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Post by clockworkmage on Feb 9, 2013 14:23:34 GMT -6
| NAME: | John Reed | | DEED NAME: | None: Cub | AUSPICE: | Philodox | BREED: | Homid | | CHRONICLE: | Hunters Hunted | TRIBE: | Silent Striders | CONCEPT: | The Rudely Awakened |
| ATTRIBUTES | | | PHYSICAL | | SOCIAL | | MENTAL | | | STRENGTH: | 2 | CHARISMA: Captivating | 4 | PERCEPTION: Uncanny Instincts | 4 | | DEXTERITY: | 3 | MANIPULATION: | 2 | INTELLIGENCE: Lateral Problem Solver | 4 | | STAMINA: | 2 | APPEARANCE: | 2 | WITS: | 3 |
| ABILITIES | | | ABILITIES | | SKILLS | | KNOWLEDGES | | | ALERTNESS: | 3 | ANIMAL KEN: | 0 | COMPUTER: | 0 | | ATHLETICS: | 3 | CRAFTS: | 0 | ENIGMAS: | 3 | | BRAWL: | 2 | DRIVE: | 0 | INVESTIGATION: | 2 | | DODGE: | 0 | ETIQUETTE: | 0 | LAW: | 0 | | EMPATHY: | 3 | FIREARMS: | 2 | LINGUISTICS: | 0 | | EXPRESSION: | 1 | LEADERSHIP: | 0 | MEDICINE: | 0 | | INTIMIDATION: | 0 | MELEE: | 0 | OCCULT: | 1 | | PRIMAL-URGE: | 0 | PERFORMANCE: | 0 | POLITICS: | 0 | | STREETWISE: | 1 | STEALTH: | 3 | RITUALS: | 3 | | SUBTERFUGE: | 0 | SURVIVAL: | 0 | SCIENCE: | 0 |
| MERITS | | Acute Sense of Smell (1) | | Common Sense (1) | | Danger Sense (3) | | Ritual Aptitude (1) | | Sharp Eared (1) |
| FLAWS | | Forced Transformation: Vampires (1) | | Graceless (2) | | Low Pain Tolerance (2) | | Mark of the Predator (2) |
| BACKGROUNDS | | Allies 4 (Garou, other Sept) | | Rites 1 | | Totem 2 |
| Lore | | Garou 1 | | Silent Striders 1 |
| GIFTS | | Homid: Smell of Man | | Philodox: Threads of the Tapestry | | Silent Strider: Silence |
| RITES: | | Greet the Moon | | Hunting Prayer | | Prayer for the Prey | | Moot Rite |
[/td][/tr] [/table] | RENOWN | | TRAITS | | | GLORY | 0 | RAGE | 3 | | HONOR | 0 | GNOSIS | 5 | | WISDOM | 0 | WILLPOWER | 5 |
| Freebie Points Use | | Dexterity to 3 (5) | | Perception to 4 (5) | | Totem 2 (2) | | Gnosis to 5 (8) | | Willpower to 5 (2) |
| GEAR | | Simple Clothes | | Favorite Books | | Second-hand Cell Phone (Plan Expired) | | Worn Backpack |
| AGE: | 21 | HEIGHT: | 5'6" | WEIGHT: | 135lbs | | EYE COLOR: | Brown | HAIR COLOR: | Brown | BIRTH MARKS: | None | | TATTOOS: | None | SCARS: | None |
 | DESCRIPTION: | John Reed is a young man of fairly unremarkable looks. Standing a little under average height with a slight slouch, his wary brown eyes are seldom resting on any one thing for long. A few inches of wavy dark brown hair hang around his head, hastily cropped a bit shorter around his eyes and ears. He frequently runs his fingers through it to brush it back, sometimes for no other reason than to have something to do when deprived of some token or bauble to fidget with. A thin goatee frames his pale lips, which waver most often between grinning at a new puzzle to tackle, half smirking at idle thoughts, and drawing tight with concern. His narrow frame shifts often from foot to foot, heel to toe, as though stillness were an ill omen. Most often selecting practical and inexpensive clothing in muted tones, avoiding any pictures or words that might draw the eye, it can be difficult to tell whether he is actively seeking to avoid attention or merely busy with his own thoughts. |
| BACKGROUND: | With lower middle class parents and a home on the outer edges of the City's sprawling grasp, no trace of the Wyld could reach John in his early years. Between a knack for going unnoticed and a mind for dreaming about the elusive something missing from his life, he filled the gaps by looking for mysteries and teaching himself to learn. With an uneventful and unsatisfying high school graduation behind him and nothing in his future but more of the same, he fell into a second shift job cleaning a library. One night, taking a walk through the foggy roads between the books he loves and the apartment he tolerates, the lights flicker and dim. A gaunt figure, a pale and unhealthy parody of the human form that cast no reflection in the dark windows lining the street, stalked towards him. Something inside twitched and stretched as the unholy predator came nearer. John's memories of that incident are interrupted by a scream from somewhere so deep that it hurt for days, and the memory of something falling on the approaching foe from above. He isn't sure exactly how much time elapsed, but he came to his senses on the ground in the same street, a pile of ashes slowly drifting away nearby. Above him, prodding him with a boot, stood a woman with a feral grin and wild eyes. "Oh boy," she said, "Seems like you're gonna need a talk." |
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Post by WebMonkey on Feb 9, 2013 21:53:31 GMT -6
approved for play
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