Vampire 2 Ed Histories
Orphaned Gypsy Troubador
Haven* (3 total)
kiss of succubus*
status Paris *
Circle of the Crone *
Safe Place * (3 total)
discover info about Sire’s death
create new rituals through music
The Wanton Curse
Character Spark of Life
Answers (only 9 or so, so far. More later)
1. Who are you? Who is your father? Who is your mother? Are you certain?
I am Lucan Gadze, forever 15, son of Jeppe and Rosemerta Gadze, gypsy traders killed by a knight and his hangers-on when I was 6. Of these things I am certain.
2. Your character has need of a horse for a long journey. Describe the horse’s size, coloring, build and personality.
When I was little I longed to have a destrier like the knight who ran down my father- with such a horse, I thought, I could challenge him and make him pay. But now I know such animals are pointless and expensive to feed. In truth, I have never sat a horse. My family had only a couple of donkeys to pull our cart, and occasionally I would climb atop them while they were in their traces. I have no knowledge of horseflesh, and am likely to choose for some imagined beauty rather than any real quality.
3. From your character’s point of view, in relations with family, is it better to be loved than feared? Or better feared than loved? Would the answer be any different
with any other group of people? If so, who?
After all these years of being so many things, inside I am yet a motherless boy. I still dream of her, sleeping beside me in death, her warmth about me, her love. Her love.
I had two fathers, two, and lost them both- the first, gruff and quiet; an unknowable god. The second kind and doting, but the time between him scooping me up from the streets and sheltering me and him dying bloodily in the slaughter of his God’s house is like to a leaf falling: beautiful, seemingly slow, but over in moments.
Love hates me and delights, like the sadist with his instruments, to cut away everything I’ve ever wanted, ever relied on, ever…loved.
I have known fear. When I was new, and hungry, and too hasty. It filled my mouth, their fear. Sour and ugly. It filled their eyes looking into mine- I saw the monster reflected there. No, friend, I will always take love.
4. What is your character’s favorite food? Drink? What food does the character hate?
Ha you jest at my expense.
5. Take a Devil’s Advocate stand. Describe what you (the player) hate about the character. What are the good reasons for other characters to dislike/hate the
character? What little, minor bad habit does your character have that would annoy anyone after awhile?
He’s a fucking emo kid. Everything is earth-shattering, and his heart is always somewhere between blissful and broken. If Byron were around, he would get his inspiration from the emotional misadventures of Lucan. Older vampires roll their eyes, but really, he’s a sweet kid, and he’s damn good with the hunting, if only he wouldn’t get so hung up on the prey.
6. The character’s first, or most memorable, love affair. Can be anything from a pre-teen crush, to a long-term romance. Be sure to describe the object of your character’s affection, along with the changes that your character went through in terms of feeling and thoughts about that person. Did it start out as a maddening hatred? Instant Love? Who fell for who first? Was love a surprise? How did it all end? How does everyone, including you, your lover, rivals, parents, friends, observers, feel about it now?
There is a girl, well, she’s a woman now, no longer young, no longer beautiful to others, I suppose. We were children together on the streets of Paris, for a time. Her eyes were dark and sparkling with mischief, her hair golden like the long lost sun. We worked together to live- she drew out the mark and I cut the purse. We were 7. We shared food together, played together, slept huddled together under hedges and in doorways. I loved her, and I love her still. When my sire took me to live as a servant* in his chambers I begged him to take her too, or to find another home for her, or to do anything he could. But I guess all he saw was a dirty thieving streetgirl, and he left her in the dirt. I was 10, then, and being parted from her made me sick at heart, kind of like losing my mother all over again, but different-
I thought we’d always be together. I thought in a few short years, I’d find work, and we’d marry. I thought many things, but everything changed when I came to live with Relarius (spacesaver name). For a time I tried to see her whenever I could. Id’ bring her fancy foods, little gifts, things I could steal without their loss being noticed, but as time went by and my own life grew farther and higher than she could even conceive of, she withdrew from me. Instead of joy at the sight of me there was scorn, and anger on her pale, thin, hollow face. She resented me, my well-fed belly; my fine clothing. My hope. My hope, unlike the dainties in my pocket, was a thing I couldn’t share with her, and she grew tired of hearing me talk of marriage and future dreams. She knew better than I did that there was no longer any future for us, even if there ever had been. She knew, and she grew bitter at the site of me.
