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| Iohannes Massacrier; Lasombra - Abyss Mystic | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Jun 2 2014, 11:10 AM (112 Views) | |
| Iohannes Massacrier | Jun 2 2014, 11:10 AM Post #1 |
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The Shadowed
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![]() Name: Iohannes Massacrier Gender: Male Nature: Rebel Demeanor: Autocrat Age at Embrace: 52 (25 mortal years, 27 Ghoul years) Date of Embrace: 1146 Years since Embrace: 85 Place of Birth: Estheim, Albion Religion: Christian Clan/Bloodline: Lasombra Disciplines: Dominate, Obtenebration, Potence, Abyss Mysticism Road: Road of the Abyss Merits: Former Ghoul (3) Unbroken Lineage (2), Potent Aura (3), Darksight (2) Flaws: Animate Shadow (3) Dark Secret (1), Permanent Wound (3), Cannot Cross Running Water (4) Appearance: Cold-eyed, ruthlessly intelligent, with an imperious attitude, he disdains those of common descent, but resents those of noble birth. An unremarkable 5”6 in height, average for the times, he weighs only 120lbs: Whip-thin, rather frail, he lacks muscle but possesses the wiry and quite unexpected strength of one who wields Potence. His hair is long, a dark blond, often tied back into a neat tail, and his eyes are a pale Norman blue. Dresses in grey, black, and occasional red shades. Although he enjoys fine clothes and elegant tailoring, he hates overly decorative or cumbersome apparel; overt showiness disgusts him to the core. There is something odd about his posture and movement, a stiffness, as though his back pains him - and indeed, it often does. Despite this, or maybe because of it, he moves with poise, and stands with an arrogant air. Tends to appear elegant and composed, but often falls back into the stalking, dominant mannerisms reminiscent of a predator. Personality: Quite charming when the need arises, capable of faking and maintaining the illusion of kind or attractive humanity as long as he feels it is required - and willing to drop all pretence in a heartbeat once that need has passed. His overall demeanour is that of an intelligent and refined individual, well spoken and unusually educated - but like most Cainites, this is merely a mask for the cold nature of a habitual killer, with an utterly immoveable sense of pride and a cruelly sadistic streak. Rarely bothers to carry weapons of any kind, preferring to appear unarmed and to use the powers of the Abyss to tear his enemies limb from limb. History: Born in 1094, the second son of Robert, the Lord of Cairnworth, and his wife, the Lady Mathilde: Grandson of Richarde Massacrier, the son of a common butcher who rose within the ranks of the Norman army and fought alongside William the Conqueror at Hastings, and was thusly awarded the lesser of the territories of Estheim. His birth was not a lucky one; Mathilde barely survived the ordeal, and it was left to a wet-nurse to tend to the child. There could be little doubt that she favoured the elder son, Richard, who was gentle-natured and calm: While Robert took to the younger, seeing the boy's fierce intelligence and unyielding will to be a reflection of his own at the same age. A rift opened between the Lord and Lady, a rift that grew only wider with the death of Richard in his ninth year. The child was found with a terrible wound in the back of his head, and nearby, a stonemason's hammer spattered with his blood. Although the owner of the hammer, his wife, and three sons were all hung for the crime, protesting innocence until the end, there remained a pall of doubt over the murder; the father, believing that the matter was closed, the mother, certain that her surviving son, then aged barely eight, knew something he was not telling. Often, Mathilde would fly into fits of rage over the slightest provocation, striking the child with both her fists and with a furious tirade of words, before retiring to her rooms to sleep the rest of the day away. This ill-treatment did not seem to unsettle the boy, by all accounts; he remained pleasant, affectionate, adhered to his studies, with no indication of any emotional or mental turmoil. A sign, perhaps, that not all was as it appeared to be; but the understanding of psychology at the time was rudimentary, at best, and thus the seemingly untroubled boy escaped the scrutiny of his elders. Like any noble of the age, Iohannes was educated in theology, mathematics, the sciences, astronomy, and Latin: Already a fluent speaker of French due to his mother's refusal to learn any other language, he was never taught to read and write either French or English, his quick mind picking up the