Andreas Nachtman
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
| |
| ... | |
| Andreas Nachtman | |
| Player: @Chernobyl Blue | |
| Origin: | Natural |
|---|---|
| Archetype: | Stalker |
| Threat Level: | 9 |
| Personal Data | |
| Real Name: | Jeremiah Dexter McCoy |
| Known Aliases: | Andreas Nachtman, Agent Cancer, and "Jer" to close friends. |
| Species: | Human |
| Age: | 50 |
| Height: | 5'8" |
| Weight: | 220 lbs. |
| Eye Color: | Blue |
| Hair Color: | Blonde, Streaked with Gray |
| Biographical Data | |
| Nationality: | Furnali |
| Occupation: | Concert Pianist, Proprietor if "Le Ciel Nocturne" Opera House, Bodyguard, Contract Assassin |
| Place of Birth: | Confidential |
| Base of Operations: | Confidential |
| Marital Status: | Soulmate to Nikolai the Vile |
| Known Relatives: | Closely guarded, though has been seen in contact with Lieutenant Isaiah McCoy and the two look remarkably alike. Publicly, Andreas is known as the Godfather to Elias the Hammer, Seren the Heartless and Marcaim the Rose |
| Known Powers | |
| Confidential | |
| Known Abilities | |
| Brawling, Espionage, etc, etc. | |
| Equipment | |
| ... | |
| ... | |
This article about a character is a stub -- a small, but growing, work in progress. If you're the creator of this character, why not consider expanding it?
Contents |
Overview
Andreas Nachtman is in great need of a really fleshed out character bio :P Hooray!
A Rough Start
((OOC Warning)) This is information that this character would not disclose publicly unless he were very close to you. However, as a means of character introduction, his background is important.
A letter to my father...
Mad Max McCoy. He was known as General Maxwell James McCoy once. Respectable. Decent. A pillar in his community. A man worth dying for.
He was a man of family, old Max. He had two sons, Christian Alexander and Isaiah Luther. Christian grew up to be a General himself, in the footsteps of his old man. Isaiah became a decorated law enforcement officer, another worthwhile pursuit. Both boys were the twinkle in their father’s eye. Men to be proud of, they were.
Married previously to Elizabeth Marie McCoy; the lovely wife died in childbirth with their third son, Jeremiah Dexter, youngest under Christian by five years. Most would say that this is the day that Max died. While this couldn’t be further from the truth, the corpse of the good man that Max once was continued to wander in the remains of his old life. Old Max died, Mad Max was born.
No amount of emotional counseling would quell the anger in Max’s heart. He hated the baby, giving the blame of the death of his beloved wife to an innocent. His abuse went well hidden within the confines of the prison which he made of their own home.
Jeremiah learned very little in his young life. He was taught to obey, for disobeying would always yield a far worse outcome. He learned to protect himself, both physically and emotionally. He would survive beatings from his father by retreating within himself, to a place before him where Mama was alive, and that Daddy was a good man. He learned to feed and clean himself, to dress in what was left behind by the two elder brothers…who as they grew older, saw into their father’s madness which they previously supported in their youthful ignorance. He learned, far too late, to write his own name.
At seventeen, Jeremiah could not obey his father any more. Max came at him in a drunken rage after a denied order, to which he responded with the ferocity of a beaten dog. Max retreated with a nasty wound, the pieces of glass from the broken bottle of cognac chipping and falling from his shoulder with drops of his own blood. After disarming his son, he pummeled him into unconsciousness, and then called the law enforcement to take the boy away. Neither Christian nor Isaiah knew what became of their younger brother for months afterwards.
And so Jeremiah learned to survive against many enemies.
Max did not care what became of his son. The madness which had poisoned him for so long had seeped into every aspect of his life. Those that used to respect him began to fear him. The decency that people spoke of when they mentioned his name was a humble memory of what had passed. The community shunned him, whispered words of his exceedingly public “private” life of hostility. His sons would not speak to him; an angry response to the imprisonment of their younger brother. Max found himself acting and looking rather foolish. It was a hole from which he had difficulty escaping.
When it came time for Jeremiah’s trial, Mad Max negotiated a compromise. The boy’s guilt loomed heavy. In the three years since his initial imprisonment, solitary confinement had been mandated. It seemed that he had taken to the recreational killing and injury of other inmates. The sheer talent of it could not be denied, and back then times were desperate. As a General and with a statement of how he “must make sacrifices to serve his country”, Max allowed the government to take his son and utilize him in a reform program. This program, designed to take criminals and turn them around by making them into soldiers, would certainly mean that the likelihood of the boy’s return was very low. On his father’s order, Jeremiah learned to be a soldier.
Max did not cry when the call came. He did not cry at the meager funeral. When he spoke on his son’s life, he said very little. And as he did with the death of his beloved wife, Max slipped further into madness.
Jeremiah learned to be a ghost.
Max had created a trail for himself leading directly into the pits of Hell. Lives lost meaning on his orders, and more sons were killed with the ink from his pen. His brash words caught the ears of people who were easily angered, and quietly vengeful. To protect themselves and to protect others…Mad Max would have to disappear. That man that had once been worth dying for was now a man worth killing.
And so the contract came to me.
I truly sympathize for you, Max. I too know what it is like to walk in the shadow of a life that you used to know. I have retraced my tracks in the snow to remain hidden, but I must admit that the taste of madness is liberating, and it is my wish to share it with you from the eyes of another. My hands have long since been stained by blood, and yours was the first. It is a bit ceremonial that Scorpio placed you into my lap. People who hardly know you now find your actions unforgivable, and the one who knows you better will be the one to execute their order. It is as you taught me, and this order will not go unheeded.
I wish to thank you for my life, and for my strength. For what makes me vulnerable and causes my mind to scream. I thank you for leading me to the edges of Hell and pushing me in. For everything that I was never able to do and the things that I now do that I never dreamed would be possible. I am your creation; a harshly composed symphony of both pleasure and pain. When you chose to feed me to the wolves, I suppose you never imagined that the wolves would turn me into one of their own. I have your scent. I can taste your blood.
I have learned a lot in the last fifteen years, and I have learned that there are a greater number of men who wish you dead than those that would miss you alive. It tempted me greatly to take this contract without payment, but the number was actually very good. This is vindication with a hefty price tag.
I love you, dad.
Jeremiah Dexter McCoy “Cancer”
In more detail
Earlier on...
After the death of their mother, Christian, Isaiah and Jeremiah were taken to live with their mother's family. (TBC)
Max's abuse...
Mature Content:
