Post by PartyMeister on Jul 10, 2015 10:10:27 GMT
VAMPIRES
BASIC INFORMATION
Name: Wolfram Jeronimus Rosencrantz.
Aliases: Wolfram the Bold - Wolfram the Fool - Wolfram the Bastard Born - Sir Wolfram.
Age: 89 years old.
Gender: Male.
Faction: House of Tepes/Magician's Guild.
Rank: Neonate/Magistrate.
PERSONAL INFORMATION
Image:
Appearance: Imperious, with a self-satisfied smug smirk on his face, Wolfram displays many features that are in common with European ancestries (not the smugness, that's universal with all humanoids in the world, and vegans), which makes sense, as he is of Danish descent, yet despite having such descent, his skin is neither pale nor milky like many from that region. It is slightly tanned, which one has to wonder how he manages to do that in the first place, knowing he is a damned creature of the night. Truly, a mystery that leaves many of his fellow vampires in just what manner does Wolfram even achieve such feats. Suffice to say, all explanations are left abundant in the wake of that fact, and none can coax a definitive answer from Wolfram. He was definitely not born tanned in that manner, and neither was he tanned when he was once of mortal kind. Nonetheless, he has dark sulfuric eyes, seemingly the colour akin to milky sick yellow, youthful features, thick eyebrows on his face that can count as mustaches of the forehead, what with their vastness easily fuzzing up the top of his brow. His hair is black, and slicked back, as it should be proper of his role as a distinguished peer of the realm. Except this would be true, were his reputation not to precede him by any mileage. His lacking in generously heavy facial hair is made up by his squarish jaws, with the chiseled cleft on his chin, often termed the 'butt chin' in his case. Wolfram's features are unblemished with any scars, but there is a reason for this. It's not because he is a vampire, but because he made sure to keep his face untouched by any pointy objects back in his heyday as a human. Even as an undead corpse from beyond the grave, he aspires to this ideal of having his face untouched. Otherwise the rest of his body is littered with numerous scars that were a result of his foolhardy youthful attitude. From cuts gaping across his shoulder, all the way to bullet holes that were long healed on his chest, and a curious slice scar across his abdomen which can be attributed to a kitchen accident. There was little he wasn't hit by, and it is a wonder how he survived. Not out of personal constitution, which begs the question, but the horrid medical practices of the institution he served which were close to unsanitary conditions, given consideration to his species was not a given. Nonetheless, he no longer rattles whenever he walks. Whether through surgeries, or through his own regeneration, all the bullets that lodged in his body and formed into cysts, were ejected out from it, which lost him his nickname, which was in no way endearing, and more disparaging.
The Vampiric nobleman's body meanwhile is quite well balanced in build. Neither too thick, nor too thin. Not too fat, nor too muscular. Something of a balance and compromise to allow stamina, power, and speed to all mash through in this cocktail of body musculature. A definite mesomorph who stands a good 6'2" ft. tall, carrying over many of his former remnants of his once humanity to his current body, as he remains static throughout the time. Including his rough knuckled feet, with thickened joints as a result of often enough kicking things. Mostly your average plebeian, or two, once a day, which has inflamed his feet joints to a point they are globular calluses formed there, giving him one mean kick. Even further is how well developed his legs are, attributed to his love for kicking things, or stepping on them, or so the routine goes. Perhaps kicking, stepping, and stomping at the same time, not necessarily in that order. Amped up to pick up speed at no great cost, yet not as focused as a body builder, whom would sculpt their appendages with huge bloated muscles for merely power. A mixture that contains his vitality where he epitomizes the three qualities necessary to conduct his physical regimen, with an emphasis on lasting as long as one can, if the need calls for it.
