Post by Luke on Jul 13, 2007 13:18:45 GMT -5
Clayton Davis did not believe that he was one step higher on the evolutionary chain. He regarded his unlife as something hideous and unnatural. Were it not for the blessings of the blood and the refusal of his Beast to face the morning sun - he would have ended the monstrous charade.
In his world it is always night. When dawn approaches he must sleep and sleep he shall. The waking world is no place for monsters such as he. Perhaps he was already dead and this was some special hell reserved for him - and the other Kindred who shared these cold nights with him. He certainly remembers dying...
Whenever Clayton would feed his victim would go limp in his arms. It was like a puppet at that point - an empty and hollow husk which meant nothing more to him than the way a junkie gets a quick fix.
When Clayton would finish - that puppet would spring back to some semblence of life, but would be an amalgomation of ecstacy and grogginess. He knew that whenever he drank from a person he took something more than just blood. He stole a piece of them, an invisible and mostly intangible piece of their essence... of what made them - them.
For as long as their blood remained in his system he could hear their voices urging him to action. Once upon a time he fed from a beggar. Over the course of the next week he was depressed and hopeless - recognizing these as the emotions of the beggar - he decided to use his resources and connections to get the beggar into a homeless shelter, cleaned him up, and got him a job at a nearby fast food restaurant.
Clayton could not bring himself to feed every night. Whenever a hunt went badly the essence of the blood smelled like fear or pain and it writhed inside of his brain. Clayton was a religious man and he set his schedule for feeding to coincide with the days he had gone to church previous to the embrace. Every Wednesday and every Sunday he would hunt, taking enough to ensure that he could make it from one of those days to the next. Occasionally the hunger would overtake him between these dates, but it was not often enough that he had to adjust his schedule.
While Clayton certainly had the ability to feed from animals, he did not have the necessary mindset. The disciplines of his clan drew him towards Animals. He began to learn how they communicate, how to call them, and even how to ride inside of them. Calling one to him and then drinking its blood was not a real choice for him and it wasn't challenging.
Throughout the years Clayton also developed the powers to control the minds of men and women. He could crush their minds on a whim and supplant his own thoughts and actions. Once or twice he had abused this to rectify mistakes he had made. Should the need arise he could always leave messages for them to meet him at certain places and at certain times.
However, he preferred to catch his prey on the street... on Wednesdays and Sundays... when the good people of the world were tucked away in their churches. It always made him feel just a little better about those he chose to sate the Beast's thirst on. After all, they were not God's children. They were fair game...
He would merely wait until he could isolate one of the sheep from the flock, he would ask what time it is... and when they look down at their watch he would bite in. It only took a few seconds to get what he needed, after all.
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So... how much blood should Clayton have when he comes to game?
How would Clayton mechanically represent his hunting through the week?
What modifier would Clayton have if he hunted @ game?
_____________________________________________________
In his world it is always night. When dawn approaches he must sleep and sleep he shall. The waking world is no place for monsters such as he. Perhaps he was already dead and this was some special hell reserved for him - and the other Kindred who shared these cold nights with him. He certainly remembers dying...
Whenever Clayton would feed his victim would go limp in his arms. It was like a puppet at that point - an empty and hollow husk which meant nothing more to him than the way a junkie gets a quick fix.
When Clayton would finish - that puppet would spring back to some semblence of life, but would be an amalgomation of ecstacy and grogginess. He knew that whenever he drank from a person he took something more than just blood. He stole a piece of them, an invisible and mostly intangible piece of their essence... of what made them - them.
For as long as their blood remained in his system he could hear their voices urging him to action. Once upon a time he fed from a beggar. Over the course of the next week he was depressed and hopeless - recognizing these as the emotions of the beggar - he decided to use his resources and connections to get the beggar into a homeless shelter, cleaned him up, and got him a job at a nearby fast food restaurant.
Clayton could not bring himself to feed every night. Whenever a hunt went badly the essence of the blood smelled like fear or pain and it writhed inside of his brain. Clayton was a religious man and he set his schedule for feeding to coincide with the days he had gone to church previous to the embrace. Every Wednesday and every Sunday he would hunt, taking enough to ensure that he could make it from one of those days to the next. Occasionally the hunger would overtake him between these dates, but it was not often enough that he had to adjust his schedule.
While Clayton certainly had the ability to feed from animals, he did not have the necessary mindset. The disciplines of his clan drew him towards Animals. He began to learn how they communicate, how to call them, and even how to ride inside of them. Calling one to him and then drinking its blood was not a real choice for him and it wasn't challenging.
Throughout the years Clayton also developed the powers to control the minds of men and women. He could crush their minds on a whim and supplant his own thoughts and actions. Once or twice he had abused this to rectify mistakes he had made. Should the need arise he could always leave messages for them to meet him at certain places and at certain times.
However, he preferred to catch his prey on the street... on Wednesdays and Sundays... when the good people of the world were tucked away in their churches. It always made him feel just a little better about those he chose to sate the Beast's thirst on. After all, they were not God's children. They were fair game...
He would merely wait until he could isolate one of the sheep from the flock, he would ask what time it is... and when they look down at their watch he would bite in. It only took a few seconds to get what he needed, after all.
_____________________________________________________
So... how much blood should Clayton have when he comes to game?
How would Clayton mechanically represent his hunting through the week?
What modifier would Clayton have if he hunted @ game?
_____________________________________________________