Character: Nomak

Character: Russell Blackwell

Russell was the typical book nerd all through his early years. Books could take him to places that were far better than his meager, tortured adolescent life. Being gifted with an affinity towards languages, specifically, Latin, was a handy thing growing up in the catholic church his family attended. Not exactly the most athletic of young men, he mostly kept his head down, pretended to be part of the walls and said nothing until he got to college.

With his grades Russell was able to get a scholarship to University . In truth he didn't care exactly where he went to college so long as it was far far away from the small town where he was born. University  was everything he wanted it to be. He was able to expand his mind, break out of his shell. It was in his second year at University that Russell started dating; a guy named David. While in High School he was lucky to go to anything resembling a social event - prom or homecoming dances - but he was not really interested in the girls he had classes with. He just didn't dare admit the reality of his feelings until he was one of the anonymous freshman at NYU. David was replaced with Thomas who was replaced by Ed, Larry, Michael, Nelson, and eventually Brian. By the end of his first year - Russell was definitely 'aware' of his sexuality - and his thirst for physical affection.

There wasn't much he was able to do with a BA in history but he knew that going in. Once he was accepted into a master's program in Art History in a new city; Cambridge Mass. The University offered him the opportunity to study medieval manuscripts up-close. He couldn't resist the chance to explore his life-time fascination with rare books.

Russell, still a college student at heart, is commonly seen with a canvas satchel slung over his shoulder and a smart phone.

Among his more prized possessions is an antique fountain pen that was a gift when he received his first college degree. He's also shown his eclectic side by turning an old, silver cigarette case into a business card holder. In addition to his eccentric side for collecting old memorabilia, he's also very practical. Where ever he goes, at least with his satchel, he carries with him a long, black umbrella. He explains that it was a gift while he was at NYU where he was constantly being caught running from class to class in a sudden downpour. He likes to boast that having the umbrella, once, was the key for him securing a date with a guy.

"It's amazing what friends can be had when you're the one holding an umbrella."

Russell isn't usually one for wearing jewelry but one of the few items that he does wear is an old bronze signet ring with the shape of an owl on its face.

What's Known

• University Student
• Gay (but not effeminate)
• Book Nerd
• Fencer
• Business: Russell, though enrolled in college, is still an avid antiquarian and still works as a rare book agent.

What's Not Known

• Tattoo: Russell has a quarter-sized tattoo of an owl sitting in an oroboros. The tat is located on the inside of his left ankle.
• Musician: Russell is a secret violinist. He's not one to brag or to show off but he likes playing when he needs to calm down and think.

Mage Variant

His professor, (unknown) was a member of the Order of Hermes and, apparently sensing that Russell was close to awakening and so 'encouraged' his ascension from sleeper to dreamer. Russell's awakening to the fallacy of reality was a nightmarish experience. (More to come on that)

While Russell was at New York University and in the presence of the Medieval Manuscripts that he was studying - the secrets of a hidden reality began to unfurl before him. Most manuscripts have been photographed, scanned and documented from one end to the other. They are available for download as pdf or images on most library websites. It's a means for the library to 'brag' a bit that they have such old documents in their collection. However, when one of his professors asked him to look in on a recent acquisition, Russell realized that this new find was unlike any book he had seen before. The book was a record of a researcher's quest to uncover the culture that somehow influenced both Egypt, South America and almost every coastal civilization on record. It told secrets of an ancient society, Atlantis.

The book did not make outlandish claims of the civilization, the FIRST civilization, it documented a case in which it 'could' have existed. The author presented his findings in such a way that Russell started to question every historical 'fact' that he had learned for the past several years. He could see, through this one book, how societies around the world could so easily be influenced by the First Society. That book was the key - a temporal tether that connected him to the author, the scribe who wrote the original pages that the author was referencing and every other 'hand' that had been linked together in a chain of knowledge stretching as far back as the recorded history; and earlier.

Paradigm:

The actual processes of Hermetic magic follow a few basic concepts that are modified by each house. Most important is the idea of symbolism: the world is made of concepts that are linked to other concepts, and by commanding many linked concepts, the target can be commanded. For example, fire is linked to its name in various languages, to objects that have been burned and can ignite fire, to spirits and angels that embody fire, and to vibrant numbers, colors, and inflections. To create fire a Hermetic would use a spell that incorporated a number of these symbols in the hope of creating a conduit through which to manifest her Will and thus cause fire to spring into being. Hermetics extend this symbolic knowledge to other elements of the world, the mythic threads, such as astrology, numerology, and other "pseudo"-sciences, and can incorporate into their spells the most powerful symbols for any given situation or circumstance for a greater degree of influence.


