived at the monastery to remove Forfax the next night. He went with them quietly, in shock at what his brother had done and unwilling to visit suffering upon the monks who had cared for him.
It turned out that his new masters were werewolves, a small clan who had made use of their longevity to gain monetary power as lenders. He remained with them, a servant, for five and a half years.
When Forfax was almost eighteen, the home of the werewolves was attacked. Unknown to him, the assailants were vampires who had debts they weren't inclined to pay and found it easier to deal with the creditors in a more direct way. They found the teenage boy after the massacre, sat calmly in the kitchen. After some debate, he was taken with them, later to remain with only one of them. He travelled with the vampire, who called himself Fabian, for a short time as a servant. But Fabian, starved in the wilderness, turned on him for food one night. He drained the boy to the point of death, but acting on his compassion, turned him into a vampire to prevent his death.
On awakening and learning of this, Forfax took it relatively well, having at that point little regard for his own mortality. He stayed with the vampire for a little longer, learning the ways of the undead, but they separated after a few years, when Fabian decided to move to England.
He then began his life travelling, wandering the continent, and was struck one day by the notion that so much around him went unrecorded, so much was never seen by anyone else. He then took it upon himself to record all that he saw or did, everything he believed should be remembered. It became his life's obsession and sole purpose. He listened to news and travelled to all the places where the major events of the world were happening. When he could not witness them himself, he tracked down those who had and wrote down their stories. He has continued to do this from that point onwards.
He moved to England as the British Empire grew, but was unable to find his old master, despite his searching. He grew to love England, however, and began to return there after each new trip to discover things. So he still remains there, a lot of the time, since modern major events are all recorded. Instead, he records the small but important events, writing them in leather-bound books and storing them away in a holding unit. He has yet to decide what will be done with them all.

Family: Mother, Father and Elder Brother deceased (murdered). Eldest Brother deceased (executed for fraud several years after fleeing to France).

[Isi Runasimi]

Nephthys
is now entering it's all in yer mind

About You;;
behind the RPer

Name: Rosie
Age: 18
Years of Rping: A couple
Contact: MSN messenger, pm or email

ID Tag;;

Alias: Nephthys
Name: Sascha Koren
Gender: Female
Orientation: Straight
Real Age: 258 (born 1750)
Physical Age: 18
Species: Vampire
Sire: Nephthys
Religious Affiliation: Kemetic
Wealth: Her organisation is very wealthy, but personally, her wealth is around that of a well-off, middle class single. Not hugely rich, but well-off.
Job: Mostly through the organisation, growing over the years through interest and shrewd investment (by other people… Nephthys isn’t great with money).

Dear Diary;;

Specialities:
1. She has a great ability to find things which are hidden, to get her hands on anything someone pays her to find.
2. She is fluent in many languages, a product of her upbringing.
3. She can make herself at home in almost any company.

Summary:
Having been brought up in a particular manner (see History), Nephthys grew to have many skills. She is well-trained in many of them, and relies on natural shrewdness and cunning for the rest. Through necessity, she became very good at locating things that were lost, or that did not want to be found, and she has turned this skill to her advantage. Various museums know her well, and pay her better. Sometimes she has to resort to thievery to get hold of things, but she has developed the necessary light fingers to cope. Sometimes, though, she has to resort to more persuasive means, which is when her training kicks in. She can be lady of court or down to earth girl, whatever circumstances dictate, and she can impress anyone and everyone should the need arise.

Weakness:
1. Her inner feelings of insecurity make her vulnerable to criticism.
2. She can sometimes be too determined to succeed and so fall into traps other have lain.
3. The usual vampire problems of sunlight, garlic etc.

Summary:
Her major issue is her inner insecurity. No matter the front she presents, she takes criticism to heart. She hates and despises the constant feelings of incapability she has to put up with at all times, but cannot rid herself of them. So she tries, harder than anything, to compensate outside. She pushes herself further, harder and tries to fly higher than anyone expects of her. She sometimes then is susceptible to being fooled, as she runs too fast to see where she is going, metaphorically. When she inevitably falls into problems, she hates to ask for help to get out of them, and hates herself more for having been fooled.

Appearance;;

Hair: Chestnut
Eyes: Blue-grey
Height: 5’9”
Marks: She has an eye of Horus tattoo on the sole of her left foot, the mark of her organisation, and blue flames at the base of her back.
Race: Caucasian
Skin Tone: Pale, despite her dark hair.
Body Type: Slim and wiry, all muscular and tightly wound, though over the past few years she has put a little fat on, making her slightly curvy.
Clothing Style: Her clothes change every day, depending on mood, what she can find, and how much she feels like blending in. She enjoys messing around with styles and looks, one day perhaps wearing a bowler hat with a suit skirt and waistcoat, carrying a sword-stick, another seeming like any other hippy. She tends to gravitate towards older fashions, male and female, but is by no means restricted to them. When all else fails, she will resort to black and black, a habit picked up from her time in Egypt.
Footwear: Also flexible, but nearly always something with good, solid heels. Stilettos for preference.

