Christopher Savage

['LORD' CHRISTOPHER SAVAGE]

CHRISTOPHER LUCIUS SAVAGE

” If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
Blood on the streets
Blood on the rocks
Blood in the gutter
Every last drop”

YES I'M BACK IN BLACK;;

STYLE: Canon
NAME: Christopher Savage
DOB: January 17th, 1869
GENDER: Male
SPECIES: Vampire
SUB: Head of Vampires
POWER/ABILITY: Typical abilities attributed to a vampire; increased strength, speed and stamina, heightened healing abilities and some minor telepathy (Christopher normally uses this for vampire-to-vampire communication. Behold; an end to long distance phone calls!).

SEND ME AN ANGEL;;

FACE CLAIM: Eric Dane
HEIGHT: 6’4”
WEIGHT: 189 lb
SKIN: A bit on the pale side, thanks to his ‘lifestyle.’
HAIR: Dark brown, cut short and neat.
EYES: Light blue
BODY: Tall, wide and muscular, Christopher can be described as being ripped out of a King Arthur adventure novel.
ATTRIBUTES: Various tattoos that litter his back and arms; notable ones are a certain thorny vine that snakes around his left arm and inner wrist, with three bloody roses on the crease of his elbow. There is also a cross with two swords crossed over it on his right bicep, and a sun on his left pec. The Vampire King also comes with more than his fair share of scars that crisscross his body.
CLOTHES: Varies between smart, well tailored suits and casual clothing, but Chris favors leathers, loose shirts and bare feet.
ACCESSORIES: Does a cutting wit count? No? Well, other than the deceptively easygoing smile, the man tends to come with various knives hidden on his person, including a diamond ring, whose centerpiece can burst outward in a shard of sharp carbonite.

GENERAL APPEARANCE: Sporting the figure of a football coach’s wet dream, Christopher Savage looks the part he’s supposed to play. He carries himself like a man used to having more than a little money in his back pocket, and when he enters a room, he makes sure that his presence is known. There’s an air of amusement that’s always about him, accompanied by a seemingly friendly smile eternally plastered onto his face. But, if one were to really poke and prod at the person beneath, they wouldn’t be so easily comforted by his outward appearance.

ON A SEA OF MOVING EMOTIONS;;

GENERAL PERSONALITY: All work and no play makes Christopher a very frustrated boy, but given his current title as ‘Leader of the Horde of Semi-Homicidal Vampires,’ he doesn’t get out much. But that’s alright; what’s a bit of forced work-obsession when a guy has all the TIVO and pay-per-view that he could stand? It’s really no wonder why the vampire’s always quoting pop culture references when he gets irritated.

Which isn’t very often, and the masses would like to keep it that way. Ever want to experience what Stoker was getting at, when she said that Dracula was a maniac? Try rubbing this Vampire Lord the wrong way. As an adamant student of the Crusades, Christopher is not above resorting to torture, in order to get the job done.

But aside from his eternal frustration at his ‘job,’ Chris is really quite the softy. Sure, there’s the whole ‘will turn psycho killer if given a whiff of blood,’ but that’s just his base nature. The true man behind the suit and scowl is one that misses the old days, and all of its simplicity. He misses a time when men acted like gentlemen; when time moved slower and life was to be lived with adventure and honor, not for the next paycheck to pay for the Missus stashed in that penthouse apartment on Park Avenue. As such, when trying to get to know this ex-man of science, be prepared to be drowned in manners and civility. He practically oozes an Old World charm out of every pore, and has been known to react quite violently when he sees a woman treated badly.

Other than that, he’s just your every day, average Vampire King.

But anyway, a word to the wise? Don’t comment on his youthful appearance; he knows that he looks nothing like what one would attribute to his station, and he’s practically heard every darn joke in the book. Just remember one very important fact, if nothing else?

Nobody likes to clean blood off the ceiling. Especially when it’s yours.