As for what the Vampire wears in attire, usually when asleep? Occasionally he goes commando, but that is information unneeded and best unheeded. His every day wear meanwhile ranges on uniform-level, worn in occasions where the circumstances dictate the allowance of no subtlety, as his clothes scream out in some way, pompous, affluent, and terribly old fashioned. Wearing two sets of upper attire, consisting of a dark blue Hussar shirt with its numerous bands etching a good portion of the chest area down to the stomach area, with a hidden side zipper for easy take off. Said bands are golden in colour, despite not being the exact material, it comes close to being it, with a minimal amount of buttons in place that serve no practical usage besides aesthetics. Worn over the Hussar Dalmon jacket, though not tight but slightly loose, is the Pelisse jacket, with both sleeves being sheathed with arms over the fine fur lined overwear. The Dalmon is colored in dark blue, with the Pelisse jacket a lighter shade of blue by a few hues, yet not bright enough to scream for attention. It's a rather subdued and milder blue that lacks some of its tone, to be a bit more leaning towards the steely grey side with an inflection of azure. That aside, he does wear an undershirt, a black one with a very short set of sleeves and a V-shaped neck frame opening, lacking a collar. It is made of cotton, and is quite comfy at that too. He also wears banana iconed briefs on a side note. His bottom over attire on the other hand is a curious set of knickerbockers with its hem waistline being worn underneath his Dalmon, with a gold embroided red sash he wears around his waistline replacing any need for belt. Finally, he wears a pair of leather Wellington boots that reaches up to the mouth of his knee, overlapping any cloth as it fastens the ungathered bundle into a tight chokehold around the leather muzzle, added a set of horse spurs at the back of his feet to prompt his mount with a simple stab. Incidentally, he finds himself wearing the bear-skinned late era Prussian Hussar Palzmutze Busby hat lacking the distinct Totenkopf symbol ever so laden on its crown, settling instead for a simpler sash orbiting around the circumference of his hat with the wordings at the forefront, "BONA MISERABILIS SUNT."
Apparently speaks with a quasi-Danish accent sprinkled with some Cockney in him as well, when speaking English.
Personality: Mercenary in nature, Wolfram Jerominus Rosencrantz finds little he wouldn't do to throw his integrity away, so long as his integrity is fleeced with an adequate amount of money, stemmed from the fact that in his experience, one cannot spend prestige nor honour. Certainly they would make deals far easier to do, however, as one who has lost both, prestige and honour, not that he has plenty of it to begin with, he has found that the world's rewards are far better to have material gains, than some intangible gratitude, something he has long learned to loathe as a concept, as a result of his inconformity with such notions of camaraderie, to which he does not trust. He may have been a former mortal patsy of a member of the Court of Fangs, which should've instilled in him a measure of delicacy, and yet, some would say he's foolish, impetuous, boisterous, and outright a scoundrel, he does have one quality to which he holds truest for advancement, even though it had done him more harm than good in his days past -- boldness. Fortune might not be on his side, but his boldness, and his uncouth behaviour around courtly intrigue made him a relative wildcard, whose true motives were not concerning, as he was not exactly in well standing within members of the other nobility, and he is fine with that, being nothing more than a mere peer of the court, a lowly unlanded hereditary knight, than some grand standing baron or duke over some imagined domain of some sort.
Not that he cares much for it, his concerns and pursuits are left elsewhere besides gains from his vocation, and that is cemented on his foolishness derived out of hedonism. Haughty to a fault, his love for himself is only surpassed by a sense of self-entitled arrogance that reeks from his every posture, seeing the world as nothing more than a playground to ply one's trade, and incur a sense of grandeur in one's delusional lust for power and merry making, if not the most heinous act of lollygagging. All of these are considered in equal measures as open options on the table, that truly, he finds himself without restraint to indulge himself in, aside from the small idle fancy that may take away his need to sate his abominably shriveled and dark heart with something else just as depraved. Nonetheless, his own lack of killing vast amounts of mortals outright in his modus operandi, has little to do in any imagined morality he has, or the loosely adhered to code of chivalry, that he holds as a compass, rarely ever following it unless convenient, but more to do with merely that it does not give out any immediate benefits, and mere consequences. It may make him seem deductive, but that is farthest from the truth. It is in mere layman's term, not fun to have to deal with such responsibilities, and he is suited towards that, as a lower fledgling and a minion, rather than a lord of sorts. Preferring a sense of laziness to things necessary, as opposed to things wanted. He should know with experience, having escaped a marriage that at first, was found with enthusiasm, now viewed with sheer horror, having skipped town over that.