knowledge without ever needing instruction. His tutors found him to be remarkably intelligent, though regrettably keen to challenge their authority, asking many questions, and often displeased at the answers given. By the age of ten, he had quietly come to the conclusion that neither his tutors nor his parents were as intelligent as he; and also, that it was better to never tell them so. Events within the House of Cairnworth took a dramatic turn in 1107, when Iohannes was thirteen years old. A young noble of Winchester, John Osberne, having spent some time visiting at Cairnworth, returned to his liege and voiced suspicions that Lord Massacrier was a part of a plot to bring Alexander I, King of the Scots, greater power within England with a mind to supplant William II; furthermore, he had the evidence of a hand-written letter to prove it. The result of this accusation was quick, and final; denounced by the other nobles of Estheim, wishing to be seen as loyal to their King and Country, Robert was hanged from the same tree where the convicted killers of young Richard had met their ends. A sobbing Mathilde and her son were brought forward to witness the death of their patriarch, before being cast unceremoniously out of Cairnworth to make their own way in the world... And for his deeds in service to the Crown, Osberne was made a Lord, and granted Cairnworth as his own. Disowned by relatives in both France and England, and with no where else to turn, she took work as a seamstress, and he, as a scribe, putting all those years of education to use in a way that had never been intended. The next twelve years passed, quietly enough. Never quite able to fit in amongst those he had been raised to see as inferiors, Iohannes had few acquaintances and fewer friends, being viewed by the common folk as untrustworthy, the son of a traitor. During this time, his relationship to Mathilde was never more then civil. Though he offered her what money he had, he always believed that she could have done more to prevent the cataclysm that befell the family, and although her feelings toward him softened as he grew to adulthood, she was never a loving parent; nor was he a loving son. It seemed to Iohannes that he never could please her, for she wanted both to see him married, and to stay at her side; to be a part of the world, and to remain above it all. None of these things pleased him, either. Soon after reaching his twenty-fifth year, still unmarried and childless and giving much of his meagre wages to support his ailing mother, he received a summons to Cairnworth to appear before the Lord. In truth, he had expected such a thing to happen, one day; for Osberne to wipe away the last traces of his father's blood from his hands and, in doing so, remove any living person who might yet tell a different account of those long-ago events. It was, after all, exactly how Iohannes would have acted, if he were in Osberne's place. What he was expecting, was that he would be charged with some minor crime or act of deviancy (of which, truth be told, he might well have been guilty) and sentenced to execution. What he found, was quite different. It was not Osberne who occupied the seat of power in the Great Hall, but a man that he had never seen before; a man who stood six-and-a-half feet tall, heavyset and powerfully built, with a stern expression and a mass of long, coarse greying hair. Osberne, the supposed Lord of Cairnworth, occupied the seat at this unknown man's right hand; and on his far side, sat another who looked almost identical to Osberne. For the first time in many years, Iohannes was confused, as well might be expected. The man in the Lord's seat spoke. "Welcome back to these familiar walls, boy. Have you mourned them?" Not raised to show deference to anyone, even when it would be best to do so, the young man replied "Sir - a man must mourn what is taken from him too soon. How could I not?" "How could you not." The man with the stern expression repeated the words, too flatly to be mocking them, too quickly to be considering them. "You have course met Osberne, who you know as your Lord. But he is not your Lord; I am. I am Vincenzo Abbaticchio d'Raey, and it is I who rule as master of all who dwell in these halls and in the hills below. I welcome you into my service: The cold wind that roars is my hand upon your head. Now. Kneel." The first time a mortal is subject to the Disciplines of vampiric blood, it is always a shock; and to one who loathes the command of another, doubly so. He barely had time to understand why he followed that command without a moment's notice and found himself kneeling on the cold stone floor before