My nature is a psychopath and my demeanor is... Visionary.
I was born in the 1100's with a thirst for knowledge, somewhere near Paris. I joined the
priesthood and become a monk where I was trained as a scribe. For twelve hours a day, I
meticulously created flawless copies of the bible. In my off-hours my quill did not rest, and I
began to draw detailed diagrams plants and flowers, but I grew bored.
I moved onto animals and learned many interesting things about organic mechanisms. I could see
the glory of god in the architecture of muscles and bones that made up his brute creations.
Vivisection, the cutting up of dead animals in the pursuit of science, was a crime at the time, and I
believe it still is, in fact. Those afraid to see god in _all_ his glory shunned and denounced my
glorious work, as I was a man truly ahead of my time.
Eventually, when my thirst for knowledge would not diminish, the Abbot expelled me from the
monastery. Not that I hadn't tried to comply with their wishes; I had ceased to kill any animal
before dissecting it. I had discovered that if one is very, very careful an animal can be coaxed to
live through any trauma for a periods at a time.
I lived in exile then, selling my drawings to those who would call themselves physicians, but did
not have the nerve or verve to vivisect human corpses. I could not afford to stay in one place too
long, however, and soon found myself living in the mountains. I forget the name of the
mountains, but I am sure they have forgotten my name as well.
I was not alone however. Another preyed upon the wild animals and he was quite sloppy about it.
He was a raving lunatic, but quite handsome in his bestial way. I begin sketching him from afar,
hiding the evidence of his feedings from the locals. Thus the beast knew peace for the first time in
many long years. That may well have been my first mistake.
He let me drew closer with each encounter (allowing me to draw in more detail, co-incidently),
even inviting me to share in his meal once or twice. I'd already eaten the meat he'd left behind
dozens of times, so I saw no harm in sucking at the dead flesh, so fresh that it was steaming in the
night air, as was his custom. I complimented my host on how handsome he was, what with the
blood reflecting the moonlight off his powerful face.
So impressed was he with my manners, that he brought me across for dessert.
Since that time, my thirst for knowledge has not diminished one iota. I've discovered that I have
certain predilections, include dissecting living mortals... slowly. I once dissected a fellow kindred,
but grew bored and misplaced him before I finished. I should find the chap one day and put him
out of his misery one way or another, but that's another story.
I design and construct bridges and buildings now. On paper, at least. I am an engineer, they say,
although I prefer to be called an artist. I am rich enough now that I can employ people to call me
an artist. I have hidden many bodies for my fellow creatures of the night within my bridges, most
of whom are dead.
The bodies, that is. My fellow vampires are alive, of course. In a matter of speaking, of course.
The structures are neither living nor dead, although I have no proof in either case.
My havens are many, some being nothing more than a dark hole to drop my body into.
I was born in the 1100's with a thirst for knowledge, somewhere near Paris. I joined the
priesthood and become a monk where I was trained as a scribe. For twelve hours a day, I
meticulously created flawless copies of the bible. In my off-hours my quill did not rest, and I
began to draw detailed diagrams plants and flowers, but I grew bored.
I moved onto animals and learned many interesting things about organic mechanisms. I could see
the glory of god in the architecture of muscles and bones that made up his brute creations.
Vivisection, the cutting up of dead animals in the pursuit of science, was a crime at the time, and I
believe it still is, in fact. Those afraid to see god in _all_ his glory shunned and denounced my
glorious work, as I was a man truly ahead of my time.
Eventually, when my thirst for knowledge would not diminish, the Abbot expelled me from the
monastery. Not that I hadn't tried to comply with their wishes; I had ceased to kill any animal
before dissecting it. I had discovered that if one is very, very careful an animal can be coaxed to
live through any trauma for a periods at a time.
I lived in exile then, selling my drawings to those who would call themselves physicians, but did
not have the nerve or verve to vivisect human corpses. I could not afford to stay in one place too
long, however, and soon found myself living in the mountains. I forget the name of the
mountains, but I am sure they have forgotten my name as well.
I was not alone however. Another preyed upon the wild animals and he was quite sloppy about it.
He was a raving lunatic, but quite handsome in his bestial way. I begin sketching him from afar,
hiding the evidence of his feedings from the locals. Thus the beast knew peace for the first time in
many long years. That may well have been my first mistake.
He let me drew closer with each encounter (allowing me to draw in more detail, co-incidently),
even inviting me to share in his meal once or twice. I'd already eaten the meat he'd left behind
dozens of times, so I saw no harm in sucking at the dead flesh, so fresh that it was steaming in the
night air, as was his custom. I complimented my host on how handsome he was, what with the
blood reflecting the moonlight off his powerful face.
So impressed was he with my manners, that he brought me across for dessert.
Since that time, my thirst for knowledge has not diminished one iota. I've discovered that I have
certain predilections, include dissecting living mortals... slowly. I once dissected a fellow kindred,
but grew bored and misplaced him before I finished. I should find the chap one day and put him
out of his misery one way or another, but that's another story.
I design and construct bridges and buildings now. On paper, at least. I am an engineer, they say,
although I prefer to be called an artist. I am rich enough now that I can employ people to call me
an artist. I have hidden many bodies for my fellow creatures of the night within my bridges, most
of whom are dead.
The bodies, that is. My fellow vampires are alive, of course. In a matter of speaking, of course.
The structures are neither living nor dead, although I have no proof in either case.
My havens are many, some being nothing more than a dark hole to drop my body into.