Tyler Crown Back Story

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Re: Tyler Crown Back Story

Post by Ac1ds0ld13r on Sat Mar 28, 2009 3:06 am

Tyler looked over the desk at his Sire. She was interesting to look at. Animated. You would almost think she were alive instead of being dead for several centuries. He had been a Tremere for a scant three months, and already he was showing an alarming proficiency with Thaumaturgy. He was the envy of the Cardiff, Wales Chantry. No Tremere Neonate had thus far mastered the Path of Blood in such a short degree. He bore that note with pride, and it caused him considerable problems with his betters, as they seen immediately the newest embrace would quickly grow to be a rival.

His Sire was lecturing him and four other Neonates on Blood Magic Theory. It was really a class on the versatility of Thaumaturgy and how to properly prepare formulae for rituals and developing other paths aside from Blood. He touched the large leather bound book in front of him. It had thick unlined pages and he could hear the scratching of fountain pens on the paper, his included.
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Tyler Crown Back Story

Post by Ac1ds0ld13r on Fri Jan 30, 2009 3:53 am

Tyler Crown held the Queen's Armory .45 in a classic shooter stance, arms out one arm pushing against the handle, the other pulling it back. This action controlled the recoil so he could reacquire his sight picture faster and fire again. Not that it mattered. The big .45 was slow and the rounds were nasty. A long time ago a ghoul had turned him onto Federal Hydrashocks. Apparently the round came apart in pieces, but left one pointed piece still big enough to go through the body. The rest of the little chunks turned into a blender inside the body.
Tonight's perp was a small time rabble rouser. Normally this kind of issue didn't require the need for an Archon, but this guy, and his little gang of misfit autarkis, had managed to piss off some very powerful people, and pissed off powerful people call in their powerful friends. This individual's friend happened to be on Justicar Pascek. The good Justicar called another Justicar, and voila Tyler found himself in Boston hunting for some pissant Anarch leader. Who was starting to style himself "Baron of Boston."
Once Tyler had arrived he had found the situation to have been severely over played to the Justicar, something he would have to add to his report. Realistically this entire situation getting to the point it was at, three Toreador dead, and a nice chunk of an elder's domain being claimed as "Anarch Free Territory" was entirely the result of an incompetent and lazy Sheriff. Which was a fact he had already communicated back to his leadership, and was given orders to replace said Sheriff as soon as the current situation was fixed.
The Archon stepped a little further into the ramshackle apartment he knew his suspect had been hiding in. The tenement block was worn down and abandoned, probably unstable and ready to collapse, and from the architecture, at least as old as the Great Depression. He used his heightened senses to listen closely for signs of movement or a waiting trap. One too many times before he had gone around the corner of a doorway to be shot.
There were few things Tyler hated: Having his private time at the beginning of every night being intruded upon. Being manipulated (really, he wasn't against doing things for people, he just hated being tricked into it). And, being shot. Of all those things, Tyler really, really, absolutely could not stand being shot-
As that thought crossed his mind, of course, the pathetic excuse for an Anarch leader, chose that moment to dive out of the door way, and do precisely what Tyler despised. The crack of the 9mm was enough to break Tyler out of his introspection. The impact of the round was enough to get his attention, and the feel of blood on his brand new suit was enough to piss him off.
In this moment Tyler did the only thing he could. He called on the blood to heal the wound, closed the ground between him and his prey, a move that caught the Baron completely by surprise, and pistol whipped him in the face hard. Harder than he had expected. Because, instead of doing the logical thing, which was shoot Tyler again, the Baron dropped his gun and looked at Tyler in bewilderment with his jaw hanging oddly to the left, clearly broken as blood oozed out of his mouth.
While this was not exactly what Tyler had wanted, it worked. Tyler grabbed the thin blooded anarch by his battered leather jacket and pulled him close, shoving the muzzle of the .45 into his belly and fired twice. The rounds ripped through his body, spraying bone and organ fragments across the wall behind him in a twisted Rorschach of gore. The Baron came to life then. He twisted and snarled in Tyler's grip, using his enhanced strength to break Tyler's grip, and his forearm, to get some room between them. He staggered back and roared at Tyler before turning to run.
Tyler let out a roar of his own when he felt the bones in his forearm break with the Brujah's grip, but he now had what he was after. Even as his grip was forcibly removed from the jacket, orange sparks were coming from his eyes, and as the Baron turned to run down the hall, a flame appeared in Tyler's hand. Which he launched at down the hall after his quarry. The fireball missed, but still, had a nice effect at the end of the hall.
The ball hit the wall, which immediately engulfed the dried out wall paper in flames. The Brujah stopped in his tracks, and turned around. This time it wasn't rage, but fear. Tyler had cut off his escape. Leaving the only way out of this deadly situation, through the primary cause of the situation's deadliness. Through Tyler Crown. The Baron tried to use the Blood to increase his speed, but the briefest second of contact with Tyler had rendered that impossible as his blood reserves had been dangerously depleted healing himself, and then were wasted away increasing his meager strength. Tyler activated a ritual he had prepared for this moment earlier that night, and the Baron's last step towards him stopped him cold in his tracks. He strained against the Blood Magic the Warlock Archon had brought to bear against him.
Tyler approached him, and reset his arm with an audible crack and a grimace as he walked, he glared at the now terrified would be Baron of Boston. "I'd like to say you have been difficult to track down, but you weren't. Not even slightly. Your methods left a trail right to you. Even and idiot could have followed it." The Baron spat curses. Tyler shook his head. "Even in death, you're going to be stupid. Fine. I'll make sure I turn you into an example." Tyler let loose with another blast of flame, igniting the Baron's clothes. Still unable to move, the Baron could only scream and burn. Tyler spent a few more minutes making sure the entirety of the building would burn to the ground. With a word he was gone. His last effort surprised the Prince of Boston as he appeared inside his inner chambers, catching the elder at something of an embarrassing moment. "Your Majesty, the would be Baron is dead. Justicar Pascek sends his regards, and would advise you, in the future, to see to the security of your city yourself. The Justicar does not enjoy having his time wasted, nor that of his Archons."
Having delivered the Justicar's message, Tyler showed himself out of the Prince's haven, something the elder found equally irritating. Then set about exiting himself from the city of Boston. Having acted in the position of Archon, he had no need to report his movements to any local Tremere authority, though as a Regent of the Sixth Circle of Mysteries, there were few Tremere in Boston he had to do anything for.
Two days later, Tyler was again in Braddock, in his personal haven, annoyed, as usual, as he read his reports on the situation of the Chantry, the local city's power movers, and general news in General. He smoked his pipe and checked his watch. He was expecting company, and they were exactly three minutes, and twelve seconds late. Tyler hated the habitually late....
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