Not that it should matter much, since ultimately, Wolfram Jeronimus Rosencrantz has been raised and trained to do one thing most of all, and that is not to lord over others, but to act at the behest of his liege as a knight. Not in the case where a knight acts chivalrously, but the more deeper rooted and expected trait of him being capable of fending off foes. It is as a result of deficiency in that he has been taught to fight most of all, that he keeps closest to his roots as a fighter, rather than a lover, even as much as he professes his love for hedonism and the pursuits that comes from debauching himself as a cretin scoundrel roving the streets for tail, or blood.
Socially, even as he talks politely, Wolfram has a condescending edge in his tone when addressing mortals, especially humans, and even other members of the Mystic Kind. A sense of patronization creeps up in his tone, that one could tell his rather 'polite' statements are added more as an after thought and with deliberation, rather than being an intrinsic part of his nature. This extends truly ESPECIALLY on humans, as he sees them as nothing more than cattle. He understands he was once human himself, but the person he was then, and the person he was now are two different entities altogether. In the case of humans, they are seen as truly mundane, their lot and luck in life, which he views Darwinistically, as erroneous that term seems to be thrown around is, exist to pave fuel for the world to progress. It is often on the toils of the poor that the rich prosper, and it is often on the back of war, the back of suffering, that innovations are made, something he notes aptly, to give him license and Cassus Belli for his actions in general. Mankind is merely an idle fancy, a fun way to kill time without ever feeling bad about it, merely because he does not consider them anything more than pests or pets, sometimes both, only necessary in that they are cherries to be plucked clean.
In the case of other Mystic Kind species, it varies far more than humans. To those that are immortals themselves, be they vampires, or creatures similar enough to share that lack of natural death, they are viewed based on their pedigrees, and potential, but ultimately, seen with a far more amiable sight. To others, he views half-breeds as mere compromises, and a hilarious accident of unions. Not that he would know anything about that (in truth, in his human life, he has sired many bastards himself). Otherwise, they are seen as marginally more entertaining than humans, based on their novelty, but even the freshest of novelties, wears off after a time. Ultimately akin to objectified amusements, that are not worth the status of a full person.
To sum him up, Wolfram is a conceited, foppish, hedonistic, hypocritical and debauched an individual that lives his life for the cheap and fleeting thrills, finding himself vested in material wealth to fulfill his boredom and empty void in his chest churning for something new, as much has worn out in the life he has lived through. Unlife rather. It is only the eternal pursuit of money that is seen as a constant fancy, that kept him from fully descending into a sense of distraught despair. That, and his audacity. Those are the times.
History: Born to a family of Schleswig nobility, later affirmed in as Junkers, to which comes from his matrilineal side, yet ultimately his Danish patrilineal line holds precedence in nobility over the other, Wolfram was a third son to an affluent yet lesser patrician house. As a cadet branch of a Court of Fangs family, it had some small measure of notable prestige compared to the average mortals that serve them, but by far, that difference is largely irrelevant as they were still, even as the highest of mortals, were the lowest in the eyes of the vampiric immortals. Truly, their entire status was akin to servants than actual prestigious members of said house, with Wolfram even lower as he was an illegitimate child who did not have a Dhampir heritage like his half-brothers, which in turn, not only made him something of an unwanted spawn from a tryst, which was not fun for anyone involved, except for the two for that night, in only that single and fleeting moment. Nonetheless, Wolfram was stuck with his father, and his father was stuck with an angry matron, who happened to be his wife. It was a vicious cycle, where Wolfram eventually resolved later on in his youth, to not be a part of it. Too bad he was sent off to be a retainer to a fat, bloated up pus-addled Court of Fangs Elder, who somehow gained mass AFTER being a vampire. It was a wonder how that was possible, since blood was literally a vampire's diet, and a vampire's physique is often constant enough not to change, fit and a perfect humanoid form, but somehow that Elder pulled it off. Nobody knows how, and nobody dares ask why. It was a good thing that Wolfram was made to do one task, before he was sent away. That said task still scars him to this day, as it involved the chamberpot, and a clearing. Both of which are not spoken in polite company.
But that was the start of Wolfram's problems. When he wasn't exactly put in the line of fire, he was still passed around like a sock, seeing nobody wanted him around, as nothing more than an attendant whose uses were severely limited, as he had none of the humility that comes from plebeians with their perseverance, and all the pride that comes from a lower gentry. Finally, after being passed from five individuals, like a merry go round, Wolfram was saddled with some little girl whose ego was as huge and fragile as she is a midget whose body is underdeveloped. To put it into layman's terms, she was what the Japanese would call an overly aggressive loli, in spite of the fact her age was around 170 year old. There was little Wolfram liked about her, in fact, he could count the good qualities behind that girl from one finger, and that is barely, if only because she was hilarious to get a rise out of. His own impudence towards the girl was something he'd later regret as mean spirited, but largely kept his sanity intact from fulfilling some of the most mundane of tasks for that midget vampire, such as changing her shoes, or clothes, to which any adult should've been able to do so from the beginning. He'd later learn that the same midget vampire was apparently also an Elder, and was a pillar of the Fang community, SOMEHOW, but from what Wolfram had seen of the Court of Fangs, it left little towards his impression that they prize competence, so much as courtly intrigues and 'prestige' from some bloodline, money one has, and how big their properties are, usually. However, that was only a limited perception as he later found out, when he met one of the 'true' heavy hitters of the Court of Fangs later on in life, not that it matters now. Wolfram was still a patsy, the lower guy, the attendant whose worth was not as great as anything but a tool. Sorta like that. It colored his impression that he'd wanted all the wealth, and will do anything to get it, but that prospect is daunting since it lined up with serving Lady Mira. His opportunities were as few as his luck was meager.
As his years went by, plying his trade as a patsy with a sword, and even being sent to one of the Hussar cavalry company Lady Mira, the angry loli, had in her household, he had found himself less annoyed with requests as she seemed to warm up to him, not that he cared much for her. Her scathing mannerisms and harsh treatment had left him with a hostility that has yet to thaw. He has given her the cold shoulder throughout the new found interactions they had, and it seemed he had found out why she was acting in this manner after his icy talks had managed to push her away -- she was getting married, and she thought to find an escape in her 'faithful' servant. Fat chance of that, Wolfram thought. He was the farthest from faithful to her, considering he may not have protested overly as often as her other ones, he still bore no love for her. Rather, she had thought his complacency was his dedication to her cause, when really, Wolfram loathed her with a passion. People change, but not the mortal man, who was beginning to grow into a fine looking adult in a time of hostility between mortal nations, as it seemed in the background, an angry painter with a shriveled up mustache seemed to be getting myriads of other angry soldiers to chant about treachery from some minorities. Whichever the case, Wolfram's lack of interest was not the lack of interest of his master, as the woman had perhaps either found some potential with that man, or had chosen to cast her lot with fundings based on an order of some higher up. That which Wolfram had never found out which distinction would be the case, as she had died far later.
He was often enough sent as an errand boy to arrange some menial tasks that Lady Mira hadn't managed to find the time to pull off on her own, with some political party of disenfranchised people called the NSDAP gaining most of his assistance, giving off some of the coffers as requested, with all accounted for and at times, even being called on to help them take down some Communists whilst mounted on his horse. A cavalryman was a rare sight in the Weimer Republic, and especially when they were a dying breed in the face of mechanization of all mounts, what with the huge economic sanctions being imposed on Germany, as well as the neutering of their military might, it would be said that the Hussar, or rather, the last of the Hussar's assistance was a most welcome sight. Wolfram enjoyed not a moment of it, and that was the rhythm his life went through. He had voiced his dissatisfaction some good plenty of times among peers, which would be said unwise and highly risky.
