Why not indeed.
Where they exist, I've even included links to their stats, for those with truly nothing else at all whatsoever to occupy their time.
I will add to this as I scare up more pictures. If anyone has any pictures of me, especially in electronic form, as any of the following characters, and you'd be willing to send one along, let me know.
* Reg Cullen, Brujah anarch-wannabe, v. 1.0 (1995-96)
* Prince Carlos, Toreador war hero (1996-97)
* William Copley, Malkavian primogen (1997-1999)
* Karl the Troll, homeless do-gooder (Fall 1997)
* Dark Bobby, Sluagh do-badder (Spring 1998)
* Mr. Hawthorne, Nosferatu occultist (1998-99)
* Drums-of-War, Metis Fianna Galliard (Summer 1999)
* Faustus Cornelius Sulla Felix Germanicus, Ventrue media mogul (1999-2000)
* Reg Cullen, Brujah anarch-wannabe, v. 2.0 (1999-2000) (and his band
* Thomas von Krieger, almost sinister Tremere regent (2000-2001)
* Chthonic, Nosferatu information broker (current)
The
Ricardo-Montalban-accented Carlos was my second character, the 600-year-old
Toreador prince of Boston, in the second full chronicle of the Van
Helsing Society (1996-97). Not the nicest guy (in his mortal days,
he worked for the Spanish Inquisition; as a Toreador, his chosen art form
was torture), he was nonethless a war hero in struggles against the Sabbat.
When the Sabbat came to town yet again under the leadership of his contemporary
and long-time Lasombra adversary, a woman named Lasua�a (in an original
version, before a coup-d'�tat among the storytellers not directly
related to this plot point, they were going to be ex-lovers, but that bit
of pointless angst was scrapped by the new r�gime), Carlos, with
the problematic help of the Brujah Primogen, pulled the fractious Kindred
of Boston together to repel them. (It also helped that they somehow ended
up trapped in Hell, or something. I can't remember exactly.)
With the Sabbat gone, the Cam. fell into infighting once again. Carlos began to lose his grip, governing more by Dominate and Presence than by political acumen. (A typical use of Mesmerism, a new toy towards the end of the chronicle: "If you ever intend to betray me, call me up and tell me first.") Unfortunately for Carlos, some Thing in the service of Oblivion lurking beneath the city began slowly to drive him mad. He responded to the admittedly real threat to his power from the Brujah Primogen by suspending the Primogen Council and declaring martial law, in between bouts of raving monologues in foreign languages. This was under first ed. Laws of the Night rules, and Carlos went into his last game with 4 Beast Traits and 4 Derangements. During a convocation of all the Kindred of the city he finally lost all control, and after spouting nonsense courtesy of my Greek phrase book ("This is the hat of my friend. It is bursting with rage. Spinach! Spinach! Do you fix cameras?") Carlos went into permanent frenzy. His own childe and loyalists had to take him down.
I can take some comfort in the fact that his loyalists took down the Brujah as well. The last couple of games of the chronicle had a new prince each session, and I think nearly everybody died, except for my new character, a mortal psychic who saw what horrible things were coming and refused to leave his home...
Carlos is shown here, in a photo stolen from Mr. Coleman, in gripping rock-paper-scissors vamp-on-vamp action, in the combat that led to his demise.
Copley
was the character I played the longest, in the now defunct Lunatic
Fringe game (from the website of which comes the picture below), from
Fall 1997 to Spring 1999. Though Malkavian, he was actually much saner
than Carlos ever was, his main Derangement being "Undying Remorse" over
having eaten his new bride back in the days of the Revolutionary War. As
a result, he always wore a wedding dress so he could beat himself up with
the memory.� Presiding over a dysfunctional family of Malkavians in
a communal haven beneath Harvard's Widener Library, Copley weathered hunters,
werewolves, political machinations, and even a few changes of government,
not to mention the beginning of Gehenna.
The rising of the Antediluvians spurred a grudging cooperation with
the Sabbat of the city, and in the tumult Copley himself fell prey to a
forceful conversion. (This was back in the pre-Achilli days when all you
had to do to convert a vampire was hit him with a shovel and bury him.)
Copley rose from his second grave much better adjusted, ironically, no
longer pining over his lost bride or hoping for redemption. In the chronicle's
last few sessions, the Masquerade had fallen apart and it was all very
post-Apocalyptic, and Copley and his new friends worked on converting vampires
for the fight or trying to slay those who did not wish to join them. Copley
was thrown into torpor during a failed attempt by the pack to take down
a powerful Giovanni necromancer (with whom Copley had never gotten along
in his Camarilla days, either). That turned out to be the last session
of the chronicle, as well, as changes of storyteller staff and venue (probably people thought the fetish dungeon decor didn't make up for the loss of the hot tub), along
with player attrition as the storyline went all Mad Max (which is too bad, as I thought it had great potential), finally took their
toll. But it was, over its run, a good game.
Mr. Hawthorne was a twinky concept they let me get away with in Van Helsing in the 1998-99 chronicle. Part of it might be that those of us who had been playing changelings in the early days of the Byzantium chronicle (which ended up lasting three semesters rather than the usual two) couldn't anymore, since we were admittedly hard to work into the general vampire thing, and so they let me do something mildly freakish as a booby prize. Whatever the case, Hawthorne was once a mortal sorceror, a great (etc.) grand-nephew of the local Nosferatu prince of the city. Prince Hawthorne took the boy on board as a ghoul. And of course he ended up getting embraced Nosferatu (not by the prince, however). All of which is the long version of saying: I played a Nosferatu with Lure of Flame Thaumaturgy.
More later.
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