Character Sheet: Maloli Appearance Prelude
Journal Entries:
Name: Maloli Player: Paul Chrysler E-mail Address: n/a Chronicle: Santa Cruz/Wraith Nature: Fanatic Demeanor: Conniver Shadow: Life: Drop Out Death: Traffic Accident Regret: Powerlessness ATTRIBUTES: Physical: Strength-1, Dexterity-2, Stamina-3 Social: Charisma-4, Manipulation-5, Appearance-1 Mental: Perception-2, Intelligence-3, Wits-3 ABILITIES Talents: Alertness-2, Awareness-2, Empathy-2, Expression-1, Subterfuge-3 Skills: Firearms-1, Leadership-1, Melee-1, Performance-2, Stealth-1 Knowledge: Bureaucracy-1, Enigmas-2, Investigation-1, Law-2, Linguistics (English/Spanish/Mayan)-2, Occult-3, Politics-2 ADVANTAGES: Backgrounds: Allies-1, Artifact (Stygian Dagger/Diff 4, Dam Str +1)-1, Eidolan-3, Memorium-2, Mentor-2, Status-2 Passions: Defy Authourity, Honour (Protect the Powerless), Pride (Expand Cult), Seek Transcendence Arcanos: Embody-3, Inhabit-2, Keening-5, Moliate-3 FETTERS: Family Farm-2, Madame Olivia-4, Mother-2, Picadilly Amateur Theatre-2 Corpus-10 Willpower-7 Pathos-7 Appearance: Haunting, somewhat fantic looking middle-aged man with long brown hair tied in dread locks. Prelude: William Victor Johnson was born in the town of Santa Cruz on July 8th, 1926. He lived on and grew up on the family farm with his parents and younger sister, Theresa. When the depression came, his family suddenly found themselves working harder than ever just to get enough for essentials: food, gasoline, feed, and enough money to pay the mortgage. When Theresa fell sick in 1934 (she was 6), she was diagnosed with tuberculosis. The sister that he loved started to slowly waste away before his very eyes, and the medical bills put a terrible strain on the already stretched household budget. Theresa died after 7 weeks, and Billy Johnson cried all night and all the next morning. When war broke out in 1942, Billy enlisted into the American Armed Forces to help the Allies in Europe. After training, he was assigned to serve in England as a bombardier. He set out to London with high hopes and dreams of glory, and made quick friends with the rest of the squadron (well, most of them, anyway) and quite a few of the local flyers. He also played poker a lot, and became famous at the field for his ability to bluff, earning him the nickname Pokerface'. In between the games of darts and cards, he would make bombing runs on he Nazi-held territory across the waters with the rest of the crew of his assigned bomber, "Leslie", named after the pilot's first girlfriend. During one of these raids, however, something terrible happened. A formation of Junkers attacked, and although they were all shot down by Tommy in the gunner's pod and their fighter escort, Tommy had taken a wound in the gut, covering the little bubble that he sat in with blood. Billy tried to help with the first aid he could remember, but there wasn't much they could d,o but wait until they got back to the airfield. So he just sat there, holding Tommy's hand, keeping pressure and clean dressing on the wound, talking about the girls they had met just the previous night at the pub, and about farming, and what they would do when the war ended, trying to keep the wounded man awake. Five minutes before Leslie touched down, he saw Tommy's eyes roll up into his head and felt him die. Tommy's replacement was Peter Saxon, a big man from Texas, with a loud voice and comical drawl. And, although he took some getting used to, they also became, if not friends, then certainly drinking buddies. Billy was drinking a lot in those months after Tommy's death, and seemed to be affected by the affair more so than the others. But this melancholy was passing, because in February he met Linda. He was nursing his drink at the Valentine's Day Pub for the pilots, admiring the local beauties in a half-hearted sort of way. Just as he had turned back to the bartender to have his glass refilled, she sat down beside him, and said, "Hello, my name's Linda Carter. Just wondering why you were so glum." She was good-looking in a wholesome, down-to-earth way, and quite forward. She was also about 10 years older than him, and had the kind of dress and earrings that a nurse or hooker could never afford. They began to talk, and decided to see each other again. And again after that. Linda opened William up to a whole new world (she prefered to call him by his given name, only using "Billy" or "Bill" in lighter conversation). They attended concerts, and amateur theatre, where he found out that he was a natural actor, with an eerie affinity for Shakespeare. They continued to see each other through 2 more gunners, a short German dictator, and the end of World War II. In 1956, William Johnson walked down the streets of Los Angeles alone. After Linda had left him 5 years ago, he had moved back to Santa Cruz briefly before moving to the city to try to find work. Acting seemed to be the only job he had a natural talent for, so he tried out for any part he could. He had managed to make a living at it for a while, but had never managed to get the big break necessary to make real money. The money he had earned went to paying rent, groceries and booze, and a little to send home once in a while. Until the blacklist. The details were fuzzy, but apparently the House Committee on Un-american Activities had reason to believe that his father, and so William, had sympathies with the Communist