Well Known Character Facts (at game start)

(FYI, if anyone's interested in some bg storylines let me know? - Matt)

He was embraced by Josephine Blackwell-Finch in 2003, just after the Sanctified stopped purging rival Covenants by destroying their Childer.
He was a mortal relation of Damien Costello and after his embrace he was waved in Costello's face, with the ending of his mortal line and the beginning of Josephine's. Sometime after, though, she began to treat Marco differently and he was no longer used as a 'trophy'.
- Invictus Knowledge: After his Manumission he takes on the function of Soldier.
He gains a boon from Eric McMarrow, a Kindred whom he happened to know as a mortal-contact, who did work for him down at the docks. The boon was earned via services Marco provided.
He is fluent in both Spanish and Italian.
The entire Arundell line uses the estoile symbol to mark their domain and seal their formal letters.
The Arundell line also keeps a family estate in Greendale. Marco, however, makes the most of his duplex for formal and 'informal' meetings.
In 2006 Marco embraces Melanie Blackwell-Finch.
- Invictus/Circle Knowledge: In late 2007 Marco loses a large chunk of himself to the Beast during a feeding frenzy, destroying his equilibrium between the Man and Beast, pushing him closer to the Beast. In an effort to preserve his humanity he turns to Ivy Jane Carroll who helps restore his 'even' balance.
In late 2007 Kien Zhao approaches Marco with the intent on making him the second Hound in the city. The ambitious Kindred accepts and becomes Archon.

(More to come!)

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Lineage

Mister Lord Marco Belmonte of the line Arundell, Soldier, Childe of Madam Josephine Blackwell-Finch, Councilor, childe of the deceased Mister Colby Ryall, Soldier, childe of the eclipsed Mister Sebastian Fawkner, Soldier, childe of presumed eclipsed Alder Behenna Rashleigh, Speaker, childe of The Right Honorable Alder Warren Keast, Marquis of Cornwall and Councilor, childe of The Honorable Alder Conner Arundell, Earl of Devon and Advisor.

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Description

Marco isn't your normal-day man on the street. He's an attractive man, lightly tanned, with a strong, powerful chin - usually always a 5 o'clock chin - and sharp eyes. When he smiles it's almost teasingly sultry but certainly charming. His stride is graceful, yet self-assured, but Marco doesn't seem to mind betraying his open confidence. There are rumours that the man carries a series of intricate tattoo's along his arms and back, perhaps from a previous life, but these are simply rumours. His wardrobe tends to fall into well-picked, comfortable clothing, which is always ironed. In fact, if it's not ironed, or more to the point, if it's ruffled then it's likely for no good purpose in which case the wisest of Kindred would advise that this is something you shouldn't comment upon. (Blood Potency 1, Intimidation 3, Striking Looks 2, Humanity 5)

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Background: Mortal

I was born out of the dredges of this city. I’ve experienced its stink. Its predatory dog-eat-dog nature. I hate it, yet, I love it. A tired romance, but at the same time one which sometimes throws a few crazy fucking surprises your way in some half-spun curveball out of the dank black.

I came from a simple family. Half-Italian, half-American and back in the day being that sort’ve mix, blend – what have you – was bad news. You’re not ‘really’ American. You’re a foreigner in a country full of foreigners – remember the Native Indian’s, fuckers.

That’s when you rally together really. Adversity pushes people together. It makes groups out of us, in order to defend oneself against a callous, harsh world full of ethnic diversity, division and cultural clashes. Being an individual doesn’t work. It just doesn’t. You need security and you find that in others like you. It’s human nature to group together, and I did.

Of course that’s where it all starts. The 80’s was filled with opportunists jostling for power amongst the tall sky-scrapers of the city. From the rain-drenched streets they summoned the bosses of the underworld, forming partnerships for profit and I was in on the game, albeit at the ground level. You start as a soldier. Unrefined, I know. There’s little skill in bashing in a skull.

All manner of things come to hand – pool sticks, chairs, bottles – whatever’s near you when you’re near enough. But there’s a defining factor between a soldier and a leader; the ability to adapt. Brains. Intelligence. Charisma. Common sense.

I could go on but I really don’t want to bore you. Suffice to say, one gets what’s coming to them – good or bad – and I was noticed. I was picked, tapped on the shoulder one day, to be something more. In the end there are two types of gangsters.

I suppose as I matured during the period I became the new blend. I was what you would call a subtle operator; a smooth wheeler dealer. I worked with a small clique, paid the boss on time, and worked only with those who came recommended.