Summary:
When first seen, Nephthys is rarely easy to forget. She tends to flamboyance both in makeup and clothing, and leaves a lasting impression on any onlooker. But to look closer, beneath the art and artifice, one would see that she is naturally quite striking as it is. Her long chestnut hair against white skin and blue eyes is particularly stark. She isn’t traditionally beautiful, being more what one might describe as vivacious, or indeed striking. Though her features themselves are attractive, something of the force of her personality shines through to take away the softness that would allow her the description of beauty. And she does not try to be beautiful, she wants in her appearance only to be memorable. Everything about her is illusory and crafted to impress, everything contrived. She spends many hours changing her appearance to her liking.

Personality;;

Likes:
1. Crowds and busy-ness, being around the rush and hum of life.
2. Reading, she is more of an intellectual than most of her appearances would make anyone think.
3. Independence, being free to do as she pleases.
4. Travelling.

Dislikes:
1. Solitude and silence.
2. Being forgotten, even for a moment.
3. Powerlessness.

Flaws:
1. She is contrary and stubborn, and will sometimes to things just to prove she can.
2. She is too intelligent for her own good, and does not always keep her mouth shut when it might be more appropriate.
3. She won’t always take advice.

Summary:
Held up by her pride and wilful independence, Nephthys has problems attending to advice and instruction from those who know better. She has a great urge to prove that she can do it, that she doesn’t need anyone’s help, and it is her undoing that sometimes this isn’t true. She is also very forthright, never being able to keep opinions and thoughts to herself, leading her into sticky situations from which she often needs help to extricate herself. Help she will almost never ask for. She will rarely even admit to ignorance, keeping a lofty and vague air until she can wheedle out of seeming unknowing. But these all hide a gnawing feeling of inner insignificance that taunts her always, making her act as she does as if to prove to herself and the world that she is capable. So far, she has always managed to get out of the problems she has caused herself, or other people have helped her, but every day her outward pride and inner helplessness grow, and she does more and more reckless and dangerous things, knowing even as she does them that they will lead to trouble. She simply cannot help herself anymore.

Background Check;;

