~A young black man in his mid to late 20s, of sturdy build, steps onto the scene. He is clad in black jeans, red-rimmed Nike sneakers, and a dark red windbreaker. It's zipped up, with the winter coming and all. His expression is somber, closely-curled hair framing a strong-jawed face. Dark-brown, deadpan eyes sweep the scene. The cold gaze seems to linger on those among the undead, but granting few more than the tiniest smirk.~
OOC: Appearance 2
"You wanna know me? I hate vampires. What else gotta be said?"
History
Youth
Crispus remembers little of his childhood. He knows he was born and raised in southcentral Los Angeles: Compton to be exact. He was the only child of his poor but hard-working parents. Life was a struggle in that ghetto. Crispus remembered smoking his first joint when he was eleven, losing his virginity when he was thirteen, and stabbing someone with a knife when he was fourteen. But the details always remained murky.
Clearly, Crispus’ family suffered tramautic tragedy. He was almost sixteen when he came home Christmas Eve of ’94. And to his horror, monsters -- Blackula come alive! -- were feasting on his parents. One rushed for him, and in a panic, he knocked over a candlestand and fled. The fire swept over the place. He recalled hearing the monsters’ screams as he fled to a church.
The Bloods
In that church, he huddled for comfort and a grasp back on reality. It never quite came. The trauma disturbed Crispus so much he was suffering amnesia. He couldn’t remember anything but an image of his parents’ bodies silhouetted in the flames of his home. The good preacher’s words didn’t help until Crispus realized the preacher didn’t disbelieve his story. That’s when Crispus learned the truth of an infamous urban legend. The Bloods gang wasn’t just a gang. It was an organization of vampire hunters. He could scarcely believe that -- if he hadn’t seen vampires himself, he would have called the minister nuts. But the Crips were vampires, or at least led by the undead. That’s why that little war waged ceaselessly. It wasn’t about turf or drugs. It was about life and death.
So Crispus signed right up. He met a number of high-level Blood leaders. He trained in how to fight vampires with gun, blade, and stake. And a year later, he earned his color. Joining a raid on a Crip hang-out, the Bloods swept in with automatic submachine guns to take the other thugs by surprise. Crispus did his part, though he was deafened and blinded by the gunfire. He just joined his boys in setting up a deadly wall of firepower. Soon they were filing out in threes to finish off the enemies.
However, the Bloods weren’t completely up on the realities of Kindred. Thus, even ghouls were staked through the heart. Crispus recalled his first staking. The victim seemed even younger than he, and was crying and begging. Remembering the sight of his parents’ dead, limp bodies in vampires’ cruel embraces, he bit back the pity. Down went the stake and out screamed his victim. He plunged that wooden shaft deep through the boy’s heart with a scream of his own -- one of fury. Blood spurted up his arm and into his face. And behind him were the compliments of his fellow Bloods. He was covered in his gang color. Word.
For six more years, Crispus fought the Crips and their undead benefactors. He dodged police, rose in recognition, and avenged his parents with every gruesome kill. But he couldn’t help but want more. And despite the turnover rate in the Bloods gang, he was never given the opportunity to rise to any kind of position of leadership. He didn’t want to just kill vampires. He wanted to inspire people to join him in that “good genocide”. He wanted to hear more screams of fury, like the one he let out that first hunt. He wanted to see the whole world swept up in the same flames of hatred.
The Crusaders
Through contacts to the Bloods, another city-based organization like their own was whispered about. The Crusaders in Kansas City were pursuing a similar, bloodless mission. So he followed up the rumor and uncovered a telephone number. He called it; lo and behold, Nekoko, leader and visionary creator of the Crusaders, answered. She told him how the Crusaders could use an experienced hunter to help them achieve victory and glory. And she promised him the opportunity to rise in rank, to even be a leader someday. It was as if she knew his heart’s secret most wishes. This preternatural knowledge of himself, combined with her persuasive arguments, summoned Crispus to her side in 2001.
So without a word, Crispus up and left the Bloods and moved to Kansas City. He learned that the organization was based out of Little Asia. There is where he first met Nekoko. She came to him one night after a binge drinking session. Their first meeting always remained cloudy because of that, but no decision he made that night differed from what he would have admitted while sober. He joined up, starting above the lowest ranked Crusader as a provacateur. His job was to uncover the identities and locations of vampires for the rest of the hunters to destroy.
