| Obadiah | |
|---|---|
 | |
| Basic Information | |
| Concept | |
| Age | Unknown |
| Status | Dark |
| Nature | nature |
| Demeanor | Demeanor |
| Detailed Information | |
| sphere | Vampire |
| group | Gargoyle |
| faction | ? |
| position | ? |
| Troupe | |
History[]
Obadiah woke one cool evening into darkness. That's all there was too it really. He didn't remember his human life or even his previous vampire existance if he had one of those. It was just a deep darkness above him with a ring of faces bent down. Those faces each cold and studious, checking on their creation, testing it. That is how he awoke into servitude of the Tremere. He knew nothing else. Never thought to question their commands no matter what they might be. His duty was to guard their sanctum from interlopers. Tote and carry their supplies and even be a test for their spells both harmful and harmless. It was how it was. How it would always be. He doesn't know how many years he served there in their underground tower. His exhistance was broken only by their commands and their activities as well as the small hand-full of intruders he caught and killed, showing their broken forms to the masters for praise and pet-ish affections. They taught him accidently. He watched and learned from them for the most part. Very little of his training was actually taught to him. He was a servant..a slave. An afterthought. Still..their pet guard and killer did well for them. That is until the bunker-buster missile crashed in through the roof. There was no time or thought given. Only an explosion that sent him crashing back into a storeroom and darkness as the building fell down around him. He starved there a long time before he fell into the deep sleep out of self preservation. More years passed without his knowledge. In truth he only knew of the seasons and months in a vauge sort of way. His next memory is waking to darkness once again. A single face leaning over him in the tiny dusty cave that the storage chamber once was. Cool night air from outside seeming in. And thus he met his mentor. A strange female gangrel who traveled the wastes, surviving. She fed him blood of animals until his strength returned and took interest in his strange ways and lack of knowledge. It was she who taught him to survive. To hunt. Of the world outside his stone box he'd lived in before. She who set his mind and spirit free. She never called herself anything but she often took the form of bats wolves and owls and so he called her simply what she was. Huntress. She stayed with him for three years before disappearing for a time. Time to cut the apron stings and check his own survival skills. Three more years and then she was back. A friend.. and his mentor. But then the lights of the city called..and he answered. Learning more of his strange world.
Personality[]
Oba is an old soul trapped in the body of a monster. His past lost to him from his rebirth as a gargoyle. He only catches wisps of memories that lead him to do strange un-gargoyle like things. Like sing. His deep baratone voice giving birth to old hymns and canticles. He struggles greatly with modern gadgets and gizmos and would rather fly or walk then ride in a car if possible.
Description[]
This is a monster in stone-like flesh. The faniciful made real. If he? stood up straight and tall his height might make six foot plus but his back is curved in a semi-permanent hunch. His face is more muzzle then man with eyes dark sunken into tiny caves. Arms that end in four fingered hands and legs that end in three toed feet. His back is blessed with large wings and his entire body coloring is that of dark cement or light stone with small protrusions and rough spots in odd places. A plump worm-like tail protrudes from his backside, sometimes moving with a mind of it's own in small strange circular patterns.
Rp Hooks[]
- Oba is the first of first pair. That is to say first male gargoyle made of the first male-female pair the Tremere made. They later made two more pairs. Perhaps you've seen the others flying and singing in the waste lands?
- Old old music.
- Oba often seems lost in this world. Maybe you can who him the way?