Vampire : The Masquerade - Dark Ages
Character History - Inigo Montoya/???
Character Clan - Tremere/???
I was born the same night as the ones the Jews call Christ, when a single star went supernova the same night we were born and the light shone for two months with the twisted fury of that celestial explosion. This was the star the Scholars of the East traveled towards on their quest to see the "messiah" the Talmud often told of that would bring the Gentiles to ruin and would rule the world as a benevolent King.
Amusingly enough, the child was born a beggar, a poor carpenter's son to his rather homely wife-to-be.
I was born in the same city, Nazareth. The bible, as well as many parents to their children, tell of Christ being born in Bethlehem. This is a lie, one of many in that ranting of a forgetful god they call a book. In fact, neither he nor I were born inside the city walls. He was born in a donkey stall near the gates of the city, and I was born in the wilderness to a woman who was no less sane than she was clean. I was the bastard son of a whore. What I remember of my mother's ravings was that my father was, in fact Joseph of Nazareth, the Christ's own father. This of course, I ignore, but it has caused me much wonder and intrigue since I was embraced.
I grew up with the Christ, whom his parents named Jesus, and spent most of my younger days with him, running about Nazareth. I had been given to an orphanage shortly after my second birthday, and was adopted, more or less, by Joseph and Mary. Joseph always treated me kindly, for he was not sure if I knew of my own lineage - that of King David and King Solomon. I never truly asked, for it was not my place. A bastard such as I had no place in the world of Kings and philosophers.
When Herod the Great deemed all children under the age of 6 killed in the first Anno Domini (by current Roman Calendars), Joseph and Mary took us and their other children and fled by way of a gypsy caravan to Egypt. We arrived in Cairo, and shortly after this, I parted ways with them by way of kidnapping - an egyptian woman who could no longer bear children took me as her own, and I was all the more pleased once I realized what lavishments would be bestowed upon me for being her son. Joseph and Mary never gave me much attention, as their focus was on their little "Jesui" and the small miracles he performed on occaision. I dismissed most of these as luck, and quickly forgot about my 'family'.
My life consisted of training for priesthood for Anubis, and I took to it with fervor. The rituals and such were a bit boring, considering what I do now, but at the time I was ecstatic. I spent my days in prayer to Anubis, hoping to someday gain knowledge of the alter-planes and how to reach them. Soon I was a true priest, if not the high priest, which bothered me not. I was happy enough being in the graces of Anubis.
I was raised by the egyptian woman, Nesteriri, until she died when I was 29 years of age. I took what little inheritance she had left me, and began traveling back to Nazareth, to find my mother and perhaps ask her a few questions. Records were not kept in those days, but I was in hopes that I would uncover something about her.
My hopes were dashed as I found the church I had stayed in for a few weeks when I was 2 was crumbling from disuse. I disregarded it. Perhaps I was nothing more than the bastard son of a whore. But inside, I felt something more was of it.
As I was leaving Nazareth, I saw a man sitting next to a fig tree, speaking to a large group of obviously Hebrew people. I walked closer, and listened in to the man. He pointed at the fig tree, and cursed at it, calling upon the power of Jehovah to end it's fruitfulness, that it might never again bear fruit. All the fruit upon it shriveled and died before everyone, to gasps. I merely smiled. I had found my brother.
I never approached him, but I followed him throughout his travels of the Holy Lands, listening to his teachings. I found myself believing his claims of being the Son of God, and I even joined the flock that followed him to and fro among the sands. Alas, what a fool I was.
The night Judas betrayed the Christ, I was sitting just outside the graveyard, and was taken forcefully by the guards as they passed by. They spat in my face and commanded me to denounce my Lord, that he was not the Son of God, but merely a false prophet, and commanded me to kiss the emblem of the Philistines. I refused, and was taken away. I did not see what the Gospels later told of - Judas' kiss, Jesus' final miracle of healing, and the Betrayal of Peter. Nay, that night I saw only the cold stone of a dungeon, then darkness as the guards beat me.
I awoke to a guard breathing his stench in my face, telling me I was to be tried that day for heresy. I complied, of course, knowing that my God would free me, or watch over me and keep me from harm. I was tried, and convicted, much to my astonishment.
My punishment was to be crucifixion as a criminal, to be held the next day.
I did not have to drag my own cross along the city streets as the Christ did, but I was nailed and tied to the timbers, and hoisted in time to see Jesus himself drag his own cross to Golgotha. Another man, a true murderer, was crucified across from me, and the Christ was hoisted between us.
I will never forget the pain of the crucifixion, of the nails being driven into my wrists and ankles into the wood, not being able to fight back. The blood of my body flowed freely from those wounds, and I still bear the scars from them, though I hide them quite well. The centurion's hammer came down short at one of the strikes to the nail at my right hand, and it crushed my fingers to the point of detatching them. My right hand was mutilated as I was hoisted.
