Hannah Lane Posted August 2, 2022 Clone Share Posted August 2, 2022 (edited) Name: Elizabeth Marshall Nature: Director Generation: 9th Player: Hannah Lane Demeanor: Bon Vivant Concept: Model Kindred Chronicle: Baltimore by Night Clan: Malkavian Sire: Craigh Burns PHYSICAL Strength ●●○○○ Dexterity ●●○○○ Stamina ●●○○○ SOCIAL Charisma ●●●●○ Manipulation ●●●●○ Appearance ●●●●○ MENTAL Perception ●●○○○ Intelligence ●●●○○ Wits ●●●○○ TALENTS Alertness ●●○○○ Athletics ○○○○○ Awareness ○○○○○ Brawl ○○○○○ Empathy ●●○○○ Expression ●●○○○ Intimidation ●○○○○ Leadership ●●○○○ Streetwise ●○○○○ Subterfuge ●●●○○ SKILLS Animal Ken ○○○○○ Crafts ○○○○○ Drive ○○○○○ Firearms ●●○○○ Etiquette ●●○○○ Melee ○○○○○ Performance ●●●○○ (Singing) Larceny ○○○○○ Stealth ●●○○○ Survival ○○○○○ KNOWLEDGES Academics ○○○○○ Computers ○○○○○ Finance ●○○○○ Investigation ●○○○○ Law ○○○○○ Medicine ○○○○○ Occult ○○○○○ Politics ●●●○○ Science○○○○○ Technology ○○○○○ DISCIPLINES Dominate ●●●○○ Presence ●●●○○ Obfuscate ●●○○○ BACKGROUNDS Contacts ●●●○○ Domain ●○○○○ Generation ●●●●○ Herd ●●○○○ Influence ●○○○○ Insight ●●●○○ Resources ●●●○○ Retainers ●●○○○ Status ●●○○○ VIRTUES Conscience ●●●○○ Self-Control ●●●○○ Courage ●●●○○ MERITS/FLAWS Prey Exclusion (see Derangement) 1 pt Infectious (see Derangement) 3 pts Overstimulated (see Derangement) 3 pts ROAD Humanity ●●●●● ●○○○○ Aura: WILLPOWER ●●●●● ●●○○○ □□□□□ □□□□□ BLOOD POOL ■■■■■ ■■■■■ ■■■■□ Blood Per Turn: ■■ HEALTH Bruised □ Hurt -1 □ Injured -1 □ Wounded -2 □ Mauled -2 □ Crippled -5 □ Incapacitated □ WEAKNESS Derangement EXPERIENCE 2 Expenditure Freebies (15 + 7) Contacts 2 pt Resources 3 pts Retainers 2 pts Status 2 pts Generation 4 pts Influence 1 pt Insight 3 pts Willpower 4 pts Self-Control 2 pts Creation Experience (29, 6 left) Clan Dis. Dominate 2 5 pts Clan Dis. Obfuscate 2 5 pts Clan Dis. Presence 2 & 3 15 pts Virtue - Conscience 3 4 pts 2nd Wave Experience (34, 2 left) Clan Dis. Dominate 3 10 pts Attr. - Charisma 4 12 pts Attr. - Manipulation 4 12 pts Brief History Life Born in 1841, in Silkstone England, as the eight child of Sir Josiah Marshall, co-founder of the Bearnsley Coal Company. The long line of traders, entrepreneurs and investors was restricted to the male side of the family, the girls were expected to learn only to entertain themselves and their future spouses. Young Liz however, was of the opinion that such expectations could go hang. As the youngest and liveliest, her father indulged her. Never far from her father’s side, Liz was injected with the spirit of money-making, brown nosing, taking risk and of coal, that black gold that fueled the nation’s industrial revolution. She made acquaintance with her father’s business associates, their wives and their children. As was the custom of the day, she tried her hand at many creative projects, singing, embroidery, painting. She was mediocre at these at best, not less skilled then her sisters and girlfriends, but not more so either. The only instance where this didn’t hold was when she played the piano. Seated behind the great, white grand piano in her parent’s music room, she lost herself in the keys and in the music, played like a woman possessed, clear, precise, beautiful. Her official introduction into gentle society was barely a splash as neither of her older sisters had been married yet and it would be years before Sir Marshall would give his youngest daughter away. Liz spent her adulthood making forays into places she had no business making. She lost her virginity to a sweet-talking rake from Vienna named Beaumont. Her back alley friends introduced her to illegal pleasures like the alcoholic tincture of laudanum, something she took to with gusto for a while teetering on the brink of addiction. It was one night after sneaking out and visiting an opium den, and after leading her would-be sire in a merry chase through the narrow cobblestones of Leeds, a chase in which she managed to both press a lit spirit lamp into his eye and a few minutes later stick a kitchen knife into his gut, that she was embraced. The Malkavian had been attracted to her looks, her spirit, the refinement of gentle society coupled to a free spirit, a rate thing for a woman to possess. Embrace Craigh Burns was her sire and he was but a Neonate himself. The Malkavian didn’t possess enough backbone to fill a thimble and he had to resort the blood bond to keep his fiery new childe under control. The newly-minted sire was the grandchilde of the elder Lunatic who was only ever referred to as Skullsplitter, a warrior of Nordic decent. Craigh’s Sire was less then pleased by the transgression, not so much about the choice of candidate as that to old warrior’s eyes Craigh was still little more than a youngster himself and had no business embracing. For the transgression against the Traditions and lack of respect towards his Sire, Burns and his fledgling progeny were banned to the ‘new world’. Unlife Burns was not long for this world and it wasn’t long before his lack of regard for the third tradition caught up with him. Craigh Burns was caught and killed by the Prince