Foci:
-Forces
General: Sound, Movement
Specific: Fire
Unique: None

-Correspondence
General: Portals, Doors, Water
Specific: Mirror
Unique: None

-Mind
General: Music (melodies), Names (of those involved), Chanting
Specific: Violin
Unique: None

Description:


You see before you a young caucasian man in his early twenties who stands about six feet tall and weighs no more than a hundred and ninety pounds. Blessed with what some would call a 'baby face' he will perpetually appear to be younger than he is naturally. This coupled with a pair of glasses that frame a pair of BRIGHT blue eyes gives him the face of a guy who's probably been picked on his entire life. Short, light-brown hair is kept neatly cropped in a no-nonsense style to match his no-nonsense features. %R%RDressed in khaki pants, brown, leather dress shoes and a button-up shirt with a neck tie hanging loosely around his collar would suggest that he's something of a professional though at his age it's hard to understand what he would be able to call a job. Seen occasionally with a leather satchel slung over his shoulder and a heavy canvas jacket he looks like an over-grown high school student or perhaps a librarian.

Vampire Variant

His professor, Artemis Blackwell, was a member of the Tremere / Mekhet Clan of vampires. After sensing that Russell would make an excellent asset to the local chantry he was introduced to her sire, August Blackwell who approved of his becoming a ghoul. He felt that he could use Russell to further the House's agenda as well as his own, personal goals. Eventually embraced him to act as an agent for the House of Blackwell

Over the next year or so he was able to finish his Master's degree though, by comparison, it seemed like a smaller accomplishment than when he started.

Arcanum Variant

While Russell was at New York University, he discovered a hand-written journal among the stacks of books in the occult section of the university library. Thinking it to be something of a prank or possibly some artistic work of fiction, he plucked it off the shelf and began reading it. Like some kind of semi-graphic novel, he devoured the pages within a few hours and was going to look up the author but found no contact information. Digging a bit more, he saw that there was no publisher, copyright date nor any information that would make it a 'real' book. This basically confirmed his suspicion that it was just some artistic work of fiction and was going to put it back when he happened upon one of his professors standing right where he found it. The professor, a middle-aged man who liked to fancy himself as a modern archaeologist of the strange and unusual, he was not well-respected within the department after several of his claims were refuted and his publications rejected. He was the 'Daniel Jackson' of the university and many considered his future within the department to be short lived though, somehow, he managed to continue to get research grants to dig on topics like lost cities, ancient aliens, and the like. The conversation between the two of them was strange - as Russell was seen trying to put the journal back onto the shelf by the professor who was alarmed to find anyone else in that section. He saw through the professor's lie about looking for some random title and slid the 'fiction' into his satchel when a student passed close by. He could tell that the professor wanted it and he wanted it badly. This arose Russ' curiosity enough that he decided to keep the journal and dig as to its origin.

Sure enough, the professor and Russ had a run-in only a few days later and he demanded to know the location of the journal. Russ played innocent for a time, trying to glean any information about the author but realized that there was a measure of desperation within the professor's voice. It wasn't that he -wanted- to find the journal, rather he -needed- to find it. That drove him to want to investigate it even more. He analyzed it over the next several days, taking high-res photos of it on his phone to ensure that if he had to surrender it, he would still be able to continue his digging. It was a good thing too, within a week there was a surprise drug inspection in his dorms and the cops were going through everyone's room. For some reason, he suspected that they weren't looking for marijuana or heroine but rather the book. When he got back into his room he discovered that it was missing from his hiding place though, obviously, no drugs were found. So he headed straight for the professor's office and demanded some answers. It took him a while to track down the man and when he did, he saw him meeting with one of the cops that was present during the drug raid. The two were having a quiet cup of coffee and a nearby shop and he watched the journal, or what he suspected was inside a manila envelope, being passed from the cup to the professor during their conversation. His spidey-senses were screaming that something -big- was going on and he had to find out what it was.

