Anastasia McIntyre II

Description:

I will be doing another run of the character gen with this character, just to make sure I got it all right, I want to double check my numbers and make sure I didn’t cheat lawls

Name: Born Anastasia McIntyre II, uses Anastasia Blake
Nature: Traditionalist
Demeanor: Director (? might change/don’t know)
Concept: Socialite
Clan: Ventrue
Generation: 8th
Sire: James Worthington

Attributes (priority):

(3) Physical – Strength 1. Dexterity 3. Stamina 2.
(1) Social – Charisma 5 (Genteel). Manipulation 3. Appearance 3.
(2) Mental – Perception 2. Intelligence 4 (Creative). Wits 3.

Abilities (priority):

(3) Talents – Alertness 4 (Ambushes). Expression 2. Leadership 3.
(2) Skills – Animal Ken 3. Crafts 3. Etiquette 4 (Kindred Society). Performance 3.
(1) Knowledges – Academics 3. Finance 1. Investigation 1. Law 1. Linguistics 3. Occult 1. Politics 4 (Camarilla).

Advantages:

Disciplines: - Auspex 1
- Dominate 1
- Presence 1
- Fortitude 1
Backgrounds: - Age 1 (30 freebies, -1 Humanity)
- Status 2
- Generation 5
- Herd 3
- Resources 4
- Mentor 3
Virtues – Conscience/Conviction 3
– Self Control/Instinct 4
– Courage 3

Humanity/Path: (7-1 for Age) 6

Willpower: 6

Bloodpool (pts/turn): 15 (3)

Weakness: May only drink the blood of the willing.

Merits and Flaws: Prestigious Sire (1pt Merit/Social)
- Your sire has or had great status in her sect or clan, and this has accorded you with a certain amount of prestige. Though your sire may no longer have any dealings with you, the simple fact of your ancestry has marked you forever. This prestige might aid you greatly in dealings with your elders or other neonates, or it might engender jealousy or contempt.

Languages: English (Natural), Romance Languages, Germanic Languages, +2 more

Derangements: None

Allies and Contacts: My Mentor and Sire, James Worthington.

Description - Age: 133
- Apparent Age: Late teens/Early Twenties
- R.I.P.: November 13, 1879
- Sex: Female
- Race: Caucasian
- Hair: Light brown tinges of red. Almost auburn.
- Eyes: Light blue, almost grey.
- Height: 5’6”
- Weight: 125 lbs
- Nationality: British

Other Traits:

- Haughty
- Sure of herself

Bio:

Family:

Sire: James Worthington
- Talk, sleek, in control. He wore spectacles though I’m sure it was not needed for reading, simply to make him more approachable. Dark brown hair and eyes to match, the hair greying at his temples and streaks of it mixed in the rest. Well groomed, would always look as though he were just getting out at the start of the night for a show.
Father: Duncan McIntyre
- Scottish, born in Glasgow 23 December 1834, moved to London as a small boy
- Stern, overbearing and protective. Family man. Rich family, made their money in the railroad and land. Had a strong form, intimidating, towards people he was not close to, rarely showed this side to me and my brother. Red hair, green eyes.
Mother: Mary McIntyre
- Born in London 15 December 1840. From a rich family though I don’t know much about her. The paintings of her I’ve seen show her with a kindness in her eyes and beautiful brown hair. Bright blue eyes.
Brother: Ethan McIntyre
- Born in London 22 June 1861
- Three years younger than I. Followed in Father’s footsteps. Tall and broad though slender in weight. He had the same strong form as Father and could be just as intimidating, though he showed this to myself far more often than Father showed his. Had sandy blonde hair which, in the light, showed hints of red. He also has Father’s eyes, same shape and colour. They are… were often mistaken for one another.
Myself: Anastasia McIntyre II
- Born in London 28 October 1858
- I take after mother in appearance, slight build and slightly above average height for a woman. Long curly hair that has always been easy to control, never unruly and rarely frizzy. Like Ethan I have light brown hair, with hints of red so that it almost looks auburn in the sun. Not any more it doesn’t! Like my mother I have blue eyes, though mine border on a steely grey and never seemed to carry the same brightness or kindness as hers did.

Background (First Person):

Mother died when I was barely five of the consumption. Whilst Father attempted desperately to manage the house and continue running his railroad business in the years following, my brother Ethan, who was two at the time of Mother’s passing, and I were raised by a myriad of nannies and our Tutor, Mr. Jones. When I was twenty, Father decided it was time for the move to the New World he had been considering when Mother fell ill. I found the passage terribly dull and vowed that I would not do such a large relocation again, for as long as I lived (which incidentally has included my unnatural life as well). Ethan took to the trip swimmingly. Where I had a penchant for the maudlin after Mother’s passing, it had hardly affected him. It was to be that upon our arrival in Upper Canada, Ethan would begin working with Father, to learn the family business as it were, whereas I was to begin my New Life as head of the household (prior to this Father had Ethan in the yards doing work there, though I was never quite certain exactly what). Father had confided in me before we began the voyage that he would have far too much going on what with having to not only create a functioning rail system, but have it expand across all of Upper and Lower Canada to facilitate trade between the two.