LIKES:

• Wine
  
• Action flicks
  
• Scented Candles
  
• Feisty women
  
• Hands on work
  
• Sneaking out of the ‘headquarters’ to hit up the local nightlife
  

DISLIKES:

• Authority figures (‘contradiction,’ thy name is Savage)
  
• Green foods
  
• Rats
  
• Zealous Hunters – the ‘live and let live’ ones he can definitely tolerate
  
• Boxer shorts
  
• Sleep
  

STRENGTHS:

• Has abnormal strength, and healing ability
  
• Quite intelligent
  
• Trustworthy
  

WEAKNESSES:

• Fresh Blood
  
• Chocolate
  
• Feisty women
  

FEARS:

• Being completely alone
  
• Failing his people
  
• Rats
  

DREAMS:

• To walk in the sunlight again
  
• To meet someone for the first time, show his true nature and not hear ‘AAAIEEEEEE, IT’S DRACULA! RUUUUN!’ Oh, now he’d like to kill that woman writer…
  
• To sleep peacefully through the night
  

BIGGEST SECRET: Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, Christopher was the happy, healthy psychopath that systematically exterminated an entire village of Irish peasants. Oh, memories of his youth…

I'M ON THE HIGHWAY TO HELL;;

HISTORY:
Born and raised in Italy during its historic unification, Christopher Savage, was a normal boy from a rich family. Possessing the quick wit and curious nature of any good scholar, he excelled in most of his academic exploits and quickly became one of the country's most promising youth. Like Marlowe's Doctor Faustus, he pursued countless degrees in religion, mathmatics, philosophy, astronomy and politics, until finally settling in the field of science.

For the next fifteen or so years, Christopher worked as both a medical doctor and a researcher, whose interests in the supernatural and unexplained made him a hot commodity amongst the royal families of Italy and England. He treated unknown diseases with experimental remedies, played advisor to superstitious Kings and Queens, and kept society's upper crust buzzing with gossip about the Afterlife and what waits beyond.

But then, as most stories go, his good luck began to wear out. Traveling back and forth from Italy to Prussia, and from France to England, his once youthful body began to wear out. What used to be simple walks in the park or late night meetings with frightened aristocrats made him bedridden for days, and his experience in medicine forced him to accept that something was wrong.

Cancer has been well known in modern society for centuries. From ancient Egypt to historical Greece, the disease was well documented...but like most of the unexplained phenomena that Christopher studied, there is no cure. Slowly and painfully, his body began to decay from the inside out, leaving what had been a brilliant mind trapped in its shell. Falling back on his religious studies, Christopher waited and prepared himself to die.

To this day, if one were brave enough to ask, Chris still claims that he doesn't remember anything about his ‘Change.’ He was lying in his bed, the room smelling of incense and death, and then, quite suddenly, he was reclining in a field of wild flowers. A beautiful woman loomed over him, her eyes bright, pale skin like ivory, and touch as gentle as an angel's. She kissed his dry lips, whispering words of love, and kissed his thin neck. Then, darkness.

When he awoke, all signs of the cancer was gone. He was still in a field of flowers, the sky above dark and foreboding, and the beautiful women sat on a swing a few feet away. Confused, he demanded to know where he was and what had happened; what miracle had she, an angel, bestowed upon him? The woman just laughed and came to kneel before him, cool hands soft upon his cold face.

"I am not an angel...but I have watched you from afar for many years, Christopher Savage," She said, holding him firm when he tried to pull away. "You and I, we are alike in so many ways. We love the world and thirst for the knowledge of our existence. You strived to discover the unexplained, and I crave the knowledge of all that is, was and will be. And now...now, we can discover the unknown together. Forever."

Her lips pulled back in an adoring smile, canines lengthening until sharp fangs nicked her lower lip. Christopher reeled back with a frightened cry, doubling over as a sharp pain tore through him, almost triggered by the ghastly sight before him.

"Drink, my love," The woman purred, bringing his aching mouth to her neck. "My husband, my love. We will be together forever."

Historically, the scientist Christopher Savage died at the young age of 35, body ravaged by cancer. His work was taken up by various scholars, and as the world turned from superstition to the need for knowledge, his publications and experiments would become as famous as his name. For the next fifteen years, what happened to the vampire Christopher Savage is unknown, as is the exact identity of his 'wife,' the woman who turned him. All that is certain is, on Christmas day, 1902, a note in the hidden archives within the belly of the Vatican states the sanctuary of a man; a monster.

It is unknown how or why the vampire separated himself from the woman who turned him. It is rumored that, sometime after his transformation, he had gone mad and attacked a town of poor Irish farmers, killing everyone who lived there, and was guilt-stricken shortly afterwards. Whatever the case, he kept to himself for many years; becoming the Master of the Keep in Austria, a farmer in Scottland, an inn owner in Great Britain and, finally, a private investigator in New York, when World War I came rolling around. For Christopher, time is fluid; forever swirling down the drain to Hell.