of Waterloo, Canada. By that time, he had created 2 more siblings for Liz, a dock worker named George and a lady’s maid named Milly. When Craigh died, Liz was nowhere to be found and none knew the other two existed. Like a good Camarilla lick and at the snail’s pace of a Neonate, Liz started building her powerbase focusing on the skin trade and nightlife. However, her undead existence was not as charmed as her live one. Toronto was her first home until she, and all Malkavians, were evicted by the then-Prince for being ‘masquerade risks’. Everyone knew masquerade risks were a pretense in order to rid himself of a rival and his brood. She moved to Cleveland trying again and this time properly learning the ropes of being a member of the Camarilla. After a few years, she persuade the Prince to award her a domain, something small, a few blocks in the rack including a small nightclub, playing shitty music earsplittingly loud. Her Neonate tendrils stretched into various directions. Like before that meant bars, clubs and hookers, but also a pair of police officers on the take, a doctor who didn’t mind ignoring bite marks for cash and a lawyer who agreed to give a portion of his annual income to his, nocturnal girlfriend. Slowly, very slowly, but surely. And then something like a decade later, her attempts to increase her domain and influence were thwarted by a Ventrue, a young Kindred who was simply better at the influence game then she was. After seeing her modest holdings melt away, the lawyer charged with fraud and the doctor found in a ditch with bite marks he couldn’t ignore, she left Cleveland in frustration and shame. She moved to New York, hoping to appear harmless and too-small-to-bother-with between the teeming ranks of neonates in the great city. After numerous years in the capital, the same happened again. She was on the losing side of the game of influence. Her contacts were turned away from her, her sources of income were removed. It was nothing insidious, nothing that wasn’t considered ‘normal’ in the largest of sects, simply a Neonate between outmaneuvered by her peers. Alas, tragic, tedious, better luck next time. In 1988, Elizabeth moved to once again to try and set herself up, determined to this time not let anyone move in on her turf. She had met and ghouled a woman, a business associate, named Jessica Stephenson who had a modelling agency located in Baltimore. And if the agency was located over there, moving into Baltimore was the obvious next step. It wasn’t a Ventrue upstart this time, nor a Prince intent on ruining her. It was Gehenna itself, the end of the Kindred. She lost much during the chaos. Mortal contacts compelled by the influence of Dominate broke free from their leash. Her main source of income, Jesse Anderson, a ghoul working as a senior partner in a major accounting firm, rebelled against her, but not before aging fifteen years in two minutes. It was pandemonium, the purest bedlam in the world of the vampires and in her mind. Again, again, it was happening again! Liz survived Gehenna by locking herself in the basement of Jessy's for weeks, waiting it out, the music turned up loud enough to pound the walls to paste, anything to drown out the end of the world and failure. Emerging from that basement Elizabeth, once again, restarted the game of the Camarilla. To gain safety, access to blood, wealth, influence and acceptance. Background / Personality Elizabeth gets through nightly existence on her looks and on her charm. Needy, beautiful and charming all come together creating a Kindred who spends most of her nights indulging in at least 1 thing, often several: music, dance, attention from locals, blood, drugs, alcohol and whatnot. From the tightly-structured balls of the end of the 19th century to the demure dances in the early 20th century, then the wild rock parties of the fifties, to raves, to drunk metal revels. Presence cranked up the nines, risqué outfits and dominate-powered whispers, Liz nights are loud, feverish and blood-rich. It’s not a coincidence she chooses to associate herself with nightlife and modelling and such. After the war, all around the USA there appeared pictures and posters of pretty girls selling everything, from soaps to suds. A few years after that girly-magazines became a thing. At the time, Elizabeth was working perverts and feeding of men who thought they had the upper hand. All claimed to be something they weren’t. Imagine her surprise when she met some that really were photographers. She wasn’t great at actual seduction, but nobody holds a pose like a corpse. Soon she was doing advertising shots, the ones they use to work up painted posters from. Then there were underwear shots, selling guys items to dress up their wives with. As she was settled, the more serious photographers shopped her to local firms, then to bigger agencies. For a time, her picture was on cigarette-billboards and calendars. Then catalogs, ads and porn mags. She‘s been a taboo fantasy, a good housewife selling the kitchen appliances every woman at home