Other rival firms, during the time, were in it to be a face, to be a name – loud cocky sons of bitches who fucked up, even though they never meant to. It was simply their nature.

Despite my choice of life I always remained close to the reason I fell in with such ‘gentlemen’; my family. We weren’t poor or anything. Actually, in all honesty, we were well off but that didn’t mean I reneged on my duties as the first-born son of the household. I fell in and out of school, but I completed my education – not doing too badly either. My mother always said I had the brains to actually push myself but by the time I’d graduated I was swallowed up.

As the 90’s pushed on I rose in the ranks. I made contacts. I had my own, yes, but networking is so so important and in a world such as this – like, say, the theatre – it’s about who you know. Who backs your words. Whose power tingles with every syllable that leaves your lips. I had, by now, schmoozed, manipulated and wheeled myself to the top of my firm. I reported directly to the big man – a cigar twirling demi-God of the underworld, who would say words like ‘Call me Eddie, Marco, call me Eddie’ and would slap me on the back and laugh in that husky voice of his. I had friends who were friends of important bureaucrats who were always happy to do us a favour for one in return. Nothing is ever free and in order to get somewhere you need to be good at man-management.

It was then I started to hear rumours of some hidden war on the street. Violence, blood – not just the shedding but the sheer desire for it. Blood packs. I would see shadows walk in large groups. Individuals so strange you’d notice a strange twinkle in their eye and others who would give me just the plain creeps. As the millennium wore on business was good, but only because we were called upon to do the strangest of things to people we never knew existed or seemed unimportant enough for the effort. C’est la vie – money is made in all shapes and forms.

The business was on the up-and-up and life was so good I could taste it in my spit. Bureaucrats were eager to meet me as I admittedly was fast becoming an intricate cog in the working way of things. They began to invite me to dinner with their families, associates, parties at clubs and hotels. Becoming a socialite was something unexpected for me and certainly something little old me wouldn’t of dreamed of growing up as a street rat. But it was a nice change in pace, not that my particular job ever really would become ‘sameish’.

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Requiem

Then one night I met her. Josephine. I’m ashamed to say it now, but at first she reminded me of something of a sophisticated escort. She certainly wasn’t one of those ‘oh gawd’ women, who flapped a nail and forced a smile at a joke just to get an inch closer to your pocket and wallet. But no, not Josephine. For me she stood out right away. I felt myself drawn to her every time I watched her enter a room. There was always that spark as well. I remember it distinctly. That first innocent touch to brush away lint off my shoulder and the way her dark eyes swallowed me. The sex, at first, was raw and primal but as we met at each event and tip-toed back to hers, where we’d shed clothes to the floor, turning it into a mix of soft silk and black lace, it became more sensual. She would ask me to leave – or if we’d gone back to a hotel room disappear together – but I always found myself thinking about her for hours, sometimes weeks at a time.

Then one night it was different. It was some small-time lawyer’s little soiree. There was a live-band and it was a typically hot summer, so the balcony doors were open, allowing for some cool breeze. I was leaned on the balcony and she slid up to me, brushing her lips so teasingly against my ear as she often did and she whispered playfully of some deep surprise, which I would die for.

Marco's Social Court Mask

It was a silky-sweet blur. Her honey lips, soft and tender, raped my flesh. I felt that light-headed erotic feeling as I always did. Then I was dying. I can’t help but hold that feeling, really, as looking back it was totally utterly exquisite to experience. Her blood flooded my mouth and I was hers.

Ever been hit by a train? I could describe the feeling. I was hit by a metaphorical train as the nights blurred into weeks. Weeks of lessons, stretched and rolled with social foreplay. I was blasted with information that could’ve been read out of a science-fiction book. To see such authority from a woman I’d been fucking nightly beforehand and her sudden change in attitude was shocking too – everything was shocking. But such was my unlife.

The Invictus. My manumission. My lifestyle. It was all changed. I still sort’ve long for what I’ve lost. I lived a badass life, I really did, but at the same time I try and remember the excitement I feel with looking at this new life from the eyes of a baby Vampire. Yes, baby vampire. But babies grow and I developed with Josie keeping such a close eye on me. Yes, maybe I’m a little bitter she paraded me around like a Super Bowl cup – tasteless, really – but when she fully understood me that changed and we genuinely began to care for each other.

The years passed. I placed those under my control – via the blood – to fill the void I left, having ‘died’ officially. My network remained secured. That was what was important, after all. But history seemed to repeat itself. I found myself, because of my history, forced to become ‘Marco Belmonte, Soldier of the Estate’. Soldier. How crass. How mercenary. I thought I’d move past those days – or nights? – but obviously I hadn’t and even tonight, despite my promise, I can’t seem to shake it.