One night, I saw her. Up against a wall, struggling with some ruffian. She cried out and
I came running to help, to kill her attacker… but stopped short, my heart beating in my ears…closer now I could see the coins in his hand, passed to hers. In slow motion, unable to move I watched as she pocketed the money, smoothed down her skirts…. and looked straight at me, willing me to understand.
She pierced my heart with that gaze as surely as twere a knife in my chest. I may have died to the mortal world a couple years later, but she killed me first.
I stopped visiting her after that, but I didn’t stop loving her. As the years go by- she is 25 now, but looks much older- I find myself checking on her most nights.
Sometimes, when a man’s hand is too rough, when he’s left her bruised or bleeding, he dies. Quickly, quietly. No one sees. She doesn’t know that I am her avenging angel. Those eyes, still blue, still beautiful- their fear and loathing would strike me down were she to see. So I love, and I kill, in secret. For her.
No one knows. I have been careful.
7. You character gets into a discussion about death and dying. How would your character describe the perfect death?
I am far from suicidal- the night is a garden of delights to me, and yet I sometimes find myself fantasizing about making love to the sun. Arms wide open, accepting its blinding blaze like a willing maiden in an embrace so sublime it consumes and destroys me in a fire of pure ecstacy.
But I jest. The sun? I barely remember what it looked like. It’s irrelevant. The moon is my whore! Let’s go hunting.
8. What was your character like at the age of ten (fifth grade)? Was your character a wimp, a bully, a nerd, a snitch, or a klutz? Popular or not? Write up a little description, and, if you like, a little day-in-the-life story about your character at that age.
As I said, at ten I was living in the streets with Liribet, buying bread with stolen coin and laughing bravely at the cold and darkness of a winter night. We were hungry often, we were tired and very dirty, but we were together. She was my sister, my mother, and maybe someday my lover as well, all in one. We owned the streets nearest the Seine, looking after a group of younger children and sharing our knowledge of the cutting of purses and the conning of marks. It ended one day- in the afternoon. The sun shone and the streets teemed with people, and I slipped a hand into a velvet pocket and was caught. His armsmen raised their cudgels to beat me down. Just then a horn sounded, a jeweled hand lifted in command from the window of a sedan chair; a red liveried groom yelled “Halt!” The shocked merchant and his guards gaped as the groom laid hands on me and dragged me to the sedan chair and presented me to its occupant. He waved his hand and I was shuffled back to trot behind, guarded on each side by a dour-faced man in the livery of the Holy Church. I tried to dart away a couple times but each time a hand shot out and gripped me forcefully. Finally I gave up and trotted along to see what would happen next. My life ended that day, and another began- it too to end in its own time.
9. Did your character ever have a pet? What kind of pet? Where is it now, or what happened to it?
When I was little I pretended that the rats in the street were my pets. It was so much better than thinking about how they might eat me if I slept too soundly.
10. Assume that your character needed/wanted to spend some time, incognito, in a place like another City. Assume it’s current day. Your stay will be for a matter of years. Describe what role and appearance your character would adopt.
Well, I suppose that’s easy. Who sleeps all day and keeps company with lowlifes and whores? Plus my only real skills are thieving and making music (everyone can read and write these days, and I am really not that good at it)- how about dive bar house band member? Yeah. Lights are low, nobody will notice the, well, you know.
11. Which would your character describe as the greater evil, murder of a bum, or the maiming of member of the social elite?
Ha! I have known and loved both. These labels are meaningless. But were they beautiful? Graceful? Were their lives a tragic story to break the heart? These are the things that matter. Tell me this, and I will answer.
12. Describe your character’s personal bedroom or suite. Describe the contents and the various rooms. What is the style of the furniture? Describe your favorite
reading spot, and your favorite feature.
I was Relarius’ manservant, as as such my accomodations were fine and comfortable but not sumptuous. When the church was destroyed I salvaged what I could and dragged it down into the catacombs. I cleared out the mouldering bones in one of the chambers and claimed it as my own- even if the door is opened during daylight hours, the sun will not reach this place. It lies in safe and comforting darkness. A large corpse-niche makes a cozy bed, decked with layers of velvet curtains tucked around straw. A couple of embroidered pillows (oh the decadence!) and many silver candlesticks from the sanctuary make a kind of luxury if you don’t look too hard. There is also a stool and an ornately carved chest, formerly the home of a saint’s bones, now the resting place for my growing clothing collection. Another niche holds my lute, a few scrolls written by my Sire, and a tattered bible (gotta keep up my reading). I suppose I should say that my favorite thing is the chest. It’s really beautiful, with scenes from the book of Job. There is a great leviathan, a watery monster. But my favorite thing is the tiny, folded scrap of leather I keep under my pillow. In it, a lock of Liribet’s hair. It reminds me. It reminds me of what love feels like. Sometimes I pretend, or maybe I get confused, and I think it is my mother’s hair. I fantasize that both Liribet and Rosemerta would somehow understand this.