I was forsaken by God. The God I had given everything to. I had been betrayed.
And his Messenger was being crucified right beside me.
I was blinded by rage. The 'benevolent god' that the Christ had been speaking of had forsaken us both, had left us to the hyenas and jackals, as it were. I cursed and spat at the man named Christ, offering him nothing but my wrath. His eyes turned to me then, and recognition covered his face as he spoke my name.
"My brother! Surely this is not the way my Father intended?"
My response was another line of spittle in his face. He had betrayed me as well. I would have none of his words.
The Christ died before the other criminal, and I do not remember much between the time Jesus died and when I awoke in a dark place. There was only light from a single candle, which i had to see through a shroud. The Hebrews had buried me alive! I had not died on the crucifix! I struggled to break free, but found myself bound by ropes. An evil laugh resounded through the crypt.
"End your struggles. You shall not break free. First we must talk, then I will decide if I want to free you."
And so the disembodied voice spoke, a voice charred by time. He told me of the misgivings of the Christ, and of the God He had spoken of so lovingly. Of the lies that had been spat within my stomach, that I must vomit forth to find the true path to the End of Days. Of how I could exact my own vengeance on those who would, inevitably, follow the teachings of the Christ until the End of Days.
I was intrigued. I spoke of my interest, and I heard footsteps.
"Open your mouth, and partake of this, that you might live. You have already reached the brink of death, this will keep you alive."
I felt the drops on my face, and I lapped at them. They tasted of sin and bile, but I swallowed anyway, as I had no wish to die. My body began to feel lighter, and I felt my wounds close a bit. This man's apothecary drink was to be reckoned with!
He loosened my bindings, and told me to stand. I did so, but with a slight loss of balance. His hand, strong and firm, held me up as we walked through the darkness. Slowly, a space opened into the night, and we walked through it. After a time, I became tired, and he slung me over his shoulder and began running. It appeared he was trying to beat the moon to his destination, as that was the direction he was running. Just before sunrise, he found a cave for the both of us to sleep in, that we might travel at night, when it was cooler. I agreed. I lay along a flat strip of rock and stole asleep before he could command me otherwise.
The next night he once more poured the apothecary mixture into my mouth, and I swallowed readily, the taste no longer as bad as it had been. He hoisted me over his shoulder again, and began running. It seemed we were going towards
I was born the same night as the ones the Jews call Christ, when a single star went supernova the same night we were born and the light shone for two months with the twisted fury of that celestial explosion. This was the star the Scholars of the East traveled towards on their quest to see the "messiah" the Talmud often told of that would bring the Gentiles to ruin and would rule the world as a benevolent King.
Amusingly enough, the child was born a beggar, a poor carpenter's son to his rather homely wife-to-be.
I was born in the same city, Nazareth. The bible, as well as many parents to their children, tell of Christ being born in Bethlehem. This is a lie, one of many in that ranting of a forgetful god they call a book. In fact, neither he nor I were born inside the city walls. He was born in a donkey stall near the gates of the city, and I was born in the wilderness to a woman who was no less sane than she was clean. I was the bastard son of a whore. What I remember of my mother's ravings was that my father was, in fact Joseph of Nazareth, the Christ's own father. This of course, I ignore, but it has caused me much wonder and intrigue since I was embraced.
I grew up with the Christ, whom his parents named Jesus, and spent most of my younger days with him, running about Nazareth. I had been given to an orphanage shortly after my second birthday, and was adopted, more or less, by Joseph and Mary. Joseph always treated me kindly, for he was not sure if I knew of my own lineage - that of King David and King Solomon. I never truly asked, for it was not my place. A bastard such as I had no place in the world of Kings and philosophers.
When Herod the Great deemed all children under the age of 6 killed in the first Anno Domini (by current Roman Calendars), Joseph and Mary took us and their other children and fled by way of a gypsy caravan to Egypt. We arrived in Cairo, and shortly after this, I parted ways with them by way of kidnapping - an egyptian woman who could no longer bear children took me as her own, and I was all the more pleased once I realized what lavishments would be bestowed upon me for being her son. Joseph and Mary never gave me much attention, as their focus was on their little "Jesui" and the small miracles he performed on occaision. I dismissed most of these as luck, and quickly forgot about my 'family'.
My life consisted of training for priesthood for Anubis, and I took to it with fervor. The rituals and such were a bit boring, considering what I do now, but at the time I was ecstatic. I spent my days in prayer to Anubis, hoping to someday gain knowledge of the alter-planes and how to reach them. Soon I was a true priest, if not the high priest, which bothered me not. I was happy enough being in the graces of Anubis.