And over the next couple years, Crispus did his job well. Under Nekoko and other Crusader commanders’ tutelage, he improved his combat skills greatly. He would never return to the Bloods now. The Crusaders taught him more about vampire hunting than the Bloods ever knew. By 2003, Crispus had helped the Crusaders rack up almost two dozen individual kills. Of course, they had destroyed many more on their own. That number only represented the vampires Crispus discovered! Nekoko changed their outfit’s name to Devaki -- the Angels of Heaven. Crispus accepted that -- his drive to exterminate the vampire scourge rivaled religious zeal anyway!
And then he began to hope for more than his provocateur duties. He hungered to spread his zeal to the rest of the Devaki whom he saw mostly as weekend warriors (as effective as they may be in force). Crispus knew he had what it’d take to rouse the Devaki to a total victory in the region and beyond. What happened to his parents was an unacceptable tragedy.
The Truth
It was also all a lie. All of it.
Crispus never lived in Los Angeles. He never had parents. He never joined the Bloods. He was never born. He was created just as he was now. Through Nekoko’s masterful spells, he was formed from raw energies and supernatural by-products. His flesh was formed from a vat of purified vampire blood. His mind was designed, summoned from the vast subconsciousness of the universe, and imbued with sentience and independence. Incomplete memories -- rationalized through amnesia -- were irrelevant sentiments compared to the fanatical drive and loyalty with which the man was instilled.
Crispus never yet learned that he was just a haniwa -- a golem. He was a soulless servitor of his master, the shadowy Nekoko. He was a representative of her terrifying will and power. Though his personality varied completely from her own, Crispus shared the same relentless zeal that drove Nekoko to the unfathomable ends she still pursued. He had no idea how long he would actually live. Considering the danger of his career, any “replica” short life symptoms would probably stay irrelevant. He figured he would only last a couple more years at most anyway. He just didn’t intend to die without taking a bunch of bloodsucking fools with him.
Crispus in Reality
Crispus Pire is the result of a powerful ***** Life/***** Mind/*** Prime Effect called "Build Haniwa". Go Kamisori Gama Masters employed this magick to forge doubles to mislead enemy assassins, or temporary agents and representatives of their will. This kage-waza (rote) is within Nekoko's power. The limits to the magick are fairly obvious. Life created the body, Mind created the fully sentient mind, and Prime fueled the whole ritual. But without Spirit, Crispus has no soul. He cannot Awaken or Ascend -- even by a Sleeper's standards. He is doomed to oblivion when he finally perishes. His life-span is predicted to last until he reaches age fifty, though Nekoko doubts Crispus will live that long. However, she is not beyond creating another simulacrum just like Crispus, or similar to him, should Crispus die before his usefulness ends.
Paradox?
Nonsense. There is nothing even remotely vulgar about Crispus' existence. Sure, it's nearly divine power to create another human being from sheer magick. And Rank 5 Spheres are fearsome in that respect. But just because an Effect is powerful does not mean it's vulgar. He can't sprout talons or wings. He can't eject chain guns from his arms or tune into super-satellites to get a GPS overview of his locale. He doesn't even have "perfect" attributes like the Progenitors' homo superior. And he definitely can't cast spells like any mage. He's a completely normal, unAwakened man. The only element to his existence that is supernatural is his venomous blood -- venomous to vampires that drink it, that is. That is a coincidental benefit, however, that all Crusaders possess due to Nekoko's "bottled water" scheme.
Significant Other
Crispus met Jalisa in late 2006. He doesn't realize she was another of Nekoko's Constructs anymore than he realizes he's one himself. They were partnered up as fellow provocateurs and put their skills to vicious use on the streets, irritating the undead into exposing their vampiric identities so that the Crusaders can take them out. In private, Crispus and Jalisa found soulmates in one another. So to speak. They're too wrapped up in their brutal "careers" to consider anything besides casual dalliance together. But it's enough to help them stay sane at least.
Jalisa
Weakness God's Machine
Crispus is a machine. He may be a biological machine, but he is nonetheless a mage's creation. He lacks true independence and freedom. Ultimately, he is someone else's tool -- a representative face, eyes, and hands of his creator.
Likelihood of Corruption
Very low.
Firstly, he has no soul to corrupt. Secondly, infecting his mind is wholly possible. Until his regular "check-up" from his creator comes around.
