Dice (oWoD) - The Whispers of the Dead

Before creating the sheet and submitting it, please answer the spark of life questions posed in VtM - then PM me with all the relevant information.(If you need anything, please message me.)


Clan, Nature/Demeanor, Generation


Attributes: 7/5/3


Abilities: 13/9/5


Disciplines: 4


Backgrounds: 0


Virtues: 7


Willpower = Courage


Humanity= Self Control + Conscience


Blood Pool: Determined by generation


Freebies: 15

Name: Phoebe Monroe


Clan: Toreador antitribu


Apparent Age: 21


Sire: Melissa Shine


Appearance:

Information:


An aspiring fashion model and New Orleans native in her mortal life. At a fashion show in Atlanta that should have been her big break, she was picked up by Melissa Shine, one of the city's established Cainites and her mortal self was never heard from again. There's probably still a police file on her somewhere.


Her Sire kept her as an uninitiated Childe for many years before putting her through the Creation Rites and allowing her into the Sabbat proper, and even now she still has stronger and more obedient ties to the woman who turned her than is entirely proper in the Sect. This has lead to some murmering about their loyalty to the higher Cause of the Sabbat, but neither of them have shown any failure in following the ways of the Sect.


She is undeniably beautiful with the classical dark-haired, pale-skinned vampire look. She almost always wears silver jewelry and has a lovely screasinging voice.

Name: Brannon


Clan: Pander


Apparent Age: Mid 30's to 40's


Appearance:





Brief History:


Little is known of Brannon's life before his Embrace, hinting at an intentionally hidden background and possible involvement with the supernatural since his youth. What is known is that he approached the Sabbat on his own not too long ago, with a great disgust towards the Ivory Tower. He is a patient, dedicated and capable warrior, but his new position within the sect places him on the same level as the rest of the new "shovel head" recruits of the Sabbat for now, yet he carries with him a presence and knowledge of the Cainite world not commonly found in those Embraced with such drastic measures.


Touched strongly by the Curse of Caine, Brannon had his visage twisted by the Beast in his own blood, rendering his looks and appearance less than humane, however this does not seem to bother him at all. He possesses a mysterious air to himself, and shares little with others, yet his unshakeable dedication is obvious to anyone that meets him.

Name: Haydée Lavoie


Clan: Unknown


Apparent Age: 24


Sire: Unknown


Appearance:


Haydée looks like she's had one of those nights. Her face is streaked with dirt, dried blood is smeared across her lower face and neck, her blue eyes wide and bloodshot, her blonde hair dishevelled. She inherited her hispanic mother's long thin nose and wide eyes, her french canadian father's complexion and small mouth. Her UPenn soccer jacket is flecked with blood and dirt, the back rent as if by the claws of some terrible beast, leaving only the letters L-ie and tatters of her number. The skin beneath, oddly, shows not so much as a scratch. Her jeans appear to have fared better, precariously balanced on the outer edge of fashionably distressed. A messenger bag over one shoulder hangs by a strap holding on by a few strained threads, its bottom torn out and its contents long since left behind. The headphones of her iPod dangle by her ankle.


Her fists are clenched, knuckles white, her expression vacillating between a murderous desire to vent her anger and confusion on something even tangentially responsible and a thought-eclipsing panic that threatens to overwhelm her when she asks, 'responsible for what?' She looks pale, possibly suffering from shock, but in general her appearance marks her as only slightly worse off than the average storm survivor.


Information:


Information is in perilously short supply as far as Haydée is concerned. She doesn't know where she is, why she's there, why she killed those strangers, who they were, or, most important of all, where Jenayla is. She's surrounded by crazy people who think it's funny that she's still breathing. That a walking Masquerade violation is wasting blood trying to look like a juice box. Taking bets on how long she'll survive. She has no idea what they're on, but New Orleans slang is clearly beyond her. Their smiles and laughter are full of fangs.

Name: Jenayla Carter


Clan: Tzimisce


Apparent Age: 22


Sire: tf knows?


Appearance: Some people are statuesque. Some people are literally statutes—shout out to my girl Gal. Some people look like they were one of those two, then someone took them apart, lost a few pieces, and tried to patch the rest up with shipwright's putty. People like Jenayla.


Her jawline looks fragile, not delicate, and is clearly uneven from side to side. Her cheekbones are swollen like maybe her ashy skin is hiding a couple of black eyes. Her lips actually form a perfect cupid's bow, but they don't flex right when she smiles, so the effect is ruined. Always tall and slender, Jenayla is now nearly skeletal, especially in the arms. At a glance, she could pass for a junkie, maybe a cancer patient. Nothing fits her anymore: that sequined skirt keeps slipping down, the old blue hoodie hangs awkwardly on her shoulders, and even her weave is all–… Oh, honey, that's not a weave? Oh no.


Reputation: Jenayla doesn't care about the siege, the Jyhad, or her place in either. Jumpy and withdrawn, she's still new enough to her state that she's focused on righting the wrongs incurred in life. It's not going well.


She looted the right bodies during the fighting, but sank all the cash into a struggling DV shelter that didn't feel any need to ask questions. She has yet to really demonstrate attitudes that wouldn't have fit in the Cam, but that's why you don't perform the ritae on shovelheads for a few months. There's still time for her to mature into a real vampire. And if she doesn't, there are always low-gens to feed.