Below are the 20 most recent journal entries recorded in SinfulStories' LiveJournal:

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Saturday, January 2nd, 2010
12:12 pm	OOC: Bennet My Invictus died last night at our GotM. I'm not upset - I showed up to kill a character, and my character got killed. My PVP flag was totally up. It's what happens when you come to game, y'know? - Z (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, December 13th, 2009
1:37 pm	Sabbat - Lasombra. Feel free to drop a line for ties. Still fleshing out concept. - Z (3 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, April 27th, 2009
10:47 pm	Requiem-Chris: Promised Victory OOC: The following is what I sent the Carthian List tonight, to illustrate the way Chris views the conflict. It's posted here for OOC entertainment, as well as critiques by players whom I respect. If you think you can see a way to improve my PC's stance - or arguments to shake it up some - feel free to give them to me. The character has a better political mind than the player, so I'm just trying to not sound like a jackass. I submit the following to my Brothers and Sisters, in the hope of illustrating the differences between the Carthian Movement and the Invictus: First, please note that this is diatribe comes from a Carthian who believes that the Movement will not reach its full potential until the institution of the First Estate is destroyed. It's important you keep that perspective in mind, as it colors everything I do as a Vampire - and, somewhat more to the point, it gives a base from which everything I'm about to say comes. The Carthian Movement and the Invictus are fundamentally different as institutions - the philosophies of neo-feudal conservationism and progressive experimentation are equatable to the notions of risk versus certainty. The Invictus - as an institution - have found a stasis which they feel comfortable maintaining. The Carthian Movement has recognized the inherent flaws in this structure, and have decided that the risk of change is underwhelmed by its potential. Now, those are the institutional theories, mind. In practice, there are very few 'Unconquered' left in the Requiem. Like... maybe ten to fifteen active on the global stage, with three or four times that number in isolated domains. The reason? Pragmatism. Many Invictus have become pragmatists, which is a direct contradiction to the principles on which the First Estate was founded. Tradition Without Question was the clarion call of the First Estate, but these nights the Invictus have begun to recognize their flaws, and adapt to overcome them. Make no mistake: that makes them Carthians. There is no sacred and sacrosanct methodology to the Carthian Movement. Our strength is in our willingness to change, to learn and to grow. I have a euphamism which I've found serves me well: the Invictus and the Carthian Movement are guns in a war. The Invictus are a derringer - they're shooting a single direction, and their bullet isn't good enough to get the job done. The Movement is a Kalashnikov - we're firing fifty bullets in fifty directions. Sure, most of our shots are going to miss. Yeah, the recoil is a sonuvabitch. But all we need is one bullet to fly true, and we've done our job. You Can't Stop A Carthian - Chris X (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Sunday, March 29th, 2009
9:42 pm	Cross Posted - Awakening Concept This is take one for my post-reset PC. I'm sure details will be added in as I go. - Z --------------------------- Public Persona Inspirations: Buck-O-Nine - I'm The Man Lou Bega - Just A Giggolo Ronny Jordan - The Jackal Private Persona Inspirations: Pearl Jam - Last Kiss The Beach Boys - God Only Knows Sara McLachlan - I Will Remember You Danny Grey Quote: "Sure, in this world, everyone's lying to you. Shit, everybody's a lie. Want that drink now?" Order: Guardians of the Veil Faction: Prophets Path: Mastigos Legacy: Not Publicly Known Public Persona: Dany Grey, PR Consultant and Guardian of the Veil. Not the kind of Guardian you're used to, though. Danny's never killed a person - hell, he gets a little quesey when people remind him where a hamburger comes from. Really, he's just in this job to make sure that things stay as (relatively) sane as possible. He drinks, he smokes, he watches football, he flirts, and he does his job - covering up the stupid mistakes of others. It's no big deal, really - it's what the Guardians do, after all. No big thing. Wanna dance? Guardian Persona: Quiet, reserved, respectful. A voice of reason amongst the unreasonable, but with an understanding that each Faction of the Order has its part to play. He really has no issue with murder, but other avenues should be pursued first. Semi-Private Persona: One of the most bitterly cynical men you're likely to ever meet. He drinks, smokes, laughs and flirts because that's what he sees the rest of mankind doing - and he feels the need to mock them. He doesn't truly hate people... he just has no respect for them. Baa, little sheep. Baaaaa. Deeply-Private Persona: The man is still reeling from the loss of his first true love. At the time of his Awakening, she died in a