needs, and the all-American girl-next-door. For several years, Liz had got herself buried in the minds of half of the men, boys and dykes in the country. At least, that is what she claims. In the sixties, with the Masquerade in mind, she stopped modelling and sold her portfolio. Now she runs a modelling agency herself, enticing, appraising and renting out beginning models, young men and women, for all kinds of shoots, with the help of the ghoul Jessica Stephenson. And of course all work and no play make Liz a dull girl. As she’d tried in Cleveland, in New York, slowly but surely, Elizabeth has been building up her contacts and influence in various places. This time her efforts concentrated around bars, clubs and brothels in and around Baltimore. She has taken one of the whorehouses, Gentlemen, as a haven and is working as one of the girls herself, the house prize, feeding in the process and leaving the patrons wanting for more paying with cash, favours and information to have her drink their blood. Elizabeth has kept up her skill at playing the piano. When the mood hits her and even though her voice is nothing special, she is known to take the mic and sing in nightclubs. Derangement Elizabeth knows that if you drink someone's blood, you also take with you a piece of their soul. Whenever she gets her teeth in someone, they are left dazed, confused, even erratic. Sometimes they go catatonic, sometimes they lapse into a panic they can't get out of. Sometimes they start hallucinating the roof is on fire and the walls are out to get them. it never lasts more than a week though, sometimes even less, but it's a sad knowledge your need for sentence chips away at the souls of those around you. As soon as a droplet of blood touches her tongue, a new voice is added to the chorus in her mind. A chorus containing a legion of sounds, jostling to be heard, most ground down into insignificance, a grey noise like a radio with bad transmission. The most recent voices though, they talk to her for several days, telling her things. Things like insults and threats, even if their owner of the blood was fine. Calling her a monster, a thing, a demon for living on the blood of people. Some just shriek, from day one and she just has to wait them out. They scream like psychotic housewives until their inevitable fading into the lifeless background like flies buzzing in her rotten mind. Angry as well as sad people tend to be the worst. Their blood never fails to cause her a few nights of splitting headaches, and so she steers clear of these. But it isn’t all bad news. Some tell interesting things. Things they can do for her, ways in which they can help. Some voices announce their usefulness. I have lots of money. I can hold of drugs. I lead a team of twenty people highly-skilled criminal lawyers. I know people at city hall. In some occasions, Elizabeth takes them up on their promises. It’s how she found Jessica, and Anderson and that doctor who’d write a clean death certificate for a hundred bucks. Some inevitably are duds, misleading. In a way the voices are people still, pieces of people. And people lie, overestimate themselves, try to backtrack on what they said or hope to make her pay for violating them. The only things that worked, that silences them and grants a few moments of peace in her own mind, are feeding and loud, loud music. Ghouls Jessica O’Donnell Jessica O’Donnell is a former model mainly involved in catalogue modelling. Her shining moment was her picture in Vogue in an article discussing women in advertising. Since her days as a model, she worked as a makeup artist as well as a self-made women running her own agency. The O’Donnell Agency was tiny when it caught the attention of Elizabeth, trying to peddle local hopefuls to small-time advertising agencies. It help having a vampire back up your business. The real talent, the real lookers had a hard time saying no to an offer of O’Donnell and the marketing folks at clients suddenly found themselves selecting the modest Baltimore agency where they didn’t before. Peter Engel Peter Engel used to be a beat cop, a good one, an honest one. One that tried to look past race and skin, asked questions first and understood that most people didn’t want to be criminals. He pulled his gun only a handful of times and only fired it twice. That made him pretty much unique among the old-timers at the force. He used to think it was something to be proud of as well. That changed when an addict he had picked up for trafficking and who got out only a couple weeks later, couldn’t let it slide. He found out where the Engels lived, grabbed a gun and went over. He banged on the door, full of snorted courage. Peter wasn’t home. His daughter Angela was. She died in the hospital that evening. Engel left the force then, his professional spirit broken and killed. The divorce came 6 months later. Elizabeth ran into him in a bar one night when he’d just had his fifth shot and was more than happy to tell anyone why he was still ordering. A few weeks later, Peter was working as a pimp. And