A few days later, when he was able to catch the professor during his office hours, Russ confronted the man and wanted to know what was so important within the journal that he sent the cops to search his room for it. Holding up his cellphone with an image of one of the pages on it to tease him, he mockingly said that he could post every page to reditt with a tap of his finger - unless the professor explained what was so damned important about a work of fiction.

That conversation lasted nearly two hours. By the end of it, Russ had more questions than he thought possible could fit in his head. The first thing he did once he left the professor's office was to jot down nearly 53 questions that came to mind and he was certain that he missed out on at least two-thirds of what was running through his mind. He began digging on the journal like it was his own, personal, grail quest - trying to uncover some of the details disclosed within its pages. One of the first things he did was to print it out and bind it at a local kinkos so that he could see it as a 'real' thing in front of him; something to scribble on, add notes to, etc. Within two weeks, he had crossed paths with the professor about four times - the two of them obviously trying to track down the origin of it together - though separately. When it became apparent that Russ wouldn't give up his search, the would-be Giles offered him an independent study course the next term and the two could work on it together. That became the beginning of a two year long mentorship that shaped Russ into what he would become: a man with a mission.

Eventually, Russ finished his degree and, with urging from his parents, was considering graduate school. He never discussed his sexual orientation with his mentor though there was never any secrets between the two men. Dr. Abrams taught him to see the world through a new set of eyes and, should the occasion call for it, a means of defending himself within it. Dr. Abrams was, at least at one time, a very good fencer. Russ, having no real athletic prowess, was glad for the training and was a good study - it appealed to his fantastical mind as he imagined himself having to defend himself with a sword from all manner of things in the night. However, how does one carry a sword out in broad daylight? The answer, Dr. Abram's sword umbrella. The concept of a sword cane is nearly two-hundred years old and the modern equivalent was to simply shroud the cane with enough fabric to make it an umbrella - something found tucked into the bags of most academics as they trudge across campuses. Though not nearly as good as his mentor, Russ did develop a hand with the blade and, as a parting gift, his mentor gave him a sword umbrella to carry of his own. He was truly sad to leave the university but his professor had suggested that he attend a graduate program at Fallcoast University. It would be a good 'learning experience' for him as he didn't want to pressure the boy into following directly in his own footsteps. His path would be his own as would be his choices.

Character: Never

Never was originally named Nevel and from Ohio but his parents moved to Las Vegas when he was 14. It was a new town. A place of bright lights, big money and lots of ways to get into trouble. When his friends were sneaking into bars and such - he was never able to get in because he always looked too young. When they were breaking into places to steal something for some extra cash, he was never invited along because he was so thin they thought he couldn't pull his weight. His parents constantly fought over money and things and he was routinely reminded that he would Never amount to anything, never get into a good school, etc. etc. etc. Over and over again, he was told that he would Never be anything. After a while the name stuck.

One weekend during his senior year, he decided to do something that people told him he would never be able to do. He snuck into a club. It was one of the darker bars off the strip in Vegas. There he met a guy who looked to be in his mid-twenties. The guy, Joey, said he was a bouncer and that Never needed to get out of the club. Never refused but the guy was stupidly strong for his size. There was something to the guy's voice that said he wasn't trying to be a dick but was actually trying to help him out. Joey asked who he was, what he was doing at the bar and what he wanted. Never explained by giving his 'new name' and saying that he never wanted to end up like everyone around him. He never wanted to grow old, never wanted to die, or be one of those lifeless, grey people he always saw around the city. No life in them at all. Joey told him to be careful what he wished for.

The bar was a Blood Bar - a place for vampires to hunt in the city. That night, a few minutes after Joey had thrown Never out, the sabbat attacked it with a few fire bombs and shot the place up to be sure. Joey was out back of the club making sure that Never was going to actually leave when they came. Rather than turning to run when the first bottles of flaming napalm hit the building, Joey ran back inside to help and for some reason he couldn't ever understand - Nevel went in with him.

The fire stopped anyone from leaving through the front, and the spray of bullets peppered anyone who was near the door. While the two of them were helping people out the back door, the sabbat had made the circle around the block and were now tossing firebombs to close the exit. When fire blocked the door, it was Never who grabbed a bucket of ice from behind the bar to douse them and clear a path. And for his act of bravery he was shot twice through the chest by one of the gunmen as they drove by. He fell to the ground as though someone cut his strings and everything seemed to go black.