Family Members: She never knew her family, except as names on a birth certificate- Giles and Angelina Koren.
Birth Place: The British Embassy in Cairo.
Childhood: Her childhood was at first spent roaming the streets of Cairo, after the disappearance of her parents, as one of a gang of street-thieves who crept into houses at night, and then in an orphanage run by a Christian order, when they found her ragged and starving in the streets, unable to stand and run after her fellow thieves. They fed her and cared for her, but only for a year or so, and she remembers the time there until her seventh birthday as a mere blur of kindly faces and warm nights.
Transformation: One night in the orphanage, a shadow moved into her room. She had been used to this, the streets of the city being full of strange creatures, the stuff of folklore and urban myth, and she personally was used to being followed, but this time, it was a vampire, a face she had glimpsed in the shadows behind her over her lifetime. It was an old woman, at least to Sascha’s mind (the woman looked around forty) and she seemed to hypnotise the girl, beckoning her to follow. She carried Sascha away into the night, to the ruins of some forgotten necropolis. Underneath, Sascha was brought into a secret organisation, a kemetic group who worshipped the gods of Ancient Egypt. She spent the rest of her childhood there, and, on her eighteenth birthday, was bitten by the woman who had taken her, Nephthys. She was then initiated into the group in the name Nephthys, and became a vampire, sucking the last of the blood from her sire and killing her to take her place.
Prey: At first, Nephthys shared the ritual sacrifices the order used in their religious rites, but later, when she began to move outside the necropolis, she started feeding from people she found beautiful or attractive, always young men. She never killed the ones she fed from, always leaving them with a wink to be taunted by the image of her face.
Fang Power: Her bite does not turn a human, she can only do that if they drink her blood, but she does somehow, whether through a chemical or something older, make those she bites, for a time, fall deeply in love with her, wanting nothing more than for her to drink them dry.
Other Transformation: She has never transformed a human into a vampire, thinking that it would have to be in the same way she was turned, by them drinking all her blood and taking her place. She doesn’t know that just a little of her blood in one from whom she feeds would be enough to make them the same as her.
History:
Though born to a well-off family, Sascha’s childhood was not a pleasant one. When her parents disappeared in mysterious circumstances, never solved, she was moved from the police station to various places and then forgotten, until she fled the unfeeling care of the authorities to fend for herself, aged only four. She was quickly absorbed into the local street gang, her small fingers always handy for thievery. Her life there was hard, often painful, and she doesn’t remember it all too well, knowing only that there were many children in the group and very little food to go around.
Her memories of the orphanage are just as faint, though happier, as she was fed and clothed and cared for.
It is from the time that she was snatched by the vampire called Nephthys that most of her memories stem. She was educated, taught to speak properly, in several languages, and better fed and clothed than anywhere she had been. The labyrinth of tunnels under the ancient necropolis housed a community of vampires, children and humans, all living happily together. They were joined by their religion, worshipping the Ancient gods of Egypt together. For Sascha, who had never really encountered much religion before, save the odd prayer at the orphanage, this was new and wondrous. She threw herself into it, loving the sacred ceremonies and rituals, the formula and group sharing of it all. She felt a part of the group, and she loved it, never having truly known such camaraderie. She and a group of other children on similar age were schooled together, having learnt many languages by the age of twelve, to a degree of fluency allowing them to easily read many of the books in the library housed in the base. By seventeen, they had also been schooled in etiquette of several cultures, how to dress and speak in company and on all sorts of things necessary for young men and women of good standing, as well as competence in armed and unarmed combat. There was none of the social strictness of contemporary society in the little community, and relationships were even encouraged, to form stronger bonds. Sascha herself had dalliances with several of the boys in her group, though none of it particularly serious on either side. It was only a day or so before her eighteenth birthday that she discovered one of the boys, a tallish, pale man of Nordic origins, had fallen in love with her several years before, and had silently watched her since. She was touched, not really knowing how to respond, but she didn’t spurn him, wanting to ask Nephthys, her mentor, for advice.
As well as their lessons, the children had all spent time with a personal mentor, each with a name of one of the gods or goddesses of Ancient Egypt. In their time with their mentors, the children learned the rites and rituals the vampires performed, and gave willingly their blood as sustenance. They had always been taught, from a very young age, that this was acceptable and even worthy in the eyes of the gods.
But she never had a chance to ask Nephthys. The night of Sascha’s birthday, the 25th of May it was, the group were all called to one of the temple rooms. It was a room they had never been allowed to enter before, and they all stood fascinated in the spots they were told to stand in, waiting to see what was happening. Their mentors stood with them, with all the other worshippers gathered around in the galleries. In the centre of the circular room, stood the high priest. He too was a vampire, though he had no child to tutor. There were rumours that he was as old as the religion they practised, though he looked only to be in his youth still. His eyes had a sense of age in them, though, so very few people doubted the rumour.
He directed them all to be silent, as he and the other vampires began a chant, something in a language none of the children knew. It went on for some time, guttural and harsh, and they began to worry, lost and uncertain as to their purpose. At the height of the chanting, each mentor turned to their allotted child and bit their neck as often they had done in the past. Such was the atmosphere of the room that the children panicked, for a moment, trying to escape, until the familiarity of the scenario set in. But their mentors drank more blood than ever they had before, the children slumping to the ground as they were let go, almost completely drained. When a slit neck was presented to each, they drank hungrily, not realising until their mentors shuddered and collapsed into dust from whose neck they had been feeding. They stood, all of them in a circle, and the high priest told them they were vampires now, and would each adopt the name of their mentor, taking their place in the circle and the rituals, as they had been trained to for many years.
After that night, the group of them began to change. There was first the painful, shuddering change of vampirism, strange and new and exhilarating, but also the change in status. Before, they had been accepted and part of the community, now they were something alien and other, to be respected and obeyed. They all took differently to their roles, and to their new names, but each grew to accept in time.
After a few years, when Sascha was around 27, though her appearance hadn’t changed, they were told to go out into the world, to explore and learn, and were given a date by which to return. She and the boy who had loved her, the one who had taken the position of Seth, set out together. They wandered to Europe, to the farthest North and warm South, enjoying this freedom and the ability to roam. After a few years out there, Sascha realised that perhaps she did love Seth as he did her, and for a time they were together, even when they returned to Egypt.
On their return, they took up the duties of their mentors, falling into a routine of ritual and responsibility. It was by no means dull, but Sascha, who was only then beginning to think of herself as Nephthys, missed the open spaces and wide freedoms of the world.
Years passed, and she and Seth enjoyed a close and loving relationship, and an easy friendship with the others in their group. They did their duties with strong faith, never doubting that they needed to be done, despite their mutual desire to be back out there, free.
Then, when Nephthys was 93, and becoming a little sick of their routine, much though she still believed, strange things began to happen. Some of the humans, the normal believers, in the group began to go missing, turning up days later lost and bewildered in old and mouldering corners of the base. Rooms were wrecked and no one knew whom to blame. Items were stolen. Holy relics were defaced.
After several nights of vigilant watching, on the orders of the high-priest, the vampires found the culprit. A group of hunters, too weak to strike the vampires but too stupid to leave them alone, had found them and wanted to wreak havoc. Of course, once found, they didn’t stand a chance. The vampires killed them all, but not before they had managed to kill a fair proportion of the human population of the group.
After that, things became worse and worse.
Fights broke out amongst the vampires, humans began to leave in fear. Rituals were left undone and holy words were left unspoken. The group was tense, irritated, and the next few years passed hard and slowly.
But pass they did, in often silence and angry shouting. Only Seth and Nephthys managed to stay on good terms, though they had their moments.
The high priest managed to bring in more humans, more believers, and for a longer time, all was peaceful again. Fifty years passed in strange and welcome calm. The vampires realised they needed the humans to survive, and treated them as well as they had those with whom they had grown up, coexisting happily.
But peace was never to last.
No one knew why, but frustrated and angry, one of the vampires, the one known as Ma’at, went into a madness and killed everyone she could, feeding on them. So many had she killed that it took all the rest of the group to subdue her and lock her away, deep inside the deepest parts of the base. It broke them.
They could not kill her, because her blood was needed to create her replacement, as was her tutelage, since the secrets of each member were closely guarded, passed only from mentor to child. But nor could they give her a child to teach. The rituals were very specific, giving exact dates for when each child was to be initiated. When and where they should each be found. And none of the other vampires was particularly keen on hastening their own death.
Then they were forced to decide. Seth succumbed to the same madness as Ma’at, though he did not kill. Nephthys managed to calm him, spotting the signs quickly enough that he could be locked away as well before he hurt anyone. It broke her heart to see him, chained and angry, hurting each time she visited him.
But his madness helped provoke a decision. The remaining vampires came together and decided they would leave. They would split up, see the world, be as they had so many years before, and come back when they could, to see that what rituals could be done were so. The high-priest acquiesced, not wanting any more of them to become like their brethren. He told them when to return, and gave them all missions to do in their absence. They each left willingly and gladly, except Naphthys.
It had been too many years since she had been apart from Seth, and she would not leave him. It took all of the persuasive powers of the high-priest to make her go, and she was in tears as he pushed her out of the final door. He locked it behind her, telling her it would not reopen until five years later.
She was alone, in a changed and scary world. She seemed incapable of sorting anything out, achieving anything, and at first she became shy and timid, hating herself for being unable to cope without Seth and for her uselessness.
She could not shake this feeling inside, of inadequacy and self-hatred, even as the years passed. Her fellow vampires, on their return after five years, no longer respected her and told her so. She was despised and taunted and sought refuge with Seth.
He was little comfort, only remembering her sometimes, in snatches and snippets, the rest of the time insensible and mindless.
But something changed when once again she left for the world. She managed to create for herself a mask, a way of acting to hide her inner fears. She commanded respect, made people remember her, did everything she didn’t want to do or be. She managed to cope.
The returns to the temple and the rituals grew less and less over the years, the group instead being set tasks. They were to find artefacts or to locate texts which the high-priest deemed valuable.
They ran into one another, intermittently, but Nephthys was always treated with the same bitter, cold contempt. When next she saw Seth, he no longer recognised her at all. She retreated further and further behind her mask as the years passed.
She earned her money doing services for the group, travelling wider than the others and doing things none of them would dare to attempt. In return, she was allowed not to have to come back, unless it was needed, and granted freedom to do practically as she pleased. She grew to love this freedom, far more than the oppression of tunnels and rituals, and to dread ever having to go back there, where the rest of them were.
She made her home in many countries, leaving houses and the trappings of a well-off woman where she could always access them, and made her name to humans as a capable art-dealer, cunning artefact-finder, and all-round well-connected woman. She employed people to deal with her money, to make it grow, so she could more and more be independent from the people who hated her, and whom still she loved.