car accident... and he has never recovered. He cut off his mourning prematurely, and as such has never truly come to grips with what happened. As a result, any reminder of the event cuts deeply. Interested Ties: [Open] Guardians and members of other Orders who have worked with Danny in the past. He's got a no-strings-attatched view when it comes to helping with messes, so this is really just an open invitation to put him on your PC's speed dial. [1 Person Only] Someone with 3-5 dots in Death who wants to play a major role in the PC's life. This tie is specific in nature, but it can lead to either antagonism or friendship at the player's choice. [Open - Females] Characters that Danny hits on or otherwise flirts with. The interaction never actually developes in to anything, but he's a shameless tease. [2 People Only] Two characters who want to be extremely trusted by Danny. Involves having a massive mechanicle edge over my PC, and also having a dagger at his throat. Not an (openly) antagonistic tie. [Semi-Open] People close enough to Danny to know the real him. Where he comes from, why he acts the way he acts, what happened to his fiancee. This tie will likely end in angst. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Thursday, February 26th, 2009
5:06 am	OOC: Respond To This First five, your pick of PC and subject. I'll write for my mage, my Changeling or either Vampires. (7 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, February 15th, 2009
7:25 pm	Requiem-Bennet: Associations Long have I admired those who understand their purpose. Creatures, the meek and the mighty alike, shuffle through existence without rhyme or reason. They drown capability in a sea of selfish desires, moral considerations and emotional conceits. They attempt to rise above their station, to achieve that which they do not come to naturally. Their squandering disgusts me, reeking with the taint of futility. There is little that invokes more loathing than the futile wretch. Is it any surprise, then, that I have chained my contemporaries together as a monolithic testament to pragmatism? From among the legion quarries, churning rough-hewn stone forth without end, I have plucked the finest of gems to consolidate my desires. Creatures who not only understand their place in existence, but accept it without fear or trepidation. Caleb Barrow, the barbari, the blatant threat. Clever, vicious, murderous, callous... and utterly honest in his savagery. Not without guile, perhaps, but certainly dependable. One always knows the motives of a savage, for surely savagery itself is its own defining desire. He bathes in blood, he revels in gore, he delights in the fear of others... and he takes pride in his work. Of all those at my side, it is Caleb who I count most pure. Simon Cassio, the ever considerate shadow. Duty, loyalty, prudence and determination - these are the tools of the one so proudly titled Minister of War. Son of the Caesar, Julius. Son of the Khan, Genghis. Be it the table of a council or the field of a battle, he dedicates himself singularly to his chosen mistress: Victory. An ancient dedication perfected in execution. The wand of a conductor, the blade of a soldier, joined in his grasp. Amrit Patel, vengeance made flesh. How did she turn from flaw to perfection? What flame forged her hatred to cruel intent? She will bear witness to agony for the ecstasy of the moment. She will reap the harvest for the pleasure of watching the grain fall amongst the chaff. Her motives are selfish, for in the creation of agony may she forget her own. Gaudium est miseris socios habuisse penarum. Asira, Sunda, merchants of brutality. Refined cruelty gilded with false honor. Ambition unrestrained, uninhibited, and skillfully directed. Masters of their chosen craft, vessels of a prejudiced hate millenia in the making... is it any wonder they achieve theirs ends with violent efficiency? Lucien Sutter, the seed of entropy. Does he know his purpose in my design? It matters not, for he fills it to perfection. Lucien who would destroy love and hate with equal abandon, who would inspire creation that he might sing of destruction. Never content, he forces change with his every action - complacency, his only true enemy. Give the devil his due, indeed. And I? I am but a simple architect, the shadow of a dream, sent to taunt the ambitious in to accomplishment. Bennet Alexander Clearwater February 2009, CE (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, November 25th, 2008
4:57 am	Changeling: A New Story Crossposted With inunitywefall So, after thinking it over a bunch, I'm making a new Changeling. The concept is a far cry from anything I've ever made before, and is going to be a real challenge for me to pull off without delving in to the world of silly. That said, he still has some of the main elements - mainly in his ability to interact with plot and in his sheet - which I really enjoy as hallmarks of my characters. If you're at all interested in playing with me any, I invite you to read the story below (under the LJ cut) and look at the wiki link to see if this is something you think might work for your PC. ( Ties Wanted ) ( Story ) http://changeling.cam-wiki.org/Hank_Dozer Thanks, - Z (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, November 9th, 2008