His embrace was quick. His sire, a Gangrel anarch named Joey, only met with him for an hour before he had made up his mind to change Never's life forever. His quick thinking had saved Joey's life and the life of a few other vampires in the club. Joey was not just a gangrel, he was at one time part of the Sabbat; a city gangrel. However, being unbondable by their blood, he eventually fled his birth pack and was hiding in Vegas.

Never's first memory since the embrace has been the first memory he can recall; waking up in what felt like a cool blanket and then realized he was covered in dirt. He was only buried a few inches below the surface but it was enough to freak him out a little. He spent only three nights with his sire - enough to get him past the shaky first few steps and then Joey vanished. Joey called his cellphone to tell him that Vegas wasn't safe for either of them and that he was going to try and get rid of the people who were after him. His sire recommended that he had to California and that he would be in touch when he could.

That was four weeks ago.

Character: Joe the Gangrel

Character: Justin le Marchande

Vampire Territorial Glyph

A simple business card given out to announce his mark. A phone number appears on the back in case there is a problem. 

The mark is used to identify territory within the city - both to the mortals and to the supernaturals that it is under the authority of the vampire who hunts it.

Servants, ghouls, herd and the like are often marked with the glyphs as a form of identification and protection.

Character: Blackthorn

Marshall Blackthorne, a 10th generation Rogue Lasombra.

A Perfect Family

Marshall is newly arrived to the city. Originally from Chicago where he lived with his wife and daughters, he left them behind only about three years ago. Married for almost ten years, he and his wife have raised two girls, Megan and Sarah, as part of a happy and loving family. Being close to both his parents and hers, they were part of a tight-knit, Catholic family on Chicago's south side. He was part of the fabric of the community, a fine and up-standing cop that kept their streets as free from crime as possible.

About four years ago the local force had a slot open for a Detective II in their Vice division. Since that's what he was wanting to do since he became a cop, he put in a call to his old Captain - a friend of his father's, to smooth the road for him to get the job. By the time he and his wife, Anna a nurse, had squared away their new house and the girls were enrolled with school he received a call from the chief of detectives for the local PD and was offered the position. Their life was nearly perfect. Two working parents. Two great kids. Church on Sunday and family dinners with the folks.

Vice is vice, generally speaking, but there were a lot of weird, unsolvable cases that he came up against in his first few days. Prostitutes or pimps would turn up missing or bodies would be found that looked like they were attacked by an animal and the other detectives would just toss the file into a 'Cold Case' bin. They weren't even going to try and look for any details of the crime; almost like they knew that it would lead to a dead end before they started.

Then, about three years ago, he was on his way home from work, late, and his wife called to ask him to pick up some milk on the way home for the girl's breakfast. It had been a long day but he didn't mind - he even planned on picking her up some of those chocolate things that she liked but would never buy for herself. The 'Sleven' looked fairly empty when he went in but not deserted. It was just another night and he was just another guy grabbing milk on the way home.

Slevens are always getting robbed. Most store owners will ensure that the cashier will do hourly drops of money into the safe just to make sure they don't loose any big bills. It's not a matter of 'if' it will be robbed - more a matter of 'when'. Security cameras are a nice touch - if they work and if the images actually show their faces - and if anyone will actually testify against them. Usually such things happen without anyone getting hurt or maybe some stuff thrown off the shelves but everyone walks away. But not that night. That was the night the Sabbat came to the 7-11.

Is Anyone Thirsty?

Marshall walked up to the register with the milk in one hand, chocolate ho-hos and a pack of condoms in the other. The cashier just looked at him blankly and was obviously slow about looking at him or even taking the items to scan for prices. When he asked the guy 'how much' he just shrugged a little and said 'no charge' and told him to get out. It didn't take Marshall long to figure out what was going on and spied one of the robbers behind the register with the cashier holding a knife against his leg. Marshall pulled out his pistol and leveled it at the guy and began the process of talking him out and leaving the cashier alone when the doors to the Sleven swung open and a loud, booming voice called out "Is Anyone Thirsty?"

