VampyrKnight
From Unofficial Handbook of the Virtue Universe
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| Gregor Bladesmith portrait, circa 1995 | |
| The VampyrKnight | |
| Player: Doppledragon | |
| Origin: | Magic |
|---|---|
| Archetype: | Scrapper |
| Security Level: | 44 |
| Personal Data | |
| Real Name: | Unknown |
| Known Aliases: | Gregor Bladesmith, “Lance”, VK |
| Species: | Special, see text |
| Age: | 1,600 years plus |
| Height: | 6 ft. 4 in. |
| Weight: | 210 lb. |
| Eye Color: | black |
| Hair Color: | black, kept long |
| Biographical Data | |
| Nationality: | English |
| Occupation: | Hero |
| Place of Birth: | Avalon |
| Base of Operations: | none |
| Marital Status: | Single |
| Known Relatives: | Lucy Bladesmith (daughter, vampire) |
| Known Powers | |
| Confirmed (superior agility, fortitude, and strength; flight and superior leaping capacity; superior regenerative capacity); Unconfirmed (stealth, mesmerism, shapeshifting) | |
| Known Abilities | |
| Extensive knowledge of ancient to modern weaponry, fighting styles, and tactics; Extensive knowledge of history and events, including special occult studies. | |
| Equipment | |
| Two swords (sometimes a sword-and-dagger combination), two Colt Peacemaker pistols (matching), various clothing and armor | |
| No additional information available. | |
Enigmatic and prone to working solo, few know anything of the VampyrKnight. Fewer still know anything of his past. Exceptionally few know of his mortal life from centuries ago. Here, the revelations shall begin.
Contents |
Pages of history
Perhaps the best place to start on an immortal being, the pages of text, much of it handwritten, offers a comparable place to begin learning of the enigmatic man calling himself the VampyrKnight. What follows collects the few written pieces on his passing in life.
A Letter of Urgency
Dated 20 July 1010 A.D. Archivists found this among a collection in the Vatican’s oldest archive, originally written in Latin.
To the Reverend Priest Gardson
Your inquiry into the unholy creature calling himself Gregorius and the history of his movements and travels must come to an end. The Bishop has given a request to end this fruitless quest for information, and expresses sympathy through this office of your loss. If this demon is truly responsible for the death of your sister, our humble order will begin to investigate this one and deal with him in proper time in the manners given in the manuals prescribed to us from the Holy Father.
In response to your request for information, however, I hereby grant what little the monks have recorded. Gregorius’ origins remain shrouded in mystery but lie in Britannica or Brittany. His early years as a demon saw him truly as a beast, as he terrorized the English of the time throughout the country, but another demon only known as Arcturus, another revenant of quite some age, taught him to hunt and hide amongst mortals.
The name Gregorius was only taken up during his travels in Germany some two centuries ago. Several traces refer to a small village which became a battleground to the creature and another of his kind, ending in the death of a village woman and a demon warlord. He has since departed that land and believed to currently travel about the many kingdoms of Europe. This is all I may tell you, as all else has been restricted to the Bishop himself.
If you require further assistance, the Bishop instructs you to send a missive to the Order of St. Michael of the Hold Flame, as they may provide more assistance.
Your Eternal Servant, the Friar Dominicus
From The Journal of the Rose
Dated 1 May 1345, from The Journal of the Rose, a little known book written by a suspected English vampire in the mid-14th century detailing “persons of interest” to the female writer.
Oh, how wonderful this man who names himself Gregory was, how ardent a lover he was! Poetry in form, dark angels should sing the praises of him, for he truly proved more than capable in the bed chamber. Few ladies of the land could even, or should, dare to resist his charms and manners, for he is truly born and trained well in proper etiquette and manners, yet his tongue holds the power to strip a lady of her purity and sense.
But this man of shadow bares all the aptitudes of men who would be warriors. His understanding of knightly orders and ways stands beyond reproach, for even my husband, one of the kine, had his own honor and knowledge called into serious question some days prior to his death. What form in combat Gregory bore, ending the tyrannical subjugation of the serfs beneath us with but a fluid flourish of his sword. A quick death, one of mercy rather than the long one promised by any other man, and yet, my lord Gregory showed grief over the Earl’s death, honoring the fallen and praying on bended knee by his defeated foe.
But word yet reaches my ears of the few dalliances he has occasioned, and how he hunts his own kind. An immortal hunting other immortals, but his savagery, which I can attest exists despite his seeming gentle and sympathetic façade, also turns against others who stalk shadows and prey on the kine. Indeed, it is the quest of this kindred knight to protect them from us, such a laughable notion! Yet, I find it somewhat endearing, despite the power my sire once visited upon me with his kiss, that this one man among us retains his humanity, fighting back the Beast which stalks our very souls.
Whispers in Shadow
Dated 18 October 1624, a letter from the private collection of Michel Nastokov. Translated from French to English.
To my dear friend, the Stalking Owl,
How many days has it been since we last hunted these vile undead creatures in the streets of the great city? Even as his royal highness Louis XIII continues to let the Devious Cardinal rule, the creatures continue to influence the society and feed on the underbelly with impunity. The fires of the Inquisition still burn in some parts of Europe, but the true evil festers in these dark days.