an expected kick to the face shattered his jaw and left him veering on the brink of unconsciousness. In this confused and pained state, he was first introduced to the taste of vitae, and became the ghoul of the Lasombra who resided in the seat of power that, perhaps rightfully, should have been his own. D'Raey was not a kind Domitor, although servitude to him certainly had it's benefits. Transgressions, clumsiness, poorly-chosen words were all punished harshly, his favoured methods often including a kick to the face, a blow to the back, and other torments designed to humiliate and debase; but his ghouls were all provided with the tools of study and education, good food and fine clothing. Understanding that withholding vitae led to painful withdrawals and the erosion of the chains that enforced the Blood Oath, he was always generous with gifts of blood. Two years passed, and Iohannes was taught the tenets of the Via Regalis, the heritage of the Magisters, to recite the litany of his Domitor's lineage back to the First, had some mastery of controlling and directing the Abyss, and had learned to wield a strength that surpassed anything he had previously known. He slept little, devoting what time he had to studying the arcane lore of the Blood, of Caine's get, and of the Abyss itself. Though taught that these powers over darkness itself was but a tool gifted to the Magisters, he saw it as far more then that. His liege might have little interest in the secrets encompassed within the Abyss, but for Iohannes, the darkness at the center of all things, paradoxically, illuminated the struggles and the pains of the mortal world. D'Raey had three childer and five ghouls; all of which he was quick to pit against each other, impressing upon them all how only the strongest would gain his favour; and only the most worthy of his ghouls would receive the Embrace and ascend above his fellows. More then any of them, Iohannes had reason to desire the power that the status of a Childe of Caine would bear; for was he not, truly, the rightful holder of d'Raey's position? Not only that, but he had not forgotten the betrayal of Osberne, who was revealed now as a mere ghoul put to the same service as he, fleshcrafted into the likeness of d'Raey's most favoured childe, Wilhelm Hamilton so that he might see his face as if in a mirror once again. Circumstances seemed to conspire to remove Iohannes's rivals from the competition. Stonemason, a former monk, found his sanity eroding as things began to go missing, as his holy books were found open with the pages turned to images of the Devil, his sleep disturbed by many rats that seemed to appear in his bedchamber at night; one order too many and he snapped, dashing d'Raey's body with a flaming torch, only to be torn to pieces by the arms of Ahriman. D'Laure, a poet, who found a friend and confidant in the fallen Lord's son, disappeared while delivering a message to a nearby hamlet. It was, by now, twenty years since Iohannes returned to Cairnworth; Mathilde had died three years before, alone and quickly forgotten. He had, by this time, earned the dubious honour of gaining d'Raey's implicit trust – this was not, however, enough to earn him the right of Embrace. Instead, d'Raey spoke musingly of his intentions to allow Hamilton the right to Embrace him, believing his youngest childe to be ready to sire; and this might have been so, had Hamilton not vanished from his chamber one night, his possessions and a sizeable portion of d'Raey's fortune vanishing along with him. The only one who had ever voiced concerns over Hamilton's loyalty was, of course, the ghoul Iohannes. This insight, though earning him no friends at the time, cemented within his Domitor the certainty that, of all his ghouls, he was the one whose counsel should be sought. Only now did d'Raey allow Iohannes to attend him on his visits to the Cainite Court; and what freedom it was, for the ghoul who had spent twenty years confined within the walls of Cairnworth. Here, he learned by observation the politics and the games of the many hidden Lords and Ladies of Estheim; learned them, and found it rather to his liking. D'Raey, overbearing and forceful as he was, was not built for the refined machinations of his peers, and came to rely more heavily on the advice of his ghoul. As well as Court, the two travelled together whenever the Lasombra needed to attend to matters outside the city. It was during one of these excursions to the small, nearby village of Silversey to deal with the Ventrue Lord Quatremaine that Iohannes became aware of what, exactly, d'Raey truly lacked; and that was force of arms, mortal men willing to die