Clan Gangrel
Raife stands approximately 6 feet 2 inches tall. His appears to be between 25 and 30 years of age. His hair is jet black and is actually just past shoulder length, but he has it cut short each night as is more befitting a soldier. Is eyes are an incredibly pale ice blue. Almost like the sun shining through deep glacier ice. His wardrobe changes from time to time, but generally consists of a black leather duster framing a French blue, button down shirt, black jeans, and hiking boots. He also generally sports an expensive Tag Hauer watch (any Ventrue worth his money (no pun intended) will recognize it as a very well made and expensive watch).
United States -- 1793
He walked along the forest depths listening to the sounds that only the night can bring, and he sighed happily. Finally the sounds of battle had fallen silent. The sounds of muskets and cannons raping the stillness of the night had ceased. America was free... the British defeated... He was lucky to have lived through the war... but luck had never seemed to be a problem for him: A Redcoat's musket misfiring in combat, a pirates saber breaking against his, a full crown found on the floor of an inn when his purse had been stolen. He'd always been lucky.
Raife took a moment to rest against a tall, strong pine tree and breath a deep sigh of contentment. It had taken several years of bloody battle, but they'd won. He was still getting used to the silence. It had been 10 years since the war had officially ended with the signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1783. Six years since the Constitution had been written, and just a short 2 years since the Bill of Rights had been ratified and added to the Constitution... If felt like it was all just days ago. The silence still seemed strange... then again almost being killed in battle will change a person's perspective on life.
He had been born to parents who were traders. Trading and business had never held a particular interest for him, but travel and knowledge fascinated him. He had been to many areas of the globe, and learned much everywhere he went. He was always fascinated with the things he could learn in such places. He learned martial skills from monks in Tibet and China, Chess and Latin from Cardinals in Rome, Alchemy in Vienna, Warfare in his birthland of Scotland... he soaked it all in like a sponge. He took it all with him as books and journals when his parents had chosen to move to America... a land ripe for Trade.
Then the war had broken out... It had proven to be a long, bloody battle for freedom and independence. British raiders had killed both his parents. He'd been left with two things as a result: a sizable fortune... and a vast loneliness. But the loneliness had been taken care off with another stroke of luck. He looked about attempting to see through the darkness. He was to meet some of his friends this evening. It had been a few years since he'd made friends with several members of the local Indian tribes, but it was a friendship he would not have sacrificed for the world. He sighed a bit in though... he knew most "Americans" (the relatively new word still sounding a bit funny to his ears) thought of the Indians as little more than base savages. He knew they were wrong. He had learned so much from them already, and looked forward to learning even more.
His face flushed a bit with remembered rage at the thought of the young Indian woman that he'd come across in the woods one bright afternoon. A group of trappers had decided she was "only an Indian" and therefore fair game for them to have a bit of sport. He had no doubts at all of what they would have done if he hadn't arrived. After he was done with them there were three lying dead and two others had fled into the twilight. He'd carried her bruised and injured body with great care back to her village. From that day forward he had been treated as one of them. The young woman he saved became as a sister to him. The found that they had a tie that seemed to bind their very essences together as family. Her name was Sky. She was a mute and therefore could not speak, but they never seemed to need words to know what the other was thinking. He'd even been able to meet someone they referred to as a Tribal Guardian. An oddly quiet and intimidating figure they called Ghost-who-walks-within, or less formally Ghost -- Someone who would later change his life in ways he could begin to imagine.
He visibly shook off the memory and continued through the woods to meet with his friends and share an evening of companionship... he glanced to the freshly killed rabbits strapped to his pack... and good food. What more could he have wished for in life.
He finally spotted a distant campfire in the woods, and began to make his way there. The light was deceptive though, and he hiked for almost half of an hour before his hearing began to pick up the sounds of distant laugher. It was not the laugher of his friends... it was harsh and dark... and vivid in his recent memory. If anyone had been about they would have seen his deeply tanned skin pale in dread, then flush with fear and rage as he began running through the woods.
As he broke through the woods into the bright lights of the campfire it took him a few seconds to adjust, a few seconds for his eyes to register the horror before him... seconds he didn't have.
The two trappers were there again. A nightmarish sense of d�j� vu spread through his body. The campsite was littered with carnage and gore. His friends looking like they'd been ripped apart by two bears playing tug-o-war. Bits of bone and flesh scattered about. The trappers stood towering over her. They laughed at the silent scream on her face as she tried to push them away. They apparently forced her to watch as they killed the others, and now they planned to try to finish what they'd started previously.