Code Word:
muffinsrc00l

Can, if my character is accepted, Tom be removed from my character list, please?

[Isi Runasimi]

Most famous of the Roman poets, turned at death's door in exile in Tomis, Ovid lives in hope of rekindling the love he lost in his death.

Ovid;;
is now entering it's all in yer mind

About You;;
behind the RPer

Name: Rosie
Age: 18
Years of Rping: A fair few.
Contact:

All the pretty little icons under my name… *points leftward*

ID Tag;;

Alias: Ovid
Name: Publius Ovidius Naso
Gender: Male
Orientation: Straight… ish…
Real Age: 43BC – 17AD So 2050.
Physical Age: Mid-thirties
Species: Vampire
Sire: Fabian
Religious Affiliation: Roman Pantheist
Wealth: Annual income of £500,000
Job: Publishing royalties from poetry.

Dear Diary;;

Specialities:
1. Poetry and other arts.
2. Being a smartarse.
3. Sword-fighting.

Summary:
Obviously, his main ability is his poetry. He is world-renowned for his Metamorphoses, Amores and Ars Amatoria, for which he was banished by Caesar Augustus. He was originally trained in rhetoric, however, and so is a skilled public speaker, able to argue a case very effectively, when he so desires. His poetry, however, has always been his calling and his passion. He delights in parodying the traditional metres, rhymes and rhythms to which he was expected to adhere, cocking a snook at his one-time contemporaries. Nowadays, he still has a knack of poking fun at the styles of others, especially those he feels take themselves too seriously. He likes to make them feel he is the superior artist, for all his jibe and comedy. He is not only skilled in one area of the arts, however. If not for the accident of his birth, being a few centuries too early, he might have been described as a renaissance man. He has a good grasp of scientific concepts, an able hand at painting and a good ear for music. He can play several instruments, and is always learning more, and his singing voice is very pleasant, if a little reedy. In the martial areas, though he was never trained in his youth, he has developed some skills over time. Through his association with the upper echelons of society throughout the ages, he managed to steal, beg and borrow a thorough education in swordplay and boxing, as well as some horse-riding improvements on the rudimentary skills of a young boy in Sulmo. However, his martial skills are very formalized, and he is sometimes at a loss when facing a more… impulsive opponent.