Shortly after our arrival, Father met a gentleman of impeccable manners whom he had brought home to dinner, with the obvious intent as I was twenty-one and more than the age to begin finding a husband (Father had waited until we had finished our relocation as he did not want that I would be left in England or that he would have to uproot my husband and our children to keep me close, he was thoughtful and overbearing like that. I think that’s what I miss about him the most these days…). He was the most charming individual I had had the fortune of acquainting myself with at the time. He looked to be older, at least the age of Father, with greying hair, and he had a strange intensity to him which wrestled oddly with his apparently complete lack of care. He was relaxed in a way that screamed he had all the time in the world to do as he pleased, was aware of this, and took much solace in the fact that he had no need to rush.

Needless to say I was taken, I had yet to feel any sort of feelings towards a man, and had had no encounters with any outside of my home. But there was something thrilling about this mysterious stranger that Father had been so taken by, and I must admit I too felt a connection that first night over wine and chicken (which he graciously declined as he was on a special diet dictated by the doctor due to digestive issues). When desert had been cleared Father invited the stranger to his smoking room for brandy and cigars, and to my amazement, and quite frankly Father’s as well, he instead asked to accompany me for a walk on the grounds. Taylor, our butler, followed as a chaperone every night that week when my Stranger came to call.

I began to become ill over the course of this time, developing a cough and weakness, fainting when I never had before. The doctors told Father it was the consumption or some blood disease, or perhaps both, my symptoms made little to no sense to them. My Stranger would call upon me a minimum of three nights a week during the painful and tiring months. Sometimes I was too sick or tired to see him and he would instead sit by my bed while I slept or outside my door composing a letter to me. He left me one such letter the night before I died, though I was unable to read it the next morning in my brief state of awareness. The servant girl who came bustling through picked it up and read it for me upon my request, and it broke my heart to hear how much emotion had been charged into it. He had said something about how I ‘should not fear death as it will be a release from the pain and suffering of life. When this ordeal is over and [I am] well again, [he would] be waiting for me with open arms.’ Upon hearing his beautiful letter, I again drifted into an uneasy sleep and did not wake up until a few days later.

I woke ensconced in my grave. It was dark and I could hardly move. I was lashing and screaming for what felt like hours, a hunger I had never known and a thirst I thought I would never quench screaming at me to continue my scrabbling and desperate attempts to break free. I heard something hit the top of the coffin and in a few moments I was dragged out into the cold night air by strong arms. My stranger had rescued me, welcomed me with open arms now that I was again well, just as he promised. I was his childe for forty years. He taught me what is was to be a Kindred, a Ventrue.

The next forty years came in a blur, between the lessons and sleeping, time went by so fast. James was kind and gentle with me, the only time I saw him lose his control it was directed at someone else, and I can assure you I never wanted to see him like that again. Often he would take me hunting with him, would show me how to make someone want you to control them, want the bites. He taught me to feed without killing and what to do when you did. The Traditions, how society for us worked, the politics, all of it for forty glorious years. I loved what I had become, and I was grateful to him for giving me this life.

We never ventured far from my home. It would not have made sense really. He had the deed and keys to Elysium, something he was preparing to offer to me when I had come of age and knew enough. He was on the Primagen. It always amazed me how influential he was, and myself by proximity.

When the Great War came I found it confused me that so many people would die for what seemed like a foolish fight, a waste. Though the years that followed were glorious, women and men, too drunk to think or see properly, would line the streets. It was a feast every night should one know what to look for, and I did. I was presented as an adult in 1918, the year the war ended. The Prince had seemed impressed, and James was so proud of me. I held my own in society after that, the years of training, in both my life and non-life, had well prepared me for the world I was now set loose in. James stayed a close friend and continued contact with me. We would sometimes hunt together, we were a good team.

When news arrived that stock markets had crashed, I did not fully comprehend what it meant. Quickly though the world seemed to turn an ashen grey as everyone began losing their homes, their automobiles. Even many aristocratic families suffered and it seemed as though the classes were joining, status meant nothing when you couldn’t feed your family without waiting in line at a soup kitchen.

I went to sleep then, and stayed asleep. For 10 years I rested while someone else handled my finances. I wanted nothing to do with it, yet the stench of humanity intruded then, and when I awoke I found that no longer was the world plunged into an eternal financial crisis, but instead, they had begun a new war. Germany had invaded Poland, and the rest of the world fell to their knees to try and stop this new threat. I again felt that this war was a waste, too many people would die because of this, and as such, after only a few months awake, to check my affairs, I again laid down to sleep.