for his cause. The secretive Lord of Cairnworth surrounded himself with only a small number of ghouls and his own childer, using a puppet-Lord to rule in his stead. Hiding from the mortal world had caused him to forfeit his place within it. Quatremaine however, despite being a vicious and demanding liege, had seated himself at the head of a hundred men, each and every one bound by a Blood Oath that they never knew existed. All it took was one drop of vitae for every glass of wine, and their loyalty was unquestioning, unswerving... For the most part. That night, the ghoul watched as Quatremaine hosted a grand celebration and tournament in honour of his esteemed guests, where mortal men fought to the death for the right to earn his favour. The winner, a powerfully-built man in his late twenties, was treated like a King himself; allowed into the hall of his Lord, and there, away from prying eyes, the visiting Lasombra and his silent attendant bore witness to the ghouling of the victor. It was a far cry indeed from his own introduction to the Blood some twenty-two years before, and though Iohannes longed for the chance to speak to him, this 'Constantine', and ask him how it felt to have such strength, to feel it surge with new vigour under the ministrations of a proud and benevolent Domitor, he never had the chance. It would be many decades more before he encountered this ghoul again; and the circumstances would be starkly different. Returning to Estheim and the dark walls of Cairnworth in the hours before the sun rose, Iohannes imagined vividly the many ways he could strike down his liege and Domitor, trapping him there as blinding light filled the sky, ridding the earth of his malign presence forever. These images remained closed within his mind, bound by the Oath and by the certainty of failure should he attempt such a thing. He had seen Stonemason torn apart by the Arms; he would not suffer the same fate. Two days after returning from Silversey, an unexpected visitor arrived. Auguste Mallory, second in command to Pyeforth, the General of Quatremaine's small army come to Cairnworth, under the guise of bearing gifts and compliments to d'Raey. In truth, he had another purpose entirely. Struck by the looks and calm bearing of Iohannes, he wished to further his acquaintance with the ghoul. It was the beginning of a strange kind of friendship, the liege of each pleased at the thought that they had access to a contact within their rival's house. A strange kind of friendship, and an unequal one, also; Mallory's intentions were, if not exactly pure, then at least simple, while those of Iohannes were of a far more complicated nature. Twenty-seven years to the day that the son of the fallen Lord Massacrier first returned to Cairnworth, and calamity struck d'Raey with the unexpected jolt of a thunderclap on a clear night. Osberne, the puppet-Lord, was caught bearing a letter addressed to Prince Ysabella II, falsely declaring his Lord as a traitor to both herself and to Mithras. At this discovery d'Raey was filled with such blind rage that the Beast overcame him and he exsanguinated the would-be traitor in his own bedchamber as he lay in an unusual kind of stupor, tearing the corpse to pieces with his own hands. After the devil's madness cleared he was left bloodstained, disoriented, not in his right mind; and there was Iohannes in the doorway, quiet, calm, ready as always to do what needed to be done. As the ghoul removed the ruined garments and washed the blood and ichor from his Domitor's face and body in silence, d'Raey wrestled with the implications of his hasty actions. Suddenly, the Lasombra spoke. “Osberne lies in pieces; nothing more then a mask, but one I needed to rule in my stead as I cannot. Massacrier, lend me your council... What must I do?” The ghoul paused, completely still; seemed to hold his breath for a moment, before answering. “My liege, if I may be so bold... I would say, that Osberne's betrayal is testament to the fact that no mortal man, Gifted with your blood or otherwise, is either fit, nor able, to rule in your stead. Perhaps, one of your childer, this time...” “No, no – I cannot trust them!” The Lasombra shook his head as if to clear it, failing; the motion almost unbalancing him, as if drugged. “They have grown distant these last few years. They will neither seek, nor receive my council – each one, a mistake! You know this to be true; for you have heard word that they have sought the attention of that blasted Quatremaine, have you not?” “My Lord, such matters... Such small matters... Are of little consequence to one one such as yourself.” Iohannes's voice was soothing, unnaturally