Post by lucien on Apr 14, 2009 4:43:22 GMT -5
[/i]Adrian Montrose
is now entering Sins of ImpunityAbout YouName: Ernie
behind the RPer
Age: 28
Years of Rping: 14 years
Contact: If you wish to contact me on Messenger just ask for my contact info.ID Tag
Name: Adrian Montrose
Gender: Male
Orientation: Straight
Real Age: Born in 1680
Physical Age: 28
Species: Vampire
Sire: She was known by many names, superstition prevented me from knowing her true name. She believed that knowledge of her true name would allow anyone to magically control over her. But I can tell you this, she was the most beautiful being that I have ever laid eyes upon and the most ruthless.
Religious Affiliation: Agnostic; It is hard to deny the presence of GOD, when you are immortal.
Wealth: Wise investments.
Job: An Author and Artist
I am a respected author and artist. I have a best seller which has taken inspiration from my own life, as well as being featured in several art galleries around the world.
In addition to the income gained from my side jobs. I was most fortunate to invest my money back in the 80's in several up and coming companies. Perhaps you have heard of them, Microsoft and Apple? So needless to say, I live rather comfortably.Dear Diary
Specialties:
2. the Occult
3. Vampiric Abilities
[li] Pheromone Control
[/li][li] Defy Gravity
[/li][li] Super Healing
[/li][li] Super Speed
[/li][li] Telepathy
[/li][li] Super Strength[/i]
[/li][/ul]
In my early nights, I soon discovered that I my natural the abilities such as healing, strength and movement were heightened beyond mortal means. But as my blood matured, I began to read minds with with relative ease, as well as block my own mind from being read and to my delight, I could seduce women with little effort. However, the most amusing skill I developed over the years, was the ability to defy the laws of gravity.
Aside from the abilities given to me by blood. I have an unnatural hunger for knowledge and over time, become quite disciplined in the Occult, studying everything from Kabbalah to Voodoo.
Weakness:
1. Sunlight
2. Fire
3. Gold
4. Impalement
5. Amputation
6. Decapitation
This is purely conjecture, however, my sire informed me that due to my bloodline that the complete removal of my heart or being beheaded would result in final death. Although, I have total confirmation that the myths of sunlight and fire is hazardous to my health. To my surprise and utter dismay, I am extremely susceptible to gold. It's touch burns like rays of the sun against my skin.
Appearance
Hair: Dark Amber
Eyes: Light green
Height: 5'9
Race: Caucasian; Nationality: French
Skin Tone: Pale Alabaster
Body Type: Athletic
Clothing Style: He dresses in Gothic inspired fashions when out on the town. However, wears jeans and a random band t shirt as casual dress.
Footwear: A variety of Demonia Leather boots
I consider myself to be attractive. Although I am not terrible tall, however thanks to Immortality I still appear to be in my mid 20’s. I love to wear leather coats, jean's as well as leather boots. I shy away from mainstream fashion and I tend to dress more in a darker style. I have no piercings or tattoos. But, tend to keep my amber hair a bit longer than regular guys.
Personality
Likes:
1. Blood of women;
2. Knowledge:
3. Art
4. Djarum Blacks
I love blood, honestly I can't get enough of the stuff. Especially blood of virgins. But what I love more then blood is knowledge. I enjoy learning more about the Occult. Aside from that I enjoy art, both in practicing and collecting; I've become a notable connoisseur of fine art. Excuse me while a take a drag of my cigarette... Mmm, yummy. I love the flavor of clove cigarette. Consequently, they help remind me to breath around mortals.
Dislikes:
- Angry torch-bearing peasant mobs
- Witch Hunters
- Werewolves
A side from one murdering my mother. I have a deep seeded hatred for stubborn witch-hunters, who try tirelessly to expose my dark gift to the the rest of humanity. A few have succeeded through out the centuries, resulting in me being chased out of villages by angry torch-bearing peasant mobs.
Flaws:
1. Honor Bound
2. Paranoid
3. Vindictive
I have been hunted all my life, and with good reason, I have excessive suspicions of the motives of others. Especially since integrity is a rare virtue in these times. Without honor we are nothing more then mindless beasts. Because of this I will never bakes my word once given. Many have tried to take advantage of this character trait. However, their attempt to dishonor me only earns my ire. I could easily spend centuries plotting and waiting for the perfect time to strike, to archive retribution.
Background Check
Family Members: Deceased
Birth Place: France
Childhood: Explained in his personal memoir.
Prey: Mainly women
Transformation: The act of biting itself does not spread vampirism. The sire drains the blood of his childer and gives him or her a small amount of their blood, which transforms the childer into one of the undead.
History:
I was born in France, in the year 1680, the only child of a Roman Catholic family. My father, was deeply religious, and a extremely abusive man, who supported his family as the local smith of our small village.
