Name	Concept	Chronicle
Age	Virtue	Faction
Player	Vice	Group

Mental		Physical		Social
Intelligence		Strength		Presence
Wits		Dexterity		Manipulation
Resolve		Stamina		Composure

Skills
		Clear Skills Fill Skills

Advantages
Pool	Value	Type	current/max

Powers

Merits	Flaws Etc	Morality
	Size: Speed: Defense: Armor: Initiative: Experience:	10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Weapons Dice Mod Equipment Dice Mod

Health Willpower

Statistic Block
10 xp from Clarity drop, 40 xp from Veteran status = 50 xp pool total Dream 1, Dream 2 - 12 xp spent Mantle: Winter 1 - 2 xp spent Resources 1, Resources 2 - 6 xp spent Striking Looks 4 (raised from 2) - 14 xp spent Wyrd 2 - 16 xp spent 50 xp total spent
Condition and Effects	Additional Information
Stealth - Moving in Darkness Subterfuge - Lying Subterfuge - Spotting Lies	Born: Vincent Alexander New Identity: Vincent River

Other Notes [ Show Printable Version ]

Physical Description: Vince’s normal form is fairly average. He’s moderately tall with narrow, sharp features all over, from a long neck to a skinny nose. His hair is an ashen brown left a little shaggy. Vince’s similarly brown eyes are usually half-lidded with a mix of fatigue and disinterest, and maybe just a hint of derision. His pale body is usually covered up; he favors long sleeves and multiple layers, either in an attempt to conceal himself or stay warm. Vince’s clothes are simplistic and casual, usually just plain t-shirts and moderately nice jeans. The flashiest he goes is to wear a silver chain necklace. His mien is mostly the same. The same general body shape is there, but his flesh has been replaced by liquid silver. He looks malleable and soft, as if pressing a thumb into him would leave behind an imprint. Vince’s body is constantly flowing with black flecks of imperfection floating through. Perhaps most disconcerting, Vince’s legs don’t end in feet unless he forces them to. Instead, his ankles simply lead to formless silver, forming a small pool over the ground wherever he’s standing, as though his body was just a projection out of a puddle. Personality: Vince is not a nice person. That isn’t to say that he is vile or disgusting; he is simply removed from others. He isn’t easily moved to charity or major acts of kindness and typically comes off as gruff and aloof. This image isn’t helped by his sarcastic and often biting tongue, one he works to keep in check among the company of other changelings. While he is quick to criticize, he rarely offers his own ideas easily. Rather, Vince is a calculating mind, wanting to weigh options before making decisions. He is surprisingly difficult to rile for one of the Lost, typically able to keep his wits when frightened even though he usually loses his temper. Durance: Vince wasn’t having a good day. It seemed that since he’d woken up that morning (late after his alarm had failed to go off), it had just been one crisis after another. He’d even managed to get into a minor car accident, but all of that was behind him for the moment. For a little while, he was just going to sit in the park, at night, and breath. That was when he heard it, the pitiful calls of a cat from somewhere beyond the trees. They weren’t the normal feral meows, either. Vince could feel that the pet was injured, maybe even lost, and felt pity for a moment. Maybe someone else had a terrible day, too. He got up from the bench and headed for the calls. Vince flipped out his phone for some semblance of light, but it wasn’t going to help him. Just past the trees, his foot caught on a root, his bad luck not yet over. He tripped, threw his phone in surprise, and tumbled down the hill. That would have been fine since the hills in the park weren’t very long, except he seemed to keep falling. It was dark and he was dizzy and then he was being torn up by brambles, but still rolling as if he were being pulled forward. When he finally came to rest, panting and terrified, there was the cat, grinning at him. Vince had been fighting for years, fighting in a war he didn’t understand. The world was nothing but endless night amidst a tangled forest of impossible proportions. There was Us and there was Them. Vince was part of Us, the band of goblins and fae and what he sorely wished were other humans all being used as soldiers by that damned cat, whom he rarely if ever saw. Orders would come relaying down and Vince would be set against Them to lay claim to some other portion of the forest or capture some shiny bauble from Them or something equally as frivolous. He didn’t know how many times he’d run through the dark. His hands had been stained with blood, hadn’t they? Vince had killed Them and then They killed him. He would lay there, gasping with a twisted spear through him and close his eyes. Then he’d wake up back in his tent next to a dim lantern with the light that bounced against the light in an effort to escape. The fight was endless, pointless, and still he was forced to soldier on. The next time he went out, though, he lied. Vince surrendered, put down his arms, and let Them capture him. He