Marshall wheeled to face the crowd coming in - not sure if they were accomplices of the robber or just rowdy kids. The instant they saw his pistol - it was immediately apparent they were much more. The guy behind the cashier jumped to his feet and grabbed what cash he could from the drawer and tried to make it around the edge of the counter and towards the door while Marshall was distracted. The crowd that entered didn't seem to pay him much notice as he moved. Rather than let him pass or congratulate him on his score, one of them just grabbed him and held him in place; two feet off the ground.

Marshall ordered them to put him down and back away from the door. He yelled at the Cashier to call for the police and tell them that he needed back up but he didn't get a response. Turning for a moment to check on him he saw that he was unable to move - one of the people who was just at the door was standing behind him and holding his face flat against the counter. Again, Marshall ordered them to let go of their prey but they just laughed.

So Marshall tried to pull out his cellphone to call for backup while moving to a more defensive position to keep the group and the woman holding the cashier in place in direct sight. Backing up he heard the call connect to the dispatcher and then a black form materialized behind him and struck him on the back of the head. The floor of the Sleven reached up and smacked him without so much as a warning and the world went fuzzy and dark.

He barely felt himself being drug out of the carryout and tossed into the back of a van. Light and sound mashed together in his head as he tried to move but felt only other bodies on top of and under him in a huge pile. Most were struggling or squirming to move like a passel of puppies in a cardboard box. The van stopped - he could feel the lurch of the breaks as everyone shifted forward a little within the pile of bodies. Strong arms pulled him from the van and threw him to the ground and he smelled old dirt around him. He was in a park or something. There was grass and dirt under him. His senses started to come back a bit but his vision was still blurry. He tried to ask what was going on when someone stuck an arm against his mouth and liquid fire ran down into his throat like bad whiskey. He fought to pull away or spit it out but it was taken away too quickly. He collapsed back on the ground, and realized that his hands and feet had been tied with zip-ties. What the hell was going on?

He lay on the ground as he heard the others whimper and struggle in a dazed confusion that was starting to clear up. He couldn't tell what they made him swallow but he must have bitten his lip as the whole of the inside of his mouth tasted like blood. One of his eyes came into focus long enough to see the kid who was the cashier laying next to him. He had blood trickling out the corner of his mouth too. A pair of hands grabbed him by the back of the neck and the belt and lifted him off the ground and tossed him in a nearby hole like he weighed no more than a sack of cat food. Before he could protest he too was tossed into the hole and soon felt dirt brush against his face as they were burying them all alive. Before long there wasn't nothing around him but blackness and the squirms of the others that were buried with him.

Everything Was Black

He could hear the others around him. The dirt muffled them a lot but he could hear them struggling to free themselves. One of them seemed to wriggle or break free of the zip-ties and start to crawl her way out of the ground with the screaming cries of a new-born child. He could somehow hear the group above him cheer loudly and then her scream was silenced suddenly with an equally loud thud. All he could assume was that they were waiting on them to crawl free and were picking them off with a shot gun or something. He managed to twist himself around in the loose soil so that his mouth wasn't completely covered. He needed to get out and get out soon but he didn't want to crawl into another ambush.

Another cheer went up from above him and he assumed that one more of the survivors, maybe that cashier kid, had crawled out and with the same 'thunk' was ended. He tried to wait a bit longer and seconds passed. Another bunch of sound invaded his dirt prison but it wasn't the cheers he had heard before. This was different; more like a fire-fight. Gun fire? He couldn't wait any more, the panic of suffocation started to grip him and he flexed his wrists to start to crawl. He knew the zip-ties wouldn't break so easy but maybe if the others were able to do it so could he. He felt his arms free themselves from the restraints and he started to crawl. With any luck, he might be able to get out and move to cover before they realized he had made it out.

When he felt one of his hands break free from the dirt and it encouraged him to crawl and wriggle faster. He scrambled for the surface and finally broke through and gasped for air as though he were deep under water and had suddenly broke free. His muscles screamed and his body ached but he was quick to scan the grounds to find cover. Although it didn't, initially, register in his mind, there was no van nor group to hide from. He scrambled behind a tombstone and ducked his head out to scan the area quickly. No one. He was alone. He could see where a set of tires drove away from the open grave and there was a lot of collateral, ballistics damage on the local statues and things but no one was around. He rolled over on his back, taking a few, much-needed breaths to calm himself and plan his next move.

And that's when he saw her.