Eventually, in 1940, Wolfram accompanied his mistress to one of the balls hosted by the NSDAP, then known as the Nazi Party. It was some commemoration of an anniversary that the members who had helped that same party were invited to. Wolfram, then drunk, and embittered after some good years of working under his mistress, had under the influence, sealed his fate in political suicide as he had not only ravished some female members of the party, but had also lamented loudly that his mistress was an insufferable shrew who will never receive love and affection in her life. That not only had Wolfram thrown out of the ball, but also had him disciplined with some fasting from his mistress, and even consideration towards a very possible execution to satisfy some party members of the German inner circle, with his sentencing from his mistress pending, as he practically alienated himself from the political sphere of his house and family.
Eventually, it was decided rather than kill the man, in light of his services to the party, and even to his house, with some begging from Wolfram's father, that he would be given another chance, albeit far far away, where he may not incur any disfavour with his antics, where he would be out of sight, and out of mind, and yet working to the benefit of the house. Rather, he was attached to expeditions into Tibet with the Thule Society for some forbidden magic that he didn't know or care much for, focused on trying to celebrate his newfound freedom, and remoteness from his family. But working for the Thule Society, with some fellow members from the Court of Fangs, the nobility particularly who were vested in interest in the matter, had found him apathetic largely to anything but the practical functions of what they had done.
It was a distasteful practice that he'd notice from time to time that people of Semitic creed, most notably the Jews, were constantly being consigned to blood sacrifice, which in itself would mean nothing to Wolfram if he had heard it as it was, yet the rituals themselves had harbored some great distaste from him. Sacrificing men and women for some disgusting grabs for power that had more often than not, caused the Hussar to blanche in sheer disdain, yet he soldiered on. Orders were orders, and he had nowhere to go aside from accompanying the Thule Society's most perverse members, with the occasional Magician's Guild attendants he had made connections with through some chat here and there, and saving their lives at the hands of some monstrosities unearthed from some long forgotten 'Aryan' tombs in Tibet. Laughable, to say the least, as according to Tolkien, a writer that Wolfram is an avid fan of, the Aryan people are truly with no European roots, but Iranian and Indian roots, speaking Farsi and the Sanskrit tongue.
It would be a lie to say that there were no casualties in the expeditions, with more often than not, Wolfram himself found that he had survived on the skin of his teeth, against the supernatural foes he had fought, bolstered with the assistance of the other magicians and the token vampires in their ranks, in many ways, earning his own gratitude to a select few members of the expedition that distanced themselves from the profane rituals as naught but muscles that observe and bludgeon through any obstacles found in one's way. One such person that caught his eyes with splendid glitter was another vampire that he had found infatuation with her unholy perfect form. In every way, a parody and a mockery of the human appearance with its pallor, lacking in any detracting flaws, whereas he, a mortal, stood heavily riddled with scars and chiseled butt chin. Being the young man he was, deprived of any meaningful relationship, he had courted after the vampiress, affectionately called the 'Duchess'. For some odd reason, it would be the type of name one would nickname their dog, but that was irrelevant to the larger consequence of his lust for something far above his league. Courting and flirting with the Duchess, or Lady Cassandra. At first, he was seen as endearing, but then it soon became annoying as his constant flirting would get on the vampiress's nerves.
If anyone had thought Lady Cassandra would be the one to actually make Wolfram into a vampire, it would be a completely wrong thought, as later accounts in relationships between the two became something of an icy affair, and from there, ironically he would become a child of the night not in his time in Tibet, but somewhere farther along the lines from the Magician's Guild, whom he had made good account of himself with, and had even seen his future as something of an Enforcer within his ranks, as his efforts are always looked at with esteem, rather than a convenience to discard and throw aside. It was even because of his good relationship with them, and not Thule Society, that would solidify Wolfram's defection from the Third Reich after his guard duties to that of England's HQ, going along with the rest of them as he would work with the Allies to combat against the Demonic threat that would later ensue.