7:23 am	Requiem-ChrisX: I Don't Get It "No, I don't fucking understand it, ok?" "Mmm... but it feels so good..." Chris sat across the bar stool from the woman, drinking from his beer bottle and grumbling. The music was loud and the crowd louder, and for once he was glad for it - in a quieter building he might have gotten a headache. His companion might be called beautiful by some, a woman who looked to be in her late thirties. Her face had laugh lines at the edges, making her once-glamorous face approachable. "How can you not get it, Chris? I mean... it still... works, doesn't it?" She laughed, looking him up and down. "You know full well it still works. It just... I don't know. After you die you... forget, I guess. I don't know. That's the wrong word. It just stops being an issue." He grumbled, drinking the liquor-laced blood from the bottle. "Shut the fuck up." "I didn't say nothing, hun." There was laughter in her voice, though, and her eyes were bright. It hadn't been that long since she was chained by blood, made a Ghoul by that sick fuck. The old Gangrel couldn't help but wonder if the chains were starting to form again, but this time it was a Carthian she was locked to. The thought sickened him. "I'm just saying..." He grumbled again, trying to work his thoughts out. "That... what? That the only interaction two Vampires should have is violent? Does that make any sense?" "Yes. It does." "Well... I suppose if you were to tie her up and make her call you 'Alder'..." "Seriously. Shut the fuck up." (5 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, September 28th, 2008
4:04 am	Awakening-Kid: Answers He sat alone in the room, dressed only in a pair of simple, undyed cotton pants. The rocks lining the wooden floor sent curling tendrils of steam towards the ceiling and drew the sweat from his body like the desert sun. For once in his life he was motionless, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only sign of life. Behind his eyes the world was chaos, tumbling and twisting as he strained to find an answer. His mind ached at the effort, forcing logic out of chaos with each connection discovered. As he ranged, words came to him slowly and painstakingly, words of truth. She sits near the road And states that she is Justice. I end her weeping. It's June second, 1900. The man sits with six others in the dojo, and listens to the man across from him speak. Pao Ling is upset, enraged that they would go this far. These men, Pao claims, would change China in to something perverse. Paint her like a whore and sell her to the West in silks easily ripped off. Pao is enraged and prepared to act... but he doesn't see the blood that will come. The man sees, and he understands. "Very well, my friends." He stands slowly, smoothing his gi. "We will enter Beijing this night." Inside, he wept. The man knew there was another way... if only he was strong enough to find it. A cry in the night. A man with only his drink. Pain, the cost of war. It's July fourteenth, 1791. Joseph Priestly is agitated, tearing at his hair and weeping. They'd burned down the hotel and were marching now on the church. The man watched as the smoke from their torches traveled down the long street, and imagined he could feel the heat from their hatred. "What do we do?" Joseph asked, sobbing now. "We only... we only wanted..." "We wanted change, Joseph." The man said, his voice low and strained. "We wanted them to understand, never realizing ourselves the depth of their fear. Now of their fear is wrath made, and we will die for it. Now we die, Joseph, and pray that God forgives our foolishness." God watches, quiet. His mercy does not witness. Foolish hate of man. It was December third, 1890. "I never should have listened to Tolstoy." The man grumbled, fingering the spot in his jaw where once a tooth had called home. "We can't change the world with calm words and collected thought. He isn't right. They will never accept our faith, never accept our beliefs. Not without a fight." "Please, Nicholai." She whispered, holding his sleeve tight. "Please, let this pass. Please." "No." He pulled away, shouldering his rifle. "The time for pacifism has ended." The man went to kill, and the woman went to mourn him. Man is ever proud. Lord of all that he may claim. Death robs him of sin. It is September twenty eighth, 2008. Opening his eyes slowly, he feels tired. His bones ache and the sun shines blood red through the dingy window. The rocks have cooled and there is a chill in his spine, but he does not recognize it. He has gone searching for answers, and he has found them. "Service... is Mastery." The man is a fool. He believes he has knowledge. Let him learn the truth. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, August 19th, 2008
