My next attempt at LARPing… Sabbat style!
Yup. Part two: LARP boogaloo! This is my new Sabbat character. She is… um… dark? Feedback welcome as I’m still working on stats.
Name: Evelyn Storm
Nature: Dark Poet
Demeanor: Creep Show
Physical: Brutal, Deadly, Dexterous, Fierce, Nimble, Steady, Tenacious, Tireless, Tough, Vicious, Wiry
Social: Callous, Cruel, Intense
Mental: Attentive, Clever, Creative, Depraved, Inhumane
Negative Mental: Unstable
Body Crafts X3, Brawl X2, Dodge X2, Occult, Stealth, Torture
Visscisitude: Malleable Vissage, Fleshcraft, Bonecraft, Horrid Form
Auspex: Heightened Senses, Aura Perception
Flaws: Addiction (Alcohol), Prey Exclusion (Medical Profession)
(Humanity sold down by 1. I fully intend to go for Path of Metamorphosis as we play. Free traits plus derangement, flaws, negative traits, and humanity additions spent on 2 levels of advanced Visscisitude, 4 traits of Abilities, 4 traits of attributes.)
(I wanted to play this character as more on the bi-polar end so I added Unstable to reflect the truly intense nature of her derangement. Her flaws are explained in further detail in her background [below].)
There is a cultural ‘fact’, almost a running joke about serial killers – they are always the ‘good neighbor’ or the ‘nice but quiet guy next door’. The one that no one ever suspects. When the news crew shows up, the neighbors all say “Oh my word, I never would have thought! Why, he was always so polite!“
That’s not Evelyn.
The fact is, most female serial killers prey on those that they know. Some are ‘black widows’. They use their feminine assets and wiles to lure in men and deprive them of their wealth and lives. Some are ‘angels of death’, silently racking up massive kill counts in hospitals and asylums. Some are part of a team, commanded by another, more dominant predator. Some just kill for profit or revenge and end up portrayed by Uma Thurman.
None of these descriptions are Evelyn either.
Of course, she doesn’t think of herself as cruel and inhuman. She doesn’t think of herself as a killer. She is an artist, dealing in a medium that should mean more to the world then toxic paints or lifeless marble. What is more compelling than a canvas of flesh? What color is more beautiful than the carmine spray of fresh blood? The human body is a wonder and it is an insult not to wonder at it – inside and out. Art should be transcendental and, at its best, transform both the artist, subject, and viewer. Every artist wants you to walk a mile in their shoes, to see the world as they see it. But Evelyn wants more. She wants to walk in your shoes, crawl inside your skin, and stare out from your eyes. Then you can see the world together and oh! How much she can learn then! To see the world from a thousand pairs of eyes, to don the skin and soul of a thousand different lives… that is true art and transcendence. That is truly becoming something ‘more’.
The quiet nondescript neighbor, she is not.
While other little girls played house, she was dismembering her Barbies. While other children asked Santa for tin race cars and plastic ponies and big red firetrucks, she asked for a needle, some thread, and ‘the Art of Hand-Sewing Leather’. In school, when the playground bullies bloodied her, she used her own leaking fluids to fingerpaint. When concerned parents and horrified teachers sent her to therapy, she could only ask “why“?
They were always kind to her, that ever revolving column of doctors. They didn’t yell or cry about her rocketing moods. If black depression claimed her at her inability to get a painting or a garment just right, they would encourage her to ‘express’ her feelings. They always wanted to talk about her art and her visions. They encouraged her to try different mediums and artistic endeavors. Sweet doctors, they encouraged her to hone her body (“It’s a temple!“) and turn her energy into physical action. They taught her that she saw the world differently from others. All those loving, patient doctors… they taught her so much.
But they couldn’t help her stave off the depression. And they couldn’t hold in check the manic rage that often swept in behind it. They tried endless parades of drugs and treatments but Evelyn already knew the secret. Alcohol could blot out the worst of it, make her numb. The awful vice made her clumsy, some times. But it dulled the agony when her latest subject didn’t turn out just the way he needed to be.
The best thing about the crumbling state of the American medical system is that they often toss the criminally insane back out amongst society.
Never able to hold down a job for long, always hanging crudely taxidermied rat carcasses (and god knows what else) from the trees in her yard, Evelyn was anything but the quiet neighbor everyone liked. She was the one the locals loudly whispered was probably killing hobos in her basement. And when the police arrived to arrest her for all the hobos she had been killing down in that basement, there was a line two blocks long of neighbors wanting to get in front of a tv camera and say “I knew it! I knew she was crazy! She’s evil! She killed my cat!” Oh and the quotes the media got out of her! The lunatic in a leather jacket made of a plump mother of two, babbling about becoming ‘something more than human’? The ratings were through the roof!
She should have gone to the electric chair (although she wanted a hanging).
No one is sure what happened, really. One of those great miscarriages of justice, another awful bungling of an inept court system that proponents of criminal reform like to point to while their shaking their heads and asking for money for their charity. Honestly, who gives a woman held suspicion of mass murder bail? Is that even legal?!? How could our court system be so idiotic? Of course she was a flight risk! Of course she would disappear! It’s like Satan himself showed up and manipulated a judge or something! Like the Devil just waived his hand like a Jedi and said “this is not the serial killer you are looking for.” This just goes to show, we need reform in this country…
Jedi? Satan? Jedi Satan. Huh. Sounds like a good nickname for the Sabbat pack who sprung her free. Jedi Satan. That’s a good one!
It was remarkably easy for her sire to whisk her away from the tender clutches of the justice system and make her into a new little monster with a cute new face and nice new name. Evelyn is interested to see with even sharper eyes, to realize that there is something ‘more than more’. She’s set about trying to uncover how far this transcendental spiral goes. If she’s too much in her own head sometimes, well that is okay. So long as she doesn’t get under her pack’s skin (literally), it should be alright. Like her dear, sweet doctors, they have so much to teach her about this new state of being. And once she understands more, she can help open their eyes to what more they can all become. She’ll just need to touch them. Craft them. Just a little.