calm. “They are of your most proud and noble lineage. Given the chance to serve you again, how could any childe of yours fail to swear allegiance? When most could only dream to have such a chance... How could they not?” “How could they not.” D'Raey repeated the words flatly, steel-grey eyes fixed on the far wall. “Massacrier, bring me my cloak and my boots. We are to attend Court this evening, and seek the judgement of the Prince.” Head bowed, the ghoul was the very picture of unquestioning acquiescence. “Yes, my Lord.” Before the Prince, d'Raey petitioned the Prince for the rights to sire again; and thus, that night, Iohannes Massacrier became the fourth and last childe of Vincenzo Abbaticchio d'Raey, drained and then resurrected unceremoniously on the cold floor of the Courthouse under the watchful eyes of the Prince and her Seneschal. As with everything else he experienced under the hand of d'Raey, the Embrace was neither gentle nor pleasant; perhaps seeking to prove one last time that the fallen Lord's son was forever his inferior, the Lasombra struck him one between the shoulders to drive him to his knees before sinking his teeth into flesh; but this time, there was no opportunity to heal the injury before death came on swift wings to forever lock him into the form that he wore when he died. Each and every night after that he rose from the dark sleep of the Damned, three of the bones of his spine were shattered, his legs and lower body paralyzed and immobile; although a little burned blood would heal the damage somewhat, he was never to experience another waking moment free of pain and or stiffness. The following night, he was announced as the Lord of Cairnworth, the title acceded to him by the late Lord Osberne in an attempt to set right the crimes of his past. His father was pardoned for the treason that had seen him executed thirty-eight years before, and if his son and heir seemed far too youthful looking for a man of fifty-two years, none spoke of it – after all, stranger things happen in Estheim every day, and all peasants know that those of noble birth are made of quite different stuff then the common man. Leaving behind the trappings of the mortal world was not difficult for Iohannes; some might say, it was unnaturally easy. While most mourn the passing of their humanity, if only a little, he adapted to it with eerie speed, as if born for such things. Perhaps nearly three decades as a ghoul had prepared him well for life among the First Cursed: Either way, he showed no discomfort at the reality of draining every drop of blood from the veins of the first serf who was brought beneath his fangs, nor the second, nor the hundredth, as if the act of killing was something he had long ago made his peace with. Already attuned to the etiquette of the Court, the fledgeling Lasombra had little difficulty finding both friends and favour there. He quickly drew the attention of Silvester Rufus, the Lasombra Primogen, a noted Abyss Mystic who saw within the young Cainite the same thirst for arcane knowledge that he himself shared. D'Raey had no interest in such matters, and thus it was Rufus who introduced Iohannes to the singular obsession that would set him apart, not only from the the other Damned, but from the Magisters themselves. As quick to learn as he ever had been, the fledgeling proved an excellent student, learning to channel the darkness that lay beyond the realms of mortal comprehension. It left his mark upon him, of course, as it always does; becoming one of the Shadowed is final, and cannot be reversed or turned back. Though d'Raey was pleased to leave the difficult social struggles of Court in the capable hands of his precocious childe, choosing only rarely to attend himself, he also felt the strangeness that dabbling in the arts of the Abyss wrought upon his youngest childe. As always, he had no reason to fault the loyalty or service of the neonate, but for the first time, he began to sense a 'wrongness' there, a disconnection from the physical world; and over time, a growing sense of fear gripped him. Perhaps he had made a mistake. Perhaps... And so the sire began to withdraw ever further into his isolation, years passing between each foray into the outside world. Even as he learned to conjure Nocturnes from the Abyss, each animated with their own alien intelligence and desires, Iohannes was capable of retaining a personable, even charming, demeanour when dealing with others – if only superficially. He remained a confidante of Auguste Mallory, and as the years drew on, the second-in-command succeeded Pyeforth to become Quatremaine's General; and if the ageing man ever suspected that