5:38 am	Requiem-Bennet: The Wisest of the Wise. ((OOC: This post is written with absolute credit and thanks due to the other players in House Egregoroi. The scene was great, and I believe that the phenomenal interaction I got with the other members really helped me figure out my own PC. Special thanks, without doubt, go to Fed and Trigger, whose PCs were so infuriatingly self-confident that I took my cue on seeing how 'Megalomania' really affected Bennet.)) They will speak forever if I allow them. They will speak forever and say nothing of consequence. The most noble Vampires of Clan Mekhet had gathered in the Pacific North West to speak of the incident. The members of Domus Egregoroi sat in the study of their Pater Familias, eyeing each other with a variety of emotions and motivations. Bennet, seated in one of the leather chairs, held his timepiece in one hand and his cane in the other. As he listened to Alim drone on he rolled his wrist negligently, watching the patterns of light as they filtered through the crystal head piece of his cane. Alim was intelligent, sophisticated and logical... but he was also an insufferably boring coward. Do I sound like that when I speak? On one side of the large room Bennet studied Thomas Kent, the Praefectus accused of violating the Pax Sanguinas. His facial hair trimmed and oiled, his clothing pressed and recently tailored, he could well have been a man out for a Sunday brunch... but for his eyes. His eyes contained a fury and a passion one rarely saw in members of the Clan of Shadows. Pity, that. If he could only control his eyes he may have been able to truly control how others perceived him. But... no. No, even here he kept one of those daggers at his waist. No, Kent was an idiot. Worse, perhaps? Kent was a bored idiot. Across from him sat Oved, his face and posture carved in lines of hate. He hated Kent with every fiber of his being... which, in and of itself, made him an idiot as well. He did not see the manner in which he could capitalize on the situation. He did not notice the way that Kent admitted guilt - guilt! - with his every word and deed. The poor fool could have traded in an idiotic, psychotic sire for a capable, powerful slave had he only been willing to settle for less that Kent's death. But... no. He stood on principle. Someone must pay for the death of Javhod Masoudi. No, Oved was as stupid as Kent. Carthians. This really does come back to Carthians, doesn't it? Has there ever been a greater waste of fervor and zeal than the loathsome Carthian Movement? It takes Mekhet - Mekhet of the most noble breeding, no less - and turns them in to children, squabbling over who kills whom and for what cause. It takes two assets of this House and bids them to tilt their lances, to cry out with passion that one shall live and one shall die. It is the greatest factory of simpletons and degenerates since hated Rome. Rome... which would birth the Invictus. If there is a higher power, it surely appreciates irony. And... what's worse? The barbarian horde has decided to send its mongoloid children to storm the gate! Not five hundred yards from this room sit December Carnivale, Amichai Yarden and the rest of the would-be brute squad. That massive oaf Percival speaks of destroying every member of this House with his own hands. Simpering fool of a Gangrel. I can not help but wonder if he - if any of them - realize why they will survive this 'siege'. They are saved by one individual, and he one who privately loathes the destruction they would inflict. Yes, Carthians, were it not for Citizen Prince December Carnivale, Domus Egregoroi would crash upon you as completely and with as much fury as the Greeks exhibited unto the Persians at Plataea. But... no. December Carnivale is too important and capable - physically and politically - to be ended here. Much to Mr. Thibideaux's chagrin. I doubt dear Alexander has even the first clue of his import to this House, yet he remains ready to squander his worth all the same. That Vampire would gladly end his Requiem for the chance to fire just one bullet. My Family may be brilliant and capable, but it does not stop me from wishing they had reached my level. I am standing now, and walking forward. I lift my cane in both hands like a cudgel, hefting it as I step before Praefectus Kent. "You truly don't get it, Thomas? You don't understand why everyone is so upset? No one here truly mourns the loss of Javhod Masoudi - they mourn your exhibition in idiocy! Think, you blundering buffoon!" My cane comes down, striking him on the temple even as Sophia and Ava take his arms, holding him still. "There are hundreds who would sell their souls to have their name recorded as he who ended the Requiem of Javhod Masoudi! They would have offered up the gold of their teeth for the honor of being your hatchet man!" Again it comes down and I relish the feeling of skull giving way to steel. "But no! You had to commit the deed yourself! Never has there been a thorn deeper in the heel of this House, then the sense of 'Honor' you simpletons hold dear!" Stepping forward I dash my hand across his forehead, coating my palm in the vitae and wiping it across my face. I am anointed in the vitae of my family, marked with the blood of my blood... No... it was only a pleasant delusion. Professor Ellison is speaking now of the necessity of the Pax... but he is blinded by his desire to assert control. He does not see the necessity for compromise - for internal punishment and external solidarity. I swear by the vitae gifted me by my Rebirth, these Vampires have no notion of how blessed they are to have me... "The Pax was broken." He spoke, attempting to erase impatience from his tone. "The Pax was broken, and there can be no question of such..." (22 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, July 12th, 2008