couldn’t fight anymore. They were confused and beat him out of habit until the orders came to drop him in one location or another. Vince was left there, blindfolded, but the cloth eventually fell away. There was that cat, staring back at him, and Vince seethed with realization. That monstrous thing was ruling both sides, wasn’t he? The cat spoke to him, Vince forced to remain silent through the disappearance of his voice. It was interested, but he couldn’t remember the rest of the conversation as the cat faded away before his eyes. Soon enough, he had reawakened in his tent. This was it, the final move. Vince changed, some by product of the war. Both sides saw him differently, neither one of them accepting him as an enemy. He impersonated the commanders, warped orders, set both teams up for one more play. They wiped each other out, slaughtering each other in their own camps simultaneously while he watched. And when only one stood on each side of the war, they retreated as per his instructions. They bumped into each other and Vince remembers the feeling of striking down both at once. Everyone but him was gone. For a little while, until they woke up, he wouldn’t have to fight anymore. When he looked up, the cat’s eyes were upon him. He scurried like the rat he was, fleeing backwards through the forest. Vince had broken the rules, he had ruined the game, and he was afraid of what it meant when the beast showed itself like that. He crashed through the trees as they grew denser and denser, he screamed as the thorns tore away at him and then promptly stumbled out into the light. Vince lay stretched out at the shore of a lake, faintly able to see a dock nearby. Did he break the game or win it? Vincent had arrived on the broken, rocky shore of Lake Michigan on the Chicago side. Not long thereafter, he was taken into the local Court and provided with room and board while he made sense of his situation. For nearly two months, however, Vincent essentially kept to himself and eschewed contact with other changelings while he tried to adjust back to almost normal society. Then, without any fanfare, Vincent opened River's Eyes Investigation, which he ran out of a cheap corner office on the fifth floor of an old building. Initially, Vincent planned to spend a lot of nights sitting in his car to spy on would be adulterers, but it was easy money for him and it at least got him out of the house. His life grew more complicated once he was introduced to, then, Evan Sully, another neophyte changeling. He was introduced to Evan while working on his first truly challenging case and found that they worked well together. Over the next few weeks, Vincent and Evan established a sort of pseudo-Motley and Vincent hired him on with the agency, which thereafter belonged to both of them. When it became public among the Courts that the two changelings fancied themselves detectives, Vincent found himself with a great deal more work to do. The Monarchs started employing River's Eyes to dig up all manner of Fae concerns: loyalists, traces of the Gentry, freshly arrived Lost. Whatever needed to be found, Vincent tried to help find it. Lately, Vincent discovered that his fetch relocated; picked up and moved to Miami. Curious, Vincent decided to do what he did best and investigate, but he cleared it with Evan first. While not bound by fae magic, Vincent was hesitant to leave Evan in Chicago and go to Miami alone. The two decided to stick together and, after Vincent obtained a Cracked Mirror from a token collector, he set out for Miami with Evan in tow. Desire -Control. Vince rejects the whips and bonds of others and will distort the rules if he can’t outright make them. -Warmth. Unlike most Darklings, Vince isn’t comfortable in the dank places of the world. He wants light (better to see the enemy) and heat (to defy the night). -Challenge. Though he’d never admit it, Vince deeply enjoys a contest, no matter how unreasonably dangerous it might end up being. He’s a competitor. Fear -Cats. Vince can hardly stand the sight of such creatures, let alone have them look at him back. -Blood. Particularly the scent of blood sets off a reaction as Vince prepares for an expected attack, showing off his paranoia. -Silence. Quiet isn’t soothing to Vince. He finds lack of noise to be more unsettling than the worst screams or sobs. Anger -Naivety. Vince cannot abide by foolish or gullible people, no matter their intentions. -Violence. Curiously, Vince’s instinctual reaction to violence is to get violent himself, despite how he might condemn it. -Losing. Vince loves a challenge, but only if he ends up as the victor. ‘Sore loser’ occasionally fails to capture the depth his grudges may run. Sorrow -Death. Even as a warrior, Vince never dulled his sense of grief over the loss of life. If anything, it grew sharper as the deaths grew more pointless. -Darkness. Night makes him uncomfortable, but true darkness makes Vince waver and consider curling up to keep from breaking down. -Purple. The color of the unearthly landscape he was lost in makes Vince ache with memories he doesn’t have.