Weakness:
1. Reticence to change his ways.
2. Obsessive love of Lady Thorn.
3. Lack of adherence to rules.

Summary:
Because he was born human, and in a time of rather proliferous polytheism too, Ovid is a touch on the religious side, though in a rather unorthodox way. He continues to worship the gods of his age, despite their long retreat into the realm of myth for the modern man. He has, therefore, on several occasions, had to make a hasty exit when he has been caught offering a sacrifice to one god or another. For some reason, humans always seemed rather touchy about it. Of course, his devotion to religion also lets him down when it comes to religious symbols. He cannot approach most doctors’ surgeries, for the presence of the caduceus. As a vampire, he is turned away from the symbols of the ancient gods, which brings up trouble in the oddest of places. Though it seems a little thing, it has proven very troublesome at times. His other major weakness is his long-abiding love for a vampire from his human life. Though at the time she was called Alexandra, she now goes by the name of Lady Thorn. She left him for dead in the Baltic, before he was turned, and he spent many long years searching for her, and still is to this day. It is her face that haunts him in the daytime as he sleeps, and in the night-time as he must hunt and hurt humans for their blood. He cannot rest or stay anywhere very long without her image returning to his mind. So his love for her, which still endures, now encompasses hatred too. He wants her to leave him alone, and has been driven slightly mad by her eternal presence in his mind. His loose morals have also brought him to trouble throughout his life. Again a product of his youth, in Rome, where almost anything went, his somewhat free style of living has often been called into question by more… conservative authorities through Europe and the centuries.

Appearance;;

Hair: Dark brown.
Eyes: Dark brown.
Height: 5’10”
Marks: A scar on his right arm from a horse-riding accident in his youth.
Race: Caucasian.
Skin Tone: Pale.
Body Type: Stooped and lanky.
Clothing Style: Restrained, upper class gentleman. Dark and unimaginative.
Footwear: Well-polished shoes, such as those which would be worn by an Edwardian middle class man.

Summary:
Typically for one of his birth, Ovid has a strong, aquiline profile, his nose, though not exactly large, rather dominant in his face. His hair, too, is the common colour for one of Italian ancestry, being a rich, dark brown, almost black. His is kept mid-length, hanging down to his ears in a messy style, though once it was well-cared-for and well-groomed. His eyes are also a very deep brown, and are quite deep sunk into his face, though remarkably expressive and passionate to look at. His eyes are the true windows to his soul, though his mouth too can be incredibly apt at portraying his emotional state. Like deep pools, one can tell in an instant from his eyes whatever mood may have taken hold of Ovid’s mind. His eyebrows, thin as they are for a man’s, arch quite high and can give him a rather startled appearance.

His hands are rather large for his proportions, with long, thin, tapered fingers. His nails are well kept, clean and often manicured, the mark of a man of poetry, in his day. He has a gentle touch, with his hands, and has long since learned to play many musical instruments, though hours of practice have left no mark or scar on his soft skin.

He is neither tall nor short, standing at 5’ 10”. His posture is generally slightly stooped and servile, so as not to bring attention to himself, though when he begins to recite poetry or even rhetoric, he becomes more upright and seemingly confident in himself. At those times, he stands, shoulders back, eyes bright, as though he is the lord of all creation. His general shape is lanky, a man born for “loose-clad leisure… whittled down by love” as once he wrote. His legs are quite long and skinny, and he will rarely show them, a little embarrassed at their state.

Strangely for one so old, he has kept quite up to date with trends in clothes and jewellery. He wears, mostly, dark jeans and a dark shirt, with a long felt coat and smart shoes. To most, he appears to be a wealthy man in his casual clothes, an image he likes to put across. It puts him in mind of his social position in Rome as an orator of equestrian birth. He wears little jewellery, save a signet ring he has kept for most of his life, bearing his family crest. He could never bear to part with it, as it was a gift from his father upon his coming of age.

Personality;;

Likes:
1. Peace and quiet in which to think.
2. Independence.
3. Solitude, a lot of the time.

Dislikes:
1. Criticism of his work or self.
2. Being surrounded by stupid or ignorant people.
3. Being ignored.
4. Being forgotten.
5. People who don’t use their brains.

Flaws:
1. Impatience.
2. Intolerance.
3. Mental problems.

Summary:

Prone to mood swings and odd changes of opinion, he has often been described as possessing an a-typical artistic temperament. He can, on occasion, be completely manic, working away at his poetry and prose like a madman, writing verse after verse of the most beautiful writing, not even pausing until the sun begins to rise on the horizon. On these times, he can be a pleasure and a burden to be around, infecting everyone with his joy and passion for life, for art and for beauty. Of course, not everyone takes kindly to such enthusiasm, but at these times, he generally is too buoyed up by the joy of his work that he cannot spare a thought for cynics and critics. He will revel in all beauty as he sees and hears it, and can enrapture those around him, sometimes as far as the bedroom.