13. Assume that your character has just finished a month-long struggle against hard odds, working toward something of great value to the character. Suddenly, the final
stage of the opposition turns out to be stronger than you expected and you are attacked where you are weakest. It may not be a battle to the death, but it will
definitely determine whether or not your quest is a success.
Unexpectedly, you receive a call from a senior relative or ally offering assistance. This relative is a champion in the field of battle where you are currently
struggling and, if asked, will either move through to help or leave you to your challenge.
Do you accept the help? Or do you reject it? What if the battle involves your greatest strength or ability. Would your decision be the same?
Finally, what if the battle was a matter of life and death. And failure would equal your own death. Would your answers still be the same?
I am a lover always but a fighter only at need. I would accept the help, gladly.
14. If your character were suddenly plunged into normal, non-WoD life, right here in our bright prosperous world, how would the character most likely live? What profession would s/he pursue? Describe the probable life style (vagabond, married with children, socialite, etc.) of the character.
I’d be 15. I’d cultivate the beautiful gloombunny emo boy chic thing- combat boots and a pentagram, long hair and tight black jeans. I’d write poems in school and pass them to the pretty girls, and those poems wouldn’t suck, and so they’d fall in love with me. I’d be dangerous enough to be irresistible, but I’d love each and every one of my many one night stands, and write their names on my heart. And maybe even on my arm.
15. Everybody has some little item that they regard as somehow sacred. A piece of clothing, a memento of some event, whatever. What is your character’s sacred item?
Tell the story of how your character found it, or why it came to be important.
The first time I stole away to see Liribet, I brought her a lock of my hair (my character thinks she must have discarded it, but in truth, she still keeps it, close to her heart- a symbol of a life she might have had. ) and I begged a lock of hers in return. Still smiling, though with a bit of sorrow to her, she gave it me.
16. A relative/friend, one you respect but do not fear, has committed the same breach of etiquette three times. Each time, in front of others, this person has treated you as an inferior, giving you orders instead of making requests. And your performance has been criticized in front of others. You can arrange things so that you’ll not be bothered again. Or you could confront the person. Or have a third party intervene. What would you do? If you would have to explain your actions, what would you say?
I would confront the person in public, in a display that looks as if I am the wounded, aggrieved but guiltless party. I would expertly play the crowd and evoke their pity and rile up their anger toward my “friend.” I would get them all to take my side in the conflict. “How you berate me so when I have ever been your friend and stood by you….blah, blah, blah…” Warning to the wise, Lucan fears no drama, and he can can catch the barbs of your betrayal and fling them back at you with deadly finesse. You will bleed, but the onlookers will feel sorry for him.
17. Midway through a pleasant meal, with a very enjoyable companion, you receive a contact from the aforementioned enemy. Frankly, you are sick of the whole business, and you don’t relish becoming a pawn in someone else’s game. How would you deal with this situation?
Ignore the contact until I am finished with whatever I am about. There is no way I would allow such a thing to come between me and pleasure.
18. Your character is the butt of a practical joke. Could your character see the humor in it? Would your character get even? Does getting even mean staging another practical joke?
This is highly dependent on who is playing it and how I feel about them.
19. At one point Corwin said; “…It is an academic, though valid philosophical question, as to whether one with power over energy could create his own universe. Whatever the ultimate answer, from a practical point we could.” How would your character respond?
20. To your character, does revenge mean (1) “an eye for an eye,” (2) “repayment with interest,” (3) “the only good enemy is a dead enemy,” (4) something else? In exacting this revenge, would your character serve it hot, as soon as possible after the offense, or cold, awaiting a perfect place and time?
I am ruled by passion. I will enact revenge in the moment, and its degree will depend on my whim. I will not be held to any standard.21. What emotions can your character express in public? Sorrow? Anger? Sadness? Humor? Disappointment? Joy?
All of them and more, but are any of them genuine?
22. You’ve been beaten, bruised, and battered in a recent adventure, not to mention frustrated by a rather vile ending to the affair (a scorched earth situation where you won but your objectives were destroyed). You now find that you have several weeks to recover your health and composure. Since you only wish to travel and recoup once, what place would you pick for your retreat, and what activities would you pursue.
Hmmm….. where is my heart but Paris?