A debt he felt he owed to be paid, found to be thwarted or opposed by that same Lady Cassandra, and Lady Mira both. The latter took his betrayal with even harsher light, and the former had hated his guts due to a faux pas of his misinterpreted for diminishing her standing. Having fought fully fledged vampires as a mortal, with tools that were naught but silver against his sword, and the wits of his mind alike, taking on their minions, and with allies holding his side, would more often than not, succeed in operations, that failure in others would see him almost undone. The whole affair became volatile, and soon, there were factions within the Court of Fangs for and against the world war, on whichever side was there. He was obviously against. Within time, the war waxed on with a full fledged coalition of many armies, to dawn on Nazi Germany as a veritable tidal wave of human ingenuity, wrath, and desperation against the demonic armies held by the Nazis. Fortune favoured Wolfram, that not in hindsight, but in foresight, would see him side with the victors.
After slaying Lady Mira in 1945, with a group of English commandos, whom would remark that Wolfram was just as insane as another maniac who used swords in an age of guns, Fighting Jack Churchill, which colored his reputation as an eccentric fighter and figure who was so willing to go up against an Elder, granted she was more powerful with intrigues than actual strength, had slain her. FINALLY, for his deeds of valour, he would be given a boon in an offer of peerage by Lord Monty, who just so happened to share memberships between the Magician's Guild and the the House of Tepes, and was even offered a chance to marry his daughter. One he accepted gladly with the condition he would become a vampire. This obviously would not sit well with the members of the Church involved in the war, to those that actually do receive intel on him, but what is the life of one soldier, one monstrosity necessary against other monsters, in a war that must be won, lest the world as won knows it is going to end in its way of life? It wasn't as if he was broadcasting who he was, taking advice from his Liege on what to do concerning the Church, as the hysteric 'witch hunt' for mystic kind had reached an all time high around that era. It was a good thing that he had a sanctuary to hide away from all the heat, with even guidance on what to do when occasions where perilously discovery came close, that he should hide. He may be powerful as a vampire, but quality is trumped by quantity, which is a special quality of its own. It was to say, not wise to bark at the sun, and not expect to get scalded, as a metaphor.
For the brief tenure, after war's victory, and with Lady Cassandra out there, at large, and with knowledge weaponized from the Thule Society, Wolfram for that time had consummated his marriage and spent his early days in a stupor of enjoyment with his new wife. At first, she was pleasant, nice, and accommodating, but over the years, she had shriveled up into an angry woman, hateful and baleful for Wolfram's infidelity, as his reputation as a notorious womanizer had earned her ire, and once more lost his newfound prestige with that of a playboy's streak. It sort of put a damper in the home life, especially because Wolfram had begun 'siring' many female folks into vampirism, if only to reap the benefit of being their sire, and overlord. Some of which were lovely women who had used his meal ticket into immortality, and that in itself did not sit well with his beloved either.
It turns out that this got him into trouble in the 1960s when one of the sired fledgelings he had, would turn against him as a result of an enticement from Lady Cassandra herself. Brought out of his long complacent atrophying of skills, he would take up his arms once more and venture forth to make something out of his unlife. The whiff of Lady Cassandra kept him going not only out of his bruised pride from many years ago from rejection, but also because she wanted to murder his guts. He had sort of ruined any chance she had of power and all that nonsense one would have when it comes to dark rituals the Thule Society would've had, in many occasions where it counted, and the other times he hadn't, did not measure up as a victory in itself for her to let that go by. Killing his said fledgeling albeit with a heavy heart, as to quote Wolfram, 'she had a wonderful hind', his destination over pursuing Lady Cassandra had led him back to Germany.
To his surprise, his antics did not go unnoticed, betraying his house, his family, and defecting to another faction whilst having served a member of the Court of Fangs did not endear him to his father, and brothers, whom were aged, and he was not. It especially did not help he had killed Lady Mira, one of their patrons, and even married the 'adopted' child of their enemies. In itself, he would find that his traveling to Germany was one of hostility, with only passing support from the occupying authorities within the French quarter. Being the foolish fop he was, Wolfram used his gifts of beguiling others before even considering his investigation, which had led to yet another attack on his person in the earliest of the morning, all of whom were hired by his arch rival and once crush, Cassandra. To the shock and surprise of the mercenaries, Wolfram did not seem to be afflicted with fatality when exposed to the sun, which was all that was needed for him to make use of their surprise and crush them as it stands with a kitchen knife, a rubber band, and a boot. Details are sketchy how. Interrogating the survivors, he would learn where his nemesis's coven was, which was in the Russian side, and with haste, he made for there before morning settled down.
When he finally found Cassandra in the specific location, he would try to reason with her for why she held a grudge. Having entered through the window, sunlight leaked through, and before the vampiress could even answer (said answer involving him ruining any chances of her becoming a higher vampire, taking one of her heirlooms without asking and selling said heirloom to some Turks for an insultingly low price, thinking it worthless), the open coffin and all the exposure burnt her to cinders. He never did find out that his wife was the one who had fed her information as a result of Wolfram's negligence, and later abuses in that relationship of theirs.
With most of his outstanding affairs now done with, in his mind, despite his partilineal birth family still out there wanting in on murdering him, and even the many disgruntled elements that he had wronged one way or another being embittered, Wolfram retreated back to England, back into his house, only to be met with a sheerly surprised wife of his. Surprised in that he was not dead, and even more surprised was that he was a whoremonger still. This troubling light of events had increased the cuckquean wife's newfound bravery against her husband had increased the nagging in the house, and this went on for years. Wolfram no longer found joy in going back home, and more often than not, had left the woman behind to a point he just ceased going back home. With most of his money not derived out of his own personal coffers, but his wife's, Wolfram's self-imposed exile found him instead taking up jobs from the Magician's Guild to make ends meet, and perhaps regain his lost splendour whence he had shined most in the wars as the fallible man he was.
His rust and his own diminished prestige has left him with a bottom job as a Magistrate, but he didn't mind. It was an opportunity for glory to be found once again. Not that it helps he had taken up other odd jobs to get some quick cash, as the prospect of having a place to stay became a very critical issue in his every day life, as he had... to his eternal shame, became homeless. Even signed up with the Homeless Association as a member too, curiously enough.
STATISTICS
Blood: F (10 units)
Strength: E
Endurance: E
Agility: D.
LOADOUT
Arma Maga:
Name: Designation Oz06.
Rank: E.
Description: As the wielder cannot use magic, the artifact in question is charged with mana, with the only functional capacity of its usage would be akin to a reactionary force as opposed to an acting one that magicians would be capable of wielding. As a result, it requires traumatic force to awaken volatile energy capable of inflicting E-rank damage with every whacks against a solid surface. The object in question is a blunt sword with the blade itself being akin to a rod, a mockery of an actual saber, with the only sharp point being its end. The metal in itself can bend up to a 60 degree angle without breaking, showing it can waver, and accept the force of the volatile discharge without breaking. In itself, it shares many dimensions of the Austrian Saber Wolfram has, and is sheathed within its own scabbard that renders the volatile energy inert, till it is brought out unbared for combat. Typically, the whacks itself discharges explosive-like force from the opposite end of where it was hit, as the rest of the 'sword' if it could even be called that, runs along its spine with charged runes. It is only good for 4 solid blows, before it becomes nothing more than dead metal that's not good for anything else besides disciplining an unruly child.
Equipments:
Name: 1904 Austrian Saber.
Rank: E.
Description: It's a sword. It stabs things. The function of the sword is meant to be chopping people up with the sharp end of the steel blade, usually to kill them. Sometimes, it can be used for shaving for the foolhardy, the brave, or those too lazy to afford shavers. In Wolfram's case, it's all three. The sword dimensions are as follows, with it being 40'', with the blade itself 34'', with the steel made of 1055 carbon, weighing about 33.9 oz, whilst the handle itself is lengthened around 6 1/8''. The blade itself is polished to be a bit more reflective enough to show a very vague distortion of a mirror. Usually holstered in a steel scabbard worn around the belt, at the left waist. With the blade itself slightly curved, it retains the ability to thrust yet also to slash when charges are prompted. Also has a half-basket guard to save the fingers from being chopped, and in itself, is one of the supposedly 'last' swords of the modern era used in an army, specifically the Austro-Hungarian military. Very stylish, very deadly, and very pointy.
Uniforms:
Name: Aristocratic Hobo Uniform (AHU).