She was young, maybe only a few years past her teens, with short, chopped, black hair and was grinning down at him with a smile straight out of a horror movie. Young people just don't smile like that - at least not real ones. He started to speak but she raised a finger to her mouth to 'shush' him. The finger was long and pointed almost like a claw but sharper. Each of her fingers were stained red and black as though she had crawled out of the grave and ripped her fingernails off to do it. Something wasn't right. He started to turn onto his knees to crawl away when she leapt from the tombstone perch and landed on his back like a rabid dog. She grabbed his shoulders and sunk her claws into his flesh so she could not be shaken off as she bit at his neck again and again until she finally found purchase. He felt her teeth sink into his neck like two icy needles. He tried to claw free, tried to move but she was unbelievably strong. He felt himself grow week as he felt her nuzzling his neck, the slurping of his blood filling his ears. She seemed to finish and flipped him onto his back with as much care or effort as one might flip a pillow in their sleep.

"Don't think I forgot about you. You're all mine." She said and bit into her wrist and held the wound over his mouth. The blood poured in and was hot. It was one of the few things he could fell as he felt himself slowly slipping away from his body. The hot blood filled his mouth and he swallowed to try and speak. "Anna..." he muttered. She repositioned her wrist so that more of the blood flowed into his mouth - preventing him from speaking and he was able to swallow again and again before her heard the shot ring out.

The shooter, wherever they were, hit her square in the chest from where she sat straddled over Marshall's chest. The bullet ripped through her dirty 'hello kitty' t-shirt and tore a hole the size of a soda can out of her back. She bounded off of Marshall and rolled for cover behind a tombstone. Marshall suddenly felt a rush of energy within him. His arms and legs didn't hurt as badly and the gashes in his shoulders barely registered as he pushed himself up and started to run through the cemetery. He heard another shot and then a third and what sounded like a girl screaming out and then suddenly silenced. With any luck that was a sharpshooter from a SWAT team or maybe a passing cop. He had to get out of the graveyard.

Anna's husband, Marshall, managed to get about two blocks away before the thudding in his ears became too loud for him to focus. His gut started to twang and cramp in pain that seemed to get worse with each step. His mouth and throat felt dry with only the faint, copperish after-taste of her blood as a reminder of what he had done. A van drove was coming down the street and he wasn't sure if it was the same group - coming back to pick her and him up or not. He ducked down an alley to try and hide but knew that they'd spot him easily from there. One of the buildings had a side-door he tried but found it locked or stuck. He gave another dug and the door opened with a metallic groan as though it hadn't been opened for a while. Parts of the door's latch fell to the ground as he stepped inside to hide.

It was an old store - or maybe a storage building. The walls were bare and there was nothing inside but he could suddenly hear what sounded like a bass speaker. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. It wasn't exactly loud as it was resonant. He could almost feel the double-pulse of the speakers as he shambled around inside the building until he found the stairs that down to the basement. The thump-thump grew louder as he turned the corner and saw what appeared to be a guy in his late teens sitting on an old futon mattress. He was a squatter; a homeless kid getting off the street for a while. Marshall had seen dozens of guys like him only this time it was different. The thump-thump wasn't coming from a speaker but rather from the guy's chest.

The guy jumped from the futon as soon as Marshall entered the room. He held a kitchen knife out defensively and yelled for Marshall to go away. Marshall's blue eyes seemed to scan the skinny guy in search of the source of the thumping - he was sure that it had to be some kind of speaker for him to hear it so loudly. He blinked a few times to clear the haze that started to blur his vision with the next series of stomach cramps and as they opened he could see the source of the thumping. Marshall's vision focused on the guy's neck and he watched as a large vein throbbed in perfect harmony with the thump-thump of the invisible speaker. The knife was nearly ignored as his instinct kicked in.


The guy slashed wildly with the knife but Marshall grabbed him and clamped down with all of his strength on the guy's wrist. The knife clattered to the ground and Marshall slowly leaned in to sniff at his neck - and felt his lips pull back as his canines elongated into fangs. He couldn't help himself. With the next gut-punch of stomach cramps he seized the guy's neck in his jaws and clamped down to rip open the flesh. Blood poured into his mouth and down his chin as he greedily slurped it up as fast as he could. Eight seconds later the pain in his gut was gone, he felt one-hundred times better and the guy was dead.