Party. No longer able to work as an actor, he was forced to find a cheaper apartment and learn the ways of the streets, where he became a somewhat successful confidence man. His father died while he was serving a prison sentence. And on March 11th, 1961, William Johnson was his by a car while crossing the street, and died. The last thing Bill remembered before the fuzzy memories of the caul was a wish that, for once, he could have had more than secondary influence on anything in his life and death, as well as an anger toward whatever powers had made his life so empty and hopeless. Bill was being led by a vague figure, and offered no resistance. After an unknown period of time, he was placed near a chair and helped to his seat. Then clarity slowly came. He was sitting at a grubby wooden table, in what appeared to be a shack of some sort. Sitting directly opposite him was what could generously be called a man-he had pupiless eyes and extra naturally white skin, thin, white hair and very long fingers, which were steepled in front of him as he looked at Bill. "Well met, my friend. I am called Niwaru, and I have chosen you as my new disciple. When the time is ready, you will go on a vision quest to find your own name. For now, what should I call you?" The stranger's voice was like velvet. "I'm Bill," he began. "What do you mean 'disciple'? Aren't I dead? Isn't it a little too late to be saving my soul?" "I have already saved your soul, as much as possible, at any rate. Your unlife would have been much worse if I had not found you first. You had better make yourself comfortable; there is much I have to teach you." Bill gawked as his new master led him down the streets of the Necropolis, staring at all the human and near-human figures that also occupied this city of the dead. "You mean that all of these...souls...are here seeking Transcendence?" Niwaru smiled. "No, Not all of them, Some have fallen from the path, others, especially those that serve the Hierarchy, were never on it." He entered a small shop, and Bill followed. Inside the shop were all the trappings of a Gypsy fortuneteller. Interesting shapes of metal hung from little hooks along the walls, and a crystal ball occupied the centre of a small table covered with red velvet. Surprisingly, the figure that entered the room from behind the beaded curtain at the back of the shop was rather nondescript; she wore a long, black dress and had short, light brown hair. "Hello, Renita. This is my new disciple, William. I need to know where and what his fetters are." It only took her a second to react. She walked lightly across the room and closed the door, and then motioned for the two to sit down before joining them by the table. "Renita is an old friend of mine, William. She also has the ability to discern the nature of someone's fetters, the people, places and things that bind us to the world of the living after death. It's quite remarkable, really." "So, what you're saying is that you're a god...", responded Bill with audible cynicism. "And that I'm a god too." "No, not yet. But if enough mortals are CONVINCED that either you, or I, are gods; then we can take unto ourselves some power from that belief, and eventually Transcend." Niwaru continued. "It is the natural cycle of things. People live, and then they die, and protect the living in exchange for worship and the power associated with that worship. Then, when enough power is gained, it becomes possible to Transcend. Jupiter, Moloch, Julius Caesar... these were all once mortals who died, were worshipped for awhile, and then Transcended, leaving room for new gods." "But why aren't there as many gods now? And how come all those people in the necropolis are trading thralls instead of servicing some kind of worshippers?" The mentor's eyes darkened. "Centuries ago, a wraith named Charon decided to become the most powerful of all gods. He created the Hierarchy and persecuted the other gods, so that now very few of us are left that remember. Charon disappeared many years ago, but his Hierarchy remains, and continues to persecute those who would Transcend. " Bill pondered this for a while. At death, it is the destiny of some people to continue on for a some time, in order to look over and protect the living. In return, some of the living would provide him with power through worship. And then he would Transcend and another god would fill the vacuum. And anyone, no matter how lowly or powerful in life, could do the same. He smiled. He genuinely felt attracted to the idea. Bill felt the fever run through him. He had never felt the need to eat or drink in the years after his death, and so the sensation of the black, oily liquid going down his throat and into his gut unnerved him. He dropped the vial onto the top of the table, and fell off of his chair... ...the visions overwhelmed him. He relived the ridicule of his peers as he was punished for-his father's beliefs. Once again, he was a little boy, watching his sister waste away to disease. Again, he felt Tommy die in his arms. Tears streamed down his face and he covered his eyes. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself kneeling in a field of wheat, surrounded by wet mist. Out of the mist strode a tall figure in a black cloak that hid its features. It carried a scythe. YOU'ILL NEVER TRANSCEND intoned a voice from somewhere in the dark cowl. YOU ARE MINE. The scythed hissed as it travelled through the air in a decapitating blow. Bill found himself unable to move. He closed his eyes, hoping the cut would be painless but fearing that it would bring agony. What he did not expect was the swishing sound to be cut short and a soft voice declaring "No. You may not have him." He opened his eyes again and saw an angelic figure, in robes so white they shone, holding the scythe back in mid-swing with one hand. The angel turned to him, and the scene rippled into a void filled with a the colour white. "You will be know as Maloli, he who helps those that life has failed. Go now." And Maloli awoke to the touch of the dirt floor underneath his sprawled body. "Come here, Maloli," beckoned Niwaru. "You have found your name, and you have learned enough to gain your first follower. I have chosen her for you from my own flock. Her dreams have been filled with riddles and symbols alluding to your arrival." His face beamed, and a wide smile played across his usually stern face. "Welcome to the pantheon." Maloli looked at the woman as she slept on her bed. Her hair was dark and straight, and her skin was tan, although in California that was hardly unusual. She was of average height, and about 30 years old. "Her name is Susan Plover, although she uses the name 'Madame Olivia' professionally. A fortune teller. Her father's mother was Romany. Now, be ready and remember people are more likely to believe in symbols than manifestations. " Together, they entered her dreams, and a new god gained his first follower. Maloli walked the streets of Santa Cruz for the first time in what seemed to be a lifetime. Well, it WAS a lifetime: William Victor Johnson was dead. Maloli was his real name now, although he would have to continue to use his old identity with most of the city's Restless. The decision to come home came almost naturally. It was dangerous for him to remain with his teacher in Los Angeles; it almost doubled the chances of them being discovered by the Hierarchy. So, Susan was given the sign to move and set up shop in Santa Cruz where Maloli could keep a closer eye on his fetters, and more safely increase the number of his faithful. He hoped it wouldn't be too difficult. Wednesday, May 31st, 1995 6:09 p.m. At first, Susan's relationship with Clyde was fine. Like all new lovers, they each made special attempts to attune themselves to the needs and desires of their new interest. But, as the the gloss of newness began to wear, their inner natures peeked out more and more. For Susan, it was her insecurity. It made her jealous and possessive, just the qualities that seemed to grate Clyde more and more. For Clyde, it was his inner selfishness. The longer he was around Susan, the more he felt she should begin to cater to his needs first. After all, he felt, her only reason for existing should be to make him happy. In return, he would give her life meaning. When Susan, began to step away from Clyde's image of her, he began to abuse her, first verbally, then physically. The anger of Clyde's past, having a new target, began to surface more and more and Susan reacted by withdrawing into her shell, trying to pretend the bad things about Clyde didn't exist and that he the reason he beat her was out of a sense of misguided love. In time, the couple little resembled the two future lovers who met one night at a reggae concert at the civic center. One night, even the lie that he need her again flaunted Susan as she knew he was out with another woman. At first she fought this, but now she even began to become relieved, glad that he was out of her life, if even for a time. She felt guilty for feeling this, for part of her seemed to really connect with Clyde, his musical talent and energy. But the time had come to make a choice. She had thought about leaving, but she was afraid what he would do if he came after her, as she thought he would. She even thought about the idea of killing herself, but always afraid, she could not face that darkness yet. Rather, she turned to a forgotten friend, one who had aided her in the past, and one to whom she prayed could help her now. Susan believed that she had her own private god. Clyde had always mocked this belief in her, scoffing at her attempts to convert him. Rather, it seemed to degrade her in his eyes, so, for quite a while, she had given it up. Now, in her desperation for help and sympathy, she turned once more to Maloli. She had lit all the incense she had and its fragrant smoke overpowered the room and stung Clyde's eyes when he came back into the room. He was not amused. He was drunk, and high, probably on ecstasy or p.c.p's. It was hard to know as he liked to experiment. She stopped her prayers, afraid, and went to greet him, saying nothing about the smell of another woman's sex so strong around him. He wouldn't even let her hug him but started right in on her, beating her scalp until it was bloody. The fact that she was so acquiescent seemed to bother him more. He too wanted to leave her, but he always found himself coming back, mostly because he relied on Susan's paycheque to keep him in his comforts and because beating Susan gave him some strange comfort. It was at this time that Susan's "god" chose to come to her aid. It's power was limited, but to an unsuspecting quick, any such supernatural action, chosen with tactical acuteness, could come with devastating effect. First