Then, of course, there are the dark times. On these nights, he will sit silently on a rooftop, gazing up at the stars and moon, reflecting on how they have changed in the millennia since his birth. It is at these times that his mind turns back to his love and lover long since lost in the mists of time. He can turn to the blackest despair, wanting an end to the torment of his love for her, but never daring to give up the search, to see if she truly lives still. He tries not to encourage human or other contact at these times, knowing he can be prone to bouts of rage and temper, destroying things at random and sometimes even hurting people. Generally, these bouts are short, and he will fall once more into despair when they pass.

In the times between, when he acts, for want of a better word, normally, he is a rather serious character. He tries to see life for what it really is, taking in every detail, and sometimes this means he misses some of the fun that goes on around him. Though his wit is remarkably sharp at parodying styles and poems, he can sometimes be at a loss, when in these middle times, for something intelligent to say. He will instead settle for a silent shrug, continuing to watch the world go by until his mood turns once more.

Background Check;;

Family Members: Mother, Father, Daughter and three spouses all dead.
Birth Place: Sulmo
Childhood: Born to a well-off equestrian family in Sulmo, he had an easy and pleasant childhood. He was well-educated in all the arts, first by tutors at the family home and later in Rome in the academies for young men of standing and among the great poets of the age.
Transformation: On the brink of death in exile by the Black Sea, his lover’s brother turned him against his wishes to try to protect his sister from the pain of the loss. At first, Ovid resented Fabian for this, but soon grew to accept it.
Prey: Ovid makes little distinction between people from whom he feeds. He will drink from anyone when thirst takes him, though he tries not to kill them.
Fang Power: His fangs secrete an amnesiac, causing his prey to forget having ever been fed upon.
Other Transformation: To transform a victim into a vampire, Ovid must drink from them and then allow them to drink from him, as the mutagen which causes his form of vampirism is carried in the red blood cells and in the plasma proteins.
History:
He was born on the 20th March 43BC to a well off, though not particularly affluent, equestrian family in Sulmo, in the Apennines, East of Rome. He was educated in the city, and was hoped to enter a career in law, by his father at least. Unfortunately, Ovid’s taste tended towards the more emotional side of debating, and so his interest in rhetoric was based purely on his father’s insistence. He enjoyed his time in Rome, however, being there able to come into contact with the foremost poets and writers of the day. He could hear them reading their latest works, and this fired him to begin to write for himself.

After his father’s death, Ovid’s meagre interest in rhetoric came to an end, and he began to travel. He visited Athens, Asia Minor and Sicily, as many young men of his rank would do. He even held some minor public positions before returning once more to Rome.

It was in Rome, as a poet, that he met and fell in love with the vampire Lady Thorn, though she still went under her original name at that time (Catalina Alexandra Corvinus). They met when a relative of hers, Marcus Valerius Messalla Corvinus, her uncle, decided to offer his patronage to the young poet. During the course of this relationship, Ovid met whom he then thought to be a young male of the Corvinus family. It was widely known at that time that the clan Corvinus were vampires, and had been for centuries, perhaps even millennia, but Ovid had needed the financial support. His family had had little to do with him when he decided to take up poetry as a career. Of course, Lady Thorn had been masquerading as a boy, with her uncle’s help, to allow her to attend some of the academies in the city and gain a young gentleman’s education, and to see some sights beyond the family villa and lands. She had managed to fool most of the others she came across, but in his frequent visits to her uncle’s city apartment, Ovid came to see her for what she was. He began to visit more to see her than to see her uncle. Being rather more lenient than the rest of the family, and a little doting on his young niece, Valerius paid little overt attention to the growing relationship between the poet and the girl, though he clandestinely made sure he always knew what was going on between the two.

Over the course of several years, the two of them fell deeply in love, Ovid even writing poetry for the vampire, though he addressed her by a different name to save her reputation from her family, who were against vampire/human relations.

During this time, Ovid’s family in Sulmo arranged a marriage for him, but he and his wife got over their lack of interest in each other by spending as little time together as possible. Unfortunately, his family weren’t too happy about this, and arranged another marriage. This time, he was forced to spend some time with his spouse, and even had a daughter by her, much too Lady Thorn’s distress. He loved the girl, however, and cared for her despite his lover’s misgivings.

At the same time, Ovid’s poetry became more and more recognised, well known throughout Rome for its innovative ideas and new twists on old themes. His love poems, notably salacious, were particularly popular. But this popularity was not to last. Caesar Augustus brought in new marriage reforms, discouraging the illicit and infidelious behaviour encouraged in the Ars Amatoria and Amores. For his apparent crimes of bad publicity, and perhaps his involvement with a scandal with Augustus’ daughter (though Ovid always refuted his part in that) he was banished to the Baltic, particularly to Tomis, where he was forced to remain for the rest of his life. Lady Thorn, besotted and having little in Rome to keep her, followed him, travelling only at night and reaching the little colony of Greek settlers a month or so after her lover.

They stayed there together, him writing poetry mourning his move from Rome and her begging him, as his health deteriorated with age, to allow her to change him to a vampire, like her, so they could be together forever. He refused every request. He did not want to be forced to inhabit the shadows and the night as she did, much though he loved her. Every time she asked, it hurt him to reply, but his beliefs on the soul and the nature of evil just outweighed his desire to remain with her until the end of days.