the young Lord was not as he seemed, he spoke not of it. The sharing of small secrets and suspicions continued; and, growing bolder as d'Raey's dwindling influence granted him more freedom, Mallory even stayed occasionally at Cairnworth, though sensibly remaining far from d'Raey at all times. This strange friendship had an unfortunate conclusion. Thirty one years after that first fateful visit to Silversey, Quatremaine apparently made his move against his old rival, perhaps thinking that the Lasombra's isolation made him weak. During the dark of the night fire erupted within d'Raey's chambers, spreading supernaturally through the halls of Cairnworth and blackening the stone; while Iohannes survived, suffering terrible burns to the hands and arms before the Red Fear overtook him and sent him fleeing from the inferno, d'Raey met Final Death. Though powerful, though centuries old, no Childe of Caine could withstand the ravages of the flame. The following night, the neonate Lasombra demanded audience with the Prince, bringing with him a visibly stunned and cowed Auguste Mallory, who confessed that his liege, Quatremaine, had professed a desire to send d'Raey to Hell itself; and Ysabella, her sense of paranoid fear stoked as powerfully as the flames themselves, ordered that Quatremaine should be brought before the Court to answer for his sins. Clearly mourning the Final Death of the Cainite who had, for nearly half a century, been his liege-lord and master, Iohannes requested that he should be the one to bring Quatremaine in. Perhaps the Prince was in a forgiving mood, one cannot say; but she sanctioned this act, foolish as it might seem for one as young as he to challenge one who had been among the The Damned for almost two centuries. With a shaking and uncertain Mallory in attendance, the neonate who was now the sole and true Lord of Cairnworth made the two-mile trip to Silversey without stopping to gather any kind of force to accompany him. Perhaps It was his anger that fuelled him, or some other dark purpose; it cannot be known. What is known is that he did not return before dawn; and the following night, when the Prince's envoy arrived at Silversey, they found a pile of ash in the armoury that had once been Symon Quatremaine, the broken body of Auguste Mallory at the foot of the castle's walls, seemingly killed by a fall, and every one of the mortal men that had served as his little army dispersed; and the Lord of Cairnworth calmly reclining in Quatremaine's grand hall, in the company of one of Quatermaine's ghouls, a man named Constantine de Harcourt who told them how his liege had slain the General for his betrayal, and then, refusing to be apprehended, attempted to take the life of Iohannes Massacrier, who had defended himself honourably and bested the Ventrue in combat. Unshaken by this ordeal, the Lasombra said only that “Justice, as much as it can ever be, was served here”, and returned to Estheim in the company of the ghoul Constantine, who had, by all accounts, been rather ill-treated by his former Domitor. While there are some who have suspicions as to what transpired that night, there is no denying that the neonate had a right to vengeance, and indeed, without the ever present threat that Quatremaine might one day unite with outside forces allied against Mithras and attempt to storm Estheim and depose it's Prince and Council, a great weight has been removed from the brow of Ysabella II. Iohannes returned, quietly, to his studies of the Abyss under the tutelage of Silvester Rufus, delving deeper into it's ancient mysteries with each passing year. His newly-acquired ghoul proved to be of great benefit as both protector and as a skilled blacksmith, manufacturing weapons and armour of fine quality both sold to traders at the port and bequeathed freely to the Prince's forces to bolster them in need of any future conflict. Despite occasional clashes with d'Raey's other childer, no particular violence or conflict has stirred the peace of Cairnworth for decades... Though the fire-blasted and ruined remains of his sire's quarters have remained untouched, undisturbed. He says it is in deference to the memory of Vincenzo Abbaticchio d'Raey; though those that see the momentary look of pain that crosses his expression when he straightens his back might well wonder, what kind of 'memory' he truly means. ![]() Edited by Iohannes Massacrier, Jun 2 2014, 11:49 AM.
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"There are things that exist beyond this world, some say: But I do not. I say nothing, for I have seen them, and they are heresy." | |
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