Raife's musket was in his hand before he even realized he'd unstrapped it. The muzzle of the long-rifle was steady and true as the explosion of flame and smoke erupted from it. It was mimicked just a nanosecond later as one of the trappers skulls exploded showering his companion with blood, bone, and other thicker material dripping down his face and neck.
Raife dropped the now useless musket and reached for the saber on his hip. The saber cleared the scabbard just as the other trapper slammed into him; his wrist was pinned between their bodies as they staggered backwards. When they finally regained their balance Raife violently pushed the trapper away, slashing at him as he staggered backwards and drew a deep gash along the trapper's belly. The would be rapist was suddenly more concerned with holding his bowels in, then attacking his sister. Raife's eyes never wavered as he watched the life slowly drain from the trapper. As the last of his life drained away Raife moved forward and stepped on the back of his skull, driving his face deep into the soft soil, ensuring his fate.
It wasn't until he stepped away, kicking off the trapper's hand that had futilely grasped his boot as he died, that Raife noticed the blood dripping down his arm. He looked to the trapper's other hand, and for the first time noticed the bloody knife loose in his grip. The trapper must have held it as he rushed forward and cut into his arm as their bodies had been pinned together. Raife staggered towards his sister... his shocked eyes meeting hers as his life's dripped away onto the ground. She weakly reached towards him as she lost consciousness from the beating she'd received. He realized he was dying, and that his sister would probably die as well. Anger and resentment flooded his mind as his body fell from lack of blood. He never saw the hands that caught him as he fell. The next thing he remembered was fire... liquid fire burning a path down his throat. Terrible, burning, lifesaving fire. He looked up to see Ghost standing over him. He looked quickly over at Sky and saw her resting quietly against the base of the rock her body had been draped over before. She appeared to be asleep and almost completely healed. Raife looked up and blinked unbelievingly at Ghost thinking maybe his lucky streak had held after all.
Ghost only smiled a strange half smile and said, "Don't worry... you're Kindred now. A Gangrel through and through. You two will learn together." And with that he vanished into the night. All it had taken was a matter of moments, and his life... their lives... would never be the same again.
******************************************************
Raife shook himself free of the memories. He and Sky had indeed learned together. They had spent the first few months of their new existence learning what it meant to be Gangrel. Then they had parted ways to find others of their kind to learn from.
Raife spent much of the early 1800s exploring North America and aiding Indian tribes and slaves to attain their freedom. He bought large plots of land in various ages and secretly developed them as refuges for various groups. He learned more about finances, and what he didn't learn he made up for in hiring wise investors.
In the mid 1800s, just prior to the Civil War, he once again encountered Ghost. He spent several years learning from his sire and learning some of the finer points of Gangrel existence and Kindred society. He took many of his sire's teachings to heart, and every so often taught his sire a few things as well. And all the while he continued his training in various means of combat, physical conditioning, and the ways of the Kindred. He had learned too well that a safe house is not always enough. Sometimes the innocent and oppressed had to be protected by force. He fought for the North in the Civil War, he survived the sinking of the Titanic, and he fought in both World Wars - although not in an official military capacity. Eventually he made his way back to America once more. He had explored the various US cities occasionally, as well as many other places. Then he felt the calling. His sire and his sister were near by and he followed the call. With that call had come two more years by his sire's side in Miami... then wanderlust and struck again, and he'd moved on to Denver, and then abroad to learn more about himself and a dear companion.
And now... now here he was... in Boston. Not the best city he'd ever been to, but far from the worst. At least if nothing else things here certainly appeared that they would prove entertaining and educational.
Camarilla: They have honorable ideals for the most part, but as with many other politicians they have forgotten how to take care of their people and lead by example. They have forgotten that it was a democratic group; not an autonomy. They must learn to set aside petty differences if they are to hold against the days and night ahead.
Sabbat: They say we are in touch with our beast... but the Sabbat (for the most part) have allowed theirs to consume them to the point of madness. One must never underestimate their conviction to their beliefs or the atrocities they are capable of committing. On the whole they are better off meeting their final death.
Independents: As with most people, each should be judged based on their individual merits ... but cautiously ... and with vigilance.
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