5:52 am	Awakening-Ignatius: Goodbye He didn't start crying until after they'd all left. It wasn't purposeful,  the pain just didn't register until they all got in to their cars and drove away. Sitting now at the base of the old elm, he began to weep. Clutched in his left hand was a square of white cotton, embroidered with flowers at one corner, and stained the color of rust with blood. In his right hand he held a Colt M1911 .45 caliber pistol with the safety off and the hammer back. In his heart he prayed that pain from one might take away pain from the other. It was a Georgia winter and snow littered the ground all around him, soaking through his wool overcoat. His breath came out in lazy puffs of steam and his cheeks had long ago gone numb, but he didn't notice the biting cold around him or the way his tears froze on his week-old beard. Shaving, somehow, didn't matter now that she was gone. She'd never complain about it tickling her lips, or joke that he looked like a bum. Besides... it hid the scar. Wet... soaked in blood. The patch of ice, I must've slid... hot. Heat. Fire. There's fire somewhere close. Gotta move, if only the seat belt will... there we go. Ok... now I just need to slide- Ahhh! Metal through the door and through my side... that explains the blood. Hard to breathe. Rebecca? No, Rebbeca!? Oh God, please... no. Ok. There she is, lying a few yards from the car. No flames... no cuts. She looks ok. I have to get to her, she's unconscious. Where's that fire coming from? I just... oh God, this hurts... I just need to push the metal out... They'd burned the ground the night before, softening the dirt so that they could dig. He'd noticed earlier that morning how the ground seemed a bit black, and somewhere in the back of his mind he'd remembered that they did that. Now, looking out at the patch of black earth surrounded by snow, it seemed fitting. A little piece of the earth died when it realized she was gone. The whole world, covered in ice and capped with a grey sky, seemed to mourn her passing. Crawl. One hand forward, one knee forward. Repeat. Keep going. Got to drag her away from that car... and those flames, wherever they are. She looks so peaceful... almost asleep. No. What's wrong? She feels warm... I don't see any cuts... she's no breathing. Oh God, she's not breathing. Breathe, Becks. Breathe! BREATHE! Suicide is a mortal sin... and for all of him, he couldn't do it. Every time he tried, every time he put the barrel in his mouth, he saw her face. Heard her voice. Crying, he eased the hammer back down without firing, letting the gun fall to his side. He dropped his head in to his hands... in to her handkerchief. He could still smell her perfume, still feel her hair draped across his stomach, still feel the weight of her head on his chest. The flames are hotter now... I don't care... let me die... I'm ready. I am dying. Brimstone. I'm going to Hell. No, I'm already in Hell. Standing slowly he looked down at her handkerchief, soaked in tears and dried blood... and he vanished, leaving only the faint smell of brimstone. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, June 3rd, 2008
2:55 am	Lost-Lorcan: New Character Cross posted with inunitywefall  ... This is the new character for Lost, to replace Jack Sprat. I would *really* love feedback and ties, as I'm going way out on a limb as far as what I have roleplayed before with this type of PC. If you'd like a tie, let me know. Wiki is: http://changeling.cam-wiki.org/Lorcan_Blackwood ( Durance ) ----------------------- ( After The Escape ) ----------------------- ( Sales Pitch )   (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Saturday, March 15th, 2008
3:10 am	Lost-Jack: A Letter To The Suicide King OOC: This is a letter that got sent to the Autumn Court list, in response to what happened at the Boston FGotM. I thought some of you might enjoy. King Of Hearts,   You've ticked and you've tocked, and stirred a cold pot, And with it brought flames to their eyes. But now will you run, go in to the ground, And wait until that fire dies? Will you play Satan and slink in the trees, And feed poor Adam his folly? Or will you dance with your feet in the air, And your face bloated and jolly?   Do try not to die, you rascal, you knave, For that would be oh so shameful. Your antics amuse, the strife makes me smile, You taunt all of them with your guile. So suffer not the slings and the arrows, But take comfort in your great game. For while some will cry and others will growl, I take pleasure all of the same.   Yours, Gentleman Jack Sprat   P.S. We should find the time to have tea - I know an old woman in Somerville who makes a bloody Earl Grey to kill for. (9 Comments |Comment on this)
Wednesday, January 23rd, 2008