I was raised by the egyptian woman, Nesteriri, until she died when I was 29 years of age. I took what little inheritance she had left me, and began traveling back to Nazareth, to find my mother and perhaps ask her a few questions. Records were not kept in those days, but I was in hopes that I would uncover something about her.
My hopes were dashed as I found the church I had stayed in for a few weeks when I was 2 was crumbling from disuse. I disregarded it. Perhaps I was nothing more than the bastard son of a whore. But inside, I felt something more was of it.
As I was leaving Nazareth, I saw a man sitting next to a fig tree, speaking to a large group of obviously Hebrew people. I walked closer, and listened in to the man. He pointed at the fig tree, and cursed at it, calling upon the power of Jehovah to end it's fruitfulness, that it might never again bear fruit. All the fruit upon it shriveled and died before everyone, to gasps. I merely smiled. I had found my brother.
I never approached him, but I followed him throughout his travels of the Holy Lands, listening to his teachings. I found myself believing his claims of being the Son of God, and I even joined the flock that followed him to and fro among the sands. Alas, what a fool I was.
The night Judas betrayed the Christ, I was sitting just outside the graveyard, and was taken forcefully by the guards as they passed by. They spat in my face and commanded me to denounce my Lord, that he was not the Son of God, but merely a false prophet, and commanded me to kiss the emblem of the Philistines. I refused, and was taken away. I did not see what the Gospels later told of - Judas' kiss, Jesus' final miracle of healing, and the Betrayal of Peter. Nay, that night I saw only the cold stone of a dungeon, then darkness as the guards beat me.
I awoke to a guard breathing his stench in my face, telling me I was to be tried that day for heresy. I complied, of course, knowing that my God would free me, or watch over me and keep me from harm. I was tried, and convicted, much to my astonishment.
My punishment was to be crucifixion as a criminal, to be held the next day.
I did not have to drag my own cross along the city streets as the Christ did, but I was nailed and tied to the timbers, and hoisted in time to see Jesus himself drag his own cross to Golgotha. Another man, a true murderer, was crucified across from me, and the Christ was hoisted between us.
I will never forget the pain of the crucifixion, of the nails being driven into my wrists and ankles into the wood, not being able to fight back. The blood of my body flowed freely from those wounds, and I still bear the scars from them, though I hide them quite well. The centurion's hammer came down short at one of the strikes to the nail at my right hand, and it crushed my fingers to the point of detatching them. My right hand was mutilated as I was hoisted.
I was forsaken by God. The God I had given everything to. I had been betrayed.
And his Messenger was being crucified right beside me.
I was blinded by rage. The 'benevolent god' that the Christ had been speaking of had forsaken us both, had left us to the hyenas and jackals, as it were. I cursed and spat at the man named Christ, offering him nothing but my wrath. His eyes turned to me then, and recognition covered his face as he spoke my name.
"My brother! Surely this is not the way my Father intended?"
My response was another line of spittle in his face. He had betrayed me as well. I would have none of his words.
The Christ died before the other criminal, and I do not remember much between the time Jesus died and when I awoke in a dark place. There was only light from a single candle, which i had to see through a shroud. The Hebrews had buried me alive! I had not died on the crucifix! I struggled to break free, but found myself bound by ropes. An evil laugh resounded through the crypt.
"End your struggles. You shall not break free. First we must talk, then I will decide if I want to free you."
And so the disembodied voice spoke, a voice charred by time. He told me of the misgivings of the Christ, and of the God He had spoken of so lovingly. Of the lies that had been spat within my stomach, that I must vomit forth to find the true path to the End of Days. Of how I could exact my own vengeance on those who would, inevitably, follow the teachings of the Christ until the End of Days.
I was intrigued. I spoke of my interest, and I heard footsteps.
"Open your mouth, and partake of this, that you might live. You have already reached the brink of death, this will keep you alive."
I felt the drops on my face, and I lapped at them. They tasted of sin and bile, but I swallowed anyway, as I had no wish to die. My body began to feel lighter, and I felt my wounds close a bit. This man's apothecary drink was to be reckoned with!
He loosened my bindings, and told me to stand. I did so, but with a slight loss of balance. His hand, strong and firm, held me up as we walked through the darkness. Slowly, a space opened into the night, and we walked through it. After a time, I became tired, and he slung me over his shoulder and began running. It appeared he was trying to beat the moon to his destination, as that was the direction he was running. Just before sunrise, he found a cave for the both of us to sleep in, that we might travel at night, when it was cooler. I agreed. I lay along a flat strip of rock and stole asleep before he could command me otherwise.
The next night he once more poured the apothecary mixture into my mouth, and I swallowed readily, the taste no longer as bad as it had been. He hoisted me over his shoulder again, and began running. It seemed we were going towards