the lights went out. The suddenness of the darkness at once made Clyde afraid. The curtains had been drawn, mostly to hide his attentions to Susan from the world. But the dusky darkness of the evening was in itself enough to at least make Clyde hesitate, though he did not let go of Susan's hair. Then, one by one, the burning embers of incense winked out, only to reappear as a burning blight on the skin of Clyde's body. Clyde let go of Susan and clutched, screaming, at his body, as if trying to tear whatever was biting him so. Then Maloli chose to speak to Clyde and Clyde now realized what a blasphemer he had been for Susan, once again penitent, had called upon the protection of her spirit, at this protection came as a malevolence and retribution that created terror in Clyde's eye. In a panic, he ran for the door, only to have it locked, apparently without reason. Then he was thrown violently backward, hurling against the shelf on the far wall, smashing many of his "things" that he had placed there to mark the room as his. He didn't get up by his own volition, but he was lifted up nonetheless. Susan, in superstitious dread, was afraid to look as Clyde was slapped from side to side, the reappearing embers of incense still burning his skin. Slowly he was pushed back against the sliding glass door, which seemed to open all of itself. Being thrust up the rail, he was pushed back, still clinging to the metal railing, it looked to those passers by below that he had climbed up the rail. Screaming, Clyde fell to the parking lot below, landing on an empty space. Susan's "god" had spoken. Thursday, June 1st, 1995 1:53 a.m. Maloli and Caldwell had hidden as best they could. Legionnaires had arrived almost at once, drawn by the scent of Clyde's death. They had been too late as a Sellsword had already laid claim to the soul and Maloli and Caldwell, posing as Mission subjects, watched as Clyde was led away, his plasmic caul still clasped in the Sellswords hand. Both Maloli and Caldwell were heretics. Caldwell was an Amphissian and Maloli, well, his brand of heresy was very unique to the Santa Cruz Shadowlands. Nonetheless, both would have faced oblivion had the legionnaires recognized them for what they were. After the interest in Clyde's "suicide" had faded away, Maloli and Caldwell had hidden in a sea cave. If anyone questioned Clyde before the hapless larva was sent on to Stygia, then word might get to the Anacreons that Clyde's death was not suicide, but the result of direct interference by a wraith. This ban in interference was in direct violation of one of Charon's most sacred laws and there would be no mercy to the wraith who was found guilty of violating the world of the quick. After a few hours had passed, Maloli and Caldwell came out again, mostly to escape the incoming tide. Rivermen who had been swept out to sea tended to haunt the surf. And there were others, wraiths of souls who had died at sea, who also ambushed unsuspecting land wraiths, perhaps to sell their plasm to far off markets in the Kingdom of Jade. "I want to thank you for helping me back there," Maloli nodded to Caldwell. Caldwell shrugged. "It was my pleasure, really old boy. Really beastly company your quickling chose to take up with." "Well, she's really not too bright," Maloli apologized. "But we gods cannot always choose the caliber of our followers." Caldwell snorted, but that was as much impoliteness as he allowed himself concerning his own views of Maloli's "religion." They had cooperated in the past and Caldwell was Maloli's nearest thing to a friend, and certainly was his only tenuous contact with the Amphissians. They were walking along West Cliff, taking a circuitous route back to Caldwell's haunt on Walnut Street when a Legionnaire patrol spotted them. Both acted nonchalant, but it not bode well when one of the Legionnaires called for them to haunt. A muzzled barghest came up to them, sniffing their corpus. It shrieked when it came to Caldwell and retreated, whimpering. "They're the ones," the lead Legionnaire called out, while his other four companions advanced upon the hapless Caldwell and Maloli. Caldwell produced a wicked looking Stygian blade, probably taken from an obliterated Legionnaire. Caldwell swung the blade and the lead wraith's face showed shocked surprise as its head was cut off. Soon the wraith's plasma was melting into the ground. The other heirarchy goons retreated. They had not expected to be resisted and none of them wanted to face final death. Instead, they unleashed the barghests but soon two of these had been sent to oblivion, only their Stygian masques left to show that they had ever existed in death. But the alarm was up, and other Legionnaires were arriving. A spirit arrow was launched, its shaft piercing Caldwell's arm, tearing away plasma. "Get away," he yelled to Maloli. "I am finished. Remember to carry on the fight." Maloli, terrified, turned to run, but there was no where to run two. At least fourteen legionnaires and five barghests cut him off. As the bulk of these descended on Caldwell, Maloli turned to the one place where they would not follow. As the Barghests were just about to bring him down, Maloli leaped into the Shadowlands sea, and disappeared from sight. Susan called out to her god in her fear and loneliness. But no one answered.
Back to the Wraith Page
Back to the World of Darkness
Back to Main Page