1:39 am	Canis: Inhumanity Monster. I fly, straight and true, above the city shrouded in ice. The world below moves sluggishly at this height, distance warping time like a hand pushing upon a net. Ice collects on my flesh, bringing shine to some planes and dulling others. Ice is beautiful - cold and unflinching. It forms in the second it takes for my wings to beat, shattering quietly with each silent sweep of stone. Stone is what they made me - what I am. Designed and crafted by a master, carved from the Earth for their design. I can feel them from here, feel the pull of their desire so far below. Theirs wants, their needs... they are flames. They are flames, and I... a moth. Slowly I angle myself towards the Earth once more, my reverie broken. The entire world begins to move faster as I approach it. The sounds of screaming children and the smell of pollution assail me as I rejoin them. Here, this close to their existence, I am not myself. Here, this close to the world of man and beast, I am Canis. Canis the Devourer. Canis the Destroyer. Canis the Undying. Here I am not man or God, but stone. Here I have not destiny, but task. Slave. I swoop to the ground and feel the cement crack underneath my weight. My wings draw back, folding behind me but never disappearing. Beautiful to me, and functional to others. What I feel as my body... they see as their tool. Slowly I move my legs, walking forward haltingly. They will never understand the will it takes to move a body such as my own. How does one force rock to shift? I am called slow, but I am sure. I am called slothful, but I am dedicated. I am called unmoving, but I am unmovable. I see it in the deepest part of the alley. The flames flicker and dance in front of them, casting shadows on their skin. Two, both men, dirty and miserable. They thirst for the flame to sate the cold which gnaws their bellies. They lament their lives, hating their lot in life and their inability to change it. Were I another creature, I would laugh at the irony. They do not know slavery, they do not know what it is to have your will chained. Were I another creature, I would laugh... but I am not. Gargoyle. They can not see, but they can hear. Stone against concrete makes a noise that is many things, but soft is not amongst them. They look - stare - in my direction, but they see nothing. The one hardly reacts as I reach out and grab the throat of the other, snapping bone and tearing muscle in one motion. I look in to his eyes as he dies, and there I see it. Life. Life is most brilliant as it fades. This man had life, and he squandered it. His life can never be mine, but I may begrudge him his time all the same. I was not born to such a life. I was not born. The other one has drawn a blade and stabbed it in my side. I feel the metal crumple against the stone of my chest, and I hear the scream of the would-be attacker. I drop the first to the ground, and turn to face the other. So slow... the agony of stone grinding against stone... the hated necessity of movement. Taking him in my arms, I feel bones snap here and there along his body as he attempts to resist me. His struggles slow as terror overtakes him. Terror overtakes all of them. "You..." I speak, forcing my tongue to accommodate the language of this sort. My hands touch his face, and too slowly I realize my mistake. From my finger spreads the darkness, coursing along his skin even as the edges of his face begin to rim with frost. He gasps, pained by it, the agony of my ancient corruption harming his soul even as it destroys his body. I twist slowly and his neck snaps... not my intent, but merciful, perhaps. Can one such as I be merciful? A question I contemplate as I take to the sky once more, a body underneath each arm. (4 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, January 11th, 2008
5:07 am	Requiem-Bennet: For Posterity's Sake Light was strange within the room, but it did not bother the Elder Mekhet as he made his way back and forth. The floor had been made of thick reinforced plexiglass and below that were row upon row of flood lights - the effect of this strange architecture was an absolutely unbearable torrent of light at the flip of a switch. Shadows hung on the ceiling in strange patterns, created here and their by the items in the room. A large, flat stainless steel table lay in the dead center of the room, and on it was a body unliving, but struggling against its bonds all the same. ( An Experiment In Sadism ) (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, December 22nd, 2007