I spent my childhood, trying to live up to the enormously high standards set by my father, and was beaten every time I disappointed him. Because of this, I became very close to my mother, who desperately tried to protect me from his wrath, but only succeeded in sharing in the abuse.
She was an innocent, child of nature and the only literate member of the family; She secretly practiced the arcane arts and hid her activities from her overly-religious husband. She would teach me what she knew with the hopes of protecting me from the physical and preternatural dangers of the land.
One accursed day, my father came calling and discovered my mothers dark secret. Outraged, he took her and with a calloused fist filled with golden locks of hair, violently drug her through the town and towards the cathedral. Before everyone proclaimed her a witch. His testimony was enough to lock her away with in the town keep until church authorities could arrive and deal with this blasphemer personally.
From what I remember, it was abnormally wet. Grain lay rotting in the fields due to the nearly constant rains. With the harvest so adversely affected it seemed certain that there would be food shortages. But with the news of her crimes, these signs of famine would be conveniently blamed on her.
Before long, a crowd had gathered in the town square. At my fathers side, I stood held tightly as I watch my mother be bound to an upright stake atop a mound of shorn timber. “NO!” I roared. "Silence, child! You are too young to understand. I am saving her soul. I am doing this because I love her." My father said, tightening his vice like hold. I looked up at him with cold indignation. Tears swelling in my eyes.
An Inquisitor stood atop a pedestal in the vestments of a high standing member of clergy, and in a gesture of feigned benevolence; he made the sign of the cross, then spoke aloud. “You are charge with heresy, for the practice of black magic and it is through the infinite compassion of our Lord God, that you shall burn in purifying flames, cleansing your soul and freeing this curse upon our land.” Outrage rippled through the crowd. “Burn her” they all chanted.
“May god have mercy upon your soul.” the executioner whispered as he placed a leather pouch of black powder around her neck. Then stepped down from the pyre. He then reached for a lit torch and touched it to the kindling. Flame slowly rippled upward, distorted her body and licked her face. She looked out through the rippling wall of flame, as she desperately looked for her son. She cried out my name. "Remember that I love you." she said and it was as if GOD said she had suffered enough, the powder bag exploded, snuffing her life in an instant. At that moment my faith in religion died with her.
I longed for retribution. It was then that I began to devote myself to the way of the sword. Strengthening both my body and mind. The nightmares of that night, kept me committed to my goal. I eventually became an esteemed member of the town guard. I hid my contempt well and masqueraded as a loyal subject of the Pope. All the while, I was just biding my time and plotted my revenge.
The people of my village requested my help with a pack of wolves that were terrorizing the livestock. I naively agreed, then rode into the forest of Fontainebleau, confident in my success. I couldn't wait too head back, I knew that my bravery would win me the adoration of the young village women. I was so focused on which one girl I would choose first, that I lost track of where I was and missed the signs of ambush.
My horse reared up, it was clear she could sense something that I could not. Her reaction snapped me back into reality and began to immediately search the area. I was clearly the prey and could feel eyes upon me. All was quite, save for the intermittent whines of protests from my horse. Before I knew it, a large wolf leaped from the brush and knocked me from my horse. I hit the ground with so much force that I was instantly winded.
I tried to stand, and unsheathe my blade, only to be hit again from another wolf. With the adrenaline flooding in my veins, I did not even notice the razor sharp claws that tore in to my flesh. With blade in hand, I brandished my sword with panache, my actions big and theatrical, very reminiscent of Errol Flynn. From the corner of my eye I could see another wolf charging me, I swung. The yelp let me know that I hit it, but its momentum carried forward and knocking me a bit off balance. The wolf was followed with the rest of its pack mates and landed three fast, hard blows, sending me reeling. “Son-of-a-bitch!” I exclaimed, staggering in pain, one hand on one of many wound. At some point in the conflict, my horse fed in fear, leaving me with no hope of escape.
Looking upon it in retrospect, I failed to see that they were merely toying with me and at any time they could have killed me. But, in defiance I fought on. It was clear, these beasts were not normal wolves.
But after they had their fill, I was left there in the heart of the forest to die. I could only surmise out of pure speculation that these beast had no appetite for human flesh and it was the sent of my blood that attracted a far more dangerous predator.
Laying helpless upon the blood-soaked earth, she approached me like an a goddess trapped in human form. Her beauty was unmatched by any woman that I had seen, then and even now. She knelt next to me. "So brave..." She said, her voice was as warm as the sun and smooth as silk. "Your dying Adrian. Do you wish to live?" she asked. I had yet to achieve retribution and it took everything that I had left, just to utter the word "Yes."