It is in Paris where I captured one of these vampires and learned much of their ways. Days passed during its torture, to which I have recorded much of the methodology and the effectiveness of each method. Also recorded in a book to which even now lies in safekeeping is the information I learned, spoken in the truthfulness which comes only from facing one’s demise and the judgment after.
He also spoke of a group of such creatures who dwell outside the society the rest of their kind have created to prey upon mortal society. A group he worded with use of a term he used, caitiff, or those of no clan, a group traveling across the world. Now perhaps may be the best time to bring an end to their terrorizing and give peace of mind to the spirits of their victims. It appears in recent months, the group has suffered a grave attack to their number, the passing of one of the eldest and, if to be believed, an enlightened killer, of the group the creature informed me was known as Salubri.
Taking a good amount of caution, of which you will be glad to hear and stop incessantly berating my lack of finesse in hunting, I did come to the place they gathered, a tavern in the northern streets, and there, concealed within shadows, I overheard much of these creatures and the plans to travel to the eastern countries in urgency. Mention was made of the wintry lands of Russia, to which my ears could not deny the words I heard, and it seems that the most forthright of their number, identified only as Gregor, had murder, to kill the brave hunter who struck down their leader some months ago. They are due to depart before the end of the month, traveling by night and resting at night, to which I cannot understand but will nevertheless not prevent me from my task.
I thereby must entreat you and your own followers to come quickly to Paris, where we shall set out after these, at once stalking these demons of the night and save one who would be so emboldened as to slay one of these foul beings. I implore you, dear friend, to make due haste upon receiving this letter, for time is of the essence. Godspeed to you. Please pass along my warmest regards to your family, especially to your sister, who is always in my thoughts. I think of her and our children as often as I am allowed.
In sincere regards, the Shadow Lion
Hot Prairie Nights
Dated 29 June 1888, a letter displayed at the Silver Creek Museum in Silver Creek, Arizona.
Dear Eli,
Before you start writing and complaining about not writing you sooner, let me explain. When we agreed to start this business, with me headed to this boomtown first and setting it up for our family, you never once mentioned anything about gambling saloons and antsy cowhands. Why, it’d only have been proper, being the older brother and having experience in this kind of place, to have told me some about this. I reckon that when you finally do make the trip here, it’d best if you left Betsy and the girls behind until the town finds a better lawman.
See, here’s how things are here in Silver Creek. There’s law of a kind, but most of that law’s in the pockets of those who can pay them to look the other way. Most nights, you’ll find the county sheriff and town marshal in a saloon together drinking away, and if there’s trouble, well, now, they don’t lift a finger someone’s paying them to look away. Well, sometimes they might drag the wrong party to jail, and let me tell you, more than one wrong man’s been sent up to Boot Hill because they got tangled up in something they shouldn’t have.
That’s how it was, anyway. Up until last week, when a man rode into town. In just the first night, he endeared himself to the townsfolk, especially the girl who works in the store for me, Elizabeth, though everyone just calls her Lizzy. Why, Mr. Bladesmith rode in just before dusk, dressed in almost all black, looking like a gunfighter but he was different. Now, don’t ask me how, but he just is, everyone feels it. He’s all proper and refined, with a tongue like one of those sharp-tongued salesman, and he don’t drink like most men. Why, I spent all night in the Royale, from the moment he stepped in until late in the night when he finally made his way out, spending the night under the stars.
Aren’t many folk who’d step in on a gunfight involving one of the Rodgersons, but sure enough, he did just that within ten minutes. Ted Rodgerson looked like he was about ready to spit venom, he was so incensed. Wouldn’t you know, next thing that jackass of a man did was pull his gun and tried to shoot the newcomer in the back like the yellow-livered coward he is. No one’s yet sure how he dodged the bullet, but next thing anyone knows, he’s got Ted on the floor and is looking at the law to deal with him.
Now you’re thinking that Mr. Bladesmith got a surprise, that the marshal or the sheriff, one or the other, dragged him off to jail. Nope, I tell you now, he wouldn’t let them. Before they could finish, the sheriff first with pistol drawn no less, both were thrown out the Royale and told in a voice you just don’t ignore to either start doing their jobs or take the fastest horse out of the territory. Why, the applause was thunderous! There must’ve been more celebrating that night than there’s been in Silver Creek in the year it’s been around.
Now, the fellow’s not from the States, but it’s hard to pin down where he comes from exactly, Europe, I’d wager. He’s paid for everything himself and he treats women like queens, men like rich men, and kids like adults. Some in town don’t like him, mainly the preacher and that woman he married, a queen of busybodies, if ever there were one. He’s not given them cause, and he avoids them now as best he can. Still doesn’t sit right since he’s done nothing to them.
Now, because he’s come into town and is looking to set himself up as the town blacksmith, though I daresay, it’s a mighty strange profession for him. Most of the town would rather have him boot the town marshal and take the job himself. Now, if that happens, I’ll send you a letter and let you know to make the trip, with your family. Already, most of the shoot-outs and bar fights have ended in less than a week, and he’s made it clear the Rodgersons aren’t welcome in town any longer. If this keeps up, the town might boot the marshal and sheriff and make him the unofficial law in town.
That’s all for now, and the only real thing to tell you. If you can try, send a package with ma’s preserves, just be sure to pack them good. I do miss her jams something awful.
Your brother, Charles
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