12:29 am	Requiem-Chris: I Remember Slavery  "Slavery? You want to talk about slavery? I remember slavery, chum." The whip bit deep in to his back, sending his frame forward against the wood. Undead muscle and thick bone collided with wood reinforced by steel and designed to hold him tight. He bit deep in to the leather gag in his mouth and felt his fangs extend, slipping through the wood in the center of the gag, and right in to his lower lip. His mouth welled with his own vitae even as he struggled to fight back frenzy. Again the whip flashed back, and down, and it took all of his concentration not to howl his pain and outrage. "Was a time, brother mine, when you and I couldn't sit here and laugh together. Was a time when we'd be enemies, and I'd be raking my talons through your gut. Was a time when the only freedom a man could find was inside of his head." ( A Time Of Pain And Madness ) OOC: Alright, guys. Having thought it through, I've decided to take a run at making a Carthian. The PC - Chris (aka Christian) - is going to be from the late 17th or early 18th centuries. The concept is that of a former slave/footsoldier of the Invictus who, eventually, broke free of his Master/Mistress and made a successful gambit for freedom. Tonight he is a Carthian - likely to be a bit combat-heavy, but with a fair shake at inspiration and motivation. I'm thinking English right now, but he could just as easily have been from really any feudal country. Contrary to what that post might look like, this character won't be an Anarchist - he's not stupid, and understands that True Anarchy is an unreachable goal. He will, however, be a humanist and a revolutionary. More Che Guevara, less Sacco and Vanzetti. What I'd like for ties: Owner: I'd like a First Estate PC, preferably one who already had some strength in that time period, to have been his Owner. I don't particularly care if it is male or female - what I need is a PC who would have been ruthless and uncompromising enough to have broken down an individual. Vaguely like Danny in the movie 'Unleashed'. This tie will likely be somewhat antagonistic, but will not be a 'Rawr! I find you and I kill you!' sort of thing. I'd like to go way more in depth with the psychological issues implicit here. Sire: Likely would have had to have been some form of a bite-and-dump, or atleast a situation where they lost touch. It can be set up to have had them get back together in history, or can be run in game. I know the age will cut out some of my favorite people, but so it goes. Carthian Allies: The PC would have joined the movement not *too* long after it started, and been asleep until relatively recently. He is something of a great Carthian success story - a downtrodden and beaten Invictus whipping boy who made good on freedom. Invictus Enemies: Chris has a big problem with the Invictus - which is not helped by the fact that some PCs may remember him as being a loyal and capable former footsoldier. Got a PC with a stick up their ass? Awesome. Let me sneak in to your story. ;-) Gangrel Whatevers: Chris is *horribly* uncomfortable with the feral side of so many Gangrel. He remembers sinking to the depths of his beast, and the fact that so many of his clan embrace theirs is a very unwelcome reminder for him. Anything Else: Ties make a PC, and depth does too. I want to explore this archetype to the fullest, so each story I can tie in to my own will be a more-than-welcome addition. :-) Thanks guys, Zack (11 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, December 21st, 2007
6:19 am	OOC: Hope With the loss of Aidan, I find myself with an open PC slot - a second primary for any venue. I've felt rather adrift in the Cam of late - with the exception of Mage, which is happily eating my face - and am looking to make a second primary PC. Likely in Requiem, though I'm open to other venues. What I really need is a role someone wants filled, that they think I can pull off. I suspect Kid Dynamite is going to die before too much longer, and if that were to happen today, I'd literally have nothing to do at games. Zack (16 Comments |Comment on this)
Tuesday, October 30th, 2007
1:49 am	Requiem-Aidan: And Thus, The Final Chapter. The night was windy, clouds passing between the stars and Kansas City only to move on their way East. The jet-black Jaguar drove over the cold asphalt of the backwoods street, pulling up to a small church in the country. Stepping out of the vehicle, Aidan's gothic coat caught the breeze, flaring about his knees. He walked to the front door of the church and opened the door, a small smile touching his undead lips as he did so. At the far end of the room was a large crucifix, and a row of pews on either side. The building, and the grounds, were abandoned for the evening. Aidan stopped at the foot of the dais and slowly made the sign of the cross over himself. An affectation from his nights as a mortal, but one vital to him still. ( Ashes to Ashes, and Dust to Dust ) (15 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, August 31st, 2007
5:18 am	Lost-Jack: Little Drop of Poison I like my town with a little drop of poison Nobody knows they're lining up to go insane I'm all alone, I smoke my friends down to the filter But I feel much cleaner after it rains She left in the fall, that's her picture on the wall She always had that little drop of poison She left in the fall, that's her picture on the wall She always had that little drop of poison ( Even God Was Defeated By The King of Serpents ) (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, August 24th, 2007
6:26 am	OOC: Lost Update Jack has a wiki - some changes have been made to concept. The wiki is located at: http://changeling.cam-wiki.org/index.php/Jack_Sprat If you want/see room for a connection, please feel free to e-mail me at ZackParsonsWright at Gmail dot com. (Comment on this)