Vampire: The Requiem
Weight: 190 lbs
Hair Color: Light Brown
Eye Color: Grey
Concept: Retired Soldier
Power: Intelligence 2, Strength 2, Presence 2
Finesse: Wits 3, Dexterity 3, Manipulation 1
Resistance: Resolve 2, Stamina 3, Composure 3
Mental: Computer 1, Investigation 2, Medicine 1
Physical: Athletics 2, Brawl (Grappling) 2, Drive 1, Firearms (Rifles, Pistols) 2, Stealth 1, Survival 2, Weaponry 1
Social: Animal Ken 1, Intimidation 2, Persuasion 2, Subterfuge 2
Disciplines: Animalism 1, Protean 1, Resilience 1
Merits: Contacts 1, Allies 1, Resources 1, Danger Sense 2, Status 1, Language (Arabic) 1
Clan Weakness: Dice pools based on Intelligence or Wits do not benefit from the 10-again rule unless they are related to perception or reacting to a surprise. Additionally, any critical failures that come up on an Intelligence- or Wits-based role subtract from the successes on that roll. The latter part of the weakness does not affect dramatic failure rules.
Blood Potency: 1
Initiative Mod: 6
|Glock 17 (9 mm)||2||20/40/80||17+1||1|
You want to know about me? Okay, sure, I guess. There really isn’t much to tell, but here goes.
My family’s from Montana. No, we aren’t crazy survivalist types hiding out from the government. Well, most of us aren’t. My dad owns a ranch up there, which is where I grew up. My life was pretty quiet growing up — working on the ranch, going to school, arguing with my sister. Normal kid stuff. I played baseball, but was never much good at it. I think my dad always wanted me to play at college, get a scholarship, that sort of thing, but I just didn’t have the knack.
Anyway, after high school I signed up to fight for Uncle Sam. Shipped out to boot camp the day after I turned 19. Wound up doing one tour in Afghanistan and two in Iraq. And, if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather not say any more about that. I saw some bad stuff out there, and I don’t like talking about it. After my last tour I got a desk assignment due to injuries in the field. That was okay for a while, but I’ve always preferred working with my hands, so I got an honorable discharge, took the pension, and went back to Montana to help Dad out with the ranch. He’s getting on, and Mom’s not well, so, yeah.
I’d been out about a year when I started getting weird letters from one of the guys who was in my platoon named Craig Nelson. It sounded like someone was stalking him. Some of it was down right crazy, probably PTSD or something like that getting to him. As I said, we saw some shit that’d drive anyone nuts. I tried to persuade him to go see a shrink, but he insisted he wasn’t crazy. Finally, a couple of weeks ago, I got a letter from Craig saying he’d figured out who the guy that was after him was, but he needed someone reliable to come help him. He begged me to meet him in New Orleans, in the French Quarter. I still think he’s nuts, but maybe if I go see for myself I can figure out some way of getting him the help he needs before he hurts someone.