Description: What he wears on his back is technically seen as a uniform. It's garish enough to count as a uniform for either vampire gentry in general, or the Magician's Guild. Too bad nobody realizes he is just a well dressed hobo.
CAPABILITIES
Weaknesses:
Name: Trojan Steak.
Description: Wooden stake, or anything of holy nature, to the heart.
Name: Silver Touch.
Description: Silver, same reason as holy energies.
Name: Holy Molly.
Description: Anything imbued with holy energies, makes things untouchable or difficult to touch. They are undead entities.
Name: Flame Warfare.
Description: Fire, makes damage lasting like those of holy nature.
Name: Dihydrogen Monoxide intolerance.
Description: Traveling over bodies of water, making travel difficult.
Skills:
Name: Melee Weaponry (Sabre Swordsmanship).
Description: Trained in the sword arts of chopping, stabbing, and skewering, Wolfram is pretty proficient with killing people with a sabre, or at least a single edged sword if he needs to improvise. He could also use single edged turnips if no other weapons are available. Whatever the case, Wolfram's style is not the famed fencing one with sabres, but rather the more practical military one cavalrymen learn on foot and on horse, that the Hussars of old would know. Whether deflecting, parrying, or blocking, whether it involves dancing around enemies while also leaving behind a gaping wound, or merely taking the least amount of movements to skewer, is the type of style the vampire Hussar is acquainted with.
Rank: E.
Name: Cavalry Training.
Description: Capable of mounting any equestrian creatures fitting for his stature, Wolfram possesses the ability to adequately control his mount to follow his direction, with accuracy only beholden of a rider, whether the mount is spurred into a maddened sprint, or a sudden slow, are qualities easily within his control. Horses are the most familiar of mounts, but Wolfram can improvise so long as similarities exist on his mounts, such as using four limbs for movement, having a stout back to mount on, and are usually submissive animals that would allow his direction to rise true.
Rank: E.
Name: Unarmed Melee (Bartitsu).
Description: BARTITSU, the eclectic martial arts of gentlemen fighters where upon acts as a blend between boxing, jujitsu, twirling mustaches in a fancy fashion, schwingen, and an assortment of other martial arts as a penultimate hybrid of all top hat wearers. Wolfram is neither a mustache bearer, nor a top hat wearer, but comes close to it with his old timey whimey anachronistic view of things. The martial art focuses on a blend of grappling as inherited from jujitsu, to punching as evidenced by boxing, to wrassling, among other many arts all condensed into this form. Also apparently immortalized by the famed Sherlock Holmes novels as the titular detective knows a butchered derivative of it. Mustache waxing kit not included.
Rank: E.
Abilities:
Name: Every-Day-Walker.
Description: The Sun or even any UV-rays have no meaning to a Tepes vampire. They can even walk around in the day without the risk of burning themselves into cinders.
Rank: E.
Name: Regeneration.
Description: Vampires are capable of healing from their inflicted wounds on their own. This is what makes them difficult to kill. Due to this ability, they actually are able to survive wounds that may kill an average person. It takes supernatural attacks to make any lasting effect, especially those of holy nature which has the most effectiveness.
Rank: E.
Name: Enhanced Senses.
Description: Becoming a creature superior to any normal human, vampires also have equally better senses. Many can even hear things that normal humans would not be able to. While others may have a sense of smell that are on the level or better than a dog's.
Rank: E.
Name: Holy Immunity.
Description: The scourge of the Church. Divine Sacraments have less of an effect on them than any other bloodsucker. Some may even become fully resistant, which is a danger for many Church Hunters.
Rank: E.
Name: Frenzy.
Description: The maddened state of a vampire, their natural fight or flight response. Frenzy can be induced when a factor of massive stress is presented to them. Under that newly presented factor, vampires would either try to eliminate/kill what caused it to frenzy or flee out of fear. Some of it maybe a cause of their anger, desperation, or many other forms of reasons. Many vampires who frenzy tend to become numb to pain. However, they are still capable of being damaged. Most vampires who frenzy tend to lack motor functions as they are in a berserk state.
Rank: E.
Techniques/Spells:
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