She took me in her arms, kissed my neck and I felt a slight pinch as her teeth sank in to my flesh. The fear and confusion faded, replaced by pleasure, as my blood ebbed from my body. But, pleasure would give way to Hunger as I tasted her blood.
My mind began to clear and the lessons childhood prepared me for this moment. I knew now that I was in the presence of a vampire. But, it took a while to grasp the thought of what I had become.
I soon acclimated to the change and accept what I was. I quenched my thirst as a neophyte vampire by consuming the blood of animals. Which amused my sire greatly, she thought it best that I try a new cuisine and while simultaneously achieving retribution.
I was too eager to comply my sire's request. Under her tutelage, she showed me the art of the Hunt and taught me how to use the shadows and the terrain to my advantage. I caught on quickly and not even the town watch was aware of my Presence.
She told me to adhere to the cardinal rule of immortality at all times, which was to always hide my true nature form my prey and that breaking this rule would result in death. Either by humanity or by my fellow brethren.
I entered in my fathers domicile and found him sleeping next to his new bride. "You must not wake him." she said to me. "We cannot risk the chance of them screaming and drawing unnecessary attention." I nodded in acknowledgment, then followed her guidance to the letter and with a firm hand around his mouth, I bit hard into his neck. Making sure to make the experience as agonizing as possible for the old man. He struggled, but my new strength was no match for the man. I looked up and noticed my sire feasting on the old mans wife. Revenge tasted so good.
With the old man dead, we then brought slow agonizing death upon the executioner and then moved to finalize my revenge by going after the Inquisitioner who damned my mothers soul.
It was then as he held a gold crucifix up defensively, I discovered my intolerance for gold as I knocked the religious objects from his hand that I felt a sharp pain, as if my I placed my hand on a fiery skillet. The broiled flesh ached, but this only threw me into rage and hit the priest across the room. A loud crack let me know I broke something important.
He tried to claw his way to the door. "The power of Christ compels you." He cried out. I laughed in reply. "For a man who spent years condemning innocent people to death. I doubt your Christ would help you now." I told him. He tried to scream, only to feel my boot connect sharply against his jaw. Teeth and blood sprayed across the room. With his jaw clearly broken, he could barely utter a gargled moan. As he lay helpless on the wooden floor, I proceeded to vent my rage by striking the man, from a mounted position. Each vivid memory of that day evoked another hit, each punch eased my suffering.
Before long, with raw knuckles and his skull unrecognizable. My sire placed a hand upon my shoulder. "It is finished my love." She said calmingly. I stood, free of the pain of loss. I felt now that I could move on and so I did.
I remained at my sires side, until the day that she taught me everything that she could. In that time, I came to learn not only how to master my vampiric abilities, but I gained a genuine education. I could walk the courts of Royalty and be perceived as member of the aristocracy.
I spent my time dodging witch hunts and with the rise Revolution. I left my homeland, and traveled New Orleans. There I hoped that I would be free from Revolution and War. I owned a small plantation and due to my lust for knowledge, increased my education in the occult by offering freedom in to those willing to teach me the ways of Dahomean Vodoo.
Code Word:
Do the mashed potatoe, do the twiste
Mad Skills
Straight, glossy, jet black hair tumbled over his broad shoulders and down his back, skimming the base of his spine in long airy threads. Complexion was pale, though made more so by his ebony locks, than by aberrant means. Eyes of sulfuric amber glinted within.
Attire was simple enough, a loose fitting ebony Marquis shirt worn over leather pants. Although he wasn't what one would consider handsome, still he possessed a unique charm that made him unnaturally attractive.
The rhythmic pulse of music beat against his chest, reminding him momentarily of a heart that had long ceased.
Between his fingers rested a lit clove cigarette, left a pleasant sweet aroma in his wake.
In his hollow existence, joy came to him intermittently, like an orgasm in the throes of intercourse, but never lasting.
His eyes swept across the room, filtering out those on the dance floor and piercing through shadowy corners and too his surprise he spotted a young mortal woman that had always brought warmth to his cold unbeating heart. He could smell the sweet ambrosia that was her blood that coursed through her veins. Jealousy filled him as he watched her dance with the man who he felt was undeserving of her undying fidelity.
His mind drew disturbing images; painting sadistic scenarios and for a moment loss of contact with reality as his primal vampiric nature gnawed at soul; a demanding bestial instinct which he tried to seal away into the recesses of his mind. A task that grew more daunting as his blood matured with age.
As the spell of psychosis released his mind. He laughed at how someone like psychotherapist Eugen Bleuler, would react to his bouts with supernatural Schizophrenia.
He reminded himself to blink and the cigarette in his hand remind him to breath. Two human instincts, he had lost through time and as he drew smoke into his lungs, he continued his search for someone he knew.
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