For a few years he survived there, with her help, but his health rapidly declined, and it came to pass that soon he was helpless, lying in her care and being begged incessantly to give in, to change. She loved him so much, he knew, and he didn’t want to die and leave her, but there were widespread beliefs at that time that the vampires, when finally dead, would go straight to the depths of Tartarus forever. In his pious nature, Ovid believed this, and did not want to condemn himself to such torture for eternity. And so, one day, he reached the end, with her by his side. His last act was to give her the necklace he had worn since childhood, and begging the promise that she would not forget him. She agreed, then fled, knowing that his burial would bring with it religious ceremonies that would make clear her nature to the locals and risk her life. She disappeared into the night and back to Rome.

However, she had not been alone as she watched Ovid pass away. Her brother Fabian, missing her, had followed them from Rome and seen that last interaction. Feeling sorry for the fate of his sister and her lover, he turned the human, clinging to the last tiny thread of life, into a vampire like himself. On his wakening in his new state, Ovid was scared and angry at first, but grew very quickly, over the course of a few days as his body changed and he learned to feed on the locals, to accept his state and even welcome it. It brought him health he hadn’t known in years and strength beyond what he’d ever imagined.

So, when he had got used to his new body and being, he journeyed back to Rome with Fabian, hoping to reunite with his lover. Unfortunately, she had been taken away by her family to their villa North of the city, where he couldn’t go. Fabian, too, was soon spirited back to be reprimanded for his disappearance. So Ovid was forced to walk the city streets alone, feeding on plebs. But he was recognised by old enemies as he skulked in the darkness, and Caesar, still remembering the poet’s old wrongs, and now much afraid of his newfound immortality, had him banished once more, forcibly, and brought about a new law preventing his return to the city, ever, so long as there was an Emperor to enforce the ruling.

Despite countless efforts, Ovid was therefore obliged to remain outside the city, unable ever to even catch a glimpse of his love. And then the barbarians came, burning the city and killing everyone they could. Fearful, he fled, ashamed but unable to fight. When they had stopped their raiding and fighting, and the city was in ashes, he thought that his love had died, and so moved North, to the colder regions where he could be alone with his grief.

He didn’t write poetry again for many years.

He spent centuries wandering Europe, purposeless but too afraid of death to give in to it. He earned money to keep himself alive and learned languages to blend into each new country he came too. His skills with language, speaking, persuasion, even singing, meant he was never out of pocket, and in fact he managed to acquire quite a fortune in his time.

He spent the first several years in France, then Gaul. It still retained, in certain places, much of what had made it Roman. He earned his money where he could, sometimes with feats now easy with his new abilities, sometimes with theft and trickery, fast enough to get away without humans noticing until he was safely gone. It was a poor existence, though, on the edges of society, without the benefits he had enjoyed in his youth. He soon moved on.

His next stop was Constantinople. After Rome fell from grace, Constantinople, the capital of the Eastern Empire, still held some sway over the surrounding countries. Here, Ovid found some respect as a trained public speaker and writer, using his skills in wills and other such things for those who couldn’t write. He moved in more exalted circles than in Gaul, willingly accepted by the more decadent locals, who held still the skills of rhetoric in high regard.

But his time there was not to last either. Christianity had been growing in strength throughout his years as a vampire, and soon his friends turned against him, believing him to be against the way of the one god. Local rumours that all vampires descended from Judas Iscariot, cursed by the Lord to wander the world, undead and infectious, did not help his standing. He was forced to flee to prevent his own death.

His next years were spent away from civilization. He lived on rats and other wild animals, learning something he had never needed before- self-sufficiency. It was hard at first, and he lost a lot of weight, almost dying of starvation and exposure on several occasions, but slowly he managed to learn to take care of himself. In the wild and the boredom, however, he began to compose poetry again, needing some link to society to save himself from madness.

When at last his fear of persecution was outweighed by his need for people and life and cities and civilisation, he moved to the West, heading into France once more. The place had changed in his years away, however, and he had trouble keeping up with the language and the new ways. He was canny enough, though, to disguise his vampirism and to keep up the front of a good Christian, since the religion had long since proliferated through Europe. He took up the life of a wandering minstrel, always having had a talent for music, joining a group of others to learn the songs and the ways. They accepted him, to a degree, for what he was, since their sort were always on the fringes of society anyway. He soon was well known in the area they frequented, his playing much improved by his vampirism, and by his gladness to be among people again after time alone. As the other minstrels grew older, moved away to settle, or aged and died, he carried on alone, becoming somewhat of a legend, a folktale, a minstrel older than a minstrel could be. He sang and played in all the best houses, composing tunes and rhymes of knights errant and ladies fair, the sort of thing which pleased the people of those days. It was a far cry from the licentious poems of Rome, but it seemed the decadence and freedom of expression he had so loved had perished with his home.