Josie always tells me to be subtle and never advertise ones skill to the public, which makes perfect sense, and its acted as a form of inspiration. My interest in Majesty and its practices mean I will one day put a real effort into becoming a master of it – in fact, finding Christopher is evidence of the fact I want to master it. But first I need to be good at my ‘role’, no? Josie taught me what she knew with a weapon and after four years of training I’ve become somewhat of a specialist with these types of weapons, despite the fact I need to be a little more fluid. I spent a great deal of my years developing my skills with speed as well, simply because it gives me an unexpected advantage – and no one would ever see me coming, yes?

One night Josephine took me to a gathering – some party at the Hilton. There we watched a young thing – Melanie. She was graceful and in a way reminded me of Josephine when we first met. Then Josephine pulled me to a dark corner and in my arms cooed into my ear, asking me to embrace the girl. I refused, at first. She pressed. So sweet. So seductive. In the end I relented. So I went prowling.

We both stumbled into the bedroom. I could feel her soft, warm breath against my neck. I could feel her heartbeat quicken as her lips pressed with such desire against mine – God it felt good to be wanted! To be desired! I let her kiss me and then I proceeded to kill her. She fell limp in my hands as I took her blood and as she gasped at me, as she began to whimper, I gave her the choice of life or death as Josephine watched on. I murmured it softly to her and when she chose I let my blood mix with hers and I made her my childe as Josephine had created me four years ago.

Josephine’s niece was now my Childe. Warped, isn’t it? Well, I always was a family man. The difference here is that Josephine raised her with me. We both did. Of course I was a little guarded; she was MINE. I did Josephine a favour and in return I made to ensure that she belonged to me. That she desired me. Hardly selfish – Josephine would have to make do with my love, lucky thing.

Being fully Invictus, I didn't really have 'the show' for it. That is to say, despite my dealings making me wealthy, I was only wealthy as a mortal. Compared to the Estate high-rollers I was small-time. Silvia Bancroft changed all that. Her offer was a simple one and totally cliche; you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. She introduced me to the world of investments and helped me hit the ground running. In return, of course, I fulfilled my first duty as mercenary; I broke the bones of two old mafiosos. I wore a mask. I could feel them crack under my hands. I did my firsty duty.

Word must have got out. One night the Prince, Kien Zhao, and I are having a chat - nothing special. General stuff. Then out of the blue he turns to me and he says he'd like an Archon. Sigh. He knows I'm an ambitious man - though, I'm by no means aspiring or anything. Hell no! But he knows that I'm one who doesn't like being at the bottom and that I'll snap at a chance to move up, such is my greed. I took it, of course. Why not? A young man has to start somewhere. Maybe one night I'll get a crack at Reeve. Then who knows?

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Archon

Marco's Archon Court Mask

It's a thrill chasing Kindred through alleyways, soaked in rain, with hot steam from vents pouring out at you. Eric and I did our jobs, though rarely called upon, we usually do them well. I'm his subordinate for now. He seems to be content with being just 'The Hound'. Sitting on your laurels is a dangerous thing; I personally enjoy my ambition and the feeling it brings. It's something I embrace and ride, just as I did chasing this fucker through the slick-alleyway.

I was starving by the end of it, but much to my stubborness I never told Eric. I just grunted, walked into a bar, and brought a girl home with me. When I regained my senses her body was torn and ripped infront of me. The room's walls were soaked in blood -- and it didn't hurt. There was hardly a shred of sympathy, as I remember it. I just stared at the corpse with cold eyes. Maybe that's when I felt that flicker of fear and came to the realisation, later confirmed by Melanie, that I'd slipped. I'd lost my balance and my equilibrium was being devoured by the Beast.

Ivy Jane Caroll. I suppose we could say she 'saved' me in a way only a Daeva could.

I've developed my abilities as a Soldier. Melanie has grown, becoming a somewhat skilled Interpreter and Josephine continues to be a Councilor, and dote over me like some spoilt kid - I secretly love it. Why have I seen such things you might ask? Because I am the new generation of Invictus. There’re no more murders and there is no more destruction which claimed the life my older sibling so many years ago. The Sanctified are quiet. The Carthians are quiet. The Circle grows in strength, and the Ordo Dracul... well, they're 'there' I suppose. The future is for me to take and it’s a noble truth when they say real power is never given, it is taken.

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