A Whole New World

He was panicked. He had just killed a guy for his blood. He needed help but it was late; only an hour or so until morning. He couldn't stay there with the dead body so he crept upstairs and looked around the alley for the van. Sure enough - a van was parked only a block away - near the entrance to the cemetery. They might be looking for him. His best bet was to lay low until they left and then head back home. He went back down to the basement and wrapped up the body of the guy in an old tarp and tried to clean himself up as best he could. He worried about what Anna would think once she saw him - once she knew what he had done. He couldn't think about it. Not now - just get back home.

An hour later he went back upstairs to look back down the alley and discovered the van was gone and the first light of dawn was starting to give everything an odd, grey shadow. He was suddenly seized by a wave of fatigue unlike any he had ever felt before. He could barely stand let alone run home. He sluggishly pushed the door closed and found something to push in front of it before he headed back to the basement. Maybe the adrenaline of the night's chaos was finally spent and he just needed to sleep for a while. He curled up on the guy's futon and before he knew it - had passed out.

When he awoke it was night again. He had slept through the whole day. He managed to get home within an hour but paused after he got the corner of his block. There were two uniformed officers talking to Anna at their front door and she was crying. Maybe they thought that he was dead? He wanted to run to her - to tell her that he was ok and that she would be alright. He almost yelled out for her when he saw that same, white van drive by their house slowly. It was the same van that he saw while he was in the building last night. They were searching for him. He would have to find another way to make contact with Anna - he couldn't put her or the girls at risk.

This must have been some kind of mob hit - but why was he targeted? Why did they grab the cashier? None of it made any sense. He would have to lay low and try and sort things out the best he could. All he could do then was just watch his wife and daughters cry at the front door. It tore him up. He had never felt so helpless before then. Slowly he slunk away and decided to go find a cheap hotel to crash at while he made phone call. If it was the mob or some new gang - he didn't want to put his family at risk but he needed to get help for them and himself.

It turns out that there was another body discovered at the cemetery that matched his general description. There wasn't much to go on for an ID because the body's head was nearly blown away by a shotgun blast. He was wearing almost the same thing that Marshall was and carrying the wallet he lost while crawling out of the grave. A buddy of his in a different unit was able to tell him that the whole thing looked like a new gang hit and that if it was the gang that he had heard about - it was better to let everyone think he was dead for a few more days. He told his buddy, a guy who had gone through the academy with him, to tell his wife to take the girls and go stay where they first met. No one would know where that was and then he'd be able to make contact.

Justin Blackwell

(Inspiration: Lucious Malfoy / Jason Isaacs)

You see before you a figure of a man that stands of average height and weight with long, platinum blonde hair. The most striking feature about him, aside from his near porcelain-white skin, are the two points of golden-yellow light that are his eyes. No darker than a candle's flame, his eyes dominate his entire feature if not also his whole appearance as the glow, seemingly, does not falter. Aside from his unusual physical condition, he is dressed in the waist coat and jacket of a man straight out of the turn of the century, the -last- century. He could just as easily be from the early days of the 1900's as he stands before you complete with a pocket watch chain crossing the seam of his waist coat, the cut of his pants and the trim of his suit.

Normally wearing a pair of brown leather gloves to match the grey-wool of his jacket and charcoal of his trousers, the only splash of color upon the man is his waist coat which is brocaded with moss-green highlights.

Borgia Blackwell

Borgia Blackwell managed to marry herself into one of the more wealthy families of New York and then mourned the death of her husband after two children were born. Now in command of her deceased husband's fortune to care for his offspring, she instructs her children in the ways of magic.

Arkkon Blackwell

(Inspiration: Lliam Neeson)

The current master of the House of Blackwell. Officially a banker, he is one of the most ruthless leaders of Blackwell in the past 100 years. He is the leader of the Blackwell family for nearly five-hundred years.

Artemis Blackwell

Artemis is a professor of Archaeology at NYU. She's considered the least dangerous of the Blackwell family and concerns herself more with researching ancient artifacts more so than gaining power and control in the mortal or supernatural world.

She's an avid book hound and considered the best researcher within the family.

Character: August Blackwell

August Blackwell is (was) a Tremere of the 9th generation. He is a member of the House of Blackwell, a minor bloodline of the Clan Tremere / Mekhet.

August favored the old tradition of 'branding'. That is, he marked each one of his herd with a specific mark that was widely known among the kindred of the city as 'hands off'.