The travelling life kept him going for some years, but news of a cultural Renaissance in Italy soon drew his attention away from France. He followed the whispers of old legends revived, old poems revered once more, and came to be a part of the new culture of the age. Poetry and art flourished once more, and he moved to Florence, highly popular for his learning and culture in the ways of the Classics. He dared not go back to Rome, however, not wanting to see his city in ruin and dust. But as the Renaissance marched on, and the sonnet was invented, and sculpture carved, and chapels painted, he felt almost at home again, on familiar soil and amid familiar things. Venice, with all its gold and glory, appealed to his tastes and the language that had grown from his sounded more pleasant and alluring than the coarser, as he saw them, tongues of further North.

During these periods, as a minstrel and a man of culture, he began to associate more and more with people. He always preferred some silence, but he drew closer and closer to humans, seeing them now in a rather different light to the people he had known as his fellow people. They were like art, it seemed, bright and beautiful but sometimes all too fleeting. In drawing closer to people, he drew closer to women once more. In faces he saw the memory of his lost love, and he grew to hate her for it. Not a sullen, morose hate, but a burning dislike. She’d turned him into a moping, sad recluse, so he delighted in feeding from women of her looks. He had dalliances too, but they were fleeting and meaningless, except as he tried to pull himself away from a deep feeling for her. He never succeeded, but hid this fact from himself, enjoying his life as best he could.

He moved back to France, to Belgium too, wandering, as culture and learning spread. Being Italian, or seemingly so, made him just as attractive to the “foreigners” as his Classical learning made him to the Italians. Wandering again, but this time as a rich man, he enjoyed Europe once more. His money had been earned in his years as a minstrel, and in teaching in Italy, imparting his knowledge to the sons of the rich and culturally aware.

He didn’t settle until he came to England in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, when he was attracted to the poets and the literature being produced. He had long since resumed his own poetical works, but refused to publish. It wasn’t his era anymore, though his old works had survived the ravages of time. In fact, his work became famous again, more so than it had been in his youth. He was the true classical man.

In England, he lived in London, at first, going to the new Globe theatre and enjoying to free and easiness of the middle-class culture. But the death of King Charles I in 1649 ended that for a time. Cromwell’s religious reforms brought a wave of harsh puritan thinking, which frowned on such lavish and blasphemous culture as Rome and Italy and France. He lay low, in the poorer parts of London, spending little money and living as a miser, distant and unknown. That was the front he presented, anyway. Inside his small house, he wrote furiously, penning plays and poems, never publishing them, but enjoying the new language in which to write, rich and full of warm and varied vocabulary. Almost as good as Latin.

Cromwell passed and Charles II came, once more the decadence returned, and the acting, with more relish than ever. Ovid published, then, a few of his own creations, under pseudonyms, and achieved modest success, earning enough royalties to keep up a pleasant, middle-class existence.

With the plague’s arrival, he left the city. He didn’t fear for his health, since he doubted he could even catch diseases like normal people did, but the dirt and squalor and the pall of death chased him away, making the city an unpleasant, funereal place to live. The countryside held him for a year or two, boring though it was, until the plague passed and he moved, not to London, but to another centre of learning, gaining renown throughout the continent.

So he made himself a home as a wealthy gentleman in Cambridge, keeping up to date with politics and literature, but otherwise avoiding the prying eyes of society, disappearing every now and then and reappearing under a new alias. He wrote every now and again, publishing enough to earn the money to keep him in pocket, and translating old and “unreadable” texts, some of which he had known as new and contemporary, once. He did nothing to put himself forward, content in a quiet life of scholarship and art, with a reputation as a very learnèd scholar among the students of the university, who would sometimes come to him for advice and help with Classical texts. He was an expert, after all. He made frequent sojourns to London, and to Paris and Venice, enjoying a life of culture and studious solitude.

In Victorian years, he mingled a little with the literary chic of the day, taking opium and perusing the new intelligencia, many of whom he had run across as young Cambridge students, not the high and distant poets with deep existential ideas and world-changing power. The Empire, reminiscent of Rome at its height, disgusted him. He had grown to despise all the trappings of such power, save the literary and artistic merits, that the Empire building brought. He had seen the slums and the industrial squalor, and he wanted no part of that. At least Rome had had the decency to call slavery what it was.

And so he wiled away his days, keeping abreast with art and the like, a figure on the edge of society, nothing more than a shadow of a person, flitting through the world with his only intent being to enjoy what he had.

It was not so long ago, in a second-hand bookshop, when he was idly perusing some obscure Victoriana that he saw a sign that his love was not yet dead. He recognised the poet’s style as being that of Fabian, brother and friend to Lady Thorn. He bought the book, looking up everything he could on the assumed name of the author, and slowly began to piece together the clues to the vampire’s location. He was certainly here in England, that was clear.

So the past few years have been spent searching, hoping that, by finding her brother, Lady Thorn might too be his once more.

Code Word:
muffinsrc00l

Could, if the character is accepted, you be swapping him for Forfax in my list please? I be posting a request for Ancient status toot-sweet.

[Isi Runasimi]

That is all correct?

[Lady Thorn]

Yes. Thank you, and goodnight.

[Isi Runasimi]

You're welcome. ^ ^