It was in this lifestyle that the vampire finally obtained some semblance of peace, and resurfaced in the ‘world of vampires.’ He stayed with a few others of his kind, as his new nature demanded that he remain in numbers, lest he be hunted down like his brethren, and helped various high powered executives, and lonely wives learn the truth about their spouses. He became quite good at what he did, despite the ever present need to keep his head underground, lest he lose it via a dead man’s blood-covered machete. He fought to keep a semblance of his humanity; living as quietly as possible…until Chicago, 1968.

By that time, most of the vampires he’d met when he’d first arrived in the States had been killed or moved on, but he was alright with the solitude. A man of his age needed some alone time, after all, and he still popped in when other ‘packs’ were having their yearly sit downs. He remembered the evening that it happened quite clearly (and usually with him as Humphry Bogart); the smell of smoke in the air, as well as the cloying perfume of a client as she hesitantly poked her head inside his office.

She was terrified; that much was obvious, as she spilled her story. The poor dame was claiming that she was being stalked by some kind of psychopath and she was afraid for her life. And Chris, being such a good guy and all, agreed to help her put a face to the crazy. He staked out her place- at night, because that’s when the guy came out, or so the woman said- for almost a month, with no success. But then, quite out of the blue, as he was pulling his Caddy out of the neighbor’s driveway, he heard a scream.

The rest of the night was quite blurry, but from what the vampire could remember, something big, scary and hissing was attacking poor Mrs. Fielding, and it was his solemn duty as her PI to do something about it. Who would’ve guessed that the big shot, Donnovan Murdough, pillar of the vampire community, had become obsessed with the local waitress and wanted her to have his babies…or some weird crap like that.

Definitely color him surprised, when he tore off the vampire’s head in a fit of anger- poor Mrs. Fielding hadn’t survived the ordeal, unfortunately- and unknowingly crowned himself King.

So, here he is years later; the de facto Lord of the Vampires, thrust into the role after some really bad life choices. But, he supposed that it wasn’t such a big change; he was still doing leg work by chasing down the morons who actually thought it was alright to eat the locals, and finding intriguing evidence that could be used against political enemies. And who would’ve known that he’d fit into this ‘King’ business so well? He knew who to contact in the local criminal underworld for muscle, knew how the new vampires ticked, because he’d lived around various versions of them for most of his immortal life, and knew how to rip throats out as punishment for defying him. He also knows how to survive in this ‘new world’ of his, and opened up a pretty lucrative pharmaceutical company, Savage Industries, whose main purpose is to provide donated and synthetic blood to his other craving counterparts.

All in all, he’s just fulfilling a role, before the next upstart comes along and cuts his head off in a fit of rage.

Long live the King, baby.

THERE'S A BAD MOON RISING;;

OTHER: I’m sorry most of this was a book! I tend to babble; it’s a syndrome. Aaand while I’m on the apologizing route; this probably isn’t what y’all had in mind for your vampire king, but this is what came out. If he doesn’t work…feel free to smack me upside the head with something. XD

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE;;

RP SAMPLE:
] A little hush fell over the crowd as he made his way into the cage, turning to look over his shoulder at the loud clang of the locks being shoved into place. This really wasn’t his scene; standing in the middle of a cage, as if he had something to prove. People stayed away from him, clients only contacted him when they needed a job done, and the world kept its fxcking distance, if it knew what was good for it. Before today, The Deathless was just a silent ornament in the corner of the Underground; watching, waiting and sure enough of his power not to have to prove himself to a band of screaming monkeys clinging to the mesh fence that enclosed him.

And yet, there he was, facing off with a freaking gorilla four times his size.
Did he choose the best time to surprise the gamblers or what?

In the silence, the strange man felt his eyes close and his arms begin moving until he resembled a conductor directing his musical troops. Ah, there it was, the soft twinkle of beer hitting the scarred wood of the bar. The brass echoed in Katilacuss’ shifting his chair, and the wind from the murmured whispers drifting around in the air. One, two, three…one, two, three…

Cracking an eye open, he paused in mid-swoop, glaring at his opponent with a disgusted sigh. “Well?” He said finally, loudly, hints of a foreign accent twisting the words. “Are you gonna fxcking fight me, or just stand there and stare? Pansy-boy.”

And the atmosphere erupted.

With a roar, the gorilla charged forward, head back and fists ready to do some insulting of their own. Rolling his eyes, Kel easily sidestepped, indenting his knuckles into the passing side…and grimacing when they met solid rock. Holy shxt, hello steroids. Shaking it out, he whirled to face his opponent again.


ALIAS: Jay
OTHER ACCOUNTS: None yet!
RP EXPERIENCE: WAY too long…aka, around 9 years now

(C)2010 Made by Sam of Supernatural: Alter Destiny! Do not steal!

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