before you go ‘hey, what’, a sentiment that has also crossed Peter’s vitae-addled mind on occasion, he was a nice pimp, as far as they go. There was no beating and barely any forcing. He didn’t take a huge cut from the money the girls made. He was a genial ‘oh dad’ sort of guy. The only thing that lit his fuse were drugs which he tried to keep out of the place with every ounce of righteousness in his veins. It was like trying to put out the sun by spitting at it. Now, your regular pimp doesn’t crack down on his charges just because he’s a mean-spirited shit, although that’s part of it. They do it because it’s good business. All that beating and threatening and whatnot, it ups the income. The atmosphere at Gentlemen was mostly friendly, laid-back. A little too laid-back at times as it was pretty obvious the house didn’t pull in the kind of money some of the competition did. But that was alright. It wasn’t money the girl in charge of the place was after. And Peter, the nice guy, ex-cop who lost his daughter and wife and everything else. He’s not thrilled at being complicit in prostitution, but the steady supply of blood from Liz keeps him from caring too much. That blood is … well, that blood is just magical, isn’t it. Tastes better than the greatest steak, makes you feel like you could juggle engine blocks, and what's more he can hear her. Yes, he can hear her, far off, sometimes. Often it would just be a sensation, a knowledge there is something just beyond your hearing, just below the surface. At times, it would be words, actual words. A faint voice in his head, young, high-pitched, teasing, comforting. He knew that voice. Angela was talking to him from the beyond. Domain Several years ago, Gentlemen was recognized as Elizabeth's domain. It consists of the brothel itself as well as the apartment above it. The apartment is Elizabeth's main haven. Contacts The contacts aren't named to give the Storyteller full discretion. Police - Sometimes people behave strangely at Gentlemen. One moment, they are dressed at their best, ready to spend some time with their favorite girl, or even the belle of the house, the next they don't know left from right. Or they sink to their knees, whimpering like an infant. Or something else. That sort of thing. Elizabeth's particular affliction doesn't bring out the best in people. On a bad night, it pays to know that the cops won't pay too much attention to calls of weirdness going on at Gentlemen. As long as it doesn't get too weird. To ensure this, Liz first started working Engel's police contacts. But beat cops alone aren't enough for this sort of thing. The BPD Chief of Police has received more than a one useful tip from Gents. Tips leading to drug dealers or wifebeaters, one time even a financial fraud case. In bed with Liz, people will admit to all sorts of things. To really sledgehammer it home, the chief's mind has been rewired to make sure he turns a blind eye when needed. A small one. Drug Criminals - You ask a around. In just about any business where girls take their clothes off for money, the men are dealing drugs, usually in the bathroom. The first couple of years Engel did his best, cracking down when he could, but it's like trying to put out the sun with just the spit in your mouth. So Liz decided she might as well profit from it. Patrick Flagg is not the biggest dealer in Baltimore, but neither is he the smallest. Gents draws a fair amount of clientele, most of it upscale, and a small fraction of it really upscale. In return for cutting in that big bulldog Engel he, and he alone, is allowed to deal in and around Gents. Pat reckons the cut he owes isn't even that big and he gets to rub elbows with some of bigger boys in town. Also some of the girls really need him to get them drugs, but the poor things don't always have the cash to pay. Luckily there are other ways to pay him. Especially, the fancy lady named Lizzie. Gent's prized piece of ass. When she catches his eye, man, the world stops cold and it feels like his brain is leaking out of his ear. When she planting soft kisses on his neck, it feels like his blood is on fire and his cock turns hard enough to put holes in the wall. As far as Pat is concerned, Gents and him are having a good, working arrangement. Medical Examiner - What every kindred needs when they accidentally kill a mortal in the middle of the street is an autopsy report confirming it was a heart attack. Willow Klein is the business of producing such, for a small a cash bonus, and for discreet services rendered by Liz and the girls. Willow is married with kids. Not happily married mind you, although that's not John's fault. It wasn't until after her marriage that Willow found the courage to admit that she wasn't into guys after all. Admit to herself that is, not to anyone else. She couldn't bear the thought of divorce. What would her mother think? The kids? Edited November 3, 2022 by Hannah Lane (see edit history) Name xDiceName xDiceResult xDiceString xDiceRolls Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
Recommended Posts