When I awoke 10 years later, again everything seemed to have healed. Families were booming, everyone was having children and still riding that carefree wave after the second ‘War to End All Wars’. I had hoped that it would be the same as it was before my long sleep, but I was wrong, things had changed and I could sense it. I reconnected with James, and he helped to fill in what had happened. He showed me the changes to Elysium and again promised that I would have it, his gift to his baby girl. I was the third vampire he had sired, and he reminded me often that I would stay his last.

When the disco era erupted, he turned and handed over the keys at last. He trusted me enough to manage our safe haven in the city. He told me then that he would not be staying in the city long, it was time for him to move on, and in 1979, one hundred years after My Becoming, he left. Elysium did well under my management.

And that’s how it continued, until about 15 years ago. Blood began to be more scarce. It was harder to find a meal anywhere within the city. The Prince approached me one night in Elysium and handed me a task. Fix the problem. Make hunting easier. I nodded my acquiescence and that morning when I closed the doors to Elysium I began to hatch a plan. Themed bars were all the rage. Why not make one, here, at Elysium, where every Kindred goes. Make a vampire themed bar. Within its walls my fellows are safe, and they can hunt and feed. When the doors reopened six months later, the gentleman’s club James had kept for however many years was gone, and no trace remained. The bar took off, its popularity staggering. While the world outside continued on its merry way, we once again could feed without starvation. My hold in the city, my position in society seemed cemented, though the Prince seemed less than pleased.

Since then I have continued to run Elysium, accepting mortal and Kindred clientele. James has visited and proudly placed a hand upon my shoulder at my success. He talked of taking the idea with him to his new home, though whether he does or not I don’t know, he has yet to tell me. Life has been good these last one hundred and thirty-three years. I have begun considering the possibility of siring my own childe, though I have not made a decision on the matter as of yet. I’m still young. James is almost 600. I have time.

Background (likes/dislikes):

Musical tastes tend towards the classical, a great deal from the late Romantic era as that is the stuff I grew up listening to. I received a gramophone upon landing in Canada as a gift from Father, an apology, it would seem, for uprooting me from my home and bringing me here. While I was sick I would listen to it as often as I could, and it was to be left playing at all times in my room during the day. Father had a copy of Tchaikovsky’s Francesca da Ramini (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-neC0564ulI)(side note, the link takes you to the youtube of this piece, it was released in 1876 for Dante’s Divine Comedy. The scene featured a noblewoman who had fallen in love with ‘her ugly husbands brother’ and after being killed in a fit of revenge by the husband, the two are in a swirling cyclone in hell, the second level I believe, never to touch the ground again for all eternity as punishment for the pleasure they had wrought in their adulterous joys) which he would play often while he sat with me, reading or working, while I convalesced. Also greatly enjoys the works of others such as; Dvorak, Engelbert Humperdinck, Rossini, Rimsky-Korsakov, and Grieg.

She loves to read: Dickens, Emily Dickinson, Edgar Allan Poe, Jane Austen. Prefers British literature, though will read American as long as it is not too ‘rough’.

Enjoys Art, no particular artist, but more the movements. Modern art is crude, rough and untamed, She’s not fond of that. Dislikes abstract, but prefers landscapes and portraits. The more lifelike the better.

Lineage:

(7) James Worthington
(6) Lady Anne
(5) Vaerlius
(4) Mithras
(3) Veddarta
(2) Enoch
(1) Caine

As is the tradition, I recite the lineage of Anastasia, Ventrue of the Eigth Generation.
My name is Anastasia. I am Ventrue. My sire is James.
My name is James. I am Ventrue. My sire is Lady Anne.
My name is Lady Anne. I am Ventrue. My sire is Vaerlius.
My name is Vaerlius. I am Ventrue. My sire is Mithras.
My name is Mithras. I am Ventrue. My sire is Veddarta.
My name is Veddarta. I am sire of the Ventrue. My sire is Enoch.
My name is Enoch. My sire is Caine.
My name is Caine. I am he who sired all those of the Blood. All Kindred are my childer.

My name is Anastasia, childe of James, childe of Lady Anne, childe of Vaerlius, childe of Mithras, childe of Veddarta, childe of Enoch, childe of Caine. Recognize my lineage.

“Regere sanguine, regere in veritatem est." (“To rule through blood is to rule in truth”.) – Ventrue Clan Motto

“Know that in all times there will be a Caesar: Pay him his due.” – Ventrue proverb

“To rid yourself of an enemy, outlive him.” – Ventrue proverb

Anastasia McIntyre II

Nothing is Forever torontoabc